My head pounded, and the entire right side of my chest burned like it was on fire. I couldn’t move, not even to open my eyelids, and I didn’t want to.
“He will rest now,” said Sif. Her voice dripped with weariness.
“Will he…” Jane’s voice shook with emotion.
“Yes, his chances of surviving are good. I think he will live. I’ve done everything I can to make sure he will.”
“But you don’t know for sure?” asked Sig.
“No, dear Siggy. I can’t be certain. The Nornir have his life in their hands. But I want him to. Very much.”
“As do I,” said Frikka in a choked voice. “I’ve tried to look ahead, to perform an augury, but I can see nothing. And not just for him. It’s as if…”
“As if what?” asked Veethar.
“As if the skein of fate lies ripped—torn asunder.”
“All this… Was it worth it, wife?” demanded Veethar.
“Mother Sif, we need to retrace our steps.”
“Hank can’t be moved,” said Sif. “A move would kill him.”
Mothi sighed. “I had hoped you wouldn’t say that. The great undead bear has returned, and Althyof has grown weary in the hours that have passed. He is running out of strength.”
“So, lend him yours!” snapped Sif.
“Yes, Mother Sif.”
“Mothi, I—”
“I know, Mother Sif.”