White Stag (Permafrost #1)(81)

Bj?rn faced me, sighing. “You are really pretty, Janneke.”

I smiled. “Does that mean you’ll give me a pole?”

The boy bit his lip, then dug in his pocket, holding out something made of iron. “Here. It’s a whistle. You can have it instead of the pole. It means more to me anyway.”

“Thank you,” I said, my insides warming as I took the whistle. Maybe one day he’d really give me something that meant he cared.

“Come on.” Bj?rn tugged at my hand. “If we don’t find three different animal scats before noon, our fathers will have our heads.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” I scoffed. “Considering you’re standing in some.”

The boy yelped and jumped away from the bear scat he’d been standing in, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

I took the whistle in my gloved hand. It was small and twisted and broken now. But I remembered how its high shriek used to hurt my ears and how I used to laugh every time I blew it.

Someone came to stand beside me. A hiss escaped from Soren’s lips as he stepped through land burned from the iron in the earth. “Janneke,” Soren said. “Are you okay?”

His words yanked me out of the past, into the world where I belonged now. Was I okay? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure how to describe what I was feeling right now. A little warm, a little cold, a little numb. It was like a mixture of ice and fire and nothingness were fighting for my attention. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give in to any of them.

“I’m … remembering,” I said.

“Is that bad or good?” he asked, brushing the hair out of my face.

“It’s neither. It’s just remembering.” I stood, letting the whistle drop.

“This was your village, wasn’t it?” he asked. He had a hand on my arm like he thought I would fall or run away.

“Yes,” I said. “Elvenhule. That was the name.”

“Was it a nice place?” he asked.

“Before Lydian burned it to the ground? Yes.” I could still hear the pounding of horses’ hooves in my mind, the same as the day the village had been razed to the ground. Closing my eyes, I willed the sound to go away, only to find that it was growing louder. My eyes snapped open. It wasn’t in my head. Without a second thought, I turned to Soren. “Come on!” I made a dash for the trees.

Soren followed behind me, cursing under his breath. “The iron in the field must’ve muted my awareness.”

It was stupid. Stupid to stay in such an open place, stupid to let my feelings get to me, stupid to walk out in a field of literal poison toward creatures like us, stupid to become unaware, even for a moment, because now I heard the pounding of horses like thunder in my ears, and I knew more than anyone else what that meant.

We made it to the forest line before they caught up with us and, instinctively, I scanned the trees for Seppo. A whistle too low for any bird came from above me. I looked up. The young goblin was in a tree. There were no signs of the wolves. His eyes were wide with concern, his hand already reaching for the feather staff slung across his back, but I shook my head.

Go, I mouthed, hoping that maybe if he could get away, we weren’t totally lost. Hreppir, Breki, Lykka. I felt them deep in the forest; they’d taken a break to rip into a rabbit carcass. Now they were licking the blood from their lips and their ears perked to my call. Guide Seppo to you. He’ll be in the trees.

Seppo shook his head, but then Soren followed my gaze and he nodded slowly like he knew exactly what I was thinking. With wet eyes, Seppo bounded across the treetops, back into the forest where he was safe for the time being.

Then I turned back to the ashy field, bow and arrow in my hands, to stare down the goblins that had come for me. The sweet, sheer sound of the metal of Soren’s swords brushing against each other filled my ears.

“We’re not going to be able to fight them,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

The leading figure was, of course, Lydian. He sat tall on a gray-flecked mustang, his blond hair blowing in the wind. Some of it had been burnt off, leaving it uneven on one side. Cuts littered his face and exposed skin, and the reek of iron burns hit my nose as I remembered both his shoulder and leg had been poisoned now. By me.

“Well,” he said, dismounting. “Isn’t this delightful. My nephew and my sweet little Janneka in the place where it all began.”

Even though a bubble of fear rose in my chest at his voice, I refused to let it show on my face. Instead, I raised my gaze to the men behind him. I counted fifteen horses; he’d lost some men as well. Good. It’s not like we can take fifteen of them, though.

“You don’t sound very delighted,” I said through clenched teeth. From beside me, Soren maneuvered slightly so his shoulder was blocking me.

“You wound me, Janneka.”

My teeth clenched. That’s not my name. “You’ll live. I’m not yours anymore.”

“Yes.” He lazily drew two knives from his boots. His greatspear hung from the back of his horse, glistening with poison. “You smell like him now.” He chuckled, like that amused him, and shot a smirk at Soren. “You like her as much as I did, nephew?”

A snarl ripped through the air. “Watch yourself, Uncle.”

Lydian sighed. “It’s you two who should be watching yourselves.” He motioned to his riders, and they began to dismount. “I wish I could kill you now, but I need you alive, dear nephew, now that there’s no taint of venom in your veins. I wonder, how did you ever heal from the lindworm bite?”