Odin's Murder

27.

Encircle

We fall.

My arms tighten around Memory. Her face is mashed into my chest, her hair flying up, tangling around my neck. Her scream is in protest and anger, the deep revulsion that this is not a dream. She’s not afraid, though. Fear is facing the unknown, and she’s dreamed this vicious plunge already.

“Hang on,” I say to the girl in my arms, and I don’t just mean to me. I mean to the stone and its strange power guiding our way. She needs to hold on to her mind, to everything in this moment, because if we can just keep it together we can get through this. But most of all I need her to hold on to me. Once we get to the end, I know I’ll lose her.

Seconds pass, or maybe minutes. Hours.

I count to measure time: Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Stop when I realize I don’t dare get to zero.

Memory’s hair whips across my eyes, and I bury my face in her neck, trying to ignore the dark and the things that brush past my body.

Are we really going this fast, or is gravity getting stronger? The thought flickers in my head, but it’s not mine.

The dark fades into a soft glow. We’re coming through somewhere, but the light isn’t from below, it’s from the amber stone in Memory’s hand, burning brighter with each second we fall.

Something glances off my head again. We aren’t falling unaided. Three crows swirl above us, wings working hard, a black silk parachute half-furled. One tiny magpie darts in and out, steering under the vast wingspan of a huge raven. We are held in their grip by invisible cords, marionettes without strings. The third flaps into me again, tangling in Memory’s hair.

I throw my injured left arm up over my head, cinching my right even tighter around the waist of the girl with me. She gasps, grips me so hard the air rushes from my chest.

I can’t see! a voice sobs, but claws wrap my wrist, dig into the skin, and the crow steadies, spreads its wings, and our descent slows. We float into fog, a barrier that envelops us in cold, swallowing our air, thick and unyielding. The talons on my arm lock hard, drawing more blood.

Memory screams, but the noise is choked off in the mist. I can’t breathe either, there’s no air in this cloud that traps us. She begins to writhe as she suffocates, twisting, knocking the last of my air from my ribcage.

“Perth, Ansuz, Kaunan, Mannaz, Tyr! Perth, Ansuz, Kaunan, Mannaz, Tyr!” the tiny bird shrieks, a litany of names like a password. “Perth, Ans—”

It works, the fog retreats, curls out of my nose and mouth like smoke in reverse, and we slide through. I gulp at the air as we pick up speed again.

Memory still struggles, legs flailing against mine.

“It’s getting hot!” she cries. “The stone is going to burn me!”

It’s a ring, the crow on my arm says. Turn it away from your skin.

“I’ll drop it!”

I shift, bring the crow around to hold Memory’s shoulders, and catch one leg with the free hand, pulling it up to wrap my hips. She gets what I’m doing and coils around me. She has one arm tight on my neck, bringing the other between us.

The jewel shines so bright I have to look to the side in order to see it, and it is hot, a light bulb burning white.

I take from her palm, slide it on her finger.

She looks up at me, eyes wide, face so close I can feel her lashes on my cheek. I fold her fingers down into a fist, raise her knuckles to my lips, but she pulls it away, mouth on mine, hard, urgent. I kiss her back, just as desperate.

Ugh, really guys? the raven complains. Then he warns, We’re here.

*

We glide down, plunge through a shimmery surface that looks like water but leaves us dry. We tumble to the ground with a thud. I land on my knees, hard, and Memory rolls off me in a heap.

“Holy mother,” I say, gripping my bloody arm. It hurts, muscles knotting tight around the slash.

Faye bounces to the ground, jumps up, shakes black feathers from her hair. They melt into the dark stone at our feet. Julian lands on solid legs, arms stretched for balance, a perfect dismount from the sky. His eyes are fierce as he takes in the surroundings.

The bird on my wrist keeps her shape. She’s light, barely any weight on her bones. Memory reaches out with a finger, smoothes the feathers down the bird’s back. Its left eye is gone, empty socket covered with torn skin. She side-steps up my forearm, avoiding the gash that’s crusting over and oozing. I set her on my shoulder and stand, taking Memory’s hand.