Page 49 of Feast

A scent that had no place in this realm of violence and death.

It was delicate like a flower.

Sweet like honey.

Ika.

Slaine could see her in the distance, her naked skin fairly glowing amid the darkness. She stood atop a dais rising from the churning sea of bodies like an island of stone. A rusted cage of iron thorns encased her.

Ika.

Slaine bellowed her name to the sky. He charged through the throng of gnashing teeth and scaly claws. His weapons were a blur, cutting down everything in his path and leaving a swath of bloody destruction in his wake.

He would reach his Ika.

He would free her from her prison.

Even if he had to lay waste to every single nith bastard who stood in his way.

As he neared the dais, Slaine could see her more clearly. Her hair was plaited. Her naked body was clean and still except for the rising and falling of her breasts with each breath. She did not cry out for him. She simply reeled him in with her eyes that stayed latched on his by some magnetic force.

Slaine would reach her.

He would touch her.

He would free her.

The crowd of nith began to clear away before him. The cowardly creatures were retreating, realizing that they were no match for Slaine’s wrath. They scattered in all directions, until all that was left was Ika, Slaine, and the mangled bodies of the dead.

Slaine roared again in victory as lightning forked across the boiling sky.

He cast away his axe and his spear and drew a gleaming dagger from the sheath at his hip. He stooped and carved open the chest of the nearest nith corpse to retrieve the still warm heart.

Carrying the dagger and the heart, Slaine approached the dais and climbed up the steps one by one to the place where Ika stood waiting.

Slaine knelt before his caged goddess. He bowed his head and held out the dripping, black heart.

“I am your servant, Ika,” he said. “I offer you the hearts of your enemies.”

Her small hand reached through the bars of the cage and pushed Slaine’s gift away.

“That is not the heart I want.”

Slaine raised his eyes to look upon her painfully beautiful face. It was like staring into the sun. An ukkur could go blind gazing on such beauty.

“Which heart do you want, Goddess?”

Ika’s dark eyes held his for a moment then dipped to Slaine’s chest. A cruel grin bent the corner of her lips.

“Ah,” Slaine whispered. “I understand.”

Slaine tossed the nith heart away, and it thudded wetly down the stone steps of the dais. He raised his gleaming dagger, aimed it at his chest, and without hesitation, without even the slightest flinch, Slaine drove the blade in and started to cut.

“Slaine!”

Thusar’s voice. Leader’s voice. Urgent, urgent.

The dream faded, and Slaine sat bolt upright on the rug of fur. The cave was cold, the walls lit by the snow-reflected daylight streaming in through the entrance. Thusar and Gunnar were already up and getting dressed in their kilts and fur cloaks. Muk was struggling to his feet with sluggish uncoordination.