The word echoed again and again across the dark waves.
Behind her the door clanged and groaned, and she stepped back inside the wall, her arms and back quivering with fatigue, her vision bleary, her skin prickling with gooseflesh as the water of the bay continued to dribble and drip from her soaked clothing.
There was no cheering inside. There was only relief, weary smiles and quiet sobs and distant voices shouting in the dark, searching for loved ones, searching for answers.
A warm dry blanket was thrown across her shoulders. Men were talking to her and patting her on the back, some asking about the fighting and others wondering at the bellowing voice. Freya shuffled through them, gently pushing her way through all the bodies and faces, trudging toward the castle.
An unfamiliar youth with fair hair and an earnest smile hurried up beside her and placed her spear in her hand. She felt the freezing steel in her naked fingers, felt the weight of it pulling down on her shoulder. Freya bared her teeth and shivered.
And this damned night still isn’t over yet.
Chapter 23
Freya was nearing the castle wall with a small entourage of house carls, fishermen, and young boys who still seemed to have too much energy in them when she heard the shouts coming from the south end of the city. She paused to listen, a weight in her belly, fearing that more reavers had struck the south wall, but there were no bells ringing. Compared to an hour ago, the city was nearly silent with exhaustion and grief.
But the small angry voices were shouting, and they were coming closer, and Freya waited in the castle courtyard, amid the forgotten and trampled remains of her victory feast, to see what was coming. Half her heart wanted to chase down Leif, to find Wren, to put an end to the cancer inside the city. It was the right thing to do. Her blood cried out to her weary bones to keep going, to deliver some sort of justice to these people.
But there was a shadow in her mind, as well. A shadow that whispered that Wren might already be dead, and even if she wasn’t yet she would be soon, one way or another, and that she was beyond helping. And the shadow whispered that even if she killed Leif, it would only make more trouble for her here, trouble that she didn’t have time for. Because all she really wanted was to run out into that black night, over the hills, and down the stream to the water mill where her Erik was waiting for her.
He doesn’t have much time left. I should be with him, in his last moments, and I should be there to silence his pain, when the time comes. And to hell with the rest of the world.
But the voices in her heart and in her head somehow never took hold of her, and so she stood there in the dark and the cold, waiting for the shouts to arrive with whatever new pain they might bring.
Just as the band of newcomers began to come through the iron door in the castle wall, Freya saw the inner door open and out came Skadi with Thora at her side, but there was no sign of Wren.
“Omar!”
Freya spun to see Halfdan crashing through the crowd and snatching up the southerner in a bear hug. The warrior laughed and put the man down, and Omar stumbled back with a smile. The huntress blinked. “Omar?”
It must have been him shouting over the bay! But why?
He sauntered forward and clasped her arm. “Ah, you made it back, fair lady. Good, very good. I was worried when I heard the reavers howling this evening, and I saw them skirting the bay, making for the city. But they were leagues ahead of me, beyond my reach. I take it the battle went well?”
“No thanks to you!” Leif yelled from behind the queen. The young warrior strode into the courtyard and drew his sword. He shouted to the crowd, “Omar Bakhoum was a loyal friend to our king and queen, right to the bitter end when Fenrir killed him. The queen and I both saw him fall! This is not Omar Bakhoum, it’s a demon! He must have led the reavers here tonight. He’s in league with the beasts!”
Freya rolled her eyes, but to her amazement dozens of angry voices rose to support Leif’s claims, echoing his story about the death of the king and of Omar. There were shouts to kill Omar, and others to exile him, and others to sacrifice him on Mount Esja to appease the Allfather.
“No, no!” Freya shouted over the din. “He’s lying. Leif is lying to you all. He’s been lying to you for years. Fenrir didn’t kill Omar. It was Leif who struck him down. The beast from the pit killed three men that day, and Leif killed the rest so there would be no witnesses, no one to tell the truth of what happened on the mountain!”
The crowd fell silent. Most of their eyes glared darkly at her, lips curled and ready to shout her down, but for a moment they listened.
“But Omar survived and he ran away,” she said. “He went to the vala at Glymur Falls, and there he stayed all this time, for five years, trying to cure the plague on his own, living in fear for his life should Leif ever find him again.” She glanced at the southerner and saw a sort of nervous amusement in his eyes. But he gave her no other sign of what he might want her to say, or not say.
How much should I reveal? Can I tell them that Omar is immortal? Can I tell them that Fenrir was really Ivar? How much will they be willing to hear, or believe? And what will they do to us, whether they believe me or not?
“And we did find him, me and Erik and Leif. Leif drew his sword, and Omar cut off his arm and let him fall into the river. That’s what really happened. And Omar was the one who struck off Fenrir’s head when we trapped the beast. Omar is your champion, not me, and certainly not Leif!”
The following shouting match was deafening. Everyone had an opinion or a question, everyone took sides. Some believed Freya, in whole or in part. Some stood by their warrior, Leif. And some still wanted to kill Omar on the mountain and pray for an end to their nightmare. But it was the voice of the queen that ended the fighting.
“My people, it has been a long and tiring day, full of victories and tragedies. Freya has brought us the head of Fenrir, and the reavers made us pay for that in blood tonight. But we prevailed, as we always have and always will. And now Omar Bakhoum has returned to us. Look at him!”
She stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “He’s no demon, no monster, no ghost or trick of the light. He’s alive, and he has returned from the wilderness, no doubt after surviving unspeakable horrors and perhaps having done great deeds as well. I will question him, and you will all know the truth of the matter soon enough. But there will be no more killing. There has been enough blood spilled in Rekavik tonight. Go home, and rest easy knowing that you have such heroes as these to defend your city.” She extended her hands to touch Freya’s and Leif’s shoulders. “Good night, and may the Allfather grant us a long rest from our labors.”
Then she nodded to Omar, and turned back to the castle. Skadi led the procession of guards and valas inside, and Freya followed at Omar’s side. But in the middle of the dining hall, the guards seized Omar’s arms.
“No!” Freya tried to pry them off of him, but Leif’s sword was suddenly at her throat, pushing her back against the wall. “What’s going on?”
“A very good question,” Skadi said. She stood before Omar, studying him. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
“Never if I can help it, Highness,” Omar said smoothly. “I used to revel in surprises, but such is a pastime for younger men. These days I strive to avoid new things at all costs. They upset my digestion.”
“It really is you, isn’t it?” The queen leaned close to his face. “I saw you die, and yet here you are, all too well. Is it true what the girl said? Did you kill Fenrir?”
“Indeed it is, all too true. I did kill… the beast you called Fenrir.” Omar smiled thinly. “Though I must admit, I expected a warmer reception for all my hard work.”
“Your reception is still very much in question,” Skadi said. “Why are you here? Why come back now?”
Freya turned her attention to Leif and the blade at her throat. The young warrior was facing the queen, but was watching his prisoner with a sidelong squint.
“I took the r
ing from Fenrir’s hand,” Omar said. “And I spoke with the ancient valas of Rekavik. Have you?”
Skadi hesitated. “I did. Briefly.”
“Then you already know, Highness, that none of your exalted predecessors know anything about this plague. They have no answers for you, no cure at all.”
“That remains to be seen,” she said sternly.
“Perhaps it remains to be seen by you, but I have seen it clearly enough, and I have far more experience speaking with the dead. But if you have forgotten that, you are always welcome to inspect my sword again.”
The queen’s eyes flashed down to the grip of the rinegold sword and an uneasy look crossed her face.
Freya wet her lips.
Skadi’s held that sword before, and she saw whatever it is that Omar sees when he wields it. And it scares her!
“But there is some small cause for hope, Highness,” Omar said. “If your friends would be so kind as to stop hurting my arms, I’d be happy to tell you why all your troubles are behind you.”
The queen frowned a little deeper and stepped back from him. “You’ve come to talk about the king.”
“No, no, not a bit,” he said with a smile. “I’ve come to talk about your reaver problem. More specifically, I’ve come to talk to you about bloodflies.”
Skadi hesitated a moment longer, then nodded to the guards and they released Omar’s arms. The southerner rolled his shoulders and massaged his elbow.
“Well?” the queen prompted him.
“Hm? Oh yes, the flies. Are you quite sure you want to discuss it in front of so many people?” He glanced around the dining hall at the guards and the valas.
“I’m not afraid of your words, Omar. Are you?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Well, I won’t bore you with all the details, but the salient point is this. I have, at this very moment, a nest full of an ancient breed of bloodflies busy as bees, laying eggs and raising their young just as fast as they can. I left them plenty of food and water, and built a charming little gazebo over them with some mud.”
He gestured whimsically. “Well, perhaps charming is a bit of a stretch. But it will keep them reasonably safe until there are so many of them that they can break out of the nest on their own through sheer brute force.”
“I hate bloodflies,” a guard muttered.
“And well you should, my burly friend, well you should. Nasty little creatures, as we all know. However, they do have a very useful skill in that they drink the blood of their victims, and these ancient bloodflies have an added virtue. They can drink the aether in the blood as well.” He paused to give Skadi a long, stern gaze.
Freya saw the understanding dawning in the queen’s eyes.
But is he telling her the whole truth, or a half truth, or none at all? I can’t read him.
“They’ll hatch soon?” she asked.
“Hours, mere hours,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything breed so quickly.”
“And when they hatch from this nest of yours, what will they do? Did you give them a taste for demon blood? Will they pull the plague out of the reavers and return them to their normal selves?”
“That was my first thought,” he said, rather seriously, his lips tense. “That was what I hoped to create. A true cure. But you can’t separate this disease from its host. You can’t take the bad blood out and leave the good blood behind, so to speak.”
“A poison, then,” the queen said. “The flies will infect the reavers with some disease that will wipe them out?”
“Not a poison,” he said. “A vaccine. If these flies of mine bite one of you, you’ll be protected from the reavers’ venom. It will be impossible for you to be turned into one of them. And if the flies bite a reaver, it will calm them. Or maybe pacify them. Actually, I don’t know exactly what will happen to them, but it will certainly be an improvement. I didn’t exactly have the time or materials to test it.”
Skadi paced a few short steps back and forth in front of him, her long black dress swishing across the bare stone tiles. “How did you make this vaccine, exactly?”
“With great skill, Highness.”
The queen frowned at him. “And where is this nest, exactly?”
“Close by, Highness.” He rested his hand on his sword, and the guards jerked forward, but Skadi waved them back, and he nodded his thanks to her. “You’re trying to decide whether to trust me, whether to believe me. I remember this same moment from when I first arrived and I told you who I was and where I came from. You doubted me then just as you doubt me now. And I know there is nothing I can say that will truly persuade you. So, Highness, I suggest we go to bed.”
Skadi slapped him.
Omar winced and touched his cheek. “My word…” And then he feigned realization, overplaying the part. “Oh goodness, no! Did you think I meant you and I, together, in bed? No, no, no. Whatever in the world would lead you to think that?” And his eyes snapped to the right to look at Leif for the first time since he arrived.
Leif swallowed, his eyes darting to the southerner. Freya grabbed his arm and bent his hand back, knocking his sword to the ground. Leif yanked himself out of her grip and stood a few paces away, glaring at her.
“You took your eyes off her. What did you expect?” the queen said dryly, though her gaze remained fixed on Omar. “I do believe you have something prepared. Whether or not it is truly meant to solve the reaver plague, I don’t know. It may even involve the bloodflies. You were ever one to muddle a lie with the truth. But I don’t believe you left your precious package unguarded in a hole on Mount Esja, or that you would leave your grand design to chance buzzing about on the wind. It’s closer than that, isn’t it?”
“As close as it needs to be, Highness.”
“Inside the city.” She turned to the guards. “Search the south wall, and retrace his steps as he came through the city from the gate to the castle. Look in open sacks, or on the low roofs, or in the shadows between the houses. Anywhere he might have easily tossed something as he walked by.”
The house carls frowned. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that looks out of place.” Skadi paused. “But it probably is a bloodfly nest. And there may be more than one. Go. Hurry. Get as many men as you need.”
The guards hurried out, leaving Omar smiling in the center of the room. “I always said you were a very clever woman, Highness. Intelligent, educated, shrewd, suspicious, and untrusting. But you’re still playing the same games by the same rules, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re still dealing in power and control.” Omar winked at Freya. “Always trying to protect what you have while trying to get a little more for yourself. And that’s perfectly reasonable, as long as that’s what everyone else is doing, too. But I don’t think you’re prepared to deal with someone who wants nothing for himself, and cares nothing for what you have.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small ball of dried mud.
Skadi drew back behind Thora as though preparing to use her as a shield against the brown lump in the man’s hand.
Omar laughed. “Are you really so afraid of—”
Leif snatched the ball from his hand and ran down the length of the hall and out the front door. Omar spun, staring after the one-armed youth. “No! You idiot!”
Freya gave Omar one last worried look, and she ran out the door after Leif.
Chapter 24
Freya flew out the door, across the courtyard, and into the streets of Rekavik. Despite the late hour, there were still dozens of people in the lanes, standing in knots around the torches and open doorways, talking and glaring as they shivered in the night air. As she ran by, Freya saw curious and angry and exhausted eyes rising to follow her, and mouths opening to speak to her, but she had no breath for them.
Leif wasn’t far ahead. She could see him darting left and right around the people in the road, only thirty or forty paces ahead, but the warrior ran with the tireless strengt
h of youth, and of one who had not spent the last two nights slaughtering reavers.
My spear!
Her hand felt light and naked at her side, bouncing along with no warm, sweat-slick steel clutched in it.
Maybe it’s a blessing. I don’t think I could make it very far with the extra weight.
Her legs were beyond tired, beyond burning, beyond shaking. They were cold and hollow, almost numb from the unending abuse. A lifetime in the eastern hills tracking deer and bear and birds had made her a tireless walker and hiker, but not a runner. Before the first reaver appeared in Logarven and attacked Katja, the last time she could remember running was when she spooked an old snow bear and had to bolt from its den and let Erik take the animal down with his spear.
Erik…
She stumbled around a corner, losing a pace or two. But the chase went on, and on. The people of Rekavik had barely a moment to look up before the black shadows of Leif and Freya flew past with the heavy rhythm of their huffing breaths and thumping boots.
Dimly she was aware that they were running north through a part of the city she hadn’t seen before.
Not south to the new wall, not east or west to the seawalls. North. What’s north except the bay? The bay!
Damn it!
“Leif!” She screamed with what little wind was hovering in her tired lungs. “It’s a cure!”
The youth ran on in silence.
That stupid bastard!
She could see him pulling even farther away, leaping lightly over sacks and rocks and holes in the road as gracefully as an elk.
“Leif!”
He dashed around a corner, out of sight, and for a moment the echoing beats of his footfalls vanished, leaving Freya to hear only her own boots on the stones and the soft shushing of the bay on the nearby beaches and jetties. A heavy wave crashed up on the rocks, and over the roof of a small house Freya saw the white spray sparkling in the starlight.
“Leif!”
She drew her knife in her shaking hand and turned the corner and saw the young warrior stumbling to a halt at the end of the lane where the stones ran down into the dark waters of the bay. He leaned back with one arm, and she realized he was about to hurl the bloodfly nest into the sea.
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