Welcome Back!

I'm sorry for the delay in writing but we moved two times in the last six months and life has been pretty crazy. I'm hoping that things have settled down enough to allow me to start writing regularly again. We'll see...

Anyway, thanks for hanging in there with me.

A special thanks goes to all of you who've reviewed my chapters. Even if I don't mention you by name, I've listened to what you've said and it gives me ideas on how to create a better experience for the reader.

I'm actually kind of floored that people are still willing to read my story. Awesome! I'm thinking my English teacher is rolling over in her grave... The sea sponge hasn't been laughed out of existence yet!

Buckelup Buttercup... we are now moving into uncharted territories.

Chapter 12: Hel's Hold

The gyrfalcon flew swiftly. Its solid black eyes, narrowed and focused on the distant horizon, methodically searched for it's final destination. The endless expanse of sea, cloaked by the greying sky of an impending storm, seethed mercilessly far below the small, isolated flyer.

With every beat of its massive, heavily feathered wings, moisture laden air rustled between it's large, black-spotted-white feathers and over it's broad chest. Struggling against turbulent air currents fed by the wild sea, its small, agile body was rocked and buffeted as it weaved and bobbed on the brewing storm's strong prevailing headwinds. Using it's long, barred tail as a rudder, it sliced through the warm mid-Autumn air, it's instinctual course etched deep within the its subconscious. A single, isoloated thought pulsating through it's mind as it shot like an arrow through the air... 'Home.'

After several long, arduous hours of flight, the air turned bitterly cold as a small, dark grey speck appeared on the distant horizon. The bird's pupils suddenly narrowed into fine, obsidian slits as it's powerful body tensed, beginning it's descent. The far-off speck slowly enlarged and grew into a great wedge of jagged, granite cliffs which jutted out high above the boiling, freezing sea, it's curved outline cold and menacing against the dark, grey clouds.

As large swells of waves crashed violently into the base of the massive, rocky outcropping, the shy sun peeked through the cloud cover, slightly brightening the overcast skies. Several scattered, newly-freed beams struck the falcon's body as it tucked its wings close and streaked toward the ground, lighting it like a shooting star.

Fighting against the strong updrafts in the the icy air, the large bird's body pitched wildly as it swept toward the ground. Wending its way through the many huts and stone buildings littering the hillside, it abruptly changed course and headed for a huge, ancient looking, stone structure atop the tall cliffs.

The unwelcoming structure was shrouded by a thick mist created by the crashing, curling waves which pummeled the cliff's weather-worned face. The massive base of the enormous, desolate castle was carved directly into the cliff's top, creating the illusion of a tireless watchman overlooking the sea, waiting for lost souls to be ferried to its unfriendly shores by an uncaring current. The many turrets of the once mighty fortress shot upward from the cliff's pinnacle acting as a symbol of both strength and warning to those unlucky souls who dared land on its cursed shores. It's once pristine exterior now covered with moss and thorny vines taking hole where the stone had begun to crumble from age and neglect.

Like a skilled acrobat, the bird fanned open it's large wings using the wind as a air break. Furiously beating opposite the direction of flight, it slowed itself quickly. The falcon's homing sense needed little guidance as it suddenly veered past the decaying and crumbling castle and headed for it's final destination; A small stone building, littered among many, that lay cast in the citadel's shadow.

As the gyrfalcon glided toward the single-windowed slate building, its wings whipped through the cool, damp air slowing it to a hover. Extending razor sharp talons it reached out and grasped a large perch positioned just outside the shack's wooden door. Upon landing, the bird's weight rocked the wooden arm, loudly jingling a small bell, signaling the messengers' pet had arrived.

Almost instantly the unshaven face of a man in his mid thirties appeared in the crudely arched glass window aside the small door, his reflection scattered and twisted across the patterned frame's edges. The face disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, and the hut's small door slowly creaked open. Emerging from the darkened hut was a man clad in a simple grey, knee length tunic with a large, white-fur trimmed cape thrown across his shoulders. The long red cape flapped in the breeze as he struggled to tighten the white sash around his waist.

Rubbing sleep filled eyes with with balled fists, he squinted at the slowly brightening skies, noting it was almost mid-day. After quickly running his hands through messy black hair, he plucked a bowl-shaped helmet from a nearby hook and placed it on his head, the long chainmail curtain clanking loudly as it dropped loosely onto his shoulders. Etched elegantly into the long, prominent nose guard of the helmet was an ornate set of runes representing his rank and position.

Satisfied he was now properly attired, the messenger smiled and moved toward the falcon. Reaching out, he ran his hand over the bird's head and scratched affectionately before running it down it's broad chest. With a voice coated with sleep, he cooed softly, "Good boy, Hábrók. Well done." The bird closed it's eyes and nuzzled affectionately into it's master's hand before extending it's long, thin leg.

Carefully removing the small wooden container, the man gingerly tucked it into one of several specially designed pockets that had been sewn onto his tunic. Reaching into the opposite pocket, he removed a few strands of raw meat and a dangled them enticingly before the gyrfalcon. Hungrily, the large bird opened it's beak and awaited it's treat. Dropping the reward into the bird's mouth, the man lovingly stroking the bird's chest. Leaning in, he issues several hushed directives before his eyes involuntarily shot toward the foreboding stone structure.

Summoning his courage he drew a deep breath, stood at attention, and began the slow trek up the hill to a small, wood-slatted door which hung crookedly on its hinges. The door led down to the dungeons and to the dark room he scanty visited over the last thirteen years. Each visit was worst than the last. This time the visceral feeling of terror wrenched at his gut, slowly growing in intensity. With all the pieces now in place, he knew the time had finally arrived.

When the messenger entered the castle he was greeted by dank, stale air that burned his lungs with each inhale. An unnatural darkness filled the small entryway, devouring the few rays of light that entered through the open door like a hungry predator. The space had an empty and lifeless feeling, like an open grave waiting to be filled.

A few paces beyond the door the floor opened, like a gaping maw of a dragon, displaying a set of jagged, teeth-like stone stairs cut directly into the granite. The narrow, spiral stairwell led downwards, deep into the cliff's side.

Grabbing a wall torch, the messenger began his descent down the tight, spiral staircase. The cold, damp air wrapping around his body like large, frozen fingers, squeezing out every last vestige of internal warmth. With a palm braced against the slick surface, he crept slowly down the slime-covered steps, digging his nails into the crumbling stone to maintain balance.

The torch's dim light danced off the small veins of white quartz running through the stone, eerily illuminating the staircase as it followed the gentle curve, only to vanish around the next bend. After silently counting five rounds of curves, he emerged into the dimly lit corridor which plagued his dreams.

The bottom of the staircase was far below ground level. The light, filtering into the dark corridor from a small, jagged quasi-window, did little to chase away the ominous shadows which inhabited the cold, empty hallway. The dimness gave the impression of eternal twilight despite the burgeoning sunlight breaking through the overcast skies.

Peering down the featureless passageway, the messenger hesitantly edged his feet forward. The light patter of his booted footsteps echoed endlessly off the bare walls of the stone prison. Small moans wafted through the stagnant air as he trudged his way toward the large mahogany doors at the opposite end. The screams of those dammed to live in the small, metal prisons lining the corridor echoed in his head like an bad omen.

The few fearless rays of sunlight that dared venture into the unholy space were immediately scattered by the metal doors, producing eerie skull-like patterns which danced beneath his feet like a macabre roadmap. Finding himself once again in front of of the large, double mahogany doors, his eyes trailed slowly downward, noting no stream of cold light beneath the door. "The beast must be asleep..." he whispered before correcting himself, "No..." he shuddered, "...the beast never sleeps."

Raising a shaky fist, he knocked thrice, hesitating as the echo spread through the large darkened room. Not waiting for a response, he grasped the ornate door handle, and pushed hard.

The heavy door, now warped with age, creaked open in protest. A strong rush of warm, putrid air, tinged with a wafting scent of stale blood, wash over his face, ruffling his hair as it passed. Instinctively, he grimaced and stepped back, slamming his eyes shut as images of foul deeds flooded his mind.

Taking a deep breath, the messenger stepped into the room, leaving all hope on the door's threshold ...