The challenge lay in the dying of the day. Their original plan had been to travel south immediately after scouting out Kaldrborg, traveling through the wilderness at night with a linnorm on the loose was suicide. But nor had they brought equipment with which to survive the cold without being on the move.

In the end, Skadi resolved to move south at a slower pace and higher altitude, conserving their strength as they followed the contours of the rocky slopes high above the mountain road. Each member of their group, even Damian, was strong and resilient. They could go a night without sleep after a day of hard travel, but she knew they would have to rest thereafter.

They’d rest when the sun rose, she resolved, and then hunt for the best by the light of dawn.

Glámr led the way, his vision sharp even in the growing dusk, and soon they were straggling in a long line across slopes of scree and tumbled boulders layered in snow and ice. The going was treacherous, and at Glámr’s suggestion, everybody availed themselves of a long pole with which to aid their balance and test the ground ahead of them.

Travel became trudging. The sun had long sunk behind the Draugr peaks. It was madness to attempt this walk by night, but Skadi had bet one speed when she’d made her plans, and now had to reap the whirlwind.

Glámr moved with careful consideration, pausing on occasion to stare out thoughtfully over the rugged landscape. Every once in a while he bid them wait as he scouted ahead, only to return soon after with renewed confidence in their path.

Skadi took immense comfort from his skill. His calm, quiet confidence. With the Stórhǫggvi and Marbjörn in their party, he’d retreated into himself, ventured no conversation, was a shadow of his usual, ironic self, but if anything her appreciation of his friendship and talents only grew.

There was nobody else she’d have trusted to lead them across the mountains at night.

The cold was wicked, and it was only the constant exertion of walking in the thin air that kept her warm. Dusk became night, and to her relief the moon rose over the White Sea, startling vivid and casting a scintillating trail toward her over the distant waves. Its light draped a soft luminescence over the land, so that all was gray and velvety black, the snow luminous, the rocks dark and vivid.

She cast glances at the moon as she strode on. Was it driven on by Mani, chased by the slavering wolf who sought to devour it? Or the place where the wicked dead went to repent and one day brighten so that they may move to the sun?

No answers were forthcoming.

Time passed them by. Since they were moving far slower, Skadi knew that the urge to feel as if they were making equal progress back as they’d made coming was a dangerous illusion. At this pace, they’d only be halfway there by dawn.

Right by the linnorm’s cave.

They all froze once as howls drifted up from the dark forest that blanketed the coastline below. Still but for the sound of their breathing, all seven listened intently as a wolf pack coordinated and drew away, the howls growing thinner, most distant, and then silent.

They walked on without comment.

Skadi’s legs felt loose, and each time they had to step down upon lower rocks, she felt her knees want to give way.

Later, they heard a great crash from far above, and again they all paused, tensing as they studied the peaks. The moonlight was deceptive; while it illuminated the area immediately around them, anything in the distance became hazy and vague, as if seen through water. She gazed intently up the ever-steeper slope but saw nothing.

Another explosive crash sounded, like a rock bursting beneath a giant’s maul.

“Up there,” whispered Glámr, pointing. “Two giants are throwing rocks at each other.”

“Then let’s blood move,” hissed the Stórhǫggvi.

Nobody argued.

They hustled on, and eventually, the crashes also faded behind.

They found the corpse under a large rock as they walked along the belly of a gulch. Its flailing arms drew Glámr’s gaze to the overhang to their right, and he drew his axe so smoothly that Skadi took a moment to react and then draw Thyrnir in turn.

“What is it?” whispered Marbjörn harshly from the back of the group.

Skadi could see it now. Two arms reaching out from the ground, beating at a large rock the size of a sea chest that lay upon its chest.

Glámr hesitated then advanced under the overhang. Skadi stepped up beside him, and together they squinted into the dark.

Skadi had never been more raw and alert and alarmed.

The man was dead. His arms were little more than frostbitten flesh and sinews, his fingers reduced to bone so that their ivory tips scrabbled at the rock. Keeping their distance, they rounded the rock on either side. It was plugged into the galley’s wall like a cork, but gaps had been clawed out on either side through which the arms thrust blindly.

“An again-walker,” said Glámr, backing away. “Must be a tomb beyond.”

The Stórhǫggvi pressed to the fore, his great axe in hand. He sniffed, lined up his swing, and then severed one of the arms at the elbow.

A desperate hissing sounded from within the tomb. The stump continued waggling. The forearm and hand lay inert where they’d fallen through the crust into the soft snow beneath.

“We should pull the stone aside,” said the Stórhǫggvi. “Then I’ll cut it down when it emerges.”

Skadi considered. “No. We’re not here to cleanse the land. We move on.”

“It’s bad luck to leave an again-walker behind us,” said the Stórhǫggvi darkly. “I’ve killed them before. Won’t take us long.”

“And if it’s faster or more powerful than you think?” Skadi stared at the remaining hand which clawed furiously at the stone. It had worn grooves in the rock, content to scratch at it endlessly rather than widen the gap around it.

The Stórhǫggvi spat. “It won’t be a problem.”

Skadi bit her lower lip. “No. That stone has held for years. It’ll hold for another night. I won’t risk our being injured, even if the danger is low.”

“Or there being more of them behind this one,” said Líføy, and Skadi realized that the older woman was unnerved. “No saying how many might come out if we open it.”

“Glámr, lead on.”

The half-troll nodded at her and stepped back into the bottom of the gulley.

“Pah,” said the Stórhǫggvi, and then rounded the stone to hew off the other arm. “There. At least we can do that much.”

The sound of the again-walker’s furious hissing, barely audible, was unnerving in the extreme. Skadi nodded to Glámr, and they proceeded.

What had the world been like during those dark years? When the sun had failed to rise, and all was perpetual dark, and the legions of Hel had escaped to swarm down the coast, giving it the name it now held?

Skadi shuddered.

The idea of there being thousands of those undead creatures in the dark and snow and ice was terrifying. Tens of thousands, endlessly scrabbling and forcing their way toward the living, breaking into their homes, claws outstretched—

Skadi forced the thoughts away and kept walking.

The night was endless. The moon sailed slowly overhead and then descended, passing into a bank of clouds. The land grew dark, and Glámr moved even slower. The peaks above them were dark triangles against the vivid night. The White Sea was an endless sense of movement far below. Ice crunched underfoot. Her stick had tripled in weight, and her feet were frozen within their boots.

Nobody complained.

“Wait,” Glámr ordered, and slipped ahead. This time he was gone for far too long. Skadi peered into the seething darkness. What would they do if he didn’t return? Call for him? Head out after?

But then he was there. “It’s not safe to continue like this. The ground’s grown treacherous, and I’m having difficulty finding safe passage through it. We’d best wait till dawn. It’s only a few hours away.”

“Wait till dawn?” asked Geirr, pressing in close. “In this cold? We’ll freeze.”

“We’ll do what the musk oxen do,” said Marbjörn. He sounded haggard, exhausted. “Stand close. Three in the center, four around them. We’ll switch positions every so often. Our body heat will keep us alive.”

It was a testament to how the night had worn them down that nobody complained. Instead, they gathered close. Líføy, Damian, and Geirr stood with their arms around each other, and the others spread their cloaks over them, arms over each other’s shoulders.

Skadi’s back grew stiff and cold, but her front, where she leaned against Geirr and Damian, slowly warmed. They lowered their heads and breathed into the spaces between their bodies. Occasionally someone shifted their weight. Skadi fought to stay alert, but exhaustion lay upon her like a great iron cape, and she felt her eyes closing.

“What’s the difference between kinky and depraved?” asked the Stórhǫggvi abruptly.

Nobody answered, though Skadi felt the group tense slightly, become more alert.

“Kinky is when you cover your lover in oil and tickle her with the tip of a fox tail. Depraved is when you use the whole fox without killing it first.”

Skadi snorted, heard others chuckle under their breath.

Silence stretched out again, and once more Skadi began to dip her head.

“I married the love of my life,” said the Stórhǫggvi. “But she said something once that made me the happiest man in all of Midgardr but for which I was forced to kill her.”

Skadi blinked, raised her head. The whole group waited with growing impatience.

“Out with it already,” growled Marbjörn.

“She told me my cock was bigger than my brother’s.”

More chuckles.

“You don’t have a brother,” said Líføy.

“Not after that,” said the Stórhǫggvi with an audible grin.

More time passed and they switched positions. The warmth was intoxicating. Despite her best efforts, she found herself dozing off once more.

“Marbjörn was having sex with this great-grandmother once in the woods,” began the Stórhǫggvi.

“Finish this joke and I’ll throw you off a cliff,” said Marbjörn tiredly.

“After about half an hour, Marbjörn gets up, clears his throat, and spits on the ground. ‘By Thor’s hammer, I wish I had a light!’ he says. ‘As do I,’ the great-grandma says. ‘You’ve been eating grass since we got here.’”

“I thought you knew filthy jokes,” grumbled Marbjörn. “Those are for children.”

“Aye, but these at least you’ll understand.”

There were more snorts of amusement. Skadi yawned, shifted, then peered up. “Is that dawn breaking?”

The group stepped apart, and they stared over the White Sea, which was revealing itself to be a gray and endless expanse, the horizon beyond it slowly growing lighter.

“At long bloody last,” muttered Marbjörn. “If I had to hear another stupid joke I’d have screamed.”

The Stórhǫggvi stretched massively and grinned. “Poor baby.”

“I think I can lead us on now,” said Glámr.

Skadi tried to drink from her waterskin but it was frozen. Following Líføy’s example, she set it on the ground, stomped on it, then drank the freezing water from its core. Put a chunk of cured meat in her mouth to chew on, and nodded to Glámr. “Let’s keep going.”

Stiff and aching, she winced as her body slowly warmed up, though it felt like it too forever. Eventually, however, she felt limber once more, and as the sun finally broached the eastern horizon she yawned again and felt like she was finally awakening from her stupor, the sound of Damian’s walking prayer at once comforting and familiar.

“There,” said Glámr, stopping at the edge of a drop-off to point down the mountain. “Down there’s where the fires were.”

They gathered beside him.

“You’re sure?” Damian rubbed the base of one palm into his eye. “Looks like everything else to me.”

“No, he’s right.” Líføy turned to scan the mountains, whose craggy peaks burned bold in the dawn light. “This is the right place. I marked it well before we left.”

Glámr led them down wordlessly, and they crossed the mountain road like ghosts. Descended into the woods, and moved through the dense growth in single file.

“Somewhere around here,” muttered Glámr, sniffing at the frigid air. “Somewhere…”

He cast around, cutting back and forth through the woods, then stilled when they reached a cliff face of granite cut through with pale marble that rose sharply from the forest floor, its face cut and slashed with ledges and ice. “There. The scent of smoke. We must be close. We can track it from its cave.”

“Easy,” said the Stórhǫggvi, hand drifting down to his axe. “Nobody move.”

“What?” Geirr went from perplexed to concerned in a moment. “Nobody move? What—”

“Lower your voice, boy,” murmured the Stórhǫggvi, staring intently at the cliff face. “Better yet, shut up and stay still.”

Everybody froze. Carefully, cautiously, Skadi turned to look in the same direction. For a moment she saw nothing, just the cliff through the branches, rough and rising vertically out of their line of sight.

And then part of the cliff shifted and she realized she’d been staring at it all along, just failing to seeit.

The linnorm.