Chapter 16
Ruins of Istré, near the Western Woods
Rey dreamed of Silla.
She reclined in the grass, moonflowers adorning her curls and starlight shining in her eyes.
“Together,” she whispered, tracing the dragon tattooed across his chest. “Frightened together.”
The words lit a hearthfire deep in his chest, heating him all the way through. Soft fingertips trailed up his biceps then slid into his beard before pulling him down to her. And when Rey’s lips met hers, it felt like coming home.
He woke in a cold bedroll, a stone digging into his back and the scent of Istré’s charred ruins heavy in his nose. Beside him, one of Eyvind’s warriors snored loudly, and Rey stared at the darkness above, wondering if he’d ever felt so homesick in his life.
It was madness, of course. For weeks now, he’d longed to be here, in Istré, with his Bloodaxe brothers and sisters around him. It was his responsibility to finish what he’d started so many weeks ago. But now that he was here, he felt out of sorts.
Rey caught himself smiling at misshapen rocks, wishing Silla was here, pointing them out and humming incessantly.
The crook between his arm and side where she liked to nestle ached for her.
He’d lost his gods damned mind for this woman and needed to get his head on straight.
Too many people depended on him to get this job right.
Yet Rey couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. It was the strangest sensation—as though the once-straight threads of his fate had been rewoven into something meandering and ill-defined.
But he needed to see this job to the end. And the discovery that the mist had traveled so far from the Western Woods—that it had likely Turned an entire village draugur—had only solidified his decision. They had to discover the source of the mist and destroy it for good.
Rokksgarde, the draugur had said, and Rey could not stop puzzling over the name. Surely it was a location, and one linked to Rokkur. Where was it? And who was calling the draugur there?
It was pointless asking questions when there were no answers to be found. But Rey knew sleep would not find him again, so he dressed and made his way to the fire where Hekla sat on watch.
“Sent your falcon yet, Galtung?” She watched him from across the fire, and Rey had the sense she was testing him—trying to determine his suitability as a partner for her friend. After all Silla had weathered, Rey was glad she had a friend like Hekla.
He glanced to the cart Horse had pulled from Kopa, falcons dozing in the cage within.
He’d bribed Jarl Hakon’s falconer to borrow a dozen birds from the aviary.
Had weathered endless teasing from those he rode beside.
But Rey couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d promised Silla he’d write and had done so each morning.
And though Rey had raised the homing flag on the caravan, he had yet to receive a reply.
She was busy, he told himself. Was likely exhausted. And besides, she hadn’t promised to write him back.
“Haven’t given Gunnar an answer yet?” Rey shot back at Hekla.
Her sigh was weary. “You do not understand, Axe Eyes. You did not see him after…after…” She waved her left hand.
“You’re right,” he admitted, heaviness settling in his chest. When his identity as the Slátrari had been revealed to the whole of íseldur, hiding in Kalasgarde had been the only option for Rey.
He did not regret his choice, but he did regret that he hadn’t been there for his Crew in the aftermath of Ilías’s death and Jonas’s betrayal.
The Bloodaxe Crew was his responsibility and he’d let them down. Rey scrubbed a hand through his beard.
“Did Jonas truly…”
Rey met Hekla’s amber eyes across the fire. “Truly orchestrate a plan to kill us?” He sighed. “His grief has changed him—has warped his perception of honor and justice. He’s not the man we used to know.”
Grief grabbed him by the scruff and shook him, leaving Rey disoriented. The coldness in Jonas’s eyes had been startling. It was hard to reconcile the man he’d met in Svangormr Pass with the one who’d been his right hand for five long years. Now he mourned not only Ilías but Jonas, too.
A squirrel chittered from a tree overhead, and Rey stared up into the darkness.
The horizon was now a faint sliver of blue, and he guessed that first light would arrive within the hour.
Rey’s eyes narrowed, then darted back to the source of the chatter.
There had been no sign of any living thing on the road near Istré—unless one counted the Turned frost fox they’d swiftly dispatched.
“Patience,” muttered Hekla, drawing Rey’s attention. She’d pushed to her feet and now scowled up at the tree.
“What—” he started.
“It was not the right time to reveal it,” Hekla snapped. “You must be patient. I said I would do it today.”
And then Rey saw it—a small, twitchy figure, scrambling face-first down the tree. The squirrel paused, then unleashed a long string of chirrupy nonsense.
Slowly, Hekla turned to Rey. Raised her brows with a sort of weary acceptance. “This is Kritka. He wants to meet you. Says you have a curious smell.”
Rey was torn between barking out a laugh and sending Hekla back to Kopa to have her head examined. But then the squirrel bounded cautiously toward him. Once. Twice. Rey stared in disbelief as the small creature sniffed his boot, then stood on hind legs and scented the air.
“It seems you’ve held some details back, Hekla,” said Rey, unable to hide his amusement. He felt more than saw her scowl. “How long have you been able to speak to woodland creatures?”
Hekla released an exasperated sound. “Do you wonder why I did not tell you?”
“Curious, Hekla, I thought such skills were reserved for princesses in those tales from the Southern Continent.”
“You have my permission to bite him, Kritka.”
The squirrel hissed, launching itself upon Rey before he could react. Claws pierced through his breeches and into his flesh as it tried to climb him. With a shout of alarm, Rey toppled off his log, sprawling on his arse while trying to shake the creature free.
“That’s enough, Kritka,” said Hekla, looming over Rey with a satisfied smile. “I think the bjáni gets the point.”
The creature thankfully bounded away, and Rey sent it a suspicious look as he accepted Hekla’s hand up.
Hekla folded her arms, no trace of amusement left in her face. “When the mist trapped me, Kritka took the form of a grimwolf and saved me. Do not ask me how such a thing is possible, as I know it should not be. Now he seems to have…bound himself to me.”
Rey examined Kritka’s dark, beady eyes, ready to unsheathe his dagger should the rodent launch at him once more.
Anyone else, and he might not believe them.
Eternal fucking fires, a month ago he might not have believed it.
But he’d seen Hekla command the creature to attack him, and knew his friend too well to doubt her words.
Kritka turned to Hekla, making more vocalizations.
“I don’t know why he smells like the Protector.” Hekla looked at Rey and sighed. “I didn’t tell you about Kritka in Kopa because I needed you to see him with your own eyes. Do you recall the Klaernar sent to Istré to help deal with the mist?”
“The ones that ended up dead and strung to the pillars?” Rey asked.
Hekla nodded. “The murdered Klaernar were, Kritka claims, his mistress’s call for help.”
“The Spiral Staves?” Rey murmured. He tried to recall what else Magnus Hansson had said while detailing this job.
Klaernar strung on Ursir’s pillars by strange-looking vines…stabbed through the heart…a symbol written in blood, over and over. A Spiral Stave. He and Jonas had immediately suspected the Klaernar’s killer was altogether separate from the murderous mist. The squirrel’s story could fit.
“His mistress has since gone dormant, hiding herself in a tree. I know this sounds…mad…”
Rey quirked an eyebrow, and Hekla scowled.
“…but he claims his mistress is older than the gods. That she has great powers and knowledge. He begs that we wake her.”
“Who is your mistress, rodent?” Rey demanded, hardly able to believe he was talking to a gods damned squirrel.
Kritka released a flurry of rapid squirrel chatter, leaving Hekla throwing her hands in exasperation. “It is always the same—he gives me a dozen names that mean nothing to me. Wolf Mother and Pine Tree Hilda and the Forest Maiden—”
“Forest Maiden,” Rey repeated, his mind latching onto the name and trying to glean meaning.
“Does it mean something to you?”
He scowled into the flames, trying to recall the stories Harpa had told him and Kristjan as children. His grandmother’s stories had never been the comforting type to lull one into sleep. Instead, they’d been more likely to give one nightmares.
“She has tree bark skin and antlers on her brow,” he murmured. “And a bristly tail much like a fox’s. But her face is a thing of beauty, and she seduces men…leads them into the woods until they grow hopelessly lost and she can feast on their flesh.”
Kritka chittered, and Hekla translated. “He says only the stupid ones follow.”
Rey choked on a laugh. “I suppose so. But I thought she was only a story—a tale to keep children away from the woods and men from straying from their wives.”
Hekla shrugged. “A month ago, I’d not have believed it. But I’ve seen too much not to consider that this irritating squirrel and his mistress might be allies. At the very least, they know the forest and might help us find the source of the mist.”
She watched him expectantly, and Rey realized she was waiting for his take. He cleared his throat. “It sounds like a lead worth chasing,” he said slowly. “What do you need from me?”
Hekla’s eyes glinted in the firelight, her lips curving up at the corners. “You know, I think I might have missed you, Axe Eyes.”
He snorted.
“No, truly. It’s exhausting trying to keep all the arselings in line.”
“I hear it was you needing to be put in line.”
“Only because I refused to abide Loftur’s bloody rules.”
“ ’Tis a damned good thing you didn’t.” Rey smiled ruefully. “I think leadership suits you.”
The moment he said it, the words felt right. He’d seen it when she’d taken charge in the village. Was this why he felt out of sorts? Like he no longer quite fit? But a baffled expression crossed Hekla’s face.
“You held the Bloodaxe Crew together. Took charge of the situation in Istré.” He thought of the camaraderie he’d seen between Hekla and Eyvind’s retinue.
She’d gained their trust and respect, a hard-won thing for a woman warrior.
And he realized with sudden clarity what a natural-born leader Hekla was. Why hadn’t he seen it before?
A twig snapped behind them, and a red-cloaked figure approached. Firelight caught on Eyvind’s sleep-mussed hair, a pair of waterskins held in his hand.
“I filled your waterskins, Lynx.”
“Lynx?” Rey asked, glancing between them. Hekla had grown rigidly still.
“You know, Galtung,” said Eyvind, eyeing Rey. “The Bloodaxe Crew’s wagon is among Istré’s ruins. You ought to go find it and have a look.”
Rey’s eyes narrowed. “If you want time alone, then just ask.”
He pushed to his feet, but Hekla beat him to it. She snatched the waterskins from Eyvind, averting her gaze as she said, “I’ll go look. You two stay.”
Eyvind watched her retreat with a look of disappointment before sinking onto the log next to Rey’s. “How long do you think it’ll take her to give me a chance to explain?”
“Hekla is not as hard as she wants the world to see her.” Rey picked up a piece of wood and nestled it into the fire. “And she knows how to hold a grudge.”
Eyvind sighed, then smiled. “Then I suppose I’ll have to be dogged in my pursuit. ’Tis a good thing I enjoy a challenge.” He brightened. “What else did I miss?”
Rey released a long, slow breath. “Only that tomorrow we shall follow a squirrel into the woods and release his mistress from a tree.”
Eyvind’s gaze swung to Rey. “Ah,” he said, without missing a beat. “You met Kritka.”