Odin's Child

by Siri Pettersen

  “But you won’t?”

  She met his gaze. “Would you?”

  He lowered his gaze, stroking his beard with his thumb. He didn’t need to reply. Of everyone on the Council, Jarladin was the one she trusted most. This educated ox was a man of his word. He just needed to give it to her. The time had come.

  “I could leave,” she said. “If it were worth it.”

  “We’ll pay the price, Hirka. Tell us how much.”

  “I don’t want riches. I want your word. Rime is an An-Elderin, and Kolkagga. He’s strong, I’ve seen him take out his own. But that doesn’t make him immortal. He’s going to question the way things have always been, and you don’t do that without making enemies. Many of them in Eisvaldr, in his own house. I want your word that he’ll be safe in that chair. Promise me that you’ll watch his back. That you’ll fight for him like the stories say you fought for Ilume. She wanted nothing more than to see him do what he’s doing now. You need to come down hard on those who wish him ill. You need to keep an eye on the Council and be his friend. If you can promise me that, I’ll go.”

  Jarladin made the sign of the Seer across his chest. “I promise. I swear to the Seer.”

  “Swear on your life.”

  “On my life. I swear.”

  Hirka breathed out, and it was like expelling poison that had been tormenting her for days. “Good. One more thing. There’s a man in the vaults. A performer, with puppets. He’s harmless. His only crime was telling you he’d seen the blind. For that, you locked him up. He is to be a free man tomorrow.”

  “If he isn’t already, it shall be so.”

  Hirka nodded. Jarladin didn’t even say he’d have to discuss it with the others. They’d already discussed this, and clearly no price was too high for a world without Hirka. But she could tell he was restless. His bottom lip was moving up and down like he was chewing it inside. Hirka was pretty sure she knew why.

  “In return, I’ll spare you Rime’s wrath by leaving of my own free will. You never asked me to leave.” She got up. He did the same.

  “If they have a seer on the other side, may He bless you, child of Odin.”

  She gave him a lopsided smile. Jarladin left the room. Hirka watched the councillors and their entourage until the final guardsman disappeared between the mountains.

  Hirka was awoken by a presence in the room. At first she thought it was an animal, then realized it was a black-clad Kolkagga pouring water into the pot from a wooden bucket. He had his hood down. His face was broad and his eyes dark, like Ramoja’s. She sat up.

  “Svarteld’s on his way,” he said. He looked at her like they knew each other, but she didn’t recognize him. He held out his hand. She took it.

  “I’m Jeme. I was on Bromfjell with you.” He let go of her hand. “If I weren’t Kolkagga, I could have told my grandchildren.” He started blowing on the fire he’d lit.

  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She was cold. The pain the Might had caused her was gone, replaced by a stiffness for which Svarteld alone was responsible. “Thanks, Jeme.”

  “For what?”

  “For Ravnhov. For coming.”

  He smiled, but with a wonder in his eyes that told her he didn’t understand why she was thanking him. The autumn cold plucked at the skin on her arms. She’d slept in the tight, sleeveless shirt that was no longer as white as it had once been in Elveroa. She pulled her woollen tunic on. Unngonna had gotten someone to repair it in Ravnhov so that Hirka looked almost presentable.

  “Do you always get up this early?”

  “I was one of the last ones up.”

  “One of the last ones up? I can hear an owl out there!”

  “It’s confused. Up you get.” It was Svarteld, suddenly in the room without warning. A shadow one moment, right in front of you the next. “We need to get going if we’re going to make the ceremony. Jeme, can you alert the others?”

  Jeme bowed. “Right away, Master Svarteld.” He left the room. Hirka shook her head. “Does anyone ever refuse you, Svarteld?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Refuse. You know. When you ask someone to do something and they say no. Or tell you they have a better idea.”

  “Interesting theory. You’ll have to tell me more about it sometime. Right now, we’re leaving for Eisvaldr.”

  “Let me tell you more about it now. This is how refusal works. No. I don’t need to get up because I’m not going to Mannfalla. It’s a bad idea.”

  “It’s not an idea. It just is.”

  “Listen, Svarteld, it was bad enough that the rot was there when the lie about the Seer came out. It’ll only be worse if I’m there when Rime becomes the Ravenbearer too. Me being there will only spread fear and panic. And even if I were like everyone else, I’ve nothing to wear. Simple as that.” Hirka lay back down again, smiling, and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

  A heap of black clothes landed on her stomach. She cracked open one eye to peer at them. Svarteld was holding out a sword.

  “Two birds, one stone. You’re going as Kolkagga.”

  HEIR TO THE CHAIR

  The Rite Hall was no more. It was from here that the Council had extended its reach throughout the eleven kingdoms, but now there was little to indicate it had ever been there at all. The red dome was gone. Jagged segments of its ruins rose up beyond the walls of the complex like painted mountains. Only the stones were left, along with fragments of the wall that had concealed them for a thousand years. Now they towered up toward the gray sky. Half ruin, half monument.

  The floor was still there. Red leaves danced across the motifs, getting snagged in the scars where the benches had been. The ground crunched beneath Hirka’s feet. Brooms and pickaxes from the restoration work had been cleared away for the ceremony. It was about to start on the steps behind her, so that the floor could be spared. For generations people had walked across this floor without understanding its importance. Now the learned claimed to know all about it, and the eldest to have always known.

  Hirka walked down toward the steps and stood next to Svarteld. He’d been right, of course. She was able to walk around undisturbed as Kolkagga. Nobody looked at her. Only little children dared to stare at the black shadows. Before she would have loved the feeling of being invisible, being a shadow. Today she didn’t need it. She knew what she was capable of. Today she wanted to stand in front of Rime as herself.

  But she couldn’t. She’d made a deal with the Council to ensure his safety. He was never going to see her again.

  She stood with the other Kolkagga, at the top of the steps, some distance behind Rime. She’d hoped it wouldn’t hurt to see him. After all, it would be from a distance—but she realized now that no distance in the world would ever be enough. She would have given her life for him. The memory of his Might still wreaked havoc within her. A stinging pain that afflicted her every time she thought of him. Every time she heard his name. There was an empty space inside her that no one else could fill.

  He stood tall, as he always did. His white hair was tied back. His waist was nipped in by his sword belt. It had to be the first time in history that someone in the Council had carried a weapon. At least since the first twelve, who had all been warriors.

  The Council formed a semicircle in front of Rime. The guardsmen were lined up on the steps like stakes in a fence of black and gold. All of Mannfalla was gathered below, a teeming crowd spread across the market square, all the way to the wall, where more were arriving and squeezing in through the archways. The boldest among them had squeezed onto the bottom steps, which were otherwise reserved for the Council’s friends and families. Hirka wasn’t surprised to see Sylja and her mother there. She also spotted Ramoja and Vetle. That boded well, because it meant that nobody knew what the raveners had been up to. Not even Rime could have saved Ramoja’s life if their treachery became known.

  Drums began to play from one of the nearby rooftops. Different rhythms interwove to form a captivating whole that reverberated th
roughout Hirka’s body. Seven dancers snaked their way up the stairs. Their dresses were so thin that they might as well have been naked. The one at the front was called Damayanti, and was apparently known throughout Ym, though Hirka had never heard of her. Small stones glittered on her skin, curving over her chest until they disappeared behind shimmering fabric. Long veils hung from wrists and encircled the supple bodies dancing for Rime. For the new Ravenbearer.

  Hirka suddenly felt empty. She was leaving. For good. She was going to leave the colors, the music, the nature. Ramoja, Eirik, Vetle, Tein. And Rime. She was going to leave Rime. He would never find out that she was here now. And soon he would forget her entirely. When the snow came, he would have the world’s most beautiful dancers to keep him warm. They would line up for him.

  But they would do that whether Hirka was there or not. Maybe she would have been able to keep them at a distance, as the rot by his side. The child of Odin. The malformed blight of Eisvaldr. She was left with a bitter taste in her mouth. That would never happen now. She would never be the reviled witness to Rime’s life and rule.

  Eir closed the Book of the Seer. She had clearly been reading from it, but Hirka hadn’t heard a single word. The old Ravenbearer stepped forward and handed the staff to the new one. Just the staff. Without what had been the most important part of it for generations. Without the Raven.

  The difference was more to be felt than seen. In truth, Eir hadn’t carried the Raven, the Raven had carried her. Her place had been secure. Her responsibility had ended at the top of the staff. Handed to the black bird that had borne the world with a natural inviolability.

  Rime, however … He carried an empty staff. He had no one above him. He stood alone. Everything rested on his shoulders.

  Maybe the loss of a seer would, paradoxically, make the Council stronger? At least as long as Rime was there. Sure, he had the Council around him, but he would never be able to trust any of them. He had to be as strong in front of them as in front of the people. Hirka yearned to go to him. To tear off her black hood and shout that she was here. But she probably wouldn’t have even if she could.

  Rime raised the staff, and Mannfalla erupted in a roar of celebration. Unanimous adulation for the only thing they had left to bestow it on. The augurs celebrated too, their hands raised against the dancers’ flurry of flower petals. They celebrated as though everything they’d based their lives on wasn’t a lie. Hirka stared at them and realized that the Seer was never going to die. Real or not, they would always find Him, somewhere.

  Rime turned and came up the steps. His forehead was still bare and Hirka swallowed a lump in her throat. Not only was he the first on the Council to bear arms, he was also the first not to bear the mark.

  The Council followed him. Coordinated and directed like a puppet show. She checked that she was in line with the other Kolkagga. Nobody coming up the steps would see that she was tailless. Tight bandages flattened her chest. Her red hair was hidden under a hood. Only her eyes were visible in the clothes she wore. An assassin’s garb. She was one with her surroundings.

  Rime walked past. He smiled faintly at them. He was more beautiful than ever. Hirka bowed her head. For a moment his gaze rested on her. She thought she caught a hint of recognition, but then he kept walking. The crowd dispersed, but the celebrations carried on. Groups walked home, to various stalls, to work, and to parties. Hirka had just one thing to do. She adjusted the straps on the black Kolkagga bag that concealed her own.

  “Interesting,” she heard behind her.

  Hlosnian!

  Hirka turned and gave him a hug. “How did you find me?”

  “You had to be here somewhere. It was just a matter of looking.”

  “For someone without a tail?”

  “For someone with traces of the Might in their eyes. Svarteld says you need me. Where are you going, Hirka?”

  “First I have to get out of these clothes. Then I have to say goodbye to the teahouse owner on the Catgut. And then I’ll need your help.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, but I’ll be there all the same. So they asked you to leave, did they?”

  Hirka hesitated for a moment. “You could put it like that.”

  “You don’t need me. You probably never have.”

  “Crones’ talk, Hlosnian,” Hirka said, and smiled at the thought of Father.

  “Oh, now. Don’t speak too loudly of things you know nothing about, child of Odin. I didn’t raise a finger to help you when you ran between the stones on Bromfjell. The others had to be whispered in, but all you needed was the Might. You weren’t born here. The same rules don’t apply to you, and we should be glad nobody knew that. Especially Urd Vanfarinn.”

  Hirka shuddered. The distance between worlds had suddenly shrunk, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “So I just need the Might to leave?”

  “There’s no just with the Might. Have you spoken to Rime about it?” Hlosnian led them after a stream of people heading toward one of the feast halls in Eisvaldr.

  “Svarteld’s going to talk to him. Afterward. After …” She couldn’t complete the sentence. Hlosnian didn’t reply, and she was grateful. He put a hand on her back and led her into the hall. This was a party for the Council’s nearest and dearest. Their nearest and dearest three hundred, it looked like. Long tables covered with gold and glass platters stretched from wall to wall. An abundance of food was carried in on decorated trays. People sat shoulder to shoulder, chatting away. Hirka saw Sylja leaning over the table to get Rime’s attention. Her heart suddenly felt like it was being crushed. Wrung out like a washcloth.

  It doesn’t concern you. Get out of here.

  “I can’t be here, Hlosnian. They can’t see me here.”

  Hlosnian’s eyes drifted across the fully laid table. While people were busy sitting down, he filled the pockets of his red tunic with syrup cakes and nut slices. He licked his fingers and led her back out. “Then let’s go and look at the stones.”

  They walked up toward the naked hill. A scar in Eisvaldr, the crater where the Rite Hall had stood. The mountains of Blindból were visible between the stones. Hirka placed her hands on the rough surface of one of them. Stone had memory. Was there anything these stones hadn’t seen in a thousand years? Or perhaps longer. Regardless of how old they were, they were impressive.

  “If you’d have told me in the summer that I was going to stone-travel before the winter set in, I’d have sent you packing.” Hlosnian stared at the stones with reverence.

  “Stone-travel?” Hirka smiled at the notion. It seemed like she was learning something new every day now.

  “They’re also called stone ways. Someone in our guild calls them ‘Bifrost,’ the trembling bridge. The bridge between worlds. ‘The stone doors’ I’ve heard since I was a child. ‘The blind ways.’ ‘The raven rings.’ This was the biggest and the very first of them. The one thought to have been torn down, or lost in Blindból somewhere. People forget too quickly. Or maybe we live too long …”

  Hirka smiled. Only Hlosnian could be so confusing. “Why raven rings?”

  Hlosnian jumped as though he’d just realized she was there. “It was believed ravens could fly freely between them. They don’t need the Might. It lives within them.”

  So Kuro could come with me.

  “I like the stones better than the hall,” she said.

  “Yes. People like us will always prefer this to the fancy packaging,” Hlosnian replied, and she was pleased to be counted as “us.”

  The circular floor was almost completely intact. An anomaly in nature, encircled by towering stones. A place the gods wanted to keep hidden, but which was now there for all to see. The motifs were faded, worn away by a thousand Rites. There were tiles missing in some places. Maybe that had happened when she and Rime passed through, when the walls had caved in.

  Hirka remembered standing on the platform during the Rite, looking at the floor from above and seeing the whole motif. A multipointed star. Now she could see th
at each tip ended at a stone. The spaces were filled by the strangest things. In a couple of places, the motifs were so worn that it was impossible to see what they were meant to depict. In other places, they were full of creatures and fictional beasts.

  “The floor is a map, isn’t it? It’s almost unbelievable. Surely someone must have known?”

  “Most things seem clearer in hindsight,” Hlosnian replied. He picked remnants of the walls away from the stone. “We think it depicts what was expected to be found between the stones. How right that is, nobody knows. But we know that the inner circle was torn down. You can see the scars here.”

  He pointed at one of several places where the tiles gave way to flat stones. An inner ring of smaller stones had been removed.

  Insringin.

  The Council was often called Insringin, the inner circle. Hirka had always thought it meant the Seer’s inner circle. Maybe it did, but the name could have come from something much older than the Rite. Older than the notion of the Seer. Hlosnian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “They didn’t know what they had! Maybe they were shortcuts to each of the kingdoms. Gone!” He flung out his arms in dismay. “Destroyed. Forever.”

  Hirka tried to console him. “But the outer circle still stands. That’s the most important part. Imagine we’d never found it.” He nodded, but didn’t seem encouraged. A familiar croaking came from above them. Kuro landed on the top of a stone and stared at Hlosnian’s pockets. That raven could smell cake from the end of the world.

  Suddenly she realized what she was about to do. A wave of anxiety washed over her. “Hlosnian, do they have cake where I come from? Or honey bread?”

  “Definitely.”

  Hirka swallowed. The little things she didn’t know grew bigger. They became a hole that threatened to swallow her. “Do they even have food? Animals? Forests? Weather?” The air got stuck in her chest and she clutched at the stone.