A Shiver of Snow and Sky

by Lisa Lueddecke

  I took a few slow steps to the side, testing to see if it would notice my exit. Then, when I was sure it was deeply engaged with Uxi’s distraction, I bolted for the door.

  Relief hit me almost as strongly as the cold wind. The doorway led to a narrow ridge between mountain peaks. Ahead of me, slightly to the left, was the highest, blessed peak I’d come in search of.

  I fell to my knees and cried beneath the stars I loved so dearly. Ever since those red lights had shone in the sky, since those Ør scouts had stalked us into that forest, since I’d decided what I needed to do, I’d been dreaming of this moment. Dreaming of reaching this very place. Now that I was here, it didn’t feel real, and I wanted to clutch at my surroundings in case I woke up. In case my mind ripped it all away from me and I awoke back in Neska, doomed to die.

  I rose and moved across the ridge, no longer feeling the bite in the wind that whipped against my body. I couldn’t feel pain or cold. I could only feel a joy, a relief, so intense I didn’t know if I could stand it. It wasn’t over yet, far from it, but this peak before me, this tower of stone reaching up towards the stars, was the first, bold step in seeing this journey through. It was like crossing a stream, just wide enough to not know whether even a running jump would be enough, or a few confident strides that proved my legs were longer than I thought would get me to the other side. A step towards saving my people.

  At the end of the ridge was another doorway, through which I moved gingerly.

  I turned to take in where I was, and my breath left my lungs. I was inside the highest peak, in a rounded room that had no roof. The curved walls swept up towards the sky and then ended in a series of wild, jagged points, beyond which the stars were visible. A light, cool breeze came down to meet me, but it wasn’t that biting cold wind from outside. It was gentle, almost refreshing. Around the walls were strange, beautiful inscriptions – and I recognized them as the Ploughstyle writing Ivar had shown me. Curved lines rising up and down, with meanings that were lost on me.

  In the centre of the room was a raised stone slab – an altar, I thought. That was all it could be.

  But perhaps the most notable thing about the room was how it felt. My body tingled, like the feeling of sparks from a fire kissing my skin. The very air I breathed was different, so pure and clean I could feel it in my lungs. Being here, ragged and worn as I was, felt disrespectful.

  I took a few steps towards the altar, which was carved with a grace I was sure could bring even the Ør to their knees. I’d heard of altars before – used mostly for sacrifices – and the words of the king echoed back to me. We will drain you of your blood and present it to Her on an altar. Somehow, being here now, that didn’t seem right. This was a place of beauty and peace. Blood and sacrifice didn’t belong in here.

  Slowly and deliberately, I took in a long breath. It washed through my body, bathing my soul in peace. No, angry and violent as the snow people were, their bloodshed didn’t belong here.

  When I studied the altar in more detail, my eyes fell on a little groove near one end, the perfect size to rest a head in. I moved to sit, inspired, but hesitated. If standing on the floor of this room felt disrespectful, touching the altar was something else entirely. And yet, my instincts urged me on. It felt right, like I was meant to do it, like it was somehow the point of this entire journey to the mountains.

  Chapter 30

  Ivar had given up trying to quiet his mind days ago. Now, instead of sleeping, he’d lie awake most of the night, thinking of everything all at once. He thought of Ósa in the mountains. What was she doing? Had she reached the peak? Was she still alive? He thought of the Ør. Were they on their way to shore? How many of them were there? He thought of Móri. Why had he not refused to let him go? Why had he let the boy out of his sight during the battle?

  Ivar lay staring at the roof, one arm draped across his stomach and the other behind his head. It was just days ago that he and Ósa had both been trapped in here during the storm, reading scrolls and making plans and listening to the howling wind. Now she was Goddess knows where, doing hell knows what. That was wrong. Different. Since they were children he’d always had at least some idea of where she was, what she was doing. This kind of physical distance between them was too real, made him too helpless.

  The door opened. Ivar sighed and closed his eyes. Peace and quiet. That was all he wanted.

  “You can’t stay in here for ever, Ivar.”

  His mother. He rolled on to his side and eyed her where she stood.

  “You will feel better if you keep your mind occupied.” Freja wasn’t usually home during the day, or even late into the night, when things were normal. She taught children how to knit and weave and doubled as a carer when their mothers and fathers fell ill or were otherwise occupied. It suited her. She’d always been a good mother, and now that Ivar was grown, he didn’t need her around as much.

  When she spoke, Ivar had a hard time arguing with her, especially not when he felt the way he did now. Sighing again, he sat up and yanked on his boots and wraps. Sitting around here thinking wouldn’t help a soul, and right now, a lot of souls needed helping.

  “You are right, as always,” he said, crossing the room and kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back later.”

  He shoved some food into his pockets and left the village behind.

  There was blue sky overhead. The trees stood tall, the snow deep. All the things he’d always loved about Skane, about their frozen little world, were still here, yet somehow their magic had disappeared. The once cheerful blue sky seemed less vibrant, the once glistening white snow looked dull. He kept his head down as he walked, feelings of foolishness playing with his mind. How could they think this wouldn’t happen? Why should they be any safer here than in Löska? Looking back, these events seemed obvious, unavoidable. But until that run-in with the scouts in the forest, it had never crossed their minds.

  He hadn’t planned where to go, but once Neska had fully vanished behind him he found himself heading north, and climbing. His path led him close enough to the water to hear the crashing waves in the distance, though mostly the only sounds were his footsteps crunching through the snow.

  Ivar had been up here, and many times before, to hunt or to find nearby caves with Leiv or his father. Sometimes it was with Ósa, for no other reason than their chores were done and her father had gone out on the sea. These were some of his most cherished memories, traipsing through the snow and trees with her, or finding cliffs over the water and sitting down to watch the stars come out. It was always the same one that shone first, high overhead and bright as a bonfire against the dark.

  An hour after he’d left the village, he stopped to catch his breath. He hadn’t been much further north than this but once or twice. The furthest he’d gone this way was last year with a group of villagers tracking a boar. They’d found it hiding in a thicket perhaps fifteen minutes from here, and it served as a feast for the mid-year—

  Footsteps.

  He was on his feet again in a second, the single small hunting knife in his hand. That dreadful sense of someone approaching him, of someone watching him, seeped into his mind in the same way it had that day in the woods with Ósa. They drew nearer, nearer…

  His father emerged from around a bend in the path. Ivar’s shoulders fell and crisp air once again filled his lungs.

  “Why did you follow me?” he asked, releasing a breath through his teeth.

  “You shouldn’t leave the village alone,” Sigvard replied, crossing his arms and taking in the area. “You know that.”

  “I always leave the village alone,” Ivar replied. Then he realized. “Mother sent you, didn’t she?”

  “She told me you’d left. She worries, as I do. You haven’t been the same since… Since it happened. Neska can’t afford for you to let this consume you. Skane can’t afford that. You can mourn when all of this is over.”

  “How could I be the same?” Ivar breathed. “How can I carry on as usual knowing that a boy of
thirteen years is dead, when I could have saved him? Eldór has no feelings for anyone, but how can you carry on?”

  “Móri knew the dangers he was facing, Ivar. He knew what could happen and he went anyway. If you had been his age, you would have done the same thing. I cared for him deeply. You know that. But his death was only one. If we keep our heads, we can save hundreds.”

  Ivar turned away and picked up a rock from the snow, then hurled it into the trees. “His life should have been saved.”

  “His life could have been saved,” his father corrected. “You can make yourself suffer for his death until the end of your days, but it will not change the fact that it happened. Móri is gone, but you are still here. I am still here. Ósa…” He trailed off.

  “Ósa is still here.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ivar closed his eyes and breathed. The logic of his father’s words made sense in his mind, but accepting it meant reconciling himself to Móri’s death, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. It was far too soon.

  But.

  Sigvard was right. If everyone didn’t work together, Móri’s death would be just one out of hundreds. Most of Is̊avik had already been lost. The least they could do was try to save everyone who was left. If the Ør weren’t stopped, all of their deaths would have been in vain. All future deaths would be in vain. They deserved to be avenged. They deserved to have died for something.

  When he turned to face his father, he said nothing, only nodded.

  Sigvard let a moment or two of silence slip by before asking, “Where are you off to?”

  Ivar shrugged. “I want to see the boats from up high.” He didn’t remember making that decision, but now he was certain that was why he’d come. “I’m looking for a better view, so I can see when they move on the attack.”

  “Mind if I walk with you?”

  Ivar shook his head.

  Their pathway led steadily upwards. They spoke from time to time, about little things, like a white hare that ran across their way. As the way grew steeper, they had to slow their pace, and when at last they reached the top of the hill and a cliff that looked out over the ocean, Ivar nearly collapsed out of breathlessness into the snow beneath them. It took him a few moments before he could focus enough to look out over the water.

  Cold air swept in from the sea as they both stared, silent. A long, thin line of dark boats stretched away, about two boats deep.

  Further out to sea, boats were steadily making their way to the others from the horizon, streaming down from the north in an endless line. So many he couldn’t even count their numbers. It made sense the more he thought about it. He and Ósa had killed their first scouts, and then he and the others killed the next five. Since they’d never gone back to spread the word about who and what was on the island, they didn’t know what to prepare for. They were waiting to attack until more support came. But there were so many, far more than they’d ever need.

  A quarter of those boats would have been enough.

  “We should go and tell the others,” Ivar whispered.

  Sigvard didn’t reply, just stared at the sight far below.

  The Ør had back-up arriving.

  Chapter 31

  I approached the altar and laid myself down, slowly, carefully. An intense wave washed over me then, realization of so many things. I stared straight up at the open roof – which perfectly surrounded the constellation of the Goddess. It made sense. It all made sense. Why I had to come here. Why Her stars never moved. Why there was such an otherworldly sense in this room. There She was, staring back at me expectantly, waiting, Her face wholly encompassed by the jagged stone edge of the peak.

  My throat constricted. What would I say? Could She hear me? In the hundreds of times I’d imagined this moment, I was always sure of my voice. Sure of my choice of words. Yet now, faced with the prospect of actually doing it, words abandoned me.

  Something overhead caught my attention. Orbs of light, a small handful of them, were descending from the open roof. They floated down at their own speed, not carried by the breeze, and the sight of them tickled within me a sense of familiarity. I’d seen them before. I recognized them. How? They’d played no part in my life until now, not in my childhood, not in the village…

  The plain. With a sudden ferocity of confidence, I knew they were the lights that had brought me through the storm. They were the ones, somehow, who’d led me across the plain and delivered me to the safety of that cave where I’d awoken, confused. My handwriting played in my mind.

  Then came the lights. I don’t know what they were or where they came from. I lost consciousness for a time, but I know they led us to this cave.

  That meant, then, that they were the very same lights from Gregor’s story. The ones that led his ancestors through the storm to safety.

  They belonged to the Goddess. Did Her bidding. If She couldn’t directly interfere with us mortals, then perhaps the things at Her command could.

  This moment, it was the pinnacle. It was the very reason I’d come, the very reason I’d endured the wind and cold and fear until this point. But somehow, everything I’d seen and everything I’d heard and everything I’d feared paled in comparison. This room, this altar, those orbs, they instilled in me a kind of bone deep chill that encouraged me to run away.

  But the village.

  Father.

  Anneka.

  Ivar.

  I saw their faces, saw their fright and despair, I saw the plague shattering them into sparks and the Ør coming for the survivors. Why had I let myself speak such cruel words to my father? Anneka might have hated me. My father might not have loved me. But no one deserved to die like that.

  Slowly, the orbs began to climb again, towards the opening of the peak.

  “Wait,” I said instinctively. They froze. “Please, wait. What are you?” I paused, waiting for some form of response, but again they started to rise away from me. “Stop!” I screamed.

  Stillness. Silence. The orbs stopped ascending.

  “Stop. Whatever you are, if you’re sent by the Goddess, then please stop and help me. I’ve come so far for answers. I can’t leave without them.”

  The lights made a small movement closer to me, and then paused again.

  “I need to know why,” I said, distantly aware of tears running down my face, into my hair. “I need to know why this is happening.” I moved my eyes from the orbs to the Goddess beyond. “I need to know why you sent us the red lights when we could do nothing to save ourselves. I need to know why the Ør are on their way to butcher us after so many years of peace. I need to know why the plague keeps terrorizing my people. I need to know why we deserve it. And I need to know how I can stop it.”

  More orbs descended from overhead. They circled around me, dancing. My voice seemed to beckon them, to encourage a response.

  “Tell me what I must do and I’ll do it,” I pleaded, not moving my eyes from those bright stars shining so starkly above me. “I’ll do anything. We can’t survive the plague and the Ør. We can’t.”

  I paused, breathless despite having only said a few words. As I lay there, staring into the face of the Goddess, I finally realized how wholly exhausted I was, like I’d never slept a night in my seventeen years. Every word took a little more out of me, until I was certain I’d have nothing left.

  The lights started to ascend again. Pure, searing fury burned through me, and a store of energy buried somewhere deep inside burst out through my tongue.

  “Stop!” I screamed again. “Don’t you leave me! I have travelled through snow and wind and mountains. I have left my family behind. I don’t even know if they’re still breathing. I nearly lost my life crossing the plain. I had to fight a monster I never thought I’d live to see. I left the only home I’ve ever known to come to the one place I was taught harbours nothing but death. And I would do it all over again if at the end it meant I would get answers. I’ve come in search of answers. I deserve answers.”

  The lights had s
urrounded me again, swirling about me before clinging to my body. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew my voice sounded different, but I was so enraged, so full of emotion that I couldn’t stop to process every thought.

  “I couldn’t save Skane seventeen years ago. I couldn’t stop babies from burning to death. I couldn’t stop elderly couples, married for most of their lives, from having to watch each other go mad with fever and die. I couldn’t stop my own mother from leaving me alone as a baby.” The stars overhead were blurred by tears. “She should have lived. I should have died.” I blinked to clear my eyes, but more tears fell. “And I couldn’t stop any of it. But I’m here now, and I want to stop this. Just tell me how. Just tell me what to do and I will do it.”

  I realized as I fell quiet what had been different, what I couldn’t quite place earlier.

  My words were no longer words. I was speaking in song. I felt sharply different than I had moments before, when every second I could feel energy seeping from my body. Now, with every passing word and every passing second, I renewed, charged.

  “Show me how to save my people. Show me how we can defend ourselves. Give us the power to win.”

  It was my song, they were my pleas, but there was another voice, another song that I could understand.

  “Ósa.”

  The voice was so pure I was afraid to raise my own again. “Yes,” I sang softly.

  “Ósa, you have not the room in your heart to learn how you can save your people.”

  I faltered, tried to reply, and then failed. I don’t have the room in my heart. I couldn’t make sense of it, no matter how hard I tried to.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why do you want to do this?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured home. “They all deserve to be saved. Even my family. Especially my family. I want my father to forgive me.” My throat tightened as I sang the words.