Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Hirka gritted her teeth and started walking again. She shrunk to insignificance between the old maple trees. The house grew in front of her, imposing and impregnable. The stone building appeared almost black in the wet weather. What would happen to the house now that Ilume was leaving? It was the only building in Elveroa with a tower. The round tower at the western end—the one with all the stained-glass windows—accounted for almost a third of its size.

  Hirka had heard that the whole house would fit inside one of the rooms of the family home in Mannfalla. But Sylja had told her that, so there was no knowing how true it was.

  Hirka walked past the stable and two enormous six-wheeled carriages with hide canopies. Both were partly loaded with boxes and sacks. They had already started the move. Outside the house were several trunks and large pieces of wooden furniture. Hirka jumped when she suddenly caught sight of herself. A mirror. She’d seen them before, but they’d been small. This mirror was taller than she was, and crystal clear. Hirka had never seen herself so distinctly. Her hair looked like a red haystack. Her clothes needed mending again. Her green woollen tunic was practically hanging by the threads. One of the knees of her trousers was worn thin. The other was torn. She looked like a small wood troll, opulently framed in flourishes of gold.

  Hirka smiled at the contrast. The smile faded when she suddenly saw a figure in the mirror. Ilume An-Elderin was standing behind her. The black symbol on her forehead was like a third eye—the mark of the Seer, the Council’s black raven—which immediately told the outside world exactly who they were looking at.

  Startled, Hirka took a step back from the mirror. It was a misjudged instinct, because she backed into Ilume. She turned and tried to say sorry, but her throat was too dry. Hirka had to remind herself that she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had nothing to hide.

  I have everything to hide.

  Ilume was barely a hand taller than her, but in a strange way she filled the entire courtyard. It was like the earth they were standing on and the old woman were the same age. Hirka had heard that powerful binders could become one with the earth. Become part of eternity. Maybe that was why it always went quiet just before Ilume arrived, like something else preceded her. Something you couldn’t see.

  Ilume’s arms were folded across her chest. Her gray hair was brushed back and gathered beneath a tight hood, apart from two thin braids that hung from her temples and nearly to her waist. She had narrow, light gray eyes, a similar color to Rime’s. But unlike the eyes of most older people, these were razor-sharp. Hirka could feel them in the pit of her stomach. Like Ilume could see right through her. Quietly searching, like an owl on the hunt.

  Her tunic gleamed in the light, like fine paper, tapering in at the waist before dividing to reveal another layer of fabric beneath, woven with a different technique. Her tail came into view behind her, also different than most older people’s. It hadn’t become shaggy or lost its luster. The lower part was adorned with a sand-colored ribbon, tied in a herringbone pattern. The hair at its tip was still dark. It was oiled and neatly trimmed. Hirka grew extremely conscious of the fact that she didn’t have a tail of her own. But like everyone else, Ilume knew the story about the wolves. Hopefully she no longer thought about Hirka’s obvious imperfection. Not even now, face-to-face.

  The Council and the rot.

  Hirka looked up, trying to avoid staring at the black raven on her forehead, but it was impossible not to. It felt like the mark was looking right back at her. She couldn’t help but feel like there were more than just the two of them present.

  “Hirka,” Ilume said, after what felt like an eternity. Judging by her voice, she was neither surprised to see her there nor curious about why.

  Hirka swallowed her uncertainty and got straight to the point. “Ilume-madra.” She bowed before continuing. “I’m looking for Rim … Són-Rime.”

  The old woman cocked her head, the way Rime often did, and looked her up and down. What was she thinking? Why wasn’t she answering? Hirka closed her eyes for a moment so they wouldn’t waver and reveal how nervous she was.

  “Rime is out. He has much to prepare before our journey.”

  Hirka got the message behind her words.

  He doesn’t have time for me.

  But he had to have time! Her future depended on him having time.

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  What am I doing?! She’s said what she has to say. Leave! Before it’s too late.

  Ilume’s gaze grew sharper. Hirka felt her knees twitch, as though they were about to run away without her. She felt bare to the bone. But the old woman still looked unmoved. “He will be told you’re looking for him.”

  Hirka dared not press her luck further. She thanked the older woman and left. Forcing herself to maintain a normal speed, she walked through the row of green trees. It felt like they were mocking her with their rustling leaves.

  Stupid girl, what did you expect?

  Hirka had been fobbed off. Very politely, but fobbed off nonetheless. Ilume had never appreciated Rime spending time with other children. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. Hirka wasn’t surprised. And she had no intention of taking the hint.

  She paused by the Stryfe, looking at the village. Rime could be anywhere. Maybe he was at Ynna’s having some clothes tailored for the journey? Or maybe he was overseeing the packing? Inspecting the carriage wheels? Mannfalla was days from Elveroa by carriage. If you had to prepare for such a long trip, where else might you go?

  Where had he been since he came home? Her gaze followed the ridge until it reached the mountains. Then she smiled.

  The peaks of Vargtind stretched up to the clouds, looming over Elveroa. It was a steep slope, but manageable, as long as your lungs held out. It was only the vertical western face that was virtually impossible to climb, though Hirka had managed it once. Today she contented herself with taking the path, which was hardly more than a faint line worn into the mountain.

  Near the top, she carefully clambered over some vengethorn. If she cut herself on the jagged barbs, her body would be stinging for days. It was something she had experienced once, and once was enough. The bushes tore at her clothes. She searched in vain for thornless patches. The dry branches cracked beneath her, having spent the entire summer under the scorching sun. But she had reached the peak.

  Hirka suddenly felt like she should announce herself. She looked up. Vargtind rose up like the jaws of a wolf against the colorless sky. Jagged and ferocious, it snarled at those who dared approach. But if you conquered the beast, you could rest in a lovely, grassy hollow, surrounded by sharp stone teeth. Hirka had spent many of her childhood hours here, wandering among the ruins of the old castle, on the hunt for forgotten stories and treasures. Old Annar claimed that Varg was the name of the man who had built the castle, and that was why it was called Vargtind. But no one knew for certain anymore.

  Hirka clambered up over the final edge and eased herself down into the hollow.

  And there was Rime. Standing right in front of her.

  The pale sky was almost the same color as his hair and the tunic that stretched down to the middle of his thighs. The double sword belt made his waist look narrower and his shoulders broader. Hirka didn’t need to look to know that there was a black raven embroidered just over his heart. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

  Has he been running? Here?

  He was standing with his arms crossed, as though watching an intruder. Hirka felt like she had lost a place that had always been hers. Now she had to explain why she was there.

  “You weren’t home.”

  His pales eyes sharpened. He had inherited a lot from Ilume.

  “Someone told you I was here?” There was a note of surprise in his husky voice. She found herself longing to hear more.

  “No, I …” She fought back the urge to lower her gaze. “I figured you might be here.”

  He coughed and looked at her skeptically. As though she were a child again, trying to talk h
er way out of something. Hirka pointed at the Alldjup.

  “You were there when Vetle and I fell. Either you just happened to be walking by, or you must have seen us from somewhere.”

  He raised an eyebrow and she continued to fumble for words.

  “But you didn’t just happen to be walking by, because you’d seen that Kolgrim was the one who got Vetle to go out on that spruce.” Hirka could feel herself getting nervous and spoke faster and faster. “So you must have been somewhere where you could see everything, but somewhere that still took a while to reach us.”

  In the past, she would have felt really smug about working it out. Why did she no longer feel the same? “I think,” she concluded lamely.

  Was that a smile? He turned away too quickly for her to tell. “What do you want?”

  Hirka was gobsmacked. She hadn’t expected that question. She had imagined a normal conversation. Nice to see you again, or something like that. Maybe talk about what he had been doing in the capital these past few years. And then—when the opportunity arose—she would ask him for help. But it hadn’t gone that way. Neither Rime nor his grandmother wanted to talk with her. She couldn’t blame them. They were important people, both of them. They had bigger fish to fry.

  She didn’t want to ask for his help. He didn’t deserve any more points. She knew it was a childish thought, but it meant something to her. He’d always enjoyed showing her that she couldn’t manage on her own, and she was loath to prove him right.

  But he’s my only chance.

  “I wanted to ask you about the Rite.” She stared at his broad back and hoped he would turn around again. He didn’t.

  Hirka felt cold inside. But she couldn’t stop now. “I … need to know the way things are.”

  “What things?”

  How was she supposed to answer? What could she say? Hirka could feel her determination waning, and that was only after a couple of words. She needed help but couldn’t say it. Of all the people in the world, she couldn’t tell Rime. He was only a few steps away from her. But between them was a mountain she couldn’t see any way over. He belonged to a different world. And their competition for points had built what now felt like a wall of pride. Even if she managed to get over these obstacles, what was she going to do next? Tell him she was a monster?

  Her entire life had been about surviving, about getting by on her own everywhere they had lived. She didn’t need help! She wasn’t the sort of ymling to give up.

  The sort of embling.

  The problem was that she needed Rime to prove that to the rest of the world.

  “I think I need … some advice on the Might. It’s not long till the Rite now, and …”

  “I know. We’ve got a lot to do before the Rite.”

  Hirka bit her lower lip. Foolish girl, he doesn’t have time for you.

  Why couldn’t he just show her how to bind?! After all, he understood it better than most. It probably wouldn’t take him more than a second.

  “I don’t think I have enough of a handle on the Might. I’m worried I won’t be able to do enough. That—”

  “Of course it’ll be enough.” He turned around, visibly irritated. “It isn’t a competition. Everyone can do it. On the rare occasion the Might isn’t strong enough in someone, they just come back the next year. A lot of people from Brekka are unearthed until they’re ten, twelve years old.” He looked at her. His lips were curled up like he was feeling nauseous. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Hirka felt panic spreading through her body. She took a step toward him.

  “No! No, that’s not it.” But Rime walked across the grass, right past without looking at her.

  “I just need a little help so—”

  He spun around and cut her off. “So you can be chosen? Do you think you’re the first one to ask?” His eyes were blazing. “Don’t you think everyone has already asked me? Sylja won’t stop asking!”

  Sylja? Hirka searched for words but couldn’t find any. Had Sylja asked for help to be chosen? Had she asked Rime to speak to Ilume? To put in a good word for her with the Seer? Why would she bother? The Seer always chose them personally, usually opting for those with blue blood in their veins.

  Rime didn’t wait for her to answer. He started down the mountainside. Everything he thought of her was wrong, but she couldn’t tell him the truth either.

  Hirka could feel a scream brewing in her belly. “I don’t want to be chosen! I just want to be able to bind!”

  Rime’s voice grew more and more distant as he walked away. “Oh, really. Everybody can do that. I’ve got better things to spend my time on.”

  Hirka turned and looked down the slope. “It’s not like that,” she whispered. He couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t even see him. She blinked feverishly, staring upward to hold back the tears. The same trick that had worked for fifteen years. The sky had grown darker. She heard a raven calling in the distance. Probably the same raven she’d seen earlier, and near the Alldjup. A magnificent, sacred bird beguiled by a single piece of cheese from an overturned basket.

  It was going to rain. She’d failed. Hirka stood with her eyes shut and waited until she felt the first raindrops on her face.

  SECRETS

  “The library.”

  Eir had borne the raven as long as Urd could remember. She had to know Eisvaldr like the back of her hand, but all the same he could hear the awe in her voice.

  “The library,” he echoed through clenched teeth in an effort to conceal his impatience. This was it. This was everything he’d fought for. So of course it was the last thing the old bat showed him.

  They’d been walking all afternoon, since the clock struck two. Through archives, gardens, historical museums, schools and halls, until his feet ached more than the fresh mark in his forehead. The raven. It burned like a third eye above the bridge of his nose. Sweet, sweet pain. He had the mark in his forehead. He was a councillor. Urd-fadri. He smiled.

  Now, Eir led him across the shiny stone floor. Her footsteps echoed up through the space before fading. The library was in one of Eisvaldr’s oldest towers. It was so large that it wasn’t immediately apparent that the room was round. A column reaching into the sky. And wherever you looked there were books, scrolls, texts, papers … information. Shelf upon shelf. Box upon box. Small books and books so large that even two men working together would have struggled to open them. Books bound in woven silk, leather, wood. Books with covers made of solid gold and silver. Records of everything that had ever happened. Of everything that was happening, and probably even things that were yet to happen. The room smelled of leather. And power. This was how power was supposed to smell. Eternal. Immortal. Infinite.

  Silent, gray-clad women and men, like wandering shadows, carried stacks of books, wrote, or tidied. They went up and down the book-lined staircases, of which there were four, one at each cardinal point. Countless dark ladders on rails served as shortcuts for the more experienced among them.

  Urd watched a woman springing up several rungs at a time as her ladder sailed along the curved wall. When she reached the next floor, she grabbed another ladder and used her momentum and body weight to get that moving as well. In this way, she moved between floors with a speed and precision that could only have come from living her entire life in this tower. The occasional rumbling of the ladder rails interrupted the constant scratching of writing implements from hundreds of scribes.

  Eir stopped and turned to face him. He stared at the Council robe she was wearing, several layers of different fabrics, all white and with the traditional tabard. The only break in all the white was the black trim along the seams at the front and on the hood, framing Eir’s face.

  For a moment, his jealousy left a familiar bitterness in his mouth, but then he remembered he was wearing the exact same robe. His father’s. It was a good length on him, but a little too wide. It would have to be taken in at the sides, but the measurements had already been taken. By morning, the Seer’s best seamstress would make it his
and no one else’s.

  Eir stared at him with her owlish eyes. He still hadn’t gotten used to them, even after spending the entire day with her. They made him feel itchy all over, just like Ilume’s, and he knew he had to be careful about what he said. The two women were allies, thick as thieves. But they were like night and day to look at, even though they were both over three-quarters of a century old. Eir’s eyes and face were round, and her skin was loose and brown, whereas Ilume’s was smooth and pale. It was plain to see that Eir was from Blossa in the east, and her family was named for Kobb, a simple hunting community where people ate whale blubber and moved from place to place in tents. Urd didn’t know why they hadn’t adopted a name better suited to their standing hundreds of years ago. It had to be embarrassing for one of the world’s most powerful women to have nomads in her family tree.

  “If someone’s written it down, it’s here in the library,” Eir said. “Here you can find everything we are, everything we do, and everything we’ve ever done. Every decision we’ve ever made has been written down. How every family has voted and how their predecessors voted. All the way back to the war with the blind. We have no secrets from one another.”

  Urd suppressed a snort. He had to give her credit for keeping a straight face.

  “You’re the youngest councillor in a very long time,” she continued. “It has to have been four generations since we’ve had someone less than forty winters old.” He was irritated by the absence of respect in her voice. She just stated it as a matter of fact. “And you came in with the narrowest margin I’ve seen in my lifetime. Your father was a great man. You have a lot to learn.”

  Urd felt his face fall, but he recovered quickly. She was testing him. She wanted to see how he would react. But still … he was a councillor. How dare she. He’d make her pay. One day, when she least expected it.

  “I’m glad not everyone sees it that way,” he replied as calmly as he could.

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I voted against you.”