The Girl the Sea Gave Back

by Adrienne Young

  The dark night looked like liquid. Like we were beneath its drowning surface. The wind whipped around us as cold rain began to fall and his mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, it was the voice of the Spinners.

  “Utan,” they whispered, the sound echoing through the trees.

  The Nādhir stared at me, unmoving until the gate melted back into a twist of dissipating smoke. It wound around him until he was gone, and in the next breath, I was alone. The cold rushed in around me and I searched the black nothingness, feeling bare in the darkness without him.

  I searched for the shape of him, tried to feel the run of the current over my skin, but there was nothing. No one. Until a small flickering glow lifted overhead and I looked up, squinting against its brightening light.

  There, dangling above my mind, was a soft, wavering flame. I didn’t move a muscle, my breath shallow as I reached for it. Gently, as if it might disappear like the smoke.

  Then, in a rush, the light flooded in a desperate, cold wave until I was covered with it.

  I was underwater.

  The strange, white glow cast down in beams around me, trailing beads of bubbles racing up to the surface overhead. My arms floated up before me, a cluster of yarrow marked onto one hand and a stalk of henbane on the other. They drifted, unmoving, until the blunt edge of realization lit in my mind like the cold seawater filling my chest in the silence of the deep.

  I was dead. But this wasn’t a vision.

  It was a memory.

  10 YEARS AGO

  Village of Liera, Svell Territory

  The rider made it to Liera before night had fallen, and by the time the sun went down, word had reached every corner of the village.

  Tova followed the crowded paths with the cloak pulled up high over her head to hide her marks from the notice of the Svell that were pouring toward the ritual house. If anyone spotted her, they’d send her back to the gate. Worse, they’d beat her for coming into the village without Jorrund. But sometimes, if she was careful, she was able to disappear among them.

  She slipped through the open doors silently, pressing herself between bodies until she reached the back wall, where a crude ladder reached up into the dark, smoke-stained rafters. She looked over her shoulder once before she climbed hand over hand, melting into the black that hovered over the gathered Svell, and found a place to sit on a wide wooden beam with her feet dangling in the air.

  She covered her nose and mouth with the corner of her cloak. The smoke from the altar fire was thick up in the rafters, billowing up before it escaped through the opening in the roof. It stung her eyes, but from here, she wouldn’t be seen. Most importantly, she could see and hear the meeting.

  There had been rumors coming from the east for days about an army that attacked the Aska on the fjord. But Bekan had sent his own riders to see for themselves what had happened and in the time they’d been gone, the Svell had already split over what was to be done if it was true. Some wanted to march on the fjord before the fires could even stop burning. Others wanted to keep their years of peace intact. Even the village leaders didn’t seem to agree.

  The benches filled, bodies pushed into every open space in the ritual house below, and Tova watched as Jorrund came through the door with a torch, Bekan on his heels.

  The crowd made way for them, the voices lowering to whispers, and Tova studied the Tala, trying to see what lay behind his focused eyes. Whatever news the rider had brought, it wasn’t good.

  Bekan lifted a hand into the air and the last of the whispers faded, every eye on him. His tiny daughter was cradled in his arms, her pale sleeping face flushed pink at her cheeks. Her mother had died not long after giving birth to her and instead of handing her to a nurse to raise, Bekan had taken the task up himself. Once, she’d walked into his home with Jorrund and he’d been curled up with her, asleep. Tova had decided then that she liked the Svell chieftain, even if he didn’t seem to like her.

  His voice rose above the sound of the fire at his back. “The Herja have attacked the fjord, taking the Aska villages. There is little left. They are now on the mountain, doing the same in Riki territory.”

  Tova’s hands gripped the edge of the beam, leaning forward until the light from the flames below hit her face. The silence grew thin, the wind blowing against the ritual house the only sound. While some had hoped for the Aska’s destruction, no one had imagined one army could take both clans. Jorrund had told her the story of the Herja, who’d come ten years earlier and attacked the fjord before disappearing. Many thought them a myth.

  “Will they come here next?” a timid voice called out.

  Tova looked out over the faces but whoever had asked the question didn’t want to be seen. She could see the same thought in every Svell’s eyes, the excitement over the possibility of war now withered into something that looked much more like fear. Hands drifted absently toward weapons or clenched into fists, and the tension pulled tighter as Bekan stepped forward.

  He handed the baby girl to his brother, who stood at his side, and Vigdis took her into his arms, holding her against his broad chest.

  Bekan looked out over his people, waiting for the last of the murmuring to quiet. “If they do, we’ll be ready. I want every village guarded through the night. Every warrior ready to fight.”

  “And Hǫlkn?” another voice shouted.

  The leader of the nearest Svell village had died only weeks before. If war was coming, they wanted to know who would lead them.

  Bekan’s eyes went to his brother. His hair was pulled back into one long, tightly woven braid, his arms wrapped protectively around his niece. “Vigdis will take leadership of Hǫlkn.”

  Tova sighed in relief, and Vigdis’ eyes flickered up to the rafters, where Tova was perched. She pulled her knees up into her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. Though she was hidden in the shadows, his frightening gaze seemed to find her, peering up through the darkness.

  She pressed her lips together, the feeling of his stare crawling over her skin. The chieftain’s brother hadn’t taken his attention from her since she’d arrived in Liera, but now, he would take leadership of Hǫlkn, the Svell village to the north. And from there, maybe his blade wouldn’t be able to find her.

  Forest on the Mountain, Riki Territory

  Halvard could still hear the screaming.

  His numb feet dragged through the snow behind the Herja’s cart as the horses walked, pulling him behind it. The rope cut into the skin around his wrists and his arms ached, the blood trailing up into the sleeves of his torn tunic. The woman tied beside him had fallen before the moon had even risen above the treetops and her lifeless body dragged over the ground beside him.

  It had taken only minutes for the village of Fela to fall to the Herja in the dead of night. They’d appeared in the dark without warning, and he hadn’t seen the man coming as he ran for the house across the path, where his mother was. He’d only felt wide arms wrap around his body as he was lifted up from the ground and then he was in the black forest. The sound of Eelyn’s screams still rang in his ears, his name bent and broken on her cracked voice.

  He pinched his eyes closed, breathing through the throbbing pain in his face. The bones in his nose were broken, the taste of his own blood still sharp on his tongue. He’d searched the ground for his brothers’ bodies as the Herja pulled him into the trees, but he’d seen no sign of them. Now, he could only hope that wherever they were, they were alive. He could only hope that they weren’t in the forest looking for him.

  A voice called out at the back of the line and a tall Herja woman with black furs hung over her shoulders appeared, pulling another Riki woman on a rope behind her. She stepped into the moonlight and Halvard sucked in a breath when he saw the wood-beaded necklaces draped around her neck. The village Tala’s face lit as she looked up to the sky, her hair falling down her back.

  The Herja jerked her forward and whistled, signaling the horses to slow, and Halvard tried to meet her eyes as she was tied up
beside him. But the Tala only looked up, to the stars gleaming overhead.

  He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, her sharp gaze came down to meet his, silencing him. Her eyes cut to the Herja walking beside them and Halvard looked back to see more of them pouring in from the forest behind them. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with his shoulders as they lurched forward.

  She waited for the last of them to pass before she finally leaned in to whisper, “It’s alright.”

  The cart’s wheels cracked over the stones buried in the snow and he tried to keep his balance, picking up each frozen foot and setting it down again as they pushed farther from Fela. He’d only ever left their village to check the nets at the river or to hunt with his brothers. Now, he wasn’t sure there was even a village left to go back to. Behind them, the smoke from the fires lifted above the tallest pines and drifted into the sky. His foot caught the roots of a tree and he fell forward, crashing into the cart and losing his footing.

  He tried to pull his feet back beneath him, but it was no use. The feeling had left them in the cold and the cart was moving too quickly. The Tala looked behind them before she took hold of his rope, pulling it toward her until the slack was shortened and Halvard could stand. She braced his arm as he balanced himself, a small cry slipping from his chest as he wound the length of it around his fists and tried to keep his steps in the narrow tracks of the wheels.

  “Are they going to kill us?” he whispered, keeping his eyes on the ground before him.

  The Tala took a few more steps before she answered, “No.”

  “How do you know?” He blinked, looking up to her face.

  A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and she tilted her chin up until the moonlight reflected in her eyes again. Halvard followed her gaze to the black sky, where the outline of a bird was circling far above.

  “What is it?”

  “The All Seer,” she said.

  “Is it a god?”

  Her smile pulled wider. “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “He’s the eye of the Spinners,” she said, simply.

  “He’s come to protect you?”

  A Herja ran past them, his bloodied sword swinging at his side, and Halvard fell quiet, watching him disappear ahead.

  “He’s come to protect you,” the Tala said, looking to the trees.

  Halvard turned to search the darkness, the cold burning in his chest, until he caught sight of something slipping through the bits of light. His mouth dropped open, the hot tears returning as he saw Eelyn and Fiske. They ran through the trees with silent steps, tracking alongside the caravan as they walked.

  And when Halvard looked back up to the sky, the All Seer was gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HALVARD

  The forest was quiet, as if it knew what was coming. We were only a day’s ride from Hylli, but the farthest corners of Nādhir territory were already filling with Svell. The smoke from their fires reached up into the sky to the west, where they were camped at the foot of the mountains. Before the sun rose again, they would be pushing east.

  Following the river meant another half day, but taking the faster route through the valley would make us easy to spot. And as long as we didn’t lose more time, we would beat the Svell to the fjord. We had to.

  The pain in my side deepened as the horse moved from side to side, faltering over the slick riverbed. I knew the heat swelling beneath my skin meant the wound was infected. Having a healer as a mother told me that much, but I also knew it was better to have an infected burn than a gash that wouldn’t stop bleeding. If we got to Hylli in time, I’d be able to treat it before sickness could take hold and keep me from fighting. If we didn’t, I’d lose my life to fever instead of battle.

  I pressed my hand firmly into the old Riki armor vest that Asmund had given me to make me less recognizable to anyone we would meet in the forest. Whoever had owned it had probably died in the fighting seasons before the Nādhir made peace. My father’s armor was made almost the same, except for the engraving of the yew tree on his shoulder clasps. It was the symbol that marked the blade of my axe, which had also belonged to him. Every spring, my mother opened the trunk against the wall and took his things out to oil the leathers and shine the bronze and I’d watch her, trying to remember his face. There were so many things about him that had faded, but I found myself thinking of him more and more since the day Espen told me I’d been chosen to take his place as chieftain.

  I wondered what he would think. What he would say to me. I wondered if he’d be proud.

  The river curved tightly around a cliff side and the moon disappeared above us. I watched the water carefully, steering the horse nearer to the bank and away from the white-capped water breaking on submerged rocks. We were moving slowly, but tracks through the forest would lead the Svell straight to us, and there was no storm breaking to cover them.

  Movement in the trees caught my eye and I looked over my shoulder, pulling back on the reins. Asmund halted his horse behind me and turned, but there was nothing. Only the dark, alive with the night sounds of the forest and everything in it. A prick crept over my skin as I urged the horse forward, following after Kjeld, who was making his way around the bend.

  The faint sound of a murmuring prayer on his lips drifted back to meet me. The first time I’d seen him was on the path to Fela, the mountain village where I was born. He’d just joined up with Asmund and the hollow in his cheeks was evidence he’d been starving through the winter. He didn’t speak. He’d hardly even looked at me or my brothers, his attention always on the world around him. As if he could see shadows and hear voices that the rest of us couldn’t. It was the same feeling that came over me watching the girl in the glade, her eyes boring into mine, her hand pressed to her ear.

  Aghi told me back then to keep my distance from Kjeld. That the Kyrr were not to be trifled with. I’d heard more than one tale about what happened to anyone who trespassed onto their lands. But apart from the stories whispered about the wild clan in the headlands, Kjeld only seemed like a weary, worn down man. And in the four years he’d been with Asmund, I’d learned next to nothing about him.

  “You never told me where he came from.” I spoke lowly, catching Asmund’s eyes in the dark.

  He caught up to me, pulling the reins of his horse up higher. “He’s Kyrr. He’s from the headlands.”

  “The Kyrr never come to the mainland. In all the years I’ve traveled with Aghi or taken boats out on the fjord, Kjeld is the only one I’ve ever seen. How did he end up here?”

  “I don’t know the whole story.” Asmund shrugged. “In fact, I know almost nothing.”

  “What part do you know?”

  He slowed, letting Kjeld pull farther ahead until he was almost invisible against the dark trees. “Only that I don’t think he was cast out from the Kyrr like people say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I think he wasn’t made to leave. That he chose to.”

  Kjeld leaned back as the horse’s gait stuttered on the slope, guiding it around the current. It didn’t make any sense. The Kyrr were feared by every clan on the mainland. He couldn’t have thought he’d find a new life among us. “Why do you think that?”

  “Three winters ago, a man came looking for him,” Asmund whispered.

  “A Kyrr?”

  He nodded. “He found our camp on the south side of the mountain just after the first snowfall and at first, I thought he was there to kill him. That maybe he’d come to act on a blood feud or carry out a sentence Kjeld had outrun.”

  “What happened?”

  “He wasn’t there to take him. He was pleading with him to come back.”

  My gaze drifted back to Kjeld. His long blond braid ran down the center of his back, the black marks spreading up out of his tunic and wrapping around his neck. He was at least the age of my brothers, probably older, and he could have a family he’d left behind in the headlands. Or maybe he was like Asmund
and Bard, and left because he’d lost something.

  “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Kjeld refused to return with him. The man left and never came back.”

  It seemed that no one would leave their home and their people if they weren’t made to, but I knew that wasn’t true. It looked as if Asmund was thinking the same. He and Bard had done just that after the Herja came. Nothing made the burden of that pain easier to bear, but to some, going where no one knew the story was worth the loneliness it brought. I’d once asked Asmund if leaving the fjord had brought him peace. His answer was that it was only a different kind of pain. One that was a little easier to live with.

  “Do your brothers know where you are?” Asmund asked.

  “If they don’t already, then they will soon.”

  He’d known Fiske and Iri as long as he’d known me, so he could guess what their reactions might be when they found out I’d gone. If I wasn’t back in Hylli by the time they got there, they’d be scouring the forests for me, their blades soaked with the blood of every Svell they found. And Fiske’s wife, Eelyn, would be with them. The only thing that burned hotter than the fury in Aghi’s daughter was her love.

  I swallowed hard as her face lit in my mind. When I saw her, I’d have to tell her about Aghi, and the thought almost made me hope that they would reach Hylli before me and that news of the glade would be there waiting for her.

  Asmund cut to the right and I followed, watching the emptiness around us. He’d been quiet since we’d left his brother and I knew he was worried, even if he wouldn’t say it. Bard was the last blood that remained of their family.

  “You know you don’t have to do this,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I can get back to Hylli on my own. I’m not your chieftain.”