Ilska walked forwards, her dark cloak billowing behind her.
“Fareu frá,” she said, as she squatted down and punched the ground. There was an explosion of ash and the ground bucked, a rippling line rushing away from her like a serpent hidden just beneath the waves. It slammed into Uspa, exploded beneath her and sent her hurtling through the air. She crashed to the ground and rolled, then came to a stop, unmoving.
Ilska stood and moved on, the surviving warriors behind her following, maybe seven or eight of them left standing, including Drekr. Other warriors were jumping from the carts’ driving benches and dragging the children from the backs of the carts, hauling them towards the dead tree by ropes and chains. Seventy, eighty, ninety children, all with collars of iron about their necks. Elvar thought she saw Bjarn among them.
Ilska reached the blackened stump of Oskutree and set her foot upon it, climbing up on to the open space where the huge, bolted door lay. Puffs of ash filled the air, the pounding beneath the earth rocking and rattling the door.
Those that followed Ilska climbed up on to the blasted tree, the children behind them. Some cried and wailed; others walked silently, like warriors who have accepted their fate.
“Bjarn,” Elvar croaked, her voice hoarse.
She saw him clamber up on to the tree, a collar around his neck, and join the others upon the giant trapdoor.
Ilska and the warriors with her shouted at the children, dragged them, commanded them until they stood in a circle, feet edging the line of the great door. The warriors from the carts joined Ilska’s band, swelling their ranks. Ilska reached inside her cloak and pulled out a book. It was thick, wrapped in some kind of red hide. She opened it, then began to read.
“Réttu upp hendurnar, tú vereur ae hlyea. Spillae blóe í saklausu barni, sameinast og vaxa af krafti. Brotie rúnir og innsigli t?fra.” Ilska called out, and there was a flare of red within each thrall-collar about each child’s throat, a ripple of fire. The children cried out, and their eyes glazed over. Each child raised their right arm, palm open.
Ilska drew a small seax from a scabbard across her back and sliced her hand that held the book, then slashed the palm of the child in front of her, and the ones to either side. They said nothing, made no move, did not cry out.
All of Ilska’s companions did the same, cutting their own palms, then the hands of the children about them, until all of them stood there, bleeding, blood dripping on to the wooden door beneath their feet.
“Blóe drekans, lík rífa, voldugur, sameina og binda, brenna tessa hindrun, opna leie fyrir herra okkar,” Ilska cried out, shaking her hand, droplets of blood spraying around her.
“Blóe drekans, lík rífa, voldugur, sameina og binda, brenna tessa hindrun, opna leie fyrir herra okkar,” all those on the great tree cried out, echoing Ilska, shaking their hands, and blood rained down upon the ancient door, pooling, trickling through the cracks into the darkness beneath.
Elvar and Grend just stared, entranced, even as the battle still raged behind them.
The constant pounding beneath the earth stopped abruptly, as if a giant had sucked in a deep breath and held it.
And then there was a crash, the huge door on the tree jolting. Ilska staggered, some of the children falling.
A huge, muted roar leaked out from the cracks around the door, vibrating in the soil, deeper than an ocean storm, other voices joining it, higher in pitch but fierce and proud. Screams. Roaring. A growing, rumbling thunder.
“RUN!” Ilska shouted, finding her balance and breaking into movement, sprinting and leaping from the tree’s stump. All those around her were doing the same: Ilska’s followers, children, a flood of people.
Something crashed into the trapdoor and there was a great splintering, cracking sound, a cloud of dust and ash rising up, engulfing all still on the tree as they were hurled into the air. Ilska was thrown from her feet, the red-skinned book spinning from her grip. A silence. Elvar holding her breath, staring, and then there was another crash beneath the door, huge splinters of wood erupting, the ground shaking like a ship in a storm-wracked sea.
Elvar and Grend were thrown into the air, a tremor passing beneath them like the ripples of a boulder hurled into water, throwing the fighting shield walls into chaos, men and women falling, staggering.
Another silence, like a held breath, and then the door exploded, splintered wood and bodies tossed skyward, disappearing in an expanding shroud of dust and ash and debris. Elvar was heaved from her feet, weightless, the rolling cloud engulfing her. She crashed to the ground, tumbling, came up against something solid, knocking the wind from her, then just lay there, coughing and wheezing as the dust settled around her, searching for Grend. He was nowhere to be seen, bodies everywhere, scattered like chaff on the wind.