The mist’s eerie heartbeat was already too fast, the ground beneath her rumbling with each pulsating beat. Hekla sprinted pastthe longhouse, but the black form of her horse was still too far away.
Protector won’t make it,Hekla heard inside her skull.
“Can’t you blast it away?” she asked, thinking of the grimwolf who’d saved her the last time.
Kritka used all our magic to get you here. Protector must use the fire!
Hekla looked down at the torch clasped in her metal hand; she’d forgotten that she still held it. The heartbeat was now a staccato, coming from deep within the woods. Hekla lifted the torch, casting light upon the border of the woods, and recoiled in horror. The mist blasted through the trees like an angry squall. Frightened, Kritka burrowed his face into her neck.
Before, when she’d faced certain death, Hekla had felt a sense of peace and acceptance. Now, she felt only anger. She finally had answers—finally had proof that Loftur was out of his bloody mind—and now those answers would die with her. But Hekla hadn’t the time to dwell on any of it, because the mist was suddenly all around her. Kritka trembled on her shoulder, and Hekla drew a deep breath, bracing herself for the world of chaos she’d barely survived in the woods.
It never came.
The mist recoiled with an angry hiss as it neared her flaming torch. Hekla blinked, then gave the torch an experimental thrust forward. Again, the mist retreated.
Was she dreaming? The thick white mist had closed in on all sides, yet she and Kritka stood in a pocket of sorts. She looked up at the star-filled skies and realized that the mist could not pass above the flame. But she could sense its displeasure—could sense it probing for weakness as it swirled around them. Hekla held herself still and tried to trust that the torch would protect them. But the feel of this poison all around her—to be so near to a fate worse than death—was utterly unsettling.
Then everything happened in the span of the heartbeat.
The mist’s attention withdrew, and it peeled away from Hekla and Kritka. Then, it charged away like a cloud of angry wasps.
“What?” murmured Hekla, disoriented. Kritka clung to her, trembling like a leaf in rough autumn winds.
An equine scream split the air, and the blood drained from her face. Then, she was running, feet pounding the packed earth road, as Kritka’s claws gripped the flesh of her neck.
“No no no no no,” she muttered, hoping,praying, she was wrong. The mist was now well beyond a hundred paces from the woods, yet it showed no signs of losing strength. It should have dissipated by now. Clearly, it was growing stronger.
Hekla cursed as a rock sliced into the sole of her foot, but she did not slow her pace. Her horse was now completely engulfed in mist, another high-pitched whinny increasing Hekla’s urgency.
“Get back!” she screeched, waving her torch, now all but snuffed out. But she was too far. She was too late.
Emotion clogged Hekla’s throat just as a cloud slid away from the moons. The sisters were the thinnest slivers of light, and as they were revealed, the air rattled with the mist’s displeasure.
It happened so gradually that, at first, she wasn’t certain it was happening at all. But after a minute, then two, the churning, wrathful cloud of mist was just a little more transparent. The mist was evaporating under the light of the sister moons. With each beat of her heart, the mist dissipated just a little more, until she could make out the black outline of a figure within.
But that was no horse within the mist. With misshapen limbs and a thick humped neck,thiswas a grotesque beast. And as glowing red eyes sliced through the haze, a shiver rattled Hekla’s spine.
She extinguished her torch in the earth and pulled Kritka from her shoulder. “Go hide in the grass,” she told the squirrel. Thankfully Kritka scampered off without complaint.
Hefting the axe in her left hand, Hekla unsheathed her claws on her right and advanced on the monster before her. The mist gave one last gasping breath before dissolving completely into the air.
“I’m sorry,” she told her horse, stepping nearer. “I failed you.”
Tears tried to push forth, but she would not let them free. Her insides rebelled at the task before her, but she thought of those pitiful draugur chained in the barn. Death was a mercy compared to such a fate.
Her horse charged at her, baring a maw full of teeth that were fit for a grimwolf. As the monster neared, a putrid, rotting stench swarmed up Hekla’s nostrils, and her eyes watered. But she still managed to dodge the beast. As it passed, she stabbed her claws into the Turned horse’s haunch and used the beast’s momentum to swing herself onto the remnants of her saddle. Hekla swallowed the sob building in her throat and forced herself to do what must be done. She raised the axe high above her head and sliced it downward, burying it deep into its neck.
It should have been a lethal blow, yet the monster only reared in anger. The saddle strap tore through, sending Hekla hurtling to the side. Her body was airborne, but her claws were buried in the undead horse’s flesh, and she used them to haul herself back. Hekla collided with the monster’s flank, briefly knocking the wind from her chest. She clambered up, kicking the broken saddle off, and bringing the axe back down with a cry of anguished rage.
With a growl that was anything but equine, the horse bucked wildly, trying to dislodge her. But Hekla’s claws held her in place, and she brought the axe down again and again. The horse kicked with unnatural power, and once again, Hekla was airborne. This time, her claws pulled loose, and she careened through the air. She tucked her body, stalks of barley softening the blow as she rolled through her landing. Still, her shoulder crunched into the ground, and her metal arm jammed against her ribs. But Hekla hadn’t the time to consider any injuries, as the Turned horse was once more charging at her.
She spun away with not a heartbeat to spare; lethal hooves gouged the earth where her head had been moments before. Its scent was nauseating as was the bent angle at which its head now hung.From her position beneath the horse, Hekla could see she’d severed its neck more than halfway through.
She gathered her strength, a scream of fury and outright despair building inside her. Hekla slammed the axe into the underside of its neck, crunching into bone. Yet still the monster shrieked and reared up on its misshapen hind legs.
“Why won’t you die?” bellowed Hekla. Hooves lashed down, and she rolled again, using her momentum to swing the axe upward. This time she felt the bone snap through. Black blood spurted from the wound, and at last, the monster showed signs of slowing. Breathing heavily, Hekla hauled herself to her feet and hefted her axe, before bringing it down on the wound with all of her strength. Her former horse stumbled to the side, then fell to the ground with earth-rumbling force.
“I’m sorry!” Hekla shouted, driving the axe down into the monster’s neck. “I’m sorry!” She repeated the words with each swing of the axe, until at last, the horse’s head came loose from its body.
