White Stag (Permafrost #1)(69)

“I thought you didn’t know what it was?” Soren said.

“I was never close to it,” he said. “But Hreppir confirms it’s a draugr. The stench of death is everywhere.”

I shuddered, gripping Breki’s warm fur. The creatures of nightmares, undead shapeshifters who were strong enough to move mountains, cruel enough to dine on the bones and flesh of the living, dangerous enough that the mere presence of one could drive you mad—that was what we were facing.

“Well, then.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking, with little success. “Let’s kill this thing.”

Sliding off from Breki, I came close to Soren, whose eyes flickered anxiously around him. “Scared of draugrs too?” I teased.

“My mother was killed by one.”

I kicked myself internally. Way to be an ass, Janneke.

Like always, it was as if he read my mind. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

I gripped his hand. “We can do this,” I said. “We have to.”

“Well, the other option is being ripped to shreds by wolves.” He tried to sound lighthearted and didn’t quite succeed. “So yes, we have to.” His hand squeezed mine, and I took reassurance in the pulse that beat there.

“So, does anyone have an idea how to kill this thing?” I asked.

Soren pursed his lips. “Decapitation and dismemberment is one way, I think. The only one possible at this rate.”

Seppo swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “This will be fun.”

Soren paced, his hands folded behind his back. Before he paced like a trapped wolf, but now he was a strategist, a battle commander, thinking of every way we could possibly take this creature down.

I turned toward the three wolves, who had seated themselves away from the opening in a semicircle. “You three don’t have to fight with us if you don’t want to. I know how many of your kind were killed.”

Breki stood, stretching to his full height. He was more like a horse than a wolf, honestly. Even Hreppir, who was the smallest by far, dwarfed the size of a pony. The three wolves came forward, and three voices spoke in unison inside my head.

We fight with you to avenge our brethren.

Soren paused in his pacing, staring at the wolves. Seppo jumped in surprise. “Odin’s ravens, I’m never going to get used to that. Magical wolves or not, it’s weird.” Lykka huffed, turning her back on him. Hreppir just whined and poked Seppo in the ear with his nose again.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” I said.

“Sorry, Hreppir.” Seppo ruffled the wolf between the ears. “It is weird, though.”

The three wolves trotted forward until they stood beside us. Soren came to a halt. “We need to draw it out of its den; we can’t fight it in an enclosed space. Remember the lindworms? This will be bigger and deadlier. We’re burning our own funeral pyres if we go in there.”

I stared ahead, past the boneyard to the mouth of a large cave. It was so close. Could the draugr smell us already? “We need to lure it out, then.”

“How?” Seppo asked.

Lykka and Breki looked at each other, some type of knowledge flashing between them. Then they turned to Hreppir. The younger wolf jumped up from where he’d been sniffing a flesh-covered bone. Who? Me?

Breki huffed. Of course, you. You’re the least threat, pup. Besides, you can act well.

It’s an honor, really, Lykka chimed in. You have the ability we do not.

“You can do it, Hreppir,” I said. “I know you can.”

The young wolf thrust out his chest.

Go, Hreppir. We will be right behind you.

Hreppir started forward, faking a limp. A high-pitched whine came from his parted lips, and he shook, dragging his back foot uselessly against the ground.

All was silent until the ground shook. The smell of rot and things long dead grew stronger at every beat. I curled my nose in disgust, though it did nothing to help the smell. I took four arrows in my hand and nocked one into place, holding the other three in my spare fingers. It’d been the first trick my father’d taught me. I may have forsaken him in the family’s eyes, but I’d never forget what he taught me. From beside me, Soren’s swords clinked sharply together as he drew them out, and Seppo’s feather staff whistled from the hollowed spot where the blades were kept.

My eyes burned as raspy, labored breathing came from the cave. It was the sound of someone whose lungs had filled with water; the last heaves of a suffocating man. The draugr was large, larger than Skadi, his body made of half-decaying flesh and exposed bone. Where his eyes had been, there were now only sightless gray masses of skin, and I gagged at the rotten smell that came with decomposing body.

Countless pictures flashed before my eyes: a woman screaming as her body was torn apart, rats eating each other alive, two men throwing themselves into the fire, the crying of children as the flesh was peeled from their bodies strip by strip. They came fast and hit me like waves until I almost dropped my weapons. A cold hand against the back of my neck brought me out of it.

“You’re all right, Janneka,” Soren whispered, and I managed to relax at the endearment of my name. “You’re all right.”

The creature lunged for Hreppir, far too graceful for its body, and the wolf dodged, a brown streak as he jumped off the rocks. He then regrouped with his pack, and they growled in unison, their hackles high.