Chapter 27 Freya
My mind spun through strange dreams. Darkness and flame. The stink of male sweat and voices full of fear.
“Wake up,” a voice twisted with agony whispered.
I reached for consciousness, but it eluded me, and I descended once more into blackness. Only for the scent of burning flesh to fill my nose.
“Wake up!”
My eyes snapped open to find the specter’s green eyes staring into mine, her face a ruin of charred flesh.
“Your name was born in fire.” Embers drifted behind the specter. “Skaland will be united beneath the rule of the one who controls your fate.” Then she exploded into ash.
I blinked, uncertain if I was dreaming or awake. My body was bouncing up and down, the impact against my stomach painful. My mouth tasted foul, and with a violent heave, my stomach emptied its contents. Vomit burned in my mouth and nose, sharp coughs wracking me. Whoever had hold of me tossed me sideways with a muttered curse.
I yelped in pain as I landed on my side in some brush and the branches scratched my face.
“She’s awake,” one of them hissed, the accent that of a Skalander. “Silence her! Silence her!”
Terror pulsed through my veins, and I rolled away in a tangle of my skirts. Managed to get onto my hands and knees, though nausea still roiled in my guts. The darkness spun around me and I grasped for my sword, only to find the scabbard empty.
“Hlin,” I croaked, and magic coated my fingers, illuminating the darkness.
As well as the faces of my kidnappers.
I immediately recognized the man who’d feigned the limp, but his three companions were strangers to me. All were muscular and heavily armed, warriors through and through.
But so wasI.
Climbing to my feet, I said, “You’ve made a significant mistake.”
In the light of my magic, their fear was obvious but the men held their ground. “You are to be returned to your king,” the one who’d tricked me said. “Show your loyalty to your nation and come without quarrel.”
Final confirmation that Snorri had sent them. Any hope that lingered in my heart vanished. The future Saga had foreseen was arriving faster than any of us had believed possible.
I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My allegiance is to Skaland but Snorri is not my king. Leave now, and I’ll let you live.”
A seemingly empty threat given I was unarmed.
But not all weapons were steel. It was not lost on me how swiftly I questioned my own vows not to use my magic when put to threat. Hel’s name and her power were already climbing my throat on the back of my fear.
I could smell their sweat. See the way their throats moved as they swallowed. Yet instead of running, they exchanged glances and then began to circle me. I bent and fumbled in the brush until my hands closed around a stick. It was so thin that on its own it would have snapped on a single blow, but I covered it with my magic.
Unarmed no longer, and I had the advantage in that they’d no doubt been ordered not to harmme.
I wouldn’t hesitate.
It was their souls I had no wish to condemn, but I had no compunctions against killing them and allowing the gods to decide their final fate.
Swaying on my feet so they’d believe me still incapacitated by whatever they’d dosed me with, I struck without warning. My glowing stick descended to crack against one man’s neck.
He cried out and stumbled back, but I was already twisting to meet the hands reaching towardme.
Fingers collided with my magic with a crunch of breaking bones as Hlin’s power flung him away.
The air was abruptly driven from my lungs as the weight of the third man slammed into me. I fell face-first into the dirt, the stick spinning out of my grip.
I writhed, trying to get out from beneath him even as I fought to get a breath of air into my lungs, but he was twice my size. His thick hands pinned my wrists and his knee dug into my back.
“Get the waterskin,” he snarled. “Dose her again.”
I tried to scream but one of the other men pushed my face into the mud.
Condemn them.
No, I silently screamed. I won’t doit!
But I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t escape as they pulled my arms behind my back and rough ropes scored the skin of my wrists.
Give them tome.
No!
The world was spinning with darkness and fear, Hel’s name rising to my lips as the men’s rough hands handled my body.
Take back control.
I didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to use her power. But I couldn’t fight them off any other way and if they returned me to Snorri, any chance of changing my fate would be lost.
One of them reached into the mud and pinched my nose, then the others rolled me. I tried to suck in a breath but choked instead as they poured water in my open mouth.
Curse them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I could taste Hel’s name on my tongue.
Only for blood to spray across my face.
My body shook as I stared at the blazing axe blade protruding from between my captor’s eyes, his skull split nearly in half.
Bjorn. His name drove Hel’s from my lips and I screamed, “Bjorn, I’m here!”
The dying man stared down at me, eyes full of shock, and then he swayed forward and collapsed.
I shrieked as the burning blade descended, the heat familiar and terrifying.
It disappeared just before it struck my face. The man’s split skull fell to either side of me, the dead weight of his body holding me in place.
Boots pounded the ground and my ears filled with the snarl of wolves. The screams of men.
I squirmed, trying to get out from under the dead man, but with my wrists bound, it was impossible to get leverage. Finally I got my heels beneath me and bucked him off.
Rolling onto my knees, I spat out the taste of blood even as I took in the moving shadows.
The wolves were ravaging two of the men, their screams shrill and awful.
And Bjorn’s familiar shape was crouched over the final shadow, fists striking downward over and over, bone crunching beneath his blows.
“Bjorn.” It came out as barely a whisper. Swallowing hard, I shouted, “Bjorn, stop! He’s dead!”
He went still, head turning in my direction. Though it was too dark to see his face, I felt his fury.
“Freya?” His voice was hoarse.
“It’s me.”
In a heartbeat, Bjorn had his arms around me and pulled me close.
His hands found my bound wrists, untying the ropes. “Are you hurt?”
My gut twisted with unspent adrenaline over how close Snorri had come to taking me back. At how close I’d come to calling Hel’s name. “No.”
It felt like a lie.
I buried my face in his throat, my hands clutching at his clothes before finding the bare skin of his arms. It was hot against my chilled palms and I clung to the hard curve of his biceps, unwilling to put to words how close I’d come to breaking my promise to myself.
“The attack was a ruse to take you.” One of his hands moved up my back to tangle in my hair. “If they’d managed to get you to him, then he’d—” Bjorn’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Born-in-Fire.”
His apology felt like a weight around my neck, pulling me down and down, because it spoke of the places we’d have to go to see this through. Of the things we’d have to do. And I could not help but wonder what both of us would be like on the other side ofit.
Skade burst into the clearing, her bow casting eerie light over the forest floor. Harald appeared a heartbeat later, breathing hard. “Freya? Is she hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I pulled out of Bjorn’s arms and got to my feet, hoping they couldn’t see the shake in my knees. “That one tricked me.” I gestured to the man whose skull was split in half. “Put something in the water I drank that caused me to lose consciousness. I didn’t rouse until we were well away from Hrafnheim. They said…” My voice turned gravelly and I swallowed hard, remembering the specter’s face but not sure if it had been a dream or reality. “They said I was to be returned to my king. I didn’t recognize any of their faces.”
“Did they say if Snorri is already in Nordeland?” Harald demanded.
I shook my head. “But they called me a traitor to Skaland.”
“Then it’s only a matter of time.” Harald kicked a rock, cursing. “Skade, do you recognize any of their faces?”
“What faces?” The huntress’s tone was sour. “This one is split in two and this one is so much meat. Those two,” she gestured in the distance where the sound of rending flesh was audible, “are in the stomach of your pets.”
Bjorn stood, wiping at his face with the back of his hand and leaving behind smears of blood. “His inkwork is Skalander.” Reaching down, he lifted the arm of the man who’d tricked me and then held it against his own tattooed arm for comparison. “You can see it in the knotwork patterns.”
I agreed, but again my eyes were drawn to the tattoos of Fenrir, something about them familiar. As Hati approached and began licking blood off my hand, I said, “I feel as though I’ve seen them before.”
“You likely have.” Skade spat on the dead man. “Men always choose the same things. Bjorn likely has Fenrir inked on his arse and that’s where you saw it.”
My jaw tightened.
“You are only jealous,” Bjorn said, wiping his face again, though there’d be no ridding himself of the blood without water. “I recall very clearly how you fainted when the artist got out his needles, your skin cursed to remain as interesting as spilled cow’s milk, Skade.”
She glared at him, the golden light of her bow reflecting in her eyes.
“What they said to Freya is proof enough that they fight beneath Snorri’s banners,” Harald said. “He knows she is here, and it won’t be long until he learns that the kidnapping attempt failed. Snorri is no fool. He won’t try to use the same ruse twice, so I expect next time, he’ll come in force. Guthrum and Kaja should bring news soon, but I don’t think it will be long until Skaland sails across the strait.”
His eyes locked with mine, waiting. Giving me control of everything, risking everything, all on the belief that I could be a savior rather than a plague.
I gripped fistfuls of my skirt. “I’m tired of waiting for the axe blade to fall. At dawn, we sail down the Rimstrom and bring the fight to him. It’s time to send Snorri to Hel.”