Sky in the Deep

by Adrienne Young

  My father looked me over, his heavy hand landing on my arm, and I flinched. “What happened?”

  “I took an arrow in my shoulder. It’s healing.” I brushed him off.

  Fiske eyed me. “It’s not healing. Let me look.”

  My father looked at Fiske warily. “Are you a healer?”

  “My mother is. We’ve been treating it.”

  My father’s eyes narrowed on me, not leaving my face. The corners of his mouth twitched, turning down as the thoughts flickered in his mind. That bit of trust between us was rattling in the wind. He gave a nod, and I untied the armor vest below my arm. Fiske lifted it over my head, pulling the shoulder of my tunic open. The old bruising was encircled by new bruising and the back opening of the wound was still closed up. But the front was swollen, seeping fresh blood.

  “Sit down.” Fiske went for his bag and when he came back, my father was standing over me.

  “How did it happen?” he asked.

  Fiske straightened.

  “I tried to escape when they were taking me to Fela. One of them shot me.”

  Fiske opened the jar of salve that Inge had given to us. As soon as the smell hit my nose, I could see her, standing over the fire in their home, stirring the big iron pot.

  “It needs to drain.” He leaned in closer.

  I nodded through a sigh, knowing what that meant. “Do it.” I took the knife from my belt and handed it to him.

  My father tensed beside me, taking another step closer.

  Fiske held the blade in the flames for a moment, turning it over so that it reflected the light. When it was starting to glow at the edges, he lifted it up and let it cool in the night air. He held the handle of the knife in his teeth as he gently pulled at the opening of the wound with his thumbs. I pinched my eyes closed, the warmth of infection dripping down my arm. The pain spread out from my shoulder to the rest of my body, making my head pound.

  “Hold this.” He positioned my hand over the cloth beneath my shoulder.

  He fit the tip of the blade at the opening of the wound and sliced it down quickly. I bit down hard, pushing out a long, loud breath. The blood spilled out, running over my skin and absorbing into the cloth as he squeezed my arm to get as much of the poisoned blood out as possible. I groaned, finding my father’s leg where he stood beside me and pushing my face into it, breathing.

  When Fiske was finished, he packed the salve back into the broken skin and bound it up tightly in a fresh bandage. He put the knife back into the fire and my blood boiled off the blade as the throbbing wracked my body.

  As soon as he moved away from me, my father relaxed, going back to the fire and pulling a strip of dried meat from his bag. He handed me a piece and I took it, but I was too nauseous to eat. I sat still, trying to let the pulsating pain subside.

  They ate in the heavy quiet as night fell, all looking into the fire between us. Every unspoken thought grew wild in it. Whatever my father was hiding, Mýra knew. I could tell by the way they didn’t look at each other.

  When he walked into the trees to gather more wood, I stood. Mýra read my movements and followed me into the trees, leaving Fiske at the fire. I caught up to him, bending low to pick up the thick branch he’d just cut in two with his axe. I hugged it against my chest, waiting for him to load up Mýra’s arms.

  “What is it?” He could feel the hesitation coming off me like steam in the cold.

  I tried to feel the weight of my body down in my feet to steady myself. To feel stronger somehow. Like if I was planted there the words I said couldn’t blow me away. “I need to tell you something.”

  He turned, leaning into the tree beside him and hooking his thumbs into his armor vest. Behind him, Mýra shifted the wood to her hip, waiting.

  I swallowed against the burn in my throat. “Iri’s alive.”

  The words rang in my ears like a guttural roar. They echoed in the forest and wound around us like a snake. My father’s face hardened. He stopped breathing and I didn’t look away from his eyes. I held his gaze, trying to give him something to hold onto as a storm erupted in his mind.

  “He’s alive. I did see him that day in Aurvanger.” The words became smaller as each one left my mouth. “He was fighting with the Riki.”

  My father stood up off the tree, dropping his hands at his sides.

  “He wasn’t dead. When we left him in the trench, he wasn’t dead. The Riki took him to Fela. Their healer took him in.”

  “What do you mean took him in?” My father finally spoke, but it was twisted and strained. Rage conjured behind his eyes.

  “The other boy in the trench—it was Fiske. He saved Iri’s life. They took him to Fela and made him well and…” I sighed. “I don’t know. He joined them.”

  My father looked over my head, into the black of the forest.

  “I found him again at the last battle and he captured me to keep the Riki from killing me. He planned to keep me with him in Fela until the thaw and then let me escape.”

  His hands ran over his face and he breathed into them.

  “Iri’s been living with Fiske’s family these last five years.”

  He turned to the orange glow in the trees in the distance where Fiske was still sitting by the fire.

  “Why didn’t he come with you? Why didn’t he come back to the Aska?” Mýra stepped in front of me.

  “I told him to stay.” I looked to my feet. “I was afraid of what may happen to him if I brought him back. I wanted to tell you first.”

  My father paced before me.

  “Fiske’s family has become his family.” I didn’t need to see him to know what that did to him, because I remembered it too well. But I couldn’t look away. His body responded to it, going rigid from head to toe. “I don’t understand it,” I said. “But he’s become one of them.”

  The sounds of the forest came up around us in the night and he looked at me for a long time before he finally looked at Mýra. And that same look passed between them, but this time Mýra’s jaw clenched, her arms tightening around the wood. The question on her face transformed into anger and she gathered up the rest of the wood, starting back toward the camp and leaving my father and me alone. I stood, waiting. I couldn’t guess what he might do.

  But when his eyes looked up to me again, half hidden beneath his thick eyebrows, they glistened, his nose turning red.

  “We left him.” The whisper was smothered. Suffocated.

  I nodded, the tears in my eyes reflecting his. “But he’s alive.”

  FORTY-ONE

  I dreamed of the bear.

  I stood in the path that snaked through Fela with my feet buried in the snow. The flakes came down clinging to one another in big clumps landing on the golden-brown fur that framed its face and it looked up at me, with the same wide, black eyes. They were like a starless night sky. There was no end to them.

  The prickling of his stare ran over my body, making me shake as I lifted my hand and spread my fingers, reaching out to him. He looked at it, taking a small step toward me until I could feel his breath on the palm of my hand.

  But then he was gone.

  I turned in a circle, looking around the empty village, but the bear had vanished. His footprints were still punched into the snow before me.

  I sucked in a breath, my eyes opening, and that same smell of cold that had been in my dream was all around me. I blinked, pulling my numb hands back into the furs. Fiske was lying on the other side of the fire with one arm tucked beneath his head and the tautness of his face smoothed with sleep.

  The rustling of soft, slow footfalls sounded nearby and my hand reached for my knife. I stilled, opening my eyes wider so they could adjust to the dark as a shadow slid over me, onto the ground before the fire. By the time I saw it, it was too late.

  Mýra was standing over Fiske’s body, her axe pulled up over her head.

  “No!” I screamed, throwing the furs off of me and launching forward.

  The flames licked my legs as I jumped o
ver the fire. Fiske was already rolling out of the way. Mýra’s axe hit the ground where his head had been seconds earlier and my father came up onto his feet, his sword drawn. I threw myself between Mýra and Fiske, my knife in my hand.

  Mýra’s furious stare was pinned on him. “Get out of the way!” She lifted her axe.

  “Mýra.” My father’s voice was a warning behind her.

  But she couldn’t hear it. It couldn’t touch her. I stepped forward and she swung the axe at me, nearly catching my chest.

  Fiske rushed past me, snatching her wrist up with his hand and taking her by the throat.

  I wrapped my arms around him, yanking him back. “Let her go!”

  He threw her down and she landed on her back. In the next breath, she was back on her feet, coming after him. I grabbed her by the vest, shoving her toward the tree line. “What are you doing?”

  She spoke through her teeth, looking over me to my father. “I’m going to kill him, like we were supposed to!”

  “What?” I looked back to my father and his face answered my question. “You were going to betray us?”

  “Us?” Mýra’s voice strained.

  “We made a deal with him, Mýra.” I pushed her back.

  Mýra turned back to my father. “You heard what Espen said.”

  Fiske stood on the other side of the fire, listening with his sword readied in his hand.

  “That was before I knew about Iri.” My father slid his axe back into its sheath.

  “What is wrong with the two of you?” she screamed, looking from me to my father. “They are Riki. They will kill us all the first chance they get!”

  “No, they won’t.” I forced the words. I wanted desperately to believe them.

  “If we stay in Virki, the Herja won’t find us. We’ll be safe there. We find the Riki village, kill Fiske so he can’t lead them back to us, and go back for the others so we can finish them off,” she sputtered between angry breaths. “That’s what we agreed. And I don’t care if Iri’s alive. He’s betrayed us all!”

  She took another step toward Fiske, raising her axe, and I lifted my knife. “Don’t,” I growled. I would never hurt her. I’d die before I ever let anything happen to Mýra. But I couldn’t let her kill Fiske.

  Her eyes widened, boring into mine. “What is this about?” Her voice dropped lower.

  “Surviving!” I answered. But it was only half true. It was about so much more.

  I watched her think. I knew Mýra too well. I knew what she was going to do before she did it. She pivoted on her heel, spinning around me and going for Fiske. I dove into her and we hit the ground hard, rolling toward the trees. Her axe scraped against my leg, tearing into my pants, and she pinned me down.

  Fiske stalked toward us and my father caught him, pulling him back. “Don’t.”

  I looked up into Mýra’s face, twisted with madness. It was the look she gave our enemy in battle, and now it fell on me. I rolled, coming on top of her, and slammed the butt of my knife into her wrist, trying to free her grip on the axe. She bucked me off, throwing me to the side.

  I didn’t give her the chance to swing it again. I threw my knife, watching it spin in the air past her face before it stuck into the trunk of a tree behind her. She froze, staring at me in shock. Her face flashed back and forth between that of the girl I knew better than anyone and that of the deadly warrior who fought by my side. The glimmer of hot tears shone in her eyes as they narrowed at me. And then she was running. She dropped the axe to the ground and when she reached me, she slammed her fist into the side of my face. My head whipped to the side and I plunged into her, knocking her back down.

  I hit her. Hard. “What is wrong with you?” I screamed, hitting her again.

  She kicked, fighting me, but it was no use. All the strength and rage bled out of her, giving way to something fragile and weak. It filled her eyes until tears spilled over onto her cheeks and she covered her face with her arms, trembling.

  “Mýra.” I pulled at her arms, trying to see her, and she kicked me off.

  When she was on her feet again, she stumbled toward the trees, sobbing.

  “Mýra!” I reached for her shoulder, trying to turn her around, but she wrenched free, tripping. I took hold of her vest and didn’t let go.

  She turned to face me, her kol-rimmed eyes red and swollen. “Are you one of them now too?” she asked, the words broken. “You want to be one of them, like Iri?”

  “No!” I met her eyes. “I’m Aska, Mýra. I want our people to survive. That’s all.”

  She fell into me, burying her face in my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing. She wept, folding into me, and I held her. My father and Fiske stood as black silhouettes before the fire, watching us.

  “I’m alone,” she cried. “You and Aghi are all I have.” Her voice bent into a whisper. “Please don’t leave. Please,” she begged.

  I pulled back to look at her. “You’re not alone,” I said, emotion thick in my throat. “And I’m not leaving. Ever.”

  Her weight grew heavy in my arms and when I couldn’t hold her any longer, I slid to the ground and pulled her into my lap. “Elska ykkarr,” I whispered into her hair. “Elska ykkarr.”

  She cried like I’d never seen her cry and the sound of it echoed through the trees. She cried for her family. For Hylli. For the Aska. For everything. And I cried with her.

  FORTY-TWO

  Mýra trailed far behind us as Fiske led us up the mountain. She hadn’t spoken a word since dawn and neither had Fiske. I walked between them, keeping an eye on her as the snow deepened under our feet.

  My father was cumbersome in the snow-covered forest. His massive frame rocked from side to side in front of me as we climbed the slope. The quiet that had fallen over him was like a burden being dragged behind us. I couldn’t tell where his heart was. I knew he was happy that Iri was alive, but the warrior in my father probably wanted to kill him. More than that, guilt would follow both of us for the rest of our lives. We had left Iri and there was no changing it.

  The way back up the mountain was different than the way down. Fiske led us through blue icy caverns as the snow started to fall again. The ice rose up around us like waves frozen in midair, the sound of our footsteps bouncing around us as we walked.

  I knew we were close when the trees opened up into a grassy clearing studded with tall, frosted stalks of yarrow. Their leaves had turned yellow against the worst of the cold and the heads of the flowers had grown brittle in the days since I was last there. I ran a hand over the tops as we cut through the thick of them, remembering the way Halvard ducked behind their height, spying on me as I worked on my hands and knees in the dirt. I caught one in my fingers, plucking it up and pulling it into my cloak.

  The trail that led into the village came into view ahead as the forest turned dark. Fiske stopped us, raising a hand. “I’ll signal them. They know we’re coming.”

  Mýra looked around him down the path.

  “We’re keeping our weapons.” My father’s grip tightened on his belt.

  Fiske nodded, but the unease in their faces wasn’t hidden. It was the same unease bubbling up inside of me. I was leading my family into the den of the enemy.

  “Iri’s in there?” My father stared in the direction of the village.

  “He is.” I tried to soothe the voice of doubt inside of me.

  “I want to see him. I want to see him first.”

  Fiske nodded, stepping forward, and he whistled into the trees. We waited silently, my heart pounding, until a whistle sounded back. “We’ll meet them in the ritual house.”

  “No.” My father’s tone turned sharp.

  I shook my head at Fiske. My father was a superstitious man. There was nothing that would convince him to step foot into a ritual house for Thora.

  “My house then,” Fiske agreed.

  My father and Mýra both freed their axes from their sheaths, stepping heavier into their feet as we walked. I did the same, finding
my axe with my fingertips at my back. When we finally broke into view, my steps faltered, my eyes going wide. It was dark, but the homes were lit like little fires in a winding trail and more Riki were camped in every open space. They covered every inch of the village.

  Armed. Ready for battle.

  I slowed, and Mýra and my father’s swords slid free. I instinctively set my hand on the hilt of mine as the defenses woke inside me. I hadn’t seen this many Riki together in one place since I was captured in Aurvanger.

  We stayed at the village’s edge and moved against the trees, keeping out of sight. Fiske came to the other side of my father, pulling his axe from his back. The four of us walked in a line, shoulder to shoulder with our weapons ready. Heads turned toward us, like a ripple over water, as we made our way closer. They were quiet. Eyes gleaming.

  Cold stares and angry whispers surrounded us, closing us in as we headed up the incline, and the buzz of battle ignited in my bones, ready to turn and swing my axe. I met their eyes as I passed, telling them what I wasn’t saying out loud.

  That we weren’t afraid.

  That I would kill them.

  That everything I had left to lose was right here in this village.

  Fiske led us toward the familiar wood-planked house standing on the fringes of the village and whistled again. Smoke trailed up from the roof and the door opened.

  Inge stood with her hands pressed, palms together, in front of her chest. Long, unbraided black hair fell over her shoulders like a raven’s wings.

  “Fiske!” The high-pitched tone of Halvard’s voice broke the silence.

  He appeared in the doorway and barreled into Fiske, wrapping his arms around his waist. Fiske put one hand on him, still watching around us. When Halvard opened his eyes, he let go of Fiske, running until he slammed into me. I held my axe up in the air and squeezed him against me with my other hand, unable to help the smile on my face. I pulled the yarrow bloom from my cloak and handed it to him. His grin widened before he took it, running back into the house toward Inge.