Having taken a bite, I pass the spit back to Iric before receiving the canister from Soren.
“It might be silly, but—” I start.
“There is nothing silly about wanting something of your sister’s out here,” Soren interjects.
Iric points to his mattress. “You see that blanket? The gray one covered in holes? It’s practically useless for keeping warm, but my mother made it.”
I nod, glad they understand, and press the canister against my heart.
“I want to go home,” I say.
“It’s not so bad out here,” Soren says. “The food is good, and the fires are warm.”
“The company leaves something to be desired, though,” Iric says.
Soren rolls his eyes.
“I will never be content out here,” I say. “No matter how comfortable you’ve made living in the wild. I told my sister I would try to return home. I intend to keep that promise. And I will not risk my soul by dying any other way than by attempting my mattugr.”
“Not this again,” Iric groans. “Don’t be in a hurry to die. Your life is not worth so little.”
“I’m not in a hurry to die,” I argue. “I’m in a hurry to defeat Peruxolo.”
Iric scoffs.
“I made him bleed,” I say. “And I’ve learned more about his power. I think I’m getting close to learning how to defeat him.”
“You made him bleed?” Soren asks. “I missed that part.”
“I threw a rock at him. It struck true.”
“Well done,” Iric says. “You can stone him to death. And somehow manage to do it before he kills you with his power.”
“You’re very unhelpful,” I snap.
“You nearly died. If Soren hadn’t been there, you’d be a pile of picked-clean bones outside the god’s home. And you want to get excited over a couple drops of blood?”
“Well, I don’t see you making any progress. You haven’t even bothered to learn how to swim. That’s just sad.”
“But I’m alive and well. At least I don’t have strangers offering to help me piss in the woods.”
“Alive and well. And a coward bound for hell.”
“Whoa, now,” Soren says, stepping in. “Let’s stop with the insults and—”
“Oh, shove off,” Iric says. He thrusts the spit into Soren’s chest, smearing grease against his shirt. “I’m not hungry anymore. You can stay here with your new beau.”
Iric slams the trapdoor on his way out.
Soren sighs. “That wasn’t good.”
“Is he always so argumentative?” I ask.
“Are you?”
“Hey, now. I’m in the right. You know I’m in the right. You know the goddess’s will.”
Soren hands the spit over to me. “You may know what is best for you, but you have no right to say what is best for someone else. Iric has his own beliefs. Don’t try to take those away from him. You would not appreciate someone trying to dissuade you from believing in Rexasena and her teachings.”
And with that, Soren follows his friend down the trapdoor.
I scowl at the closed door long after Soren climbs down the tree.
I don’t know why I thought Soren would take my side. He’s known Iric far longer, and no one ever bothered listening to me inside my village. I shouldn’t have thought things would be different outside of it.
I may have been groomed for leadership, but I am clearly terrible at it. I can’t make others follow my example. I can’t get them to listen to me. I never could garner respect.
And why should Soren and Iric respect me? I may have saved Soren’s life, but because of that life debt, he’s followed me into danger more than once. I also helped when Iric fell to the bottom of the hyggja’s lake, but since then I’ve done nothing but argue with him and belittle his beliefs. It may not be entirely one-sided; Iric has done plenty of arguing and belittling of his own—but I have entered his home, have upset his way of life. I am the newcomer, and Iric has been kind enough to welcome me, in his own way.
There are only two other people living in the wild, and I’ve managed to upset both of them.
Well done, Rasmira. Well done.
I need to fix this.
Regardless of his belief in the goddess, Iric wants to return home. He wants to see Aros again. Soren wants to see Iric safe and happy. The way for everyone to achieve what they want is for everyone to complete their mattugrs.
I have learned much of the wild and its dangers, but the thing that has become the clearest is this: Survival is more likely if we stick together.
The two times I faced the god, Soren was there to help. When the gunda came after us, Iric helped us defeat it. When Iric came close to drowning, it was Soren and I who saved him together. We can do impossible things if we work together, I’m sure of it.
And I need their help. I can’t go into the god’s lair while wearing my armor, yet I can’t risk another encounter with the god without protection. Soren said Iric is a talented smithy—perhaps he would have an idea? But I’m not about to ask without offering something in return. I can teach Iric to swim. Hell, I’ll jump in the lake with him again to defeat the hyggja, if that’s what it takes.
Both boys are angry with me. I need to make things right with them, and then, somehow, I need to convince them that we can accomplish our quests. We can go home and make everything right.
It may take time, but I have nothing better to do while I heal.
CHAPTER
12
When the trapdoor opens later that evening, I pretend to be asleep. It’s not the right time to broach the topic of our quests. I should let them both sleep off the argument.
I hear boots discarded on the floor, clothing rustling, then two bodies falling onto the other mattress.
“She’s a deep sleeper,” Soren whispers.
“You really shouldn’t take a liking to her,” Iric says.
“Why not?”
“She’s determined to go after Peruxolo again. She won’t be long for this world. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Soren lets out a brief exhale of incredulity. “Since when don’t you want to see me hurt? You’ve made it your mission to keep me miserable out here as payment for getting you banished. And I don’t think Rasmira is going to get herself killed. She’s more determined and skilled with an ax than anyone else I’ve ever met.”
“And now she’s out of her magical cream. The next serious injury will kill her or you if you persist in following her around.”
Soren doesn’t respond.
“Honor is going to get the both of you killed. You two are quite the pair.”
“We’re not a pair. Not yet.”
“Shut up so I can get some sleep.”
* * *
THE SUN WAKES ME. I’ve gotten used to my fort in the woods, the trees blocking out most of the light. But the window in the tree house faces east.
The boys are still out cold, so I pull down the blanket covering me to inspect my injury. I think the bruise has gotten lighter and the raised skin is not so pronounced, but perhaps that is only wishful thinking. Either way, at least the wound doesn’t look worse. My skin is pale, but it was like that yesterday.
I try sitting up and promptly fall back onto the mattress.
I won’t be rising on my own today, that’s for sure.
My eyes take in the sights outside the window, as I attempt to entertain myself while waiting for the boys to wake. Fat lizards rest against high-up tree branches. They’re hard to spot as their bodies blend into whatever they’re standing in front of. I watch them lie in wait for birds to land close enough. Then their tongues dart out, quick as lightning, snatching up their food. Minutes later, they’ll spit out a mouthful of wet feathers.
It’s both oddly fascinating and disgusting.
They’re like miniature versions of the gunda.
I shudder, grateful the world is rid of that hideous beast, at least.
There’s a break in Soren�
�s even breaths, and his eyelids flutter before opening all the way. His first move upon waking is to swivel his neck in my direction.
Does he fear I expired in my sleep?
I’ve never seen someone so worried about my health aside from Irrenia. It’s … nice.
“Soren,” I say, careful not to wake Iric, “what is your mattugr? I never did get a chance to ask you.”
He throws an arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Starting with the easy questions this morning, I see.” He sits up in bed and stretches his arms over his head. “In Restin, our mattugrs are given to us based on our greatest fears. Iric fears water and never learned to swim, so they demanded he retrieve the hyggja’s head and bring it back to the village.”
“And you? What do you fear?”
“Have you heard of the beast that lives at the top of the god’s mountain?”
“No.”
“We have a legend in my village about the otti. A bird with a wingspan the length of five men, a razor-sharp beak, and talons that can slice through the thickest armor.”
“You have to kill it?” I ask.
“No, I have to pluck a feather from its skin. But as I said, this is only a legend. The bird could not even exist, which would make it a truly impossible task.”
“What does this have to do with what you fear?” Does Soren have a problem with birds?
“When I was a child, I was afraid of heights. It went away as I grew older, but I don’t think the village elders knew that.”
“If you’ve overcome your fear, then why haven’t you tried to seek out the otti?”
“Because it doesn’t matter if it exists. So long as Iric remains in the wild, so will I. I’m not going home or risking my life when he needs me.”
Soren isn’t the one who will need convincing to complete our quests, then. It’s Iric.
“Would you two kindly take your conversation outside?” Iric mumbles against the blankets. “Some of us have work to do today and would like to get some more rest first!”
Soren dons a shirt and boots before helping me up. He even helps me down the tree single-handedly.
I take care of my morning needs as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, it’s not any easier to squat in the woods than it was yesterday. Walking, at least, seems more doable. My mind and muscles appear to have finally gotten the rest they so desperately needed.
Once I return back to the tree, Iric has joined Soren at its base. It would seem that I once again have interrupted a conversation, likely about me.
“I thought you were trying to get more sleep,” I say.
“I was, but you’ve woken me up all the way. Falling back asleep is impossible now. You are not on my list of favorite people for today.”
“Sorry, Iric,” I say. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. Everything I said to you was unfair and rude. You’ve done me a great service, and I’m doing a poor job of thanking you for it. What can I do to help this morning with the chores?”
Soren looks to Iric and smiles, as though he just won the argument they were having before I showed up.
Iric straightens. “I’m heading to my forge this morning. You could come with me.”
“I’d like that.”
“Or,” Soren hastily adds, “you could come with me to check the traps for meat.”
I look from one boy to the next. Are they really making me choose?
“I’ll go with Iric,” I say. He’s the one I need to warm up to me.
Iric says, “Oh, don’t be so obvious, Soren.”
I find the second boy with his shoulders slumped, but he quickly rights them at Iric’s words and glares at him.
“All right, then,” Iric says. “This way, Raz. Mind the traps.”
Iric takes me down yet another trail. A group of Iric’s metal traps line the front, guarding the tree house from ziken, I realize. I leap over them and grunt from the pain that lances up my middle from the impact.
“Raz?” I ask when we’re out of Soren’s hearing.
“Your name is a mouthful. I’m shortening it.”
“And should I call you I?”
“That just sounds stupid.”
“And Raz doesn’t?”
“Well, the name should fit the person.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
His shoulders shake the smallest bit as I watch his back. He’s laughing silently. “I thought it was.”
“You don’t like me,” I observe.
“That’s not true. I insult everyone. Don’t take it so personally.”
“Tell me, Iric, are you letting me tag along because you want me to ooh and aah over your forge or is this some master plan to keep me from Soren and prevent our inevitable romance?” I remember what the boys argued over yesterday. I wonder if today’s argument was over the same topic.
“Both. Now be sure to step over this trap here on the trail.”
I cease talking long enough to veer around the trap, not letting any metal touch me.
“You needn’t worry,” I continue. “I have no interest in Soren that way. Romance is the furthest thing from my mind out here.”
“The longer you are away from home, the lonelier you will get. Soren’s been here a year and now look at him. He’s practically throwing himself at your feet.”
“He’s trying to repay a life debt!”
Iric shrugs. “Sounds like an excuse to be near you, if you ask me.”
Oh, what would he know? Iric doesn’t concern himself with honor. But I want him to like me, so I’m not about to say that aloud.
“And if, say, I had been a tall and handsome man instead of a plain-looking girl, what would you have done?” I ask.
“I don’t need something pretty to look at. I have my letters with Aros.”
Yes, good. This is the turn I want the conversation to take.
“How much do you love him?” I ask.
“More than my own life.”
“And what would you be willing to risk to get back to him?”
Iric halts suddenly, and I nearly run into his back. He spins around, brows raised. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Rasmira, and it’s not going to work. I already told you, I have no desire to die. If you’re trying to save my soul without my realizing it, you underestimate my intelligence.”
I throw my hands up in defense. “I have no interest in getting you killed, I swear it.”
“Then spit out whatever it is you want to say. Let’s get it out in the open right now so we need never talk about this again afterward.”
To the point. I like it.
“I want to help you get home,” I say. “I want to teach you how to swim. I want to be in the water with you when you kill the hyggja.”
Iric blinks but says nothing. Then he turns around and keeps walking.
“You’re a brilliant inventor,” I say as I follow him. “If anyone can come up with a weapon to kill the hyggja, it’s you. The only thing you lack is the ability to swim, and that can be learned! I’m not saying all of this because I want you to die and reach Paradise. I’m saying it because I think it can be done, and I can help you get home to Aros.”
“We’re here,” Iric says. “Mind the circle of traps. Keeps the beasts from running off with my tools.”
Iric said he had a forge, but I wasn’t picturing something quite so large. He’s carved himself a stove out of rock, shaped a chimney out of metal. I spot a bellows made from animal hides and heaping buckets of coal off to the side. He has his own anvil, tools of all shapes and sizes, molds for casting, several good-sized hammers. It’s a full smithy, right here in the wild.
It’s beyond impressive, but if he thinks it will distract me from our conversation, he’s wrong.
“Iric—”
“Why? Why do you care whether I go home or not? Why bring this up at all?”
I try to think of a truthful response that doesn’t make me sound selfish, but one isn’t forthcoming. “Because I need your help in return.
I can’t get into the god’s lair while wearing my armor. You’re a smithy. I thought perhaps you could help me build something that wasn’t made out of metal.”
“Ah,” he says.
“But don’t you see? Normally, those who are banished aren’t exiled in pairs. You and Soren have had an advantage, and that’s why you’ve survived so long. I’m only alive because of you two. If we all want to go home, we’ll need to help each other.”
“I don’t think our villages would take kindly to us helping each other.”
“There’s nothing in the rules that forbids it. So long as you’re the one to decapitate the hyggja, Soren is the one to pluck the feather from the otti, and I’m the one that ends the god, who cares who else is involved in the planning?”
Iric doesn’t look convinced. I add, “I think we can do it. You must know I’m serious. I’m willing to put off killing the god to help you complete your quest. I can’t die in any other way than completing my mattugr in order to be greeted into Rexasena’s Paradise. I wouldn’t take this risk unless I thought we could pull this off. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I want to trade. My help in exchange for your help.”
Iric grabs a hammer, examines it as though he suddenly finds it fascinating. “And what about Soren?”
“What about Soren?”
“You would have me complete my quest, help you, and then leave him out here alone?”
I thought they weren’t friends anymore. Iric blames Soren for his banishment. He acts as though he hates him some of the time. Is it all an act?
“If Soren wishes to help us, then we can help him in return as well,” I say. Provided he can find a way to make himself useful to me and my mattugr, that is.
Iric nods. “I will … think on all of this.”
He will?
Inside, I’m exploding, but I keep a smile from my face. “All right.”
Iric returns the hammer to the table.
“I can’t believe you’ve made all of this,” I say, taking in the forge again. “How is it that you trained to be a smithy your whole life, but then the elders let you take the warrior trial?”
“How do you do it in your village?” he asks.
“At the age of eight, we pick a trade. We train for that trade until we’re eighteen. Then we take the trial.”
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