CHAPTER THREE

The Magic Shield

Saga awoke to the sound of voices.

‘I heard tales of one warrior who used his magical winnings to turn every stone in their village into a precious jewel. Now, they push their boats off from glittering emerald shores. Of course, nobody can forget the rumours of that one village that simply disappeared.’

‘Better not mention that in front of Saga,’ said another voice gruffly.

Afi, Saga thought.

‘Is she still refusing her destiny?’ the first voice asked.

‘She is deathly afraid of magic. I can’t even tell how powerful she may or may not be since she won’t carve a single rune,’ Afi said. ‘I called you here for your assistance. Perhaps you can help persuade her to try. She listens to me about everything but not this.’ Afi’s sigh made Saga’s throat catch. ‘She is my starlight,’ he admitted. ‘She makes my days shine brighter, but if I cannot teach her how to use her magic then I have failed her. And the seers.’

‘Do not fear yet,’ came the answering voice, who Saga finally placed as the Jarl. ‘The seers see all things, past and present. They may live apart from us, but they are wise protectors of the North, and they shared this prophecy with you for a reason. Saga will meet her destiny, of that I am certain.’

Afi sighed again. ‘But if I cannot help her –’

‘It is the hardest thing to let a child go,’ the Jarl interrupted, ‘but this destiny is Saga’s and you cannot bear it for her.’

Saga stared into the fire at the heart of the longhouse. Bjørn was softly snoring next to her, but Saga was wide awake now. She felt like thunder: all tight and hot and angry, on the verge of a storm. The prophecy was like a sky heavy with snow; it weighed down on her, making it hard to breathe, impossible to escape. How could she have a magical destiny when all she wanted was to curl up by the fire with her bear and listen to stories? She pressed her face against Bjørn’s fur and took a few deep breaths, his familiar smoky scent calming her enough to get out of bed. Her afi must have carried her here last night after she’d fallen asleep, her head stuffed with tales of elves and epic journeys. She had a quick wash with the cold water in the bucket nearby, got dressed and tugged a reindeer-antler comb through her knotted silver hair. Even in the dark, her hair gleamed like a polished coin. She’d heard tales that the sorcerers’ hair was silver too, marked by strong currents of magic that had charged through them, but Saga didn’t remember the magic that had scorched her hair silver, only the moon-bright light that had poured out of her parents as the longhouse tore apart and the trolls howled. Saga set her antler comb down, pausing to glance up at the silver scorch marks on the wooden ceiling. Afi had rebuilt their home, making it stronger and safer than ever, but it was still marked by that day. Like Saga. She shuddered, pulling back the wall hanging and greeting their guest.

‘Good morning, Saga,’ the Jarl said pleasantly. He and Afi were drinking from horns as they sat and chatted at the table.

Saga nodded and began making the morning porridge. Bjørn’s snores were still rumbling through the longhouse, but he’d wake up and nudge his nose into her palm any moment now, demanding breakfast. Dag had a forest cat that would yowl and leap up on to his shoulder any time her food bowl ran low and it always made Saga laugh, imagining if Bjørn acted the same way. She mixed oats and milk, painfully aware of the silence that hung between the Jarl and her afi. Her cheeks burned as she imagined them watching her, wondering if she’d heard their conversation. Well, she had and she didn’t like it one bit. She clanged the ladle loudly into the cauldron.

‘I hear that you’re still having some trouble with the runes,’ the Jarl said.

Saga tried not to glare at him. He was the ruler of their village and once had led them to several victories in battle. Before the shield had isolated them, of course. Now, he was as old as Afi, with matching grey hair, neatly combed back, and golden brooches clasping his rune-patterned cloak together. There were so many different runes embroidered on to his cloak that it set Saga’s teeth on edge. She dished out the porridge and poured extra honey on to hers, hoping that if she shovelled enough into her mouth she wouldn’t have to speak to him about the thing that she was most afraid of.

Afi used his sternest voice: ‘Saga.’

‘I’m not having trouble with the runes – I just don’t use them,’ she answered. The Jarl exchanged a significant look with her afi. Saga bristled. ‘And I don’t see how that’s any of your business,’ she added hotly.

Afi stood. ‘Show some respect when you speak to your elders. The Jarl is here to help oversee your first rune carvings. Now that you are twelve, you can’t avoid your destiny any longer. It is time, Saga.’

‘No.’ Saga stood up so quickly that her chair fell back on to the floor. ‘No, you can’t make me.’ The storm that had been brewing inside her all morning suddenly erupted. ‘I will never use magic!’ she shouted, and darted to the door, grabbing her furs and little pouch before she ran outside.

‘Saga!’ her grandfather called after her, but she ignored the hurt in his voice and kept running, her leather boots sinking into the snow. She ran past Dag, who took one look at her face and let her go. He always knew when she needed to be alone. She ran until she had reached the foot of the mountains, where she slowed and began to trudge up and up and higher still. Higher than she’d ever dared before.

A soft padding of paws sounded behind her. Saga turned and buried her face in Bjørn’s fur. ‘Why can’t Afi love me for who I am?’ Her teeth chattered as she spoke and Bjørn whined anxiously. ‘All right, all right.’ Saga pulled on her fur cape and wool-lined mittens, stamping her boots in the snow to warm up her feet. She didn’t begrudge his presence; she and Bjørn were two sides of the same moon.

Saga gazed out at her village. It sat below, nestled into the fjords and glowing with a hundred pinpricks of light from its wooden buildings. This far north, winter came with a darkness that grew and grew until it eclipsed the day. Now they would not set eyes on the sun until spring arrived. But Saga didn’t mind because with the unending night came the lights in the sky: shimmering curtains that rippled in gemstone colours. They ribboned and twirled through the sky like dancers. Saga looked up. The Northern Lights were glimmering as far as she could see. She didn’t understand why the sorcerers would want to distil them for their magic. To her, they were the most beautiful when they ran across the sky, wild and free. Sometimes Dag would squint up at the night sky, claiming to glimpse Bifrost, the bridge that led to another world, but that was much further north. No mortal human could set foot on the bridge, not even a sorcerer, but they still kept an eye on it just in case something happened to peek through from the other side. Nothing like that had happened in hundreds of years, but you could never be too careful.

Saga watched the Northern Lights, wondering what another world might look like.

But they weren’t the only thing glimmering in the sky.

Her stomach dropped, heavy as wet fur.

She was close enough to brush up against her parents’ shield – and it was whispering with magic.

Saga had spent more than half her life looking up at this near-invisible layer that stretched out between the mountains that surrounded their fjord, forming a roof over their village. Water and snow and sunlight could move through it, but no animal or person – well, almost none.

Only Saga and her afi were granted safe passage through the shield. The magic recognized its kin. Dag liked to moan about this when they hunted or skated together – as if he would be tempted to hike through the mountains or run off on some adventure when, really, Saga knew Dag was happiest curling up in front of the fire with his cat. Despite what he claimed about wanting to enter the contest on the next Fifth Winter, Dag was a lot more similar to Saga than he’d admit.

Besides, the fisherfolk and raiders had their doorway in the shield through which they could sail their longboats away, and Dag could hop onboard if he was desperate for some heroic quest. But everybody else knew that the shield kept them safe from the troll attacks that plagued other villages. They didn’t mind staying inside the shield – the mountains were dangerous. Even Saga had never tried to leave before.

‘You killed my mother and father,’ she said, watching the magic whisper and ripple in front of her, and hating it. It was a constant reminder that she had lost her parents and she didn’t want to live under it any more. She wished it would just disappear.

She sucked in a deep, cold breath.

And stepped through.