Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Urd grabbed the page where it met the spine and tore the drawing out. He smiled at the shepherd, who went pale and looked like his feet were going to give way beneath him.

  Good. He’ll learn to answer yes next time.

  Urd walked down the stairs and left the library without looking at the shepherds who opened the doors for him. He crossed the open square outside and sought out the quickest way from among the multitude of bridges and stairs. He started up the nearest staircase, a winding stone snake, while he cursed generations of flawed town planning. Eisvaldr was a nightmare. A labyrinth. Towers and houses had been allowed to grow like weeds. The Council’s unlimited resources meant people were able to start building the moment an idea occurred to them. Was he the only one who used his head in this city?

  He reached the top and crossed the bridge over to the Rite Hall. The building was the largest and most central in Eisvaldr. Everything else in the city was built around it. The world was built around it. It had three levels, crowned with a spectacular dome decorated with tiles as small as fingernails. They shone in a thousand shades of red. People called this dome mother’s bosom, an appropriate name given that it housed the Council Chamber. It was from here that Mannfalla extended its long arms. It was here that Urd now had a seat. And it was here that he was about to attend the meeting that would make him a legend.

  Of all the days to be running late.

  THE PENDANT

  The room was almost bare, apart from all the chests containing his belongings. Rime had lived here since he was twelve, but he owned very little he’d call his own. Most of it was gifts and finery Ilume thought he needed. But Rime didn’t need anything anymore.

  He could hear Ilume’s clipped commands from downstairs, followed by frantic activity. The servants carried the last of the chests out to the carts. Dust outlines indicated where the cabinets had stood. Rime opened the nearest chest. Clothes. Books. Two pocketknives, one of them with an ornate handle in silver and gold. It had never been used. Rime couldn’t even remember where it had come from. He started rummaging deeper in the chest. Where had they packed that little box?

  He opened the second chest. Paper. Writing implements. Ceremonial clothes. Belts. A Seer amulet. He ran his thumb over the raven. The chain had been too small for years. He’d meant to get a new one, but he’d never gotten around to it. Now he didn’t need it anymore. He kept the Seer much closer now.

  At the bottom of the chest, he spotted the box, encased in silk and soft against his fingers. The green was paler than he remembered. His mother’s name was embroidered on the lid. Gesa.

  He opened the box and found what he was looking for. A pendant on a leather strap—an oval shell fragment set in silver. A small part of the mounting had broken off. He turned the pendant in his hand. Small lines had been scratched into the back using a knife. He felt strangely relieved to see them, as if they might have disappeared somehow. Or as if none of it had ever happened. A clumsy R with seven lines, and an H with eight lines. Well, he’d have to change that. He took out his pocketknife and scratched an eighth line for himself. One point for pulling her up out of the Alldjup.

  Rime smiled. He put the pendant on and tucked it under his shirt, then pulled on his leather armor and strapped his swords into place. It was time to go.

  Outside, they were all ready to leave, apart from Ilume. Typical. Always making everyone wait. Rime sat up front in the first of eight carts. It was quite the procession, with cooks, chambermaids, coachmen, a healer, and a contingent of guardsmen. A servant stood outside, smiling a bit too broadly. He had been tasked with selling what was left behind, an endeavor from which he would undoubtedly profit.

  Ilume kept them waiting, and Rime tried not to get irritated. This was her revenge for the extra day she’d had to wait so he could attend Thorrald’s funeral. Ilume herself had procured calming teas from Thorrald, remedies not even her own healer had access to. But honoring the man by going to his funeral? That would have been taking things a bit too far.

  At long last, Ilume slipped out the door in her light traveling clothes. Rime got down from the cart and helped her up. She accepted his arm, presumably to make sure no one noticed any friction between them. Or maybe she was just having a good day. Rime took the opportunity to confirm two of his worst suspicions.

  “There’ll be plenty to do once we’re back in Mannfalla,” he said casually. “What with Urd in Insringin, and the blind on the loose.”

  “Fortunately, they’re not your problem.”

  Rime smiled. That was all the confirmation he needed. “It’s hard to say which will prove the greatest challenge.”

  Any trace of a smile on Ilume’s face quickly faded.

  “Drive!” Ilume said.

  The procession started its long journey to Mannfalla.

  A VICTORY

  The sun streamed in through the windows of the Council Chamber and reflected off the domed ceiling. Twelve columns stood along the wall and accentuated the room’s round shape. Each of them was adorned with oil lamps, even though there was more than enough daylight.

  Around a massive stone table they stood; white chairs with backs as tall as men. A strip of gold ran around the edge of the table. Each family had its name in gold by each seat. The script was ancient. A runic predecessor to the one in use today, but still legible.

  There were eleven people in the room. Eir—the Ravenbearer—was the first to take a seat at the end of the table. Urd quickly scanned the names around the tabletop so he could sit without giving the impression of searching for his place. He needed them to think of him as eternal. Someone who had always been here, and always would be here. He quickly swallowed his disappointment at not being one of those sitting closest to Eir. A detail. He had much to be happy about. This was the chair that had taken him a lifetime to win.

  He leaned back into the soft cushions. They were also white, making them invisible against the chair. He folded his hands over his stomach. His name glistened in gold on the table in front of him. Vanfarinn. It was a challenge not to smile. It was as though the power that had belonged to his father flowed from the gold in the tabletop and into his body, where it belonged.

  Urd controlled the urge to run his fingers across the letters. He had to remember that he belonged here. This was his place. He was sitting in this chamber as a councillor, as one of them.

  Jarladin, Leivlugn, and Noldhe sat closest to Eir. Ilume’s chair remained empty. Nobody took any notice of Urd. He was new, but clearly they had no intention of marking the occasion. He knew what they were thinking. Nobody had ever gotten in by a narrower margin. Nearly half of the councillors around this table wanted him gone. Still, before the day was done, he would start a war. Before the day was done, he would be a legend. A conqueror who would make all those who had sat in the chair before him pale in comparison. Including his father.

  Three girls entered. They carried jugs of wine and trays of apples, nuts, and cakes. Urd swallowed. He hadn’t been able to eat anything other than soup since winter. The beads on the girls’ trousers jingled when they walked. Nobody in the chamber said anything until they had left the room and the jingling had faded down the stairs. It reminded Urd of someone or something, but he couldn’t put his finger on who or what.

  “Insringin is gathered for the forty-third time this year.”

  Eir had a strong voice. She was nearing eighty, but she looked as though time had forgotten her. Her flat nose bore witness to the family’s roots in Blossa, but she had more than her roots to be embarrassed of. She wandered the gardens of Eisvaldr until the sun went down. She spoke to the ravens as though they were children. Urd used to think being so close to the Seer had made her a bit strange.

  But Eir’s strangeness was an illusion, he knew that very well now. She was going to be the toughest nut to crack today. She was never going to want to attack. His only hope was that she let the others vote without delaying the decision until Ilume’s arrival.

  Eir looked up from the p
apers and started to reel off what the Council was due to discuss. Urd only half listened. He had a more important agenda, and he had to size up the people he was sharing the table with. Every word he said today had to be right. Had to get through to them all.

  To the right of Ilume’s empty chair sat Leivlugn Taid, the Council’s eldest member, only a handful of winters shy of a hundred. His cheeks had lost all their elasticity, practically hanging by his chin. He sat with his hands folded in his lap. It looked like he was barely able to keep his eyes open. The man would be raven fodder before the snow came, yet there he sat, with inconceivable power! Power he would not use in Urd’s favor. The Taid family was known for their calm—or, as Urd preferred to call it, indecisiveness. Leivlugn Taid would certainly try to draw the matter out. He’d probably demand that the decision be put off until Ilume was back.

  On Leivlugn’s other side was Sigra. The Kleiv family’s unpolished councillor. She was a little over fifty and, other than Urd, one of the youngest at the table. The woman had the face of a dog. Angular jaws. Hands that could have belonged to a man. Someone sharing a bed with this woman frequently enough to get twelve children out of her was nothing short of a miracle. But Urd smiled at her all the same. She would be the easiest. The Kleiv family was renowned for their hot-bloodedness. Overrepresented in the Council’s army. Sigra was married to a mountain of a man who trained young warriors in Eisvaldr. Rumor had it that Sigra had won her seat on the Council in a fistfight with two brothers and an elder sister. Urd suppressed a shudder. He had also heard rumors that the Kleiv family had always wanted to challenge Ravnhov. There was little doubt as to what they thought of an independent region in Ym. Convincing her would be child’s play.

  Others wouldn’t be much harder. Saulhe Jakinnin, for example, the man with the thin hair that was constantly falling into his face. Supposedly Mannfalla’s richest and greediest man. It would be all too easy.

  Jarladin An-Sarin was going to be a problem. The most respected man in Mannfalla. Steady gaze, strong as an ox, with dark skin and a perfectly trimmed white beard. His family had strategic connections with practically everyone of importance. Peace lilies, the An-Sarins had been called. Urd knew better. The family was strong and got what it wanted because they shared Urd’s power of persuasion. But who was going to win today?

  Garm Darkdaggar was asked to transcribe the meeting. A perfect role for a bureaucrat. The family consisted of legal experts and corridor walkers, but Garm was a man Urd could appreciate. Calculating. Garm would not let himself be ruled by sentimentality.

  The first item on the agenda concerned a not-insignificant jarl who wanted a new hall for the Seer in his hometown. Urd was already bored and had no opinion on the matter. The majority raised their hand in support of the hall, so Urd did the same. What did he care? He was waiting for a more important point. The one that would lead him to victory.

  “Two murders in as many days? It makes a mockery of us!” Sigra’s masculine voice gave a splendid introduction to the next point. Urd made himself more comfortable. This was the moment. She leaned over the table. “I say send Kolkagga out at night to clear the streets!”

  Noldhe responded with a cautious smile. “You always say that, Sigra. The Rite is just around the corner, the city is full of people, and they’re still flocking in. Conflicts are bound to arise, and they do, every single year. What would you have us do? Kill everyone who gets drunk? Send Kolkagga after everyone who fights in the taverns? They have far more important matters to attend to.”

  “Which we hardly use them for!” Sigra leaned back and crossed her arms.

  Several people spoke over each other, until Jarladin raised his voice. “The city is bursting at the seams, and more will come. We have no other option but to send more guardsmen out into the streets. Let’s solve this as we do every year and move on.”

  Urd seized the opportunity.

  “But this year is not like other years.”

  All eyes around the table fell on him, with expressions ranging from mild interest to clear annoyance. His first meeting as a member of Insringin, and he had just contradicted Jarladin.

  They had better get used to it.

  He waited for a moment. “This year is not like other years. This year we are faced with our downfall.”

  The reaction was not long in coming. Disbelief washed over the faces around him. Urd continued while he could. “This is the year Ravnhov sends the blind after us, while we discuss drunken rows in the taverns.” Jarladin and Eir exchanged a quick glance. A silent dialogue about who was going to put him in his place. But they weren’t going to get the chance. “We can avoid talking about it, but there isn’t a soul in Mannfalla who doesn’t know it. The blind are back, and they have made their mark in the north. Who among you think it is coincidental? Who among you think they found their way here on their own? Do you think—”

  “Urd, this Council has discussed the rumors about the blind to death. We appreciate your involvement, but you probably wouldn’t be as riled up if this weren’t your first time.”

  Several people around the table chuckled audibly. Urd felt a twitching at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t allow himself to be provoked. He had to prove himself worthy. “I am here for the first time. A new servant of Mannfalla. A duty I undertake with humility. Have I not been asked to be here? Has the Council not invited me here to follow in my father’s footsteps?”

  Urd continued before anyone had time to consider the differences between him and his father.

  “Rumors? Rumors about the blind? We have people in the pits who have seen them. Who can describe them in monstrous detail. Half the kingdom has found its way here. They are flocking to Eisvaldr in pursuit of protection. Gifts and prayers to the Seer are stacked higher than the walls. Rumors?!” Urd could feel himself growing more fervent. “We stand faced with the threat that will decide our fate. The fate of all Mannfalla, not just those of us around this table. The blind have returned, and more and more people in Ravnhov are keeping their children away from the Rite. A direct provocation. A declaration of war! Or are we not talking about that, either?”

  Eir looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe. She was stunned. She glanced at Ilume’s empty chair, her eyes wild. Urd wanted to smile, but he controlled himself. This was just the beginning.

  Eir asked everyone to calm down once more. The Council Chamber was seething. Old feuds and fears had risen to the surface. Urd stuck to his strategy. He received unexpected help from Jakinnin, who brought up Ravnhov’s freedom from debt.

  Urd was familiar with the matter. An age ago, the war against the blind had cost everyone dearly, but none more than Ravnhov. Entire villages had to be built anew. People suffered from illness and lack of food and water. Mannfalla had used its affluence to help them. Later came the conditions for that help: Ravnhov had to give up its dominion over the sky. Share the ravens and the knowledge that had been passed down for as long as anyone could remember. Tough to swallow for a region that trained the best ravens the world had seen. Adding insult to injury, they had to bury their gods and devote themselves to the Seer.

  Ravnhov refused. But the money was gone, and so Mannfalla could impose whatever conditions they wanted—which they did, with a vengeance. Ravnhov had paid for fifteen generations but was finally able to celebrate its freedom in the year of the Seer 928. They had made good use of the seventy years that followed. Today Ravnhov could enjoy the surplus of ravens, stone, and steel. They were growing bigger and stronger. A fact that helped Urd’s case now.

  Nobody in the chamber doubted that Ravnhov posed a threat to Mannfalla. Not as a military power, but as an independent region. A blight on the Council’s autocracy. A threat to everything that was and always had been.

  “Ravnhov would never dare to defy Mannfalla,” old Taid offered tediously.

  “They defy us every day,” Urd countered. “They keep their children from the Rite. In spite of the blind! Why do you think that is? They’re in league! The bl
ind are going to help Ravnhov to power!” Urd was impressed with himself. When he heard his own words, they seemed more convincing than they had done in his head.

  “Poppycock!” Noldhe put her goblet down and leaned back in her chair. “Poppycock from start to finish. This Council has been discussing Ravnhov for generations. Are we going to sacrifice lives to a war of pride? We are better than that. We are Eisvaldr.”

  Urd took the floor before she could appeal to the hearts of the others. “We are Eisvaldr today. Tomorrow Ravnhov will be talking to its allies and by the next moon we will be gone.”

  “Which allies?” Darkdaggar put down his pen and rubbed his knuckles while he waited for Urd’s answer.

  Urd put on an air of surprise. “The nobles in the north, of course. I have it from reliable sources that they are riding toward Ravnhov. This is not difficult information to come by. I refuse to believe that the Council does not know this already.”

  He enjoyed seeing the unease spread across their faces. The rumor had meandered its way to him via an acquaintance of an acquaintance, and it was nothing more than a measly letter. An invitation to Ravnhov that someone had turned down, but that was good enough for his purposes.

  “Was that not why you took the life of the jarl in Skodd?” he added. An assumption, but he felt sure enough to use it. The silence that followed was confirmation enough.

  “They have scoffed at us for a thousand years!” Sigra announced. “I say—”

  “Send in Kolkagga?” Noldhe interrupted. “Your solution to everything? Kill them all?”