Page 8 of Thor

For a moment, anything seemed possible. Then a cloud slid in front of the sun, and the lake waters turned ashen grey again. Sibyl sighed. "All right, all right. Dishes and drinks tonight, whether we find something amazing or nothing at all. Deal?"

"Only if you promise not to talk about leaving again. You're the only one keeping me sane out here," Jorunn said.

"It's a deal," Sibyl said.

"Right, back to work," Jorunn said, taking her place at Sibyl's side, ready for another search pattern.

Where they might find anything, Sibyl told herself, as they began again.

SEVEN

Never...drinking...mead...again, Thor swore to himself in time with the deafening drumbeat in his head. This had to be Loki's fault. He never drank this much without Loki goading him into it.

Faint memories of Loki lying facedown on a table drifted through his sore head. Which had to mean Thor had won again, hadn't he? Then why did his head pound so?

Come to think of it, why was it so cold? No matter how much he'd had to drink, Thor would never be stupid enough to run naked in the snow. Yet it felt like a faint breeze tickled his bare chest, as he lay on something equally cold and hard, as glacier meltwater trickled through his veins. All that was nothing compared to the bite of a slab of ice landing on his chest, ice so cold it froze his heart solid.

Thor opened his mouth to scream at the white-hot pain, but no sound came out.

"The sacrifice is complete. He is now a protector who awaits my call."

Thor knew that voice. It belonged to the witch girl. Witch girl...what was her name?

Miss Astrid, his sluggish thoughts reminded him, along with the name of the abomination that guarded her: Fenrir the wolf man, murderer of Sif and countless others, under the command of Jarl Erik. Who still lived and breathed.

No. Thor had to end him. For Sif. He strained and struggled, but no matter what he did, he could not move.

"Protector Thor, what will you do when you hear my call?" the witch asked.

Thor's eyes flew open, and he could see her. She was younger than he was.

"I will answer your call, and fight at your command, mistress," Thor heard himself say, even as his head screamed at him not to.

"Will you protect me?" she asked.

"I am yours to command, mistress," Thor said.

A cold weight landed on his chest, before someone took his hand and laid it atop the icy metal. His hammer. If he could but grasp the handle and swing it, he could take out half a dozen of these men with one blow. More, maybe.

But he could not move his hand from the head of the hammer, let alone grip the handle.

"It is done. Bury him," the witch instructed.

Wait...what? Bury him?

Thor wanted to scream, to struggle, to fight, but he couldn't move as men surrounded him and lifted him, then lowered him. Down, down...into a grave easily as deep as he was tall. Then the men stepped away, and for a moment, Thor saw the dusky sky, before a shadow peered down.

Fenrir, the abomination.

Thor tried to roar out a challenge to the wolf man, to grab the hammer and leap out of the grave they'd dug for him, to go down fighting, as was his right as a Viking warrior, but he could neither move nor make a sound.

"Sleep, protector, until you hear my call," the witch said.

A shower of soil and snow came down on him, followed by a hail of stones, until Thor could no longer see any light.

Then the water came, gushing down over the stones and soil and snow, soaking him. But it didn't stop there. The water level kept rising, and rising, until it covered his face, and he could no longer draw breath. Screaming silently, he surrendered to the darkness once more.

But not willingly. Never that.

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