White Stag (PERMAFROST #1)

Chapter Fourteen: Needless/Wantless

Chapter Fourteen

Needless/Wantless

I seethed with rage. Sing him a song? Anything remotely songlike was ripped from my lips the moment my village turned to ash. No lullaby, hunting tune, or ballad survived the destruction. Sing him a song. He might as well have asked me to wish on a star.

Maybe I could try to reason with him. Or maybe you'll be stuck for centuries and Soren will die.

"I don't know any songs," I said again, words forceful this time. "So I can't sing something for you. If there's anything else?"

The nøkken laughed a cruel, bitter laugh. "You've no songs? You have plenty. All there in your head. Do you think that the pain you feel is meant to be stuck inside of you, never released? No. That's why the Aesir and Vanir granted us music and the wonderfulness of words. You have a song, sweet child, but if you can't find it, there's nothing I can do. Your boy will die and letting you go..." he trailed off. "I don't think I like that idea."
My fingers tightened around the stiletto. "Okay," I said. "Okay. Just give me a minute to think."

"A minute, an hour, a millennium," he mused, "it's all the same to me."

I shivered at his tone. I'd been around insane beings enough to know their danger. Whether it was the lost lovers and endless solitude of the nøkken or whatever sickness in the head plagued Lydian, I needed to be really careful. One wrong move...

A sliver of fear found its way to my heart. I could've been like this if I was a normal human. If I'd survived this long, if Lydian's torture had got to me, I could've been exactly like this. I shook the thought away, focusing back on the issue at hand.

A song. I didn't even know whether I had a decent voice, much less if there was a song somewhere deep in my heart. Get your head straight, Janneke. If you don't do this, Soren dies.

"Alright," I breathed in deeply. "Give me a moment, I just need some inspiration."

The nøkken bared his rows of sharp teeth in a smile. I shuddered; the multiple rows pressed down behind one another like sharks. I pitied the dead women on the ground who were forced to kiss that mouth.

"I can help with that." He held out a hand. His skin was warm and slimy, like the mud and mossy mixture of a swamp, but his grip was strong. He bent down, sharp teeth still out, and pricked my hand. I jerked back as a small trail of blood dripped from the heel of my palm.

"What did you do?"

"I have given you inspiration."

The blood already stopped flowing but a sharp wave of vertigo hit and I stumbled forward. Up and down, left and right mixed together until the world twisted around like a kaleidoscope.

Are you dead? I knew that voice. That voice made me shudder, scream, and cry. It'd taken everything away from me. You're not supposed to die yet. I need to know first I need to know! I blinked rapidly, haunted by the images flashing across my eyes. Dragged by a horse. Tormented every night. Are you dead yet, little girl? Are you dead? No? Good. Don't worry, it'll all be over soon.

Pain blossomed inside my breast, powerful enough for me to double over, clutching my stomach. The breath escaped my lungs in quick spurts as fear and pain and memories I'd long tried to forget spun a weave inside my head.

"Are you dead?

Little girl

Why don't you close your eyes?