Their dark robes masked their bodies, marking them as nothing but living shadows. The smoke swallowed them up, growing thicker, stronger, swirling into the cavernous hall. Cackles rent the air like lightning. A pair of ancient, arctic eyes flashed in my mind. Seeing. Taunting.
“Gaia?” I croaked. “Is that you?”
Heavy air coated my throat.
I dropped to my knees. This time, there was no one there to catch me.
My hand rushed to my mouth. The metallic lines painted onto my arms, my knuckles, every inch of my body, seemed to lift and float away. The shimmering shapes rose and twisted, spilling across the room, tamping down the thick clouds until I could take a proper inhalation.
Crisp oxygen hit my lungs. At the touch of fresh air, blades of grass sprung between my legs. The muted flicker of torchlight became folds of sunshine. And the stone arches crumbled to dust, unveiling a pure blue sky.
The spirit realm. I wasn’t sure what I’d thought it’d look like, but I hadn’t expected this. Quiet, natural. Fields of flowers and meadows. A river, a waterfall. Warm, colorful. Spring. My fear started to recede.
Pushing myself up to standing, I glanced at the ridgeline, the way the mountains cut and dipped into the horizon, the path winding up the side, then back to the valley. A lone tree—white trunk, white leaves, sweeping white branches—fluttered in the gentle gusts of wind flowing off the canyon walls behind it.
A strong sense of knowing struck my veins, tiny hairs quivering on the back of my neck.
This was the glacier, the kingdom of the elves, except… there was no ice, no castle, no people.
Ryder had explained dimensions to me once—how realms could overlap and share features and coordinates and almost… coexist.
My eyes turned upward. That damned mountain. I grunted. I was really hoping I’d never see it again.
Huffing a piece of hair out of my face, I spun in a circle, scanning the dips and hills, the lichen-tufted rocks, the streamlets trickling through the vale like fingers.
There had to be a sign, an altar, a grove of trees, something to indicate the entrance to Gaia’s hideout, like the notched runes above my mom’s.
Fingers digging into my hips, my nose tipped towards the ground, I walked in lazy, meandering circles.
Hildur had given me zero information—no surprise there. Any details about Jarðarbæli had come from my enemies: Flóki, the Coffin Seeker…
Kistuleitarinn had warned me about the bodies. The inner caves were supposed to be the worst. Caves—she was in a cave, in the highlands. My eyes darted to the falls, to the statuesque cliffs of basalt.
Thunder broke the silence. I whipped in its direction. A mass of rocks tumbled down the mountainside, stone scraping against stone, soil sliding and skittering until they fell into a pile at the bottom. A cloud of dust puffed up into the air.
Those all-seeing, crinkled eyes cracked like a whip across my mind. The same ones from that ogress Grýla’s lair.
I bunched the silky fabric of my dress between my fingers. If the terrain shared the same footprint as the normal world, there would be a cave up there.
Gathering up my skirts, I made my way to the base of the mountain. A gravel path glittered under the sun, smooth and compact, polished, almost inviting. So different than the mess of icy debris I’d had to scale in the real world.
Wind tousled my hair, breezy and balmy.
Small rock towers lined the trail. I’d seen those in the elven kingdom, too.
As I climbed, the air turned thin, each breath stabbing and short. I glanced over my shoulder to the vale unfurling below. I was close, just a few more yards.
I rounded the corner, the hem of my gown hissing against the ground. The overhang and alcove were just where I suspected they’d be, a gaping maw cut into the crag.
On the outskirts of Hamarinn, Grýla’s lair had been abandoned. Here, it was lived in.
Cages dangled from the ceiling, the metal clinking in the breeze. An earthy scent stained the air, smoke spitting from the cauldron like a chimney.
A form—a being—hunched over the pot. Hums drifted from the shadows of their hood, light and spirited.
“Gaia?” The name tasted like sandpaper in my throat.
The humming stopped. I halted, sucking in a breath. Their shoulders stiffened beneath the emerald wool of their cloak, but they gave no response.
