I grin. ‘Back at you.’
The severed head on the ground snaps its teeth at my boot.
I nudge it aside with my foot. ‘Still grumpy.’
‘You would be too if someone ruined your day like that,’ Stide says, already turning to the next Rotting, her spear flashing with confidence.
I cut down another Rotting, and my line of sight is once again cleared back through to the Myrkr, who now stands with his feet on the earth.
His beast is next to it, already recovering from a wound that should have been fatal.
They’re both watching us now.
Not attacking. Not intervening. Calmly observing. As though whether we live or die is of no consequence.
Rage flares hot and sudden, burning through the fear.
‘Fuck you,’I scream at it. ‘You don’t get to stand there in judgement. The Goddess herself found me worthy.’
I raise my sword, only for a Rotting to step between the Myrkr and me. The blade jams through its back and between its ribs, yet as I go to pull it back out, it snags on something. Fabric, tendon, who knows, but at the angle I stand, pulling it out is only going to pull the Rotting closer towards me. So I don’t. Instead, I kick it, pushing the Rotting away and freeing my sword.
That’s the plan anyway, but my hands are slick from sweat and putrid Rotting, and the hilt releases from my grip and flies forward with the creature. For a split second, I consider going after it. Pulling it out of the mottled flesh in which it is now sheathed, but I stop, my eye drawn back to the Myrkr as my hand slips to my side, and the dagger held there.
It’s the dagger Dinah gave me, and twin to the blade that High Priestess Mila used to judge us at the start of the Retterheld to assess if we were worthy; those who weren’t were left to bleed out on the floor of the Sunken Temple.
So what are the chances that the Gods are going to find this death-wielding cloaked fucker worthy?
As I clench the hilt in my fist, the Myrkr turns its head towards me, slow and deliberate. There are still metres between us, but its gaze does something that makes me feel as thoughI’mthe plants withering beneath its feet.
That’s what it’s trying to do to me. Make me wilt.
Well, fuck that.
I pull the blade clean from the sheath, only for a scream-inducing pressure to strike my skull.
It’s attacking me somehow, trying to defeat me without even fighting.
Fucking coward! That’s what it is. A fucking coward. Letting the Rottings do its work. Stealing our magic to stop a fair fight. It’s a fucking bully, and I’ve put down more than one of those in my life.
‘I’m the fuckinggifted!’ I scream the words, but they’re as much for myself as for the Myrkr.
I need the reminder that the Goddess picked me once. Actually, more than once. And I don’t think she did that just so I could die out here in the dark.
A hiss rattles from beneath the hood as it takes a single step towards me. The pressure behind my skull increases to a crushing weight that makes my vision blur. But I have experienced hunger, starvation, cold, and deprivation.
I have survived them all.
And I will survive this.
Gasping against the pain, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Kyor. Kay. William. Fen. The baby.I say the words in my head. I will not be taken from them. Not now. Not like this.Kyor.Kay. William. Fen. The baby.
As the world narrows to breath and motion, the Myrkr takes another step, only this one is closer to a leap.
It lashes out, not with a blade, but with a fist that catches my cheekbone and sends me sprawling. Pain blooms across my face, sharp and distracting, but I roll and come up fast, dagger clenched tight.
Still no magic.
