Orka kicked, her head breaking water, and she sucked in a deep breath, hearing that ice-cold melody seep into her like mead, lulling, intoxicating, and then she was diving beneath the water again and the music in her head evaporated like sun-touched mist.
Below Mord and the N?cken Orka saw a pile of bones, elk, bear, wolf and human, and upon it all sat a huge lyre with long strings of rotted gut. Thick branches of crumbling, sunken trees wove together around and above the lair of bones.
The N?cken’s mouth opened wide and bit down into Mord’s shoulder, a pulse of blood seeping into the water, and Mord’s mouth opened in a scream, an explosion of bubbles.
Orka kicked her legs, reached the two figures and slashed with her seax, at the same time grunting out words, expelling precious air.
“Járn og stál, skorie og brennt,” she murmured through a burst of bubbles as her seax bit into the N?cken’s side, slicing, green-tinged flesh parting, oily blood flowing like the pulp of grass and leaves.
The creature spasmed and jerked in the water, its jaws releasing Mord and opening wide in an unheard scream. Orka grabbed Mord by the tunic and dragged him away, letting her feet sink to the bone-thick riverbed as she bunched her legs, then she was pushing up and away, heaving Mord through the water, the two of them bursting into fresh air, gulping and gasping. Mord coughed and hacked, floundering in the water, Lif on the riverbank dragging their fisher boat on to the shore and yelling his brother’s name. Orka kicked and swam, pulling Mord through the white-foaming water, and then she felt something wrap around her ankle. She shoved Mord away, towards the riverbank, and then she was being dragged beneath the water. She twisted and slashed with her seax and saw her blade bounce off the green-scaled skin of the N?cken’s wrist.
Words and deed together, you hálfviti idiot.
The N?cken’s jaws opened wide, a black maw filled with silver-sharp teeth, and Orka struggled, jerking away with a flush of panic and she slashed her blade across the vaesen’s mouth.
“Sk?rp járn brenna og bíta,” Orka snarled as the seax connected and the blade sliced through skin and flesh into the creature’s mouth, teeth spraying, green blood gushing like oil. “Brenna og bíta,” she repeated as she stabbed into its shoulder. A shriek erupted from the N?cken that Orka felt rather than heard, the force of it pulsing through the water, filling Orka’s body and ears with pressure, hurling her away, though she somehow managed to keep a grip upon her seax. Another shriek behind her, of pain and rage, but she did not look back. She used the momentum to keep kicking, swimming towards the shore until her feet touched shingle and her head and shoulders were bursting into daylight. Lif ran along the bank and held a spear out. Orka grabbed the shaft and hauled herself to the shore. She glanced back at the river, saw a dark cloud boiling beneath the surface, speeding away, fading from sight. She stumbled on to land, coughing and spluttering, Lif trying to support her, and they staggered to where the boat and Mord lay upon the bank. He was pale-faced, his shoulder lacerated and bleeding.
“What was that?” he breathed.
Orka stabbed her seax into the ground, then took the spear from Lif, tugged off the leather sheath and strode to the other side of Mord and the boat, where she buried the iron blade into the ground.
“A N?cken,” she said. “Sneaky, slimy bastards.”
“What are you doing?” Lif asked her, staring at the seax and the quivering shaft of the spear, both stabbed into the riverbank.
“N?cken don’t like iron. They can sense it, feel it through the earth,” Orka said, then dropped to her hands and knees, vomiting water and slime.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ELVAR
Elvar watched as Agnar walked away, beckoning for Uspa, Sighvat and Kráka to follow him. They walked through a doorway into the landlord’s kitchen and chambers.
“Out,” Elvar heard Agnar say, and the landlord and his wife appeared in the doorway, moving into the tavern’s main room.
Oskutree, Elvar thought. Uspa said she knows the way to Oskutree. The great Ash Tree, where the gods-fall battle raged hottest, where Ulfrir and Berser fell. That thought was almost too big for Elvar to comprehend, or to believe. Without realising it she found she was walking after Uspa and Sighvat, Grend following her. She reached the doorway and saw Agnar was seated at a table, Kráka beside him, Uspa sitting opposite him, Sighvat hovering inside the door. Agnar looked up as Elvar tried to walk into the room, Sighvat moving to block her way.
“This is not for you,” Agnar said to her.