“Wake up,” muttered Hekla, pinching her arm over and over. But despite the nips of pain, nothing changed.
The cold prickled her skin, and Hekla looked down to find her feet and legs bare. She was clad in naught but the long undertunic she’d worn to bed and her prosthetic arm, which she clearly remembered removing. What in the eternal fucking fires was going on? Had she sleepwalked here?
Sleep-rode-her-horse?
But where washere? Based on the chafing on her arse, she’d ridden some distance. And that single lonely apple tree identified this as the farm she’d dreamed about—the one with the people screaming in the barn as they were engulfed by mist. Her gaze landed on a heavy chain barring entry to the barn, and the cold in her bones deepened.
A small form bounded onto the path before her, beady black eyes glinting in the darkness.
Do you like Kritka’s gift?
Hekla was past the point of fighting this delusion. She advanced on the squirrel, hands balled into fists. “What have you done? Where am I?”
Kritka brought you here, Protector, to help you understand the dark thing. Now you will trust in Kritka.
“Help meunderstand?” Hekla sputtered. “How...where...” The questions piled up too quickly for her to make sense of them. She wasdreaming, and then...then she was here. “How did I come to be here?”
Kritka made your paws move many steps away from your burrow.
“Where are we, Kritka?” asked Hekla in a low growl.
The squirrel’s tail vibrated in a happy sort of gesture, as though he preened at her use of his name.We are at the burrow called Hagensson. Here, Protector will find answers about the bad thing. Then, Protector will trust Kritka. Help free our mistress.
“Hagensson,” gasped Hekla, glancing toward the barn. This was the site of the first human victims—the farm Loftur had forbidden her to visit. Curiosity bristled inside her. “I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, but her bare feet were already stepping toward the barn.
The sudden clank of chains sent a shiver down Hekla’s spine, only heightening the eerie sense of having taken these steps before.
“You’re awake,” she reassured herself, then began reciting the information she knew of the Hagenssons to ease her nerves. “Site of the first human attack. Livestock vanished, the family noted missing when their eldest son failed to call upon the neighbor’s girl.”
Another gust of wind carried the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh, and Hekla’s feet faltered. “Family of eight. Mother, father, four children, two grandparents. Only deep claw marks and blood spray found in their home?—”
A grunt from within the barn brought Hekla to an abrupt halt. Her left hand reached instinctively for her sword, and she swore when she did not find it.
“Curse you, you bloody squirrel,” she muttered. “Could you not have brought me fully dressed?”
The squirrel’s nose twitched, and Hekla had the sense that the creature did not understand the concept of breeches nor boots.
“At least you had the good sense to put my arm on.” Hekla unsheathed her claws, the reassuring glint of metal easing her pulse just a bit. But a long, low wail floated through the air, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. It was increasingly clear that something was locked inside the barn.
Before she could second guess herself, Hekla took off at a brisk pace. She snatched an axe propped against the wall and used the butt to strike the metal padlock once, twice, three times. The sound rattled her ear drums and instantly agitated whatever was locked inside. A second screech joined the first, then a third…fourth…fifth…Hekla’s nerves were on high alert, but she did not cease her assault on the lock.
You need fire, came the squirrel’s voice, diverting her gaze away from the barn doors. Her gaze swung toward the creature perched upon what appeared to be a small bucket filled with unlit torches. And tucked just behind it, a firestone. Someone had left these here, but who, and more importantly, why?
Hekla soon held a lit torch in hand, allowing her to drive the axe into the padlock with far more accuracy. It wasn’t long before it cracked open. Hekla shoved the door with her shoulder. The shrieks from within reached an ear-splitting crescendo, rattling her bones.
Kritka will wait outside,chattered the squirrel.
Hekla sent him an irritated look, then lifted the torch, casting light into the barn. The moldered stench hit her at once, making her eyes water, yet Hekla pushed through it and stepped inside. Her breath seized at what she found within. The Hagenssons, the Erikssons, the Brakkssons—all of the missing were here.
Except it was clear it was notthemat all. Their flesh was a bluish gray, bruised and dripping black blood from multiple slash marks. Iron collars wrapped around their necks, and they were secured to the wall with chains long enough to allow movement. As two-dozen faces swung toward her, Hekla flinched. They smiled too wide, their mouths filled with pointed teeth. But their eyes were the most frightening part of all.
Glowing red, like the embers of a fire.
A chill settled into Hekla’s bones.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
FOURTEEN
