Page 4 of Vow of the Undead
Frowning, Darius spoke through clenched teeth. “If we don’t send a message that bloodshed ends in execution, then we’ll descend into war again, and all of Vylheim will be as barren as the wasteland. It is the way of all humans.” He flicked his hand out and two members of the Grimward, one in a boar’s mask and another in a bear’s mask shoved through the crowd, searching for Ragna.
But she did not take the bait. If she moved, they’d know she was trying to run. She stood her ground and their eyes passed right over her.
Ylva jumped in again and directed the speech back to this exploration. “Many of the king’s guards will take to the seaswith you, and every exiled person will be required to join them.”
My heart stuttered and it seemed a hand clamped around my throat.
My mother would die at sea. I had no doubt. Every single one of the witches that had been hunted down and dragged to the wasteland would be sacrificed to The Sea of Skalds.
And I should be one of them, instead of her.
She never should have outed herself to protect me.
My pulse thumped erratically and my eyesight blurred. I thought I had more time to piece the visions together, to make a case for witches based on real, true history that the king couldn’t deny.
We aren’t a threat. Don’t kill us.
Don’t kill her.
But Ylva spoke again, sealing my mother’s fate. “With the passage of three years and at the end of the Polar Nocturne, the age of exploration will dawn.”
Three years.
I could no longer hope for visions while cutting away at the fields, I had to start running again, to beat myself down every chance I got for the glimpse of a vision from Odin or Freya. It had to come with emotional and mental pressure too, because without it, I didn’t always get to the point of collapse. Fear too easily stopped me short, a self-preservation that reminded me my heart and nerves were frail.
It had to be a total collapse to quiet my body and mind so my spirit could understand the language of the Gods. The language of Asgard.
I only had three years.
3 years later, one season before the Polar Nocturne begins
Nine of us women lined up for the first challenge of the autumnal twilight. While children played in the streets, and villagers made bets on the race’s outcome, I steadied my breathing. Nerves rippled through me, buzzing with impatience for the running to begin.
I anxiously waited for the start of each new season when we’d gather as a village to celebrate the changes with footraces, wrestling, swimming, and stone lifting. I wasn’t particularly skilled at any of them, but that worked in my favor because this—running—was my opportunity to push my body to the edge of breakdown.
And that’s what I craved most.
The competition, the bets, the thrill of running in front of others, all of it was enough for me to push and push and push until I finally got what I wanted; a vision from the Gods.
I shook the tingling from my arms as Ragna patted my back. She was the favored winner because of her wiry muscle and that she shaved one side of her head tokeep it from blowing in her face and distracting her. Trades exchanged hands, coin and furs, with Ragna’s name on their lips. It only encouraged me to run harder.
“Alva is cheering for you, Silver,” Ragna said with a laugh. She pointed to her daughter who jumped up and down at the row of villagers, all eager for the challenges to kick off. Her blond braids shone bright among the fading green and ragged browns, the muted colors of autumn made darker by an overcast sky.
Alva’s little hands fluttered in erratic claps and my heart matched its pace. If I wasn’t careful, I’d cross the frail line from nervous excitement to unbidden panic.
I blew out a slow breath and gave Alva a little wave.
“No, she’s hoping you win,” I said to reassure Ragna. But she was not offended by her daughter’s choice.
She shook her head and winked. “She doesn’t have to hope for that.”
I managed a smile until Alva suddenly stopped waving and chewed on the sleeve of her dress. Her father pulled her closer to him, silent concern tugging at his frown. Even Ragna’s good nature vanished.
Their gazes panned across the village to where the race would end.
I snapped my head to the end of the foot path. Masked men and women marched down our racetrack, not an unusual occurrence except that these were extra members of the Grimward, more than we normally had patrolling our village.
Thirteen executioners had arrived, along with members of the king’s guard mounted on horses behind them.
