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“It does,” I agreed. “But it’s the way it has to be. When you see a clear path, run through. Freya needs you, more than any of us.”
“And more’s the pity,” Fyrcat said.
A loud growl broke through the moment. I turned on the spot, drawing my improvised weapon from its awkward strap on my waist. A corpse was cresting the ridge behind us.
We’d run out of time.
“They’re here.” The color drained from Skarde’s face. “Go now, Stormblood. I’ll handle those coming from this direction.”
Ogun shrieked and ran to hide behind Jovi. She let him cower at her back. Her eyes were wide and imploring when she turned to Skarde.
“You can’t face them alone.”
“I must,” he said, eyes glinting with steely determination. “Go, now. Save the bitch goddess and perhaps she can put a stop to this madness.”
Jovi looked like she might argue. I gave her a shove in the right direction, needing her to be away from everything that was soon to happen.
“This way. Be ready to run when there’s an opening.”
***
Jovi
Torsten tossed something to me. I had just enough time to catch it before it could disappear into the snow. I found myself holding a short kitchen knife, one of about a dozen that the townspeople had armed themselves with.
“You want me to fight with this?” I asked.
“It’s a last resort,” he replied tersely. “If they come for you, blind them. It’s your best shot. But don’t rush in trying to be a hero. We need you to stay alive.”
That was easier said than done. It was physically painful to see him pelt forward on a collision course with a swarm of undead soldiers just ahead.
Fyrcat seized my arm, her witchy nails digging into my flesh. “Come with me.”
“I can’t leave him,” I whispered.
Fyrcat dragged me further from Torsten. I had to strain to keep him in my line of sight. He disappeared in a wave of the undead and seconds later, the snow was scarlet. An arm went flying, landing with a wet smack on the hard ground.
“He’s got this well in hand, child,” Fyrcat hissed. “He can’t fight if he’s worried about you. Please, trust me about this.”
Trust her? That was the last thing I wanted to do. She had an angle in all of this, I was sure of it.
“Come on,” she urged.
I gave Torsten one last look. His head had breached the crowd of undead for mere moments. He’d been covered in blood, eyes wide and feral. Then I turned away and let Fyrcat lead me forward.
“Don’t let go,” she warned. “Repeat whatever I say and throw your will at whatever runs in our direction.”
She made it sound so easy, as if I could just accept that there was magic somewhere inside me. This whole thing was insane. I’d gone from being a hairdresser in a tiny town to the chosen one fated to save a goddess in just a little over twenty-four hours. Torsten believed I was his mate and, though he wouldn’t say it outright, Skarde seemed to think the same. I was running alongside a witch of yore, who had a bad attitude and an uncomfortable interest in one of my suitors. I’d cast magic with her. I’d felt our combined power thrum through my bones when we flung the survivors down the World Tree. That, combined with the memory of what I’d seen while traveling to Muspelheim convinced me that this was real, that there really was a pair of zombies running toward us, and this wasn’t some terrible nightmare.
Fyrcat raised a hand and shouted a word. I echoed it a moment later, sure I’d butchered the pronunciation, even as I put my will behind it. To my shock, light issued from between my fingers. It streaked like a comet toward the dead, bowling them over like ninepins when it struck. I didn’t stop to see what else it had done. I’d have enough nightmares as it was, without having to see the faces the warriors were wearing, let alone what that burst of power had done to them. It could be the nosy neighbor down the lane. It could also be a friend. Someone I’d failed to save.
Fyrcat used the felled draugr’s chest like a springboard, leaping several feet into the air before landing on her heels. I tried to mimic her and almost landed on my face. Why did all these Norse types get to leap around like freaking gymnasts while I was stuck in the land of left feet? It was unfair. I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder my clumsy lot in life, though. More draugrs were coming.
Fyrcat jabbed her wand into a large man dressed in his Sunday best and poof, he was gone. That wand was really something. If we made it out alive, I wanted one of those pronto. It looked a lot easier to poof them out of existence than blast them or set them on fire. I raised my hand to deal with the next corpse coming our way, but found myself staring at a rather pretty man instead. He was alive, and he grinned at me, flashing dazzlingly white teeth as he neatly, casually, sliced the head off a dead man.
“Well, hello there, pretty,” he said, flipping a sheet of blonde hair behind one shoulder. “You must be the one causing my brother so much grief.” He winked.
His brother? I frowned as I tried to understand.
