instinctively laid a hand on the handle of a dagger at the implied threat of what was ahead. “Who?”
“The ravens,” Mimir said. “Come to think of it, best let me do the talking. They are tricky beasts.”
“Ravens?” Annabel asked. “Like Arni and Magga?”
“Arni and Magga?”
“My father stole two ravens from Odin’s rookery, once upon a time, and gifted them to Saga and Bjarni,” I explained.
“Who names a raven Eagle?” Mimir muttered. “Yes, plum, like Odin’s birds, and not. Every raven flies across the skies, plucking gossip and secrets from the winds. And when they die, they come here, to this place, where they exchange their secrets and find many more.”
“So you think they’ll know of another way to escape Hel?” Annabel asked, urgency coloring her voice.
“If anyone knows of a way, it will be the ravens,” Mimir said.
We heard them long before we saw them.
A low, continuous rumble in the distance grew in volume with every step we took, until gray light filtered through the trees up ahead and the noise was an unbearable, squawky crescendo.
“Such chatter,” Mimir shouted over the cacophony. “Something must have excited them.”
We broke through the tree line and into a large, barren field. In the center of it a large, dead oak stretching up toward the sky, Hel’s inferno of souls swirling in the distance behind it. And on every branch, hundreds upon hundreds of ravens perched, leaving not a single space. On the ground surrounding the ancient trunk, many more thousand black birds sat, chattering and squawking.
I pushed up beside Annabel, ensuring I was a half-step ahead of her when we stepped into the clearing, my right hand resting on the hilt of the dagger on my left hip.
Silence spread like a wave through the ravens. The ones closest to us ruffled their feathers and hissed. When I pushed forward, they reluctantly hopped a few steps backward. Low curses followed our path as the sea of black cleaved in front of us, leaving the way to the oak free.
“Sorry,” Annabel kept muttering as we passed raven after raven, and I rolled my eyes at her genuinely apologetic tone. I’d always gotten on well with animals, but ravens? Rats of the skies, as far as I was concerned. Gossiping rats, at that. At least dead ones didn’t shit everywhere.
When we finally stopped in front of the barren oak, one of the larger ravens on the top branches flapped its wings and took off, swooping down in a graceful spiral.
“Away!” it squawked, and the sixteen birds on the lowest hanging branch closest to us took off with a fluttering of wings. The large one—undoubtedly their leader—landed where they’d been and peered down at us with its black, beady eyes, focusing first on me, then Annabel, and finally on Mimir in her arms.
“Well, well. A godling, a human, and a prophet. The start of a fine pun, if I am not mistaken.” It laughed, a hideous sound. “Is that why you have come? To entertain us?”
I didn’t miss the predatory gleam in its eye as it looked us over once more, and I curled my lip in silent warning.
“Alas. We are not here for sport, wise one,” Mimir said smoothly. “Not today.”
“Pity,” the bird said, its attention remaining on Annabel long enough that I put a hand on her shoulder and let a plume of my magic rise up behind her—a reminder that there was no easy prey to be had.
The raven only laughed again, drawing goosebumps down my back. “Oh! The little human is your mate, godling? How deliciously horrible. If you are not here for sport, then I suppose that is the reason. She died tragically, and you seek a way to return her to the living?” Its tone was filled with exaggerated sympathy.
Pecking. Always pecking.
“The winds told another story,” another bird squeaked from high above—a female, judging by its higher pitch. It took off and glided down to the lower branch, landing effortlessly next to the other raven. “Of a human girl brought to Hel by the son of mist and shadows. Tricked to her death and stalked by the evil male determined to see the job through.”
“And how did the wind come up with such tales?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the female.
She clucked—an amused sound—and turned her head to stare at me. “Oh, that little tidbit the winds seem to have picked up by the side of a pond, from a poor water nymph who barely escaped the dark beast with