Thori looked around. Behind them, a large body of water disappeared in the mist. The ocean or a large lake. But in front of them rose an island, a pale sandy beach, and beyond, a forest of birch and beech lost in twilight.
Ahti had already made her way up to the beach, waving impatiently at them.
“The Bog Mother’s realm,” Njord said.
And Thori followed him to the shore, his unease growing with every step.
“This is a realm in the making,” he said. “Small. New. But growing.”
“Yes,” Ahti said. “A festering spot in the space between the realms, spreading like rot through healthy wood. If she rises, there’ll be a tenth realm that is hers to rule.”
She turned, sword already drawn, and headed to a small path leading into the trees. Thori looked at Njord, who offered him a reassuring smile and gently brushed his shoulder.
“Then let’s not let it come to that,” Thori said.
“We won’t.”
So they followed Ahti into the forest. The white trunks of the birches glowed eerily in the low light, and as they wandered further, Thori spotted long strips of white cloth tied to the branches. A light breeze moved the pieces of fabric like the banners of an undead army, and if the Bog Mother rose, there’d be a whole realm filled with her whispering creatures and march-risen things, ready to attack the neighboring realms.
Ahti stopped suddenly as the trees opened into a clearing.
Thori shuddered.
At its center lay a small, dark lake, surrounded by wooden stakes topped with skulls and twisted figurines.
Everything was quiet and deserted, but the oppressive atmosphere made Thori’s nervousness turn into something uncomfortably close to fear.
“Where is she?” Njord hissed.
Ahti hesitated for a heartbeat, her gaze flitting across the lake as if searching for something.
Or someone.
Thori’s breath hitched.
Just beneath the surface, tangled in roots and algae and illuminated by a faint greenish glow, three figures floated. Suspended in the murky water, their pale faces turned toward the surface, and their hair drifting, like seaweed.
“Mother,” Thori breathed, the same moment Ahti shouted, “Vellamo!”
She sprinted to the lake, splashing into the muddy water and diving like an otter. Thori wanted to follow her, but across the lake, on the far shore, there was movement.
Svanhild and her remainingvölurappeared from the fog, and Thori was unpleasantly reminded of the night she’d killed a thrall and come to Njord’s tent to bind Thori with herblót seiðr. Her white gown was covered in blood again, unlikely from an animal. She must’ve slaughtered one of her own, maybe several of hervölur.
Somethinghugestirred in the lake.
“She’s down there,” Thori said, fighting down paralyzing fear like a young warrior at his firstholmgang. “The Bog Mother. She’s rising. Svanhild is summoning her.”
The lake’s surface rippled.
“Help Ahti,” Njord said. “Get Vellamo and your parents out of the water; I’ll handle Svanhild.”
Thori ran. The water was cold and filled with aquatic plants, and Thori dreaded to dive deeper into the dark, lifeless depths, closer to the horrible presence stirring deep below. But he had to. Ahti was already tearing at the ropes trapping her wife, and Thori hurried toward the dull golden gleam of his mother’s hair.
Behind him, he felt Njord gathering his storm and sea, ready to face Svanhild and send the Bog Mother down into her muddy depths.
Reaching his mother, he pulled on the roots binding her like chains. They didn’t budge an inch, and suddenly the water vibrated with something that could only be a heartbeat. Norns, he needed to hurry. He couldn’t call his lightning, so he pulled out his dagger, slashing at the roots and algae, careful not to cut Frigga’s skin. She came free suddenly, and he hauled her upward with a desperate surge of strength.
As they broke the surface together, Frigga gasped and choked, her eyes wild, and Thori’s heart broke for his proud mother. Hehauled her to shore, where Ahti and Vellamo already knelt in the sand, breathing hard and clinging to each other.
