I thought of the story I’d read to Gaia about the nøkk, and the farmer who’d offered his daughter up as a sacrifice. The poor, nameless daughter, who didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to die either, I realized. Before I’d met Gaia, Coco, and Tom, I’d wanted to die. But now, I wanted to live.

I wanted to do so many things.

Gaia gave a scream. She’d spotted the thing in the water coming towards her. The creature was so strong, and so fast, that Gaia would never make it back up the ladder. She was trapped. I scrambled forward, knowing I could never make it in time.

My hand hit a rock. I seized it, pulled myself upright, and aimed at the dark shadow that was now rising up out of the water towards Gaia. Using all of my might I threw the rock and hit that horrible head, hard. The nøkk turned, that yellow flame in its eyes flashing brightly. It dived back into the water and hurtled towards me at great speed.

‘Sophie!’ Gaia shouted.

I sank back against the reeds. I wanted to shout that I loved her, but I was so weak. My head was bleeding badly, and it seemed like sleep would be a great idea. I felt woozy and strangely warm. Yes, I thought. I’ll just take a nap here in the fjord.

But as I was sliding down into a gorgeous slumber something clamped around my ankle, wrenching me back to consciousness. No gentle tug, this time. Teeth, I suspected, or claws, piercing my flesh to the bone. The pain made me cry out, a long, blood-curdling wail. No quick death for me, I realized. The nøkk was going to chew me up, bit by bit.

‘Shout her name!’ Gaia called then, and I stopped yelling.

The name of the nøkk.

The words of the story shone bright in my mind. A nøkk can be banished by a human voice calling its name.

What was it Clive said the fjord was called? The problem with depression was that it turned your working memory into Swiss cheese, and this was a very bad moment to be forgetful. At least Gaia might live. I hoped she had turned back. She might make it up the ladder to Granhus, to Tom and Maren. Run, Gaia!

The creature pulled me lower into the water. I felt reeds pushing up my top and against my neck, the icy slop of waves against my shoulders.

The name began with an ‘H’.

‘Hjørund!’ I said, no louder than a whisper, as a last, ferocious tug yanked me under.

And everything went still.

   41   

THE GUEST

Now

Once upon a time I thought that I’d be better off dead.