CHAPTER NINETEEN

Runework

‘Where are we going?’ Saga whispered. In the time between their return from the hot springs and finishing sharing their stories, the hour had grown late. Though it was raven-black from when Saga opened her eyes in the morning to when she closed them at night, this darkness felt different. It was thicker and silent. No snippets of conversation nor barks of laughter echoed from other doors, no scents of roasted meat with herbs and spices trailed from the great hall. It was the kind of night through which not even the gods could have seen.

‘To practise your magic,’ came Ruvsá’s reply as they passed a glowing lantern.

Saga halted.

But Ruvsá wove her arm though Saga’s and tugged her further down the icy warren. ‘If you want to win the contest, you must.’

‘Why are you helping me? Don’t you want to win as well? And why can’t we practise in our room? If we get caught …’ Saga trailed off.

‘Some things are more important than winning.’ Ruvsá’s eyes twinkled. ‘Besides, who says I’m going to let you win? Though it would be a lot lonelier in this castle if you can’t even make it past the second challenge.’

Saga laughed.

‘So I’m going to help you practise. Away from our room, somewhere that the other contestants won’t overhear us. I will guard your secret as safely as treasure,’ Ruvsá told her, squeezing her arm.

‘Thank you.’ Saga felt as if she had a clump of porridge in her throat. She cleared it quietly.

Ruvsá led her down to a level beneath the great hall, past a cavernous cooking space that housed several large hearths and salted fish drying, and into a small ice cave burrowed behind it. It was cooler in here, lit by a single lantern hanging from the low ceiling, the floor piled with a soft layer of snow. Pots of all kinds of food were stacked high and Ruvsá grinned, opening one to show Saga a stash of oat biscuits. ‘This is where you got the cake from?’ Saga guessed, popping a couple of biscuits into her pockets. They’d make a nice treat for Bjørn when he finished napping. A third biscuit went into her mouth.

‘Whatever you think about sorcerers, they put on a good feast,’ Ruvsá said, helping herself to the biscuits. ‘But they don’t seem to understand snacking.’

Saga nodded emphatically. ‘I had the same thought!’

They giggled together. Then Ruvsá looked at Saga expectantly.

Saga looked back at her. ‘What?’ She swallowed her mouthful of biscuit.

‘Well?’ Ruvsá gestured.

Saga pushed up her sleeve. As she reached down to draw a rune into the snow, her hand trembled. Nerves thrashed in the pit of her stomach as if she was caught in a storm at sea and she felt sick and dizzy. She dragged in a ragged breath – and heard the unmistakable sound of a boot scuffing the ice outside. Saga grabbed Ruvsá and pulled her behind a barrel of mead. They stood almost nose to nose as Saga tried not to breathe, listening as hard as she could. Saga saw for the first time that Ruvsá looked scared, and Saga bit her lip, worried that they’d trodden a dangerous path, that this would mean the end of the contest for them both, leaving no way for Saga to rescue her afi.

Footsteps crunched into the snow. The person was entering the storage cave.

Ruvsá’s eyes widened and, this close, Saga could make out tiny flecks of green and gold that shimmered like tiny jewels in her eyes. She could also see her own face reflected. Saga’s silver hair was gleaming under the lanternlight shining down from above. She tugged up the hood of her tunic, trying to hide it, but the person in the room stopped.

It was so quiet she could hear them breathing.

Saga closed her eyes, pleading with the gods not to let it be Rollo. Maybe another sorcerer wouldn’t be as strict or would let them go with a warning, but Rollo was much too mean to do that.

And then the person spoke. ‘Saga? Ruvsá? I know you’re in here.’

Ruvsá slumped in relief. All the breath came rushing out of Saga’s lungs. She whirled out from behind the barrel and glared at Canute, standing in the middle of the cave.

‘Why were you following us?’ she demanded.

Ruvsá popped out too, giving Canute an admonishing look. ‘You scared us!’

‘Sorry.’ Canute dug the toe of his boot into the snow. ‘I was just wondering where you were going. You know we’re not allowed to go off on our own in the ice castle –’

‘So then why did you follow us?’ Saga repeated, still annoyed.

Canute shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Er –’

Ruvsá and Saga stared at him.

‘I was bored!’ He blushed, looking at his feet. ‘Now that Elof’s gone, I’m left alone sharing a room with Leif, who’s never there unless he’s asleep and then he snores louder than a moose.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought it would be more interesting to see what you two were doing so I went to knock on your door and that’s when I saw you sneak out … What are you doing?’ He glanced up, curious.

‘Nothing,’ Saga said.

‘Helping Saga practise her magic,’ Ruvsá said at the same time.

‘Ruvsá!’ Saga exclaimed. ‘That was a secret!’

‘No, the other stuff is a secret that I would never tell,’ Ruvsá promised, ‘but he doesn’t need to know that part. Besides, I’m not very good with runes – maybe he can help.’

Saga scoffed. ‘He won’t want to help.’

‘I can help,’ Canute said eagerly. ‘Let’s start with the basics.’ He kneeled on the snow and drew a rune that looked like a lightning bolt. ‘Sól,’ he said as it beamed with light.

‘I already know the basics,’ Saga said a little grumpily. She didn’t add that she’d never practised those basics herself before. Or that seeing that glimmer of magic turned her cold.

Canute rubbed the rune out with his boot, extinguishing the light. ‘Then it’s your turn.’ He looked happier than Saga had ever seen him. And much less annoying. He was even ignoring her grumpiness. She eyed him, unsure why he was acting differently but then he gave her a wary smile and she gave in and kneeled beside him.

Her heart beating harder and harder, Saga began drawing her first rune: Sól, the little lightning bolt that she’d seen beam with the power of a summer sun when her mother drew it. One line, then another. Her breath rushed out in cold wisps as she bit her tongue, trying to ignore her stomach rolling, the cave tilting around her as she saw stars. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder: Ruvsá.

‘Keep going – you’re nearly there,’ she told Saga, who swallowed her fear and kept drawing, knowing that the only way she could save her afi was by embracing the magic from which she’d fled her whole life.

‘So close now,’ Canute added as Ruvsá squeezed Saga’s shoulder, the pair of them encouraging her as she finally finished her very first rune.

It hummed to life as Saga slumped down, exhausted from battling her fear. But it wasn’t the bright hum of the sorcerers’ runes around the ice castle, nor the quiet fierce hum of her afi’s runes that had marked their longhouse. No, this was a tiny, weak hum that she had to strain to hear. Saga, Ruvsá and Canute all looked at the dim flicker of her light.

Saga’s emotions were warring. ‘That’s it?’ She was torn between astonishment that this was all she’d managed to produce after her fear about wielding magic that was as raw and powerful as her mother’s, and a secret disappointment that maybe she wasn’t worthy of having a magical destiny after all. Maybe the seer had got the wrong person or accidentally knocked on the wrong door all those years ago?

‘You just need more practice,’ Ruvsá said gently. ‘It was your first time carving a rune and your hand was shaking badly.’ She looked at the wobbly edges of the rune.

But Saga wasn’t listening. ‘How am I going to do the next challenge now?’ she wailed. ‘My parents’ shield is defending me, but it’s not going to help me with anything else.’

‘That was the first rune you’ve ever used?’ Canute frowned, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. ‘And what shield?’

Saga narrowed her eyes at him.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said quickly, ‘but I’m sorry if I wasn’t that friendly before. I was just nervous about the contest and I wasn’t sure who I could trust. My parents told me never to trust anyone,’ he added, ‘so I’m not used to …’

‘Not used to what?’ Ruvsá asked.

‘Having friends,’ Canute said in a small voice.

‘We’re not your friends,’ Saga said, and he flinched. She closed her eyes, her stomach swimming in guilt. ‘But maybe we could be,’ she told him. ‘Do you promise not to tell a single soul if I tell you something?’ He nodded fiercely. ‘Not one other person,’ she repeated, ‘or I’ll let Bjørn eat you for dinner.’

‘You have my oath,’ Canute said. They grasped each other’s forearms and shook on it before Saga told him a briefer version of the story she had already shared with Ruvsá earlier that night.

‘Hmm,’ Canute said after she’d finished. ‘Maybe your parents’ shield is blocking your own magic? But I wouldn’t know how you’d get rid of it … and it did stop that white bear from eating you so it could be useful with whatever we’re facing next.’

‘I don’t think it’s blocking her magic,’ Ruvsá said. ‘She could walk through it when it was on the mountaintop, so it wasn’t blocking her then. Try another rune.’

Now that she was distracted, Saga carved a second rune without feeling sick or dizzy.

It produced the same weak effect as before: a flicker of dull light.

Ruvsá beamed at her.

‘What?’ Saga looked at the rune to see what she was missing. ‘It isn’t any better than the first one.’

‘You’re so distracted by your runework that you’ve forgotten to be scared of them.’ Ruvsá pointed at the rune. ‘Your hand barely shook when you carved that one into the snow. Look how much smoother it is.’

She was right. Though that didn’t solve Saga’s problem – she’d assumed all along that her fear was stopping her from drawing runes, but now it looked as if she’d never had the kind of power that she’d need to even compete in the Fifth Winter, let alone win the whole thing. She’d secretly hoped that she’d turn out to be powerful enough to be able to leave the sorcerers’ ice castle and go and rescue her afi and Dag all by herself, but now she definitely needed to stay in the contest. She dragged her feet on the way back to their rooms, wallowing in despair until she felt as if she was drowning.