White Stag (Permafrost #1)(59)
Maybe I could try to reason with him. Or maybe you’ll be stuck for centuries and Soren will die.
“I don’t know any songs,” I said again, more forcefully this time. “So, I can’t sing something for you. Is there anything else?”
The n?kken laughed a cruel, bitter laugh. “You’ve no songs? You have plenty. All there in your head. Do you think the pain you feel is meant to be stuck inside of you, never released? No. That’s why the Aesir and Vanir granted us music and the wonderfulness of words. You have a song, sweet child, but if you can’t find it, there’s nothing I can do. Your boy will die, and letting you go … I don’t think I like that idea.”
My fingers tightened around the stiletto. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. Just give me a minute to think.”
“A minute, an hour, a millennium,” he mused, “it’s all the same to me.”
I shivered at his tone. I’d been around insane beings enough to know their danger. Whether it was the lost lovers and endless solitude of the n?kken or whatever sickness in the head plagued Lydian, I needed to be really careful. One wrong move …
A sliver of fear found its way to my heart. I could’ve been like this if I were a normal human. If I’d survived this long, if Lydian’s torture had gotten to me, I could’ve been exactly like this. I shook the thought away, focusing back on the issue at hand.
A song. I didn’t even know whether I had a decent voice, much less if there was a song somewhere deep in my heart. Get your head straight, Janneke. If you don’t do this, Soren dies. I’d lived through the raid of my family, the torture from Lydian, the endless battles of the Hunt, I could sing a fucking song.
“All right.” I breathed in deeply. “Give me a moment. I just need some inspiration.”
The n?kken bared his rows of sharp teeth in a smile. I shuddered; the multiple rows pressed down one behind another like sharks’. I pitied the dead women on the ground who were forced to kiss that mouth.
“I can help with that.” He held out a hand. His skin was warm and slimy, like the mud and mossy mixture of a swamp, but his grip was strong. He bent down, sharp teeth still out, and pricked my hand. I jerked back as a small trail of blood dripped from the heel of my palm.
“What did you do?”
“I have given you inspiration.”
The blood had already stopped flowing, but a sharp wave of vertigo hit and I stumbled forward. Up and down, left and right mixed together until the world twisted around like a kaleidoscope.
Are you dead? I knew that voice. That voice made me shudder, scream, and cry. It’d taken everything away from me. You’re not supposed to die yet. I need to know first! I need to know! I blinked rapidly, haunted by the images flashing across my eyes. Dragged by a horse. Tormented every night. Are you dead yet, little girl? Are you dead? No? Good. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.
Pain blossomed inside my breast, powerful enough for me to double over, clutching my stomach. The breath escaped my lungs in quick spurts as fear and pain and memories I’d long tried to forget spun a weave inside my head.
“Are you dead?
Little girl
Why don’t you close your eyes?
Are you dead?
Little girl
Tonight
Are you dead?
Little girl
Are you an angel in flight?
Or are you lost in your body?
Lost in the world?”
It was a thick blanket smothering me: Helka’s power, the young lordling’s, Elvira’s and the lindworm’s, Panic’s death and Rekke’s, it threatened to choke the life out of me and leave me lifeless on the floor.
“It slowly takes and captivates
And wraps around our skin
The curtains that we hide behind
Cradle us in our sin
The night is dark
The world is cruel
And the stars are all on fire
But that little girl
That little girl
Her one and only desire”
My throat was on fire. The words had always been there. A bloody hand grabbing a new lord’s cloak, darkness lining my vision and the hope that it would never lift, coldness inside my chest when I passed by the betrayed looks from the dead who considered me a blood traitor in my dreams; all I longed to forget now bubbling to the surface.
“Are you dead?
Little girl
Wear your heart on your sleeve Are you dead?
Little girl
You’re not supposed to grieve
Are you dead?
Little girl
Why does your skin feel so numb?
Little girl
Little girl
What have you done?”
The river water was cold against the agony of my burns, and the lies and secrets swirled around, battering my body. Hunger gnawed inside me, so fierce I couldn’t ignore it. But the hunger was for more than food; it was for blood and pain, desire and revenge.
“The world it shatters like raining glass
Veils eyes, thoughts, and minds
Our daily bread is all we ask
But it is too much to find
Your heart is weak
My breath is stone
And we weave a web of lies
Are you dead?
Little girl
You’re not supposed to cry.”