A cold breeze hit my face, and I turned away, shuddering. Perhaps my sister was right. Perhaps this was a fool’s errand. Those mountains meant death and everyone knew it. Yet they called to me. They beckoned me in a way I couldn’t resist, because some small part of me would never be able to live with itself if I didn’t try. I had to go, even if the mountains were haunted. Even if all of the stories were true.
If they were, then may the Goddess rest my soul.
Chapter 10
Following my announcement at the bonfire, one of the villagers offered me their horse, and I gratefully accepted it. When the scouts didn’t come back, the Ør would most likely move quickly, attack us at our weakest after the plague hit. For all we knew, they might be waiting offshore, beyond our line of sight.
As I took a last look around my father’s cottage, I couldn’t help but wonder, if I did lose my life to the Kalls, how would I go? Crushed under the fist of some giant? Torn apart by a mountain wolf? Or slip on ice and fall to my death into a stone chasm? I tried to force such thoughts from my mind. They were selfish, I told myself. This is a journey to save hundreds, not to fret over the safety of my own neck. And yet, when the image of my body lying at the bottom of a frozen, jagged cavern seared my mind, the cold fist of fear began to close around my heart. No one is without fear, Ivar had once said. But without fear, you’re without hope.
I had two packs for the horse to carry, one of which was entirely filled with food. I could hope to hunt along the way, but I couldn’t rely upon it. I’d packed as much dried meat and bread as I could fit. The other pack I’d filled mostly with containers of fresh water and partly with extra layers of wraps.
“I’ll send you with scrolls,” Ivar said, selecting a few from the pack he’d brought with him. “The mountains are ancient, and the Goddess only knows what peoples have been there before you. If you encounter runes like our own, you’ll need to read them.” He paused, a sort of sorrow pulling at his eyes as the unspoken words, I won’t be there to translate for you, hung thick in the air around us.
Our gaze met. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. His mouth was closed and his eyes were soft, but they also held a sadness that I didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t fear, and of that I was certain. Just a sort of quiet heaviness that drained the light from his usually brilliant eyes.
I turned away.
He’d been angry since last night and we’d spoken very little. While both of us understood the necessity of his presence here in the village, in case it came under attack, the discovery of the Ør had been something we’d done together. Ivar didn’t like me going on this journey alone any more than I did, especially with the possibility of the cursed plague returning while I was away, but there was nothing to be done. I was leaving at a time when everybody in Skane was needed here. He was needed here. With me gone, he was the only one who had seen an Ør in person. He knew how they fought, their size, how to engage them. We both understood it, but that didn’t stop the pangs of sorrow from weighing us down.
“I could follow you,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “I could sneak from the village at nightfall, after I’ve gone to warn the other villages. I’ll ride through the night and find you before you leave Is̊avik. I’ll be far away before they realize I’m gone and our fathers can manage the preparations.”
“No, Ivar,” I said as gently as I could. I laid a hand on his for reassurance. “You know the Ør. You know how to fight. You are needed here and I am needed in the mountains. Our paths diverge here, but we still have the same goal.” I didn’t tell him that thoughts of the journey felt like a stone on my chest, or that the impending loneliness terrified me after a lifetime in a village with familiar faces. I’d always enjoyed the solitude of the forest, but being wholly alone in foreign territory was something else entirely.
Ivar remained silent, but nodded.
He would ride out with me at midday, and we’d travel the first four miles together before we separated. He was off to one of our neighbouring villages to give them warning that the Ør had arrived, while I would continue towards the mountains. I, too, would spread the warning to the next village I came across. I would spend tonight there, and it would be the last one I’d come to. People may have already seen the bodies of the Ør scouts in the woods, and word could be spreading like wildfire. It was better to control the chaos than to let it roam free, causing panic to set in.
“This book,” Ivar said later, placing it carefully into the pack. It was one of very few bound tomes, covered with leather and filled with yellowing pages. “I don’t know how helpful it will be, but I think you should have it. It carries information about a little used written language. It’s an entirely different way of writing, called Ploughstyle, and we’ve only seen it once or twice. It was from a culture much older than our own.” He tapped the leather gently, fondly. “I suppose it’s better to have too much information than too little.”
“Thank you, Ivar,” I said quietly. The journey would be long and lonely. These bits of literature would offer something to occupy my mind other than my impending arrival at the Kalls. “I know you’re angry,” I went on, because I felt like someone needed to speak. “I’m angry, too. But it’s better that one of us goes than none of us.” I tried to smile to reassure him, but I could tell that it hadn’t reached my eyes.
He nodded once, sharply. “I’ll never forgive myself if—” He didn’t let himself finish. It was better that way. He grabbed the packs and went outside to load the horse.
After a moment, Anneka scuttled from the shadows. She glanced around to make sure we were alone, then moved in closer, her jaw set with a tightness that reminded me of something about to spring. I knew what she’d say. That I was being foolish, pretending to be a hero for the attention. I raised my chin and waited, staring into her cold, grey-green eyes without wavering.
“You killed my mother. You killed Father’s wife. If you don’t come back with help from the Goddess, do not come back at all.”
If she’d taken the knife on the nearby table and stuck it into my heart, she would have caused me less pain. My breath turned ragged, my hands shook, but I forced myself to calm. It was a struggle with Anneka, a constant back and forth in my heart of anger and hurt and defiance. I was meant to love her as my sister, in spite of her cutting words, her cold stares, but one-sided love is always the hardest. When the door opened and we were no longer alone, she smiled softly.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” she instructed me. “Our father’s already lost enough.”
“Goodbye, Anneka.”
“I’ll keep Ivar company while you’re away.”
I turned slowly to face her, suddenly feeling taller than I ever had before. The words had been intended to make me angry, to hint at something that meant more than just company. My lack of response to her earlier mention of Mother had made her resort to going after the one thing she knew meant more to me than my own life: Ivar. And yet, as I stared at her waiting face, her eyes daring me to shoot back some angry reply, the only thing I could do was smile and say nothing. I knew how Ivar felt about Anneka, and I knew that those feelings wouldn’t change after I left.
I exited the house.
A knot had formed in my stomach. Everything about life in Skane meant we had to be strong, had to fend for ourselves and stand tall. I was a daughter of Skane and I would face this journey with no fear. I had to.
Móri came forward with his hands raised. In them lay a knife with a carved wooden handle. I took it, placed it with the rest of my packed items, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “If it saves my life,” I said, “I’ll have you to thank.”
“Bring it back with a story,” he said, smiling.
“I promise,” I replied.
Arvid, the villager with the horse, soon arrived as he had promised.
“Her name’s Ri,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “I’m not much for naming animals, but I figured you might want something to call her on the
way. So there you have it.”
She wasn’t terribly tall, but she had a sturdy build and a sort of energy about her that I’d need. Her thick coat was a smoky grey colour, her full mane mostly light yellow with layers of darker hair underneath. “Thank you,” I said, taking the rope from Arvid. “She’s perfect.” Ivar mounted his horse and as we began to move off, I let my eyes wander to my father. He stood tall, hands behind his back and chin held high, but despite such a strong stance, I was just shy of certain that his jaw quivered ever so slightly. It seemed to break down something inside me, cracking the wall I’d built and letting droplets of emotion trickle through. He didn’t love me. He put my life at risk, and had done so on more than one occasion. But he was still my father. I’d never have a mother, but he was still here. He was a part of me. Leaving him behind, perhaps to die, or to go to my own death, was infinitely harder than I’d thought it would be.
But my resolve soon managed to stop up the trickle and I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned away.
As we rode out of the village, the forest closed in around us, and ahead there was nothing but tree after tree and smooth, unhindered snow. Soon, I’d be gone, somewhere far away, and there would only be the footprints of the horse to show I’d ever been here. I didn’t know what would happen five minutes from now or five days from now, but there was a sort of comfort in this place, in knowing that these trees would remain, quiet and still and waiting.
Waiting for a plague to creep out of the shadows to claim our lives. Waiting for a war that could break out at any moment. And waiting for Skane to either rise up and defend itself, or fall victim to a barbaric invasion that would leave it for ever changed.
Ivar and I didn’t speak during the entire ride to our point of separation, where he would strike off to go and warn the other villages. There was so much weight in our ride, so much on our minds that words simply felt useless.
When we reached the place where he would turn left and I would carry on, we stopped. There was a brief moment of silence, and I wished it could go on for ever. It was the last moment in a long while that I’d be in the presence of someone familiar, and I would have given anything for it to carry on longer.
“I feel so small,” I said, giving voice to the tumultuous thoughts raging within me. “So small and weak and insignificant in the face of what’s coming. Of what I have to do.”
His voice was low, his manner much more muted than it was normally, but his eyes were soft. “Even the smallest of movements can start an avalanche, Ósa. And it takes one flurry to start a storm.” He paused as his words sank in, then added, “You’ve always been fiercer than a flurry.”
I smiled just a little bit, but enough for him to smile back.
“Read the materials I gave you, yes?” he said. “And be on your guard. Speak to anyone you can in the next village tonight. The more information you have about the mountains, the better.”
“I will,” I said. My hands trembled where they held the reins. “I hope your preparations go well. I know Móri will keep everyone in line.” I tried to laugh, though it got caught in my throat. Then, after a pause, “I’ll bring back help, Ivar.” But I couldn’t promise it.
He nodded, and reached to shake my hand. I didn’t want to let go, and on an impulse, I pulled on his hand until he was close enough to wrap my arms around. The horses shuffled closer together, and I shut my eyes, feeling his warmth seeping through the furs. He seemed surprised at first, hesitating slightly before firmly embracing me. I was leaving, and I wanted my last memory with him to be the feeling of his hands around my back and his breath by my ear.
When I pulled away, his eyes were glassy and red.
Suddenly faced with the reality of what I was doing, of where I was going, it took everything I had within me to not turn around and ride back home. To let him go and face my future.
“Good luck, Ósa,” he said to me.
“And to you.”
For a moment, I thought he’d say something else. His mouth opened and his eyes searched mine, but he stayed silent.
We parted ways.
Chapter 11
More than once, Ivar turned on the horse to stare back into the forest through which he was travelling. Somewhere through those towering fir trees and drifts of snow, Ósa was making her way towards the unknown. Was she, too, looking back the way she’d come? Looking towards home and relative safety? Towards him? Unlikely. If he knew anything about her at all, she’d still be facing forward, her mind firmly on what was to come, the dangers ahead. She was perhaps two hours from Is̊avik now. There, she’d find food and company and warmth. It wasn’t until after she left there that he would allow himself to worry. Not until she struck off on her own.
Goddess knows. The thought of her out there alone, a single girl, no matter how beautiful and courageous she was, was nearly impossible to comprehend.
Beautiful. He flushed a little and looked down at his horse. He’d never allowed himself to think it before. Why now?
Letting out a breath, he looked up again. Bormur was south of Lake Hornstrăsk, and southwest of Neska. Four villages – Neska, Bormur, Is̊avik and the smaller, less-visited one on the coast further south than Neska called Sjørskall – comprised the entirety of the descendants of the Löskan settlers. It was better for them – much better – to stay in larger groups for strength in numbers than to break off into smaller villages dotted around the countryside. At least, that was the thinking back when they’d first settled, and the idea had stuck. The naming of the villages hadn’t taken place until a few decades ago, as they’d previously just been the village to those who lived there. Travel between them was infrequent at first, as they worked to learn the ways of the storms, how to get through the deep snow, and how to find the other villages without losing their way.
Smoke from a chimney curled into the air in the distance and Ivar hurried the horse on. Despite the unlikeliness of an attack coming in the immediate future – there were no signs of it off the coast, the abandoned boat the only evidence the Ør were close – time felt short and haste required. He entered the village at a trot, but looks of alarm from those in the streets made him slow his pace. Ósa would be more diplomatic. She would find a village leader and give him the news behind a closed door, but that wasn’t how Ivar would want to hear it. He’d want to know what they meant directly.
“I bring news from Neska,” he said loudly. Heads turned and ears perked up. News rarely travelled between villages, because so few things happened that required anyone outside of their own communities to know. But before he continued, a child standing beside her mother caught his attention on the street. She shouldn’t have to hear it like this. Let it be broken to her more gently at a later time. He looked from the girl to her mother, and his face spoke for him.
“Run off to find your brother, Gerda.” The mother smiled softly and patted the girl’s shoulder.
When she’d disappeared into a house, Ivar continued. “You all saw the lights, no doubt. I’m sure you know what they mean. The plague will soon return.” He shut his eyes briefly, the weight of his words making it too difficult to speak. “And in Neska, we have learned something else.”
A general collection of whispers passed around those gathered and more villagers emerged from their homes to listen.
“I was returning from the lake with a fellow villager, when we were followed into the woods. We’d seen tracks, but hadn’t been able to determine what made them.” He paused, the memory of those forms through the trees, their screams piercing the forest, freezing him to silence.
“What were they?” a man shouted.
“Aye, tell us!” another added. Many people pressed closer, anxious for an answer.
“It was the Ør,” Ivar said.
The way the faces around him tightened, jaws clenching or mouths falling open, ignited a faint sense of sympathy within him. He wished he didn’t have to be the one to break the news, but at least they hadn’t found out while face to fac
e with one. Those scars, those sickly eyes of burning white with centres of deepest dark…
“And if perhaps,” he added, “you require some sort of proof, let me offer this. But for the faint of heart, let me caution you to avert your eyes.” He pulled the Ør necklace of teeth from a pocket in his cloak. “We took it from a body. I trust you’ve heard the stories.”
A woman cried out somewhere in the crowd, and several people turned away.
“Time is important to us now,” Ivar said firmly, replacing the necklace. “All of us, in every village, will have much to do to ready ourselves to fight. Only if we stand together can we—”
“You’re a damned fool!” someone shouted from the crowd. A small man, his hands wringing before him and his face twisting in a strange mixture of blind fear and anger. “Banding together won’t offer us any more of a chance than one of us standing alone. We’re better to go quickly and painlessly before they reach us!”
A handful of others shouted their agreement, while the rest looked on in horror. Ivar’s mouth fell open, and for a long moment, no one spoke.
“Surely you can see the folly in that,” he said presently. “If we give up before they even arrive, we will have no chance whatsoever. They’ll have won before the battle has even started. But if we train, if we learn to fight and ready everything we have, then there’s at least a chance of our survival.”
“Nonsense!” the same small man shouted. “How dare you spread lies and false hope at a time such as this?”
“That is … not my intention,” Ivar replied. “There’s another hope, one that I am quite aware we cannot place our full trust in, but one that could mean more than anything else.”
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