“We know that bit already,” Rose said, groaning in pain as he straightened out his body. Gods, if he’d broken a bone, we’d be completely fucked. “Where are we in Niflheim?”

Diaval shook her head, her eyes still blazing electric blue. “I’m not sure. It takes time and ritual to create a traditional portal that will take you exactly where you want to be. We didn’t have that. I had to do something quick and hope it turned out okay. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Diaval,” I said. “We all understand.”

Seppo, Rose, and Soren agreed, though Soren’s was more of a low grunt than any words.

Lydian sat looking in the distance with his eyes squinted. “It seems congratulations are in order. You might not have known where we were going, but it’s in the right direction.” He pointed slightly right in the distance. “There’s a line there, a boundary. If we follow it, it should take us to the liminal entrance of Muspelheim. Fjalar lives there. We have to walk to it, and I have to lead. If any of you try to, you won’t reach it; it’s between space and time, and other than Janneke, who doesn’t know how, I’m the only liminal thing here.”

“Never thought this day would come,” I muttered under my breath. The absurdity of being led anywhere by Lydian was almost enough to make me laugh. But it wasn’t like we had much of a choice, anyway. We were little, blind rabbits led on by a wolf we could only pray wouldn’t eat us.

“Can Soren stand?” came the reply.

“Of course I can.” Soren stood, staggering to his feet. He swayed back and forth, and when he walked, he couldn’t manage a straight line. A sinking feeling struck me as he tried to clumsily straighten the quiver that made a mess when we fell, missing the opening each time. Soren was good at archery enough when he could use it to save his life, but the skill quickly diminished due to not being able to take in much light through his lilac eye. Functional archery, hunting with a bow and arrow rather than a spear would be near impossible now that he only had one eye left.

No one brought it up because it angered him so badly in the first place, and now the sinking feeling told me he would probably never shoot a good arrow again. For anyone, that would be a big blow, but for Soren? His skill at hunting and fighting was his life, and losing the advantage of two eyes instead of one would fiddle with his depth perception until he got used to it.

“I can help you if you want,” I suggested.

Soren shook his head. “Janneke, we’re over one foot apart in height. It would be physically impossible for you to help with.”