Grunting rippled through Gry’s mind like thunder, stealing what was right in front of her eyes and replacing it with her Jarl in the throws of passion. He was with Syn, fucking the bitch like she didn’t belong to his own son, or like he didn’t have a hole tribe of women willing spread their legs. Gry was one of those women and despite Halvar not being hers, not truly, it still felt like a betrayal, that was until she saw the flowers.

A god’s damned tree wife, it had to be! Another flash of the sight had Gry viewing Syn’s back and of course, there were spikes protruding from her back, sharp sticks that continued to grow as she drained Halvar of his magin.

Gry cured and ran shouting to every hasting man she could. “Swords, to me!”

The ringing of steel rang out as maybe two dozen men joined her. She ran, vision shifting from the stone halls of Skorradalr to Halvar screaming his love for the vaettir raping him. Soon his soul would be taken, making him more like to kill them all for any attempt at rescue.

By the fucking tree, she had to stop this. A group of Wodanar came to bar their path. Without time to waste on cowards, Gry cut down the first man standing in her way. More blood followed but she refused to slow, hacking at men with her hatchet but never stopping to finish what she’d started.

A minute later and she was still several minutes away from Halvar. There was no time. Her own magin within him was nearly gone and with its expunged Halvar, her Jarl, would be gone.

Gry freed her flaming dagger from its stone sheath. Only one thing she could do now so she pressed her will on the Mispilkin within the weapon. Like always it fought back but desperation had her will surging like the sea.

With a thought, its power was her’s and seconds later the spell was ready. The Völva's hand reached out, a tendril of unseen power arcing through the astral realm, passing through stone and men to crash into Halvar.

Immediately, Gry’s magin within Halvar ignited, covering the man in flame. Still, he kept on thrusting away. But Syn, the tree wife screamed in pain, thrashing about and clawing to no avail.

The vision ended as Gry turned the last corner followed by a roar that had her covering her ears. Just after, the house offered to the Hasting Jarl exploded into kindling, a form bursting through its walls.

Syn landed in a snowdrift extinguishing the flames clinging to her followed by Halvar with a wooden bean in hand nearly as large as he was like a god’s damned club. The man looked too close to death, his hair burned away and skin ravaged but the hatred and rage in those eyes were pure. His mind was his own.

“You die now!” Halvar bellowed and swung his club.

Syn waved her hand like a sword. A root as wide as a man followed her motion jutting from the ground and shattering the improvised weapon. Only then did Gry reach her, hatchet coming down for her throat.

With inhuman speed, Syn caught the weapon in hand, another massive root bursting forth like a spike forcing Gry to abandon her hatchet. The sight was with her revealing her own blood staining the snow had she not retreated.

She, Halvar, and a handful of Hasting men and shield maidens lunged only for roots to erupt from all around. A shieldmaiden and the rest of the warriors died instantly, impaled through the chest. Halvar caught the root coming for him with a hand while Gry rolled, images of herself dying all around her.

A root came piercing her through her trench so she spun on her feet still moving forward. Another wrapped around her neck so she ducked only for two more to gouge out her stomach. A flip had her surviving that too leaving her just close enough to gut the tree wife.

Flaming dagger hungry for blood, Gry swung only for Syn to burst into a cauldron of bats.

“Face me gods damn you!” Gry raged swiping back and forth but the bats rose high, not a single one marked by her attacks. In moments they were gone, nigh to a hundred flying to the highest tower in Skorradalr.

Halvar was the fist to move, falling to his feet. With the battle fervor gone his wound must have been agony.

“Lord!” Gry called out as she ran to his side.

“You lit me on fire,” he managed to wheeze, then laughed. “Thank you. She would have had me otherwise.”

Gry wiped at her eyes. Fuck! Tears were welling up in them. “I, I’m sorry. I should have known, sensed that she was possessed.”

“No,” Halavr said, coming to a knee. His wounds were healing before her eyes, faster now that the sun was coming low. “She’s not possessed. They’re sorcerers, Syn, Elba, even fucking Arvid!”

“What?”

Slowly he came to his feet still needing Gry to hold most of his weight. “Bring me a sword and find Aslaug. We take Skorradalr this night. Kill all who stand in our way!”

The Jarl finally found his own feet as the men whooped, all but Gry. A rush of prescience had come over her. She moved at a slow pace to the home offered to Aslaug, already knowing she was too late.

Inside the Völva lay in bed, eyes open and breath still. On her chest, or, what had been on her chest moments ago seen through Gry’s sight was the pale form of a woman, a ghost with its hands around her neck, squeezing.

Gry clenched her fist so tight blood ran down his fingers as she saw the vaettir, a mare take Aslaug’s Necro and flee just like Syn to the highest tower in Skorradalr.