Teeth (The Icefjord Saga #1)

by Zaya Feli

  Rakkian looked down the length of the ship. Eskal stood at the stern, keeping a watchful eye on the other ships. He hadn't paid Rakkian any attention since they'd boarded. Karel stood against the mast, one arm wrapped around it, his grip white-knuckled and his face stern. Rakkian got up, eager to distract himself from thoughts of Isa's fate, and walked between the rows of benches to the mast. Karel's dark eyes darted to him as he approached and his grip on the mast tightened as if he expected Rakkian to attempt to shove him overboard.

  “Not keen on sailing?” Rakkian asked, offering him a small smile.

  Karel glanced over the side. “Not keen on water.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Pathetic, isn't it? A Norseman more afraid of the sea than a westerner.”

  Rakkian shook his head. “We're all good at different things.”

  Karel stared back like he had no clue how to answer.

  When he didn't say anything else, Rakkian continued. “I wanted to thank you for helping me when Eskal tried to drain me.”

  A sharp line formed between Karel's brows. “I didn't exactly help.”

  “But you tried,” Rakkian insisted. “You stood up for me. And you saved my life in Tornlund. Thank you.” He reached out, offering Karel his open hand.

  Karel looked at it for a moment before taking Rakkian's hand in his own cold one. “You're welcome.”

  Rakkian returned to his spot under the figurehead, making himself a nest among uncomfortable rolls of rope and sail canvas. The landscape rolled slowly by. Grassy hills turned into pine-covered cliffs shrouded in mist and low clouds as if they were sailing straight into the sky. The moisture in the air grew thicker until Rakkian could no longer see the shore on either side of them. As little as he wanted to fall asleep on a ship with Eskal, the previous night's bleeding lingered in the form of fatigue in his muscles and his mind. He closed his eyes, listening to the creaking of the wood below.

  * * *

  When Rakkian awoke, it was to the sound of shouts and oars sliding into the water. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and sat up. It was just past sunset, the sky a muddy grey and the air filled with the scent of wood smoke. Turning towards the prow, he could see the light of many torches ahead. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed structures and people between the trees on the near shore. In the water, they were surrounded by ships. Eskal shouted again, ordering them to keep their distance as a group of ships from another village found places along the docks.

  Rakkian stood unsteadily. They'd reached the bottom of the fjord. There were ships everywhere, easily over a hundred. Rakkian counted twenty piers jutting from the beach at regular intervals, most of them already full. As Eskal ordered their fleet of ships closer, the sounds of people on the sand and between the trees grew louder.

  Rakkian had never seen so many people gathered in one place. Excitement filled his stomach with butterflies. A soft breeze carried with it the sound of music that vanished when the wind turned, and between puffs of campfire smoke, Rakkian smelled roasting pig. His stomach churned.

  It seemed to take ages to get all the ships manoeuvred into position along the remaining empty pier. Eskal's ship was last to dock, Kjartan stepping off to tie it securely to a post. Rakkian was standing near the side, ready to step onto the pier, when a hand closed around his arm. He turned to find Eskal's eyes burning into his.

  “Don't think you can run,” Eskal growled. Rakkian could feel Eskal's breath on his face. Over his shoulder, Eskal barked, “Give me a length of rope.”

  Rakkian's stomach dropped. He wouldn't really...would he? Yes, he would.

  “I'm not going to run!” Rakkian assured him, but Eskal didn't listen. Rakkian gritted his teeth as Eskal tied the rope around his wrist with triple knots. The rope was barely two metres long. He might be able to undo the knots, but not without Eskal noticing.

  Bitterness welled up inside him. He hadn't planned on escaping. They were in the middle of the woods – he wouldn't know which direction to run. For all he knew, the nearest village was a hundred kilometres away. As he stepped off the ship beside Eskal, Rakkian's excitement dimmed. He looked for Isa, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even Skygge was lost in the mass of people.

  On the beach, Torsten greeted a friend from another village with hearty slaps on the back. Steinar crouched next to him, stroking a surprisingly gentle hand over the hair of a child. The Ulfheim residents scattered and it didn't seem to bother Eskal, who strode up the beach in direction of the woodland camp, tugging Rakkian behind him on the rope. Here and there, he paused to accept condolences from strangers about his father's death, feigning sincerity better than Rakkian had expected.

  “A shame Halafjell and Ravsø couldn't be here this year,” one woman said. Eskal pretended ignorance when she asked if he knew why Ulfheim's neighbours were absent.

  Rakkian followed Eskal between the trees. The camp stretched as far as Rakkian could see, over the forest slopes towards a single, large structure that looked like several buildings stacked on top of each other, each smaller than the one below. Each section of roof was decorated with carved animal figures on both ends.

  In the fading light, Rakkian counted at least thirty campfires on their side of the slope, a new smell of roasted pork, simmering vegetables, or grilled chicken wafting up from each corner of the camp. To Rakkian's delight, the gods seemed to favour him at least a little, for Eskal pulled him towards one of the nearest cooking fires.

  The people there greeted Eskal with nods and Rakkian with curious glances.

  “That's a pretty dog you got there,” one woman commented, and the others laughed. They were varying degrees of drunk, Rakkian noticed. Norsemen could never celebrate anything without getting hammered.

  “What's he good for? Does he do tricks?” asked a man with a beard so long it pooled on the ground between his feet where he sat.

  “That's none of your business,” Eskal grumbled, sitting down before seeming to realise rudeness wasn't the best way to get himself a meal and greeting them politely in turn.

  Rakkian sat on the log next to Eskal, leaving as much distance between them as the length of his rope would allow. He tuned out the sound of their voices, only paying attention long enough to accept the roasted lamb's leg Eskal waved in front of his face. Rakkian gobbled it up, too hungry to savour the meat. Despite feeling like a dog on a leash, the atmosphere was pleasant. People talked, played music and sang, ate and laughed and greeted old friends. The surrounding forest brought Rakkian a different kind of peace. There was a warmth to the green pines and the thick carpet of leaves. Despite the cold weather, it made Rakkian feel more at ease than he had in a long time.

  Rakkian felt himself growing drowsy, and by the time their group at the fire broke up, he was rocking slowly back and forth, eyes closed. A yank on the rope nearly toppled him and he staggered to his feet, glaring at Eskal's back as he was dragged along. Eskal whistled loudly, turning heads. He waved for someone at a nearby fire, and a moment later, Steinar caught up to them.

  “I need you to tag him,” Eskal said, gripping Rakkian by the wrist and shoving him towards Steinar. “So he doesn't run off tonight. You do them better than I do.”

  For the first time, Steinar looked uncertain. “Carve him? With the kind of power he's carrying around, I don't think that's wise.”

  Eskal sighed. “Fine. Then cuff him or something.”

  Steinar walked away and Eskal tugged Rakkian towards a new group of people. When they got closer, Rakkian recognized Torsten, Karel, Signy, and Alma amongst the strangers. Signy offered Rakkian a small smile and he waved at her. Torsten passed sleeping rolls to Eskal, who dumped them in Rakkian's arms, ordering him to lay them out on the ground. Rakkian wondered when he'd turned into Eskal's personal servant, but he kept the thought to himself.

  Shortly after, Steinar returned with a chain attached to an iron cuff. Rakkian gawked. They were going out of their way to make sure he didn't escape. Not that he cared; he had no plans to take off just yet. He held ou
t his arm and let Eskal loosen the rope and clamp the cuff around his wrist instead. Eskal tugged on it to make sure it couldn't slide off, then wrapped the chain around his hand and sat.

  Toeing off his boots and crawling under the covers of his sleeping roll, Rakkian felt the autumn night chill starting to creep under his layers of clothing. Around them, the rest of the camp was going quiet. The real celebrations would begin tomorrow. Rakkian closed his eyes, on the edge of dozing off when a hand on his shoulder made him start.

  It was Signy, holding out a wooden cup. “For the cold,” she whispered.

  “Thanks.” Rakkian downed the mead in one go, wincing. He closed his eyes and fell asleep at once.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Karel woke at the break of dawn and made his way from Eskal's camp to the edge of the trees. Dry leaves crunched under his boots despite his efforts to step lightly to avoid waking the people sleeping around him.

  The Fenrisborg camp wasn't hard to find. It was by far the largest, clustered with the people of Kelvaldr, Vinterholm, and those of Reyadahl who had made the long journey to Jættedahl. A few people were up preparing the morning meal. At Karel's approach, several of Torvald's most trusted rose, holding fists to their chests. Karel gestured for them to sit – you never knew who might be watching.

  Karel found Torvald already awake, sitting on a log at the centre of the camp. As Karel approached, Torvald tore a piece of bread off the loaf in his hand and dipped it in his cup of milk before taking a bite. He looked up, but took his time chewing before gesturing Karel closer.

  Karel sat next to his father; Torvald didn't offer him bread and Karel didn't ask.

  “What have you found out?” Torvald asked, not looking at him.

  “I consulted a seer near Ulfheim. She told me the Varg will make itself known here. Tomorrow.”

  Torvald's face remained blank, giving Karel no clue to his thoughts. “Make itself known how?”

  “Something's going to happen. The Varg will summon wolves to Jættedahl.”

  “There are a thousand people here. Are you going to be watching every Ulfheim resident?”

  Karel straightened. “I already have an idea who it might be. I'll keep a close eye on him.”

  “Then I hope for Ylva's sake you aren't mistaken,” Torvald said, tearing another chunk from the loaf. “Anything else I should know?”

  “Pack your camp and move closer to the beach. I have a feeling it's going to get ugly.”

  Torvald hummed noncommittally.

  Karel swallowed. He'd expected at least a trace of approval from his father, but he should have known better. All Karel had offered so far were promises, and promises meant nothing. He'd make his father proud when he delivered the Varg. “I've seen the beast's power.”

  “Yes?” Torvald glanced at him sidelong, and although there was hardly any change in his demeanour, Karel could tell he'd piqued his interest. It felt like victory.

  “It destroyed thirty ships in one night without waking a single soul.”

  Torvald passed a hand over his mouth. “The Runiks and the seers were right. That kind of power will bring my daughter back to me.”

  “Yes,” Karel said softly. “Yes, it will.”

  Karel was about to get up, but Torvald gripped his wrist. He leaned to the side and pulled something from a bag, then dumped a handful of mushrooms into Karel's palm. “If you think you know who the Varg is, use these. Knowing how to handle the creature will give us an advantage. These might work to sedate it. If you can, question the host – he might know more than he realises. But be careful. Don't let him suspect anything.”

  “Yes, Father,” Karel said. Pocketing the mushrooms, he rose before he could overstay his welcome. Drugging Isa would be easy, especially after the sacrifices tonight, when everyone would be drunk and celebrating. Excitement made Karel's heart beat faster. You'll wake up soon, sister, he thought. And it'll be thanks to me.

  Reaching Eskal's camp, he was pleased to find it quiet. He slipped under the covers of his sleeping roll and closed his eyes as Eskal began to stir beside him. A moment later, a boot nudged the back of his shoulder. Karel rolled over, making an effort to look appropriately tired and sleep-ruffled. “Good morning,” he murmured.

  “We've got work to do,” Eskal said. He sat with his legs crossed and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards Karel. “Or did you forget? We're going to talk to the seers.”

  Karel bit the inside of his cheek. He had told Eskal that was the reason they needed to come here. On the other hand, the seers had an eerie way of seeing straight through him. It would be unfortunate indeed if they exposed him as the prince of Fenrisborg with Eskal present.

  At the will of the gods, Karel's salvation arrived in the form of Torsten holding two plates of delicious-smelling spiced salmon.

  Karel sat up, taking time to stretch before he said, “Why don't you stay and enjoy your breakfast? I'll visit the seers; if they have anything interesting to say, I'll come fetch you. No need for you to waste your time.”

  Eskal's eyes narrowed, then he shrugged, taking a plate from Torsten. “That's not a bad idea. Tell me what you need.”

  Karel resisted the urge to sigh in relief. He got to his feet. “A few chickens should suffice.”

  * * *

  Karel didn't need the chickens, but it would look suspicious not to bring anything, so he held onto the flapping hens until he cleared the crest of the hill. Then he set them down, watching them race off between the trees. It would be nice to think they'd been spared a grim fate at the last second, but in reality, they were likely to end up food for the wolves before the day was over.

  The seers' grove was below, adjacent to the main camp but surrounded by dense forest. A dozen tiny huts built from branches and held together with hemp rope stood in a circle at its centre. Compared to the Jættedahl temple, the seers' huts looked almost comical. When the Great Sacrifice was over, the huts would be disassembled and the seers would vanish, although Karel had no clue where they went.

  A few people came and went, walking past him in silence. Karel waited until he was sure the far hut was unoccupied, then walked towards it. This was his second time visiting a seer this week. He tried not to let his distaste show.

  He knocked seven times and cleansed his face and hands with the water from the bowl inside.

  “Hail Freja,” he murmured as he sat in front of the cloaked figure.

  “Hail Freja.” The seer raised her head, turning not one, but two milky-white eyes on Karel. A full-body shiver went through him and he averted his gaze.

  The seer held out a bowl with one hand, a knife in the other.

  Karel swallowed. This was the part he looked forward to least. He took the knife and rolled up his sleeve. His forearm was smooth and unmarked, and he couldn't help a sting of regret as he brought the tip of the knife to the inside of it.

  He'd never been bled before and the sight of his own blood had always made him queasy. He drew the blade only a short distance and turned away when blood began to run. He made the mistake of looking at the seer instead, and he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of amusement ghost over her stone-blank expression.

  The blood stopped running before the bowl was properly filled, but it would have to do since Karel wasn't about to cut himself twice. He lowered his arm, wrapping a hand around it as the seer dipped a finger in his blood and wiped it on her tongue.

  “Prince's blood,” she purred, rolling her head from side to side. Before Karel could ask his questions, she reached across the space between them and grabbed Karel's wrist. Karel flinched, trying to pull away, but her grip grew tighter.

  “You've brought death to Jættedahl,” she rasped.

  Karel froze. He stared at her face, centimetres from his own. The instinct to run welled up in him, but he couldn't force his legs to move.

  “The Varg will thank you, surely,” she said.

  Karel's voice was nothing but a whisper. “The Varg doesn't know me.”
r />   “The Varg's ravens see everything, everywhere.”

  “How do I talk to the ravens?” Karel asked.

  “You cannot, foolish boy,” the seer said, showing off sharp teeth in a predatory smile. “Only the Varg can talk to the ravens.” Her hand tightened. “If you wish to play with the powers of gods, you must be ready for the consequences.”

  Karel pulled his hand free with so much force that he tumbled against the fragile branch door and knocked it open. Standing, he gathered himself and stepped outside. The few people in the grove stopped and stared at him. Karel brushed the dirt and leaves off his coat and strode along the path back to the camp. It seemed he'd never get a straight answer from a seer. Still, the visit hadn't been entirely in vain.

  Karel headed for the ships. He'd need his bow and arrows for what was to come.

  * * *

  By mid-afternoon, excitement was palpable in Jættedahl. The forest animals were long gone by the time the usual mead-induced ruckus began. Several times, a crowd grew so loud that Rakkian felt certain a fight must have broken out, only to find that people were demonstrating their joy through something that was either expressive dancing or some kind of game. Once, someone tried to drag Rakkian into the middle of one such event, and for the first time since arriving, Rakkian was thankful for the chain attaching him to Eskal – it had probably spared him a few bruised ribs.

  To make things better, Eskal had quickly tired of dragging him around and handed him off to Torsten with orders to keep a firm grip on the chain. Torsten agreed and led Rakkian away from the noisiest part of camp.

  Rakkian scaled the sloping terrain alongside Torsten, who sported a broken nose and a split lip.

  “What happened to you?” Rakkian asked.

  Torsten grinned down at him. “Just a friendly game of Stavbold,” he proclaimed, confirming Rakkian's suspicion that he'd been wise to avoid the festivities. “Ingrid can put it back in place. Maybe it'll even be a little straighter, this time. Isa and Steinar played, too. You should have seen them. They're a great team.”