Scepter of Fire

by Victoria Gilbert

  I’m not going with them. I cannot—I must stay and deal with Sten Rask. It’s up to me to stall him until Gerda is far from his grasp.

  Erik thrusts out his hand as I scramble to my feet. “Gerda won’t let me push off without you. Get in if you want to save her. But keep your head down, for God’s sake.”

  I grab his hand and climb over the side of the boat. Safely inside, I slump onto the damp floorboards.

  Erik sits and grabs up the oars. I crawl onto the seat next to him.

  “No, stay down.”

  “Faster with two, and I can handle an oar.” I grab one of the paddles and slide it from his grip.

  “Head down!” Erik thrusts his oar in the water.

  I bend forward as I follow his lead. A shot hits the stream, splashing water into the boat.

  Ignore it. Just row.

  “Pull, pull, pull!” Erik sets up a rhythm for our strokes.

  Once we glide into the center of the tributary, the swift current catches and carries us. Erik and I keep paddling, even as the voices fade behind us.

  “They will follow us downstream!” Anders shouts over the rush of the water. He struggles to sit up.

  Gerda lends him her arm and they both crawl onto the front seat of the boat.

  “They can’t move fast enough on land.” Erik plies his oar with grace. “I hope.”

  My strokes are less polished. Still, I am able to match his movements well enough to keep us from sliding toward the shore.

  “What is going on?” Gerda turns her head to look at me. “What’s this all about, Varna?”

  “It is about saving your life,” I reply, “and helping Erik and Anders escape. I will explain later.”

  “Once we hit the river you can help.” Erik meets Anders’s confused gaze. “For now, take care of Gerda.”

  Anders nods and faces forward. He places one arm about Gerda’s shoulders.

  “I can take over.” Erik leans across me to grab the oar from my hand.

  “You cannot maneuver the oar with me here.” I am acutely aware of Erik’s body pressed against mine.

  “Slide back, then climb over the bench and sit on the seat behind us. That will balance us better anyway.” Erik applies himself to rowing, paying no attention to my awkward scramble to the rear of the boat.

  Huddled in the back, my damp clothes cold against my skin, I lift my head and stare at the sky. The moon sails out from behind a dark mountain of clouds and casts a ribbon of light across the water. It is a silver path, leading us onward.

  I lower my eyes. Erik’s strong arms pull the oars through the water. “What if they’re waiting for us?” I ask, keeping my voice low so Gerda and Anders cannot hear. “The villagers know where this branch spills into the river.”

  Erik does not turn around. “If we get there before them, we will be fine.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  There is silence before Erik speaks again, a span of time in which I am acutely aware of the violin screeching of tree frogs and the unearthly hoots of owls.

  Erik rows faster. “We will get there first.”

  Chapter Seven: Maelstrom

  WE TRAVEL IN SILENCE for some time. Erik ceases rowing when the tributary spills us into the river, but keeps his fingers curled about the oars. “The current will carry us for a while. I’ll watch so we don’t drift too close to shore.” He rolls his shoulders.

  He must be in pain, but does not complain. I make a note to recommend some of the muscle ointment I stuffed into his rucksack.

  Anders lifts one hand and points to Gerda’s head resting against his shoulder. Don’t wake her, he mouths, before turning to face the front of the boat.

  I lean forward and tap Erik’s shoulder. “This Christiane, is he truly engaged to her?”

  “Not officially, but he believes he is. Which, to him, means the same thing.”

  “Shame.” I sit back, pondering this information. It’s clear Gerda is smitten with the young soldier.

  We are the lone boat on the river, which is just as well. I watch the banks, but only the occasional otter or beaver prowl the shoreline. When I spy something that looks like a solitary reindeer I dismiss it as the sighting of an ordinary deer.

  As the sun rises higher in the sky, I shake out my mud-caked skirt, but can only release a few of the stiff folds. I lean over and unlace my boots. Pulling them off proves more difficult than I expected, and my final tug sends one boot flying forward. It slides under the middle bench seat and strikes Erik’s calf.

  He jumps. “Don’t startle me like that.”

  “My stockings are soaked, and won’t dry stuck in those boots.”

  I catch Erik’s glower before he looks forward again. “Warn me next time. I don’t appreciate objects flying at me out of nowhere.”

  My lips form a sharp retort, but I swallow it, recalling his description of the battlefield. “I will try to remember.”

  “Pull off those stockings as well,” he says, not looking at me. “You don’t want to get trench foot.”

  I can’t help myself. “By your command, Doctor Stahl.”

  Erik’s only reply is a grunt.

  We float in silence for some time, until Gerda wakes and peppers me with questions. I am finally forced to speak of Sten Rask.

  “He must be stopped.” Anders has scooted back to sit beside Erik. His fingers grip one of the wooden paddles, ready to man the oar if necessary. “If the Usurper gains control of this mirror ... ”

  “Do we know what it can do?” Erik directs his words toward my sister. “Did you see a demonstration of its powers?”

  Gerda pauses in her deft braiding of her golden locks. She glances over her shoulder. “No. I only saw it prevent the Snow Queen—Thyra Winther, I mean—from being transformed into a wraith. It also freed the former Snow Queens from their ghostly forms, allowing their souls to depart in peace. That is all I saw.” She dips her head over her hands so I cannot examine her face.

  There was something else. I always knew it, from the first moment Gerda told me this story. Something she would not say. I am curious, but now is not the time to press the point.

  “Rask seems to think he can use it as a weapon,” observes Anders.

  “If he’s involved, it certainly can’t be anything good.” Erik looks up. “Like that sky.”

  “Did we pack any food?” asks Gerda, reminding me breakfast and lunch have passed us by.

  “Just some hardtack left over from company rations.” Erik reaches for the rucksack. “You’re welcome to it. I think I would rather starve.”

  Gerda shakes her head. “You would not. I’ve gone without food for days at a time, and I would have eaten a boot if I could have spared one.”

  It’s easy to forget that part of my older sister’s life, when she was only fifteen. She departed our village carrying nothing but her courage—traveling to find Kai Thorsen and bring him home. She braved many dangers on her journey, including traversing the frozen lands of the Snow Queen. Without magic or weapons, she was alone much of that time, except for one enchanted reindeer.

  If only we’d brought Bae with us. Well, maybe not on the boat. I chuckle.

  Erik shoots me a sharp look. “Something funny?”

  “No. Thinking of Gerda’s reindeer. It might have been useful to bring him along, but then there is the boat ... ”

  “He’s tracking us,” Gerda says calmly.

  I almost jump from my seat but—boat, Varna, boat. “You told him to follow us?”

  “From a distance.” Gerda swings her legs over the bench and faces us. “I thought we might need him, after Erik and Anders got away. I didn’t envision us escaping on the river.” She adjusts her skirts and meets my astonished gaze with a smile. “I learned to take precautions, some time ago.”

  Anders’s profile is clearly visible, as is the admiration on his face. “Clever, yet ... ” His expression shifts to one of confusion. “How do you tell a reindeer such a thing? I know they can be trained, but th
at seems rather complicated instructions for such a creature.”

  Gerda takes a deep breath. “Well, you see, Bae is not just any reindeer ... ”

  Her words are cut off by Erik’s string of expletives. “Storm,” he says, as Anders elbows him.

  The clouds are dark and rolling in fast. I grip the side of the boat. “Should we put to shore?”

  Erik shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ve seen no evidence that we are beyond enemy-held territory. There’s a bend in the river where one of our encampments is located, but we haven’t reached it yet.”

  “We can’t keep going if this weather brews into a storm.” Anders’s expression remains calm as his knuckles blanch. “This boat is not built to withstand heavy winds.”

  “I know. If we can get a little farther ... ” A flash of lightening punctuates Erik’s words.

  Gerda’s face betrays her fear, but her voice is perfectly steady. “Perhaps the opposite bank?”

  A crack of thunder splits the air.

  Anders and Erik deploy the oars, pulling as hard as they can, while the wind rises, scattering a spattering of rain. The sky darkens to a sickly gray-green.

  “Gerda, get down!” I yell over the roar of the wind. Sliding off the bench seat, I slump to the bottom of the boat, gripping one side with both hands.

  Oars swing through the air and slice the water, but the men’s efforts are thwarted by gusts blowing the boat from side to side. We tip precariously, forcing Erik to drop his oar and grab the rucksack. Anders pulls his oar into the boat and slips off his seat, landing next to Gerda. He pulls her into his arms.

  “Hang on!” Erik follows Anders’s lead, ending up by my side. The boat spins like a leaf caught in a drain.

  Erik wraps his arms about me and presses my head against his chest. His heart beats under my ear, a rhythm at odds with the swirling motion of the boat.

  I can’t believe this is the way we will die, sucked down into the river like minnows swallowed by a trout. I hold onto Erik as if he’s the only rock wedged between me and the abyss.

  I have never experienced a kiss. Such a foolish thought, but the only one flitting through my mind.

  The prow of the boat lifts, slamming Anders and Gerda into the middle bench. Water floods the back end of the boat, sweeping away my boots and stockings. Only Erik’s iron grip on the rucksack, and me, keeps us secure.

  Erik says something under his breath. I realize it is a prayer, and repeat “amen” until my lips can no longer form words.

  The wind roars as rain falls in a barrage of needles against my skin. It’s impossible to know if the dampness on my face is rain or tears.

  All at once there is silence, as if the boat has been enveloped in a bubble.

  I free myself from Erik’s embrace and stare at the sky. Rain falls in sheets that curve away so not a drop hits us.

  “What’s this?” Erik scoots to one side of the boat.

  The bubble glides over the choppy surface of the water, toward the far shore. Inside the protective globe, there is only a slight bounce, like a stone skipping over waves.

  Gerda looks at me, her eyes bright. “It is some sort of magic.”

  “Good or bad?” I climb up onto the seat.

  She shakes her head. “Hard to say. It’s definitely better than being battered by the storm.”

  “Nothing natural.” Erik swings his body up onto the seat next to me.

  “Maybe not, but I’ll take it over the alternative.” Anders crawls onto the front bench and offers his hand to Gerda, pulling her up beside him.

  As the storm rages around us, we glide in our bubble until it rolls onto the river bank. When the boat slides up over the grass and comes to rest, the clear globe disintegrates. Rain pelts us, soaking us to the skin.

  Erik clutches the rucksack to his chest and rises to his feet. “Out! We must seek shelter.”

  He jumps over the side, drops the rucksack to the ground, and holds out his arms to assist Gerda. The boat slides backwards as her feet hit the ground.

  “Grab Anders!” I scramble toward the front, ignoring the wood scraping my bare feet.

  Erik leans in and flings his arms about his friend. He pulls Anders out of the boat and both men tumble to the ground.

  The boat groans and slides back into the water as I throw one leg over the prow. Straddling the edge of the boat, I attempt to pull my other leg over, but my wet petticoats bind my limbs like rope.

  The boat falls back into the rushing river. I register Gerda’s screams as I fight to free myself from the leaden weight of my garments.

  So this is it—I’ll be swallowed by the river, food for fishes. I drop back onto the front seat of the boat and close my eyes. Rain washes over me until I can barely breathe, even before being dragged to the depths.

  The boat halts as if steadied by unseen hands, then glides forward. My eyes fly open on a tall, slender figure standing on the shore, stretching out her arms. It is an auburn-haired woman wearing a flowing gown the color of lilacs. The rain has plastered her dress against her body, outlining every inch of her lovely figure. Her fingers reach and pull, as if drawing an invisible cord. Obviously controlled by her magic, the boat moves toward her, until the prow slides up onto the land. Erik leaps in to drag me onto the shore. As soon as my feet touch the grass, the rain ceases.

  I lift my head as Erik helps me stand, and come face-to-face with the strange woman who saved me.

  “Thank you.” My voice is as hoarse as a frog’s croak.

  “No thanks necessary,” the woman replies. “I have not brought you this far to lose you now.”

  I stare into clear green eyes, bright as new leaves. Only then do I notice Gerda standing beside the stranger. The woman smiles and drapes one arm around Gerda’s shoulders, pulling my sister close to her side.

  Of course, there is only one person this could be.

  “Are you Sephia?”

  She inclines her head. “Yes. Welcome to my home, Varna Lund.”

  Chapter Eight: A Cup of Tea

  “COME,” SEPHIA SAYS, “my house is just a short walk.” She leads us to a path that twists through a forest of slender pines. Pausing at the head of the trail, her gaze focuses on Anders, who drags his bad leg and leans heavily on Erik.

  “Forgive me. I forgot your injury.” Sephia moves swiftly to Anders’s other side and offers her arm. “Take hold. Your friend and I will help you.”

  After a few turns we step into a clearing where a cottage sits, squat and gray as a mushroom. The rough stone building is crowned with a thatched roof, and a curl of smoke rises from the chimney. I’m glad to see evidence of a fire. Although the late spring day is not particularly cold, my soaked garments weigh on me, heavy as wet mortar.

  Sephia releases her hold on Anders long enough to push open her bright green front door. “Come in and rest.”

  The cottage feels familiar—one room, like the home I hope to inherit, and a mirror of its rustic charm. It’s warm inside, even though the stone fireplace is filled with pots of bright red geraniums instead of flames.

  Magic crackles in the air like static before a storm. I cross to the fireplace and soak in the warmth emanating from the flowers.

  Erik and Sephia guide Anders to a small settee with cushions covered in an intricate floral pattern. Gerda hurries to sit by him. She puts her arm around his shoulder, and he slumps against her, blindly reaching for her other hand and clutching it against his good leg. His face is pale as the moonflowers twining through the settee’s colorful embroidery.

  “I can make you a draught of something to ease that pain,” Sephia says. “But let me find you some dry clothes first.”

  I narrow my eyes and examine the tall, slender woman. I imagine she might have something for me, or even Gerda, but what would this solitary creature own that Erik or Anders could wear?

  I glance away and realize I’m not the only one studying Sephia. Erik stares at her with blatant admiration.

  Sephia crosses to a wooden ward
robe and motions for me to join her. “Here, take this.” She presses a soft bundle of material into my arms. “You and Gerda can change over there, behind the curtains of the little alcove. The young men can change in the main room, so Anders does not have to move too much.” She pulls out another pile of fabric and glances at Erik’s bemused face. “Fear not. I shall step outside.”

  He flushes as red as the geraniums. “Thank you.” He takes the garments from her hands.

  Gerda joins me as I push back the sea green curtain and step into the sleeping alcove. We undress and toss our wet garments on the floor. When I unfold the bundle, I discover two gowns—both woven of some wool as soft as silk. I reach for the one the color of sunflowers and hold it up against my body. It is the right length, which is odd, since Sephia is a few inches taller than me.

  “There are no petticoats,” whispers Gerda, donning the other gown, which is blue as a hyacinth. Strangely, this gown fits Gerda perfectly, its beautiful cut enhancing her figure in a way I fear may further confuse Anders.

  I slip the yellow gown over my head. It is true, there are no petticoats—only a pair of silken pantaloons for each of us. But these gowns do not require any other undergarments. They fall in perfect folds, graceful as flowers swaying in a light wind. I run my fingers across my body, marveling at the lightness of a fabric that provides perfect coverage. Modest as a nun’s habit, and yet ... My gown doesn’t grant me Gerda’s voluptuous figure, yet makes me feel more attractive than anything else I’ve ever worn.

  Gerda loosens her hair, allowing it fall in golden waves about her shoulders. She looks radiant. She calls out to Erik and Anders. “Are you dressed?”

  “Yes, come on out.”

  There is a tinge of embarrassment coloring Erik’s voice. I understand why as soon as Gerda and I step into the main room.

  Both Erik and Anders wear silken robes like those I’ve seen depicted in old paintings of royalty. Long sleeves fall open at the wrist like a bell, and high collars are decorated with more of Sephia’s floral embroidery. Erik’s robe is the soft green of a spring meadow, while Anders’s is the tawny brown of a young deer.