Page 12 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

One of the women reached out and brushed my arm.

I felt the magic crackling at the tips of her fingers.

I glanced back at her and nodded reassurance to ease the worry twisting her face.

Some witches carried potent divination within, their silent chants and prayers enough to create a pathway to the Gods where they could share their divine guidance for the people of Midgard.

“I’m okay,” I whispered.

It was a lie. I could collapse at any moment, but my heart kept ticking.

If I ignored the tingling in my legs as my feet and ankles swelled from the effort, I could focus on keeping my hands warm.

The tips of my fingers had turned blue hours ago, but with enough squeezing my hands into fists and blowing my warm breath over them, I’d been able to keep it from spreading.

As hours lengthened into the dead of night, harsh beliefs drowned out all other thoughts, leaving me shaky and dizzy. Anxious thoughts often plagued me worse when I was tired.

My pulse fluttered and my eyesight narrowed with every memory of my corruption resurfacing. Damning my mother, killing the courtiers, my blood burning them, and the hatch. The screams. The swing of an axe.

Foolish.

Weak

Evil.

I doubled forward.

Breathless, I palmed my eyes as if I could scrub my mind from dwelling on what I couldn’t change. I wanted to wipe the words away, wipe the memories, wipe my hands clean of the blood that once stained them.

“Move!” The guard barked from ahead.

I lifted my head and tried to take a step forward. Stumbling, I grabbed a man’s arm. He startled and pulled his arm away from me before realizing I needed help. When he scooped his arm under my elbow and righted me, I whispered a breathless thank you.

The guard kept moving with his neck twisted so he could glare at me from several feet down the path. “Run if you have to. I can see King Drakkar from here. We’re not slowing down now.”

Run.

I could try it. Riding the horse and the stops we’d made to set up camp and rest each dawn had replenished my strength. Hopefully the walking hadn’t stripped every bit of it away again.

I straightened.

We were within sight of the king. It wouldn’t be too far.

I shoved my feet forward, starting at a tentative walk.

Focusing on each step, one after the other after another, buried the taunting thoughts. If I would succumb to dwelling, it would be to dwell on the ache in my feet.

I’d fear collapse instead of the memories.

I sucked in a deep breath and focused on the distance between me and the guard. It was only a short sprint, nearly the same distance of the race to the rotted ash tree.

My heels numbly struck the path. I dodged past the rest of the Stormdal travelers as an executioner with a wolf’s mask turned at the sound of my footsteps.

Only a few more steps.

My legs burned, but if I pushed harder, maybe the Gods could show me more with a new vision. Where in Mara’s Keep were the historical records kept? Perhaps there was something else in the castle that would grant my mother freedom from exile.

I kept my eyes fixed on the guard, determined not to lose my dignity. He would not tie me up, the king would not meet me in tethers, even if I was his servant.

Sweat and pain blurred my sight. I slowed when a vague shape stepped in front of me, but not soon enough. I smacked into someone’s back and the wind knocked from my chest.

The woman whirled around, her eyes flaring from beneath a mask carved with the face of a wolf—the animal whose species now became her name. It was the way of all members of the Grimward. They were assigned a mask, and so became their identity.

Wolf spat out a string of loud curses and several guards turned to stare at me. Others setting up camp stopped to see what the commotion was about.

A villager had collided with an executioner. No doubt it was a sight to see. Nobody was stupid enough to get that close to the executioners.

The guard I’d caught up to laughed as Wolf hissed obscenities at me.

Breathless, I apologized and stumbled back away from her.

I slammed my palms against my knees and dragged painful breaths into my throat.

My eyes fixed on the dirt in front of me as I tried to contain my spastic breaths, but my head spun from the effort.

Even on the edge of collapse, a vision didn’t come over me.

It was just as well, because with a clear head I caught Ragna’s voice.

“Drakkar!” She didn’t address the king formally.

My skin prickled at the tone in her voice.

I snapped my head up. King Drakkar had already dismounted from his horse. He stood at the front of the party, a good distance from the guards and executioners as he led his horse to be tethered. His sword clung to his back, shining against the dawn light.

Through the crowd of executioners and guards climbing down from their horses, I spotted the side of Ragna’s shaved head. The hair on the other side of her head was bound in three tight braids that she’d coiled into one heap at the base of her neck .

A dozen guards and executioners stood between her and King Drakkar. They gave her no attention, but the king turned at the sound of her voice. They didn’t regard her as a threat, so she easily snaked past them until a guard finally grabbed her. She shoved him off and kept going.

I recognized the shine of determination in her eyes. It was the same look she got right before a race. She knew she would win.

She would not stop until she did win.

And though Ragna wasn’t in a race now, she broke into a run.

Another woman twined through the crowd from the opposite end as a third shoved past me, nearly knocking me to the ground with her shoulder.

Something glinted in her fist. A pendant. Similar to the Y Tree, the tip was sharpened, long enough to stab through someone’s eyes—or into their collarbone.

Three women all slipping through the distraction of everyone setting up camp was either an escape or…no, my stomach dropped.

Ragna was running toward the king, not away in an attempt to escape.

This was an attack. A coordinated attack that I had no doubt was headed by Ragna who would guide the other witches to fight against their captors.

And perhaps my entrance had given them the distraction they needed. While half of the guards laughed and stared down their noses at me, the king was exposed.

“No!” I whispered, my lungs not filled enough to shout out. “Ragna, no!”

This was certain death.

They would not be able to kill him and get away. These witches were sacrificing themselves. I knew many witches believed that if we could only replace the king, we’d change everything. An empty throne was safer than a witch hunter at the helm.

But I couldn’t let Ragna kill herself, not with Alva’s hope in me.

Ragna jumped on the king, and because her strength was God-given, she knocked him off his feet, if only for a moment. Though King Drakkar was taken by surprise, he easily threw her off of him.

No blood was shed yet.

Yet.

The other woman grabbed at the sword hanging on his back and tried to pull him back but he did not budge. It didn’t matter because the guard nearest him finally reacted. One ripped the woman away from the king’s back and slammed her into the ground.

The third woman charged him, dodging the reach of another guard as she raised the pendant in her fist. Behind him, Ragna struggled to her feet with a rock in her hands. If I knew her, she intended to bash it into the side of his skull, which would surely lead to plenty of blood.

This attack was a clear and obvious affront to the bloodshed law.

Afterwards, executioners would bring an axe down on Ragna’s neck for all to see, to squash any other thoughts of fighting. Even if the king only lost a single drop of blood.

Despite the flaming in my chest, I broke into another run. I didn’t know what I could do against Ragna’s strength, but I had to try.

“Don’t!” I screamed.

The chaos left a wide open path for me. The guards were too scattered by breaking to set up camp.

The attack was too unexpected for them to grab their weapons in time.

They must not have thought the witches would ever dare.

Nobody would ever dare. Not after years of witnessing executions, beheading of loved ones who’d gotten into a fight or even while defending themself against an intruder.

They believed we were cowed.

Black spots dotted my sight with every strike of my foot against the ground. I blinked, but they only grew bigger, making everything around me dimmer and dimmer. This run would end in collapse.

Wind cut through the reddened skin around my wound. My scabbed cheek burned with an icy sting.

The king reached to unsheath his sword when I ducked past him.

My throat ripped with another shout at Ragna as I threw myself against her.

She was a stone wall, and I was a child's ball bouncing against it. But the force of my impact got her to drop the rock in time, her mouth agape at the sight of me. I hadn’t pushed her over, but I’d shocked her enough to stop her from hurting the king.

She blinked and ducked to grab the rock again.

Guards converged on the woman with the pendant. Before they could grab her, she’d sunk the sharp end into the middle of King Drakkar’s hand where he gripped the hilt of the sword.

I didn’t know what kind of magic this witch possessed, but it’d surely helped her get past the guards and close enough to the sword-wielding king to stab him.

When he dropped the sword, she moved with inhuman speed, pulling the pendant from his hand and then burying it into his eye, the weakest spot for a small weapon to do maximum damage.

If it impaled his brain, he’d be dead. They’d have achieved their victory.

King Drakkar stumbled back, and when I was distracted, Ragna grabbed the rock to finish him off.

Without even bothering to scream at her, I snatched her braid and pulled with every ounce of strength I could muster. She stopped short, the force of her hair yanking her back for one startling moment.

Every muscle in my body ached as I tensed and tried to drag her back. My arms burned as my legs shook.

The black spots spilled darkness over my sight and I was plunged into another realm.

One moment I was interrupting Ragna’s attack, the next I was inside a castle. I stood at the center of a vast room where King Drakkar sat on a throne, his legs spread wide. The grin on his face was unsettling.

A woman’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

“You must pass the trial.

Three are granted to you from Freya, Loki, and Odin, along with our gifts.

Pass and you will be granted a piece of the sagas once lost.

The first from me, Freya; track the king like a hunter, uncover him when he is at his most vulnerable. Follow the blood he leaves behind, it will lead you to answers.

Victory of the first comes with a visit from my companions. Bygul and Trjegul.

Victory will earn my favor and understanding that I can only give you when that comes.

Victory over these trials will spare your fellow witches for years to come.”

Trials? The Gods weren’t just guiding me, they were inviting me to share in their power.

I’d heard pieces of a legend where a witch was given challenges so that Odin and Freya could reach through this chosen woman and into Midgard to gift the people wisdom of the other realms. She shared in their knowledge as divine entities which helped the people of this realm survive.

Better even, Freya offered me her favor. If the God of beauty and independence gave me her approval, I could forget every wrong and wicked thing I’d ever done.

But how could she choose me ?

I wasn’t worthy.

The vision vanished and I found myself on my back in the dirt. I blinked as the world filled in around me. The executioner with the eagle’s mask stood over me, her shadow cast long across my body. Ragna was crouched with her head in her hands beside me.

Bright red trickled down from a tear in her scalp.

“No, no, no,” I whispered.

I may have stopped Ragna from hurting the king, but I’d pulled her so hard I’d made her bleed.