Njord chanted, countering Svanhild’s spells while storm clouds gathered above them, and every fiber of Thori’s being longed to be by his side. But he wasn’t done yet. He had to rescue his father.
“Thori—”
Frigga reached for his sleeve, but he was faster.
Splashing back into the water, Thori could sense the movement below, dark shadows circling. But he couldn’t leave his father behind.
He found Odin deeper than Frigga and Vellamo had been, enveloped in seaweed that had grown into the Allfather’s hair and clothes. Father looked haggard, almost like a corpse, and Thori’s heart sank. He pawed at the algae, tearing and pulling, but it wouldn’t budge.
Something rushed out of the darkness toward him.
Thori turned and faced anøkk. The creature wore a man’s face, beautiful and terrible, its skin pale like bright seashells. Clawed hands reached for Thori’s throat. He twisted at the last second, his movements sluggish underwater. Desperate, he reached for Njord’s water powers and plunged into a pool of pure force he hadn’t expected. A surge of water carried thenøkkback into the abyss.
But there were more. Two shadows, four, circling like sea-wolves.
Spinning, Thori called to the waves, begging them to carry the enemies away, and Njord’s power came to him again like a lover’s embrace. He wielded the powerful currents like he would’ve wielded his lightning, thunder echoing from above, and thenøkkenwere dragged away, shrieking.
But where thenøkkenhad vanished, a green glow joined the heartbeat. There were only seconds left before the lake would spit out its awful inhabitant.
Thori hacked at his father’s bonds, not caring if he hurt him, as long as he could free him from this underwater nightmare.
And suddenly, Odin was free, floating in the dark waters.
He dragged him to the surface, swimming with desperate strokes. Frigga met him, standing waist deep in the water, although she looked pale and ready to topple over, and they hauled Odin to shore together.
“He’s breathing,” Frigga gasped. “We have to get him away from the Bog Mother, Thori, now.”
Thori turned to the lake.
The water was boiling, glowing a sick green.
The Bog Mother was rising.
“Get Father to the treeline,” Thori said, already rushing to Njord’s side.
“Thori, no!” Frigga’s tone was pleading. “She’s more dangerous than anything you’ve faced before.”
All the more reason to not let Njord face her alone.
Thori called to his lightning, ready to strike.
And froze.
The Bog Mother emerged from the depths, but she was nothing like Thori had expected.
She wore the body of a young maiden. Beautiful and innocent. Bone-white skin and waves of silvery hair and eyes the color of wood violets that fixed Njord with unrestrained hunger. Thori stepped half in front of him instinctively.
The Bog Mother smiled with too-sharp white teeth.
“Ah, my descendants, lesser gods of a weak age. Have you come to welcome my reign?”
“Your era has passed,” Njord said. “You were woken by a priestess’ misguided ambition, but now you can go back to sleep.”
The Bog Mother’s gaze snapped to Njord, and she sniffed the air like a hungry bear scenting blood. Thori shifted closer to Njord’s side, letting her see sparks of lightning dancing along his blade.
“Descendant,” she purred, eyes locked on Njord. “You can be of use to me.”
“I’mVanir, and you don’t belong to my clan.”
