Warrior of the Wild(31)

He gulps down more air. “He’s funny. Loves to laugh and be outside. He never could stand to be cooped up indoors for too long. I really got to know him when I was … fifteen, I think. I was upset because Soren didn’t—couldn’t—return my feelings.”

Iric’s fitful body calms considerably as he talks, and Soren looks at me, relief for Iric’s improving condition written across his features.

“I’d climbed one of the big trees inside Restin’s boundaries,” Iric continues. That must be the village they’re from. The one tasked with providing precious stones for Peruxolo. “I wanted to be up high where no one could find me. Where I could be alone with my thoughts. And he was already up there. Aros. So we talked. We got to know each other, and by the time we were seventeen—” He breaks off, closing his eyes.

“You became more than friends?” I prompt.

“I realized I hadn’t actually loved Soren. I admired him. He was my best friend. Our love for each other is the love between brothers. But Aros, I loved. Aros, I wanted to spend forever with.”

He looks down at the ground. “But I can’t. Because I’m trapped out here. Because I listened to him.” He points an accusatory finger at Soren.

Soren seems to pull into himself. “I’m so sorry, Iric,” he whispers.

This is an interesting revelation. I hadn’t realized these two had such a complicated history. I’d thought them best friends.

“It’s done,” Iric says. “This is our life now. We live out here. We’ll die out here. And that’s the end of it.”

“Wait,” I say. “All you have to do is kill the hyggja? And then you can go home?”

“All? Yes, Rasmira. That’s all. Simple thing, really.”

I let out a short laugh.

Iric turns toward Soren. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Do you know what I have to do?” I ask. I go on before he can answer, because he obviously doesn’t know and will only have another snarky comment for me, I’m sure. “I have to kill Peruxolo. The god. The immortal who probably isn’t even capable of being killed. But you? Your beast can be killed. Are you telling me that the whole time you’ve both been in the wild, neither of you has even tried to accomplish your mattugrs?”

Iric crosses his arms, angry now. I feel a little guilty for incensing him so close to a near-death experience, but not guilty enough to take back the words.

“I told you before,” Iric says, “dying horribly is stupid. I don’t believe in your goddess, and I will not get eaten by the hyggja because our village demands it.”

“And you?” I ask, turning to Soren. I know he believes in the goddess. He’s mentioned her before.

“I can’t die. I have to protect Iric.”

“What, do you owe him a life debt, too? Are you incapable of saving yourself?”

Soren glares at me. Good. I want him angry with me. Maybe he’ll finally leave me alone.

“I do not owe Iric a life debt,” he says, “but I am the reason he was banished to the wild in the first place, so I will keep him alive and help him survive. I won’t risk my life by attempting my mattugr, and I’m not about to go home without him even if I did complete it.”

I shake my head at both of them. These stupid, stupid boys. “Fine. You’re both lazy cowards. Stay out here and die for all I care.”

I wring out my shirt as best I can and head for the cliff to retrieve my ax and armor.

“Are you going to try to kill the god again?” Soren asks.

“Obviously,” I say, not bothering to turn around.

Silence for a moment, and I can imagine perfectly what must be going through his head. He owes me a life debt and wants to help me, but he doesn’t want to risk himself because he feels that he owes Iric.

Finally, he says, “I will help you.”

I stop and spin around. “Do your own damn task! I don’t need help from any boys!”

Iric’s face curls down into a frown. I think he’s decided that he doesn’t like me, despite the fact that I saved Soren’s life. “Hurry and put your armor back on,” he snaps. “You’re showing everything.”

Then he turns on his heel and darts away, his last words no doubt meant to embarrass me.

I look down at my shirt. It’s sticking to me like a second skin, and the chill—it’s not helping to hide anything.

Soren glances over, as though his eyes are reacting to Iric’s words before his mind has a chance to catch up to them. He looks away quickly and blushes.

Actually blushes.

“What are you, twelve?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I scurry up the hill, gather my things, and return to my boy-free fort.



* * *



THOUGH I HAVE NOTHING to cook, I build myself a fire first thing upon arriving at my camp. As the flames heat my chilled skin, I remove my sopping clothes and hang them on a nearby branch to dry. I don one of the spare pairs of clothing from my pack and stare at the flames in front of me.

Dying horribly is stupid.

No, Iric. Losing all honor and doing nothing to get it back is stupid. An eternity of damnation is stupid.

Tomorrow, it’s back to observing the god for me.



* * *