Chapter 19
The Western Woods
A smile played on Rey’s lips as he watched Hekla take charge of the contingent of warriors with a squirrel perched on her shoulder.
First, she’d directed them to the burnt remains of Istré so they could search the Bloodaxe Crew’s wagon.
While the wagon and most of its contents were burnt beyond recognition, thankfully, the rhodium blades Magnus had provided them in Reykfjord had weathered the fire.
This metal had proven particularly lethal to vampire deer and other creatures of darkness, and Rey guessed that they would be useful in the upcoming days.
After gathering the weapons, Hekla had ordered them to have their torches at the ready.
And then they rode southward for an hour.
This farmstead, Hekla had explained, was where she’d seen the first Spiral Stave carved into a tree and followed a trail of them into the grove where Kritka’s mistress slumbered.
Rey stared hard at the symbol carved into the scaly trunk of a pine.
The Spiral Stave was the Volsiks’ sigil.
When Magnus had first mentioned the symbol scrawled near the Klaernar’s corpses, Rey had thought its purpose was to incense King Ivar’s anger.
Kritka, meanwhile, claimed the symbols were left by his mistress as a plea for help.
But if this was true, Rey wondered who, precisely, the Forest Maiden had been calling for.
Long had the Western Woods remained a mystery.
Much like Harpa’s tales of the Forest Maiden, her stories of the woods were equally mysterious—trails twisting until children grew helplessly lost, hollows leading to new worlds, and hills that proved to be slumbering giants.
And then there were the groves of magical hjarta trees, so enormous that their roots burrowed down to the deepest depths, and their branches reached up like fingertips grazing the clouds.
Rey didn’t know if any of it was true. But as he stared into the shadowy veil of the woods, he knew for certain that there were things more ancient than the gods within.
Rey trudged after Sigrún into the Western Woods.
For an hour, they followed a trail of Spiral Staves deeper into the forest. With each passing step, it became clear things in the woods were not right.
Just as Hekla had described, the underbrush was dead, and though the taller trees lived, they were leached of all color.
But most unnerving of all was the unnatural silence.
Where were the chattering birds, the small woodland creatures?
It was only their group, trampling dead foliage.
Finally they broke through a heavy thicket of brambles into a glade, and Hekla announced they’d arrived.
The clearing was carpeted with vibrant green grass, the air light and clean. It was obvious that whatever malevolence clung to the woods was excluded from this clearing.
Before them stood a tree. Thick-trunked, its twisted branches clawed upward, a few yellowed leaves clinging to them. Rey blinked in astonishment. The tree’s gnarled bark was twisted into a central spiral with eight branching arms. It was, unmistakably, a Spiral Stave.
Rey’s mind leaped immediately to Silla. If Kritka’s mistress was calling for help, was it possible she called to the Volsiks?
Nausea churned in his stomach as he thought of all Silla faced in Kopa right now—the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, a missing sister and a god of chaos to contend with. Should he have brought her?
Kritka chittered from the tree’s highest branch, and Hekla stepped forward. But Eyvind put a hand on her forearm, head bowing toward hers as he spoke in a low voice.
“Must it be you?”
Hekla shook Eyvind off with a glare. “I gave Kritka my word, and I shall see it through.”
With a hard swallow, Eyvind drew his sword. “Then I give you mine that I shall guard your back.”
A glowering Gunnar elbowed his way through the warriors, drawing his own weapon. “As shall I.”
Rey struggled not to roll his eyes at the pair of fools.
Instead, he focused his gaze on Hekla. She drew her dagger and slashed it through her palm.
A long moment of silence stretched out as the blood pooled.
And then Hekla began drawing symbols on the tree’s trunk, checking for Kritka’s approval at intervals.
At last, she stepped forward, placed her palm on the Spiral Stave, and spoke words that seemed quiet and loud, all at once.
“Wild One, we call to you.”
Dry leaves rustled, like fingernails on wood.
Wind whispered through the clearing, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine needles; of sunbaked rocks and frosted grass.
A vibration built beneath their feet, the warriors calling out in surprise as it grew in intensity, building to a shuddering crescendo.
The old tree groaned in protest, the last of its leaves fluttering to the ground.
And then, with a sound like snapping bones, the tree split down the middle.
Several moments passed as Rey tried to get his bearings. Aside from the split tree, nothing seemed to have changed. But then a small sound escaped Hekla, and she crawled to the base of the tree. Eyvind cocked his head to the side and a groove formed between Gunnar’s brows, but Rey couldn’t see…
The vibration was back deep under his boots, shaking his bones.
Rey glanced around, wondering if anyone else had felt it.
But their gazes were fixed on Hekla, who now stood and turned.
In her cupped hands was a tiny sleeping woman.
Her green skin was patterned like tree bark, her clothing made of moss and woven grass.
Miniature antlers sprouted from her brow, while a white foxlike tail curved around her back.
Rey’s gaze flitted to Kritka, still, somehow, perched in the tree. “This is the Forest Maiden?”
Kritka chittered.
“It is only part of our mistress,” Hekla translated. Her head whipped back to the squirrel. “Wait, what?” When Kritka did not reply, Hekla demanded, “Explain.”
The air seemed to shiver. Rey glanced over his shoulder but found nothing amiss.
The squirrel chittered again, and Hekla raked a hand through her hair. “You did not tell me there was another part of her to awaken, you insolent creature!”
“Another part?” Eyvind scowled. “How many, rodent?”
Kritka’s nose twitched. “One more,” Hekla translated. Her expression turned thunderous. “The other part is where?” But the squirrel’s head cocked to the side, and he held himself still, as though listening. “It knows,” Hekla interpreted.
“What knows?” asked Thrand Long Sword, shifting nervously.
But the vibration beneath Rey’s boots grew more pronounced, and he now realized it came in rhythmic throbs.
“The mist,” said Rey. He swallowed hard. “The mist is coming.”