Chapter 63

“Where are we?” Henry whispered.

“I don’t know—but we are inside that dream,” Jamey whispered back. They took uncertain and slow steps forward, the stone floor slowly warming beneath their feet. Their bodies still hurt. At least Jamey had stopped bleeding. A few more steps and they could see signs that someone had once lived in the cave: clay jars, cups, a pitcher, in one corner, below shelving made out of wood lashed together. Henry wandered how long the apples, pears, onions, and other vegetables had lain there, preserved, he guessed, by the magic.

A few more steps forward and they stood on mats woven, it seemed, out of grasses. The ravenpruk-prukkedand a tall bright being stepped out of the shadows, its hair a halo of fire around its head. Sparks fell on the grass mat and the floor,

“Loki?” Jamey whispered, half-extending his hand. Did one shake hands with a god?