Sky in the Deep(76)

The weight of a body crashed into me, knocking me off my feet, and my sword sank to the sea floor. I was underwater, sunlight breaking through the clouds and lighting the red water like a pink veil around me. Legs appeared beside me and hands plunged down, taking hold of my throat and squeezing. The bubbles erupted around me as I screamed. The man was a blurry outline above the surface, his face gnarled up, teeth bared. I thrashed beneath his weight, kicking, trying to find a foothold. But there was none. The sand and rocks shifted beneath me, giving way as my fingers clawed at his arms. I could feel myself growing weaker.

I writhed, trying to slip free, but the Herja was too strong. His hold was too tight. And when I stopped moving, I watched my hands float up in front of my face, my hair lifting in golden streaks before my eyes. The thoughts slowly left my mind, my face relaxing, and I set my gaze on the sky, past the man’s face, as the cold seawater poured into my lungs.

The sunlight gleamed on his silver armor and the bright light widened and grew until it was everything. It swallowed me.

Something rocked me in the water, and the hands unclenched, leaving me. I blinked slowly, and the man was gone. There was nothing but wavering sky. I came up out of the water and I could see his face. Fiske. The square line of his jaw widened as he shouted, looking into my face. I couldn’t hear him.

And then the water rushed up out of me, the salt burning in my chest and throat. He pulled me to him, and the sound came back. The water, the village, the warriors. He lifted me up, with both arms around the middle of me as I coughed, choking. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on so tightly that the wound at my side seared with pain.

He let go of me, his hands coming to my face, turning it from side to side. They moved down my arms, checking my skin. He looked over me carefully until he found the gash below my ribs. I hissed as he spread the skin to see how deep it was.

“I’m alright,” I panted, pulling him back to me.

He pushed his palm into it firmly, and my blood spilled out between his fingers. “You’re alright.” He repeated the words, almost to himself.

I pressed my cheek to his, trying to catch my breath, and his other arm lifted me up. We pushed through the water toward the beach. Myra was making her way toward us from the side, a gash on her forehead bleeding freely. Behind her, Iri stood on the rocks and the final whistle sounded. The one that signaled it was over.

I looked at the village. My village.

It sat crippled on the shore. Lifeless bodies littered the paths and floated in the sea around us. But Hylli still stood, filled with the Aska and Riki left standing.





FORTY-SEVEN


I took Runa’s dark, shining hair into my hands, combing through it with my fingers. She sat, looking into the fire in Inge’s home, and when a single tear fell slowly down her cheek, she wiped it with the hem of her skirt.

It had only been five weeks since her mother died in the battle in Hylli. I knew what it was to lose a mother. And I knew what it was to find one again. I looked up to where Inge sat across from us, weaving a crown of early spring wildflowers for Runa’s head.

The journey back from Hylli had been a long one. When the fighting was over, we went back to the Herja camp where the captured Aska and Riki were waiting. We brought the wounded Riki back up the mountain and those that couldn’t be moved stayed in Hylli under the care of the only two Aska healers left. But the thaw had come a week early, and as soon as the snow began to melt, Runa said she didn’t want to wait to have the wedding.

I wound the intricate braids up on top of her head and Inge fit the crown over them, yellow and white blooms floating up above her like butterflies. She wore the dress her mother was married in, a pale blue wool with golden trim. She looked like a goddess, standing against the snow-covered mountain in the meadow.

The pain settled deeply into her eyes was matched by the love that also lived there. She looked up at Iri as they stood together before the Tala and recited the sacred words, with the Riki watching. Fiske stood beside me smiling and when he caught me staring at him, he leaned into me, his hip against mine making my long skirt sway around my ankles. The black dress I’d worn to Adalgildi covered almost all my healing wounds and scars, but it didn’t erase them.

We followed the procession back to the ritual house and feasted, but this time my father and I sat with Inge’s family. Iri’s hand found mine under the table as he leaned over to kiss me softly behind my ear.

I remembered the way he looked, lying with eyes staring into the sky that day I’d left him in the trench in Aurvanger. The broken boy bleeding in the snow beside my brother. I wondered if the gods had a plan then. I’d thought about it almost every moment since it first struck me, standing in the sea after the battle in Hylli. That if Iri and Fiske hadn’t found each other on the battlefield that day five years ago, he would never have been left. He would never have been found or loved by the Riki. He would never have joined them and I would never have seen him that night. I would never have been taken prisoner or been there when the Herja came. The Aska never would have joined with their enemies. We would all be dead or surviving on the fringes of what was once our lives.

And it wasn’t because of me. I wasn’t special. But Iri was.

My throat tightened, watching him hold Runa’s little brother in the ritual house. Her siblings would now be Iri and Runa’s responsibility. And just like Inge had become a mother to Iri, Iri would become a father to them. It was all too much for my heart to hold. It was still finding a home within me, replacing what had once held only hate for the Riki.