Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  He didn’t get a chance to knock. Prete opened the door for him.

  “Són-Rime. Come in. Come in.” Prete had an anxious warmth in his eyes, which Rime presumed was due to the news that the rot had spread. “It’s good to see you, Són-Rime. Your uncle and his family are gathered in the library. They’re with friends. Nobody is sure what to do under the circumstances. I’ll inform them that you’re here.”

  “No, Prete. I can’t stay. I have to speak with Ilume.”

  “Certainly, certainly. I saw Ilume-madra in Gesa’s garden, but I can see whether she’s come back inside.”

  “That’s fine, Prete. I’ll take a look. Thank you.”

  Rime walked through the north wing and out into the part of the garden that was named after Gesa, the mother he barely remembered. Ilume was standing with her back to him, between the sivberry trees. A lantern decorated with dragons made the leaves shine like silver. They whispered in the wind. Whispered about the waning summer, and whether it was time to shed their white flowers. He moved closer and the leaves settled down, as though to listen to what was coming.

  A creek ran through the garden, one of the only things here that wasn’t man-made. His mother had wanted it left untouched. Ilume stood motionless in front of it. She was still wearing her robes. Rime realized that she had to be exhausted. He couldn’t remember a more intense day. It couldn’t have been easy for the Council either, but he felt no sympathy, no tenderness. All he could feel was the Might, simmering away, waiting to fill the emptiness inside him.

  “What are you going to do with Hirka?” he asked.

  Ilume turned toward him. Her pallor matched her robes, making her face look like furrowed porcelain. Her piercing eyes were all that showed signs of life. The mark of the black raven was stark against her forehead.

  “You should be in Blindból now.”

  Rime didn’t reply. He stood wondering whether he’d ever looked at her that closely before. Had he seen how old she was? Was she old enough to have lost her wits? No. Rime knew better than to entertain that thought.

  “You were here.” Her words were cutting. “You were here this morning, during the Rite, even though I’d told you no.” Ilume’s eyes had widened. After all these years, she was still able to don a mask of incredulity. Incredulity that he would even consider opposing her. Or that he would choose another path.

  Rime was done with masks. He couldn’t take it anymore. “What do you intend to do with her?”

  He knew the answer, but he had to hear it from her. He wanted her to own up. To admit that they had completely lost control.

  “She is the rot, Rime.”

  “Answer me!” He realized that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  “What do you think? She doesn’t belong here. She has brought fear and chaos! She has let the blind in. As long as she lives, everyone’s lives are in danger. You’re a fool if you don’t—”

  “You must really be desperate!” Rime laughed. “What a load of old tripe! Let the blind in? She’s just a girl! I’ve known her since I was twelve!”

  Ilume lifted her chin so that she could look down on him. Rime could see the twitching in the corner of her mouth that revealed what she thought about him “knowing” anyone outside the wall. But then her eyes narrowed again, as though she had realized something.

  “You knew! You knew what she was, and you kept it from me!”

  “Don’t blame me for what you failed to see, Ilume.”

  Her mouth twitched. He was hitting where it hurt, and he knew it. This was an accusation that had been looming over her all day.

  “This is not a game you should be playing, Rime.”

  “But that’s just it, Ilume. I’m not playing. You’re all happy to play. Play for the people and for Ravnhov. Turn the world on its head, without listening to the Seer! Let people into the schools in exchange for money, without giving a damn whether they’re strong in the Might. I don’t care. Roll around in your privilege if you want, but you’re not executing a young girl just to set an example for an imaginary enemy. Not as long as I live.”

  Rime could see the weight of the day welling up in her. This woman’s words had been law since the day he was born. Defying her was like defying an avalanche. He had to stop himself from taking a step back, out of habit. She pointed at him as though he were one of the undead.

  “You’ve made your choice! You refused the chair. You betrayed me! Betrayed us! I hold the dust in the streets in greater esteem than your opinions, Kolkagga. You’re already dead.”

  Her whole body was shaking. White sivberry flowers fell like snow around her, around both of them. Rime could see them hitting the surface of the creek and getting washed away. Drowning. Disappearing. Soon the trees would be bare. Winter was coming.

  He looked at Ilume and he understood. She had lost her daughter, and now she had lost him. The An-Elderin family was going to lose its position of power on the Council. And she blamed him. Blamed him with every bone in her body, to the very tip of her accusatory finger that was shaking in righteous indignation.

  She stepped closer. Tendons stood out from her neck. Small silver hairs had escaped the otherwise flawless braids, but Ilume hadn’t given up. Ilume stood her ground. She always stood her ground. And now she was standing her ground right in front of him. He realized that he’d hoped—and maybe expected—to see shame in her eyes. Shame at what the Council was going to do. At what they were. But that would never happen.

  All his life he had been told that he was worth more than other people. Better than other people. Stronger blood and stronger in the Might. The child the Seer had waited for. The lucky child. He’d been born to lead the people, the country, the eleven kingdoms. Rime had woken up from this lie, but Ilume still believed. Ilume doled out life and death as if it were the most natural thing. Because she was who she was. And now she was losing more than she could bear: her name.

  But it was no longer in Rime’s power to do anything about her loss. She wasn’t a woman anymore. She wasn’t his mother’s mother. She was one of them. One of the twelve he could no longer tolerate. He had known that as far back as his Rite day at the age of fifteen, when he had chosen to study with Kolkagga. What Ilume had said was true. His words no longer meant anything. He was already dead.

  “I’d rather be dead than an An-Elderin,” he said.

  He saw the blow coming, as he had seen it in the Seer’s hall in Elveroa. Back then he had let her strike him, but back then he hadn’t had the image of Hirka burned into his retina. Hirka. Half dead, hanging between guardsmen, weighed down by chains. Hirka, with dark rust-colored stains on her tunic.

  He grabbed Ilume’s arm before her hand reached his cheek. He held it firmly. They stood face-to-face. Her eyes had narrowed into hateful slits. He realized that she was binding in an attempt to overcome him, but it wasn’t a fair fight. He was stronger than her.

  Svarteld had taught him self-control. Composure. To live as though he were already dead. But still it was a struggle to keep from squeezing harder. He could have squeezed her wrist until her fingers fell off. Until she couldn’t point anymore. Or do more damage.

  But he didn’t do that. Because he understood why she wanted to strike him. He was never going to be one of them. And if he had become one of them, he would still have been a threat to the house’s history. She wanted to hit him because he despised everything she had worked for. And because the sleeping dragon was never going to wake up. The house of An-Elderin was dead.

  He let go of her hand, turned his back on her, and left.

  She shouted after him. Her voice was like a child’s. Screaming, inconsolable. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

  “I’m going to wash my hands,” he replied.

  TYRINN

  Hirka crumbled the bread into the gruel and tried to shape it into small cakes. There wasn’t much bread, so she only ended up with five, but that would have to do. She climbed up onto the lid of her toilet bucket, reached up toward the
narrow opening in the top of the wall, and threw two sticky cakes out onto the ground. She didn’t dare shout. Not yet.

  She had heard ravens—of course, there were thousands of them in Mannfalla, particularly in Eisvaldr. But one of them was Kuro. He was out there somewhere. He was her only hope. The lid creaked under her weight. She crossed her fingers in the sign of the Seer, hoping the bucket would hold. If not, it would be an unpleasant day, to put it mildly. She craned her neck and looked out.

  Kuro! Come, Kuro! Food!

  Something furry darted over and started sniffing optimistically at the food. A rat. Again. She reached out with her fingers and hissed at the rat.

  “Ssss! Scram!”

  The animal took hardly any notice of her. She pulled her arm out of her sleeve and tried to whip it between the bars. The rat moved a little farther away and continued gnawing at her precious food.

  “Hey, stop that! Kuro! Hedra! Hedra!”

  The grating at the top of the slope opened. Hirka whirled around. A guardsman stood in the opening. “What are you doing, girl?” He stared at her. His eyes raked up and down her body. It suddenly dawned on her that she was half naked. She quickly shoved her arm back in its sleeve and tugged her tunic down over her exposed stomach.

  “Hunting rats,” she said, climbing down from the bucket.

  He took another couple steps into the pit. Hirka folded her arms over her chest. She felt her skin pucker into goose pimples. His eyes had taken on a glassy sheen she didn’t like. He was almost twice her height and twice as many winters old. His face was angular and sunburned. Sylja would have said he was handsome. She liked his type. Strong, conceited, and mouthy. Dangerous.

  I’m not afraid.

  “Is it true what they say?” he asked.

  “I doubt it. People say some crazy things.”

  He gave a joyless bark of laughter. “You’ve got some nerve … Odinspawn.”

  “I’ve got plenty of it.”

  He stopped right in front of her. She could feel his breath on her forehead.

  “Are you like other women?”

  He grabbed at her crotch. She seized his wrist and twisted until he shrieked in pain. She didn’t pull away. Her heart was pounding, but she couldn’t let him see that she was afraid. Men like him thrived on fear.

  He straightened up. His eyes were narrower. He was furious. Hirka tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure she’d managed.

  “I’m a child of Odin. I can do things you wouldn’t believe. Touch me again and I’ll see to it that you rot.”

  He looked uncertain for a moment, then he laughed again. Just as joylessly as last time. He pushed her up against the wall. “If you could spread the rot just by talking, half of Eisvaldr would be in Slokna by now. Besides, I heard you have a scar where your tail used to be. You’re lying.” He brought one hand to her throat. The other slid down to her chest.

  A cacophony of shrieks made the guardsman back away. Kuro was outside the bars, wings spread, screeching. The guardsman stood looking between Hirka and the raven for a moment before baring his teeth like an animal and retreating out of the pit. Hirka hissed at him until he was gone.

  She slid down the wall and sat with her arms folded across her chest. She could feel her heart pounding through her tunic. At least there was one thing she could thank the Seer for. The respect people had for the ravens. Hirka gripped her own throat, trying to get rid of the feeling of his hands.

  What if he came back? She was tired, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. She sat chatting with Kuro, but after a while he flew away. The night was the longest since she’d arrived here. She didn’t feel any calmer until daylight returned and she heard the changing of the guard above her. Finally she could rest her head on her knees and sleep.

  The sound of scraping metal woke her again. She looked up at the bars in the narrow window. An armored boot. It was him. The guardsman.

  He’s standing outside!

  A shutter slammed down. She heard the sound of bolts on the outside. He was barring the window. Shutting Kuro out. Despair welled up inside her. She got up and banged on the shutter, but it was designed to hold. It wouldn’t budge. Hirka realized that no one would see him now. The coast would be clear for him this evening, when he came back on duty. Kuro wouldn’t be able to scare him off this time. She was alone.

  Hirka shuddered. She could only hope that the rot acted quickly. Before he managed to hurt her. That his flesh would slough off before her very eyes. Her own thoughts scared her. She’d never known a man the way Sylja had. Father had made sure of that. Not that she’d wanted to. Most of the boys and men she’d met were idiots. Untrustworthy, lying idiots. Apart from Father, of course.

  And Rime.

  She sank down onto the floor again and squeezed the wolf tooth with the small marks on each side. If Rime came and took her away from this place, he could have a hundred points. A thousand! As many as he wanted. If only he came.

  Hirka kicked the wall as hard as she could. Several times. No one was going to save her. The only person she could rely on was herself. She would have to find her own way out.

  And quickly.

  Hirka sharpened the piece of wood against the floor. She stopped to study it before carrying on. All she could hear was the sound of her work. There was nothing but silence from the pit next to hers. There hadn’t been a peep out of the man with the puppets since the guards changed. She was worried the guardsman had put dreamwort in his food. But that was a rare and expensive plant. Maybe he’d used something else. She couldn’t smell anything suspicious in her own food, but she’d refrained from eating it just in case.

  She’d broken the piece of wood off the toilet bucket lid and was fashioning a weapon. Hirka stopped again and scrutinized her handmade knife. It wasn’t very good. Shorter than the length of her hand, but sharp now. It had a curve at the end that would have to serve as a handle. She jabbed it into the air a couple of times. It didn’t feel right. Her fists had served her well her entire life. Kolgrim could attest to that. But a weapon? Against a person? It was her job to patch people up, not slash them to ribbons.

  But that was before. Before the Rite. Before the welts on her back.

  She let her arm drop. She wasn’t going to kill anyone. Just scare him. Keep him away from her, far enough away that she could … what? She looked around. There was nowhere to run. In her darkest moments she had considered giving in. Maybe it would tell her something she never would have known otherwise—whether the rot was crones’ talk or not. And how bad could it be? She could squeeze her eyes shut and count to a thousand. Then she could open them again and see whether he’d rotted. But what would be worse? Finding that he had rotted, or finding that he hadn’t?

  He’d walked past several times now, together with another guardsman. They watched her. Restless. Waiting as the daylight waned. Yellowing, reddening. Then it was gone.

  She saw the outlines of two men when the grating was opened. A third man was pushed down toward her. He was filthy, wearing tattered clothes. This wasn’t a guardsman. Another prisoner?

  Hirka straightened up and tried to be confident. “Have they told you what I am?”

  He came closer. He was big. Bigger than the guardsman. His hair was dark and slicked back with grease. Hirka swallowed. “I’m a child of Odin! If you touch me, you’ll rot!”

  He laughed in a manner suggesting he hadn’t used his voice in a while. “I’ve heard all sorts from unwilling women, but that’s a new one.”

  “Why do you think they’ve sent you down here instead of coming themselves? They’ve sent you to the tailless embling to see if you rot. Use your head, man!”

  He hesitated, tilting his head to one side to see if she was telling the truth. Hirka dared to hope. He might not have heard about her specifically, but he’d heard the stories. He looked up at the two others behind the grating. The guardsman from the evening before called down into the pit, “The girl’s full of shit! She has a scar on her back that proves it. How l
ong have you been in here, Tyrinn? Don’t you miss women and ale?”

  Tyrinn lunged at Hirka. He pressed her up against the wall, a hand on her throat. In a panic, she swung the piece of wood at him and felt it catch against his skin. He loosened his grip and swore. Blood dripped from a cut just below his eye. He wiped it with his hand and crowded her up against the wall again. Hirka’s breath caught in her chest. She ducked under his arms and jabbed her elbow at his temple but managed nothing more than a glancing blow. He grabbed her hand and twisted. Hirka shrieked in pain and her wooden knife clattered to the floor. Then she fell as well.

  He pressed down on her chest, pinning her with his entire bodyweight. Hirka felt like she might suffocate. She gasped for breath. She tried to lift her knees to kick him off, but he was too heavy. Much too heavy. She tried to grab his feet so she could tip him, but her arms weren’t long enough. She couldn’t reach. He started to fumble with his belt and panic gripped her. He was going to do it. He was going to take her by force.

  Rime!

  Tyrinn clamped a hand over her mouth. It tasted of sour sweat.

  “I’ll snap your neck if you scream,” he hissed above her. Hirka screamed. He hit her hard in the jaw. A hand groped her breast under her tunic. She lashed out blindly. Scratched. A knee pushed between her feet and up toward her crotch. She twisted to the side and groped for her wooden knife. A mistake. He pressed her head against the floor. She lay helpless on her stomach with the nauseating weight of him on top of her. He tore her trousers down and laughed when he saw the scar. She no longer had the upper hand. His fear was gone.

  He pulled her head back with one hand. The other pushed between her thighs, cold fingers fumbling where no one had been before.