Chapter 34: H02.D00001

It wasn't like it would be a challenge. Ingimund hadn't met a binding spell he couldn't snap like a twig, after all. The old man he'd met at the tavern said Jarl Baeken had a magic weapon, so bound by magic that no man but the Jarl himself could wield it. Even then, the Jarl had to wear special magic nullifying armor made of Guess leather while using it. Supposedly, it could kill the mightiest warrior and leave nothing behind, which sounded like horseshit. Even the strongest fire left something.

Ingimund, fucking idiot that he was, just had to check it out.

This was a mistake, he thought to himself as he crept along the roof under the cover of darkness.

"Hold the fuck up," Rebecka said sharply.

She couldn't feel her body or move. The only sensations were whatever Ingimund was feeling. The brush of thatched roof's reeds against his legs and belly. The smell of petrichor in the air competing with the smoke from the fort's many hearths. The bite of hunger in the man's stomach from having not eaten enough over the last few days thanks to how he'd snuck into the fort. All were memories Aettartangi had recorded and kept for a thousand years. She was surprised she could even speak, much less hear her own voice.

Ingimund froze as he peeked over the roof's edge to make sure he could drop down onto a second story deck without anyone spotting him. The pang of hunger in his gut finally vanished.

"Yes?" A disembodied, somewhat mechanical, voice asked.

"Aetty, what the fuck's going on? This is one of Ingimund's memories, right? What happened to the Gault? Oh, fuck. Did it sink? Is Uncle Blake okay?" Rebecka asked, near panic.

"You are safe. The Gault is functioning properly as well. Captain Rashad's magic threatened to tear us apart while you were having a panic attack. I made an executive decision to subdue you. At the moment, we are both below decks with the Party, shielded from the magic above," the axe replied.

Rebecka thought a moment.

It wasn't a perfect solution to their problem but it really was their only option. There was no way she could handle being below deck for an hour, much less a week. She didn't even want to think about how small the space likely was.

"No one's died?" She asked.

"No one has died," Aettartangi confirmed.

"No one's been maimed?"

"No. However, I reserve the right to take Kelvin's arm should the opportunity present itself," it replied. "As a treat."

She laughed. "You're just down there pretending to be me?"

"The Party suspects nothing."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"Because they figured out I was not you immediately."

Rebecka wanted to purse her lips but they didn't seem to exist. Instead she just stayed quite for a moment and sat with that thought. She finally broke, however and asked, "So, what? They know you're in control of my body and?"

"And, we are vegging out together," it said.

"What?"

"I can show you, but you will see the room, which may upset you due to the confines of the space," it said. "I promised Uncle Blake I would protect you."

"Uncle Blake knows?"

"He was the first to deduce that I was piloting your body."

She wanted to nod but settled for saying, "Okay. That tracks."

Ingimund stayed in place, frozen on the roof.

The whole discussion reminded her of the low budget anime she'd settled on watching. Half of it didn't even have moving mouths. Just still images and dialog from people off camera describing things viewers never got to see.

"Would you rather watch the anime? I started 'Ride or Die: Reed!' from the beginning. I plan to only rewatch the episodes we had seen together. I have now restarted episode one because Rifa, Dyr, and Thrima wished to view it with me. Honor, and Gerda have now joined us, as well."

"Who the fuck is Honor?"

"The Mianyar bird man. He is still quite terrified. I wish to devour at least one of his feathers but will wait for him to molt."

"Why do you want one of his feathers?" She asked.

Aettartangi hesitated then answered, "He can fly. It would be a strategic asset to our mission if you could as well."

Wings did sound cool.

"Don't hurt the guy, but if you find one of his feathers on the floor or something, eat that shit."

"Affirmative."

Ingimund remained where he was. Even the flames in the small clay lamps lighting a nearby window remained paused.

"Would you like to watch the show with us? I can move your phone to have the wall behind it. You can pretend the room is larger and has windows where you cannot see," Aettartangi offered.

"You're just gonna play the same four episodes over and over for a week?" Rebecka asked.

"Yes. I did not like the other series. I thought it best to watch things we have experienced together due to your reaction when I reviewed your memories in Castle Heiligvagr," Aettartangi explained.

She wanted to close her eyes and think but they also didn't exist so instead she skipped to her reply. "I was upset because you replayed a traumatic memory of mine without permission. It's not the same as a TV show. You can watch that whole series. In fact, watch anything on my phone. Don't worry about upsetting me by watching ahead. I torrented a bunch of random stuff because I was scared we'd be snowed in for two weeks. There's a couple good shows on there I've seen before, by the way. Check out Paragon Ketch if you want to see aliens and shit. There's only one season of that out."

"Aliens?"

"Yeah, like, extraterrestrials." She stopped and thought a moment. "You know what? You're basically an alien, right?"

"I do not know."

"You're not magic. You came from Yggdrasil, which was corrupted somehow. You sound like a robot and mentioned coming from a Hive. Seems pretty alien to me. That show might interest you. The main character is an alien robot."

"I will watch it."

She wanted to smile.

"That's settled then. Don't kill anyone in the Party. Play nice," Rebecka ordered, like a parent leaving their child for a playdate. Only, this child could easily turn people inside out before devouring their remains if it got pissed off.

"I have never played before," it said.

"You've also never talked to anyone but your Wielders, right? I'm sure you're doing great."

"Thrima seems pleased. She has her head in your lap at the moment," Aettartangi said.

Again she wanted to purse non-existant lips but settled on replying, "Just...don't do anything frisky, okay?"

"Affirmative. I have no desire for...relations of that nature," it said stiffly. Rebecka could feel disgust dripping from its words.

"Same."

"Would you like to watch the show with us?" It asked again.

"No. You have fun with that. Just, lay this flashback on me, I guess. Maybe I can learn something from it or figure out where Yggdrasil is from 'ol Ing's memories."

"I will be here if you need me," it said before Ingimund started moving again and the ache of his empty stomach hit Rebecka like a punch to the gut.

There were no guards on this level. No one expected anyone to be foolish enough to sneak directly into Jarl Baeken's private room on the third story. It would be suicide.

Yup. I'm an idiot, Ingimund thought to himself as he grabbed the beam at the edge of the roof and quietly flipped over the side, dropping down to the balcony as quietly as his deerskin boots would allow.

Baeken slept in a large fur filled bed. The heavy odor of mead and ale wafted from the Jarl's hairy form. Ingimund crept past him toward the source of the strongest magic in the fort: a heavy wooden armoire warded with so many spells his eyes watered. They begged to be undone. The doors to the cabinet had been removed to allow easy access to the only weapon stored inside, an axe the likes of which he'd never seen before. It was large, with two solid blades that resembled raw bronze ore barely worked by a novice blacksmith, bumpy and crude, save for the sharpened edges. Not only was the armoire warded halfway to Hel, but the weapon itself had at least fifty layers of magic on it, including enchanted leather bindings wrapping the long wooden shaft. The latter appeared to be a last minute addition.

Shit. The old man was right. That's a lot of spells, he thought to himself.

Ingimiund turned quietly to make sure Jarl Baeken was still asleep. The big man rolled over to his side, revealing a smaller blonde man he's been laying on.

Great. Now I've gotta make sure I don't wake up two warriors.

He steeled himself and went to work, gently picking at the wards on the cabinet first. The spells broke apart easily. The first ten cast on the armoire were like spider thread, thin and barely worth calling a 'ward' at all. Whoever had made them had been exhausted. The next few spells were a little more difficult, but still, not much of a challenge. Ingimund nearly lost his focus when Jarl Baeken snorted in his sleep. However, he was a professional, and collected himself quickly enough to whittle away at several more spells. He wasn't sure how long it took him but once the final bit of magic on the cabinet broke he discovered the axe itself was bound by much stronger stuff. The worst spell affixed to the weapon would send a bolt of lightning through the heart of anyone but Jarl Baeken should they touch it.

Shit.

Ingimund glanced over his shoulder at the pair of sleeping men on the bed. They had moved around more but neither showed signs of waking up. He turned back to the work at hand and started unraveling the magic on the axe. If he could undo the spell that targeted anyone but the Jarl, then he could grab the weapon and run. Or break both of his legs jumping three stories down since that was his only escape route. At least he would survive the few minutes it took the Jarl to sound an alarm and reach the bottom floor. Someone would know Ingimund the Sly had accomplished the impossible.

Who am I kidding? If this weapon has the power people claim, Jarl Baeken will use it to dispose of my body.

Ingimund was drenched in sweat by the time he reached the deadly spell. The Jarl and his lover were still fast asleep as he took a moment to study the magic. It wasn't as complex as he had feared: a simple thread that conjured lightning for anyone but Baeken. It hadn't even been cast in a particularly strong manner, like many of the other spells on the weapon. There was no fail-safe that would hurt someone for undoing it, either.

So, he cut the spell in half and held his breathe.

Nothing happened.

He double checked the axe and found no other defensive spells. Everything but the lightning summon was pointed back at the weapon itself, containing something within it. Binding the blade itself as if it was a slave who might break free and attack.

Ingimund hesitated to touch the weapon.

Everything that could hurt him had been disarmed. All he had to do now was slip the axe through his belt and climb out the window. Except, he was on the verge of collapse after shredding so many spells in such a short period of time.