by Zaya Feli
Rakkian closed the door behind himself. The inside of Isa's hut wasn't much warmer than the outside, but Rakkian still shivered when he stepped into the night. The village was quiet. He wasn't sure what alerted him, because it made no sound, but when he glanced into the shadow of an old fishing shed, a pair of yellow eyes looked back, reflecting the light of the moon.
Rakkian froze. A dog walked onto the path in front of him, silent as a ghost. No, not a dog, he realised, breath caught in his throat. It was larger, its fur bristly and long and its tail bushy. It moved, and Rakkian took a step back towards the stairs, fumbling for the door behind him, but the wolf trotted past on silent paws, disappearing around the corner of Isa's hut. Rakkian stared after it. Had it really been a wolf or had his eyes deceived him? It was so dark. He blew out a breath and passed a hand over his face, barking a nervous laugh. Still, he half-ran back towards the Sjaelir hall.
* * *
Water. Salt.
Isa woke to the sound of shouts and hurried footsteps. The throbbing in his head was as bad as the ache in his shoulder. He sat up with a groan, grimacing as he peeled back the collar of his sweat-soaked nightshirt, half expecting a grisly sight. In the faint light shining through the cracks of the door, the curse scar looked surprisingly normal, if perhaps a bit red around the edges. He frowned at his hands. His palms were cut and scraped.
Most of the pain in his skull was on the left side. As he prodded his temple, memories of the previous night returned to him in shattered pieces. Fuck, he had been careless. Eskal was jarl now; killing him in a drunken stupor would surely have gotten Isa exiled. Rakkian had followed him back to his hut. They'd talked. Isa rubbed his brow, searching his memory of the time they'd spent together.
Outside, someone shouted a particularly colourful curse. Isa frowned, forcing himself out of bed. His muscles ached. He must have gone at it hard the previous night.
Shivering in the cold, he dragged on his coat and shoes before going outside. Someone ran past, nearly bumping into him in their haste. The shouts seemed to come from the beach, so Isa picked up his pace and followed them.
The crowd gathered on the sand was so dense Isa struggled to see through it. People parted for him as he walked; a young woman stumbled out of his way to avoid touching him. Men and women turned wide, scared eyes on him, whispering.
Isa reached the front of the crowd, and the sight that met him was emptiness. An entire stretch of water full of...nothing.
At first, the thought struck Isa that their ships had been stolen, sailed away in the night by bitter Halafjell survivors or attackers from Fenrisborg.
But the ships were there.
Scattered in the shallows and along the pier, raven and dragon heads carved from wood stuck up from the surf.
The more Isa stared at the horrifying sight, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew. It was as if his mind couldn't comprehend what his eyes were seeing. He felt light-headed and he reached out a hand to steady himself, but the young man to his left stepped swiftly out of reach.
He'd put his heart into carving each of those figureheads, every gunwale, since before he was old enough to carry an axe. Isa's steps echoed on the pier in the silence, his eyes fixed on the raven head bopping in the lapping waves. He'd modelled it after Skygge. It was their fastest ship. The Raven could carve its way through turbulent waves like a knife through silk.
Not anymore. Below the figurehead, the remains of the ship lay scattered along the sandy bottom, broken into splinters as if Thor himself had cast his lightning rage on Ulfheim's greatest pride. Not a single ship had been spared. Isa's hand trembled as he ran it over his face. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath. He didn't even hear Torsten approach until he stood beside him, face bone-white.
“What happened?” Isa asked, voice hoarse.
It wasn't Torsten who replied. The sound of boots on the pier was the only warning Isa got before he was grabbed by the back of his coat and pulled around, nearly losing his footing on the dew-wet wood. Eskal's face filled his vision, distorted and red with anger.
“It was you!” Eskal growled, shoving Isa so he stumbled against Torsten's chest.
Isa felt Torsten's hands on his shoulders, but he pulled himself loose. He bristled. “Really? Do tell me how this is my fault.”
“Ever since you put your hand on that western rat, you've been unstable. I knew it would happen sooner or later. My father just never had the balls to do something about it.”
Isa's eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder at Torsten, hoping he might be on his side, but Torsten only looked back at him with concern.
“And when do you propose I could have come out here and destroyed all these ships by myself without a single person hearing?” Isa snapped. “Ships I spent years of my life working on.” Frustration made Isa's voice crack. “Why did nobody hear a thing? All these huts lining the beach and no one heard a sound while I supposedly tore thirty ships apart with what? My bare hands?”
Eskal pointed at Isa's chest. “Because of that.” He raised his voice and turned towards the others. “The Varg already tore its way through our ward six years ago. The only one who saw the creature die was the boy who killed it. A boy! Of only twelve winters! We never got an explanation of how you managed to so expertly kill a creature of the gods with nothing but a hunting knife, Isa.” Eskal fixed him with a hard gaze. “Maybe because you didn't kill it at all. You're the only one here who doesn't want to sail west.” He grabbed Isa's shoulder and dug his fingers in hard.
Isa yelped and closed his hand around Eskal's wrist to pry him off, but Eskal released him easily.
“Lock him up,” Eskal said, gesturing to Torsten and striding off the pier.
“You're wrong!” Isa shouted after Eskal.
Torsten put his hand on Isa's back. “Come on.”
“What?” Isa spun around, backing away from Torsten. “You can't be serious. You're going to do what he says?”
“Isa, he's the jarl.” Torsten's voice had an edge to it when he took Isa by the elbow. “Come on. I don't want to fight you, kid.”
Isa looked up at Torsten, his empty stomach cramping. “You don't think I did this, do you?”
“Of course not,” Torsten murmured, but his answer wasn't as confident as Isa would have liked.
Isa stared at the faces in the crowd. Steinar looked just as pale as Torsten, expression grim. Ingrid's face was full of sadness and Alma's eyes were wide with shock. Jari was the only one who seemed pleased, grinning when Isa passed him.
Torsten led Isa back through the village in direction of the council hall, Skygge circling above their heads. The people they passed lowered their eyes and moved out of the way. They were afraid of him, Isa realised. Granted, they'd never been at ease around him since he'd gotten the curse, but he'd never seen them afraid.
“It happened when I touched that western Sjaelir,” Isa said, studying Torsten's face for a sign of understanding. “I haven't touched him since. This is my home, Torsten. You know how hard I worked on those ships.” It sounded like begging, but Isa couldn't find it in him to care.
Torsten led him through the council hall to the back room, where he lit a candle. “I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt us, Isa, but Eskal is jarl.”
“Then challenge him.”
“I can't challenge him.”
“Why not?” Isa pushed.
“Because I don't want to be jarl.” The edge returned to Torsten's voice and Isa fell silent.
“Hand them over, Isa.”
Isa scowled, but reached for the pendants around his neck. He left his mother's medallion and Torsten didn't object. “Don't lose them,” Isa said, handing Torsten his axe and hunting knife as well.
Torsten gestured for Isa to sit and he did, leaning back as Torsten secured the ropes around his wrists to the rune-inscribed iron links in the wall.
“Seems a bit much,” Isa said, but he didn't fight.
Torsten made a sound, clearly not
fond of it either. They had fought together. Isa had fought beside all of them, gone hunting with all of them. He'd pulled fish from the cold water for them and inscribed their weapons with runes of accuracy and durability. This was the thanks he got.
“This is a new Ulfheim under Eskal's rule,” Torsten said, tugging on the ropes to make sure they held before backing away.
“If you don't like it, change it,” Isa said. Torsten simply shook his head.
Torsten closed the door, the lock sliding into place. Isa dropped his head back against the wall. “Fine. I'll change it,” he snarled, kicking the table so the wood groaned. He closed his eyes. Knowing Eskal, this would be a long wait.
* * *
Hours passed. From between the cracks in the wood, Isa followed the passage of the sun across the sky. It moved painfully slowly, especially since he'd had nothing to eat since dinner the night before. Once, the door opened, revealing Eskal and Steinar. Steinar wouldn't meet his eyes as he came forward. Eskal stayed in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. For once, he had no scalding remarks to spit at Isa. He simply watched as Steinar guided Isa's head down and brought a knife to the back of his neck, cutting what Isa guessed was a tracking rune into his skin. He could tell Steinar was being careful, but it still filled his stomach with ice. A rune carved onto the body wasn't as powerful or as permanent as a tattoo, but unless he wanted to wait for it to heal, it had to be cut off the skin to be removed. When Isa asked Steinar why, he simply murmured “Jarl's orders,” before leaving the room, quick enough to avoid the glob of spit Isa sent after them. Instead, it ran slowly down the surface of the door.
The five lines of the bastard rune throbbed below his hairline, drops of blood sliding under the edge of his collar, itching as it dried.
It was twilight when the door opened again. Isa's stomach rumbled with hope for food. The candle had burned down almost entirely, but cast enough light that Isa immediately recognized the long golden braid and leather vest decorated with hissing cats. Not food, but almost as good. “Alma.”
“Shh,” she said, closing the door behind her softly before kneeling in front of him.
“What's going on out there?” Isa whispered.
“Nothing good.” Alma drew a bottle of water out of a satchel and held it out for him.
Isa leaned forward, tipping his head. The cool liquid soothed his throat.
“Eskal has handed over control of Halafjell to Orlan's nephew now that the village is of no use to him. He's taking all our battle-ready men and women to Tornlund.”
Isa frowned in confusion. “Why? There hasn't been anything there since King Torvald burned it down.”
“But there is,” Alma insisted, packing the bottle away. “Ravsø is just a rocky island. The inhabitants can't grow anything there. They figured out the ash from the burned village is good fertilizer for the soil. They turned the entire surrounding area into fields and they've been harvesting crops there for three years now.”
“Why didn't anybody tell me about this?” Isa asked.
Alma cocked an eyebrow. “It's not like you concern yourself with farming.”
Isa shook his head. “Why is Eskal taking warriors there?”
“The Jættedahl celebrations are in two days, remember? The jarl of Ravsø is sailing most of his people there on all his ships, and they're making land at Tornlund on the way. They're there right now, Isa.”
Isa's eyes widened. “Eskal wants their ships.” He swore. “He can't do that. They're just travellers. The journey to Jættedahl is sacred. Has no one protested?”
Alma grimaced. “Eskal argued that they aren't really journeying to Jættedahl if they're on their own land at Tornlund. Fair game until they sail out again. We're leaving now. I came to warn you. Lena is there, isn't she? Is she still working on your cure?”
Isa felt himself pale. “We have to do something.”
Outside, someone called Alma's name. She sighed. “I need to go.”
“Wait! Help me with these ropes,” Isa whispered.
Footsteps approached. The door opened, flooding the room with light. Alma's uncle stood in the doorway. “What are you doing, girl? Come on.”
“I'm coming,” she said, giving Isa an apologetic glance before rising. She followed her uncle out, but there was no sound of the lock sliding back in place.
Excitement made Isa perk up, but the ropes around his wrists were tight and his hands tied apart. “Fuck,” he murmured, leaning his head back against the wall. “Think.”
A light tap-tap against the roof was followed by a quiet but unmistakable coo that put a smile on Isa's face.
“Skygge,” he called, softly in case Eskal and his warriors were still close. “Hey, girl. In here.” He heard the flap of wings as she took off. Isa tilted his head, listening intently. For several moments, everything was quiet, but then the door to the room creaked open, a shiny black beak poking through the crack.
Isa whistled. “That's it! Come on, girl.”
Skygge stepped inside, doing what Isa could only interpret as a leg-to-leg hop of victory.
“Good girl, Skygge. Best girl around. Hey. Listen. Are you listening?”
She tilted her head at him, offering him her usual click-coo-coo greeting.
“Get my knife,” Isa said slowly, speaking clearly. “Understand? Knife. My knife.” He stared at her, looking for some hint that she understood what he'd said. He'd never asked her to do something like that before. Mostly, she did what she wanted, although she wasn't shy to come to his defence when he needed her. This was one of those moments, right? “Go on, Skygge. Get my knife.”
Cooing, she hopped back out the door with her wings slightly raised for balance. Isa heard her claws click against the floor of the hall before disappearing outside.
Odin's beard. Had it worked?
The flutter of wings announced her arrival sooner than he'd expected and Skygge side-stepped through the crack of the door, placing a tiny twig in front of his feet.
Isa glared at it, then turned the glare on Skygge, hope sinking. “Yeah. Of course. You're a bird. What was I thinking?” He sighed, dropping his head against the wall and grimacing when his headache spiked.
She came closer, nipping his trousers. Then she turned and walked back out, the click of her claws fading into silence.
“So that's the thanks I get for raising you, huh?” he murmured towards the door. “Birdbrain.” He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, sagging back against the wall. Steinar had trained him since his thirteenth winter to be an efficient killer, one of four Runiks in Ulfheim, strong enough to take on half a dozen armed men by himself. Yet he'd been defeated by a length of rope.
A sharp pain in his leg distracted Isa from his self-pity and he sat up with a start. Skygge stood in front of him. He hadn't even heard her return. She held a knife in her beak – his knife. She poked it against his ankle again.
Isa burst into laughter. “That's my girl! Come on, give it here,” he said, turning sideways and wiggling his fingers at her.
She stepped forward, holding the knife towards his hand, blade-first.
He took it, careful not to cut himself, and flipped it between his fingers. “I'm sorry for everything bad I've said about you.” He groaned as he angled the knife and dragged the blade against the rope. “You're the best, most beautiful, magnificent raven in the world. A true beast to behold.” The rope snapped and he wiggled his hand out of it, making quick work of his other wrist.
“I'll give you all the tender rabbit meat you want once we get back from Tornlund. Come on, girl,” he said, waving his hand at her as he headed for the door. She led the way out, flying along the floor before taking to the trees.
Isa paused outside the council hall. The tracking rune burned on the back of his neck. With it, he couldn't even touch the ward without Steinar and Eskal sensing it. He definitely couldn't approach Ravsø unnoticed. Reaching up, he trailed his fingertips over the raw lines etched over the bumps of his spine. It would
take time to remove, and finesse. Right now, he had neither; the sun was already moving past the tip of the highest mountain to the west.
Ulfheim was quiet. Asleep. What were his options?
He needed help.
Crossing the town centre, Isa approached the Sjaelir hall and hesitated. The hall was well-protected and usually guarded, but Eskal had likely taken most of the Sjaelir with him to Tornlund. Isa just had to be cautious. Without his energy runes, there was nothing he could do to silence his steps.
Lifting the handle, Isa found to his relief that the hall was not locked from inside. He slipped the door open and stepped over the floorboards he knew had protection runes carved on the undersides.
As he had expected, no one kept watch inside. He silently thanked Eskal's bloodthirsty recklessness. The central fire was dying down, leaving the interior of the hall in near darkness.
Isa tiptoed to the far corner of the hall where an embroidered blanket shielded the sleeping section. He peeked around the corner with one eye in case someone was still awake. Three beds were empty. A man, Sten, slept in the far one, and in the last, an unmistakable tumble of light brown curls stuck up from the edge of the blanket.
Isa knelt in front of Rakkian's bed and rubbed his shoulder lightly. Even with two layers of fabric between their skin, Isa felt the prickle of energy against his palm and he let go as soon as Rakkian blinked awake.
“Wh—”
“Shh!” Isa urged, holding a finger in front of his lips. “Come.” He waved his hand and stepped back.
Rakkian sat up. He looked exhausted, swaying faintly, the shadows under his eyes dark. He tugged on trousers and shoes too slowly. Isa handed him his coat off a hook on the wall and led the way outside.
“I thought you were locked up,” Rakkian whispered when Isa stopped behind the Sjaelir hall.
“I was, but I got out. I need your help.”
“With what?”
Isa hesitated. Last time he had tried to drain Rakkian, energy had erupted in an explosion. Maybe this would be a repeat, but he didn't know what else to do. “Eskal is riding on the people of Ravsø. I have a friend there and I have to help her, but Eskal made Steinar give me this.” Turning, he pointed to the back of his neck.