Sky in the Deep(52)

Vidr stared at the man’s body on the altar.

Latham gave a hesitant nod. “He died of infection yesterday.” He took a stool from the wall and sat, offering a seat to Vidr. I tried to move closer to listen. “We are the fifth Riki village to be raided in the last two weeks. You’re the sixth. And they’ll be back.”

“How many did you lose?”

“One hundred and forty-eight.”

The silence was abrupt. Fela had only lost fifty-four. But M?or was much bigger. If the other villages had lost those kinds of numbers, the Riki didn’t have a chance against the Herja. My thoughts went back to Hylli. If they’d been able to do this on the mountain, what had they done on the fjord? The villages down there were more exposed. More accessible. I swallowed hard, the trembling starting to surface again.

Vidr sat, taking the bearskin from his shoulders and laying it across his lap. “We’ve learned they attacked the Aska before they came up the mountain.”

“The Aska?” Latham sat up, his crooked face lifting in surprise.

“We don’t know yet how they’ve fared. One of ours is going down to see what’s become of them.” He glanced at Fiske.

“They are too many, Vidr. I don’t know where they all came from.”

“Yes, you do.” He eyed the man and a chill fell over the group of them.

There had always been whispers about the Herja. No one knew where they lived or where they retreated to. It had long been said that they weren’t entirely human. That they were more spirit than flesh, and that they brought the wrath of some angry god. If it was true, maybe there was nothing we could do to beat them.

“The others who’ve survived are meeting us back in Fela. They should arrive in the next day or two.”

“When they do, we’ll decide what’s to be done. Together.” Vidr leaned forward to catch Latham’s eyes.

“We’ll have to fight.” But that ferocious look of the Riki was still missing from Latham’s face.

I stepped around the group as they talked, finding a path in the makeshift encampment of the ritual house. The Riki children looked up at me with dirty faces, wrapped in their blankets, some clutching bowls of cold food. The fire in the middle of the room blazed, sending the heat pushing around us, and I stopped as Fiske came to stand beside me.

The strain reaching through his whole body was carefully concealed, but I could see it in the set of his eyes. The news of losing so many Riki was a blow. And taking on the Herja would be certain death. He was thinking of Inge. And Halvard. Iri.

“When do we leave for Hylli?” I asked.

“Morning. I’ll treat whoever I can until then.” He looked around the room. “But I’m not my mother.”

I walked past the fire to a kettle on the other side of the altar that was filled with water. I set it onto the coals and took the child nearest to me first. She looked at me warily as I sat her on a bench near the fire. When the water was warm, I cleaned her face, wiping the dirt and ash from her fair, freckled skin as she looked up at me with eyes the color of oiled Riki leather. Her long blond hair fell down her back in a tangled knot.

Fiske took her leg into his hands, looking at the gouge in her calf. It looked like the work of an axe blade and it was still open, red and inflamed at the edges. I scrubbed her skin, working at the grime as Fiske closed it up. He pulled a needle through the skin slowly, holding the thread between his teeth. She refused to cry, watching him hold the flesh together with his hands. When he was done, he moved to the next child. A blond boy with his arm in a makeshift sling. I followed, cleaning each of their faces as Fiske tended whatever wounds they carried from the raid. My entire life, I’d never thought of the Riki as small children. I’d only ever known the fierce faces of their warriors in battle. But now they had pasts. Names. Souls.

Njord.

Idunn.

Aila.

Frigg.

I looked into their eyes. They were young and afraid but strong, the way they’d been taught to be. They gritted their teeth and bore the bite of stitches and the sting of infected wounds. Behind the haze of tears and the pink on their noses, they were like fire-steel.

I braided their hair back out of their faces, pulling it into order. Fiske smiled without looking at me, his eyes trained on the cut across a little boy’s shoulder.

“What?”

He glanced up, his chin tipping toward them. “They look like Aska.”

And he was right. I almost laughed. I was never very good at it, but I knew a few Aska braids well. I’d been doing them since I was a child. They gathered around, arms crossed over their chests, watching us.

Like little warriors. Like Iri and I had been. Like we still were.





THIRTY-THREE


I waited down the path on my horse while Fiske talked with Vidr and Latham. The sun was just coming up and the village was still quiet, but I had been packed and ready since before we’d slept. I could feel the pull. Hylli reached up the mountain and wrapped its fingers around me. Calling me to the fjord. It was something I’d never felt before. The Aska had died in battle and in raids, but there was never a time I’d thought the Aska may end.

Fiske climbed onto his horse and came down the path, passing me to lead the way back to the trail, and Vidr watched us, the wind blowing his hair across his face. “?nd eldr!” His voice echoed in the forest.