Asmund joined me as I walked the path to the beach and I looked up to the hill that had been littered with bodies only hours before. The doors of the ritual house were open as we passed, and my gaze searched for Tova among the Kyrr, but there were only faces and voices I didn’t know.
I hadn’t meant to kiss her. I hadn’t meant to even touch her. But the pull that had found me in the glade before all of this began was only growing stronger. I could feel her the way I could see her in the forest. Like breath on my skin. And when I watched her standing before the flames in the midst of battle, I’d known she was right. Deep inside me. There was some fate that bound us. Some future that lay waiting.
The Nādhir were gathered on the beach below, drinking our winter stores of ale as they waited. The calm, clear night was a gift from Sigr, the god of the fjord. The storm that had blown in from the sea was gone, but another was already gathering in the distant, darkening clouds.
Iri handed me the torch as I reached him and he tipped his chin up at me as I took it. Fiske had stayed with my mother as she worked over the intricate stitching on Eelyn’s wound, but Mýra was beside him, and that was all the family I needed. She gave me a reassuring smile before I turned to face our people.
I looked out over my clansmen, all standing still in the quiet. There was nothing to say. No way to truly honor them with words. I didn’t have Espen’s gift to speak or Aghi’s wisdom and I wouldn’t pretend to. There was only the grief that followed death and the hollow place it left. There was only fate’s hand and everything we would never understand about it.
The water crept up over the rocks as the tide rose behind us, the wind turning colder with the stars brightening overhead. I lowered the torch until it touched the corner of the first pyre and the flame caught, traveling over the oil-soaked bodies until it was swallowed in fire.
The Nādhir ritual words began, carried on rough, tired voices as I lit the others.
My hand stilled as the faint feeling of a gaze landed on me. I felt her again, in the shadows. Tova was almost invisible where she stood before the last pyre, her black dress hiding her in the dark. Only the moonlight on her pale skin made her marks visible.
I hadn’t told anyone about the Svell man that I’d put onto the pyre at Tova’s request. After the Svell prisoners were cut free and they disappeared into the forest, I’d followed her back into the trees in the setting sun. The jagged scar carved into the earth where she’d lit the pitch on fire was like an enormous, slithering snake. We found the man she was looking for beside Vigdis, and she took the bracelet from his wrist before I carried him through the village as dark fell.
She held the bracelet in her clasped hands as she stared with an empty gaze into the flames. The blazing pyres bathed the beach in red light, only the shine of tears glistening in its reflection.
The bodies of the fallen Nādhir turned to ash on their way to the afterlife, and I prayed that the gods would see it. Sigr, Thora, Eydis, Naðr. The gods of the clans that lay farther to the east and beyond the mountain to the south. I prayed that they’d remember the stench of death that rose up to meet them. That they’d remember the way we would.
Tova stood before the fire, her dark hair pulling in the wind, her shape nothing but a black silhouette against the flames. She’d brought death to Utan and then she’d brought salvation to Hylli. Now, she’d summoned the entire clan of her people down from the north and our fates would drop from her hands.
She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, reminding myself that she was a smoldering coal in the fire of the Kyrr. Her people had appeared in the storm and now, they stood able to take everything we’d just fought for. And after the stones fell, we could be standing on opposite sides again, her with her people and me with mine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TOVA
I could feel it in my bones.
The pounding rhythm of the drums came down from the village, where the Kyrr were gathered in Hylli’s ritual house, and found me on the empty beach. Their voices carried out into the night with songs and I shivered in the cold as they twisted in the back of my mind, flickering dead memories back to life.
“It’s time.” Svanhild’s deep voice found me and I turned to see her, my hands cradling my bandaged arms.
The funeral fires for the Nādhir had finished burning and the beach was dark, but the embers still glowed before the water. I’d watched Gunther burn until the last flames extinguished, wondering if he had made it to the afterlife or if Eydis would punish him for my treachery. I would never know. Wherever he was, I hoped he was with his son.
“Come, sváss.” Svanhild fit her hand into mine and I followed her with bare feet up to the path that wound through the dark village. The Nādhir were still drinking away the battle on the hill where tents ran in rows all the way up to the forest. Tomorrow, they’d be on their way home, back to their villages, and Hylli would empty itself of war. That’s what I wanted to believe. But until the stones were cast, no one knew what the Kyrr would do. What my people would do.
The ritual house stood tall as we came up from the beach, the firelight spilling through the open arched doorway.
“What will they say?” I asked, my hand tightening around hers before she let me go.
“What do you want them to say?”
I knew the answer to that, but it was something I’d never say aloud. I knew better than to tempt the Spinners or to declare my own will before the gods. But the burn of Halvard’s mouth was still warm on mine, and if I’d been brave enough to answer her, I would have said I wanted to stay. With him. Maybe forever.
She squeezed my hand before she let it go. The song rose louder, every head turned as Svanhild appeared before them, making her way through the crowd of Kyrr with Turonn at her side. Every man and woman stepped aside, leaving a clear path stretching out before me that led to the altar fire. As Svanhild lifted her hand, the singing voices stopped, their echo still ringing inside of me.
I pulled the purse from around my neck and the familiar weight of the runes in my hands grounded me to the earth as I stepped out of the wind and into the warmth of the ritual house. The Kyrr were packed in between the walls so tightly that there was hardly any air to breathe and the stone was hot beneath my feet. Every eye fell on me as I walked the aisle and stopped before the altar, emptying the purse into my hands.
I would cast the stones.
I would look into the future.
But this time, for my own people.
The drums started again, pounding in a rhythm that matched my racing heartbeat, and the sound of the voices changed, dropping low into whispers that wound through the mass of people and tingled up my spine. They were chanting. Or praying. Like the sound of water on hot coals. Like the fall of a thousand rivers over the falls.
I blinked, the realization hitting me so hard that it snatched the breath from my chest.
It was the same. It was the same sound I’d heard when I first saw Halvard in the glade. The sound that had pulled me after him, to Utan and then to Hylli. It wasn’t a memory. It was a moment in the future.
It was now.
The slide of tongues over rasping words and the click of teeth swirled around me and I blinked back the tears in my eyes, Svanhild’s words repeating.
They are the same moment.
Her lips moved with the others as she took a bundle of herbs from the stone ledge and dropped them into the fire. The smoke billowed up behind us until the room was filled with it, casting everything in a fragrant haze that made my head swim. My heart slowed, the blood in my body warming.
I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him.
I searched the faces for Halvard, but there were only the eyes of the Kyrr. The stinging, sweet smoke and the beat of the drums. And though I was surrounded by faces I didn’t know in a land that wasn’t mine, I fit into it in some way. Or it fit into me.
Turonn unrolled a fox pelt on the altar before
me and my slick hands clutched tighter around the stones. There was no hiding what the runes said this time. There was no turning of minds. No Jorrund to twist fate into what he wanted. My mother and father stood beside me, waiting, and again, I looked for Halvard.
His face appeared at the back of the room, his dark hair tucked behind his ears and his bright eyes pinned on me. And the trembling that had been in my hands seemed to suddenly quiet. He tipped his chin up, as if to silently say that it was alright. That everything was going to be okay. And somehow, I believed him.
I let the sight of his face settle me before I closed my eyes, emptying my mind of every sound, every trace of light, until I was standing in the dark silence.
I pressed the stones between my palms, holding them out before me, a calm flooding into me that I’d never felt before. This was where I was meant to be. The boat hadn’t led me to Jorrund. It hadn’t led me to the Svell. It had led me here, to this moment.
Now.
“Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir sýn.”
I spoke the words aloud, and they fell rhythmically into the sounds of the voices around me.
“Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir sýn!”
I said it again, louder.
“Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir sýn!”
I screamed it, my throat burning, and the words bent and broke around the desperate plea.
Eye of the gods. Give me sight.
Again, I brought Halvard to the forefront of my mind—the future I wanted to see.
The quiet wound through me and my lips parted, my breath hitching as I dropped the stones.
The drums stopped, every mouth empty, and silence fell over the ritual house as they hit the pelt one after the other, tumbling into place. I didn’t open my eyes, afraid of what I may see. Afraid of what I may not. I held my breath and Svanhild’s voice found me again.
“Tova,” she whispered.
I opened my eyes and the firelight came flooding back, pulling me up from the darkness of my mind. I looked down, my eyes falling on the stones, where the runes looked up at me in a constellation written only for me. And for him.
The warmth of the kiss ignited on my skin again and I reached up, touching the corner of my mouth, a tear sliding down my cheek. My mother had been right. There was a new beginning carved into the Tree of Urðr.
And the stones never lied. Not to me.
The Spinners were wise, but they weren’t always kind. Sometimes fate was a tangled knot. Sometimes it was a noose. Or a net.
But sometimes, it was the rope that pulled you from the sinking deep.
I looked up, finding Halvard’s eyes in the sea of faces, a smile breaking onto my lips. And as if he’d known it all along, he smiled back.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, Joel, Ethan, Josiah, Finley, and River. You are the oil in my lamp and I’m never without light because of you. Also my family, who fill my life with true stories.
To my writing partner, Kristin Dwyer, this book literally would not have been written without you. Your belief in my voice and in my storytelling has pulled me through so many times, and you deserve so much more credit than I’ll ever be able to give you. But also, you’re the worst.
Eileen Rothschild, what an amazing gem of an editor I have in you! Thank you for trusting me to walk into the unknown with Tova and Halvard. I feel so very lucky to have you on my side. And to my agent, Barbara Poelle, you are just the most badass woman I know. Thank you for every seen and unseen thing you have done along this road.
Thank you to my wonderful publisher, Wednesday Books, and my team, Tiffany Shelton, DJ DeSmyter, and Jessica Preeg, for holding my hand along the way. My books would not be in the hands of readers if I didn’t have you in my corner. It takes a village and I really, really love my village. Also a very special thank you to Kerri Resnick, designer for both Sky in the Deep’s and The Girl the Sea Gave Back’s beautiful covers. You are magic!
To my faithful beta readers, Natalie Faria and Isabel Ibanez, I am so thankful for your wisdom! Thank you for helping me find my way out of the weeds.
To Stephanie Brubaker: friend, critique partner, fellow foodie, and creator of the pronunciation guide for both books in this world. Thank you for always, always, always being there for me, rain or shine. And Lyndsay Wilkin, that writing retreat in Nevada City quite literally saved me. Thank you both for swooping in at a moment when I felt so very lost. All my love and gratitude to the bright shining light of optimism and hope who is Stephanie Garber. I am so happy that our paths crossed. Your encouragement and support throughout this process have meant more to me than you know.
To my local author gang, Shannon Dittemore, Jenny Lundquist, Joanna Rowland, Jessica Taylor, Kim Culbertson, and Rose Cooper. I couldn’t ask for a better tribe of writers to drink an unspecified number of margaritas with.
To Amy, Angela, and Andrea, I just really love you. And to my high school sweethearts, Megwam, Cumulus Cloud, and Lizzard, I find endless inspiration in you and the way you see this world.
ALSO BY ADRIENNE YOUNG
Sky in the Deep
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADRIENNE YOUNG is a born-and-bred Texan turned California girl. She is a foodie with a deep love of history and travel and a shameless addiction to coffee. When she’s not writing, you can find her on her yoga mat, scouring antique fairs for old books, sipping wine over long dinners, or disappearing into her favorite art museums. She lives with her documentary filmmaker husband and their four little wildlings beneath the West Coast sun. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
13 Years Ago
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
7 Years Ago
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
10 Years Ago
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
2 Years Ago
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
12 Years Ago
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Acknowledgments
Also by Adrienne Young
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE GIRL THE SEA GAVE BACK. Copyright © 2019 by Adrienne Young. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.wednesdaybooks.com
Cover photo illustration by Larry Rostant
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-16848-1 (hardcover
)
ISBN 978-1-250-16850-4 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250168504
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: September 2019
The Girl the Sea Gave Back Page 23