Page 80 of Entwined

Azar and Hyperion shake their heads, their eyes actively scanning the volcanic activity.

Strange, strange, strange.

“Alright, let’s try this.” I unclasp my cloak and unbutton the top of my tunic, handing the cloak to Azar.

What am I going to do with this?

“Hold it for me in case the beasts leap through the lava so I don’t drop it and ruin my new pretty.”

Azar rolls his eyes. He didn’t do that a few weeks ago—I’m definitely teaching him bad habits. I’ll worry more about that later. For now, I peel my tunic down enough to show them my birthmark.

Nothing happens.

The beasties don’t even seem to notice.

At first.

I’m about to button up my cloak when one of them freezes, and he starts to shout—I can’t hear anything for some reason, but the others react, and suddenly they’re all pointing and milling around with their heads locked on me.

That’s when I hear the first shout. Hjartanu! Followed closely by what I now know is probably the word Gullveig! Seconds later, the first dragon shows up, and I spin around to see what Azar and Hyperion think. “Now? Now do you see them? The dragons, I mean? They’re back too.” When I turn back, there are at least a dozen dragons, and some are even managing to leap out of the lava a bit.

I hear the sounds now—Gullveig and hjartanu, like you said, Azar says. But I don’t see anything.

I could scream. “How can you not see them?”

Are they always there, but only some can see them unless they escape wherever they’re stuck? Hyperion asks. That would make sense, if they’ve been there all along, but most humans and apparently most blessed don’t even know.

Could it be that only brights can see them? Azar asks. We should bring another here and then we can determine whether all brights are capable of making them out.

Call to them, Hyperion says. Maybe you’re the key to freeing them, since you can see them. Your mark means something to them, clearly.

It’s worth an effort, at least. “Demon spawn,” I say. “Why don’t you come out? Come and see me.” I step closer, even though their teeming and churning is making my skin crawl.

The heat from the lava bubbling and popping in front of me was already emanating outward in waves, but when I call them, the demon people and dragons fly into a frenzy. Their shouts increase in fervency and cadence, and more of them leap and shove their way toward the top of the lava.

“They can definitely hear me,” I say. “But it doesn’t seem to matter.”

Try to leave, Hyperion says. That’s what motivated them last time.

He’s right. They became desperate when I ran away. I shout, “I have to go now. I’ll come back.”

They have no idea what I’m saying—they stop moving so frantically, and they’re trying to listen, but several of them look confused.

Try our language, Azar says. You said there are blessed among them.

It’s worth a try. I feel a little strange using the blessed tongue, which I can use thanks to the bond, but I can use it.

“I have to leave,” I say. “I’ll return.”

The horned creatures may only speak Old Norse, but the dragons clearly understand my words this time. Like last time, they become agitated. They leap higher. They roar louder. And when they reply, I can understand.

Free us, they shout in dragon-tongue. Release us from this place of torment.

Are they all trapped inside the lava? Burning forever and ever. . .and for what reason? How has it not consumed them? Where do the dragons and horned creatures go when they aren’t clamoring for my attention here? How many are there?

So many questions.

Why are you trapped? Azar could understand them too, and he has questions of his own.

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