“Is she a dancer? From Urmunai?”
“No, no! She comes from the northeast and doesn’t have so much as a stump. And her hair is red as blood, they say.”
“Is she old?” Urd had yawned, to give the impression that the answer was of no significance.
“Rite-ready, they say. That’s why she’s here.”
Slabba had continued to bore him with a list of afflictions he was considering consulting the girl about. A rash. Tired legs. And his digestion wasn’t up to scratch. Urd had felt his upper lip curl in disgust. Slabba’s digestion was not something he cared to know about.
The carriage juddered over uneven cobblestones. The farther from Eisvaldr you got, the worse the roads became. Urd opened his eyes again. He pulled the curtain aside and looked out at the street. They had a way to go still.
A Rite-ready, tailless girl. Who stood out enough to be a topic of conversation in women’s boudoirs around the city. He shivered. A mixture of joy and anger. Joy because he had been given this opportunity to neutralize her before she attracted the attention of the Council. Anger because it could actually be her.
The chances were infinitesimally low. The child who had been used was dead. Had to be dead. Most likely frozen to death on the mountainside in the world of the blind, long before anyone found her. She wasn’t here, in any case. The Voice had assured him of that. She couldn’t be here.
Urd shifted uneasily in his seat. He hated feeling like there were loose ends to tie up. Elements he couldn’t control. Once upon a time he, too, had been young, fresh from the Rite, and not known what he was doing. He was still suffering the consequences, and it was starting to dawn on him that it was going to get worse. Much worse.
The carriage was approaching the square by the river. It was easy to hear. They were a rowdy bunch down here. Sellers shouted louder from the stalls, the dogs barked in the streets, and people let their children run wild. There was a sharp smell of fish, dung, and spices. The carriage crept forward through narrow, crowded streets. Had he taken one of the Council’s black carriages, the crowd would have parted like their lives depended on it. But just now, nobody could know who he was.
The carriage came to a stop, and Urd made sure that the gray silk scarf he had tied around his head was secure across his forehead. The ends hung down his back. It made him look like a ponce. A conceited idiot. But it did the job. It hid the mark that nobody was to see today.
He got out and placed two copper pieces in the coachman’s outstretched hand. “Where can I buy a cloak?” he asked.
The coachman raised his bushy eyebrows and let his eyes roam over Urd’s body. “For you?”
“No, for a dog! Of course for me. Where?”
“There are a lot of stalls here,” the coachman replied, apparently without taking any offense. “But I don’t think you’ll find any that are … suitable. The shops farther up have finer wares. Where are you from?”
Urd didn’t reply. It was to his advantage that he had been taken for an out-of-towner. The coachman was about the same size as him. His cloak was made of faded red wool. Nobody would look twice at it. It was perfect. Urd topped off the coin in his hand with a small silver piece. “I’ll take yours.”
The coachman didn’t need to be asked twice. He undid the cloak and gave it to Urd. “Sorry about the smell. It’s the horses, they—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The carriage crawled off, the coachman shouting inquiringly to passersby. “Eisvaldr? Uptown? Ride to Eisvaldr?”
Urd reluctantly put on the foul-smelling cloak, pulled up the hood, and walked across the square toward Lindri’s teahouse.
The girl had wild, bloodred hair. She had tried to tame it by gathering the tangles into small braids that hung to the middle of her back. They were secured with makeshift woollen ties. Her hair was shorter in the front, seemingly haphazardly trimmed.
She was so simply dressed it was almost embarrassing. A green tunic perilously close to coming apart at the seams. The neckline had been mended a number of times with thread of a yellower shade than the tunic itself. The color was just different enough to be annoying. The sleeves were wide, and she had folded them up several times.
Hanging from her belt were two leather purses. Not that it was a proper belt. It was a slim strip of leather which she had wrapped around her waist a couple of times. Dangling around her neck was a scratched animal tooth that had begun to yellow.
She sat bent over Urd’s ankle, examining the wound. A cut he had made before coming, as a pretext for seeing her. She was a little skinny and moved like a cat. Limber and steady. She looked up at him. Her eyes were big and green above a small nose. He studied them intensely, searching for the slightest sign that could reveal that she was not like everyone else. That she didn’t belong here.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“Two days ago. It won’t heal. What’s your name?”
“I’ve put some salve on it. Just keep it clean and dry, then it will take care of itself.”
She had a clear voice, but her dialect was difficult to place. She was from the north, but where, exactly? And she hadn’t answered the question about her name. He fought off the impulse to grab her by the neck and force it out of her.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
She smiled. A sudden and broad smile that was surprisingly beautiful. “Foggard.”
“Ravnhov?”
“Thereabouts.”
“Have you been in Mannfalla long?”
She glanced at him before she replied. “Almost two weeks.”
She kept her herbs in a piece of cloth, each in its own small pocket. She rolled it back up and wound a strap around it. Urd glanced at the door. It was closed, but the key was in it. He could lock it. Throw the girl into a corner. Force her to talk.
But he could hear laughter and conversations from downstairs. The teahouse was half-full of people. They’d seen him come in. He couldn’t go back out and leave behind the body of a young girl.
“What happened to your tail?”
She smiled again and raised a hand to the tooth around her neck. “A wolf got it. But Father got the wolf.”
“That must have hurt!”
“I was just a small child. I don’t remember any of it.”
“How do you know that was what happened, then?”
“Father doesn’t—didn’t—lie. And you can still see it. The scar, I mean.”
“Ah.”
The room was small and bare. The walls were made of untreated oak, as was the entire teahouse, actually. A wide bench that doubled as a bed. The chair with a woven back that he sat on. A pitiful knotted brown rug on the floor. A hollowed-out stone as a washbasin, and a water jug on a stool by the door. A lopsided table. That was it.
A sudden shadow made Urd jump.
“That’s just Kuro.”
A small raven was perched on the window ledge, staring at him as though he was in the way. With dark, narrow eyes. Small, black feathers lifted from its throat in time with its breathing.
How could a girl from the north afford her own raven? Maybe she had inherited it from her father?
Something wasn’t right. Urd could feel it in every fiber of his being. He started to sweat. The Ravengirl. The tailless girl.
She pulled up his socks. Her hands were warm.
“It’s nothing serious. A clean cut. Would you like me to have a look at your neck?”
Urd stood up so quickly that he got dizzy. He grabbed his neck, but the collar was still in place. The wide gold band covered his entire neck. She hadn’t seen anything. Nobody had seen anything. So how could she know?
He stared at her. “What, this? A mere trinket. There’s nothing wrong with my neck.”
“If you say so.”
It was her! It had to be her. Holy Seer in Slokna, he’d found the key! Damayanti had been right, after all. Without realizing it, he’d had help. Had he really thought that he alone had the ability to control the ga
teways? That he had become strong enough overnight to open them without a key?
Fury swelled in his chest. He’d been lied to. The Voice had told him it had been him and him alone. But here she was. In Ym. Living proof of all that he had done. Of all that he was doing still. A child of Odin. What abilities did children of Odin have? None that he’d heard of. Yet somehow she knew …
He put three small silver pieces on the lopsided table and walked toward the door.
“Three is too much,” she said.
“Thanks for your help,” he replied and left the room.
The teahouse was full now. People were kneeling around all of the low tables, drinking from steaming ceramic bowls, as though none of them had anything better to do. Urd pulled up his hood and hurried outside, along the alley, and out to the street. He needed air. He had to have air. But all he got was the foul stench of fish and sweat. People from all over the world, stinking like animals. Crammed together. He plowed through the crowd until he found a carriage. Two men were about to get in, but he pushed past them.
“Two silver pieces to Eisvaldr!”
The coachman smirked at the two men. “Sorry, lads. Money talks.”
Urd climbed inside and shut the door on their protests.
The Rite. She was here for the Rite. But when was it her turn? The Rite was taking place every morning now. Children in and children out again. Hopeful parents who left either disappointed or celebrating. Lives were changed from one hour to the next in Eisvaldr. Had she only said where she came from, he could have known for certain. It could be tomorrow. Or in a week. Either way, he had no time to lose.
The rot was in Ym.
What if she didn’t know what she was? What if she took a lover?! Lovers? She would leave behind a trail of rotting corpses, and there wouldn’t be a shadow of doubt about what she was. Urd could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He would have to use Hassin. Hassin had served the family for many years and was loyal to Vanfarinn. He could take her in the night, quiet and unnoticed. Nobody would ever know that she had existed.
Urd leaned back and closed his eyes. All he could see was the raven on the window ledge. A stark, black creature that stared at him as though he were the animal. And her hair. A tangle of red cascading down her back. She definitely wasn’t like other people. It had to be her.
But blood would be spilled soon enough, flowing red just like her hair, and she would be gone. The muscles in his throat relaxed a little. He could breathe normally.
Yes. Hassin could take care of the problem.
Hassin always took care of the problem.
Hirka closed her bag and slung it onto her back. It wasn’t heavy. She owned very little and that would always be the case, the way things were going. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t need much. All she really needed was a place to keep the few things she did own. A place she never had to run from.
She looked around the room, but she hadn’t forgotten anything. She squeezed past Kuro on the window ledge, and then climbed out on the roof. It was dusk, and it was going to be even colder tonight. And she had no idea where she was going.
Hirka sat down and looked out across Mannfalla. Kuro walked impatiently around her, scratching the roof tiles. She could hear muffled conversations in the teahouse below her. Now and again, when someone opened the door, the noise got louder. A long-legged dog strolled along the riverside, sniffing everything that might prove edible. There wasn’t much, so he continued up the street.
The sky was a dark orange where the sun had set. Stars were twinkling, as were the lamps on the fishing boats on the Ora. Hirka drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. They were stiff and reluctant. She was tired. She wanted to climb back through the window and lie down, but she couldn’t.
He had lied. The stranger.
He had come with a fresh cut on his ankle and claimed it was from days ago. Why? And he had expensive shoes and the finest socks money could buy, but a tattered cloak that smelled of horses. His eyes hadn’t moved from her at all. They had been locked on every single movement she made.
He’d asked where she was from, and what had happened to her tail. A lot of people did that, but there was something about the way he asked. Hirka couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about him that scared her. Something didn’t smell right.
He’d looked normal enough. A little younger than Father. Maybe thirty winters, give or take. Smooth, blond hair. Oiled and short, apart from three thick braids at the back. Trimmed beard that followed his sharp jawline and perfectly surrounded pale lips. Golden eyes that reflected the gold collar around his neck.
But his voice had been rough, and he had alternated between pleasant and sinister. As though he were a stallholder one moment and a damned gatekeeper the next. He had tried to show restraint, but his smile had never reached his eyes. He was unstable. He had swallowed heavily and often. Several times he had grabbed his throat and shaken his head, but he had gone as pale as one of the blind when she had asked if she should look at it.
Hirka sighed. Seer knew she had seen a lot of strange people over the past few days. He was no stranger than some of the others. But she couldn’t help but feel unsettled. In two days she was going to stand in front of the Council and the Seer. Until then, she had to find somewhere else to stay. She couldn’t stay with Lindri. What if he and his granddaughter ended up like Eirik? Because of her?
Two nights. She could manage that. Mannfalla was a big city. She was bound to find somewhere to sleep. She got up and continued stealthily across the roofs, with Kuro flying close behind.
THE RITE
Hirka sat by the riverbank, rubbing her arms in an attempt to keep warm. It was early in the morning and she hadn’t gotten much sleep under the bridge. Mist drifted across the river, the yellow lights from the fishing boats twinkling like stars. Scattered sounds came from the houses behind her. Stalls were being set up. Someone was poking around in a henhouse. A gong sounded six times in a tower up near Eisvaldr. Other towers echoed it. The same sounds she’d heard every day since arriving here. Nothing was different, and everything was different. Today was her Rite day.
Hirka crawled closer to the river and splashed cold water on her face. She drank, but not much. The water of the Ora didn’t taste clean. Not like in Ravnhov, where it came straight from the ice. She caught sight of her own reflection and thought back on when she had done the same in Elveroa. It felt like a lifetime ago. She’d expected to see something other than herself. Something monstrous and frightening. But she hadn’t. Not then, and not now.
Her mind wandered to Sylja and how she would look today. The girl who hadn’t talked about anything except the Rite for as long as Hirka had known her. She would be wearing a dress with a billowing skirt embroidered with gold thread. Gold tail rings and braided hair scented with lavender. Hirka stared at her own red tresses. She tried to smooth them into place with wet fingers, but they resisted.
Hirka walked up the Catgut into the city. It was still quiet. No one was up unless they had to be. She bought a chunk of bread and two cubes of soft cheese from a boy who was younger than her. He was wheeling his wares up the street to sell to the stallholders, who would sell them on. He had dirty fingers, but a broad smile. His pockets clinked with coins. She’d left most of what she’d earned for Lindri, but she still had enough that she wouldn’t go hungry for a couple days. She sat on a bench outside a saddler’s and ate. Unsurprisingly, Kuro came fluttering out of nowhere and settled down right next to her.
It was strange having to think about money. She’d thought about little other than the Rite in the last few months. About this day. It had been like she couldn’t imagine a time afterward. But soon all this would be behind her. The Seer would realize she hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe then she’d be able to get on with her life.
Or maybe these were her final hours. Maybe this was her lot.
Would she see Rime one last time?
A door opened and Hirka jumped,
but it was just the saddler. A small man wearing baggy trousers with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He nodded at her and started sweeping the street in front of his stall with practiced movements. Hirka watched him until he went back inside. He’d probably had the stall his entire life. Perhaps his father had owned it before him. A lump formed in her throat, so she got up and continued on.
The gong struck eight.
It was easy to find her way. The Catgut went right up to Eisvaldr. But you could get there from anywhere in the city. All you really had to do was head for where the streets were wider and the houses grander, and sooner or later you’d end up by the wall.
Hirka stopped for a moment where she had left Ramoja and Vetle on that first day. Just looking into Eisvaldr had been scary enough. Later she had visited with Lindri. Seen the sleeping dragon—Rime’s house.
Now she was to stand before the Seer beneath the red dome, which glittered in the distance in the early morning sun. She walked past bunches of flowers, many more than there had been just a couple of days ago. People from all over had made offerings and prayed to the Seer here. Hirka didn’t have anything. Should she have brought something? Was that what you were supposed to do? No one had said anything about that. And where was she supposed to go? She wished Father were here so she could ask him.
She joined the scattered but steady stream of people heading toward the red dome. This was it. What if she ran into someone from home? Both Sylja and Kolgrim would be here. And lots of the others from the north side she didn’t know so well. The last thing she’d done was burn the cabin down and disappear. She’d never thought she’d see any of them again. She tried to make herself as small as possible in the crowd. She was getting quite good at it.
The red dome got bigger as she got closer. People forged relentlessly onward. The street became a wide staircase. The steps were bone white and worn low in the middle where people had been walking for a thousand years. There were guardsmen on both sides of the staircase, all the way up, wearing black with golden chainmail and helmets that covered their faces. She felt like they were all staring at her. What if Rime wasn’t here? What if all these guardsmen surrounded her? They had swords in black scabbards, with gold straps around the hilts. Hirka looked for Kuro, but he was nowhere to be seen.
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