CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Secrets and Cake

‘Shh, not here.’ Ruvsá looked around as if someone might pop up from one of the pools. ‘You never know who might be listening.’

Saga nodded, questions whirling through her mind, faster than a snowstorm. She waited until Ruvsá had finished bundling up and then they walked through the rocky passageway, following it through the mountain until it turned to ice. Soon they were facing the door back to the great hall. Saga yanked it open. Cold air whistled through. It chilled Saga down to her bones. She darted into the great hall, where most of the raiders were still feasting, and then along to their room as fast as she could, Ruvsá and Bjørn racing either side of her, until she slammed the door shut behind them. It was much warmer inside, thanks to the sorcerers’ magical fire. There, Saga turned to face Ruvsá. And waited.

‘Yes,’ Ruvsá admitted. ‘I can communicate with animals. But you’re afraid of magic.’

Saga took a step back. ‘How did you know?’

‘Bjørn told me,’ Ruvsá simply said.

Envy bit at Saga. She had her own way of communicating with her bear, but she wished she could talk to him.

‘It doesn’t work how you’re thinking,’ Ruvsá added quickly, noticing Saga’s mood change. ‘We can’t have a conversation together; animals don’t have words like we do. It’s more like feelings and sometimes images. But I noticed that whenever you were around anything magical, especially the runes, Bjørn feels nervous and concerned about you. Then I realized that I’d never seen you use magic yourself, and you avoid touching anything magical with your bare hands.’ Ruvsá looked puzzled. ‘But I don’t understand why you’d enter this contest if you’re scared of magic?’

Saga drooped. She sank down on to her bed. Bjørn let out a low whine and rested his head on Saga’s lap. His familiar weight soothed her, and she stroked him behind his ears, on his favourite spot. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t communicate with him the way that Ruvsá could – she still knew him better than anyone. And he knew her too. Remembering this warmed her better than the hot springs.

‘Because I didn’t have a choice,’ Saga admitted.

Ruvsá went and rummaged in her knapsack. She drew out a cloth-wrapped bundle and unfolded it to show Saga. It looked like a loaf of soft, crumbly bread, but Saga smelled apples and honey and sweet spices. Her mouth watered. Ruvsá split it into three.

‘Here.’ She held out one third to Saga. ‘If we’re going to share secrets, let’s share this as well. My mother always says that difficult stories are easier to tell over cake.’

‘Where did you get this?’ Saga sniffed it eagerly.

Ruvsá gave her a mischievous smile. ‘One secret at a time.’

Saga bit into it. It melted in her mouth and tasted of wild honey and cardamom. The apples had been magically preserved and Saga half wondered if whoever had made the cake had managed to sneak past Idun, the goddess of youth and guard of the precious golden apples that the gods ate to stay young forever. Bjørn sat up indignantly and batted a paw at Ruvsá, who laughed and offered him the biggest third. ‘I haven’t forgotten you – don’t worry.’

Bjørn made a big happy-bear sound and his cake vanished, showering Saga with crumbs.

Saga brushed them off her tunic and took a big bite of her cake before Bjørn could gobble it down as well. ‘It started when I was five.’

Saga told Ruvsá the whole story: of the first troll attack where her parents had died conjuring the magical shield that was now bonded to Saga; of the second troll attack that had been her fault, and how they’d taken her whole village away, including Dag and her afi; of the seer who had told Saga to enter the contest; and, finally, of the raven on the shield door, who’d agreed that Saga’s parents had died because of her.

At that, Ruvsá shook her head hard. ‘The raven didn’t open the doors for you because that was true – it opened the door because you believed it was true, but it isn’t. You can’t feel guilty for your parents’ choice! Look at the danger you’re putting yourself into to bring your afi home – should he feel that that’s his fault?’

‘No –’ Saga began.

‘Then you shouldn’t feel guilty that your parents did everything they could to protect you,’ Ruvsá said firmly. ‘Now I understand why you’re afraid of magic –’ she nodded thoughtfully – ‘but I think you already know that it’s your only chance to save your village, and that matters more.’

‘I know.’ Saga popped the last mouthful of cake into her mouth, ignoring Bjørn’s sad whine at it all being gone. ‘But I’ve been scared for so long that I don’t even know where to begin! And when I do try, like when the trolls took Afi, it makes me sick. Sometimes I dream of runes that do strange and wonderful things, but when I wake up I don’t recognize their shapes.’

Ruvsá gave Saga a curious look.

‘What?’ Saga licked her finger to pick up the cake crumbs. She was wondering if there’d be any leftovers in the great hall, but the sorcerers didn’t seem the type to leave out snacks. Not like Afi, who never minded toasting thick slices of bread over the fire for her when she was feeling peckish.

‘Come on.’ Ruvsá stood and grabbed Saga’s hands, pulling her up. Bjørn grumbled at his petting being disturbed, but he curled up on Saga’s bed instead and started snoring. Ruvsá opened their door a crack and peered out. ‘Nobody’s there,’ she whispered, her eyes gleaming nut-brown in the lanternlight. ‘Let’s go!’