“Can dreams not be real?”
The voice startled Sibba to her feet, and her head swam, the room spinning briefly before she was able to focus on the figure in front of her. It was a tall, sharp-faced woman looking so much like the girl she had just held in her dream. But this woman's gray-streaked red hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and shadows curled around the base of her staff and her bare feet, caressing her like loving pets. Sibba recoiled, taking a step back until her knees hit the bench she had been sitting on and she collapsed. Her hand went to her hip for her ax and found nothing there but an empty belt.
“You are the one responsible for Tola's disappearance.” It wasn't a question. Sibba waited to see what would come next. “Chief Isgerd is displeased. She has lost a vala and possibly a jarl's loyalty.”
“If a jarl's loyalty has to be bought with human life, then it is not loyalty at all,” Sibba said, lifting her chin, going for brave.
The corners of the woman's mouth tilted up in a pitying grin. “I saw how you and my daughter looked at each other. It is her compassion that will be the end of her; I’ve told her this for years. She will come for you, but you will already be dead. She will be sent back to the jarl, and Chief Isgerd's army will continue to grow.” The woman shot out an arm and gripped Sibba's chin with long fingers, her pointed nails digging into the flesh of Sibba's jaw. “Soon, we will march against your father and the Hallowtide territory will be ours. The endless clan wars will finally be over. Thanks to you and your weak heart.”
So they knew exactly who she was and exactly what to use against her. It felt like this woman had used her sharp claws to dig her deepest fears out of the depths of Sibba's heart and lay them bare, one by one, on the floor before her. This was why she hadn't wanted to get involved. Why she had wanted to leave the Fields. But she had been weak. She had let Estrid back in, had trusted Evenon. Worst of all, she had fallen for Tola, a girl who couldn't love her back. And it was all for nothing. Isgerd would kill her and Jary, capture Tola, and destroy her father. Sibba tried to push it out, tried to close her heart, but it was too late. Even though she squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the woman's familiar green eyes, a tear escaped, winding down her cheek.
“Oh.” The woman turned Sibba's face so she could better watch the tear fall. Sibba's cheeks reddened with shame. She was supposed to be a chief's daughter, a Malstrom princess, and she couldn't even keep it together long enough to face down an old woman.
Sibba felt the shadows before she saw them, creeping over her toes, and a hopeless dread made its way up her spine. She didn't want to give up like Evenon had when the shadows had touched him in the draugnvithr. This was not where her story ended. She stood, wrenching her face away from the woman, and stumbled away, shaking the shadows off of her feet. The dread subsided and anger returned. It was a more familiar sensation and though Tola wouldn't want her to, she welcomed it.
“This isn't over,” Sibba snarled. “I’m not dead yet.”
The vala sighed. “It would be so easy.” She crooked a finger at Sibba and suddenly Sibba was moving forward. It was like the woman had taken control of her will, her very spirit. While Tola used her magic to heal, her mother used it to harm, to control. How easily Tola could have fallen into this life, but she still sought kindness in others, still stood up against violence and needless death. She was stronger than Sibba had ever imagined, and of course, she was right. Sibba never should have left her behind.
Sibba's feet scraped the dirt floor and she willed herself to be still, fighting the feeling that tugged her forward. But her head throbbed and her legs ached and the shadows were spreading, climbing the walls and closing in on her.
“Audra.” The voice was a sharp snap that broke the spell and Sibba collapsed to the floor, dirt coating her hands and knees. When she looked up, she saw Isgerd the Younger standing in the door, silhouetted by the rising sun. It seemed strange to Sibba; her world had narrowed to just this house, just this woman and the shadows that waited to consume her. “She's ready.”
The vala bent and grasped Sibba's face again. “It would be so easy,” she said, her words saccharine and soft. “But the chief wants a show. So let's give her a show.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sibba
Audra went first out the door, and when Sibba hesitated, Isgerd the Younger grabbed her by the back of the shirt and shoved, sending her stumbling to the ground. A peal of laughter immediately rose up around her from the crowd of gathered women. She didn't know what they were here for, but it couldn't be anything good. For now, they were content to jeer at her, no one moving to help as she pushed herself to her feet.
“Better catch up,” Isgerd said, “before they swallow you whole.”
She was right. Audra was cutting a path through them, but that wouldn't keep them from closing back up around Sibba. She trotted behind Audra. The crowd spit out the same two girls who had joined Isgerd in the pit, and they fell into step on either side of her. They made her long for Tola and Estrid, for her own friends that she had foolishly left behind. Her hands curled into fists as she tried and failed not to remember the feel of Tola's face between them.
The fighting pit spread out in front of her and the excited crowd moved around it, everyone vying for a spot. One of Isgerd's friends unfurled a rope ladder and gestured at Sibba. Before descending, Sibba surveyed the situation. Jary was alone, chained to his wall with his back against it, his knees drawn up to his chest. Someone had bandaged his eye and given him a sword. On the other side of the pit, just beneath Sibba, her ax leaned against the dirt wall.
“No,” Sibba said. No, she would not do this. She saw what Isgerd meant to do.
Isgerd the Younger chuckled. “You think you have a choice?”
Sibba whirled on her, her hands going for the girl's throat. They were on the ground in an instant, Sibba on top, her thumbs pressing into Isgerd's windpipe. The people around them stepped back, no one moving to help their chief's daughter, but no one cheering Sibba on, either. It was a stunned silence. Isgerd bucked beneath her, clawing at Sibba until she wrapped one of her hands in Sibba's short hair and yanked her sideways. Sibba fell but held on, screaming with the pain and the effort. Isgerd's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. She was so close, almost there—
Until Isgerd's friends, each of them grabbing one of Sibba's arms, pulled her off and threw her to the ground at the edge of the pit. Isgerd scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with shock, her hands around her tender neck. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Sibba smiled in spite of everything, the rage inside of her awake and satisfied. One of the girls kicked her in the stomach and suddenly she was falling, the ground disappearing beneath her and the rope ladder zooming past her.
Sibba landed on her side, her shoulder crunching beneath her. She groaned and rolled onto her back, looking up at the expansive blue sky.
“On your feet,” came a voice from above. Her eyes found the tent from the day before, and beneath it, Chief Isgerd, and behind her, Audra with her brass staff. Isgerd the Younger was nowhere to be seen. Sibba struggled to sit, her shoulder barely holding her weight and her ribs protesting every movement. But once she was there, it was easier to get to her knees and then push herself to standing, not because they told her to, but because she would meet whatever it was standing up.
Across the pit, Jary was also on his feet, his eyes darting between his sister and the chief. The sword was limp in his hand, but Sibba recognized it at once as the crow sword that she had been carrying around. She wondered if he had known about their mother's past. If he knew that he could be the king of some distant land instead of a Fielding chief. Her ax still leaned against the wall not far away, but she didn't pick it up. Isgerd had said she didn't have a choice, but she always had a choice. She wouldn't play into their hands, not if she could help it.
“Jary Hallowtide,” Isgerd yelled. Jary didn't respond, just stared blankly at the woman who had tortured him for
months. “For all who have said I am not merciful, I give you this—a chance at freedom. A chance to return home and prepare your clan for the war that is coming. The price is her death.” Isgerd pointed a finger at Sibba, who took an involuntary step back as if it had been a physical blow.
Her brother dropped his one-eyed gaze to her just as another figure jumped into the pit: Isgerd the Younger, carrying an iron ring, at the end of which dangled a massive key. Sibba braced herself for another onslaught, but Isgerd ignored her, heading instead toward Jary. How foolish was she, going near him when he had a weapon? He had defeated countless men in this pit; surely she would be no match for him. But there was no fear, no hesitation in her step as she approached.
Kill her, Sibba urged with her eyes. She considered picking up her own ax and charging the girl but didn't want Jary to think she was coming for him. She wasn't going to start this fight.
Isgerd the Younger walked up to Jary and took one wrist in her hand. The key slid into the iron ring, and with a click, it fell away. She did the same to the other hand, and when she was done, Jary rubbed his wrists, his eyes on the chief’s daughter. But he didn’t look at her with anger. There was affection there, a tenderness in the way his eyes raked over her face before she moved away. He was free, and still, he didn't turn on the girl.
“A fight to the death,” Isgerd said as her daughter vacated the pit, the spectators helping her up the rope ladder. “Winner goes free, you have my word.” And she sat, nearly disappearing from view.
The murmuring and shouts from the excited crowd died down as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Jary watched Isgerd the Younger until she was out of the pit, and then turned back to his sister.
“Jary.” Sibba held up her hands. “Don't—”
He yelled, a scream that brought her up short in its fierce agony. She recognized it, though, knew it for what it was. How often had she felt that same hopelessness? Then he charged. He may have been chained for weeks, but he was no slower for it. Sibba took a step back, then another, then turned, racing for her ax. It was in her hand just in time and she raised it against the blow from the Crowheart sword. The power of it rang up through her sore shoulder but she tossed him back. The crowd roared and Jary yelled again as Sibba shuffled away, her ax in front of her, her eyes on her brother.
“Jary,” she tried again. “Jary, don't. It's me.”
The sword came at her with a swiftness she could only just match. An ax was barely any use against a longsword. After a rapid series of blows and blocks, he stepped away from her, leaving her panting and sore.
“Jary.” Maybe if she said his name enough, he would come back to himself. “Father sent me to bring you back. Please.”
When they were children, Jary had never had time for her. She was his annoying little sister, even though they weren't even a year apart in age. But there was nothing he had loved more than beating her during sparring. It was his excuse to bloody her up, knock her down, and not get in trouble for it, as much as Darcey hated it. But Sibba had learned from it, modeled her own fighting style after his and grown into a formidable opponent. It was not so different now. Yes, he was stronger and bigger, but so was she.
“Just stop fighting,” Jary growledapu. They were circling each other, Sibba with her ax gripped tightly in two fists, Jary relaxed with the sword in his hand.
“What?” Sibba asked, disbelieving her own ears.
Overhead, the spectators hurled insults at them, using the name Hallowtide as a curse, but they ignored them. Jary growled and attacked, bringing the sword in an arc over his head. Sibba raised the ax, deflecting the bow with the handle, rage simmering just below the surface, her blood rushing in her ears. He wanted her to give up. He expected her to lie down and take it. Like Gabel, like Evenon. Like their father. Like the king across the sea.
Flipping the ax in midair for a better grip, she brought it back around one-handed, trying to spare her sore shoulder, slicing it across the space between them. It was her first offensive move and it nearly caught him off guard, but he recovered, his sword pushing away the ax head. She swung again, this time in an arc parallel to the ground, but he ducked and came back over with another blow that she knocked away.
The crowd loved this, the excitement building as they waited for the first one to draw blood. She knew she should stop. The last thing she wanted was to kill her brother, but she also wasn't going to lie down and die. She sliced at him again. He leaped backward, the blade of the ax missing him by a breath, but she had the advantage now. She followed the swing through behind her back, switching the ax to her other hand and swinging again, pushing through the pain that came with the movement. He leaned away to avoid the blow, but she kept going, bringing the ax overhead with two hands and spinning, pulling it in a downward arc that he sidestepped.
The momentum lodged the head of the ax into the hard-packed dirt floor and it was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He heaved the sword over his shoulder, but keeping one hand on the shaft of the ax, Sibba flattened herself against the wall and the blade harmlessly skimmed the air in front of her. She jerked the ax free just in time to knock away his next blow. Teeth bared, she raised the ax over her head and used all her power, all her anger, all her despair, to thrust it back down at him on his blind side. The Crowheart sword stopped it just in time, pressed between the ax blade and Jary's neck.
“Kill her!” Isgerd the Younger shouted from somewhere up above, but neither of them dared to take their eyes off the other. Sibba pressed down with both of her hands while Jary fought to keep the blade from digging into the place where his shoulder met his neck. The weight of it drove him to his knees. The arena grew dark as a storm cloud moved into place, casting them in shadow. It seemed somehow appropriate for it to rain at a time like this.
Sibba felt him slipping and knew she could end it, lean on the handle and drive the blade home. But that wasn't what she had come to do. I couldn't handle another ghost. She knew what Evenon meant. There were so many already. What would she do with her brother's blood on her hands? She would never be able to go back to Ottar again. She would never be able to face Tola or Estrid or Ari, or more importantly, herself. How would she be able to live with herself? She had come to Ydurgat to save him, and that's exactly what she would do.
She pulled the ax away and stumbled backward, dropping to her own knees in front of Jary. They were on each other's eye level and she saw astonishment on his face. What did he see in hers that kept him on the ground? Sibba held the ax out to one side, limp in her hand. She wouldn't drop it, though. Their mother and her sisters waited for her in Elanos; she intended to meet them there.
He stood, the hand that held the sword trembling.
“It's okay,” Sibba said.
“Kill her!” Isgerd the Younger cried again. There was desperation in her voice and Sibba wondered what would become of them. If they would really let Jary leave. If Jary would even want to leave. Maybe the two of them could join their clans by love instead of violence, if the girl was even capable of love.
Jary didn't say anything, but raised the sword, bouncing it in his hand. Thunder clapped and the sky, with its rolling clouds, looked so much like the one she had seen in her vision of Ey Island that Sibba's mouth dropped open. I'm coming for you. Surely not. The first drop of rain struck her squarely between the eyes and she blinked. Jary raised the sword over his head but Sibba wasn't looking at him. She was looking past him, at a dark shape circling in the sky. Lightning forked overhead, illuminating golden wings against the clouds.
“Jary,” Sibba said, just before something else came, a sound as familiar to Sibba as her own voice: the twang of a bowstring releasing an arrow.
CHAPTER FORTY
Sibba
Jary dropped back to the ground with a grunt, the sword skittering out of his grip. Fearing more arrows, Sibba crawled to his side, expecting an entry wound in his chest or his side. Expecting to lose him when she had been the one meant to die. She ran he
r hands along his torso, finding nothing. Then she noticed he was holding his leg, a guttural moan whining from his throat, barely audible over the rolling thunder that shook the ground. She found the shaft protruding from his thigh. The arrowhead was buried deep but hadn't hit anything vital.
Sibba lifted her eyes from her brother and searched the edge of the pit until she found him. Evenon stood with his bow still raised, his eyes on her. The tattoos on his arm seemed to swirl in the strange storm light. He had told her once that he never missed. He hadn't been shooting to kill. He had been shooting to save her. Everyone was frozen, like the world was taking a breath to prepare itself for what would come next.
The sky ripped apart. Lightning forked down, striking the enormous sutvithr tree that stood before the great hall. The tree all but exploded, flames licking the sky. Sibba looked away, shading her eyes, and when she looked back, Evenon was gone and the people of Ydurgat had gone mad. The fire had spread to the thatched roof of the great hall, and the spectators had forgotten the pit completely.
All but two. The two Isgerds stood at the edge, watching as Sibba snapped the shaft of the arrow. Sibba was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to sink down beside Jary, hold him against her and cry, but there would be time for that later.
“It's over,” Sibba said, hauling on his arm. “We have to go. Now. While we can.”
“I can't,” Jary said through gritted teeth.
“You can, lean on me—”
“No,” Jary said. He had picked up the ax and was using it to support his other side as he struggled to his feet. “I can't leave her.”
Sibba almost let him fall back to the ground.
“Alive,” he finished. “She cannot live.”
“There will be time to finish this later,” Sibba said, trying to pull him to the rope ladder that was still draped over the side.
“I have to finish it now.”
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