Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  For a moment he admired her honesty, but then he remembered what she’d just said. That everyone’s votes were recorded in this room. He’d have found out anyway, and she knew that.

  “But here you are.” She turned her back on him and continued through the library. “I hope I was wrong about you. Only time will tell.”

  They went up several floors, out onto a balcony, and crossed a bridge to the next tower. And the next. And the next. The sky was dark and forbidding. Rain was imminent, and it was cold that high up.

  Eir opened a door into the next tower, and they entered a dark hall. Urd hid his astonishment at seeing several other councillors there. All of them had their hoods pulled forward over their heads, as if performing some sort of ritual. Urd felt his hand twitch, but he resisted the urge to raise it to his throat. The collar was in place. It always was. No one could see or know anything. He had to learn to relax. To have more confidence in himself. After all, he was the most powerful man in the world.

  Eir ushered him toward a chair in the middle of the room. A disappointingly ordinary wooden chair with a spindly back. Something you might find in a servant’s room.

  “The Council protects the people from dangerous truths, Urd-fadri,” Eir said. “Truths that would burn all bridges. And how you tackle these truths will determine whether you can live as one of us.”

  Urd sat down and looked up. A portcullis made of black fireglass hung above him. The points gleamed in the light from the oil lamps. He supposed if he said the wrong thing, they’d just drop it on him.

  Or would they kill him anyway? Perhaps they knew everything.

  No, of course not. They’d never have let him in.

  “But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” Eir said. “Only two people have ever fallen at this stage in proceedings. They lost their minds.”

  Urd didn’t dignify her with a response.

  The sky was black and dismal. Urd managed to stumble his way down the steps outside the tower, but then he had to stop and clutch at a balustrade like a drunkard. He leaned forward to quell the nausea, unsuccessfully. The rain poured down into the empty streets far below.

  His clothes grew heavy as they took on water. The rain streamed from his hair down over his face. It plummeted from the sky and hit the balcony in a regular, merciless rhythm.

  Urd squeezed his eyes shut to lock out the truths—and the lies—he had just heard. He was a strong man. He had grown up here, had seen and heard unbelievable things. He had no illusions about Insringin. He was also a practical man. He had a better understanding of the political game than most. He was the political game, for Seer’s sake! But this …

  He raised a hand to his throat. Tasted blood from a wound no one could see, and no one could heal. Ever. But that wouldn’t stop him. Ordinary people let all sorts of things get in their way, but Urd wasn’t an ordinary man. He was exceptional. Hadn’t he got exactly where he wanted to be? Hadn’t he succeeded in everything he’d done? Didn’t everything he touch turn to gold? And now he was one of them. Urd had nothing to fear anymore.

  The rain eased off slightly. Still a little unsteady on his feet, he continued down the steps. Somewhere in the mountains behind Eisvaldr, a raven cawed three times, as if in protest at the weather. The world was boundless and his for the taking. No one else’s. This was going to be ridiculously easy. If only he’d known.

  Father knew.

  His father had lived with this knowledge since he had taken his seat on the Council at the age of fifty. All those years, and not a word. Urd pictured his bedridden father’s face. Pale and sickly but still unwilling to let go. But he’d had to let go in the end. He’d drawn his final breath while staring at Urd. Not in fear, but in disgust.

  But who had won? Who was the only one able to look back in disgust now? Spurn had possessed the knowledge, but he’d never used it for anything. He’d never pushed the limits. Weak. Fawning over a system older than time itself.

  Urd crossed Seer’s Square. With the Rite coming up, it was full of flowers and offerings from all over the world. Some people had written prayers on flags or ribbons, and others had engraved them in stone. Tokens of good luck. Prayers to the Seer from small people with even smaller problems. Illness, money, love …

  Urd started to laugh. He pulled his hood up and went through the closest opening in the imposing wall for which Eisvaldr was named. A wall of white stone, built a thousand years ago as a safeguard against the blind. The Seer’s best warriors had marched into Blindból to stop them, but the people were afraid. They built the wall after the warriors had gone. Shut out the first twelve. Sacrificed the bravest among them to save themselves. But the warriors had survived. Won. With the Seer’s help, they had saved every man and woman, and they formed the first Council. Or so the story went.

  The wall had been impenetrable when it was built. Nowadays it was riddled with archways, like a multilevel bridge from one end of Eisvaldr to the other. Nothing more than an impressive, symbolic partition separating Eisvaldr from the rest of Mannfalla. A gateway from the ordinary to the extraordinary. From poor to rich. From filthy to hallowed.

  Urd pulled his cloak more tightly around him so he wouldn’t be recognized by the guardsmen on the gate. Members of Insringin rarely left Eisvaldr unaccompanied. He hurried through the streets. The squalor worsened the farther east he went. He hid his face the few times he passed someone. He couldn’t be seen where he was going. Not as Urd-fadri. Most of the people he encountered were drunks who had tucked themselves beneath whatever shelter they could find. Or people ranting in foreign languages. People who were here for the Rite but didn’t have money for lodgings.

  A young girl suddenly appeared out of the darkness, startling him. She stepped in front of him and looked him over with hungry eyes. “I have warmth to share, stranger,” she said, bringing a dirty hand to his hood.

  He twisted his head to the side and pushed her away. Bloody whores! They didn’t know what was good for them. Could he be sure she hadn’t seen his face? He’d have to worry about that later.

  He pressed on through narrow alleyways until he found the place he was looking for. He opened the door and went down the stairs. Heat and sickly sweet smoke hit him like a wall. And music. Seductive rhythms from drums and harps. It was always packed here, but the rain had drawn in even more men than usual. It was the day of rest tomorrow, so people were huddled around tables drinking as they gawped with half-open mouths at two of the girls who were dancing on the stage. He didn’t have to look at them to know that neither was Damayanti. Damayanti always danced alone.

  Urd crossed the room without looking at anyone. He went up the stairs to the side of the stage and knocked on the red door on the second floor. He went in without waiting for a response.

  Damayanti sat with her naked back to him. He met her eyes in the mirror. She gestured almost imperceptibly with her hand and the two girls attending her left the room through a rattling curtain of black beads.

  Now Urd and Damayanti were alone. But the room still felt full. It was the smells that did it. Sweet, spicy. Almost nauseating. Some new, others so old they had probably settled in thick layers over the oil lamps.

  Damayanti glued one last gemstone to her face. There were lots of them, in several colors. They framed her eyes, which were rimmed with kohl. She looked pleased with the result. Urd sat by the fire in a spacious chair, his fingers tented in front of him as if he had all the time in the world.

  She got up and crossed the room, then slid herself down in front of him onto a bed swathed in velvet. She lay on her side with a round cushion under her arm. Jewels wound their way around her brown body like gleaming scales, sparkling when she moved. They licked their way down her throat, only just covering her nipples, filling her navel and winding around her hips, from which a sheer skirt hung. A shadowy triangle teased from behind the fiery yellow fabric.

  Damayanti was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever met, but unfortunately, they were too alike. So m
uch so that she also preferred women. But she knew he desired her. And she delighted in it. Every evening she danced with only one aim in mind: driving men wild. It wasn’t difficult. She was a legend. People who could afford it came from all over the world to see her perform.

  If they’d known where her talent came from, they’d have burned her instead. Urd was smarter than most people. He knew blindcraft when he saw it. Damayanti had no physical limitations. She only limited herself because she had to. A balancing act. Legendary talent, but not so much that it aroused suspicion.

  But she could do other things as well. And Urd needed her, though he hated needing anyone. He’d needed her for years, but that would all change soon. Soon he would be his own master.

  “Urd. How fares my soup-drinking friend?” she asked.

  He started to lift his hand to his throat but caught himself. That was what she wanted. To see him react. But she wouldn’t see his need. Not this time. Instead, he lowered his hood, exposed the mark in his forehead, and waited for a reaction.

  She looked at the mark and laughed. A murmuring laugh that flowed like poison into his body. But he was pleased to see that her eyes flickered for a brief moment. She wasn’t unafraid. She knew what power the mark gave him. Her life was in his hands. It was just unfortunate that the reverse also held true.

  “A lesser man might think you were surprised,” he said coolly.

  “Of course not. I achieve my aims.”

  Urd clenched his jaw. Damayanti had a tendency to turn things on their head. And now she was taking the credit for his work. As if he wouldn’t be where he was without her. Whore. Dancing whore.

  She gazed at him as if she could hear what he was thinking. “A man of the Seer. What can I do for you, councillor? A membership of this fine establishment? Food and drink? Dancers?”

  She was teasing him. She knew exactly what he wanted, but she was going to make him suffer for it. It was nothing more than a desperate attempt to preserve her dignity and authority. She was unnerved by the mark, Urd knew she was. Anyone would be. She was just damned good at hiding it.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said, dropping a stack of coins onto the table.

  “Time has always been your greatest weakness, Urd.”

  She got up and unlocked a cupboard. She bent over, as if looking for something, giving him time to study her from behind, before coming back over and setting a small silver bottle down on the table. It was shaped like an ornate spearhead, and small enough that Urd could hide it in his hand. He leaned across the table, forcing himself to take his time. He put the bottle in the leather pouch and gave the empty bottle he’d brought with him back to Damayanti.

  She left both the bottle and the money on the table and lay down again.

  “Arrogance, as well. Time and arrogance. You should be more careful, Urd. No one doubles their capacity to bind the Might overnight. Only a fool would believe that possible. A cleverer man would investigate.”

  Urd felt his lips quiver. He reminded himself that every single word this snake formed was ripe with fear. Now that her position was threatened, she was doing her utmost to convince him that he needed her. That didn’t stop him from feeling uneasy.

  No one doubles their capacity to bind the Might overnight.

  He had become stronger. He had broken down the wall between worlds. An ability thought to have died out long ago. But Damayanti was right. He had done it overnight. Why? And how could she know about it?

  An old sense of unease reared its head. Was he not as strong as he thought? Had someone helped him? Impossible! Only the Voice could have helped, and the Voice knew nothing about what Urd had done. Unless …

  Unless the child had survived all those years ago. What if she had? What if she had come here? It would be about time for her to go through the Rite. Fifteen winters, and open to the Might. A chill went down his spine as he imagined what that would mean. The rot in Ym. One of Odin’s own running around the eleven kingdoms. A tailless aberration in the forests, or in a village somewhere. If she came to the Rite, it would be his downfall. She was the only connection between him and the blind. It would all be over. Absolutely all of it.

  The very notion was absurd. That was some comfort. Firstly, the ritual hadn’t worked. The child had never come through. She’d disappeared into the void. Swallowed by the raven rings. Consumed by stone. Secondly, even if she had come through, she would have surely died out there in the middle of winter. Newborn. Naked.

  More naked than Damayanti. Urd watched her stomach muscles ripple. He could feel himself starting to sweat when suddenly the door opened. Urd was quick to pull his hood up. A man spoke, barely audible over the din from downstairs.

  “You’re up, Damayanti.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. The door closed and Urd stood.

  “Heaven forbid I get in the way of your art,” he said, hoping she would catch the sarcasm. He left her, closed the red door behind him, and squeezed his way through a throng of men toward the exit. No one looked at him. All of them were only interested in one thing.

  Silence descended on the premises and a soft drumming started. Damned Damayanti! Damned blindcraft! His hand was on the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His eyes, along with all the other eyes in the room, were drawn to the stage.

  Damayanti stood on her toes with her arms intertwined above her head. Then she dropped as if her knees had broken. Men gasped. The drums stopped. Then they started up again. Slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Damayanti lifted herself up from the floor in an impossible arch. It was as if she were hanging from an invisible rope through her navel. An otherworldly force pulled her up until she was standing again. The drums trembled. She lifted a leg and wrapped it around her neck, with no apparent difficulty. Her tail curved and lifted her skirt, tantalizing every single onlooker with what lay beneath.

  Urd bared his teeth, flung open the door, and ran out into the street. He took a deep breath. It was still raining, but he’d gotten away. He wasn’t like other men. He refused to let himself be molded like clay. He was stronger than them. Of course he was. He was Urd-fadri. Councillor.

  He started walking up the street, on the darker side. He hadn’t gone far when he spotted the girl he’d encountered earlier. He stopped a short distance away and she turned to look at him. She’d learned to notice men who hesitated.

  She smiled and swayed her hips as she walked over to him. She wasn’t ugly to look at. Younger than twenty with long, coppery hair. Her dress was worn and caked with mud where it brushed against the ground. But her neck was clean. Slender and unspoiled.

  “You came back.” She pressed her chest against him, but this time had the good sense not to touch his hood. He ran a finger from her chin down her throat. It was irresistibly bare, and it would be the first thing he would feel enveloping his hardness. Until she stopped breathing. Until she fell silent. She only had herself to blame. What else could he do? Hope she hadn’t seen him? Wait for the rumors to spread along the river and up into Eisvaldr? No. If he’d learned anything this evening, it was that he was free to shape his own fate. A raven pendant hung between her breasts. A good luck charm. The Seer’s protection. It was impossible not to laugh at the irony.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  She smiled and followed him like a lamb.

  A FAVOR

  The rain had a muggy hold on Elveroa. The weather had put Father in a foul mood at breakfast, but Hirka didn’t really mind whether it was wet or dry. She had things to do. A new plan. Not a particularly good one, but it was all she had.

  She followed the path along the Alldjup while she tormented herself thinking about everything that had gone wrong the previous day. Rime standing, impregnable as an icon, before the dark cliffs of Vargtind. Her asking for his help.

  Hirka squeezed the basket she was carrying even tighter, but it didn’t drive away the memory of his frosty gaze. The sneer on his face when he’d thought she was trying to curry favor
with him, trying to be chosen, like any other fortune seeker. She got a knot in her stomach just thinking about it. The rain pattered dully against her cloak and she pulled her hood tighter, so that it framed the narrow path between the trees.

  Rime was a moron. Hadn’t they known each other since she was nine? How many times had she helped him come up with foolproof explanations for the holes in his trousers, for all the scrapes on his elbows and knees? She’d felt bad for him, having to sneak out at night to do the things she did without even thinking. It hadn’t made any difference to her that he had blue blood. His name and history meant nothing to her. She didn’t give a hoot about his wealth—there was more of it than she could wrap her head round. If people wanted to fawn over Council people in the village, like they did at Glimmeråsen, that was their problem. Hirka had no interest in being bound to the corridors of Eisvaldr. Quite the opposite. And accusing her of trying to exploit him? Imbecile!

  Hirka hurried her pace. The path dipped through a boggy patch and the ground squelched beneath her feet. She was going to have to clean her shoes when she got back home. They were wetter and dirtier than that pesky raven. Kuro, she’d started to call him. He flew from tree to tree, always just ahead of her on the path. He sought shelter under the treetops while he waited for her to catch up to him. A gleaming shadow. Always close at hand, but impossible to reach.

  Hirka sighed. She couldn’t blame Rime for suspecting her of ulterior motives, that was the worst part. She’d seen the way Kaisa from Glimmeråsen stuck to Ilume like salve. And Rime had told her Sylja had asked for help. What in Slokna could a girl who had everything want with Rime?

  She heard Sylja’s laugh like an echo in her thoughts. Mannfalla, Hirka! Sparkling wines, silk dresses, and blue-blooded boys who want to dance the night away! Hirka ground her teeth. She’d never seen Rime dance. Fortunately. Not that it would matter if she had. Why should it matter?

  The pattering against her hood stopped. The rain had finally let up. The path opened onto a field, and she heard the sound of a hundred ravens in quiet conversation. Ramoja and Vetle’s towering wooden house lay up ahead. Hirka brushed the raindrops off the hide covering the basket, which fortunately had survived the rain. She had a chance to make someone happy today. And if she was lucky, Ramoja would offer some help. Help that could get her through the Rite in one piece. Hirka was more nervous than she had imagined.