Sky in the Deep(26)

“I care more about keeping him alive than I do his forgiveness. I will leave you dead in this forest and tell Iri you ran.” He drifted closer.

“Then do it.” I leaned into the blade, meeting his eyes as a sob broke from the words. And for a moment, I thought he would. I almost wished for an end to the cracking, crumbling ache in my chest.

I lifted my chin defiantly, as more tears fell down my cheeks. I wouldn’t beg for my life. But in the next breath, his eyes lost their blaze, traveling over my face. I held his stare, not moving as he leaned in closer to me. His breath brushed across my skin, making me shudder. I didn’t blink.

“I don’t have to.” The blade lifted from my throat suddenly, and he stepped back. “You’ll find your own end before the snow melts because your pride and your anger are more important to you than your own survival.”

I drew back, the words stinging. Because they were true. More true than I wanted to admit. “I’ll be gone before the thaw.”

“Good.” He looked at me a long moment, his brows pulling together before he turned, leaving me. The axe was still clutched in his fist as I watched him trudge up the hill in the deep snow to where the smoke of the ritual house was rising above the treetops.

I caught my breath, trying to slow the tears before I followed, stepping into Fiske’s footprints until I was standing before the ritual house doors. Thora looked down on me, her eyes hungry.

I went inside with the basket of broken dishes on my hip and made my way to the stone trough where the other dyrs were working. The bowls tumbled into the water and the slave standing beside me looked up. She moved away, watching around us warily.

Across the room, Fiske sat beside Iri at the table with Runa. The Tala was standing over her, her fingers combing through Runa’s hair. By the fire, the red-bearded man stood beneath the hanging antlers and watched me. His fingers were pressed to the trickle of blood trailing down his neck from his beard.

I turned away from them, plunging my hands down into the hot water and scrubbing. Fiske was right. I wouldn’t last in this village the whole winter. I couldn’t wait for the thaw. I had to find a way home.





SEVENTEEN


Inge left before dawn to gather garlic and sage in the forest, leaving me to make breakfast for the others on my own. Halvard insisted on helping, waking almost as soon as I did and making it impossible to search the house for weapons.

“Will you show me now?” He stood close to me, holding out the fire-steel.

I looked past him, to where a bowl of blackberries sat on top of a cabinet.

He followed my gaze, laughing when he realized what I wanted. He retrieved the bowl and set it down before me. “Please?”

I picked up one of the berries and popped it in my mouth. “Like this.” I gathered the kindling into a pile at the side of the pit.

He watched carefully, perched on the stone beside me. “I’ve never met an Aska before.”

I picked up the fire-steel and lifted it up to strike.

“Iri says you live on the fjord.”

The fire-steel slipped, and I scraped my knuckles on the stone.

He fetched it from the floor and handed it back to me. “I’ve never seen the sea.”

I struck it again, this time catching a spark. Halvard cupped his hands around the kindling to protect it from the cold air. Once it was burning, he picked it up and moved it to the stack of wood and I went to the pot. I ate the berries as he tried on his own.

“My father said the Aska hang seashells over their doors.” He struck the fire-steel against the stone.

I stopped stirring, looking up to him.

“Why do they do that?” The third time, the kindling caught and he looked up at me, pleased with himself. He climbed up onto the table and sat cross-legged, watching me stir.

I stared into the pot. “They catch the wind, making music.”

His eyes twinkled as he tried to imagine it.

The sound of blades clanging together rang outside where Iri and Fiske were running through fighting maneuvers as the sun came up. Their grunting and labored breath found us through the open window.

If I were home, Myra and I would be doing the same, keeping up our strength and skill until the next fighting season or whatever threat may come against Hylli. We spent our mornings on the fishing boats and our afternoons on the hillside running drills. By the time the snow began to melt and I got out of Fela, I would probably be too weak to even swing my sword. I’d always been a skilled fighter even if I was smaller than many Aska warriors. When I got back to the fjord, I would have to start over.

When Iri came back inside, he was alone. He came to the fire and helped cook, turning the grains over on the stone. He watched Halvard and me talking, smiling at the corner of his mouth.

“Do all the Aska look like you and Iri?” Halvard looked between us.

I turned my back to Iri. “Some. We all look different, like the Riki do.”

“Then how do you tell your people from our people when you’re fighting?”

“Sometimes, you can’t.” I shot Iri a look, hoping he understood my meaning.

And he did. He looked back at me, his face hardening. “The Aska armor is a red leather with bronze metal. The Riki use brown leather and iron,” he answered.

Halvard slid down from the table and took the spoon from me to push the fish around in the pot that hung over the fire. “I promise not to kill you if I ever see you in battle.” He stopped stirring and looked up at me.