Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  Or end up hanging from one with a broken leg. Bad idea.

  Though it was late, people from the chieftain’s household were still walking between the buildings with lamps and bundles of wood or linen. Some were dealing with a cart that had just arrived. They unsaddled the horses and showed people inside.

  “Ynge!”

  A giant of a man strode toward them. He had broad shoulders, but one hung lower than the other, as if the arm on that side was heavier. His brown hair and beard made him look like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. This had to be Eirik.

  It occurred to Hirka that her own hair probably didn’t look much better. She quickly smoothed her hand over it a couple times, but it didn’t feel like it had any effect. The soldier with the lamp sent the others away and told Eirik he’d found Hirka in The Raven’s Brood. He told him about Orvar and the knife, though he only got about half the story right. Hirka bit her lip so she wouldn’t be tempted to correct him.

  Eirik didn’t take his eyes off Hirka the whole time he was talking to Ynge. “Make sure Grinn hears about Orvar,” he rumbled. “Let him deal with it as he sees fit. A night or two in the cage, I imagine.” Hirka gulped. A night with Orvar in the “cage” didn’t appeal to her. Ynge nodded and took his leave.

  Eirik quickly crouched down in front of Hirka. He was still almost as tall as her. He cocked his head. She knew what he was looking for, so she turned around for a moment.

  He chuckled. “So you’re the tailless girl?” His voice was gruff.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Everything about him reminded her of a bear. Apart from his eyes. They sparkled blue in the light from the torches. Hirka had a feeling he already knew the answer, but she told him anyway.

  “From Elveroa.”

  “Then you’ve been living among Council folks. A rare privilege.” Eirik studied her.

  She shrugged. “I hardly ever attend messages. Anyway, Ilume’s gone back to Mannfalla now. There’s no Council presence in Elveroa anymore.”

  Eirik’s beard lifted slightly on one side, betraying a smile. “No. So I hear.”

  He got up and Hirka had to take a step back to take him all in. He called over a woman who was as shriveled as an old apple. She had a huge bunch of keys hanging from her waistband.

  “Unngonna, this is Hirka. Get her a room in Friggsheim, a bath, and something to eat.”

  Hirka looked up at Eirik. Had she heard him right? Was this how they treated outlaws in Ravnhov—by giving them room and board?

  “I’ve just eaten …”

  Neither of them were listening.

  “Eirik, with the moot feast tomorrow, the bathhouse is full of Meredir’s half-drunk men. She can’t—”

  “Then she can use the round one.”

  Unngonna looked Hirka up and down skeptically, then gestured for her to follow. The keys rattled against her skirt as she walked. Eirik turned to Hirka.

  “Follow the path closest to the rock face until you get to the river, and you’ll find the bathhouse.”

  Hirka nodded. A bath sounded wonderful. It might even have been worth spending a night in the cage with Orvar. She turned to leave but was stopped by Eirik’s huge hand on her shoulder. He had to lean down so far that his hair fell into his face. He winked. “Welcome to Ravnhov.”

  Hirka couldn’t help but smile.

  “We haven’t got all night!” Unngonna shouted, and Hirka trotted after her.

  Friggsheim was somewhat set apart from the rest of the buildings, and it turned out to be a longhouse full of small rooms. Unngonna had keys to them all. The chieftain’s household in Ravnhov was like one big inn. Unngonna apologized for the room being small before taking her leave. Hirka just nodded. The room was bigger than the cabin in Elveroa. She had a chair and a nightstand with an oil lamp. A big bed with white linen. There was a lavender arrangement on the windowsill to keep vermin away. The window had yellow glass. Real glass. Was she dreaming? Perhaps she’d frozen to death in the forest and she was lying delirious in Slokna.

  Hirka wanted to collapse onto the bed straightaway, but she couldn’t. Not the way she looked. She tried to run a hand through her hair, but it got caught in the tangles. She needed a bath. She found the only change of clothes she had in her bag. She rolled them up in a towel and left the room as quietly as she could.

  She could hear voices from the next room. One of the floorboards creaked when she stepped on it, and the discussion suddenly stopped. She hurried outside. It was chilly. Autumn was here, no doubt about it. She found the stone steps and followed them, as she had been told. She encountered no one along the way, so she walked faster until she came to a round wooden building by the river. It had no windows, so she couldn’t see whether anyone was already inside. She stopped to listen. All she could hear was the river and the distant cries of the ravens. Hirka opened the door cautiously and peered in. There was no one else there. She went in and closed the door.

  The bath took up half the floor. Hirka could see openings in the walls through which water from the river could flow. She’d never seen anything like it.

  The water was still hot. She took off her clothes and climbed in. Her skin burned for a few moments until she got used to it. She swam a few strokes. She’d never imagined bathing could be so nice. Hirka let herself sink into the water until she could feel the bottom under her feet. Then she shot back up, breaking the surface again. She felt weightless. The flames from the lamp danced on the surface of the water. The river murmured outside. Everything seemed better now. All her worries about the Rite and the Council were being washed away.

  There’s still Kolkagga to think about.

  She found some rocks under the water to sit on, and there were soaps and brushes on the shelves. People in Ravnhov thought of everything. She would be safe there. To Slokna with the Rite. She had escaped. She would never have to stand before the Council and the Seer. The relief was like a tight knot that had finally loosened. Hirka soaped herself, but when her fingers slid over the scar at the base of her spine, the thoughts she had been trying to push aside hit her like an avalanche.

  The wolves that had never taken her tail. The truth about who she was. Father, who had given his own life to help her escape. Rime, who would be left waiting during the Rite. The disappointment in his wolf eyes.

  Hirka ducked under the water again and held her breath until her lungs felt as though they might explode. Then she shot back up, broke the surface, and started coughing.

  “Do people not bathe where you come from?”

  Hirka jumped. The wild boy from the forest was standing in front of her at the edge of the bath. Completely naked. Hirka wriggled backward in the water until she found the wall and was able to sit down again. She tried to keep her body under the water so he couldn’t see anything apart from her head.

  “Do people not knock where you come from?” She started to comb her fingers through her wet hair to avoid looking at him, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing up. He grinned. His arms were folded across his chest and he was standing with his legs apart as if she were his girl and she’d seen it all before.

  “Not when using their own bathhouses,” he replied, stepping down into the water.

  Hirka could feel her cheeks burning. “Unngonna said the other bathhouse was—”

  “Has the raven recovered?” he interrupted.

  He sat down opposite her and rested his arms on the edge. This boy had said no more than a few words to her, but he’d interrupted her almost every time he had. He was bound to do it again, so Hirka considered saying nothing.

  But he knew about her, who she was, and Hirka wanted to know how.

  “It was just a bit of a fright,” she said.

  He snorted. “Great eagles are nothing to be scared of.”

  Hirka suppressed the urge to sneer. “I’m not talking about the eagle. I’m talking about a wild man who started slinging stones at us.”

  The boy’s arr
ogant smile faltered, and for a moment Hirka feared she’d gone too far. But then he threw his head back and burst out laughing. He could take a joke. That was at least one redeeming quality.

  “Why didn’t you shoot at it? You had a bow and arrows,” she asked.

  He looked at her. The pupils of his pale blue eyes had blown wide since he sat down. “You’re not that bright, are you? What would you rather deal with? A great eagle, or an enraged and injured great eagle?” He ducked under the water. Hirka fought the impulse to cover herself. He stayed under for a few seconds before he resurfaced. Smiling.

  “Are you going to the Rite?”

  Hirka was already pretty sure it was safe to be honest about the Rite in this place. “No, I’ve—”

  “I didn’t go either. I was the first.” He’d interrupted her again. Hirka weighed her irritation against her curiosity. Her curiosity won.

  “The first to what?”

  He smoothed his hair back with one hand, but it went straight back to sticking out in every direction. Apart from a thin braid starting at the base of his skull, which she hadn’t noticed when she saw him in the forest.

  “The first person in Ravnhov not to go through the Rite. I was supposed to. Two years ago. But I didn’t. A lot of people here have decided against it since. But I was the first person to stand up to them.” He looked at Hirka as if the words ought to mean something to her.

  She assumed he was talking about the Council. But she asked anyway. “Stand up to who?”

  “The traitors in Mannfalla.” His eyes narrowed as if she was one of the people he was talking about.

  “Why do you think they’re traitors?”

  He didn’t reply. He grabbed some soap and turned it over in his hands a couple times. The soap bubbles gathered around his naked torso. He had arms like Father’s. The boy was well built, no doubt about that. He was big. Bigger than Rime, but she’d wager Rime was stronger. Rime stood tall. He was subdued. He was lithe as a cat. The boy before her had stooped shoulders and bellowed like an ox. They were like night and day. And what was she?

  The rot.

  She was the rot, and here she was having a bath with a stranger. What if the rot could be carried by the water? Hirka forgot to breathe. But then she remembered swimming in the Stryfe with other children, Father washing her when she was little. It couldn’t be dangerous. It just couldn’t.

  But she’d never shared a bath with a boy. And they were both naked. The song about the girl and the rot forced itself to the forefront of her mind. The girl who said yes in the final verse and died.

  “Aren’t you scared of the blind, then?” Hirka asked as she tried to think of a way to escape without him seeing her naked. He threw his head back and laughed again. The two actions were at odds with each other—like he was trying to convince them both that his laughter was genuine. He rested his hands on the back of his head, probably to make his arms look even bigger.

  “Have you ever seen one of the blind?” he asked.

  Hirka didn’t reply. He would only interrupt her anyway, because he clearly had more to say. “Of course not. No one has seen the blind, girl. Not for hundreds of years! Guess why?”

  “Hirka.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Hirka. Not girl.”

  “No one’s seen them because they don’t exist! They’re stories Mannfalla uses to keep people under their thumb. And it works. People from all over Midtyms, Norrvarje, Foggard, and Bik pass through here to be pawns in Mannfalla’s game. People come all the way from the ice to go through the Rite! Every damn year.” His pupils had contracted again. “Tell me, when has the Rite ever protected anyone from the blind?”

  “Every day?” Hirka shrugged.

  “How?!”

  “If no one’s seen the blind for hundreds of years, perhaps it’s because the Rite works?” Hirka concealed a smile. She didn’t really believe in the blind. Of course, until recently she hadn’t believed in children of Odin either. But here she was, and she was one of them.

  He gave her a look of horror. “No one’s that stupid, girl. You sound like them.”

  Hirka lifted herself up onto the edge. She got up and stood tall. She didn’t have a tail, but he knew that already. The water dripped from her body. She felt slightly sick as she turned her back on him. But she took her time. She walked over to her clothes and wrapped her towel around herself before looking at him again.

  “Why not go, then, if you’re so scared of the blind?” he asked, but he no longer looked as sure of himself.

  Hirka turned away, picked up her clothes, and opened the door. “Thanks for the use of the bathhouse, boy.”

  “Tein.”

  Hirka walked through the door and closed it behind her.

  “My name’s Tein!” she heard him shout defiantly from inside.

  You should be grateful to be alive, Tein. You’ve bathed with the rot.

  THE IDOL

  The mountains were teeming with plants. Just by following her nose, Hirka had already found vengethorn and soldrop. She had awoken early enough that Ravnhov still slumbered far below Protected by cliffs too steep to be climbed. Tein had been right. No one travels to Ravnhov through the forests.

  How much did he know about her? Hirka was instinctively wary of people, but Tein clearly didn’t know better than to get in a bath with her. And she had been well received here. So well that Father was probably grumbling with suspicion in Slokna. Nobody gives without taking double in return, he always said. Hirka didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that she had been given food, a hot bath, and a bed—even though the town was bursting with strangers and the inns were full. Was this the home she’d always dreamed of?

  She heard the screech of a raven. Then another. More joined in. Hirka looked down at the chieftain’s household. It was situated on a plateau above the rest of the town; a cluster of stone buildings with wooden beams and pointed thatched roofs. The raven cries increased, and suddenly a black cloud streamed out of the ravine she had crossed the previous night. It grew above the houses. Hirka gaped.

  The ravens of Ravnhov. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. They darkened the sky above her. It was a sight for the gods. Her heart grew in her chest and she wanted to follow them. Follow them to the world’s end.

  But then the ravens disappeared to the north. She was left behind, earthbound. As wingless as she was tailless. It was time for her to head back. The ravens had probably woken the entire town.

  She walked some distance before she noticed a path leading to a crevice in the cliff. She ought to continue down, but the draw was too great. The mountain lured her in. The chasm was no wider than her outstretched arms, but as high as five men. The sky was a pale snake far above her. The air quickly grew cooler. After two gentle turns, the chasm opened up into a space carved out of the mountain. Vertical stone walls surrounded her, forming a shaft that reached up into the heavens. Nearly perfectly round, and perhaps fifty paces across. The path continued around along the walls. Hirka stopped.

  In the middle of the space stood a figure that could only be an idol. She glanced behind her, fearful of being seen. The Seer forbade idols. They attracted the blind, it was said. She continued on the path along the walls to avoid the idol. Forbidden or not, this place must have once been sacred. It felt disrespectful to get too close.

  Someone had carved figures into the mountain, along the entire circle. There were pictures of ymlings taking in the harvest and slaughtering animals. Hunting. A woman surrounded by ravens. Someone lay dead at her feet. A man hanging upside down from a tree. An army of ymlings who—Hirka stopped. They had no tails! She moved closer and ran her fingers across the carvings. Were they like her? Children of Odin? No. They had fingers like claws. Eyes like empty hollows in their faces. The blind.

  What was this? A story? How old could it be? She had nearly walked the entire way around. The last carvings were clearer. Newer. A man with a sword in his back. In front of him sat a figure on a throne, th
e Council’s raven on his forehead. What had Tein called the Council? Traitors?

  Hirka was drawn toward the idol. Nobody could see her here. What harm would it do to look? She walked toward the sculpture and looked up into a woman’s face. She was of an indeterminate age, or maybe time had worn away the details. She sat naked astride a two-headed raven. She was voluptuous with large breasts, and Hirka couldn’t help but glance down at her own, barely a handful. The raven looked like it was tearing itself in two, with each half wanting to go its own way. Hirka placed her hands on the beaks and pulled back in surprise.

  One raven was cool. The other warm.

  The sun. It had to be the sun. One of them probably spent more time in the shade.

  The base of the sculpture was a pit, stained with blood. Some old and rusty. Some so new that she could still smell it. She felt a tingling in her body. Stone has memory, Rime had told her once.

  Hirka found herself longing for the Might. Waiting for it. Praying for it. But Rime wasn’t here. The Might wasn’t here. Not for the likes of her.

  Voices!

  Hirka jumped behind the idol without thinking. She could hear people talking in the chasm. A man and a woman, heading her way. Why had she hidden? She’d done nothing wrong, but it was too late to show herself now. The echo faded, and the conversation grew clearer. They had entered the circle.

  Hirka remained crouching with her back to the idol. Then she realized that she recognized both voices. The booming male voice was unmistakable. It was Eirik. And the other—

  Ramoja?! What’s Ramoja doing in Ravnhov?

  “There’s no doubt about it, Ramoja. He’s chosen his path. Now he’s killing for the people you thought he’d change. You should have known better,” Eirik grumbled, though his tone sounded more consolatory than accusatory.

  “Known better than to hope for change?” Ramoja sounded weary.

  “Change is coming. That’s as certain as the Might. But it’s up to us, and we’ve waited long enough. I was willing to wait half a generation for your sake, Ramoja. But he can no longer help us. We could wait till the sun goes out, but what good would it do? While we sit here navel-gazing, the Council is sending agents and assassins across all of Ym. They’re either making deals or killing, depending on what serves them best. They’re on their way. Ravnhov cannot wait any longer!”