It continues to sound as I run down the tower stairs with nothing but Unferth’s sword. I grab an armful of troll-spears from the disaster of a third level but can’t carry heavier swords or shields. We’ll have to make do.
I burst out of the tower, crying Ned’s name again, but he’s not anywhere.
The terrain is wet from melting snow and uneven. Cold air slices down my throat as I fight to keep running even as I slip and fall in the loose earth. Unferth’s sword weighs me down, and the spears are awkward in my arms. Hidden pockets of snow catch my feet and send me down hard. My wool dress becomes heavy at the hem with water and mud. I’d never make it if I didn’t know the way in all this darkness.
The two kilometers from tower to town has never been so long. I struggle and pant, fear like lightning in my veins, but a thrill, too. The trolls came to me. They’re here. As if it were meant to be: my stone heart, served to me on a platter!
If only I can remember my training and survive. The mother is the leader. Stop her, stop them all. Use my whole body against their weight. Stab, not slash. The eyes are a good target. Run.
Fear and excitement in the same breath. Oh, Alfather, be with me.
The first screams hit me as I round the hill that shelters the Cove from the harshest ocean winds.
The herd has reached the festival site before me and half the booths are destroyed, two on fire.
People and monsters dash madly about, flames casting deeper shadows, shadows that fool my eyes. I raise Unferth’s sword and throw myself into the terrible lunacy.
A massive troll blocks my way, canceling out the moon. His tusks are sharp and straight down like a saber-toothed cat’s; he’s wider than Red Stripe and reaches for me. I drop all the spears but one and hook its butt under my boot. He charges into the blade. He howls, hot sweet breath blowing at me, and his weight shoves me and the spear back.
I stumble under his weight but manage to lift Unferth’s sword and jam it up into his neck. It grates against rough skin as I drag it out again. I haven’t killed him—it’s not so easy—but as he grabs at his wounds I seize the scattered spears and run on.
I have to find the mother. Stop her, stop the herd.
Where is Ned?
Firelight and smoke war with the moon to cast shadows and an argument of light into the fray. Trolls tear through the circus. They bash through walls and rip down the canvas booths. I see our Beowulf George in silk pajamas hacking at a pale gray troll with one of the warrior swords. The blade sparks against the hard skin.
“George!” I scream. “Stab! Not slash! Lever it … with your weight!”
I drop the spears again and crash into the troll from behind, Unferth’s sword an arrow in my hand. The point pierces through tough skin. George’s eyes are wide holes and he fumbles to follow suit. The two of us stab and hack, but the troll punches out, knocking George away with a roar and charging toward a few of its brothers.
There are so many of them.
I turn toward more yelling to see other actors caught in the attack. Some flee; some are stock-still, some fighting poorly. “Here!” I throw two of them spears and have three left. The first troll, gushing dark blood from his stomach and neck, comes at me again and I drop the spears to put both hands behind the sword. I thrust it with all my power, and he knocks me aside with a wild swing. My shoulder explodes and I hit the ground, its blood a hot mask on my face. It sticks my lashes together and I think of Valtheow, I think of Sanctus Hervor and her vicious fighting. Suddenly I’m flooded with more joy than fear.
I suck in a breath of sticky cold air and get up.
The herd heads for the Cove. I grab the discarded spears again, throwing them into whatever hands I can, using this flare of excitement to rally others. We run behind the trolls down the rocky hill toward town.
Everything is alive with fire and screams.
Coveys throw iron pots and use their own swords to attack, broken tables as shields. There’s a barrier built between two houses, and an actor helps me clear out the troll hounding the residents. He snarls at us and we both drive spears hard into his chest. He hits one house hard enough to shake us all but still lives, still swings back at us, baring his twisted tusks. “Get out!” I yell at the families. “Go to the docks; take the boats while you can!”
Racing forward, I drive Unferth’s sword up into the troll’s softer neck. He falls back, dead weight nearly ripping the sword from my grip; the first one I’ve killed.
A scream of victory feels like laughter tearing up my throat.
Here’s Peachtree, a butcher knife in hand and human blood staining half her face. “Signy.” She grasps my arm, crying and choking. “Come on, we have to get out.”
I take her face in one bloody hand. “Peachtree, gather as many people as you can and go.”
She shakes her head desperately but obeys, stumbling away from me with her arms out.
My eyelashes stick together when I blink, and my left shoulder and arm hurt with a constant pressure. My ears ring. I’m alone in a pocket of town where the battle has passed on. We’re barely killing any of them, even with my heavy spears. Our only hope is to keep them off until the sun comes and pray for no cloud cover. My body shakes with adrenaline, but already my legs are like lead. I might not make it until dawn.
And where is Ned? He’s the only other person here who knows how to deal with these monsters. We should be fighting side by side. Where did he go?
The Shipworm. That’s where Rome and Jesca will be. Stepping over bodies, I run toward the center of town. In the darkness a troll looms up, reaching with his massive, crushing hands, and I swing my sword. He catches the blade. I rip the sword free, slicing open a shallow cut in the beast’s palm. He roars and I trip backward. I hit the ground. The troll looms over me, grabs my arm to haul me back up. An excruciating pop as my shoulder jerks out of joint. I scream and he puts his curled yellow tusks to my face and roars again. His fetid breath blackens my vision and I kick desperately at him, take his tusk in my good hand and yank. I punch him in the eye.
He bellows his pain and flings me away before charging on.
Loki’s luck and the cobblestones together jar my shoulder back into the socket. I scream through grinding teeth.
There’s a metal taste clamped to the back of my throat. My fingers are numb, and thank Fate it was my left arm. I roll over, grabbing for Unferth’s sword. Purple blood stains the blade, is caught in the creases of the pommel, and runs down the fuller to drip onto the cobblestones.
Pushing to my feet, I stumble toward the center of town again. Nausea pulls through my veins, and my skull throbs; my shoulder burns.
The Shipworm is alive with light and people, surrounded by trolls waving fists and broken doors like threats. People are trapped inside, high up, who must have run for the roof instead of out.
A sixth troll enters the courtyard.
She’s bigger than her children, huge, five meters at least, white marble with gray and blue veins. Her stone skin gathers the littlest strands of moonlight and glows. She’s a ghost with flaccid breasts and silver rings piercing her nipples, her ears, her nostril. A looping collar of iron and bone hangs from her neck. Tusks spiral out of her mouth, ivory-yellow and curling gracefully, impractically.
The troll mother.
I step out of the alley. “Mother,” I call.
She turns to me, her marble muscles shifting smoothly. Her eyes are shocking aquamarine, bright and alive.
I raise Unferth’s sword in a challenge. “Fight me!” I cry, voice cracking.