Christopher Golden - Hellboy by The Bones of Giants

Author:The Bones of Giants
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Abe, please!” Pernilla cried. “You have to save my father. Get him out of here!”

The pistol felt heavy in Abes hand. He felt a little ridiculous trying to protect Pernilla with all the nasties around. There were so many of them, and Thrym … they did not even understand yet how the bones had been revived, how to reverse the process. This was all in Hellboy’s hands now. If he couldn’t destroy the skeleton, they were in big trouble.

The Svartalves were vicious, and he had shot two of them already. One of the few things the Bureau insisted upon doing with agents, even unusual ones such as himself, was teaching them how to properly care for and fire a sidearm. He had had many occasions, over the years, to be glad of that. This was one of them.

Get the Tankard! Hellboy had shouted. As if it were that simple. But he had to try.

“Come on,” he told Pernilla.

The wind had grown colder still, and frost seemed to drift like snow down around the clearing. Abe realized it was flaking off the bones, chips of ice whipping on the breeze.

“How can this kind of power be left in his remains?” Pernilla asked, shouting over the hiss of the giant and the screams of battle from the darkling creatures.

“Don’t know,” Abe replied. The gun was in his right hand and with his left he pulled her into a run. They skirted the edges of the enormous grave, working their way in and out of half-uprooted trees, feet driving into loose soil, and circling around toward her father.

Aickman held the Tankard up above his head, staring up at it as if making an offering to his god. Abe realized that in some ways that was exactly what he was doing. The old man didn’t even seem to notice how withered he had become, like some pitiful, weathered scarecrow. It was as though the Tankard was supporting him, as though he dangled from it there in the unnatural wind that swept through the Djurgarden, and without it he would be blown away like some dried husk of a thing.

“The Tankard’s at the center of it,” Abe told Pernilla. “Not to mention that little blood ritual the Svartalves just did.”

“But if drinking from the Tankard allowed Thrym to possess my father … what is the point of resurrecting this empty corpse?” Pernilla asked.

The horror and confusion in her voice galvanized Abe to further action. He was not a fool, not going to do anything stupid, but in that moment he would have given anything to spare the woman all of this. Nothing good could come of it. She was being torn apart inside, and all because her father was a greedy, mischievous old bastard. Whatever terror she faced, whatever impossible evils strode the earth before her eyes, Abe suspected that at the core of her, Pernilla Aickman would be most deeply scarred by this truth about her father. Whether she acknowledged what he was or not, she could not fail to see it.

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