Scepter of Fire

by Victoria Gilbert

  As I hike the path that leads from the healer’s cottage to my small village, my thoughts swirl like the leaves kicked up by my boots. Master Albrecht’s insightful assessment of my character makes me gnaw the inside of my cheek. I’ve never shared personal feelings with him. He should not be able to discern my deepest desires. It’s unnerving. Even my family hasn’t seen the truth so clearly.

  A low growl startles me into stillness. I look up. A wolf stands on the path before me—a bulky creature with silver-tipped brown fur and golden eyes. I hold my breath.

  The wolf tips his head to one side.

  I’ve seen wolves before, but always at night, and from a distance. I know they have no particular desire to harm humans, and can often be scared away by loud noises. They are not mindless killers. Kai Thorsen told me that once, when we encountered a pack while sledding with our families.

  I know this, yet my heart clatters against my ribcage, and my fingers clutch the folds of my woolen skirt.

  The wolf yips, then turns and trots down the path, glancing over its shaggy shoulder once, as if it wishes me to follow.

  I must be insane. I rub at my eyes, but the wolf is still there. I know I shouldn’t run. That’s the worst thing I could do.

  Placing one foot in front of the other, I follow the wolf’s lead, turning from the main path at one point to take a narrow track barely distinguishable from the surrounding woods.

  Definitely mad. Yet something draws me on. I trail the wolf to the door of an abandoned cottage, its stone walls fallen in on one side like a shoe run down at the heel.

  The wolf yips once more, then bolts. The tip of its tail waves like a pennant as it disappears amid the green sea of the woods.

  A loud groan rends the quiet. I spring toward the cottage, pushing one hand against the door that hangs drunkenly from a single hinge.

  A male figure fills the opening, blocking my view inside. He yanks a flintlock pistol from his deep jacket pocket and brandishes it in my face.

  “Stay out! I will shoot if you take another step.” He levels the pistol at my forehead.

  Chapter Two: Anguish and Angels

  I STARE INTO HIS SHADOWED face as I smooth down the laced bodice of my gown. “I mean no harm. I heard someone in pain and thought ... ”

  “What?”

  As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I realize the voice belongs to a young man in uniform.

  He’s a soldier. Although his colors are veiled by a film of dust and splotches of mud, I determine he is one of ours. “I am a healer. I might be able to offer some aid.”

  Before I can say more, the soldier grabs me by the forearm and drags me into the cottage.

  “My friend.” He points to a corner where old sacks and a horse blanket cover what might be a human form. “He’s badly injured, and overcome by fever. You must help him.”

  I examine my captor. His face would be handsome if it were more than pale skin drawn over sharp bones. He’s tall, and, despite his broad shoulders, thin. No doubt life in the camps has reduced him to this lanky scarecrow. A finger of light poking through the shattered roof reveals the fiery tint of his hair.

  “You must help him,” the soldier repeats, shaking my arm. His face is gray with fatigue, but his green eyes gleam with a ferocity that makes me curl my shoulders inward.

  I jerk free of his grip. “Excuse me—I don’t have to do anything. I am willing to help, if you’ll give me your name.”

  He straightens, clicking his heels together. “Erik Stahl, soldier in His Majesty’s army, fighting the Usurper.”

  “And your friend?” I motion toward the covered figure, who stirs and groans again.

  “His name is not necessary.”

  I lift my chin and stare up into Erik Stahl’s angular face. “It is if you wish me to help him.”

  The emerald eyes narrow to slits. “Anders. Anders Nygaard.”

  “How long has Anders been feverish?” I push past Erik and cross to the far side of the room.

  “A day. Maybe two? I don’t know. I’ve lost all track of time.”

  I kneel beside the bundled form. Throwing back the blanket and bags, I uncover a slender young man wearing only the tattered pants of his uniform. His skin is clammy, and his light brown hair is plastered to his skull.

  I press the back of my hand against his forehead. “God in heaven, he’s burning up.”

  Erik crouches beside me. “Can you help him?”

  “I’ll try. Where is his injury?”

  “Leg.” Erik pulls a flap of fabric back from Anders’s left leg, and I shove my fist against my teeth to stifle a gasp.

  The wound itself isn’t ghastly—a deep puncture caused by shot or some type of shrapnel—but contagion has set in, turning the skin about the wound black and streaking red rays up and down his leg.

  “Why are you here? He should be at the field hospital.” I press my fingers against Anders’s calf. He twitches and moans.

  Erik slumps onto the damp planks of the floor. “Not your business.”

  “I think it is. This man needs expert care, in clean conditions. Why did you drag him to this moldy, makeshift shelter?”

  Erik’s gaze slides quickly from my face to my hands. He’s not impressed by my appearance. This is nothing new. And neither is your anger.

  I grip his shoulder. “Why are you in hiding, Erik Stahl? I know a battle took place, not far from here, several days ago. Surely your company would not abandon you, so why aren’t you with them? Do not lie. I will help your friend, but only if you’re honest with me.”

  He shakes off my hand and averts his head. “We were involved in that battle. It did not go well, as I’m sure you know. Anders was hit right before we were forced to retreat. My company wanted to leave him, to let the enemy troops take him prisoner. I’ve heard about their prison camps. It would have meant his death.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Who are you, anyway? You’re young to be a healer.”

  “I have been training for years,” I reply, which is close enough to the truth. “My name is Varna Lund. I live in the nearby village.”

  “Lund?” Erik studies me. “Like the Lunds who own the mill?”

  “Yes, with the Thorsen family.”

  “It was one of the buildings we fought to protect.”

  “I know.”

  Yes, I know this only too well. We supply the local troops with grain and flour—assistance the invading emperor called “The Usurper” seeks to curtail. So far the mill has escaped the enemy’s wrath, but it’s only a matter of time before it is targeted.

  “So, Varna Lund, what will you do for my friend?”

  “Whatever I can. However, I need answers first. You still haven’t told me why you’re in hiding.”

  Erik rises to his feet. “I deserted. There. Happy with that information?”

  I stroke Anders’s hot brow. “To save him.”

  “Yes. I carried him from the battlefield in the confusion of our retreat. I refused to allow him to be gathered up like kindling for a fire.”

  “Why not simply follow the company back to camp?”

  Erik shifts from foot to foot. “It was not that simple.”

  Anders groans and rolls to one side. My stomach clenches.

  “Can you help? Honestly?” Erik kneels back down.

  I study his drawn face. “Perhaps, but I must ask my master for assistance. He is a great healer,” I add, when Erik shakes his head.

  “No one else can be told. The enemy is likely to occupy these lands soon, if they have not done so already. They offer a reward for any of our soldiers handed over to them. I cannot risk Anders’s life to the whims of some villager’s greed.”

  “Do you care for him so much?”

  Erik grips my right hand. “Anders is my best friend. We joined the army as a team, and swore we would stay together until the end. That’s not a promise I will break.”

  “Very well, but I must go and collect some things from my mentor’s cottage.” I squeeze Erik’s
fingers. “I will return.”

  “Alone.” He uses our clasped hands to pull me toward him.

  I stare into those green eyes—as bright as if they too burned with fever. “Yes, alone. If you know of any source of clean water nearby, go there.” I yank my fingers from his grasp and stand, glancing about the deserted cottage. “Locate some vessel, and collect as much water as you can.”

  He jumps to his feet. “What else?”

  “Do you have a knife? If not, find one, and hone it as sharp as humanly possible.”

  A drift of freckles stands out in sharp relief against Erik’s pale cheeks. “You mean to cut into him?”

  Although my lips quiver, I refuse to drop my gaze. “The contagion must be sliced away.”

  He grimaces, but nods. “I will do as you ask. Only, return quickly. I fear there is little time to waste.”

  I fear this as well. “I swear I will come back as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, Varna Lund.”

  “Collect water and sharpen the knife,” I say, as I back away. “If you have any spirits, I will need those as well.”

  I push my way through the half-open cottage door, my hands clenched at my sides. I’ve never cut into flesh before. I may do more harm than good, but Anders Nygaard will die if I do nothing, and I cannot allow that to happen. Not on my watch.

  LUCK OR SOMETHING LIKE it is with me—I return to the cottage to find Master Albrecht gone, allowing me to collect supplies without fear of betraying the soldiers’ location. I throw some potions, ointments, and other items into a canvas satchel.

  Despite the bulky bag banging my hip, I quicken my pace as I head back to the abandoned cottage.

  Clomping hooves disturb the leaves blanketing the main path. Rounding a corner, I encounter the age-whitened muzzle of a reindeer.

  “Varna, why aren’t you at home?”

  I look up into the face of my older sister, Gerda. Perched on the reindeer’s broad back, her legs barely reach around to grip his flanks. Her plump fingers are buried in the thick fur of the reindeer’s neck.

  Something must be wrong. One of Gerda’s wheat-gold braids has sprung free of her plaited crown, lending her round face a lopsided appearance, and she’s wearing her heavy work boots. Even her cloak is pinned wrong—one side of the collar pokes up higher than the other.

  “I’ve been working with Master Albrecht.”

  “So late?” Gerda’s eyes, blue as a spring sky, are puffy and red-rimmed.

  I study the worn tips of my boots. “If you must know, I left something at Albrecht’s cottage and had to retrace my steps.”

  The reindeer butts my shoulder with his nose. “The little miss is simply concerned, Miss Varna.”

  When I first heard Bae speak I sank to my knees on the straw-strewn floor of our livestock shed, overwhelmed with fear. I was skeptical when Gerda told me of the transformation the mage Mael Voss had wrought on the reindeer who had accompanied her home from her journey to rescue Kai Thorsen. A few words from Bae, and I believed her—the entire story she told, not just her tale of the enchanted reindeer. But on Bae’s urging, Gerda and I are the only ones who know of his magical abilities. He doesn’t speak in front of anyone but us, and does not fly at all, although that is within his power.

  I grab his rope halter and force the reindeer’s head up, so I can stare directly into his liquid brown eyes. “Concerned about what?”

  “Soldiers.”

  I glance up at Gerda. “Ours?”

  She shakes her head.

  “In the village?”

  “Yes, they marched in a few hours ago. I was heading home from the mill when I spied them coming over the hill beyond the lake. I took the forest path and managed to get home before they stormed the town. After I warned Mother and the twins, I hid with Bae until I could slip away. I wanted to find you and alert you, before you wandered home and stumbled into danger.”

  “Thanks, but why do you think I’d be in more danger than anyone else?”

  “Well, you do have a habit of speaking your mind.” Gerda’s smile takes some of the sting out of her words.

  Some. I tug down my rumpled bodice. “I think I know better than to deliberately offend a troop of enemy soldiers.”

  Bae snorts.

  “Are we sure what might offend them?” Gerda pulls one hand free of Bae’s fur and fiddles with the end of her loose braid. “We don’t know these people, Varna. Not their language, or their beliefs. All we have are stories.”

  Not pretty ones, either. I dig my boot into an anthill on the side of the path. The ants dash off in formation, like good soldiers. “Did they take the mill?”

  “Yes, but I heard their commander—who does speak our language—promise Mother he won’t burn it. He plans to keep the mill running, using our workers. To supply their troops, I suppose.” Gerda frowns. “We shouldn’t dawdle. They may impose a curfew. Hop up—Bae can carry us both.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You must. Surely you don’t plan to run away? That would be foolish. There’s more danger on the road than in our village. These soldiers, they aren’t monsters, as far as I can tell. Well disciplined, and their commander ordered no looting or ... or other actions. On pain of death.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t come home yet. I have a chore to complete first.”

  Gerda eyes my canvas bag. “Someone needs help? That’s what you carry when you’re doing healing work.”

  I sigh, knowing I must break my promise to Erik Stahl. Still, there’s nothing for it—Gerda never gives up, not when she has set her mind on something.

  “There are two of our soldiers hiding near here. Just young men—boys, really. One of them is injured and overcome with fever. I said I’d do whatever I could to help him.” I tighten my lips and press my boots into the ground. No matter what my sister says, I will not be moved.

  Gerda slides off Bae’s back. “Where are they? I will help too.”

  I relax my posture. What was I thinking? Of course Gerda, being Gerda, is willing to risk anything, even her life, to aid someone else. “Down this track.” I motion toward the woods.

  Bae swings his heavy head around to face Gerda. “It could be dangerous, little miss. Perhaps we should go to the village and ask for assistance ... ”

  “No!” Gerda and I shout in unison.

  Gerda pats Bae’s nose. “Don’t fret, my friend. We’ll be quite safe. I know Varna will not lead me into danger.”

  “I cannot promise that, but it’s a chance we must take. They are our countrymen, and the one boy is very ill. If it were Kai, lying there ... ”

  “Come on then.” Gerda sets off down the track.

  “Hold up, wait for me,” I call out, before turning to Bae. “Stay here, within these trees, and keep watch over the path. Alert us if anyone comes this way.”

  He bobs his head, his dark eyes solemn. “Very well, Miss Varna. But you must take care of my mistress.”

  “Of course.” I turn on my heel to follow Gerda.

  But who will take care of me? I shake my head and hoist the canvas satchel higher on my shoulder.

  When we reach the abandoned cottage, I motion for Gerda to stay behind me before I knock on the door.

  Erik peers out. His eyes widen at the sight of Gerda.

  “I warned you to tell no one.” He fumbles for his pistol, but he has shed that, along with his uniform jacket.

  “This is my sister. She was looking for me, and when she discovered my plan, would not allow me to come alone.” I glare at Erik’s flushed face. “Her name is Gerda. You will treat her with courtesy or I’ll walk away and leave your friend to die.”

  Erik is obviously too incensed to recognize my lie. “Come in.”

  He steps away from the door to allow us to enter. Barely sparing a glance for me, his gaze lights on Gerda and lingers with appreciation. “Erik Stahl.” He clicks his heels as he bows.

  Gerda smiles and bobs a curtsey in return. “Gerda Lund. Pleased to meet you, M
aster Stahl.” She holds out her hand.

  “Erik.” He clasps her fingers and presses a light kiss on the back of her hand, then gestures toward the other side of the room. “My friend, Anders Nygaard. I’m afraid he is in no condition to be courteous.”

  Gerda smiles gently before walking toward Anders’s bundled form. “We’ll make him better, right, Varna?”

  I drop my bag on a rickety table shoved against one wall. Well, what did you expect, Varna? Men always overlook you and are all smiles for your sisters. This is nothing new. I rummage through the bag, banging two metal flasks together. Their clang rings through the cottage.

  Erik jumps and grabs a knife from the table.

  “Steady.” I touch the back of his hand. “This is not the battlefield.”

  He blinks and lowers his arm.

  I motion toward his hand. “Is that the knife?”

  Erik takes a deep breath before handing the weapon to me. “Yes. Will it work?”

  I have no idea, but that is probably not the best response.

  “I think so.” I twist my wrist, turning the knife to examine the blade. “It’s sharp, I’ll say that.”

  Anders groans and thrashes beneath his makeshift covers. Gerda sinks to the filthy floor beside him.

  “Poor dear boy.” She rearranges the horse blanket over Anders’s prone form. “Don't worry, we are here now. We’ll stay with you, and Varna will make you better, I promise.”

  Anders stirs as Gerda’s fingers brush his forehead. His eyelids flutter open, and his right arm shoots up. He clutches Gerda’s hand so tight she is pulled down onto his chest. “My God, Erik,” he says, his voice hoarse as the caw of a crow. “It’s another angel.”

  Chapter Three: Well of Tears

  I GRAB MY BAG AND HURRY to the two linked figures, Erik close on my heels.

  Anders stares into Gerda’s face for a second, then slumps back, his eyes closed. His grip relaxes and his hand falls to his side.