Hlosnian grabbed her with both hands. “Child, they have everything you need.”
“How can you know that? Nobody’s been there. Nobody’s met anyone from there. Nobody’s—”
“Because you wouldn’t have existed if it was different. Your ancestors wouldn’t have existed and couldn’t have given birth to you if they hadn’t lived in a world that gave them everything they needed to survive. It’s logical, child. Logical.”
There was a touching tenderness in his eyes. He was right. She breathed easier. She had ancestors. She wasn’t alone. Urd had also said she had a father, but she’d heard more than enough about him.
Urd lied. He lied about everything.
“Come,” Hlosnian said and pulled her forward a couple of steps. “This is where you come from.” She stared at the motif. It was simple. Two pale men, one of them on a horse.
“How do you know it’s this one?”
“Well … It’s a combination of things, really. The lettering. The age of the motif. The feel of the Might when—”
“Hlosnian …”
“Neither of them has a tail.”
“So you want to send me to a completely unknown world based on the fact that you can’t see tails in a picture of two men whose backs we can’t see?”
Hlosnian smiled and nodded a little too eagerly. She pretended it was comforting anyway. The fact she was leaving everything behind was hard enough to process on its own, but no one knowing for sure what way she should go? That was too much.
She searched for details in the picture. The men were dressed the same. Chainmail with white tabards over the top. On their chests she could see traces of a red cross that narrowed in the middle. Maybe a family crest.
So they have warriors there too.
But there was a tree behind them. That gave her a sense of ease. So this was her new home? And these were the stones she had to pass between. She looked up, but couldn’t see anything but mountain. No shimmering in the air. Nothing to indicate that you would cease to exist if you walked between the stones using the Might.
That was the most terrifying part. You couldn’t travel through them without the Might. Hlosnian could help her, or someone else. But menskr were unearthed, like her. They couldn’t bind.
She could leave this world, but she would never be able to return.
THE GATEWAYS
The gong struck nine before Hirka left Eisvaldr and walked down the Catgut. It was dark. That made it easier to remain unseen even though she’d finally put on her own clothes. They were worn but wonderfully familiar.
The celebrations still weren’t over. Scantily clad women clung to swaggering men outside the inns. Some of them had celebrated the Ravenbearer in moderation and were in a fit state to walk home again. Others dozed on benches and would wake up feeling wretched in the morning. Hirka could have helped them. She could have offered onion soup and herbal tea when they needed it most, but she wouldn’t be here tomorrow.
Hirka pulled her woollen cloak more tightly around her. It was heavy and as green as a spruce tree. A gift from Jarladin. At first, the councillor had presented her with a cloak worthy of a ravenbearer. Shiny silk decorated with silver thread and blue stones that would have attracted attention no matter what world she arrived in. She’d politely declined, and in a rare moment of insight, the councillor had brought her this simpler one. It was wonderfully ordinary, and had no other purpose than to keep her warm and unnoticed. Just what she needed. No one could see that she was tailless, and the hood covered her red hair.
Hirka turned off the Catgut, passing the darkened upholsterer’s workshop. The tidy network of streets became a labyrinth of alleyways that sloped down toward the riverbank. Hirka hadn’t lived here long, but she knew them like the back of her hand. The teahouse was half on the river, like a raft. The light outside was out, but there was a glow from the fireplace inside. There wasn’t anyone sitting around the low tables, but the cups and saucers hadn’t been cleared yet. Unsurprisingly, Lindri had been open late as well. It wasn’t every day a new ravenbearer was sworn in. Particularly not one who hadn’t spent a single day on the Council.
Hirka opened the door, and hollow tones from the wind chime inside announced her presence. Lindri glanced up from his boxes of tea to say he was closed, but words failed him when he saw her. His wrinkles made it look like he was smiling even though he wasn’t.
She walked toward him, weaving between the tables. He leaned on a stack of tea chests with one hand and put the other on his hip. His attempt to look stern was unsuccessful. Hirka bit her bottom lip to quell the anguish she felt. The anguish of having left him without a word, and of having to do the same again. He nodded several times, the way old men often did when contemplating the inevitability of everything. Then he pulled her toward him in a trembling motion. He patted her gently on the back. His voice was rough when he finally spoke.
“Why didn’t you say anything, Red?”
Hirka didn’t reply. She rested her chin on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“You should have told me, Red. You should have told me.” He took a step back and looked at her. Hirka smiled. They both knew that she never could have said anything. He put the kettle over the fire and blew more life into the embers. She pulled a linen pouch out of her bag and gave it to him.
“Use this. It grows wild in Blindból. There’s nothing else like it.”
He weighed the pouch in his hand, but his eyes rested on her.
“They say you’re a child of Odin. That you killed guardsmen and fled to Ravnhov. Some people say you started the war there. Others say you stopped it. You woke the dragon in Bromfjell and clove the land in two. Then you came here and tore down the Rite Hall and rebelled against the Seer. Some say you killed Him. Others say Rime An-Elderin did. Many say He never existed at all. If you wanted to remain unseen, you’ve well and truly failed, Red.”
“I’ve failed in many respects, Lindri.”
He brewed a pot of tea that they took out into the back garden. Not that it had ever actually been a garden. It was a platform on the river that was overgrown with climbing plants. The Ora was black in the darkness. A couple lanterns swayed from the boats in the distance. The stars were so clearly reflected that it was impossible to tell where the river ended and the sky began. Did they have stars where she was going? Were they the same stars or different stars?
Hirka held nothing back. She told him what had happened, and she told him she had to leave again. It was both terrifying and relieving to get it all off her chest. She and Lindri had never had much time to talk, but they hadn’t needed to. They had been brought together by what they both knew best.
Lindri listened. He comforted her with questions she had never thought to consider. Was she sure she’d be going somewhere different? Maybe all places were the same place. And maybe she wouldn’t need the Might to come back if she ever wanted to. Maybe they had other ways where she was going. You never knew. As long as they had tea there, she would be fine. And Lindri was absolutely sure they would have tea.
They had the entire evening to themselves. Hirka didn’t get up until the gong struck eleven. She needed to get back to the stone circle before midnight. Hlosnian wasn’t going to wait any longer than that. He’d mumbled something about the ebb and flow of the Might, but she was pretty sure he just wanted to go to bed early. They went back into the teahouse.
Hirka was about to shoulder her bag when the door crashed open. The wind chime clattered. The embers from the fire flared up in the draft, casting a red glow across Rime’s face. Hirka could feel heat lashing around him, like tongues of fire no one could see. He’d used the Might to get here.
Lindri put the teacups down on the counter, made the sign of the Seer, and bowed. “Rime-fadri, you honor me. What can I do for you?”
Rime didn’t reply. Didn’t notice him. He stared at Hirka and took three long strides toward her. “You were going to leave. You were going to leave and you weren’t going to tell me.”
His eyes were cold amid all the heat. Full of accusation. Hirka chewed her bottom lip and said a silent prayer for strength. This was going to make everything much more difficult. She tried to smile. “Don’t you have any guardsmen with you? I didn’t think they’d let the Ravenbearer out without—”
“You were going to leave. Tonight. Without saying anything.”
Hirka put a hand on Lindri’s arm. He was still bent forward, not daring to make eye contact with the Ravenbearer. Right now, she couldn’t blame him. “Up you come, Lindri. We’re going to need something to drink.”
Grateful, he disappeared behind the counter to do what he did best. Hirka pointed at one of the low wooden tables surrounded by stools with sheepskins draped over them. “Sit down, Rime.”
He landed on the stool like someone had dropped him. He bowed his head so that his hair fell forward, hiding his face. She had to sit directly opposite him to see it. His breathing evened out. She could hear every breath. His chest expanded rhythmically under a blue shirt she’d never seen before. He needed to wear more layers. Winter was coming.
He sat there with his eyes closed. His swords stuck out to the sides, reaching down to the floor. His hands had a firm grip on the tabletop, as if he were forcing himself to sit there.
Lindri came over to them. He gave Hirka a questioning look and she nodded at the table. He put the tray down. His deep, measured breathing told her that he was concentrating. He supplied wares to Eisvaldr, but clearly he’d never made anything for a ravenbearer before. His leathery hands poured hot water over the cups and the pot to warm them. He rinsed the tea leaves in cold water. Then he poured the hot water over them and let it stand. As he worked, he threw stolen glances at Rime, who sat as if carved from stone.
When Lindri felt that the tea had steeped for long enough, he poured the tea into two cups, which he set down in front of Hirka and Rime. Then he picked up the tray again and left them. Steam rose from the cups and caressed Rime’s face. He looked up and met her gaze. Wolf eyes. White through the steam. This time wild with hurt. Ready for a fight. Betrayed.
His body language was enough to tell her that he was waiting for an explanation. And that no explanation would be good enough. Hirka dragged a hand across her face, letting it rest on her chin for a moment while she collected herself. She met his pained gaze again. When she thought she knew what she was going to say, she opened her mouth. She closed it again. There was nothing to say. She sipped her tea. Rime didn’t touch his.
“You’re leaving. Tonight. Aren’t you?” His hoarse voice belied a twisted pleasure in knowing he was right.
“I’m leaving.”
“And you weren’t going to tell anyone.”
“No. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”
Rime got up so suddenly that he upended the table. The cups crashed to the floor. He pointed at her. His eyes were those of a stranger, as if Rime was gone and someone else was occupying his body. She hadn’t been close to him since the Rite Hall fell. Since the Might had torn her apart. Maybe it had done the same to him. Maybe so much so that he wanted to kill her. That would be the best way to go. Anything was better than this.
“What are you going to do, Hirka? Burn the cabin and run through the forests to Ravnhov? After everything we’ve been through?!” He started pacing back and forth like a man possessed. “You asked me to rise up! You made me do this! We’ve turned the world on its head. And now that it’s done, you’re leaving. What am I supposed to do?” He stopped and looked at her again. “What am I supposed to do?!”
The weight of the simple question pressed down on Hirka’s chest. This wasn’t about her. This was about the weight of the world. Rime was carrying it on his shoulders, and he didn’t know what to do with it.
She got up. His gaze softened. Faltered. “They asked you to leave. They’ve forced you. That’s how it is.” There were traces of hope in his voice. She shook her head. She walked over to him and was pleased when he didn’t back away. The Might recognized her and caressed her in calm waves. Sorrowful, but with a certainty that smoothed the sharp edges. It laid bare the anxiety and made it easier to handle.
“What am I supposed to do?” he repeated. More hollowly now. Exhausted. Behind him, the wind chime sounded, moved by the flow of the Might. She put a hand on his cheek and studied him. Burned him into her memory so she could take him with her.
“Who are you, Rime?” she asked.
He took hold of her head like a starving man. Pressed his nose to her temple. “I’m Rime. Rime An-Elderin.” As he whispered, his lips drew the words on her cheek. He needn’t have made a sound. Her skin would have known what he was saying regardless.
Speak. Say anything.
“You’d have been safe here, Hirka. No one and nothing would have hurt you. I’d have destroyed anything that sought to destroy you. You’d have lived a good life in Eisvaldr.”
“As a curiosity? An abomination the wealthiest would pay to see? Or as a source of fear and chaos? I don’t belong here, Rime.”
He hugged her harder. “I’m the Ravenbearer. I could forbid you from leaving.”
“But you couldn’t stop people from giving me a wide berth or drawing a sign of protection on their chests when they see me. Or hating me because the blind can find their way here as long as I’m here.” Her heart longed for him to say he could. An impossible promise, but if he was willing to make it, maybe she could stay. Hirka realized that her will was about to crumble. That couldn’t happen. It was now or never.
She pulled away and put on her bag. Something inside her screamed no, demanding she take her bag off again and ask him to make good on his promises, ask him to give her a good life here. But she knew that no one had the power to do that.
“You can do a lot, Rime. But you can’t stop people from being people. Just look at the Seer. You can tell them He’s not there, but a lot of them will never stop worshipping Him. Just like they’ll never stop fearing the rot.”
“There’s no such thing as the rot, Hirka! How deeply do I have to kiss you before you believe me? Are you going to let old superstitions get the better of you? You of all people? I’m not scared of it! Stay here and give me the chance to prove it’s a lie.” He came toward her again. Took her chin, as if to kiss her.
She lowered her head. “I’ve seen it, Rime …”
“What? You’ve seen what?” He stopped.
“I’ve seen the rot. Urd had it. The beginnings of it. His throat was being eaten away from the inside. And he said he’d gotten it from my father.”
Rime let his arms drop to his sides. He closed his eyes and cocked his head, as if to push her words away. Hirka went over to Lindri, who was standing poorly concealed behind the sliding door into the back room. He embraced her. Pulled away again and shook his head. He looked at her like she had taken leave of her senses. As perhaps anyone would have. Anyone who hadn’t grown up like her.
“Will you walk with me?” she asked Rime.
He came. Calmer now. Absorbed by a problem he wasn’t going to solve. They left the teahouse. She didn’t look back. The sounds from the Catgut were muted now. It was midnight. The inns were ushering out the final few revelers. A bedraggled cat slunk between the walls of the houses with its tail in the air. The wind had picked up. They walked in silence through the wall and across the square. None of the guardsmen looked their way. Flower petals from the ceremony were strewn across the pale stone steps like blood on bone. The stone circle emerged from the darkness. She could see the outline of a windswept raven on top of one of the stones. Kuro, with his head pulled down between his wings. She hadn’t dared hope, but maybe he would come along.
She put her bag down on the floor and looked at Rime.
“Hlosnian will be here any minute.”
“Hlosnian’s not coming. He told me you were leaving. So I locked him up.”
She took a step back from him. “You locked him up?!”
“I couldn’t let him help you. Don’t look so
shocked. He wouldn’t have come anyway. He was so full of cake and wine that he was asleep before I even locked the door.”
Hirka laughed, but it felt so wrong that she stopped.
“He begged me to give you this.” Rime took a leather bag from his belt. She opened it. It was difficult to see the contents in the dark, but there was definitely a book. Smaller than the palm of her hand, but thick. She crouched down and tucked it into her own bag. “Who other than Hlosnian would think to give me reading material for the journey?” She got up again and looked at Rime. “So you’re going to help me?”
She turned to walk away, but Rime put an arm around her and pulled her close. She leaned her head back against his chest, grateful that she had her back to him. That she couldn’t see him in that moment. Or be seen. The wind ripped the final leaves from the trees. The stones remained silent. Waiting. Giants that would take her away from this place.
Then came the Might. Abrupt and all-consuming. Leaves dragged across the floor and disappeared between the stones. Rime’s white hair blew into her face like it had the night they flew over Eisvaldr. Eternity washed through her. Earth. Stone. Dormant power. He pressed her body into small pieces. She came apart and mixed with the pieces that were Rime.
The dome rose up above them. The dome disappeared again. Shadows went by. Shadows of people who had once lived. Then they disappeared as well. The landscape grew desolate through winters and summers. Only the stones remained. She was all that had lived. All that did live. All that would ever live. The Might burrowed its way closer to her heart, hungry for everything she’d hidden away, and she let him have it. Everything apart from the one thing he could never see: how much of her was his.
He gripped the pendant on her chest. The pendant he had left with her in Blindból. His hand burned feverishly against her skin and she felt her body come alive. It was violent. Dangerous. She shut herself off from the Might and was glad she managed it without screaming. Rime put his lips to her ear. His voice was rough like stone.
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