Outsider

by Klaire de Lys

  More than anything else, Astrid wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t know why she did it, but she had no control over it. And no matter how much she tried to force herself to tell Dag that it wasn’t because of him, she could never find the courage. She was afraid that if she did, he would treat her differently. It was illogical, but she couldn’t help it. At times it felt as if she was paralysed, and she had an overwhelming dread that one day Dag would decide he no longer wanted to care for her.

  ‘I’m old, goldheart,’ Dag said quietly, stroking her head. ‘I’ve seen magic turn good people into monsters. I don’t want that to happen to you.’

  ‘I’m not a monster,’ Astrid whispered.

  ‘Of course not, goldheart!’ Dag replied. ‘I know that, but you’re afraid and angry, and magic has a way of taking that and using it to change people. I don’t want it to do that to you.’

  ‘I want to kill them,’ Astrid said, turning and looking up at Dag. ‘I want to kill those people!’

  ‘I know. But they can’t hurt you. They’ll never be able to hurt you.’

  ‘Yes they can! What if they come back?’

  Taking a moment to think about what he was going to say, Dag took her hands in his.

  Astrid, you know the black cloud that killed the elf?’ he said, and Astrid nodded. ‘That was them.’

  ‘Them?’ Astrid asked, confused.

  ‘Your parents, goldheart. The cloud was your parents. They...sacrificed themselves to protect you.’

  Angry tears filled Astrid’s eyes. ‘No! I saw the dagger! They killed them!’

  ‘Yes they did!’ Dag said quickly. But they would have killed you, too. Your mother had a dagger, it’s called an Atibiw. It’s very old magic. Very powerful. If two people offer up their lives to protect a third person, it protects them. They gave their lives to protect you! They loved you!’

  Astrid said nothing, but then a strangled cry escaped from her mouth. Confusion and horror spread across her face. ‘So I killed them?’

  ‘No! No, goldheart! They killed them! But your parents chose to die so that they could still protect you!’

  Astrid stood up and backed away from Dag, stumbling over her feet. She ran out of the house and into the forest, not caring where she was going, just so long as she was moving. The branches and leaves whipped past her, scratching at her arms and her face, but she didn’t care. She tripped several times and fell to her knees as her feet got tangled in the long grass, but she picked herself up and continued to run. Her head felt as if it was detached from her body and spinning wildly, as a series of images flashed through her mind over and again: Sylbil and Arnbjörg lying on the ground, their eyes blank, the glow behind them gone, the dagger they had killed themselves with still between them, the double ended blade embedded in their hearts.

  I did that! I did that! They’re dead...because of me!

  Without warning, almost like she was a spectator watching herself from a distance, Astrid felt her mouth open and a guttural scream rose from her throat. She closed her eyes and released all the rage she felt inside her. She skidded to a stop and clenched her fists as hard as she could. Her scream rose higher and higher until it was a piercing, hair-raising shriek. The air around her tingled and her skin crackled with magic. Leaves on the ground shrivelled and then burst into blue and yellow flames. A circle of fire spread out around her and consumed every plant and animal in its path.

  A pheasant that had been hiding underneath a nearby bush screeched as it burst into flames. It ran, beating its wings in a panic, the flames ripping across it until it fell to the ground, twitching in pain. The smell of burning flesh filled Astrid’s nostrils and she unclenched her fists and stared around her in horror.

  Everything around her was burnt to a crisp. Two pine trees crackled loudly as the bark cracked and snapped from the heat. The burnt grass sizzled and popped, the bugs and insects that had lived in the leaves frying before they exploded. There was a ring of death around her; almost nothing had survived her rampage.

  The pheasant twitched, clawing at the dirt, and Astrid ran to it and picked it up. Its feathers had burnt away exposing the pink, throbbing skin underneath.

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!’ Astrid gasped. She closed her eyes but Ragi’s voice echoed in her head. Keep them open, goldheart! Looking down at it, she moved her hand over the bird, concentrating, calling up her memory, willing it to live. The skin puckered beneath her fingertips and then slowly regenerated, inch by inch, under her unblinking stare. Astrid smiled as the skin healed completely and she carefully placed the bird back down on the burnt ground. The bird didn’t move and its eyes were fixed in an agonised stare.

  ‘Move...I’ve healed you!’ Astrid whispered, poking the bird gently, but it didn’t flinch.

  She picked it up and shook it, its body floppy and heavy in her hands. Astrid ran her fingers over the bird’s chest but couldn’t feel a heartbeat. Dropping it on the floor, she crawled away in horror as its healed feathers began to smoke then burn, the flames spreading across them in small ripples. The inside of its body was charred, and Astrid realised she had only managed to heal the outside for just a few moments. Dag’s voice rang in her head: ‘you’re afraid and angry, and magic has a way of taking that and using it to change people.’

  Scrambling to her feet, her knees covered in ash, Astrid gazed down at her hands in horror before glancing around and noticing the other animals that had been caught in the fire ring. Several mice, fixed in their last stance, had been carbonised in seconds.

  Suddenly, Astrid felt a horrible pain, and looked to see the skin on her right hand blackening. A cold wave spread over her from the back of her head and she slumped to the ground.

  * * *

  ‘Dag? Dag?’

  For a few seconds Astrid couldn’t see anything. Her eyes were blurry and a horrible itchiness crawled over her right hand. Moving to scratch it, she realised it was wrapped in layers of thick bandages.

  ‘Dag!’ Astrid screamed, but heard nothing. Fear washed over her. Where was he? Had he abandoned her? ‘DAG!’

  ‘What? What’s the matter, goldheart?’ he said, appearing at the top of the staircase.

  ‘I thought you’d gone!’ Astrid said, her heart pounding in her chest.

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘I thought you’d left me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! I wouldn’t ever do that!’ He perched on the edge of the mattress and softly stroked her head. For the first time in weeks Astrid was still, not shivering at his touch, but instead she leant her head against him and closed her eyes.

  ‘I won’t use magic again, Dag,’ Astrid whispered, the fogginess in front of her eyes clearing away. She raised her hand and stared at it. The tips of her fingers were shrivelled and burnt, with a patchwork of red and pink skin underneath the charring.

  Dag said nothing. He continued to hold her tightly, stroking her head, and rocked her in his arms. He was happy that she finally understood why he feared magic, but broken-hearted that it had taken such a terrible incident to show her.

  ‘I’m going to stay till you get better and then I’m going to have to leave for a few weeks.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Astrid asked, holding him tighter.

  ‘My friend...the one who can teach you how to fight. I’m going to find him.’

  ‘Can’t you teach me?’

  ‘I’m too old. Skad will be able to teach you much better,’ Dag said. He smiled, amused at the thought of it.

  ‘Skad?’

  ‘Yes, Skad. He’s a dwarf.’

  ‘A dwarf...like Faðir?’

  ‘Skad is not like Arnbjörg, goldheart,’ Dag said quickly, knowing she would only be disappointed if she expected some kind of reincarnation of her father.

  ‘Nobody is like Faðir,’ Astrid said sadly.

  ‘No, nobody,’ Dag agreed.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘No, it’s better you stay here. Ragi will take care of you.’

&nbs
p; ‘Ok,’ Astrid said finally, forcing herself not to panic at the idea of Dag leaving her. At least Ragi can cook, she thought.

  * * *

  Gripping her hands together tightly, Astrid watched as Dag strode away from the house. The bandages had been removed the previous day but she was still sore, and the skin smarted as she pressed it tightly, using the pain to distract herself from the irrational fear that she would never see Dag again.

  Ragi took her hand in his, his clammy skin slightly sticky at the touch.

  ‘Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself!’

  ‘It’s helps,’ Astrid whispered back.

  ‘Come on. Let’s make some food that actually tastes good,’ Ragi said, smiling. Astrid had gotten used to his snarl-like smiles now, and she followed him into the house.

  Ragi blew gently across his palm and several tongues of fire rippled on his fingertips and fell into the fireplace, igniting the wood. Astrid rubbed her hands nervously and watched as the fire licked its way up the wood and consumed it.

  ‘Astrid?’ Ragi asked, recognising the distant look in her eyes. She turned to him, forcing a smile. ‘What do you want to cook?’

  ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘Don’t lie!’ Ragi laughed and hopped onto the sideboard to reach one of the top shelves. ‘I’ve tasted shit with more flavour than Dag’s food!’

  Chuckling, Astrid walked up to the counter and took the jars from him as he passed them down to her.

  She liked Ragi; he made her feel comfortable. Not that Dag made her feel nervous, but he always looked at her like she was broken, and she was tired of feeling that way. Even if it was a lie, she wanted people to look at her like she was strong. Each pitying glance from Dag just reminded her of what had happened. With Ragi she could forget.

  For the next few hours they did nothing but cook. Astrid dipped her fingers into everything and almost ate the dough before Ragi had even had a chance to put it into the small stone oven. He pretended to be annoyed at her, but then took a scoopful himself as Astrid laughed happily.

  With the small berry pies cooking in the oven and the warm, sweet aroma filling the house, it felt all too familiar to Astrid. Her smile suddenly disappeared as she remembered exactly what it reminded her of. Home.

  ‘Matir used to make those,’ Astrid said.

  ‘Well...mine will taste just as good,’ Ragi said simply, clambering up onto the sideboard and asking her to pass him the nearly empty flour jars.

  ‘How long will it take for Dag to come back?’

  ‘Sick of me already are you?’ Ragi joked, grinning down at her.

  ‘No!’ Astrid laughed, before a worried look crossed her face. ‘I’m just nervous.’|

  ‘Don’t be! Now let’s practice some more Echaim. Tell me: ‘Dag’s cooking tastes like shit!’’

  ‘I can’t say it right. It hurts my throat to speak it.’

  ‘That’s because you’re used to a language where you chew when you speak.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘Yes you do! All your words are at the front of your mouth.’ Ragi grinned, making a chewing motion with his hand and laughed at her.

  Taking a deep breath, Astrid tried to translate what he had said, the words forming so far back in her throat it almost hurt. It was like she was trying to sing in a range which was not natural to her; it grated on her vocal chords.

  ‘You speak too softly. If I heard someone talk like that I would think I couldn’t trust them.’

  Trying again, Astrid argued with him in his native tongue, at times stopping and racking her brain for the words she needed. Ragi smiled as she became more and more comfortable with the guttural language.

  ‘You’re getting better. You just need to practice more.’

  ‘Why is it so hard to speak?’ Astrid asked, rubbing at her throat. ‘I don’t find Mál or Axeti hard. They’re easy!’

  ‘They’re easy because you’re used to them. And they only have one level. I’ve only taught you the most basic form of Echaim.’

  ‘What?’ Astrid gasped, dismayed. Even though she found it hard to speak, she had thought that she was starting to master the language. The realisation that there were still several more dialects to learn made her feel like giving up all together.

  ‘It’s a mixture of many languages. Different regions speak different mixtures. Beziickt is the most common.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t everyone speak it?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘It’s a common dialect. The higher the level of language, the more important your rank. It’s hard to change rank because people can hear your Beziickt accent. Very few people can master the accents perfectly.’

  ‘Why do people hate goblins?’ Astrid asked. She sat down on the floor and looked up to the sideboard where he sat cross-legged on the top.

  ‘Many of us are raiders, so it’s not surprising. I would hate us too if I was attacked by goblins.’

  ‘You’re not all raiders?’

  ‘No. There are two tribes in the north, two big cities. But they’re closed off to the rest of the tribes. Most of the goblins hate them. Think they’re arrogant.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘No. They’re just trying to protect themselves. If they let all the other tribes in, there would be civil war. We look the same but our way of life is too different. It would be like trying to mix oil with water.’

  ‘What are they called?’ Astrid asked, resting her head on her hand and listening, fascinated. At first she’d just wanted to distract Ragi from making her speak Beziickt, but now she wanted to know more about his people.

  ‘What are what called?’

  ‘The cities!’

  ‘Oh. One is called Lig and the other Dragh,’ Ragi replied, his voice switching to a much harsher tone as he pronounced the names. Astrid repeated the names after him, her tone of voice much softer. Ragi insisted she repeat them again until she could mimic him perfectly.

  ‘What do they speak?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but if I had to guess it would be Xill, or Gurght.’

  ‘Is it hard to learn those?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re better. More words, easier to say exactly what you mean.’

  ‘Can you speak them?’

  ‘No, my mother did. I just never understood it.’

  ‘Where is your mother?’ Astrid asked, and a pained look crossed Ragi’s face.

  ‘I don’t know. She re-married,’ Ragi spat, and jumped down from the sideboard and opened the oven, cursing as he saw the tops of the small pies were burnt. Astrid wondered if he was more annoyed about the pies or her question.

  ‘I’m sorry I asked,’ she said.

  Ragi pulled the pies from the oven. ‘Well, tell me these are better that that shit Dag cooks, and I’ll forgive you,’ he said, placing the hot tray down on the floor to cool.

  Astrid gazed at them longingly. ‘Can I have one now?’

  ‘No. They’re far too hot. Patience, Astrid, is a virtue.’

  She waited an agonising fifteen minutes before finally, Ragi plucked a pie from the tray and handed it to her. The hot crust warmed her hand and she held it there for a moment before taking a large bite. The berries inside burst into her mouth as her teeth pressed down through the pastry, the sweetness of them mixing perfectly with the buttery taste of the crust. She wolfed down the pie in seconds, accidently spilling some of the sticky berry juice on her tunic and staining it with bright red streaks.

  ‘Good then?’ He passed her another one, and this time Astrid ate it slowly, savouring the taste.

  ‘It’s delicious!’ she mumbled through her full mouth, crumbs falling from her lips in her attempt to speak.

  ‘Good! Let’s cook some more! We only have a few weeks, and Dag’s cooking is making you far too skinny.’

  The Outlander

  Knud could tell Jarl was nervous. With his jaw clenched and his body rigid, Jarl’s eyes darted around the room like a restless fly. He was wary; on his guard.

  ‘Skad
said the Outlander would be here,’ Knud said. ‘We don’t have to wait up. You should sleep.’ He hoped Jarl would finally admit how tired he was and go to bed, and leave him to enjoy himself without being supervised.

  ‘You’re right. We don’t have to wait up, but I’m going to. You, however, can sleep,’ Jarl replied curtly, not even turning to look at Knud, his eyes still dancing around the lively room. His sword, hidden beneath the table, was propped between his legs, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. The room bustled with all sorts of people, mainly dwarves and humans, but a few elves were scattered about. Jarl watched the elves in particular, with more intensity than the rest.

  Halvard laughed as Knud protested, as usual his attempts at trying to convince Jarl to do something backfiring.

  ‘But I’m not tired! I want to meet her!’

  ‘Go!’ Jarl said firmly.

  ‘But I wanted to-’ Knud began.

  ‘Go to bed...now!’ he snapped. ‘You can meet the Outlander tomorrow.’

  Hanging his head, Knud trudged over to the stairs and reluctantly climbed them, hoping that if he made himself look pitiful enough, Jarl would change his mind. He didn’t.

  Jarl shook his head and took a quick sip of his ale, his eyes still focused on what was happening around him. When an older man walked towards their table, his hair scraped into several tightly plaited braids with sharp, silver tips attached to the ends of them, Jarl put down his flask. Halvard recognised him from Jarl’s description. It was Skad.

  Skad placed his large flask of ale on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down awkwardly in his heavily embossed leather armour.

  ‘Where is she?’ Jarl asked, not even waiting for Skad to have a sip of his ale. Skad rolled his eyes and took a long drink before lowering the wooden flask to the table.