Chapter 11
More than once, Ivar turned on the horse to stare back into the forest through which he was travelling. Somewhere through those towering fir trees and drifts of snow, Ósa was making her way towards the unknown. Was she, too, looking back the way she’d come? Looking towards home and relative safety? Towards him? Unlikely. If he knew anything about her at all, she’d still be facing forward, her mind firmly on what was to come, the dangers ahead. She was perhaps two hours from Is̊avik now. There, she’d find food and company and warmth. It wasn’t until after she left there that he would allow himself to worry. Not until she struck off on her own.
Goddess knows. The thought of her out there alone, a single girl, no matter how beautiful and courageous she was, was nearly impossible to comprehend.
Beautiful. He flushed a little and looked down at his horse. He’d never allowed himself to think it before. Why now?
Letting out a breath, he looked up again. Bormur was south of Lake Hornstrăsk, and southwest of Neska. Four villages – Neska, Bormur, Is̊avik and the smaller, less-visited one on the coast further south than Neska called Sjørskall – comprised the entirety of the descendants of the Löskan settlers. It was better for them – much better – to stay in larger groups for strength in numbers than to break off into smaller villages dotted around the countryside. At least, that was the thinking back when they’d first settled, and the idea had stuck. The naming of the villages hadn’t taken place until a few decades ago, as they’d previously just been the village to those who lived there. Travel between them was infrequent at first, as they worked to learn the ways of the storms, how to get through the deep snow, and how to find the other villages without losing their way.
Smoke from a chimney curled into the air in the distance and Ivar hurried the horse on. Despite the unlikeliness of an attack coming in the immediate future – there were no signs of it off the coast, the abandoned boat the only evidence the Ør were close – time felt short and haste required. He entered the village at a trot, but looks of alarm from those in the streets made him slow his pace. Ósa would be more diplomatic. She would find a village leader and give him the news behind a closed door, but that wasn’t how Ivar would want to hear it. He’d want to know what they meant directly.
“I bring news from Neska,” he said loudly. Heads turned and ears perked up. News rarely travelled between villages, because so few things happened that required anyone outside of their own communities to know. But before he continued, a child standing beside her mother caught his attention on the street. She shouldn’t have to hear it like this. Let it be broken to her more gently at a later time. He looked from the girl to her mother, and his face spoke for him.
“Run off to find your brother, Gerda.” The mother smiled softly and patted the girl’s shoulder.
When she’d disappeared into a house, Ivar continued. “You all saw the lights, no doubt. I’m sure you know what they mean. The plague will soon return.” He shut his eyes briefly, the weight of his words making it too difficult to speak. “And in Neska, we have learned something else.”
A general collection of whispers passed around those gathered and more villagers emerged from their homes to listen.
“I was returning from the lake with a fellow villager, when we were followed into the woods. We’d seen tracks, but hadn’t been able to determine what made them.” He paused, the memory of those forms through the trees, their screams piercing the forest, freezing him to silence.
“What were they?” a man shouted.
“Aye, tell us!” another added. Many people pressed closer, anxious for an answer.
“It was the Ør,” Ivar said.
The way the faces around him tightened, jaws clenching or mouths falling open, ignited a faint sense of sympathy within him. He wished he didn’t have to be the one to break the news, but at least they hadn’t found out while face to face with one. Those scars, those sickly eyes of burning white with centres of deepest dark…
“And if perhaps,” he added, “you require some sort of proof, let me offer this. But for the faint of heart, let me caution you to avert your eyes.” He pulled the Ør necklace of teeth from a pocket in his cloak. “We took it from a body. I trust you’ve heard the stories.”
A woman cried out somewhere in the crowd, and several people turned away.
“Time is important to us now,” Ivar said firmly, replacing the necklace. “All of us, in every village, will have much to do to ready ourselves to fight. Only if we stand together can we—”
“You’re a damned fool!” someone shouted from the crowd. A small man, his hands wringing before him and his face twisting in a strange mixture of blind fear and anger. “Banding together won’t offer us any more of a chance than one of us standing alone. We’re better to go quickly and painlessly before they reach us!”
A handful of others shouted their agreement, while the rest looked on in horror. Ivar’s mouth fell open, and for a long moment, no one spoke.
“Surely you can see the folly in that,” he said presently. “If we give up before they even arrive, we will have no chance whatsoever. They’ll have won before the battle has even started. But if we train, if we learn to fight and ready everything we have, then there’s at least a chance of our survival.”
“Nonsense!” the same small man shouted. “How dare you spread lies and false hope at a time such as this?”
“That is … not my intention,” Ivar replied. “There’s another hope, one that I am quite aware we cannot place our full trust in, but one that could mean more than anything else.”
Silence spread through the group like fire through straw.
“We’re listening,” a woman near to him said softly, hopefully.
“One from our village, the same who fought against the Ør scouts with me, has this very day left Neska to pursue hope in the mountains. I’m a rune singer, and upon translating in a cave by the lake, we have reason to believe that the Kalls offer our only chance to speak to the Goddess and beg for Her help. Perhaps She can be persuaded to hold off the plague, to give us a chance to fight at full strength. She may even be able to help us fight the Ør.”
“Why alone?” the woman asked. “Why didn’t you send a party?”
“I would have gone with her, but her father is a village leader, and it was the decision of the village that our time and energy would be better spent making preparations here.” His jaw tightened as he spoke at the memory of Eldór sending his daughter off alone. If being a leader meant having a callous heart, he’d happily forego it.
“A girl?” the small man sneered. “You think our only hope lies with a girl who is travelling alone to the mountains? We may as well place our future in the hands of a babe! Such nonsense!”
Fire rose on Ivar’s tongue, but he quenched it before speaking. “I know how it sounds,” he said evenly, resting a tightened fist on his thigh.
“I don’t think you do,” the man interjected.
“I understand your concerns,” Ivar continued. “But she’s not weak and she’s not foolish. She knows her mission and she knows the dangers. If there’s anyone to be believed in, anyone whom I know could succeed in this task, it is her. She has a bravery that would render any man a child.” He stared into the narrow eyes of the small man, willing his words to have a deeper meaning. When he didn’t respond, Ivar continued, “You are all, every one of you, allowed to be afraid. We are all afraid. But when that fear becomes a barrier between surviving and succumbing, it has gone too far. If we bend to one knee and offer our heads to be severed, all of our deaths will be certain. If we can unite and work together to put up even a small fight, then we at least leave room for a chance.”
Many of the heads around him nodded, though their faces remained tight with fear.
“They will likely attack from the sea, so Neska will be the central point for our preparations. We invite all of you to come and stay with us to train and prepare. We will make room for everyone.”
“We will come,” the woman near to him said. “As for me and my family, we will come.”
Ivar offered her a small smile in gratitude. “Every body will count,” he said, turning his horse to leave. “And tonight, take a quiet moment to turn your eyes to the northwest and spare a thought for the one whose bravery might well mean you get to keep your head on your shoulders and your teeth in your mouth.” With another glance at the small man, he rode from the village.