He started to bind. Drew the Might through his body and listened. Sounds made themselves known. Sounds only the Might could carry. The wooden shelves creaking. The frost permeating the walls. The echo of pen on paper, even though there was no one here. The Might remembered. After a while, he could hear footsteps as well. Someone whispering. A key in a door. They were here.
Rime smiled. This was the sound of victory. He had been right. The shepherds were panicking. They had secrets, and he’d threatened them. The Might tingled in his body. Riled by the possibilities. He’d been seeking the truth for as long as he could remember. Would he finally find it?
The glow from a lamp stole across the floor far below him. The light flickered and was lifted higher, as if someone was trying to see the levels above. Rime’s clothes hid him, but he pulled back toward one of the rows of shelves all the same.
There were three people down there, walking close together. One of them whispered and another shushed them. Their gray robes fluttered before they disappeared out of sight beneath him. Rime leaped over the balustrade. He let the Might absorb the impact, landing without a sound.
The light danced farther ahead, like a firefly. He followed it between the shelves, past the archive room, and down the steps to the repository. He’d been here before, he remembered. When he was little.
Familiar outlines hove into view. Walls of small drawers that he knew contained stones of all shapes and colors from all over Ym. Shelves of skeletons and fossilized animal tracks. A growing monument to a longing for understanding. An illusion of control.
The lamp stilled. They’d stopped. Rime pressed himself against the wall, well away from the light surrounding the shepherds. One of them was Northree. Rime didn’t know the two women. They were pulling a cart.
They were standing in the middle of the room, next to a skeleton on a stone plinth. A bird-like creature that could have swallowed them all. Its ribs cast macabre shadows across the ceiling.
“Help me,” Northree whispered. He stood on his toes and started feeling around for something on top of the plinth.
“This is madness,” one of the women whispered. “We’re just making it easier for them. Let them look!” But she still helped him. A metallic whine cut through the silence in the room. The sound of bolts. A dark gap appeared in the plinth. The shepherds stood listening for a moment, in case someone had heard.
“Gretel, I looked into his eyes, and I swear, he won’t stop until he finds what he’s looking for.”
“He’s not yet twenty winters! Who among us wasn’t zealous when we were that young? And with the power he has? No wonder it’s gone to his head. It doesn’t mean anything. He’ll probably have forgotten all about it tomorrow.”
“He won’t have,” Northree replied, disappearing into the plinth. The other two followed. Rime darted closer. Let the Might carry him. Muffle the sound of his feet. He listened.
“Has it occurred to you that this might be a trap? That you might be doing exactly what he wants you to do?” It was the other woman. The echo made her lower her voice as she spoke.
“Do you see him anywhere?” Northree asked irritably.
“He’s an An-Elderin,” Gretel replied. “Ilume-madra’s grandson. Can you really see him tearing down the entire tower to find something he’s not sure exists? I refuse to believe it. It was an empty threat, Northree. An-Elderins aren’t destroyers, they’re preservers.”
“What about the Rite Hall? What about the Seer? Rime An-Elderin has torn down more in six months than has been torn down in the past five hundred years combined. I think we can safely say that the will to preserve died with Ilume-madra. In any case, it’s not our place to judge. It’s our place to protect what we can. Do you want us to be the generation that failed?”
Rime leaned against the stone plinth. The cold soaked into his back. As if infecting him with their contempt. What did they know about destruction? They sat here in a tower of dead paper and thought everything that was, was meant to be. That all destruction was a curse. He’d have liked to have seen them in the claws of a deadborn and given them the choice. Destroy or preserve?
He peered in. Northree and Gretel had wedged a crowbar between two flagstones in the floor and were struggling to lift them. They were so big that all three of them had to pitch in to move them aside. Northree kneeled on the floor and brushed away the sand where they had been lying. Then he lifted a door. A trapdoor, hidden under the floor. How long had it been there?
One by one they disappeared through it. Gretel brought up the rear with the cart. In silence, they must have thought, but it was ridiculously easy to hear them. Their footsteps. The lamp swinging from its handle. The creaking cart.
Rime felt his body tingle. The Might was starting to beg. His heart was racing. He had to rein in his excitement. He was getting close. He was going to find the Council’s darkest secrets. About what? About the raven rings? The blind? Everything he needed to know?
From the trapdoor, a narrow passageway sloped straight down into the rock. Eventually it opened up, and the air became less stale. When it leveled out, he saw the three shepherds. They’d stopped up ahead. It was exhilarating to know that he couldn’t be seen in the darkness. That he could stand close enough to hear them breathing without any of them realizing.
The passage was so narrow that the cart had to be pulled lengthwise. The light from the lamp flickered over a row of shelves on both sides. A cold draft came from the darkness at the other end of the passage. The shepherds whispered among themselves. Not that they had to, because who would hear them? There was no sign of life down here.
“There are too many. Far too many. How are we supposed—”
“We need to choose, Gretel.”
“But that’s impossible! Using what criteria?”
“Your own. That’s all we have! Take what you think has to survive.”
“I don’t think we’re going to survive,” Gretel mumbled.
Rime walked over to them and stopped in the circle of light.
The shepherds froze. They stood like gray statues, staring at him. Northree with three books in his arms. Gretel with her hand on the spine of another. He watched the blood drain from her face. One of Northree’s books fell to the wooden floor with a thud. Rime had never thought he’d see the day shepherds ignored something like that.
He pulled his mask away from his face. “Really? All these books? In that little cart?”
The third shepherd threw herself at the cart and grabbed the crowbar. Nothing a warrior would use. Just a perfectly ordinary crowbar. She clung to it and stared at Rime with wild eyes. She had close-cut hair and was younger than the others. Thirty, maybe. He doubted she’d ever hurt a soul.
Rime had to stop himself from laughing. “That’s a good way to break an arm,” he said, taking a step closer. The woman raised the crowbar over her head.
“Yours, not mine!” Sweat beaded on her forehead. She started toward him. The Might surged through him, showing him how it would all unfold. He wouldn’t need to draw his sword. Just lock her left arm. Elbow. Knee. Then she’d be on the ground, unharmed.
But that wasn’t what happened. Northree grabbed her robe. “Berglin—he’s Kolkagga.”
Berglin looked at Rime. The courage left her eyes, clattering to the floor along with the crowbar. “But …” she whispered despondently. “But …”
He couldn’t blame her. After all, their lives were on the line now.
He looked around. “So this is it? This is everything the Council’s hidden?”
Northree put the books in the cart. “No, Rime-fadri. This is what we have hidden from the Council.”
Rime went over to him. Forced him to look him in the eye. “Are you lying to me, Northree?”
Northree shook his head. “Why would I lie? Would I not have more to gain from you thinking we work for the Council?”
Rime didn’t reply. He hated the thought of being one of them. He ran a hand along the shelves, pulling out one book
after another. Books about the war. About the old gods. Diaries from long deceased noblemen. Books about the Might. Books in a language he didn’t understand.
Rime smiled at Northree. “So if I were to bring them here now, they’d be just as surprised as I am, is that what you’re telling me?”
Northree took a deep breath and closed his eyes before replying. “More so, I should think.” He opened his eyes again, and Rime recognized the calm in them. Northree was binding the Might. He was prepared to die to defend their secret. Rime realized he would have to explain. Before he was forced to hurt someone.
“How long have you known?”
“We’ve always known. We were all chosen by someone before us. And we’ve already chosen those who will follow. Someone must always know. Three. Never more.”
“So now we’re four,” Rime said, holding out his hand. Northree glanced at the others. “Just four,” Rime said again. “I’m not here on behalf of the Council. Let them live in ignorance, just as they always have.”
Berglin gasped. Rime took no notice. He’d said far worse before and wasn’t going to hold back now. “You’re shepherds. You’re known for using your heads, so don’t disappoint me now. You can try to stop me and throw your lives away. Or you can help me.”
“Help you do what?” Northree asked. “Learn about blindcraft? Increase your capacity to bind? Sell your soul for power?” There was no venom behind his words. He was saying what he felt he had to.
“If that’s what’s needed to stop the deadborn, then so be it,” Rime said. “But hopefully nothing that drastic will be required.”
Northree hesitated for a moment. Then he took Rime’s hand. The two women looked at each other. “But you’re the Ravenbearer!” Gretel exclaimed, somewhere between incredulity and protestation.
“There’s no raven to bear anymore,” Rime replied, picking up a book from the cart. What was this language? He’d never seen anything like it.
“But … you’re not just part of the Council. You are the Council. You can’t keep this from them!”
“To Slokna with the Council! I’m not the Ravenbearer for them. I’m the Ravenbearer for every single soul in Ym. I refuse to let the eleven kingdoms die out of ignorance! So do what you were always meant to do. Use your heads. Tell me who they are!”
Northree picked up the lamp and led Rime farther along the passage. A cold draft engulfed him.
“We’ve only guarded these books, Rime. Not studied them. I’m afraid all we can do is point you in the right direction.”
As they approached the end of the passage, Rime realized that there wasn’t any wall there. Just a gaping, black hole. They stopped. Northree lifted the lamp. The light was swallowed by an infinite void. A shaft in the mountain with no beginning and no end. Just darkness. If Rime had taken one more step, he’d have fallen. Seemingly into nothingness.
“But there is one thing I can tell you about the blind,” Northree said, staring out into the darkness. The walls were black and smooth as glass. The passage they were standing in was only one of a thousand. Silent, black openings. Rime’s blood ran cold. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.
Northree’s voice suddenly seemed distant.
“They were here long before us.”
AWAKE
Raised voices. Stefan. And a woman. Allegra.
Hirka opened her eyes. She was alone. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. Then she heard the boats in the canal and remembered. Venice. A sinking city in a sinking world.
The memories came flooding back. Allegra’s house. The boat. Stefan dumping the body of the forgotten. She remembered Nils and Stefan arguing. About her. And she remembered them turning back when Stefan had felt sure the police weren’t after them. Then his respect for Allegra had kicked in. The woman he couldn’t run from. What were they talking about now?
Hirka propped herself up in the bed. The pain she expected didn’t come. She lifted up her white shirt, peeled off the bandage, and looked at the wound. It had healed absurdly fast, but she’d always been quick to heal. Now she knew why.
She pressed her thumb against the stitches. Still tender, but it smelled clean. How many days had she been drifting in and out? Four? Five? Had Naiell helped her again, numbing the pain with his claws? She knew so little about him. About herself. About the one hunting her.
But there was one thing she did know—she’d had enough. She was sick of always waking up afraid. Sick of her life always being in the hands of others. Before the Rite, she’d feared Kolkagga. The black shadows. And the Council. Everything had been up to them. Then there was Urd. And after the Rite she’d lost what little control she’d had over her own life. Helpless in the pits. At the mercy of others.
She had to smarten up. Be the master of her own fate.
She reached for her trousers, which were in a tangle at the end of the bed. She shoved her hand in the pocket and pulled out the drawing she’d taken from Silvio’s study. Smoothed out the creases. Vengethorn. Made-up to Stefan. Real to her. More than real. This gave her hope.
There was something out there that could give her back control. Give her the upper hand. Or even better—something that could get her home again. Whatever it was, it was in a museum. What had Stefan called it? Rún Museum of Art? Hirka didn’t know much about museums, but she did know that anyone could visit them. Even her. But how would she talk Stefan into taking her?
She put the picture back in the pocket and threw the trousers on the floor. Then she spotted her knife. She felt drawn to it. Attracted and repulsed. Was that just the way it was? Was it impossible to control your own life without hurting others? Hirka leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed the knife. Then she lay back and fiddled with the blade. The metal was gleaming, but she thought she could smell something on it. How it had been lodged inside two men. Both of whom were now dead.
They’d taken a part of her with them. The part that had always believed there were only two types of ymlings in the world: those who lived peacefully and those who killed. Good and evil. Was she evil now? Had she been driven from one side to the other out of fear? Out of necessity?
It made her think of Kolgrim. Back in Elveroa. The time she’d goaded him into hitting her, just so she could hit him back. She’d known it was wrong. But he was such an idiot! He’d lured Vetle out onto the fallen spruce. He could have killed him. What had been going through her mind back then? That it was okay, because she was human? A child of Odin? If only she’d known. This was far worse. She was half-human and half-deadborn.
A new fear was creeping in. Stefan had said the forgotten always go mad. Every single one of them. Sooner or later. Something in Graal’s blood destroyed them. The rot. Humans couldn’t handle it. Hirka had that same blood. Would she also go mad? Had it already happened?
No. She’d lived her entire life with mixed blood, and she hadn’t rotted or gone mad. Well, she hadn’t rotted, at least.
She put the knife down and looked around. The room was a pale pink color, with a carved border around the ceiling. There was a large bouquet of bloodred lilies on the table by the bed, accompanied by a gold card. Probably from Allegra. It was either a death sentence or something nauseatingly pleasant. Like an invitation to lunch.
There was also an empty glass. And a lamp. A shiny brass one that she’d never have realized was a lamp if she’d come here straight from Ym. Differences that had threatened to overwhelm her before had become more manageable.
She pressed the switch. The light came on. She pressed it again. Off. She did it a few more times. On, off. On, off. She kept doing it until it wouldn’t come on again.
Stefan and Allegra’s voices were getting louder. They were speaking Italian. That rolling language she didn’t understand. How much was he telling her? Did she know they’d broken into her house? A door slammed and the house went quiet.
Hirka got up, put her trousers on, and went into the living room. Stefan was standing by the door clutching a fistful of money notes, which
he stuffed into his pocket before looking at her.
“I broke the lamp,” she said, walking past him and into the kitchen. She drank some water and refilled the glass.
“I just told her you couldn’t walk yet,” he replied, his voice a bit higher than usual. He was embarrassed about something, but she didn’t know what. Maybe it was the teeth he’d just sold. Maybe it was the affection he’d shown her on the boat. Or maybe he was just scared, as was so often the case with him.
“Where’s Naiell?” Hirka took her glass of water out onto the balcony. It was a chilly evening.
Stefan followed her and lit a cigarette. “Out. She’s not happy.”
“Allegra?”
He took a drag and blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Away from her. “She wants me to keep him under control. Keep him indoors.”
Hirka smiled. “Pfft, I’d like to see her try to control him.”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
They laughed. It felt good. It was always easier when Naiell wasn’t around. Then she didn’t have to worry about him figuring out who she was. And sometimes she could even pretend that he didn’t exist.
But unfortunately that wasn’t the case. He did exist. And worse still, he had a brother.
A wooden boat sailed past below. Waves sloshed against the side of the house. Hirka noticed a stone face carved into the wall under the balcony. Half man, half monster. Angry eyes, worn by the elements.
“So what did you say?” she asked.
“As little as possible,” Stefan answered. He was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I said one of the Vardar was heading her way, so we followed him. And I said Naiell threw him through the window. We cleaned up and got out. I said we probably saved her life.”
Hirka couldn’t help but be impressed. “Smart. Very smart.”
“You could at least try to sound a little less surprised.”
She smiled at him. “So what were you arguing about? With a story like that, she should be thanking you.”
Stefan tapped ash into the canal. “That’s not really her style. Thanking people, I mean. But we were in Silvio’s study, so everything’s a bit weird now. She knows we know something. And we know we’re looking for the same thing, but …”
The Rot Page 20