Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Urd had a quality that most of the others in the inner circle lacked. He was direct. He didn’t embellish things until they were completely devoid of substance. But he was tactical. He had gotten where he was today because he was the best tactician of them all. And he openly accused Ilume of having traitorous children.

  Me? Mother? Uncle Dankan?

  The gardens were arranged across different levels and Rime had reached a ledge. The steps were a short distance away, but he didn’t have time. He bound the Might and jumped. He landed softly and painlessly. He was getting better. A lot better. From here he could see the openings in the rock that led into the pits.

  Hirka.

  Guardsmen flanked one of the many towers. So he was right. They’d just dragged her into the closest assembly room for questioning. Rime ducked under a balcony and continued up the steps. He came to a wide bridge with a canopy, which crossed over to the tower in question. A double door carved from dark wood led into a room that was said to have been the Council’s most important assembly room once upon a time. Before the red dome had been built.

  A silver basin sat on a pedestal outside the door, as in many other places in Eisvaldr. The Seer’s immediate forgiveness and absolution, available anywhere at all in the form of water. Practical.

  The door opened and four guardsmen came out, Hirka dangling between them. The blood drained from Rime’s face. She wasn’t moving. Her slight frame hung limply between the hulking men in black steel. They dragged her over the bridge. Her head lolled against her chest. She was blindfolded and her hands were tied behind her back. Her woollen tunic had been ripped to shreds. Rime had never seen it fully intact, but now one of the sleeves was about to fall off.

  They approached Rime. One of the guardsmen recognized him and nodded. Rime silently prayed he wouldn’t say his name. Hirka couldn’t know he was there. How would he live with himself if she knew he was there? That he had seen her and not done anything? He was close enough to touch her now. It was a struggle not to. Overpowering the guardsmen would have been child’s play. Then he could take her somewhere far away from here. Away from the corruption of Eisvaldr.

  Does such a place even exist?

  They passed him and he turned to watch them go. Something dark had seeped through Hirka’s tunic and stained her bound arms red. Anger rose in him, growing into something so incomprehensibly vast that he could no longer control it. The Might flooded through him unbidden. Unrestrained.

  Ilume!

  He ran over the bridge and tore the door open. But he was too late. The Council had already left the tower room. Two startled serving girls stopped in their tracks when he came in, then bowed and continued to clear away fruit and empty goblets.

  He stood in the doorway, staring at the red blood trails on the floor. Marks left by her knees. Rime had been wrong. Painfully wrong. He’d thought he could make them see reason, but all reason had abandoned the Council. Eisvaldr was its own enemy. A viper’s nest. He hated this place like nothing else. He raised his fist and knocked the silver basin off its pedestal. He heard himself howl. Water was thrown everywhere as the bowl flew through the air. It clattered against the floor and lay there vibrating against the tiles.

  The girls came running and immediately kneeled down to wipe up the mess, but Rime yelled at them.

  “LEAVE IT! LET THEM CLEAN UP THE BLOOD THEMSELVES!”

  He needed to find Ilume. To put an end to everything that could still be ended.

  A FOOL

  Urd paced around his bed, in bigger and bigger circles, but his usual calm wouldn’t come. His thoughts refused to fall into place. He had bought himself precious time, but he didn’t have enough information to use it. Not anymore. The Voice had confirmed old fears. Suspicions of the most unpleasant kind. There was knowledge out there—certainties—of which he hadn’t been told. A slip of the tongue? Or had it been deliberate?

  We have succeeded because she lives.

  Urd could hear his teeth grinding. Enough! He had to know more! But how?

  He walked over to the table and steadied himself on the corners. In the middle lay the round piece of slate. Deceptively plain, apart from the stone fragments arranged in a ring along the outer edge. Had it not been for the bloodstained groove in the middle, people would have said it was an ornament. A game. Or a toy. The stones seemed powerless now. They no longer looked like a weapon. Not in the way they used to.

  He uncorked the bottle of raven blood and poured a couple of drops into the groove. Then he drew upon the Might. Let it fill him completely. The whispering returned. Agitated voices like in a nightmare. Demanding. Spiteful. The blood shook before it moved. Then it drew toward him and stopped between two stones, the way it was supposed to. As it had always done. The voices became more forceful. They rushed inside of him. More real. The sign that he had succeeded.

  Urd clenched his teeth. For the first time he felt afraid to act. But the truth was already out. He went over to the window and dripped two drops of raven blood on the sill. Precious drops. Sacred blood that would have seen him burned faster than the embling if anyone had known. Then he drew upon the Might again. The whispering from the unknown intensified once more. Provoked him. Tugged at his heartstrings. Made his blood run cold. The raven blood started to move. It drew toward him and ran down toward the floor in a narrow rivulet. Ran into his shoe.

  Betrayed! He’d been betrayed. Made to look a fool.

  What were these stones? Picked up by the riverbank? Children’s toys? How had he ever believed that they would let him open the stone doors? Was it even possible to open them from a distance? Using fragments of stones from circles no one knew the locations of? A ridiculous thought. The magnitude of his own stupidity was too much to swallow. He screamed and swept the stone slab off the table with both hands. It shattered against the floor. He screamed again.

  Damayanti. That dancing whore!

  Urd threw his cloak over his shoulders and ran out. He headed toward the hall square and shouted for one of the Council’s black carriages. He leaped inside and asked the coachman to drive him to Damayanti’s whorehouse. The coachman’s eyes widened. Urd bared his teeth at him. He had no time for idiots. Had no time to be cautious or to put on a mask of propriety. And why should he? He was Urd Vanfarinn. Couldn’t they see that he was a busy man?

  A condemned man.

  Damayanti’s place hadn’t opened yet. He pounded on the door until a terrified girl let him in. She bowed when she saw the mark on his forehead. He pushed her aside and tore up the stairs, into Damayanti’s room. She was standing by her bed, looking over three different outfits with a critical eye.

  “I think the red one would—”

  He grabbed her by the neck and forced her up against the wall. Her eyes opened wide, as though she knew what fear was. Urd knew. And he was going to show her. Lying whore of the blind! She had messed with the wrong man this time. Urd pressed himself so close that he could taste her fear. He had to be quick. Before she managed to draw upon the Might. Because truth be told, he didn’t know how strong Damayanti was. Or what kind of blindcraft she commanded. He hissed through his raw throat.

  “You’ve betrayed me! Taken me for a fool!”

  She didn’t protest. She tried to wrench herself free from his grasp. His nails cut into her chest, making her gasp.

  “The stone way cannot be opened from a distance, can it? You have to be where the stones are. I haven’t been there. Not in over fifteen years. That means that you have. Where have you been, Damayanti? Eh? Where did you let in the blind? Were you surprised when you managed it, hmm? Did you realize what it meant? That the girl was alive? That the stone sacrifice lived? When were you going to share your secrets, Damayanti? When?!”

  She relaxed in his grasp. As though she knew she’d lost. But her eyes were blazing. No longer out of fear. “I am all that stands between you and death, Urd Vanfarinn.”

  Urd tightened his grip on her neck. She was right. But that also meant that he had nothing to
lose. “I don’t need to kill you to cause you pain, whore! Where have you been, Damayanti? You’ve found it, haven’t you? The lost stone circle in Blindból. The first. The greatest of all the raven rings.”

  She shook her head. He wanted more than anything to use the Might to bind her into oblivion, but he didn’t know what she could do with his Might. He hated being afraid. All he had at his disposal was brute force. He banged her head against the wall.

  “Where is it?! Answer me!”

  “It’s not that one.” She swallowed. “Not the lost one. Another one. Let go of me!”

  “In the north? Where?”

  “The blind way … to Bromfjell.”

  Bromfjell. Right near Ravnhov.

  Urd let go. She slumped down and grabbed her neck. Her gaze fell on his own neck, an impulse she obviously was unable to control. Did she truly think her pain could ever be measured against his? He made a move toward her, to scare her. It worked.

  “Give me everything you’ve got, whore, or die here. Die now. I’ve nothing to lose, and you know it.”

  Damayanti opened the cabinet and he stood behind her to make sure he was getting all the bottles she had. He grabbed them greedily. His life depended on them. Then he pulled Damayanti close and kissed her with all the power he had left in him.

  “Isn’t everything so much better when everyone’s nice to each other?” he whispered in her ear and turned to leave.

  “Send my regards to Slokna,” he heard behind him.

  “Oh, we’re going to a far worse place, my dear. That’s the one thing we can both be sure of.”

  THE PUPPET MAKER

  Hirka lay down carefully on the part of the floor that sloped upward. It was too painful to sit with her back against the wall. But here she could lie on her side and look up at the light coming in at the top of the pit. A man in gray had removed the ropes around her arms while the guardsmen stood around them, spears at the ready.

  He’d washed her hands and back in silence. She’d sensed traces of the Might in him. He’d granted her a brief respite from the pain, but she hadn’t said anything. Ordinary people couldn’t sense others binding, and the last thing she needed now was to stand out even more.

  Ilume had been her last hope. She’d been so sure that Ilume would explain. That she would enter the room and shout: “Stop! What are you doing? This is Hirka! I know her from Elveroa and she’s just a normal girl. She used to get into all sorts of scrapes with my grandson. She’s a healer!”

  But Ilume had been one of them. And that hadn’t even been the worst part. The worst part was thinking they might be right. She didn’t belong here. She was a danger to ordinary people. Maybe it was true, maybe she had let the blind into Ym. She realized to her surprise that she perhaps hadn’t believed in what she was. That deep down she’d hoped the Seer would find another explanation for why she couldn’t bind. Say it was all okay. That she was an ymling, just like everyone else. But she wasn’t. She really wasn’t.

  Hirka pictured herself as a newborn, lying in the snow by the stone circle. She was no longer able to differentiate between actual memories and those she had conjured later. Everything was so distinct yet indistinct, all at the same time. She pushed herself up to drink from a pot of water that had been left on the floor in the corner. It tasted of soil. She spat it out again and coughed.

  “Don’t drink the water.”

  Hirka jumped and looked around. She was still alone. Was she finally starting to crack? She looked up at the light. A tiny head had been pushed between the bars at the top of the wall. It was brown, bearded, and wearing a golden crown. Small hands had been raised to either side of its mouth as if it were shouting. Two thin sticks attached to its hands disappeared somewhere behind the wall.

  Hirka crawled farther up toward the bars. It was a puppet. Its head was made of wood and no larger than her hand, but someone had put their heart and soul into the details. Big, blue eyes with bushy eyebrows. Pale lips and a beard made of black wool. The crown looked like it was made of copper. The same color had been used for the embroidery on its blue robe. Its eyelids were also wooden, and they moved up and down as it moved.

  “Don’t drink the water. They forget to change it.”

  Hirka cocked her head. The puppet was astonishingly lifelike. She reached out to touch it, but it ducked behind the wall.

  “Wait! Who are you?” The puppet had to belong to the prisoner in the pit next to hers. It reappeared with its chin up and its arms crossed.

  “I am Oldar, the last king of Foggard.”

  Hirka smiled at the pride in its voice. Ravnhov in a nutshell. The puppet disappeared again and another took its place, this one even more beautiful. A warrior with real rings in its tiny chainmail. Broad-chested with steel pauldrons.

  “Try asking him who stopped the deadborn.”

  The new puppet had a more powerful voice, even though it came from the same man.

  “I’m sure he tried his best,” Hirka said, smiling.

  Hirka picked up the thread straightaway. The war against the blind. The kings in the north who had had to swear allegiance to the Seer after He helped the twelve warriors defeat the blind. The twelve warriors who became the first Council. Hirka craned her neck to see who was holding the puppets, but it was impossible. The warrior leaned closer to the bars. He had golden hair fixed in waves down his back.

  “We went into Blindból alone. We asked the people to build the wall behind us, in case we should fail. We went in, and we won!” That wasn’t how Hirka remembered the story. She’d heard that the people had built the wall out of fear, after the warriors had left.

  “So who are you?”

  “I’m Eldrin the Warrior! One of the Twelve!”

  Eldrin. Rime’s ancestor.

  Hirka bit her lip and looked down at the floor. This was Eisvaldr. This was Rime’s home. Ilume’s home. The world was ruled from here. And it had been for a thousand years.

  Hirka knew that many people were envious of Rime’s position. It had never bothered her before, but now she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Rime had roots. She was alone. She had absolutely no one. All she’d had was Father. And now she didn’t even have him. No family and no history. She couldn’t even call this world her own.

  Rime An-Elderin’s family, on the other hand, could be traced all the way back to the war. Blessed and embraced by the Seer. It had to be nice, having a history like that. Being a descendant of the legendary warriors who had saved the world. But that had been a thousand years ago. What were they now? Malicious. Unthinking. Full of hate. They could rot in Slokna, every one of them.

  “But who are you? Who’s behind the puppets?”

  There was silence for a moment. Some rummaging behind the wall. A new puppet appeared between the bars. It was pale and naked, its eyes closed.

  “I’m the puppet maker.”

  Hirka smiled. She didn’t know who she was talking to, but he clearly couldn’t speak for himself. He needed the puppets. She sent a warm thought to the guardsmen who had let him keep them. But then she realized that was probably so he could entertain the guardsmen during long shifts. They could rot in Slokna too.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, more angrily than she meant to.

  “Because I saw them.”

  “Saw who?”

  “I saw. I know.”

  “Okay … what do you know?” Hirka kicked at the floor absentmindedly. She doubted he knew anything. Just like she didn’t know anything. Neither did the Council.

  “Thank you, thank you.” The puppet bowed.

  “Er … don’t mention it. What do you know?”

  “I saw.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw them die.”

  “Who died, puppet maker?”

  “The king and Odin.”

  “Wait. You saw the king and Odin die?”

  “We’d just eaten. All I heard was the cuckoo in the tree.”

  “You mean friends of yours? Friends who
were playing the king and Odin?” Hirka didn’t get a response. “What happened to them?”

  “I’m no liar!”

  Hirka barked out a bitter laugh. “Neither am I, puppet man, but no one cares. What happened?”

  “They hunger for it. Did you know that? They hunger for the Might. They’ve hungered for it for a thousand years. That’s why they came. Some people say they were here before us. That they were the ones who built the stone doors. They came and went as they pleased. Before us.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She asked even though she knew the answer.

  “Who?”

  The puppet opened its eyes. They were deep-set and nothing more than a white membrane. The effect was intense. Simple, but horribly real.

  One of the blind.

  Hirka leapt up and grabbed the bars. They bit into her fingers, and she snatched her hands back. Blackest Blindból!

  “Wait! Have you seen them? You’ve seen the blind? Where? Where did they come from?”

  “They came through stone.”

  “Where? Where are the stones?”

  “There are a lot. A lot.”

  “What happened when they came? What did they do?”

  The puppet disappeared again.

  “Answer me!”

  No response. Hirka kicked the wall, to little avail.

  “Answer me! They’re saying I brought them here!”

  “Don’t drink the water.”

  Hirka slid down the slope again, where she sat with her arms folded around her chest.

  “I know,” she whispered. “They forget to change it.”

  GESA’S GARDEN

  Rime walked up toward the An-Elderin family home. The sleeping dragon. The house he no longer called home. The lanterns along the road were lit, yellow dots snaking their way through the evening dark, showing him the way.

  The Council had hardly left the dome all day, but now they had adjourned for the evening. Rime had come close to bursting in at several points, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was little point risking his life needlessly, though he supposed that was all he had done today, without quite knowing why. But Ilume had the answers. And this time he wasn’t going to hold his tongue.