Teeth (The Icefjord Saga #1)

by Zaya Feli

  “Surely that'll do,” Karel said after what seemed like too long. The young man's blood dripped into a growing pool on the floor.

  Eskal gave Karel a pointed look. “Didn't take you for the sensitive kind,” he murmured, picking up the cloth he'd been using to wipe his hands and tying it around the Sjaelir's wrist. From his pocket Eskal drew a handful of runestones on leather cords. He picked one, appearing apprehensive for the first time. Karel wasn't sure if Eskal was simply a coward or if his last attempt to drain this Sjaelir had truly gone wrong, but he found himself leaning forward in his seat, tense.

  Eskal narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight the muscles quivered. Somewhere behind Karel, a raven crowed.

  Rakkian gasped and staggered, but Eskal gripped the front of his coat and pulled him close.

  “Stop resisting,” Eskal snarled. His face turned red. A vein bulged in his forehead.

  Rakkian writhed like a worm on a hook, grasping at his throat. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Without warning, Eskal slapped Rakkian across the face, making Karel jump. “What are you doing, you rat? You will serve your jarl, you son of a—”

  “What's happening here?”

  Karel turned his chair around with a foot against the table's edge, the legs scraping against the floor. A dark-haired man who might have been Karel's age stood in the doorway with a large raven on his shoulder. Karel thought he had seen him in Tornlund, but it had been dark and he couldn't be sure.

  Eskal sighed and shoved Rakkian away. Eskal tried to look unaffected, chin raised and chest thrust out, but it was clear that he was shaken by his failed attempt at draining the Sjaelir. “Ah, yes,” Eskal said, too loudly. “Karel, let me introduce you to my cousin, Isarin Eiriksson, the constant thorn in my side.”

  “What are you doing to him?” The new arrival, entirely uninterested in introductions, stepped around Karel and reached for Rakkian, then seemed to change his mind and gave him a visual once-over instead.

  “I-I'm fine,” Rakkian whispered, although he didn't look fine. He sank onto a nearby stool.

  “Isa here likes to think he's better than everybody else.” Eskal grabbed his horn, realised it was empty, and instead flung it at the wall. It clattered to the floor. “Don't you have anything better to do than disturbing your jarl's work?”

  Isa gestured to Rakkian and headed for the door, but Eskal's voice stopped them. “Where do you think you're going?”

  Isa looked over his shoulder, placing himself between Rakkian and the two of them. “You're drunk. Didn't your father ever tell you not to drink and drain?”

  Eskal barked a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “Come 'ere.” He waved his hands. “Come, come.”

  Isa came forward reluctantly.

  Eskal shoved his finger into Isa's chest. “You're going to teach me how to drain this son of a bitch.”

  “No,” Isa said before Eskal was done talking.

  “Isarin can drain him?” Karel asked Eskal.

  Eskal ignored him in favour of staring down Isa. “You'll do as I say or I'll put you back in chains.”

  Isa looked like he was about to say something unpleasant, but stopped himself. “I can't. I don't know how.”

  “Liar.”

  “Isa!” someone called from outside. A moment later, a tall man with twisting tattoos covering his bare arms appeared in the doorway. “Isa.” He raked his eyes over Eskal and Karel, a line forming between his brows. “I need your help renewing the Hagal runes on the Ravsø ships.” He didn't turn around until Isa and Rakkian both followed him to the door.

  Karel waited for Eskal to order them to stop, but he said nothing, simply sank back in his chair, wiping a hand over his mouth.

  “Chains?” Karel asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you'd put him back in chains.”

  “The little shit is cursed.” Eskal spat on the floor, glaring in direction of the doors. “Ever heard the story of the kid who killed the Varg? That was him. If you ask me, the story is bullshit. For all we know, the Varg bit him and then took off when it heard the warriors approaching from Ulfheim. Isa's the reason it was here to begin with. His parents pissed it off and my father had to save their son from the mess they'd made. My father,” Eskal hissed.

  Despite Eskal's generally unpleasant demeanour, Karel couldn't help but feel a sting of sympathy for him. He knew, after all, what it felt like to come second place. But Eskal's information tickled something in the back of Karel's mind. “The Varg bit him?”

  Eskal nodded, grabbing the turkey carcass and tossing the remaining half onto the floor for the dogs. They barked and growled, tugging on it until one got a hold and took off, chased by the other. “He has this creepy mark on his chest. It keeps growing – pure evil, if you ask me.” He chuckled. “He may be a useful Runik, but I'm not going to cry when that thing eventually kills him, y'know? He's been causing much more trouble than he's worth.”

  Karel hummed. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that Isarin was strong enough to drain a Sjaelir too powerful for other Runiks to touch. Eskal called it a curse, but he had no clue that the Varg was still alive. And that raven on Isa's shoulder... The Varg's ravens see everything. Could it really be that Karel had found the Varg already? It would make whisking the creature away to Fenrisborg a lot easier if they weren't going to be chased. What had Torvald said? The Varg was hiding from the seers' gazes in human form. He'd have to keep a close eye on Isarin once they got to Jættedahl.

  The wolves will gather in Jættedahl. The wolves heed their god's call.

  Karel closed his eyes against a rush of excitement. His father would be proud of him. Maybe the seers at Jættedahl could get him closer to Jera. He would deliver the Varg to his father within the week along with a map of the rune's location. It would take a Fenrisborg army no time to fetch it, wherever it was. His father might even be so pleased he'd grant Karel his throne alongside Ylva.

  Karel was so lost in his dream of success that Eskal's boot on his thigh made him flinch. He looked up at the Runik, whose eyes were glazed from drink.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you did.”

  Karel held his gaze. “Did?” he asked calmly.

  “You think I haven’t been by the seer? You think she didn’t tell me it was the second time this week she tasted jarl’s blood?”

  Karel sat very still. Without turning his head, he noted the fastest escape route and possible ways to defend himself. He wore his axe. So did Eskal, but Eskal was drunk. He was, however, a Runik.

  Eskal let out a breath, shining him a fox-like smile as he leaned back in his chair. “You probably shouldn’t tell anyone,” he said, patting his stomach. “They’ll only demand I punish you for it, and I am simply too drunk and too full of turkey to bother swinging an axe. Piss off, will ya? I'm gonna sleep.”

  Karel stood, a slow, deliberate motion so his racing heart would not betray him, and left the hall. Not until he was back outside in the last light of dusk did he allow himself a smile. He couldn’t have planned it better. Soon, everyone in Fenrisborg would know the name of their prince.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “This way.”

  Rakkian followed Isa through the twilight, sticking close to his side. Steinar's request had been an excuse, it turned out, to get Isa away from Eskal. Rakkian thanked whatever gods were watching for Steinar's timing. He wasn't sure he could have spent one more moment in Eskal's company with the smell of his own blood filling his nostrils.

  Around them, the village was preparing for nightfall. Sheep and cows were herded inside barns built as extensions to the larger halls. Even the dogs were led inside, and a girl ran to her mother with a kitten cradled against her chest.

  Isa must have seen him staring. He said, “A group of skovkravl has been sighted in the area.”

  “Skov— What?” Rakkian frowned, trying to focus his hazy mind on the new word.

  “Skovkravl,” Isa said, slower this time. He guided Rakkian around a puddle in t
heir path with a light hand on his back. “Nasty little critters, too small and insignificant for the ward to keep them out. They kill animals and eat their eyes and tongues. They hunt after dark.”

  “Eat their...” Rakkian swallowed rising nausea at the mental image of dead animals with their eyes missing. “What?”

  “You've been here six years and you've never seen skovkravl?”

  “No,” Rakkian said, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. “Nothing like that ever came to Halafjell.”

  A faint smile tugged at Isa's lips. “Don't look so alarmed. They don't harm humans.”

  “Oh.” Rakkian wasn't sure it eased his discomfort, but decided he'd rather drop the conversation than say so. His head throbbed, his wrist even worse, and he was light-headed. It felt as if his insides were doing flips with every step.

  Isa stopped and Rakkian nearly bumped into him before realising where they were: Isa's hut at the edge of the village. Isa let them in, stroking a tattooed hand over the runes carved on the door frame, although Rakkian felt no sparks of energy. A habit, perhaps. When he followed Isa inside, he touched a finger to the same runes and felt a whisper of something powerful. It was a quiet pulse, like distant thunder – nothing like the angry lightning bolts of Eskal's magic.

  “What are they for?” Rakkian asked.

  “Hmm?”A soft glow followed the sound of struck flint from inside. Orange light gradually replaced the semi-darkness and Isa rose from the fireplace, brushing ash from his hands.

  “The runes,” Rakkian said, going inside.

  Isa seemed to debate whether to explain, then said, “For the curse. I don't sleep well. They're meant to keep it contained. Worked great, didn't they?” He sighed. “Wait here.” Skygge hopped through the door; Isa said, “Keep an eye on him,” before going out and closing the door behind him.

  Rakkian stood in the centre of the hut, not sure what to do with himself until Skygge flew onto the table and cooed softly, breaking the haze in his mind.

  There was a single wooden stool by the table and it didn't look comfortable, so Rakkian settled for the bed. The mattress was soft and filled with what felt like down instead of straw. Rakkian sank onto it, rested his head on the pillow, and pulled his legs off the cold floor. Already, the growing fire had begun to heat his aching body and loosen his cramped muscles.

  Being drained, or at least Eskal's attempt, was nothing like sharing energy with Isa. The memory of Eskal's hand on his skin, his claw-like magic digging into Rakkian's soul to feed on him like a monstrous leech, made him tremble. He closed his eyes. He never wanted to feel that way again.

  The door opened, letting in a rush of cold air.

  “Wake up.”

  When Rakkian opened his eyes, Isa stood in front of him, holding a bowl of something that smelled delicious. His stomach growled and he sat up to accept the dish. It was chicken, grilled over a fire, with a crispy surface that made Rakkian's mouth water. Grabbing a leg, he bit into it, ignoring the hot meat burning his tongue. He moaned as he chewed, then remembered his manners and mumbled his thanks through the mouthful.

  Isa nodded in reply, sinking onto the stool to dig into his own meal. He sipped from a cup of dark liquid. Rakkian held out a hand towards it. Isa raised an eyebrow but handed it over anyway.

  Rakkian took a mouthful of what turned out to be mead. He swallowed with a gulp and his eyes watered when he lowered the cup, but the mead had a surprisingly sweet taste, filling his stomach with warmth. “I guess the answer is yes,” he said, resisting the urge to cough.

  “Yes?”

  “When I returned, I asked you if we were still friends.”

  Isa stared at him. “You're a fool.”

  Rakkian shrugged.

  “Hey, you don't look half-dead anymore,” Isa observed, smirking as he took the cup back and drank without wincing.

  Rakkian scowled. “I wasn't half-dead before. It's just Eskal. He's...” He trailed off.

  “Yeah,” Isa said. Putting down his bowl, he gestured to Rakkian's wrist and Eskal's makeshift bandage. “He bled you, huh? Did it work?”

  “I don't know. I don't think so. I just know it was fucking unpleasant.” Rakkian shuddered, balancing his bowl between his thighs so he could eat one-handed.

  “Wow.” Isa moved from the stool and sat next to Rakkian. “Didn't know you could swear.”

  “Are you going to mildly insult me all evening?”

  Isa's smile widened. Rakkian couldn't remember seeing Isa smile like that before. Had he smiled at all? Signy said Isa never smiled. He had nice teeth. Which was a weird thing to notice about someone, Rakkian thought. He looked away. “Can't you do that thing you did on the way to Tornlund, the claiming rune? But permanent, so Eskal can't keep doing...that.” He shivered.

  Isa grimaced. “I don't think Eskal would like that. Either way, I'd have to tattoo it on you and that requires me to touch your skin for quite a length of time. I have a feeling that isn't a great idea.”

  “What happens when you touch me?” Rakkian asked, eating slowly so he could pay attention.

  Isa shook his head. “I don't know. It isn't very pleasant, is it?” He shrugged his jacket off and pulled a leather cord over his head, then fetched another from a chest by the table. Grey runestones dangled from both.

  Rakkian recognized them now. Pertho and Bjarka: energy and healing. “It doesn't happen when you touch anyone else?”

  “Just you,” Isa said. He sat back down on the bed. “Of course I can feel the other Sjaelir, but it's as if the curse knows how strong you are. I don't want to risk anything.” He untied the cloth from Rakkian's wrist, careful not to touch his skin. “I'm no healer, but I can take the pain away.” He placed the Bjarka rune in Rakkian's hand and held the energy rune in his own, holding his free hand over the cut on Rakkian's wrist.

  “What should I do?” Rakkian asked.

  Isa glanced up briefly. “Nothing.” A faint line of concentration formed between his brows and energy moved in a sluggish wave from Isa's hand to Rakkian's wrist. Rakkian gasped. It felt incredible, filling him with a rush of pleasant warmth he didn't want to end. When Isa removed his hand, the feeling faded. Rakkian inspected his hand. The pain was almost gone and the bleeding had stopped.

  “I watched you heal a cut on your head so all that was left was a scar,” Rakkian said, lowering his hand.

  Isa snorted. He slipped the cord back over his head, fingertips lingering briefly at the wolf's-head medallion that hung between the stones before hiding it from Rakkian's view. “You're welcome,” he said dryly.

  “No, no, I mean...” The flush that heated Rakkian's cheeks was more embarrassment than warmth from the fire. “I'm not complaining. I just—”

  “I can only heal myself that way because the magic runs within me. It won't work the same on other people. Like I said, I'm no healer.”

  “Right. Of course,” Rakkian said.

  Isa rummaged through the chest again, producing a roll of bandages.

  Glancing into the chest, Rakkian saw several more rolls before Isa closed the lid. Rakkian held his wrist out and Isa wrapped the clean bandage around his forearm.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rakkian asked in the silence that followed.

  Isa didn't look at him. “You helped me get to Tornlund and you didn't run away.”

  “You saved my life twice. I wanted to help you.”

  “You're too kind for your own good,” Isa said, returning to the stool and his bowl of chicken.

  “So are you,” Rakkian said.

  “I'm not kind.”

  Rakkian stared at Isa. He was clearly kind, at least to Rakkian. Skygge hopped onto the bed and clicked her beak at him, cooing. “Hey girl,” he said, picking out a piece of chicken. She hopped up to sit on his knee before taking it gently between her claws and tearing into it. Rakkian stroked her back. Her feathers were silky soft. When he looked up, Isa watched him closely.

  “She really does remember you,” Isa said, leani
ng back in his seat.

  “She's a nice bird.”

  “She really isn't.”

  Rakkian was too tired to argue, so he asked a question that had been nagging him since Tornlund. “What makes this Jera rune so special? Runiks carve new runes all the time. Why does Eskal need to find Jera? Can't he just carve one himself?”

  Isa took Rakkian's empty bowl and set it on the table. “Runes don't work that way,” he said. “It takes skill to learn how to fill runes with magic, to give them purpose. Depending what kind of rune a Runik carves, other Runiks can use it without adding their own power. Non-Runiks can benefit from runes with lasting effects, too.”

  Rakkian pursed his lips, trying to make sense of it. “Like Tiwaz?” he asked. Everyone in Halafjell had carried weapons and shields marked with the rune. In Ulfheim, too. It was the first rune Rakkian had grown familiar with, along with its use to increase the accuracy and durability of whatever it was carved on. They were the runes tattooed on the backs of Isa's hands, shaped like arrow tips.

  “Like Tiwaz,” Isa confirmed. “And Hagal.”

  “Hagal?”

  “Carved on ships. To protect them from bad weather.”

  “How many runes are there?”

  “Of the common ones? Fourteen. Only the most skilled Runiks can master them all.” He raised his chin.

  “And Jera?” Rakkian asked. He pulled the blanket from under himself and draped it across his lap, leaning against the wall.

  “Jera is a forgotten rune,” Isa said. “Those are more powerful. No one knows how many there are, but so far, we know of three: Jera, Kauna, and Isa.” He drew the knife from his belt and placed the tip against the tabletop. It rasped against the surface, inscribing three runes Rakkian hadn't seen before in its wake.

  Rakkian leaned forward. “Wait, Isa?”

  Isa chuckled. “Yes, my parents named me after a forgotten rune. Creative, huh? It means ice.” He tapped the last one. It was the simplest, a single straight line.

  “So you can carve as many forgotten runes as you want, you just can't fill them with magic,” Rakkian said. It was strange to think something as unassuming as a line could hold so much power.