The Hunger of the Gods (The Bloodsworn Saga, #2)

by John Gwynne

“You are right, I know Ilska. She invited me to join her. Me and my husband, Berak, because we are Tainted. For a while we travelled with her and the Raven-Feeders, but the longer we stayed, the clearer it was that Ilska was on a dark path.”

“The wrong path. She talks of righting the wrong, of ending the enslaving of the Tainted, but at her

heart she wants vengeance and death, not justice. She would replace one twisted way of life with another. So Berak and I stole the Graskinna from her, and set about destroying i...

That is what you were doing when we found you on Iskalt Island?” Elvar remembered seeing Uspa throw a book into the pool of fire. “Yes,” Uspa said. “Thinking that I was saving the world from Ilska’s madness, thinking that I was saving people like you from a life of slavery, torture and death.” She looked Elvar in the eye. “And then you captured us, beat my husband to his knees, put a collar around his neck and sol...

“Nonsense,” Uspa growled. “That is a fool’s answer. We decide what is the way of the world. Us. People. It is not imposed upon us by some greater force. Once the gods ruled and humans were as slaves to them. Now humans command and the offspring of the gods are slaves.” “See, that is what I mean,” Elvar said. “No,” Uspa said. “We decide what is right, up here,” she tapped her temple with a curved finger, “and here,” she prodded her heart. “And then we do it. I decided to live a life of peace and solitude with my husband and son, and only came out of that solitude to try and help your kind.” “And look how that ended up,” Elvar breathed. “But it doesn’t have to be this way,” Uspa said. “If more made that choice, in their head and hearts, to live a peaceful life with those they love and value, and just allow others to do the same.” “But there is no one else out there who feels as you do,” Elvar said. “If there are, I have never met them.” “There are,” Uspa said. “There are many who know that life is not about power and greed, about battle-fame.” She looked at Elvar with a raised brow. “And there are those who agree with me, but just haven’t realised it yet.” She gave Elvar another hard look.

Snaka’s sister! “No, we have not,” Uspa said. “Dread Snaka had a sister?” “Aye, Skuggar, but perhaps it is not so much of a surprise that you have not heard of her. Skuggar was always one for the shadows, where

Snaka would love the world to watch him. Snaka was the maker, Skuggar the unmaker.”

“Tainted means that you have the blood of a god running in your veins. Most of the gods are dead now, but their ancestors live on, and this ridiculous new world has the impudence to call an ancestor of the gods Tainted! As if it were something to be ashamed of. The arrogance! Ilska tells me that if you have a god’s blood flowing in your veins then you are considered less; that you are hunted and enslaved, used like animals. This is MADNESS!”

“You should be called the Fortunate Ones, or some such title.” She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the stupidity of humankind. “So, each and every one of you has the blood of a god in your veins, and that makes you special. That makes you powerful.”

“Ilska has my blood running through her veins. She is dragon-born, and so can manifest something of me within her. Strength and fury, among other things. Your abilities will be different, depending on which god is your ancestor. But which god flows within you? That is the question,” Lik-Rifa said. “There were many gods: Snaka the serpent. Me, the dragon.” She paused and ran a palm across her sleek hair. “Orna the eagle,” she sneered. “Ulfrir the wolf, Berser the bear, Rotta the rat, Svin

the boar, Hundur the hound, and many, many others. We were all kin. Did not always get along, if I am honest, but that’s families, I suppose.” She smiled. “And each bloodline has different strengths and abilities. You may have the sharp sight of an eagle, or the sense of smell and hearing of a hound. The Berserkir strength of a bear, the savagery of a wolf, or the deep cunning of a fox.” She shrugged. “The sooner you discover which god lingers in your blood, the sooner you will learn to use and harness your true potential. To be the best you can be.”

Breca’s face twitched and spasmed. He was last to open his eyes, and he looked up at Kráka. “Wolf, and bear,” he said. Kráka’s eyes widened, and Biórr blinked. Usually only the bloodline from one of your parents would dominate your blood and it was rare for someone to feel the beast of both parents in their veins. Rare, but not unheard of. And those with two animals in the blood were valued higher than any other Tainted among the jarls and powers of Vigrið. Wolf and bear are a powerful combination. This boy will grow into something fierce. Strong and savage and cunning.

“And remember this,” Lik-Rifa called out loudly. “Your parents lied to you your whole life. Kept hidden from you your true nature, as if you were too foolish and pathetic to deserve this truth. The grief and sorrow you are feeling; they do not deserve it. I am your family now, and I will always tell you the truth and treat you with the respect you deserve.”

“She is my child; she has my protection,” Ulfrir said, taking his amber gaze from Orka to look up at the chief of the Battle-Grim. “I do not need your protection,” Orka growled. “No, you do not,” Ulfrir agreed. “You are fierce and strong. But you have it, nonetheless.”

“Welcome home, sister,” he said. “Rotta!” Lik-Rifa breathed. “Hope you don’t mind,” Rotta said. “I’ve been looking after the place while you were away.”

“Lik-Rifa calling the vaesen to her. Not just Spert and Vesli. All the vaesen. What does she want them for?”

“War,” Orka growled.

“Hakon, why have you done this?” Queen Helka asked her son. “Because Lik-Rifa changes everything,” he said desperately. “Your plans for power, to defeat Jarl Störr and Jarl Orlyg, and to rule Vigrið. Lik-Rifa makes them all dust. There is a new power loose in the world, and there can be no standing against it. Better to join it than be destroyed by it.”

“A thousand injustices happen every day,” Orka growled. “And to run down there is to risk your own death. No vengeance for Mord, no finding Breca, just a shallow-dug barrow, if anyone who cares enough is left to dig it. Life is a knife’s edge, and all can change with the thrust of a blade.”

“You see?” Røkia continued. “Now if we are in the shield wall you are

open to a spear-thrust from the second row, or a diagonal strike from seax or sword. It is called working together.”

“To answer your question, there are four things you could do. First,” she held up one finger. “Don’t let them do it in the first place. Watch your enemy, read their eyes and movements, their weight and balance. Most will give away their attack that way. So you strike before them, move away, shift the angle of your shield.” “All right,” Varg said. “The second thing you can do,” Røkia said, holding up two fingers. “You go with it, smash into the one with the axe; they will likely not be expecting that and so you might surprise them and end the fight quickly. Of course, you just end up leaping out of the shield wall among a host of your enemy, so, you also might die very quickly.” She shrugged.

“Third?” Varg asked her. “Drop your shield,” she said. “Again, they will likely not be expecting that, so it will give you a moment in which to strike. Although, if you are in the shield wall, you will probably just get skewered by half a dozen spears from the second row.” “Sounds like a No-Sense thing to do, to me,” Svik called out. “And fourth?” Varg asked. “Røkia scratched at her freshly shaved head, which made her look even more fierce than she had before, something that Varg had not thought possible. “There is no fourth,” she said. “Ah, so, you’ve just told me three different ways of dying. Some quicker than others.” More laughter rippling along the deck. “It depends how good you are, and how lucky,” Røkia said. “Better to do it to them before they do it to you. Luck you cannot change, but your skill, now that is something you can bring to a scrap. I know your strategy is to leap in and chop, chop, chop,” she said, “and people think because it is an axe and used for splitting wood that there is no weapons craft or skill to be had with it.” She looked Varg in the eye. “They are wrong.” “So, all this you have been teaching me is in the shield wall,” Varg said. “What if I’m not in the shield wall, though?”

“Two sensible questions in one day. Who are you?” Svik called from his oar-bench. Everyone within hearing was now laughing. “I am glad you asked me that, No-Sense,” Røkia said, when the laughter had subsided. “So, if you are fighting a drengr with a shield, no matter what their weapon is; spear, sword, axe, seax, you do the same. Get in close, using your shield to protect you, then you hook the top of the shield rim, as before.” She hooked her bearded axe over the rim of Varg’s shield. “Then, you do this.” She tugged his shield rim down, dragging him forward a step, and then punched the top eye of the axe haft and iron poll into his face. Not hard enough to pulp lips and smash teeth, but enough for him to feel it. If the leather cover from her axe blade had not been in place then the top point of the axe blade would have ripped his face open from lip to brow. He stumbled back a step, putting a hand to his mouth. “You see,” she said, a vicious smile cracking her lean face. “Not a killing blow, true, but it will set one up nicely.” “You knocked my tooth loose,” Varg said, frowning as he examined his mouth.

“Grief, it eats away at us, like rust on iron,” Biórr said as he stepped closer to his friend. “But it can be a weapon, too.

“You should let him live,” he repeated. “Why?” Myrk and Drekr said together. “Because when trapping a hungry wolf, live bait always works best.”