The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

57. Sigvid

57

SIGVID

February 2nd, Year 1, 10th Era

The Holy Triangle, Treland

S igvid did not rest last night.

Instead, he sat at the end of Avina’s cot. Her light snores, pink parted lips, and peacefulness caught him in her spell. Once the faint dawn colors brush the morning sky, he kisses her on the lips and departs.

He halts at the entrance to the tent, his gaze on her abdomen. A twisted knot tightens in his throat.

As a younger man, he contemplated raising a child in the Drengr life, carrying on his vision as Lord Commander of Salt, and becoming the next Guardian. Yet, as he stares at Avina, he feels his breathing rip through his chest in haggard gasps.

This child will be another piece of Avina. A portion of her on the Endless Shore that he can adore. A little family with Thora he can tuck away inside Blackwood.

He shakes his head, seeing more clearly. If he succeeds in destroying Thrain, there will be no hiding. She will take the throne of Treland and Keeper of the Stones. And Sigvid will be at her side, protecting her until she draws her last breath.

He kneels on the ground and presses his hands to her stomach.

Protect your mother while I dispose of your uncle.

Movement through camp suggests he is not the only one unable to enjoy a good night’s sleep. Slode and Grim are awake and hunch together over a fire. Bertie lays his head against Slode’s back, yawning loudly.

Sigvid slips to the encampment's boundary, staring out at the field of brown, dead from the winter chill.

What happens if I lose?

I cannot lose.

I will not lose.

I will triumph for my Queen, our people, and our child.

He removes a whetstone from his pocket and sharpens his axes.

They must be strong enough to cut through Thrain’s thick head. He should have left Avina alone and could have lived. No, he overstepped with his power plays and now will pay the cost.

He can feel his anger simmering. He runs his thumb along his axe blade, drawing a trickle of blood.

It is time to die, brother.

He slides his axes in his belt loop and lights his pipe.

I will prevail for my Queen.

He strides out onto the smooth dirt just as his Drengr appears from the shadow of the encampment. They follow their Lord Commander, fists thudding against their chests in a steady rhythm at his back. Slode, Grim, and Kar materialize at his side, their heads held high as they stride beside him.

They march to the designated spot on the deserted field. Across the way, the remaining Salt Army and drauger stand in wait.

Through the thunder of fists against leather, Sigvid holds up his arm, halting his warriors. Thrain ambles across the way, stopping short before coming too close to the Drengr. Sigvid cracks his neck and closes the distance between himself and his brother.

“It is time, brother.” Sigvid hollers. “You and I fight to the death.”

Thrain’s cocky smile has his blood boiling. How dare he attempt to kill Avina and then stand there boldly as if they are about to stroll into the sunrise.

“You always were a mindless brute, Sigvid. Only focused on blood. I, on the other hand, have a coronation to plan and a whore Queen to beat until she loses your child.”

The brothers waver a few paces away, staring daggers at one another. A faint crackling in the air tickles Sigvid’s exposed skin. The sheer importance of the moment threatens to strangle him before he gets a chance to fight.

“Now, Sig, I don’t want you using your power. Let’s keep this a fair fight.”

“I do not need to berserk to kill you. I can accomplish that with one arm tied behind my back.” He spins his axes, waiting to strike. “Only one of us dies today.”

Thrain slowly unsheathes his axes, tilting his head to the side. “Let the best man seize the throne.”

“Cute.” Sigvid lunges forward with a yell.

He swings his axes from each side, aiming for Thrain, who dodges with a parry and knocks Sigvid’s arms away.

“Fucking coward! Just like when you ordered our father killed instead of doing it yourself.” He leaps back, waiting for his next attack.

Thrain slides away, forcing him to mirror his movements as they stalk one another in an oval formation.

“Did you know I spoke to Thord about your marriage accord? Of course, you wouldn’t know. You spent your life playing with rocks.” Thrain scoffs. “Do you know what our father said to me as the heir to the Salt throne? He said it had to be you—the one to unify Treland. You were the one raised to be king. Not me. It was always going to be fucking you!”

“So you fucked up everything for me because Father hurt your feelings? Fuck, Thrain, you are a little bitch!”

Thrain bellows as he charges him with his axes raised–Sigvid braces for impact by crossing his axes across his chest. When the men’s axe blades connect, Sigvid wraps Thrain’s leg with his and shoves him away while pulling his leg backward, knocking his brother to the earth.

Thrain “oofs” loudly as his back crashes into the frozen ground, and he lays there for half a second while cackling like a maniac.

“To think,” he chortles, “when Ceowald asked how to advise Timber on your soul, I sold you to the Arena. Hindsight,” he stumbles upright, “I should have had you beheaded. Do you think Avina would have fallen so hard for me instead?”

In no situation would she love you. I would have fought the Briny God in the Depths to ensure Thrain never touched that woman.

“You should have known I would have survived the Arena and that I would come for you.” Sigvid swings his axe, but Thrain catches it with his own, causing both weapons to fly out of their hands.

“Because you meddled with the marriage accord, she was fucking saddled with Rendel. He tortured her!” he thunders.

Thrain tosses his head back and laughs. “She was forced into sex with her husband, the king of Timber. Hardly torture.”

Sigvid punches his gut, only for him to return a strike to the side of his head, forcing him to stagger away.

“What is this? Are you determined to spell out all of my crimes, brother?” Thrain shakes his head before aiming his blade low on him.

Sigvid jumps over the swing and brings his elbow down on his back, eliciting a groan. “I need you to hear every single fucking transgression before I send your ass to the Briny God.”

“Oh, I have no intention of going to the Depths.”

“What?”

“Seeing as my father is Freyr, I will greet him in the Abyss.”

“Freyr? As in the third god of Trelan?” Sigvid repeats. “The one condemned to the Abyss?” Then he realizes.

“That’s right, Sigvid. I am a halvgud of a Draemonium. He possessed poor pathetic Thord so that Mother would bear me.”

Sigvid gapes, his mind reeling, yet so much now made sense. He recovers quickly. “Does not fucking matter. You will still join my tallies like every other man.”

Thrain whips back into position, swinging hard at Sigvid. His blow grazes his arm, cutting him but not deeply. Thrain’s eyes sparkle with triumph at Sigvid’s bleeding wound as if he has already won the battle.

A laugh ripples through Sigvid’s chest. “Weak little bitch. You could not even murder Sven on your own. You had to send your goon to do the work. And then, you were so desperate to cover it that you exposed your connection to the Abyss by summoning a fucking Ulv! How much seidr did that cost?”

“Did anyone miss that nosey boy? I am the motherfucking King of Salt! Fight me!”

Sigvid kicks him in the chest, shoving him backward. “You took a son from a good family! Just like you did with Helga. Did you care about her at all? Or was she always just a pussy?”

Sigvid kicks one of his large booted feet out between his legs, landing a brutal hit. Thrain’s face scrunches up, and he wheezes as his knees crumble into the dirt.

Sigvid fiercely pounces, pounding his brother’s body repeatedly with his fists. Every strike of his hand or boot sends a fiery rage ripping through his core. The building ferocity of the berserker is like a looming mountain as all of Thrain’s fucking crimes flash before his eyes.

“You.” Kick. “Fucking.” Kick. “Threatened. Our. Mother. And. My. Daughter!” He kicks his brother in between each word.

His roar shakes the fucking ground. How dare that monster! Everyone who crossed his brother’s path was disposable—even his own kin.

“Your time is up.” Sigvid collects Thrain’s axe and tosses it to the side along with his own. A blade is too quick a death.

Sigvid leaps on top of his brother, who is barely able to breathe due to the stomps to his chest. He punches Thrain in the face until his nose breaks beneath his fist, spilling deep crimson over his mouth and eyes.

“To top off all of the bullshit you have ever fucking done, you threatened my Avina! Then you placed me in jail to torture me using her image!” He is screaming as he beats any sliver of skin showing until the color darkens.

Annoyingly, the hammering force of his strikes lacks his usual strength. It is as if his joints themselves are working against him.

Sigvid grabs Thrain’s neck with both hands, cutting off his blood and air supply. “I know you tried to kill Avina!” Her name catches in his throat, and once more, his mind replays the infinite ways Mali forced him to watch her die at Thrain’s hands.

“Do you have any last words?”

Thrain laughs. He fucking laughs.

“After I kill you, brother, I will beat your child out of her. Even if I have to stick my hand up inside of her and strangle it myself.”

Thrain twists, managing to toss off Sigvid. He sits up into a kneeling position as he struggles to catch his breath.

Sigvid jumps to his feet. “Get up!” He grabs his neck again, lifting him to his feet. He swings his fist but is blocked as Thrain retaliates, swinging low and catching his brother’s kidney. Thrain elbows his nose before he has a chance to recover. The crack in his nose temporarily blinds him with pain.

“Fuck!” Sigvid groans nasally.

He grabs Thrain’s waist and slams him to the ground. Below him, his brother spins, knocking his legs out from underneath him. Sigvid collapses as the red of the berserker flashes in his eyes.

Not yet. Just a bit longer.

Both men regain their footing, and Sigvid sways while Thrain smiles.

“You don’t look so good, Sig. Why don’t you go lie down? While you sleep, I’ll deal with ripping your baby out of the whore Queen and pumping mine in its rightful place.”

The brothers glower at each other. Bloody and bruised, their muscles flex in apprehension.

“She is the air I breathe. The mead I drink. The blood pulsing through my veins knows only her.” Scarlet stains Sigvid’s sight. Now is the time to unleash the Beast.

“Now hold on there, brother, you agreed not to use your power.”

“I cannot stop when you threaten the woman I love.”

Sigvid charges with a deep bellow, and his punch collides with Thrain’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He repeatedly pummels him in the face and chest. He pauses only to take sweet satisfaction in Thrain’s gory appearance and struggles to breathe.

Thrain manages to catch Sigvid’s fist with both eyes blackened to slits. Sigvid snarls while he strains against the pressure of his brother’s grip, keeping his own attack out of reach.

“Give in, brother. You lost.” Sigvid seethes, spitting into his face .

Thrain wraps his legs around him, tugging him to the ground. They roll into the dirt, punching and gouging at each other like ravenous wolves fighting for the last scrap of meat. The ground quakes from their growls as if threatening to open and swallow them whole.

When Sigvid flips onto his back, he catches the glint of his axe blade within arm’s reach. He closes his fingers around the bottom of the blackwood handle and swings it toward Thrain, who catches the top of the shaft. The brothers each flash their teeth in between snarls. Once one pushes the axe back, the other thrusts it forward. The point of the blade inches toward Sigvid’s face, and he feels the edge slice against his cheek.

His berserker flares, and he shoves his brother off of him with a roar. He stalks back toward Thrain, who is recovering from the ground and wielding Sigvid’s axe.

Thrain raises Sigvid’s blackwood axe with both hands and embeds it in his chest with a groan.

Dark laughter erupts from Sigvid. “You will need to do better than that if you wish to kill me, little brother.”

He removes the axe and tosses it to the ground just as Thrain plucks both of his axes from the dirt. With wildfire in his brown eyes, he slams them into Sigvid’s chest.

Was it the force of the axes that had him stumbling back?

Thrain’s smile is disconcerting as Sigvid falls to his knees, staring at the handles in shock as an uncomfortable cold sensation trickles out from the wounds.

“A special poison of my own creation. You will die horribly. I can see Avina in the crowd. Shall I summon her, dear brother? Do you wish to see me take my prize while you still draw breath?”

Sigvid kicks Thrain’s legs out from under him, forcing him to collapse onto Sigvid. The shock seems to disorient his brother, allowing Sigvid full advantage. He tosses the poison-stained axes to the side. Still in berserker mode, he bites into Thrain’s neck and rips out his throat. Blood pours from the wound over both of them.

Thrain clutches his bloodied neck with a shaky hand. Sigvid is relentless, licking up his brother’s blood until he renews his stamina. He knees him between his legs and punches the side of his head, sending him rolling to the side.

Excess blood drips down his chin as he leaps on his brother and rips his armor off until he reaches his bare chest. He claws at the skin above his brother’s heart until he reaches tissue and muscle.

“Goodbye, brother.” He growls as his teeth sink into the gore, ripping the protective material away until he reaches the still-pumping organ. He digs into the cavity and rips his heart from his chest.

Sigvid holds the bloody heart in the air. The soldiers’ roars eerily echo across the fjord, inciting the most potent bloodlust he has ever felt. His teeth bite into the flesh, and he rips it in half with his teeth, dropping the halves of Thrain’s heart at his feet.

Smoke swirls around Thrain’s body. Sigvid wipes away the blood and sweat clouding his vision as a ghostly apparition appears over Thrain. He is shorter, with gray skin and knots carved into his body. Twisting antlers protrude from his head, and long, inky hair falls over his shoulders.

Freyr. The Ancient God of Stability.

He meets Sigvid’s gaze with cold, empty eyes like they are an entrance to the Abyss.

“This is not over.” He snarls as his grip around Thrain’s chest withdraws a spirit in the shape of his half-brother. Both disappear into a dense fog.

He stumbles to the side as the bloodlust counters with a sense of relief settling over his mind. But shooting pains quell it for him before he can stop his raging berserker.

Sigvid’s knees collide with the earth. His arm and chest, where Thrain slashed him, now have black spiderwebs twisting from the source.

Fucking Poison .

Even in the end, he fought dirty.

“Sigvid!” He hears his name called in the distance.

He glances up to drink in the lovely sunrise.

Avina is safe.

They are all safe.

His little Queen will make sure of that .

“Sigvid has fallen!” That voice calls to him again, tugging at his heart like the seidr fate that connects them. “My love!” Avina’s terrified features rapidly come into focus, her hands rubbing all over his body, assessing his wounds.

Sigvid winces in agony at her touch. The poison spreads like dark tendrils through his body. He likely has moments left before the Briny God collects his soul to the Depths. His entire life, from conception to death, was in service to his god.

“Avina.” He coughs out her name, feeling something sticky on his lips. “Why…are you…here? Rest… you need rest…our baby.” He cringes from the pain.

“Sigvid!” She presses her lips to his forehead.

Their softness is another world away. He can not believe he has even a sliver of time to appreciate her preciousness.

“I heard the commotion in camp and snuck out of the Healing tents to watch the battle.” Her hands clutch his. His blood stains her perfect skin.

“The fuck…used poison.”

Avina unbuckles his cuirass, tunic, and bracers until he lies shirtless in her lap. “By the gods…” She mutters.

Her hands rest around the lacerations permeating the nasty black tendrils. “I-I can heal you!”

Nothing happens as her hands press against his skin, as if willing her seidr to manifest—the power granted to her as Keeper. An ability he has never helped her manifest.

“Avina.” Sigvid forces himself to meet her tear-filled gaze.

Her lips quiver, and the horror of his appearance is damning when reflected in her eyes.

He will not walk away from this.

“Let me…say this.” He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself as the poison plunges him further away from the light. “I am deeply sorry.” The words struggle out as the poison overtakes him. “Nothing can ever… nothing can ever make amends for what I did to you-”

She shushes him, her eyes watering. “Save your strength.”

“No!” He coughs again. “You are Treland. You deserve the throne… no one else. My love, I am sorry for the war. I deserve… to die for everything I did… to hurt you. I am no better than Thrain.”

My desire for her is nothing short of beastly. I forced myself onto her even if she derived equal pleasure from it.

“I forgave you long ago, Sigvid. I love you! I always have.” Tears flow down her cheeks. “Do not leave me alone to raise our child!”

“You can rule Treland… without being weighed down… by a man.”

She shakes her head, sprinkling tears on his cheeks. Her shaky hands press over the open wound again.

“The gods created me… to protect you, Avina. I have wanted… nothing more… in my life.”

More pain assaults his veins as her healing power suddenly activates, and he can feel the cruel poison reverse. Even the gaping wounds begin to bubble.

Her power seeps into his soul, forging him to her. Despite his eyes snapping shut through the pain, he can sense her heartbeat pumping in sync with his rhythm. He glances at his chest to see even decade-old wounds cinching closed as if they never existed.

“I love you, Sigvid Thordsson.” Her lips, wet with tears, press against his sweaty and bloodstained forehead. “Be my King. Every decision in my life has been determined for me, except for my love for you. If I am to have all of Treland, then I will only take it with you at my side. My love. My Guardian. My King.”

Warmth settles in his bones, soothing his aches. When his gaze meets hers, the world stops. Everything freezes until only Avina remains. Her love is all he has ever needed, and the feeling of her seidr , reserved only for him, flowing through his body nourishes him with a unique power.

Fuck the gods.

Fuck Treland.

She is all he ever needs to survive. To live. To feel happiness and pleasure. And Sigvid will destroy anyone who seeks to ruin that.

“Not as your consort?” the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Have we not always forged this path as equals?”

“My Queen.” His voice is firmer.

A blinding light emanates from his body as he fully heals from her hands. The stomach pain and weakness from the poison alleviates until he feels the same coursing energy as before the battle with Thrain.

Sigvid stands, pulling her with him. His hands cup her cheeks as he devours her mouth as if he may never taste its sweetness again. She moans against his lips, and he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

At the field, they kiss deeply while Thrain’s mangled body lies only a few steps away.

She pulls herself away from his arms to kneel at his feet. A fiery glint in her eyes begs him to sweep her off the field and into his embrace. “Hail, King Sigvid!”

“Hail, King Sigvid!” She repeats, this time louder so her voice echoes across the field.

He lifts his gaze to the armies surrounding them. A great sound of armor on armor signals movement as the Timber, Drengr, and Salt armies kneel.

“Hail, King Sigvid! Hail, King Sigvid!” The soldiers of all provinces chant.

“I was always Queen.” Avina quirks her brow at him. “I just never had the right King.”

“Hail, King Sigvid! Hail, King Sigvid! Hail, King Sigvid!”

He takes his Queen in his arms, laying his cheek against the top of her head.

He never wanted the damn country.

He never required her.

Yet, as the soldiers chant his new title, he realizes that is all he was born to do. To love her as her King.

“Hail, Queen Avina.” He offers her a crooked smile.

A victorious chorus of “Hail King Sigvid!” echoes across the battlefield as he walks his Queen off into the sunrise, his hand splaying over her abdomen. Together, they will embrace their future, be it fate or choice.