White Stag (Permafrost #1)(91)

Soren was dead. Soren was dead. Those words rang in my ears, repeating like an endless mantra. Soren is dead. Soren is dead. Soren is dead. But it wasn’t possible; I’d know. I would know.

Lydian grinned at the panic on my face. Numbness spread through my body, and I went limp underneath him. For a long second there was nothing but despair, pain, and the hollowness in my chest. Then the rage kicked in, and I lashed out, my fist flying straight into Lydian’s nose. There was another sickening crunch as black blood poured from the break. Soren was dead. Okay. I would mourn him, but now was not the time. Now was the time to make sure that Lydian would never wield the power of the stag, and if I failed, now was the time to ensure he would never take me alive.

The mountains would fall into the sea before I let him.

Lydian clutched his nose, and I wriggled out from under him back toward the stag. But no sooner had I escaped than he grabbed me again and yanked me back, pinning me with his knees.

“Don’t you get it, girl?” he snarled, his crazed green eyes cloudy. “It’s over. He’s gone. That repulsive brat will never ru—”

He stopped abruptly, eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at his chest. There was a gurgle, then a stomach-churning rip as Lydian fell away. His mouth was open as he gasped for breath, blood pouring from the hole in his chest.

Soren stood above me, Lydian’s still-beating heart gripped in his hand. He dropped it and then fell to his knees. I smelled the injuries on him, the burns, too many to name. His waist-length hair was all but burnt away, now only brushing up against his shoulders. His clothes were ruined, ripped, full of blackened blood that oozed from a million small cuts, a thousand sores, and a hundred deep gashes.

Lydian looked down to the hole in his chest and then up at me. His mouth opened, and he grabbed my leg. A chill crept through my body at the words that entered my head uninvited. What happens when the serpent stops eating his tail? In his last second, his eyes grew clear. What happens? he mouthed, and then grew still.

“You always talked too much.” Soren collapsed, fighting for his breath. The sky was alight now with streaks of dawn and the fire burned low to the ground. From behind me someone shouted our names, but I didn’t listen. All I could think about was the stag lying on the border, dying by Lydian’s blow—Lydian, who was now dead. The voice came again, the bright blinding light, and I forced myself to ignore Soren and crawl toward the dying stag. It didn’t matter that Lydian was dead; he’d gotten the stag on the border. The mantle of the Erlking couldn’t pass on, not even to Soren—now the rightful ruler. The stag would die his final death, and with it so would any chance of a normal world.

It flashed before my eyes. Summers where black snow littered the ground, winters where the ice was red and hot to touch. Humans born with horns and svartelves with the skin still attached to their backs, goblins perishing with nothing left to contain their power. The water from the sea rose into the sky, the mountains crumbled to the ground, and the dying cries of wolves, and folk, and men echoed across the land like the songs of the damned. A ship made of human nails broke from its mooring, and a snake ate his tail on and on in an endless cycle. What happens when the serpent stops eating his tail? The taunting voice of Lydian haunted me even in his death, infusing me with one last mad riddle that he thought only I would know.

I dragged myself over to the stag and his eyes met mine. They were young and ancient and everything in between. His voice called to me, deep and comforting inside my head, and without hesitation, I covered his body with my own as a blinding silver light flooded the border of the world.





22


WHITE STAG


WHEN I OPENED my eyes, I was no longer in the fire-scorched land where the battle had taken place. Instead, the ground was covered in a light dusting of snow, and the cold air was crisp and clear. The sweetness of it filled my aching lungs. My clothes were ruined and my weapons long gone, but there was no coldness or panic as I stood in the clearing, wide open for anyone to see.

Stalks of grass sprang up despite the snow and the trees were thick and alive, holding up the snow with strong armlike branches. From somewhere behind me there was birdsong, and from somewhere in front of me a stream bubbled.

I walked through the snow until I saw him. The stag stood without a hint of the wounds Lydian had given him. I raced forward. He was alive; the world would be all right. Soren would be all right. He was alive. I stopped running when I met his large, somber eyes.

He looked down at the snowy grass and I followed his gaze, amazed that I was looking down at myself and the burnt field below. Soren was breathing heavily, fighting his wounds while the power of the Permafrost began to regenerate his body. Seppo knelt over my limp body, shaking it desperately and screaming. I couldn’t hear the words, but pain was written over his face. I ached to reach out and let him know I was okay, but there was nothing I could do as he screamed and cried. Soren, who was gathering his strength, finally managed to drag himself over to the stag and me. He joined in the shaking and pled for me to wake.

Warm breath blew against my cheek as the stag came beside me. You have come far, young one. Thank you.

“I don’t understand,” I said, my hands brushing the place on his flank where the wounds were supposed to be. The giant animal didn’t flinch, but gazed levelly at me. “You’re okay. You’re not hurt. Why aren’t you waking up? Don’t you realize without you, everything will fall apart? I saw it.”