He comes around and requests more asta. Finally he is revived enough to sit up on his own. “You kept it?” he asks, clutching the bundle of flowers to him.
“Of course,” I say. “It’s the sweetest gift I’ve ever been given. Now eat some more.” I keep feeding the asta to him until I am sure he will recover. Then I leave him to be reunited with his father.
Einar clutches at my hand. “Wait,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Your father needs you now. And I must tend to Sýr.”
The elders move out of my way in respect as I walk past.
In death, Sýr is as beautiful as ever, her dark hair splayed out on the soft dirt of the casting circle. I drape her with my cloak, wrapping her tight so she isn’t cold, and then lie on the ground next to her. When I am ready, I will take Sýr home to Myrkur Strönd. I will bury her broken body, and I will make sure my clan has been released from the spell. But for now, in this moment, I need to lie here with my head on my sister’s shoulder. I sing to her the same soft songs she used to lull me with as a child. No one dares disturb me.
When I am ready, the Jötnar, led by Ymir and Einar, help me transport Sýr’s body back to Myrkur Strönd. I want to get home as soon as possible.
The journey home is much faster with a warrior party leading the way, and we are well protected and supplied now that I have the moonstone. I don’t have to think when using it. If we need enough fish to feed us, all I have to do is stand by a stream and the fish appear, ready to be scooped. If we have a bit of moss for soup, I can expand it with a touch. The moonstone seems happy to be at home in my pouch with my other time stones, and I can feel them chattering to each other and growing off one another.
We are connected now, and I know I cannot give the stone back to Odin. It is part of me, as my runes are, as much a part of me as my own eyes. I haven’t even begun to explore the stone’s potential, but I feel it pulling at me, wanting me to incite it to travel through time. But I must stay here, stay now. I need to deliver Sýr home, and I need to help my clan.
Einar, still weak from the poison dart, hasn’t left my side on the journey home, though we haven’t spoken much. We’ve suffered great loss, and my heart aches in mourning for Sýr. There’s something else different between us, and it’s hard to decipher. Before I claimed the moonstone, I was like a child. Yes, I had come a long way, learning much on our journey together, and I’d thought I knew who I was and what was important to me. But things were simpler then. Find Sýr, defeat Katla, win the stone. Somewhere along the journey Einar fell in love with me, but now that I have become the keeper of the most powerful time stone in existence, the eye of Odin himself, that love seems like a frivolous dream.
The moonstone has peeled away the silly concerns of my childhood and the insecurities that have plagued me along my journey. I don’t care about my weird eyes anymore or my wild hair.
We reach the place where our clans separate, arriving sooner than Einar is ready for. He must travel back to the Jötnar village with his father to help put things right. They need to rebuild after the devastation Katla has caused, and to heal. I need to do the same. I use my stone to provide them with supplies, amassing piles of herbs and grains and wild game. The large Jötnar warriors will drag it along the path on a sledge made from felled birch trees. They built a smaller sledge for Sýr’s body, and I must pull it home now, completing the final leg of the journey alone. Einar offers to come, but I refuse. I am strong enough to do it on my own.
I have promised to care for the Jötnar as they rebuild, and emissaries from our respective clans will exchange more supplies once we are settled. There is even talk of combining our people, with Ymir as chief of his bloodline and me as leader of mine. In our clan’s tradition, this task would fall to my father, but even if he were here, there is no doubt that I would be the one to lead. I hold all the power, as I hold the moonstone.
I stand at the same crossroads I encountered at the start of my journey, gazing at Einar, neither of us wanting to leave. I take this time to study his face, the pointed eyebrows, the soft lips, the golden eyes.
“I will come visit by the next half moon,” Einar says, closing the distance between us. “If I am able to wait that long.”
I smile, even though I don’t feel much like it. “I’ll count the days.” My voice comes out flat, and I wonder if he notices.
“What of Oski?” Einar asks. He’s been avoiding the question, knowing how angry I still am.
“I know where they are,” I say. “They are safe.”
“Can you forgive them?” he asks.
I sigh. “Yes. Because it’s what Sýr would have done.”
Einar nods, but he looks troubled.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Why not go back now that you have the stone?” he asks.
“You mean back in time,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “Back to when Katla first tried to steal the stone. Why not undo all of it? That way Sýr would be alive.”
“Because,” I say, “that would mean undoing you. And Oski. And it would mean undoing me too. Things have worked out the way they were meant to, I think.” I look at my glowing rune pouch. It would undo this, I think, not wanting to say it out loud.
“What will you do now?” Einar asks.
“I will bury my sister,” I say. “Help my clan rebuild.”
He leans down as if to kiss me, then hesitates. “I still have that poison in me,” he says.
“I’ll risk it,” I say, pulling him to my lips.
This kiss is different. It’s not the timid, sweet kiss we first enjoyed. And it’s not full of love and hope and dreams either. This is a goodbye kiss, and I wonder if he knows how final it is.
When we part, Einar presses some asta flowers into my palm. “Just in case,” he says.
I take it, placing it in my cloak next to my heart, and watch him walk away from me, more beautiful now than he’s ever been. I wonder if everyone is this beautiful when you know you will never see them again.
He glances back, unable to resist another look. “Remember me,” he says, with his sad smile. “If we’re not in the same place. Or the same time.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I know how to find you.”
The Jötnar leave, their lumbering party kicking a swirl of dust on the road. I look south to where my home waits beyond the foothills. The sun is high in the sky, and we are entering a time of endless light. I will be returning home with the dead body of my sister, but I will also be returning as the salvation of my clan.
I gather the rope in my hands, hook it over my chest, and lean into it. The weight of my sister follows me all the way back to my village, and by the time I reach the rock on which I used my own blood to draw a protection rune for my clan, I am exhausted. I could have used my moonstone to lighten the load. Perhaps I even could have made the sledge float. But sometimes it’s better for things to be difficult. Sometimes work is the only thing that soothes.
Looking out over my village from the hillside, I see that the survivors of the slaughter have emerged from their long sleep, and since awakening they have begun to rebuild our burned-out village. Piles of bodies wait on the shoreline for a burning ceremony, and I see where my amma died and where everything changed forever. The place of my childhood is no more.
I don’t announce my arrival. I simply walk down the hillside into the village and let people begin to notice me. I have no words to say, and I feel suddenly weak, as if my power was all a dream.
The remaining villagers approach, crowding around me, and I am overwhelmed by their need. I take my moonstone out of the pouch and hold it high. It glows red with a blue center. It still exists.
People hurry over to me from their homes and their work. I hear their gasps, their cries of relief to see the stone shining bright, like a beacon of hope and prosperity. And then they descend on me, wanting to touch me, begging for help. It is now that I relate to what it must have been like for Sýr all those
years. The immense responsibility she must have felt. She had to die for me to understand.
“People!” a familiar voice shouts. “Make way!”
It’s Frigg’s voice. I drop my spear and my pack and run through the crowd until it parts and I see my old friend, my sister’s true love.
She sobs when I reach her and scoops me into a tight embrace.
When she finally releases me, she does so with a question in her eyes. “Sýr?”
I shake my head. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
Frigg seems to crumple in on herself and falls, kneeling in the mud.
I place my hands on her. “She wanted you to know,” I say, “that you are the only one she has ever loved.”
I turn to the crowd. “Sýr Unnursdóttir is dead,” I say. My voice cracks under the pain of the words.
There are cries and murmurs, but all eyes remain fixed on me. No one moves.
“I have returned in her place. I am the keeper of the stone now. And I…I will try to live up to her legacy.”
There are no cheers, no celebrations. This is a time of mourning. We are all broken from our losses.
I close my eyes and imagine the village as it was. I conjure the dwellings and the tools, the supplies piled in baskets, the clothing and leathers hung to dry. I see the fish curing in the shacks. I hear the sounds of life that once echoed in this place.
“I vow to restore the village,” I say. “I will work to help rebuild dwellings. I will provide food. Better days are coming. But now I must bury my sister.”
They make way for me as I retrieve Sýr’s body. Frigg follows behind, sobbing.
I will do what I can for my people, but I cannot bring anyone back from the dead. I don’t know how. But if it takes me until the end of time, I will find a way. I will give my people, and Frigg, back everything they have lost.
We take my sister up the path to our little dwelling on the cliff. It’s here that we will bury her. I will make sure she has the best spot, near the herb garden and overlooking the sea.
Frigg has lost much of her strength and size, and her eyes are ringed with darkness. When I ask her what she experienced during her enchanted sleep, she declines to answer, saying that she doesn’t want to think about it.
As for me, I know who I am now, and I know what my destiny is. I will find Odin. I will show him his wayward eye. And then I am going to kill him with it.
Frigg digs the hole, and together we bury Sýr. We smooth the dirt with our bare hands, crying and leaning on each other, and afterward we sit beside her grave for two days. We don’t eat or sleep.
Finally, we get up and say goodbye, though neither of us wants to leave her.
Frigg turns to me. “Bring her back, Ru, please,” she pleads. “Use the stone.”
“I can’t now,” I say. “I don’t know how. But I will. One day I will.”
The villagers have let us be, and from a distance I have kept watch over them. I will cast spells to supply them with fish and bread and whatever they need. I have heard some of them sending off their dead loved ones with parties. The mead is flowing. They are healing. People need to move forward, as I do. But without Sýr I feel untethered.
“Now I am alone,” I say to Frigg.
“No,” she replies. “I am here. Before Sýr left for moonwater, I promised her I would look after you always. You are my sister now, as you would have been if…I had married her as I intended.” She pauses a moment to steady herself. “We wanted to leave. We were going to take you, as Sýr always said you longed to journey, to sail and see the world. Now she is free, at least.”
We clasp hands and then embrace, and I know what Frigg says is true. I promise that I will return, and Frigg vows to watch over the clan while I am gone. She will be my new guiding light, drawing me back to my home.
Once I am alone again in my little dwelling, surrounded by the things I used to share with Sýr, I know that I no longer belong here. It is too small a life now to contain me and everything I am capable of. I must go. I must honor Sýr by leaving. I know where I am going, but I need something first.
I stand outside Amma’s hut for a while, trying to muster the courage to enter. Her home had been partly burned down in the siege and now, stepping over the threshold, it feels sacred. It’s like being inside a secret only my amma and I know.
Much of her beloved scrolls and belongings were destroyed, but there’s one thing I came for. Picking through the charred wood, I make my way to the hearth and brush off a pile of ash. It’s here. Amma’s special scroll. The one that maps all the waters of the known world. How long I have admired it, coveted it, and dreamed of using it to sail away.
With trembling fingers, I pick it up and unroll it to see that it is still intact and readable. Holding it feels like a gift.
“Amma,” I say, “I will bring you with me. Maybe I will find the next great land.”
It will be hard to leave the place that reminds me of my family, but I must.
Father has not returned, and there is still no sign of him or his sailing party. I know in my heart that he is alive, because I saw it in a vision. I saw my raven, Núna, flying through a storm, the ring I placed on her foot dropping into the ocean. I saw my father’s ship floating aimless and lost in the desolation of the great fog. I saw him aboard, starving but alive. He hauled in a fishing net but found nothing to eat. A trinket caught his eye. The ring. I know he recognized it, for it is the ring he gave to my mother. I believe I will find him somewhere on my journey. There is still hope.
But before I leave, I need to find Oski.
Taking the moonstone out of its pouch, I place it on the ground in front of me and cast my runes around it.
“Take me to the Valkyrie,” I say.
The room floods with red light. Gone is the swirling white confusion of my past experiences. I feel in control now, and I can see around me with clarity. There are many paths snaking out from this one, some stretching into the future and some stretching into the past. There are pathways running parallel to me. When I look into them I see myself as if in a mirror, except the image is different. I wonder how many variations of me exist through time? How many lifetimes could I live?
“Oski,” I say, and the name echoes throughout the time-lines until one from the distant past aligns and I see all the way to end of it, like a drawing of light at the bottom of a well.
I move forward, and in a rush of red light I find Oski standing alone on a green hill beside the golden lake. I reach out my hand, and they take it.
“Home,” I say, pulling Oski with me, and I see myself sitting in my dwelling with my runes and the moonstone before me. We move forward, and now we are back in my room.
Oski is shaken. This Valkyrie, once mighty, seems vulnerable as they look around in confusion. I stoop to gather my runes and the moonstone, and they step back to make space for me.
“I have brought you back,” I say. “Shouldn’t you thank me?” The anger drips from my voice, and I struggle to contain it. When I’m mad the stone grows hot, and I don’t know what it will do.
“Runa,” Oski says. “I am sorry. I did what I was fated to do.”
I walk outside, desperate for the sun and the openness and the sea wind on my face. Oski follows me.
I turn to them. “But how could you lie to me? We had an oath.”
“I’m sorry. I upheld our oath. I helped you to moonwater. I wanted to keep you safe. And when we started our journey, I didn’t know you. And now I love you,” they add.
I don’t want this to soften my heart, but it does. “I understand,” I say at last.
“You are the human family I have always longed for. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I may,” I say, trying to suppress a grin. “But you owe me.”
Oski laughs. “Of course, runecaster. Forever.”
We sit in the sunlight, our legs dangling over the cliff. The ocean is calm and clear. The endlessness of it grows inside me.
Oski asks what the
y must, for they know me well. “When will you be leaving us?”
I sigh. “Now,” I say. “I must find Odin.” I don’t reveal my true plans, but something tells me they know.
“You mean to return it?” Oski asks. “Dangerous journey. Maybe you need a former Valkyrie to come?”
“No,” I say, my voice firm. “Please, will you make another oath?”
Oski nods. “Anything.”
“Stay here,” I say. “And protect Frigg and my clan until I return, or until my father does. I know he is alive. And my raven, Núna. Please feed her worms when she comes home.”
“I will,” they say, unsheathing their sword. “In the name of Chooser of the Slain, I vow it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and we sit in silence for a long while.
I take a final breath of the salt air and rise. I have my moonstone, my runes and my spear. I need nothing else.
“What about Einar?” Oski asks. “I don’t even know if he is alive.”
“He is well,” I say. “Rebuilding. Which is what you need to do while I am gone. I have cast spells to sustain the clan in my absence. If you need me, I will know.”
I turn to go, this time planning to walk westward to the wilder shores to secure a ship.
“And Einar?” Oski asks as I walk away. “If he needs you?”
I turn back. “Tell Einar…” I trail off, thinking. “Tell him I couldn’t wait.”
Oski nods, a sad look on their face.
“But tell him there will be time for us,” I say.
As I set off alone, with Oski watching over my home, I think about Einar and how disappointed he will be when he finds out I am gone. My choice isn’t to abandon him. My choice is to live for something bigger than myself. Something bigger than our love.
I walk, my feet toughened by so many miles, so many days, of journeying. It feels right to be moving again, to be leaving this past behind me and forging headlong into an unknown future. Time itself is always moving, and I must move with it.
If I had to choose a time to live in forever, then I would choose the one that is closest to my heart. I’d choose the one with my sister in it. I’d choose my amma. My friends. My love.
The Stone of Sorrow Page 22
