She had never seen a vala before. A mythical wand-woman. But the image she had of one in her mind—an old, weathered woman with gnarled fingers and a stooped back—didn’t match the figure in front of her.
“Women are not touched by Enos,” her mother had told her, dismissing Sibba’s questions about valas whenever they arose. “They have no access to magic.” It was another of her beliefs that she had brought with her from Casuin.
She’d had no reason to believe otherwise before. But now Sibba remembered the voice in the dark, louder and more powerful than the waves. I see you. She remembered the vision she’d had of a woman on a cliff, arms raised against the storm. Come to me.
A vala was more powerful than a sadj. This girl didn't just see things; she could make things happen. But in spite of that power, in spite of the way people spoke of them with respect and deferred to them with reverence, she was as good as a servant. Her own father didn’t keep valas, but some of the lesser jarls did, and Chief Grimsson was known for her congregation of violent wand-women that reinforced her army. It was this association that caused people to fear valas now. The chiefs and jarls kept that power in check by enforcing strict rules. No vala could live in society without a patron, and that patron had the right to command the vala as he saw fit in exchange for keeping the vala safe and relatively comfortable. They were somehow both possessions and honored members of the community. They were like field cats locked in flimsy wooden cages.
Sibba stared as Tola approached, the sun glinting off the metal of her staff, and wondered why someone who could control a storm would let a man control her. If today was her gifting, that meant that her family was giving her away, transferring her care and her power to some patron as a reward or in exchange for something. She wasn’t a human, but a bargaining chip. Sibba could not imagine being bound to a fate so early in life, to know that there were no other options. It had all been laid out for Tola from the moment she took her first breath.
“How do I go up?” Sibba asked instead of the million other questions that flooded her brain.
“I will show you.”
Tola turned and began to climb the dunes to the east, heading into the sun. She dug her staff into the ground with each step and pulled herself up the steep incline. Sibba squinted and followed with a sigh. Her muscles ached, and her throat was still parched. When she caught up with her, Tola unclipped a water pouch from her belt—one of many leather pouches hanging there—and offered it to her. Sibba drank only a couple swallows and handed it back, hoping that it had not been laced with any type of drug. From what she remembered about valas, they liked to use hallucinogens to bring themselves closer to Malos, the Realm of Shadows, where they drew their power from.
“I see your hesitation,” Tola said, not turning around.
“No, I—”
“Don't worry. I am a very good wand-woman, but I am also very kind. I would not drug you or harm you.”
They finally reached a path that appeared to wind up the side of the mountain through the short beach grass and Sibba fell into step beside Tola. It had not escaped her notice that Tola was beautiful, but she was also unexpectedly young, perhaps no older than Sibba.
But she didn’t look particularly intimidating, not any more than any other beautiful girl might. Her eyes wandered over the staff and down to the pouches, and finally back up to the girl’s face.
“You are curious,” Tola said, looking at Sibba sideways, a sly smile on her thin lips. “You may ask me a question to test me if you like.”
“Okay,” Sibba said, reminded of her last strange meeting with the sadj and trying to think of something harmless, afraid of being turned down again. “Are my friends well?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately, “but I did not need my seithr to tell me that. I saw them come ashore just before you. You were much worse off than they were, and alone, so I came to you first.”
The relief was instant. Estrid and Evenon were okay. She wouldn't have to go back to Ottar and tell Ari that she had lost his future wife. She wouldn't have to hunt down the Crowheart family to tell them that the girl's suitor had perished in the ocean. After so many adventures, what an awful way that would have been for him to go.
“Anything else?” Tola asked as the ground leveled out beneath their feet.
“Did you save me?” she asked after a moment’s thought. “Did you…see me?”
Tola didn’t answer at first. Her staff dug into the ground a little harder than it had before, digging small grooves into the sandy dirt. Finally, she spoke without looking at Sibba, her red hair hiding her face. “I think the question here is, did you see me?”
Sibba furrowed her brow, trying to catch the vala’s eye and failing. “I—yes, I think so. I mean—”
“Because if you did,” Tola continued in spite of Sibba’s stuttering, “that means you have some of the seithr in you.”
An objection was on the tip of Sibba’s tongue—women do not have magic—but she snapped her mouth shut. It would have been a ridiculous thing to say to this creature beside her. Instead, she shook off the strange, mystical feeling that had wrapped around her limbs and smiled sideways at the vala.
“One more question. If you tap me on the cheek with your staff, will I forget my name?” It was a punchline to a popular, raunchy joke that she had heard more than once. Sibba was not normally one for banter, but there was something about Tola. She wanted to make her laugh, to see her relax.
It worked. Tola turned and studied Sibba's face, and then raised the staff to eye-level. “Perhaps. Shall we try?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sibba
They met Estrid and Evenon at the top of the cliff. Estrid threw herself at Sibba and Sibba caught her. Both girls were soaked through and half-frozen, and Estrid had a wide gash down her leg beneath her skirts. It was dripping blood into her calf-leather boots.
“I told you to wear trousers, you fool,” Sibba said, but she smiled through the scolding, glad to be reunited with her friend.
Friends, Sibba corrected herself, feeling a warm swell of affection when Evenon appeared over Estrid’s shoulder, watching them sullenly. Somehow, he had kept Estrid safe, and that was enough to eliminate any misgivings Sibba had about him. He was wind-beaten and shivering, but his bow and quiver were still strapped to him, just as Sibba's ax and stolen crow sword were in their sheaths beneath her cloak. He offered her a small smile, but when his eyes landed on the vala, his face darkened with mistrust.
Tola had no such misgivings about the two newcomers. She stepped forward and pulled a wrapped packet from a purse on her belt.
“May I?” she asked, gesturing to Estrid's leg. Estrid shrugged and stuck her leg out, pulling up her skirt to reveal the jagged wound on the inside of her calf. “I don’t think it will need stitching.”
Tola knelt and cracked open a long, green leaf with jagged edges. “Eir leaf,” she said by way of explanation. The sap had a clean, crisp smell. She spread it on the wound and then used the linen cloth to bind Estrid's leg. That had been expected, but when she then used a stick of kohl to etch a five-lined rune on the binding, they all leaned forward to examine it.
“What is that?” Estrid asked, not hiding her bewilderment.
Smiling secretly, Tola stood and stuffed the kohl back in the pouch. Then she shook a finger at the group as one might do to a nosy child.
“Vala secrets,” she said.
“Truly?” Estrid asked. “You are a vala?”
“I am,” Tola said, wiping her hands on a cloth that hung from her belt before recovering her staff from where she had placed it against a tree trunk. Estrid and Evenon both seemed to lean away from it. Looking up at the sky, Tola added, “And I am late. Will you accompany me back into town?”
“The boat…” Sibba motioned to the other side of the cliff, but the look on Evenon's face stopped her.
“There is no more boat,” he said, speaking for the first time since his appearance. Pushing past him, Sib
ba scrambled up the hill. She thought she felt him grab at her to stop her, but if he did he missed. At the flat bluff on top of the cliff, she had a view of the beach on both sides. To her right was the pebble beach where she had washed up, but to her left was a labyrinth of giant spiked rocks and among them, wooden planks and scraps of red sail.
He had been right. The Malstrom was no more. One day. She had lasted one day as captain before destroying that, too. And her father wanted her to be chief? The others appeared behind her, all of them gazing down at the wreckage. Estrid opened her mouth as if to say something, but Sibba beat her to it.
“Let's go,” Sibba said. “No reason to stay here.” She turned to Tola, who stood a few paces back from the group as if knowing this grief did not belong to her. And it was grief, though it was just an object. It was something that had belonged to Sibba's before, something that was supposed to carry her into the after, and it was shattered on the rocks below. “Take us to Endar.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The cloudless sky promised a clear day, and Sibba began to thaw during the walk. Tola walked beside her, prying into the group's journey—where they were going, from where they had come. Sibba answered in murmured half-truths. They were coming from the north, traveling to Ydurgat to visit family.
“That's where I was born,” Tola said. “My mother is the vala to the venerable Chief Grimsson.”
With that information, Sibba felt justified in not disclosing more information to the girl, no matter how trustworthy she seemed. But something nagged at her.
“Shouldn’t you inherit your mother’s position? Why are you here in Endar?”
Tola shrugged but it didn’t hide the hurt in the twist of her mouth. “I was not worthy of the position.”
“Not worthy?” They were following the river and the path was widening, which meant they were approaching Endar. Sibba held back a branch for the vala to pass and then stepped through onto what was obviously the main road in and out of town. It was churned into mud by the recent storm, a lumpy mess of tracks from boots, wagon wheels, and horses’ hooves. Tola walked in the dry grass along the side of the road to avoid soiling her cloak while Sibba valiantly trudged through the mud.
“Chief Grimsson expects a certain level of ferocity in her retinue,” Tola said, lifting up her skirts and jumping over a puddle. “I have always been more interested in life than death.”
“You mean healing?” Estrid asked from behind her after clearing the puddle herself.
“Yes, to my mother’s great shame.”
“So you’ve been exiled to Endar?” Sibba asked as the main gate came into view. The town was nothing compared to Ottar, a small gathering of houses around the mouth of an even smaller river. Even still, as the sun reached its peak, the light glinted off of the armor of the women warriors patrolling the gates. They carried swords as long as their legs and wore helmets to hide their faces.
“Oh no,” Tola said with a mirthless laugh. “It wouldn’t be that easy, would it? No, Jarl Silentarm pleased the chief when he brought her a valuable treasure from a recent battle. His loyalty has won him a great prize. His daughter will marry Chief Grimsson’s nephew, and I am her wedding gift.”
Evenon, who was also walking along the muddy road, spoke up. “So she gets rid of you and she buys herself the loyalty of an outlying port village.”
“Precisely,” Tola said, turning her blazing green eyes on Evenon, who met her gaze unwaveringly. Sibba remembered what he’d said about proving himself to his princess. It seemed like perhaps he had some knowledge about the way of politics.
A girl younger than Sibba greeted them at the gate, her long, yellow hair bound in intricate knots, and her sky blue eyes blazing.
“Where have you been?” she snapped at Tola. Aeris leaped from Tola's shoulder and soared to the top of a nearby post, her head twitching as she watched the spectacle below. The girl startled and took a minuscule step back before recovering herself.
Tola, at least a head taller than her, looked down her nose at the young girl. “Vala secrets,” she said, her voice cool instead of teasing as it had been when she’d told Estrid the same thing. “What a vala does the night before her gifting is no one’s concern.”
The girl’s pale cheeks pinkened, but a boy appeared behind her, a hand on her shoulder. “Now, Jorunn,” he said, his voice calm and even. “Let Tola pass. She’ll need to prepare for the ceremony. There will be time to lay down ground rules later.” He was short but broad, and exuded confidence that made the girl, Jorunn, shrink beneath his scrutiny. Then he turned to Sibba’s group, looking each of them over in turn until his eyes settled on Evenon. “She’s never had a vala, you see. It’s a learning process.”
Evenon grunted in eloquent response. The fingers of his right hand stroked a goose-feather fletching on an arrow at his hip and Sibba worried he would draw it on the boy just to get him to shut up.
The boy wasn’t giving up. He held out a chubby hand. “Torsten Windkeep, nephew to our venerable Chief Isgerd Grimsson,”
It was Estrid who stepped up when Evenon did little more than stare at the outstretched hand. She slipped her pale fingers into his and dipped into a small curtsy. “Estrid Fogthorn,” she said, “and these are my companions.” She didn’t introduce them by name. Using Sibba’s name here would certainly condemn her to the same fate as her brother, so it was best to remain quiet.
“Are you here for the wedding?” Torsten asked.
“Yes,” Estrid said without hesitation. “We were waylaid by the storm last night. Our supplies were…” She let her voice trail off suggestively as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. His bride was already boring of the conversation, her attention drifting, and it was a good thing. Estrid was laying it on thick. Torsten stared blankly for a second before understanding crossed his face.
“Oh!” He held out an arm to Estrid, beckoning her forward. “You’ll be needing fresh clothes and somewhere to rest. Please, follow me.” Estrid stepped easily into his arm while Sibba and Evenon trailed behind, Tola between them. They watched as Estrid slipped a hand around Jorunn’s skinny arm and pulled her along with them. The girl looked as startled as Torsten, but just as taken, because she scurried along in Estrid’s grip.
Evenon grunted.
“There she is,” Tola said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Jorunn Silentarm, my future mistress.” The words carried a bitter weight. Her entire face had changed, seeming to grow heavy and dark. This was not the same girl she had met on the beach with wild hair and arms stretched out to the storm. This was a caged animal.
“You don’t have to stay,” Sibba said on impulse. Evenon grunted again, but Sibba couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or surprise.
Aeris floated down from her perch and landed on Tola's shoulder. To her credit, Tola did not flinch. As if without thinking, she raised a hand to and stroked the bird's beak. “She will be married this evening. Tomorrow, I will belong to her. It is my fate, woven by Interis. There is nothing else for me except exile if I do not do my duty as a vala.”
“You could come with us,” Sibba said.
Evenon didn’t grunt this time. Instead, he stopped in his tracks, watching Sibba with incredulity, his mouth gaping open. Tola and Sibba halted a few feet ahead of him while Estrid and her new friends continued on toward the longhouse. “Are you mad?” he asked. As if to punctuate his point, a woman in iron armor stalked past with clanking steps. The trio moved to the side.
“He’s right,” Tola said. “I should go.” Jorunn was turning back to look for her, her eyes searching the street. Before she was seen, Tola reached out a long-fingered hand and squeezed Sibba’s fingers.
No, you shouldn’t, Sibba wanted to say, but the girl was already gone, her staff leaving small divots in the mud beside her footprints as if she were a strange, three-legged creature. Estrid, who was making her way back to them, passed her with a jovial smile, seemingly unaware that anything was amiss. When Sibba looked away, Evenon was sta
ring at her.
“What?” Sibba snapped.
“Be careful,” he said. “It isn’t wise to kiss a wielder.”
“Who said anything about kissing?” A blush was crawling up Sibba’s neck no matter how she tried to master her features. “And what’s a wielder, anyhow?”
Evenon didn’t have a chance to respond. Estrid appeared in front of them and took their hands to pull them forward. “I found us a bath and a wardrobe, and this afternoon, we’re going to a party.” They stumbled along unresisting behind Estrid.
“Do you think maybe you can talk them out of some horses next time?” Evenon asked, sideswiping a woman carrying a fur-wrapped bundle that was making a piercing, wailing sound.
Estrid laughed. “Give me a moment with them after they’ve had a couple drinks, and I don’t think it will be an issue.”
“The sooner, the better,” Sibba said as they crossed the threshold into the longhouse where they were greeted with a wall of warm air. Immediately and without her consent, her eyes searched the room for red hair. Her stomach had been in knots ever since watching Tola walk away. It was time to leave before the knots drew themselves tight enough to keep her here.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sibba
Evenon flipped the piece of silver with his thumb. It twirled end over end. Heads, tails, heads, tails—Sibba lost count. He snatched it out of the air and slapped it on the table between them.
“Heads,” Sibba called.
He moved his hand and they both peered down. “Heads it is.” He took a long swig of the spiced mead from the goblet at his side and slammed it on the table, his eyes on Sibba.
She hadn't played Tryggr since she was a child and it had just been a bunch of girls around a hearth fire with mugs of cider giggling about which boys they thought were endearing.
“You'd better hurry before my head clears,” Evenon said, his words slurring slightly.
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