Chapter 58
Silla’s retinue fell into formation around her as they trampled through the snowdrifts and into the heartwood.
To her right, Rey twisted his smoke to melt a pathway through the snow.
To her left, Runny flickered out of sight with her Shadow Hound skill, while Kálf’s fire whip sizzled in the wintry air.
Thankfully, the abundant snow would keep the woods from becoming a tinderbox.
On they ran, the trees stretching higher, while the snowdrifts grew shallower, sheltered by the mighty canopy above.
And soon they were in the heart of the Western Woods.
Groves of enormous hjarta trees scraped the skies with their branches and burrowed to the deepest depths of the earth with their roots.
Their girth was so great, it would take half a dozen warriors linking arms to encircle them, and Silla found herself wondering what ages these elders might have seen; what stories these trees could tell.
For a moment, she felt humbled.
Mortal like the rest of you, spat Myrkur, and that was enough for Silla’s senses to swarm back.
Where have you been? she demanded. What are you hiding from me?
Why ruin the surprise? purred the dark god.
Trepidation filled her. Why had Silla not questioned His growing silence?
Shaking her head, Silla pushed on. The plight of these trees was clear as daylight—leached of color and their life-giving magic.
Around the base of them was a graveyard of the plants they’d once nurtured—skeleton saplings and bone-dry ferns.
The life had been sucked from them…fed back to the leech that coughed out the malevolent mist.
As Silla ran, she had the strangest sense that the giants of the forest urged her on. This way, the trees seemed to say, an invisible hook in her belly pulling her forward.
It was more open among the hjarta trees than in the dense outer woods where they’d been ambushed, and as warriors spilled into the grove behind her, Silla heard Atli’s bellows as he wrangled his warriors into a shield wall.
Ferocious yowls and shouts of men rent the air as Atli and his warriors held the undead beasts at the entrance of the heartwood, allowing the rest of the warband safe passage into the grove.
Silla longed for her sword of frostfire, yet she’d ordered Runny to dose her with triple the hindrium this morning. She could not risk Myrkur accessing her Ashbringer skill again; could not risk that weapon being turned on her own kind once more.
At last, Silla and her queensguard broke into the central grove of the heartwood, the clamor of battle in quick pursuit.
“The tree,” growled Rey. He placed his palm to his sword, heating it until it was red-hot. As a Turned grimwolf leaped at them, Rey drove his heated sword clean through its neck. Black blood spattered the snow, the putrid scent of decay filling the air.
“Tree,” Silla repeated, turning until she finally laid eyes upon her adversary.
There stood the most enormous tree she’d ever seen.
This, Silla knew in an instant, was the first infected tree—the one housing the so-called leech.
Its trunk was twisted and lumped with burls; branches sprawling outward like a many-limbed creature.
There was no sign of color, only gray bark and dark needles, blackened sludge dripping down its trunk.
This was the cause of so much misery—the near death of this forest, the slaughter of entire villages.
As Silla screamed with anger, her feet crunched on snow, but they skidded to a halt as an enormous creature stepped out from the shadows.
Silla gasped as a pair of corpses fell from the spider’s pinchers, landing in the snow with a brutal whumf.
She recognized their livery at once—here were Atli’s Shadow Hound scouts, missing their eyes.
Silla swallowed back her rising bile, studying this new foe.
Its missing forelegs matched Rey’s description of the spider they’d battled in the Forest Maiden’s grove so many weeks ago, yet now several of its eyes oozed a putrid liquid.
It chittered, assessing Silla as though deciding which part of her to feast on first.
She is mine, Myrkur whispered. Take the others.
And before Silla could react, the spider stepped clean over her and came down on her retinue. Behind her, Rey bellowed and Runny screamed, and Silla had to remind herself they could hold their own in battle. Gritting her teeth, she set her sights on the monstrosity of a tree.
“Greetings, you foul parasite,” she muttered, advancing. Her heart thudded, palms slick with sweat, but she covered her fear with extra bravado. “Our meeting is long overdue.”
Thus far, Silla had largely managed to keep her training with her bloodline gift hidden from Myrkur, but given that the moons had yet to rise, there was no hiding it from Him now. With a deep breath, Silla dipped her hand into the pouch belted at her hips and pulled out a raw chunk of halda stone.
Behind her, steel crashed against carapace, and within her, Myrkur tittered with glee.
Silla ignored it all, forcing her focus into that stone.
With an exhale, she pulled the raw power from the stone into her veins, letting the unshaped energy surge through her until it grew unbearable.
She bent her knees, bracing against the force, holding it as long as she dared.
Her heart raced; sweat beaded her brow. And then Silla expressed.
The wild, untamed power burst from her palms in a torrent of energy and shot across the grove.
It struck the tree like a bolt of lightning, the sound shaking the ground and echoing through the woods.
Snow and debris flew through the air, obscuring Silla’s vision.
But as it settled, her stomach lurched. The tree remained standing.
Slowly, she stepped closer, stomach clenching at what she saw.
The halda’s power had not so much as scratched the bark.
A shiver rolled down Silla’s spine.
Let me in, Eisa, purred the god with a prickle of excitement. Together we shall destroy the leech.
Silla paused. Why would you want that? she demanded of the god. The leech is your child!
I have many children, replied Myrkur. Let me in and I’ll show you how to defeat the leech.
The fact that the god was willing to sacrifice His progeny to access her bloodline gift only made Silla more certain that she must not let Him in.
“Never,” she grunted, bracing against the force of the dark god’s cravings.
Behind her, the battle raged. Atli and his warriors had retreated into the grove, joining the greater warband in their fight with the Turned creatures.
But Rey and Silla’s queensguard still battled the monstrous spider.
“Lend me your strength, Hef!” Silla called out, unsheathing her sword.
She said a silent thanks that her loyal guard was able to extract himself from the battle.
Hef appeared at her side, offering his bare forearm for Silla to clasp.
Closing her eyes, she searched for that Blade Breaker energy burning through his veins.
The moment she found it, Silla called it to her, reveling in the brutal strength surging through her blood.
With a scream of rage, she rushed at the tree, swinging her sword with her borrowed Blade Breaker strength.
But the blade only rebounded, jarring her arm so hard, her grip on it faltered.
Silla shook her arm and retrieved her sword, all the while glaring at the tree.
Kálf came next, lending her his Ashbringer skill, but as Silla lashed the tree with a whip of flames, it did not so much as scorch the bark. Then came Rey, but his smoke neither charred nor caught on the tree’s unnatural wood.
Worry gathered in Silla’s stomach, the din of battle making it difficult to think. She’d tried the halda stones; both Blade Breaker and Ashbringer skills. Runny’s invisibility and light-bending shield would do nothing against it. So how…how did she kill this foe?
You cannot kill it, taunted Myrkur, the dark god’s arrogance flooding her veins. But I can. Made from Sunnvald’s own heart, it cannot be defeated by light, but of its own darkness.
Sunnvald’s heart, thought Silla. What does this mean?
The hjarta trees were created by my brother’s ashes, replied the god of chaos. And their infected form cannot be defeated by Sunnvald’s magic. Only my own will defeat the leech.
“You’re lying.” Why would He tell her this? It felt like a trap.
I’m not.
“I do not believe you.”
A vision flashed in her mind’s eye. A book came into view, age-worn pages depicting this very tree. And scrawled below it were the words Myrkur had just recited: Made from Sunnvald’s own heart, it cannot be defeated by light, but of its own darkness.
So you see, Eisa, purred the dark god, the only way to destroy the leech is to let me in. Grant me access to your bloodline gift, and I shall braid it with my own magic. Together, we shall destroy it.
Silla suddenly understood Myrkur’s silence leading up to this.
He’d been biding His time for this very moment, when He’d force her to choose between vanquishing the tree and guarding her bloodline gift.
Granting Myrkur access to her bloodline gift might destroy the tree, yet Silla knew from Svangormr Pass that it would also endanger every person in this grove.
She stood before the monstrous tree, battle raging all around her. It was an impossible choice.
But what if there was another way? Silla’s heart raced with a new idea.
If the tree was only vulnerable to Myrkur’s power—could she use her bloodline gift to siphon His magic and use it against the leech?
It was impossible. And yet…it was an opportunity too great to resist. Because if fortune and skill aligned just right, perhaps Silla could both vanquish the leech and free herself from her mother’s bargain.
Dropping her sword, she drew her dagger, then slashed it through her palm.
What are you plotting, little Eisa? Myrkur demanded.
But Silla didn’t answer. Working swiftly, she dipped her fingers into the pooling blood and drew a series of lines and circles on the blackened trunk of the infected tree. She’d seen her mother scrawl these patterns a hundred times in her nightmares; never had she thought she would do so herself.
Silla drew a deep breath. Gathered her courage.
“Dark One,” she shouted, “I call to you!”