Dyrfinna picked up the bloody sword that he’d taken out of his leg. “Which way did they go?”
Skeggi pointed. “We need to go together. Iron Skull is—”
Dyrfinna was already sprinting into the forest after him. Gone.
“She could have waited a moment. I need to help the girl.” Skeggi shut his eyes again, his head spinning.
“No. It’s going to take a little while for you to recover,” Gefjun said. “You have lost a lot of blood.”
“I should have followed Iron Skull,” he said woozily. “I should have stopped him.”
“After he stabbed you clear through the leg with his sword?”
“Well, yes.”
Gefjun just gave him a stern look.
The owl came back down and landed on his chest and cuddled under his chin. She was nice and warm.
“Yes, I’m glad you’re all right,” he told her. “Go find the girl for me. Go find her.”
The little owl rubbed the top of her head against his chin, purring, all feathery softness.
“Go find the girl,” he said to the owl, pulling his chin away. “Go find her.”
Staring at him, the owl slowly poofed her feathers out until she looked like a little brown and white puff. Then she shook them out with an indignant ruffle. Smiling at her indignation, he shut his eyes.
A moment later, he felt a little wind on his face from her wings. He opened his eyes in time to see her flying away. “Find her,” he told the owl.
“Does anybody have any water?” Gefjun asked. “This guy needs to drink something before he dries out like a piece of leather.”
Ostryg gave him his water skin, and Skeggi drank greedily. After a moment, his head cleared. “We need to go after Iron Skull. Please.”
Gefjun frowned. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Not in your condition.”
“He’s got the girl,” Skeggi said. “I let her down. I broke my promise. I should have helped her with the dagger.” He put this arm over his eyes. “And now he … he has her. I wasn’t able to stop him.”
Then he tried to get up again. And again.
17
Confrontation
The girl stumbled through the forest, her strength too gone for her to move any faster. She could hear him, though, running fast after her. She wasn’t going to escape this time.
The girl saw a coniferous tree nearby, wide branches covered with flat needles, all hung with pretty red berries. She knew what the tree was, so she picked a handful. Most of the berries she slid into her pocket, but she tucked three of the berries into her cheek. Three was all she needed.
And now she felt calmer than she’d ever been.
Her calm remained even when Iron Skull came barreling out of the forest and grabbed her from behind, throwing both arms around her. Her heart thumped, and lightning zinged through her at his despised touch, but some part of her was out of reach from him, floating above, watching impassively. She had to wait.
“Did you really think you could get away?” Iron Skull asked, putting a knife to her throat even as he held her tight. She grimaced as the sharp edge of the cold iron touched her throat. “Did you think you could outrun me? Out-think me? A stupid girl like you, of no account?” He chuckled harshly. “Against me, a warlord who has stolen enough to create his own nation.”
“Nobody cares about thieves and vandals,” the girl said, her eyes half closed, sickened more by his touch than by the knife at her throat. “Kill me now. I’d rather run to Death and take him as a lover than to you.”
She shut her eyes and tried to press her neck against the knife’s blade –
-- only to have him snatch it away, laughing that hateful, hard laugh. “I can’t kill you. You’re too much fun to have around.”
She met his eyes with a half-dead snarl. Then she made a grab for the knife.
He put it away, laughing again as she struggled in his grip. “You’re a feisty one, yes.”
“And you smell awful,” she added. “You stink. A goat in summer smells better than you do.”
He shoved her away while holding one of her arms—so she staggered away from him before he yanked her painfully back. “Women want me!” he snarled. “Everywhere I go, I can have any lover I want, and I please every one of them.”
Obviously, somebody was deluded, and it wasn’t the women.
“Your smell is so bad, it makes my eyes water,” the girl said. “Those women pretend to be pleased because they want you to give them gifts and money.”
“I’m getting tired of you,” he said, sneering down into her face. “You know I love you. And this is how you treat me, running away like this.”
He kept saying he loved her. What did that even mean? Especially coming from him. Did he even understand that word?
“If you’re getting tired of me, then you should let me go,” she said. “Get one of those other women to run around with you.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You won’t ever leave me. You’re mine.” Iron Skull shoved her, sprawling against the ground.
She tried to scramble to her feet, but too late, too late, he was joining her on the ground, crawling forward and grabbing her before she could get away. “No. No you won’t,” he said with satisfaction. He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to him, face to face, both on their knees.
The girl shut her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Fine. Fine. Okay,” she said, her eyes leaking. She blinked the tears away. She needed to keep her head, now of all times. And don’t crush the berries in your mouth!
He slammed his face down on hers in a rude parody of a kiss, cracking her teeth with his, his mouth covering hers as if he was a sucker fish.
The girl pulled herself to her feet to be more on a level with him, acting as if she were interested in having her face slimed by his mouth—he was drooling a lot—
She was able to tip her head forward just enough to let her tongue carefully deliver the three hemlock berries into his mouth.
She pulled her face away at once.
He swallowed, a nasty smile on his face—and the smile immediately vanished. His hand went to his throat. “You bitch! What did you put in my mouth?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed, taking in his expression.
“Hemlock berries.”
The saliva on Iron Skull’s face had a slight red tinge to it. Not blood—it was hemlock berry red. Berry juice. One of the berries must have broken in his mouth.
She trembled as if filled with lightning, and scrambled back, hardly daring to hope.
Because now Iron Skull was getting to his feet, his face getting redder and redder. The astonishment and outright fury—and the fear—on his face was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
And the most terrible, because his hand shot out. He seized her by the throat and began to squeeze.
He’d done this many times. This time, though excruciating pain shot from her head straight down her spine, she met his eyes. Because even if he did kill her, she had her revenge, and she was going to enjoy her revenge as much as possible.
In the next instant, Iron Skull thrust her away. The girl went sprawling on the ground, choking, coughing, but able to breathe. She put her hand on her pain-wracked throat, but fought to her feet and through watering eyes she watched him.
He jabbed his fingers down his throat and gagged, but nothing came up. His eyes, wild, stared at her. He ripped his helmet off his head and flung it at her, staggering.
She leaped out of the way, watching him stumble. Without his helmet, he looked small. Pathetic.
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” She hardly dared to ask. What if it wasn’t true? What if he was merely playacting? If he didn’t die … She remembered the berries in her pocket. If he didn’t die, she’d eat those berries before he could punish her. Because she was not going to live through his so-called punishments a second time. She was not.
Iron Skull pulled his sword, his hateful blue eyes fixed on hers. “I’m going to plunge th
is down your throat,” he raged, and he lunged at the girl. But he stumbled, and his killing blow went wide. He leaned against the trunk of a tree, retching and heaving. But nothing came up.
“I killed you,” the girl shouted. “I killed Iron Skull!” she sang with a victory trill. “You thought you could subdue me. Oh, how wrong you were.”
He pulled his sword and lunged again at her, but she skipped aside from his strike. He staggered, his face a brilliant red. A stream of cursing came from his lips, all the sickening words he’d always thrown at her, but this time he was fighting to stand, his speech starting to slur.
“Look at you,” she said. “Look at you. You can’t even speak, you can’t stand. How bad does that hemlock hurt you? Does it hurt as much as I have over the last year? Oh,” she said, “I hope it does. I hope that pain you feel is as every bit as bad as mine.”
He fell to his knees, shouting incoherently, the cords on his neck standing out. The next moment he gagged, leaning over his sword which he was using to prop himself up. He gagged again, but nothing came up.
She went to him, standing close. “So, what’s it feel like, to die? To be tricked like this by a girl who you despise? How do you like me standing over you, saying these things, laughing while you feel your life draining out of you?”
He spat at her—or tried. Only a little bit of spit sprayed out of his mouth.
Then he fell over with a crash.
The girl sat on his chest, though touching him made her guts crawl, and she looking down on his face. “Every time I told you how I despised you, you slapped me, or worse. You sicken me. I am happy to see you die. All the women you treated cruelly are also celebrating to see you go.”
His lip curled as he said something, but he didn’t have air enough behind his words to make them sound.
“Hm. I didn’t hear that,” she said, pretending to be unconcerned. “Doesn’t matter, it was probably just a bunch of nasty talk, just the same as everything else you ever said.”
His breath began to shorten. His eyes became fixed and his face rigid, and now he was staring at her, almost pleading.
“You killed my parents. You laughed when my little brothers begged you for mercy,” she said. “You did this all before my eyes. I only wish that I could have made your death even longer, just so I could get satisfaction for those you took away from me.”
She took out her dagger and stabbed it into his chest.
“That’s a little extra, for what you did to my mama,” she said as he writhed.
She watched him die.
Her eyes never left his until he stopped convulsing, and his chest that she was sitting on sank like a bellows as the air left it.
The girl stared at him for a long time, making sure he was dead. She pulled out the dagger, and the blood came out sluggishly, then stopped.
She flung it on the ground and whooped and danced like one possessed.
Then, the next moment, she went a short distance away and threw up.
After a while, shuddering with cold, she came back to stare down at his form on the ground.
If she could have dumped him into the middle of the ocean, she would have done it gladly. She never wanted to see him again.
She pulled off that helmet that he was so proud of and flung it aside. She wished that she had a hammer large enough to smash it.
But then she had a second thought. The girl ripped off part of his long sleeves, lined the helmet with them, and put it on.
It was a little loose, so she ripped off a section of his shirt, and then another section, until the helmet fit her more snugly.
From far away, she heard footsteps and quiet talk.
And then a little owl flew into the tree above her and made a sweet little whinny noise.
The girl pulled out her dagger, placed one foot on top of his body, doing her best to keep her balance, and waited.
Into the clearing came limping Skeggi, his face white with pain, the hand gripping his sword white-knuckled, his jaw locked, his eyes wide and staring. The only thing on his body that wasn’t white was the bright red blood-soaked bandage on his leg.
As soon as he saw the girl with her foot on Iron Skull’s chest, wearing his helmet and holding her dagger, he stared for a long moment.
“Hello,” the girl said, dead serious. “I killed him.”
Skeggi stared blankly at her for another moment, then at Iron Skull, now without his skull helmet, stretched out on the ground.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Skeggi said, looking woozy, and he just lay down on the ground. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a nap right here.”
18
Partridge
A moment later, Thora and Ostryg and Gefjun caught up to him.
Then Dyrfinna came flying in. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, looking with some astonishment over Iron Skull’s dead body.
Then she nodded to the girl who now wore his helmet. “Hey. Good work.”
Gefjun handed Skeggi a water bladder. “Drink up, Mr. Hero Man.”
He drank the whole thing.
“Thanks.” Skeggi sat up, feeling stronger. “I’m confused. I left a long time after Finna did. So how did I get here first?”
Dyrfinna frowned. Then her mouth tightened as she tried not to smile. Then she snorted. “I ran in the wrong direction.”
“She went very fast,” Ostryg assured him.
“As a plan of attack, it was not … very … effective.”
“I don’t mind,” said the girl.
Dyrfinna went back to rifling through Iron Skull’s pockets. She’d already piled up a number of things next to his dead body. “But I have no qualms about taking his stuff. To the victor goes the spoils.”
“I don’t want anything that belongs to him,” the girl said. “I have his helmet.”
“You’ve more than earned it,” Dyrfinna said. She tossed a dagger in its sheath to Gefjun. She unbuckled his sword and handed it to Skeggi. She took all his rings from his fingers and handed them to Ostryg.
“I don’t want a ring from you,” he said, scowling.
“Give them to Skeggi, then. The jewels are nice. He can give one to each of his brothers,” she said, looking away as she lifted the man’s arm.
Ostryg poured the rings into Skeggi’s hands, an embarrassment of gold and glittering gems.
Skeggi’s hands shook as he put the rings on his fingers. One for each of his brothers. These would keep them in bread for a long time. And, every one of his brothers could get something nice.
He gave one ring, the ruby, to Ostryg.
“Now, this I’ll accept from you,” Ostryg said, sliding it on. “Oo! I am styling.”
“Stop,” said Gefjun, rolling her eyes.
Dyrfinna took Iron Skull’s golden arm-ring and slid it onto her arm. “He’s got scrawny arms if I can wear this thing.” She took a chunk of bread from his pocket, sniffed it, took a bite.
Then she took the girl’s hand and put a heavy bag of coins in it. “A little something for you, stolen from him. Now you can build a new life—a good one.”
The girl nodded and stowed it in one of her pockets.
“I need to call you something. Is there a name you like?” Skeggi asked.
She tried to speak, then huffed. “Even now that he’s dead, his spell won’t let me speak a name, any name.”
Skeggi’s heart burned for her. But he said quietly, “What is your favorite bird?”
“I love partridges,” she said, her face going soft.
“Rjupa,” he said.
Shyly, she smiled. “Thank you.”
Dyrfinna showed up with the man’s cloak over her arm. “Do your brothers need a cloak?” she asked Skeggi. “I don’t need a cloak. And he certainly doesn’t need his anymore.”
“Oh, certainly,” he said.
“Put that thing on. Now let’s put as much distance between that scumbucket and this girl as possible.”
“Her name is Rjupa,” Skeggi said.
“Pleased to meet you.”
Skeggi looked back at Iron Skull. He’d been picked clean of clothes and everything he owned, and now lay on the ground wearing only a little rag around his waist. Dyrfinna had flung the rest of his clothes into various trees, out of reach.
“Looks a little more human, now, doesn’t he?” she said briskly. “Here lies the great commander. He wasn’t much of a human being, though.”
Rjupa spat on Iron Skull. “May the ravens find you before your so-called people do.” Then she turned her back on him.
“May the Eternal Ones hear your prayer,” Skeggi said. “Now, let’s go. You need to get back to town,” he added, pointing to Thora.
Dyrfinna loped past them toward the city. Skeggi grinned and shrugged to Rjupa. “She’s always like this,” he said. “Come on, and try to keep up.”
They headed out into the forest. They were so close to Skala. Thank goodness. Skeggi was limping along slowly because his leg hurt. Then again, both he and Gefjun were now traveling at the same speed. Dyrfinna, who liked to travel everywhere at a dead run, looked as if she might explode at having to plod along like an old turtle.
No matter. The girl—Rjupa—walked at his side, wearing Iron Skull’s old helmet. Skeggi thought that was well-deserved, to wear his helmet as a war prize.
“Now that he’s dead, you still can’t say your old name?” Skeggi asked Rjupa.
She made a few efforts, then spat in frustration. “No. I thought enchantments were supposed to die with the one who cast them. He’s not supposed to have any hold of my life any longer!” She looked about ready to cry.
“Maybe it will fade over time. You only just killed him a little while ago,” Skeggi said. “Though I have no idea how you managed to take that warmonger down and steal his helmet. They should name a ship after you. They should give you a house, for the service you did to our people. They should give you a big bag of gold.”
A Whisper of Smoke Page 10
