“Wolfslayer…”
His gaze snapped to her at once, almost as though he’d anticipated her speaking.
“I’m ignorant. You’re our guide, and yet I know very little about you.” She tilted her head. “Is that by design, that there is so little information to be found?”
Vidarr considered for a moment before taking off his helmet. Satara’s heart thudded a bit harder. «There is not much to say. I serve my father and our clan when they need me. Otherwise, I reflect on my oath, and I wait.»
“Marius said something about your oath,” Edie said, poking at the fire idly with a stick. “A vow of silence until…?”
Vidarr huffed in her direction, as if he resented being forced to communicate. Nonetheless, he signed, «When Ragnarok comes, it is told, the Ravener, the World-Eater, Fenrir, will break from his chains, and the gods will ride into battle to defeat him and the Army of the Twilight. The Wolf will overtake Odin, my father, in battle and devour him. With my boot, I will pry the Ravener’s jaw open and tear him apart. When I avenge the Father of All, then speech will return to me.»
Edie blinked. “Okay, fair enough.” Motioning downward, “It must have taken a pretty badass blacksmith to make you such a badass boot.”
«Yes. All of them.»
“All of— Every blacksmith?” She raised her brows, glancing at Satara. “That’s a hell of a collaboration.”
«Every excess scrap of metal shaven or hammered in the forge, every bit of leather trimmed from the heel, is for me.»
Now that Satara was looking more closely at the boot, in firelight, she noticed that it wasn’t one homogeneous piece of metal—it was all fitted together expertly, but there were slightly different colors, different textures. But as awe-inspiring as the boot was, she was more interested in his vow. “You have a brother, don’t you?”
He huffed again. «Odin is my father. Our chieftain, and a wanderer. I have many siblings.»
“A brother who made an oath similar to yours,” Satara clarified. “Váli, if I’m not mistaken?”
«Yes. When my blind brother Hodur killed my younger brother Baldur, Odin enchanted the goddess Rindr and forced her to conceive Váli. Váli grew to adulthood within hours and vowed not to wash his hands nor brush his hair until Baldur was avenged.»
Edie stared at him for a moment. “There is … a lot to unpack there. At least you can wash your hands, but, like, the bar is low.”
«Váli killed Hodur eons ago now. He is free.»
He is free. Satara’s stomach knotted at those words. She knew the need for vengeance. She had wanted vengeance for Darras. She wanted vengeance for Astrid—of course she did. But to be bound by an event that hadn’t even happened yet…
“Could you ever speak?” she asked, watching his face carefully.
His expression didn’t waver, though he now searched her face in return. «A very long time ago. Longer than memory.»
“What were you like before?”
It took him a moment of thought. «I understand I was an energetic child. I remember my growth into adulthood being a joyful time.» He paused. «Everything was more joyful when Baldur was alive.»
Sadness rang through Satara’s chest. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but for a brief moment, Vidarr’s expression was truly sorrowful. The gods seemed so powerful, so untouchable. Their dealings in death and war had always been stories and lessons for her.
To see one of them before her, genuinely mourning the death of his brother, served as an abrupt reminder that these things had really happened. That, gods though they might be, they felt pain and loss just as humans did.
“I know how you feel,” Satara said softly. “I lost my brother when I was young. Things were never quite the same.”
Realization overcame Edie’s face as she gazed into the fire, but she said nothing.
Vidarr turned more fully toward Satara. «Your battlemother was slain as well.»
Satara swallowed. “Obliterated, actually.”
The god’s brow twitched. «The wounds run deep.»
That was certainly true. When Satara tried to recall the person she had been before losing Darras, there was nothing but an empty void. A child’s memories buried by grief. Even when she tried to recall who she had been a mere month ago, it felt like that life belonged to another person.
As though he had read her mind, Vidarr signed, «Who we were before matters little. Vengeance awaits. We must remain ever-focused.»
He was right that she wasn’t the same person. But an existence given fully over to an all-consuming lust for vengeance didn’t sound appealing either. No doubt Indriði deserved to die for what she had done, but Satara knew her life was worth more than the damage she could do to an enemy.
Or … she hoped it was.
Her heart sank. Of course, she had still given her existence over to something. Grief. Perhaps she had always been a little melancholy, ever since she was that little girl hiding in the woods, but this—this grief was different. It was heavy and dark like a rain cloud. It poisoned her.
She didn’t know how to shed it any better than Vidarr knew how to shed his duty.
It wasn’t long before Vidarr bade them to rest, and the two women curled up by the fire. Satara had to admit she felt much more secure under the watchful eye of a god. She fell into the dreamless sleep of exhaustion despite everything going on in her head.
When she woke, it was to the smell of smoke—blearily at first, and then all at once, with a sudden jolt.
The world around them was cold and bright in the morning sun, dew gleaming on the tall grasses like crystal. The fire had gone out recently enough that there was still thick smoke rising from the charred remnants. A cool breeze skimmed across her skin, and for some reason, it chilled her to the bone.
With dawning horror, Satara realized that the wind was blowing the smoke—and their scents—directly into the thicket.
She sat up quickly, loosing a small noise of defeat. Across the fire, Edie stirred and cracked open her eyes.
A swell of magic drew both their gazes to Vidarr. He sat on a log, exactly where he’d been sitting before, elbows resting on his knees. At some point in the night, he had shed his coat. «Your stag left an hour ago.»
Edie sat bolt upright and glared, reaching to pick twigs and grass from her bun. “That would have been nice to know an hour ago.”
The god remained impassive. «Tracking the stag is part of Satara’s trial. If I interfere, she will be punished.»
“It’s fine,” Satara murmured, dragging herself to her feet. Sleeping on the ground with only the fire and the clothes on her back to warm her was not ideal. Her body ached like she’d been hit by a truck. “Which direction did it go?”
The Silent God pointed to the northeast, and once they were sure the fire was properly doused, they began marching that way.
Satara cursed herself internally as she searched for tracks and scat. She shouldn’t have gone to sleep. It wasn’t as though it would make a difference at this point. One way or the other, soon, she wouldn’t need sleep at all. She’d rather be tired but assured safety from Náströnd.
Tracking the stag through the valley by prints alone proved nearly impossible, but soon, they reached the wood they’d passed through the day previous, and its marks mercifully started showing again.
Unfortunately, so, too, did the marks of the men stalking it. An unpleasant reminder that Satara wasn’t the only one hunting the beast.
She was beginning to wonder how far ahead of her they were when the dense trees parted for a clearing and she nearly ran into Siggi. She stopped just short, barely suppressing a squawk of surprise as she looked up into his snarling face.
He looked worse for wear this time, his shaggy reddish-brown hair threaded with twigs and broken leaves, his bear pelt covered with dirt and grasses. Dark circles ringed his eyes. The five other men were in similar condition, some expressions agitated, others hollow. She knew without being told that they ha
d been lying in wait all night for the stag.
“Where is the beast?” Siggi demanded immediately.
Satara attempted to close her expression, gesturing forward. “Up ahead, I assume. I’m tracking it that way.”
“Your tramping around has scared it off its usual path.” He looked back at his men. “We haven’t seen hide or tail of it since you showed up.”
She wasn’t sure what to say in response to such an accusation—that her mere presence could change nature’s course. “What do you think I did? Bewitched it?”
He began to turn pink at the collar and the tips of his ears. “Don’t speak to me like I’m stupid, girl. You’ve been chasing it off on purpose so we wouldn’t be able to find it.”
Before she could respond to that ridiculous charge, his posture shifted. He tilted his head, eyes suddenly sparkling, a vicious grin spreading across his face.
“You’re a test, aren’t you? A test sent by the gods to try my patience. An extra layer to challenge me.”
Satara’s shoulders tensed. He reminded her of a coiled snake about to strike, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off him for a second. She barely registered as one of his friends slunk, wolflike, to the side to get closer to Edie.
“Or maybe a gift from Mighty Thor,” the man said, his reedy voice shaking with a mixture of overexhaustion and adrenaline. “Two women between the six of us isn’t so bad. We’ve made do with worse.”
Edie crowded in closer, and Satara could feel the breeze of her icy death magic as she summoned it. “You can make do with my foot up your a—”
“We’re not a test.” Satara struggled to keep her voice even. “Or a gift. Just fellow hunters.”
“Then forget the stag,” Siggi growled. “It’s mine.”
As the hunter spoke, Vidarr’s heat washed over her skin. Her spirits lifted slightly, emboldened. Siggi might have been invited to this hunting ground by a god, but she had that god’s brother on her side. Tipping her chin up, she responded, “Nothing in this forest belongs to you. And judging by the pathetic skill with which you hunt, it never will.”
Siggi raised his hand. If Satara was honest, the jolt of fear that struck her heart hurt more than the smack itself, but the blow echoed through the forest, along with the sharp words: “Know your place!”
She staggered back and collided with another body; a moment later, Edie gripped her arm. “Are you okay?” the necromancer asked feverishly.
Satara didn’t answer. Being struck had momentarily dazed her, but as her vision came into focus again, Vidarr stepped out of the treeline. In two long strides, he made it to the hunting party.
He made no move to draw his weapon, but the way he was looming over them, hands working at his sides, it was clear he was fighting the urge.
Satara held up a hand and murmured, “Don’t. Stop.”
Vidarr looked over his shoulder, burning gaze bemused. Still, he eased back slightly, taking a step away from the men now practically cowering in fear. Not taking his eyes off the hunters, the god stabbed a finger at the other end of the clearing, and without so much as a word, they turned and left.
While he watched them go, Edie put her arms gently around Satara, trying to swallow the shaking in her voice. “Fucking monsters.”
Satara kept her gaze on Vidarr and the treeline as the hunters disappeared. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy when she thought about how easily he’d intimidated the men. Her face stung, her heart stung. If only she could make herself terrifying like him, no one would ever hurt her again.
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Such a sudden, intense desire. Was it wrong to want that?
When she opened her eyes, Vidarr had turned, and Edie had released her. She shifted, easing her vise grip on her spear, trying to find new resolve. The hunt had to continue. “Let’s just move on. I’m not letting them steal my kill.”
“What’s our next move?” Edie asked cautiously, keeping step with her as they crossed the clearing. Vidarr followed a couple paces behind, as always.
It was nearing midday, and the sun was climbing higher, beaming through gaps in the forest canopy. Satara watched how the shadows moved against the underbrush, easily picking out disturbed branches and deadfall marking the stag’s path. “The beast will need to stop to drink. If we find water, I think we’ll find it.”
The party fell silent as they wove through the trees. Edie had become more practiced at walking quietly, or perhaps Satara was so focused on the noises of the forest that she had tuned out anything else. As they walked, every once in a while, faintly, she could hear a whisper of what she was looking for—then she would step in the wrong direction and lose it.
But soon, the occasional whisper turned into a distant hissing, then a faint roar, until she could almost feel the water rushing against her skin. She walked more quickly in the direction of the noise. Suddenly, she realized she was thirsty, too, and the sound was only making her mouth drier, spurring her on.
Less than a minute of walking later, the forest became less dense. The sound of rushing water surrounded them, filling Satara’s ears and making the ground vibrate in a way that made her think this was more than just a stream.
When she peered around a thick, mossy tree and into the glade beyond, her suspicions were confirmed. The area ahead of them wasn’t a clearing in the true sense; the old trees were spaced out, their winding roots overtaking the forest floor and their branches creating a green canopy. Shafts of light illuminated a lush waterfall. The water she had heard cascaded from a rocky outcropping into a seemingly self-contained basin, glittering in the sun. It was so perfect and green it almost looked more like a fixture than a natural feature.
And standing by the edge, its head bowed to lap at the churning white water, was the stag.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Satara held her arm out, signaling the others to stop moving and keep silent. They were lucky the creature hadn’t heard them approaching over the rushing water.
She watched it closely, in awe at its size and majesty, admiring the small balls of light that swayed from its antlers. Little droplets of mist from the falls clung to its coat, rendering the silky fur even more gemlike than before. The simple act of stopping by the waterfall and having a drink seemed to relax the beast, its large eyes closing in bliss.
Again, something about the creature wrenched her heart. It was almost as if there was some kind of enchantment, a defense mechanism against hunting, but Satara sensed no magic. Witnessing the beauty and innocence of this creature felt like a gift from the gods. The thought of killing it was abhorrent—and the knowledge that she had to made her feel ill.
The air next to her shifted, human warmth and the cold of death mingling, and she knew without having to look that Edie had sidled up to her. The necromancer whispered almost in her ear: “Same plan as before? I take out the legs?”
Satara balked, face twisting as she looked at her. Could Edie really not feel whatever pull this creature had? Or was she just that brutal?
“I … I don’t know.” When Edie raised her brows in question, Satara sighed. “This feels wrong.”
“Wrong? Haven’t you hunted before?”
“Of course. Plenty of times.” She scrubbed a hand across her face. “The act of taking another creature’s life is a sacred honor. It’s always solemn, but this … feels different.”
Edie peered at the stag, perhaps trying to see what Satara saw. “How?”
“I don’t know. It’s just … wrong. It’s all wrong.” Satara clenched her teeth, hand tightening around her spear. The closer they got to their kill, the more she felt like she was on the wrong path. She knew it was more than her apprehension over her investiture, and yet Edie didn’t seem to feel it.
As she tried to puzzle out what she was feeling, the stag barely moved, simply lapping at the crystal water.
Then, suddenly, it lifted its head, staring into the forest somewhere off to Satara’s right. Its entire body was tense now, s
till as stone. Its ears swiveled rapidly, then its head turned as if trying to locate something Satara couldn’t sense.
By the time she heard it, it was too late.
A great rustling and a whoop echoed through the forest as Siggi came crashing from the trees, spear raised. The stag immediately bolted, but Siggi’s cry was answered by others elsewhere around the glade.
Satara’s heart jumped as the stag fled through a narrow passage leading to a greater clearing, dodging hunters that leapt from the bushes. It was fast as ever, but no doubt there were more men waiting for it. It was flanked now, surrounded. They were closing in quickly.
“Fuck!” Edie cried.
An angry heat surged through Satara’s veins, filling her heart until she thought it might burst. Siggi. The arrogance. The entitlement. The reckless, grasping selfishness. And the stag wasn’t the only one who would fall in the wake of these things—if he succeeded in this, if he stole her hunt, she would have nothing. She would die and be sent to rot in Náströnd for eternity. An eternity of torture and pain, all so one hunter could have something pretty on his mantel.
But, of course, it didn’t matter to him. Even if she had decided to tell the truth, to tell him of her trial, he wouldn’t care. When people like him wanted something, gods help anyone who stood in their way. They would put their desires above the lives of others every time. And no one would stop them.
But I will.
She leapt into the glade. The blood rushing in her ears rivaled the waterfall; she sensed rather than heard Edie and Vidarr following closely as she gave chase, boots beating the forest floor.
They sped through the narrow passage and almost immediately burst into a larger, more open clearing. There was no canopy here, only an overcast sun in a steely sky. And just under a hundred yards ahead, a sight that stopped her in her tracks.
Sprawled on the grass, pinned down by hunters bearing weighted nets, was the stag. It bellowed and bucked, trying to struggle its way to freedom, but the men had descended like a pack of wolves, a few of them even sticking it with their spears to keep it in place.
Unholy Spirit (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 3) Page 33
