Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Father was mimicking the gravelly voice Olve must have had.

  “And he wasn’t the only one, he told me. Every stone circle in each of the eleven kingdoms was being checked that night, provided the ravens made it through the storm. And why?”

  Hirka wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she continued to push her spoon around in the fish soup without saying anything.

  “Because a stone whisperer had felt some change in the flow of the Might. Gone on about the old stone doors being open again. About something passing through.”

  Hirka felt the hairs stand up on her arms. It was said the blind had passed through the stones, and that they could return through the stones too. That was what the Rite was for: to protect people.

  But that was just what people said. Nobody had ever seen the blind. Not for hundreds of years. They no longer existed. If they ever had in the first place.

  “Olve said he wasn’t a superstitious old crone. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. I asked why he couldn’t take the wagon and go on his own then, but he had no response to that, the lily-livered milksop. When we arrived at the circle, he staggered between the stones in the dead of night, blind drunk, with his sword in hand. A ghost of a man, on the lookout for monsters he had orders to kill. He fought off the shadows bravely, till he slumped against a rock and started to snore.”

  Here it comes, Hirka thought. She’d caught wind of something she knew she didn’t want to hear. Like an animal. The air grew closer in the cabin, the world pressing in on her almost unbearably. Father began to speak slower. As though he wasn’t sure that he wanted to go on.

  “I don’t know what made me decide to have a look around. A gut feeling, I suppose. The Council had sent people out in foul weather to check Seer-knows-what, and Olve wasn’t up to the task. So I plowed my way through the snow, around the stones. Just to see. Just to make sure.

  “And then I found you.

  “You were no more than a few days old. Someone had wrapped you in a blanket that blended in with the snow. You would have been easy to miss. A pale face barely the size of my fist in an ocean of frost. The snow was falling on you, but you weren’t crying. You were just looking up with wonder in your big green eyes.”

  Hirka swallowed a limp piece of fish that threatened to come up again. She willed her body to move, but she felt paralyzed. She wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Father wasn’t … Father?

  But he just kept talking. Maybe he’d forgotten that she was sitting there.

  “There isn’t a man in Ym who would abandon an infant to a drunken fool like Olve. So I dragged him into the wagon and put you on my lap. Both of you slept the entire way back. I drove Olve home, back to his mistress. You stayed with me. I lay awake all night, with you in one hand and my sword in the other. I saw Kolkagga in every corner. Heard them in the howling of the wolves. And in the branches scraping against the wall. Jon at the tavern, he used to say Ulvheim’s so cold that Kolkagga would turn back halfway. But I don’t know. You never know when it comes to the Seer’s dark shadows.”

  Father suddenly turned to face her.

  “You know I have little time for gossip, girl. But what does that matter when the world is the way it is? I had no choice. If the Council had more drunkards on its payroll, the story about the stone circles and monsters could spread. People would be on guard. I couldn’t raise a tailless girl!”

  Hirka’s hand jerked to the scar on her lower back like someone had branded her. Now he was way off the mark. She’d had a tail. She hadn’t been born tailless! “The wolves …” She swallowed. “You said the wolves took my tail.”

  “What in Slokna was I supposed to tell you?”

  “But the scar …” Hirka felt the lump in her throat grow until it hurt.

  “I left the scar, girl!” Father shouted, as though it was her fault. “I carved bite marks into your back. It certainly wasn’t easy. It had to look real. And you screamed. I had to hold my hand over your mouth or you’d have woken half the town.” Father was dark red in the light from the hearth.

  “Sorry …” was all she could manage.

  She saw his face crack, as though she had struck him.

  “Do you understand now, girl? Do you understand why we need to leave?”

  Hirka couldn’t look at him. She lowered her gaze until it landed on the yellowed wolf fang resting on her chest. She’d worn it around her neck her entire life. A reminder. A reminder of something that had never happened. A false badge of honor, bought from a market stall for a copper piece.

  Father must have realized what she wanted to ask, because he thundered on. “You entered the world tailless, in the stone circle near Ulvheim, and you can’t bind. I don’t know where you’re from or what you are, but I don’t care, we’re leaving. If you’re one of the tailless … one of Odin’s kin …”

  Hirka’s heart clenched.

  “If you’re menskr, the Council will find out during the Rite. And then what will happen to you? You are my daughter. Nobody is going to succeed where Olve failed. I won’t risk you.”

  Even though Father’s voice was gentler now, Hirka could hear it wasn’t up for discussion.

  She forced out a laugh. She couldn’t believe any of this. “Have you ever seen a child of Odin, Father? Have you ever heard of anyone, anywhere, who has seen one? We’ve traveled across all of Foggard, and never—”

  “Never met anyone else tailless, who can’t bind? Who’s unearthed?”

  Hirka closed her eyes as she tried to think back. “That enormous man in Frossabu, he only had a stump!”

  “His old lady chopped it off. He’d been with a girl.”

  “The three girls at the market in Arfabu who had …”

  “They were Silers from Urmunai. They swear off men and devote their lives to dance. It’s their custom to bind their tail up along their backs.”

  “Olve! You just said Olve couldn’t bind!” Hirka was desperate now.

  “Of course he could bind. It’s just he was no longer able to use it for anything anymore. Even though as a boy he was chosen during the Rite and studied in Eisvaldr for many years. Hirka …”

  “I am not one of Odin’s kin! I had a mother!”

  Father shut his eyes. Hirka sensed where that was going to lead, but she didn’t want to stop.

  “I had a mother,” she repeated. “Maiande.”

  “You remember her, do you?” Father’s voice was different. Almost mocking. But his assumption was correct. Hirka didn’t remember her. Only the few things Father had told her.

  “Maiande was a girl in Ulvheim who I … knew for a while,” he said. “She made soaps and knew to sell them to weak men at the taverns. They spent more on soaps than on ale. You’d have struggled to find cleaner drunkards.”

  Hirka felt his words pressing down on her like boulders. Each one heavier than the last. She was going to end up crushed to death. She managed to stand. For a moment she felt like a visitor. As though Father were a stranger. A stranger bearing false witness.

  It was impossible to breathe. She had to force the words out. “People are born without arms and legs, strong and weak binders alike! We can’t be certain—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “We can’t be certain. Nothing is certain, but I won’t risk meeting the Council and being the one who brought the rot to Ym.”

  Children of Odin. Menskr. Bringers of the rot.

  “Crones’ talk!” she shouted. The only words for nonsense she knew he’d understand.

  Air. She needed air. Hirka opened the door and filled her lungs. It felt like she hadn’t taken a breath in a long time. She could hear her father’s voice behind her but didn’t hear what he was saying. She just walked away. Things weren’t the same anymore. He was stuck in his chair and couldn’t stop her. She walked faster and faster. She jumped over the fallen birch tree and started to run.

  She had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she had to run. The evening was dark. There was nobody around. Nobody to see her. S
he was invisible. A ghost. A monster.

  A child of Odin.

  She no longer existed, so she ran. But within her something continued to live, something that noticed branches and leaves whipping against her face, and that she was nearing the Alldjup. Suddenly her foot caught, and she crashed to the ground.

  She lay there gasping. The air felt dead. It wasn’t supplying her with what she needed to breathe. She had to get up.

  The ground under her hands was covered with moss. It smelled rotten. She was part of the earth. Larval. An insect that could crawl around and disappear inside the tiny holes in the moss. Forever. She let her gaze follow the forest floor until it disappeared over the dark edge of the Alldjup. The gorge that had nearly been the end of her only a few hours earlier.

  Maybe that had been the point the entire time? Maybe that was the Seer’s punishment for having cheated death?

  Can the tailless die? Can I die?

  Hirka pressed her eyes shut. She tried to block out everything Father had said, but it wouldn’t stay away. I didn’t have you, I found you.

  She did her best to stifle a howl. When she opened her eyes, there were red teeth marks on her forearm. What had she expected? Had she thought that her skin would suddenly have turned to stone?

  What did she know about the tailless?

  That they don’t exist …

  Children of Odin were a myth, like the blind. An old folk tale. She didn’t believe in folk tales. Father was a fool!

  But if the blind don’t exist, then why do we have the Rite?

  The Rite was supposed to protect everyone from the blind. So surely the blind must have existed at one time? Had she not personally placed coins over the eyes of newborns? Given them the blood to reassure their mothers? That’s what was done. What had always been done. Surely not without reason? And if the blind existed, then maybe children of Odin did too?

  Child of Odin. Menskr. Embling. The rot. That last one was the worst. The one that stung the most. She’d heard it before, outside the tavern. Kolgrim’s father had accused Iron Jarke of cavorting with his girl. Iron Jarke had replied that he’d rather risk the rot. It had cost him two teeth.

  Hirka drew her knees under her. So that’s what she was. An insult. An atrocity. And everyone would be able to tell when the Rite came around. The pieces fell into place. That was why she’d never been able to bind. Why they’d lived along the roadside her entire life. Why Father had always kept them away from people. It wasn’t just the illegal herbs. It was her. People mean danger.

  Hirka shivered. She felt the cold traces of tears down her face.

  If the Seer discovered during the Rite that she wasn’t an ymling, the Council would punish her. Burn her! And what would happen to Father? Father, who had taken in the rot? Would they kill him?

  No.

  Nothing was going to happen to him. Nothing was going to happen to her either. Hirka wasn’t an insect! She was an ymling. A strong girl who did what she had to. That’s the way it had always been.

  Hirka glimpsed a familiar outline against the moss. Her basket, right where she’d set it down when she went to save Vetle. That was who she really was. Brave. Strong. Unafraid. She was going to make it through the Rite like everyone else. And when it was over, she and Father would be left alone. Then they could live in Elveroa and never be afraid of anything again. The Rite would give her what she needed. A home. A place in the world.

  That’s how it was going to be. That’s how it had to be.

  Hirka felt an unexpected calm. She was tired. She heard the sound of wings flapping, and then a raven landed in front of her. It cocked its head and stared at her for a moment. Then it went over to her basket and started to peck at it with its powerful beak.

  A raven. An image of the Seer. A sign of good fortune, everyone knew that, Hirka thought, before reminding herself that she didn’t believe in signs. She and Father had given raven amulets to a lot of people seeking to ward off illness. Some died, some didn’t.

  She closed her eyes.

  Alone in the woods, she dreamed that Father came. Walking on his own two feet, like before. His strong arms picked her up in the darkness and carried her home.

  THE EMPTY CHAIR

  What is a father?

  A teacher? A rock? A guiding light? His entire life, Urd had listened to others describe his father as all these things. But to him, his father was nothing more than a bloodstained wooden bucket of red meat. His father—Spurn Vanfarinn—was dead.

  The gravity of such a death—in such a family—had sent shock waves through the eleven kingdoms. Mannfalla was a city in mourning. The Council was shaken that it had lost one of the twelve. People were saying it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

  Perfect.

  Not only had Spurn Vanfarinn left behind significant wealth, he had left Insringin one councillor short. Urd was only interested in the latter. He stood tall, refusing to blink as sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes. This was the most important day of his life. He was close. So close. This was his time. He was perfect. The perfect son. The perfect successor.

  Ten of the eleven remaining members of Insringin stood before him, brought together to pay their respects. Mannfalla was laid out behind him. A silent sea of people subdued by heat and sorrow. The Ravenbearer was so close he could almost touch her. The drums that had followed the procession up to the plateau had settled into barely audible sighs. This was it.

  The doors were flung open next to him, and a sea of ravens turned day to night. They circled the cliffs, making surprisingly little noise. The Ravenbearer made the sign of the Seer and emptied the bucket onto the ground in front of her. She took a step back and let the ravens eat.

  Spurn Vanfarinn was nothing more than bloody pieces. Tiny, tiny pieces, smaller than Urd could ever have dreamed. Faceless, boneless. Torn apart. No longer a great man. Never a great man. Urd suppressed a smile. At long last, the battle had been won. The silent war that had been waging ever since he was a child, ever since his father had snarled that Urd was no more fit to be a councillor than the whores by the river, that he would be the first break in their family’s seven-hundred-year line of councillors.

  The only downside of his father’s death was that he couldn’t bear witness to how wrong he had been. Unless the Might could convey this to him somewhere in eternity.

  The chunks of his father became fewer and smaller. He was consumed, carried away on gleaming black wings, slowly but surely devoured. Along with his endless contempt for his eldest son. A contempt that had chased Urd toward the darkness before he was even old enough to take the Rite. Into a dismal game that had cost him almost everything. This was the first time it had borne fruit. Now, fifteen years later, he could open the stone way by himself. He finally had what he had been promised.

  The same irritating question pushed its way to the forefront of his mind again. Why now? Why after all this time? Had something slipped through back then? Unseen? Blood that had matured in Ym?

  Inconceivable. He, Urd, had become stronger. That was the only reason. All the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep his eyes peeled during the Rite. Even though no one would dare hide something like that from him. No one. Not even Him.

  Urd shuddered and fought the urge to raise his hand to his throat. It was nothing. Nothing. Just the usual pain. The collar was secure, like always. No one could see anything. Oh, how he hated the constant fear that someone would see.

  The drums became louder again. The ravens were called back. All that was left now was a red smear on the cliff’s edge, overlaying the darker brown tones left by generations of councillors who had journeyed into eternity from here.

  Urd prepared himself. It was up to the Council and the Seer to choose a successor to join Insringin. If he acted strategically now, that successor was likely to be him. Each and every one of the councillors would pass him and offer their condolences.

  Tyrme Jekense was among the first to approach him. The Jekense family had little love
for the Vanfarinns, but Urd thought he could at least cultivate their gratitude: Tyrme’s brother owed his family a pretty sum.

  Tyrme shook his hand and offered his condolences. Urd thanked him before leaning closer to the tall man and whispering: “And of course, all obligations toward my father died with him.”

  Tyrme looked surprised for a moment, but then gave his thanks and moved on.

  It was difficult to predict how that would play out, but Urd had done what he could. The next councillor in line would be much easier.

  Miane Fell had been on the Council with his father as long as Urd had been alive. They’d had a good relationship, and Urd thought he had seen a yearning in her eyes. He couldn’t be sure, and the feeling hadn’t been mutual, but he had to take the chance. Miane’s eyes were puffy and shone with tears as she took Urd’s hand. He felt more certain of himself already. He smiled at the elderly woman and whispered: “Father said his only regret in life was not being able to be with you.”

  Tears spilled from Miane’s brown eyes. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before squeezing her eyes shut and guiding his hand to her brow. Urd was convinced he could feel the mark on her forehead burning against the palm of his hand. He smiled. He was as good as in.

  A PUZZLE

  A raven sailed through the dark woods, only an arm’s length from Rime. Its flapping wings were like a breath of air on his face, before it disappeared into the night. Rime made the sign of the Seer.

  Then he noticed a figure lying on the ground ahead and stopped. He grabbed the hilt of his sword while scanning the woods. Was there anyone else there? The moon gave off only a weak silver glow. He sensed movement, wind toying with the branches. The sound of a night warbler reached him; a slow wail that went unanswered. Otherwise there was no sign of life. Rime was alone. Apart from the figure lying motionless in the moss.

  He stepped closer. Skinny. Red hair. A grazed knee visible through torn trousers. Hirka.