“I need the key to open the door.”
“I thought that once. I had many failures. I called myself door-mage but so many doors resisted me. The key you hold was stolen from me, long ago. Death was the first door I opened without it. Some doors just require a push. For others a latch must be lifted, some are locked, but a sharp mind can pick most locks. Only three still resist me. Darkness, Light, and the Wheel. And when you give me the key I will own those too.”
Snorri looked my way and beckoned me. “Jal, I need you to lock the door after me. Take the key and give it to Skilfar. She will know how to destroy it.”
“I have something you want, barbarian.”
The door-mage had a child at his side, gripping her neck from behind. A small girl in a ragged woollen smock, bare legs, dirty feet, her blond hair thrown across her face as the man forced her head down.
“Einmyria?” Snorri breathed the name.
In one hand the child held a peg doll.
“Emy?” A shout. He sounded terrified.
“The key, or I’ll break her neck.”
Snorri reached into his jerkin and tore the key from its thong. “Take it.” He strode forward pressing it carelessly into the mage’s hand, eyes on his daughter, bending toward her. “Emy? Sweet-girl?”
Two things happened together. Somehow the mage dropped Loki’s key, and in reaching to catch it as it fell he let go of the child’s neck. She looked up, hair falling to the sides. Her face was a wound, the dark red muscle of her cheeks showed through, stripped of skin and fat. She opened her mouth and vomited out flies, thousands of them, a buzzing scream. Snorri fell back and she leapt on him, black talons erupting from the flesh of her hands.
I glimpsed Snorri amid the dark cloud, on his back, struggling to keep the child-thing from ripping out his eyes. Tuttugu lumbered forward, shielding his face, swinging his axe in an under-arm looping blow. Somehow he missed Snorri but caught the demon, the force of the impact knocking her clear. For a second she scrabbled at the muddy slope, shrieking at an inhuman pitch, then fell away, wailing, into the consuming blackness. The flies followed her, like smoke inhaled by an open mouth.
With that deafening buzz receding I noticed the laughter for the first time. Looking away from the cave’s throat I saw that the mage remained crouched on the ground, the key still before him on the rock. He wasn’t looking at Snorri, just the key. He tried again to pick it up but somehow his fingers passed through it. Another awful, bitter laughter broke from him, a noise that ran through my teeth and made them feel brittle.
“I can’t touch it. I can’t even touch it.”
Snorri scrambled to his feet and rushed the man, throwing him back with a roar. The mage went tumbling, fetching up hard against a rock. Snorri scooped up the key and rubbed his shoulder where he’d barged his foe aside, an expression of disgust on his face, as if the contact sickened him.
“What have you done with my daughter?” Snorri advanced on the mage, axe raised.
The man didn’t seem to hear. He stood, staring at his hands. “All these years and I couldn’t pick it up . . . Loki must have his little jokes. You’ll bring it to me though. You’ll bring me that key.”
“What have you done with her?” Snorri, as murderous as I’d ever heard him.
“You can’t threaten me. I’m dead. I’m—”
Snorri’s axe took the man’s head. It hit the ground, bounced once and rolled away. The body remained standing for long enough to ensure it would feature in my nightmares, then toppled, the neck stump bloodless and pale.
“Come on.” Snorri started to climb down the cave’s black gullet, backing into it on all fours, feet first, questing for edges to hold his weight. “Leave him!”
I turned away from the remains of the man, the ghost, the echo, whatever it was.
The whispers rose again. I could hear the woman crying, the sound rasping on my sanity.
“Jal!” Snorri calling me.
“I said, do not!”
I turned, looking for the voice. My eyes settled on the severed head. The thing was staring at me.
I struggled to speak, but a voice deeper than my own answered instead. Somewhere deep below us the earth rumbled, the sound of stones that had held their peace ten thousand years and more now speaking all at once, and not in a whisper but a distant roar.
“What?” I looked to where Snorri hung, confusion on his face.
“Better run.” The head spoke from the floor, lips writhing as the words sounded inside my skull.
The roar and rumble of falling rock rushed toward us, rising from deep below, a terrible gnashing, as if the intervening space were being devoured by stone teeth.