The Girl the Sea Gave Back(10)

The storm of Hagalaz was coming. And if the Svell perished, so would I.





CHAPTER FOUR


HALVARD


The trail to Ljós was well-worn but silent. Tall, thin trees thickened as we pushed away from the fjord toward the border between Nādhir and Svell lands. Ten years ago, Ljós had been one of only two villages that wasn’t attacked by the Herja. Possibly because it was so small. Or maybe because it was settled into the farthest reach of our territory. You almost couldn’t even smell the sea this far inland, but there was still something about these forests that felt like home.

Aghi rode ahead, watching the slope that reached up to the ridge. The warriors walked in two lines of ten behind him, clad in the old Aska and Riki armors. For many years after we became the Nādhir, the sight had been strange to me. But now, the dark leathers the Riki used to wear seemed strange alone.

Rays of sunlight found their way through the treetops as they walked, their attention on the trees all around us. If Bekan was planning to push across the valley and take Hylli, we would have seen traces of them by now. But the forest was quiet and there was no sign of an army. We’d guessed the Svell could have as many as a thousand warriors if all twelve of their villages were asked to fight. No matter the number, it was more than the Nādhir had, even if we called our youngest and oldest to the battlefield.

“Virki.” Espen rode beside me, his gaze drifting over the shadows as he listed the order of acts in war. “Do you remember it?”

“Yes,” I answered. I’d only been there once, but it was a place I’d never forget. While my brothers went to fight the Herja, I’d been taken to the old stronghold, a hollowed cliff face on a wide river. My mother and I had stood waist deep in the water, peering up against the sunlight as a warrior appeared with the news of victory in Hylli. I still remembered the sound my mother made, her hand pressed to her mouth and hot tears streaming down her cheeks. It was another three days before we learned that both of my brothers had survived.

“The young and old to Virki. Aghi will lead them,” Espen repeated.

I nodded, looking again to where Aghi rode ahead. He wouldn’t like being sent with those who couldn’t fight. He might even refuse if it came to that.

“If defeat is imminent and Hylli is going to fall…”

“Send a messenger.”

“Three messengers,” he corrected.

“Three messengers,” I said, remembering. In case one didn’t make it. In case two didn’t make it.

“Aghi will assume leadership of the survivors in Virki.”

“And where would they go?”

“They will leave the fjord.”

I pulled back on the reins, slowing, and Espen turned his horse to face me.

“Leave the fjord?”

“That’s right. And the mountain.”

“Abandon our lands?” The edge in my voice surfaced.

“If Hylli were to fall, it would mean the loss of most of our warriors. We would have no way to defend our lands. Those left would have to settle somewhere new.” He spoke calmly, no trace of frailty in the words.

But the Nādhir leaving was like the idea of the sea rising up to flood the valleys, drowning the land until it disappeared. It seemed like something that could never happen.

“We have to be ready. You have to be ready,” Espen said, his face stern. It was a reprimand—a reminder of who I was supposed to be. He was counting on me to lead after he went to the afterlife to be with those who’d gone before him. He’d watched his fellow clansmen fall in the fighting seasons and then again against the Herja. He’d been waiting a long time for death. So had Aghi. And it was my duty to give him peace of mind once he was there in knowing that I was doing what I’d promised to do.

He turned the horse again, but I didn’t move, my eyes on the reins wrapped tightly around my fist. “Why did you choose me?”

“You were chosen by all the Nādhir leaders. Not just me.”

“But why?”

He looked over his shoulder, to where Aghi and the others were disappearing around the bend in the path. “You are every Nādhir coming behind you. Born on the mountain, raised on the fjord. A child of both Thora and Sigr. The people will look to you, Halvard. They already do.”

“And Latham? Would he follow me?” I asked.

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “Latham chose you like the rest of us did.”

“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.