Chapter 72 Solveig
Solveig stared out at the wide chasm that had opened up in the middle of Vanaheim. Who knew how many lives had been lost to the ground swallowing them whole?
On their side of the chasm lay the dungeon, training rings, and some tents. But the majority of her people would be on the other side. She had to get to them, no matter what.
What had happened to them? How many had they lost? She peered over the edge to see a river of lava flowing freely through the channel, spanning miles in each direction.
“What have they done?” she whispered to herself.
Westley’s hands tightened on her arms, but he said nothing. They both stared into the gorge until screaming from the other side broke their trance and Solveig burst into action. She ran to the trees and began tying vines and branches together.
“What are you doing?” Westley asked, incredulous.
“I have to get across. It’ll take too long to go around. We don’t know where it ends or even if it ends. They could’ve split the world in half for all we know.” Her voice was strong and determined, but her arms grew weak as she yanked more vines from the trees.
“And how are you going to do that?”
“See that ledge over there? If I can make a rope . . .” Her voice trailed off as her plan formed.
“You’re kidding, right? That’s your brilliant plan?”
Solveig glared up at him. “You can leave if you’re not going to help.”
Westley threw his arms in the air. “You’re going to be the death of me!” he exclaimed as he started gathering vines.
“I keep telling you that you’ll die by my hand,” Solveig said under her breath. They worked in silence for what felt like an eternity.
Solveig surveyed the length and stood, wiping her hands on her pants. They came away dirtier than before, flecks of crusted blood mingled with mud.
“Now all we need is a bow and arrow,” she said thoughtfully.
“This is not going to work.”
“Do you have a better idea, Prince?”
“So we’re back to prince now, General?”
“I have other names I’d like to call you, but I don’t think that would be very helpful right now,” she said through her teeth. “The training ring is not far from here. Stay and work on the vine—find any weak spots and try to strengthen it.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said, standing up.
“Too bad. You’re bleeding through your bandages, so stay here and I’ll be right back.”
Not waiting for his reply, she grabbed her sword and raced through the forest towards their training ring, praying it was still in one piece and on their side of the fissure. Solveig kept her mind clear and focused as she ran. She made the journey in less than half an hour.
The place was still intact, thankfully. She loaded her quiver with the strongest arrows available and slung both hers and Westley’s bows over her shoulders.
Goddess, the prince. She couldn’t think about any of that—any of him. She had to get back.
Solveig raced against time as she scanned the clearing, thanking the stars for her luck, and grabbed some provisions they’d left behind. She was out of breath by the time she returned to Westley, who knelt on the ground working on her very unrealistic plan. She couldn’t afford to overthink it.
“How does it look?” she asked, plopping herself on the ground, trying to catch her breath.
“Like a death trap,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Not helpful.” She tossed a canteen of water at him. He drank the whole thing with a couple gulps. “I’m going to shoot a few test arrows before we attach the rope to one end and pray to every spiritual being every race has ever believed in.”
“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Westley muttered.
Solveig ignored him and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. She stood, nocked an arrow into her bow, and let it fly. It just barely missed the other side of the chasm. They silently watched the arrow as it fell a hundred feet before burning up in the literal river of fire.
“Maybe I should try my bow,” Westley said from behind her. “It’s stronger and can probably make it.”
“So now you’re on board?”
“If you’re determined to die, I can’t let you do it alone.”
“Funny.”
Westley winced as he leaned down to grab an arrow from the quiver. Solveig handed him his bow.
“Can you even use it right now?” she asked.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Just returning the favour.”
Westley inhaled and set his arrow on the string, bringing it into position.
He tried and failed to keep a straight face as he drew the bow back.
His grimace broke through, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, the blood draining from his face with the exertion.
The bow slipped in his grip mid-shot. The arrow fell short of its mark.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
“Maybe I should try,” Solveig said, holding her hand out for his weapon. He looked from the bow to her, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt it.”
Westley slowly placed his bow in her hand. It was heavier than her own, and the extra weight threw her usual stance off balance. She positioned the arrow and waited for Westley to stand behind her like he did when they trained. That seemed like a lifetime ago already.
He pulled her elbow up gently.
“You’ll have to adjust your footing to accommodate the size of the bow. Brace your arm here,” he said as he guided her. She twisted to face him, and their eyes locked for a moment too long before she pulled her gaze away and took three more breaths.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.
The string was so tight that it took all her strength to pull it even halfway.
She was about to give up when Westley’s hand came around hers.
Together, they pulled back the string. The shock of their touch charged the arrow, and when they let go, it sailed through the air and embedded itself in the opposite side of the cliff.
“It worked,” Solveig breathed.
“It worked,” Westley repeated with equal disbelief.
They set the bow aside and fastened the rope to another arrow. When they finished, Westley assessed their contraption. Solveig hoped he hadn’t noticed the current of magic she managed to use to secure the vines in place.
He knew she had access to her magic but still didn’t trust him enough to show how much she had been able to tunnel into. She marked a Eihwaz rune over the knots, imbuing it with as much magic for resilience as she could.
Later—she’d revel in her magic later.
“We’ll need to aim higher this time, to account for the weight and the drag of the rope. We’ll also need to draw the string back as far as it will go,” he told her.
Solveig nodded as she finished tying the ends onto the arrow. She gave it a hard yank and it stayed secure, her magic holding even as the energy it took made her head spin.
“Let’s do this.”
They reset, and Solveig tried to ignore her heart’s attempt to escape from her chest.
“Breathe,” Westley whispered in her ear. She did. His scent surrounded her, and she used all the emotions it stirred to steady herself. She had to get to her people, to Helle, to the screams she could still hear ringing in her head.
“Here we go.”
They positioned themselves and notched the arrow. Westley was right—the pull of the rope made the already too large weapon more difficult to manage.
“We can do this,” he breathed.
She held the bow up and he helped support her arms. His hand curled around hers again and they tilted the arrow higher. Their magic entwined, his strength feeding hers, and she nodded when she was ready.
They loosed the arrow and tracked it as it flew through the air, suspended as if in slow motion. It arched high and then quickly started to fall, the rope dragging it down, just as Westley predicted.
It gained speed in its descent and the arrow wobbled, twisting Solveig’s stomach into agonizing knots.
The arrow made a swift downturn, and for just a moment, Solveig thought it was going to miss the ledge.
Storm clouds gathered overhead, and with them, the wind picked up.
If Solveig didn’t know any better, she’d have thought someone answered their prayers as the arrow finally impaled the earth on the edge of the cliff.