The Girl the Sea Gave Back(53)

A man’s face appeared over me before he bent down low, lifting me back to my feet. He didn’t even look up as a sob cracked in my chest. His hand took hold of the neck of my tunic and he pulled me back toward the firelight. I stumbled over stones and roots until we were back in the camp, where Jorrund was waiting, Gunther beside him with an unreadable expression spread over his face.

Jorrund started toward the meeting tent and the Svell jerked me toward it, following. He shoved me inside and I toppled forward, sliding on the ground. My palms scraped against the dry, cracked mud and when I looked up, Vigdis stood before the table, his eyes cast down on me. Without pause, he took the knife on the table into his hand.

“You’ll cast the stones, or you’ll lose that hand.” He pointed to the bloodied fist clenched in my lap. “And then you’ll read them anyway.”

Hot tears burned in my eyes and I sniffed them back, refusing to let them fall. Jorrund looked down at me with a strange, unfamiliar expression. Guilt. Or maybe pity. His gaze fell down to my dirty dress, my scraped hands, and for a moment, I thought he would come to me. Wrap his arms around me and say he was sorry. But he didn’t.

“You’re a cursed soul from a cursed people. You should have died as the gods willed it, but Jorrund and my brother were foolish and weak. You’re the sickness that took my niece’s life and you’re the blade that took my brother’s.” Vigdis spoke calmly, the sound of his voice unnerving. “For as long as you are useful, I will keep you alive. The moment you fail to be of value, I will end your life and give you back to the gods.”

His gaze fixed on the open collar of my tunic, where the eye was marked onto my skin. But I looked straight at him, praying that if there was any misfortune to be had beneath my gaze, that it would fall on him tenfold. I summoned the darkest work of the Spinners, imagining Vigdis dead on the battlefield, drowned in his own blood. I pulled the vision to the front of my mind, the burn of every hope inside me lighting it aflame.

As if he could hear the thoughts, he suddenly stepped back from the table and the others followed, their backs pressed to the walls of the crowded tent. Jorrund looked at me pleadingly, one hand reaching out and beckoning me forward. I gritted my teeth, one traitorous tear rolling from the corner of my eye, and stepped forward.

I pulled the stones from around my neck as Jorrund turned the elk skins over to use as a pelt. He was careful, moving slowly as if I was a bird about to take flight. But in my heart, I’d already flown away from Jorrund and every lie he’d ever told me. I was gone. And I was never coming back.

I opened the purse and my skin flushed hot under my tunic, the fury engulfing me. There was no ritual smoke, no sacred words. This time, I spoke them in my heart, with more fervor than I’d ever asked the Spinners for anything before.

Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir syn.

Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir syn.

Augua ór tivar. Ljá mir syn.

Eye of the gods. Give me sight.

They filled me up, coiling around my spirit. They snaked between each bone and thought. And when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t the Svell’s future I asked for. It was Halvard’s. I saw his face in the dark beneath the gates of Utan. I could still feel the tingle of his blue eyes on my skin, like the sting of the coal clutched in my burned fingers.

The rune stones dropped from my hand and hit the table one skittering knock at a time. I was afraid to look. Afraid to see what curse I’d brought upon him and his people. But when I looked down at the pelt, my hands froze out before me. My head tilted to the side, my fingers curling into my palms until my fingernails bit the tender broken skin.

Three stones. The first, Sowilo. I let out a long breath.

The sun. Victory. Honor. Hope.

I smiled, another tear falling. The rune stared up at me like a wide, opened eye.

But beside it was Thurisaz, the thorn. So the path wasn’t clear. There would be great difficulty. And above, Tiwaz, the sacrifice of self.

Jorrund stepped closer, his eyes straining as he looked over the table. “This is good, isn’t it?” he whispered.

I nodded. The lie was so easy to give him.

“Sowilo.” He pointed to the stone, smiling up at Vigdis. “Eydis will grant us victory.”

“I want to hear her say it.” Vigdis grunted, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest.

I swallowed before I spoke, smoothing my face. “He’s right.”

“Because of Ljós. And Utan. You’ve changed our fate, Vigdis.” Jorrund pressed his hands together before him, as if in prayer. “You were right.”

Vigdis let out a long breath. “See, brother?” He said it so softly I almost didn’t hear him, the emotion heavy on his face. He was relieved. “In the morning, we take Hylli. And the Svell begin anew.”

The warriors filed outside, leaving only Jorrund and me standing before the table in the meeting tent. I stared down at the stones, feeling the weight of my own words. I’d never lied about the runes. Never, until now. I wondered if I’d broken some ancient, sacred oath or if the Spinners would curse me for it.

But in this moment, I couldn’t find it within me to care.

I could feel the runes’ meaning beneath my skin. I could hear it like a song. And if it was the last thing I did, I’d make sure this fate came to pass.





12 YEARS AGO