Beyond a Darkened Shore(55)
An answering hope bloomed in my chest.
The tawny dog wove agilely through the ancient forest, dappled sunlight making the leaves shimmer above us. Gone was the melodic voice, and though the dog seemed to have an intelligence far beyond that of a normal beast, the sensation that a powerful being had taken possession of it had disappeared.
The farther it led us, the darker the woods became, until even the tree trunks were black. A mist snaked through the trees, cool against our legs, and almost as high as the dog was tall. Here, the once-dappled sunlight struggled to penetrate the dark leaves, casting everything in shadow. The dog trotted along at a steady pace, but even it seemed more alert, its ears twitching this way and that. There was a pregnant silence, like the way the air seems to shiver in anticipation for a coming storm.
Leif, who had been following closely at the dog’s heels, fell back until he was beside me. “After encountering hellhounds the last time we were in the woods together, we should stay close.”
I nodded once, moving toward him until our arms brushed with each step. Much as I hated to admit it, I took comfort from his closeness, from the feel of the warmth radiating off his body.
A rustling drew my attention to the branches above. Countless shiny, dark eyes stared down at us. I touched Leif’s arm, indicated with my chin the murder of crows watching us.
One opened its beak. Caw-caw-caw.
Soon another joined in, and another, until the trees were full of the cawing of crows.
Even the dog flinched. She came to a stop in front of us, and Leif and I tensed into fighting stances. The birds began flapping their wings until the forest echoed with the sounds of them.
Then, just as suddenly, the crows fell silent. Black smoke poured from the roots of the trees, slithering along the ground. It stopped mere feet away and solidified into a figure.
She was dressed as though prepared for battle, attired completely in supple black leather nearly identical to the set I’d been given. It clung to her like a second skin. Her head was still that of a crow, and beside me, I could feel Leif shudder.
The Morrigan’s eyes bore into mine, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice so harshly distorted by the crow’s beak, I flinched as though anticipating a blow. “I see Brigid has healed you both, though you scarcely deserved it after losing that battle so spectacularly.”
At that, the dog made a chuffing sound as if in farewell. She shook herself off once before bounding away like a deer, disappearing into the mist.
While our attention had been on the dog, the Morrigan had moved closer. Now she stood only a foot away. She leaned still closer, and Leif tensed beside me. “Hear me, Northman. You will both fail. An army of men could never defeat the j?tnar—even with your power. This last battle proved that. You failed because you still fight separately. You”—her crow eyes found Leif’s—“have the strength and fighting ability of a god. And you”—those eerie eyes slid back to mine—“have the mental prowess to command an army of men. Yet you do nothing to combine those powers. You are both arrogant and foolish beyond measure.”
Her words prickled against my skin. I thought of Leif and me battling two different giants—why hadn’t I immediately gone to his aid? It seemed obvious now that I should have taken control of the first giant’s mind long enough for Leif to bring him down. And yet I was so used to relying mostly on my own abilities. Was it hubris, then? Did I believe I was strong enough—physically and mentally—to defeat a giant on my own? “If we learn to work together, then will we be able to overcome them?” I asked.
The Morrigan tilted her head. “Perhaps. But then again, there is another way.” She took another step forward until I could feel the cold emanating off her as surely as I could feel Leif’s warmth beside me. “In addition to her many other abilities, Ciara has the ability to call upon an army of great power.”
A jolt of surprise ran through me. “But how? I—”
“It requires a great sacrifice.” Her eyes darkened, turning to two drops of blood for a fleeting moment. “A blood sacrifice.”
I took a step back. “Then, no . . . I could not—”
“How many?” Leif asked, his face a mask of stone.
A slow, awful smile curved the Morrigan’s lips. “The Northmen do not shy away from blood sacrifices, do they? The blood of two hundred men must be offered as payment.”
The breath rushed from my lungs as though I had been knocked onto my back. “It cannot be done—it will not be done.”
“Tell me more of this army,” Leif said.
I grabbed his arm. “Stop this. The price is too high.”
“The price is high,” the Morrigan agreed, “but the price will be higher still for éirinn if you do not pay it. I have foreseen it: without this army, you will fail. Even now, the j?tnar have returned to Skien in the north, and Fenris will bring this battle to our shores.” Her attention shifted to me. “I have shown you the consequences, Ciara, and you still tell me the price is too dear?”
Panic bubbled up within me, as I faced this choice I could never make.
“Tell us of the army,” Leif repeated.
“It is composed of warriors who cannot die, of men who are accomplished in battle.” The Morrigan leveled her gaze at Leif. The feathers upon her head quivered for a moment. “They are warriors who have already died.”