Teeth (The Icefjord Saga #1)

by Zaya Feli

  Rakkian tugged the soft blanket closer and pushed the questionable ragout in his bowl around with his spoon. His headache had finally subsided, but a purpling bruise lined his cheekbone and ached when he rested on that side in bed. He was still discovering new bruises from the events of his second night in Ulfheim. Rakkian wasn't sure his nerves had entirely settled, either.

  Across from him sat Sten, a man of about thirty winters, leaning back in his seat and balancing a plate of ribs on his stomach. A cup of wine sat on a stool next to him. He'd already emptied one plate at an impressive pace. When Rakkian had joined the other Sjaelir, he'd gawked at the amount of food they consumed, seemingly without adding any weight to their sinewy frames. As far as Rakkian understood, the drain of power was taxing not only on the soul but on the body. An entire animal was slaughtered and cooked for the five Sjaelir alone every day, although Rakkian hadn't gotten a single strip of the meat. Like the Runiks, the Sjaelir he'd met so far had little in the way of kindness to offer him. It seemed a miracle that he'd even gotten Sten to tell him his name.

  Sten chewed audibly and the squelching sound made Rakkian's stomach turn. Setting his bowl down, he got up and discarded his blanket. He had to be quiet, he'd been told. There was almost always someone sleeping in the back, though not today.

  As Rakkian approached the curtain, soft voices filtered through from the other side. Before Rakkian could turn away, the curtain was pushed aside, and a tall older woman in a green dress stepped from behind it, blinking at the sight of him before moving past, a handful of pendants on cords dangling from her hand. A girl appeared next, offering Rakkian a smile. The string of golden beads woven into her long, brown hair glittered in the firelight.

  Rakkian took a step back. “I...I wasn't snooping, I just—”

  “It's all right,” she said, pushing the curtain aside in invitation. Her hand shook and she had deep shadows under her eyes. “You're that servant boy everybody is talking about, aren't you? You don't sound Norse.”

  “I'm not,” Rakkian said. He took a seat on one of the beds, thankful that someone, at last, seemed willing to have a conversation with him. “I came from the Western Isles when I was nine. I'm Rakkian.”

  “Oh...” She bit her bottom lip. She had a softly rounded face and beautiful eyes that she turned on him. “I'm sorry to hear that, Rakkian.” She held out her hand. “I'm Signy.”

  Rakkian took her wrist in greeting. “It's fine. It wasn't as boring and godless a place as you'd think. There's even about two weeks in summer when it doesn't rain.”

  She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “That's not what I meant. Your warriors aren't very strong – you're easy pickings. Doesn't bring your people much respect around here.”

  “You don't say.” Rakkian rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm fairly certain I've been eating the same ragout for the past five days while the others get fresh meat. I'm starting to wonder if it will begin to mould before it runs out.”

  “Ah!” Signy got up, smoothing her hair from her face as she disappeared beyond the curtain. She returned a moment later with a plate of ribs that she held out to Rakkian. “You can have some of mine.”

  Rakkian stared at the food, stomach growling, but then he looked back at her shadowed eyes and shook his head. “No, I'm fine. You were just drained, weren't you?”

  Signy nodded. “It wasn't too bad, though. They were just Bjarka runes.”

  “Bjarka runes? Sorry, I don't—”

  “Bjarka,” she said, drawing what looked like an angular 'B' in the air between them. “Healing runes. They don't demand much energy. When I'm at my best, I can provide for half a dozen of them before I get really tired.”

  “And the other lady?” Rakkian asked, pointing a thumb in the direction the woman in the green dress had gone.

  “That's Ingrid. Our healer.” She put the plate down on the bedside table between them.

  “She's a Runik?” Rakkian asked, holding up a hand to decline when Signy offered him a rib.

  “Mm-hmm. She was a powerful warrior when she was younger. Now she's retired and takes care of the sick and injured.”

  “I see.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Signy leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees. She held out another rib, and this time, Rakkian took it. He only had so much self-restraint.

  “What happened when Isa drained you?” she asked. “I heard it was some kind of explosion. Like a lightning strike.”

  “I don't know,” Rakkian said, unable to help the moan that left him when he bit into the juicy strip of meat, forgetting entirely why he'd been so bent on refusing. “It just felt like this searing flash of power rushing through me, bursting free.” He frowned. “Is draining always like that?”

  Signy stared at him blankly, one eyebrow raised. “It's never like that.”

  “Really?” Rakkian put down the clean rib and accepted another when Signy offered. “Then what's it like?”

  “You've never been drained before?” Signy asked, even more surprised.

  Rakkian shook his head. “I hid my powers from the Halafjell Runik.”

  “Hmm.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “You know that feeling in your body when you've been working hard all day and you're exhausted, your muscles are sore, and all you want to do is sleep? It's like that, only you get really hungry too, and kind of dizzy and it happens really fast. It depends how much they take. If they're not careful and take too much, you might collapse. Happened to me a few times. If they don't stop after that, it starts to hurt because they're draining more than your body can handle.”

  Rakkian gaped. “What happens after that?”

  “Well, if they don't stop when you're writhing in agony, the next step is death,” Signy said, grimacing. “But I've never been hurt like that. Steinar and the others are usually very careful with us. Distance can be a problem. If a Runik moves too far from you while the link is open, it can really hurt. Battles can be like that because they can't risk having us too close. That usually ends with the link snapping.”

  Rakkian shook his head slowly. “It sounds horrible. Haven't you ever wanted to run away?”

  Signy laughed again, drawing up her eyebrows. “Run away? What for?”

  “You're stuck here, these Runiks leeching off your soul. It sounds miserable.”

  Signy shook her head, grabbing the last rib before putting the empty plate aside. “You're getting it all wrong. I'm not stuck here. This is my home and I can leave whenever I want. You're stuck here cause you're a westerner and a Halafjell prisoner and I don't think they know what to do with you,” she said, poking him in the chest.

  “But—”

  “It's not so bad,” she continued. “It's teamwork, you know? The Runiks fight battles and we fight with them, but from a safe distance. We're out of arrow and axe range. We get to bask in the glory of victory alongside our brothers and sisters.” She gestured down at herself. “Look at me, Rakkian. I weigh barely more than a newborn filly, yet if I give Steinar my energy in battle, then we share the glory of battle. They'll welcome me into Valhalla as a hero! The ache of the drain is worth it when the reward is to feast with the gods, don't you think? I get to help heal the sick and keep my family safe. Besides, I've only seen a Sjaelir die once. That was Eskal's fault – you need to watch yourself with him.”

  Rakkian rolled his jaw, taking in what Signy told him and turning it over in his head. When Rakkian had first crossed the western sea, the Norsemen's view of their gods had struck him as outrageous. He wasn't sure when he had come to favour them over the western god he'd grown up with. Compared to Odin, Thor, and Freja, the western god seemed distant from those who worshipped him.

  “Eskal tried to drain me first,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against his temple at the memory of Eskal's fingers digging into his skin. “He couldn't. He hurt himself trying, and it felt like I was choking.”

  “I've never heard of anything like that, either.” Signy leaned in as if seeing him at closer
range would reveal a hidden secret. “Unless a Sjaelir is claimed with Fehu, any Runik can take what they want. Do you have any idea how you did it?”

  Rakkian shook his head.

  “Well, anyway.” Signy stood, picking up the empty plate. “Try to stay clear of Eskal. It looks like Isa might have an interest in you, although that's a mystery in itself since he doesn't seem interested in anybody. Maybe getting on his good side isn't a bad idea. Isa is the original Ulfheim jarlsson. You'll never see him smile, but he might gain you some comforts.” She smiled at him. “Besides, no one really likes Isa much because of that curse. I'm sure he could use a friend.”

  Rakkian's eyes narrowed. “I'm not going to beg like a dog.”

  Laughing, Signy paused with her hand on the curtain and tilted her head at him. “That's the most Norse-sounding thing I've heard you say. There may be hope for you yet.”

  She disappeared behind the curtain and Rakkian stared after her, then wiped a hand over his face. He'd spent his entire life in the Icefjord relying on others for food and shelter. He was about ready to try swimming the fjord for a chance at setting his own course. Still, as much as Rakkian hated to admit it, Signy might be right. Maybe his only chance at gaining some sway over his life was to make friends. Gods knew, he'd spent six years in Halafjell avoiding its inhabitants as much as possible and that hadn't gotten him anywhere. Winter was around the corner. There was no way he'd make a trek on foot through ice and snow in time before the ships were drawn out of the water.

  Rakkian got up and wandered out of the Sjaelir hall. Almost everyone was gathered at the beach, so that was where he headed.

  * * *

  The crowd formed a circle around an open space where sand turned into soil, tufts of beach grass creating a natural barrier around what turned out to be a sparring ring. Men and women shouted encouragement or curses, laughing and arguing with each other.

  Rakkian pushed his way through, small enough to slip through the crowd unnoticed. He found an inverted fish crate and sat down.

  Two men circled each other in the ring. One of them was Steinar, Ulfheim's Runik master. The other was Isa. Steinar's muscles bulged, tattoos shifting when he leaned back and planted a boot in Isa's chest, sending him onto his back on the ground. Steinar flipped the pole in his hands and slammed it down like an axe splitting wood, but Isa was faster, rolling to the side and springing to his feet, using his own pole to stop the second strike from landing against his ribs.

  Energy crackled through the air like static tension before a thunderstorm. Rakkian recognized it from the times the Halafjell Runik had used magic to carve power into weapons. Rakkian shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “Not good enough,” Steinar growled, stepping back to give Isa time to recover.

  “I stopped your strike,” Isa said between gasped breaths. He was shirtless. They both were, despite the chilly breeze. Many stone pendants dangled from cords around each of their necks.

  “Not good enough,” Steinar insisted, swinging again.

  Rakkian leaned sideways to see around Steinar's tall frame. Isa too was covered in tattoos. One of them, on his arm, was the same swirling pattern as Steinar's, but the rest were runes, placed in seemingly random spots on his arms, chest, and back.

  Isa leapt sideways and drew his arm out in a sweeping strike that kept Steinar at bay. Rakkian's lips parted. The dark, wispy pattern on the front of Isa's shoulder was no tattoo. Like lightning bolts made of smoke, tendrils grew from a spot below Isa's right collarbone. Several more rune tattoos framed it.

  The energy surrounding Isa grew. Rakkian could see the build-up in his body, the expansion of Isa's chest when he drew a steadying breath, then seemed to change his mind in the last second, stopping the swing of Steinar's pole with his forearm instead before wrapping his hand around it and pulling. The static was gone. Steinar stumbled and regained his balance, nodding at Isa. “Good move, but not if you break your arm in the process,” he said.

  Isa rubbed his arm where a red bruise had already begun to form.

  A patch of shadow drew Rakkian's attention from the fight. Isa's raven stood at Rakkian's feet, looking up at him with beady black eyes. What was her name? Skygge.

  Rakkian clicked his tongue and reached out towards her. She hopped back a step before cautiously moving closer. She parted her beak and nipped gently at his fingers.

  “Hello, sweet girl,” Rakkian said, daring to stroke the smooth, inky feathers along her back. “Remember me?” She spread her wings and made a strange click-coo-coo sound. Rakkian smiled. She was so big, over twice the size she'd been when he and Isa had found her weak and flightless in the woods. But it was definitely her. He'd slept the whole night with her pressed against his chest.

  Skygge squawked and stepped onto the tip of his boot, examining the seam of his trousers with her beak.

  It was oddly silent. Rakkian looked up and froze. Isa was staring at him, pale eyes hard and jaw tight. Dirt streaked his cheek. From the corner of his eye, Rakkian saw Steinar come up behind Isa and raise the pole. Rakkian flinched, too late to call out a warning before the wood cracked against Isa's ribs. Isa yelped, spun, and yanked the pole from Steinar's hands.

  Skygge squawked and took off from Rakkian's boot.

  “Good as dead,” Steinar said.

  Isa's voice was tense. “I'm done for today.” He tossed the pole at Steinar, who caught it effortlessly.

  Rakkian looked over his shoulder. Skygge flew towards the treeline, landing on a branch at the edge of the forest. It was strange, but Rakkian felt as if she wanted him to follow. He got up, slipping away from the crowd and Isa's cold, piercing gaze. Rakkian still had no clue what to make of Isa. He hardly seemed like the kind boy who'd saved his life in the woods six years ago. Isa hadn't said a word to him since their reunion in the jarl’s hall.

  Rakkian wandered along the edge of the village towards the trees. Ulfheim was larger than Halafjell. All its huts and longhalls were built in a circular pattern around the village centre, surrounded by forest on three sides and water on one. Cattle and sheep grazed on the fields on either side of the village, framed by more forest.

  Rakkian stopped before the treeline, looking in. The forest around Ulfheim seemed somehow darker than the woods he was used to. Or maybe it was his imagination, fuelled by memories of this place. Skygge leapt from her branch overhead and flew between the trees. Rakkian followed. The ward that circled all of Ulfheim was somewhere in there, keeping creatures out. Keeping him in.

  Rakkian looked over his shoulder. No one was following him. He started forward, deeper into the woods. He had no idea how large the Ulfheim ward was. Definitely larger than the one in Halafjell. He felt for the telltale vibrations in the air. Regular people couldn't feel them; he'd learned that a few years earlier when he'd mentioned it and nearly revealed himself as a Sjaelir to Jarl Orlan. Luckily, the old jarl had been distracted by his sheep and his treasures and soon forgot Rakkian's slip.

  Rakkian paused. This place seemed familiar. A fallen log, half-rotten with age, barred his path to the left. A caw made him look up. Skygge sat above his head on the branch of a massive oak tree.

  Rakkian gasped. The tree was unmistakable, its wide trunk splitting halfway up like a fork with only two tines. He'd slept in that tree. Isa had bandaged his foot balanced on one of its branches. Rakkian placed a hand against it, something like longing growing in his chest. He could remember Isa's hand stroking his hair, telling him everything would be all right. How tightly Isa had hugged him back. It was the last hug anyone had ever given him. Rakkian huffed, shaking his head. Now wasn't the time to get sentimental. He slid his hand off the rough bark.

  Skygge flew back towards the trail and he turned.

  Isa stood on the path, arms folded over his chest. Rakkian flinched like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

  “Looking for the ward?” Isa asked.

  Rakkian hadn't even heard him approach. For the first tim
e, he noticed the silence. There were no birds. No animals at all. The forest was still as the grave. “No,” he said. His voice sounded too loud. He bit his lip. Had he been looking for the ward? To get out of Ulfheim, he'd have to cross it. “Maybe.”

  Isa took a step closer and Rakkian backed up, shoulders hitting the tree.

  Isa stopped. “The moment you cross that ward, Steinar and Eskal will know. You can't outrun horses and hunting dogs.”

  “You can let me through,” Rakkian said. “So they don't notice.” He crossed his arms and squared his jaw, but the twitch at the corner of Isa's mouth told him his display left little impression.

  “I can't,” Isa said, mirroring his posture.

  “You've done it before.”

  “And look what happened.”

  Rakkian looked away. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty for wanting freedom, but after seeing the mark on Isa's shoulder, he couldn't help it. Rakkian raised his gaze slowly. Isa was still shirtless. Something golden shone between the stone pendants resting against his chest, and the mark looked even more arresting up close. Did it hurt? Isa had gotten it saving his life. “I'm sorry.”

  “She likes you.”

  Rakkian blinked. He looked at Skygge, perched on Isa's shoulder. “She's gotten so big,” he said, trying for a smile. “You named her Skygge?”

  Isa nodded. “You're lucky you still have all your fingers.” He stroked her chest, softness smoothing out the angles of his face. “Let's go back inside.”

  “Are you cold?”