Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  “Just close your eyes and pretend you don’t know them. That’s what I do.”

  Wat couldn’t help but laugh. “Ivar—”

  “Don’t let that woman get her claws into you another inch.”

  “Her name is Eva,” Wat snapped.

  Ivar’s eyes went wide. “Hel’s tits, you’re falling for her!”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  Ivar raised his voice to a falsetto. “Her name is Eva.”

  “Are you twelve? I corrected you because keep calling her ‘that woman.’ You sound like old Biddy Gabbler.”

  Ivar was undeterred. “I’ve seen you turn foolish over women before, but how could you fall for Alya Adad’s Hand?”

  “This is lust, not love. You wouldn’t know the difference, but I do. I don’t know Eva. I don’t trust her, and I don’t understand her. She’s a nettle on my skin. Or one of those dreams that makes you feel uneasy all day.”

  Sleeping with Eva would be a breach of his loyalty to Gunnar. It also would break his personal code of conduct. He didn’t believe in casual sex, “forest brides,” as they called them. He’d loved all the women he’d been with.

  “So you’ve been thinking about her just a little, I see.”

  “How could I not? What is she? Who made her? You must have noticed how she is—it’s like she’s seducing the world with every step she takes and every word she speaks. Have you seen her drink coffee?”

  He paused and waited for Ivar to answer. Ivar backed up so he leaned against the far wall of the shed, saying nothing

  “Well? How could you not notice? She’s like a walking forest fire.”

  Ivar answered slowly. “You want me to confess I find her attractive while you’re waving that cleaver around?”

  Wat slammed the cleaver into the table.

  Ivar raised his hands in surrender. “I haven’t noticed her seducing the world. I haven’t even seen her making eyes at you. She’s pretty enough, for a runty sudrmadr woman. And she’s got a nice ass, I’ll give her that. But I don’t want her.” His fingers flicked the sign for truth, an unconscious emphasis.

  Wat braced his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. “I’ve gone insane.”

  “Get rid of her. Send her away.”

  “And give up? No.”

  “Maybe it’s time to give up. Maybe it would have been better if we’d fought yesterday. Then it would be over. I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of being alive, but not really living.”

  “The gods are watching us. Something is going on. What does Amma want with her?” Wat pulled the apron over his head. “I’m going to find out.”

  Although Hetta wasn’t wearing a coat, she showed no sign of discomfort as she limped along at a brisk pace. Anyone who had survived the Northwoods as many years as Hetta had to be tough as shoe leather. Eva studied her more closely, noticing that her apron was pinned at the shoulders with two small gold brooches. Fancy for housekeeping. Her thick white hair had the same texture and curl as Wat’s. Coincidence?

  The moon had set, making the land darker, the stars brighter. A great blur, a frosty cosmic smudge, stretched almost from horizon to horizon. Was that the Milky Way? She’d seen pictures of it, but unlike Hollywood’s stars, it looked better in real life.

  That’s all one single galaxy. Our galaxy. She felt very small.

  Hetta broke into her cosmic musings with a much more mundane observation. She pointed to a house that seemed to be in the process of adding a wing, with tarp stretched over half-finished walls. “I see Fjalar has still not finished the addition to his house. Never will. The man is a lie-a-bed. Or maybe he’s dead by now.” She seemed to think on that idea for a while. “Já, já, he’s among the dead. Oh, well, those deserves as those gets. I told him he should have asked for help. Now his children have to finish his tasks.”

  A man carrying a string of squirrels over his shoulder appeared on the path in front of them. Three of the local wolf dogs accompanied him. He struck off on another path before he reached them, and didn’t wave. The dogs, however, stared at Hetta and whined, tucking their tails between their legs. The man called to them and slapped his thigh, but they shot off into the darkness instead.

  “That one doesn’t do his part to clean up after the dogs. Filthy, filthy. I was going to bring him to Council but I di—but I had other things to do.”

  No wonder the dogs ran. No wonder no one waved and smiled as they had when Eva had been out with Wat. Hetta was the wicked witch of Brunnrheim.

  Hetta took her to the east side of the village, where a clearing spread in a broad semicircle. It looked tended, even under the thick layer of snow. A wall of trees lined the far side of the clearing. Closely spaced trunks formed a towering, impenetrable palisade. Craning her neck, she saw that the wall seemed to curve back on either side, perhaps forming an enclosure. The perfect line broke at only one point, where a slender gap in the row of trees seemed to form a doorway. A welcoming lamp burned on either side of the gap, and a well-used trail passed through it. She couldn’t see inside, though. She saw only darkness.

  Aligned with this door, but about twenty feet in front of it, was a fountain made of rocks, burbling loud in the quiet night and catching starlight. The water sprang from a crevice in a boulder and ran down to a shallow, natural pool at the base. Its course had worn the stone into channels. Halfway between the source and the pool, a shallow, carved stone basin caught the water, which was constantly overflowing. Long icicles bearded its sides, and frost shimmered on the stones, but the water flowed free. Strange. The lakes and streams she’d seen that day were frozen solid.

  “It never freezes,” Hetta said, as if Eva had spoken. “It is warm. We call it the Mother’s Blood.”

  “A thermal spring. Nice. Too bad you didn’t make a hot tub out of it.”

  Hetta stared at her, perhaps confused, definitely un-amused. Eva pointed to the gap in the trees. “What’s in there?”

  “Our sacred grove. It is not for the likes of you. You are unclean.”

  “Thanks a lot. I do my best with ice water and a rag.”

  Hetta didn’t like her joke. She pointed at the fountain. “Brunnrheim. It means Home of the Spring.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Eva’s eyes drifted back toward the trees and lanterns. Was a sacred grove like a church? Were Brunnrheimers worshipping in there right now? What religion did they follow, anyway? Wat was right when he said she knew nothing of his people.

  “Pick up the cup.” Hetta pointed to a small wooden cup hanging from of forked stick planted in the ground near the fountain. “Taste the water.”

  Here we go again with the bossy. Eva managed to fill the cup without wetting her hand. She took a sip. The water was indeed blood temperature and tasted faintly of minerals.

  “Drink again.”

  Eva rolled her eyes and took another sip. Blood filled her mouth. Viscous, hot, very real. She would have spat, but Hetta raised a finger in warning. “Do not spill it. Do not waste it. That is the Mother’s Blood.”

  Every objective fact told her it was water. The stream bubbled in front of her eyes. She’d filled the cup herself and tasted water once. But her tongue told her something had changed. Her nostrils, too. It tasted like blood. Powerful blood. Not human, not vamp, and certainly not animal. She swallowed and listened for its story. Blood always had a story. Human blood spoke in fragments of memory or thought. To drain a person, she’d heard, was to know them intimately, better than they knew themselves. When she fed, she only touched the surface of these memories. More often than not, she blocked them entirely.

  This blood did not give her images or memories.

  It sang.

  She heard the crystalline chimes of falling snow. Choruses of rushing water. It sang in the basso profundo of shifting stone. It sang the songs of all of creation. She could not hold even one of the myriad songs in her mind. They were too big, too beautiful. Tears filled her eyes. Her hand trembled, and the cup sloshed, bright-r
ed blood splashing her fingers. Frightened, she dropped the cup. No blood stained the snow at her feet.

  “Wash your hand in the basin,” Hetta instructed.

  Eva put the cup back in its place and submerged her hand in the warm water. The running water turned pink, and then clear again. The water had reclaimed its blood. She had the odd, but distinct, impression of a large cat licking its lips. She turned her hand over to make sure it was clean. As she did, she spotted something gleaming at the bottom of the bowl and fished it out.

  It was the small curved knife from the dressing-table drawer. Turning to Hetta, she said, “When did you slip this in here?”

  Wat stood there instead of Hetta. Hetta was gone.

  Just gone.

  Chapter Six

  Eva shifted her stance and flipped the knife in her hand, so the business end was directed at him. She wore her stone face, her battle face. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “You tell me.” He’d only found her because some people had noticed her walking this way, talking to herself. That had been worrisome. Seeing her at the fountain holding that knife was worse. “What are you doing here?”

  “What is in that water? What did you dose me with? I want the antidote.”

  “There’s nothing in it. It’s a natural spring.” He made his voice calm and quiet, and kept still. “We drink from it all the time.”

  “Then it was in the cup.” Keeping the knife on him, she pocketed the little birch cup that always hung by the Spring. “I’m having it tested. What’s Hetta’s agenda?”

  Of course. The talking to herself. The Spring. Oh, Amma. How have we failed you that you’ve had to return?

  “Did Hetta bring you here?”

  “I want answers, not questions.” Eva snapped. “I want them now, or I am leveling this place. By tomorrow night, this village will be ash. Where the fuck is Hetta?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Strictly speaking, she lives nowhere, because she’s not alive.” He noticed Eva’s weight shift and lifted his hands. “Please don’t gut me before I can explain. You’ve been talking to my grandmother’s spirit. At least I believe so.”

  “Your grandmother’s ghost? You expect me to believe that? Do ghosts spend all their time complaining about the neighbors?”

  Wat made the sign of protection. “Merciful Mother, it is her.”

  “She’s no ghost. She’s just a scary old bat.”

  “Have you touched her? If you see her again, try to touch her.”

  “If I see her again, I’ll do more than touch her.”

  “What does she want? What did she say to you?”

  Eva gave him the gimlet eye. “You told me she was your cleaning woman.”

  He spread his hands. “I didn’t know what else to say. You wouldn’t have believed the truth. You don’t even believe it now.”

  “I don’t. First she’s a cleaning woman, now she’s a ghost. The truth is she’s some kind of operative, working on an agenda that I don’t yet understand. Are you aligned with her, or is she working against you? Is there a faction that wants to undermine your attempt to negotiate with me? And finally, why would anybody feed me a fast-acting hallucinogen?”

  Wat stepped toward her, despite the knife. “You’ve been hallucinating? You’re sure?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, very annoyed.

  “Are you…hallucinating right now?”

  She glanced from side to side, and then gave a sharp shake of her head.

  “Good. Are you dizzy or nauseated? Bad taste in your mouth? Is your heart racing? Have you checked your pulse? Because if you’re poisoned, I need to get you to help.”

  She laughed. “As if I could trust any of you now.”

  Wat gritted his teeth against an unexpected surge of anger. “I swore to you.” His voice was a low growl. “On my life. On my name. On my honor. I will protect you, even from the spirits of the dead.”

  Eva took a step backward, now looking more frightened than angry. He took a breath and unclenched his fists. This wasn’t helping. In a softer voice, he said, “If you believe you’ve been poisoned, you’ll need treatment. Have you even checked your pulse?”

  She didn’t answer, but continued to stare at him with wide, dark eyes. He sat down and raised his hands to show he was harmless. “Look. I’ll just sit here while you check. Please.”

  Eva eased back a few steps, and then pressed her fingers to her wrist. “It’s normal,” she said after a few seconds.

  “Do you want to see our healer, just in case?”

  “I want to see Hetta.”

  Wat figured he may as well remain seated for the next part. “I’ll make another oath—by this water, by the Grove—that Hetta is a ghost. Turn the village upside down, or burn it to the ground, you’ll never find her until she comes to you again.”

  She didn’t look happy, but she relaxed some. “This is fucked up. And I’m not sure if you’re a liar or delusional or a dupe. All I know is that I’ve got to call L.A.”

  Eva headed toward the satphone with all speed. She no longer felt safe. She’d never been so alone, so far from home, friends, family, her team. And she’d put herself in this position. She’d insisted on going it alone because her instincts told her she could trust Wat.

  Well, Wat hadn’t sent her to the fountain.

  Bullshit. He was implicated, too, because Hetta was a member of his household, in some way, and he’d lied about her—was lying still. Ghosts! She’d just as soon believe in Bigfoot.

  Striding beside her, Wat said, “If you told me what she said or did, I might be able to help.”

  “She dosed me with something at the Spring, probably in an attempt to get information from me.”

  “What did she ask you?”

  Come to think of it, Hetta hadn’t asked her anything. All the old woman had done was tell her to wash her hands. Eva remembered the song in the blood, her wonder, her fear. The intensity of the experience had already faded, becoming strange and unreal in her memory. Just what had happened back there? She had to admit that whatever it was, it hadn’t done her any physical damage.

  “What did you see?” Wat said, his voice gentle, concerned. “What frightened you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That knife—how did you get it?”

  “She brought it. She’s been trying to give it to me all day. I told her I wasn’t going to steal your knife.” Of course, now the knife was in her pocket, so the old woman had won, hadn’t she?

  She realized Wat was no longer walking beside her. She turned around to find him frozen in his tracks a few steps back, looking like he’d just been shot in the gut.

  “Wat?”

  “She couldn’t possibly want you to have that knife.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ll find it in my luggage when I go home.”

  “The knife belongs to the Guardian of the Spring, and it’s mine.”

  “Fine. I told you, I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t understand.” Wat sounded desperate. “My grandmother was the last real Guardian. Ideally, that role passes from mother to daughter. She hoped for a girl child, but bore none, so she waited for her sons to have daughters, but they had none either. My mother held it briefly. That was acceptable because she married into the bloodline. When she could no longer carry it, Hetta took it up again, although she was very old. Then she waited for Ivar and I to have daughters, or at least marry, but that didn’t happen. So after her death, I became the temporary Guardian, because there was no one else to hold the knife. But it’s wrong, because it’s a woman’s job.”

  He was babbling, weirdly panicked. She didn’t care about the history of the knife or why being its guardian was emasculating. “Wat, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can we keep walking?”

  “Don’t you see? She wants you to be Guardian of the Spring. That’s why she came back. To recruit you.”

 
Eva laughed. “I’m not looking for work. And anyway, you just said it’s a family job.”

  “My wife could carry the knife until she passed it on to our daughter.”

  “See? Why would she—?” The careful neutrality in Wat’s voice tipped her off. Now she understood Wat’s horror. “Oh, fuck me. Hetta thinks I’m going to marry you and have your babies? All because I have to protect a fountain. With a knife. You do know how crazy that sounds, right?”

  Wat’s expression of horror had faded, and now he seemed to be sizing her up in a new way. Wondering if she had good hips for birthing? “I hope you aren’t planning on going all backwoods psycho on me and locking me up in a breedin’ shack.”

  Wat took a deep breath. “I think it’s obvious we’re not getting married. That leaves my grandmother’s motivations unclear. I wish you would tell me more about what she said to you.”

  “Bring me a picture of your grandmother and proof of her death, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  On that challenge, they arrived at the house. Gunnar and Ivar were gone. Wat and Eva checked her room together. No ghosts behind the door. Wat left her alone. She picked up the satphone, started dialing, but cancelled the call. Would this call make her seem weak? Or was it only common sense to report…what? She rehearsed explaining the encounter to Dominick, and no matter how she phrased it, she sounded like an idiot. Oooh, she was such a scary old lady! She made the water taste funny! She might be a ghost!

  To clear her mind, she sat down with her laptop and journaled the entire experience, including the brief encounter with Hetta at the start of the night. Putting it down in writing helped contain it, made it a little more mundane. Hetta, she realized, had never scared her. The water frightened her—or rather, she’d been frightened, overwhelmed, by what she heard in the water, in the blood. Whatever. It was like a bad trip, a very brief one. She wondered what possible advantage it would give Hetta to either drug her or offer her a job.