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Ayda joined him in the kitchen, where they sipped their coffee in comfortable silence before packing up. Their horses were waiting for them, and they were off before the sun completely rose.
Ásví was waiting.
Chapter Fourteen
Ayda was pleased to discover their journey out of Nangroth was not nearly as terrifying as their journey in. This time, Hùisdean regaled her with stories the entire way out, and Ayda found herself not even thinking about the horrifying dark woods surrounding them.
Traveling on horseback was much more pleasant when your traveling partner wanted to speak to you.
To be fair, he did want to speak to you yesterday. You just wanted to pretend like nothing existed between you. It’s hard to do that now.
Ayda all but knew their friends-with-benefits arrangement would go down in flames, but she was going to keep her cards close to her chest.
When sunlight started to seep through the trees, Ayda craned her neck upwards and looked at the high branches. The sun was practically straight above them, meaning they'd been traveling for half a day.
“Are we close?” Ayda spurred her horse forward, coming from behind Hùisdean to ride alongside him.
Hùisdean looked around at the light and grinned. “We most certainly are. Can you feel it? The magic is different.”
Ayda had been so preoccupied with Hùisdean’s stories—Wyn hadn’t lied; Hùisdean was an expert storyteller—she hadn’t even sensed the subtle changes in magic. Once Hùisdean pointed them out, she nearly fell off her horse with the sudden influx of power thrumming through the earth.
“Careful!” Hùisdean extended a hand towards Ayda, placing it on her thigh. Ayda righted herself in the saddle and smiled.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Goodness.” Ayda studied the trees as they passed. “I don’t know how I didn’t sense the magic changing. It’s so different to the depths of the forest.”
And it was. The power in the soil shifted entirely, morphing from something dark and twisted to something…ancient. Ayda couldn’t identify it precisely. It was neither good nor bad, but it wasn’t as evil as the soil in Nangroth. The only way she could describe the fresh vibrations of power humming through the trees was that they were old magic.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Hùisdean appeared to read Ayda’s thoughts, surveying their surroundings with an impressed look. “That’s Ásví. She’s always pulled her power from the old gods.”
“It’s obvious they’re giving her the good stuff.” Ayda joked. The path ahead of them finally expanded into a dirt road, and the trees thinned out as a clearing appeared on the horizon. Ayda leaned forward, eager to bask in the full sunlight, unexpectedly speeding up her horse. She tried to pull back, but Hùisdean was even quicker, reaching across the gap between them and pulling on her reins.
“Careful!” Hùisdean exclaimed. His voice was full of concern, not anger, and Ayda blushed. “It’s best if I go first into the clearing. Ásví won’t recognize you, and as you’ve heard, she tends to blow things up first and ask questions later.”
Ayda laughed. “Honestly, that’s how I’d handle business if I could.”
“It would make some things easier.” Hùisdean sighed, winking at Ayda. “All right, let me go on ahead, okay? I’ll return for you once I’ve let Ásví know you’re here.”
“Aye, aye.” Ayda gave Hùisdean a mock salute and pulled her horse to a stop. Hùisdean rolled his eyes playfully but trotted forward, leaving Ayda to creep toward the valley’s edge. Her mouth dropped open as soon as she got to the tree line. She was standing at the top of a tall hill, which sloped down to the basin below, where she could see Hùisdean crossing the small stream that ran through the very center. The landscape itself was green and full of life—and relatively normal. It was Ásví’s residence that shocked Ayda.
The biggest stave church Ayda had ever seen rested in the very center of the valley. It was made entirely of black wood, with three separate tall steeples. Each spire was decorated with something different: one had a crucifix, one had a sun, and the third spire had a skull. The decorative beams stretched past the roof, transforming into fiercely carved dragon heads. It rivaled every stave church that Ayda knew to still be in existence.
Beyond the church itself, a cemetery dotted the fields behind it, intermixed with gardens full of wildflowers. Magic rolled off the building in waves, and Ayda wanted to roll in the grass. She could only see Hùisdean’s bright blonde head of hair as he dismounted from his horse and stepped towards the front door. Before he could even reach it, a fresh wave of power rolled over the fields. Ayda watched it blow through the lots of flowers on the wind before it reached her while the sound of a door slamming open echoed through the silent valley.
Ayda couldn’t see much of Ásví from her vantage point, but a tall, imposing figure stepped out from the house. The figure’s hair matched Hùisdean’s, which was all she could tell. Ayda didn’t have a hope of trying to listen to their conversation. She watched as Hùisdean and Ásví waved their arms around, greeting each other and rapidly conversing. Ayda held her breath as she waited—she was rightfully terrified of Ásví from everything she’d heard so far.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hùisdean turned around and started waving his hands over his head in Ayda’s direction. He made big, beckoning motions, indicating it was safe for her to approach.
Ayda breathed a sigh of relief and urged her horse forward. Her head dropped back as she approached; the house only became grander and more imposing the closer she got. Ayda could see the intricate carvings of runes and Ringerike-style artwork. It likely told an elaborate story, and she wanted to ask Ásví what it depicted.
Ayda lowered her head in respect as she approached Ásví and Hùisdean, studying Ásví as closely as she dared. The woman practically radiated magic—magic that felt like a blizzard. It practically stung Ayda’s lips and tongue, tasting of sharp winter winds and peppermint, reminding her of the magic that coursed through her veins when the draugr attacked.
“God dag, Ayda.” Ásví’s voice was as clear as a bell, ringing over the clearing.
Ayda bowed her head without realizing it, slipping off her horse as gracefully as possible. Ásví was the tallest woman Ayda had ever seen. She stood a few inches taller than Hùisdean with a willowy, statuesque figure. Her features were angular, androgynous, and timeless; you could have said Ásví was either twenty-eight or seventy-two, and it would be believable.
Ásví was dressed entirely in mismatched shades of blue. Her pants were silk jodhpurs, while her oversized suit jacket hung to her knees decorated with jacquard brocade. A heavy silver ring was on each of her ten fingers, and at least four pendant necklaces hang around her neck. She was barefoot but had an ascot tie tucked into a men’s button-up shirt. The effect made Ásví look like Tilda Swinton dressed up as the Mad Hatter, but nothing about her was comical. The pure magic radiating off her rings made Ayda want to bend a knee.
“Good morning, Ásví.” Ayda tried to keep her voice steady. “I appreciate you agreeing to help us.”
