The Viking Alpha

Legends and folktales

(James POV)

There it was again. That feeling. Something wasn't right. As soon as he opened his eyes he felt it. Sensed it. Looming like a sense of foreboding.
Glancing at the clock he noticed it was going on six a.m.
Looking around the room, he noticed the curtains were still closed. No coffee tray.
Shaking his head, he got out of bed and showered swiftly. Packing his suitcase was easy. He'd only be in the human world for a few days. After dressing, he became a blur. Ripping clothes from his closet, then stuffing things quickly into his suitcase. He was eager to go. See Cassandra again. To hear any updates on her and the baby. He smiled softly as he lifted the photo of his unborn son.
'Stay strong, my son.' He whispered to the picture before placing it back next to Cassandra's. His family.
As he finished packing, Cassandra's warning in that letter wouldn't leave him. It wasn't a clear warning, but it was obvious she had a bad feeling as well. Even if she herself couldn't make sense of it.
'Drello. Come help me, please. Have the guards prepared to escort me to the barrier.'
He pulled the drapes back and looked down below at the court yard. He didn't see any maids out and about. No servants cleaning or fetching water. No noise or activity at all.
'Drello?'
Nothing came in response.
Growling in irritation, he stalked out of his bedroom. Looking around the hall, it was clear. No one was there. His wolf growled softly. He could sense something too. Shifting, he stalked on all fours down the hallway. Not a soul was in sight. The castle halls echoed around him.
Where was everyone?
He saw a brisk movement from the slightly jarred door to the ballroom. He then heard a familiar tune. St. James Infirmary. Moving cautiously, he got closer. His fur standing on all ends in a tense fashion. His eyes roved around the spacious room when he entered. It was dim and empty. He couldn't smell anyone's scent. His eyes snapped at the corner of the room where Cassandra's old gramophone was. It was in this room where it was last in the library.
His mind finally went at rapid speed. It was a trap. Turning and ready to bolt to the door, he was then assaulted by the worst excruciating pain. It was like someone was performing a lobotomy on him. His skull felt like it was slowly being cracked over and over again. He was now laying on his side, growling and seizing. After what felt like minutes of pure hell, it let up only slightly. Leaving him paralyzed and stunned.
'Oh, why your highness! It's not very becoming of you to greet your guests on the floor.' Sneered a female voice.
He saw a tall slender woman enter the room, soon followed by other women and young men. She wore a dark long skirt made of deer skin. Her long dark hair covered her breasts. Her face was full of hate and triumph. The women following her circled him. A few chanted while having their palms stretched out toward him. The other women stared at him with such sadness and some with contempt.
'My name is Ashia. We are the scavenger tribe. Known to your tribe as the rouges. We have come to claim our vegence.'
The woman announced as she came closer. He saw she was holding something in her arms. A cloth draped over the object.
'You took our mate from us. Our sons. Then, when our warriors came for vengeance, you killed them too. Ripped them apart. My sister, Lenna, was one of them. She challenged you. You ripped out her tongue then ripped her body in half.' Tears flowed as the woman spoke almost in a calm whisper. She spoke through her teeth as anger came with her next words. 'We've been biding our time and planning. Now we have come to see you suffer and take what is yours.'
He tried to shift but it was useless. All that escaped him was a growl.
'Even if you could speak, your guards, servants, and people, are all in a slumber. We learned from the mistakes the witch coven had made with your mate. When they awake from the spell, they will have a new leader to bow to. Your mate is out of our reach for now, but when the time comes we will take her too. Make her our prized slave. She will be sold to our sons as a common whore. Forced to bare their children.'
Ashia bent until she was a foot away from his face.
'As for you, you will be punished with an eternity of madness and pain. You see, I have a gift for you.'
She uncovered the object. It was an old silver box with Viking runes on it. Protective runes. An inscription on the side. Heyr, mæli, sjá nei illr. Hear, speak, see no evil. His eyes widened when he realized what it looked like. He had never seen it. Didnt know it actually existed. Stories were told about it from his childhood. Created eons ago by the strongest magic of his people. Spiritr kista. A spirit box. Containing the most wicked and mad of spirits that were executed and that refused to move into the spirit realm.
'From the look in your eyes, I see that you know what this is. Made by your people. Spelled by the strongest of magic. We think it is only fitting you should be punished with it. Driven mad. Tortured for eternity by the mad and cruel spirits of your ancestors. It was easy enough to find with the help of our new allies. You've made an impressive number of enemies. Did you know that? You are not so popular with other witch clans anymore. Not after you bullied and threatened them. A man named Bartholomew had a score to settle and was happy to side with us. The witches that were left of Sylvia's coven were happy to do our bidding.'
She grabbed the scruff of his neck with her hand and tilted his head up.
'Enjoy.' She hissed.
It was as if the next moments were in slow motion. He could only watch as she opened the box. It's ancient hinges squaled. The black smoke-like essence shot from the box and entered his mouth, eyes, and ears.