Page 1 of Daughter of the Serpent

Prologue

Three days in the realm of the gods had claimed them all - save for two.

Between the blood spilled in rivalry, bodies broken by the trials, and those deemed unworthy - none had escaped the fate ordained by the gods.

Now, as Ivar stood on the precipice, the final reckoning - time itself stood still, the weight of destiny itself hanging over him.

Facing his opponent, he wondered - would it be him who emerged victorious as the gods’ chosen, or would he fall, and join the others in the All - Father’s halls?

Though it had been mere days, Ivar scarcely could recognize the man before him, Malik’s ice blue eyes now red rimmed and weary, bloodshot from days of sleeplessness. Fresh new wrinkles cleaved into his youthful skin, his beard once neatly kept, grown long and wild with streaks of pale gray. His stance also had weakened, his shoulders hunched forward, his body no longer as broad and proud as it once had been, only three days passed.

Ivar couldn’t see his own reflection, but he knew these few days in the gods’ realm hadn’t been kind. The final trial had taken its toll on their bodies as well as their minds.

“You will welcome my blade, Malik!” He spat, his words dripping with venom as his blade bit into the steel of his opponent. Malik smiled, flashing a row of yellow tinged teeth. In a swift, fluid motion, he spun away, retreating just as the snowstorm thickened, swallowing him whole behind its icy curtain. “You will welcome your death by the time I’m through with you!”

Ivar shifted uneasily, his opponent now out of view. He stepped back, his good eye scanning his surroundings, mindful of the sheer drop at his side. His grip tightened on his blade, though his hand trembled under its weight. If the cold or Malik’s blade didn’t end him, the gods’ curse surely would.

This was their final test - the final trial until one of them portaled back home to claim victory. Yet time was running out, and Ivar feared that neither he or Malik may last the night. This relentless curse of the gods gnawed at their flesh and spirit, the rapid degeneration weakening their vessels more and more with each passing second. He looked at his fighting hand, the knuckles swollen and painful, the skin stretched thin, wrinkled with age. It strained under the blade's weight, his grip loosening. He could feel his strength draining from him like an open vein. Between the spell and the frigid temperatures it wouldn’t be long before he would lose his grip on his sword all together.

He grit his teeth, barreling forward into the whorling snowfall. He couldn’t lose track of Malik now, especially when he had come so far.

Between the smelting fires of the volcanic lands, the shadow demons of Jokva’s halls, the monstrous creatures of the Islands of Vedda where they preferred the taste of human flesh over bread - they had come through each trial the gods had given them.

Him, Malik, and Hubba - his brother.

He swallowed back the thick ball of emotion that gathered in his throat.

Malik would pay.

Anger engulfed him, overcoming the raving grief, the bite of the frost, and the severity of the conditions - giving him an instant surge of strength.

Despite the twelve that had set out from the Mardovian shores, only one could return - and he would ensure Malik would return only to the spirit realm in which he came.

Everyone else had fallen to the malice of the gods.

Frigg from merciless flame, her body slowly disintegrated by the volcanic fires as if she had never been at all. Kidda and Loni, along with twelve others to the shadow demons who had sucked their souls from their bodies, leaving only the shells of who they used to be. All six warriors elected from the eastern clans - to the cannibalistic creatures of Vedda. And finally his brother, only two days passed, to Malik’s blade.

It was down to them now, and only one would be getting out of here alive.

He kissed his blade, uttering a few words up to his brother who now looked down at him from Hallva’s great halls. He hoped he was feasting well. He hoped the mead and ale were at an overflow. He hoped he was watching over him now.

Turning his focus back on his task, he wandered through the snowfall, though he could hardly see a foot in front of his face. He had lost all sense of time. It felt like years that he had been searching for Malik, years since his blade had tasted flesh, and decades since his body had known satiation and rest. His muscles ached, the biting wind, and whirling snow a formidable enemy he had already battled too long.

“Reveal yourself!” Ivar bellowed into the wind, yet his voice was quickly carried away. “Let us finish this so I may feast with my fallen brother, or celebrate in the house of the gods tonight!”

The feasting halls of the gods beckoned him, his mouth watering. It had only been four days since he had been hosted by the gods themselves in their temple, and he had taken everything they had offered. It was the only remaining pleasure given those who likely faced their deaths, with the slim chance of survival. He had feasted drunkenly with the remaining delegates, bedded the provided concubines, and gorged himself on mead and roasted meat - and once his blade met flesh, he would be back there again.

He had come too far to die here and now.

“Eager to join your brother?” Malik sneered, his voice snaking around his bones, just like his magic.

In seconds Ivar’s back met the stone of the mountainside, his bones crunching into the rock with the powerful force. He grit his teeth as the loud crack of his left arm echoed, his sword landing onto the frost blanketed ground with a clatter.

“I would be happy to indulge you!” Malik rushed out from the billow of mist, clearing the space between them in seconds.

Ivar groaned as his body peeled from the stone, Malik releasing him from his magic’s grip, his reflexes slowed by the stun of the blow. Conjuring flame from his good hand he called upon his magical bond, a purple blend of energy enveloping his palm. A curl of smoke roused from his fingers, hurtling fire towards his opponent. Malik screamed as it met the skin of his face, burning into his flesh to the bone.

“Two can play that game,” Ivar laughed weakly as he clutched his arm. “I’m not dead yet!”