“We’llpassthroughanunusual, maybe dangerous, area today,” Fhord tells me over breakfast.
“Worse than the last one?”
“Different. In Vanatia’s early days, this place held thousands of people and many went there for trade. You’ll see signs of it as we reach the sun’s zenith.”
“Not too bad so far,” I observe. “We can handle a few ruins.”
“I wouldn’t warn you about ruins,” Fhord says before looking up in the direction we’ll ride. “A battle took place here three hundred years ago,” he continues, little wrinkles forming between and above his eyes as he draws his brows together. “Many died, some of them important. They held secrets the gods believed they might need, which they couldn’t risk losing.”
“The gods walked with humans then?”
“They did.”
It’s so different from my worlds. There, the gods walk freely, although before Ragnarök, they’d been hiding their presence in Midgard for more than fifteen hundred years. “What did the gods do?”
“They turned to the dark arts,” Fhord mutters. His voice is brittle, as if it would shatter if someone struck it. “Such sorcery is powerful when humans use it. When gods use it, nothing is out of their reach. The gods fed their desperation into necromancy. They wanted to be able to question the dead, extract the secrets they would have taken with them to their grave.”
“They raised the dead? And gave them the ability to think, answer questions?” I stretch out my fingers, which tingle at the thought of skeletons wandering around for eternity.
“They did.” Fhord’s eyes are calm, unconcerned. The walking zombies can’t be too dangerous.
“And those … whatever they are … walk this world?” I’ve never been to Helheim, but I’ve heard tales of the souls sent to Hel’s realm, who forever wear the injuries that killed them. A shiver rolls down my spine as I wonder whether these beings are anything like the specters that wander there.
“We call them draugrs. And they do still exist. Their bodies no longer decay the way humans do. They’re forever trapped in whatever state the gods found them in when they decided to bind them here—injuries, rot and all. The gods keep them in this small area between the Nests. They can’t leave. They’re available to any who need their knowledge. And can convince them to share it.”
“Do many people know about this place?”
“Almost nobody. It’s spelled to push people away when they get close. A few books mention it, but none disclose where it is.”
“How do you know about it?”
A half-smile glances across Fhord’s lips then disappears. “That’s a story for another day.”
I watch him, wondering how many secrets like this he possesses. Whether he could help me find my way home. But I can’t trust him with those questions. “How many are there?” I ask after a moment.
“Only a couple dozen. The gods restored those they believed might hold secrets they would want.”
“If the gods questioned them, why do they still keep them here, trapped between life and death?”
“They may need them one day. The gods don’t know what other mysteries they may hold.”
“Can we go around them? There must be paths that avoid this area.”
Fhord pauses for a moment as he watches me. “I need to question one of them,” he answers at last. “It’s not for Bevin’s job. The Ætt and I have been trying to get here for weeks. I can’t pass this area without taking advantage of the chance.”
“Can I just meet you on the other side?” I suggest with a smirk.
“Afraid of a little necromancy?” Fhord responds with a laugh.
“I mean, why chase trouble? If I don’t have to face walking and talking corpses, why should I?”
“I could use your help. It’s really a two-person job.”
“That’s why you’re being so nice to me? I knew there had to be a reason.”
“You caught me.” Fhord runs his fingers through his hair as he leans back, lifting his head to look at the sky above us. A muscle ticks along his jaw. “We’ll go back to normal after I convince you to do this,” he says in a flat tone. “All the fighting and hating each other.”
“Not quite yet,” I remind him. “First we finish Bevin’s job. Then we can go back to hating each other.”
