Chapter 27 The Bog Mother’s Hunger #2
Thori turned and faced a n?kk. The creature wore a man’s face, beautiful and terrible, its skin pale like bright seashells.
Clawed hands reached for Thori’s throat.
He twisted at the last second, his movements sluggish underwater.
Desperate, he reached for Njord’s water powers and plunged into a pool of pure force he hadn’t expected.
A surge of water carried the n?kk back into the abyss.
But there were more. Two shadows, four, circling like sea-wolves.
Spinning, Thori called to the waves, begging them to carry the enemies away, and Njord’s power came to him again like a lover’s embrace. He wielded the powerful currents like he would’ve wielded his lightning, thunder echoing from above, and the n?kken were dragged away, shrieking.
But where the n?kken had vanished, a green glow joined the heartbeat. There were only seconds left before the lake would spit out its awful inhabitant.
Thori hacked at his father’s bonds, not caring if he hurt him, as long as he could free him from this underwater nightmare.
And suddenly, Odin was free, floating in the dark waters.
He dragged him to the surface, swimming with desperate strokes. Frigga met him, standing waist deep in the water, although she looked pale and ready to topple over, and they hauled Odin to shore together.
“He’s breathing,” Frigga gasped. “We have to get him away from the Bog Mother, Thori, now.”
Thori turned to the lake.
The water was boiling, glowing a sick green.
The Bog Mother was rising.
“Get Father to the treeline,” Thori said, already rushing to Njord’s side.
“Thori, no!” Frigga’s tone was pleading. “She’s more dangerous than anything you’ve faced before.”
All the more reason to not let Njord face her alone.
Thori called to his lightning, ready to strike.
And froze.
The Bog Mother emerged from the depths, but she was nothing like Thori had expected.
She wore the body of a young maiden. Beautiful and innocent. Bone-white skin and waves of silvery hair and eyes the color of wood violets that fixed Njord with unrestrained hunger. Thori stepped half in front of him instinctively.
The Bog Mother smiled with too-sharp white teeth.
“Ah, my descendants, lesser gods of a weak age. Have you come to welcome my reign?”
“Your era has passed,” Njord said. “You were woken by a priestess’ misguided ambition, but now you can go back to sleep.”
The Bog Mother’s gaze snapped to Njord, and she sniffed the air like a hungry bear scenting blood. Thori shifted closer to Njord’s side, letting her see sparks of lightning dancing along his blade.
“Descendant,” she purred, eyes locked on Njord. “You can be of use to me.”
“I’m Vanir, and you don’t belong to my clan.”
Her laughter made Thori bristle. What was she insinuating by her talk of descendants as if she were some kind of mother goddess to them all? She was neither of the AEsir nor Vanir, Thori could tell. She was ancient and other, powerful and terrifying, but also shockingly like them.
She pointed at Njord, and the water of the lake rose in tendrils that moved as fast as snakes.
Njord countered her attack, but to Thori’s horror, he seemed to struggle to get a grip on the water. How could he not control his very own element?
The water slung around Njord’s legs and torso like tentacles.
“Come to me, son of the sea. Give me your power, your domain. Let me be you.”
What?
Njord’s form flickered, and for a horrifying moment, it seemed like there was something coiling underneath his skin like an alternative version of himself, ready to manifest itself into this realm.
“No,” Njord said, but his voice was distant somehow, the clear color of his eyes drowned out by a reddish hue.
Norns, she was trying to overtake Njord’s domain! His body!
He needed to stop her.
Surging forward, Thori let his thunder lift him up. This was the lake of Myrmóeir, so her hort must be close. The fabulous artefacts Father had spoken of. And weapons of immense magical power.
He was flying, carried by storm and thunder, crossing the lake and landing on the shore right on the other side. He rolled, coming to his feet running, and sprinted toward a half-sunken chariot he spotted behind Svanhild and her remaining volur.
Lifting her delicate hands, Svanhild started chanting, but her eyes were wide with shock. She clearly hadn’t expected anyone to reach her on the far side of the lake, and Thori pushed down the instinctual fear of her rotten seier to surge past her.
He stumbled on the muddy ground but didn’t stop, running straight for the chariot.
“No,” Svanhild gasped, her seier reaching out for him.
Thori twisted and ducked behind one of the chariot’s wheels at the last second.
Svanhild’s seier struck the carriage, making splinters of white-washed planks rain down on him.
He barely felt them bite into his skin. Because there, beneath a white cloth thrown across the bed of the cart and among the golden treasures glittering underneath, something was calling to him.
His thunder was singing in his veins, reaching out for a leather-bound hilt protruding from the gold.
“No,” Svanhild screamed. “No! Don’t you dare!”
But Thori had no intention of obeying her.
He surged forward, his hand closing around the hilt, yanking the weapon free. He’d expected an ax, maybe a sword, but what he lifted instead was the most beautiful weapon he’d ever seen.
A hammer.
Covered in runes and decorated with golden inlays.
The hilt was a little too short, but the weapon lay perfectly in Thori’s hand, nonetheless. As if it had been made specifically for him.
Whirling around, Thori faced Svanhild and the Bog Mother behind her. Lightning danced along the hammer’s heavy head, and Thori felt it enhancing his power in a way he’d never experienced before.
On the other side of the lake, Ahti and Frigga had flanked Njord, and Thori sensed how their combined seier held the Bog Mother at bay. Barely.
Just as Thori turned, the ancient goddess roared a spell that threw Ahti and Frigga on their backs and sent Njord to his knees. She laughed, prowling ashore like a polar bear closing in on its prey.
And she went straight for Njord.
Thori ran.
Lightning split the sky as he leaped, jumping across the lake in one powerful movement, the hammer raised high.
He struck her water-tentacles, and they exploded into spray, the Bog Mother shrieking as her hold on Njord shattered.
Thori landed between him and the Bog Mother, lifting his hammer again.
“How dare you?” she hissed, her violet eyes blazing with murderous fury.
But Thori wouldn’t back down. He swung again, sending lightning her way, and the Bog Mother staggered backwards, surprise flickering across her too-perfect face. For the first time, she looked almost mortal.
“Njord?”
Thori took an anxious glance over his shoulder, finding Njord frozen in place, his eyes still clouded with that awful red tint. Whatever she’d done to him, it hadn’t let go.
Sending another bout of lightning her way, Thori forced her to stumble a few more steps backwards. That was all he needed. He dropped to his knees beside Njord, cupping his face with one hand while keeping the hammer raised like a barrier toward the Bog Mother.
But Njord didn’t react, his gaze vacant and his breath shallow.
“Njord,” Thori whispered urgently. “Master. Beloved. Come back to me. Don’t let her win.”
Njord blinked slowly, unfocused, and Thori kissed him.
He tasted salt and storm and Njord. Warm and alive and his. So Thori poured everything he had into that kiss, every unspoken word, every moment of trust and terror, and this terrifying feeling that he couldn’t be without Njord anymore.
Njord gasped as if suddenly coming up for air, his hands flying up to cup Thori’s face in return. The red drained from his eyes like blood washed away by moving water until they were clear and blue again.
“Thori—”
“I’m here.”
The Bog Mother screamed, high and terrible, and Thori looked up just as she lunged for them.
But Njord was already moving, rolling them to the side, and helping Thori regain his footing.
Njord’s power surged, and the water of the lake rose to his command.
Together, they struck. Lightning and water, storm and sea.
The hammer sang in Thori’s hands as he channeled his power through it, and Njord’s tsunami crashed down on the ancient goddess as if the sea itself had risen, not only the waters of a muddy bog lake.
Thori could feel his mother’s seier and Ahti’s mighty water power joining them, and the force of their combined attack drove the Bog Mother back, away from the shore, deeper into the lake.
“Go back into your marshy grave,” Ahti roared.
And Thori hurled more lightning at the Bog Mother, hitting her squarely in the chest.
Her beautiful face twisted with rage, and then she was sinking, dissolving; her human body turning into mist and marsh-gas.
The lake swallowed her whole.
A horrible shriek echoed across the water like the dying breath of a huge bird.
And then there was silence.
Thori grasped Njord’s hand, sighing in relief. Looking over to the opposite shore, the chariot was still there, but Svanhild was gone. She’d fled, taking her remaining volur with her.
“We should go after her,” Thori said to Njord.
“Yes.”
Njord moved toward the shore, his gaze scanning the foggy forest on the other side.
“Thori.” Frigga touched his sleeve, pulling him into an embrace.
Thori hugged her back, relieved his mother was well, but as her arms closed around him, he felt her casting.
“Mom, wait—”
But her seier was already wrapping around him like silken chains. He tried to fight it, to pull away, but Frigga’s magic was too strong, too desperate. She was taking them home. Taking him back to Asgard.
“No!” He reached for Njord, who whirled around, face going white with understanding. “Njord—”
Their fingers brushed, and then the world tilted.
The last thing Thori saw before the seier swallowed him was Njord’s stricken expression. Anger, and something that almost looked like fear.
Then there was only the rainbow light of the Bifrost, and his mother’s voice soft in his ear.
“Don’t fight it, Thori. We’re going home.”