Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Between the trees she could see the latticework Father had helped with. The ravenry had taken three men an entire summer to build. The ravens sat motionless, gleaming black like somber fruit in the trees. An optimistic finch started paying its tribute to the sun but was cut off by a gurgled “kraaa!” from one of the ravens. It didn’t start up again.

  Hirka reached the house and was about to knock when the door opened. Ramoja’s face appeared, smiling broadly. “Time to eat. Come join us.”

  Ramoja came out carrying a bucket that smelled of blood. Hirka followed her into a small chamber that was isolated from the rest of the cage. The ravens knew what was coming. They started to fly back and forth in an attempt to get closer, but the bars prevented them from reaching Ramoja’s bucket of red meat and leftovers.

  Two ravens were sitting on their own on a log inside the antechamber, within reach. Damp and glistening from the rain. The light played across their feathers, gleaming blue and purple. Ramoja put the bucket on the floor and walked over to them. They leaned sideways out of habit so that she was better able to reach underneath them. With practiced movements, Ramoja loosened two letter sleeves. The ends were waxed to protect them from the elements. She put them in her pocket without opening them, whispering calming words to the ravens as she did so. Hirka tried to listen. The sounds were strange, lots of r’s and long o’s. She spoke to them like they were children, and that was exactly why Hirka was here. This was her plan, and she sensed the opportunity presenting itself.

  Ramoja let the raven closest to her perch on her arm. There wasn’t enough room for it to stretch its wings, but it tried to shake the rain off anyway. Its impressive beak opened in a silent yawn, as though it just wanted to demonstrate its power. To show off.

  Hirka felt her skin prickle. If this perfect creature was a normal raven, what did the Seer look like? Was He bigger? Angrier? An image flashed in Hirka’s mind of a chamber containing the men and women of the Council. She was on trial, staring at the black bird on the Ravenbearer’s staff. The raven grew bigger and bigger. It beat its massive wings until they quickly filled the entire room, then opened its beak to screech at Hirka.

  “He likes you today,” Ramoja said.

  Hirka gave a start and returned to the present. The raven shifted and looked on smugly with its beady eyes. This was the best chance she was going to get. It was now or never.

  “How do you know? Do you understand everything he says?” Hirka asked, trying to make her voice sound as natural as possible.

  “He understands more than me,” Ramoja quipped, but Hirka didn’t think it was a joke.

  Ramoja opened the door separating the antechamber from the rest of the ravenry and spoke a couple of incomprehensible words. The two ravens took to the air and flew inside. The cawing from inside grew more agitated. Hirka tried to listen, hoping she might understand some of their language. But it meant nothing to her.

  Ramoja picked up the bucket and entered the cage. The ravens stayed calm as she walked down the middle and poured the food in a trough. The birds sat in a row and ate. Hirka was surrounded by them. She smelled blood, dirt, and rain. She suddenly felt embarrassed. She had come to the ravenry out of pure desperation. As though the ravens or Ramoja would be able to tell her what to do. This morning it had seemed like her last resort. Now that she was here, it just seemed ridiculous.

  She didn’t have the gift of ravenspeak, and she didn’t have a lifetime to learn it. Even if she did, it probably wouldn’t have helped when she was face-to-face with the Seer. But she already was face-to-face with Him, in a way. The ravens were the Seer’s children. The eyes of the world. Maybe they already knew who she was? Maybe they knew but chose to do nothing. And maybe that meant that it was okay?

  Hirka clung to that thought. Surely the ravens would have attacked her like a slaughtered animal if they thought she was the rot and deserved to die?

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Ramoja said.

  “For what?” The bucket was empty and Hirka followed her out of the cage and toward Vetle, who came racing out of the house. He threw his arms around Hirka’s neck and squeezed just hard enough that you knew something wasn’t quite right with him. For the first time, Hirka was afraid of his unabashed intimacy. She wasn’t the same person now that she had been the last time she saw Vetle. What if he got too close? What if he suddenly kissed her? Would he rot? A wave of sadness hit Hirka. The feeling of having opened a door she couldn’t shut made her tremble.

  Don’t think about it.

  “Vetle, I’ve got something for you,” she said, and the boy let go of her. Hirka pulled back the cover from the basket and took out the stone figure that Hlosnian had given her.

  “Jomar!” Vetle shouted and pressed it against his body.

  “That’s not Jomar,” Hirka laughed. “Jomar was a horse. That’s a woman.”

  Vetle didn’t seem to care. He looked at his mother and gave her a big smile. “Jomar!”

  Hirka pulled a linen bag out of her basket and handed it to Ramoja. “That’s for you. Father got some cinnamon from the ship that arrived from Brekka the other day. The captain’s private supply.” She left out the fact that he’d likely traded it for opa.

  Ramoja untied the ribbon and breathed in the smell of home. A contented smile spread across her face, and she went into the house for a moment. Hirka sat down on a wooden bench and watched Vetle playing with his new Jomar out in the field. His knees and elbows were soaked. The occasional sunbeam managed to break through the clouds, transforming Vetle’s hair into gleaming gold. It only lasted for a moment, then everything was colorless again.

  “You flew him up out of the Alldjup, I hear.” Ramoja handed Hirka a small bun, but her eyes were fixed on Vetle.

  Hirka felt her cheeks getting warm. “He pretty much got himself out of it,” she replied, sipping her tea while searching for a way to tell Ramoja why she had come.

  “I know what you did for him, Hirka. Rime told me what happened.”

  Rime’s name blasted through Hirka like a cold wind. He thinks I’m a fortune seeker.

  The tea suddenly tasted sweet and sickly. Hirka glanced at Ramoja. She was also one of the Council’s servants. A ravener. But Ramoja wore no raven on her chest. And she didn’t wear the Council’s heavy robes. Ramoja wore green and brown, in thin, floaty fabrics. She wore bangles and jewelry that jingled when she moved. Her black hair hung in hundreds of small braids, secured with colored pearls. Ramoja was dark and bursting with color, warmth, and smells. She was different. But she was still far too close to the Council.

  I shouldn’t have come here.

  Hirka got up, but she was immediately assailed by black wings and a loud cawing. A raven! She was being attacked! She waved her hands frantically for a moment before realizing the raven wasn’t trying to hurt her. It wanted to sit on her shoulder. And this was no random raven. It was Kuro.

  He’d never sat on her before. He was clumsy and heavy. She could feel his talons through her cloak, but she didn’t dare move, not wanting to scare him off. Ramoja’s dark eyes stared at her like she had just sprouted wings herself. Hirka felt the need to explain.

  “He’s been following me for a few days now. I gave him some cheese one day, up near the Alldjup, and ever since he’s kept close. I call him Kuro.”

  Most of Ramoja’s ravens seemed bigger and more distinguished than Kuro. Hirka’s new friend had a couple of unruly feathers sticking up on his head, and he looked around like a curious child. Ramoja reached out and scratched the obliging raven under the beak.

  “Occasionally young wild ravens hang around the ravenry looking for company. But they don’t like people …”

  “I’m people!” Hirka bit her lip.

  Ramoja gave her a piercing look. “Yet he came to you?”

  Hirka shrugged. She searched for something to say that would make her sound as normal as possible, but she couldn’t think of anything.

  “If you’re going to have a raven,” Ramoja
said, “there are a few things you should know.”

  They sat down again, and the tips came thick and fast. The raven was wild and shouldn’t sleep indoors, unless there was an open window and good ventilation. She shouldn’t feed him after the snow had melted. Creamy cheese and honey bread were not appropriate food, and so on.

  Hirka seized her opportunity. She hadn’t even considered using Kuro as a pretense. “Can I talk to him?” she asked.

  Ramoja looked at Hirka for a moment before answering. “The number of people who can really talk to ravens can be counted on one hand. There are plenty who claim to have mastered the art. But either way, they’ve all had to spend years in Ravnhov or at the Council’s ravener schools. Many years.”

  Hirka hung her head. She was asking the impossible and asking about something she had no right to know. The best raveners didn’t even need to send letters. They could tell the ravens what they wanted to say, and they passed it on when they found the recipient. You had to have a good handle on the Might to do that.

  At the very least, you have to be able to bind.

  Hirka’s heart sank. Her visit was over.

  Ramoja got up from the bench and went out into the field. She stared up at the sky, and after a while Hirka could see a black dot growing into a raven. It flew into the antechamber right behind them and had barely touched down before Ramoja was there to relieve it of its letter. Between the bars, Hirka could see the ravener staring at the small sleeve she had taken from the raven. She opened one end and unfurled a piece of paper, which she started to read.

  Then she crumpled.

  Hirka ran to her. Kuro alighted from her shoulder and disappeared. Ramoja had grabbed hold of the door and quickly recovered. She looked paler, and her eyes were darting around as though she didn’t know where she was.

  “What’s wrong, Ramoja?” Hirka feared the worst. She put a hand on her shoulder and tried to make eye contact. Ramoja clenched her fist, the small letter crumpled inside.

  “Are you okay, Ramoja?”

  “Hirka … Yes. Of course. Bad news, that’s all. An old friend.” The corner of her mouth curled to reveal her lie. Hirka managed to see the Council’s mark on the pale sleeve before Ramoja slipped it into her pocket.

  Vetle came running into the cage. “I’m hungry!” he shouted, oblivious to the tension.

  Hirka put her hand on Vetle’s stomach, like he was a child, even though he was almost as tall as her. “Food’s almost ready. Why don’t you run inside and rub your tummy to warm it up, hm?” Vetle laughed and ran back inside. Hirka directed her attention back at Ramoja, who had recovered her composure, but her pupils were still the size of pinpricks. She followed Hirka out of the cage and shut it.

  “Hedra and Hreidr,” she said. “Hedra and Hreidr. Here and home.”

  Hirka stood in the field, watching as Ramoja headed back toward the house. Had she lost her mind? Maybe she should get Father. Hirka had to remind herself that getting Father wasn’t exactly as easy as it used to be. People came to him now.

  The ravener stopped and turned to face Hirka. “He hasn’t been trained, so he might never listen to you. But if he does, then you’ll have to expect some confusion before he understands where home is.” She paused, then added, “And Hirka? Let’s keep this between the two of us.” Ramoja walked inside and shut the door.

  Hirka could feel her smile getting bigger and bigger. Ravenspeak! Ramoja had taught her ravenspeak! Two words. Hirka repeated the words in her head as she walked up the path. Kuro was flying high above the bushes, but he was still following her.

  “Hedra!” Hirka shouted, then looked around nervously to see if anyone had heard her. But she was alone on the path. Kuro didn’t come. He sat at the top of a spruce tree, craning his neck.

  “Hedra!” she repeated, with no luck. She said the word several times, but Kuro wasn’t impressed. She could have sworn he was laughing. Hirka’s own smile faded. Ramoja had been right. It was going to take years. Kuro could maybe be a friend, but he couldn’t help her with the Rite.

  Nobody could.

  THE LIE

  Summer loosened its grip in the days that followed. The days grew cooler and the insects ceased their flurry of activity. Elveroa was inundated with sweet, ripe berries. The ships started coming in from Kleiv, and even all the way from Ko—the southernmost of the eleven kingdoms—brimming with dried fruit, spices, glass, and stoneware. Carts arrived with the year’s second tea harvest from Andrakar.

  Hirka wished they would stop. The passage of time was a constant reminder that the Rite was approaching, and she still wasn’t able to bind or speak to ravens.

  She took an exaggerated step over some vengethorn growing on the mountainside. The climb was no easier than last time, but she didn’t have a choice. She knew Rime came here every single day, even if she couldn’t understand why.

  She found a good place to stop for a moment, envying Kuro as he soared effortlessly through the blue sky. If only she could fly wherever she wanted. Then there’d be no climbing, no rites, and no people to deal with. And no one who cared who she was. But Hirka was earthbound. She had no choice but to observe the laws of others. Laws that hadn’t been written with people like her in mind.

  The wind cooled the sweat on her brow. Not far now. As she approached the summit, she stomped a bit to announce her presence. Rime was annoyed enough as it was, no need to surprise him. But when she peered over the jagged edge, she saw that Rime looked anything but surprised. He was sitting cross-legged on a rock, looking right at her. She pulled herself up before she could think better of it and flopped down on the ground a short distance from him. She’d rehearsed this moment, but she didn’t know where to begin. She was no fortune seeker, but she suddenly realized that announcing as much would be a stupid thing to say.

  She watched as his chest slowly expanded, as if he were drawing breath to say something, or perhaps to shout.

  “I don’t feel a connection with the earth,” she said before he could get out a word.

  There. She’d said it, and she already regretted it. She looked away so she wouldn’t have to see his incredulous reaction. What had she been thinking? Rime was as close to the Council as you could get! She might as well have told the Seer Himself.

  He said nothing, so she glanced back his way. He got up and took a couple steps toward her, his eyes narrow with doubt. “Everyone can feel the earth,” he said, his tone landing somewhere between question and statement.

  “I’m not lying.”

  His face softened and he cocked his head like he always did when he couldn’t quite figure her out. She crossed her arms and then quickly dropped them again, not wanting to appear defensive. She didn’t want to seem like she had something to hide.

  “I tried to tell you last time,” she said, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

  He smiled. A broad, familiar smile that made her entire world shift on its axis. Hirka could feel the truth of who she was bearing down on her like an avalanche. She was the only thing standing between that truth and Rime, and it would have been so nice to just let go. To tell him and let him do what he wanted with that knowledge. He came even closer. She took a step back and stumbled. He grabbed her before she fell.

  “Try,” he said.

  Could he read her thoughts? “Try what?”

  “To bind.”

  “I’ve tried more times than you have bones in your body. I can’t bind.”

  “Are you—”

  “I’m sure. I’m unearthed, Rime.”

  Rime took a couple steps back and studied her again. He uttered a brief “hmm,” making her feel like one of the math problems Father had forced her to do when she was little. A solvable but not particularly interesting conundrum. Her hands were clammy. What if Rime could solve the math problem? What if he knew why she couldn’t bind?

  “What happens when you try?” He sounded genuinely interested, but she didn’t have an answer for him.

  “Nothing.”

  “S
o what is it you do, then?”

  She shrugged.

  “Do you try to reach out to it or to draw it toward you?”

  What was he talking about? She didn’t say anything, so he asked again.

  “When you try to bind, Hirka. What do you do?”

  “I … try to reach out to the earth.”

  He smiled again, like that explained everything. “It’s better to draw the Might up toward you. Not the other way around. Sit.” He sat down cross-legged on the ground and looked at her. Hirka followed his lead. He seemed almost eager now. “Don’t force yourself on the Might. Let it fill you.”

  Hirka tried. At least, she pretended she was trying, because she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. All she could feel was a rock digging into her bum, and the closeness of Rime. It was starting to dawn on her that even he couldn’t help her. She was what she was. Maybe she was risking his life just by being here. How much contact was needed to spread the rot?

  Crones’ talk! That wasn’t how it worked! She’d never seen anyone rot, and she’d been stitching people back together since she was a child. Touched open wounds. Held people crying in fear. Lifted newborn babies, still slick with blood.

  But she’d never kissed anyone.

  Rime leaned forward. “And now?”

  Hirka pulled away from him. “Nothing.”

  “You’re just not trying hard enough.”

  “I don’t feel anything!” she yelled. “That’s why I’m here!”

  She stared at the ground. The wind whistled between mossy stones in the old castle ruins. She heard Rime get up. He crouched down in front of her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Her unease threatened to turn to panic. She had to make sure he didn’t find out. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye if he did. She swallowed.