The Girl the Sea Gave Back

by Adrienne Young

  “He doesn’t believe I can do it. I don’t know if I believe I can do it.”

  “You’ll do what you have to do,” he said, simply.

  I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look up and meet his eyes. I didn’t want to admit it, but I owed him the truth. “I’m not ready, Espen.”

  A patient smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll have to be if we don’t find peace with the Svell.”

  “You don’t think we will?”

  He thought before he answered. “I think our world is changing. But not fast enough to keep a war with the Svell from our lands. Our people will see more fighting before we’re free of it.”

  A whistle echoed up on the ridge and I stilled, sliding my axe free as I scanned the trees. Espen did the same, his weapons hanging at his sides as his horse stamped the damp ground nervously. The whistle sounded again and I searched the shadows until a figure appeared and one outstretched hand lifted into a beam of sunlight.

  “Halvard!” A voice I knew called my name.

  I lowered my axe, letting out the breath I was holding as Asmund slid down the incline, a cascade of fallen leaves racing behind him.

  “I wondered when I’d see you.” His frayed, stained tunic was the color of the dirt beneath his furs and mismatched armor. “Espen,” he greeted. But the chieftain didn’t dishonor himself by acknowledging him, kicking the horse and taking off down the path where Aghi and the others had disappeared. He didn’t approve of Asmund. Most didn’t.

  “You’ve heard?” I asked as he came through the trees.

  Asmund stopped before me, his face heavy with his unspoken answer.

  Above us on the ridge, the other raiders watched from the trees. As soon as Espen rounded the bend in the trail, they made their way down the slope on the same path Asmund had taken.

  It had been six years since Asmund and his brother Bard left Hylli. Now, they made their living as raiders with the outcasts and exiled of the mainland, except for a Kyrr man named Kjeld. My eyes went to the black marks reaching up his neck and down his wrists to his hands. He was the only Kyrr I’d ever seen, but everyone on the mainland knew the stories about his people. It was the reason no one went to the headlands.

  “We saw the smoke from the eastern valley.” Bard took my hand in greeting as he reached us. “Svell?”

  I nodded. “Have you seen them?”

  “No, but Ljós is gone. Burned to the ground.” His voice lowered. He may have chosen to leave his clan, but there were some things you couldn’t cut from your soul. We would always be his people.

  “Did you find survivors?”

  Asmund shook his head, starting down the path, and I followed beside Bard. The brothers had been among the first friends I’d made when I came to Hylli, but they’d lost every member of their family when the Herja came, and though there’d been many who’d lost everything, some couldn’t stay in the home they’d known with the people they loved. When they were only fourteen and sixteen years old, they’d left their past and honor behind in exchange for a life that didn’t remind them of the one they’d once had.

  “So, it’s war?” Asmund watched my face carefully.

  The years in the wilderness had weathered him in a way that made the pain he’d suffered easier to see. Maybe that was true for both of us. “We’re going to Ljós to meet with Bekan.”

  “Meet with him?”

  “He wants to make an offering of reparation.”

  “What does that matter?” His voice turned sharp and the strain in his eyes made him more familiar to me.

  “You know we can’t afford war with the Svell.”

  He leveled his gaze at me. “Then spill as much blood as you can before you reach the afterlife.”

  He had the heart of the old ways, fueled by all he’d suffered. We all did. “What did you see in Ljós?”

  “From the look of the trail in the forest, it was maybe thirty warriors and it was quick. They killed whoever they found, set fire to the village, and left.”

  I reached a hand out between us and he took it, his worry not hidden. “You should go back to Hylli. Bring every Nādhir to the border and take them.”

  The same thought was written on the face of his brother, but Kjeld was unreadable as always, his deep-set eyes watching. His fingers wound around his wrist, where a copper disk and a string of bones were knotted in a bracelet.

  Asmund sighed. “Be careful, Halvard.”

  The others followed him as he headed back into the forest, slipping in and out of shadows. Bard looked back at me once more before they disappeared over the ridge.

  “Cursed, every one of them,” Aghi called out from where he waited ahead. He grunted as he rubbed the heel of his hands into the knotted muscle above his knee. “Traitors.”

  “You know they don’t raid on Nādhir lands,” I said, catching up to him.

  He arched an eyebrow up at me. To him, it didn’t matter. They’d lost their honor and there was no coming back from leaving your people behind to take up life as a raider. He didn’t understand them the way I did.

  “You’re quick to see good, Halvard,” he muttered.

  I looked down to my father’s axe resting against my leg. The engraving of a yew tree gleamed on its blade, the same symbol that marked his armor. “You think it makes me weak-minded.”

  His brow furrowed. “It makes you stronger. Wiser than I, I think.” Aghi was a man of few words, but they were weighted when he spoke. “You’re afraid,” he said. “That’s good.”

  “Good?” I half-laughed.

  He leaned in, meeting my eyes, “Fear is not our enemy, Halvard. You remember the fighting seasons.”

  I did. It was one of the only clear memories I had of my father, sitting beside the fire and sharpening his sword before he left for Aurvanger, where the clans met every five years to quench their blood feud. “But my father and my brothers weren’t afraid to go to war.”

  “They weren’t afraid of battle. They were afraid of losing what they loved. And that’s what made them brave in battle.”

  I tried to imagine Aghi on the fields of Aurvanger, swinging his sword and roaring into the wind. He must have been a great warrior to have survived so many fighting seasons, but the Aghi I had grown up knowing was gentle, in a way. “What are you afraid of now?”

  He blinked, his blue eyes as clear as the cold waters of the fjord. “I’m afraid that one day, after I’ve gone to the afterlife, and my children come to meet me, they will tell me our people lost the peace we found when I lived in this world.” He breathed. “There will always be war, Halvard. War is easy. It comes again and again, like waves to a shore. But I lived most of my life driven by hate, and I don’t want that for my grandchildren. Or yours.” He reached a hand out for me. “Now, help an old man get off his horse so he can take a piss.”

  I smiled, taking his arm against mine and leaning back as he slid down to the ground with a grunt.

  Far ahead, Espen and the warriors from Hylli waited on the path where the land dipped down into the deeper part of the forest. The wind wound around them and up toward us, the sharp tinge of ash carried from beyond the trees, where Ljós was waiting.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TOVA

  We stood in the blacksmith’s stall in the darkening light as he turned the sword over in the forge a final time. Vigdis’ gaze was pinned to the dirt beneath the smith’s feet, but Bekan watched patiently as the hilt of the weapon was set with a large stone of amber, the symbol for peace engraved on the tip of its shining blade.

  The day had been uncomfortably quiet, the tension of the Svell leaders visible as they caught each other’s sideways glances. I could see Jorrund watching them all closely, his eyes suspicious. He hadn’t spoken a word since we stood outside the ritual house waiting for Bekan that afternoon.

  Vigdis was furious when his brother ordered the blacksmith to take the sword he’d been crafting for Vigdis and finish it as the offering of reparation to the Nādhir chieftain. He�
��d called Bekan a coward after the others disappeared through the doors of the ritual house, but when Bekan threatened to take Vigdis’ position as village leader of Hǫlkn and give it to someone with more loyalty, he agreed through gritted teeth to go with him to Ljós.

  Now, Vigdis stood, staring into the fire with his thumbs hooked into his belt, his long black hair waving around his face. “And if they don’t accept?” His eyes rose to meet Bekan’s as he asked the question.

  “They’re not fools. They’ll accept,” he answered.

  Jorrund nodded in agreement. “We’ll make a sacrifice at dawn and ask Eydis to give us her favor.”

  The smith pounded the blade on the anvil and I flinched against the ear-splitting ring. The sword was almost as long as I was tall and the smith struggled to keep it steady. I’d never seen another blade like it, the intricate hilt and setting of stones was beautiful, the curves of the blade expertly crafted. It would have been a weapon of great pride for Vigdis. Now, it would serve as his humiliation in the hands of his enemy. If the Nādhir chieftain accepted it, the Svell would owe him a debt in exchange for peace.

  When it was finished, the smith held it up for inspection and Bekan gave an approving nod. “Vigdis.” He said his brother’s name, gesturing toward the smith, who waited before them.

  Vigdis’ jaw clenched as he realized what was behind Bekan’s unspoken words. He would still pay for the sword with his own penningr.

  He met Bekan’s eyes for a long moment before he finally reached for his belt, yanking his purse free. He didn’t bother asking how much, emptying every coin into the smith’s open hand. The man backed away slowly, the penningr clutched to his chest and his eyes averted as Vigdis’ fury filled the wavering silence around us.

  The others started for the gates and Bekan kept his voice low as he walked beside Jorrund, sliding the new sword into the second sheath at his back. They’d both get what they wanted if the Nādhir accepted the offering. The border village and any disputes with its leader would be gone now that Ljós had fallen. They’d made a show of force to the Nādhir people, cementing their position of power and strength. And war wouldn’t take the lives of the warriors they may one day need for another battle.

  But Bekan’s faith in Eydis’ favor was too great. Even after Vera, he still didn’t fear the web of fate the way I did. He still couldn’t feel the power it held over the days ahead. Even then, I could sense it shifting, its threads unwinding and then weaving into new patterns. It was in the feel of the wind. The silence of the forest. The Spinners were at work and I was the only one who could see it.

  We reached the gates of Liera, where the Svell village leaders and a band of thirty warriors waited. A wordless exchange passed between Vigdis and Siv and I watched her fist tighten around her belt. As long as Bekan stayed chieftain of the Svell, he would value peace over war. And I wondered if Vigdis and the others could live the rest of their mortal lives without spilling more enemy blood.

  The half moon rose up in the sky as we rode into the forest and it cast a pale light on the earth that made me uneasy. It had been Jorrund’s job to keep the divide between the Svell leaders contained in the last years and he was growing weary of it, convinced the tide was turning more forcefully than Bekan could control. But Bekan was more confident in his brother. He put his faith in all the wrong things.

  “The runes were clear,” Vigdis said, slowing until his horse fell into step on the other side of Jorrund.

  Jorrund’s gaze drifted to me, but I looked ahead as if I couldn’t hear them. Staying below Vigdis’ notice was the only way to keep my neck from his blade.

  “Perhaps you changed the fate of our people when you took Ljós. This is your chance to right it.” Jorrund waited for Vigdis to speak, but he didn’t. “The Nādhir will find their end when Eydis wills it. Not a moment before.”

  Vigdis didn’t argue, but anger still etched the dark circles beneath his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder to the man riding behind us. “Don’t take your eyes off her until we’re back through those gates, Gunther.”

  I froze, my hands twisting into the reins as I looked back over my shoulder to find him. Gunther rode on his horse behind us, his gaze cast over me, to Vigdis. He didn’t argue with the order, but I could see in the way his jaw clenched that he didn’t want the responsibility of watching me. No one would. There was more gray streaked through his hair since the last time I’d seen him, but in most ways, he looked the same as he had the day I first met him in the meadow as a girl. He’d never liked me then, either, but I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me unless he had to. And that was more than I could say for any other Svell.

  Jorrund looked between Vigdis and Gunther nervously. Vigdis didn’t know about the deal he’d made with Gunther all those years ago and Jorrund didn’t want him to. In fact, no one knew about those days in the meadow. Not even Bekan.

  Gunther stopped his horse beside mine, holding his hand out before me, and his eyes went to the bow slung over my shoulder. I looked around me, to the armed Svell riding into the trees. I wasn’t trained to fight like the rest of them. My bow was the only way I could protect myself. When I didn’t move, he kicked at his horse, moving closer.

  Jorrund jerked his chin up, ordering me to obey and I gritted my teeth as I unbuckled the quiver and tossed it to Gunther. He fastened it to his horse’s riggings and let the small bow drop over his head.

  Of course Vigdis would have me watched. He’d never trusted me, but it was the night his niece Vera died that I first realized that he wanted me dead. He’d wept over her still body, broken in a way that I’d never seen him, and when his eyes found me in the shadows, he’d made me a promise.

  I’ll kill you for this.

  The same look was painted on his face now. He spat onto the ground between us, kicking his heel into the horse and moving ahead to catch up to Siv.

  Gunther fell back behind me as we started again and I glared at him, pulling the bear fur tighter around my shoulders. The wind picked up, winding through the trees as the village grew small behind us, and without the familiar weight of my quiver at my back, I shivered against it. I’d never been away from Liera and the feeling of leaving the forests I knew made my breath hitch. It curled around itself inside my chest and a feeling like eyes watching me from the dark crept up my spine.

  Jorrund stared ahead, his face unreadable. “Why was there no other stone overturned in the cast?”

  “I don’t know.” I gave him the only answer I had. In all the years I’d cast the stones for him, I’d never seen them fall the way they had that night. The future was always changing and shifting. The Spinners were always spinning. But Hagalaz had found the center, its parallel lines perfectly vertical. And every other stone had been turned down, erased from the web of fate.

  He sighed. “Tomorrow, we will fix this.”

  But it sounded like a question on his lilting voice. For maybe the first time, Jorrund wasn’t sure. He was more uncertain than I’d ever seen him and that’s why he’d brought me. To see the things he couldn’t see—fate, omens, and signs that were invisible to him.

  He leaned forward, taking the clay bottle from the side of his saddle and uncorking it before he handed it to me. “It’s a long ride and it will be a cold night. Drink. It will warm you.”

  I brought the bottle to my lips and breathed in the sweet smell of the mead. It reminded me of being a small girl, perched in the rafters of the ritual house while Jorrund and Bekan talked below beside the altar fire. Even then, their conversations had been about the future and the generations that would follow after they’d long been in Djúpr, where the Svell went after death.

  “The Nādhir changed more than their own fates when they ended their blood feud. Perhaps we should have listened to Vigdis long ago, when he first suggested we invade their lands. They were weak then. And for the first time, we were strong.”

  I still remembered the first time I heard the word Nādhir. Two clans, one people, who had buried the blood
feud that had defined them for generations. It was something no one thought possible.

  I took a long drink, thinking. Jorrund had never outright disagreed with Bekan. He’d only ever supported him. But I wondered how strong the bond of loyalty between them was. And I wondered what Jorrund would do if Bekan found a blade at his throat and his brother sitting in his seat before the altar fire. Jorrund believed in Bekan, but the hearts of mortals were dark. Darker than they wanted to believe.

  I still remembered the night the news came about the Herja. They were called a demon army because the stories about them couldn’t be true—that they had come up from the depths of the sea to attack Sigr’s fjord and Thora’s mountain. The people called it the work of some vengeful god, but it sounded more like the work of the Spinners to me. I only wondered what the clans had done to deserve such a fate.

  The Svell had gathered when the messenger arrived, filling the ritual house until people were spilling out the door and into the village. That was the first time I’d ever seen the brothers argue and the last time I’d seen Jorrund sleep soundly. Since then, the Svell had been torn, pulled in two directions.

  War and peace.

  And for the first time, I couldn’t tell which side Jorrund was on.

  The cold sharpened, making my fingers numb on the reins, and I searched the sky again for the All Seer. But he wasn’t there. Maybe there was a chance the future could change.

  By the time the first breath of sunlight was painting the sky, the horse’s hooves were crunching on the forest floor. It was at least three weeks after what should have been the end of winter. I watched the sparkle on the leaves and pine needles in the patches of dim light, a knot twisting in my stomach. When Jorrund looked over his shoulder from where he rode ahead, I could see that he was thinking the same thing—a late frost.

  If he was waiting for an ill omen, we’d found it.

  7 YEARS AGO

  Village of Hylli, Nādhir Territory