The Vast Reaches of Helheim #2
Euphemia tears at the laces of her surcoat, grateful the bow was only tied once. The loop loosens easily, and then she’s clawing. Ripping the cord through grommets. Tearing the garment down her shoulders, her waist. Her legs kick free, letting it sink below.
And then she’s thrashing through the sea again. Limbs beating the water. Deep breaths bursting her lungs any chance she finds air.
The ocean pummels into her from one side. Then another.
But is this just the tide? Or are the waves attacking? Tossing her around the way a cat would a mouse. She has no way of knowing—
Until she hits of pocket of water so cold it buckles her. It slithers into her lungs like a pool of ice, even thought her mouth is closed. Water so frigid it slows her movement until it’s nonexistent.
It drags her under.
Turns her muscles frozen.
Her bones to shards of ice that pierce her flesh like a thousand tingling pinpricks if she so much thinks about moving. About reaching. Straining for the surface that is growing more and more distant as she plummets.
Euphemia can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t escape.
The depths of the cruel ocean will have her. And all she can think is she hopes it takes her before she has to face any maiden.
Euphemia closes her eyes. Thinks of her sisters. Her mother. Of the husband she never truly got to meet.
Then she opens her mouth to let the water in—
Before the drowning can take her, a hand grabs the back of her chemise.
It lurches her to the surface and Euphemia gasps, a spluttering, squelching sound that she thought she’d never get to make.
Relief floods through her, tears hot in her eyes.
She looks behind her to the hand dragging her toward the shoreline, but with hair plastered to her face, she can barely make out her savior.
She swipes the hair aside and finds her beastly creature helping her to safety. Saving her again. As he always does.
He came back for her.
The water spirit had taken him to shore, and he had turned around. Dived into the cursed waters and battled his way through the waves to save her.
No words can adequately capture her appreciation, so Euphemia does not utter any.
Instead, she kicks, hoping her efforts will prove helpful and not hindering.
When suddenly, he stops.
Euphemia is ready to curse this ocean and all oceans that come before and after it.
She glances ahead. By now, they’re close enough to the shore that they can stand, the waves only coming up to their knees.
They could run now.
It’s only a short distance away.
But between them and the grey sand is a large bloom of red.
“Is that—”
He silences her with an upturned hand. Which would’ve been enough to quiet her. Out here amidst these unnatural waves and the red bloom of water prowling before them, she’d do just about anything he commanded of her.
But it’s not just the command that makes her words stop.
In his hand, a fish squirms, his fingers hooked through its jaw.
She watches, dumbly blinking, trying to decide whether what she’s seeing is real, or some strange trick of the light, her hair in her eyes again, or merely another random element of the dream world.
Anything but the absurdity of him holding onto a fish—because why in all that is holy would he be holding onto a fish right now? When and how had he even acquired one?
Since they have bigger issues to contend with right now, Euphemia decides to simply pretends the fish isn’t there.
Looking past Ash’s shoulders, she sees the spill of crimson ahead of them.
“It’s not moving,” she whispers in his direction, and then casts a look at their surroundings. There are no other watery silhouettes climbing out of the ocean, clambering after them. No perfectly timed waves to pummel them from all sides. Nothing nefarious.
Nothing that she can see, anyway.
“She’s waiting,” he utters over his shoulder.
“Waiting for what?”
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “To see if we’ll be delivering ourselves into her belly or if she’ll need to hunt.”
Fear slicks down her spine. Euphemia swallows. “I don’t much care for either of those options.”
They fall silent, the water slowly rising around them again.
Ash’s attention on the blood-haired maiden is unwavering, the two of them locked in a standstill, with Euphemia watching in dread.
Until the red tide begins to advance.
Not the soothing, gentle sway of a tide.
More like a nocked arrow of blood and seaweed whizzing through the water, primed to strike its mark.
Ash hunkers lower, anchoring himself in place.
Fear lances through her. Somehow standing still feels worse than running, even when she knows there are seven other maidens somewhere behind them.
But Ash holds his ground. He waits.
Euphemia can take it no more. She reaches for him, ready to drag him out of the way of the monster careening toward them—
When his arm arches overhead.
The fish flies through the air, landing with a splash. Not in the center, but just next to it. Close enough to entice.
The red stain in the ocean halts as if she’s struck a wall.
With predatory stillness, the creature turns. Faces the fish in the water. And lunges.
That bloom of sea churns like a thunderous sky. Water and blood spewing. Jaws snapping, unseen. The red bleeds darker.
Ash grabs Euphemia’s hand and pulls her forward, the two of them scrambling to land.
With a fleeting breath of relief, Euphemia thinks it’s over.
But behind them, the ocean roars its rage. Its loss. The souls left, unclaimed. And it will not let them go willingly.
Euphemia makes the mistake of glancing backward as the waves rise in the distance, taller than the apple tree in her garden. Taller than the Thorfell Manor. Taller than she thinks even the moon reaches in the sky.
They race across the grey sand like churned bones. The wind swarms around them. The sky darkens. A shadow falls over them, and Euphemia does not need to look back to know that it is the ocean. Dangling above. A cleaver about to drop.
With screams in their chests, they throw themselves into the bone palace.
They throw the door shut behind them just as the tidal wave crashes.
The bones shudder.
The palace creaks and groans.
A pool of ocean water surges through the crack at the bottom of the door.
Not nearly an ocean’s worth though. Somehow, Nástrond keeps the ocean at bay.
Ash and Euphemia shuffle away from the door and the water oozing beneath it. They don’t venture into the corridors. Instead, they find a set of stairs and succumb to exhaustion.
Euphemia rests her hand on the railing, and exhales the heaviest, most shuddering breath of her life. “What was that out there?”
He looks at her confused. “I already told you. Those were the Wave Maidens.”
“Yes, I know that. But what are they? Or who? Or…”
Euphemia’s questions trail off and she notices Ash scanning their surroundings, searching the foyer and upper landing for danger. She had nearly forgotten where they were, only narrowly escaping one danger to inadvertently stumble into another.
Seemingly deeming the area safe for the time being, Ash returns to where he left her on the stairs.
The moment he looks at her, his eyes furrow. He notes her quivering lip. The goosebumps on her flesh. The sodden chemise clinging to her pale skin, nearly translucent now that the sea has soaked through it.
Removing the fur pelt from his shoulders, Ash drapes it around her.
“I’m fine. Really—”
“Quiet.”
Euphemia bites her lip and accepts the fur. She’d be foolish not to considering how deeply the cold has pierced her. Besides, it would be immodest to stand around in a nearly translucent chemise anyway.
She should be thanking him.
Pride won’t allow her to. At least, not for that.
“Thank you for coming back for me,” she says instead as he finishes knotting the ties of the fur so it stays in place.
He gives the pelt a small adjustment, then his eyes flick down to her chest to ensure she’s properly covered. “Does that mean I am forgiven?”
Her confusion is fleeting. Euphemia tucks herself inside the warm pelt, already feeling warmed. “That depends. Do you remember that night?”
“I remember nothing unless I am with you.”
It does something strange to the pit of her belly to hear him say it. Something warm. Dangerous. Entirely too welcome.
Euphemia brushes past him with her nose in the air.
“Where are you going?” he asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
She ascends the stairs with no answer in mind. Truthfully, she doesn’t mean to venture very far, there is simply something about being on the lower level in this place that makes her uneasy.
As she crests the top of the staircase, Euphemia examines the upper landing.
She’s surprised to find that, unlike the bottom floor that is littered with bones, snakes, and debris, much of the upper floor seems relatively normal. The walls are hewn from stone. And though there are a few bones scattered here and there, there are no slithering creatures to be found.
It’s like they’ve entered an entirely new building…
In this place, she supposes it’s possible they have.
Slowly, Ash’s footsteps follow behind her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” she asks, already having forgotten the conversation. Her mind is churning with questions and possibilities, like if this is a new realm, where these floors might lead. Or if it is part of Nástrond, does Níehoggr come up here?
“About what happened,” he says, sobering her thoughts. “Was that your—”
“My father?” Euphemia whirls on him. “Yes. It was.”
The ground quakes beneath them. A small tremor, not big enough to knock them off balance, but startling enough that they both reach for stability.
Euphemia reaches for the railing, but Ash grabs hold of her waist. He tucks her against his bare chest, gripping the bannister with his other hand.
For one breath, she forgets everything except the warmth of him…
Then the earthquake subsides.
Euphemia looks up into his bright blue eyes and wonders if they belong to Dagfinn.
Ash releases her waist and Euphemia jerks away as if his touch can burn.