Chapter 13
Ivar had never been to Sjørskall. Eldór did little trading with them, if at all. They weren’t like the other villagers. Quiet, watchful, more superstitious. He knew well enough how to find the village, though, or at least in what direction to travel from Bormur until he ran into it. The ride was a long one, and he kept the horse at a steady pace to fight the setting sun. His ride had taken longer than anticipated, but his family was still expecting him home tonight. If he was delayed much longer, or the weather turned and he was forced to spend the night here, they might fear the worst.
The sun was slipping behind the horizon, the horse slowing down after a day of cantering through the drifted snow, when he saw a curl of smoke in the distance. It was comforting after such a long ride, but it also made him uneasy. This wasn’t a village he looked forward to visiting. There were stories about their unwelcoming nature, their mistrust of strangers and their way of keeping to themselves. While the other villages were more open, more widely visited, this one liked its privacy.
For now, he’d get in, share the news, and get out.
Most seemed to be indoors, partaking in the evening meal, though a few souls roamed the streets as he entered the village. A skinny old man, lines criss-crossing his face like an ancient map, frowned from a doorway. A young girl stopped walking to stare, a bucket of water in her hands.
“I have news,” Ivar said, to anyone who might listen. “Who may I speak to?”
“What sort of news?” asked a man with an armful of firewood. He was about Ivar’s father’s age, perhaps a little older.
“Of the lights,” Ivar replied, quieter.
The man’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “We saw them,” he said gruffly. “No need to tell us what we already know.”
“I doubt you know this,” Ivar told him. “Unless you also know what the lights mean.”
He swung down from the horse. “Who can I speak to?”
The man glanced around again, then jerked his head towards his own door. “Inside. I’ll go and fetch a few other elders. You’d better have something important to say – people round here don’t like to be disturbed.”
Ivar tied the horse outside and entered the warmth of the house. It was empty of anyone else and sparsely furnished with an old wooden chair, a bed in one corner, and a few stools and cooking supplies. Against one wall sat a basket of knitting, covered in dust and seemingly having not been touched in years. He pulled up one of the stools closer to the fire and stretched out his hands toward the flames. They were numb from the cold, though he’d been cold for so much of the day that he’d hardly noticed it.
A few minutes later, the man returned with two other men and a woman. He offered no introduction for them, but grunted his own name – “Areld” – before taking a seat across the fire. “Now, what is it you’ve got to tell us?” he asked.
Ivar met the gazes of the newcomers in turn. They stared at him, distrust burning hot in their eyes. The woman, perhaps the most severe of all, made no attempt to conceal her suspicions about his presence.
“You all saw the lights, I understand,” Ivar began, poking at the fire with a stick. “You know of the plague. But shortly after they shone, myself and another villager encountered two Ør in the woods.” It was blunt, perhaps too much so, but the sooner he delivered the news, the sooner he could leave.
There were a few sharp intakes of breath, and eyes narrowed even further. Ivar looked away from them and continued to poke the fire, waiting for the news to sink in and the questions to start.
“Impossible,” one of the men whispered.
Ivar shook his head. “It’s the truth. We believe they were scouts and that more are coming. And I can assure you…” He paused, then shook his head at the memory. “I can assure you that they are every bit as terrible as we always imagined. More so.”
“Goddess spare us,” the woman breathed, a hand pressed against her mouth.
That reminded him. “But I also bring better news,” Ivar continued, laying aside the stick. “Someone from our village departed today for the mountains. We found runes. Runes that told us we might speak to the Goddess there, in the Kalls. It’s a dangerous journey, but it offers us hope.”
Silence. Eyes bore into his, though he couldn’t read their expressions.
“In the meantime,” Ivar went on, “we here in the villages are preparing, training, making weapons, for as long as we are able to. We don’t know when they will come, but they will likely come from the sea nearer to Neska. That’s where we found the scouts’ boat. You are all invited to come back to our village and train with us. If the villages unite, we stand a much stronger chance.”
“We’ll all be slaughtered,” the woman said quietly, shaking her head. “No one stands a chance against the Ør. Surely we’ve all been raised with the same stories.”
“We have,” Ivar answered. “But the Ør took Löska without warning. With even a little time to prepare and a strong will, we can at least stand a chance. If we discount ourselves from the beginning then we only welcome our end. Skane is stronger than Löska. We’ve grown. We’ve learned. We’re ready.”
The woman shook her head again, slowly, like she pitied Ivar. “Madness,” she whispered. “Utter madness.”
Ivar took this as his signal to leave. Standing, he said, “Think it over and discuss it amongst yourselves. Bormur has already agreed to join with us. We hope to have you as well. Just remember that time is short.”
He made to move towards the door, but Areld stood in his way. “I think you’d best be staying here tonight,” he said in a tone that gave Ivar the distinct impression that he had no choice. The others nodded, glancing at each other. “Here, in fact. You can have my bed.”
Ivar stared at each of them in turn. Something had changed in their demeanour, something that he couldn’t quite understand, but that flooded his mind with warnings. The others sent knowing looks to one another, seeming to speak a language with their eyes that Ivar couldn’t comprehend.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Areld said, backing towards the door. The others exited behind him. A moment later, he pulled the door shut, and there was a distinct sound of locking. A moment after that, he heard footsteps as his horse was led away.
Turning quickly, on fire with alarm, he examined each of the walls for an opening of any sort, a second door, but there was none. The chimney overhead was little more than a small hole in the wall with a partial covering to keep out the snow. The only way in or out of this house was the door which had just been locked. He stood in the middle of the room and laced his fingers behind his head, thinking. He had no solid proof that they wished to harm him, only that they were keeping him in Areld’s home, perhaps for more questioning. It wouldn’t hurt him to spend the night indoors, anyway.
Lowering himself slowly, he sat cross-legged by the fire and thought of Ósa. Hopefully she was in Is̊avik, warm in someone’s home, by a fire much like this one before heading off on her own tomorrow. How had they taken the news? With any luck, far better than Sjørskall had done. Their unnerving and superstitious glances played on his mind, making the hairs rise on his arms. Ósa was sharp, and strong. If she ran into this kind of trouble, she’d find a way out. There was no doubt about it.
A faint tapping came from the door. He stared at it for a moment, unsure if his ears were deceiving him out of a desire to get free, but then it came again. Standing, he slowly crossed the room, tilting his head to listen.
“Are you there?” came a soft voice, almost certainly a child.
“Yes, who is it?” Ivar whispered back, pressing his ears to the frame of the door.
“I live in the village,” came the reply. “I know they’ve locked you up. I wanted to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” Ivar asked.
“They’re going to kill you.”
Silence. Ivar sank back on his heels, staring at the wooden door. Terror shrieked through him; his heart pounded. “Why?” he whispered.
“They believe it will help. They say the Goddess knows all. That She sees, from Her place above. Her eyes never leave us. They say that we have settled on an island that was never ours, grown too easy, and it has made Her angry. That She uses the lights to bend the island to Her will. She sends storms to keep us on our guard, to remind us of the dangers lurking behind each sunrise and sunset. And when they glow red, She is angry. It means it is time for Her to remove most of us and let us begin again.”
A pause.
“They say She is unhappy with us. That we have taken and taken and taken from Her island and given nothing in return. We burn its firewood and hunt its animals and draw fish from its sea, and with little thought. That must change. They believe that the time has come to give the Goddess something, after so many years of taking. And a life is the most valuable thing we can offer, when we have so little.”
Life.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t believe it.”
“Then let me out.”
“I can’t. They’ve locked you in. They’ll kill me if they see me talking to you.” Quickly, as if he’d never been there at all, Ivar heard retreating footsteps as the boy dashed away.
If he didn’t get out before they came back, he might not live to see the morning.