Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Ripples in the water pulled her face apart and put it back together again as if she were a ghost. A reflection that only half existed. And was it her, or was there something animalistic about the sharpness of her canines?

  “Hirka!” Sylja’s voice cut through the air like a scythe.

  Hirka leaped to her feet.

  “Where were you yesterday? You missed everything!” Sylja rolled her eyes and grabbed Hirka by the tunic. Hirka barely managed to scoop up her basket before she was dragged across the wooden bridge. Sylja’s dress danced around her ankles. It was the color of the sea, with clovers around the neckline and along the edges. It was even prettier than her usual dresses, and this made Hirka fear the worst.

  “The raven’s come,” she said, beaming. “I found out yesterday, but you weren’t home. Come on! They’re going to announce the days for the Rite!”

  “Now? Today?” Hirka pretended she was surprised and made a half-hearted attempt to free herself from Sylja’s grasp.

  “Yes, now! Before the morning message. Honestly, Hirka, what would you do without me?”

  Sylja pulled her mercilessly toward the square in front of the Seer’s hall. So much for staying away from people.

  Hirka swallowed. “I can’t, Sylja, I have to—”

  “And guess what.” Sylja stopped halfway up the slope behind the tavern. She always stopped when she had something really dramatic to say, to ensure that everyone’s attention was on her. The urge to gossip blazed in her eyes as she gripped both Hirka’s arms. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”

  Rime. Hirka bit her lip to stop from saying his name aloud.

  “Rime! I swear, Hirka. Rime An-Elderin, none other. He’s taking Ilume-madra back to Mannfalla before the Rite.” Sylja widened her eyes. “Mannfalla, Hirka! It’ll be our turn soon!”

  Sylja started pulling her along again. The thought of the square full of people made Hirka feel ill. If it hadn’t been for Sylja, she might have been able to stick to the shadows, but …

  “Honestly, Hirka! I don’t think you’d know what was going on anywhere if it weren’t for me. Did you even hear that Audun Brinnvág broke his neck?”

  “Who?”

  “Brinnvág! The jarl of Skodd? He fell out a window when he was drunk, they say. But you know what?” Sylja leaned toward Hirka and whispered, “They swear they saw someone on the roof. A shadow!”

  “Who swears?”

  “People! The servants? It doesn’t matter. He was a friend of Ravnhov. I think—” Sylja glanced around before continuing. “I think the shadows took him.”

  “The shadows,” Hirka repeated dubiously.

  “The warriors who are never seen and never die,” Sylja whispered.

  On a normal day, Hirka would have pointed out that someone had seen shadows on the roof, so clearly they weren’t invisible. But Kolkagga? Warriors who never died? Everyone died. Them too, if they even existed.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. After all, she wasn’t supposed to exist either. People like her had only existed in people’s imaginations until yesterday.

  The streets were packed with people. The low stone houses sat end to end on both sides of the road. Some of them doubled up as homes and market stalls. The road led onto a paved square in front of the Seer’s hall. It was chaos. People were moving stalls and goods to make room for the announcement.

  Sylja suddenly let go of Hirka’s arm, a sure sign that the rest of Glimmeråsen wasn’t far away. Sure enough, Sylja’s parents were making their way across the square, sticking close to the entourage surrounding Ilume and Ramoja. Conversations trailed off into quiet whispers as they approached. Hirka’s hands were sweating. She moved back through the crowd. It was easy enough, considering most people wanted to get farther forward.

  People parted before Ilume as if an invisible plow were being pushed ahead of her. Her face glowed from within the hood of her pitch-black council robes, which were edged with gold. She seemed to glide across the ground. Three protectors walked behind her, with Sylja’s mother, Kaisa, on her left. Ilume said nothing. Kaisa was doing most of the speaking, and she was wearing that smile that never seemed to reach her eyes. She clung to Ilume almost all the way up to the steps, catching people’s eyes to make sure they had noticed her walking together with Ilume-madra. One of the Council’s venerable matriarchs. One of the twelve members of Insringin. As close to the Seer as you could get.

  Hirka felt hideously exposed. She tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Sylja went to join her parents, and Hirka was relieved to see the back of her. Now she could make her escape.

  There was only one problem. She was in the middle of the crowd, which had fallen completely silent. If she tried to leave now, people would notice.

  Father always thought the worst of people, so she’d kept her distance, never understanding the danger. Today, she understood. Today, she knew what made her different. Why she needed to hide. But now she didn’t have a choice. She would have to stay put for the duration of the announcement.

  Hirka couldn’t see over all the heads in front of her, but she knew what was happening. It was the same every year. She gazed longingly up at the turfed roof where she had lain the year before, watching the same ritual. Ilume stood in the middle of the steps, with Ramoja a short distance behind her, both of them surrounded by protectors. Ramoja lifted the raven that had come with the letter from Mannfalla. The letter was presented to Ilume as if she hadn’t already seen it. She opened the small scroll and read from it.

  This would be her last time making the announcement, Hirka suddenly realized. Ilume was leaving Elveroa, people said. Who would announce the dates for the Rite next year? Perhaps the augur from the Seer’s hall? Or Ramoja?

  Next year?

  Hirka stiffened at the thought. She wouldn’t be there next year either. She looked at the faces around her. They were all there to find out when the Rite would take place. If it was early in Tvimana, she had two moons left to live.

  Ilume’s voice carried across the entire square.

  “The raven has come!”

  “The raven has come!” people cheered around Hirka, raising their hands into the air. In previous years, she had smiled at the ceremonial rituals associated with the announcement. Today she had nothing to smile about. Ilume raised her hand, and everyone fell silent like obedient dogs.

  “The seal belongs to the Council,” she continued, assuring them that the words to follow could not have come from anyone else.

  Let it be known.

  The Seer shelters all those who come to Him.

  Let it be known.

  His hand protects against those who live in the darkness.

  To Hirka, the words were mocking. Shelter. Protection. She would be denied those things because of who she was. She wouldn’t be afforded the same protection as everyone else.

  Ilume waited in silence as the crowd murmured and crossed the palms of their hands across their chests in the sign of the Raven. It was getting harder to breathe. Hirka tried to move back, but there were too many people around her.

  “The raven has come,” Ilume repeated. “The seal is the Council’s. The dates for the Rite have been set.”

  Hirka’s heart was pounding. This was it.

  “In the year of the Seer 998, the Rite will take place in Heymana. On the eighteenth day for Elveroa and the surrounding villages. The Council’s word is final.”

  Heymana? Heymana?! Hirka felt dizzy. That couldn’t be right. Next month! They couldn’t bring the Rite forward a whole month! She looked around in confusion and realized she wasn’t alone. Mumbling turned to shouts. She wasn’t the only one who was surprised. But the people around her had other reasons to be disgruntled.

  One voice carried above the others. It sounded like Alder, a goat farmer from the north side. “That’s mid-harvest! We can’t just drop everything during Heymana!”

  Ilume raised her hand and the clamor died down. “Would you care to submit a complaint
to the Council?” Her voice was like frost on roses. Alder plucked at one of his suspenders without answering.

  The announcement was complete. People started swarming toward the center of the square in the hope that the doors to the Seer’s hall would open. Hirka ducked into a narrow street behind the leather goods stalls and slumped against a wall, half-hidden behind a pile of goat skins as people screeched about the unusual timing. The Rite was always in Tvimana. Always. Now she had even less time than she’d thought to figure out what to do.

  A familiar laugh cut through her thoughts. She poked her head out and spotted Kolgrim and his cronies. Kolgrim, who could have cost both her and Vetle their lives at the gorge. What Kolgrim needed was a good thrashing.

  He’s not worth it, Hirka reminded herself. Just because he threw punches at the other kids when he felt like it didn’t mean that Hirka should start a fight with him. She couldn’t.

  But a child of Odin could …

  Hirka straightened up. She could. A child of Embla. Mythical beasts with false tongues. Normal people had to behave, but she wasn’t normal people anymore. She was the rot. Hirka bared her teeth in an involuntary grin.

  She didn’t stop to think it through. She put her basket down against the wall. Her feet carried her over to Kolgrim. He was sitting on the ground with the other kids from the north side, openly chewing red root. He saw her coming and stumbled to his feet. Hirka could see the panic in his eyes. He’d run when the tree had started to fall, and he clearly knew that had been wrong. But he was quick to settle his features, propping himself up against the wall as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Hirka pointed at him. “You could have killed Vetle!”

  Her body tingled. An intoxicating mixture of dread and anticipation. At last, Hirka had found a deserving outlet for her anger and fear.

  “What kind of coward picks on people who can’t defend themselves?” she continued.

  Kolgrim smiled derisively. “If I picked on people who couldn’t defend themselves, I’d be picking on you, tailless.” He snickered at his own joke, and his cronies quickly followed his lead.

  He grabbed his tail and waved it in her face. “This is where a tail belongs, not in a wolf’s belly!” The others burst out laughing as if they couldn’t imagine a funnier barb.

  If only he knew. What would he do if he found out that she’d never had a tail? That he was face-to-face with the rot? That a kiss could transform him into a rotting corpse as the others looked on? She smiled broadly as she imagined the expression of disbelief on his pale face as it collapsed in on itself.

  Kolgrim clearly wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. She could almost smell the fear emanating from him. He glanced down at the others, who sat waiting to see what he would do. He tried another tack.

  “Maybe people who can’t defend themselves should stick together,” he said, smirking again. “Isn’t it about time you and witless got married?”

  Iben, one of the lackeys, erupted into laughter. Now that Kolgrim had made good, the others were quick to join in.

  Hirka took two steps closer to Kolgrim. “His name is Vetle!”

  “Can you imagine?” Kolgrim continued, fueled by his friends’ response. “Witless and tailless, together as one!”

  Hirka gave him a lopsided smile. “Aw, are you proposing, Kolgrim?” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the insult to bore its way through his thick skull. Kolgrim’s smirk faded slowly.

  He lunged at her and they fell to the ground. Kolgrim’s gang egged them on as they rolled around. He threw a punch at her face, but she blocked it, driving her elbow into his jaw. He let out a shriek. Desperate now, he felt around for something. Then he raised a fist that looked twice as big as it ought to.

  He was holding a rock.

  He’s crazy!

  Hirka tried to shove him off, but he was much bigger than her. The rock rushed toward her head. She heard a gasp from the gathering crowd, and then a shout from nearby. A rough voice, an unfamiliar word. Her body tingled. She squeezed her eyes shut. Then, an explosion.

  But there was no pain. Nothing. She cracked her eyes open slightly. Kolgrim sat astride her with nothing but gravel in his fist. The rock had shattered. He looked confused for a moment before grinning at his friends as if he had supernatural strength. But that wasn’t what had happened at all.

  Hirka saw an opening while Kolgrim was busy gloating. She was getting ready to punch him in the stomach when he was suddenly torn away from her. Kolgrim thrashed in the air like a fish before landing heavily a short distance away.

  Hirka peered up at Rime, outlined against the sun. She tried to get up but fell back again. Rime didn’t notice—his eyes were fixed on Kolgrim.

  “You’ll never be a man if words are all it takes for you to lose your head, boy!”

  Iben laughed reflexively, only stopping when Kolgrim glared at him. Hirka surveyed the crowd that had gathered. Everyone was watching Kolgrim and Rime. Only one person met her eyes. Hlosnian. Old Hlosnian. The stone carver. Hirka knew him well. She had oil for him in her basket.

  “Hirka!” Sylja gasped. Sylja’s mother was there too, staring at Hirka and leaning back. It was as if she were trying to put as much space between them as possible without actually moving. Her long face became even longer as she raised her eyebrows. She sneered as if surveying spoiled meat.

  Sylja gaped at Hirka, her eyes imploring, What are you doing?!

  Hirka could feel her cheeks turning red. Rime was talking to Kolgrim. He had lowered his voice, but Hirka could see the tension in his jaw. She couldn’t hear what Rime was saying, but Kolgrim backed away from him like a hissing cat, his eyes lingering on Rime’s sword. Then he clambered to his feet and ran from the square, his friends following close behind.

  “I must say!” Kaisa said, putting an arm around Sylja as if to protect her. “How blessed we are to have you here, Són-Rime!” The emphasis on his title was clear, but Rime didn’t seem to have noticed. He came toward Hirka, who lowered her eyes to discover that the egg in her pocket had been crushed and smeared across her trousers. The crowd was a beast with a hundred eyes. Hungry, unfamiliar, dangerous.

  Rime held out his hand. He stood over her, stronger and fitter than ever, offering a lifeline because he didn’t know what she was.

  “Are you all ri—”

  “I had him!” she interrupted.

  Everyone’s jaws dropped. Of course. She’d forgotten who she was talking to. Again.

  “You didn’t need … you shouldn’t have …” She scrambled into the alleyway, scooped up her basket, and ran away as fast as she could.

  ILUME

  Rime raised his hand to stop the guardsmen. He watched Hirka as she disappeared between the stalls. Trouble had a way of finding the girl. Yesterday she had been hanging over the Alldjup, and today she had barely avoided getting her head smashed to pieces. Had it not been for Hlosnian …

  Rime looked for the stone whisperer, but he had left the crowd. He hoped, for Hlosnian’s sake, that Ilume hadn’t seen him use the Might that way. It might have saved Hirka, but good reasons went up in smoke when face-to-face with Ilume.

  Rime felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned around. Ilume stood at the top of the steps to the hall. Her gaze cut through the waiting crowd and locked on him. It was like she was trying to freeze him to death because he had come dressed as a guardsman. In the open, for every idiot to see.

  Ilume broke eye contact, turned away, and disappeared into the Seer’s hall through the gilded side entrance reserved for her and her servants. And for Rime. Everyone else had to wait outside. Rime took a deep breath. He was done waiting. He had to talk with Ilume, get it over with. He crossed the square in front of the Seer’s hall. The crowd parted to let him through. Their eyes raked over his clothes. He could hear them whispering.

  Rime sighed. Vanfarinn’s death had weakened the Council. Ravnhov was sharpening its claws. The world was on the brink, but was that what peo
ple were whispering about? No. They were whispering about him. The heir apparent who’d become a warrior.

  Rime entered the Seer’s hall. He resisted the temptation to use the same doors as everyone else, going through the door that was intended for his family. Ilume didn’t need any more fuel for the fire before this conversation. He shut the door behind him, and the whispering faded away. It was darker and cooler inside. The oil lamps in the ceiling flickered. He could hear Ramoja and Ilume talking in the assembly room. Ramoja sounded upset. Rime walked down the corridor until he could see them through the archways.

  Ramoja held out a scroll to Ilume as the raven shifted uneasily on her shoulder. Rime assumed it was the announcement for the Rite that had just been read outside—but then he heard Ilume speak.

  “I’ve given them my no. That’s my vote.”

  “But he’s already—”

  “It will never happen. Pull yourself together, Ramoja!”

  My vote …

  They were talking about the empty chair. The Council was in a hurry to fill the place left by Vanfarinn. If they were in enough of a hurry, they might even consider his son, Urd. No wonder Ramoja was upset.

  Rime stepped out of the shadows so they could see him. Their conversation ceased at once. Ramoja lowered her gaze.

  “I’ll wait outside,” she said and walked quickly past Rime without meeting his eyes. Her jewelry jingled. The sound disappeared down the corridor and left an oppressive silence. He was alone with his grandmother.

  She stood with her chin raised, looking down at him. Quite an achievement considering he was a head taller than her. But it wasn’t her size that made Ilume the imposing figure she was.

  The raven’s enormous wings were spread behind her. The Seer’s wings. They curled around the pulpit and formed a sacred space from which the augur could speak to the people. Every single feather had been brought to life by Hlosnian’s hands, like brushstrokes in black stone. The beak was half-open as if frozen in a screech. The eyes were shiny and reflected Ilume. A stretched and distorted image that made her arms look longer than her body. She opened her mouth.