Chapter 10
Following my announcement at the bonfire, one of the villagers offered me their horse, and I gratefully accepted it. When the scouts didn’t come back, the Ør would most likely move quickly, attack us at our weakest after the plague hit. For all we knew, they might be waiting offshore, beyond our line of sight.
As I took a last look around my father’s cottage, I couldn’t help but wonder, if I did lose my life to the Kalls, how would I go? Crushed under the fist of some giant? Torn apart by a mountain wolf? Or slip on ice and fall to my death into a stone chasm? I tried to force such thoughts from my mind. They were selfish, I told myself. This is a journey to save hundreds, not to fret over the safety of my own neck. And yet, when the image of my body lying at the bottom of a frozen, jagged cavern seared my mind, the cold fist of fear began to close around my heart. No one is without fear, Ivar had once said. But without fear, you’re without hope.
I had two packs for the horse to carry, one of which was entirely filled with food. I could hope to hunt along the way, but I couldn’t rely upon it. I’d packed as much dried meat and bread as I could fit. The other pack I’d filled mostly with containers of fresh water and partly with extra layers of wraps.
“I’ll send you with scrolls,” Ivar said, selecting a few from the pack he’d brought with him. “The mountains are ancient, and the Goddess only knows what peoples have been there before you. If you encounter runes like our own, you’ll need to read them.” He paused, a sort of sorrow pulling at his eyes as the unspoken words, I won’t be there to translate for you, hung thick in the air around us.
Our gaze met. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. His mouth was closed and his eyes were soft, but they also held a sadness that I didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t fear, and of that I was certain. Just a sort of quiet heaviness that drained the light from his usually brilliant eyes.
I turned away.
He’d been angry since last night and we’d spoken very little. While both of us understood the necessity of his presence here in the village, in case it came under attack, the discovery of the Ør had been something we’d done together. Ivar didn’t like me going on this journey alone any more than I did, especially with the possibility of the cursed plague returning while I was away, but there was nothing to be done. I was leaving at a time when everybody in Skane was needed here. He was needed here. With me gone, he was the only one who had seen an Ør in person. He knew how they fought, their size, how to engage them. We both understood it, but that didn’t stop the pangs of sorrow from weighing us down.
“I could follow you,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “I could sneak from the village at nightfall, after I’ve gone to warn the other villages. I’ll ride through the night and find you before you leave Is̊avik. I’ll be far away before they realize I’m gone and our fathers can manage the preparations.”
“No, Ivar,” I said as gently as I could. I laid a hand on his for reassurance. “You know the Ør. You know how to fight. You are needed here and I am needed in the mountains. Our paths diverge here, but we still have the same goal.” I didn’t tell him that thoughts of the journey felt like a stone on my chest, or that the impending loneliness terrified me after a lifetime in a village with familiar faces. I’d always enjoyed the solitude of the forest, but being wholly alone in foreign territory was something else entirely.
Ivar remained silent, but nodded.
He would ride out with me at midday, and we’d travel the first four miles together before we separated. He was off to one of our neighbouring villages to give them warning that the Ør had arrived, while I would continue towards the mountains. I, too, would spread the warning to the next village I came across. I would spend tonight there, and it would be the last one I’d come to. People may have already seen the bodies of the Ør scouts in the woods, and word could be spreading like wildfire. It was better to control the chaos than to let it roam free, causing panic to set in.
“This book,” Ivar said later, placing it carefully into the pack. It was one of very few bound tomes, covered with leather and filled with yellowing pages. “I don’t know how helpful it will be, but I think you should have it. It carries information about a little used written language. It’s an entirely different way of writing, called Ploughstyle, and we’ve only seen it once or twice. It was from a culture much older than our own.” He tapped the leather gently, fondly. “I suppose it’s better to have too much information than too little.”
“Thank you, Ivar,” I said quietly. The journey would be long and lonely. These bits of literature would offer something to occupy my mind other than my impending arrival at the Kalls. “I know you’re angry,” I went on, because I felt like someone needed to speak. “I’m angry, too. But it’s better that one of us goes than none of us.” I tried to smile to reassure him, but I could tell that it hadn’t reached my eyes.
He nodded once, sharply. “I’ll never forgive myself if—” He didn’t let himself finish. It was better that way. He grabbed the packs and went outside to load the horse.
After a moment, Anneka scuttled from the shadows. She glanced around to make sure we were alone, then moved in closer, her jaw set with a tightness that reminded me of something about to spring. I knew what she’d say. That I was being foolish, pretending to be a hero for the attention. I raised my chin and waited, staring into her cold, grey-green eyes without wavering.
“You killed my mother. You killed Father’s wife. If you don’t come back with help from the Goddess, do not come back at all.”
If she’d taken the knife on the nearby table and stuck it into my heart, she would have caused me less pain. My breath turned ragged, my hands shook, but I forced myself to calm. It was a struggle with Anneka, a constant back and forth in my heart of anger and hurt and defiance. I was meant to love her as my sister, in spite of her cutting words, her cold stares, but one-sided love is always the hardest. When the door opened and we were no longer alone, she smiled softly.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” she instructed me. “Our father’s already lost enough.”
“Goodbye, Anneka.”
“I’ll keep Ivar company while you’re away.”
I turned slowly to face her, suddenly feeling taller than I ever had before. The words had been intended to make me angry, to hint at something that meant more than just company. My lack of response to her earlier mention of Mother had made her resort to going after the one thing she knew meant more to me than my own life: Ivar. And yet, as I stared at her waiting face, her eyes daring me to shoot back some angry reply, the only thing I could do was smile and say nothing. I knew how Ivar felt about Anneka, and I knew that those feelings wouldn’t change after I left.
I exited the house.
A knot had formed in my stomach. Everything about life in Skane meant we had to be strong, had to fend for ourselves and stand tall. I was a daughter of Skane and I would face this journey with no fear. I had to.
Móri came forward with his hands raised. In them lay a knife with a carved wooden handle. I took it, placed it with the rest of my packed items, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “If it saves my life,” I said, “I’ll have you to thank.”
“Bring it back with a story,” he said, smiling.
“I promise,” I replied.
Arvid, the villager with the horse, soon arrived as he had promised.
“Her name’s Ri,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “I’m not much for naming animals, but I figured you might want something to call her on the way. So there you have it.”
She wasn’t terribly tall, but she had a sturdy build and a sort of energy about her that I’d need. Her thick coat was a smoky grey colour, her full mane mostly light yellow with layers of darker hair underneath. “Thank you,” I said, taking the rope from Arvid. “She’s perfect.” Ivar mounted his horse and as we began to move off, I let my eyes wander to my father. He stood tall, hands behind his back and chin held high, but despite such a strong stance, I was just shy of certain that his jaw quivered ever so slightly. It seemed to break down something inside me, cracking the wall I’d built and letting droplets of emotion trickle through. He didn’t love me. He put my life at risk, and had done so on more than one occasion. But he was still my father. I’d never have a mother, but he was still here. He was a part of me. Leaving him behind, perhaps to die, or to go to my own death, was infinitely harder than I’d thought it would be.
But my resolve soon managed to stop up the trickle and I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned away.
As we rode out of the village, the forest closed in around us, and ahead there was nothing but tree after tree and smooth, unhindered snow. Soon, I’d be gone, somewhere far away, and there would only be the footprints of the horse to show I’d ever been here. I didn’t know what would happen five minutes from now or five days from now, but there was a sort of comfort in this place, in knowing that these trees would remain, quiet and still and waiting.
Waiting for a plague to creep out of the shadows to claim our lives. Waiting for a war that could break out at any moment. And waiting for Skane to either rise up and defend itself, or fall victim to a barbaric invasion that would leave it for ever changed.
Ivar and I didn’t speak during the entire ride to our point of separation, where he would strike off to go and warn the other villages. There was so much weight in our ride, so much on our minds that words simply felt useless.
When we reached the place where he would turn left and I would carry on, we stopped. There was a brief moment of silence, and I wished it could go on for ever. It was the last moment in a long while that I’d be in the presence of someone familiar, and I would have given anything for it to carry on longer.
“I feel so small,” I said, giving voice to the tumultuous thoughts raging within me. “So small and weak and insignificant in the face of what’s coming. Of what I have to do.”
His voice was low, his manner much more muted than it was normally, but his eyes were soft. “Even the smallest of movements can start an avalanche, Ósa. And it takes one flurry to start a storm.” He paused as his words sank in, then added, “You’ve always been fiercer than a flurry.”
I smiled just a little bit, but enough for him to smile back.
“Read the materials I gave you, yes?” he said. “And be on your guard. Speak to anyone you can in the next village tonight. The more information you have about the mountains, the better.”
“I will,” I said. My hands trembled where they held the reins. “I hope your preparations go well. I know Móri will keep everyone in line.” I tried to laugh, though it got caught in my throat. Then, after a pause, “I’ll bring back help, Ivar.” But I couldn’t promise it.
He nodded, and reached to shake my hand. I didn’t want to let go, and on an impulse, I pulled on his hand until he was close enough to wrap my arms around. The horses shuffled closer together, and I shut my eyes, feeling his warmth seeping through the furs. He seemed surprised at first, hesitating slightly before firmly embracing me. I was leaving, and I wanted my last memory with him to be the feeling of his hands around my back and his breath by my ear.
When I pulled away, his eyes were glassy and red.
Suddenly faced with the reality of what I was doing, of where I was going, it took everything I had within me to not turn around and ride back home. To let him go and face my future.
“Good luck, Ósa,” he said to me.
“And to you.”
For a moment, I thought he’d say something else. His mouth opened and his eyes searched mine, but he stayed silent.
We parted ways.