Teeth (The Icefjord Saga #1)

by Zaya Feli

  “Wait!” Rakkian wiped his wet hand on his trousers and placed his palm on the crow's back. “I think I can help.”

  Isa's belly twisted. “I don't think anything can—” A familiar vibrating energy tickled Isa's palms as it flowed across the crow’s feathers. He stared, transfixed, as the crow stopped gasping and perked its head up. It flapped its wings a few times, and then folded them, struggling in his grip.

  Isa stared at Rakkian. “Are you a Runik?” He'd never seen a child heal like that. Bjarka, the healing rune, was difficult to master. Steinar wouldn't even let Isa try until he was a few years older, afraid he would hurt himself. Rakkian looked younger than him, yet he'd healed the crow as easy as breathing.

  Rakkian frowned and shook his head. “I don't think so.”

  “You've never used a rune?”

  Rakkian shook his head again. “The men who brought me across the sea called me something else.”

  Isa narrowed his eyes. The crow looked between them and wiggled its body again, but Isa took no notice. What if… “Sjaelir?”

  Rakkian nodded. “That's the word.”

  “No, that can't be,” Isa said. “Sjaelir can't do what you just did.” But it would make sense, he thought, for Norsemen to bring Sjaelir across the sea. Isa didn't know why, but there were no Runiks in the west, only Sjaelir. Curiosity blossomed in him, but his questions would have to wait. “Let's get off the ground.”

  Isa led the way back to the forked oak, the crow safely hidden under his coat, sliding an arm through the hoop of his bag. Rakkian clasped his hands and Isa placed his foot in the makeshift step. When he kicked off, Rakkian groaned. Isa gripped the lowest branch, wrapping his arms around it before Rakkian could drop him. He dangled awkwardly before finding purchase with his feet. He crabbed his way onto the branch – not the most elegant manoeuvre of his life, but he managed to get upright without squishing the bird. It squawked when he leaned over the side and grabbed Rakkian's hand, pulling him up with a grunt of effort.

  Rakkian sat down in front of him, leaning his back against the curve.

  “Phew. Here.” Isa swung the bag over his shoulder and took out a fire stick, striking the flint against it. A few sparks clung to the stick and grew into a small flame.

  Rakkian took the stick and Isa gently drew the bird from his coat. In the light, he realised it wasn't a crow at all.

  “It's a raven,” Isa said, stretching its wings and feeling its legs for other injuries. “I thought it was a crow 'cause it's so small, but it's only a baby! Look at that beak. He's definitely a raven.”

  “It's a girl,” Rakkian said.

  Isa looked up. “What? How do you know?”

  “I sensed it.”

  Isa blinked, settling the raven against his thigh. He held on so it wouldn't tumble off the branch. “You're an odd one, Rakkian. You're sure they called you a Sjaelir?”

  Rakkian nodded again. He didn't say much. What a strange boy.

  A Runik could draw energy from a Sjaelir's soul, but Isa had never heard of a Sjaelir who could give it up willingly. Maybe the ones in the west were different. Maybe that was why Fenrisborg had been so eager to keep all the spoils for themselves after the great western raid. Either way, if Rakkian was a Sjaelir, then Isa was glad he had decided not to take him home.

  Isa searched his bag once more and pulled out the blanket. He made sure the raven was nestled safely against his leg before he unfolded the blanket and leaned forward to wrap it around Rakkian. Isa rubbed warmth into the Rakkian’s bony shoulders and the boy smiled at him.

  “Listen.” Isa gestured for Rakkian to give him his injured foot. “You gotta stay away from the village. And from other villages, too. If a Runik finds you and figures out you're a western Sjaelir, they'll do bad things to you.” He withdrew a cloth from his bag and dampened it with water from the bottle, carefully cleaning the cut on Rakkian's foot.

  Rakkian hissed but kept still. “Bad things?”

  Isa nodded. He didn't know how to describe it. He didn't even want to think about it. He'd heard the groans and gasps of the Sjaelir when Steinar and the others pulled energy from them. It sounded awful. Isa was glad Steinar still deemed him too young to draw directly from a Sjaelir's soul and filled pendants for him instead. But he wouldn't be too young for much longer. The thought sent a chill through him. He could only imagine what they'd do to a Sjaelir from the Western Isles.

  “How long have you been out here? Do you know who took you?” he asked instead, hoping to distract himself from the troubling thoughts. After drying Rakkian's skin, he brought out the bandages and wrapped his foot.

  “We sailed across the Western Sea. They took me to Fenrisborg before last winter,” Rakkian said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn't speak the language. It was scary. It was so dark in the cell. They said they'd make me a Sjaelir. That I'd soon be strong enough. I didn't know what it was, but it sounded scary, so I ran. A man offered me passage across the gap and gave me food. I ate it on the first night. That was three days ago.”

  Isa looked up, frowning. “You haven't eaten in three days?” He knotted the bandage, then stuck his hands back in the bag and pulled out the packages of food he'd brought. Rakkian's eyes lit up like a harvest pyre, and Isa took the fire stick from him so he could use both hands to eat.

  “Where are you going now?” Isa asked. He withdrew the final item: his only other pair of boots. Holding Rakkian's ankle, he guided his bandaged foot into it and tied the laces. The boots were too big, but at least that'd leave room for the bandage.

  “I wanna go 'ome.” Rakkian's voice was muffled by the bread he stuffed in his mouth. He sure could fit a lot in there. It reminded Isa of a squirrel.

  Isa tied the laces of the second boot, then picked a bit of sausage from his bundle of food and offered it to the raven. She squawked and opened her beak wide.

  “No one around here takes ships across the Western Sea,” Isa said. “You need a lot of ships for a decent raid. I think only Fenrisborg has that kind of fleet and you can't go back there.”

  Rakkian's eyes grew wide, which only added to his comical appearance.

  Isa smiled and placed a hand on Rakkian's knee. “I'll try to think of something.”

  Rakkian swallowed. “I'm really glad you came,” he said, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “I've been so afraid.”

  Isa pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped the dirt from Rakkian's face. “I'm glad I found you. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you now. I'm gonna watch over you.”

  Somewhere, an owl hooted. The wind whistled through the pines, but the fire stick kept the darkness at bay.

  “Are we friends?” Rakkian asked, smiling again. He had a sweet smile, dimpling his cheeks.

  Isa could imagine how terrifying it must have been for him: ferried away from his home, kept prisoner in Fenrisborg, escaping through dangerous woods. Still, Rakkian's eyes were full of hope and trust as he watched Isa. A flush crept across Isa's face and he looked down, tugging at his jacket. “Of course we're friends.” The words filled Isa with a sudden sadness. There were no children in Ulfheim around Isa's age. Eskal was too old, and a jerk at that. Jari was too young and only wanted to play with his dumb stick swords. A part of Isa didn't want Rakkian to leave, but he knew it wouldn't be safe for him to stay.

  “What about her?” Rakkian asked. He pointed at the raven. “I don't think she can fly yet.”

  Isa looked at the bird, whose beak was open again. Isa broke off another piece of sausage for her. “I don't know.”

  “She's sweet.” Rakkian stroked a finger along the bird's silky head. She nibbled his finger. “We should give her a name.”

  “What should we call her?” Isa asked. The raven stood on wobbly feet and hopped onto Isa's thigh, parting her beak with a scratchy caw. “Glutton?”

  Rakkian laughed and shook his head. “Something nicer. Shadow, maybe? She looks like a little shadow.” He wiggled closer, hooking his legs around the backs of Isa's.r />
  They stayed in the tree talking as the darkness fell around them. Isa told him about Ulfheim, about the giant fish living in the Icefjord and about the coming harvest fest and everything they'd do to celebrate. Rakkian wrapped the blanket tighter around and told Isa in turn about his home. Of steep cliffs and waterfalls and sheep and fluffy horses. Of giant fields of flowers and small, cozy houses and lots and lots of rain. He struggled with some of the words he didn't know and instead used foreign ones that only made Isa more confused, but he soaked up everything Rakkian said nonetheless, imagination sparking.

  They kept talking until they were both exhausted, Rakkian most of all, head drooping and eyes falling shut before he forced himself to keep them open.

  Isa groaned as he pushed himself upright, disturbing the raven who'd been sleeping in his lap. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. “If you feed her some more in the morning, she might stay with you,” he said, through a yawn. He handed Rakkian the remaining sausage; the raven hopped after it, stumbling, clearly as tired as they were. They both laughed.

  “I'll come back later with more food. And a plan.”

  Rakkian's smile vanished and he wrapped his hand around Isa's, gripping so hard that Isa winced. “Are you leaving?”

  “I have to. But I'll come back.” Sticking his hand into his pocket, he drew out a little dragon figurine, holding it out for Rakkian. “I want you to have this. For good luck.”

  Rakkian took it, running the tips of his fingers along the grooves carved on the dragon's body. “It's so pretty,” he whispered. “Did you make this?”

  Isa nodded, pride swelling with Rakkian's awe. “It's my best one.” If only he could carve dragons for the rest of his life. It seemed so much nicer than hurting people. A hard ball of tension formed in his belly when he thought about next winter and the Sjaelir he'd have to drain. People just like Rakkian. “I'll see you soon,” he said, voice shaking a little.

  “Thank you.” Rakkian leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Isa in a tight hug. Isa hugged him back.

  * * *

  “What are you making there?”

  Isa flinched, hitting his knee on the bench. He'd been so focused on braiding the leather cord he hadn't even heard Kjartan come in. Of course, Kjartan always snuck around like a weasel on the hunt.

  “I'm just practising,” Isa said, slipping the stone pendant into his pocket. He angled his chin up. “Don't you have someone else to spy on?”

  Kjartan laughed, an ominous sound. His smile pulled the dragon tattoos on his cheeks, making it look like they wore matching grimaces. He trailed his hand up and down the hilt of the axe hanging from his hip. He’d kept it close since a Ravsø trader had caught him off guard and severed his right ear in a dispute over the price of fox furs. Isa had been too young to remember, but Kjartan enjoyed telling every child he could convince that maggots still dug burrows inside his brain to this day, after the infection had nearly killed him. As with every wild story Kjartan liked to tell, Isa wasn't quite sure how much to believe.

  “Are you quite well?” Kjartan asked, sitting astride the bench, facing Isa.

  Isa tilted his chin up, widening his eyes to look more awake. He'd spent almost the entire night in the tree with Rakkian. When he lay down in his bed, the sun had already been rising. Steinar had come to wake him what seemed like only moments later. But it had been worth it. “I'm a warrior. Of course I'm well,” Isa declared.

  Kjartan chuckled. “How many runes do you know now, little warrior?”

  “Five.” Isa dragged his bag closer, making sure not to let Kjartan get a glimpse inside.

  “Five! That's impressive.” Kjartan bumped a fist against Isa's shoulder with enough force to make Isa lose his balance on the bench. Kjartan was thin and sinewy, but stronger than he looked. “That's a good number of runes to know for your thirteenth winter!”

  Isa righted himself. “Kjartan,” he started, wondering if it would reveal too much of his secret to ask his next question. “Do you know of any Sjaelir who can give their power up without it having to be taken?”

  Kjartan tilted his head with a jerk, adding to his weasel-like demeanour. “That sounds like the kind of question you should ask Steinar, not me.”

  Isa already felt as if he'd let Kjartan in on too much. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he got off the bench and turned to leave, but Kjartan stopped him with a hand clamped around his wrist. “Are you going into the woods again, Isa?” he asked, true concern flitting over his features. “Watch your step and mind the ward, boy. Hjalmar says a large creature has been seen in the northern woods. It could be the Varg. You don’t want him to snatch up the one that got away, do you?”

  Isa paused, the mention of the Varg sending a shiver down his spine. He wiggled his hand from Kjartan's grip. “I'll be careful.”

  “The brave Isarin Eiriksson, bringing us pheasants even in dangerous times,” Kjartan called after him, but Isa didn't answer.

  There were more people out and about in the morning light, but at least Isa didn't have to worry about seeming suspicious. The fishermen called to each other from the docks. They were setting out, filling their reserves with salted trout before the end of the season. Isa hurried along the road before any of them could ask him to join. They all knew he'd rather fish than hunt pheasants.

  Looking over his shoulder, Isa didn't see Ingrid in his path and flinched when he bumped into her, nearly dropping his back.

  “What a hurry you're in, Isa,” she said, helping him right his bag.

  He gripped the strap possessively, then let go. Ingrid was nothing to worry about. She'd been a fierce warrior when Isa was younger. Now she was retired, taking up healing instead.

  “Stay clear of the jarl's hall,” Ingrid said. “Hjalmar and Eskal have had a fight again. I don't want Eskal to take his anger out on you.”

  Isa gave her a quick smile. “I'm going hunting.” The last time him and Eskal had fought, they'd collapsed a fisherman's hut with their magic. Eskal didn't much like that Isa was stronger than him.

  “Take care, Isa,” she called after him.

  The dogs were silent this time. Isa walked close to the buildings, avoiding the muddy wheel grooves on the road. The villagers had filled the holes with sand from the beach, but it didn't help much. Autumn was always like that.

  Isa couldn't shake the feeling of being watched as he stepped in between the trees, but when he turned around, no one was there. He had his ropes and his hunting knife with him, but he didn’t plan on using either. Twigs and branches cracked under his boots, the only sounds as he made his way deeper into the forest. High above, the sky turned grey. The birds were already hiding from the coming rain. Isa thought about Rakkian alone in the woods, taking shelter beneath the branches of the big oak tree. Maybe Isa could help him build a better shelter. If he promised to bring him more food, he might even be able to convince Rakkian to stay a few more days. Isa would like that. And Rakkian seemed just as happy as he was to have made a friend.

  Even if what Kjartan said was true, the Varg couldn't cross the ward. The thought of it still left Isa glad he hadn't given in to the temptation of the deep woods. Wild stories or not, Kjartan was right about one thing: Isa was the one that got away.

  A vibration in the air made Isa stop. Static tickled his face. The ward. He'd walked too far. Isa frowned and turned back. The forked oak was behind him. He cursed himself for not paying attention and backtracked, circling the thick trunk. He gazed into the branches. “Rakki?”

  There was no answer. He looked around. New mushrooms had sprouted on the fallen log overnight, and they crumbled under Isa's hands as he leaned across it, checking below the bushes. “Rakki?”

  Isa spun to take in the forest, then turned again, slowly. There was no sign of Rakkian, like he'd never even been there. Had he taken off? Worry replaced Isa’s disappointment. What if he'd been found? No, Isa would have heard if the hunters had dragged a boy back from the woods. He crouched and brushed his
hands over the fallen leaves. There were no signs of a struggle. The skeletal branches of the nearby bushes were unbroken.

  A hoarse caw made Isa jump.

  He whistled. From under the hanging branches of a balding pine tree, the ruffled black raven came forward, hopping half-sideways in the odd way of birds.

  “Hey, friend,” he said. He reached towards her. “Where's Rakki? He didn't leave you, did he? Come here.”

  She looked at him, head tilting right and left. When Isa inched closer, she squawked and took off, hopping between the trees with awkward flaps of her wings.

  “Wait!” Isa called. He hoisted the bag higher onto his shoulder and ducked under the branches of the pine, its needles prickling the back of his neck. “If you cross the ward, you can't have any of this food I br— Aah!” He nearly fell over the raven when she stopped. She squawked and flapped to avoid his kicking legs. Isa swiped an annoyed hand at her, but she only pecked at him, latching onto his sleeve like a wild beast.

  “Stop it!” Isa hissed, grabbing for her feet. She let him go and hopped out of range. Isa glared at her, then frowned. There were no leaves beneath her feet, just dirt. Grooves dug deep into the ground. She'd brought him back to the edge of the ward.

  “What's this?” Isa crouched to look. The grooves were fresh, a few pink earthworms still wiggling at the surface. It looked as if a huge fox had tried to dig a burrow and then given up. Isa followed the grooves with his fingers to the edge of the ward. The grooves were on the other side, too. Why would an animal dig at the ward if they could just walk across?

  Unless it wasn't an animal.

  Cold realisation made Isa whip his head around, half-expecting something to leap at him from the shadows. It had to be an animal. Right? The ward was secure; no creature from another realm had breached the ward since it was made. Digging under was as impossible as flying over.

  Another, worse realisation crept under Isa’s skin like burrowing beetles. He knew this place. This was where he'd let Rakkian through. This was where he'd opened the ward.