He took a deep breath and put everything he had into a spinning jump, but his knee touched the ground when he landed. His jaw clenched.
Blindring. Not perfect.
But it wasn’t just the big things that were bothering him. He was restless. Unfocused. Had been ever since Elveroa. It was about more than men and women in high places with even loftier thoughts. It wasn’t even the rumors of the blind that kept him up at night. It was Hirka.
He took a run-up and jumped. The ground became sky as he rotated, and he felt in every fiber of his being that he was going to succeed. He landed perfectly and indulged himself with a brief smile in the night.
Blindring.
Today was the first day of Heymana, the first harvest month, and the Rite had started. In eighteen days it would be Elveroa’s turn—Elveroa and the other small settlements around Gardfjella. In eighteen days he would help Hirka. Had he fully understood the consequences of his own promise? He was going to help her conceal the truth from the Council. And, more importantly, from the Seer. What had he been thinking? He was Kolkagga! The Seer’s way was the only way. The Seer’s will was the only will. The Council was nothing.
He crouched down, letting his sword follow the ground before thrusting it up toward the heavens again, as though to kill a giant.
Myrkvalda.
A circle of irresolute councillors who did nothing other than regard one another with suspicion and spin their webs. Generation upon generation born into power and riches like it was the most natural thing in the world, with no greater ambition than to retain both. They had betrayed the Seer long ago.
Válbrinna.
Should he do the same? Betray himself—and his faith—to help a girl? Rime knew the answer. He was going to help her. It was the right thing to do. It reeked of desperation, and there was no guarantee it would work. But the Seer would understand. He had to understand. The Seer was the true path, how could He not understand?
Banadrake.
Rime wasn’t worried about his decision. It was made. If he was punished, he would accept it, even if it meant death. That didn’t bother him. What did bother him was that if he was punished, it would mean the Seer believed Hirka didn’t deserve to live. Because she couldn’t bind. Because she was unearthed, through no fault of her own. That would be unjust.
But that wouldn’t happen. The Seer didn’t make mistakes.
As a boy he’d believed that the Council never did anything unjust. That Ilume was infallible. But the Council made mistakes. The Council had made enough mistakes to fill Mannfalla’s sewers. The Council had let Urd Vanfarinn into the inner circle. Given him a chair for life. Nobody who did that was faultless.
A cold wind assaulted Rime’s skin, giving him goose bumps. How could the Seer want someone like Urd in His inner circle? There had to be a good reason that Rime just couldn’t see. Just as there had to have been a good reason the Seer saw fit to save Rime’s life at birth. Why? What was his purpose in life? Was he right to choose Kolkagga?
Rime flung his sword high into the air and rolled forward on the ground in the cool grass, came up on one knee, caught the sword, and thrust it out in front of him like a spear. A soft thud. The sword was met with resistance from a tree. The vibrations in the blade radiated up his forearm.
Blodranda. A maneuver difficult enough in daylight. Foolhardy, people might say. But if that were true, he ought to have died a long time ago. He ought to have died before he was born. And again at the age of six, when they’d dug him out of the snow, almost as lifeless as his parents. But he had lived. And nothing he had done since had changed that. How was blodranda going to?
Rime felt his sword hand grow warm and moist. He had been a little late. A small cut. Nothing more.
That’s why you’re helping her. To get closer to Him. The Seer you’ve never spoken with, but who informs everything you do. To get answers.
Rime cleared his mind and pulled the sword out of the tree trunk, ready to try again.
He stopped suddenly. He’d seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. He remained in a crouched position and stared out across Blindból. The narrow mountains stuck up from the sea of fog. It was like something out of a story, an old battlefield for thousands of giants. All that was visible were the fingers reaching skyward in a final attempt to cling to life.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and settled in the corner of his eye. He didn’t move. He had seen something. He was sure.
There! A figure on the rope bridge. Stooped over, walking in fits and starts, like a wounded animal.
Is that Launhug?
Rime started running. It was impossible to see who it was, but it was one of them. Wearing Kolkagga black. It had to be him. The figure noticed Rime and stopped, clinging to the ropes with both hands. The bridge swayed cautiously above the sea of fog. Rime refrained from sheathing his sword until he was certain.
“Launhug?”
It was as though his voice alone had the power to kill. The figure slumped down on all fours. His hands clung to the rope, which was now above his head. He was going to fall off! Rime ran out on the bridge and grabbed hold of the trembling body.
“Launhug?” He put his hands around his face and forced him to meet his gaze. All he could see was Launhug’s eyes. They were round and shiny, as though all hope had run out of them. Launhug burst into tears. Rime had never seen Kolkagga cry.
He dragged Launhug across the bridge and back onto solid ground, where he collapsed in a heap, closed his eyes, and started sobbing. Rime pulled off his hood. Black hair clung to a pale face.
“Where?”
Launhug didn’t answer.
“Launhug, where?!” Rime didn’t wait for an answer. He ran his hand across his chest until he reached a point where Launhug flinched. A couple of ribs, right on the side. That was often where they broke. No wonder he was late getting back.
“Have you been running like this for long?”
Launhug nodded.
“Since Ravnhov,” he managed to force out.
What was he doing in Ravnhov?
“Have you been sick?” A moment passed before Rime got his answer, then Launhug shook his head.
“I don’t know. No.”
His voice was hoarse. It was clear that he hadn’t spoken to anyone since he’d left Blindból. But something wasn’t right. His reaction was too volatile. A broken rib could be a nightmare of pain under certain circumstances, but they’d both experienced worse. They were Kolkagga. There was only one other explanation. Rime sat down in the grass next to the broken shadow.
“You failed.”
Launhug tried to sit up, but Rime pushed him back down. He had given everything to get back to the camp. Now he needed rest.
But first, Rime had to see how serious the wound was. He unlaced Launhug’s tunic, exposing his chest. Launhug didn’t protest. He just lay there with his arm over his face. The skin on his side was hot and inflamed. Even in the dark Rime could see that it was red.
Launhug didn’t react to Rime’s investigation. He was whispering to himself. Hoarse reproaches, filled with hindsight. About everything that could have been different, if he’d just looked around. If he’d just waited until it was dark, like he’d planned. If he hadn’t just jumped at the first chance he’d gotten.
Rime followed the swelling along his side up toward his shoulder. He noticed a round symbol on Launhug’s arm, black with a figure depicted in the middle. Rime felt a chill run through him. He couldn’t see the entire mark, as Launhug’s sleeve covered part of it, but he didn’t need to see more. He knew it well. It was a picture of Rime as a newborn. The child under the Seer’s wings. The lucky child. The An-Elderin child. The symbol could be found all over the world, in the form of everything from amulets, icons, and bookmarks to decorations in Seer’s halls.
He wasn’t alone, naturally. The hallowed names and pictures of the Council families hung side by side on the market stalls, but the An-Elderin child’s ability to cheat death wa
s a commodity in itself. Even as a permanent black mark inked into Launhug’s skin. All the same, here he lay on the grass. Broken and exhausted. Rime’s jaw clenched.
He noticed the cut on his own hand again and wiped the blood off in the grass. In his mind’s eye, he glimpsed a red-haired girl near the Alldjup trying to hide her hand behind her back.
“It was her fault.” Launhug was no longer sobbing. Instead he spoke in a monotone, as though he knew nothing he said would mean anything. He was probably right too. “There was nothing I could do.”
“Launhug, you don’t need—”
“Suddenly she was just standing there. She shouted out and everything was … lost.”
Rime didn’t stop him. Launhug had failed. He had to get it out of his system. Had to talk about it, even if he was sworn to silence.
“She must have been there the whole time! What was she doing there?”
Rime had no answer.
“How could I not have seen her? Her hair was flaming red, like dragonfire! She was standing right behind me, and she shouted.”
Rime froze. “What did she shout?”
“EIRIK!!” Launhug screamed as though the name was a curse. Rime was happy they were some distance outside the camp, but the scouts were bound to have heard the shout. They’d be here shortly.
That was his mission. To assassinate Eirik.
Eirik of Ravnhov. The thorn in the Council’s side. A man who had strayed from the Seer’s path, they said. But he was a leader. Killing him wasn’t only daring. It was an act of desperation.
“Was she old?” It bothered Rime that he couldn’t help asking.
“Barely old enough for the Rite! Just a child! With wild eyes and a tunic like moss. There was no way I could have seen her!”
Rime smiled. So Hirka was on her way to the Rite. Via Ravnhov.
His smile faded. She had saved Eirik from Kolkagga. Launhug had failed because of her. The assassination had failed. Anything could happen now.
Launhug muttered something about outposts. Ravnhov erecting barriers at the foot of Bromfjell. Scouts keeping an eye on Mannfalla. And a gathering of powerful men. A meeting where he had lain in wait for Eirik. Meredir Beig. And a woman. Veila Insbrott. They were amassing allies.
“What was she doing there?! On the roof?” Launhug asked no one in particular.
Rime was certain he knew the answer. He smiled again. “She was listening.”
“What?”
“She was listening in on the meeting.”
Launhug took a deep breath, but stopped when the pain set in.
“I failed. Because of a child’s scream. She fell, Rime! What if I’ve killed an innocent child?”
Rime felt another chill run through him. “Fell from the roof? Far?”
“Yes, but there were plenty of people there to help her. Maybe she … maybe …”
Rime brought his hand to his chest and felt the comforting shape of the shell with the marks. His marks, and Hirka’s. She had survived a lot to get those marks. Climbed high and fallen far.
“She’s survived worse, Launhug.”
He heard footsteps running through the forest. The others had come to help. He got up and pulled Launhug to his feet.
Kolkagga were meant to follow the Seer’s path. Not take the lives of innocents.
But then, they weren’t meant to take the lives of their opponents, either, just because those opponents happened to be powerful.
Rime shook off the thought. Hirka had saved the life of Eirik of Ravnhov. A man the Seer had singled out as an enemy and wanted dead. What had she gotten herself mixed up in? Rime let his gaze follow the four black figures carrying Launhug between them. They disappeared noiselessly toward the camp. He stood looking out at the empty rope bridge. The gateway out of the mountains.
You’d better be alive, girl.
THE AGREEMENT
Hirka’s feet were heavy. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that awaited her, and she was dragging herself across the courtyard as if it had turned into a bog.
Eirik was drifting between life and death, they said. No one knew which path he would take. It all depended on whether Slokna would have him. None of it was fair. Why had the living shadow gone after Eirik but let Hirka live? Was it because Ravnhov was harboring her? Would she also be dead if the attempt on Eirik’s life had gone as planned?
Since her fall, even the faintest sound had her on high alert. Kuro’s beak on her window. The creaking of a gate. Unngonna’s footsteps in the hall. It made no sense whatsoever, because noise was a good thing where Kolkagga were concerned. It was their silence that was dangerous.
If they’re going to kill me, now would be a good time.
But the black shadows wouldn’t save her from this meeting. She had to talk to Eirik. First confessions, then goodbyes. Father had taught her that nothing was free, but Ravnhov had welcomed her with open arms. They’d taken her in when she had nowhere else to go, and now they were being punished for it. She couldn’t stay here.
Unngonna had wanted to confine Hirka to her bed, and the pain in Hirka’s chest had agreed, but she had already spent an entire day in bed. That was long enough. They had brought her food and taken the same food away again untouched. She’d pretended to be sleeping to avoid having to say anything. After all, what would she have said? That she was sorry for eavesdropping on the meeting between the powerful leaders? That she hadn’t meant to put Eirik’s life in danger? That she was sorry she was what she was?
The rot who brought Kolkagga to Ravnhov.
The sky was a stormy gray. A flag fluttered in the wind on the roof of the great hall. She hadn’t seen it before. It must have been raised during the day. Faded blue with three golden crowns. It looked to have withstood generations. What was it Tein had said?
Do you think the kings just woke up one day and decided to disappear?
Hirka stopped in front of Eirik’s house. It was close to the great hall, with a wing connecting them. She forced herself to knock. The door opened a crack and a girl whose name she didn’t know peered out at her. But the girl knew who she was.
“Hirka. We were so worried. It’s good to see you up and about.” She waved Hirka inside. A group of people had gathered by the hearth. “None of us have slept,” the girl explained. “He’s been burning up all night.”
“Can I talk to him?” Hirka asked.
“You can see him. He’s not doing much talking.” The girl led her up some stairs, old but sound. “Have you eaten? We’ve got some hot stew downstairs,” the girl said.
Hirka shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not—”
“Here.” The girl stopped in front of a dark wooden door decorated with iron nails.
Unngonna came out with her keys clinking on her hip. She moved aside to let Hirka in. “Let him sleep,” she said. Then they left Hirka alone in the gloom with a giant on his deathbed.
Eirik lay snoring in a shaft of light from a narrow window. The glass depicted a blue shield decorated with three crowns. The shades of blue varied, as if they had been replacing pieces of glass for generations without ever finding quite the same color. A wood carving above his bed depicted a two-headed raven with outstretched wings set against a pattern of copulating mythical creatures. Its intricate details seemed out of place against the bare stone of the wall. Beams crossed the ceiling like in a funeral ship.
Hirka sat on a chair by the bed. Eirik was flushed and sweaty, the blanket plastered to his stomach. Someone had applied a bandage diagonally across his hairy chest and around one of his shoulders. The knife had entered just above his heart, between his ribs. It smelled foul. Worryingly foul.
Suddenly the room was silent. Eirik had stopped snoring. Hirka leaned toward the edge of the bed and stared at him fearfully.
In the Seer’s name, don’t die!
One of his eyelids sprang open and a round eye stared at her. Hirka jumped back in her chair. “Is she gone?” Eirik’s voice was an uncharacteristic whisper.
Hirka looked around, but there was no one else there. “Who?”
“Unngonna.” He tried to prop himself up on his elbow but gave up with a pained growl. The bandage changed color from white to yellowish green. Hirka’s jaw clenched. He didn’t try to sit up again, but he kept talking, breathing heavily. “She’s trying to kill me! Washing and changing bandages and refusing a poor creature a drink.”
He gazed hopefully at a tankard on a table by the fire. Hirka got up and filled it with ale. He drank the lot, then let his arm flop toward the floor with a sigh of pleasure. Hirka refilled it before sitting down again. Good ale was very nutritious. And it would dull his pain. But not hers. She shifted restlessly in her chair. She couldn’t get comfortable. Finally she opened her mouth to speak, but Eirik beat her to it.
“They didn’t catch him, I’m told.”
She shook her head. “No. He disappeared over the ledge.”
“Well, he is Kolkagga, I suppose.”
Hirka nodded. She was starting to realize what that meant.
“Eirik …” Hirka swallowed. “I’ve enjoyed my time here.” It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but it was what came out.
Eirik chuckled, but then had to stop and clutch at his chest. “Of course you have.” He said it without arrogance. “You’re in Ravnhov!”
Hirka was starting to realize what that meant as well. But she couldn’t keep beating around the bush. “Eirik, I’ve done you all wrong! I was listening in on the meeting. I know it was nothing to do with me, but …” She forced herself to continue while she still had the courage. “I’m not who you think I am. And it’s my fault Kolkagga came here. It’s my fault that … that you’re lying here.” She tailed off in a hoarse whisper.
Eirik reached out so the tankard bumped against her knee. He threw another glance at the ale. Hirka topped him up again and then sat back down to continue.
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