Page 13

Chapter twelve

Sifa

Worse than the Last One?

“W e’ll pass through an unusual, maybe dangerous, area today,” Fhord tells me over breakfast.

“Worse than the last one?”

“Different. In Vanatia’s early days, this place held thousands of people and many went there for trade. You’ll see signs of it as we reach the sun’s zenith.”

“Not too bad so far,” I observe. “We can handle a few ruins.”

“I wouldn’t warn you about ruins,” Fhord says before looking up in the direction we’ll ride. “A battle took place here three hundred years ago,” he continues, little wrinkles forming between and above his eyes as he draws his brows together. “Many died, some of them important. They held secrets the gods believed they might need, which they couldn’t risk losing.”

“The gods walked with humans then?”

“They did.”

It’s so different from my worlds. There, the gods walk freely, although before Ragnarok, they’d been hiding their presence in Midgard for more than fifteen hundred years. “What did the gods do?”

“They turned to the dark arts,” Fhord mutters. His voice is brittle, as if it would shatter if someone struck it. “Such sorcery is powerful when humans use it. When gods use it, nothing is out of their reach. The gods fed their desperation into necromancy. They wanted to be able to question the dead, extract the secrets they would have taken with them to their grave.”

“They raised the dead? And gave them the ability to think, answer questions?” I stretch out my fingers, which tingle at the thought of skeletons wandering around for eternity.

“They did.” Fhord’s eyes are calm, unconcerned. The walking zombies can’t be too dangerous.

“And those … whatever they are … walk this world?” I’ve never been to Helheim, but I’ve heard tales of the souls sent to Hel’s realm, who forever wear the injuries that killed them. A shiver rolls down my spine as I wonder whether these beings are anything like the specters that wander there.

“We call them draugrs. And they do still exist. Their bodies no longer decay the way humans do. They’re forever trapped in whatever state the gods found them in when they decided to bind them here—injuries, rot and all. The gods keep them in this small area between the Nests. They can’t leave. They’re available to any who need their knowledge. And can convince them to share it.”

“Do many people know about this place?”

“Almost nobody. It’s spelled to push people away when they get close. A few books mention it, but none disclose where it is.”

“How do you know about it?”

A half-smile glances across Fhord’s lips then disappears. “That’s a story for another day.”

I watch him, wondering how many secrets like this he possesses. Whether he could help me find my way home. But I can’t trust him with those questions. “How many are there?” I ask after a moment.

“Only a couple dozen. The gods restored those they believed might hold secrets they would want.”

“If the gods questioned them, why do they still keep them here, trapped between life and death?”

“They may need them one day. The gods don’t know what other mysteries they may hold.”

“Can we go around them? There must be paths that avoid this area.”

Fhord pauses for a moment as he watches me. “I need to question one of them,” he answers at last. “It’s not for Bevin’s job. The ?tt and I have been trying to get here for weeks. I can’t pass this area without taking advantage of the chance.”

“Can I just meet you on the other side?” I suggest with a smirk.

“Afraid of a little necromancy?” Fhord responds with a laugh.

“I mean, why chase trouble? If I don’t have to face walking and talking corpses, why should I?”

“I could use your help. It’s really a two-person job.”

“That’s why you’re being so nice to me? I knew there had to be a reason.”

“You caught me.” Fhord runs his fingers through his hair as he leans back, lifting his head to look at the sky above us. A muscle ticks along his jaw. “We’ll go back to normal after I convince you to do this,” he says in a flat tone. “All the fighting and hating each other.”

“Not quite yet,” I remind him. “First we finish Bevin’s job. Then we can go back to hating each other.”

Now Fhord’s serious, his gaze dropping to find mine. “Will you help me, rabbit?”

I return his stare, trying to understand what he’s asking of me. How dangerous it will be. But then I realize it doesn’t matter. Fhord’s not someone who likes asking favors. This matters to him.

“Sure,” I agree with a little smile. “But you’ll owe me. I’ll let you know what I want when we’re done.”

“That sounds … dangerous. For me. Am I going to regret this?”

“So, so much. But I don’t think you have a choice.” I stand to start pulling together our packs. “Time to go, before you change your mind.”

The sun hovers to our right as we leave the camp, casting long shadows in our path. It feels so much like Midgard, I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. The jungles I called home for years—where I first saw signs that Ragnarok approached—hover in my memories. Tall trees, heavy with large emerald leaves sparkling with morning dew, a floor that looks like green felt splattered with red, yellow, and orange fronds, birds in a rainbow of colors swooping around us, all remind me of home. It’s been too long.

We ride for hours before Fhord speaks again. “We’ll enter the forbidden land when we cross this creek,” he says as Sigurd draws beside Hilde. “They’ll sense that we’re there, but just stay close to me.”

He reaches for Hilde’s reins, drawing me to a stop. “You cannot end any of them.” His voice is firm, unbending. “They shouldn’t threaten us. But if any of them does, cut off whatever limb attacks but never their heads. The gods have spelled this place to harm anyone who takes one of the draugr from them.” His eyes narrow into emerald slits. “No matter what, do not behead any of them. We’ll both pay the price if you do.”

“I love a good challenge,” I respond with a smile and a quick dip of my chin. “This should be an interesting day.”

Fhord nods, releasing my reins as he sits up straight in his saddle. “Stay right behind me. Don’t let them separate us. If we’re allowed to question one of them, they should let us leave unharmed.”

“And if not?”

“Then we run. As fast as Hilde will go.”

I feel it as we approach the creek, a gentle push that makes me want to turn a different direction. If I hadn’t known what was here, I’d have believed it was just my own good sense encouraging me to avoid an unknown area. It’s dark and dank, and I can see why travelers would stay away. The unease increases the closer we get, twisting my stomach and sending a chill up and down my spine.

It goes away, though, as soon as our horses trudge through the water, replaced by something worse. I can feel the draugrs’ presence. All of them. It’s as if their psyches are no longer attached to their bodies and float freely in this place. They are restless and lost, searching for some way to escape the purgatory in which the gods have trapped them. Now my mouth is dry, my heart racing in my need to do … something. I’m overcome with a desire to help them escape their miserable existence. To put them out of their misery.

“Remember, rabbit, you can’t end any of them. No matter what.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?”

“I’ve been here before. I know how desperately they want to be released from this place. I feel it too. Everyone who comes here does. But you can’t give in to it.”

“It’s horrible what the gods have done to them.”

Fhord laughs, a cold, bitter snort. “The gods have done this and worse. Many times over. It isn’t our place to question or challenge them.” His voice suggests he doesn’t believe his own words. Turning in the saddle, Fhord captures my gaze. “I’ve seen what happens to someone who ends a draugr’s existence. Don’t let it happen to you.” Then he spins to face ahead again. “Follow me.”

We’re both silent as Fhord takes a meandering path, slowly leading me through this strange place. The grief and desperation I felt when we crossed the creek have only gotten worse, and I’m struggling to keep tears from rolling down my cheeks. My need to help these beings increases with each step, and I have no idea if I’ll be able to resist when the time comes, regardless of Fhord’s warnings.

The stench hits me first. I’ve lived through more battles than I’d like to remember, and this smell always lingers in the days that follow. Human flesh decaying in the hot sun, scavengers and vermin releasing the scent of death as they feast in the endless cycle of life. My breaths grow shallow as I fight the nausea that rolls through me, stop the retching that tries to erupt. This will pass, I remind myself.

When I see them, I’m horrified and fascinated. We’ve entered a clearing, and I realize as I look around that they’ve surrounded us. All of them. They look even worse than they smell. Although they’re more than a dragon’s-length away from us, I can see the causes of their death—holes in their heads or chests or guts that have turned green and yellow with their decay. Some carry so many injuries it’s hard to see how they can still move. Hard to imagine that even the gods have the power needed to rouse these bags of bones and decayed flesh.

Fhord pauses to search the specters around us. He nods when he finds the one he seeks. “Follow me,” he says quietly as he turns our horses in the direction of an enormous being who spent his life in battle and should have died there. The hole in his chest, exposing a spindly, decaying rib cage and the atrophied organs it once protected, suggests a slow, painful death.

The others don’t follow yet. I don’t let myself hope they won’t. They can’t catch us off guard.

“You may not be here.” The words aren’t spoken. They don’t breach the air around us. Instead, they appear in my thoughts, as if they came from me. But they’re guttural, desperate. This being has no hope. Nothing to lose.

Fhord speaks his response, disturbing the unusual silence that had settled around us. I realize for the first time that even the birds have abandoned this place. Nothing lives here. It exists only for these undead, perpetually trapped beings.

“I need knowledge you possess. We will leave when you give it to me.” His voice is steady, calm. Quiet and compelling.

“Why should I help you? You will not release me from my pain.”

“Not today. But I hope to find a way to release you. I will return if I do.”

The warrior stills, though others start to move. It’s almost as if they want to hear Fhord’s words.

“The gods would not permit it,” the draugr says dismissively, his voice angry. He steps forward but pauses when Fhord holds up a hand. The others do as well, as if all of them respond to Fhord’s silent command.

“This world has changed since you walked its shores. The gods have changed. What once was impossible may come to pass at last.”

The being scoffs, a surprisingly human response. I hadn’t expected the emotion that arises within me with his dismissal of Fhord’s words. “Nothing changes. Ever. The gods will not let it. The world you walk today is the world you will walk in a thousand years. As will we.”

“Maybe so,” Fhord concedes. “Still, hope echoes through this land. You don’t feel it here because the gods control this place. But I tell you it is out there. I can see a path to a new existence. If we succeed, I will return and take this pain from you. On my oath, it shall be.”

My skin tingles with my surprise at Fhord’s traitorous words. Nobody may take or harm something that belongs to the gods. I wish I could see his face. I have no idea why he’s decided I can hear whatever plans he’s hatched. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I know it would get him killed if anyone ever learned of it.

The seconds drag by as the warrior watches Fhord in silence. A slight tilt of his head signals his decision. “What information do you seek?”

Fhord inclines his head in response. When he speaks, it’s almost as if time itself echoes in his words. They carry a weight, a power, I’ve never heard before, even from the most powerful beings in my worlds.

I’ll have many questions for Fhord when we leave this place.

“Tell us of your death.”

I feel the draugr’s response. He’s angry at Fhord. Betrayed. Hurt. “Why would I share that story with you?”

“Do you not wish to speak of it?” Fhord hasn’t moved. I suspect he also felt the warrior’s emotions but decided to plow forward.

“I would not give you that power over me. You are of two hearts. I cannot trust one of them.”

“Tell her, then,” Fhord urges as his arm stretches out and he gestures me forward.

No eyes grace the specter’s face, but it still feels as if he looks at me. Recognizes something in me he didn’t find in Fhord. His emotions shift. Wonder, curiosity, peace now dominate.

“What is your name, female?”

“I’m Sifa.”

“You came far to reach these lands. Have you found your way home?”

“I haven’t. I’m still looking.”

“That is the path you must take. Yet, you have much to do here, and your time to leave may never come.”

My stomach drops, his warning echoing within me. But my desperation to get home is tempered for the first time since I landed here. Fhord’s image ripples through my mind, some ridiculous part of me wondering if I would really leave the world that holds him. I shove that aside, though. I don’t even like the male. I would never choose him over going home. “I hope you’re wrong,” I declare, ignoring that errant thought. “I want to go home.”

“Be patient. You will learn much in time.” The draugr pauses, unmoving. “Would you like to hear of my death, Sifa?”

I try to catch Fhord’s eye, but he’s not looking at me. Instead, his gaze scans the surrounding forest, watching the others as they linger in the nearby trees.

“I would,” I affirm. Fhord must have a reason for asking this.

“And you will keep it from this man who travels with you?”

“Why must I keep it from him?”

Fhord spins as I ask my question, his eyebrows slamming together. “Assure him you won’t share his story with me.”

“But, why?”

“Get his story, Sifa,” Fhord urges, his face softening. “You’ll understand when you do.”

I’m sure he can see my confusion, but he offers no explanation. “Okay,” I say as I turn back to the specter. “I promise I won’t tell Fhord.”

The warrior nods. “Know you Nerthus? Does she still hold power in your lands?”

“Dróttning Nerthus?” Now, my response is in my mind. I’m not sure how I know, but I realize this conversation needs to be completely between us, with no words spoken out loud.

“Dróttning? I should not be surprised she would hold such a title. And yet I am.” He steps closer, his vacant eye sockets focused only on me. “Nerthus once was an ally to the elves. Your companion knows well what that friendship produced. But her support did not last.”

“You lived when the elves were free?”

“I died in the war for their freedom.”

“Did you fight for the elves?”

“I did, little elf.”

I spin to look at Fhord, but he’s still paying us no attention. “You’re sure he can’t hear us? His mind is powerful.”

“These words are only for you. His words will follow.”

“Why did Nerthus turn on the elves?” I feel as if my entire existence will depend on his answer to this question.

“Nerthus craved the power held by the dragons. She wanted to lead them without challenge or opposition. But the dragons ever were aligned with the elves. Nerthus could not let that stand.”

“The elves are all imprisoned, and Nerthus controls the dragons now. Do you know how?”

“Those events followed my death. The stories have not reached me here.” He paused, watching me for a moment. “But it does not surprise me. Elves are powerful, as you know. Nerthus would need to constrain them, lest they rise again and retake their rightful place in these lands.”

“Why does Fhord want me to know how you died?”

The draugr’s face shifts slightly to glance at Fhord, and then turns to me again. “That he must answer. But I will share my story if you wish.”

“Will you tell me your name first?”

“I am Konungr Erik. I ruled in the Far North until my death.”

I lean forward, dropping my chin to my chest in a respectful bow. Now I really have questions. I’ve lived here for ten years and have only heard rumors of the Far North. Those willing to acknowledge its existence say the Dróttning has had people killed for discussing it.

After a few moments I lift my head and smile. “Thank you for telling me your name. Please tell me of your death.”

“Know first that the dragons rejected Nerthus, although she craved that bond more than any other. More even than a mating bond. She held great power and was presented as a candidate at many hatchings. Never, though, was she chosen.” Erik’s head pops up as one of his hands lifts in a dismissive gesture. I spin to watch another of the draugr back away into the forest, then turn my gaze back to the dead king.

“Nerthus waged war to wrest control of the dragons from the elves. She fought dragons, elves, gods, and humans in her quest, but many stood by her side. Too many. None knew who would prevail. And then the fates brought us here. Where we would meet our doom.” The ache in his voice echoes through me, leaving a gaping hole in my gut. His pain feels as stark and fresh as the day he received his death wound.

“What happened?”

“I know not how, but as our swords clashed, the land seemed to come alive, sucking away every elf who fought by my side. Half of my army disappeared, all of their dragons with them. Gone, as if they never existed.”

“Elves and their dragons? Nobody else?”

“Only the elves and their dragons.”

“How?” I’m not breathing, my need for his answer stilling every part of me. This is everything.

“Our books hold stories of those who can journey to another place or time. I had always dismissed it as myth, lacking substance. But I have come to believe those stories hold deep truths. That some unknown magic that day, in this place, took our fighters from us.” Erik raises his head, almost as if he’s sniffing at something, and then shifts his attention to me again.

“We have not much time, and I still must answer your companion’s questions. My death came quickly after that, at Nerthus’s hand. Without the elves or the dragons on our side, we were defenseless.”

“And then the gods did this to you. Why?”

“Nerthus beseeched them, and they complied. She holds us here and could release us if she chose.”

“Do you know why only elves and their dragons disappeared? And if they really went somewhere else?”

“One returned.” Erik’s voice is full of satisfaction. He can sense how much this matters to me. “I do not know how much time had passed, but many years after my death, one of the lost elves entered this land. He spoke of a different world, one in which the sun never shone. A people known as the jotnar lived there. Massive beings, who held great hate for elves. This elf searched for a path home for many years. He believed that emotion and an iron will opened the door between the worlds.”

“Emotion? That seems … impossible.”

“Magic is not so simple. I suspect many things must coalesce for such travel to be possible. But I do know—because I have seen it—that it can be done.” Erik is silent for a moment, letting me digest all he’s told me. “Now I must answer your comrade’s questions. He may not speak to you of what he learns, just as you may not share my answers with him.”

“Thank you, Konungr. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

I watch in silence as Erik shares more secrets with Fhord, my head spinning the entire time. It’s possible to get home. I don’t understand what he’s told me, but he mentioned old myths. I need to keep searching.

Perhaps ten minutes after Erik turned his attention to Fhord, I hear his voice again.

“I wish you well, little elf.”

And then he spins and lumbers back into the forest. The rest of the draugrs do the same as I follow Fhord out of this odd, enchanted place.