King of the Rising

by Kacen Callender

  I’m sat down with Kjerstin and Frey at the ashes of a fire, where I’m told everyone sits in a circle at night to share their meal and give their thanks to the spirits. The questions are unending. Frey shifts in impatience. There are more reasons we’ve come here than just to satisfy the curiosity of these villagers. But I try to be understanding. The islanders have been alone here on Nørup Helle with little contact. They’ve done well, rebuilding their island without help. And they want to learn what happens in the rest of Hans Lollik. They want to hear if the other islands have suffered the attacks of the Fjern, if all the kongelig are dead, and whether we are close to claiming our lands. To their shock and anger, we tell them that we have lost Valdemar Helle to the Fjern, and that the islanders of Skov Helle were killed. Zeger sits with us. There’s growing panic in him, but the words are too tangled in his mind for me to understand his thoughts clearly.

  After we’ve answered as many questions as we can, Zeger stands and asks me and Kjerstin to join him on a tour of the village. Frey stays behind, children hanging from his arms as he’s forced to raise each into the air, though he can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. We walk the path that circles the village, taking in the sight of the damage. Groves have burned and the scattered ruins of houses are visible across the fields and hillsides, like stones strewn across the ground.

  “What happened to Martijn?” I ask Zeger.

  Zeger pauses before he answers. “He was killed the night of the revolt.” There’s a flicker in him. He hopes I won’t use my kraft to learn the truth.

  Kjerstin asks to speak with any scouts who might be on the island, but Zeger says that all messengers had left Nørup Helle to contact Hans Lollik Helle and never returned. “We assumed they were killed by the Fjern at sea.”

  This isn’t surprising news, but I still feel the anger in Kjerstin. How many will be killed by the Fjern before our war is won?

  “And the guards of Nørup Helle?” I ask. “How many remain?”

  Zeger hesitates. He considers lying to me and saying that most had been killed in the initial attack by the Fjern, but he realizes I would see through this lie, and he doesn’t want to seem suspicious to us.

  “Enough to protect this island,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

  I hesitate. It wouldn’t do us any good for me to accuse him of hiding a secret—not now. “We’re hoping Nørup Helle can offer shelter to those on Hans Lollik Helle who aren’t guards.”

  Zeger frowns. “We don’t have much to offer.”

  He’s lying. I see in his thoughts that there’s enough space on this island for everyone on the ships and enough food and supplies to last them several months. If Malthe were here, he would force his way onto the island. But I can see Zeger would rather die than allow us to take Nørup Helle from him.

  Kjerstin tries to meet my eye, but I step forward.

  “If you’re able to help us, we might be able to pay you back in turn.”

  His greed isn’t something he tries to hide from himself as some do. He considers me. “How so?”

  “Help us, and you’ll be helping the rebellion. When we win the war, anything we can give—food, supplies, resources—will be yours.”

  Zeger wants more than this. He wants a promise that he would become an official leader on this island. He wants to be given the power to rule over others. I can’t promise this. Zeger isn’t the sort of person I want to have control. I stay silent, watching him, until he finally wavers.

  “I’ll see what we can give,” he says.

  “We also need you to provide any fighters who would be willing to return to Hans Lollik Helle with us.”

  Kjerstin adds, “We’re planning an attack on Niklasson Helle. We need as many guards as possible for the battle.”

  Here, Zeger becomes quiet. He doesn’t want to promise the guards of Nørup Helle to help us to fight the war. But he thinks to himself that there’s no harm in promising something he has no intention in giving. “Yes,” he says, “of course. As many as you need.”

  He begins to ask us questions in turn. When will we attack Niklasson Helle? Do we have a strategy for taking the island? I speak before Kjerstin can, giving vague responses. “We still have a lot of decisions to make.”

  She frowns at me, sensing that something is wrong.

  Zeger has realized I’ve begun to find him suspicious. He doesn’t care. This concerns me more than anything else. We need to get away from Zeger—need to get off the island. The path begins to circle back to the village. On the way lie the ruins of a manor that had belonged to the masters. Standing against the wall, a man waits. I think that it’s a man I’ve seen before, always watching and waiting. He uses his kraft, and I’ve forgotten how to move or breathe. Kjerstin is frozen beside me, but I can hear her internal scream.

  “Why are they here?” the man says to Zeger.

  “They came without invitation. I’m as surprised as you.”

  The man comes into view, but his face is shrouded by haze, black dots in the corner of my vision.

  “Should we kill him?” Zeger asks.

  “No. The masters still want him alive. Get him off Nørup Helle.”

  The voice is already distant. My eyes are heavy.

  I wake beside Kjerstin, though I don’t remember sleeping. She sits on the dirt ground of one of the newly built houses. There isn’t anything inside of the house except for the blanket I lie on. There’s a hole in the wall that acts as a window. The sky outside is black. Hours must have passed. Kjerstin’s gaze is confused, like she’s just woken from a long sleep as well. Frey sits against a wall, holding onto his machete as he keeps watch.

  “Finally awake,” he says to me, some judgment in his tone. “You’ve been asleep almost half the night.”

  I remember walking with Zeger and Kjerstin—Zeger agreeing to help, and telling us to get some rest before we continued on our journey. He allowed the islanders from the ships to come onto the island. We ate together with the rest of the villagers, out by the firepits. This is what my memory tells me, but it feels far away, like the fragments of a dream.

  I can sense Kjerstin feels the same. She’s shaking her head. “I barely remember falling asleep,” she says.

  Frey frowns. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asks. It’s what he’d asked both of us when we returned from the walk with Zeger. Kjerstin had nodded impatiently, blaming the heat of the sun.

  I shake my head. “Something isn’t right.”

  Kjerstin agrees, but not for the reason I’m thinking. “We shouldn’t have stayed the night. It’s a waste of time, when we should be halfway to Årud Helle already.” She stands, dusting off the backs of her legs.

  I’m already beginning to forget the root of my unease, though I try to hold tight. I look up at Kjerstin. “You’re right. We need to leave.”

  Frey raises a brow. “In the middle of the night? Surely we can wait until dawn.”

  I don’t often care if my orders are challenged, but this moment matters. Something is happening, and if we don’t escape, we might not leave Nørup Helle alive. “Now, Frey. Gather the others—we all need to return to the ships.”

  Kjerstin looks at me with concern. “The others? They’re to stay here, on Nørup Helle—”

  I can’t explain the instinct that this isn’t a safe place for them, but leaving them here would mean risking their lives. Kjerstin’s and Frey’s confusion mix together, but I don’t bother to repeat myself. I stand and leave the shack, walking down the path in the dark of night to the other shelters where the islanders of Hans Lollik Helle were guided to sleep. Dread fills me. Anke, Helga, all the others—I begin to see images of them all dead and lining the ground, like we’d found the islanders of Skov Helle.

  Someone calls my name. I stop and turn. Zeger stands on the path behind me, holding a torch. “Is everything all right?”

  He’s tried to hide the guards who watch and wait in the shadows, but I sense them—five of them, all with
their machetes in their hands.

  There isn’t any point in playing into ignorance. “I’m not sure what you’ve done to me,” I tell him, “but if you let us leave peacefully, it won’t matter. Blood doesn’t need to be spilled.”

  Kjerstin and Frey have followed. They both slow down in their confusion, noticing the tension in the scene but not yet understanding it. They stand behind Zeger, who holds his torch in the center of us all. His men begin to approach, skin shining in the flickering light.

  “Are you afraid to spill blood, Løren?” Zeger asks me. “We’re in a war. It’s inevitable.”

  “Let us leave. You won’t have to worry about retribution.”

  “Not even after we have won the islands from the Fjern?” Zeger asks. “Surely then you’d have me killed.”

  “What’s happening?” Kjerstin calls.

  I can see how Zeger plans to hold me captive—to offer me to the Fjern for coin. He’s been given orders to keep me alive, so he can see how much I am worth to the masters. Zeger thinks he can get away with demanding coin for my capture. Zeger is a fool. He hasn’t seen the Fjern’s true forces—only the deaths of the masters. He doesn’t understand the number of ships and guards that await us on Niklasson and Solberg Helle. He doesn’t see how he and everyone here on Nørup Helle will be slaughtered.

  “They’ll kill you,” I tell him.

  “They’ll try to,” he agrees, “but I’m prepared to fight.”

  He orders his men to kill Kjerstin and Frey—he has no need for either of them. Kjerstin tenses, and Frey grasps his machete. The same guards who had sat with us around the firepits move to kill us. One man follows Zeger without any question. He charges at Frey, but the older guard dodges and swings around, machete chopping into the islander’s back.

  Zeger yells at the others. “What’re you waiting for?”

  Another comes forward. I close my eyes and imagine that the hot embers of the firepits scorch his skin. He screams while another runs to Kjerstin, machete raised. She rushes forward, dagger burying into his neck. One guard swings his machete at me, but I duck. He swings again, slicing open my arm, bright pain flashing through me. He doesn’t see Frey behind him. The older man grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, machete ready to cut open his neck.

  I throw a hand out. “Stop!”

  Frey stops. The guard clenches his arms, swallowing—shaking with the knowledge that he’d been moments from death. The final man stands, eyes wide, looking between me and Zeger. His friend, held by Frey—the other man, on the ground screaming in pain. He sees that this battle is lost. He curses Zeger. He hasn’t wanted to follow the man, but he felt he had no choice since Martijn was found dead. Zeger had stepped forward and given orders, and everyone else had fallen into line. I use Sigourney’s kraft to reach into him and grasp his fear.

  “We won’t hurt you,” I tell him, and he believes me. He drops his machete. I release the other from his searing pain, and he stays on the ground, unconscious.

  Zeger’s rage courses through him. He shoves the man away and picks up the fallen machete, but Kjerstin is already standing over him with her dagger. He raises his hands in surrender, eyes fastened to me as he imagines the ways he’d like to find his revenge.

  “Did you kill Martijn?” I ask him. He doesn’t bother responding. The answer is obvious. The man had survived the revolt. It was easy enough for Zeger to slide a blade in between his ribs and pretend it’d been the work of the Fjern.

  Another thought comes to me, one he hadn’t meant to admit. “And the people of Skov Helle?” I ask, my voice quiet. “What happened to them?”

  Zeger narrows his eyes. He thinks of how the people there had refused to submit. Zeger had gone to them, asking that they combine resources and fall under his rule. But it wasn’t only greed that motivated Zeger. He’d been ordered to do this. He worked for the masters still, not because he had any loyalty to the kongelig or the Fjern in the way that some islanders do, but because he thinks we’ve already lost this war. He’s willing to do anything for the Fjern, if it means that he’ll still live. He was supposed to take control of the islanders of Skov Helle, without anyone realizing he still answered to his masters. The kongelig would return to these northern islands after they took Hans Lollik Helle, and he would surrender to them.

  But the islanders of Skov Helle did not agree. The Fjern weren’t pleased. They went to Skov Helle to kill the islanders and take their supplies, and Zeger waited for his opportunity. He saw when Fjern scouts attacked. Zeger and his guards helped the islanders of Skov Helle, betraying the masters—they would not know it was him. He didn’t fear their punishment. And when the battle was won, he turned on the islanders of Skov Helle and killed them as well. He took the supplies for himself and returned to Nørup Helle. Greed and desperation are this man’s only motivation.

  Zeger wasn’t expecting my arrival. He thought that I was so valuable he would be able to escape the wrath of the Fjern if he delivered me to them in exchange for coin. He’s a fool, truly. They’ll kill him and everyone else on the island.

  “You might still survive this night,” I tell him. “Stand down. Return with us to Hans Lollik Helle. Tell us what you know of the Fjern. You don’t need to be executed.”

  Kjerstin doesn’t understand why I would promise such a thing, when I should take Zeger’s head myself. But with his mistakes, and though he’s a traitor to our people, he’s still an islander. He’s still one of us. He deserves another chance, to learn from his mistakes. And he could still be useful. He’s been taking orders from the masters. He could tell us of their plans.

  But Zeger narrows his eyes. “Imprisoned and questioned,” he says. “This sounds like another description of the life I’d had before.” Zeger may still answer to the masters, but he doesn’t consider himself a slave. He has abandoned the islands and betrayed his people for another path toward freedom—one where he believes he will be a pet of the kongelig, fed scraps and kept alive for helping to end this war.

  I try to reach into him, to hold on to the pain—the beatings and whippings and constant fear of death, tangled together to create a man desperate to live. I try to feel empathy for him, to ease his burden so that he can see there is still a chance to undo his wrongs—but he pulls back. He leaps for the machete and grasps the handle as Kjerstin swings her dagger. She misses his throat and instead punctures his cheek. Blood begins slow before it flows. He staggers and falls. His life flickers.

  One of the men who’d attacked releases a sharp gasp. Frey holds on to him tighter.

  “What should we do with the others?” he asks, expecting that I’ll say to kill them.

  “Let them go.”

  All are surprised. Frey looks at me, unmoving. I give him a sharp look. “Release them, Frey.”

  He does as he’s told. He lets go of the man, who stumbles forward. He doesn’t seem to believe that I plan on letting him and the others live. If Malthe had been here, he would have ordered the executions of each of the guards, including the ones who had not tried to kill us. I ask the men to lead us back to the village and to wake everyone.

  They line up and face me. There are dozens. Helga holds Anke, who is still half asleep. I feel responsible for all of their lives. My voice is hoarse when I tell them that Zeger is dead. There are gasps, furious whispers, but I continue. I owe them the truth. “Zeger betrayed all of us. He meant to abandon us for favor with the Fjern. When he tried to attack, he was killed.”

  But some of the villagers of Nørup Helle shake their heads. One speaks. “You leave your royal island to come here and kill the only man who has cared enough to lead us.”

  Kjerstin steps forward. “Zeger was behind the murders of the islanders of Skov Helle.”

  There are murmurs. Another shouts. “Zeger told us the islanders of Skov Helle attacked him first. He acted in defense.”

  “He was lying,” I say, but the murmurings are growing louder. I can hear Marieke’s warnings—that insurrection from
within will destroy the revolution before we’ve had a chance to attack the Fjern. “I gave Zeger a choice. I offer the same choice to all of you. You can join us. We plan to attack Niklasson Helle, and we need guards.”

  There’s dissent. “You come here and kill our leader, and ask us to fight for you?”

  “What’s the other option?” another yells. “Fight, or die?”

  It would be what Malthe would suggest. But I shake my head. “No. The other option is to stay here and live your lives as you wish. I will not force anyone to join us. Those are the actions of the Fjern, and we’re no longer slaves.”

  My words are met with silence. Kjerstin is just as shocked beside me. “Løren,” she whispers, but I ignore her.

  “We leave immediately. If you want to join us, the choice is yours.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kjerstin shakes with anger as we return to shore and to the boat that waits. She’s so furious that she can’t look at me.

  “You can’t be our leader and allow people to choose whether they’ll follow your orders,” she tells me as I begin to row. Frey doesn’t meet my eye. He doesn’t envy my position facing Kjerstin’s anger, or the responsibility of so much that weighs on my shoulders. He has sympathy for me. He sees me as a boy still. I’m too young to have to face so much on my own, and with so much at stake as well. But Frey also agrees with Kjerstin. He’s disappointed that I let the guards choose whether they would go or stay. In the end, only six out of nearly twenty have agreed to come. They went ahead of us, helping to row the islanders of the royal island back to the ship. It went unsaid that they would not be welcome here on Nørup Helle, and I didn’t want to risk having tension erupt into violence.

  “You’re too soft,” Kjerstin tells me. “You show too much mercy. This is the result: fools thinking that they don’t have to obey your orders.”

  There’s some truth to what Kjerstin says and to what Frey thinks, but I also feel confident in my choices. “What good would it have done to force them to join?” I ask. “The guards would’ve been resentful. They wouldn’t have fought the battles with the same determination and concentration as we would need, and their lives would be wasted. That isn’t any different from the ways of the Fjern enslaving us. This wouldn’t be any different from the Fjern forcing us to die for them.”