The Witch's Heart by Genevieve Gornichec

Author:Genevieve Gornichec [Gornichec, Genevieve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780593099957
Google: hqbiDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B088F35VD9
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2021-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

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• • •

Angrboda slumped to her knees and fell forward onto her face.

It occurred to her that perhaps her bonds had been cut now that she was dead, but no—that was not so. She was cold. Very cold. And she wasn’t breathing, and she didn’t know if she could even move, but she could feel the ground beneath her. The dirt of the clearing where she lay, facedown. She felt something wet on the side of her head but felt no pain.

What’s going on? How am I—?

And then she knew. Sickened, she knew.

“Rise, Seeress,” she was commanded, “and tell me what you know.”

Her fingers clutched the dirt as she struggled to lift her head, her wild hair parting just enough for her to make out the man who towered over her.

The world around him was colorless, muted—as if she were seeing it through a fog—and completely and disturbingly silent save for the man’s voice. She was still just outside her home, but she knew she could not really be there. The trees of Ironwood looked even grayer now, as if all traces of color had been washed away. The leaves blew too slowly. And when she glanced over her shoulder, her physical body was still there, tied to the tree, unmoving.

The man was the only thing she saw with any definition; he was clear as day. In another world, a raven was perched on each shoulder, and he was flanked by a pair of wolves. But the creatures were back in the same world as the trees and the grass and the cave, and the man himself was the only one there with her. He had many names, but not one came to mind.

The two of them were the only ones in this place.

Angrboda rose to her knees and looked at him blankly, somehow seeing with her dead-white eyes. The man wore a traveling cloak, which hid any features of his body; his height was imposing, if not extraordinary. His long beard was gray with hints of red still remaining, and one cold blue eye was fixed on her from under the broad brim of his tall pointed hat.

The name came to her then: Odin.

He spoke again. Angrboda didn’t understand him—at least not on the surface. But something within her understood: He’d finally won. She was at the edge of the void now, staring down into the never-ending darkness.

His words pushed her over the edge and dragged her down, screaming, into the void. Her surroundings faded to black—even the man in front of her disappeared—and other images took their place. She was sinking. Falling.

“What do you see?” asked his voice from very far away, and against her will she began to speak—ancient words, sacred words.

And she told him everything.

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