fist.
What was I supposed to do now?
I wasn’t sure why the giant hadn’t smelled me already, but I knew my luck would run out once they came back.
That’s when I heard the humming.
5
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I lifted my head off my knees. The humming wasn’t exactly a tangible sound, per se. It was more like a frequency. My blood began to beat at the same rate, like a song.
I stared at the tree.
Ingrid would never forgive me if I didn’t try my best to escape. I wouldn’t really forgive myself either. I’d be dead, but ultimately unforgiven. I stood up and brushed myself off, cocking my head at the tree as I took a step toward it.
As I drew closer, the thumping in my veins got louder. The humming was coming from inside the tree.
Once I was close enough, I brought my hand forward, just like I had before, lightly brushing my fingertips over the rough, aged bark. Shocks and tingles immediately raced up my fingers, electrifying my entire body.
I almost snatched my hand back, until I realized my body liked the sensation. It seemed to be absorbing it greedily, like nourishment. The tree was giving me something, and it felt wonderful. I exhaled as I moved closer, resting my forehead against the trunk, splaying my hands across it.
The humming merged effortlessly with my body, and they became one, with the same heartbeat.
This tree is alive .
As soon as the thought entered my mind, I realized this had to be the tree of life Ingrid had mentioned. I was bewildered. What had those creatures called it in the tunnel? Ig-dra…Ig-dras-something?
Nothing rang any bells.
I wasn’t up on ancient history or mythology. Ingrid had mentioned Odin. I knew he was a Norse god, but other than that, I had no idea what any of the particular mythology entailed. In rural Wisconsin, we learn about farming and animals. We didn’t have much need for detailed accounts of Norse gods—even though a good portion of our population was Scandinavian.
Oh, the irony!
I stepped back, hoping my touch this time had kindled some kind of swirling light. The light had to be a good thing. It’s what got me here, if I followed the logic of what the ettins had done. That had been a concrete wall in New York City, not a tree. But maybe the tree had been behind it, since it seemed I’d been spit here just like Junnal? It was hard to know anything for sure.
No light sparked this time.
Shouts came from outside the room.
I eyed the trunk with mounting panic. I leaned into it and whispered, “Okay, I need to get out of here right now.” What had the creature said to unlock it? I racked my brain, trying to remember the chant and what it’d been doing with its hands. In an effort to try to make something happen, I placed a hand on the bark, using my fingertips to trace some rectangular shapes while quietly chanting, “Please, please, open for me. I need to get home because…Ingrid’s waiting for me.”
That was the best I had.
Nothing.
Not even a glimmer of a spark.
The creature had given the portal its blood. That goopy, awful, yellow stuff. I’d been trying hard to forget. I still held on to Gram in one hand. I glanced down at the dagger. Without over-thinking it, I pressed the tip of the knife into a soft spot on my palm.
Bright red blood burst forth.
I blinked a few times at what I’d done. You didn’t have a choice , I reminded myself. Something had to be done, and this counted as something.
I dipped a single finger into the blood and brought it up to the tree. “I pay my debt willingly in blood,” I murmured as I pressed my bloody finger into the bark, which was deeply grooved. “Please open your doors for me and bring me home.”
There, before my shocked eyes, a small, bright light started to swirl in the bark. It was small, but it was there.
It was working!
A loud clamor shook the earth under my feet. “The human”—the low, booming voice of the giant moved toward the room—“is in here.”
The
Molly Harper, Jacey Conrad