Page 107 of A Curse Carved in Bone
Their father.
I wondered if any of them questioned why the man himself was absent for this moment.
Troels dragged me onto the dais and unfastened my wrists, the Nameless shoving my fists into heavy steel gauntlets fixed to wooden posts that had been set into the platform we stood upon. As I looked up, my eyes skipped past the screaming crowd to the bird perched on one of the buildings. Whether Guthrum had helped Freya, I did not know, but he was watching now.
The crowd screamed and taunted me, naming me traitor and worse untilSnorriheld up his hand for silence. “We will have justice today,” he proclaimed. “This man betrayed all of Skaland for the sake of lust for a monster. Our brothers and sisters perished upon the strait at his command and now endure the worst sort of torture as undead slaves to his mistress. Unless she surrenders, we will take her lover’s heart as punishment, and tomorrow we will hunt her down and do worse to her!”
The crowd cried for Freya’s blood.
Gyda approached and handedSnorria knife. “A gift from my liege, your ally,” she said. “It burns like acid as it cuts, ensuring the traitor will scream for mercy and be turned aside at the gates of Valhalla for cowardice.”
The smith cast a dark glare of hatred at me as she stepped aside, leavingSnorrito gaze upon the knife. Then he held it out, hilt first, to Tora. “It was not just Skaland he betrayed. He aimed to put Nordelanderwarriors in Helheim as well. I would have you do the honors in Harald’s name.”
Gods, but he was cruel to the last.
Tora reluctantly took the knife, but as she stepped behind me, Ylva said, “My love, Steinunn told me that she has prepared a song. A story to remind all who listen of why justice must be done today.”
Snorri’seyes narrowed in a way that wholly belonged to Harald, and I wondered how many other flaws in his performance that I’d failed to notice over the years. Or noticed, and disregarded. “She honors us.”
Steinunn stepped onto the dais with her drum, striking it with a heavy beat. Drawing every eye down upon her as she huffed breaths of air in a rhythm that cast her spell, drawing all of us into the story she told. Instead of tuning her out, as I always did, I allowed her magic to wash over me as she sang the tale ofHarald the Savior.
She began at the beginning, the story she’d overheard while hiding near my cell beneath Grindill, and visions of a young Harald appeared before me, weeping on his knees before a man-shape of white wax and glowing eyes. “They’ll know,” young Harald sobbed. “Gyda will know it isn’t me!”
“People believe what their eyes tell them,” the wax creature whispered. “And I will be a better version of you, so none will have cause to question whether the face they see is false.”
“Stop, Steinunn!” Harald-as-Snorri shrieked, but his voice was drowned out by the screams of young Harald as the wax creature tore off his face, its maw slick with crimson as it gulped it down. The wax creature melted, and slowly, it re-formed wearing young Harald’s face, lips still stained with red.
The crowd screamed in horror, many shouting, “Child of Loki!,” the powers granted to the trickster’s children well-known lore.
I tried to rip myself from the vision so that I might see what was happening around me, but Steinunn’s magic held me in thrall like it never had before, and all I could see was the story she sang.
The child of Loki wearing young Harald’s face appeared before me,and he embraced a far younger Gyda. “I missed you terribly, my dearest friend,” he said to her. “But oh the adventures I have to share with you. My greatest regret is that you were not there to experience them with me.” Young Gyda embraced him tightly even as the Gyda who watched on cried in dismay.
I could not wrench myself free of the skald’s magic though I heard tumult near me. Heard Harald-as-Snorri screaming at his Nameless to make Steinunn stop, but no one could intervene. No one could break free of the story that the skald told, her magic holding all of us in thrall.
A young Guthrum appeared before me, skipping down a path with a large hound at his heels. Laughing and happy, only to return home to find his mother on her knees, weeping.
“Father, what is happening here?” he demanded, because it was not Harald he saw but his own father terrorizing his mother. Yet Steinunn’s vision showed the truth—it was the child of Loki.
“You will give Guthrum over to serve the jarl,” the child of Loki shouted. “In the jarl’s service, our son will reclaim his honor.”
“No,” Guthrum’s mother answered. “I will not. He belongs here with me, in the wilds. I will not send him to Hrafnheim.”
The child of Loki beat her with heavy blows while young Guthrum screamed and cried, “Father, stop! Please stop!”
Around me, I heard gasps of outrage from the Unfated, because Guthrum’s story was well known. Everyone believed that it had been his father who had beaten his mother, and Guthrum’s hound had killed him out of vengeance.
But we all watched in silence as Guthrum prowled through the trees at the heels of his dog, following the child of Loki’s trail until they came upon their prey. The man on the ground was disoriented and bleeding, and I saw that his wrists were marred with scrapes, as though he’d been kept bound for some time.
“Guthrum, help me,” the man pleaded. “I’ve been kept prisoner.”
“You hurt her!” Guthrum screamed. “I hate you!”
“I haven’t hurt anyone!” his father pleaded. “Help me!”
But young Guthrum only turned to his hound. “Kill him.”
The hound hesitated, but young Guthrum only howled, “He hurt my mother! Kill him!” and the hound obeyed, screams filling my ears as it tore an innocent man to shreds while he begged and pleaded for his life.
