Jorrund took hold of Tova’s arm and pulled her inside without a word, clearing the table and unrolling the pelt. Bekan didn’t look up at her as she took the rune stones from around her neck and opened the purse. Vera’s eyes weren’t quite closed, only slits of reflection lighting in them. But her mouth hung open, her chest rising and falling with a slow but labored breath.
Tova didn’t need to cast the stones to know what fate was carved into the Tree of Urðr for her. And she couldn’t help but think again that the Spinners were cruel. Bekan had already lost his wife and now he would lose his only child.
Jorrund set a bundle of herbs into the fire pit and the smoke billowed as the healer sank down beside the cot, wiping at Vera’s face. Her blond, straight hair was slicked back, falling over the edge of the cot like a curtain.
Tova clenched her hands to keep them from shaking before she poured the stones into her palm. Vera had been one of the only souls in Liera to be kind to her. One of the only Svell to not mutter threats as she passed or leave cursed charms at her door. And now, the Spinners would take even that from her.
She whispered the words on a hoarse breath, the pain in her stomach sharpening.
“Eye of the gods, give me sight.”
The words rolled off her tongue as she closed her eyes, finding Vera’s face in the center of her mind. Her elk-skin armor perfectly smooth, the shine of her sword at her hip. The vision felt real, and Tova wondered if it was Vera’s spirit, already pulling away from her weak body. Her gray eyes looked back at Tova, the neat braids tightly pleated against her scalp.
The stones dropped to the pelt from Tova’s slick fingers and she suddenly felt Bekan’s gaze on her. When she looked back at him, she saw something new in his eyes. The emptiness that sank into the shadows of Vera’s had found its way into Bekan’s and the flicker of light made him look like a corpse. His stare bored into her, dead and brittle, and beneath it, she could see that he hated her. That he was disgusted by her. Because just as Tova didn’t need to look at the stones to know, he didn’t need to hear her say it.
And Tova lost not one ally that night, but two.
Village of Hylli, Nādhir Territory
Halvard stood over the deer, pulling the arrow from where it had struck between its ribs. Its black, shining eye looked up at him, reflecting the sky overhead, and he ran a hand down the arch of its neck, over its shoulder as he muttered a prayer of thanks.
It had taken hours to stalk the deer, and he’d spent most of the night crouched in the tall reeds that encircled the meadow, but he’d finally been able to take the single shot before the sun rose up over the trees. The light caught the dew on the blades of grass as he took it up onto his shoulders and started the walk back toward Hylli.
His breath fogged in the cold, but the deer’s warmth took the stiff ache out of his frozen hands. The village would be full of Nādhir traveling from every village on the mountain as well as the fjord, gathering for the meeting of village leaders that was held in the Hylli ritual house every spring. It would be the first time in a year that he’d see his brother Iri, who made his home on the mountain. The birth of another child had kept him from the fjord longer than usual but they’d made the journey to stay in Hylli for the warm months, which meant that Halvard would spend more time in the forest hunting and in the water fishing to feed them all. His brothers would meet with the leaders over the next few weeks and the hill above the village would be covered in tents. The Talas would tell the stories of the gods and recount the fighting seasons that had ruled their people’s lives before the peace was made. It was a time to remember the past and plan for the future. But there were many who suspected that war was coming from the west, where the Svell clan dwelled in the forested cliffs that ran into the sea.
A figure appeared in the mist ahead and Halvard stopped in the middle of the path, reaching back for his knife. But a familiar voice called his name, and the orange fox furs atop Fiske’s shoulders appeared in the fog.
His hand dropped from the handle of the blade when he saw him, and Halvard tried to take apart the look on his face. But Fiske stood still, the mist moving around him, with an unreadable expression.
“What is it?” He was almost as tall as his brother now, meeting his eyes as he stopped before him, but Fiske didn’t answer.
He took the deer from Halvard’s shoulders and set it onto his own before he started back toward the village. “Espen is asking for you.”
Halvard’s brow pulled, his eyes pinned on Fiske’s back as he walked ahead. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, his voice lightening, and for a moment, Halvard thought maybe he was telling the truth.
He followed Fiske in the silence and the sounds and scents of the sea grew as they neared the village. The camped Nādhir were already awake, many of them cooking over their fires, and the smoke from the ritual house was thick and white. Fiske led him through the gate and as they passed their home, he saw his mother standing in the open doorway, her hands tangled into her apron. The same apprehensive look that had been in Fiske’s eyes was lit in hers.
Halvard swallowed hard, the pulse beneath his skin picking up until he could hear it sounding in his ears. When they reached the carved wooden doors of the ritual house, Fiske stopped, letting the deer slide from his shoulders.
“What’s going on?” Halvard asked again, this time letting the fear leak out into his voice.
His brother opened the door and the heat of the altar fire came rushing out into the cold air. Inside, Espen stood before the other village leaders, waiting.
Fiske set his hand onto Halvard’s shoulder, leading him down the center aisle. The Nādhir leaders stepped aside as he found a place among them, winding his fingers together at his back and trying to stand up taller before them.
“Halvard.” Espen spoke first, tipping his chin up in a greeting.
Halvard nodded in return, finding the eyes of each of the leaders. But whatever was going on, they concealed it well, surveying him wordlessly.
“We have something to tell you.”
He swallowed hard, unintentionally taking a small step closer to Fiske.
“You know we mortals have numbered years,” Espen began. “When this life is over for me, we will need a new leader. One who can take my place as chieftain.”
Halvard stared at him, a stillness settling in his bones.
“I have no sons, and I would like you to accept the responsibility.”
He stepped back again but Fiske’s hand pushed him forward, back into place. “I don’t…”
“I’m not asking,” Espen said, cutting him off before he could finish. “It’s been decided.”
“But…” He looked to Fiske, but he only stared ahead. “Why are you choosing me?”
Espen crossed his arms over his chest. “Because peace won’t last forever. You’re among the first generation of Nādhir. Your soul is good and you don’t crave power. You’ve grown into a strong man, Halvard.”
“I’m only sixteen years old.” He stared at the ground, the heat burning on his face.
“I was killing Riki on the battlefield long before that age.” Espen laughed. “You begin tomorrow.”
He looked up. “Begin what?”
“Learning to father your people.” Espen smiled, raising a hand to clap him on the arm, and the others did the same as they passed him, headed for the doors.
Halvard swallowed down the feeling of nausea, the warm air of the ritual house suddenly making him feel like he couldn’t breathe.
When the doors closed, he turned to Fiske. “What did you do?”
“You think I did this?” He half-laughed, but Halvard didn’t think it was funny. In fact, he was angry.
“You have to tell them they’ve made a mistake. You have to tell them—”
Fiske took hold of Halvard’s armor and pulled him close before wrapping one arm around him. “You’re afraid,” he said, lowly. “That’s good.”
Ha
lvard swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Fiske…” He searched for a way to say the words without making his brother ashamed of him.
Fiske kissed his cheek gruffly before he took Halvard’s face into his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I will never leave you. You know that. And when the time comes to follow you, I will.”
He let Halvard go, moving past him to the doors, and when they closed, his shadow reached down the aisle, painted onto the stone. The fire blazed hot at his back and he watched the shadow waver in the shifting light before he looked up to the two faces that looked down on him from the carvings above the archway.
Thora and Sigr.
The gods of the mountain and the fjord, enemies turned allies. The mother and father of a new people. He stood, unmoving, as their gazes fell heavily upon him. And in the next breath, he dropped to his knees and begged them to change their minds.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HALVARD
War is easy.
Aghi’s words found me as I rode, and I remembered the way his eyes looked sad as he’d said them. But he had been wrong when he said war was easy. The faces of the dead in Utan rose up in my mind. They filled the forest around me. Strangers, but Nādhir. My people.
People I’d failed to protect.
I couldn’t help but think that if Espen had survived the attack in the glade, that he would have found a way to keep them safe.
We rode for hours, through parts of the forest I’d never seen. They were places the raiders knew well, lands where no one went looking for anything. But it was Hylli that I saw all around me. I could feel it. The thought was a trail of footsteps that followed behind every thought. The wind that hit my face as I rode was the sea air coming up the cliffs. The sound of the trees above me was the roar of white-capped waves.
Mýra would be waiting for me beneath the gate, her eyes on the stretch of earth that rolled down toward the village from the forest. If my brothers and Eelyn had made it back from Fela, they’d be standing beside her. But I wasn’t there to meet them. Maybe I never would be.
I tried to draw in a breath that wouldn’t come, my chest tight beneath the armor vest as I searched for the words I would need to tell them about Aghi. About Ljós and Utan and the glade. There were no words for that. There was no name for it. My family had risked everything to give me a different life than the one they knew. They’d believed that things were different now. But if I made it back to Hylli, I would be leading them right back into it.
We came up on the ridge that overlooked the river and Asmund whistled ahead, letting it ring out behind him to let us know he was stopping. The horses slowed, their gaits uneven after running all night.
Asmund helped Bard dismount and he was careful as his boots hit the ground, limping on his left leg. I came down before him, inspecting the wound. It looked like the work of a sword, one clean gash deep enough to cut through most of the muscle, but the bleeding had stopped.
Asmund helped his brother cut the wool of his pants back. “What happened?” He spoke gruffly.
Bard looked up at the sky as Asmund wiped the dirt from the broken skin. “I told them the Svell were coming, but only a few left for the mountain.” He swallowed. “They didn’t want to leave their homes.”
I stared at the ground, my jaw clenching. They had known the Svell were coming. They knew, and still they stayed. And I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t known that’s what they’d do. It’s what my family would have done. It’s what every soul in Hylli would have done.
I got down onto one knee and pulled the sides of the wound open, searching for the white bone of his leg. It was similar to the one that had given Aghi his limp in the battle against the Herja. The cut was deep, but if it was kept clean, he’d walk again.
“Here.” Bard reached into his armor vest and tossed a small tin to me. “I got it from the healer in Utan for you before…” He swallowed the rest of the sentence.
I wondered if the healer who’d made the medicine had gone to Möor or stayed in Utan, but I knew the answer. The healer wouldn’t have left the people if a fight was coming. “Thank you.” I nodded, turning it over in my hand.
Asmund helped Bard to the water and he pulled the saddlebag from his horse to stitch him up. I pried off the lid of the tin to smell the sweet scent of honey and pine sap. Smells that reminded me of my mother and the sting of memory burned in the center of my chest.
Kjeld pulled up the sleeve of his tunic, eyeing a deep cut at the back of his arm and setting a piece of dry linen over it.
“You know her, don’t you?” I said.
He tied off the bandage. “What?”
“The girl with the Svell. How do you know her?”
He tore another cloth with his teeth. “I didn’t say I knew her.”
“You didn’t have to.” I waited for an answer, but he ignored me, pulling the sleeve of his tunic back down. “Why did she help us? She could have called out. She could have screamed, but she told us to run.”
Asmund looked between us from where he worked over Bard’s leg.
Again, I waited for Kjeld to answer. But he looked straight at me, his gaze level. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t going to tell us.
I unclasped my vest, pulling it over my head with my tunic, and walked straight out into the freezing water until I was waist deep, cupping handfuls of it up to scrub my face and pinching my eyes closed against the sting it shot beneath my skin. It was a welcome pain. It was better than the memory of the woman and her child lying in the open doorway. Anything was better than that.
I sank down beneath the surface and let the hum of the current drown out everything else. The sunlight cast the water into a jeweled blue and I let the air burn in my chest, my heart beating in my ears. The sound of Aghi’s voice returned to me, the deep rasp of it like a fire. His clear eyes and auburn beard streaked with silver.
War is easy.
The moment we walked through Hylli’s gate, the Nādhir would look to me. But only I knew what Espen and Aghi and the others had failed to see.
They’d chosen me for peace, not war.
The aging leaders of the villages had placed their faith in me for the wrong fate. And as soon as the Svell arrived, ready and able to take everything we had, they’d know it, too.
When my lungs couldn’t take any more, I shot up out of the water with a gasp. The sun was warm, the smell of winter no longer on the wind. Spring was coming. The ice was melting. And there was nothing to slow the Svell from the battle they wanted.
“We should sleep an hour.” Asmund sank down at the river’s edge to take a drink. He arched an eyebrow at me when I didn’t answer. “You’d rather fall off your horse?”
His eyes dropped to the covered wound at my side. If I didn’t clean it, I’d be half dead before the Svell arrived at the edge of our forest. But I wasn’t the only one Asmund was thinking of. Bard’s face was painted a pale white from the blood he’d lost. He needed rest if he was going to have a chance at making it to the fjord.
“One hour. That’s it,” I said.
I unwrapped the bandage beneath my armor vest carefully, wincing as I pulled the last of it back from where it was stuck to the raw, open skin. It hadn’t even begun to heal, the flesh around the opening inflamed and swollen where it had torn.
Asmund pulled Bard’s saddle down and dropped it in the dirt before his own and he came to sit beside me, reaching into his vest for a bundle of dried venison. Dark blood streaked two deep cuts carved into the back of his hand.
“You’re hurt,” I said, holding the tin of salve out to him.
“It’s fine.” He didn’t take it, looking down at his hand as if he’d forgotten it was there. He tore a piece of the venison in two and put it in his mouth. Behind him, Bard lay back onto the saddle and closed his eyes.
He let out a long breath, chewing. “What will happen? When you get to Hylli?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. I’d been careful not to think about it.
�
�They’ll initiate you, won’t they? As chieftain of the Nādhir?”
I leaned my elbows onto my knees, staring into the dirt. “I don’t know if he’ll accept me.”
“Who?” Asmund’s brow pulled.
“Latham.”
He shrugged. “He has to.”
But Latham wasn’t the kind of man that could be made to do anything. After Espen, he was the oldest leader of the Nādhir and if he rejected me, I knew the others might follow. Maybe they should.
“I would understand if he didn’t.”
“They chose you, Halvard. They agreed.”
But that wasn’t what I meant and he knew it. Espen and the other leaders hadn’t chosen me for this.
We sat in silence as Bard fell asleep, and Asmund watched him, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the tree. He was worried. “Will he be alright?”
“He won’t fight,” I said, “but he’ll be alright.”
“He won’t like that.” He laughed.
I spread the salve over the burned skin and rewrapped it carefully as Asmund settled down to sleep and Kjeld took the place against the tree beside me, cleaning the blood from his axe.
“Who is she?” I asked again, sucking in a breath as I tightened the knot of the bandage.
Kjeld wiped the curve of the blade against the thick wool of his pants. “Someone who’s not supposed to be alive.”
He let the axe fall back into the sheath at his back and rolled over, and I looked up to the sky, still shrouded in thick cloud cover. We’d be back in Hylli before the day was out. Back to the salty smell of the fjord and the silvery light on the water. I tried not to close my eyes. Sleep held too many faces I didn’t want to see. Voices that made my insides ache. I stared at the glitter of light on the rippling water of the river until the sun was overhead, painting everything in yellow light.
And as the warmth of the sun came, so did the remembering. It wedged its fingers inside my ribs and grabbed hold of my heart, squeezing. Because those days were gone. For all of us. So many mornings, Asmund and I had drifted out into the current as boys and thrown the nets against the wind. We’d sat around fires at night, laughing and listening to the stories my brothers told. And I wondered if this was my last story. The thought lifted like a wall of fog creeping toward me.
The Girl the Sea Gave Back Page 13