Rey’s mind leaped immediately to Silla. If Kritka’s mistress was calling for help, was it possible she called to the Volsiks? Nausea churned in his stomach as he thought of all Silla faced in Kopa right now—the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, a missing sister and a god of chaos to contend with. Should he have brought her?
Kritka chittered from the tree’s highest branch, and Hekla stepped forward. But Eyvind put a hand on her forearm, head bowing toward hers as he spoke in a low voice.
“Must it be you?”
Hekla shook Eyvind off with a glare. “I gave Kritka my word, and I shall see it through.”
With a hard swallow, Eyvind drew his sword. “Then I give you mine that I shall guard your back.”
A glowering Gunnar elbowed his way through the warriors, drawing his own weapon. “As shall I.”
Rey struggled not to roll his eyes at the pair of fools. Instead, he focused his gaze on Hekla. She drew her dagger and slashed it through her palm. A long moment of silence stretched out as the blood pooled. And then Hekla began drawing symbols on the tree’s trunk, checking for Kritka’s approval at intervals.
At last, she stepped forward, placed her palm on the Spiral Stave, and spoke words that seemed quiet and loud, all at once.
“Wild One, we call to you.”
Dry leaves rustled, like fingernails on wood. Wind whispered through the clearing, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine needles; of sunbaked rocks and frosted grass. A vibration built beneath their feet, the warriors calling out in surprise as it grew in intensity, building to a shuddering crescendo. The old tree groaned in protest, the last of its leaves fluttering to the ground. And then, with a sound like snapping bones, the tree split down the middle.
Several moments passed as Rey tried to get his bearings. Aside from the split tree, nothing seemed to have changed. But then a small sound escaped Hekla, and she crawled to the base of the tree. Eyvind cocked his head to the side and a groove formed between Gunnar’s brows, but Rey couldn’t see…
The vibration was back deep under his boots, shaking his bones. Rey glanced around, wondering if anyone else had felt it. But their gazes were fixed on Hekla, who now stood and turned. In her cupped hands was a tiny sleeping woman. Her green skin was patterned like tree bark, her clothing made of moss and woven grass. Miniature antlers sprouted from her brow, while a white foxlike tail curved around her back.
Rey’s gaze flitted to Kritka, still, somehow, perched in the tree. “Thisis the Forest Maiden?”
Kritka chittered.
“It is only part of our mistress,” Hekla translated. Her head whipped back to the squirrel. “Wait,what?” When Kritka did not reply, Hekla demanded, “Explain.”
The air seemed to shiver. Rey glanced over his shoulder but found nothing amiss.
The squirrel chittered again, and Hekla raked a hand through her hair. “You did not tell me there wasanotherpart of her to awaken, you insolent creature!”
“Another part?” Eyvind scowled. “How many, rodent?”
Kritka’s nose twitched. “One more,” Hekla translated. Her expression turned thunderous. “The other part iswhere?” But the squirrel’s head cocked to the side, and he held himself still, as though listening. “It knows,” Hekla interpreted.
“What knows?” asked Thrand Long Sword, shifting nervously.
But the vibration beneath Rey’s boots grew more pronounced, and he now realized it came in rhythmic throbs.
“The mist,” said Rey. He swallowed hard. “The mist is coming.”
Chapter 20
Hekla’s pulse was in her throat as the telltale heartbeat of the mist grew louder, closer. Across the clearing, Eyvind straightened, then shouted orders to his men. Warriors jostled about, getting into formation. But Hekla was momentarily dazed, haunted by all that had happened before.
She’d been in this very clearing. Had heard the heartbeats. Had sensed the mist’s anger…its need to consume. Back then, Hekla had done the only thing she could—she’d fled. But it had been too late. The mist had engulfed her, seeped into her lungs, permeated her skin. It had nearly Turned her draugur. But Kritka had appeared in grimwolf form. Had repelled the mist.
A nudge to her shoulder yanked Hekla back to the present. She turned and gasped at the enormous lupine face to her left. Clever yellow eyes watched her from above Kritka’s gray muzzle. She hadn’t seen him in grimwolf form since the day he’d rescued her from the mist. Fur raised on end, he thrashed his tail back and forth in agitation. Then the grimwolf cocked his head to the side, a motion so like a squirrel, she nearly laughed.
It senses my mistress,Kritka said into her skull.We must protect her.
Hekla glanced down at the tiny woman curled in her palm and scowled at the reminder of Kritka’s trickery. He’d led her to believe she needed only to free his mistress from a single tree. Nottwo.
The heartbeat pounded louder, louder, and Hekla knew there was no time for such thoughts. Crouching low, she slid the tinywinged woman back into the tree’s hollow. But as she straightened, she realized the other warriors had noticed Kritka’s new form—had drawn their swords and backed away defensively.
“He’s with us, you shite-beetles,” she snapped. “And your swords won’t do a thing against the mist. Fire is our only protection.” Hekla pulled the twin torches she’d strapped to her back.
