Her laughter made Thori bristle. What was she insinuating by her talk of descendants as if she were some kind of mother goddess to them all? She was neither of theÆsirnorVanir, Thori could tell. She was ancient andother,powerful and terrifying, but also shockingly like them.
She pointed at Njord, and the water of the lake rose in tendrils that moved as fast as snakes.
Njord countered her attack, but to Thori’s horror, he seemed to struggle to get a grip on the water. How could he not control his very own element?
The water slung around Njord’s legs and torso like tentacles.
“Come to me, son of the sea. Give me your power, your domain. Let mebeyou.”
What?
Njord’s formflickered, and for a horrifying moment, it seemed like there was something coiling underneath his skin like an alternative version of himself, ready to manifest itself into this realm.
“No,” Njord said, but his voice was distant somehow, the clear color of his eyes drowned out by a reddish hue.
Norns, she was trying to overtake Njord’s domain! His body!
He needed to stop her.
Surging forward, Thori let his thunder lift him up. This was the lake ofMýrmóðir, so her hort must be close. The fabulous artefacts Father had spoken of. And weapons of immense magical power.
He was flying, carried by storm and thunder, crossing the lake and landing on the shore right on the other side. He rolled, coming to his feet running, and sprinted toward a half-sunken chariot he spotted behind Svanhild and her remainingvölur.
Lifting her delicate hands, Svanhild started chanting, but her eyes were wide with shock. She clearly hadn’t expected anyone to reach her on the far side of the lake, and Thori pushed down the instinctual fear of her rottenseiðrto surge past her.
He stumbled on the muddy ground but didn’t stop, running straight for the chariot.
“No,” Svanhild gasped, herseiðrreaching out for him.
Thori twisted and ducked behind one of the chariot’s wheels at the last second. Svanhild’sseiðrstruck the carriage, making splinters of white-washed planks rain down on him. He barely felt them bite into his skin. Because there, beneath a white cloth thrown across the bed of the cart and among the golden treasures glittering underneath, something wascallingto him.
His thunder was singing in his veins, reaching out for a leather-bound hilt protruding from the gold.
“No,” Svanhild screamed. “No! Don’t you dare!”
But Thori had no intention of obeying her.
He surged forward, his hand closing around the hilt, yanking the weapon free. He’d expected an ax, maybe a sword, but what he lifted instead was the most beautiful weapon he’d ever seen.
A hammer.
Covered in runes and decorated with golden inlays.
The hilt was a little too short, but the weapon lay perfectly in Thori’s hand, nonetheless. As if it had been made specifically for him.
Whirling around, Thori faced Svanhild and the Bog Mother behind her. Lightning danced along the hammer’s heavy head, and Thori felt it enhancing his power in a way he’d never experienced before.
On the other side of the lake, Ahti and Frigga had flanked Njord, and Thori sensed how their combinedseiðrheld the Bog Mother at bay. Barely.
Just as Thori turned, the ancient goddess roared a spell that threw Ahti and Frigga on their backs and sent Njord to his knees. She laughed, prowling ashore like a polar bear closing in on its prey.
And she went straight for Njord.
Thori ran.
Lightning split the sky as he leaped, jumping across the lake in one powerful movement, the hammer raised high. He struck her water-tentacles, and they exploded into spray, the Bog Mother shrieking as her hold on Njord shattered. Thori landed between him and the Bog Mother, lifting his hammer again.
“How dare you?” she hissed, her violet eyes blazing with murderous fury.
