Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  “Is this it, hm? Is this the rot?” He hissed in her ear. Hirka bit his hand and threw her head from side to side like a wild animal. She thought she heard a finger break. But he didn’t cry out. He didn’t react. Nothing happened. His weight lifted from her body. His hands let go. Hirka kicked and hit something soft. Still he didn’t cry out. She quickly rolled over, pulled herself up against the wall, and stared at him.

  He kneeled before her. The shadow of another man loomed behind him. He had a hand on the criminal’s head. Tyrinn sat still, his mouth hanging open. His eyes had rolled back into his head. Hirka could feel something in the earth beneath her. Cold and hot at the same time. Her skin pulsated. Time stopped.

  The Might. This was the Might, and it felt like ice in her veins. Merciless, yet indifferent to her.

  Tyrinn started to laugh like a child. Then he screamed. Blood vessels rose to the surface in his face. They grew thicker. One of them ruptured.

  “Stop!” Hirka sobbed.

  Her assailant fell to the floor. Blood and saliva ran from the corners of his mouth. He lay there like a butchered animal. Dead. One of his eyes was blood-red. His manhood jutted out of his trousers. A pale column of flesh that might have been inside her now, if it hadn’t been for … Hirka tore her eyes away from him.

  The other person stood hunched over with his back to her. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Holding his throat. It wasn’t Rime. Hirka felt the Might slowly dissipate, as if sinking back into the earth it had come from. She pulled her trousers back on. Reflexively, she grabbed the wooden knife and hid it in her shoe. Then she got up.

  The man turned to face her and pulled his hood down. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He bore the mark of the Council on his forehead.

  She knew him. She’d seen him twice. He’d lied to her at Lindri’s teahouse. He was the reason she had run from there. And she’d seen him during the Rite. He was one of the twelve. A member of the Council. The same Council that had thrown her in here.

  “You’re one of them.” Hirka moved closer to check that her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

  “Regrettably,” he replied, heading for the grating. The guardsmen were lying outside, slumped over each other. Immobile heaps. The councillor unsheathed a knife belonging to the one on top before coming down toward her again. Hirka backed away. Would he kill her now? But he walked past her. He lifted his hand and brought the knife down into the prisoner’s back. A quick and almost practiced movement. The dead body spasmed. Hirka stared. He had stabbed a dead man. A dead man. She tried to swallow her disgust, but it stuck in her throat.

  The councillor turned to face her. His blond hair had been combed back. His eyes glinted coldly. His expression was still exactly the same, as if he hadn’t just stabbed a dead man in the back.

  “Listen to me, embling. We don’t have much time. All that awaits you here is death. You only have one chance, and that’s coming with me.” His voice was just as hollow as before. Almost gurgling. It sounded like it took a lot of effort for him to speak normally. Only three grains of sand ago she would have seized any opportunity to get out of here, but now she hesitated.

  “You’re one of them. How—”

  “They don’t understand! They’ll kill you, but that’ll make everything even worse. You need to go back where you came from, embling.” He gripped her arm and pulled her after him.

  “Wait! Where are we going? I can’t just … What if the Seer’s right? What if it’s my fault the blind are back? I need—”

  “You need to get out of here! And I’m going to help you. Get on my back and hide under my cloak.”

  She stared at the dead man and shuddered. What was worse? Being locked in with his corpse or breaking out with the man who had killed him?

  Breaking out. I’ll have more options then.

  She climbed up onto the stranger’s back and he threw his cloak over both of them. It smelled of horse. Hirka could feel the coolness of the metal collar around his neck. It had a clasp on the side. The skin was red around the edges. Who was he? What was wrong with him?

  He left the pit and headed for the exit. The moonlight reflected off the nails in the door. The outlines of domes and towers emerged from the darkness outside.

  “Wait! The man with the puppets!”

  Hirka twisted back, but the councillor neither replied nor stopped.

  KOLKAGGA’S MISSION

  The night was cold. Unforgiving. Rime stood straight-backed, watching his breath freeze in front of him. The torches cast a restless light over the ranks of Kolkagga who had been woken by the gong, hours before daybreak. Some were still pulling their clothes on while they waited for Svarteld.

  Rime had been the first to rise. He hadn’t slept anyway. He heard a second gong in the distance, and it sent shivers down his spine. They were waking all the camps. This was serious.

  The master lived on a small rise to the east of the camp. Light shone through the folding doors and revealed the outline of two men in discussion. The door was pushed aside. Svarteld came out and stood before Kolkagga. He unrolled a small piece of paper, which he studied for a moment. Then he started giving orders in a mechanical voice.

  “The child of Odin has escaped. She’s got a few hours’ head start. She has killed two men and a fellow prisoner. She is considered a serious threat to all. The Seer commands us to find her and annihilate her.”

  Rime’s jaw dropped. He quickly remembered himself and clenched his teeth. What in Slokna had she done? Killed and fled? Hirka? Impossible. She had to understand that doing so would only expedite her death.

  The master’s voice carried across the entire camp. Monotonous. Unaffected. As though it was a perfectly normal mission. “The girl is fifteen winters and has no tail. She is small and has fiery red hair. Comes from Foggard, but she has a mixed dialect.”

  Rime closed his eyes. They were wrong. Her hair wasn’t fiery red. It was deep red. Like blood.

  “The mission will continue as long as necessary. The Council has given it the highest priority. I repeat: highest priority. The rot is on the loose in Ym. Change, pack, and meet your group leaders by the long bridge for instructions.”

  Kolkagga dispersed. Rime pushed the door aside and went back inside. He got undressed and stood naked. He stared at the black outfit he’d been using as a pillow. It was all he’d cared about for the past three years. He was Kolkagga. A black shadow. Already dead.

  The Seer’s word was his law.

  His skin tingled with goose bumps. Rime put on the clothes that made him invisible in the night. Then he went outside. He only made it a couple of steps before he ran into the master, who was standing outside observing him.

  “Master?”

  “You grew up with this girl?”

  Rime hesitated. “We both lived in Elveroa for a few years.”

  “Ilume-madra has not exempted you from this mission.” The master looked at him as though he wanted Rime to provide an explanation.

  “That would be unlike her,” he replied.

  “I could exempt you, if you want. Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  Svarteld nodded in approval. Rime felt the master’s eyes on his back as he walked toward the long bridge. They were assembled there. Kolkagga. A hundred men. Dark outlines in the night. And out there between the mountains there were more camps. More men. Black-clad. Lethal. Unstoppable.

  And now they had just one job. One mission. Find her. Rime felt the cold creep down his neck and wash through his chest. Restless. Merciless. A cold certainty. Hirka only had one hope.

  He had to find her first.

  HOUSE OF VANFARINN

  The upholstered leather chair could have held three of her, but all the same Hirka made herself as small as possible under the woollen blanket. Flames danced in a fireplace big enough to stand upright in. It was made of black stone with green veins running through it. Veins like the ones that had stood out in her assailant’s face before he died. Urd-fadri
sat before her. Urd Vanfarinn. Son of Spurn Vanfarinn, and his successor on the Council. Her savior. She shuddered.

  Her clothes had been returned to her. Dry now after an ice-cold flight through the waterways from the pool. They had emerged in the gutters outside the buildings of Eisvaldr, but still within its wall. Urd had taken them up the forest-covered mountainside, which had kept them hidden all the way to the Vanfarinn family home—a castle-like structure in polished green marble.

  Large paintings hung on the wall behind Urd. Portraits of an extensive family, though Hirka hadn’t seen much life in the house. She’d heard Urd dismiss the servants, everyone apart from a family guardsman—the only person who had seen her.

  Hirka was no longer in a pit, but she felt anything but free. The man before her wore a mask of concern. The wooden puppets in the pit next to hers had been more convincing, even though she didn’t doubt that the councillor had plenty to be concerned about. One of his feet bounced up and down. Up and down.

  “What will happen to you?” Hirka asked.

  He swapped his expression of mild concern for a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

  “Nothing will happen to you, embling.”

  “Not me. You. What will happen to you, now you’ve helped me?”

  He raised a sculpted eyebrow as if surprised by the question. His beard was perfectly groomed as well. How was that possible? Hirka’s hair stuck out in every direction. A red haystack. His looked like it was glued to his scalp.

  “No one knows I’ve helped you, and either way, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. It’s what’s best for Ym. For everyone.” He raised his hands in a self-sacrificing gesture, as if to indicate that he was willing to die for the Seer.

  “And if they realize it was you? Surely you spoke out in my defense when my fate was being discussed?”

  His eyes narrowed again. He cocked his head slightly and regarded her with interest. She had a feeling that was something he hadn’t even considered. “There were other dissenting voices. And even if the Council does find out, there won’t be anything they can do about it. They’re running around like headless chickens. They’re fools who can’t see farther than the ends of their own noses. They think burning you on the walls or chopping your head off will help them sleep at night.”

  He was quick-tempered. Hirka took note of this and his clear disgust for the Council he was part of.

  “They want you dead, embling.” Hirka wasn’t used to such statements being leveled at her, but she said nothing. “Dead. Understand?”

  “I’m glad you’re doing this for me.”

  The councillor didn’t correct her. A moment ago he’d said he was doing it for Ym, for everyone, but now it was suddenly for her? Well, if this man wanted what was best for her, she’d be a turnip’s uncle. He leaned forward and caressed her throat.

  “Just look at that throat … so untouched. So pure. It would be such a pity if they brought a sword down on it—or burned it.”

  Hirka tried to suppress another shudder. Maybe she could sneak out at sunrise. He was part of the Council. Surely, he would have to return to the Seer’s hall? He couldn’t sit here watching her.

  There were two knocks at the door and a guardsman came in. He was a young man, but he had bags under his eyes. He handed Hirka a black bowl of meat stew. Hirka was so hungry that she felt sick. She thanked him and took it. The guardsman nodded at both of them and left. A wonderful smell spread throughout the room. But it was mixed with something else. Something she recognized. Sharp. Earthy.

  Dreamwort.

  There was no doubt in her mind. Of course. Urd was the reason why the man with the puppets had been sleeping when she was attacked. Where would normal guardsmen get dreamwort from? It wasn’t a plant you could buy just anywhere. You had to know someone. Have money. And this man had more than enough money. She knew that thanks to Sylja. The Vanfarinn family owned a lock in the canal through Skarrleid in the south. Everyone who passed through it had to pay. It had been that way for generations.

  “Aren’t you having any?” Hirka asked.

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Oh …”

  Why would he give her dreamwort? Hirka pictured the body again. The bulge and his open fly. The blood running from the corners of his mouth. The knife in his back. The two guardsmen heaped on top of each other like dirty laundry. If Urd wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead. All he needed to do was wait until she was executed. So what he wanted was for her to fall asleep. But that was enough for Hirka. Every nerve in her body told her she couldn’t be helpless near this man. She chewed the stew without swallowing. Then she nodded in the direction of the paintings. “Who are they?”

  He turned to look and she quickly took a fistful of stew and pulled it beneath the blanket. She shoved it down between the cushion and the back of the chair. It was hot and unpleasant and would make a real mess. But she’d be far away before he found it.

  “My father,” he replied, somewhat bitterly. “And my mother, Meire. She lives in Skarrleid. That’s where my family’s from originally.” Hirka wasn’t listening. She was making the best use of the time she could. Smuggling stew under the blanket and behind the cushion. He no longer seemed as restless. He was talking and waiting. Waiting for her to fall asleep.

  The history of the Vanfarinn family was well known to those who were interested in such things. She’d heard parts of it. The family were originally called Drafna, after one of the first twelve to enter Blindból. Quarrels had divided them, and the eldest son had told his brother that he was villfaren—a lost cause. The younger had taken the insult and turned it into a new family name. When the Drafna family had died out, Vanfarinn laid claim to the seat on the Council. Those with the wickedest tongues called them the bastards.

  But Hirka had never heard the story as Urd told it. He held that they had been robbed of their seat on the Council for generations. An injustice corrected by an adulated forefather who squinted down at her from a faded painting on the wall. He was hanging next to Spurn, Urd’s recently deceased father. And Gridd, his father’s father. And Malj, his father’s father’s father.

  Hirka yawned. It wasn’t all an act, as she’d spent most of the past few days awake. She put down the half-empty bowl and leaned her head against the arm of the chair. Now that she would appear drowsy enough, she chanced her luck.

  “What happened to your throat?” She made a point of slurring her speech.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “Do you know how to send me … home?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you know that? No one else knows how I got here.”

  “I do.”

  He wasn’t giving anything away, so deciding she might as well play the part, Hirka closed her eyes.

  I fell asleep!

  Hirka tried to sit up, but her hands and feet were tied. She had been gagged with coarse linen. Dry. Dusty. She couldn’t swallow. She’d hardly touched the food, but she’d still fallen asleep! It had to have been the exhaustion. Or a really quite astonishing quantity of dreamwort. Where was she?

  She could see shafts of light in the darkness. She was in a confined space. She couldn’t stretch her legs out. She heard a horse whinny. She was in a cart. What had woken her? Was she in a crate? Voices outside. A muffled argument.

  “I can’t have her here, Urd. The guardsmen are searching the city, they’ll find her, I can’t—”

  “You won’t have her here. You’ll take her to the stone circle. Are you deaf?” Urd’s voice was hoarser than before. “Get her out of the city tonight.”

  “Seer have mercy, Urd …”

  “Tonight, Slabba. Now.”

  “We’ll be stopped at the city walls. They’ll—”

  “I thought you knew every gatekeeper in this city?”

  Slabba hesitated. “What if she wakes up?”

  “She won’t wake up, you half-wit! Not for ages. I need to attend the Council meeting tomorrow, but I
’ll be there after. Just get the girl to the circle.”

  “She’s the rot! I can’t drive around wi—”

  “Slabba.” Urd’s voice was suddenly low and intense. Hirka’s ears pricked up. She could hear this Slabba sweating just as much as she was. “I don’t have time for this. The blind are waiting and the Council is hysterical!”

  “The blind?!” Slabba squealed like a pig.

  “Be quiet!”

  “What—what are you going to do to her?”

  “The girl was never supposed to be here. She was a stone offering. A gift for the blind, and now they’re looking for her. They’re searching for a tailless girl. They know she’s here. When they have her, I—we—will have what we need.”

  “In Slokna’s name, Urd. This can’t be worth it! The blind?! This wasn’t part of the agreement. I’ve never—”

  Hirka heard a gurgling sound, like Urd had gripped Slabba by the throat. “Either you get her out of the city and help me, or you take her place as a gift to the deadborn. Which would you prefer, Slabba?” Slabba didn’t reply, but she assumed he was nodding for all he was worth.

  Hirka couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t panic. Not now. Not here. She had a mouthful of linen. She needed to breathe evenly. Calmly.

  She heard Slabba give orders to other men. Footsteps. A lot of footsteps. Several men. The cart started to move.

  Somewhere nearby, a raven shrieked.

  ATTACKED

  Hirka lay curled up in the crate watching light flicker in the cracks between the boards. It was cold and she missed her cloak. And her bag, with all her herbs and tea. Everything she owned. It was probably somewhere in the vaults.

  As the cart rolled over cobblestones, she started to curse how small she was in the grander scheme of things. She had nothing. No family. No home. Hirka the tailless girl. Daughter of gods know who.

  She enjoyed using the word “gods” instead of “Seer.” He hadn’t raised a finger to help her, and right now it was the only way of defying Him. And she might never get another chance. She was meant to be a gift to the blind. An offering. A worm on a hook, in exchange for Seer knows what.