It was time to leave. Hekla turned on her heel just as the ground beneath her rumbled. She was filled with prickling awareness, swiftly followed by the sense of being hunted.
A low, steady thump sounded from distantly within the woods.
No, thought Hekla, desperation clawing through her. It couldn’t be. But the pulsing grew louder, and Hekla knew she was not imagining it.
The mist was coming.
Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, yet she knew there was no weapon to vanquish this foe. None had survived the mist’s deadly embrace. Her only chance was to flee.
Hekla drew her sword anyway and hacked at the brambles encircling the clearing, desperate to get back into the open forest so she could dig in her heels and run. The heartbeat’s rhythm picked up, though the beat was still distant. But the sound of it climbed up through her boots and vibrated her bones.
I’m coming for you, it seemed to say.
Ripping her cloak free from a sharp branch, Hekla burst out of the thicket, stumbling between branches and over rocks. But she was in the open forest, and an ember of hope sparked to life. The battlethrill coursed through her veins, powering her limbs. She had to get out of these woods. Had to get away from the mist. Had to warn the others so they could get to safety. She passed a familiar stump, recognized a distinct, forked rowan, but Hekla knew she was still too far from the Braksson’s steading, that the pulsating beat grew too rapid...
She cast a desperate look over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn’t. Thick white mist slithered between tree stems with impossible speed. And in that moment, she knew: Escaping this thing was not possible.
Hekla had never been one to run from death. And so, she paused. Turned to face it.
“Well met,” she said, hefting her sword.
The mist undulated in time with the rapid heartbeat, sweeping closer. But Hekla held her ground. Greeted her destiny. Swung her blade as the mist engulfed her.
It was much like being plunged underwater, only in reverse. She emerged from the deathly stillness of the woods into utter chaos. Discordant sounds assaulted her ears, while monstrous creatures danced around her. Inside the mist, the forest transformed into a place of devastation. Trees, bald and lifeless; moss, gray and crisped. Beneath it all, a webwork of black fire was woven in the soil.
The pulsating rhythm of the mist was distant yet all around her, its anger growing faster with the beat. She could feel it permeating her senses, invading her throat, and seeping into her skin. It searched out the tethers of her life force and free will, eager to break and reforge—to Turn her to its cause. Nausea overwhelming her, Hekla sank to her knees, all hope bleeding from her slowly. Nothing could save her from the mist.
She was filled with too many emotions to count: dismay that rather than protect Istré’s people, she’d only join the ranks of their dead; a strange sense of emptiness she did not care to examine too closely; but most potent of all was her gladness that she would leave this realm with a sword in her hand. She’d chosen this life, and thus,this death. And with that, a curious sense of peace drowned out the chaos.
But as Hekla readied herself for death, a snarl met her ears, air brushing her face as a large figure leaped past her. Hekla blinked. It was an enormous grimwolf, its size rivaling a horse’s. In sharp contrast to the dying forest all around her, this wolf teemed with vitality. With light.
The mist hissed with anger, repelling away from the beast’s form. The wolf turned. Met Hekla’s gaze with bright yellow eyes.
Cover your ears. Close your eyes, said a voice in her head.
Dazed, Hekla obeyed.
A thunderous sound filled the air all around her as a lightning-bright shock rippled down her spine. And then, she knew no more.
NINE
When Hekla’s eyes fluttered open, she was certain she was dead. Yet if this was death, why did she feel like she’d been trampled by wild horses?
She blinked to clear her vision, searching for the stars. Wasn’t that what people believed? That she’d follow the Mother Star and settle amongst her ancestors? But as an evergreen canopy came into view, as her lungs filled with loamy air, an alarming thought filled her mind. Was she in the Bear God’s Sacred Forest? Gods, she hoped not.
Hekla propped herself up on her elbows, vision warping. She blinked. The squirrel lay motionless beside her.
“Oh!” She bolted up and brushed a knuckle along the creature’s side. The rodent’s chest expanded with a breath, and relief filled her. A few more strokes of her knuckles, and the squirrel’s eyes fluttered open. Hekla found her waterskin and poured a small amount into the lid. Holding the cap carefully next to the squirrel, she waited. The creature blinked at the water, then dipped its nose into the cap, those beady black eyes looking at Hekla as it drank.
Slowly, Hekla’s bearings came back to her. Brittle moss beneathher, evergreens swaying above her. She was cold beyond measure and utterly exhausted. But the mist was gone, and she was alive. It felt like a dream, and yet she was left with more questions than when she’d entered this gods-damned forest.
The squirrel sat upright, and Hekla realized it had drained all the water in the cap. She refilled it and watched as the squirrel drank more. After a while it sat back on its haunches, a bristly red tail twitching behind it.
Protector is very kind to Kritka,came a childlike voice inside her mind.Kritka banished the dark thing, but it took much strength.
Hekla stared at the squirrel, the chill in her bones seeming to grow with each punishing throb at her temples. Surely, she was dreaming. Struck with a sudden wave of dizziness, Hekla laid back down, resting her cheek on brittle moss. Gods, but she was cold and so very tired.
The squirrel bounded into her line of vision.
