Erla doesn’t bother to introduce us to the people who sit and watch because they wouldn’t care. They’re all too hungry, too thirsty, too tired to deal with a newcomer and his guards, striding around their camp with self-importance when he’s forgotten the people he’s supposed to care for. That’s what Erla believes. It’s what I can see is true. We on Hans Lollik Helle have forgotten survivors of the rebellion. We’ve been too concerned with the war and our battle plans and scouts and spies to think about the people who are supposed to be the reason we fight. We didn’t make it a priority to reach the other islands. The scouts have only been sent to Årud and Nørup Helle to request assistance, and as far as we know, our messages were never received. It’s been two weeks of silence from the royal island. How many other islands are like this? Are the people on Årud and Nørup and Ludjivik Helle huddled around dead campfires without any food or water, wondering how much longer they will live?
I sit with Malthe and Steef facing Erla and her helper Lieve, who had been one of the guards and survivors of Jannik Helle. Erla asks us to tell her why we’ve come, and we do.
She shakes her head. “No. We can’t accept any more people into this camp.”
Malthe doesn’t take well to insubordination. “It isn’t a request.”
“Do you see the camp?” Erla demands. She gestures at the islanders who sit, watching us with blank eyes. I can feel the vibrations of resentment that Sigourney would have felt had she been here. I think of how she’d always felt this hatred. Everywhere she turned, she could feel our disgust for her, the woman who had betrayed her own people in search of power. I wonder if this is what she’d experienced, along with the shame that bubbles inside of me.
Erla doesn’t hide her anger. “We can’t fight. We can barely stand on our own feet. If the Fjern were ever to attack us, we would be dead. And you want to give us more people to protect so that they can eat what little food we have left? No,” she says again. “You need to take your people elsewhere.”
“This is our people, not just islanders of Hans Lollik Helle,” Malthe responds. And though he’s right, I also understand Erla’s meaning. We’ve treated her and other islanders as if they aren’t our people, so how can we expect her to treat islanders from Hans Lollik Helle like they are hers? Already I can feel the cracks splitting through the revolt and spreading like a spider’s web. We’re supposed to be building a world different from the one of the kongelig. Instead, we’re falling into the same patterns.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Malthe looks at me with anger, Erla with surprise. “You’re right. We haven’t done what we could for you and everyone here on Valdemar Helle.”
Erla wasn’t expecting this response. For a moment she’s silenced, but she collects herself quickly. “An apology isn’t enough. What will do you?”
“What do you need?”
“Supplies. Proper protection and shelter. Pass us resources of the freed islands.”
Malthe interrupts. “You can’t make demands.”
“We’re not sure about the state of the northern islands,” I tell Erla.
“How can you not know?” she asks me.
I admit the truth. “We fell out of contact with them. Any messenger sent has been killed. We’ve been too preoccupied on Hans Lollik Helle.”
“Too preoccupied to care for your own people?”
She’s right. We should’ve made a stronger attempt at contact sooner—not just when we decided we were ready to attack the Fjern and we needed the help of the other islands. “It’s difficult to learn what the state of the northern islands might be, but if we could have you moved from Valdemar Helle to any of the others—”
“To what could be a worse state?” Erla says. “You haven’t been in contact. How do you know the islands haven’t been taken by the Fjern?”
The Fjern wouldn’t have been able to pass Hans Lollik Helle with a fleet of ships to attack and take islands without our knowledge. Something like that would be too difficult to miss. But what if they had sent smaller ships along the current? They could have killed our messengers and taken positions to strike the other islands, stopping anyone from warning us of their slow attack. Geir has suggested the possibility before.
“You want to stay on your royal island, making your decisions about the revolt without thinking about your people,” Erla says. “I suppose not much has changed from the time of the kongelig. Maybe you’ll find your necks cut soon, too.”
“Watch yourself,” Steef says. He hates confrontation, and his voice shakes when he speaks. But he’s also had many years of training. His hand twitches automatically for his blade. This doesn’t escape Erla’s or Lieve’s notice. Lieve puts her hand on her own machete’s handle.
Malthe watches Lieve with narrowed eyes. He considers these the actions of treason. The women have moved against him, the commander of the guard, and me, the leader of the islanders. This is punishable by death. I see how Erla and Lieve sense the danger.
“I suggest you remove your hand from your blade,” Malthe tells Lieve.
“Will you be executing any subject who proves disloyal as well?” Erla asks. “These truly are the islands we so know and love.”
The others sitting around the camp watch us carefully. None have the strength to object or to fight, but I feel the anger they have for the people who threaten Erla and Lieve, the only two who have helped them and supported them and given the islanders any sort of hope. Anger has fueled many rebellions before.
If Malthe sees, he doesn’t care. He answers Erla’s question. “Yes,” he says. “We do execute anyone who is disloyal. We can’t hold space for traitors.”
“Am I traitor because I’ve asked for aid?”
Malthe stands and his voice rises with him. “You’re a traitor because you have no respect for your commander.”
“You’re right,” Erla says. “I don’t. If that makes me a traitor, then so be it.”
Malthe steps forward, ready to hit Erla across her face, but her kraft flares. She takes energy from Malthe and he gasps, shaking on his feet before he falls to one knee. He struggles to stand, to remain conscious against the black that trickles into his vision. Erla stands over him. I can see how easy it would be for her to continue to take his energy until there’s nothing left but a body on the ground.
Malthe looks at me from where he kneels. I understand what he expects. He waits for me to call for the execution of Erla. Erla has claimed to be a traitor. She attacked Malthe using her kraft. She can’t be allowed to live. Even here with people who do not fight, with mothers and their children, Malthe wants me to make an example out of Erla so that the people will remember our power. So that they won’t be as quick to question our authority again.
Sigourney Rose would have had Erla killed. Sigourney would’ve had her excuses and reasons. She would’ve felt that her shame was repentance enough. She would’ve looked to Malthe and given the order, and Erla would be dead.
My gaze lands on Steef’s hand. He understands and lowers it from his blade. Malthe’s coldness shifts to me, but I ignore him as I face Erla. “I don’t see you as a traitor,” I tell her. “I see you as a savior. We’ve failed you. I’m sorry for that. Let us stay here for the night, along with the others from Hans Lollik Helle. We’ll have discussions on next steps to help you and everyone here on Valdemar Helle.”
Erla remains skeptical. She doesn’t trust Malthe, and now that she’s finally escaped the chains of the Fjern, she won’t willingly submit herself to a man like him. She wants to kill him before he can kill her. I feel her rage and her anguish. Her emotions are tangible the more they fill me. I hold her fury and pain in my hands. The rage becomes my own. The rage at the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that covers her like a layer of skin. It’s a feeling I recognize. We only want to live. This is all that we ask. And because the Fjern have such hatred for us, even this we aren’t given. There’s so much that Erla has seen. Every strike and every whip and every scream. The Fjern would rather
see us dead than live with our freedom. She stares at the sky, wondering if it would be easier to walk into the sea.
The more Erla’s emotion floods through me, the less it fills her. And the less emotion storms through Erla, the more clearly she can see. Yes, she could allow us to stay the night. Though Malthe isn’t trustworthy, she can sense how I mean to help them.
“Fine,” she says. “You can stay, but only for the night.”
There’s hesitation when the islanders arrive from the ships. We’re all the same people, and we should greet one another as we would our family, but those of Valdemar Helle are worried that the last of their supplies will be taken by us. They already struggle enough to survive. Helga sits with Anke as the girl looks at the islanders around us with curiosity. The silence is taut. I’m worried one person will say one wrong thing to splinter the forced peace. I watch Malthe especially from across the clearing, afraid that he’ll decide to carry out executions on anyone he finds traitorous despite my orders.
I sit separately with Erla at the edge of the clearing. “I don’t think the islanders of Hans Lollik Helle should stay here,” I tell Erla. “I don’t think anyone should be here on Valdemar Helle. It was the safest option when escaping Solberg Helle. This was the closest island. But there’re no fruit trees, and the bays don’t have as much fish. You have no protection, if the Fjern were to attack.”
“They haven’t attacked.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t. You should leave with us.”
Erla is skeptical. “And go where?”
“We’ll travel first back to Hans Lollik Helle to regroup, then to Nørup Helle, Årud and Skov and Ludjivik. We’ll see if there’s a place suitable for you—for everyone. A place with enough food, supplies, and shelter to wait out the rest of the war.”
She has to admit that they have been struggling. Fishing the bay hasn’t been easy, and some have gone days without eating, always opting to feed the little ones instead. Erla has wondered about the other islands. She’d considered gathering everyone and attempting to flee north, but she knew that it was too dangerous to leave the island on their own, and especially with so few who could fight the Fjern if they were caught.
“And what will you do with me once we’ve arrived in our new home?” she asks. “Will I be executed? I’ve been branded a traitor by your commander, and I have kraft as well.”
“I don’t think you’re a traitor for speaking the truth,” I say. “And we would never execute one of our own for having kraft. Those were the ways of the Fjern and the kongelig. We need your power. If we can find a way to teach people about their kraft, to help them harness their abilities…”
“Don’t you worry?” she asks me. “People with power could desire more. They could betray you. Overthrow you.”
I agree. “But maybe this role isn’t mine to keep.”
We end the discussion as the sky becomes dark. Steef and the others lie on the dirt ground that’s sharp with stones. Only six fish had been caught. I declined a meal along with most of the adults, making sure the children were given their food first. I leave the camp to walk through the thorny brush and to the shore to be alone with my thoughts. I cross the black sand and stand in the shallows, saltwater foaming around my ankles as waves pulse onto shore and back to sea. I close my eyes and think about my dreams. I remember how my mother would stand with me. Her back of scars, her rough voice. I wonder if this is what she would want of me. Am I doing everything as she expected I would? Am I pleasing her and the other spirits of these islands? But when I ask my question, I’m only met with the hush of waves.
When I open my eyes again, I see the ship in the distance. Ours is still anchored beyond the coral reefs, the boat that had carried islanders back and forth is on the sand farther down the shore. But the ship I see in the distance comes behind our own. It moves fast, sail pulled tight in the wind.
Everyone at the camp is already on their feet and panicked by the time I arrive. Lieve had seen the ship from her post and had run to give the warning. Malthe tries to shout his orders, demanding that Erla and Lieve hand out the machetes to anyone who can fight, but Erla argues.
“Even if there’d been proper training, we’re exhausted. Hungry, tired. We can’t fight.”
“It’s our only chance of making it from this island alive.”
Lieve shakes her head. “There has to be another way.”
“We can’t retreat. They’re positioned behind our ship.”
“What of yours?” I ask Erla. “You must’ve come here on boats.”
“There are five hidden on the other end of the bay,” she says. “Not enough to carry everyone at sea, and if the Fjern catch us and attack us on the ocean, we won’t survive.”
Geir’s kraft works itself inside of me, numerous possibilities sifting through my mind. “There’re other options for retreat,” I tell her.
The plan is simple—foolhardy, but with the shine in everyone’s eye, I can see how we hope it might work. The Fjern will come to shore and to this camp from the south. Most of the islanders will retreat to the north of the island to where Erla’s boats are hidden, while I, Malthe, Steef, Erla, and Lieve will stay behind to stall for time before escaping. Those on their boats will circle the bay while the Fjern are distracted. They’ll pass to the south to return to our ship, and take the Fjern ship as well. The five of us who stayed behind as bait will run to the shore and take our passenger boat and rejoin the others at sea. If we don’t manage to escape the Fjern and this island in time, as Steef notes, we’ll be dead.
The islanders leave for the north, Anke looking over her shoulder at me before she disappears through the wall of leaves and thorns. Erla and Lieve brandish their machetes. Malthe and I wait in the shadows with Steef silently, the only sound the breeze rummaging through the leaves of trees, and our unsteady breathing, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. We hear the voices of the Fjern as they march. There aren’t many of them. They come through the brush as they speak about the message they’d received. They’d learned that islanders had fled here to Valdemar Helle and were hiding in the groves. The sight of our ship confirmed this. They’ve realized that we’re on the island. One Fjern guard asks his friend if he’s sure that the leader of the insurgency will be here as well.
I meet Malthe’s gaze. The Fjernman responds with doubt. It’s likely that this was a false report. He’s angry that they must scour this dead rock. Islanders are here, but so what? They will be killed within seconds. The guard wants to be held in higher esteem than being sent to execute a few escaped slaves.
Steef is confused beside me. How would any of the Fjern have realized that we’d come from Hans Lollik Helle? Their scouts would’ve had to be watching us closely. If they had seen us come to Valdemar Helle, they would’ve known for a fact that I am here, along with Malthe. They would have sent fleets to attack if it was their desire to find me and capture me or kill me. Instead, they sent guards on a possibility. The guards are here on hearsay. This is the sort of information that would be passed on by a spy. Malthe has already come to this conclusion and has moved on, deciding to focus on the more immediate problem. They’ve finally crashed through the brush and into the clearing. There are ten of them. They all freeze, staring at the sheets and the deserted campfire. They pull out their machetes.
“Search the area,” the commander orders. The others nod and start toward us in the brush. Erla chooses the man farthest from us. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and in that second the man falls with a groan. The other guards turn to look at him with alarm. Their backs are to us when we emerge.
Malthe wraps his machete around a guard to cut open his throat. Steef tries to attack the guard closest to him as well, but he moves too slowly and the man spins around and dodges the blade in time. The eight standing outdo us in more than just number. These are Fjern who have been trained for battle. They immediately fall into a formation to flank us, and the clashing of blades begins. Steef has always been too large and slo
w and clumsy. His machete slips from his hand as the Fjern cuts Steef’s arm from his shoulder, then slices open his chest and stabs through his ribs. He falls, still breathing, but he won’t live. Erla tries to use her kraft again, but the power pulls her energy as well. She weakens as she aims her kraft at the nearest Fjern, but he only stumbles as he rushes forward, his machete sliding into her belly. She gasps and Lieve screams, running at the man with her machete too high to block—he pulls the machete from Erla and cuts Lieve’s throat so deeply her head hangs from her neck. Steef’s breathing stops behind us. Still Malthe and I fight.
I can’t find an opening. I’m breathing hard, blood shining on my machete and sliding to my hands, already wet with sweat. I try to use Erla’s kraft on the guard I fight, but another comes at me from my other side and I must spin to meet his blade. My shoulder is slashed open just as I manage to dodge the man behind me. Malthe swings his sword, forcing the Fjern to back away from him. We stand side by side as the Fjern circle us, waiting for the moment we drop our guard. Malthe sees that we will die if we allow it. He refuses to allow it.
Løren. Are you listening to me?
I look at him with a quick nod and must pay with the slash of a Fjern. I block him and push him away with my blade.
We need to run. We can’t die here.
He wants us to run for the southern shore. The others must be on their boats. We could make it to the shore and to the passenger boat. This is what he thinks. Without any warning, he charges forward, rushing at the nearest Fjern and cutting the man down. He escapes into the brush. I run after him, trying not to feel like the coward I am. My ancestors—my people—would expect me to stay and fight and avenge Steef and Erla and Lieve. But even if I am nothing but a spirit sent for vengeance, I wouldn’t survive seven armed Fjern coming at me at once. I’m not ready to die. Not yet.
King of the Rising Page 10
