Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  The people came into view between the trees. A ragtag group on a slope, fighting their way through the ferns with carts and animals. Eirik called out and started moving toward them. He waved Hirka and the others with him.

  A man came to meet them. He was thin and dressed in gray. His gloves had holes in both thumbs. Three of him could have fit within Eirik’s bulk.

  “I’m Eirik, chieftain of Ravnhov. These are my men.”

  “And Hirka,” Hirka said.

  “Haven’t you heard there are blind in the area?” Eirik continued.

  The man nodded and threw a nervous look back at the others. “Yes, that’s why we’re not using the roa—”

  “Who are you, boy?”

  Hirka smiled at how the man took no notice of Eirik calling him boy, even though he was old enough to be her father. “Gilnar. Son of Elert. We’ve come all the way from Vidlokka, and—”

  “Where’s Beila? Didn’t she read the letter the raven brought? You can’t move half a village when Mannfalla has seventy thousand men surrounding Ravnhov!”

  “Seventy thousand?!”

  The number spread among the group like wildfire. The Council had seventy thousand men here. War was a fact. Hirka called out to them. “It’s true! There’s not a man left in Mannfalla!”

  Gilnar looked at her like she was from another world. Little did he know. The men behind them started to laugh. Then the strangers did too. Eirik looked down at her and winked. “Where’s Beila?” he asked again.

  “She died. Seer knows how old she was. She wouldn’t leave. We left only after she died.”

  “She was right not to leave. You were safer at home. Ravnhov is full to bursting, so we’re sending everyone on to Skimse. Didn’t you get the raven?”

  “Only Beila received the ravens. We didn’t know …”

  Eirik sighed. “We’ll accompany you to Skimse.”

  Their relief was touching. Fifty men, women, and children felt safer with eleven men—and Hirka—from Ravnhov.

  “May the See—” Gilnar glanced up at Eirik’s bearded countenance and decided to express his gratitude in a way that smacked less of Mannfalla. “May the ravens bless you!”

  Eirik reorganized the group so that everyone was walking in a long line, two by two, with the children in the middle. Then they moved slowly onward, with the men from Ravnhov at the front and rear. Hirka joined the party at the rear, walking alongside Rime, Eirik, Ynge, and an older man whose name she couldn’t remember.

  It quickly became apparent that the villagers had been walking for a long time and needed rest. Eirik forced them on, away from Foggtarn and a little way along the river. By that point, their pleas were too heart-wrenching.

  Eirik stopped at the foot of Stellsfall, a waterfall four men high. The roar piqued the children’s curiosity and their crying stopped as they forgot their hunger and fatigue. Hirka crouched down and washed her hands in the ice-cold pool. Spray from the waterfall misted across her face. She never felt clean anymore, not even when she’d just taken a bath.

  Hirka looked back over her shoulder. Rime was helping a girl his age repack. The bag was digging into her shoulders. The girl blushed when Rime helped her put it back on again. Hirka felt an unfamiliar emotion blacken her heart. That girl didn’t have the rot. She could do whatever she wanted.

  Rime met Hirka’s gaze and she turned away. Sometimes it felt like her life had only been about him. Particularly since their trek through Blindból. Since the kiss. She had lived at his bedside. Eaten there. Slept there. He had slept so deeply that he couldn’t be woken. Absent. Right in front of her, but still too far away. That was how it had always been. Like when she’d climbed up to see him on Vargtind. Or seen his house in Mannfalla. And when she’d realized he was Kolkagga.

  Who was he now that he was no longer sleeping? Now that everything he’d fought for was gone? Who was he now that he no longer had the Seer? Or Kolkagga? Or a seat on the Council?

  But Hirka knew who he was. Maybe he didn’t, but she did. She saw him every day. She knew what he was capable of. She heard someone coming and wiped her hands on her jacket.

  “Are you hurt?” It was a girl of around eight. Her mouth and fingers were stained with blueberry juice.

  “No,” Hirka said. “I was born this way. Without a tail.”

  “I mean your arm.” Hirka looked down at her red jacket sleeves. The girl had been talking about the blood. She wasn’t even interested in Hirka’s lack of tail. Hirka beamed at her. “It’s not mine. I killed a giant. Boo!”

  The girl squealed in delight and ran away.

  “Why aren’t you telling anyone?” Rime had snuck up on her.

  “What’s to tell?” Hirka pulled her sleeves down past her fingers to coax the warmth back into her hands.

  “That it’s my blood. That you patched me up.”

  She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d woken up. Hearing him say such things made it all come back. The wound in his side. His eyes when he fell to his knees. Hirka swallowed.

  He crouched down next to her and washed his hands like she had done. “The Council wash their hands after every meeting. There are silver basins outside the doors. Spotless. Unbreakable. So shiny they can see themselves in them. Did you know that?” he asked.

  “No.”

  A sound drew Hirka’s attention. Or rather, lack of a sound. Something was different. The waterfall. Rime leaped to his feet. She did the same. The ceaseless roar from the waterfall had turned into something else. The water was gone. Sand poured from the precipice instead. Endless quantities of black sand, which fell down into the pool and sank to the bottom. Hirka felt her breath catch in her chest. Her mouth went dry.

  “They’re here,” she whispered.

  “They’re here!” Rime shouted to the others, drawing his sword. He ran toward Eirik, pulling wide-eyed villagers along with him so they were all huddled together. No one knew what was going on. A child started to wail. Then another. The warriors shouted to each other. Hirka stared at the dry waterfall. The flow lessened and dust blew over an edge worn smooth by time and water. She could hear the others screeching at each other. They wanted answers, to know what was happening. Whether it was the blind. Whether they were going to die. All this fear. Because of me.

  A man screamed. She turned to look, but Rime and Eirik were in the way. She couldn’t see what had happened. The little girl she’d spoken to before fought her way out of the huddle, which was threatening to crush her. She ran toward Hirka. Hirka grabbed her arm, and together they moved away from what had been the waterfall.

  Fifty men, women, and children thronged together, all trying to get into the middle of the huddle. The eleven men from Ravnhov stood around them with their swords raised. Eleven men and Hirka.

  Hirka passed the girl to her mother. She spotted Rime and Eirik arguing about something. Someone was missing. Who? Who was missing? She heard someone mention Gilnar. The first villager they’d spoken to. He’d been standing next to the carts, but now no one could see him. Rime wanted to go and look for him, but Eirik didn’t want him to leave the villagers, who were in a panic. They were like a dragon with multiple heads. A wounded monster. The sound traveled until almost all of them had joined the morbid chorus.

  Hirka saw something move at the top of the cliff. She ran over to Rime and pointed.

  “I know. Come on,” he said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him up the slope to the top of the waterfall. It was covered in ferns. She couldn’t see where she was putting her feet, but she managed to stay upright. Rime shouted over his shoulder at Eirik. The chieftain swore and followed them with two men.

  Then came the Might. It flowed through her from Rime, once again enabling her to isolate her fear. To pick it like an apple. To study it, taste it, and be content in the knowledge of what it was made of. By feeling it. A fear that was intense and demanding. Like Rime.

  He let go of her hand and spun around in front of her with his sword outstretched. He thrust a
nd stabbed. As if dancing with someone she couldn’t see. Then he channeled even more of the Might through her and she saw. A pale figure. Naked. Unarmed. White teeth gleaming from behind lips pulled into a sneer. He moved like an insect. A fly. One moment he was right in front of Rime, and the next he was ten paces away. The only thing that belied his movement was a shadow across the trees in the background. It was unreal. Like a dream.

  Hirka was dangerously close to Rime, but she had to be. He needed her. And if anything happened to him, it would have to happen to her as well. She couldn’t imagine it any other way. The Might tore at her body like the wind at the roofs in Eisvaldr the night everything fell apart.

  They were here. The blind were here. She hadn’t believed … not really. Had anyone?

  Rime was fast too. Too fast. He moved too close and a cut opened on his arm. She could feel his fear of the impossible movements. Of not knowing what he was up against. She felt his anger take over. And she could feel it when he decided to survive.

  The Might was an extension of him. It came before and after. A sword in front of his sword. He threw himself around the blind one and attacked from the side. But his blow met no resistance. It died in the air. Intention without completion.

  Eirik and his two men came from the other side and Hirka saw the blind one hesitate. He turned his head to look at the new enemies on their way up the slope. Was he listening? Scenting them?

  Rime seized the opportunity. He danced around the figure in one movement and swung his sword at his back. The blind one howled like an ymling. He fell forward into the ferns. Rime swung again. Hirka didn’t see where the blow landed, and for that she was glad.

  Then Ynge shouted. He was crouched down on the slope. His hand was gripping the chin of a lifeless body. Gilnar. The man who’d gone missing. Ynge stared down at the corpse-pale face. His eyes were white. His cheeks hollow. Wrong. Everything was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. That’s why they’d come. So this wouldn’t happen.

  Rime waved his hand in a gesture signaling that Ynge should let go of the dead body, but it was too late. The others had seen him. Seen the dead man. One of the elder villagers screamed and came running. Hirka felt the scream in her spine. It went right through her. Her fault. It was her fault. The certainty grew until it completely filled her. Owned her. This was happening because of her. They were here because of her. And she could feel them. Smell them. Not just the dead one. There was another one. And he was here. Close to her.

  Hirka slowly turned around.

  He was standing on the edge of the cliff, at the point where water turned to sand, the water becoming black and heavy around his feet until it was swept out over the edge by the wind. He stared at her with blind eyes.

  She moved closer. She was sure he was looking at her. Should she say something? That she was the problem? The reason they were here? That they could stop now, that no one had to die?

  Hirka suddenly realized her legs were wet. She was standing in the water. Had she walked out here? So much water … but still she was thirsty. She dragged her feet onward until she was standing in front of the blind one. He moved one shoulder back, as if preparing to attack. But he didn’t. Why wasn’t he doing anything? After all, she was right in front of him.

  He was taller than her and spectacularly naked. He stooped as if to get closer. His eyes were a colorless membrane, but he was definitely looking at her. He was curious. He reached out to her with a muscular arm. Slowly, so that she could see it coming. She knew she would end up like Gilnar. Pale and bloodless among the ferns. But the urge to touch the creature was stronger than the urge to run. She reached out to touch his hand with hers.

  Somewhere behind her, someone screamed her name, but she couldn’t help anyone now. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blind one. His lips pulled back, baring his teeth. Then he cocked his head, like Kuro did sometimes. And blinked. He was marveling at her. It was like he’d smelled something he’d never smelled before. Like she made no sense to him, and he didn’t know what he was about to kill. His claws moved as if to grip her hand. The screech of ravens made him stop.

  The ravens. Someone had remembered them and set them loose. They came closer, flying in circles around the blind one. He pulled his hand back and brought two fingers to his throat. He looked at her. It was a scarily deliberate action. It meant nothing to her, but it was supposed to mean something. A sign. Then the ravens came too close and he crouched down.

  A shadow flew over her head. At first she thought it was the blind one. But it was Rime. He hurled his sword before disappearing over the edge of the falls. The blade quivered, lodged in the blind one’s back. He dropped like an empty sack before tipping over so that his upper body was hanging over the edge of the cliff. Then the water started to flow again. Cautiously at first, like rain. Washing away red blood.

  Hirka got up, gripped the hilt, and pulled. The sword left the body with a nauseating squelch. She was suddenly having trouble moving her legs. The water. The water was rising. She needed to get out! It had reached her thighs and wasn’t stopping there. She was soaked. A strong undertow seized her. She fought to keep her head above the water, to no avail. Her body was washed over the edge. She was in free fall. Panic gripped her and her arms flailed. There was nothing to grab hold of. The waterfall raged around her. With her. Then she was one with the water again.

  Swim.

  That was the only thought in her mind. Swim. Now, at once.

  So she swam. Her clothes were heavy, weighing her down. The sword was stopping her from taking proper strokes, but she couldn’t let it go. Then she would drown. As long as she had Rime’s sword, she had to survive. If she let it go, there would be nothing for her above the surface. The sword was part of him. It would pull her up.

  Her lungs were burning. Had she swum the wrong way? Which way was up? Surely the light had to be up? She reached the surface, but she still couldn’t breathe. Someone grabbed her. Dragged her ashore. She threw up water. Gasped for breath. Precious air. Rime rolled her onto her side. More water came up. He loomed over her. Water dripped from his hair down into her face. She spluttered the words out.

  “If … if you think I’m giving you a point for that, think again.”

  His chiseled features softened and he collapsed onto his back. They lay there for a moment, just breathing. Then he got up, pulling her with him. When she was on her feet, he grabbed her and tipped her backward, scooping her up into his arms. Then he threw her. Hirka’s shriek was smothered by the spray as she landed. She staggered to her feet, ready to take her revenge. But Rime was already shielded by a wall of children wearing manic grins. Eirik stood like a mountain off to the side, looking between Hirka and Rime. He shook his head and turned to leave.

  “Mannfallers,” he muttered. Then he shouted to the others.

  “Load up the dead. We need to keep moving.”

  The ravens didn’t settle down again until after the people of Vidlokka arrived in Skimse, along with Gilnar’s body. Kuro had stayed closer to Hirka than he usually did, all the way back to Ravnhov. Now and then he crossed the path ahead of them, as if to let them know he was still there if they needed him. Proud as only a raven can be.

  The fresh snow had melted on the paths. The journey back was cold, but Hirka knew it could be so much worse. She could be dead. Now she had dry clothes and a bellyful of hot stew from Skimse.

  She looked up at Rime. He was still wearing his Kolkagga blacks. They had dried off a bit, but he still had to be freezing. Eirik had kept him out of sight. He didn’t want to make anyone in Skimse uneasy, and he didn’t have time to explain what Kolkagga was doing in Ravnhov either.

  Hirka thought that said a lot about how people perceived Kolkagga and Mannfalla here. You could carry the bodies of two blind through the town on horseback, no problem, but Kolkagga would make people uneasy. When they rode through Ravnhov, people came out of their houses. No one said anything. No one asked what had happened. But Hirka could feel the hope in the
ir silence. These were the last of them. They had to be the last. Now they were safe. Now they only needed to worry about the army of seventy thousand men from Mannfalla.

  Eirik didn’t stop until they were outside the great hall. People flocked together to see. Rime jumped off his horse and jogged up the steps to the room he’d been given. She suspected it was as much to avoid attention as to get changed.

  Everyone clustered around them. The children were the most eager and the ones who dared stand closest to the blindlings, as they called them. Eirik had to ask them to keep their distance. He gestured to Tein, who was standing a short distance away with his arms folded across his chest, and asked him to help the men carry the blind up to the ice.

  That was when the silence ended and the questions started. What had happened? Were there more? Who killed them?

  “You have him to thank,” Eirik replied, nodding at Rime, who was coming back down the steps. Rime tightened his belt, unaware of what was happening. He’d changed his clothes. He was wearing his guardsman clothes, which complemented his white hair. He looked just like he had the first time Hirka had seen him again. At the Alldjup. Back when he’d been like a stranger after three years away.

  She knew him now. He’d gone in as Kolkagga and reemerged as Rime An-Elderin. He looked up and stopped in his tracks as if frozen. Everyone was looking at him.

  “What?”

  No one answered. Hirka bit her lower lip to conceal a smile. So much for not drawing attention to himself. Rime carried on down the steps. The crowd parted before him, letting him cross the courtyard. Hirka looked at the faces around her. They were relieved, but most of them also communicated something else. These were the expressions of people who were glad of the help, but who had never asked for it. She could see herself in these faces. She must have looked like that when Rime pulled her up out of the Alldjup. Happy to be alive, but with wounded pride. Ravnhov had been helped by Kolkagga, and the chieftain was acknowledging it.