“There’s so much suffering,” I argue.
“Runa, there has always been suffering. Our ancestors suffered, and now we are here. That is life. But what is the point of living if we don’t have anyone to love?”
He stares at me, and he’s so close and the fire is warm and the words coming from his soft lips are a salve on my fearful heart.
“Ah, love,” Oski interrupts with their usual expert timing. “The thing worth living for.”
Einar chuckles and tosses Oski some berries, which they catch in their mouth like a giant trout gulping flies.
“You are both insane,” I grumble as I get up from the fire.
“You know, I was following you for days,” Einar blurts. “Before we joined up.”
I whirl around and stare at him—hard. “What?”
“I saw you in the forest. When you chose not to take the baby birds from their nest.”
I can feel my heart pounding. “You were there?” I knew I was being watched. What else did he see? My mind flashes back to relieving myself in the woods. He wouldn’t have watched that, would he? And when I was sleeping, did he watch me then?
He nods, fiddling with the clasp on his cloak. “I was.”
All that time he was there, and I never knew. I want to be angry, but given everything we’ve been through, and everything we must still do, it doesn’t seem like the right emotion anymore.
“Would you have eaten them?” I ask. “The little birds?”
“No,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t have.”
“And so?” asks Oski. “What is the point of all this? Birds are tasty.”
“The point is, Runa,” says Einar, “I know you to be someone who doesn’t eat baby birds even when she is starving. And yet you pretend not to care about love.”
I take in a deep breath and stare up into the reddening sky, ignoring his comments about love. “Maybe one day I will discover the invisibility rune, the real Aki rune, or maybe I’ll meet Freyja herself and pass through the nine worlds and learn the secrets of our existence. Maybe I will be in charge. Maybe I will punish the gods for what they’re doing to us right now. For what they did to Oski and Wyrd.”
Einar looks uneasy. “You sound like you desire power above all else, Runa. That is the path of darkness.”
“No,” I say. “Right now, all I desire are time stones. And if I’m going to die getting them, then I’d like to get to it.” I pick up my spear and my pack. “Are you with me? Or do you both want to sit here forever, talking about love?”
“Whoop!” Oski yelps, jumping. They place Wyrd’s hand inside their cloak and brandish their sword. Chooser’s shining metal glints in the red of the moonlight. “I must say, runecaster, you know how to get a Valkyrie’s blood moving.”
I look at Einar. He stands, unfurling his tall frame and gathering his supplies. “Lead on,” he says. “Let’s get this done.”
I run my fingertips along the swirls on my spear. “Rán,” I say, intoning the name of the sea goddess, “show me the way.” As I recite the names of her nine daughters, the goddesses of the waves—“Blóðughadda, Bylgja, Dröfn, Dúfa, Hefring, Himinglæva, Hrönn, Kólga, Uðr”—I think how pleased Sýr would be that I have remembered my studies.
The wave formations carved into the staff glow green and then fade, and I see an image in my mind. An ice floe, larger than the others, right off shore. I turn in the direction of the sea. I know where to go.
We make haste, our bellies full and our camp struck. I lead the way, my spear pointing iceward. Enough with distractions. My destiny awaits.
We pass through the valley, leaving behind our sense of unease at the unnatural perfection of the place. The surrounding hills are not at a high elevation, but the slopes are steep, and though we are going as fast as we can, I have to stop several times to catch my breath.
Einar makes me sit and drink water he brought from the stream, and I feel it bolster me with renewed strength. Oski complains about not having any mead, I accuse them of being a drunk, and they tease that I will need to be carried like a lamb the rest of the way. Einar has to intervene before we begin fighting like a pair of siblings. We’re all weary and on edge.
As we are about to make it over the top of the hill, a surprise valley-sneak fog rolls in, surrounding us with white mist. It obstructs our vision, and I panic, reaching out for Einar and Oski.
“Runa, I’m here,” Einar says, grabbing my arm.
“You can always climb on my back,” Oski says. They are trying to ease my fear with humor, but it isn’t working. This is exactly what my sickness is like. Lost in fog with no way out.
But I am not alone this time, and I know how to find my way. I have my friends and my runes.
“Protect me,” I say, holding my rune pouch. “Clear the path.”
My runes chatter and the fog begins to lift, until we can see our way over the hill.
My spear, tingling in my hand, takes us the rest of the way. The terrain is steep on the other side, filled with crumbling rock that slides out from under our feet and threatens to send us tumbling. It seems to take forever, but eventually we get all the way to the bottom and to the shores of the icy sea.
We can’t help but stop and stare at the wonder before us. The ocean is vast, bluer than a summer sky, and dotted with white ice floes sailing along like ghost ships. In the eerie red light of the moon, they appear to be ablaze, like funeral boats carrying the dead to Valhalla.
My spear pulls me, and I have to fight to keep my balance. It’s pointing to a large iceberg floating in the water. I will have to cross over these disconnected ice floes to get to it.
“There,” I say, pointing it out. “I’m going to have to hop over the gaps.”
Einar looks skeptical. “If you fall, you’ll freeze to death,” he says. “And who knows what’s in this water.”
“Yes. Could be big fish,” says Oski, nodding. “Very big.”
I nod. “But I have to get the time stones. I cannot defeat Katla without them.”
I start taking off all my clothes except for my boots. I don’t want to slip on the ice. “What are you doing?” Einar asks, averting his eyes.
“I’m going to have to swim under to find the keeper of the spear, remember?”
“You can’t survive a swim that cold!”
“Then I’ll do a warming spell. Besides, I don’t want my clothes to be wet when I return.” I bundle my belongings and toss them over to him. “Make a strong fire here and wait for me. I will be back.”
“We will be here,” says Oski. “Waiting around. As usual.”
I hesitate for a moment. The cold air is biting into my skin, and I know the water will feel like a thousand knives. “Promise me you will be here when I come out,” I say.
Einar looks into my eyes, trying very hard not to look elsewhere. “I will not leave here without you. I’m definitely going to want to see you again,” he adds with a smile.
I grin back at him, pick up my spear, and give him a little jab in the side.
“Hey, ow!” he exclaims. “What was that for?”
“For looking,” I say.
I touch the pouch around my neck. “Warm,” I whisper to the runes, and immediately my core begins to heat up. I’ll have to move fast. This warming spell won’t last forever.
“Bring me back to the land,” I say. “Let me not die in the water.”
With that, I hop onto the first ice floe. It is small and tippy, and I almost tumble into the water. I gain my balance and hop to a larger one. I’m doing well so far. I make it to the main iceberg, victorious. But my spear starts pulling me toward the water. I fight against it, backing away from the edge and regaining my balance.
I am going to have to swim now. As I gaze into the clear blue depths, trying to work up my nerve, I see a large shape swim past. It circles around, and as it comes closer I can see it is the biggest green shark I’ve ever seen.
I look back to the shore where Oski and Einar stand.
“Shark!” I
shout, hoping they can hear me.
They can, because Einar starts waving his arms, frantic. He’s telling me not to do it, but I have no choice.
I get my spear ready and wait for the shark to circle as far away from me as possible, and then I dive down into the icy water.
The cold slices into me. I was right when I thought it would feel as sharp as knife blades. The pain of it makes me lose some of the breath I’m holding, but I fight against the urge to surface. I have to keep swimming deeper.
To my right, on the underside of the iceberg, I see a glowing light coming from a hole that looks like it could be the entrance to the cave. I kick forward, and as I do, I feel something rough and immense brush across my legs.
I whirl around in the water, my spear out in front of me, my lungs burning, and see the shark swimming back and forth in a tight circle. Its flat black eye reminds me of Katla’s deadly gaze. It’s the eye of a killer who feels nothing but their own thirst for death.
My mind flashes back to the visions I had on the beach at home. Of something in the water circling me. Was it a premonition? Does this mean I am about to die?
I look back at the hole. I’m so close. I have to get there before the shark gets to me. It’s watching me, waiting for me to act. I have to move, or I will drown. With a frantic push, I kick fast, stabbing my spear at the huge shark as it surges at me on my left side.
I manage to jab it in the mouth, the deep blackness of its gaping jaws threatening to close down around my arm. I yank back on my spear, and the water around me fills with blood. I don’t know if it is my own or the shark’s, and for a moment I am sure this is the end of me. But then I feel the slippery contours of the opening in the ice, and I reach with my free arm and grab on, pulling myself through. At any moment I expect the shark to bite off my legs, but it doesn’t. I look up and see that I am near the surface. I break through with a gasping, pained breath. I have found the cave at the center of the iceberg.
I hear a voice in my mind. Do not be afraid. Is it Sýr’s? It sounds similar but different somehow. Regardless, it brings me a touch of comfort.
Shivering and weakened by the cold and the fear and the lack of air, I pull myself up onto a smooth lip of ice.
“W-warm,” I chatter. My runes glow, and I clutch myself, willing my body not to freeze solid. My hair hangs in icy ropes around me.
The ice cave is empty, with slick walls that look as though they have been eroded for thousands of years by the seawater. l can’t see well, due to the low light in the cave, but I feel my way along, moving toward the glowing green light that attracted me in the first place.
As I crawl farther in, I imagine I am traveling down a long, deep gullet. The sides of the cave, wet and rippled as they are, will soon close in on me and swallow me forever. I put my hands out in front of me and feel nothing but cold air. The emptiness is overwhelming, and it’s getting hard to breathe. I don’t want to have my sickness here. I might freeze to death. I have to do this fast.
Focus on the light, Runa. That voice again. It must be Sýr’s. It’s so familiar.
I squint as I move forward. The green light in the distance glows brighter and brighter as I advance. Soon I come to a bigger opening in the cave wall. A soothing pale green light flows from the hole, spilling over the shimmering white cave walls and rippled mounds of ice.
“After you,” I joke, my voice weak. “No, after you.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t know what lies beyond the entrance to this glowing chamber, but I know things can’t get much weirder than they already are. Sýr flashes in my mind, then Einar and Oski. I can do this. I have to.
I crouch and crawl through the tunnel headfirst. It takes me to a larger, domed chamber, also white and empty. I walk to the center of the chamber and note its iridescent walls. It’s like being inside a giant shell.
I turn around, admiring the room, and spot a few more small tunnels leading into and out of the domed room. I look for the source of light and see that there is a narrow, chimney-like flue in the top of the dome that goes out the top of the iceberg. Daylight shines through the hole and fills the room. There is also a hole in the bottom of the cave, like a well opening, and it glows with the most beautiful shade of green, like jewels or new spring grass.
I hear a deep growl behind me, and I spin with my spear outstretched.
A small man stands in the cave, naked save for a leather loin cover. He is no ordinary man, though, and I understand at once why Orð has sent me here. The man’s shimmering face is framed by patches of long black hair hanging in shiny sheets like kelp from a rock. His neck has dark slits on the sides, and his hands and feet have wedges of skin webbed between the fingers and toes. I smell the pungent odor of rotting fish and notice that the man’s teeth are pointed like a shark’s and protrude slightly from his mouth. He carries a net full of fish and a spear identical to mine.
“A marbendill!” I gasp. Amma told me of these creatures. She even had a scroll with drawings of one. I never believed they were real. Who would? A marbendill is a kind of half man, half fish. Amma said no one has ever seen a marbendill above the surface of the water. She told me about sailors and fishermen falling into the water only to be terrorized by such creatures beneath the waves.
Like Orð said, they have an intense hatred of mortals. I know enough to be terrified, for marbendills can see a person’s inner emotions, and they can plant ideas and images in the mortal’s mind.
I also remember that marbendills can dive deep, to the ocean floor, and are miners of precious stones. If that’s true, then perhaps this marbendill can help me find some time stones.
The marbendill doesn’t acknowledge my outburst, but stares at me with a scowl on his wide, flat face.
“Where did you get my spear?” he asks at last. His voice sounds like seashells clacking together.
“I found it,” I say with a touch of defiance. I don’t know where this boldness is coming from.
“Give it back,” he says.
“You have another,” I say, pointing to the one he’s carrying. It is the same gleaming white color as the one I carry and is also inlaid with elaborate swirls.
“Give it,” he says again in a low growl, ignoring my reply.
I hesitate. “On one condition—” Suddenly I feel the sensation of something creeping through the edges of my thoughts. A clacking sound.
Give it, give it.
I shake my head and grasp my runes. “OUT!” I shout, forcing the voice from my mind.
The marbendill recoils and then begins to laugh. “Runecaster. What are you doing in my lair?”
He begins to pace back and forth, like he’s getting ready to strike.
“Orð sent me,” I say, keeping my spear out in front of me.
“Orð! That old sea turtle?” The marbendill stops pacing and stares me down. I can feel him trying to wheedle his way into my thoughts again. “Humph,” he grunts when he is unable to gain entry. “Strong runecaster. Stronger than usual.”
“Orð said you could help me,” I say. “That you’re the one.” I don’t have time to be terrified. I need the stones.
The marbendill scoffs. “Orð is not smart. He leaves the beauty and bounty of the great sea to wither away in an old tree. He is the keeper of death. I am the keeper of life.” He widens his arms, gesturing to his cave.
“Imagine,” he continues, “choosing to spend eternity in such a place instead of free in the sea where you can hunt and fish and swim with the great sharks and eat delicious things.”
“Well,” I say, “perhaps he doesn’t like the cold.”
“What?” he shouts. “Not like the cold? Cold gives a long life! Cold can give many lives!” He peers into the green circle between us. “You should learn this.”
I can’t figure out this creature. I don’t know if I will gain his help or not.
“I ask you, runecaster,” he says in his growling tone. “What do you seek?”
“I seek time stones,” I
blurt, and the statement hangs between us in the cold air.
“You have one, runecaster,” he says, pointing at my spear.
“Huh?” I raise my spear and examine it.
“Pity,” he says. “Cracked. Useless.”
“This? This is a time stone?” I touch the cracked brown stone on the blunt end of my spear.
“Indeed,” he says. “Was. Now broken.”
“I can’t believe that all along there was a time stone on this thing,” I say.
“Not a thing!” the marbendill shouts.
I step backward, startled by his anger.
He points to my spear. “The great weapon of the horned whale. Carved by my own hands.”
A whale horn? “How did you manage to kill one by yourself?” I ask and then immediately regret it.
The marbendill hurtles his own spear into the wall, where it sticks with a dangerous finality. He steps forward. “I did not kill her. I am Kálfur, Watcher of the Deep. The great horned whale leaves me her weapon as a token of respect when she passes from this life into the next. It was a gift. Now give it back!”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I found it. And I need it. This spear has saved me more than once. I love it.”
The marbendill, all signs of his rage suddenly gone, regards me with curiosity. After a time he nods. “If you love it, then you keep it,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. “You are very kind.”
“Bah!” he says, squatting to pull fish from his net and nibble on it. He appears to be eating it raw. He offers me some, but I decline.
“The time stones…?” I begin.
Kálfur throws part of a fish carcass at me. “Time stones, time stones, all you ever say. Every time I see you. Time stones, time stones.”
“Every time?” I ask.
The marbendill grunts and wipes his mouth. He walks over to the green, glowing hole and pulls a long line from his belt. He holds out his hand, palm up. “Come,” he says.
“What?” I ask, edging closer with caution.
“Your rune,” he says. “Give it to me.”
“Why?” I ask. How do I know there are any time stones left? I can’t give this creature one of my runes. “What are you going to do with it?”
The Stone of Sorrow Page 15
