Shaking his head, the snake tsk-tsked again. “And that’sss saying sssomething. Poor misss, what a nightmare.”
“It has been,” she muttered, tears pricking her eyes once more.
“I finished the play about the princesss and the time keeper,” he offered hastily. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes,” she sighed, trying to muster a smile for him. “Please, tell me a story. Just so long as it has a happy ending.”
Sithias froze with a worried look. “Right…well, it’sss definitely a work in progresss.”
Thankful for the distraction, she curled into a comfortable ball, ready to be carried away by his story. But exhaustion won the fight to stay awake. She was asleep before he finished reading the first page.
•
Fate struck out at sunrise the next day in search of the troll hunter. After a good night’s rest, she was ready to enlist his help in a more direct manner. Knowing exactly where to look, she flew straight there, scanning for his dark shape against the snowy vastness.
Keeping his back to her so he wouldn’t see her flying, she floated down out of the sky, landing right behind him. “Have you found that troll yet?” she asked, smirking when he jumped, lost his balance and fell over.
Scowling and thrashing like a turtle stuck on its back, he bellowed, “For Thor’s sake and all holy hell! Sneaking’ll get you shot!”
She laughed. “If you’re so quick on the draw, how come I’m not a pin cushion already?”
“Oh, I’ve got mind to shoot!” He got to his feet with a lot of grunting, his crossbow in hand. “What did I tell you, girl? No bothering me on the hunt!”
She matched his serious expression. As much as she detested his company, she needed to make this work. “Listen, Leif––”
“Ah, you know my name,” he said, giving her a sly smile. “You’ve been asking after me, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I happen to know all about you and what you’re looking for.”
He sniffed with pride. “It’s no secret I am hunter of trolls.”
“I’m not referring to trolls,” she said, unable to hide her smugness. “I know you’ve been searching for your sister, Tove, for the last sixteen years.”
His ruddy face blanched. In fact, he looked so stunned she could’ve knocked him back down with a nudge of her finger.
“Odin above,” he whispered faintly. “It’s been long since I heard her name outside my head!” His brows furrowed into a suspicious frown. “Who are you, eh? A Norn come to turn my fate?”
The irony of his question made her smile. If he wanted to think she was one of the Norns spinning the golden threads of his fate, it might very well work to her advantage to be one. “Well yes, that’s exactly right.” And then she went on to tell him of the violent encounter he would have with Tove if he stayed hell-bent on killing the troll who’d raised his sister like a daughter.
The flush of anger on his face darkened into purple rage. “Wha-what?” His voice boomed and echoed against the mountain range. There was murder in his eyes. “That foul creature was no mother to my Tove!”
Unnerved by his fury, she kept her eyes trained on his downturned crossbow. “Your sister’s not a child anymore,” she reminded him. “She’s old enough to run an arrow through your heart for killing her mother. And as for the troll, her name’s Grysla, and she only took Tove because she thought she had no family. She couldn’t leave her to die.”
Leif looked on the verge of popping a vein. “Curse you, Norn, and your evil words!” he yelled, raising his crossbow and pulling the trigger without hesitation.
Fate leaped into the air just as the arrow pierced her voluminous fur boots, barely missing flesh. Climbing high out of reach, she glared down at him, his red face upturned, shouting curses and shaking his fist at her.
“Oh stuff it where the sun don’t shine,” she grumbled and bolted across the sky.
Chapter 17
FINN, WHERE ARE YOU?
His heart leaped at the sound of the voice calling his name and the mysterious girl emerging from the swirling mist.
Afraid the elusive sylph would disappear like so many times before, he pulled her into a crushing embrace, brushing his face along her neck, the softest place in the world. The scent of her hair was intoxicating as he slowly traced his mouth along the slender line of her throat, with the heightened anticipation of her lips touching his at long last.
When his mouth reached hers, the kiss felt wrong somehow.
The dream shattered. Her face vanished, replaced by Tove’s, her olive skin glowing in the light of the fire and glossy dark hair splayed over his bed of furs. A fiery green lit her eyes as she pulled Finn back into the kiss. The heat and inviting press of her body should’ve made him forget everything else. But his ardor had cooled. He sat up, clutching at the ache in his chest.
Tove rose, resting her head against his back. “What troubles you?”
Guilt and confusion tangled together as he tried to hold onto the image of the mystery girl’s face. But the mist had thickened, fogging over his mind until he could no longer picture her clearly. Yet the yearning lingered, as it always did whenever he had that dream. And he’d been having it more and more of late.
He turned to Tove, drawing her into his arms. “Nothing, pet. Just another dream.”
She entwined her limbs around his, teasing him into lying down with her. As tempting as she was, he resisted. All he wanted to do was rush out into the snow and find that vitally missing piece of his life. The question was, where to go? And whom would he be searching for, a misty ghost who haunted his dreams and left him feeling madly discontented with what he already had?
Don’t be a fool, boyo, he scolded himself. Life doesn’t get any better than this.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been part of Grysla’s family, but it already felt like a lifetime. From the moment he’d learned the Elder language, a rare and profound kinship had evolved between the three of them, especially with Tove.
When his strength had returned, she’d permanently inked the Elder race runes into his skin. They were a gift beyond measure, endowing him with unnatural strength and speed, heightened senses, rapid healing and greater resistance to the darkness that had taken root inside him. Countless hours had been spent with her while she’d tattooed his arms, down the length of his neck and spine and finally, three special runes on his left temple––the family knot.
Since then he’d come to understand the shifting colors of her eyes, another byproduct of the ancient runes once they were embedded in the skin. When they would chase each other over the snowy hills like fleeting ghosts, her eyes glowed bright green. Or when they hunted with bows drawn taut, her eyes shifted into dark orbs, yet calmed to an earthy sage when she taught him the mysteries of the earth magics.
She was fiercely passionate and uninhibited in the most innocent of ways, letting him know her feelings by slipping into his bed one night. He found her mesmerizing, and like any red-blooded male, he’d responded in kind. But when that moment of no return arrived, his heart had tugged hard on the reins.
He could never shake the feeling he was kissing someone else when he was kissing Tove. For whatever reason, she could not quench his thirst for the touch of another. So he refused to give into base desires. He wouldn’t play games with her. The bond between them deserved better than that. So he’d told her he needed time.
Still, she slept in his bed, for which he endured many a torturous night thereafter, battling with conflicting desires, while the warmth of her body made him ache all the more for that brown-eyed beauty of his dreams.
“Sleep,” she murmured, burrowing deep beneath the furs.
He tipped the covers back, kissing her on the forehead. “Can’t, sweet imp. I need a walk.”
He pulled on the fur-lined boots and coat she’d made for him from the wolverine’s hide. Both were incredibly warm and beautifully stitched with swirling patterns of colored threads.
The air outside the cave was crisp and the moon hung in the twinkling sky like a giant paper lantern. Closing his eyes, he pushed his senses outward the way Tove had taught him. Not just through the earth but into every particle of the air where he could hear the hum of the stars, the breathing wind, even the stirring of life within the dormant seeds buried deep beneath the cover of snow.
When he opened his eyes, his heightened vision zeroed in on Grysla, where she sat, blending with the bare crooked trees. He crossed the expanse, silent as walking on wool. Hearing his footfall all the same, she turned her gnarled head and smiled.
Finn fell backwards into a snowdrift and stared up at the stars. “Guess the moon’s keeping you awake too.”
Her head tilted with those kind, wise eyes, telling him she knew better.
“Now don’t go looking at me that way. I’ve been sipping that gloriously rank bog water like clockwork, so no worries there,” he said, referring to the healing broths she’d made for him in an attempt to dispel the darkness. But the most her curatives could do was slow its spread.
Her eyes widened, encouraging him to tell her what was really bothering him.
“Really, I’m fine,” he insisted. “And I’m sure I’ll be fit as a fiddle after the runic ritual tomorrow night.”
Grysla swept her hand to her heart, making the sign for sadness.
Sighing, he tucked his arms behind his head. “There’s no hiding from you.” He threw her a halfhearted grin.
The giant propped her great arms on her knees and leaned forward, ready to listen.
“I’ve been having disturbing dreams. Not the usual nightmares of death and mayhem, mind you. These…are different. They’re the kind that fill you with absolute bliss but leave you heartbroken and confused.”
A shooting star streaked across the black glittering sky.
He rose on one elbow. “I think the dreams are trying to show me what I haven’t been able to remember. I’m more certain than ever that I left something behind––well, someone ––very important.”
Grysla’s furrowed face softened as her gruff voice broke the silence of the frosty night. “The darkness in you is like water drowning your new memories.” She made a wavy sign for flood. “In time, it will also flood over your oldest memories until you’ve forgotten who you are, and all that remains is the dark influence.”
He sat up, his body rigid with dread. As much as the source of this darkness was a mystery to him, he knew Grysla spoke the truth. She had merely voiced his fears out loud.
“I shouldn’t stay here any longer,” he said after a time. “I’m a danger to you and Tove.”
Grysla swept her massive hand in a circle, then pointed at Finn’s heart. “There is hope, Shining One, but only if you heed your dreams by watching for the signs and following them.”
He stared out at the windswept hills. “I will. But you have to promise me one thing. If the poison turns my soul, you’ll––“
The tree troll stopped him with the sign for peaceful silence. She stared at him, her eyes sorrowful. Then she gave him a solemn nod, promising she would do what he asked.
•
A full moon illuminated a clear path through the snow as Finn, Tove and Grysla walked to a perfectly circular mound where nothing grew. The tree troll hummed a low melody as they spread out around the bottom. Finn and Tove joined in with their flutes. He’d carved the Elder race runes beside the Druidic inscriptions scored along the length of his alder flute.
As the rune notes marked the air, the wind song beckoned. Loose snow swirled at the top of the mound, thickening and churning upwards into a white cyclone that rose high into the ink-black sky. The rune notes pitched, lifting every snowflake until the bare earth revealed a carved spiral beginning at the bottom and ending at the top center of the mound.
When the wind song ended, the spiraling column plumed like a fountain, showering sheets of snow around the sides of the earthen rise.
Grysla sparked a fire at its center with a gruff word and a flick of her hand. Then she gestured to them to follow the spiral’s path up to the fire. They did so, slowly and reverently.
Kneeling beside the fire, Tove held a stick in the flames until its sharp point glowed scarlet, steaming in the frosty air. Finn shed his coat, revealing his bare chest and the four red welts the wolverine had given him. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, Tove seared the purging rune into his flesh.
•
Scorching pain burned into Fate as if she was the one being branded. She woke, grabbing her chest, her heart thudding so hard she gasped for air. Glancing around to ensure she was in the cabin, her gaze went to the window, where the moon glowed over the forest hills like daylight. The same moon she’d seen in her dream.
It had seemed so real. Too real to ignore.
She flung the covers off and bundled up in her snowsuit.
Sithias poked his head up out of the covers from where he slept. “Where are you going, misss?”
“I dreamt of Finn,” she said, marching to door. “He’s at the troll mound.”
Moonlight blanketed the milky hills with its cold brilliance, casting crooked tree shadows onto the sparkling snow. As she flew over the Twisted Bone Forest, Fate’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a bright, flickering blaze in the distance.
As she drew nearer to the fire, she spotted Finn immediately. He was alive and well. Bewilderment obliterated her initial relief. What had kept him from returning to her? Surely he wouldn’t have allowed her to go on thinking the worst for weeks. Uncertainty kept her from going straight to him. She slowed, seeing that he was with someone. She hovered, trying to make sense of the intimate exchange taking place.
Unaffected by the frigid temperature, Finn kneeled bare-chested in front of a sable-haired girl. Tove’s name rose at the back of her polarized mind. She was stunning, a wild, beautiful daughter of nature. He had his hands on her shoulders, a look of intense passion on his face. Was she the reason he hadn’t come back? Fate’s chest burned with prickling heat. She suddenly realized she’d seen that look in his eyes before, but hadn’t recognized it for what it was.
Tove salved the fresh burn on his chest, her fingers caressing tenderly. This obviously wasn’t the first time she’d touched him that way. Fate wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, her gaze trailed unwillingly over Finn’s muscled torso to the symbols inked along his spine and down the length of his arms…those arms pulling Tove into his embrace.
The moment they kissed, Fate’s heart imploded, becoming a black hole that sucked every last shred of happiness from her soul. She was in shock, unable to move, unable to feel anything but paralyzing grief.
But after a few minutes, raw fury burned through the pain. All this time she’d been freezing her ass off searching every inch of these mountains for him and always terrified he’d turn up dead. He’d been safe––with her.
Tangled, agonizing knots of rage and heartache doubled her over. Muffling a gut-wrenching sob in her glove, she shot straight up. After reaching a dizzying height, she tumbled downward, disoriented by the stars and snowy landscape blurring together. For a split second, she considered falling on the trees below. Being impaled would be less painful than this. But self-preservation kicked in before she hit the spiked trees.
Wiping away the tears, she glanced back at the fire, worried they might’ve noticed her chaotic plunge. She didn’t want any delays. Not when she planned to get back and move into the next fable without Finn. Yet she lingered, staring at the excruciating scene as if maybe she might wake from this nightmare.
As she turned to leave, she noticed movement in the mound’s shadow. Someone was crouched behind a snowdrift. She knew it was Leif when she saw him aim his crossbow, not at Finn and Tove, but at the tree troll, sitting unnoticed amongst the crooked trees near the base of the mound.
Fate knew she had to intervene. Otherwise, that stubborn blockhead would ruin the end of the fable for her. She swooped down, intending to knock the crossbow from his
grip, but pulled back when Tove twisted round in Leif’s direction. Fate held still, seeing that Finn was scanning the sky as if he knew she was there. Then Tove tugged on his arm, pointing at the snowdrift Leif hid behind.
The next few seconds slowed into brilliant clarity as Finn ran down the mound with shocking speed, his face a mask of rage. His movements were catlike as he sprang at Leif. In reaction, the hunter unleashed his arrow. Fate plunged across space, ramming into Finn, the arrow whistling past their heads.
Before she could dart away, he grabbed hold of her. They rolled down the slope in a tangle of limbs, their tumble ending at the bottom of the mound. When she found herself lying on top of him, she scrambled off. Finn stayed still, staring at her, first with a look of surprise and then a frown of confusion.
She staggered backward as he rose to his feet, his eyes burning with unnatural hues of shifting green. Tears stung her eyes. He had changed in ways that scared her.
His steps were slow and deliberate. “Who are you?”
Unable to believe her ears, Fate wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve and glared at him.
“She’s a Norn, that one, and no good!” Leif bellowed.
Finn’s eyes went black. He turned, lunging at the big man, knocking him on his back, punching his face hard and fast. Leif went limp. Grabbing his crossbow and sword, Finn tossed them so far they were lost in the deep drifts.
Tove circled round the bleeding troll hunter, her eyes dark and dangerous.
Fate edged further back, stopping when the ground shook under her feet. Grysla had closed the space between them in one step. The gnarled giant was of such intimidating size and staring so intently, Fate wanted to bolt. But memories of the Green Man’s crushing grip kept her glued in place. The odds were too good she’d be snatched out of the air.
Finn’s expression softened as he strode toward her. “Thank you for what you did.”
Fate's Fables Boxed Set (Fables 1 - 8): One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales Page 17