Chapter 33
The Western Woods
For Hekla, the days blended together as they traveled through the Western Woods toward the grove housing the second half of the Forest Maiden’s consciousness.
The forest was dense and thick, the essence of the leech ever-present—from the faint lingering rot that hung in the air to the brittle foliage drained of color.
The only sign of animals was the occasional flap of wings.
When investigated, more often than not the culprit was a Turned raven with torn, leathery wings.
Maddeningly, the ravens only watched with their glowing ember eyes, screeching angrily when Sigrún fired an arrow their way.
To pass the time, Gunnar had taken up Ilías’s old role as camp prankster.
The snake-like vine he’d left in Thrand’s bedroll had drawn the exact response Gunnar had wanted—after sliding into bed, Long Sword had shrieked like a little girl and leaped to his feet.
After five minutes had passed with no sign of a serpent, Long Sword’s tale had only grown taller.
“As thick as a tree trunk and slimy as an eel,” he’d insisted, gesturing to the darkness. “Fortune shines upon me, lads—had it bit me, I’d be food for the ravens.” And after that, even Eyvind had taken to shaking out his bedroll at night while Gunnar snickered from behind his flask of brennsa.
Perched on her shoulder, Kritka continued his quest to “bulk up for the winter,” gnawing on any provision he could get his paws on while dispensing terrible love advice.
Leaving food in red mate’s nest will show that Protector cares, and females are known on some occasions to perform the mating strut as well. Kritka can show Protector how it is done.
The Forest Maiden slumbered more often than she was awake, a fact that Kritka attributed to the severe energy drain that came from reshaping the woods.
Thrand had added increasingly elaborate modifications to the Forest Maiden’s sling—higher sides to act as a windbreak, a pillow made from his spare tunic.
On they walked as their rations dwindled and their blisters grew. Hekla heard the grumbles of Eyvind’s men—saw the wariness in their eyes. They’d signed up for a battle, not to traipse endlessly through the woods.
Slowly, the doubts grew in her mind. Was she leading them on a fool’s quest?
Would the Forest Maiden truly be able to muster creatures to aid in their battle?
Would Rey be able to gather enough warriors in Kopa?
And how would Silla be able to defeat this vile, parasitic leech that seemed to have infiltrated each plant—each blade of grass—in this forest?
Even Eyvind’s laughing hazel eyes grew more somber, though she felt them track her every movement.
Felt the words he wished to speak piling up between them.
It was impossible not to recall how well the man had learned her body in the span of an evening—even harder to forget the feeling of sharing her innermost secrets with him.
Slowly, she felt herself softening to the idea of hearing him out, and the realization terrified her.
Hekla had to remind herself on a daily basis that he’d deceived her the entire time—Eyvind Hakonsson was betrothed to another. The thought drew her ire without fail. Did the fool think she’d never discover it? That Hekla would happily be with him while another woman took his name?
One night, after leaving Kritka to bury his dinner, Hekla headed out to collect firewood. As she walked, she heard Eyvind and Thrand speaking in low tones. It was wrong for her to listen, and yet, she could not help herself.
“I’m giving her space as she’s requested, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something more.”
“Perhaps it is time for a grand gesture,” Thrand was saying.
Already, Hekla did not like the sounds of it.
Thrand spread his arms wide. “You must write her a poem.”
“A poem?” Eyvind’s voice was rightfully filled with skepticism.
“Aye. A skaldic rendition to woo the thorniest of roses.”
Hekla wrinkled her nose.
“Fair maiden of the slaughter arm, let me plunder thy golden ring with my battle spear—”
Eyvind snorted. “Battle spear?”
“One-eyed serpent of the breeches. Boar sword. Hammer of thy seed.”
Hekla heard Thrand’s soft oof as Eyvind landed a blow of some kind. “You’ll get me butchered!”
Scowling, Thrand rubbed his shoulder. “I’ve had great success with my poetry.”
Hekla could only imagine what kind of brainless woman would fall for such things. Eyvind’s sigh was comically loud, and for a moment, Hekla’s lips curved up. But then she remembered the last time she’d overheard these two, when she’d discovered that Eyvind was betrothed.
As though really trying to drive home the point, pain speared up her residual limb.
Her pains had grown worse throughout this trek through the woods.
It was probably due to her exhaustion, but each stabbing sensation seemed a reminder of all that was at stake, each low throb a reminder of why she’d created her rules in the first place.
No soft sentiments.
Do not spend the night.
And no matter what, she would never again let a man have power over her.
With her thoughts put firmly back into her skull, Hekla kicked off the tree and continued down the trail.
Kritka was curled against her neck when they came across the horde. Hekla’s focus was trained on the tree roots along the trail rather than her surroundings. But when she nearly ran into Sigrún’s back, and the squirrel’s surprise caused him to claw her shoulder, Hekla’s senses quickly sharpened.
“What is it?” she whispered, trying to see around their group.
Human draugur, signed Sigrún. A lot of them.
Hekla made her way to the front of the line, edging up beside Eyvind. They stood on the forested edge of a cliff, looking out over an endless expanse of pinewoods below.
“Down there,” whispered Eyvind, his heated breath on her cheek making her pulse accelerate.
But as Hekla caught motion in the forest below, her heart pounded for a different reason. Slowly, the figures distinguished themselves into a horde of draugur. There were more than a hundred undead men, women, and children moving like ants among the trees.
Hekla’s hand slid to the hilt of her sword as she watched the draugur heading south.
“They’re unaware of our presence,” hissed Thrand, who’d emerged on her other side. The Forest Maiden slumbered peacefully in the sling hanging from the warrior’s neck. “This is our chance to take them out,” Thrand continued. “To stop them from reaching their destination—”
We must not be diverted, Kritka chattered in Hekla’s mind, and she repeated the squirrel’s thoughts aloud.
Thrand shifted in agitation. “It has been too many long days spent marching. Too many days of doing nothing.”
A whispered chorus of agreements joined him, and the air seemed to thicken with the hunger for battle.
Hekla felt it herself—felt her hand tightening once more around her sword’s hilt.
But she paused. “We cannot afford to lose a single warrior,” she told them.
“And aside from that, we do not wish to draw the leech’s attention onto us. ”
Group cannot be diverted, said Kritka in her mind.
Hekla forced her grip on her sword to loosen as she repeated the squirrel’s orders to the group. She wanted to descend into the valley. Chase down the horde. Spill their foul black blood on the forest floor—
“It is likely a trap,” murmured Hekla, trying to shake the battle lust from her mind. “The leech wants to lure us away from our quest.”
“And why should we not grant those poor souls the long death?” demanded Thrand.
Hekla scowled at the lout. “We agreed to see this quest through, Long Sword. After we complete our task with the Forest Maiden, you can slay all the draugur your heart desires.”
Thrand glanced at the slumbering Forest Maiden and sighed. Then he jostled the warrior to his left. “You heard the woman!”
One by one, the warriors turned away from the horde.
And on they marched.