by Resa Nelson
“Oh, dear,” Glee said. She covered her mouth with her hands in alarm. “You should always ask before consuming anything, Skallagrim. I added some ingredients to keep the biting flies away. There’s no telling how it might affect you.”
Fee’s eyes widened in fear. “It might turn you into a biting fly.”
Panic seized Skallagrim. “But you told me to drink it. You told me not to ask what it will do!”
The alchemists stared in terror at Skallagrim for a few seconds and then collapsed into a fit of giggles.
“Oh!” Glee said, pointing at him. “You should have seen your face!”
Fee doubled over in laughter. She held onto the crate to keep from falling. “Truly,” she wheezed. “You ought to be more careful.”
Skallagrim licked the lightly sweet taste of the potion from his lips. It didn’t taste half bad. “Very funny. Now will you tell me what I drank? And what it’s going to do to me?”
Glee recovered enough to calm her laughter to a few guffaws. “Only what our mother did to your family.”
“My family?” Skallagrim knew she couldn’t mean his wife and children. Glee must be referring to the people who raised him. “Thurid did something to Snip and Sven?”
Both the alchemists turned serious. “To all the Scaldings,” Fee said. “Not just your parents.”
“They’re not my parents,” Skallagrim said.
“They’re the ones who took you in and cared for you,” Glee said. “Our mother marked the entire Scalding clan so that the rest of us will know which ones have committed murder.”
Lavender eyes.
Skallagrim resisted the urge to ask for a mirror to look at his reflection.
I’ve never murdered anyone. If they did give me the same potion that Thurid secretly put in the food that the Scaldings ate, it won’t change my eyes. It only happens when you murder a fellow mortal.
Fee nodded as if reading his thoughts. “Your eyes are the same. For now.”
At last, Skallagrim understood. “You’re treating me like a Scalding. So, when I kill Frandulane, my eyes will turn lavender. You want everyone to know that I’ve killed him.” He shrugged. “Fine. Let them know.”
“They will know you have committed murder,” Glee said.
“And you won’t be the only one to carry that burden,” Fee said. “Remember, it’s not the just the Scalding who kills that ends up with lavender eyes. It’s his children as well.”
Skallagrim’s voice turned cold. “I’ll be having no more children. Frandulane made sure of that by killing my wife.”
“The potion doesn’t affect only those children born after the murder is committed,” Fee said. “It affects all children, including the ones you already have.”
“How could something I drink now have any effect on anyone other than me?” Skallagrim protested. “It’s impossible.”
“Not for potions,” Glee said. “They have a way of seeking the truth, whether in the body of the one who drinks the potion or the bodies of those that carry the scent of his seed.”
Skallagrim let her words sink in.
After I kill Frandulane, my eyes—and my children’s eyes—will turn lavender. We will all look like Scaldings. When people look at us, they’ll assume we’re Scaldings.
The thought sickened him.
But killing Frandulane will be getting rid of the worst of the Scaldings. Sven and Snip are good people. Sven has kept the rest of the Scaldings from their murderous ways. What if the Scalding name can be restored? What if people saw our lavender eyes and respected us for them?
Skallagrim took the pouch containing Night’s Bane from Fee and then wound his way through the crowded market toward the port to find passage back to the Northlands.
CHAPTER 25
After travelling back to the port city of Gott in the Northlands, Skallagrim searched until he found a local fisherman willing to take him alongside the southern coast. The fisherman knew the river that led to the village of Heatherbloom and dropped Skallagrim off at one of its many branches that led inland from the sea. From there, Skallagrim hiked alone and headed north to follow the river for the next few days.
Walking alone gave Skallagrim time to think about Lumara. He wondered what their lives might have been like if he’d given up dragonslaying when their first child Drageen was born.
We could have settled down in Bellesguard. I could have accepted the duty of patrolling the Midlands or Southlands instead of taking a route in the Northlands. Or I could have become a teacher of dragonslayers. I could have kept my family safe in Bellesguard. I never would have been in Gott, which means Lumara wouldn’t have been killed. If I’d made a different choice, I’d be living with Lumara and our children in Bellesguard right now.
But when Skallagrim thought back to what happened in Gott when his Scalding brother and cousins attacked, he knew Benzel and Madam Po and her husband would have been there. The Scaldings would have still killed Benzel and Madam Po’s husband.
They might have killed Madam Po, too.
No matter what decision I might have made, Frandulane is a problem that must be solved.
Days later, Skallagrim approached a forlorn field of rubble near the base of the mountains rising straight up into the sky. It appeared as if rocks had tumbled down the mountain and piled up in this field.
He sat on a large flat stone and wondered if he’d followed the wrong branch of the river. But the fisherman had seemed knowledgeable about the Northland’s southern shore. They hadn’t passed many rivers, and this was the largest and most likely to lead to the village Skallagrim sought.
Or maybe Skallagrim had walked past Heatherbloom without recognizing it.
How could I have missed Heatherbloom?
Skallagrim dug his toe in a patch of dirt and kicked at it in frustration.
Dirt scattered to reveal a flat stone underneath.
It didn’t look like a stone that had fallen down the mountainside. It bore chisel marks. Taking a closer look, Skallagrim thought it resembled the type of chiseled stone that some Northlanders used as thresholds in their homes.
Skallagrim examined his surroundings.
Low mounds of earth dotted the field. Clusters of dead weeds intermingled with grass, brown from winter.
Up above, snow capped the steep mountains, but the sound of distant rushing water confirmed the beginning of the melting snow that would continue for months and supply a steady source of fresh water.
But Skallagrim already knew that. He’d been drinking sweet, frigid water from the river for days.
He stood on top of the flat stone and gazed beyond the weedy field.
Skallagrim now saw barren but neat rows of earth beyond the field’s edge.
Crops. Those are fields that were harvested, maybe as recently as last fall.
Skallagrim jumped down and dug with his hands, striving to unearth anything of significance in what he now suspected to be a decades-old rubble pile. Within minutes, he found a charred piece of wood. He turned it over in his hands, noting a long handle that ended in a scoop.
A ladle. This looks like a ladle.
Skallagrim put the ladle back where he found it. He stood up and turned in place. “Am I in Heatherbloom?”
A gentle breeze stirred like loving fingers through his hair.
“Lumara?” he said. “Are you here?”
No one answered.
Skallagrim removed the small pouch of Night’s Bane from the larger pouch he wore on his belt. When he opened it, an earthy and sweet scent escaped.
He remembered the warning from the alchemists. Because this was his first exposure to Night’s Bane, he could only ingest one pinch each day. Over the course of time, he could only ingest what this pouch held and no more. Any greater amount would kill him.
Skallagrim took a pinch of Night’s Bane. He chewed and swallowed it before tucking the pouch away.
A rustling sound near his feet startled Skallagrim. Looking down, he saw a rabbit nibbling at a p
atch of new grass.
A distant, hollow sound of wood being chopped echoed in a steady rhythm.
The sound of a woman’s voice startled him even more. “Fluffyhop!” she cried.
Skallagrim turned, shocked by what he now faced.
Instead of the weedy field that had been there moments ago, Skallagrim now saw a small village crowded with houses. Men carried hand tools as they walked toward the empty fields, looking ready to prepare them for the planting season. Geese and chickens squawked, flapping their wings in a hurried walk from mischievous children.
It’s not just ghosts of people I’m seeing. It’s the ghost of the entire village. I’m seeing the ghost of Heatherbloom.
Mere steps away, a woman who looked to be Skallagrim’s age balled her fists on her hips and faced the rabbit. “Honestly, Fluffyhop. You will be the death of me yet.”
The rabbit ignored her and took a few hops toward Skallagrim. He reached down in an attempt to capture the rabbit, but his hands passed through it. When he stood back up and saw the woman, she looked at him as if she’d seen a ghost.
“What are you?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
A chill ran down Skallagrim’s throat and rattled around his stomach. “You can see me?”
She nodded. “I’ve always had the Sight.”
Ghost Sight. She’s one of those people who can see spirits.
Skallagrim reminded himself that she was the ghost, not him.
But why does she say she has the Sight?
Doesn’t she know she’s died?
Skallagrim imagined what it might be like for Lumara if she didn’t realize she was dead. He imagined how he’d want everyone who encountered his wife to treat her.
He decided this woman ghost should be treated with the same respect and care.
Skallagrim remembered her question. He decided to give her a partially true answer. “I’m here because I’m looking for my wife. Is this Heatherbloom?”
The ghost woman nodded. “Is your wife living or dead?”
Skallagrim’s voice cracked. “Dead.”
She stood still, as if afraid to move. “We’ve got no ghosts in Heatherbloom. Only the living are welcome here. You’ll have to move along.”
Skallagrim added another bit of truth, but still not all of it. “I’m looking for someone else. A man by the name of Benzel of the Wolf.”
“You make no sense. Benzel is a boy, not a man. And I know nothing about anyone being of a wolf.” The ghost woman stepped forward enough to scoop the rabbit up in her arms and then backed away. She held the rabbit close, even though it squirmed for freedom. “I’m the one looking for Benzel. I’ve got reason. You don’t.”
Her words gave him hope, but Skallagrim proceeded with caution, still mindful of treating her right. “Would you be his mother?”
The ghost woman frowned, still clinging to the fitful rabbit. “What business is it of yours?”
Skallagrim worried about what to say next. At the same time, he didn’t want to hesitate in fear that the ghost woman might run away and disappear. “If you’re his mother,” Skallagrim said, “then we might be family.”
Taking offense, the woman ghost blurted, “How dare you claim such a thing? I’ve never been with any man except my husband. He’s the father of my son. Certainly not you. I’ve never laid eyes on you before.”
Seeing how the ghost woman had misunderstood him, Skallagrim knew the time had come to be direct. “I’m not claiming to be Benzel’s father. Benzel is my father, and that makes you my grandmother.”
The ghost woman laughed so hard that she lost her grip on the rabbit. It vaulted out of her arms and then darted toward a small patch of forest near the base of the mountains.
“I’m sorry to make you lose your dinner,” Skallagrim said. He wanted to give her reason to keep talking to him.
The ghost woman took a step after the rabbit but then turned and faced Skallagrim. “If anything you say was true, you’d know that’s Benzel’s favorite pet. We’d never have Fluffyhop for dinner. It would break my boy’s heart.”
“He never told me about his pets. He never said much about Heatherbloom.”
The lively expression in the ghost woman’s eyes faded. “I look for Benzel every day. But I can’t remember how long he’s been gone.” She shook off her malaise. “Certainly not long enough to become your father. Be gone or I’ll have my husband take a switch to you.”
Worried, Skallagrim believed he needed to be blunt. “The Scaldings attacked Heatherbloom long ago. They murdered everyone here. Benzel was the only one who survived, and that’s just because the Scaldings couldn’t find him.”
A man with an ax in hand appeared when he rounded the corner of the nearest house and joined the woman’s side. “Who’s this?” he asked her.
She turned to him with a startled face. “You see him? How? He’s a ghost.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Skallagrim said. “But you’re the ghosts. Everyone in Heatherbloom was murdered many years ago.”
The ghost woman began to protest, but her husband wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “I told you,” he said to her. “Nothing has been right since the day Benzel vanished.”
Skallagrim took his words as an opportunity, believing he could break through his grandmother’s denial and help them. He’d come here to find Lumara, and he didn’t see her yet. He might need their help to find her.
“Benzel vanished,” Skallagrim said, “because he escaped on the day Heatherbloom was destroyed. Benzel found a baby girl who survived the same kind of raid in another village and took her to Hidden Glen.”
The ghost woman gasped. “My sister lives there!”
Skallagrim nodded. “Benzel knew that. His aunt and uncle raised him. Benzel became a great dragonslayer. He freed Tower Island from a terrible monster that killed the Scaldings who lived there.”
“Scaldings?” The ghost woman’s faced scrunched up, making her look perplexed. “Didn’t you claim it was Scaldings that will invade Heatherbloom?”
“It already happened.” Skallagrim paused. He’d never known Benzel’s age but understood his father had been very old at the time of Skallagrim’s birth. He imagined from Benzel’s elderly appearance that he must have been close to 100 when the Scaldings killed him. “I think it must have happened 90 years ago.”
“Ninety?” The ghost man trembled.
“I don’t believe it,” his wife said. She pointed at Skallagrim. “He must have pulled some kind of sleight of hand when I first saw him to try to trick me into thinking he’s a ghost. He’s no ghost. He’s come here to try and take advantage of us.” She squirmed away from her husband’s arm draped around her. “I’ll show you this is nonsense.” The ghost woman marched up to Skallagrim with resolve and poked her finger at his chest.
Instead of jabbing him, her finger passed through his body and out his back.
The ghost woman shrieked and backed away.
Her husband paled but took her arm with a steady grip. “See?” he said. “It’s just like I’ve been telling you. Nothing’s been right in Heatherbloom for as long as I can remember.”
“But you see that man,” the ghost woman said, pointing at Skallagrim again. “I’m the one with ghost sight, not you.” She looked at her husband. “If you don’t have ghost sight, then you shouldn’t be able to see him.”
“You’re right,” the ghost man said. “And there’s only one explanation for why I can see him. He’s not the ghost. We’re the ghosts.” He pointed toward the fields around the village. “All of us are ghosts.”
“No,” the ghost woman moaned. “It can’t be! I have to find my boy!”
Her husband pulled her close and embraced her. “Remember that this man claims to be Benzel’s son. We’ve spent all this time anguished over Benzel, but he’s alive. Our son is alive. Doesn’t that make it alright to move on?” He pointed over Skallagrim’s shoulder. “See? We can go now.”
Following th
e ghost man’s gesture, Skallagrim turned to see an eerie yellow glow light up a dirt path toward the base of the mountain at the village’s edge. The lit path snaked up the steep side and disappeared under a canopy of trees.
Like many Northlanders, Skallagrim paid little attention to the Northlander gods or the tales of what might happen after any mortal’s death. He didn’t like to think about it.
But now he remembered stories about the dead being led to another realm by bright lights.
The ghost woman calmed at her husband’s words. She looked at Skallagrim with hope. “Benzel lives? My boy is alive and well?”
The anticipation in her ghostly eyes broke Skallagrim’s heart. He thought about the horror she must have experienced on the day the Scaldings attacked Heatherbloom. Skallagrim imagined that her dying thought was probably about Benzel. He wondered what her existence for all of these decades had been like. Did she spend every day looking for Benzel and worrying about him?
Skallagrim couldn’t dream of how difficult his life would be if he didn’t know that his children were safe under the care of Bruni and Seph.
But what if Benzel is somewhere in this village? What if they haven’t recognized him? What if he doesn’t remember what they look like? What if I describe Benzel and they can tell me where he is? What if Benzel can tell me how to find Frandulane?
Skallagrim decided not to add to the pain and suffering of the ghost who would have been his grandmother in mortal life. He decided to lie. “Benzel is alive.”
“See?” her husband said. “Isn’t that all that matters? We don’t need to stay in Heatherbloom. We don’t need to be here.” He looked at Skallagrim. “There is no reason for Benzel to ever come back to Heatherbloom, is there?”
Skallagrim saw the question as an opportunity to hint at the truth. “Benzel will never come back here. When his time comes, I’m sure he’ll find you in the other realm. I know he wants to see you again.”
The ghost woman absorbed Skallagrim’s words. “If Benzel never returns to Heatherbloom, then it’s true. We don’t need to stay here.”
Together, they followed the illuminated path and climbed it up the mountainside until they disappeared.
