Warrior of the Wild(42)

And why should Soren and Iric respect me? I may have saved Soren’s life, but because of that life debt, he’s followed me into danger more than once. I also helped when Iric fell to the bottom of the hyggja’s lake, but since then I’ve done nothing but argue with him and belittle his beliefs. It may not be entirely one-sided; Iric has done plenty of arguing and belittling of his own—but I have entered his home, have upset his way of life. I am the newcomer, and Iric has been kind enough to welcome me, in his own way.

There are only two other people living in the wild, and I’ve managed to upset both of them.

Well done, Rasmira. Well done.

I need to fix this.

Regardless of his belief in the goddess, Iric wants to return home. He wants to see Aros again. Soren wants to see Iric safe and happy. The way for everyone to achieve what they want is for everyone to complete their mattugrs.

I have learned much of the wild and its dangers, but the thing that has become the clearest is this: Survival is more likely if we stick together.

The two times I faced the god, Soren was there to help. When the gunda came after us, Iric helped us defeat it. When Iric came close to drowning, it was Soren and I who saved him together. We can do impossible things if we work together, I’m sure of it.

And I need their help. I can’t go into the god’s lair while wearing my armor, yet I can’t risk another encounter with the god without protection. Soren said Iric is a talented smithy—perhaps he would have an idea? But I’m not about to ask without offering something in return. I can teach Iric to swim. Hell, I’ll jump in the lake with him again to defeat the hyggja, if that’s what it takes.

Both boys are angry with me. I need to make things right with them, and then, somehow, I need to convince them that we can accomplish our quests. We can go home and make everything right.

It may take time, but I have nothing better to do while I heal.





CHAPTER


12


When the trapdoor opens later that evening, I pretend to be asleep. It’s not the right time to broach the topic of our quests. I should let them both sleep off the argument.

I hear boots discarded on the floor, clothing rustling, then two bodies falling onto the other mattress.

“She’s a deep sleeper,” Soren whispers.

“You really shouldn’t take a liking to her,” Iric says.

“Why not?”

“She’s determined to go after Peruxolo again. She won’t be long for this world. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Soren lets out a brief exhale of incredulity. “Since when don’t you want to see me hurt? You’ve made it your mission to keep me miserable out here as payment for getting you banished. And I don’t think Rasmira is going to get herself killed. She’s more determined and skilled with an ax than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

“And now she’s out of her magical cream. The next serious injury will kill her or you if you persist in following her around.”

Soren doesn’t respond.

“Honor is going to get the both of you killed. You two are quite the pair.”

“We’re not a pair. Not yet.”

“Shut up so I can get some sleep.”



* * *



THE SUN WAKES ME. I’ve gotten used to my fort in the woods, the trees blocking out most of the light. But the window in the tree house faces east.

The boys are still out cold, so I pull down the blanket covering me to inspect my injury. I think the bruise has gotten lighter and the raised skin is not so pronounced, but perhaps that is only wishful thinking. Either way, at least the wound doesn’t look worse. My skin is pale, but it was like that yesterday.

I try sitting up and promptly fall back onto the mattress.

I won’t be rising on my own today, that’s for sure.

My eyes take in the sights outside the window, as I attempt to entertain myself while waiting for the boys to wake. Fat lizards rest against high-up tree branches. They’re hard to spot as their bodies blend into whatever they’re standing in front of. I watch them lie in wait for birds to land close enough. Then their tongues dart out, quick as lightning, snatching up their food. Minutes later, they’ll spit out a mouthful of wet feathers.

It’s both oddly fascinating and disgusting.

They’re like miniature versions of the gunda.

I shudder, grateful the world is rid of that hideous beast, at least.

There’s a break in Soren’s even breaths, and his eyelids flutter before opening all the way. His first move upon waking is to swivel his neck in my direction.

Does he fear I expired in my sleep?

I’ve never seen someone so worried about my health aside from Irrenia. It’s … nice.

“Soren,” I say, careful not to wake Iric, “what is your mattugr? I never did get a chance to ask you.”

He throws an arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Starting with the easy questions this morning, I see.” He sits up in bed and stretches his arms over his head. “In Restin, our mattugrs are given to us based on our greatest fears. Iric fears water and never learned to swim, so they demanded he retrieve the hyggja’s head and bring it back to the village.”

“And you? What do you fear?”

“Have you heard of the beast that lives at the top of the god’s mountain?”