Warrior of the Wild(53)

“Do you suppose the hyggja has finished off the gunda’s corpse yet?” Soren asks. “Maybe it won’t be hungry.”

“If that’s the case,” Iric says, “it might not leave the bottom of the lake. Then we’ll have to come back later.”

I do not like the sound of that. I don’t want to wait to continue my task of killing Peruxolo. I can’t. I need that armor.

Soren makes a face. “If anyone falls in, they’ll be swimming in rotting gunda guts.”

“I could have done without that image in my mind,” I say.

“Just don’t drink the water.”

I gag.

“Enough,” Iric says. “Let’s get this over with.” He reaches down, picks up a round rock, and casts it as far as his arm will reach. It sends up a great splash, and we watch until the rippling water stills once more.

“Maybe it’s sick,” Iric says. “Gunda didn’t sit well with it.”

Soren grabs his own rock, selecting a round, flat one. He casts it from his side, and we watch as the rock skips across the water’s surface. One. Two. Three. Then it plunks down below, just a ways farther than where Iric’s landed.

I grab my own flat stone, size up the water, and cast it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“I was just getting warmed up!” Soren insists.

“Everything doesn’t have to be a competition,” I say.

“No,” he agrees, “but it’s far more fun that way.”

He throws a second rock, and we count the bounces. One. Two. Three. Fou—

The rock barely hits for the fourth time before an enormous body launches out of the water, attempting to catch the rock in its jaws. All three of us stagger backward from the shock of it, instinctively putting more space between the hyggja and us.

It’s easily three times the length of a man from head to tail, though only twice as wide. One would expect something flat like a fish, but no. If two men were to lie on their stomachs, one atop the other, it would be similar to the hyggja’s shape. It has fins placed where a four-legged monster would have legs. They’re thick and membranous, and I think it must use them to help swim and maybe move along the lake’s bottom. But there’s no way it can use them above the surface.

It cannot leave the water.

The hyggja’s skin is a dark green, like grass under the pale glow of moonlight, but it doesn’t bear scales. No, the texture is wrong. It’s bumpy and hardened, just like the rock-strewn bottom of the lake.

And its mouth—

Oh goddess, its triangle-shaped mouth seems to go on forever. It’s partially open with a row of top and bottom teeth peeking through the gap.

I see all of this in the second it takes for the beast to fall back down into the water.

“This was a terrible idea,” Iric says into the silence that follows. I look to find him already turned around, heading away from the lake.

“Wait a moment!” I call after him. I follow him at a run, not stopping until I’ve cut him off.

“You saw that thing!” Iric says. “Nothing can kill it! It’s practically made of teeth! And did you see how far it jumped out of the water?”

“Not far enough to reach us on the cliff. We’ll be safe up there.”

“No, we’re safe back at the tree house.” Iric tries to get around me.

I move with him. “You’ve come all this way. Iric, you made us spears! We have a good plan. We can’t leave before we’ve even tried. What harm will a few throws be?”

Soren steps up beside me. “She’s right, Iric. Let’s give it a try first.”

Iric wraps his arms around himself. “I can barely stand the sight of it. That beast has haunted my dreams for the last year. I hadn’t realized just how big—”

“It doesn’t matter how big it is,” I say. “Nothing can survive with its head cut off. You said the plan yourself. We weaken it. We drag it on land. You saw those fins—it will be useless on land. Then you deliver the killing blow.”

“You can do this,” Soren says. “We’re not leaving you to do this alone.”

Iric rubs his arms before dropping them. “Fine. One throw.”

“Each,” I say. “One throw each. Then we can discuss our next move.”

Iric agrees, and he leads us up the small cliff face. We each carry our own spear, the length of rope attached to it coiled around one of our shoulders. We come to a stop in a line along the edge, and we carefully place our ropes behind us, so that when we cast our throws, they will unspool without trouble.

“Let’s do this,” Soren says, the prospect of a battle exciting him.

I nod. “For Iric.”

“For Aros,” Iric says quietly to himself. “For Mother and Father. For us.”

Iric begins pulling the sheets of armor from his clothing, and Soren and I follow his lead. It feels so wrong to go into battle without armor, but I know it is a necessity. Should we fall into the water, we can’t be burdened down, and armor will not stop the hyggja should anything go wrong, anyway. Though I can’t help but wonder which death would be less painful, drowning or being eaten by the hyggja?

Would it bite a person in half? Or would death be more slow and painful? Perhaps I should not indulge in such thoughts.