Page 67 of The Fanged One

The song ran through the river like a shiver, stuttering in the endless turning. She didn't stop. The note climbed, and the words came up out of the deep part of her in the old shape, the one that repeated and turned back on itself and bound tighter with every turn.

"Við brunninn, er grét þik kaldan,

við djúpit, er bar þik,

þagga þína hundrað grátandi munna.

Ísa, kom niðr.

Legg þína hvítu hönd á vatnit.

Kyrr snúninginn. Kyrr tennrnar.

Sof nú, sverðá. Sof."

By the well that wept you cold, by the deep that bore you, still your hundred crying mouths. Ísa, come down. Lay your white hand on the water. Still the turning. Still the teeth. Sleep now, sword-river. Sleep.

The current slowed. Nothing in any realm could stop it, so she asked it only to lie down for a while to rest. The bristling blades began to fall. The wild flashing churn smoothed itself out, point by point, edge by edge, until the thousand turning knives lay flat and quiet, the surface of the river smooth and seamless as a pane of new glass. The terrible grinding rasp died into nothing. The silence that came after it was so total that her own held note hung alone in the air over the water.

Under the deadly glass, far down, the blades still ran. She had sung to the surface, and it would sleep exactly as long as she kept singing and not one breath longer.

She turned her head a fraction and met Fenris's eyes, and she didn't break the song. She narrowed it down to its smallest turning loop, the three lines that held the stillness, and she sang them over and over while she lifted one hand off the ground and pointed at the river that was now a road.

"Kyrr, kyrr. Sof, sverðá. Lát oss fara. Kyrr, kyrr. Sof, sverðá. Lát oss fara. Kyrr, kyrr. Sof, sverðá. Lát oss fara."

Still, still. Sleep, sword-river. Let us pass. Still, still. Sleep, sword-river. Let us pass.

Fenris understood her gesture. He shifted into his wolf and stepped out onto the surface first. His weight came down on the sleeping river, and the sheet of cold metal held. He crossed at a steady trot into the mist without stopping once until he was back on steady ground. He shifted back into his human form and called out, "It holds, but don't dawdle!"

"Still, still. Sleep, sword-river. Let us pass…."

Ciara went next, sprinting on light feet. Tor went after her, muttering something under his breath that might have been a prayer, his eyes fixed straight ahead, and his big hands curled into fists. Arne went next before waiting with his arms outstretched for Layla to run into them. Von ran next, whispering, 'Fuckfuckfuck.'

Linnea rose off her knees, swept the runes back into her bag without breaking the galdr, and stepped out onto the river. She didn't look down at the edges sleeping an inch beneath her soles. She kept her eyes on Fenris in the mist ahead, her voice moving in her throat, and she walked the width of it with the song wrapped around them all like a held breath.

Her boot came down on the gray shingle of the far bank, and she let the song go.

The river woke up furious and thrashing. It came apart all at once with a sound like ten thousand swords being torn from their sheaths, a shriek of metal on metal that rolled out across the whole dead plain. It had been made to still against its will, and it threw itself at the bank, slashing out to reach them.

Linnea stood on the far side, her ears ringing and her knees shaking. Tor let out a low whistle through his teeth, looked at the raging river and back at her before pulling her into a hug.

"You are the cleverest sister in all of the Nine Realms, and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise," he said into her hair, fierce and proud.

"Put me down, you enormous oaf."

"In a minute, when I feel like I'm not going to throw up." He squeezed her again and put her down. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just can't believe it worked," she admitted.

Von was already taking notes in the journal. "How did you do that? Which runes did you use?"

"Laguz and Isa," Linnea replied.

"Huh, seems obvious now that you say it. You're going to teach me that one. You know, for the official record of our journey," Von said, waving his journal about.

Fenris moved Von out of the way and took Linnea's face in both his huge, scarred hands. He looked at her like she had hung the moon and a few of the better stars, right before he kissed her. The shaking in her legs stopped, and the sounds of the angry river faded away as his arms folded around her.

When he finally drew back, he kept his forehead against hers. "The Norns sent you down here with me, and I'm starting to think they knew exactly what they were doing when they wove our wyrds together. There is no one in any world who could have done what you just did, you little miracle."