We got low again, watching the men catch sight of the horse. As their voices grew louder, I reached back toward the Tala and she placed the knife into my open hand. I sat up on my knees, taking a breath and squaring my shoulders before I lifted the knife up to my sight line. I aimed, taking my time, and then let my arm sink back, sending it forward with a snap.
It flew like wind, silent until it stuck into the back of the man on the right and he fell flat. The other man paused, looking up to us. And then he ran.
I slid down the decline, pulling the knife from the first man’s back, and looked up, tracking the second one.
Then everything stopped.
Everything went still. The sound of breathing roared in my ears. The trees swirled around me. I squinted, trying to focus. Trying to will what I was seeing into something else. But there was no mistaking the hilt of an Aska sword. The red-tinged leather of an Aska scabbard. And that could only mean one thing. That the Herja had been to the fjord.
I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I ran.
I pulled the last bit of the energy within me up and out of myself, throwing my body forward into the trees. Toward the fleeing shadow. He turned back as he ran, watching me gain on him, just long enough to lose his footing and slam into a tree. He rolled when I came down on him and I pinned him with my knees, clutching his hair in my hands to make him face me.
“Where did you get that sword?” My panicked voice was a hoarse whisper.
He looked up at me, clenching his teeth.
“Where did you get it?” I slammed his head back into the ground and he groaned.
Fiske and the Tala reached us, coming to stand over me. There was no one in sight, but if he shouted, the Herja might hear him.
I couldn’t kill him. Not yet.
I reached across my body and let all my weight fall with the butt of the knife, knocking it into the side of the Herja’s head. He went still beneath me, his head rolling to one side.
“It’s … these are Aska leathers,” I sputtered, my throat tight.
“I know.” Fiske set Halvard down and the Tala slid one arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “We’ll take him.”
He grabbed one leg and I wiped my face before I grabbed the other. We dragged him through the forest, the Tala and Halvard walking ahead.
“They’ve been to the fjord.” I grunted against the Herja’s weight, my legs weak.
“Maybe.”
Before I could answer, the sound of Fela reached us through the trees.
The first of the morning light rose up over the mountain, turning the village the deep purple of a day-old bruise. Smoke trailed up from some of the homes still burning and bodies were strung out along the main path. Every few steps, the snow was spattered red.
The Tala looked over her shoulder to Fiske, her lips parting.
We dragged the Herja until we neared the house and I swallowed hard. It was quiet and I didn’t know what that meant. What it might do to me. The sky and the earth were both pulling at every piece of me, making me feel thin. Like I was going to rip in two.
I dropped the leg of the Herja and pushed through the door. Inge’s scream broke the silence. She lunged forward, catching Halvard in her arms and sinking to the floor, her face so twisted and broken I almost couldn’t recognize her.
My eyes darted around the room until they found him.
Iri.
Standing at the end of the table, his face red. His eyes wet. Hair sticking to the side of his face.
A sob broke loose from my chest and I ran to him. I fell into his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around me, lifting my feet from the ground. I tried to breathe, taking the air in slowly and willing my heart to calm.
He let me go, reaching for Fiske and kissing the side of his face. The air in his chest hissed out as he pulled him into his arms. “I thought … we thought…” He shook his head. “We couldn’t find your bodies.”
Behind him, Runa leaned against the wall, her knees pulled up into her chest. She stared into the fire blankly, a trail of tears striping her soot-covered face.
Inge still sat on the floor, her arms wrapped around Halvard and crying into his hair. She whispered into his ear, holding him close, and he nodded against her, sniffing back the tears. The dried blood crusted down beneath his nose and a ring of raw skin encircled his neck where the rope had been. When she pulled back from him, she looked at it, pressing on each side of his nose with her thumbs as he looked up at the ceiling. A dark bruise had already bloomed under both eyes.
“What is this?” Iri looked down to the Herja lying outside the door.
Inge gasped, pulling Halvard closer.
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingernails scratching against my shorn scalp. “They’ve been to the Aska.”
His face went slack and his eyes widened, filling with whatever had been there when I came through the door. Asking the question that I couldn’t answer.
I leaned into the table, rubbing my face with my rough, blistered hands, and looked around the room, my muscles jumping around my bones. My blood still running fast. It was the way my body slowly calmed after battle. The way my mind raced in a million directions, trying to find something to latch onto. As my breaths grew longer, the pain began to surface in my shoulder again. I pulled my armor vest aside to look at it.
“Let me see.” Inge finally let Halvard go and rose to her feet.
Runa still sat against the wall, silent.
“Her father.” Inge met my eyes, speaking lowly.
My stomach roiled, my mind hovering over the only thought in my head. My father. The Aska.
Fiske set a hand on Inge’s shoulder. “You should go up to the ritual house. The wounded will be there.”
My eyes were still on the Herja’s boots in the doorway.
Inge nodded, looking to Runa. “You’re right.”
Runa stood, still empty in the eyes. She went for the basket on the table and pulled it onto her arm, waiting for Inge with a blank stare falling on the door. But Inge didn’t move until I looked at her. She waited for my eyes to lift and when they did, she took my face into her hands and pressed her warm cheek against mine, her breath running over the side of my face. She held me, folding her arms around me and pulling me tightly against her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
And the glacier inside of me cracked. It roared as it broke and fell into the icy waters around my heart. “You’re welcome.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
I held Halvard’s head in my lap on the table so that Fiske could set his nose. When the tears slid down the sides of his face, I brushed them away with the back of my hands.
Iri helped him stand, pulling the tunic over his head, and I went back to the doorway, counting the bodies as the Riki dragged them out onto the path and separated them. There were more Riki than Herja. Of that, I was sure.
I stood over the Herja we dragged through the forest, waiting. He was a big, hard-looking man, his clothes soiled deep and shredded at the edges. They’d been traveling for some time, living on the move. But the Aska leathers weren’t as worn. If they’d been to Hylli, it had been recent.
“My mother doesn’t want him here. She’s afraid.” Fiske tried to unbuckle his armor vest, wincing at it with his arm half lifted over the fire.
“Here.” I reached for him.
He turned, giving me his side, and I took his wrist and set his forearm up onto my shoulder to hold it up. I pulled at the clasps gently, prying the side of the armor vest open and ducking down to lift up his tunic at the side, over his ribs.
He pulled in tight breaths as it came into view—a wide spread of dark blood beneath the skin. I lifted my hand to feel the bones with my fingertips and his head tilted back, his eyes pinching closed. I’d spent a month nursing an injury just like this in Aurvanger. “They’re broken.”
He laughed, surprising me. “I know.”
I straightened, looking up at him. I hadn’t really seen him smile befor
e. The side of his face pulled, revealing a dimple at the corner of his mouth, and I looked away, feeling my cheeks flush. I set his arm back down, unclasping the other side of the vest and helping him work it off with my eyes on the ground.
“The night I found you in the forest…” His voice dropped to a whisper.
I took his vest into my arms. “What?”
“You said ‘Herja.’”
The sound of a grunt came through the door and my eyes snapped back up to the boots. Moving.
I dropped the vest on the table and stepped one foot in front of the other, pulling the knife from my belt. When the sunlight hit my face, I stepped into the snow and looked down at him. He rolled over, holding the side of his head that was bleeding.
“Iri!” I called into the house and the Herja’s eyes popped open.
Iri came through the door, pulling the Herja by his armor vest and sliding him over the ground to sit up.
I waited for him to look back at me. His head hung, his eyes studying his surroundings. They landed on the dýr collar around my neck just as Fiske stepped out of the house, one hand tucked into his bruised side.
“Where did you get the Aska armor?” I crouched down in front of him, speaking quietly.
His eyes still travelled past me, looking around us. He was trying to gauge his chances.
I gripped the knife tighter in my hand. “Where did you get the armor?”
He pressed his lips together, leaning his head back. A small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth.
I dragged my arms up over me and slammed them down, sinking the blade of the knife into the thick of his thigh. He howled, writhing as I yanked it free, and he looked up with spit flying out of his mouth, gaping at me.
“Why do you have Aska armor?” I yelled, flinging the blade to the side to flick the blood onto the ground.
His breath punched in and out of his lungs as he bit down, glaring.
I stabbed him again, finding the flesh in the other leg and going deeper. He shrieked louder, and I twisted the blade. The knife pulled up again, tearing through the skin and muscle, and he lunged for me. Iri got hold of his vest, rolling him onto his back, and I kneeled over him. But the ferocity in his face was only growing.
I grabbed his hair, holding his head to the ground, and tossed my knife to Fiske’s feet. Iri held him in place and he squirmed beneath me, kicking. I listened to the sound of my heart over the sound of boots crunching in the ground behind me. A growing crowd of Riki stood on the path watching, their faces drawn with horror. They’d heard the stories, but they hadn’t seen a Herja until last night. To the Riki, they were only legend. To me, they were the demons who killed my mother. Destroyed my father.
Before he could roll again, I pressed my thumb into the inside corner of his eye and dug until I could feel the warm, wet muscle and tissue. He bucked and I leaned all of my weight down onto him as I pried my thumb up, popping his eyeball from its socket. When I had it clasped in my hand, I yanked it free.
His mouth opened wide, the cry trapped in his chest.
“Where did you get the armor?” I screamed, pressing my thumb to the other eye.
“We raided the Aska!” he wailed, choking.
“When?” I stood up off of him. “When were you there?”
He sat up, cupping his bleeding eye socket with his bound hands. “A few weeks ago.”
The sway returned to my voice. “What happened?”
When he hesitated, I picked up my knife and slashed it across the meat of his arm. He fell to his side, trying to crawl away as voices rose behind me.
“We raided six of their villages, along the fjord.”
The words cut deep into my gut. They stuck me to the ground and held my heartbeat in place.
“And the Riki? How many villages?” It was the Tala’s voice.
She stood beside Vidr, their village leader, before a swelling crowd. The sky swayed above us. I shook my head, trying to quiet the sound roaring within it.
The Herja looked down to his blood-covered hands. “Four Riki villages. Fela is the fifth.”
The Tala looked back to Vidr, the graveness of it not hidden on her face. If they’d been able to raid that many villages in only a few weeks, there were many of them. Too many. The panic flooding my mind drowned out the sound of his hoarse voice, rattling off the names of villages they’d been to and ones they hadn’t yet attacked.
“Send riders. Warn the others.” Vidr barked out orders and a set of footsteps broke into a run down the path. He stepped forward, his feet beside mine. “Where is your camp?” He looked down at the Herja.
I stood, trying to think as quickly as my thoughts could move. But they were stuck. Sewn to the image of my father. Covered in his own blood. Floating in the blue-gray water of the fjord. I turned to face the Riki gathered behind me, watching. My hands twitched at my sides and I realized I was still holding the Herja’s eye. It was warm and slick in my palm. I dropped it into the snow and my knife fell from my other hand. Iri picked it up, going back to the Herja.
I took a step back, stumbling, before someone caught me by the elbow. I looked up to see Fiske standing beside me, his hand taking my upper arm and gently pulling me toward the house. The cold air burned against my hot skin. I blinked again, trying to focus, rubbing my eyes with my numb hands. Outside, the Riki were shouting. Angry, bloodthirsty, vengeful. And I knew that Iri was probably dragging the Herja to the ritual house. They would find out where the camp was and then they would string him up. They would make him suffer.
Fiske pulled my scabbard and sheath off and I stared into the fire. He watched me, making me feel like I was going to break into pieces. Like he was waiting to see it.
“I have to go to the Aska,” I whispered. “Now. I can’t wait for the thaw.”
The shouting outside was getting farther away.
“I have to go,” I said again.
“I know.” He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. “I’ll go with you.”
I stared at him.
“You can’t get off the mountain before the thaw unless someone shows you the way. I’ll go with you. I’ll take you to Hylli.”
He was right. But I wanted to say no. To ask why. I wanted to run as far from Fela as I could. As far from the deep whisper inside of me that spoke when Fiske looked at me the way he looked at me now. The way he did at the river. Like he knew something I didn’t.
TWENTY-NINE
“Fiske.” I could hear the warning in Inge’s voice.
They stood facing each other, both with their arms crossed. I traced the resemblance of their faces with my eyes. I’d never noticed how much he looked like her. Eyes rimmed with dark lashes. The square of their faces.
Iri leaned into the table, watching Runa, who lay asleep against the wall with her back to the fire.
“We’ll take her to Hylli,” Fiske repeated. “And then we’ll come home.”
“You’re needed here.” She looked between them.
“We’ll come back to fight.”
Inge looked into the fire for a long time, breathing evenly. She was still in the same bloodstained dress, the lack of sleep carved deep into her face, with her hair a mess around her.
Fiske didn’t move, waiting.
She reached up and touched her lips with light fingers, like she did when she was thinking. She didn’t look in my direction, but her thoughts drifted toward me. She was asking questions. Wondering.
I moved past them, climbing the loft and leaving them below. Halvard was still asleep on his cot with a bearskin pulled up over him and I stopped, hands on the top rung of the ladder. Gyda was lying on her side with her body curved around a small wiggling lump and Kerling was folded behind her, peering over her shoulder. She held the tiny thing to her, pressing it against her bare skin and kissing its head.
Kerling’s face had changed. The barrenness in his eyes was gone. He was missing the weight that usually showed there. Gyda looked up at me and I froze, lifting my foot to
climb back down. But instead of the bitterness I’d seen in her eyes the days before, her face was smooth. Quiet. When she looked back down to the baby, trailing her fingertips over its soft dark hair, Kerling pressed his face into her back, closing his eyes.
I found my braid with my hand and wound it around my knuckles, watching them. As if it all hadn’t happened. The raid. The battle in Aurvanger that took his leg. The blood feud that burned in their hearts for me and my people. There was no room for it in that moment. There was only a beginning. And its light hid everything else. It was so beautiful that it hurt, touching every wound uncovered inside of me.
I quietly climbed back down the ladder, leaving them in the dim light of the loft, and walked outside to wash the blood off my face and arms. I could hear Inge and the others arguing inside, hushed whispers working their way through the cracks in the walls.
I plunged my hands into the barrel of melted snow, cringing at the sting of it on my skin, and scrubbed until the water turned pink. My reflection wavered on its surface. Circles under my eyes and the glow of a bruise still healing across my cheek.
I could see Inge through the door, setting the saddlebags onto the table and packing. Her face was twisted into a knot, her lip sucked in between her teeth. She’d given in, and although it was what I wanted, some part of me trembled.
“I came to thank you.”
I turned, holding the edges of the barrel, the water still dripping from my hair.
The Tala stood on the path with her hands folded in front of her clean dress. Her hair was pulled up off her shoulders and her green eyes were brighter against her reddened face. The same rope burns that encircled Halvard’s neck wrapped around hers.
“Why did you help me?” She tilted her head to one side, looking me up and down. When I didn’t answer, she stepped closer. “I know you saw me that night. When Thorpe left you in the forest.”
I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know the answer. I had no reason for helping her. I just did. And I almost wished I hadn’t. No one would have ever known if I’d left her there.
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