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The sun lifted gradually into the sky, as Erik and I continued to make our way carefully through the forest—keeping off the ground whenever possible, and throwing near-constant looks back the way we’d come. It must have took two or three times longer than it should have; and it was a great relief when the forest warmed enough we could step normally without sinking into the mud.
Time seemed to move faster then. Noon was already upon us and our stomachs twisted in hunger. It was still too dangerous to risk lighting a fire within the trees, but the forest was lush and plentiful, and there was plenty to tide us over until then. Erik caught sight of a patch of fiddle heads, which we stripped to the stalk. Only a few minutes later, I uncovered a clutch of strawberries and we feasted like kings, staining our fingertips red.
The sky was bright and the trees glowed a burnished gold. The air smelled of sap and wet earth and wildflowers. It was almost easy to forget, as one moment passed into the next, the reason we’d come to the forest. It was almost easy to forget there were people searching on the other side.
Then we came to a sudden break in the trees, and all my senses left me.
By the gods...
We stopped of a single accord on a high bluff, gazing over the sprawling valley below. It was such a sudden drop, it was a good thing we’d been looking. Another few steps might have meant a swift death, but as it was, it felt like we had perched on the crest of the heavens, standing on the edge of the very sky. My eyes widened as I stared towards the distant horizon. My whole life, nearly seventeen years, and this was only a day’s walk from my village. How many other wonders had been denied to me? How many sprawling miracles had my sheltered eyes yet to see?
I couldn’t get past the sheer scale of it. Never had I felt so high in my life, yet never had I felt so small. The forest where I’d lived, which in my mind could have stretched to the end of eternity, seemed abruptly tiny in comparison, just a humble stretch of trees on the edge of a vast and incomprehensible world. Ours was not the only forest. I could see many others, like furred ridges upon the distant peaks. And such mountains they were! I’d heard talk all my life, but never truly understood how big a mountain could be until I was staring at a range of them. They seem to have sprung from the depths of the earth itself, spearing through the molten coils, before bursting in shameless majesty towards the sky. The land stretched in front of me like a map, and from such dizzying height, it was easy to see their sprawling pattern. Like the spirals of a snake, they lined first this way, then that. We were nearly even with a few of them, while the tops of others were obscured in snow and clouds. Snow, in the middle of summer. Clouds. The cushion of land in between them was green and soft and dotted with a dozen tiny settlements, flickering with the smoke of noontime fires. The river itself was shining like a ribbon, winding its way through the emerald hollows and splashing over falls, before finally vanishing somewhere beyond the distant range.
“Have you never seen it?” Erik asked curiously, looking at the side of my face. How he’d been able to tear his eyes away from the valley was utterly beyond me. I shook my head.
“Never,” I replied softly, feeling only then a touch of shame. “I’ve never traveled more than a few leagues from my village.” I turned to him suddenly. “Have you seen it?”
He nodded, looking towards the peaks.
“Twice,” he admitted. “A few summers ago, my uncle took us to the rites at Skara. And we stopped not far from this place on the way down.” He lifted his finger and pointed, tracing the lines as if reading them on a page. “There is the Utensbreath which leads to the city of Elba. The Rondane Peaks curve to the east all the way to Trondhiem. The river forks there, beyond the shadow of the valley, and turns west to the sea. The other branch heads north, where I am from.”
He drew in a quiet breath, reaching the conclusion.
“That is the path we must take.”
I had been following where he pointed all this time, stretching on the tips of my toes to gaze beyond the tall reach of the mountains. It had been a wonder, the things he was saying, ringing from his tongue like a bard’s tale, or some boast one might hear in the tavern. It seemed impossible a boy scarcely older than me would know all these places, that he might even have traveled some himself.
But no sooner had I nodded along, then my eyes flew to his.
“That is the path? You wish to follow the river north?”
He drew in another breath, then nodded silently. His shoulders were braced ever so slightly, like he’d expected the inevitable reply. For my part, I was merely stunned. He could not possibly be serious. The hounds of the king were upon us, with the winds of winter stirring not far behind.
And he wants to head north?
“You cannot be serious,” I said flatly, giving time for him to retract it. “The seasons will be changing before we know it. We’ve just felt the first of the summer storms. And you would head north,” I repeated, “without any provisions, with winter only a few weeks beyond?” Another pause, but he merely regarded me in silence. “Have you ever spent a winter outdoors?” I asked, a little sharply. “How long did it take you to come down here—on horseback?”
A horrible thought came to me, quiet, yet impossible to ignore.
Perhaps he wishes to return home.
He flinched a little at the accusation in my tone, but kept his own neutral.
“Winter is near the same in our land,” he replied, a bit evasively. A bit naively, if one were to ask me. “We shall be forced to battle the snow wherever we are. We will be forced to find supplies to withstand it. That will be better done somewhere—”
“We should go south,” I interrupted bluntly, wondering why I hadn’t said it before. “Trina will be heading south, she’s most likely already waiting for me.”
She would think this plan is insane.
“All the soldiers are mustering in the south,” he replied, “and those looking for us will be coming from that direction. We must not try to go around or slip through their ranks—it would be suicide. We must outpace them. The sea lies to the west, and the easier trails run east. We must not do what is easy,” he concluded soundly. “We must do what is smart.”
I blinked at him in astonishment, too off-balanced to immediately locate my rage. He sounded like a boy at lessons, reciting verses and proverbs. It would have been a highly irritating trait in other people, but it grounded him somehow, providing an inexplicable calm.
He’s still crazy.
“Let me be clear,” I began slowly, turning to face him straight on. “You wish to outrun the entire royal army, by taking a trail that leads straight into the northern peaks before the coming of winter.” I paused a lengthy moment, staring into his eyes. “You claim this is a smart decision.”
I might have had a fraction of his schooling, but I felt quite certain we had different ways of defining the word. At the very least, we’d received a very different kind of education.
“Trina is going south,” I repeated, before he could say anything. A flicker of panic stirred in the pit of my stomach, like I should have remembered yesterday in the storm. “She will be looking for me along the coast, Erik. I cannot head in the opposite direction. We’ve already gone too—”
“Your aunt wishes you to live, yes?” he asked curtly, turning to face me. The sun perched upon his shoulder, glaring accusingly. “She already sacrificed much to make that happen; near everything,” he added suddenly, “since my uncle discovered your stash of gold. The entire royal army stands between you, and yet—you would go tearing through and lead them right to her?”
It was perhaps the only thing he might have said to stop me. Not that she wasn’t there waiting, not that it was too dangerous to turn back. But that it might be dangerous for her.
Even if we made it, our trail would lead to her door.
“So, I won’t...” I paused, unable to say it, “I won’t see her again. We are making this decision now, and I won’t...” My breath hitched and the words overwhelmed me; a deep ache began throbbing deep in my chest. “That time in the tower...it was the last.”
His face softened and he took a compulsive step towards me. The whole of the valley was framed behind him, and the wind was stirring, fluttering the ivory braids over his arms.
“It was not the last,” he said gently, though in hindsight, he couldn’t have actually meant it. I had been a fool to think we’d find each other; he’d never expected as much. “We are only at the beginning of this story, you and I. Much has happened already, I would not have thought possible before riding down through these mountains. Each new day brings something more. Do not lose faith, you will see her again. Stranger things have happened. The rest is in the hands of the gods.”
A little smile, which had been thawing through the ice on my face, faded just as quickly as it had come. If only he hadn’t said that last part. The gods...didn’t like me so much, as of late.
“What is it?” he asked, seeing my sudden change in expression.
I bowed my head quickly, trying to mask it with a tight smile.
“The gods,” I repeated quietly, “have no time for the prayers of a witch.”
He flinched at the word, almost so slight as to escape notice. But he didn’t break my gaze; he took a step even closer, tilting his head to catch my eye.
“What about a fine lord, such as myself?”
* * *
“You’re lucky I didn’t push you down the mountain.”
The sparkling glow of the windswept sun had vanished; it was now beating punishingly overhead. We’d done our best to ignore it, clinging to gratitude that it was there at all, and we weren’t caught in the grip of another wretched storm. But the heat was terrible, and the glare was even worse. It reflected off the stone beneath our fingers, sending up painful splinters of light.
Erik glanced up at me, a few paces down the slope. “You honestly think you could have managed?” he quipped, pointing silently to a grip beside my left hand. We’d been shuffling at first, down the slope that sided the mountain. But the ridge had grown so steep, it had turned into an unfortunate climb. “I saw you nearly fall off that log earlier. I can’t imagine you could give anyone a shove without falling down yourself.”
My boot slipped and dislodged a shower of pebbles. I pretended this was intentional. “A fine lord,” I muttered under my breath, still smarting with it.
The truth was, the better I got to know him, the less dignified I saw Erik really was. Not that there was anything lacking, the man was exemplary in every way. From the regal curve of his brow, to the inherent grace with which he moved, right down to the way he swung a sword. The king had been right, when he’d chosen his successor. The man was a bannerman through and through.
He was also seventeen years old. He was also playful.
After lagging behind long enough to lose sight of him, he pelted me with pinecones. When I’d paused uncertainly over a clutch of mushrooms, wondering if they were safe to eat, he’d taken a single bite then collapsed in theatric convulsions at my feet. It was utterly exasperating, yet strangely endearing at the same time. As the sun rose higher and my rolled ankle began to ache in protest, he halved our speed without question and started singing sea shanties under his breath.
I observed each new peculiarity with a hidden smile, watching as the distance from the village made things easier, and one layer peeled back after the next. Not even during the time we spent together at the festival had he been so free with me. Perhaps he’d found it impossible whilst anywhere in the vicinity of the settlement. Sunshine or not, his uncle’s shadow stretched far.
And speaking of...
“So how did you know the soldiers would be drilling?” I asked abruptly, grinning when his foot slipped uncharacteristically on the trail. It wasn’t often that I was able to surprise him. Most of the time, he delighted in it being the other way around. “You said they would be patrolling south.”
He’d said that, but it hadn’t happened. When we’d burst through the door of the tower, they were right there in front of us, filling the courtyard to brimming, shields and blades and shouts.
“The soldiers,” he repeated, though he’d heard me perfectly well. “You don’t think it a bad portent, to speak of them so close to the settlement. If you raise your voice a little louder, you could simply ask them yourself.”
A clever diversion. And yet—
“You never answered my question,” I replied evenly. “They could not tell me what is in your own head. And if we’re parsing omens and portents, you are traveling with a known witch.”
After so many years guarding the secret, it was still utterly bizarre to say the word out loud. I don’t think I could have managed it if it weren’t equally entertaining to see the way it rattled him.
Again, his foot slipped. He flashed an upwards glance at my face.
“Careful,” he muttered, cheeks flaming, “it’s slippery.”
As are you.
I didn’t ask the question again, I merely waited. Most people would have taken it as a blessing and continued the climb in silence, but already I knew, he wasn’t one to let things hang between us. Those expectant silences rifled him nearly as much as myself. A few seconds passed, then he let out a quiet sigh, nearly lost beneath the sounds of the windswept valley.
“My uncle told me of the soldiers,” he finally replied, looking as though it cost him a great deal to do so. Only now, did I understand why. “He’d been discussing the troop movements with the king, wanting lately to be kept apprised of such things. There were many who knew it,” he added compulsively, keeping his eyes on the slope and away from mine.
Despite all the time we’d been given and the long stretches of silence, there were certain subjects we’d taken great care to avoid—his uncle being chief among them. Not since that night in the tower had I told him plain: the man had attempted to kill him. The horse had not spooked by accident, there had been a knife. The entire reason we were in the forest, was because of his uncle.
His uncle, and the king’s good wishes.
If we avoided mention of his uncle, there hadn’t been a single whisper about the king. Not the man’s late-night visit and subsequent passing of my sentence. And certainly not his clandestine visit to the bannermen’s villa, where he’d spoken with Erik and practically offered him a crown.
Of course, I wasn’t technically supposed to know about that last part. If anyone had been watching, I hadn’t even been there. I’d been hidden in the branches of a courtyard apple tree.
...watching through the eyes of a hawk.
The frankness of the memory startled me, almost as much as the slight jump I felt in my skin every time someone said the word witch. My pulse spiked and my eyes rose without thinking to the cloudless sky, half-expecting to see the massive bird following us, even then.
How is such a thing possible? I asked myself, gripping onto the side of the mountain as we lowered ourselves slowly down. Perhaps a better question: How is it possible I’ve scarcely thought of it since? It seemed the worst sign of all—if my late-night sublimation into the consciousness of a bird bore such little impact. I’d spent more time fretting over my twisted ankle, or counting the seconds until the pyre. How could the world have shaken so dramatically, that had been swept under the rug?
I shook my head a little, clinging to the damp earth. Like a distant echo, my grandmother’s kindly voice resounded through my mind—the same phrase she was so found of using.
Don’t ask questions, if you’re not ready to hear the answer.
I asked another instead.
“So why do you think it changed?” I cast a swift glance over my shoulder, to where he was standing on a ledge just below. The earth was slick from the rain, and he’d needed to jump the last several feet. I was hovering above the same drop. “The soldiers, why was their schedule changed?”
He didn’t know, we’d discussed it already. But while his answers were short, I learned much more in the subtle changings of his face. For all his strength and bravery, the man had very little skill with hiding his emotions. He wore each one like a banner, waving from his sleeve.
There was a chance he knew this, because he refused to look at me. Instead, he opened his arms wide, waiting—I realized, for me to release the ledge and drop inside. I considered this for a split second, then decided against it. Then I thought of the pinecones, and dropped into the air.
A silent gasp caught in my throat, but he was holding me a second later. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments before he set my feet lightly upon the ground.
“That is one of many questions I have myself,” he answered softly. Strangely enough, it actually looked like he wanted to something more, but he held himself back. “Come,” he murmured instead, glancing towards the valley. “We have nearly reached the river.”
* * *
Ironically enough, we had reached the river before. Many times. It was the same current of water that spanned the length of our entire kingdom, splintering every so often into the numerous streams and creeks we’d forded so many times before. It was different every time; the size of the banks and the swell of the waves, but every part of it was connected.
Connected, and very cold.
I came to an involuntary pause as we reached the swollen shore, making the foolish mistake of bending down and dipping my fingers into the water. It was beyond a mere chill, it was borderline freezing—the tumbling waters having trickled down the icy mountains in the first thaw of spring.
People used it for fishing, or perhaps even sailing—as there were several smaller crafts that traveled occasionally between villages. Under no circumstance would someone attempt a swim.
“Must we?” I breathed, watching as he began unstrapping the laces of his boots. It was too wide to simply throw them across, he’d need to carry them to the other side. “Again?”
He flashed me a look, but said nothing.
It had been an unspoken rule since we’d left the settlement: whatever water happened to lay in our path, we could cross. While it might have been a chore, and a dangerous one at that, it was also a necessity. There weren’t just men traveling behind us, but trained hounds. Any chance we had to mask our scent, was a chance worth seizing. Even if it meant risking hypothermia along the way.
“Why so glum?” he teased, secretly dreading the task himself. “It can’t be as bad as that first time. The water is much calmer here, and”—he dipped his fingers as well—“it’s almost warm.”
My eyes lifted to his own. “You are a terrible liar.”
He chuckled quietly, having heard such things since he was a child. Instead of continuing to undress, he crossed back to where I was standing, surprising me once again by tucking back my hair.
“Imagine how talented I will become, traveling in the company of a dread witch,” he replied brightly. The word shook him too, every time, but he was determined to face it. “I will be casting spells and haunting graves before long. The river will be the least of my problems.”
In spite of my dearest efforts, my face cracked into a smile. It was infuriating how he was able to do that. I could imagine his governess thrashing him, then embracing him at the same time.
“Haunting graves, huh?” I quipped, taking a step closer to the water. The air seemed to get colder the nearer I drew; little shards of ice were tangled in the reeds along the surface. “Can you imagine anything drearier? You’d just drift there, day after day, watching the weeds grow.”
He laughed again, a much cheerier sound than mine. “You are hardly a good spokesperson,” he remarked. “It’s enough to make one hesitate to embrace the dark craft at all. But you needn’t worry about the river,” he added more seriously, lifting his gaze to mine. “I will be there beside you, just as before.”
I flushed a little and looked away, remembering all too well.
When the pair of us had sprinted away from the settlement, racing into the trees with the high wall at our backs, I’d been in a panic. A blind, mindless panic—one that had nearly tripled as we’d run straight into a company of guards. I’d had nothing left by the time we reached the river, nothing but a babbling explanation of how I couldn’t swim, and my mother had drowned. Truth be told, I was in such a state it would have been understandable if he’d been forced to merely leave me.
Of course, he hadn’t. He’d taken my hand, just as he was reaching now.
“I’ve got you,” he’d whispered, holding me close to his chest.
I’d felt the warmth of his body, as my cheek pressed against it. I’d heard the frantic pounding of his heart, the only thing that betrayed his endless calm. The second I’d caught my breath, he eased us into the water. First to the ankles, then to the knees. Then a sudden shock as the ground vanished entirely and there was nothing but the rushing current beneath our feet.
Of course, that was when the panic had come back again.
“Perhaps this time,” he continued lightly, “you might keep your hands to yourself.”
I flushed again, unable to keep from laughing as the image flashed back to me. He must have thought it would be rather simple, like carrying a sack of grain across the water. Dead weight, of course, and occasionally sobbing. But nothing that might hinder him more. Of course, we’d both been rather unprepared for my feline reaction to the water. No sooner had it closed around me, than I was clawing frantically to get on top of him—anything to escape those rushing waves.
It was entirely possible, I’d never live down the shame of it.
It was entirely possible, I’d ripped out several chunks of his hair.
“I could try,” I sniffed delicately, “if it matters that much to you.” My eyes drifted longingly down the shoreline. “Or we could simply keep to our own side...”
He flashed a grin I deemed unforgivable, and reached without thinking for my cloak. For his cloak, I kept reminding myself, though it seemed to have completely left his own mind. Instead of taking it back, he merely unclasped the familiar brooch, planning to carry it along with his boots. It wasn’t until that moment, I remembered the small changes I’d made to my wardrobe.
His eyebrows shot skyward as his lips parted in quiet surprise.
“You, uh...you have made some adjustments.”
I stared blankly a split second, then glanced down in surprise to see a great deal more of my flesh than I was used to. Considering the meager tools I had at my disposal, I believed the clothes had held up rather well, granted I looked as if I should be employed at the nearest brothel.
I didn’t flush this time, his cheeks were red enough for the both of us. Instead, I merely twirled what remained of my long skirt, feeling the cold breeze gust up the slit in the side.
“Women’s clothes are not practical,” I answered frankly, forbidding myself from even the slightest of shivers. “This was the only way I could move in the forest without falling down.”
I paused here, allowing space for a joke. If he’d been more himself, it would have come almost immediately. By now, I could imagine the exact tone of his voice, light and full of mischief, inquiring whether I believed I had not fallen down regardless, many times before.
He didn’t say a word, merely looked at the ground and nodded.
Modesty? From a bannerman?
“See, if you’d become king—you might have changed all that,” I added practically, relishing the way his face went blank in absolute surprise. “It could have been your first priority.”
For a few seconds, he was completely unable to speak. I didn’t think he even thought to try.
Then he grabbed my wrist, dragging me towards the water with a hidden scowl.
“Just try to stop yourself from drowning me before we reach the other side...”
* * *
I’m never touching water again.
It was dark by the time Erik and I found a place suitable to make camp—a process about which he was wildly more fastidious than I would have ever imagined. I realized now, our tree the night before had been a fluke. It had been dark, and stormy, and my ankle was so freshly twisted, we simply took whatever we could find. It wasn’t like that now. The man had options.
And he meticulously considered every one.
After the first three places I suggested were discarded for ‘obvious’ reasons, I decided to keep silent and simply watch the madness unfold. At first, we were too close to the river, and might attract the attention of one of the larger predators. Then we were too far from the river, and would not be able to mask our scent if we heard the hounds. The underbrush was too thick, or not thick enough. We were facing east—an unforgivable lapse. He missed the cover of the trees.
It wasn’t until I plopped down at the base of a large aspen, he seemed to realize I’d reached a limit and flashed his most maddening smile. Why, it’s perfect Liv! I could have killed him. Our boots came off and I took great relish in pouring the river water from mine, as he pulled a knife from his belt and declared it was finally safe enough to hunt. Only then, did I realize what this implied.
“With that?” I asked with a hint of alarm, watching as he pushed to his feet. “Erik, you can’t be serious. What are you going to do—dance with the thing, before stabbing it?”
He nodded without a hint of expression. “Is that not how they hunt in the south?”
Seriously, I’m going to kill him.
“Erik—”
“It’s all I have,” he said simply, tying his hair behind him. “What else would you have me do? We have nothing to make traps or snares—which take time, at any rate. I have no bow, and the sword I brought with me is leaning against the bureau in my room.”
I stared at him blankly, and he hastened to explain.
“It’s a small chest of drawers where one puts clothes—”
“I know what a bureau is, Erik.”
He lifted his hands peaceably, the knife still gripped in his hand. “Forgive the assumption. It’s just, you are wretchedly poor.”
“And now you are, too,” I shot back, fiercely as I could manage.
His eyes twinkled with a hidden smile. “As you keep reminding me...” He took a few steps from the tree, then paused nearly as quickly, making a quick study of our surroundings, before lifting his eyes worriedly to the peaks. “I don’t like to be away so long,” he murmured under his breath. “Perhaps you should come with me.”
Hunting?
I froze in surprise, then perked up with a reflexive smile.
“Yes, I think I’d be great at that.”
He shook his head vaguely, distracted by other things.
“You’re right,” he muttered, still planning on the fly. “You’d scare away anything within leagues. I must go alone, it’s just...” His eyes lifted once more to the mountains where we’d just come from, before lowering to mine. “If you see anything—anything—if anyone comes near...I want you to scream, all right? Don’t hesitate or second guess. If something comes, you scream.”
Looking back on it later, the entire situation was rather sweet. His inability to part for any length of time, the way his brow furrowed into a worried crease. I might have even counted it as a point in his favor, if we hadn’t spent the last two hours relocating our impromptu camp.
I stared at him very seriously, never breaking his gaze. “What if that something is you?”
He opened his mouth reflexively to reply, then shot me a withering look and turned on his heel—pacing into the scrubby forest that lay in patches along the river’s shore. He was gone before I had a chance to elaborate, before I had a chance to caution him again about the knife.
What can he possibly fight with that thing?
My pulse quickened nervously, as I considered a more pertinent question.
What might he try?
With nothing but that unnerving thought to keep me company, I gave up trying to look for him and let my eyes drift aimlessly around the camp. It was a generous use of the word, given that there was nothing remotely camp-like about it. We had no supplies, no possessions of any sort. If I hadn’t been sitting on the ground beside the aspen, it might have been any other clutch of trees.
That’s good, Liv. Nothing for them to track you.
Comforting words, but they offered little actual solace. What I wouldn’t give to have traded even the smallest bit of that security for a tarp or canopy to keep out the wind. There were clouds on the horizon, though Erik had sworn they were heading in another direction. What if he was wrong and last night’s storm was only the beginning. What if those lashing winds fell on us again?
Don’t think about that.
The voice was half mine, and half Trina’s—with a good deal of my grandmother thrown in on the side. With a forced determination, I put it from my mind, focusing on things I could control.
Every good camp needs a fire...
For the next half hour, I skittered around the little clearing—making homey touches where I could, random nothings to make Erik smile—and gathering pieces of kindling. While I might have been a village girl with questionable balance and a laughable sense of direction, the one thing I’d perfected over my years working in a tavern, was the art of crafting a perfect fire. I started first with the moss, sprinkling on pieces of bark and little pine needles, before moving on to the larger sticks and twigs. When the base was set, I heaped more on the top, dragging over whatever logs I could move and placing them in a large stack beside the circle of stones—the circle being one of those homey touches I’d deemed essential in terms of aesthetic and morale.
I was just putting on the finishing touches, when there was a rustling in the forest and I saw Erik walking towards me through the trees. He was carrying a rabbit in each hand, far safer prey than I’d been imagining, but faster—and I had no idea how he’d managed to take them down. The second our eyes met, I drew in a theatrical breath, preparing to scream just as he’d told me.
He reached me first, clapping a bloodied hand over my mouth.
Disgusting!
“You made a fire,” he said with a touch of surprise, looking at the immaculate pile I’d created within the stones. His eyes lingered on the circle, warming with an inner smile. “That looks wonderful, thank you. Have you found any flint?”
I hadn’t, but it wasn’t hard to locate. There were usually a few pieces scattered around the river. We struck the stone and watched the sparks jump to the moss, crackling happily against the needles I’d sprinkled on top. Only a few moments later, the first flames burst to life.
We moved instinctively closer, stretching out our hands. The rabbits were temporarily forgotten, it felt like we hadn’t been properly warm in days. Even longer, for me. I thought with a shudder about my pale tower in the center of the village square. Between the stone floors and the soldiers’ impromptu shower, it was a small miracle I hadn’t managed to freeze.
“Is it bad form to climb inside?” I asked politely, edging to the very limit of the rocks. “It might be a little counterproductive—burning, after all this effort. But one can’t fault us for irony.”
I lifted my gaze with a little grin, expecting to see it shared. But the words had sparked some dark memory, and he was silent—his lovely face flickering between shadow and flame.
“You should eat something,” he finally replied, reaching for the rabbits.
Less than an hour later, the meal was gone and the fire had burned down to embers. The two of us were lying on our backs in the soft grass, soaking in the final bits of warmth, and staring into the bright sky above. The moon was high above us, nearly a perfect circle, but this time, it was accompanied by a host of shimmering stars. They were even brighter out here than they’d been outside the village—without the smoke from a dozen fires marring the sky. I drew in a deep breath, feeling once again, the sense of being something much smaller than what was around me.
“Do you know any of their stories?” I asked suddenly, twisting a little to see him. “The stars, I mean. Trina always told me there were constellations, but I never knew what any of them were.”
It was one of the few holes in my education, and one of the few regrets. Vikings had great stories for the stars. It had always been a longing to hear them.
He smiled to himself, framed in the grass beside me. “I know a few,” he answered. “My father taught me some. My mother, some others.” He paused a moment, rifling through memories long since passed. After a few minutes, he lifted his finger. “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing above us. “The two bright points, at the edge of that cloud?” I peered into the heavens, and nodded. “That is Auguthjaza, the eyes of Þjazi.”
The names rolled like music off his tongue. Beautiful, strange music—like taking a journey to a place I’d never been before. The embers glowed by our heads, as I settled down to listen.
“In the ancient times, great Odin and his youngest son were on a hunt in the middle of the forest. They slaughtered an oxen and made to cook the beast, only to discover, something was wrong with the animal and it was unable to heat. In bewilderment, they searched the woods, only to discover that Þjazi, a Frost Giant and wicked shape-shifter, had turned himself into an eagle and stopped the coals from doing their work. In return for the fire, he demanded he be given a portion of the oxen for himself, but the cuts he took were too large and Loki became enraged. He struck at the eagle with his staff, but Þjazi lifted him high into the air, flying over mountains and plains.”
It was one of those stories that had me smiling before I realized. A ridiculous story, yet I was born in this land of frost and blood, and there was a part of me that believed every word. At any rate, who was I to say any different? How did I know, what had placed those shimmering stars?
“So they killed a cow, and the eagle took it...” I prompted.
Erik snorted with laughter, elbowing me in the ribs. “Say oxen, it sounds better. But yes, the eagle stole what he liked of the oxen and flew the mischief god high into the air. When Loki begged to be returned to the ground, Þjazi agreed, but only on the condition that Loki return to the house of Asgard and deliver him Iðunn, the goddess of youth, and keeper of the immortal apples.”
This was typically where I could suggest we make some effort to find these apples. At the very least, I would chide him for returning only with rabbits, and not some offering of celestial fruit.
But the coals were glowing, and my thoughts were drifting on the breeze.
“Did the god do it?” I asked.
Erik nodded vaguely, his bright eyes drifting through the stars. “He delivered the goddess, but without her apples, the rest of the gods began to grow old and grey. Knowing something must be done, they stole the woman back and promised her another husband. When Þjazi found out what had been done, he flew into a rage and chased Loki all the way back to Asgard. But by then, the gods had a great pyre going. The eagle crashed right into the center and set his feathers alive. While he was trying to escape, the gods leapt upon him and killed him.”
He paused a moment, considering.
“I’m assuming that’s when Odin took his eyes.”
I cast him a quick look, then turned back to the heavens. Most of our stories ended like this, most of the time, I felt worst for the woman. Stolen from her home, only to be delivered into the hands of a monster. Her only salvation was to be bartered like chattel to yet another great lord.
Even our goddesses live at the pleasure of men.
I was about to make mention of this, when I saw Erik’s eyes were already fluttering. The fire had been warm, and the last of the summer heat still lingered in the forest. I nestled deeper into the cloak I wore, and drifted off beside him, my mind still leaping from star to star.
It was nearly midnight when I opened my eyes again. The fire was gone and every bit of heat had dissipated into the night. I pulled in a shivering breath, drawing my hands into my sleeves.
That was when I heard the wolves.
