The Girl the Sea Gave Back(41)

His breath fogged in the cold, but the deer’s warmth took the stiff ache out of his frozen hands. The village would be full of Nādhir traveling from every village on the mountain as well as the fjord, gathering for the meeting of village leaders that was held in the Hylli ritual house every spring. It would be the first time in a year that he’d see his brother Iri, who made his home on the mountain. The birth of another child had kept him from the fjord longer than usual but they’d made the journey to stay in Hylli for the warm months, which meant that Halvard would spend more time in the forest hunting and in the water fishing to feed them all. His brothers would meet with the leaders over the next few weeks and the hill above the village would be covered in tents. The Talas would tell the stories of the gods and recount the fighting seasons that had ruled their people’s lives before the peace was made. It was a time to remember the past and plan for the future. But there were many who suspected that war was coming from the west, where the Svell clan dwelled in the forested cliffs that ran into the sea.

A figure appeared in the mist ahead and Halvard stopped in the middle of the path, reaching back for his knife. But a familiar voice called his name, and the orange fox furs atop Fiske’s shoulders appeared in the fog.

His hand dropped from the handle of the blade when he saw him, and Halvard tried to take apart the look on his face. But Fiske stood still, the mist moving around him, with an unreadable expression.

“What is it?” He was almost as tall as his brother now, meeting his eyes as he stopped before him, but Fiske didn’t answer.

He took the deer from Halvard’s shoulders and set it onto his own before he started back toward the village. “Espen is asking for you.”

Halvard’s brow pulled, his eyes pinned on Fiske’s back as he walked ahead. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, his voice lightening, and for a moment, Halvard thought maybe he was telling the truth.

He followed Fiske in the silence and the sounds and scents of the sea grew as they neared the village. The camped Nādhir were already awake, many of them cooking over their fires, and the smoke from the ritual house was thick and white. Fiske led him through the gate and as they passed their home, he saw his mother standing in the open doorway, her hands tangled into her apron. The same apprehensive look that had been in Fiske’s eyes was lit in hers.

Halvard swallowed hard, the pulse beneath his skin picking up until he could hear it sounding in his ears. When they reached the carved wooden doors of the ritual house, Fiske stopped, letting the deer slide from his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Halvard asked again, this time letting the fear leak out into his voice.

His brother opened the door and the heat of the altar fire came rushing out into the cold air. Inside, Espen stood before the other village leaders, waiting.

Fiske set his hand onto Halvard’s shoulder, leading him down the center aisle. The Nādhir leaders stepped aside as he found a place among them, winding his fingers together at his back and trying to stand up taller before them.

“Halvard.” Espen spoke first, tipping his chin up in a greeting.

Halvard nodded in return, finding the eyes of each of the leaders. But whatever was going on, they concealed it well, surveying him wordlessly.

“We have something to tell you.”

He swallowed hard, unintentionally taking a small step closer to Fiske.

“You know we mortals have numbered years,” Espen began. “When this life is over for me, we will need a new leader. One who can take my place as chieftain.”

Halvard stared at him, a stillness settling in his bones.

“I have no sons, and I would like you to accept the responsibility.”

He stepped back again but Fiske’s hand pushed him forward, back into place. “I don’t…”

“I’m not asking,” Espen said, cutting him off before he could finish. “It’s been decided.”

“But…” He looked to Fiske, but he only stared ahead. “Why are you choosing me?”

Espen crossed his arms over his chest. “Because peace won’t last forever. You’re among the first generation of Nādhir. Your soul is good and you don’t crave power. You’ve grown into a strong man, Halvard.”

“I’m only sixteen years old.” He stared at the ground, the heat burning on his face.

“I was killing Riki on the battlefield long before that age.” Espen laughed. “You begin tomorrow.”

He looked up. “Begin what?”

“Learning to father your people.” Espen smiled, raising a hand to clap him on the arm, and the others did the same as they passed him, headed for the doors.

Halvard swallowed down the feeling of nausea, the warm air of the ritual house suddenly making him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

When the doors closed, he turned to Fiske. “What did you do?”

“You think I did this?” He half-laughed, but Halvard didn’t think it was funny. In fact, he was angry.

“You have to tell them they’ve made a mistake. You have to tell them—”

Fiske took hold of Halvard’s armor and pulled him close before wrapping one arm around him. “You’re afraid,” he said, lowly. “That’s good.”

Halvard swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Fiske…” He searched for a way to say the words without making his brother ashamed of him.