Chapter 59
Each violent pound of Silla’s heart echoed in her skull, drowning out all else in the grove.
The hjarta trees towering above her, the battle seething behind her—everything ceased to exist. Silla adjusted her mask as black muck oozed from a burl on the misshapen tree, but as frigid air suddenly rippled through the grove, she knew the god of chaos had answered her call.
A black shadow formed at the base of the tree’s trunk, swirling and climbing upward before coalescing into the shape of a man.
As the spikes of Myrkur’s crown jutted from His head, Silla was nearly driven to her knees by the overwhelming presence of the god.
This was nothing like the shard of Him she carried within her—a mere echo compared with the power before her.
This was a god, through and through.
Silla locked her knees in place and braced herself. Behind her, cries of alarm told her the others in the grove could see Him as well. The shadow rippled, and Myrkur’s laughter was no longer confined to her skull, but came from everywhere all at once.
“Little Eisa,” He cackled. “It was not so long ago that I met your mother like this.”
Anger rushed through Silla, and she grappled for the reason she’d called Him. “I would like to make a bargain,” she forced out, goosebumps prickling up her arms and down her spine.
“A bargain,” repeated Myrkur, bored. “Do not tell me a life for a life, Eisa. Not when I already hold your life in my palms.” Silla’s lungs seized in a demonstration of the god’s power. Her hand flew to her throat, eyes blinking frantically as she tried to remember how to draw air into her chest—
Myrkur cocked His head to the side, and the feeling subsided at once.
Silla gulped a deep lungful of air, trying to clear the dancing lights from her vision.
“If you wanted me dead,” Silla panted, “you’d have done it weeks ago.”
Myrkur’s shadowy form rippled on the tree bark.
“But you haven’t,” challenged Silla, “because it vexes you that you do not understand that which has the power to undo you—my bloodline gift.”
For a moment, Myrkur was unable to conceal His cravings—they bled from the tree into the air all around her. He wanted that gift. Needed to understand this weapon that His brother Sunnvald had granted the Volsik bloodline…
It took all of Silla’s will to force the next words through her lips.
“I, Eisa Volsik, challenge Myrkur, god of chaos, to battle.” Her legs felt weak, but she soldiered on.
“You will pick a mortal avatar from among the Turned creatures to fight me in single hand-to-hand combat. If you win, you shall have access to all of my magic, including Sunnvald’s bloodline gift.
But if I win, my mother’s bargain will be considered fulfilled.
That includes,” she added fiercely, “the bargain living inside both me and my sister, Saga.”
The shadow on the tree rippled, the clamor of the battle so distant in her ears. Her shoulders rose and fell on rapid breaths as fear and panic writhed within her. Had she truly just challenged a god to combat?
“You surprise me, little Eisa,” purred Myrkur, dragging her from her thoughts.
“It has been many years since a mortal has done so.” The shadow cocked His head, Myrkur’s longings for her bloodline gift growing potent.
“Only the two of us,” He said at long last. “Should anyone try to harm my avatar, I shall be granted victory. Do you agree to this?”
With a deep breath, Silla nodded.
“And Eisa,” said Myrkur, His shadows rippling on the tree, “none of this first blood nonsense. If we fight, we do so until one of us can no longer stand.”
Silla’s mind was numb, her body shaking. It was madness, it was impossible, and yet, it was the only way. “I accept,” she said.
“Good,” said Myrkur. “I, too, accept. Let us battle.”
The ground beneath her feet rumbled, the air around her shifting. The burden of Myrkur’s presence flitted away from the tree, and the shard of Him living inside her grew suddenly muted. Silla understood—the god had chosen His mortal avatar.
Instinctively, she turned toward the god’s presence, but she gasped as she took in the battle raging in the heartwood.
Rey and her queensguard had driven the spider back, but it now wrought havoc on the battlefield.
Droves of Turned creatures fought their warband, and it was clear the numbers were not in their favor.
Each warrior fought multiple Turned beasts at once, and as a Turned mountain cat tore into a House Agnar warrior, worry tightened in Silla’s stomach. Where was Hekla?
Silla’s gaze snagged on a Turned bear. As it lumbered through the battle, she realized it was enormous—at least as tall as two men. Its grizzled brown fur was torn in patches and oozing black blood. And this, she realized with a sudden chill, was Myrkur’s chosen avatar.
“A bear,” Silla muttered. “Why is it always a bear?”
But she squared her shoulders and reminded herself of her plan.
If only Myrkur’s magic could kill the leech, then there was only one thing she could do.
Silla would have to get close enough to the bear to lay hands upon it and siphon Myrkur’s magic into her veins.
And then she would unleash it upon the tree.
Warriors flew through the air as the bear cut a path of carnage toward her. Rey and Hef dropped into twin defensive stances. “Stand down!” Silla shouted. “This is my battle with Myrkur. If anyone harms that bear, He shall win.”
Rey whirled on her, fear and anger etched into his face. “What did you do, Silla?”
She swallowed. Met his eyes and tried to make him understand. “The only way to destroy that tree is through Myrkur’s power.”
Rey’s sword hung limply at his side, and she watched as understanding settled into place. She waited for him to scold her—for him to tell her it was too dangerous. Instead, his jaw shifted before he began barking orders at her retinue.
“Hef, Kálf, Runny, keep the Turned creatures away from this tree.”
Silla’s heart felt too large for her chest as she watched Rey organize her queensguard into place.
She was struck by the sudden realization that this man believed in her ability to fell a god.
It was that same unfounded confidence he’d had when he’d let a vampire deer attack her on the Road of Bones; when she’d expressed her galdur for the first time; when she’d rallied a room of jarls and nobles to her cause.
He’d believed in her all those times, and he’d been right. Why should he be wrong about her now?
She could do this. She could defeat Myrkur.
Silla squared her shoulders. Shook out her body. And after drawing her sword, she sank into a defensive stance.
“Sunnvald, protect me.”
A warrior’s body flew through the air and crashed into an elder tree.
“Stjarna, light my path.”
The bear broke away from the teeming battle and trudged through the clearing toward her. Rey and her queensguard edged away, allowing it a clear path to Silla.
“Malla, grant me courage.”
Myrkur’s avatar paused ten paces away from her, the god’s dark presence filling the air with promise.
“Marra, grant me wisdom.”
The beast rose on its hind legs and roared at the sky. This was no natural sound of a bear—it came from all sides of her, above and below—from within her skull.
Are you ready to play, Eisa? purred Myrkur, His glee and battle thrill charging the air.
“Ready to take that ugly head from your shoulders.”
And with that, the god of chaos attacked.