“Thank you, Grandfather,” Rudin said.
The words dropped on Danr’s head like stones. Talfi’s face went white. Not a murmur stirred the crowd.
“Still,” Hunin continued, “even a father’s love is no excuse to increase tensions with the Stane. Therefore, our sentence is exile. Trollboy, you are no longer a member of this community and you no longer enjoy the earl’s protection. Beginning at sundown, any man who lays eyes on you may do to you as he wishes. So be it.”
“So be it!” The priest rapped his walking stick on the side of the platform.
Confused babble rushed through the crowd. Danr stood thunderstruck in the circle of spears. Exile. He was an exile. Exile was for men who murdered their parents or raped children, men whose necks weren’t worth an axe stroke. Exile meant he had no family, no tribe, no people. He wasn’t even a person.
Because you showed the monster, said his mother’s sad voice in his ear, and that was even worse. Automatically he tried to touch the pouch at his throat, but the shackles held his wrists low and prevented it.
“My lord!” Talfi shouted above the noise. “This isn’t fair! You can’t mean—”
But the earl had already stepped down from the platform to mount his horse. He rode away without another word. Rudin watched him go from White Halli’s bed.
*
“You could appeal to the priests,” Talfi said in the stable. “Maybe they could get the sentence reversed. Or maybe you could—”
Danr steadfastly ignored Talfi’s flow of words and shoved his other tunic into his sack, along with a few candle stubs, a knife, a chipped axe no one wanted, and some flint and steel. Outside, the western mountains were already casting purple shadows over Alfgeir’s farm, and he had no doubt White Halli and his men were waiting for the last of the sun to disappear, oh yes, they were.
“… and you can have the rest of the food from my aunt,” Talfi continued, handing it to him. “Do you want me to have Uncle Orvandel send word to Father Nikolas in the monastery at Rolk’s Fork? Everyone respects Uncle Orvandel, and the priests might …”
The cows made their familiar lowing. One kicked in its stall, another familiar sound. Smells of straw and manure and thatching surrounded Danr, and he stared down at the pile of blackened stones that had made up his tiny hearth for years. The wide, flat one he kept to one side was perfect for heating a bowl of soup or a cup of beer. It was the first thing he had brought to the stable after his mother died. This place was a stable, where he had been a thrall and where people had made fun of him or shunned him, but it was his life. In a few minutes, he would lose it forever.
The worst was that Aisa hadn’t come. She was in hiding somewhere, had to be, until the talk of her supposed witchcraft died down. It wasn’t safe for her to come and see him off. He knew that. But the disappointment created by her absence still stung, as though she was saying he wasn’t worth the effort, even after he had stood up for her.
Nothing for it but to keep moving, as he always did. No direction to move but forward. He picked up the sack and interrupted Talfi’s river of words.
“I need to go now.” His voice sounded thick and heavy in his own throat. “Thank you for … for staying with me, Talfi.”
“You saved my life.” Talfi followed him out the stable door into the darkening courtyard. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the air was already chilly. “I couldn’t—”
Alfgeir Oxbreeder was waiting for them on the stones, his face wooden. “I suppose this is good-bye, Trollboy. You’re not an exile yet, so I can give you this.” He handed Danr a loaf of bread. One side was burned. “It’s not much, but as the saying goes, ‘Crumbs are still bread.’”
Danr thought about refusing it, then took it anyway. Later, if he became hungry, pride would seem foolish. “Thank you, Carl Oxbreeder.” Thank you for the crumbs.
“You were a hard worker who did the work of three, and sometimes ten,” Alfgeir finished. “But what can you expect when someone like you strikes down the son of an earl?”
It seemed as if the remark should have made Danr angry again, but he was too tired. Instead he stuffed the burned bread into his sack. Alfgeir walked back to his warm house with the air of a man who had turned out a stray dog. In the far distance, hoofbeats galloped up the road. Halli’s men, no doubt, coming to look for the exile. Danr glanced around, hoping one more time to see a figure wrapped in rags slip out of the shadows. But he saw nothing.
“Where are you going?” Talfi asked.
“To the mountains.” Danr jerked his head to the northwest. “Maybe I can find my father’s family, whoever they are. Maybe …”
He trailed off, but Talfi understood. “You think you can find a home with them.”
It wasn’t until Talfi said it aloud that Danr realized how much he’d been thinking it, hoping it. With his mother gone and his status as a thrall officially ended, he had no ties here. This place had never been his home; these folk had never been his people. But the trolls … they would see him differently. They would accept him for who he was. They would have to.
“I’m glad you were my friend, Talfi,” he said. “Even if it was only for two days.”
Talfi hugged him, the first embrace Danr had experienced since his mother’s death. Danr hugged him gingerly in return, and tears pricked the back of his eyes. “We’re still friends,” Talfi said. “Always and forever.”
The hoofbeats grew louder. Talfi turned aside and wiped at his eye. “Shit.”
Danr picked up his sack and gave one final glance around. Still no Aisa. With the hoofbeats growing ever louder, he trotted away. The soft half-moon and the two stars that made up Urko’s halves gave his troll’s eyes more than enough light to see, and he had no need of a hat. He leaped the fence and loped across the far pasture toward the mountains.
CHAPTER SIX
The fire crackled and snapped like a tiny trapped demon. Danr fed it another stick and scooted his toes a little closer to the heat. Shadows capered across the huge trees around him, twisting around the smell of smoke. Darkness normally held no terrors for Danr, but he was more than an hour away from the village in the foothills of the Iron Mountains—Stane territory. Even the earth was unfamiliar. House-sized boulders thrust upward like the bones of giants, and gullies traced paths through the hills like their veins. Nothing was level, either. Even now, Danr sat on a slant. A few paces away, a creek rushed down the hill with a sound like chattering teeth. He clasped his knees and tried to keep his nerves under control.
Only a fool lit a fire at night in the foothills or the mountains. Flames attracted attention from the Stane. The strange thing was that Danr had been following the ghost of a trail through these foothills, and just at the time he decided to rest, he had come across a ring of stones that had clearly encircled a fire, though years ago. Had the Stane made the trail? And did the Stane start fires of their own?
He blew out a breath and scanned the shadows. Perhaps now the Stane would come. Danr wanted them to come. Sort of. If the humans wouldn’t take a half troll, perhaps the trolls would take a half human. And perhaps … perhaps they would know something about his father.
Danr touched the pouch at his throat. Mother never once talked about Danr’s father. Her face grew tight and unhappy whenever he brought the subject up. When he asked who his father was, she only said, “He was a troll who betrayed me.” Once, when he had pressed too much, she had actually slapped him and run out of the stable with her hands over her mouth. He had stopped asking after that, but he hadn’t stopped wondering. That she had been raped was a given, he supposed, and it made him feel both sad and guilty to think that he was the result of his mother’s fear and pain. Should he be angry at his father about that? Probably, but he didn’t even know his father, didn’t even have a good mental picture of him. In Danr’s mind, his father was a tall, bulky creature with a shadowy face and big arms. He had hurt Mother, and that should make him angry, but if he hadn’t hurt her, Danr wouldn’t even exist to be angr
y. A part of him got hot and red as a blacksmith’s forge when he thought about his mother getting hurt, but another part of him was secretly glad to be alive, and then a third part threaded him with guilt for finding some kind of good in his mother’s pain.
If he could go back and stop his father from … attacking his mother, would he do it, even if it meant he would never be born? Danr poked at the fire with chilly hands while night’s shadows tried to devour the light. It seemed an unfair question to ask, and it hurt him deep in his gut to think his mother might look at him and see pain every day. It was easier just not to think about it.
A footstep rustled in the shadowy trees. Then another, and another. Danr’s mouth went dry and he came quietly alert. He backed away from the fire and looked away from it so his eyes could better see in darkness. A troll. His first time seeing one of his people. Fear and excitement tightened his stomach. Maybe the noise was just an animal. The chances of a troll happening to find his tiny fire were—
Aisa stepped into the circle of firelight. Her ragged clothes and scarf were wrapped tightly around her, and she carried a pack on her back. Danr stared, dumbfounded. Then delight poured through him like soft starlight and he ran forward to snatch her into a hug. She shied away with a small sound, and Danr stopped before he actually touched her. His arms fell limp at his sides. Even now, he remained an oaf who forgot himself.
“Aisa!” he said instead. “What are you doing here?”
“I have been trying to catch up with you.” She set the pack down with wrapped hands. “If you had not lit that fire, I would have lost you forever.”
He suppressed an urge to caper like the shadows on the trees. The sight of her filled him with such gladness, he could hardly speak. “But why? When you didn’t come to see me off, I thought—”
“That I wanted nothing more to do with the man who stood up for me and had saved my life? Huh!” She leaned toward him and lightly tapped the back of his hand. Her touch burned his skin. “How little you think of me.”
Abashed, Danr sank to the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You! I am joking.” She sat across the fire from him and settled her rags about her. Above the scarf, her eyes were actually merry in the yellow light, and she stretched her arms out to the fire. “The heat feels good. I could not be angry at you, my friend and savior. Never at you. You were exiled because of me, and now I am joining you.”
“Oh.” Danr scratched his head. It had been a long, difficult day, and he was having a hard time following the conversation. “But you weren’t exiled. Or did they did do something after I left?”
“No, silly one. Evil spirits pollute the village, and everyone thinks witch when they see me. How could I stay?” Aisa shook the pack, which clinked. “I have silver coins, and I was planning to run to the ocean one day.” Her lovely eyes grew distant. “It appears that day has come.”
“I’m not going to the ocean,” Danr protested, even as an inner voice told him to shut up. “I’m looking for the Stane.”
“Huh. I appear to have run in the wrong direction. Whatever will I do?”
“Er … you could … oh.” He shook his head, feeling stupid. “That was another joke.”
“He can learn. That delights me no end.” She met his eyes for a long moment over the flames, and tiny fireflies fluttered in Danr’s chest. “I must thank you, deeply, for what you did. You gave up everything for me, and I can never repay that.”
Danr flushed. “I … you’re … that is …”
“‘You’re welcome’ will probably suffice.”
“Uh … you’re welcome.” This was idiotic—Aisa was his friend, and he was braying like a startled donkey around her. The draugr had surprised him less. Gathering his wits, he asked, “How did you get away?”
“Simple enough. I have kept this pack hidden for a long time. Your trial distracted everyone, so I snatched it and hid near your farm until I saw you leave. I thought you would go down the road, which is why I was so far behind you.”
“You’ll be marked for death if you return. Runaway slaves are—”
“I will die before I return there!” Aisa spat the words like a wounded snake. “That man will never touch me again.”
Her response startled Danr. He didn’t want her to get angry and leave. He retreated and spread his hands placatingly. “Of course, of course.”
“As long as we understand that,” Aisa growled behind her scarf. There was a long, awkward pause. The creek behind them clattered its toothy chatter. Then Aisa sighed. “I am sorry. You are the last person who should see my anger.”
Danr let out a silent, relieved breath. She was going to stay, and that single thought thrilled him to the marrow. He said, “You don’t have to explain anger to me, Aisa. Anger is my oldest friend.”
“Thank you for that.” Aisa sighed again and looked at him. “I would like to ask you a question.”
“Anything.” The shadows didn’t seem so threatening now; the fire had become warm and friendly.
“What is that pouch at your throat? I have never seen you without it.”
Danr’s fingers automatically went up to it. “This? It was my mother’s. She said it contained the truth, though actually it has two wooden splinters inside. I never understood what she meant by that.”
“Hmm.” Aisa looked thoughtfully at him. “When my mas—when Farek first brought me to the village, I met his mother. She was kind to me, and when she saw I knew something of healing, she showed me more of the local plants, ones I did not yet know. Frida resented that, and she resented the way Farek … came to me at night.”
“I’m sorry,” Danr said, and meant it. The thought of Farek touching Aisa, hurting her, made him angry all over again, but he also wanted to hold Aisa and tell her it wouldn’t happen anymore.
“Farek’s mother told me some stories of your people. Trolls, she said, work with stone and are born with stone splinters in their eyes. This is why trolls have weak eyesight and why they cannot see truth.”
“Truth.” Danr touched his own eye. “How much truth can we live with?”
“People rarely wish to know the truth,” Aisa agreed, and she reminded Danr of his mother right then. For a bad moment, he missed his mother with an ache that went all the way down to his toenails, and he would have chopped off his left foot to talk to her again, just for a moment.
“Speaking of truth,” Aisa said, “I will take my three guesses now.”
Danr blinked at her. “Guesses?”
“Your name. Is it Torbert?”
It seemed strange to be playing this game under these circumstances, in a forest so far away from home and both of them exiles, but the old ritual was comforting. Danr smiled, feeling the anger retreat. Aisa could do that, and it gave him a warm feeling. “No,” he said.
“Is it Jan?”
“Sorry.”
“Is it—”
A huge figure emerged silently from the trees behind Aisa. It was a troll, two heads taller than Danr, heavily muscled. Its—his—skin was as swarthy as Danr’s, but his ears were larger and more pointed. His lower jaw jutted forward, and his lower fangs were as long and thick as fingers. His nose was little more than a button in the center of a craggy face, and shaggy black hair topped his head. More black wiry hair covered his arms and legs. He wore a leather tunic and trousers, and his feet were bare. At his belt was sheathed a stone knife, and over his shoulder he carried an enormous club with spikes in it.
Danr didn’t remember leaping the fire. One moment Aisa was guessing his name; the next Danr was standing between her and the troll. Aisa’s final guess died in her throat and she made a strangled sound.
“Who are you?” Danr demanded in his gruff voice. “What do you want?”
The troll’s voice was equally gruff. “You trespass on troll land. I have a right to kill you.”
He swung the club with startling speed. Danr shoved Aisa one way even as he dodged another. The club smashed the ground. Danr felt the
shock through his bones, and the flames danced.
“Wait!” Danr put up his hands in fear and supplication. “I’m troll!”
“Liar!” The club rushed at Danr’s head. He ducked under it and stumbled backward. His foot came down in cold water—the creek. Behind the troll, Aisa pulled a burning brand from the fire.
“It’s true!” Danr shouted. “My mother was human, but—”
Anger twisted the troll’s face, and he swung again. Danr tripped and fell sideways into the freezing water. The club hit the creek. Water exploded in all directions.
“My father was troll!” Danr sputtered on his back in the creek. Stones dug into his skin. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Danr was used to being the strong one, but compared to the troll, he was small and weak, and the troll intended to see him dead. He raised his club again.
Aisa hit the troll in the side with the flaming brand. He whirled, plucked it from her with a hand the size of a cow’s head, and flicked it into the water, where it extinguished with a hiss. The troll turned back to the creek. Danr tried to get to his feet, but the rocks in the creek bed slipped under him. The club rushed down at Danr’s head, but he caught the troll’s wrist in both his hands and pushed back. The troll’s muscles bulged, and a terrible weight came down on Danr’s arms. Two spikes on the club edged toward Danr’s face.
“I’m troll!” Danr panted. “Stane!”
“Does he look like me?” Aisa shouted behind them.
“Hmf.” The troll’s face poked into Danr’s line of sight. The club quivered a moment longer. The troll’s eyes narrowed over his jutting jaw, and the weight left Danr. “I see something of the troll in your face, little one. Under all that human.”
Danr sat up and rubbed his burning wrists. “My thanks.”
“Your girl, however,” the troll continued, “she is—”
“Leave her alone!” Danr scrambled partway to his feet. “She’s a … powerful witch.”
“That is correct,” Aisa said evenly. “But I will not use my magic on you if you guide us to the other trolls.”
Iron Axe Page 10
