A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,107
entirely different and difficult problem Wade had no hope of dealing with alone despite his resistance to magic. Luckily, he had air support coming in.
“I’m getting off,” Patrick shouted. “Keep Hel away from me.”
There were more gods than just Hel on the battlefield, but Patrick knew how to fight a multifront war. The ground rushed up to meet them, and Patrick pitched himself off Töfrandi, dagger in hand, mageglobes filled with magic, and the soulbond humming between him and Jono, wherever Jono might be on the battlefield.
Patrick let loose a shock wave spell that sent half a dozen Dominion Sect magic users flying off their feet. Patrick kept his soul open to the soulbond, channeling external magic as if his life depended on it—because it did.
And so did Odin’s.
Patrick hit the ground and rolled with the impact. He crashed against a root, which was fine because it provided enough cover for the second it took to get his bearings. Then Patrick came up swinging, throwing combat magic at the enemy, holding on to his dagger with fingers that still had Thor’s dried blood on them.
It was warm between Yggdrasil’s roots, and the branches seemed impossibly high overhead. As Patrick looked up at where Odin hung from the branches, all he could see was the vastness of space between each leaf, and all the stars of the universe cradled there in a rainbow of colors. He could’ve drowned in it, and would have if Heimdallr didn’t cover his eyes.
“That bridge is not yours to see,” the god growled into his ear.
Patrick jerked away, lowering his gaze to the ground so he didn’t lose himself. “Where the fuck have you been?”
Heimdallr swung his sword around in time to behead a hellhound trying to sneak up on them. “Searching for the Allfather, like you.”
“With your eyes, I figured you would’ve found him before they strung him up.”
“The Fates on every side all play a wicked game of blindness.” Heimdallr’s gold teeth were a flash in his mouth when he smiled. “Your wolf sleeps and Fenrir rides his skin. Keep that one away from the Allfather.”
The pull in the soulbond told Patrick that Jono was close—and the deeper, thinner connection tangled up in everything else was a warning he couldn’t ignore.
“My sister is closing in. We need to get Odin cut down now.”
Heimdallr’s gaze flickered over Patrick’s shoulder, mouth tightening into a grim line. “Hel is coming. Go. I will cover you.”
Patrick spared a glance behind him in time to see the goddess rounding the massive trunk of the world tree. She’d foregone the suit in favor of an evening gown, probably for the fundraiser dinner, but had kicked off her heels at some point. Hel had shed whatever glamour kept people from looking too closely at her human face. Her face was young-looking, but her body was old, skin wrinkled and bruised rotten in places.
The wind blowing over them brought the smell of death, and Patrick knew they were running out of time.
Heimdallr moved past him, the god’s aura blazing, and Patrick turned away to save his eyes. He looked up at the distance between himself and the body hanging from the tree branch, careful not to stare at the eternity stretched out beyond them. Patrick shoved his dagger into its sheath and started climbing. He didn’t have any gear on him to help scale a tree of this size, but he’d scaled a sheer rock face once with nothing but his fingers because he had to.
Patrick did a lot of things he hated because he had to.
Patrick poured as much magic as he could into his personal shields as he climbed warm wood with bare, half-frozen fingers. Climbing made him a target the second he left the minimal safety of the space between Yggdrasil’s roots, and it didn’t take long for the enemy to spot him.
Magic exploded around him like fireworks, the screams of the damned and valkyrie war cries echoing on the wind. Patrick tuned out what he could, but he couldn’t completely ignore the battle.
A strike spell crashed into his shields and erupted in the air around him. Bark exploded away from Yggdrasil, and Patrick’s ears popped from the pressure. He slid down the trunk, hands scraped raw over the tree bark before getting his feet back under him to stop his descent.
“Fuck,” Patrick swore, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing in his hands from embedded wood and bleeding palms as he clung to Yggdrasil.