He’d been reluctant to leave Silla alone with Harpa in the wake of the Wolf Feeders’ attack, but they needed to hear what Bjalla Gray Locks had seen. Vig had assured him Runný and a trusted friend watched the narrow valley—the lone route in and out of Kalasgarde. If any suspicious warriors were to enter, they’d soon find an avalanche crashing down upon them. With that in mind, Rey had begrudgingly relented to leaving Silla at Harpa’s for an hour, while he and Vig rode into Kalasgarde and questioned the man who’d seen the serpent.
“Old Man Bjalla’s been spouting tales of late,” said the barkeep, pouring ale from a jug, “but he can’t tell a door from a wall.” Handing the filled horn to Vig, the man glanced at Bjalla. “Been telling all who would listen he’s seen Svangormr about these parts.” The man chuckled, shaking his head.
“My thanks,” muttered Rey, turning back to Bjalla.
“The hungry serpent. That’ll help our cause.” Vig’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Rey did not respond as they made their way to Bjalla Gray Locks. As the name would suggest, the old man had a shaggy head of gray hair, and he watched them with steely eyes as they approached.
“Gray Locks,” said Rey with a nod. “I’m Axe Eyes, and this is Twig Arms?—”
“Strong Arms!” Vig protested.
Rey ignored him. “We’ve heard you saw a disturbing sight. Might we share a cup with you and hear it for ourselves?”
The man drank deeply. “Here to ridicule me, are you?”
“No,” said Rey. “We wish only to hear what you saw.”
Bjalla did not reply, watching them with suspicion.
“There’ve been attacks in the area, Bjalla,” said Rey carefully. “Vig and I are investigating. One woman killed, another missing along with a young boy.”
Bjalla let out a heavy breath. “’Twas Svangormr, I swear it to you. Long as ten stallions strung together, with scales of glistening blue and long, white fangs. But its eyes”—the man’s gaze grew distant—“they were red as blood.”
“Where did you see it?” asked Rey.
The man had a haunted look. “Was on me way home from the mead hall, when I saw it just beyond the stockade walls. First, I thought I was too deep in my cups. But it turned and locked eyes on me, and I knew…knew it was real, that I was as sober as a newborn babe.”
“What happened next?” prompted Vig.
“Startled away,” Bjalla muttered, turning his attention to his ale.
Vig and Rey shared a knowing look. “Freydis was killed,” Rey tried. “Váli and Ástrid have vanished without a trace. We wish to give their families some peace. Prevent anyone else from being harmed.”
Bjalla seemed to chew on these words, but did not reply.
“No one has seen the creature except you, Bjalla. We must know precisely what you saw. No detail is too small. It is a matter of life or death.”
“Axe Eyes and I are northerners, through and through,” Vig chimed in. Rey watched his friend, a warm wave of gratitude filling him. He was glad Vig was here, glad they were doing this together. “We are friends toallÍseldurians,” continued Vig. “You can trust us with details that might otherwise draw troubles to your doorstep.”
Bjalla eyed them both, taking another long drink of ale. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he leaned in. “Not certain I believe it myself.” With a shake of his head, Bjalla muttered in a low voice, “Ice spirits.”
“Ice spirits?” repeated Rey numbly.
Bjalla continued, waving his hand in a mad gesture. “Whole cluster of ‘em swarmed in on him. The beast stopped in its tracks, snarled n’ yapped at ‘em. But they was persistent little hissers, and he soon turned tail. Moved without grace, as though it were encumbered by its great size. But when it slid into the river, it swam away right quick.”
Bjalla’s voice grew faint beneath the rush of blood in Rey’s ears. The bench swayed beneath him as he grappled with his thoughts. The ice spirits had been visiting Silla in increasing numbers—a dozen or more had played in the bushes while they sparred that morning. Why would they seek her? Did it have something to do with the serpent? A pit opened up in Rey’s stomach.
“Thank you Bjalla.” Rey pushed abruptly to his feet, ignoring Vig’s perplexed look. He’d heard all he needed to. Right now, there were more urgent matters. “We need to get back to Harpa’s.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
The air was so cold it burned Silla’s cheeks, each breath like tiny knives in her lungs. Yet still, she plodded, step after step, along the pathway to the glacial terraces, thankful for the trees that sheltered her from the brutal wind.
“Today you will fetch meltwater from Jökull’s lake,” Harpa had told Silla, handing her a bucket.
“Why?” asked Silla, before she could stop herself.
