I shake my head. “It was your energy too. Yours and Oski’s.”
“Já,” says Oski. “I felt it.”
“What did you think of?” I ask them both. “During the light spell.”
“I thought of Wyrd,” Oski says. “And mead. And not going crazy from ghosts. And my horse. And running my enemies through with this.” They brandish their sword.
I nod and look at Einar. “And you?”
“My mother,” he says, his voice quiet.
“Of course,” I say and return to sipping my tea.
“What about you, Runa?” Einar asks. “What did you focus on?”
I take a sip, and Oski stands, pretending to patrol the perimeter of the camp.
“I thought of a lot of things,” I say, trying to avoid the awkwardness of the question I myself asked.
“Like what?” he asks.
“Like Sýr. And my amma. And you.” I can’t look at him, because if I do, and I meet his gaze, I’m not sure what will happen next. I keep my eyes on my tea. Despite all the dangers I’ve overcome on this journey, I still have the heart of a coward.
Einar reaches out and places his large hand over mine, covering it. “I know,” he says. “It was like your voice was inside my mind. Like your breath was in my body.”
His eyes flicker with gold sparks. No matter how many times I look at them, I will never get used to their beauty.
“I hope—” I begin but then falter.
“Yes?” he prompts.
“I hope that when we are apart, you will carry a part of me with you. In case we never see each other again.”
He shifts uneasily and pulls his hand away.
“Runa, please don’t speak like that,” he says.
“Einar—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t want to hear—”
“Einar, I have seen my own death,” I blurt.
He stares at me, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. I feel awful telling him this, and I hadn’t planned on it. I regret it immediately, because he looks as if I’ve abandoned him like everyone else in his life has.
Oski clears their throat. “I have seen it too.”
Einar is angry now. “What?” He spits out the word.
“This is bigger than me, Einar,” I say.
“I don’t care!” He throws down his cup, and its contents sizzle on the embers of the fire. It’s unusual to see him this angry.
“We all die and become dirt,” Oski says. “And our ancestors walk on us.”
Einar is livid. “Quiet!” he shouts at Oski. “I don’t need your crazy Valkyrie talk right now.” He paces next to the fire. “What are we doing here? Why are we doing this if it’s going to bring more death? If it’s going to hurt Runa?” He looks at me, and the pain on his face is too much to bear.
“You know why,” I say, avoiding his gaze. “Because of Sýr. And your father. And your clan. And my clan. And because we cannot let Katla get away with it. We must avenge your mother. We must stop the witch before she kills us all. Before we have nothing left to live for.”
Einar sits, leaning his solid back against a birch tree. He sighs. “I know,” he says quietly. He looks at me. “But I’ve only just found you.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and then I gather every bit of courage I have and walk over to nestle beside him. He drapes a heavy arm around my shoulders, and I lean my head into him, breathing in his honey scent and feeling the warmth of his chin resting against my forehead.
“Look,” I whisper. “I will see this through. I will battle Katla. I will do my best to help your people.”
“You think that’s all I care about?” he asks, but he isn’t angry. He just seems tired.
“No,” I say, my voice quiet.
Oski crouches before us. “We made a blood oath,” they say. “Us three. We will always be together.”
“But,” I say, “you cannot pass beyond the boundary of moonwater. You’re not mortal. And Einar—”
“It’s not certain if I can,” he finishes for me.
“Then I will wait here in the trees,” says Oski. “And so will Einar, if he must.”
It is what we agreed to, but after all this time we have spent together, I know now that standing out here waiting for me, not knowing what is happening beyond the green border of light, will be excruciating for them. If there were some way to disguise Oski and Einar as mortals, to mask Oski’s Valkyrie blood and Einar’s elf heritage, maybe it would be possible for them to cross over too.
“There may be something we can do,” I say. “To protect us and to help you get across.”
I tell them my idea. Einar gathers ash and uses his oils to mix together an ink. We all add drops of our blood to it. My plan is that we tattoo ourselves with a special bindrune, one that will connect us, protect us, and perhaps allow the two of them to walk where I walk.
I whisper to my runes and cast them to the ground. The stones come together to form a pattern I’ve never seen before, a complex bindrune displaying the values of friendship, identity, fate, and will. I recreate it in the dirt with my finger.
“That’s it,” I say. “This is the mark we will use.”
“Do you really think it will work?” Einar asks.
“We will have to see,” I say. “Each of us will have to try to enter moonwater on our own. If we succeed, we succeed. If we don’t, then we wait for each other.”
Oski pulls out the lone wing feather they have been carrying with them all this time. They hand it to Einar, who sharpens the quill into a fine point. He dips it into the ink and uses it to poke a rough sketch of the rune into my upper right arm. It stings, but in a good way. Einar works fast, concentrating on getting the shape right.
Once he’s done, I tattoo Einar in the same place, dipping the feather in the ink and pressing it into Einar’s skin. Then we both go to work tattooing Oski, because, we discover, Valkyrie skin is thick and tough. It takes several tries to puncture their white flesh, but we manage it in the end.
“There,” I say. “This will help us find each other.”
By this time the fire has ebbed, and dawn will be here soon.
“Sleep now, Runa,” Einar says, drawing me back against him. “For a little while.”
I close my eyes, resting in the warmth of him.
I dream of Oski.
The Valkyrie is standing beside that shimmering golden lake.
“Oski, am I crazy?” I ask. “Is this happening?”
“It has already happened, Runa,” they say. “And will again.”
“I don’t understand why. I’m just me,” I say.
“Yes. And that is enough.”
“Are we dead?” I ask.
“I used to think dying was the loneliest thing a soul could experience,” says Oski. “But now I know that living beyond the edge of time all alone is worse. For so long my eternity remained a desolate and beautiful place that people passed through, inhabited by my small crew of Valkyries. No one else stayed. Such long lives, if you can call them that.
“We were important, busy, but I began to believe that I was not real after all. In the darkest place of my heart, I feared I was a whim dreamed up by the limited imagination of mortals. I watched you all live and love, and I watched you all die. Nothing was lonelier than watching human life from afar and wishing I had a small piece of it for myself. How I longed to jump into the mad rage of the world. I imagined time crumbling like rocky cliffs.”
“And now?” I ask.
But Oski doesn’t answer. They stare into the golden lake, and I feel myself tearing away, floating farther and farther, until I see my old home.
There it is, along the edge of the cliff and overlooking the black sands. From my little dwelling Sýr emerges.
She waves to me, and I draw closer, floating to her as if on wings.
“Sýr,” I call out. “Sýr, is this real?”
“Yes,” she says, and her voice sounds far away, as if spoken in ano
ther time. “This is real, Runa. Come in. Come stay. Stay with me.”
Stay with me.
Her voice is soothing. I follow her into our hut, and I find myself in my little bed with Sýr next to me. She is smoothing my hair, and it’s comforting.
“Sýr,” I whisper. “I missed you so much.”
She reaches out and wipes away the tears on my cheeks, and as she does, her eyes flash yellow. It’s fast. So fast I’m not sure I even saw it. But I know it happened.
“Katla,” I say, and her name comes out like a whispered threat.
She hisses, and her eyes turn bright yellow, her face switching between Sýr’s beautiful visage and Katla’s sickening scowl.
I recoil and try to escape, but Katla leaps onto me, pinning down my arms and legs, her face inches from mine. She hisses again, and a long, slimy, yellow tongue protrudes from her mouth.
“No!” I struggle.
“Jusssst giiiive iiiin,” she hisses.
“Give in,” I echo.
“Come with meeeee.”
“With you,” I repeat. She is hypnotic.
“Ruuuna.”
“Runa,” I say. Then, “Runes! My runes! Protect me!”
I feel my runes clatter, and I look down as they begin to glow, hot and red. They’re angry. Katla reaches out a clawed hand and tries to grab them but screams in agony as if burned. She retreats to a corner of the room.
“Stupid child!” she shrieks.
I rise, my runes giving off intense heat. “I call on Tyr to punish you,” I say, and with that my runes send off bolts of red fire that blaze across the room at Katla with a fury equal to my hatred of her.
Katla wails, dodging the fire, and then bursts out of the roof, flooding the hut with daylight.
“Runa!” Einar shouts, shaking me awake. “Runa,” he says again, hushed, when I open my eyes. “Was it Katla again?”
I sit, shaking. “Yes.” I reach for my runes. They’re hot to the touch.
“Are you frightened?” Oski asks.
I remember the fire my runes shot at Katla and how she ran from me. I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“Good,” says Oski. “Because destiny awaits.”
I stand and look at the green light of the moonwater border. It wavers, perhaps allowing for areas of entry. The red moon is above us.
I look at my friends. “Let’s go. I’ve got a witch to kill.”
We gather our packs, stomp down our fire, and walk toward the green light. We find a spot where a space has formed. It’s foggy inside, and I cannot see through.
I turn to Oski. “I’ll meet you at the golden lake,” I say.
They nod. “I will be waiting. I’ve always been waiting.”
We embrace. “Thank you,” I say.
I look at Einar, and this time I meet his eyes, staring into the golden flecks that remind me so much of the night’s stars. Eyes like that could guide a hundred ships. Eyes like that could guide me home.
“I won’t say goodbye,” he says.
I nod and force a smile, even though I feel as if the world could be ending. He strokes my hair, pushing it back from my face so it isn’t covering my eyes. “That’s better,” he says. “Now I can see your magic eyes.”
My eyes that I’ve always thought of as strange and ugly. Freaky eyes. My problem eyes. Now they’re magic eyes.
My mind flashes to Frigg, how she looked at Sýr with such love and how I wished someone would look at me that way.
Einar is looking at me like that now.
I move to press my mouth to his. As our lips graze, the ground starts to rumble.
“It’s time!” Oski shouts. “Hurry!”
The green barrier glows bright. It’s our moment to try to pass through.
Oski hurries through the opening. I can’t see if they make it to the other side.
I pause at the entrance, Einar right behind me. I turn and reach my hand to him.
He reaches too, and our fingers touch. “Will there ever be a time for us?” he calls out.
But I don’t get to answer, for the white fog swirls around me and blocks him from view.
I hope there is a time for us. If there isn’t, I will make it.
The white fog is so disorienting that I don’t know which way to go. Oski and Einar are nowhere. I stretch out my arms and feel nothing but cool, misty air. There is no sound, save for the pounding of my own heart and the clacking of my runes as they chatter in their pouch.
Which way? What if I can’t get into moonwater? What if I’m not worthy? How will I free Sýr then? I push down my rising panic. I have to say calm.
I still myself and place my hands on my runes, holding them close to my chest. I breathe in, then out, and I focus on the sensation of being in this moment, right now.
“I’m here, Sýr,” I say. “Help me find my way.”
Runa. I hear Sýr’s voice in the fog. I turn in its direction, and I see a faint flicker. Drawing closer, I see that it is a lone moth, aflame and flitting around in a frenzy.
I reach out and cup it in my hands, snuffing the flames. When I open them, there is nothing but a smear of ash.
Runa. Her voice again. Farther along is another flaming moth. I follow this trail of burning moths, catching each one, until I reach an area where the fog clears.
The moths are gone now.
“Sýr?” I call out.
Runa. I’m here. Her voice comes to me again, and when I step forward I see a shining, reflective surface in front of me. It’s like a door made from thin ice, surrounded on all sides by brilliant light. I don’t see any handle, and when I approach and touch it, the surface is so cold that I draw back my hand in pain.
I look at my palm, and the flesh is burned from cold. I breathe on it and try to warm it, but the cold is sinking deeper into my flesh, traveling to my wrist and threatening to claim my arm.
“Sýr!” I call out again.
The reflective ice door ripples and emits a warbling sound. A faint image appears, clothed in a hooded cloak. It looks like Sýr and sounds like her. The image moves toward me, and as it draws closer my heart almost stops in my chest.
It’s my mother.
The cold in my wrist is now in my forearm, and I struggle to reach my hand out to the image.
“Mother?” I ask. Is this one of Katla’s tricks?
But it can’t be. Because the figure in the ice door before me has warm eyes, like Sýr’s, and beautiful tanned skin and black hair that is so familiar I feel like I am home.
“Runa,” she says. I realize it must have been her voice I heard when I was in the marbendill’s cave. “I’ve been waiting so long, my love.”
“Mother, how can this be?” I choke out through my tears.
“You must pass the test, child of mine.” She opens her cloak to reveal a bright blue stone. It’s the moonstone.
“What test? How?” I ask.
She takes the stone and whispers to it, and it glows a more brilliant blue.
“What will you do with the power, Runa? Such incredible power.”
The stone floats beyond the ice door and toward me, then stops and hovers in the air.
“All you must do is take it,” my mother says. “And it will be yours.”
“Mine?” The blue moonstone has me transfixed. It’s as if I can see in it everything I’ve ever wanted. I would be beautiful and strong and free to roam wherever I wished. I could make anyone love me.
“Yes, Runa. Yours. To make yourself into what you’ve always dreamed.”
My mother’s image dissolves and my own takes its place. My wild white hair, my strange eyes, made even stranger by being different colors now, my weak, shaking body. That image fades and a more powerful image of myself appears. Taller, more muscular, with dark hair and green eyes like Sýr’s. Like my mother’s.
My mother’s face comes back again. “Take it,” says Mother, “and you will have everything you’ve dreamed of.”
The blue stone pul
ses. The coldness in my arm has reached my chest, and it feels like soon I won’t be able to breathe.
“Yes,” I say, my voice weak.
I want to be rid of my old self. To be new and to be special. To have unlimited power.
“Choose,” Mother says, and her image fades for a moment. Behind her I see the faces of my sister and my friends. I see Oski and Einar, frozen in place.
Choose. Power for myself. Or power to help the ones I love. Me or them.
I feel the cold clutch around my heart. No. I don’t want anything if I can’t have it with them. I choose Sýr. I choose Oski. I choose Einar.
I step back from the stone, and it stops pulsing.
“I choose love,” I say, and the stone disappears.
Mother smiles, tears falling from her eyes. “My child,” she says. “My Runa.”
“Mother!” I reach for her, but her image fades, and cracks appear in the ice door. “No! Wait!”
“You are the dream I had for myself,” she says.
“Mother, please! Don’t leave me again,” I beg.
“We’ll meet again,” she says, her voice far away now. “In your dreams.”
The ice shatters, and she is gone.
The door is open now, and I can see a dim corridor on the other side that leads, no doubt, to moonwater.
I stifle a sob and wipe my face. I made my choice. Now I have to see it through.
I step over the threshold, and the terrible cold that had permeated my body disappears. I look behind me, and the doorway has disappeared. All that remains is a stone wall. I move along the corridor, noting that the walls look like they’ve been here for hundreds of years, though moonwater is not a permanent place.
I come to the end, to a simple, unassuming wooden door, and push it open.
I’m here, at last, in the bustling center of moonwater. I step inside, and all around me are the sights and smells of the marketplace.
Tents and stalls. Sword makers. Magic-tool makers. Animals. Food. Entertainment. Drink. Candle shops. Oils. Herbs. Trinkets. Fortunes being told. Fights breaking out. Lovers. No children, as they aren’t allowed. No elves or other supernatural creatures. No Oski or Einar that I can see, but I don’t know if they got in. I don’t know how Katla can get in here, but if she’s possessing mortals, and possessing Sýr as we suspect, then maybe she will find a way.
The Stone of Sorrow Page 18