Chapter 21 Market Day #3
“Oh, Thori.”
“Isn’t there more mead?” Thori asked as soon as he swallowed down the bread.
Njord gestured to Solrun to fill the prince’s tankard again.
“Well? Where are your parents, then? Even Sveinn spoke of their absence.”
Turning the bracelet around and around, Thori didn’t look at him.
“My parents—the Allfather is occupied. With important matters.” A soft blush spread across his cheekbones.
“You of all people should know what it takes to rule a kingdom. There is always some important business that requires my father’s full attention.
Trade with Alfheim. Quarrels with the mountain giants… ”
But Thori’s words rang hollow, practiced, as if he had repeated them many times before.
“What about your mother?”
“The same. She has been traveling. Conducting negotiations in the outer realms. It’s why I—” He faltered, shaking his head. “It’s why I thought I should prove myself. Show them I could handle significant raids on my own.”
Njord studied Thori’s profile, noting the tension he carried in his jaw and the dark smudges under his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted.
“So you came here with a handful of ships to scout for a raid without your parents’ knowledge or blessing? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes!” Thori desperately jumped at the lie. “I was planning to map your coast, maybe identify weaknesses in your fortifications. You know how this works.”
His demeanor changed so suddenly, like the weather above the sea. His insecurity suppressed once more, Thori offered him a nonchalant smile.
“It could have been a profitable summer raid. Your lands are wealthy. And it befits a prince of the AEsir to prove himself in the art of war.”
He sounded so suave, so confident, that Njord could easily imagine how he’d fooled the entire court about his parents’ absence.
“Liar,” he said very gently.
Thori froze. Shocked into silence, he hid behind his mead again.
The overwhelming urge to bring him back into the fortress and allow him to hide in their chambers, comfortable and safe, had Njord reeling.
To distract himself from their charged conversation, he took a moment to look out over the vast ocean; the sight of the endless waves calming as always.
But the bright midday sun had dimmed, leaving a strange cool quality to the light.
Unfitting for the summer weather, a peculiar silvery fog was creeping in from the sea.
“The weather is turning,” Thori said, following his gaze, clearly eager to change the subject.
The sight of the fog rolling up the cliffs filled Njord with unease, his connection to the sea tingling with awareness.
The cheerful sounds from the market below began to grow muffled and distant as the fog swallowed the lower levels.
Njord frowned as only moments later the first wisps of fog pressed against the tavern’s windows like curious fingers.
And were those tiny ice crystals forming against the glass?
“Solrun,” he called to the tavern keeper, reaching for his coin purse. “What do I owe you?”
“The usual, my lord.”
Distracted by a faint, faraway sound, not unlike music, Njord paid her and got up.
“We’re leaving.”
Solrun glanced warily toward the fog-shrouded windows, but Thori seemed relieved to get out of the tavern. Again, he followed Njord without questioning.
When they stepped outside, they were greeted by damp and cold. Not unusual weather for Nóatún even during summer, but the abruptness of the weather change had Njord on edge.
Thori tilted his head, listening.
“Is someone playing the talharpa?”
Njord heard it too. A bowed lyre played with an otherworldly skill that made his skin crawl with ancient recognition.
“Don’t listen,” he ordered, grabbing Thori by the arm and pulling him toward the fortress.
The music got louder, wilder, a haunting melody accompanied by an eerie howling that raised the hair on Njord’s forearms.
N?kken.
“What is that?” Thori turned toward the harbor, already obscured from view by the thickening fog.
“Don’t listen!”
But it was already too late. He tried to pull Thori along, but his thrall stumbled and stopped. His eyes, which had been alert and confused just moments before, now held a distant, dreamy quality that made Njord’s blood run cold.
The fog was thick as Niflheim’s shroud now, muffling all sound except for that damned lyre music. Thori took a step toward the sound drifting up from the harbor, then another.
“No.” Njord wrapped an arm around Thori’s waist, holding him back. “Fight it, god of thunder. You’re stronger than them.”
But Thori didn’t seem to hear him. He wriggled in Njord’s grip like a fish trying to slip from the fisherman’s clutches.
The music grew louder, hungrier, and Njord caught a glimpse of something moving in the fog, pale and sinuous, with eyes like drowned stars. A n?kk had come hunting, drawn perhaps by Thori’s golden presence.
“Thori!”
Njord shook him, but Thori only uttered a soft, dreamy sound and continued reaching for whatever vision the n?kk had placed in his mind.
“Damn it, thrall, listen to me!”
The music swelled, and Thori nearly twisted out of his grip. Njord needed to do something, and fast. Gripping him more firmly to adjust for his struggling, Njord pressed his lips to Thori’s ear.
“Vakna tú, Tór, sonur óeins. Heyr kall mitt.”
Instinctively, he reached for the old tongue, the language of binding and command that all gods understood in their bones.
For a horrible moment, Thori didn’t react. Then he blinked, some of the dreamy haze clearing from his eyes.
“Njord?”
His voice was thick and confused, but he was present again.
“I’m here, elskan.” Tightening his grip, Njord half-carried, half-dragged him through the fog toward where he knew the path back to the fortress lay. “Stay with me. Nothing else is of importance to you.”
The n?kk’s call grew more insistent, the lyre music turning sharp and discordant as it realized its prey was escaping. Something brushed against them in the mist, cold and wet and disgusting like seaweed, but Njord pressed onward, using his knowledge of Nóatún’s steep paths to navigate blind.
Thori stumbled along beside him, fighting the enchantment with visible effort.
“What—what is this thing?”
“A water spirit. A n?kk. They lure their victims into the deep water to drown.”
“I can hear—singing—” Thori’s voice turned dreamy again, and he tried to turn back toward the sound.
“No.” Njord caught his face in one hand, pulling him closer with his arm around his waist and forcing Thori to look at him instead of the swirling mist. “Look at me. Only at me. Follow my voice.”
Something flickered in Thori’s eyes, but he still swayed. The n?kk called again, closer now, and Thori winced as if in pain.
“It’s so beautiful,” he whispered. “I need—I need to know where it’s coming from.”
“The only thing you need to do is find the way back to my halls,” Njord snarled, drawing on every ounce of his divine authority. “You belong to me now, remember? And I won’t let a simple water spirit steal what’s mine!”
Thori’s gaze sharpened slightly, and a lovely flush rose on his cheeks.
“Njord,” he mumbled weakly before he hid his face against Njord’s chest.
He was still mostly dead weight in Njord’s arms, but he let himself be dragged forward, his resistance broken.
They reached the fortress gates just as the fog lifted, revealing glimpses of churning water far below, where something pale and hungry circled in the waves. The n?kk let out one final, frustrated howl before the mist dissipated entirely, taking the deadly music with it.
Thori collapsed in Njord’s arms as soon as they were safely within the courtyard, his face pale.
“What happened? I felt like I was dreaming while awake.”
“N?kken are of old magic,” Njord said, running gentle hands over Thori’s shoulders. “Old as the waves, they feed on the warmth of living, breathing things, usually by drowning their victims. They lure them into the water with their music.”
Thori looked up at him with something like wonder.
“But you called me back. I heard your voice even through the music.”
Njord felt heat creep up his neck. He had spoken to Thori in the binding tongue, had used words that implied care and protection.
“You responded to my command,” he said gruffly, turning his head to hide his embarrassment. “As you should.”
Thori nodded slowly, but he didn’t move away from where he was still clinging to Njord, warm and safe and his.
“Thank you,” Thori said quietly. “For bringing me back.”
“Don’t read too much into it. I told you I’d keep you safe. I meant it.”
As they stood there in the courtyard, the sun finally breaking through the last wisps of fog, Njord couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing his iron grip on his feelings.
But he couldn’t allow himself to care for his enemy. He needed to regain control of the situation.