by Zaya Feli
Rakkian gasped at the sight of the bastard rune carved into Isa's skin. “That looks painful.”
“It means I can't approach unseen.” Isa waved for Rakkian to follow, moving along the sides of the buildings back to the council hall. “They took my Pertho runes, so I have no energy to conceal myself, but you do.”
“But last time—”
“I know,” Isa interrupted. Stepping inside, he found a bowl and sat down. He filled it with water from a jug and mixed it with a handful of ash from the fire. “But I have to help her.”
“I...I don't know.” Rakkian stayed where he was, arms wrapped around himself. “That feeling of it...bursting through me. I really don't want to feel that again.”
“I know. I was thinking,” Isa said, ignoring the nervousness in his gut. “What if we did it the same way you gave Skygge your energy when we were children?” He rose, holding the bowl.
Rakkian still looked doubtful. “You mean me giving it to you instead of you taking it from me?”
“Exactly. If I don't reach into your soul, maybe the curse won't hurt you. Think you can do it?” Tearing off a strip of his shirt, he gestured for Rakkian to open his coat. He rolled up the fabric and dipped it in the makeshift dye, raising it to Rakkian's bare chest. He tried not to think about how much time had already passed. Surely Eskal and his warriors had arrived at Tornlund by now and were hard at work cutting down Ravsø citizens.
“Maybe. I don't know,” Rakkian said, looking down at the rune Isa was drawing on his skin. “I haven't done it since then.”
“Try.”
“What are you doing?” Rakkian asked.
“This is Fehu,” Isa explained. “It binds your abilities to me so the link between us flows easier. Keeps the others from being able to drain you, too, just in case. But it's temporary. This might not even last us all the way to Tornlund, so we'll need to be quick. Now, try.”
Rakkian closed his eyes, a line forming between his brows. Isa stared at him, his heart starting to race. They shouldn't be doing this. It was too dangerous. The cursed bite on Isa's skin had grown, and this would link their souls together for even longer. What would happen to him if the corruption reached his heart? But if Lena was alive to finish the cure, it would be all worth it. It was a gamble he had to make.
A ripple grew from the centre of his chest – gentle, like fingertips running lightly over bare skin. Nothing like the rush of power he'd braced himself for. His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in his mind. As soft as it was, it sent shivers down his spine. He'd always been the one reaching out. Taking. Acting upon the Sjaelir he used. Now, he was the one being acted upon. Jaw tight with concentration, he focused on nursing the connection, widening the channel and letting it through like water in a stream. It felt so distinctly...Rakkian. It was the only way to describe it. Of course, Isa always felt traces of the Sjaelir in the power he drained from them, but none of it ever felt quite like this. He searched Rakkian's face for signs of discomfort, but Rakkian only watched him with wide eyes in the darkness.
“Is it working?” Rakkian asked. “Do you feel it?”
“I feel it,” Isa said, the words coming out in a whisper. Slowly, so as to not disturb the link, Isa raised his hand to Rakkian's chest without touching. He closed his eyes, concentrating on filling the rune with purpose. He frowned. A medium as temporary as ash and water was nearly impossible to work with, like trying to build a sand sculpture underwater. Slowly, the rune made itself known in his mind. He tugged Rakkian's coat back around him, then raised his hand and covered the wound on the back of his neck. Dagaz tattooed on his ring finger tingled with energy as he used it to conceal the magic of the bastard rune. The power of Dagaz folded over the wound like an invisible shield. The link between them was tenuous, but Rakkian's energy was bright, almost too much so. It pushed at the boundaries of the link as if to test it.
“I can sense it seeping out of me,” Rakkian said, looking at the palms of his hands.
“Another reason why we need to be quick. Let's go.” Isa half-ran from the council hall towards the barn with Rakkian right behind him. He chose two horses, not bothering with saddles. He put a bridle on one and a halter on the other, attached to a lead. He could feel Rakkian's displeasure through the flow of energy, but he couldn't care about it. As much as he would love to let Rakkian ride straight out of Ulfheim while the rest of the village had their backs turned, he couldn't afford to do that right now.
“Eskal can't just cut down a village full of innocent people,” Rakkian said, sticking close to him. “Why hasn't anyone objected?”
Isa shook his head. “Ravsø left us behind when our villages rose up against Fenrisborg after the great raid. Hjalmar begged them for help, but they refused. The air has been cold between Ulfheim and Ravsø ever since. I don't think anyone's going to protest Eskal's plans.”
Isa led the horses down to the trail where the ward cut across. Swallowing hard, he knelt on the damp road and did what he had done six years before and had sworn never to do again. The ward shimmered and wisped away where Isa opened a passage. Leading the horses and Rakkian through, he sealed it behind them and pulled himself onto his horse, a bad taste lingering in his mouth. He hadn't stopped to consider what Eskal might do to him after this. All that mattered was the cure. He'd handle the rest later.
Steering both their horses along the southern trail, he heeled his mount to a gallop. So much time had passed already. He might have made this entire escape in vain. Above, Skygge cawed and raced ahead.
Isa felt the steady flow of Rakkian's energy supplying the magic concealing the rune at the back of his neck. The trickle was barely stronger than what it would take to heal a scrape, yet it invigorated him, making his heart pound and his blood flow faster. Isa looked at Rakkian, but he didn't seem affected. His grip was white-knuckled at the base of his horse's mane as he put all his concentration into staying on its back.
A bird flew from a nearby tree, disturbed from its sleep. Isa's horse tossed its head and veered sideways, but he pushed it forward with a sinking feeling in his chest. He'd been too slow. He was sure of it. If Lena didn't have his cure, Isa didn't know where else to turn. He couldn't help but wonder what agonizing death awaited him once the twisting tendrils reached his heart. Maybe it wouldn't kill him. Maybe he'd grow dark and corrupted instead, turning on everyone he knew until one of them took him out. Would he still go to Valhalla then?
The ride felt five times as long as usual. Isa's horse was foaming and gasping by the time they reached the hills around the scorched town.
Isa heard the commotion before he saw it. Slowing, he gestured for Rakkian to dismount and tied the horses to a nearby tree. He glanced at Rakkian. There'd be no reason to bring him along. The Sjaelir connection would stretch for a short distance. Rakkian met his eyes. No, Isa couldn't leave him here and risk him taking off.
“Stay low.” Isa waved for Rakkian to follow, crouching as he approached the crest of the hill.
The area below was clear of trees, the water on the left reflecting the light of the moon and illuminating the scene in a faint glow. A few buildings had been erected on the outskirts of Tornlund where the ground and the remains of old buildings stood scorched and crumbling. On the beach, dozens of swords and shields reflected the moonlight like a grotesque collection of dancing fireflies. Isa's heart skipped. “Closer.” He urged Rakkian forward and they descended the hill together, curving around the new buildings, the only cover apart from a few scattered bushes.
A woman's scream pierced the air. Isa got a glimpse of an Ulfheim warrior yanking a rake from her hands and tossing her against the side of a building. Nearby, a man wielding a bearded axe darted out of a building; Isa ducked behind a bush, peering over the top as a warrior who might have been Torsten spun and tossed an axe that split the man's face. He fell and hit the ground next to Isa. Pulling the axe from the man's skull, Isa turned to Rakkian and waved him closer.
“Stay here,” Isa whispered sharply.
“I'm going to find Lena.”
Rakkian gaped. “But what if I'm spotted?”
“Then run to me.”
“Wait!”
“Stay!” Isa darted out from cover and joined the fight.
CHAPTER SIX
Rakkian crouched behind the bush, hands shaking with fear. He'd never been to battle before. Around him, screams and shouts tore through the air as Ulfheim warriors mercilessly cut down men and women too slow to take up arms. Memories flashed through Rakkian's mind: the bell tower warning his tiny village of Torvald's approaching army; the sound of crying children torn from their parents. He'd hidden, but they'd found him anyway.
Even with his limited knowledge of battle, it was clear that Eskal's men were winning. The Ravsø travellers hadn't been prepared for a fight. It was a slaughter and Rakkian was glad that the darkness hid most of the gruesome sights. In what seemed like moments, the fighting was over. Rakkian cautiously raised his head above cover. His head spun and he took a steadying breath. The slow stream of energy leaving him was unnerving, but he wasn't fatigued enough to be worried yet.
Rakkian spotted Eskal just as a woman ran for him with a kitchen knife raised over her head.
Isa saw her too; he barked a warning and Eskal spun around, flinging his axe.
“Wait!” Isa shouted, but it was too late. The axe hit the woman in the centre of the chest and she collapsed.
“No!” Isa darted forward. He knelt by the woman's side, but didn't seem to know where to put his hands. He gripped the axe's shaft, then changed his mind.
Slowly, Rakkian stood. Was this who Isa had come to save? She was bleeding out. Maybe he could help her like he'd helped Skygge, by giving Isa enough energy to close her wound. Runiks could heal, couldn't they? As Rakkian watched, the woman gripped Isa's sleeve. She struggled to say what looked like a single word, then went still. Whatever she'd said sent a shiver through Isa and all the way across the link between them, raising bumps on Rakkian's skin. Isa rose and passed a hand over the back of his neck. The link went out like a snuffed candle, leaving Rakkian alone and oddly cold. It felt like something vital was suddenly missing, but the feeling faded in seconds.
Rakkian frowned. He didn't like being drained – far from it – and the feeling of loss was unsettling. He looked away from the dead woman.
“Ravsø's ships are ours!” Eskal roared, raising his fists in victory. There came a moment of silence, but then voices joined Eskal's as the warriors slammed their weapons against their shields. A few stayed silent. Steinar. Torsten. Alma. Jari came down the slope, dragging the Sjaelir Eskal and Steinar had brought along. Signy was among them. She looked pale, jaw tight and shoulders drawn up, but Rakkian wasn't sure if it was the bloody scene or the exhaustion of the drain. There could be Sjaelir among the dead, he realised. Eskal didn't seem to care.
Rakkian looked out over the water. A single ship with half a dozen people had managed to escape, a lonely refugee bobbing on the waves. Rakkian’s chest ached with sorrow for them. They had a home to return to, but their families were dead.
A rough hand clasped Rakkian's face and yanked him backwards. He yelped, stumbled, and fell against a hard body. They landed on the ground, the man shoving Rakkian onto his back and sitting astride him. His face was covered in dirt and blood, his eyes crazed as he raised a jagged rock overhead.
“Rakki!” Isa shouted.
Before anyone could react, an arrow buried itself in the side of the man's skull with so much force that the shining tip sprouted from the other side. The man's eyes rolled back and he dropped the rock, which landed with a thump next to Rakkian's head as the body fell on top of him. Rakkian pushed it off with a groan and sat up, heart pounding. He looked around wildly to see who else might be lurking, ready to strike, but he saw no one. Then the archer stepped down from the crest of the hill.
“Who goes there?” Eskal shouted.
Rakkian heard the creak of bows being drawn. He got up, backing away from the body towards Isa.
“My name is Karel,” the archer said, his bow in one hand and the other held out in a gesture of peace. He stopped near the border of the carnage, taking in the view with a cool expression. “I'm here to help.”
Soft laughter rippled through the crowd. Eskal stepped forward. “Well, we thank you for the arrow, but you're a little late to join the fight.”
“A different kind of help,” Karel said, so softly Rakkian almost missed it. He strapped his bow over his shoulder. “I've heard you're planning to sail west.”
Eskal hesitated, glancing at the others before crossing his arms. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Are you looking to join us?”
“No.” Karel stepped over a body, seeming unconcerned by the dozens of armed warriors surrounding him. His entire outfit was dark. His eyes and hair, too, letting him blend into the night entirely aside from his face, which was pale as the moon. He looked young – Rakkian's age or a few years older. “I'm here to tell you not to go.”
The laughter was louder this time.
“Is that a threat?” Eskal asked, mocking. He flipped his bloody axe from hand to hand and Rakkian suspected he was considering which of the intruder's limbs to chop off first.
Karel didn't look fazed. “It's an offer.”
Eskal's eyes narrowed. “An offer of what? What could possibly be better than shiploads of gold and hundreds of acres of new land?”
“How would you like to be king of everything?” Karel flashed Eskal a swift smile.
“King of everything? Are you all hearing this lunatic?” Eskal pointed his axe at Karel. “No one can be king of everything.”
Rakkian inched closer to Isa. Eskal seemed momentarily distracted from his prisoner's escape, but he'd remember sooner or later and Rakkian had no doubt he'd get a share of the punishment.
“A Jera runestone has been found,” Karel said. Clearly he was waiting for a reaction, because he watched the gathered warriors and rolled his eyes when none came.
Eskal looked over his shoulder at Steinar, who stepped forward.
“They say Jera has the power to control any creature that isn't human, from earthworms to the gods' mighty beasts,” Steinar said. “But it's a forgotten rune. Jera hasn't been used since Tyr forced Fenris to let itself be chained.”
“Tyr still lost his hand chaining Fenris,” Alma added, coming to stand beside them.
“It takes a powerful Runik to use a forgotten rune,” Steinar said. “Since Helgrinn the Bloody used Kauna to set his opponents aflame before his death in battle, no Runik has been able to—”
“You're thinking about it wrong,” Karel insisted, raising his voice for the first time. He directed his words to Eskal. “If you have the rune in your possession, you have the power. All you have to do is find someone who can use it and bid them serve you. You are a jarl, are you not?”
Karel's words made Eskal stand up straighter and even in the moonlight, Rakkian could see pride on his face.
“So where is this Jera runestone, Stranger Karel?” Eskal asked, moving closer to Karel and regarding him thoughtfully.
“The seers I've consulted haven't been able to locate it,” Karel said. “But the Great Sacrifice in Jættedahl is the closest we can get to the gods. We can go there.”
“'We'?” Torsten pushed his way to the front, his large bearded axe rested on his shoulder and his face splattered with blood. “And who are you exactly? Where are you from? Why are you so eager to help us?”
The crowd followed Torsten's questions with mutters of agreement.
“Here.” Karel pointed to the smouldering remains of Tornlund with the tip of an arrow. “This was my home before Fenrisborg burned it down. I snuck into Fenrisborg for a chance at revenge, but the king was too well guarded. Instead, I overheard their Runiks speak of Jera. King Torvald already knows about Jera and he has many Runiks at his disposal. More than you. If you don't get your hands on it, he will. Ulfheim is the largest village
in the Icefjord not already licking King Torvald's ass, so that's why I'm here. Ulfheim and Tornlund were allies against Fenrisborg.”
Eskal and Steinar exchanged glances.
“In that case,” Steinar said, “you won't mind swearing on your words with this.” He drew a stone from his pocket, a rune the shape of an upside-down straight hook carved into its surface. Rakkian had seen the Halafjell Runik use it once before. When it was held against the skin, a person couldn't speak lies.
Karel looked at the rune, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might refuse. Then he pulled off one of his black gloves and held out his hand.
The moment Karel's hand closed around the rune, he spoke up so everyone could hear. “What I've told you about the Jera runestone is true. King Torvald knows of its existence and you must act swiftly. I swear on my life that I am not leading you astray by sending you to Jættedahl and that I did not come here to kill you or any of your men, Jarl Eskal.” Karel knelt, bowing his head to Eskal. It struck Rakkian as overly theatrical, but he stayed quiet.
Eskal stared at Karel for a second, then burst into a wide grin, turning back to the crowd. “Then tomorrow, we gather supplies and ready the ships. The day after, we'll sail to Jættedahl. If this boy's plan doesn't work, we kill him and sail west before the frost covers the sea. Objections?”
Again, the crowd cheered. Rakkian looked at Isa, but even he seemed less concerned than he had been a moment ago.
Karel rose and tossed the rune to Steinar, who pocketed it.
“As for you.” Eskal turned and pointed an accusing finger at Isa.
Rakkian tensed.
Steinar placed a hand on Eskal's arm. “He saved your life.”
Eskal didn't look swayed, but then he spat on the ground and turned away. “Fuck it, I'm in a good mood. But keep an eye on him.”