Chapter 55
The Western Woods
Hekla dreamed of trees so tall, they scraped the skies; of wolves the size of horses.
She strode into the grove that marked the heart of the woods.
Life and pure vigor flowed all around her.
For a moment, she could see every minute happening in the forest: the way the hjarta tree on her right gifted nutrients through an underground labyrinth to the sapling on her left; the raven who knocked cones from the canopy, scattering seeds below; the insects tilling the soil and the mushrooms feasting on the detritus of the forest.
But then she saw it all reverse—the hjarta tree pulling life from the sapling until it became a brittle skeleton of itself. Then came the mist—and the raven’s form was breaking, shifting, re-forming into something new. Misshapen wings, glowing red eyes, talons that longed to tear into flesh.
She woke with a start, the decaying scent of the woods heavy in her nose. But there was also something else—someone else. Eyvind. Her cheek pressed against the firm muscles of his back. In sleep, she’d curled further into him, seeking the heat of his body.
As Hekla shifted, a symphony of aches rose up within her—sharp and hot from the wound in her thigh, dull and throbbing at the base of her skull. River stones and pine needles dug into her hip, and her stomach growled loudly. But none of it mattered, because the skin against her cheek was warm.
Eyvind had survived the night.
Consumed by emotion she refused to examine, Hekla wriggled herself up into a sitting position.
Carefully, she peeled back Eyvind’s bandage and inspected his wound.
Morning light filtered through the open end of their shelter, illuminating the swelling, reddened skin along his side.
Her stitches were uneven, and not perfectly tight.
But the bleeding had stopped and Eyvind’s breaths came in a slow, even rhythm.
Blinking furiously, Hekla climbed to her feet.
Goosebumps broke out across her skin, making her overtly aware that she was completely nude.
She climbed over Eyvind and added several pieces of wood to the fire before assessing the clothing she’d laid out the night before.
Though cold to the touch, the thinner woolen layers had mostly dried. Eagerly, she climbed into her clothing.
“Liked you better without it,” mumbled a voice.
Hekla’s gaze darted to Eyvind, and then she was rushing, falling to her knees, words tumbling from her. “Thank the gods,” and, “I didn’t know if you’d make it through the night,” and, “Don’t you ever do that again, you reckless arse.”
Eyvind squinted at her with a dopey smile. “Awful lot of trouble you’ve gone to just to see me naked.”
Hekla was too glad to hear his voice to let his words irritate her. “You frightened me.”
Eyvind’s smile fell to something softer. “I’m fine, Lynx.”
She flinched at the name. “What were you thinking, trying to bait that spider away—”
“I could read the plans written all over your face. Perhaps you are jealous I got there first.”
Eyvind grunted as he tried to rise to a sitting position, but Hekla was there, looping an arm around his shoulder.
“Let me help you.” Hekla eased him upright while trying not to look down at his extremely naked body. “Better?” she asked.
Eyvind nodded, watching her intently. “Where’s your arm?”
Hekla glanced down at her undertunic, right sleeve hanging empty.
“I-it was lost in the water,” she said glumly.
Being without her arm—without the added protection of her claws—felt like a part of her very being was missing, but Hekla tried for a flippant air.
“Pity, we’ve been through much, that arm and I. ”
Somehow she knew he saw straight through her words. “We’ll find it,” Eyvind assured her. And a foolish part of her was delighted at his use of the word “we.”
Giving herself a mental shake, Hekla fetched a waterskin and portion of salt cod, then handed them to Eyvind.
For a moment, they chewed in companionable silence, Hekla trying to ignore the warm prickles rushing down her spine.
It was impossible to forget that she knew the stories of his scars and the wobbly dragon tattoo on his naked torso.
Even more impossible to forget the pleasure that body had wrought from hers.
Instead, she tried to focus on the miraculous—Eyvind had survived the night; he was now sitting up and eating. Hours ago, this had felt impossible.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
Hekla’s jaw hardened as she tried to gauge the time. “It’s been a full night, plus half a day. By now they’ll have freed the Forest Maiden’s other half and be well on their way to the heartwood.”
“It is just the two of us, then.”
“Mmm.” She kept her gaze on the fire, but felt him watching her.
“All I had to do to get you alone was to be impaled by a man-eating spider and go over a waterfall.”
She refused to smile at that, but could not keep her gaze from sliding his way.
“Hekla, I’ve tried to give you space, but—”
Panic sliced through her, and she pushed abruptly to her feet.
Eyvind’s exhale was long and heavy. “I thought your anger was directed at me, that you only needed time. But now I realize I was wrong. This has gone on too long for that.”
Her stomach was twisting itself into knots. “Stop,” she whispered, pressing fingertips to her temples.
But the fool persisted. “What happened between us frightened you—”
“Stop!”
Her words echoed off the trees surrounding the riverbank, but the sound was no match for her thundering heartbeat. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t speak of it.
Hekla snatched Eyvind’s dried undertunic and flung it at him. “Get dressed.” She turned her back to him, refusing to glance his way. “Do you think you can walk?”
“Aye,” he said, his disappointment making her insides wrench tighter.
“Good,” she forced out. “We’re out of time. Three nights remain before the full Marra. It might be impossible to catch the others, but still, we must try.”
Eyvind’s breaths grew labored as he tried to work his tunic over his head. A pang of worry struck Hekla, and she turned—keeping her gaze above his shoulders—to help him slide it on.
“My breeches,” he mumbled somberly, and she felt like she’d kicked an injured puppy. “Could you help with those, too?”
Hekla’s teeth clamped together. “Fine,” she seethed. As she helped him pull his breeches on, Hekla’s body and mind were at war with each other. Why couldn’t she do this? Why couldn’t she hear him out?
Because, her stupid, logical mind informed her, you’re afraid you’ll forgive him.
After a minute or two of careful shifting, Eyvind belted his breeches in place, and Hekla helped him stand.
“Your handiwork?” he asked, nodding at the blood-matted side of his tunic.
“Aye.”
“Impressive,” said Eyvind. “Very well.” He sighed. “Lead the way.”
They trudged along the riverbank, glancing frequently at the sun to ensure they traveled due north. Their pace was slow, and they rested often. Hekla checked the gash on Eyvind’s side, replacing the moss and tearing the last remnants of her overtunic to prepare fresh bandages.
The pair quickly gave up on the concept of boiling their water, as they had no pot with which to do so.
Thankfully, the river’s flow was far quicker than the thin lazy brooks elsewhere in the woods.
Still, Hekla and Eyvind had shared an apprehensive look before taking the first sip.
A day soon passed, though, and neither fell dead, nor did they suffer any maladies.
As darkness fell, Eyvind kindled a fire with his galdur, and they curled side by side for warmth at night. Whether by his Ashbringer skill or something else, Eyvind held the heat rather well. And sandwiched between him and a campfire, Hekla fell into an easy sleep.
The woods were wholly empty, and even more unnerving.
“Where are the ravens?” Hekla asked. Two days had passed since they’d gone over the waterfall, and her hopes of catching the others were dwindling by the hour. “Where is that…feeling that the leech is watching?”
Eyvind crouched by the river, filling their waterskins. His wound was healing nicely, his strength rebounding more each day. Now he glanced at the indigo skies peeking through the canopy above. “Perhaps it has called its attention elsewhere.”
Frustration rolled through Hekla as her gaze fell on Marra. One day. A single day remained before the full moon. They’d be too late.
A helpless sort of anger rushed through her. This was her job—the one she’d spent countless days and sleepless nights laboring over. To think she wouldn’t be there to help fight the monstrous tree and its undead army was absolutely maddening.
Hekla jabbed their campfire in frustration, sending sparks skyward. With a sigh, she sank back on her left elbow to prop her boots next to the flames.
“Cold?” Eyvind handed her a waterskin then sank down beside her.
“Only my toes,” Hekla lied. The farther north they traveled, the colder it got. She stared into the flames, her body and mind alike exhausted, but as Eyvind reached for her boot, she jerked away. “What are you doing?”
Eyvind raised a thick black brow, his hazel eyes dancing in the firelight.
“Warming your toes.” Reluctantly she acquiesced, and he pulled her boot free.
As his hand—unnaturally warmed with his Ashbringer galdur—made contact with her foot, Eyvind cursed under his breath.
“Mulish woman,” he muttered, warmth seeping into her ice-cold toes.
Hekla nearly moaned with the pleasure and pain of it.
“Are you truly so stubborn you’d rather lose a toe to frostbite than ask for my help? ”
She bit into her lip, scowling into the fire. Yet she felt him watching her, silent frustration filling the air.
“I can’t do this anymore!” he said with a sudden burst of anger. “I can’t pretend I’m happy. Can’t pretend you were nothing but a roll in the furs, Hekla.