1

Prologue

Thorrald made it inside, but the door wouldn‘t close behind him. The snow packed into

the doorframe faster than he could kick it away. He clasped the bundle in his arms and rammed

against the door like an ox. He managed to secure the bolt. Home. Safe now.

He walked over to the small window and peered outside. No one would see anything from

out there. Especially not in this weather. Still… He laid the bundle on the table and closed the

shutters.

Kolkagga. Nothing can stop Kolkagga.

Hags' babble! What would Kolkagga want with him? He had nothing to answer for! The

moment he thought it, his whole life seemed to pass before his eyes. The drugs he sold outside of

the Council‘s guild. Opa to people who smoked themselves to death.

Nonsense! If the black shadows came, it wasn‘t because he sold harmless herbs from a hut

at the end of the world. If they came, it would be because of her…

Thorrald stared at the bundle on the table. The malformed. It didn‘t cry. Maybe it was

dead already. That would be the easiest. He shuddered. The bear fur was so thick he almost filled

the room where he stood, but it didn‘t fend off the cold from within. He fumbled with the string.

His fingers were frozen to the bone. Refused to obey. He blew on the embers in the hearth.

Turned his hands above the heat. Frost melted off the fur and sputtered into the fire.

That damned Olve had flailed his sword around in a fog of ale. What had he been looking

for? Was it the malformed? What else could it be? It didn‘t matter either way. Olve hadn‘t seen

the child. She was safe.

Safe?! Have you lost your mind? You have your own life to live!

Not a life worth singing about, to be sure, but he couldn‘t haul a child around! At least not

a child like her. He knew he had to act.

Thorrald drew his knife and stared at the creature. She was asleep. His fist was larger than

her face. He raised the blade. The child opened its eyes. They were green. Unafraid. Thorrald

roared and rammed the knife into the table, beside her. ―Blindcraft! That‘s what you are! Dead

born!‖

2

He seized the tankard and gulped down a tepid swill of ale. Then he unwrapped the child

from the blanket, like a gift. She remained on the table, waving her arms.

Old hag‘s remedies forced their way to the front of his mind. Tricks that he knew he

shouldn‘t stoop to. Still… He pressed his thumb against the blade and a drop of blood trickled

out. He let it drip into the mouth of the child. Nothing happened. He cursed his own folly. What

had he expected? Fangs?

There are no blind ones!

Thorrald leaned his arms against the table and grumbled.

―So what in Stilla are you? You‘re not a wraith. And you‘re not a blind. Are you just ill-

made?‖ He turned her over on her stomach and ran his hand along her spine where her tail should

have been. The Seer should know that he wasn‘t one to listen to old wives‘ tales, but the child

spoke for itself. She was not of yms breed.

You are the rot.

He stared at his hands, as though they should have rotted already. ―I can‘t keep you here.

No one would!‖ He picked her up and held her at arm‘s length. She was only days old. Her head

was covered in soft down, coppery in the light from the hearth.

―I can kill you. That‘s what I should do. Save my own neck.‖ But he knew that he

couldn‘t. He had known it as soon as he dug her out of the snow by the stone circle. ―You‘ll

never thank me for this, girl. It‘ll be a miserable life on the road. And you‘ll find better company

than me under the tables of the ale house.‖

The girl smiled. A toothless grin. He put her down again. He knew what he had to do. It

felt harder than killing, but he had no choice. He couldn‘t haul a tailless girl around. He stared at

the swill left in the tankard. Then he plucked the box of dream's robe from the shelf. Strong

enough to kill such a tiny bundle. He had to be careful. Thorrald dropped a pinch of powder into

the tankard and shook it until it stopped frothing.

―Do you have any idea what this costs, girl?‖ He soaked a cloth in the ale and put it to her

lips. She took to it like a woman‘s breast. Then he waited until her eyes began to close. He pulled

the knife out of the table. It left a light wound in the timber.

Thorrald dug the knife into the child‘s back. She screamed. He covered her mouth with

one hand. The sobs cut him as sure as he cut her. Blood trickled down onto the blanket, and he

was relieved that she could bleed. What had he expected? Had he become hysterical?

3

Thorrald didn‘t stop until the child had a hollow on her lower back, with marks

resembling claws. The girl stopped crying sooner than he had expected. ―If anyone asks, the wolf

got your tail. You hear? The wolf!‖

Her eyes closed. Suddenly he worried that he had given her too much dream's robe. He

put his ear to her chest. Checked that she was breathing right. Not that he knew what was right

for the thing.

Bane-child. You’ll be the death of me.

Thorrald left her on the table. He pulled the fur tighter around himself and walked out into

the storm. Like a cowardly woman, he sensed shadows between the frozen spruce trees. But no

one was there. No Kolkagga. No sudden death awaiting him around the corner. Not yet.

All he could se was Vargheim. For the very last time. He pulled his shovel out of the

snow and started clearing a path to the wagon.

4

Rime Returns

The fallen spruce lay like a half-rotten bridge across Alldjup. The bark had cracked in large

flakes, and the trunk became increasingly bald with each passing year. It would take around

twenty steps to get across to the other side. A shortcut for brave squirrels. Not a place for people.

Hirka defied her instincts and took another step. The trunk moaned beneath her. It had

likely never felt the weight of people, and smelled suspiciously moldy. She caught herself

thinking kind thoughts about it, as though it might prevent the trunk from throwing her off and

into the gaping wound below. She would be crushed against the rocks in Strifecreek that flowed

far below her, uncaring.

I’m not afraid.

She lifted her gaze. Vetle sat mid-trunk, in front of her, whimpering like a dog. He was

fifteen winters, as old as Hirka herself, but he was a child at heart. A blue-eyed boy who never

got older, even though his body grew. Vetle trusted people too much. But he was afraid of

everything else. So how in Stilla had they gotten him out here?

Worm spawn! May the blind devour them!

The mob responsible sat safely at the forest edge. She felt their eyes burn her back. They

longed to see her fall. Hirka had no intention of giving them that pleasure. But she did have plans

to contract tooth marks on her knuckles once this was over. Kolgrim wouldn‘t be able to eat

anything but soup until the fall. She clenched her fists. Her palms were sweaty.

Vetle had begun to rock perilously between the sobs. Hirka took a couple of determined

steps forward. A branch stump broke under her sole, making her jump. Her arms began to flail, as

if they had a will of their own, and knew that she needed help before she realized it herself. She

regained her balance. Her heart beat like a hammer in her throat. Her knees shook.

―Are you shaky, tailless?!‖

Kolgrim‘s cry was followed by a predictable choir of chuckles. The echo resounded

between the stone walls of Alldjup. Tailless! Tailless! Tailless!

Hirka straightened her back. She couldn‘t let them get to her. Not yet.

5

Vetle was terrified. He sat howling in a bony cluster of branches that had long since lost

their needles. He had hidden his face behind his arm, as though not seeing anything would help.

He clutched a small wooden horse in his hand.

―Vetle, it‘s Hirka. Will you you look at me?‖

The crying stopped. He stole a glance above his elbow. A smile spread across his flushed

face. Hirka suddenly realized her mistake. Vetle jumped to his feet and thundered towards her

with open arms.

―Vetle! Wait!‖

But it was too late. He flung himself at her, and she lost her footing. Hirka twisted her

body in the fall and clasped her arms around the trunk. Vetle landed on her back, and the air

heaved from her lungs. The wooden horse dug into her cheek. A series of frightful cracks

sounded from the trunk.

Crows took off from the treetops, screeching as they disappeared into the woods.

Scattered cries revealed that Kolgrim and the gang were in a hurry to get away all of a sudden.

Everything and everyone fled, like they knew that this was going straight to Stilla. Hirka cried

out in anger.

―You are a chicken, Kolgrim! Do you hear me?!‖

It occurred to her that no one would share what had happened. She and Vetle would just

disappear from the village without a trace.

―A dead chicken!‖ she added, hoping for the opportunity to make good on her threat.

Hirka felt a cold surge in her stomach. The trunk had started to slide. The top had broken

off and the spruce scraped along the rocky wall on the opposite side. It became steeper and

steeper.

So, do you want to live, or die?

―Run, Vetle! Now!‖

Miraculously, Vetle grasped the gravity of the situation and struggled his way forward.

His knee sank mercilessly in between her shoulder blades, but he was able to climb in front of her

and scrambled up the trunk. Hirka held on. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the

inevitable crack. Roots were ripped out of the earth and snapped like bowstrings. Mold and

pebbles hailed around her. Then everything stopped, just as abruptly as it had begun.

6

She opened her eyes. One at first, to see if there was any point in opening the other. The

roots had endured. She was dangling in front of the rocky wall. Vetle cried from above.

―Jomar!‖

His wooden horse dived past her and into the abyss. It ended its days with a dismal splash

into Strifecreek. But Vetle was standing on solid ground. He had climbed onto the edge of the

cliff. The Seer‘s miracle, thought Hirka in a rare fit of faith.

Carefully, she lifted her gaze. The root of the tree hung like a gaping troll‘s mouth above

her. Impossible to get around. Blood trickled from the palm of her hand, down along her forearm.

She had to act quickly, before the pain set in.

She drew her pocketknife, rammed it into the trunk and pulled herself up until she reached

the root. Dry dirt sprinkled down over her face. She shook her head and tried to blink it off. She

heard herself laugh.

At least it can’t get any worse.

She embraced the trunk with her thighs, sheathed the knife. Then she stretched upwards

and fumbled around the top of the root. She had to find hold; something that she could grab onto.

A strong fist grabbed her hand.

―One mark for me if I pull you up?‖

Hirka almost lost her grip. Was she dreaming? That voice… She knew that voice! Or had

she hit her head?

One mark for me? It couldn‘t be anyone else.

Rime is back!

Three summers had passed since she last heard his voice, true, and it was deeper than she

remembered it, but it was him. There was no doubt. Hirka hesitated to answer. She could very

well be imagining things. It happened somewhat often, people said. But then people said a lot of

strange things about her.

What in Stilla was he doing here?

Rime‘s grip was warm and firm around her hand. Reluctantly, she realized that she had

shifted a lot of her weight to him already.

―Have you reached a decision?‖ he said coolly from the edge.

―I don‘t need any help!‖ she answered.

―So you still think you can fly? Or do you have another strategy to get past this?‖

7

She heard him stomp on the root and more dirt fell on her face. She turned away and spat

black. He thought he‘d won. That spoiled traitor! Here she was risking her life to save Vetle, and

then he came along to collect marks, in a crisis. It was unbelievably childish. Disgusting! But he

remembered…

Hirka bit her lower lip to conceal a smile, even though no one could see it where she was

hanging. Her shoulders burned. She hated to admit it, but she couldn‘t possibly get back up

without help.

―It would have been fine if you hadn‘t wasted my time. You can have a half.‖

He laughed. A deep and hoarse laugh that released a landslide of memories from a time

when everything was simpler. Her throat tightened.

―You always try to change the rules while you‘re playing the game. One mark or

nothing,‖ said Rime.

―Fine…‖ She had to force the words out. ―One mark for you if you pull me up.‖

She had barely completed her sentence before her body was pulled from the tree trunk.

For a moment she dangled helplessly over the edge of the cliff; then she was hoisted up and onto

solid ground. Rime let go, and she attempted a few steps to make sure she could still stand up

straight. It went better than she had feared.

Vetle sat like an empty sack on the ground and mindlessly picked at a tear in his

shirtsleeve. Rime stood in front of her, as though he‘d never left.

―Where does it hurt?‖ he asked.

He hadn‘t changed; he always aimed for the weak spot. Like a beast of prey, needing to

show that he was the strongest. That he could endure the most.

―I‘m not in pain,‖ she said, and hid her hand behind her back. It probably looked like a

carcass.

Rime lifted Vetle to his feet. The boy sniffled. His tail hung limp to the ground. Hirka

stole a glance at Rime while he checked Vetle‘s neck and joints for injuries.

His hair was longer than she remembered, but it was just as snow-white. It came down to

his shoulder blades, and was bound in leather straps. Shorter hair had come undone and fell on

either side of his face, which was slimmer than before. Pronounced. But there was something

else… Something she couldn‘t put her finger on. He moved differently.

And he was armed.

8

Her gaze followed two swords in black sheaths. They were narrow, attached to a wide belt

around his waist. He was dressed like a warrior. A pale shirt with slits at both sides, and a high

collar. Wide leather straps crossed his chest. He beamed like a snow cat against the forest.

Hirka withdrew her gaze. He was a fool. What was the point of showing up here, dressed

like that? They could probably feed half of Riverrest through the winter.

He turned to face her, and she noticed the embroidery on the left side of his chest. The

Raven. Its familiar wings spread out. The crest of the Council. The sign of the Seer.

A deep and sudden panic grabbed hold of her heart like a claw.

The Seer… The Rite!

She turned cold as she realized why he was there.

No! It’s too soon! It’s still summer!

His light gray eyes found hers. She lifted her chin and held her gaze. Unflinching. He

cocked his head to the side and studied her with amused curiosity, like she was an animal that he

hadn‘t seen before.

―Didn‘t you use to have red hair?‖ he said.

Hirka touched her head and sand drizzled down. She tried to brush it off, but her fingers

caught on the red tangles. His eyes sparkled like ice; an expression she knew so well that it hurt.

A childish challenge. It seemed out of place with the attire he was wearing, but then it only lasted

a second before his face froze again. He looked away. He had remembered who he was.

Rime was a sign of danger; she felt it in every nerve in her body. She had thought she

recognized him, but what she saw before her was only a memory. This man was no childhood

rival. No friend. He was the son of his powerful family. He was Rime An-Elderin. He was of

Council lineage.

It just hadn‘t mattered before.

―I‘m not here to stay. I‘m taking Ilume to Mannfalla,‖ he said, as if to confirm the

distance between them.

Hirka folded her arms across her chest. ―Normal people call their grandmothers

grandmother. I would, if I had one.‖ It was a lousy stab, but she couldn‘t think of anything else.

Her brain had turned to porridge.

―Not if it was Ilume,‖ he said.

Hirka lowered her gaze.

9

Rime stepped closer. His clothes smelled of salvia. Behind him she saw Vetle craning his

neck and staring into the abyss that had swallowed his wooden horse.

―They have a lot to do before the Rite. It‘s your year too, isn‘t it?‖ said Rime.

Hirka gave a lame nod. Time had caught up with her, and she felt sick. A few from

Riverrest were in their fifteenth year now. The others had been counting down the days since last

year. Sewed garbs. Had their tail rings forged from gold and silver. They had planned the journey

that everyone had to take once in their lives. Hirka too. Except she would have given anything

not to.

Rime reached out toward her hip. She jumped backwards with her hand on the knife, but

it was no longer there. It gleamed in Rime‘s hand. Hirka swallowed, and backed away from the

steel. For a moment she thought he had seen through her, and that he wanted to kill her to save

the Council the trouble, but he walked over to the root of the tree.

―I‘ll take Vetle home,‖ he said, and cut the remaining roots. The spruce roared down into

Alldjup. All that was left was the scar on the ground, and a cloud of dust glittering in the mist

from Strifecreek. Alldjup seemed much wider than before; the two rocky walls naked on either

side.

―Have your father look at that hand,‖ said Rime.

She let out a snort. ―I‘ve patched up grown men since I was seven!‖

He came closer, and she fought her impulse to back away. He was taller than her, almost

by a head. His leather mail creaked when he leaned in toward her, and pushed her knife back in

its sheath.

―Jomar…‖ she heard dismally from Vetle, and she understood him well. He might get a

new toy, but it wouldn‘t make a difference if it were made from pure gold. Jomar was no more.

Hirka turned around and left. She got the feeling that she had left behind something

important, but she did not look back.

10

The Red Wagon

Hirka started running as soon as she was sure that Rime could no longer see her. She left

the forest behind and followed the ridge toward the ocean. Her chances of running into someone

were lowest there. Just as the wind started smelling of seaweed, she saw the cabin. It was up

high, pressed against the cliff as though it been chased from the village and had crawled up here

to lick its wounds.

Rueshack, people called it. The Council‘s guards had picked up a lawless there years ago,

and set it on fire. But the cabin wouldn‘t burn. It was still there, stubborn against the sea, with its

blackened crusts toward the east. One of the tenant farmers of Glimmerhill had ventured up there

to make use of the shutters, but had become terrified, dropped them on his foot and broken two

toes. That did it. No one visited since. Not until she and her father had made it a home. Father

didn‘t listen to old wives‘ tales. Still, seeing it made her feel uneasy. She was hardly scared, and

she liked it there, but she always got the feeling that something bad was about to happen when it

came into view. Something she had to hurry to prevent.

There was crunching beneath her feet. The path was covered in pebbles that the cliffs

shook off every time there was a storm.

Rime was back. Rime An-Elderin.

The name should be simple, but it felt like stone in her mouth. Like Seik‘s weights – the

ones everyone knew to be too heavy, but never when the guards came to inspect. The merchant

supposedly had two sets.

The same applied to Rime. He had two names. He had left Riverrest with the short, easy

one she had used since she was nine, and now he returned with that long, heavy name. The one

that had taken him from here and home to his family‘s estate inside the Seer‘s white walls of

Mannfalla. A world away.

Sylja at Glimmerhill could rave about gold-gilded Mannfalla until the sun set, but after

spending most of her life living in a red wagon along the roads, Hirka was still pleased to have a

cabin she could call home. A place she could say that she came from. What else could one need?

She paused in front of the door. The basket! She had forgotten the basket. All the plants

she had spent the day gathering. They were still at Alldjup. She couldn‘t leave them there.

11

Midsummer was tomorrow. The forest would be overrun with superstitious villagers out to pick

herbs that would make them dream about suitors. Herbs she could have sold at the market.

Hirka turned to leave, but then she noticed a sound. Something was scraping

intermittently against the insides of the walls. Then there was silence. She froze on the doorstep.

They were here! The Council had come to collect her.

Get your act together! You are nothing to the Council.

Hirka opened the door. She had expected to see Father, but the room was empty. Emptier

than normal. Vengethorn and suntear hung from the ceiling, but all the fully dried herbs were

gone. Two of the walls were covered in boxes and canisters of all shapes and sizes, but the

bottom shelves were empty. Only pale outlines were left where the boxes used to be, drawn in a

faint layer of soot from the hearth. One of the chests that also served as a bench was open. It was

chaotically full, as if Father had just swept things from the shelves and into the chest. Tea,

elderberries, redroot, ointments and brew. Amulets and Seer jewelry.

Hirka picked up a familiar and furrowed wooden box and turned it over in her hand. It

was perdura. Matured tea from Himlifall. The Might was strong there, and one would have to be

nearing Stilla if one didn‘t feel better after a cup of it. These were things they sold every single

day… Worry swelled in her chest.

The scraping sound returned. Hirka put the wooden box back on the shelf where it

belonged, and went outside. She followed the sound around the corner to the seaside, and made

sure to place her feet on grass. Quietly, she walked, without understanding why. She peered

around the corner. Her worry turned into certainty so heavy that it seemed to weigh down her

feet.

Father sat in the wheelchair, scraping red paint from the old wagon with a rusty spade she

had never seen before. He must have borrowed it. Its only shiny part was the newly sharpened

edge. It shrieked slowly against the woodwork where Father pushed it upward. The wagon shed

faded flakes that landed around his feet like autumn leaves.

Sweat darkened the back of Father‘s shirt. Veins ran up his arms, trying to embrace his

muscles, but it was a hopeless task. Father was strong, and everyone could see it, because he had

cut the sleeves off his shirts. Hirka remembered a time when he wore sleeves, like normal people,

but that was many years ago.

12

―Are you going anywhere?‖ she asked, aware that her arms were folded across her chest.

She hoped it made her look stronger.

Father stopped and sent her a look saturated with guilt. But he quickly pulled himself

together. He was a man of Vargheim. He rammed the spade into the ground. It fell over in the

grass. Not even Father could make a spade stand on stony ground. He rubbed his hand across his

close-cropped skull, making a rasping sound.

―The raven has arrived,‖ he said.

Hirka knew. She had known it when she saw Rime. The raven had arrived, Eisvaldr had

chosen the days for the Rite.

How long do I have?

Father leaned forward and picked up the spade again. He continued to scrape off the paint.

―So, have you made any progress?‖ he asked. Hirka clenched her jaw. Why couldn‘t he

just say it? It was her fault that they had to leave.

―Are you going anywhere?‖ she asked again.

Father gripped the wheels and heaved the chair around until he was facing her. He hoisted

himself up until he was almost suspended above the chair, with the entire weight of his body

resting on his arms.

Hirka took a step back. It wasn‘t fair. She understood what he wanted from her; she just

didn‘t have the power to give it to him. And why should she? She was capable of plenty of other

things! Why should she be judged for this one thing she couldn‘t do?

―So I can‘t brace. So what? It must have happened before. I can‘t be the only one?‖

Her question hung in the air, unanswered. He knew that she couldn‘t brace. He had

always known. Why should it matter today?

The Rite. Everything revolved around that damnable Rite.

The cold panic returned. Her heart started beating faster.

―It must have happened before?!‖ she repeated. ―I can‘t possibly be the only one in the

whole world? In all eleven realms?‖

Father looked at her. His eyes were deeply set and withered, like his legs. This was how it

was. She was cripple-born and couldn‘t brace. She was blind to the Might. Cheated of what

everyone else had. Mightless. And tailless. Kolgrim‘s cry went through her head like an echo.

Tailless…

13

Hirka defiantly turned around and left the cabin. She heard Father shout, but she didn‘t

stop. Once she reached the end of the mountain ledge, she climbed the largest of the three

birches. As high as she could go before the branches became too weak. She sat close to the trunk

and wrapped her arms around it so she wouldn‘t fall. Her hand stung. The wound was bleeding

again. It had slipped her mind.

Rime is back.

Hirka felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. She was a hopeless child. Nothing would be

solved by climbing a tree. Grown-ups didn‘t do things like that. Normal people. Was it any

wonder they had lived on the road? Was it any wonder they never got to know anyone, aside

from helping them when they got sick? It wasn‘t any wonder at all. It was her fault. She wasn‘t

normal.

Hirka tightened her grip around the tree trunk.

She had saved Vetle. That had to count for something?

No, Vetle had managed on his own. She hadn‘t. Rime was the one who had saved her. But

she had dared to try! She dared a lot of things. She had gone swimming in the Strifecreek in early

Helfmana, before all the ice was gone. She had plunged headfirst from Sootskerry while the

rabble stood and watched. Hirka wasn‘t afraid of anything. So why was she afraid of the Rite?

Because Father is.

Father was scared. So scared that he wanted to leave Riverrest. Get the old wagon out, and

live a life on the road. Sell miracle cures to random people that they met. Cook soup from the

same old bones, day after day. A life that was impossible now that he could no longer walk, but

he still wanted to do it. Run off. Why? What was the worst thing the Council could do to a girl

who couldn‘t brace?

She didn‘t want to think about it. She started counting the leaves on the birch tree. Once

she hit six hundred and fifty-two leaves, she thought she heard Father call for her once more. She

didn‘t respond. And he didn‘t call again.

14

The Ravener

Rime kept an eye on Vetle, who walked in front of him on the path toward the ravenry.

The boy dramatized what had happened at Alldjup in random fragments, and without pause. Now

and then he became so eager that the words stuck in his throat and he had to start over. Every

time he was about to trip over roots, Rime had to grab hold of him and place him back on the

path.

The forest was a dark shade of green and bathed in sunlight. The abundance of summer

had made the birds drowsy and silent. It was not a day for difficult conversations. But that was

exactly what awaited him. Rime felt himself slowing down.

It was liberating to walk like this, with someone who never put on an act. Vetle was

himself, regardless of who he was talking to. He had no ulterior motives. His gaze would never

hold greed. He made Rime forget who he was; a rare delight.

The people of Riverrest treated Vetle almost like a farm cat. He could come and go as he

pleased. Charmed housewives gave him honey bread, and tousled his grain-colored curls. But no

one expected him to sit still like everyone else while the augur chanted in the Seer Hall. The boy

was fair, a Seer‘s blessing, which saved him from the fears of others. From the doubt that

accompanied all things different. In Vetle‘s world, time didn‘t pass like it did for other people.

Focus was always on the immediate. The closest. Today, it was Hirka, and understandably so.

The girl hadn‘t grown less of a backbone in three years, he‘d give her that. She still

followed her whims, reckless or not. Vetle painted her as a goddess of Brinnlanda. Rime

instinctively pressed his palms together in the sign of the Seer. In Mannfalla, old gods and

goddesses were long since dead.

They crossed a moss-grown plain, shadowed by towering oak trees. Vetle began running

toward the house that merged with the forest across the plain. It resembled a small tower of

upright timber, leaning in toward the thick trunks. But these trees served a purpose other than

shelter. They were pillars of a latticework of branches that reached around most of the plain. At

first glance, there was nothing unusual about them, especially now in the late summer when the

crowns were dense and green. But then one would hear the cawing from the ravens, and realize

that it was a large, circular paddock. The ravenry.

15

Back home in Eisvaldr, there were several of them, and the Council never sent letters any

other way. Ramoja alone was responsible for the most important correspondence to and from

Riverrest. Regular letters were transported with wagons here like in Mannfalla, but when it

needed to go out overnight, and unseen, nothing could beat the ravens. They were black

messengers. The wings of the Council. Holy bearers of news, of orders of life or death. Much of

Mannfalla‘s unrivalled power was due to the network of ravens that never rested.

Rime heard them whisper about a stranger approaching. He was observed. He was

measured. He was recognized as a son of the Seer, and the ravens settled down. Rime stopped.

The silence tasted of expectation. Of hunger. Like a beggar‘s greed. Innocent. Necessary. But

intense and unpredictable. Black shadows moved impatiently among the branches. He began

walking again, and the cawing commenced once more. A rising choir of demands for satisfaction.

Cheated and denied.

A low female voice blended with the racket.

―They said friends were coming, but I don‘t know whether to believe what I‘m seeing.‖

Ramoja came out of the paddock. Her hips danced from side to side like only hips from

Bokesj could. Her coal black hair was gathered in a thick ponytail that spread out in rigid braids

behind her, like crow‘s tail. She had become thinner, he could tell, through wide, feather-light

trousers. They were attached around her ankles with ribbons of golden droplets that rattled when

she walked. The kind that dancers in Mannfalla wore. After several years in Riverrest, Ramoja

still held on to her status as a stranger.

Vetle ran toward her.

―Mom! We fell into Alldjup!‖ he proclaimed, proudly. Unaffected, Ramoja put a bloody

iron bucket down on the moss, and placed a hand on the boy‘s shoulder. She held him at arm‘s

length while her eyes quickly scanned his body to establish that he was all right. She turned back

toward Rime. He searched her eyes for worry, but found none.

They were an odd sight, the ravener and her son – an almost grown man who thought and

acted like a child. He was as light as she was dark. The boy began explaining, and Rime

intervened to thwart the horror story he had heard several times on the way here. He told Ramoja

what had happened. She took it in stride. She also didn‘t scold the boy. Vetle had always been

allowed to go where he wanted, despite the obvious dangers.

16

―No one fell. That‘s the most important thing,‖ said Rime, even though Ramjoa didn‘t

appear to be in need of reassurance.

―Sooner or later, we all will fall. We have no one to have and to hold,‖ she answered.

She picked up the bucket again, and came toward him with her other hand raised, as if to

pat his cheek. But she didn‘t. Her hand fell to her side again. She had been like a mother to him

for as long as he could remember. Now she saw something in him that she didn‘t want to touch.

The same thing that had made Hirka turn her back to him and leave. It was as if they knew. As if

everything he had seen and done over the last three years had settled on his skin. In his eyes.

Rime felt a pang of sadness that he killed instantly. Ramoja shifted her grasp on the bucket, and

the handle creaked. It smelled of raw game.

―I haven‘t seen you since…‖

Rime helped her out. ―Since the Rite.‖

She looked at him. Her eyes were brown in an olive-toned face. They flickered between

coldness and warmth. Full to the brim of things she wanted to say, but nothing more than a quiet

acknowledgement came out.

―Since the Rite…‖

Ramoja shook the old memories off, and hustled both Rime and Vetle into the house. She

put the iron bucket down on the floor and placed water over the smoldering hearth. Rime looked

around. The room was as tight as he remembered it, with a small area in the back partitioned off

by a curtain of unused fishnets. Sunlight fell through a hatch in there, one that was always open

to the ravens. A ladder led to the second floor, where Rime knew that large amounts of paper was

stacked on small shelves, sorted by size and weight. Down here, the nearest corner was covered

in bookshelves, dedicated to an array of small casings made out of various materials: leather,

wood and bone. Some of them were scattered on a small worktable made out of green glass. A

raven was busy moving them with its beak – one by one – to the right shelf. Its claws played

against the glass as it slowly walked back and forth.

The bird turned toward Rime as he sat down at the table by the window. It had sensed him

before it had seen him. It took off and jumped to Rime‘s table, and came toward him. It stopped

next to his arm that was resting on the table, and cocked its head. It was a big raven, but its face

was narrow. The light shone in purples and blues across its feathers. Short, black down circled

the root of the beak. Rime could see small scratches in it, after a lifetime of use. It blinked.

17

Rime would have loved to give it what it came for, but he couldn‘t brace here. As if it

knew that the game was lost, it began to pick at his shirtsleeve with its beak.

―Arnaka!‖

Ramoja picked up the proud creature with both hands, as though it were a common

chicken and tossed it in the air toward the ceiling hatch. It flew up into the room without protest,

but indulged in a few insulted caws.

―She‘s usually not crude.‖

Ramoja handed him a rough stone bowl of tea and sat down across from him.

―It wasn‘t exactly surprising.‖

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about the Rite. About the

confirmation he had received that the Might was flowing strong in him. Like it had done in his

mother. Like it still did in Ilume. Like it did in all the twelve council families that had interpreted

the words of the Seer for generations.

She held his gaze. She reminded him a lot of his grandmother that way. But these eyes

were the opposite of Illume‘s. These cared. These were a mother‘s eyes.

Ramoja had left a prestigious position as raven handler in Mannfalla to accompany

Rime‘s grandmother to the council service in Riverrest. Rime also knew why. It was hard to look

at Ramoja without thinking about it, even though he wasn‘t meant to know. But the pile of things

he wasn‘t meant to know had grown higher than the towers of Mannfalla by the time he was ten

winters old.

Rime took a swig. The warmth spread through his mouth.

―There is more of her in your lines each time I see you,‖ she said.

―One ages,‖ he answered, because he couldn‘t think of anything else to say. He didn‘t

know his mother‘s features, other than from the woven tapestry that hung in the winter garden

back home in Eisvaldr. A woman with small hands raised toward the cones of a knotted pine tree

that still stood in the garden that carried her name. Rime hadn‘t been older than six when his

parents lost their lives to the snow.

―Older? You‘re eighteen,‖ Ramoja said, laughing, and crossed one leg over the other. The

golden droplets on the hem of her trousers rattled.

Her face became grave once more. Rime steeled himself for what he knew must be

coming.

18

―What are you doing, Rime?‖

―What do you mean?‖ He was buying time. He knew all too well what she meant.

―They say you‘re becoming a guard. A lifeguard?‖

Rime nodded, looking for somewhere to rest his gaze. Two rabbit carcasses lay on a

bench by the hearth. Probably for the ravens; they often ate better than people. In the area behind

the fishnets, Vetle wandered restlessly about as if he were looking for something without

knowing exactly what. Ramoja caught his gaze again.

―Have you talked to her since you arrived?‖

―She‘s at Ravnhov, until tonight.‖

Ramoja said nothing, so he continued. ―I‘ll talk to her then.‖

She shook her head.

―Rime An-Elderin, sole grandchild of Ilume, born and raised in Eisvaldr, and you

renounce your place at the Council?‖

―I renounce nothing.‖ He knew how empty it sounded. It was impossible to explain such a

decision as anything but renouncement. But the truth was worse.

―Is that what you want?‖ The doubt in Ramoja‘s voice was justified. She leaned forward,

hands in front of her on the table. Her bracelets jangled.

―I want to serve those who serve,‖ he heard himself answer.

Ramoja leaned back in her chair again. ―Yes, I suppose there is no doubt that many

important tasks also fall to guards.‖

It was true, but Rime heard the awkward consolation in her voice. He felt the taste of his

own lie. It was fresh. A new mask he had to wear. To Ramoja, he was a weak son from a strong

family. To his grandmother, he was a traitor. Only the Council knew his real chosen path, and he

couldn‘t share it with anyone.

―You are aware that augurs in Mannfalla are already protesting?‖ she asked.

―The eyes of the Seer always protest. It will pass. In a month they will have forgotten.‖

―Forgotten? The only breach in the line of An-Elderin council members since the first

chairs? Rime An-Elderin, the child the Seer himself saved? The boy who had his own Seer Halls

before he was born?‖

19

Her words made the corner of his mouth twitch. He fought back a primitive impulse to

bare his teeth. It was more difficult than usual. Maybe because it was almost over. Never again

would he have to live his own myth. All that remained was the confrontation with Ilume.

Ramoja was still searching for the answer in his eyes. He let her search. She would never

find it.

―Have you sworn the Oath, Rime?‖

He nodded, and saw a fleeting look of pain cross her face. She had thought he would

change his mind. She too.

―You think I am betraying my mother‘s memory,‖ he said.

―No, no!‖

Ramoja‘s eyes widened, and the veil of reserve fell for a moment. A sign few but him

would have been able to read. He had been raised among the concealed and had learned to spot

the difference. She was telling the truth.

―You choose after your own heart, Rime. Not the hearts of the dead. No one can take that

away from you, not even…‖

―No. Not even she.‖

He smiled. That was the first thought to cross everyone‘s minds. What would Ilume say?

How would the matriarch of the An-Elderin family take the news of the grandson who chose the

path of a warrior, not the expected path leading to one of the twelve chairs that ruled the world,

and that always had?

Ramoja shook her head. Not even she could imagine what Rime had in store.

―I had always hoped – thought…‖

The last word came quickly, to hide the disclosure, but it was too late. Ramoja had hoped

he would follow Ilume. Rime was surprised. He would never have thought she of all people

would cling to tradition. She had plenty of reasons not to. In light of that, Ramoja‘s loyalty

toward Ilume and the Council was more than touching.

Ramoja stood up, and shortly after, Rime heard one of the ravens come in through the

hatch behind the curtain. She pushed the fishnets aside and hustled Vetle out. The raven settled

on her hand without being told. It knew the routines. She plucked off a casing that was attached

at the top, between its feet.

20

Rime saw that the casing bore the mark of the Council, burned into its surface. He had

grown up under that mark. The black raven that everyone thought he too would carry eventually,

on his forehead. She removed the scroll from the casing and checked the seal. The letter was for

Ilume‘s eyes only. She put it back in the casing and placed it in her pocket.

―There was a raven yesterday, too. About the Rite. They‘ve advanced it this year?‖ She

looked at him like he could say something to explain.

―Yes,‖ was all he said. It felt unreal to talk about the business of the Council as though it

didn‘t concern him. He was no longer destined to become one of them.

―People will believe the rumors to be true,‖ said Ramoja. Rime didn‘t respond. ―But the

Rite always gets them talking,‖ she continued. ―Every year before the Rite, there‘s someone who

has seen them again.‖ She laughed briefly, but kept her eyes joylessly on Rime, as if searching

for his reaction to what she had said. Like everyone else, she presumed that he knew more about

what the Council was up to. Most of the time they were right.

―The Council can count itself lucky for people‘s imagination,‖ he said. ―What would be

the point of the Rite if it weren‘t for the blind?‖

Ramoja gave a crooked smile.

―It is Vetle‘s year, too?‖ Rime looked at the boy who had settled down on the bench with

his head leaning against the wall. His eyes opened when he heard his own name, but closed again

in an instant.

Ramoja got up, grabbed the empty tea bowls and turned on her heel.

―Yes,‖ she said.

Rime got up too. He knew that she rarely and reluctantly traveled to Mannfalla. So

reluctantly that she was going to remain in Riverrest, even though Ilume was now returning to the

capital. Everything suggested that the visit was over, but he still put a hand on her shoulder. It

was unlikely that he would ever see her again. Maybe a glimpse in the crowd during the Rite, if

he had the opportunity to be there, but Rime was here to say goodbye. She just couldn‘t know it.

Ramoja turned toward him with an apologetic smile.

―I haven‘t grown used to the idea of being here without you.‖

Rime smiled. ―I haven‘t been here in three years.‖

21

But he knew what she meant. Ramoja was a part of the An-Elderin family. When his

mother died, Ramoja had lost her best friend. Rime knew that she had never really let go. There

was nothing he could say to comfort her.

―We were never meant to be here anyway,‖ he said. ―That plan was doomed to fail.‖ He

was surprised by his own openness. Maybe it was because their paths were diverging. Maybe it

was the freedom of knowing that he would never follow in his grandmother‘s footsteps. He

couldn‘t be sure. But he continued.

―The Council kept Ilume here for many years, because it‘s the closest they can get to

Ravnhov. That is no secret. But how many seer halls have they managed to open at Ravnhov?‖

Ramoja smiled softly. They both knew the answer. None. Ravnhov was strong. An old

chiefdom, and the eyesore of the Council. Ravnhov was the only place in the world that

Mannfalla would never convert, despite the fact that the cities were few days apart. But between

them was Blindból. The dark heart of Ymslanda. The impenetrable mountains all people feared

and traveled great detours around. So while other regions had professed to the Council one by

one, Ravnhov had survived as independent. They were free of debt now, and grew stronger each

day.

―We are leaving a couple of days before the others,‖ said Ramoja. ―Nora will take care of

the ravens while I‘m away. She is ready for the responsibility.‖

Rime nodded. Imagine that: the blacksmith‘s daughter was old enough to be an apprentice

in a ravenry. He remembered her as a frightened child who refused to come along on adventures.

Adventures like climbing Vargpeak from the west side…

Rime remembered how he had towered at the top, convinced that he was the only one who

had made it up the vertical mountainside. Until Hirka had huffed and puffed over the edge with

scratched knees. She had sat down some distance away from him and behaved as if nothing had

happened. Just tried to avoid smiling, but he had seen that she wanted to. The girl had been like

nectar. The only child in Riverrest who never bowed to him, or addressed him by title. She was

like Vetle. It didn‘t matter who Rime was. She could challenge him, or tell him to go to Stilla –

an outburst that would have cost her her life if anyone had overheard. Rime felt a shiver go

through his chest. He had seen people die for far less.

But it didn‘t matter now. He was no longer a pawn in the Council‘s game. He had found

his place. He was already dead.

22

Odin‘s Child

Hirka sat in the birch tree, cheek against the bark. Her body felt heavy, like a sack of

firewood. The sun sank. The colors faded. The turfed roofs of Riverrest merged with the

surrounding landscape. Hirka had lived many places, but this was where she been the longest.

The village sat in a hollow that gaped toward the sea. The old gods had pressed down a

thumb to crush the first travelers, but they were Norfolk, and hadn‘t yielded. They had settled in

the imprint. Naked against the sea, but protected by blue cliffs and lavish forests that stretched as

far as Hirka could see, eastward to the Gard Mountains. Alldjup lay some distance off, like a tear

in the wall of the cliff. Strifecreek rumbled tirelessly from the tear, flowed down into the vale,

and wound its way out to the sea. The farms crept up the hillside toward the cliffs, surrounded by

patches of land. Most densely on the other side of the valley. The sun remained there all day.

Magnificently placed on the hillside was Glimmer Hill, the farm belonging to Sylja. A

throng of buildings, larger than any other farm nearby. The family at Glimmer Hill had spent

inconceivable sums to prepare Sylja for the Rite. It was all the girl talked about. Dresses, jewelry,

tail gold and perfume. A new carriage, with blue, shiny lacquer, and doors on either side. Nothing

would be left to chance when Glimmer Hill‘s only daughter was to join the ranks of adulthood

and receive the Seer‘s protection against the blind.

Hirka felt her chest tighten. How glorious it must be to be able to look forward to it. What

if it had been her? What if she had been like Sylja, like all the others, with a stomach full of

butterflies. Dreams of visiting Mannfalla, of seeing Eisvaldr—the home of the Seer—which was

said to be a town in and of itself, or of the legendary Rite Hall, of the music and the dancers and

the Council and…

Rime.

What was the point of returning to this place at all? Ilume An-Elderin was a madra, a

mother in the Council, and one of the twelve. She was fully capable of going on her own, and she

did so constantly! Surrounded by lifeguards, as though someone would dare attack. And even if a

whole group of highwaymen made the mistake of trying, Hirka felt certain that the odds favored

Ilume.

23

Rime hadn‘t needed to come. He hadn‘t needed to strut about with the mark of the

Council on his chest, as though she didn‘t already know that he belonged to a world different

from hers. As though she didn‘t know his name.

Rime appeared in her memory. Dressed like a warrior. Probably one last prank before he

had to don his robes for good. Everyone who were chosen during the Rite and schooled at

Eisvaldr, bore the robes of the scholars until they had chosen their place, or the place had chosen

them, as was said. Until they had given the Oath. From the Council‘s schools came the best

scholars in every discipline, from warriors to historiographers. But what many dreamed of was

becoming augur. The eyes of the Seer. A scholar in His word. Everyone on the Council had been

augurs, and Rime was Ilume An-Elderin‘s only grandchild. Destined for a seat in the Council. A

seat many would be willing to kill for.

Hirka had never understood why, and she never would. There was no song about

Mannfalla or Eisvaldr that made it more tempting to go there. Sylja could keep her daydreams of

being chosen for the schools. Mingling with people from the Council? Drink wine from crystal?

Hirka snorted. She would gladly sacrifice all of it to get out of that lousy Rite.

I am not afraid!

What was the worst thing that could happen? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps she would never

even make it as far as the Rite. Not even into Mannfalla. Perhaps she would be stopped at the city

gate and cast out, like a leper. Or maybe the whole town would be able to tell that she couldn‘t

brace, and stone her. Where there are people, there is peril, her father always said. Perhaps they

would drag her through the city by horses until she was beyond recognition. Imprisoned.

Tormented or studied like a beast. Or burned!

Hirka heard a creak below and jumped. She spotted her father through the foliage. She

had been so caught up in the nightmare that she hadn‘t heard him coming. The creaking from the

wagon wheels had merged with the imaginary chiming of swords in a screaming crowd. She

pretended not to see him. If she met his gaze, he would win, and they would leave again. The

trick was to avoid looking. She could wait. Up here, she was nothing more than a leaf in the

wind.

The violent blow of an axe broke the silence.

The tree trunk shook against her body, and she almost fell. She clung on and stared down

in disbelief. Father raised the axe for another blow. Had he lost his mind?

24

He struck again, and the tree shook once more. The strength in his upper body was

beyond belief. He could lift both Hirka and Syjla at the same time, as though they were twigs.

Three walking men could not compare. After only four strikes, she felt the trunk cave in. Just like

in Alldjup. This was not a good day for trees.

Hirka sprung to her feet on the branch and prepared to jump. She swayed along with the

tree for a brief moment, before it rushed downward. She threw herself to the side as best she

could, and rolled on the grass. The tree with over ten thousand leaves hit the ground behind her.

She quickly stood up and spat out a blade of grass. Father looked at her. He didn‘t look happy.

But not furious either. More like he was wondering if he would ever fully understand her. Hirka

crossed her arms and looked away.

―I was heading back in anyway.‖

―Come on,‖ Father responded. He placed the axe in his lap and wheeled himself toward

the cabin. ―There‘s something I need to tell you.‖

He struggled to get the wheelchair inside. Hirka didn‘t help him. She had learned as

much. The wheels caught on the bulging boards in the doorway that normally didn‘t cause any

trouble, but this time his movements were too abrupt. He tugged too much. Was too tense. He got

in. Hirka followed him. The cabin seemed smaller than usual. Unfamiliar. The air was stuffy and

laden with smoke from the smoldering hearth. It took some getting used to after spending the day

outside.

Hirka sat down and by force of habit, she began sweeping dried leaves and remnants of

crushed herbs from the table. She could smell the sweet scent of opa, but said nothing. At least he

had removed visible traces. The plant was banned outside the healer‘s guild of the Council.

Father had always sold it under the table, and Hirka had always passively shown her opposition.

But opa was far from the only risky plant they dealt with. Which was one of the reasons they had

spent so much time on the road. A traveling hawker and his daughter.

And now he wants to travel again.

Perhaps he had changed his mind? He did cut down the birch tree! You don‘t cut down a

tree without anything changing.

Father wheeled his chair over to the table, and pushed a bowl of fish soup toward Hirka. It

was lukewarm, but like a gift from the Seer. She ate it, ravenously, with one hand, while her

father wiped her hurt hand with a rag. She wasn‘t going to tell him that she had met Rime. Father

25

had made it perfectly clear that men were not to be trusted, so she had learned to keep her mouth

shut. But he had no problems with Vetle. She could tell him about Vetle, if he asked how she hurt

herself. But he didn‘t ask.

―I found you,‖ he grumbled, without looking at her.

―I wasn‘t trying to hide, if that‘s what you‘re thinking,‖ she replied.

―That‘s not what I‘m talking about.‖

Father applied ointment to her hand. It stung. He turned his back to her and wheeled

himself over to the hearth. He remained there, like an eclipse before the fire.

―I never got you, I found you. It isn‘t hard to understand, girl.‖

Hirka felt his words tingle in her body, like ants. They foreboded danger, even though she

didn‘t understand them. Or wanted to understand. His voice sounded like distant thunder. Storm

in his words, but she had nowhere to take shelter.

―I hadn‘t yet left Vargheim. I did well there. Bought and sold at low risk. The power of

the Council has always been weaker in the north. They didn‘t even have a healer‘s guild. Wise

women pulled out illnesses, teeth and children without offering the Council a single thought.‖

Hirka heard a longing in his voice. As if he were speaking of a dream world.

―But they had one man in Vargheim. A bracer, or so it was said, but Olve couldn‘t have

braced a fly to the ground. Whatever gifts he might have had, he was dead drunk when I met him.

He used opa. I knew he was the half-deaf ears of the Council in Vargheim, and he knew what I

was doing. That‘s how it worked out without any trouble. It was early in the Ylir-month; the

polar nights had just set in. The days were short. It was beastly cold. Cold as only Vargheim can

get.‖

Father leaned a little closer to the hearth.

―He was good and drunk when he arrived. It was late, and I told him to go home. I lied,

said I had nothing to give him, he used too much already. But all he needed was a ride. He could

hardly walk and swung a bottle around, but he was serious. He had to get to the stone circle in

Sigdskau. Council‘s orders. The snow drifted down the whole way there, and he nagged about all

the meaningless missions the Council sent him on.‖

Father aped the thick voice Olve must have had.

―And it wasn‘t just him, I must know. Every stone circle in every realm of Ymslanda was

checked last night, provided all the ravens made it through the storm. And why?‖

26

Hirka wasn‘t sure if she wanted to know, so she continued to pick around in her fish soup

without saying a word.

―Because a stone whisperer had felt the rise of the Might. Fantasized that the old stone

doors had reopened. That something had come through them.‖

Hirka felt the hairs on her arms on end. It was said that the blind had come through the

stones. That they could come again. That was why the Rite existed. To protect people. But it was

just something people said. No one had ever seen the blind. Not for hundreds of years. They

didn‘t exist anymore. If they ever had.

―Olve said he wasn‘t some superstitious old hag. He wasn‘t afraid of the dark. I asked

why he couldn‘t take the wagon and go alone then, but he had no answer for that, the coward.

When we arrived, he staggered between the standing stones in the black of the night, dead drunk,

dragging his sword. A ghost of a man, hunting monsters he had been ordered to slay. Boldly he

fought the shadows, until he keeled over against a stone and began to snore.‖

Here it comes, thought Hirka. She could smell what she didn‘t want to hear. Like an

animal. The air inside the cabin became stuffier, and the world almost unbearably constricted.

Father began to speak more slowly. As if he too were hesitating.

―I don‘t know what made me do the rounds. A gut feeling, right? Someone had sent

people out in brute weather to check on Seer knows what, and Olve couldn‘t do the job. So I

waded my way through the snow, around the stones. Just to see. To be sure. Then I found you.

You weren‘t more than a few days old. Someone had wrapped you in a blanket that merged with

the snow. You were almost impossible to see. A pale face the size of my wrist, in a sea of frost.

The snow fell on you, but you didn‘t cry. You just looked up with wonder in those big, green

eyes.‖

Hirka swallowed a limp piece of fish that threatened to resurface. She wanted to get up,

but her body felt paralyzed. She wasn‘t sure what she was really hearing. Father wasn‘t…Father.

But he just kept talking. Perhaps he had forgotten that she was sitting there.

―There is no man in the world who would leave an infant with a drunken fool like Olve.

So I dragged him onto the wagon and placed you on my lap. Both of you slept the whole way

back. I dropped Olve off at home, and his mistresses took care of him. You came with me. I lay

awake all night, with you in one hand and my sword in the other. I saw Kolkagga in every corner.

Heard them when the wolf howled outside. And when the branches scraped against the wall.

27

Vargheim is so cold that Kolkagga would have turned around halfway there, Jon at the alehouse

used to say. But I don‘t know. You never know with the black shadows of the Seer.‖

Father turned suddenly toward her.

―You know I don‘t care much for gossip, girl. But what good does it do when the world is

what it is? I had no choice. If the Council had more drunkards on their payroll, the story about the

stone circles and monsters could spread. People would be on their guard. I couldn‘t raise a tailless

girl!‖

Hirka put a hand on the scar on her lower back as though she had burned herself. He was

off track now. She‘d had a tail! She hadn‘t been tailless as an infant.

―The wolves…‖ She swallowed. Couldn‘t get the words out. ―The wolves took my tail.

You said…‖

―What in Stilla was I supposed to do?‖

―But the scar…‖ Hirka felt the lump in her throat grow until it hurt.

―I made a scar, girl!‖ Father shouted, as though the fault was hers. ―I cut teeth marks on

your back. It was no easy job. It had to look real. And you cried. I had to cover your mouth with

one hand. You could have woken up the entire village!‖ Father looked crimson in the light from

the hearth.

―I‘m sorry…‖ was all she could muster.

She saw his face break, as if she had hit him.

―Do you understand now, girl? Do you understand why we have to leave?‖

Hirka didn‘t want to look. She lowered her eyes and discovered the yellowed wolf tooth

resting on her chest. Her whole life she had worn it around her neck. A memory. A memory of

something that never happened. A false image of hunter‘s courage, bought from a market stall for

a piece of copper? Father must have seen what she wanted to ask, because he thundered on.

―You came into this world tailless, in the stone circle at Vargheim, and you can‘t brace. I

don‘t know where you came from or what you are, but we‘re leaving nonetheless. If you are one

of the tailless… A child of Odin...‖

The word lashed Hirka‘s heart.

―If you are human, the Council will find out during the Rite. You are my daughter. No

one will finish Olve‘s job. I won‘t risk you.‖

28

Although his voice had softened, she could hear that there was no room for discussion.

The whole situation was unreal. Hirka started to laugh, but it didn‘t sound sincere.

―Have you seen an Odin‘s child, Father? Have you ever even heard of anyone who has

seen one? We have travelled all over Foggard, and never…‖

―Met someone tailless who can‘t brace? Who are earthblind?‖

Hirka looked at him. Had he become her enemy? Why did he wish to hurt her? Her eyes

wandered as she tried to remember.

―That big guy at Frossabru only had a piece of a tail!‖

―His wife cut it off. He‘d been with a girl.‖

―The three girls at the market in Arfabu that had…‖

―They were siles from Urmunai. They take no sworn man, but devote their lives to dance.

It is customary for them to tie their tails up their backs.‖

―Olve! You said Olve couldn‘t brace!‖ Hirka was getting desperate.

―Of course he could brace. He just wasn‘t capable of using it for anything anymore.

Despite having been chosen during the Rite when he was young and apprenticing in Eisvaldr for

many years. Hirka…‖

―I am no Odin‘s child! I had a mother!‖

Father closed his eyes. Hirka knew where this was going, but she refused to stop.

―I had a mother. Maiande.‖

―Do you remember her?‖ Father‘s voice was different. Almost mocking. But he was

correct in his presumption. Hirka didn‘t remember her. Only what little her father had told her.

―Maiande was a girl in Vargheim that I… knew for a while. She made soaps and knew to

sell it to weak men at the taverns. They spent more on soaps than beer. You‘d be hard pressed to

find cleaner drunkards.‖

Hirka felt his words weigh her down like stones. One heavier than the other. She was

going to be crushed to death. She managed to get up. For a moment, she felt like a visitor. Like

Father was a stranger. A stranger that told lies.

It became impossible to breathe. She had to squeeze the words out.

―People are born without arms and legs! Strong and weak bracers! It‘s not for certain

that…‖

29

―No,‖ he interrupted. ―It‘s not for certain. Nothing is for certain, but I‘m not risking

meeting the Council and becoming the person who brought the rot to Ymslanda.‖

The rot… Odin’s child. Human. Those who made people rot.

―Old wives‘ tales!‖ she shouted. The only words for hogwash she knew he understood.

Air. She needed air. Hirka flung the door open and inhaled deeply. She felt like she hadn‘t

breathed in a long time. She heard her father‘s voice behind her, but didn‘t register what he was

saying. She just left. Things weren‘t like they used to be. He was bound to the chair and had no

way of stopping her. Not even following her. She walked faster and faster. She jumped over the

fallen birch tree and started running.

She had no idea where she was headed, or what she was running from, but she had to run.

The evening was dark. She could run wherever she wanted. No one was out anymore. No one

could see her. She was invisible. A wraith. A monster.

An Odin’s child.

She didn‘t exist, so she ran. But something was still alive inside her, something that

registered branches and leaves lashing at her face, and that she was drawing nearer to Alldjup.

That something was about to go wrong. Suddenly her foot caught on something, and she

slammed into the ground. She lay there, gasping. The air felt dead. It wasn‘t giving her what she

needed in order to breathe. She knew she should get up.

The ground in front of her was covered in moss. It smelled damp. She had become part of

the earth. A worm. A bug that could crawl in and disappear in the small holes of the moss.

Forever. Her eyes followed the forest floor until it disappeared over the black edge that marked

Alldjup. The gap that had almost taken her life only a few hours earlier.

Perhaps that had been her fate all along? Perhaps this was the Seer‘s punishment for

having cheated death?

Can the tailless die? Can I die?

Hirka squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to ignore everything she had heard, but it

wouldn‘t go away. I never got you, I found you.

She bit her arm and stifled a scream. Not of pain, but because she knew she was acting

like a wild animal. She opened her eyes. Her teeth had left red marks on her forearm. Had she

expected any different? Had she thought her skin had suddenly turned to stone?

What did she know about the tailless?

30

That they don’t exist…

Children of Odin were a myth, like the blind. An old fairytale. She didn‘t believe in

fairytales. Father was a fool!

Then why do we have the Rite?

The Rite was meant to protect everyone from the blind. And even if it was an ancient

tradition, they must at least have existed at some point? Hadn‘t she herself put coins on the eyes

of infants? Given them the blood to make the mothers feel safe? It was the sort of thing one did.

The sort of thing one had always done. It couldn‘t be for no reason? And if the blind existed, then

perhaps children of Odin did too?

Children of Odin. Humans. Emblings. The rot… The last word was the worst of all. The

one that hurt the most. She had heard it before, outside of the alehouse. Kolgrim‘s father had

accused Iron-Jarke of being with his girl. Iron-Jarke had responded that he‘d rather take the rot. It

had cost him two teeth.

Hirka pulled her knees against her chest and began to cry. Here she was. An insult. An

atrocity. Everyone must be able to see that? Especially when the Rite came. The pieces fell into

place in her exhausted mind. This was why she could never brace. This was why they had lived

on the road her whole life. This was why Father always kept away from people. It wasn‘t just the

illegal herbs. It was fear. Fear of that would happen if someone found out what she was. People

are peril.

Hirka shuddered. She felt cold where the tears had settled on her face.

What if the Seer discovered during the Rite that she was not of yms kin? The Council

would punish her! Burn her! What would happen to her father? Father who had taken in the rot.

Would they kill him?

No!

Nothing would happen to him. Nothing would happen to her either. Hirka was no bug!

She was of yms kin! A strong girl who could do what she had to do. That was the way it had

always been.

Hirka noticed a familiar outline in the moss. Her basket. She had put it down to save

Vetle. That was who she was. Brave. Strong. She wasn‘t afraid. She was no dead chicken!

31

She would get through the Rite like everyone else. And when it was over, they could have

peace. They could live in Riverrest and never fear anyone ever again. The Rite would give her

what she needed. A home. A place in the world.

That was the solution. That was the way it had to be.

Hirka felt an unexpected sense of calm. She was tired. She registered the sound of wings

flapping. A raven landed in front of her. It cocked its head to one side and stared at her for a

while. Then it hopped over to her basked and began picking at the bread with its strong beak.

A raven. It was almost the same as the Seer itself. A sign of luck, everyone knew that,

Hirka thought, until she remembered that she didn‘t believe in signs. She and Father had given

amulets with raven symbols to many whose illnesses had been helped. Some of them died, others

didn‘t.

She closed her eyes. Indifference lulled her to sleep on the crag.

She dreamed that her father came. He was walking on his own two feet, like he used to.

Father‘s strong arms lifted her up in the darkness and carried her home.

32

The Empty Chair

What is a father?

A teacher? A solid rock? A guiding star? His whole life, Urd had heard others speak of his

father as all these things. But to him, his father wasn‘t more than a blood drenched bucked of

wood, filled with red meat. His father was dead. Spurn Vanfarinn was dead.

The weight of this death – this name – had sent waves through the eleven realms.

Mannfalla was a city in mourning. The Council was in shock from losing one of the twelve. It

couldn‘t have come at a worse time, it was said.

Perfect.

Spurn Vanfarinn left behind significant riches and an empty chair in Insringin. Urd was

only interested in the latter. He stood with his back straight and felt sweat trickle from his

forehead and into his eyes, but he didn‘t blink. This was the most important day of his life. He

was close. So close. Now was the time. Now he was perfect. The perfect son. The perfect

successor.

Ten out of the eleven in Insringin stood before him. A united Council. Mannfalla stood

behind him. A silent sea of people, tamed by heat and sorrow. The Raven Bearer was so close he

could almost touch her. The drums that had accompanied the procession onto the plateau had

been reduced to nearly inaudible sighs. The time had come.

The doors behind him flung open, and a sea of ravens blackened the sky. They circled the

cliffs in an astonishingly silent fashion. The Raven Bearer made the sign of the Seer and emptied

her bucket on the ground in front of her. She took a step back and let the ravens feast.

Spurn Vanfarinn was nothing more than bloody pieces. Small, small pieces. Urd had

never dreamed of seeing him so small. Faceless, legless. Picked apart. No longer a great man. No

great man. Urd suppressed a smile. The battle was over. A silent war that had gone on since he

was a child. Since his father had spluttered at him that he wasn‘t a council man any more than the

whores by the river, and that he would be the first to break a seven hundred year long line of

council members.

The only disadvantage to his father‘s death, was that he would never witness how wrong

he had been. Unless the Might carried the certainty to him, somewhere in eternity.

33

The pieces of his father grew fewer and smaller. He was swallowed. He was carried away

on black, glistening wings. He was devoured slowly, but surely. Along with his unending disdain

for his oldest son. The disdain had chased Urd toward darkness, even before he was ripe for the

Rite. Into a somber game that had cost him almost everything. It hadn‘t born any fruits until now.

Now, fifteen years later, he could open the stone lair on his own. He had finally mastered what he

had been promised.

The annoying question reoccurred. Why now? Why all this time? Had someone been let

through that time? Unseen? Blood that had ripened in Ymslanda?

Unthinkable! He had become stronger. That was the only reason. But he could keep his

eyes open during the Rite. Although no one would dare keep anything like that from him. No

one. Not even Him.

A chill crept down Urd‘s spine, and he fought back the impulse to touch his throat. It was

nothing. Nothing. Just the usual pain. His collar was tight, as always. No one could see anything.

How he hated the constant fear of someone noticing.

The sound of the drums grew louder again. The ravens were called back. All that

remained, was the red color on the ridge of the cliff. It blended in with the darker shades of

brown after several hundred generations of council members who had entered eternity from here.

Urd readied himself. It was up to the Council and the Seer to select a successor for

Insringin. This was his best shot at increasing his odds. Each of them would pass him and offer

their condolences. He swallowed. Tyrme Jekense was second in line. The Jekense family didn‘t

care much for his own family, but he had one advantage. Tyrme‘s brother owed them a tidy

amount.

Tyrme shook his hand and expressed his sympathy. Urd thanked him, leaned closer to the

tall man and whispered: ―Any obligation to my father of course died with him.‖

Tyrme looked surprised for a moment, but thanked him and moved on.

It was hard to predict the outcome, but Urd had done what he could. The next person he

could influence was far easier.

Miane Fell had been on the Council with his father for as many years as Urd had been

alive. They had had a good relationship, and Urd had picked up on something in her eyes. She

had loved his father. It had hardly been reciprocated, and he couldn‘t be sure, but he had to risk it.

Miane‘s eyes were swollen and full of tears when she shook Urd‘s hand, and he felt surer of

34

himself already. He smiled to the old woman and whispered: ―Father said his only regret in life

was that he couldn‘t be with you.‖

Miane‘s brown eyes welled over. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before she

squeezed her eyes shut, and placed his hand on her forehead. Urd imagined that he could feel her

raven mark burn against his skin. He smiled. He was practically in.

35

A Riddle

A raven drifted through the night forest, no more than an arm‘s length from Rime. He felt

the flap of its wings like a breath across his face, before it disappeared into the darkness. He

made the sign of the Seer.

There was a figure on the ground some distance off. Rime stopped. His hand wrapped

around his hilt while he made sure that the forest hid no one else. The moon was a thin sickle,

stingy with its light. He could make out movements; wind playing with branches. A night owl let

out a slow wail that remained unanswered. Other that that, there were no signs of life. Rime was

alone. Except for the figure, motionless on the moss. He walked closer. Slender. Red-haired. A

chafed knee was visible through a tear in her trousers. Hirka.

He felt a pang of worry, crouched down and placed his hand on her back. She was

breathing steadily. Furrows in the moss revealed that she had tripped and slid. Her face was dirty

and her sweater worn, but it had never been whole for as long as he could remember. She seemed

unharmed. Aside from her hand, but that had been injured earlier in the day. Rime ran his thumb

across the tear in the palm of her hand. It gently twitched. Foolish girl. The heart of a wolf.

She had most likely saved Vetle‘s life. Maybe it had frightened her more than she let on?

And then she had returned to face her fears? It made no sense. Rime looked around. There was an

overturned basket nearby. She had been running. Running from something or someone.

Did she know? Had she seen him?

No. Of course not. He was careful. He practiced in the grass-covered hollow at the top of

Vargtind. The Might was strongest there. Few would manage the hike, and if anyone did come,

he would hear them long before they appeared. And they wouldn‘t understand what they were

looking at anyway. A lifeguard practicing fighting techniques. A warrior. Sword waver. Nothing

unusual. The safest thing would of course be to remain still while he was here, but he had his

obligations. He had to dedicate his time to becoming stronger. To…

To avoid Ilume.

Ilume had returned tonight, from what he expected was the last half-friendly handshake

between Ravnhov and Mannfalla. Between north and south. He had seen the carriages arrive, but

36

had continued to practice. Postponed his trip home until the moon was up. Until he was sure that

his grandmother had gone to bed. Weak. Unworthy. The certainty laughed at him.

The night owl wailed once more. Rime had to get Hirka home before she froze herself

sick. The girl was on her side, so it was easy to roll her over into his arms. He fumbled for her tail

before he remembered that she had lost it as a child. It only made things easier. The basket

weighed next to nothing, and dangled lightly from his fingers. She gave a sort of growl and her

head fell against his chest, but she didn‘t wake.

One could wonder what had happened to her, but Rime had long since stopped pondering

over it. Hirka was three years younger than him, and she was everywhere people weren‘t. She

rarely needed a reason to swim up Strifecreek. Or jump from rooftop to rooftop along the docks,

treading through and getting stuck so that the men had to shove her loose from the inside.

Rime smiled. Hirka was an involuntary trigger. She had hardly lived in Riverrest for one

winter when Rime arrived with Ilume. He had just turned twelve, and had never met anyone like

her. He had grown up in Mannfalla, in the home of the Seer, under His wings. He had met other

children, of course. But they always came with their parents. All spruced up so they could hardly

walk. Silent and wide-eyed, they had stared at him – a boy their age who sat upright between the

guards of the Council to place his hand on them. As if anyone had ever lived longer for that

reason. He hadn‘t even believed his own myth as a twelve-year-old, but as long as others did, his

fate was sealed. His duties were inextricably linked to people‘s wishes for blessings.

Arriving in Riverrest had been the escape he never thought possible. A small place, far

from the corridors of Eisvaldr. The children were dirty in Riverrest. They played and hurt

themselves. Bled. And none more than Hirka. Kolgrim had been the first to reprimand the new

girl. She had been about to beat him thoroughly, which was a new experience for Kolgrim. She

couldn‘t even reach his neck, but she was bouncy like a wildcat.

Rime had stopped them. Shocked by the berserk behavior, he had thrown himself between

them. Hirka‘s fist had grazed his bottom lip, and he had tasted his own blood. It was certainly not

the first time. A son of council folk knew the ways of the sword, and was trained before he could

walk. But it was the first time any living creature outside the walls of Eisvaldr had laid a hand on

him. He had wiped the blood away and stared back and forth between the red color on his fist and

the red hair on the girl who had hit him. She had shot him a crooked smile and shrugged, as if he

had himself to thank for it.

37

Rime remembered how he had looked around, fearing that there had been witnesses. If

news of the event reached Ilume, it would at best cost Hirka her fist; at worst her life. Either way,

he would be robbed of this untamed creature. That was not going to happen. So they made a pact,

holy and halfway hostile, like only children can, and it remained between the two of them. The

battle for the marks had started that day. And since then it had nearly killed them both, numerous

times. They had swum until they almost drowned, climbed until their fingers broke, jumped until

they crippled themselves. Neither wanted to do worse than the other. So much passion, and so

much pain. All for the marks. Worthless scratches that kept score of a never-ending duel. But

Rime could not remember having seen her cry.

He looked down on the slender figure asleep in his arms. Hirka‘s red hair was tangled and

her hands sore. Dirt clung to the wet traces on her face. Rime carried her silently through the

forest. The easiest thing would be to wake her up, but he liked to see her sleep. Her face was so

inviting. Unmasked. He wanted it to last. He also knew that she would be furious if she woke up

and discovered that she had been carried like a child.

Rime smiled. He put the trees behind him and reached the hillcrest above Riverrest. The

drowsy home he was about to leave for good. The fog crawled between the berry bushes down to

the houses. All he could hear was the faint roar from Strifecreek. Had it always been this

beautiful?

My path is chosen.

Hirka crept closer to him. How would he wake Thorrald without waking Hirka? He

couldn‘t just walk into the cabin…

Rime spotted a shadow moving further up the hill. Instinctively, he crouched down with

Hirka in his arms. What has he thinking? He was in Riverrest; there were no enemies here, no

danger. He stood again. The shadow turned into a broad-shouldered figure with… wheels?

Thorrald. Hirka‘s father, in that strange contraption made of wagon wheels and steel. A

stroke of genius, made by the blacksmith. A chair he could move around in, without any help. At

least indoors. Outside it was a different story. He had gotten some distance away from the little

house, but obviously struggled to wheel himself through the grass. There was something panicky

in his movements. Rime went to greet him.

Thorrald looked relieved when he saw them. It only lasted for a moment, and then his

eyes darkened.

38

―Give her to me!‖ he growled, holding out his strong arms.

Rime was used to reading fear and desire in the eyes of others, but this was another kind

of fear. One he didn‘t know.

―She‘s asleep,‖ he whispered. ―I found her near Alldjup.‖

He hadn‘t intended it as a question, but he could hear that it sounded like one. Thorrald‘s

gaze fell on Hirka, and his shoulders sank. He wiped his hand tiredly across his face.

―She has… been having a hard time.‖

Rime continued toward the cabin without responding. He heard the wheelchair creak

behind him. The night was cool. Neither of them spoke again. The silhouetted cob work of the

cabin became visible on the mountain ledge. Rueshack. It had remained untouched for over

twenty years, ever since the council guards set fire to it and dragged the lawless owner away. The

wind had saved the cabin, but no one had dared go there, neither to live nor to tear it down. The

Seer had always intended it to burn, they thought. Rime sighed. The Seer had many intentions,

but building or tearing down houses was hardly one of them. Thorrald and Hirka had clearly

understood as much.

He bent down and went inside. Hirka weighed down his arms until he felt a sweet pain.

He heath glowed. Is no one asleep tonight?

The room was small, and almost too warm. The walls were covered in shelves full of

canisters, boxes and bottles of all shapes and sizes. Tea wherever you looked. Dried herbs

dangled from strings tied to the ceiling, and it smelled of mint and exotic spices. A bit too exotic,

according to the rumors. Rime had heard that Thorrald sold blacklisted plants, but he had never

brought it up with Ilume. It was just another thing the Council wanted to control, but that he

doubted the Seer would spare a single thought for.

Thorrald pointed for Rime to enter an even smaller side chamber with a beautiful wooden

bed. The headboard had been carved to look like a field of flowers, and the wings of a bird spread

out from the middle and toward the sides. Thorrald was known for more than healing teas and

lucky charms. He was also a competent woodcarver. It had cost him the use of his legs in the

accident at Glimmer Hill.

He noticed that the corners of the bed were put together without nails, which meant that it

could be taken apart and put back together again. Maybe they needed the space for other things

sometimes? Rime envied them. Imagine living like this. Two small rooms, all your belongings in

39

immediate proximity. The people you lived with never further than a few steps away. It was a

different world from the estate. The An-Elderin home in Mannfalla. Rime could have sworn there

were rooms he still hadn‘t seen. You could scream from one end without being heard on the

other. If not for the fact that someone was always close-by to make sure you had everything you

needed.

Rime consoled himself with the fact that he had turned his back on that life, once and for

all. Everything was different now. He hadn‘t slept on silk in three years, and would never do it

again. He was going to follow the Seer in his own way. He was done with the Council. Forever.

He placed the basket on the floor and put Hirka down on the bed. He left it to her father to

untie her shoes and tuck her in for the night. It was nice to be able to lift his arms again, but he

wasn‘t tired. He had carried things both heavier and for longer during the last few years.

Rime felt like an intruder in what seemed like a difficult time for Thorrald and Hirka, so

he started for the door again.

―Are you back again, Són-Rime?‖ Thorrald asked behind him.

The title lay heavy across Rime‘s chest. Són. Son of council folk. That little word created

a chasm between him and everyone else. He turned back to face Thorrald again.

―You gave me eight stiches on my forearm when I was twelve. And you never said a word

to Ilume. I was only Rime then. I am only Rime now. And I haven‘t come to stay. I‘m

accompanying Ilume to Mannfalla.‖

―Yes, she is leaving us…‖ Thorrald ran a hand across the top of his head a couple of

times. It sounded like sandpaper.

―Most people have the decency to sound disappointed,‖ Rime said, smiling.

Thorrald grinned back and rested his arms on the table. They were strong enough to lift a

bull. He had an ink mark on his forearm. A small flower, no larger than a finger joint. Time had

faded the blue color, and the lines were blurry.

―Would you like a bite to eat? We have halibut soup. It‘s simple, but fresh.‖ Thorrald

turned toward the hearth and scraped the bottom of the pot with a ladle. ―It‘ll be warm again in a

second.‖ His voice revealed that he didn‘t really want the company.

―You are kind, Thorrald, but I must get back,‖ Rime replied, but he sat down anyway.

Thorrald stared at him. Rime could see the same caution in his eyes as in Hirka‘s. A new

distance. They didn‘t know him anymore. He wasn‘t one of them.

40

―So what should we do then, Rime? We mere mortals? Wait for war?‖ Thorrald leaned

forward across the table. Rime scratched his nose to hide a smile. Thorrald‘s cheeky question had

shortened the distance between them, and he relished that feeling.

―Ravnhov and Mannfalla are banging their shields. They always have done,‖ said Rime,

and knew that he sounded surer of himself than he was.

―Banging their shields?‖

―No one will die from it, Thorrald.‖

―None of you, perhaps.‖ Thorrald leaned back in his chair. The chasm between them had

returned. Rime stood. He would have given a lot to be able to stay forever. Talk about this and

that. Get up the next morning and maybe repair the burn marks on the roof, together with this

man. But neither this world belonged to Rime.

Thorrald smiled uncomfortably. ―Thanks for being there, Rime. For Hirka.‖

―She was always there for me,‖ Rime responded.

Thorrald‘s eyes widened enough to reveal both surprise and suspicion. He had always

been shy and kept Hirka to himself, like a treasure. He had never known how much time they

spent together, and maybe it should have remained unsaid. But it didn‘t matter anymore. It was

over.

Rime went outside and closed the door behind him. His footsteps carried him toward the

edge of the grass-covered mountain ledge, where he stopped to look out at Riverrest in the dark.

The last three years had taught him how to deal with transience. That was the first command of

the Seer. Nothing is perfect. Nothing lasts forever. He still grieved for what he was about to leave

behind. He was leaving more than the Council. More than the Families in Mannfalla, and more

than Ilume.

A raven cawed from the roof of the cabin. It sounded like the hoarse laughter of a wise

man. ‗What-did-I-say? What-did-I-say?‘ Who knows what the raven says, was an old saying

from Blossa. This was the second raven he had seen that night. Once again, Rime did the sign of

the Seer. After a life under His wings, Rime still couldn‘t interpret the words of the ravens. If he

could, it might have given him advice. Tomorrow he would have to face Ilume An-Elderin, his

mother‘s mother, and one of the most powerful women in the world. He breathed deeply, stepped

over a fallen birch tree and set off down the valley.

41

SUMMARY / BRIDGE

Against her father‘s will, Hirka decides she wants to go through with the Rite. But she needs help

from a strong bracer. She asks Rime, but he mistakes her for a golddigger, thinking she just wants

what everyone wants: his help to be chosen during the Rite.

When Hirka learns that the Council may have sent Kolkagga, the Seers secret assassins, to find

her, she thinks Rime has betrayed her. She confronts him, and they discover something

extraordinary: She can sense it when he braces! It is as if he has opened her to the Might. She is

still unable to brace, but maybe—just maybe—she can fake it … Rime promises to help her

during the Rite. Ecstatic, she runs home to tell her father that there is hope, only to find him

dying. He has eaten bloodweed. Taken his own life, to ease her escape.

Devastated, Hirka sets fire to the shack that has been her home, and leaves Riverrest for good.

Alone, she heads to Ravnhov, the only free town in the world, without knowing what awaits her.

When she saves the chieftain of Ravnhov from an attempted assassination, she is mercilessly

dragged into the political game. But Hirka refuses to accept any more deaths. Yes, she is terrified

of Kolkagga. And she fears the Council and the Seer. But she won‘t let people suffer, simply for

harboring her. So she leaves Ravnhov, to face her destiny in the capital Mannfalla.

In the meantime, Urd has successfully taken his place on the Council. And what‘s worse: Hirka

has no idea that Rime‘s chosen path is with Kolkagga. He is one of the black shadows. The very

assassins Hirka has fled from.

The next scene is the morning of her Rite; the event that she has been avoiding and dreading for

as long as she can remember.

42

The Rite

Hirka sat at the riverbank, flailing her arms to keep warm. It was early in the morning, and

she had gotten little sleep under the docks. The mist drifted across the river, and the yellow

lanterns on the fishing boats blinked like stars. Sporadic sounds came from the houses behind her.

Stalls were prepared. Someone disturbed a hen house. A gong struck six times from a tower up

near Eisvaldr. Other towers joined in, one by one. The same sounds she had heard every day

since she got here. Nothing had changed, and everything had changed. It was the day of her Rite.

Hirka crawled closer to the river, and rinsed her face in cold water. She drank, but not

much. The water from the Ora tasted unclean. Not like at Ravnhov, where it came straight from

the ice. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection, and remembered that she had done the same

in Riverrest. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She had expected to see something other than herself.

Something bestial and frightening. But she hadn‘t then. And she didn‘t now.

Her thoughts went to Sylja, and what she would look like today. She who hadn‘t spoken

of anything but the Rite for as long as Hirka had known her. She would be wearing a dress with a

full skirt, embroidered in gold thread. Tail rings in gold and braided hair smelling of lavender.

Hirka stared at her own red tangles. She tried to smooth them into place with her wet fingers, but

they resisted.

Hirka followed Dead Cat Street up into the city. It was still liberatingly calm. No one was

up unless they had to. She bought a piece of bread and two cubes of soft cheese from a boy

younger than her. He wheeled his goods up the street and sold them to the stalls, where they in

turn were resold. He had dirty fingers, but a wide smile. Coins rattled in his pockets. She had left

behind most of what she had made in the last few days, for Lindri, but at least she wouldn‘t starve

for another couple of days. She sat on a bench outside the stall of a saddle maker and ate. Kuro

predictably floated in from nowhere, and settled next to her.

It struck her how strange it was to think about money. For the last few months, she had

thought of nothing but the Rite. Of this day. It had been like there was no time after it. But there

had to be. In a while, it would all be over. The Seer would understand that she had done nothing

wrong. Perhaps then she could begin her life? Either that or these were her final hours. Perhaps

this was the time she would get.

43

Would Rime be the last thing she saw?

The door to the stall opened and Hirka jumped. It was only the saddle maker. He was

small and had almond-shaped eyes, like Ramoja. He wore wide trousers, and his shirtsleeves

were rolled up to his elbows. He nodded and began sweeping the street outside the stall with

practiced sweeps. Hirka sat there, watching him, until he went back in. He had probably had this

stall his whole life. Perhaps his father had owned it before him? She felt a lump in her throat, so

she got up and moved on.

The gong struck eight times.

It was easy enough to find her way. Dead Cat Street led straight to Eisvaldr. But one could

get there from every corner of the city. All you really had to do was seek out the widest streets

and the nicest houses, and sooner or later you would arrive at the Wall. Hirka paused for a while

where she had left Ramoja and Vetle on the first day. It had been scary enough to look into

Eisvaldr. Later she had been there with Lindri. Seen the sleeping dragon. Rime‘s house.

Now she was about to stand in front of the Seer under the red dome that glittered in the

first few rays of sunlight up ahead. She passed clusters of flowers. People from all over the world

had left gifts and prayers for the Seer here. There were significantly more than there had been a

few days ago. Hirka hadn‘t brought anything. Should she have brought something? Was that the

idea? No one had said anything about it. And where was she supposed to go? Hirka felt a knot in

her stomach; she was missing her father. Missing someone she could ask everything.

She latched onto the sprawling but steady stream of people headed toward the red dome.

They were headed the same way as her. It was happening. What if she met someone from home?

Both Sylja and Kolgrim would be here. And several of the others from the north side that she

didn‘t know as well. The last thing she had done was to burn down the cabin and disappear. She

had never thought she‘d see any of them again. She tried to make herself small in the crowd. She

had gotten good at it by now.

The red dome grew as she drew nearer. People flocked relentlessly forward. The street

turned into a wide staircase. The steps were white as bones, and hollow at the center from where

people had walked for a thousand years. On either side of the stairs were guards, all the way up.

Dressed in black with golden coats of mail and helmets that hid their faces. It felt like each of

them stared at her. What if Rime wasn‘t here? What if they cornered her? They carried swords in

44

black sheaths, golden ribbons around the hilts. Hirka looked for Kuro, but he was nowhere to be

found.

She tried to swallow the brewing panic. She had made her choice. She couldn‘t live in the

forests like an animal, not even knowing who she was. What she was. Was she supposed to spend

her life looking for Kolkagga behind every bush, and never have a place to call home? How

could she live with herself when people died for her sake? Father. Eirik.

No, Eirik would survive. Had to survive.

A gong started going off. Deeply, like the blows ran beneath her feet. Each of her steps

brought her closed to a vibrating center, somewhere inside the round building with the red dome.

Mother‘s breast. Gaping doors welcomed the crowd of people. Hirka felt like she was swallowed

as she entered into a tunnel. A narrow passageway that exposed the walls as thick, at least eight

steps wide. It led them all through the darkness and into the hall. In there, it became

overwhelmingly bright, and Hirka shielded her eyes until they adjusted to the light. People were

greeted by men and women in gray kirtles, carrying heavy books that they made notes in. In front

of her, people stated their names and where they came from. Some were led to the left, others to

the right in the round room. It was a trap. A cage she couldn‘t get out of. She looked for a way

out, but was already standing in front of a man dressed in gray.

She said her name, but it lodged in her throat and she had to repeat it. She said that she

came from Riverrest. He pointed a pale hand toward the right and she followed the others,

relieved to just be one of them. Lost in the shuffle.

Where was Rime? She had to find him.

Low benches ran like growth rings toward the center of the room. She sat in the back,

where most of the seats were available, while the others swarmed as close to the front as possible.

A monotonous chanting blended with the strikes from the gong. Hirka couldn‘t see where the

sounds were coming from. They seemed almost omnipresent in the room. She could smell a type

of incense that she didn‘t recognize. Everything was new. Surreal.

She had expected the ceiling to be rounded, but it was flat. The room in the dome must be

on a floor above them. But it was still tall, and the ceiling hung like a sun over the hall, tiled in

gold and colorful motifs. She stared up at the details, which appeared to multiply the more she

looked at them. So many, and so intertwined that she never would have thought it possible. She

wished she could vanish up there. Become one with the plants and the figures. But would she

45

ever get up there? She could perhaps stand on the benches on the back row. From there you could

reach the tiers that held the oil lamps along the wall. They hung like floating plates of light-

colored stone. Each of them burned more like a bonfire than a flame. If she could get up there,

she could pull herself up to the windows that let columns of sunlight in toward the center of the

room. From there it would become more difficult. She would still be just halfway up the slippery

walls. They glimmered in white mother-of-pearl. The walls had motifs too, but they were more

faint. Almost invisible against the white.

There were three places where one could walk between the benches and toward the center

of the room. There were numerous guards there, on either side. They were unmoving.

How am I supposed to find Rime?

A girl and her mother sat next to Hirka. She wore a shimmering orange dress. Hirka

smiled, but the girl didn‘t smile back. She kept her head held high and moved it in a strangely

slow fashion when she turned around. As if she feared her pinned back hair would fall apart.

Hirka‘s body felt heavy as lead. If someone asked her to get up right now, she wouldn‘t be

able to. She stared down at the floor. It was ancient. Here too images had been made from tiny

tiles. The motif had faded. Some places so much so that it was impossible to see what it was

meant to represent. She ran her gaze along the rows of benches and saw that the motifs were

different all around the room. Fabulous animals, plants, words and creatures she had never seen

before.

The gong was silenced. People swarmed around the benches, and the talking turned to

whispers. Hirka stared at a protrusion on the opposite side of the room. A platform that was

raised more than a man‘s height above the crowd. It could be reached from the stairs on either

end. It was bare, save for twelve chairs placed in a semicircle. On the walls behind them were

three doors. One large, blood red double door in the middle, flanked by two smaller doors. That

was where they would come from. That was where they would sit. The Council. The Raven

Bearer. The Seer.

Where is Rime?!

She started crawling along the benches to get closer to the exit. She might still change her

mind. If she couldn‘t find Rime, then…

The sound of the exit doors closing killed her train of thought. It was too late. She had to

go through with it now, even though her courage had failed her. Hirka turned cold.

46

The red double doors on the protrusion opened, and the chatter of the room died down

immediately. Only the chanting continued. It seemed more intense now, and at a higher pitch.

People bowed down to the Council. The benches were so low that some people managed to get

their heads all the way to the floor.

Through the doorway, she saw the back of Eisvaldir. Blindból. The start of the forest-clad

mountains. The Council came toward them across a narrow bridge that stretched all the way from

the doors and out toward the Seer‘s tower. The tower without a foundation. It hung in mid-air,

only tied to this world by the frail bridge. An impossibility. The bridge was too long and too

narrow to keep this tower standing. It seemed more like a ribbon that kept it from floating away.

The Seer‘s tower. Kept upright by His will alone.

Hirka didn‘t dare to swallow. Twelve figures found their seats, one by one. They

practically hovered above the floor, dressed in black robes. Their hoods hang loose over their

heads, and were lined with gold that caught the sun from the windows. A golden glow encircled

their faces and made it almost impossible to see what the figures really looked like. She had seen

paintings of several of them, but they probably looked entirely different in real life. But one of

them she knew well. One of them was Ilume. The red door closed and left a metallic echo in its

wake.

The Raven Bearer sat in the middle. She looked like the others, but with the world‘s most

important exception: She carried a black staff, and resting on it, was He. The Seer. He shone in a

bluish black. Larger and stronger than Kuro. He sat too far away for Hirka to see His eyes, but

she still recognized them, deep in her soul. She fumbled for thoughts of everything good and

right. Everything right that she had done. Everything she had done for others.

I have done nothing wrong! I am no monster! Where is Rime?!

One of the people dressed in gray shouted. ―Angrbay, Mylde and Hassheim!‖

In a couple of places, people stood up. She could see mothers and fathers hug their

hopefuls, before sending them over to the Council. They walked between the guards and over to

the stairs, where they appeared to need to repeat their names to another figure dressed in gray,

before they went up on the protrusion and kneeled before the Council.

They looked so secure. All of them were her age, but they walked with their backs straight

and their gazes raised. Excited. Some smiling. A couple of them were nervous and walked with

their heads lowered, but they had nothing to fear. They were dressed up from head to toe and all

47

of them knew how to brace. All they had to fear was the disappointment of going home again

with their family, without being admitted to the Council‘s schools, like many of them hoped for.

That was the worst thing that could happen to them today. Hirka would be glad so long as she got

to walk out of here still alive. Rime was nowhere to be seen.

Her throat became dry. She felt dizzy. Nothing seemed like it was actually happening. But

it was real enough. She could feel the bench she sat on. The small tiles on the floor. She could see

each and every nervous twitch in the flames from the oil lamps.

No one from Angrbay, Mylde and Hanssheim were admitted to the schools. Everyone

walked down the stairs on the opposite side of the platform. Another figure dressed in gray stood

there. He dipped his thumb into a bowl, and pressed it against each of their foreheads. They

walked away with a black imprint that would fade after a few days. They were blessed. Protected.

Accepted.

A new group was called forward, and the Rite repeated itself. Everyone walked up and

kneeled before the Council. The Raven Bearer walked from one person to the next and placed her

hand on their heads to give them the Seer‘s protection against the blind. Hirka didn‘t know how.

Maybe He sent the Might through the cane, into the Raven Bearer and to each of them.

She prayed and prayed that Rime would come. Her gaze searched for him, along every

bench. She was filled with hope every time she spotted blonde hair, but it was never as white as

Rime‘s. He wasn‘t there.

―Riverrest, Gardly and Vargbo!‖ yelled someone dressed in gray, and Hirka felt her feet

tremble. She stood, and was surprised that they actually carried her weight. Her heart was beating

like she had run all the way here. She squeezed past people on the benches and into the aisle. Was

that Kolgrim she spotted up ahead? And there was Sylja, right in the middle of other unknown

faces. She wore a deep blue dress and a matching cape, and around her waist was a belt put

together from gold discs. Her tail was almost completely covered in jewelry and rings. Blue

stones glinted. Her hair was smooth and oiled, with the exception of two thin braids on either side

of her face, like Ilume had.

Sylja‘s gaze swept past Hirka, but quickly returned, as though she had imagined it. Her

eyes widened like she had seen a ghost. Hirka winked at her, unsure of where the impulse came

from. Sylja turned away quickly. The girl had gone over this day in her head since she was old

48

enough to walk, which made Hirka doubt that she would let herself be distracted. Even if a friend

suddenly appeared out of nowhere, after setting the cabin on fire and running away from home.

They lined up, two at a time, and walked toward the Council. Toward the Seer. Hirka‘s

feet moved on their own, not because she wanted to. She had to keep reminding herself why she

was here. That no matter what happened here today, a life fleeing from Kolkagga would be

worse. And if everything went well, she would finally have peace. Belong. Everything would be

all right. It would be over soon.

A guard seized her hand. She jumped, and tried to pull away, but there was no use. They

had seen her. Found her. She was going to die! But then she felt prickling warmth fill her body.

The Might flowed through her. Felt its way to the fear and the doubt. Forced its way in to know

everything she had to hide.

Rime!

She met the eyes behind the golden helmet. The light gray eyes of a wolf. Rime‘s eyes.

He was there, and he was holding her. It was as if a rock fell off her back. Hirka wanted to drink

from the Might with all her strength, but she was pushed forward by the people behind her. She

clung to Rime‘s hand, but in the end she had to let go. The Might still lingered in her body. A

warm certainty that drove her toward the staircase. The whole room seemed suddenly alive. Like

a breathing cage for the Might. She wanted to tear down the walls and let it run free. It was

strong. It was wild. It made her thirsty. She was saved! As long as she made sure she was one of

the first to go before the Council.

Just as she had that thought, she felt pain rush through the sole of her foot. Someone had

stepped on her. Hirka saw Sylja disappearing up the staircase in front of her. She caught a

glimpse of high heels, like the women wore when they took their sworn man.

It was an accident. Hurry up!

The warmth and the thirst were still there, but Hirka felt her heart sink when she saw that

many of the others were already in place before the Council. She had to go all the way to the end

before she could kneel like the rest of them.

The Raven Bearer rose. The black staff was taller than her, and the Seer towered at the

top. Still she carried him with ease. Everyone leaned toward the floor. Hirka too. It felt cold

against her forehead. Slowly and relentlessly, the Might seeped from her body. They sat back up.

The Raven Bearer walked from one person to the other. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

49

For the Seer’s sake!

Hirka didn‘t dare close her eyes. Neither did she dare to look at the Council who sat only

three steps away from her. All she could see was the black kirtle through the corner of her eye,

drawing ever nearer. Hirka turned cold. Cold to the bone. She had nothing. The warmth was

gone. The Gift was gone. All she had was emptiness. She was nothing. She felt her eyes well up,

but she couldn‘t remember why. Didn‘t know what she was doing here anymore.

The Raven Bearer placed a hand on the head of the person next to Hirka, and whispered

―Ungi verja‖, which meant ―Protect the children‖ in old Mid-Ymslandish. She did the sign of the

Seer. Then she paused in front of Hirka. Hirka didn‘t look at her. She didn‘t dare lift her gaze

toward the Seer. She just stared into the robe. It was black as night.

―Embrace the Might,‖ the Raven Bearer whispered, as though Hirka had simply forgotten.

Hirka closed her eyes and felt a tear drop. She knew what was being asked of her, but she

couldn‘t.

―Embrace the Might, child,‖ the Raven Bearer whispered once more.

Hirka shook her head. ―I can‘t.‖

The words seemed heavy as stone. As soon as they were out, she felt lighter. She had said

it. She couldn‘t brace, and she had said it. It was as simple as that. Time stood still. Someone

coughed, but no one spoke.

Finally the Raven Bearer placed a hand on her head, and coldness spread through her

body. The tingle of the Might. A cool shadow of the Might that Rime possessed. This one was

less demanding. It sought around her body, but Hirka could hide from it. With Rime she was

naked.

Suddenly, the Might was cut off like with a knife. The hand on her head pulled away. The

Raven Bearer took two steps back. Hirka could hear a stifled sob. Almost like that of a child. The

other young people leaned forward to see what was happening.

―You are hollow…‖ The voice belonged to the Raven Bearer, but her rock solid patience

was gone. This was an old, frightened woman. Someone on the Council stood up. ―Hollow?‖

someone else muttered. Was it Ilume? Hirka thought as much.

―Empty! Earthblind!‖ the Raven Bearer gasped. One of the kneeling girls started crying.

Hirka opened her eyes and lifted her gaze toward the Raven Bearer. She looked both old and

young at the same time. Her nose was flat, and her eyes were deep-set. But they were large and

50

open. She had placed a hand in front of her mouth. Her little finger quivered. She stared at Hirka

as though she were blind. The Seer shifted anxiously on the staff.

Hirka wanted to explain. She reached her hand out toward the Seer. He had to understand.

Ilume? Ilume could explain. Ilume‘s face was as distorted in disbelief as everyone else‘s. Like

Father‘s eyes when he understood that he would never walk again. That‘s what she looked like,

Ilume. As if someone had told her she would never walk again. Several Council members had

stood up. She recognized one of them. The stranger. The one who had lied to her at the teahouse.

Now he bore the mark of the Council on his forehead.

―The Seer forbid! An Odin‘s child. A daughter of Embla.‖ The Raven Bearer clung to the

staff. ―The Rot! The Rot in Ymslanda!‖

―Eir!‖ Illume‘s voice. A sharp bark. A command to collect oneself. Someone took the

staff to help Eir. They led her away from Hirka. The words ―Odin‘s child‖ ran down the row of

young hopefuls like wildfire. The boy closest to her got up and backed away. The others didn‘t

hesitate to do the same.

―You don‘t understand…‖ Hirka began, but she couldn‘t hear her own voice. Utter chaos

had erupted. People had gotten up. Some of them rushed out of the hall. Some were yelling. She

heard the echo of words. Words that were as foreign to her as they were to everyone else in the

room. Daughter of Embla. Earthblind. Menskr. The Rot.

Hirka stood up. She could no longer feel her feet. It was like floating above the floor. She

stood there, looking out at the crowd. They were staring at her. Pointing. Yelling about her. There

were so many eyes. It was impossible to explain something to so many. If only she could explain

it to one of them…

Behind her she heard the black robess discussing loudly. One of them stifled sobs against

her palm. She thought it was the Raven Bearer. Eir. The world‘s most powerful and holy woman

was crying. Because she had touched Hirka. Touched the Rot. Sought around her body with the

Might.

Guards encircled the protrusion. Hirka laughed and shook her head. How foolish they

were. Didn‘t they understand that she had done nothing wrong? This was all a big

misunderstanding. She had never harmed anyone. She had saved lives. It was what she did. As

often as she could. Hirka drew a breath. The air tasted of a hundred different perfumes and oils.

This is a dream.

51

From up here, Hirka could see the entire floor that she had previously only seen fragments

of. Between running people, the picture was appearing in full. A star. An enormous star,

decorated with unbelievable images. Its points reached all the way to the walls. The work must

have taken a generation. It lay there, so eternal and quiet, while the world ended around it.

The others had run down from the protrusion. A group of guards ascended the stairs on

either side. She thought they were running. It was hard to tell. Everything happened so

exceptionally slowly. Their breastplates shone. Their swords were drawn. Their eyes flickered

between her and the Council. All they needed was the order to kill.

Hirka felt her feet give way beneath her. She fell. She fell town from the roof at Ravnhov

while she stared at the night-black figure with the knife. She fell into Alldjup, with the weight of

Vetle on her back. Someone grabbed her and pulled her backwards. They didn‘t need to pull. She

didn‘t mind coming along. But first she had to see Rime. Hirka tore away and ran out on the

protrusion once more. People screamed and moved to the back of the hall, as though she was

about to brace them to death.

Rime!

He stood on the floor below, helmet in hand. His white hair spread across his shoulders.

His wolf eyes stared up at her, paralyzed by shock. Perhaps he thought about all the times he‘d

touched her. Touched the Rot. Sylja spotted him, and grabbed his arm, as if it would save her

from this terrible beast on the protrusion. This animal. The Odin‘s child.

He didn‘t react. He just stood there, with his helmet in his hand, like on a battlefield. Her

eyes found his.

One mark for you if you pull me up.

She felt a violent blow to her back. The pain radiated to her fingers and she fell forward,

knees first. She never hit the floor. Someone caught her and she was pulled back again. She was

being held by iron claws. Guards with gauntlets of cold steel. She saw a red door shut before her,

and everything went from chaos to utter silence.

52

The Voice

Urd ran into the nearest bathroom, and chased two young men out of there. Servants who

were there to clean, but who wasted time by going at it like dogs. They disappeared, shirts

flapping behind them.

How much time did he have? No time. No time at all. All he had were the short moments

while the Council members ran around like headless chickens out there. He could hear the

rattling of chainmail in the corridors. Guards from half of Eisvaldr were on their way to the Rite

Hall, as if they could make a difference in the chaos. Ilume had ordered people to stay out and for

the hall to remain shut, while Garm had declared that no one could leave the room. The guards

had been at a loss. Sigra was likely on her way down the shafts to execute the girl already, like a

typical Kleiv. Eir, on the other hand, had completely lost her tongue. She had just sat there like in

Stilla, staring, while the world ended around her.

He had been so close. He had touched the girl at the teahouse. Could have put his hands

around her neck right there and then, just on the suspicion. Now it had been confirmed. She was

exactly what he had feared that she was.

Urd kneeled on the blue tiles in front of the pool, and tore the collar open. His hands were

shaking, but he managed to fumble Damayantis‘ bottle out from inside his robe. He swallowed

the last remaining swig of raven blood. It wasn‘t much, but it should do. It felt like all the blood

in his body rushed to his throat. First an intense, warm burn. Then the pain. He screamed into his

own hand. The blood poured between his fingers and trickled into the water in front of him.

His throat began moving. He could feel the raven beak open and close. Wounds were torn

open again. Wounds that would never heal. Wounds that were rotting. Imagine that he had once

believed there would be salvation. He laughed. A choked, gurgling sound that made him feel

sick. He became completely overwhelmed by an odor he knew all too well. Nauseous, metallic.

Then came the Voice. Half outside and half inside him. As though it were his own.

THIS HAD BETTER BE IMPORTANT, VANFARINN.

The voice was hollow and metallic. The way he spoke was always slow. Painfully slow.

He knew that every word tore at his throat. Urd felt the hairs on his arms on end. The body‘s

natural resistance that always had to be defeated.

53

―I have found her! I have found the gift! The stone offering! She is here. Not just here in

Ymslanda, she is here. In the Rite Hall!‖ A moment of silence. Then came the conclusion.

YOU ARE WRONG.

In the middle of the pain and the fear, Urd felt a spark of satisfaction. The Voice was not

infallible. He knew little enough to be shocked, like they had all been. Urd clung to the frail sense

of confidence.

―I swear. She is ripe for the Rite, tailless and earthblind. I haven‘t just seen her; I‘ve

shaken her hand! She is real and she is here!‖ Urd gasped for air. If anyone came in and found

him like this, on his knees with his throat torn apart, up to his elbows in blood… But he had no

choice. He had to know what to do. Now. Before the Council could pull itself back together.

The Voice did not respond immediately. The pause should have been pure enjoyment, but

the wait was unbearable. The water gurgled through the pipes to and from the pool. Light danced

across the blue walls. Maliciously flirtatious; like a dare to come closer. To look. Urd leaned over

the edge and stared at his own reflection. He winced. It had gotten worse. Again. His throat was

deathly pale, with swellings that were yellowy green, like on a beaten woman. Blood dripped

from a gaping hole at the raven beak, which went straight through his throat. You could see it in

there, if you really looked. He never did, despite having lived with it half his life.

ISOLATE HER! BEFORE ANYONE UNDERSTANDS.

Urd squeezed his eyes shut. This was what he had feared. But holding back was no use.

―They know. They all know. The Raven Bearer put a hand on her. She knows what she is.

Everyone knows what she is! The Rite Hall is full of people, and the girl has been thrown down

the shafts. I tried to kill her. I sent Hassin, but she had already—―

KILL?!

Urd winced. He coughed, spitting blood.

WE HAVE SUCCEEDED BECAUSE SHE IS ALIVE! THE RAVEN RINGS LIVE AND

DIE WITH HER! YOU HAVE ONLY ONE TASK, VANFARINN. YOU ARE TO GUARD HER

LIFE WITH YOUR OWN UNTIL YOU HEAR FROM ME.

Urd put his hands over his head and huddled together. It was an impossible task. The

Council would react immediately and irrationally. They would kill her. If nothing else, then out

of fear for the blind.

54

The Voice retreated. The freedom was a blessing to the body. His throat closed up. His

muscles let go. Urd stayed slumped over the edge of the pool, waiting for the strength to get up.

The pain worsened with each time. All was lost; he couldn‘t pretend otherwise. Had he been like

everyone else, the signs would have been wasted. But he was better than them. More alert.

Always thought several steps ahead.

The girl was here. She was never supposed to be here, and certainly not alive. But the

Voice knew. Damayanti knew.

The Raven Rings live and die with her.

Urd had been lied to. Betrayed. And for how long? Since he was given the chair? Or

always? The certainty grew to rage. Obvious. Painful. He fought his instincts. Most of all he

wanted to lie down on his side and ignore all sounds. Find strength again. Peace. Think back and

see everything in this new light.

But he had work to do. He had to find the Council. They were likely gathered in the dome

already. Urd found the Might and got to his feet. He washed his hands and throat. He closed the

collar and checked that his clothes were clean. The blood was slowly thinned by water. It flowed

through the pipes and passed through the locks only to disappear into the gutters somewhere in

Eisvaldr.

55

SUMMARY / BRIDGE

Rime is shocked to learn what Hirka truly is. An Odin‘s Child. Human. The rot. But something

else is very wrong; he can feel it. He spies on a Council meeting, and learns just how deep their

betrayal runs. His ties to them and to his family are severed because of Hirka, who is now rotting

in the dungeons of Eisvaldr.

But someone saves her. Urd. Her savior frightens her more than being imprisoned, but she stills

accepts his help. Fortunately, he underestimates her. He claims he wants to save her life. Rescue

her from the Council. But in truth, he was involved in bringing her to this world as a child, and

now he wants to offer her to the deadborn, as a sacrifice. Feed her to the blind for his own gain.

She escapes him, with the unexpected help of a Kolkagga. When she learns that it is Rime, she is

crushed. She struggles to come to terms with his choice. He is a killer. She is a healer. Rime tells

her that the Council has ordered Kolkagga to hunt her down. He intends to prevent that from

happening, disobeying direct orders from the Council, making him too a lawless. Their only hope

is to disappear in the city of Mannfalla.

Hirka has learned that the ravener Ramoja is a traitor. A friend of Ravnhov. They take refuge

there, knowing what little hope they have left. Then Rime connects the dots, and understands

what has kept the Council in power for a millennium: They are confining the Might in the people,

and they no longer involve the Seer in their actions.

In the next scene, Hirka and Rime have decided to break into Eisvaldr to confront the Seer

himself, their own God, hoping for answers.

56

The Seer

Eisvaldr was founded on compromise. The city at the end of the city was the house of the

Seer, an open place for prayer and work. Everyone‘s city. At the same time, it was meant to

protect the twelve families and the secrets they guarded. The Council‘s city. Fortress and public

square in an unlikely embrace. Tonight, that was an advantage.

The first part—the wall itself—was no hindrance. People came and went as they pleased

through the archways. Guards patrolled from either side, met in the middle, and stood there,

exchanging a few words before moving on. They stopped no one, and neither would they

question people about their business during the night.

The night was the time of the most pitiful souls. The desperate and the sleepless. They

arrived with their hoods pulled down over their heads. Alone, or propped up by a companion.

They followed the slabs of stone that shone all the way to the walls of the hall. There, they fell to

their knees with their hands against the stone, or they pinned their prayer strips to the wooden

boards, along with tens of thousands of others. All of them were equally unreadable in the dark.

The walls of the hall encircled the Rite Hall and the remainder of Eisvaldr with all its towers and

archways. It was the height of several men, and was heavily guarded. For that reason, it was also

not an option for Hirka and Rime.

Hirka felt like a bowstring. Tense. Awaiting release. Rime looked behind him to see if she

was still keeping up. They struggled up the hill on the east side. Much higher up than she had

been the night that Urd had come to get her. It was steep. Hirka held onto branches and pulled

herself up.

The plan was to follow the hillcrest toward Blindból, and make it to the red dome from

the inside of the wall. They walked in silence. Kolkagga was still searching for them. Rime

stopped in front of her. At first she thought he was waiting because she was slow, but then she

realized with great relief that they had reached the top. Hirka came to a halt and looked into

Blindból for the first time. The place no one sought out. They wouldn‘t if it had been legal either.

The place was a gate to prehistoric times. No roads. No people. But it wasn‘t the wildness that

kept people away. Blindból was where the blind had once come from. Cursed mountains.

57

Forbidden mountains. They stretched toward the moon. Hundreds of them. Larger than people.

Larger than old gods. So big that her whole life would shrink to nothing if she kept going.

―What‘s out there? Are the blind there?‖

―No,‖ Rime whispered. ―Only the mountains. And Kolkagga.‖

Hirka looked at him, puzzled. He smiled with moonlight in his gray eyes. ―It‘s where we

live and train. Kolkagga lives in Blindból.‖

Of course. There could hardly be a more perfect place to keep an invisible army than

where no one else dared set foot. Clouds rolled across the sky. There would be a storm tonight.

Rime grabbed her arm, and pulled her in a different direction. Downward again. They

arrived at a bare protrusion that plunged down into the gardens of Eisvaldr. Hirka swallowed.

They were on the inside. It looked different than she had expected, not that she was sure what

she‘d imagined. Eisvaldr was everything that was between ghostly Blindból and the people of

Mannfalla. The valley around the back should have been… deserted. Something scary.

Something indicating that this was the battlefield where the Seer had defeated the blind a

thousand years ago. But this was no battlefield. The area behind the hall complex and quite a

ways into the valley was a swaying blanket of tea bushes and herb gardens. Paths and stairs made

of white stone stretched into the night.

At an angle beneath her, she saw the contours of doors, carved right into the side of the

mountain. The moon outlined nails, and Hirka recognized them with a shiver. The doors to the

shafts. Where the prisoners were kept. The cluster of towers close-by must be where she had been

interrogated. The place where they had stabbed her back. Dragged her to her knees, blindfolded,

and for no other sin than having been born. Hirka felt her back burn, and her courage failed. The

power that was concentrated here wasn‘t accountable to anyone. They could treat her however

they wanted. And if she were caught, they wouldn‘t hesitate.

What if the Seer already knew? He had been one of the blind. Someone who had taken the

form of a raven and turned his back on his own to save yms kin from destruction. What if He had

changed his mind after a thousand years? What if he now wanted the blind back? An invasion…

Hirka quickly buried the thought. It only made her dizzy. For what could one do if the gods had

evil intentions?

58

Rime had kept walking along the protrusion. She picked up the pace and caught up with

him. ―My backpack,‖ she whispered. He looked at her, puzzled, and put his ear closer. ―My

backpack! They took my things. They‘re in there, in the guardroom. In the shafts.‖

Rime looked at her in disbelief. It took a while before he posed the question. ―So?‖

―They‘re my things! The herbs. The teas. All I have left from my father.‖

His gaze left no room for interpretation. Her things were lost. Anything else was both

ridiculous and out of the question. Hirka chewed on her bottom lip. That backpack was

everything she owned. Everything she was. And they had taken it from her! Thrown it into a

closet. But all that stood between her and the backpack were listless guards, half asleep. She

continued, more loudly.

―It looks like a green sausage, with a carrying strap. There are sea shells tied to the string

on the top, and…‖

―Forget it!‖

―But it‘s right down there!‖

―Well then. You go get it,‖ he said.

―I‘m not the one who‘s Kolkagga,‖ she mumbled. ―I‘m not the one who‘s a mysterious

warrior from the shadows with great powers that—―

―Wait here, you nightmare.‖

Hirka stared at his back as it disappeared into the darkness. She sat down on her knees and

looked over the edge of the cliff, but couldn‘t see him. The wind rustled the trees behind her, and

she suddenly realized what she had done. She had sent away the only protection she had against

the other Kolkagga. The ones who were still searching for her.

She crawled into the trees and tried to sink into the forest floor. As though it would help if

they came. And why wouldn‘t they come? They lived there, in the mountains. Practiced there.

She sat there, tasting the thought until it became unbearable. She was about to call for Rime when

her backpack fell to the ground in front of her. Hirka squeezed it against her chest. She had been

reunited with a piece of herself. Something they had taken from her. It wasn‘t much, but it was

hers.

She started fiddling with the opening to check that everything was still there, but that

seemed to push Rime‘s patience too far. He hoisted her to her feet and pulled her back out toward

the protrusion. Hirka threw on the backpack while he pointed to a white dome below them. From

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there he pointed to a tower with stairs on the outside, and finally to the red dome. Mother‘s

breast. The goal of the night.

It was an idiotic plan. He pictured that they would jump between tower and domes like

they had wings. Hirka laughed nervously. It was a long way down. A dizzyingly long way. She

had borrowed a wool jacket from the raveners that she pulled tight around herself. Rime looked at

her. She nodded. She owed him for the backpack. But poor him if he had exaggerated his Might.

She would beat him silly. Kolkagga or no Kolkagga.

He embraced her. Hirka locked her arms around his neck and accepted the Might. It was

stronger than before. It poured through her body, enhancing everything. The distance between her

heart and her lungs grew. She had room for more air. Could reach farther, see more, hear

everything. Details became visible in the dark. The air became crisp, like dry leaves. Like it fell

apart and tried to put itself back together. Then it thickened around them, smelling of burned soil.

Ashes and fire.

They jumped.

The Might couldn‘t stop the panic. It only gave her time and space to examine the feeling

of falling. She could pick the fear apart. Find its individual parts and put them back together

again until it was recognizable as panic, but now in a different way. Rime was a part of her, but

also something foreign. A weight and a support. He was the earth and the sky who used her to

quench his thirst. He became greedier. It was lovely at first; like being relieved of all

responsibility. But then it turned frightening. She wanted to yell for him to stop, but then she felt

the Might hit the surface and they slowed down. They rotated slowly a couple of times. The white

dome turned into a living thing that rejected them, allowing them to land in a controlled fashion.

Unharmed.

The Might let go of her, and she held on so she wouldn‘t fall down from the roof. Her

heart pumped through her body as though she had just run all the way from the city walls. She

breathed. She was alive. And it was glorious!

Rime was ready to jump down on the bridge that connected the towers together. His eyes

sparkled. Two rings of light around dark wells. Wild. Hungry for the Might. He grabbed her hand

and they flung themselves off. Rime pulled the Might through her. The air moved around them,

tugged on them. Explored them while they were flying, as though it weren‘t quite sure whether

60

they were birds or people. Then they hit the bridge. Hirka toppled over and scratched her knee on

a broken tile, but it didn‘t hurt. She was too high up to feel pain. She grabbed Rime.

―I thought it was a fairytale! I thought only the gods could feel this way!‖ she said, as

loudly as she dared.

―Perhaps we are gods.‖ He dragged her across the bridge, and she could hear him

laughing. His fingers were intertwined with hers. He was so strong, and he knew where they were

going. He didn‘t let go of her until they reached the tower with the stairs on the outside. It had no

windows. A warning tower. From here the gongs sounded every hour of the day. They ran up the

stairs, all the way to the top. Hirka tried to hide that she was out of breath, but there was no need.

Rime didn‘t see her anyway. He stood at the top step and looked out at the red dome. It was the

same height as them now. And far away. Very far away.

It wasn‘t going to work. They were stuck. Perhaps they couldn‘t get back either. She sent

Rime a questioning look. She wanted confirmation that she was right. That they had to turn back.

Abort. Rime stood there, measuring the bottomless pit with his eyes for a while. His lower jaw

moved, like he was chewing on the thought. He turned around, jumped up and grabbed hold of

the edge of the roof above them. The lower roofing tiles had an indentation that caught rainwater.

It was all he needed to pull himself up. It looked unreasonably easy. He reached down for Hirka,

and she stared at him.

She understood what he was doing. What he was thinking. He needed more height to

reach the red dome. Rime wasn‘t going to turn back. He was really going to do this. He was

crazy… Hirka grabbed his hand anyway. She readied herself and let him pull her onto the roof.

All of Mannfalla lay before her. Blindból behind her. Historical places. Mystical places. She had

never wished to come to Eisvaldr. Not like Sylja and so many others had wished for it. Still, here

she was. To break in to a seer she no longer trusted. Why?

Her life wouldn‘t be worth more by praying on her knees before the Raven. Even so, she

would throw herself off this roof, perhaps to her death, along with the person who was sent to

take her life. A Kolkagga. A son of the Council who had sentenced her to death. Why?

The wind tugged at her body. The air seemed thinner. All of a sudden, she felt light as a

feather. The wind could breathe her off this roof at any moment. She felt faint and closed her

eyes, but instantly opened them again, because it only got worse. Coldness spread from within

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and out into her fingertips. She couldn‘t get anywhere, neither up nor down. She stood, frozen on

the spot. What was she supposed to do? What was she doing here?

She stared at Rime. She knew. She knew with brutal certainty what she was doing here.

How long had she loved him? She begged him for help, without being able to say a word. They

were so unbelievably high up. He was so unbelievably much bigger than her. He was Rime An-

Elderin, and she had no business being here.

―Sit down,‖ Rime whispered, and helped her down onto the roof. He crouched in front of

her and asked her to breathe with her stomach. Slowly. Even more slowly. His voice became one

with the wind, but she heard what he said.

―It‘s high. It‘s a perfectly normal reaction. Just relax. We‘re safe. I know what I‘m doing,

Hirka. We can do this. Nothing can harm you.‖

She frantically shook her head, and swallowed. He didn‘t understand.

―Why can nothing harm you, Hirka?‖

She managed a smile. ―Because I‘m already dead?‖

She took a couple of deep breaths. A couple more. It was just a fit. She had started

thinking about completely different things. Things she must never think about. She was the rot.

He wasn‘t for her. Could never be for her. She stood up. The red dome attracted her gaze. It

would be suicide. But what did it hurt to take chances, when she could never have what she

wanted anyway? She ran a hand across her face.

―You look like your father when you do that,‖ he smiled. Hirka gave a short laugh. Could

one look like a father who wasn‘t a father? Rime put his hands around her face. ―I know I can do

this, Hirka. I feel it in my entire body. We can‘t quit now. If you do this, you do it for truth. For

justice.‖

No. I do it for you.

But she merely nodded in response. Rime asked her to cling to his back, and lock her arms

around his chest. He was going to carry her like a backpack. He embraced her with the Might,

made the small run-up that the roof would allow, and threw the pair of them over the edge.

There were two parts to the terror. She could crash to the ground and have her body

crushed. Or she could stay here, close to Rime, and be crushed on the inside. And he thought he

knew what he was doing …

62

It went fast. She felt the wind and Rime‘s hair lash across her face. And yet time passed

so slowly that she could have counted all the lights in the dark below her if she had wanted. His

Might rushed through her. Cleansed her. Blew the dust from every corner of her body. It was

difficult to receive. And she had places in her heart she wanted to hide. It was becoming

increasingly harder to keep secrets from the Might. It became stronger than the wind. A waterfall

through her veins. She could feel every drop of blood in the unstoppable force that had to enter

and leave her.

Emotions that were not her own welled up inside her. Rime‘s willpower and strength. His

doubt. Doubt? What did he doubt? Pain cut through her head. Too much. It was too much! She

could open up to more, but it was too dangerous. It would make her naked. Expose everything

she was. Everything she felt. They were going to crash.

Rime threw himself toward the dome with all his strength. His shoulder blades separated

beneath her. His fingers grasped for the edge. The Might held its breath as they slammed against

the surface. Hirka gasped for air. Lost her grip. She slid down his body. The backpack weighed

her down. She fell. Her hands fumbled through thin air for something to latch onto. Rime grabbed

her forearm. There was a tug, and she hung on. Her shoulder burned. Her elbow burned.

She was hanging above Mannfalla. By the red dome. A hemisphere, the size of a

mountain behind Rime‘s face. He looked terrified. She was starting to slip out of his grasp, and

he tightened his grip around her wrist. Hirka swallowed.

―One mark for you if you pull me up.‖ She smiled to hide the fear in her own voice. A

moment passed, and then she saw that he remembered.

His eyes regained strength. He pulled her up. She tried to kick off from the wall to make it

easier. Finally she stood with her stomach against the curved roof and held on. She found her

footing and dared look down. The edge around the dome was narrower than her foot. It was a

ridiculously fine line. Rime smiled at her.

―Do you still think you can fly?‖

He had used those same words at Alldjup. He started to laugh. She smiled and tried to

shush him, but she was laughing too, so it was of little use. Laughing right now was in and of

itself so ridiculous that it took a while before they were able to stop.

―Of course I can! And I‘ve climbed before, lest you forget,‖ she managed to say.

―And fallen down just as much,‖ he responded.

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She wiped away tears and managed to stop herself from fully bursting into tears. She was

alive. ―Before the summer, I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was that I would be

sent home from the Rite after being told to return next year. Because I wasn‘t strong enough. It

was only two months ago that I was like everyone else.‖

―You were never like everyone else.‖

―At least I was of yms kin! A descendant. I was people!‖

―People are the worst. You might be better off being menskr.‖

He smiled. A wide smile that reached his eyes. Then he began crawling along the dome. It

was covered in tiles the size of thumbnails. They were placed close together, and were in every

shade of red. Crimson, copper red, blood red. In some places the red was faded, where the rain

had trickled down. Then she noticed a dark hole above. She felt around with her fingers. A

windowsill.

―Rime…‖

He stopped. Hirka pulled herself up to the windowsill, and Rime followed. There were

several tall windows all the way around the dome. The sill was wide enough to sit on. Rime

fished out his knife from its sheath and started picking at the edge of a piece of glass in the

window. There were hundreds of them. Put together in random patterns. It was completely dark

on the inside.

―Can‘t you break it?‖ Hirka whispered, even though they were an eternity away from the

walls of the hall and the guards who were unsuspectingly paroling down there.

―They can hear us.‖

―Who? They‘re sleeping like babies! And either way, all of Mannfalla will know that

we‘re here before the night is over.‖

Rime kept picking. He shifted impatiently. ―Can‘t you use the Might?‖ Rime stopped

picking. He looked at her as though she had suggested wishing the window away. But then he

grabbed her hand. The Might came like an old friend this time. She felt Rime pull it through her

and out of his own fingertips. She became his hand. His hand became the knife. The knife

became the wrought iron. They became one. She could change the world if she wanted to, right

now. The warmth surged through her body, picked the iron apart and put it back together again.

Rime lifted it with his knife. The iron slumped over the blade like a cooked eel. A couple of

yellowed pieces of glass popped out, free after a life in the frame. Rime broke the Might.

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Hirka grinned while he picked up a piece of glass and turned it over in his hand as though

he had never seen anything like it before. ―You didn‘t know it was possible, did you?‖

―I had an inkling,‖ he lied.

Hirka‘s hands were slimmer, allowing her to get in where they had removed the glass, and

undo the clasp on the inside so that they could finally climb inside the Council Hall. Hirka forgot

to be afraid that someone might be there. She was just grateful to put her feet on a floor. To be

surrounded by walls again.

The room was impressive. The inside of the dome had a richly decorated ceiling, but it

was impossible to make out the motifs. They were too high up, shrouded in darkness. A row of

columns ran along the outer wall. In the middle of the room, she saw the contours of the table

with the twelve chairs around it. She walked over to them. It was impossible not to. She placed

her hand on the back of one of the chairs. What if Father could see her now? Or Sylja. How many

people outside the Council had seen this room? Goosebumps covered the skin on her arms.

Something glinted, and she noticed the golden names engraved in the table. Her fingers ran

across the letters.

An-Elderin.

―This was where you were meant to sit…‖ Hirka looked at him. He suddenly seemed

much larger than before. His face was in shadow. It was impossible to see whether he was

nodding or not. ―Do you think they would‘ve added ‗Tailless‘ and brought in an extra chair?‖

Rime didn‘t laugh at the joke.

―You think it looks like they‘re ready for fresh blood?‖

She looked at the names that ran around the table.

Kobb, An-Elderin, An-Sarin, Taid, Saurpassarid, Kleiv, Vanfarinn, Darkdaggar, Jekense,

Fell, Jakinnin, Gleymdheim.

They had been there from time immemorial. They were names everyone knew. She

understood what he meant. You didn‘t forge names in gold that weren‘t meant to be there. It used

to be so easy to understand. These were old families. Families that could interpret the Seer. Blue

blood in their veins. Strong in the Might. It was only natural that few could challenge them. Now

she wasn‘t so sure anymore. If Rime was right, many might have been able to, but had been

prevented from it as early as during the Rite.

―Come.‖

65

Rime had obviously found the energy for the task. He carefully opened the only door in

the room, and they were in a dark corridor with a vaulted ceiling. Rime led them down a staircase

and into a sort of indoor garden. He paused behind a row of trees and pulled her close. He

shushed her before she could ask. A few moments passed, and then a guard walked through the

corridor with heavy steps. He reached the end, turned around and walked back again. She was

glad Rime had grown up here. They continued lurking until they reached a broader corridor with

a familiar door at the end. Red. Shiny. She had been here before. Uneasiness filled her body. She

wanted to turn back. This was not a good place to be.

She reached out her arm to stop Rime, but he was too far ahead of her. She had no choice

but to follow him through the door and out. Out into the Rite Hall. She stood on the platform

above a roaring crowd, but this time no one was here. The voices were an echo. The hall was

empty and colorless in the dark. Right where she was standing, she had been dragged off like an

animal about to be slaughtered. A beast. The Rot. She had to breathe with her stomach. Like

Rime had taught her.

Remember that you were supposed to be dead by now.

They had dragged her off, and ever since then they had wanted to kill her. But here she

was. In their inner sanctum. Hirka felt a smile on her lips. They had treated her like a beast. Like

a blind. But they didn‘t know what Odin‘s children were capable of. She hadn‘t known either.

Until now.

She turned toward Rime. He stood in front of the double doors that the Council had used

during the Rite. There were no door handles, but he put his palms against them and gave a gentle

push. Then he took a step back. Hirka heard three mechanical clicks in the wall, and the doors

opened outward on their own.

The wind came in. Blew past them and into the hall. It howled along the curved walls

behind them. In front of them was a small bridge with tall spires on either side. The bridge that

would take them to the Seer‘s tower. It was how she remembered it. The tower that floated, with

no other support than the frail bridge. The tower that displayed His inconceivable powers. Some

said He held it up with the Might. Others said he didn‘t even need to do that. The Might flowed

so freely around Him that it took its own shape. He was the Might.

Rime hesitated in the doorway. He stared at the floating, black crag, decorated with pillars

of gold. Pillars that never reached the ground. It was as if a mountain had fallen to earth, but

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never made it. It had just decided to stay afloat, until people decided to dress it in gold and glass

and make it a Seer Hall. No other halls Hirka had seen resembled this. The pillars and the yellow

glass between them reminded her of a lamp. An incredibly large lamp. A floating light.

Rime put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn‘t think it was to comfort her. More to make

sure she was still there. This was, after all, his world. Not hers. He might have grown up here, but

never crossed this bridge. No one but the Council had crossed it. Perhaps that was why he had

become Kolkagga? Because facing Him was too scary?

I am not afraid.

And she meant it.

She took the first step, and they crossed the bridge. The whole way, she kept waiting for

something to happen. That the bridge would start shaking until they fell off. That the tower would

light up. Talk to them. An all-encompassing voice that wanted to know what they were doing

there. But nothing happened. They came closer and closer. Between the pillars were the tallest

windows she had ever seen. Drop-shaped pieces of glass, the color of fire, put together in a

never-ending fashion, until they were as tall as twenty men. The doors were a rough landscape of

gold. This must be the birthplace of all wealth. A house built for the sun. For Him.

Hirka placed her hands against the doors and gave them a push. Here too she expected

something grand to happen, but the doors merely opened, just like the others. Like the Seer was

waiting for them. Hirka turned to Rime, smiled, and went inside.

Hlosnian’s tree!

The room they entered was as large as one could expect, but nothing could have prepared

her for the tree. The Seer‘s tree. It was nothing like a normal tree. It grew in the middle of the

floor, wound upward and branched off throughout the entire room, like whipped ink. Black as

night. Shiny. Was it stone? Or burned glass? Was it both? She stared up, and it seemed to change

character as she walked around it. A storm, frozen in thin air. Randomly, but always in the same

direction.

She remembered the hint of bitterness in the stonemason‘s eyes. The despair he felt for

not being able to create anything similar. Hirka understood. She stared up at the ceiling. The

twisted trunk. The impossibly thin branches that ran along the outer edges of the room. Higher

and higher. The Seer help them, every branch. And there were thousands. No one could carve this

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from stone. It was impossible. What had Hlosnian said? This was the Might like it used to be. Old

powers. What more had he said?

You shouldn’t have been here.

She had thought he meant that she shouldn‘t have been in his house. That he was busy

with work. With the sculptures. But perhaps he had meant something entirely different. Had

Hlosnian seen that she had come here, through stone? Hirka walked over to the tree. Through the

corner of her eye, she saw Rime raise his arm as if to stop her, but she couldn‘t stop. She let her

hands run over the trunk. The stone was cold and soothing. It whispered to her. Called out. She

remembered the tree at home. The one she had sat in and counted leaves in anger, until Father

came and cut it down. She began to climb.

―Hirka!‖

She turned and looked down at Rime. He could never have done what she was doing right

now, she gathered as much. He had come here, but no further. To him, the Seer was too strong.

Too holy to confront. So the task fell on her. Wasn‘t that why they had come?

―How else will you meet Him?‖ she said, and kept climbing. It felt like climbing cold

glass. She looked down at Rime once more. ―Besides, I‘m already dead.‖ But she no longer

thought that the Seer wished her dead. She reached the center of the tree. The place where the

trunk branched out in every direction. The place where He lived. She pulled her body up over the

edge and down into the hollow in the middle.

It was empty.

Hirka realized that she wasn‘t surprised. A part of her had never thought she would see

Him. Had they come all this way for nothing? Had He abandoned the tower? Abandoned his own

tree? Rime had said that the Council met without Him. Had He left? Was He ill? Dead? Had they

moved Him? Or…

Hirka leaned over the edge and stared down at Rime, who sat on his knees looking up at

her.

―He‘s not here.‖

Rime stood up. She felt like she had to repeat it, so she threw her arms out and spoke

louder.

―He‘s not here!‖

―Where… Where is He?‖

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It was a foolish question, but there was no need for her to point that out. She shrugged.

―Of course He is here,‖ said Rime, and began wandering around the room, searching,

although there was nothing else there. Only a door, straight across from the one they had entered

through. Hirka climbed back down. The uneasiness had returned. It was stronger. She had to do

something, but there was nothing to do. This uneasiness wasn‘t going away. It wasn‘t fear. It was

certainty. Like the one she had had on the roof of the stair tower. When you realize something

you should have known all along. It was a feeling of having seen something that was so horrible

that you wished you had never seen it. Like an open wound to the bone, or a stillbirth. An intense

need to turn back time. To go no further.

―Rime…‖

―He is here.‖ Rime grabbed a staff leaning against the wall. The Raven Bearer‘s staff. It

was placed against a table with a black lacquer finish. There were a couple of small bottles and a

bowl on the table. Hirka knew what it was before she caught the scent. She had wished it were

something else, but it wasn‘t.

―Rime…‖

―He is here!‖ Rime flung the staff away and threw open the door. The room inside was

like a cave, chiseled from the rock. It was filled with ravens. Perhaps fifty of them. They had

slept and began flitting restlessly about when the door opened. They sat on beams that ran across

the room at various heights. Along the walls were the well-known shelves of paper and letter

casings. A raven house. A perfectly ordinary raven house.

―Where is He? Which one of them is He?‖ He looked at her, but she had no answer.

Didn‘t want to answer. He shouted into the room. ―Where are you?!‖

The ravens cawed louder. Some of them moved anxiously to another beam. Hirka felt a

cold draft from what had to be hatches ajar in the darkness above them.

―WHERE ARE YOU?!‖

Rime shouted. The ravens cawed. Several of them flew about the room before settling

higher up. None of them responded. None of them came to Rime. They were just ravens. Nothing

else. Hirka clenched her teeth in agony over what Rime wasn‘t capable of grasping. He walked

back to the tree, while he talked to himself.

―He must be here. He is here. What have they done to Him?‖ He repeated it over and over

again. Hirka watched him.

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―Rime…‖ She picked up the bowl from the table. ―Rime, this is dream‘s robe.‖ He looked

at her, confused. ―Dream‘s robe. A plant. It can knock people out for hours at a time. If a sword

cut your thigh and you were being stitched up, they would give you dream‘s robe first. Not in

Riverrest, because it‘s costly, but here nothing is too expensive. This was what Urd tried to give

me when—―

―What does that have to do with anything?‖ The despair in his voice settled like a knot in

her stomach. Out on the red dome, she had feared she would‘t be able to handle tonight. But

tonight wasn‘t hers. It was his.

―In small doses, it makes people listless. Drowsy. They can sit passively and motionless

for a long time. People. Or ravens.‖ She carefully took a step closer to him. ―Perfectly ordinary

ravens, Rime.‖

He understood. He knew. All she could do, was watch the ground vanish beneath his feet.

She thought he was going to fall, but he didn‘t. He looked past her. Past her and into himself. His

gaze turned glassy. Disappeared. Suddenly he unsheathed his sword.

He can’t handle it!

But then she heard it too. Footsteps outside on the bridge. Someone who paused at the

sight of the open doors, but only for a brief moment. They could tell from the footsteps that it

wasn‘t the guards. This was a single figure. Rime raised his sword, and pushed Hirka behind him.

She slipped into the ravenry and hid behind the door. Through the crack, she caught a glimpse of

Rime. He wasn‘t even trying to hide. What if Urd was coming? She wanted to call out to him, but

it was too late. The figure came in from the bridge.

―You just couldn‘t let me keep you, not in any way?‖

Not even Ilume‘s voice could fill this room. No signs of surprise could be heard. She

didn‘t ask how he‘d gotten in or what he was doing there. It almost seemed like she had been

expecting it. Perhaps when she had seen the open doors? Or perhaps her whole life.

Her pale robe hung straight down her body, as if she had no shape. A statue of stone.

Rime stood with his hands out to the side. His sword was a morbid continuation of one of his

arms. His back was crooked and he bared his teeth. A wolf and a statue of stone. What could an

animal to against a mountain?

―What are you doing here?‖ he hissed.

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It wasn‘t until now that Hirka was sure that Rime acknowledged the truth. What he was

really asking was what she was doing in Eisvaldr, on the Council, when there was no reason to be

here. What was she doing here when there was no Seer? Ilume held out a scroll.

―Sending a letter. It‘s what you do in a ravenry.‖ She lit the torches on either side of the

door, and continued in to the ravens. Hirka pressed her body against the wall to remain unseen.

Ilume calmly placed the letter in a leg casing that she attached at the top of a raven‘s leg. ―And if

you want to do something unseen, the night is the best time to do it. But apparently you already

know this,‖ she said. Then she whispered something in raven tongue. The black bird took to its

wings and disappeared up into the darkness toward the hatches.

Ilume looked in its direction for a while, sighed deeply and left the ravenry. Hirka could

see Rime in front of the black tree. The torches made the branches shine like fire behind him. His

eyes flickered. He looked bursting with words, yet unable to get any of them out. Hirka

understood. Here he was, in the Seer‘s tower, before His throne, and He simply wasn‘t here. And

Ilume didn‘t seem worried, or eager to explain. She just stood before him in her stone statue

fashion.

―So you‘re going to honor me with your presence?‖ Rime snarled.

Hirka desperately wanted to go to him. His pain hurt her. He had so much to say to his

mother‘s mother, and he didn‘t know where to begin. ―You are accepting that I‘m here? And you

are bothering to open your mouth? We must be making history here! Like so many times before.

Let‘s see… The story about my parents. Now, THAT‘S a story!‖

Rime was unrecognizable. Hissing. ―Lies! They wanted to flee, Ilume! And they died.

How did they die, Ilume-madra? Will you honor me with an answer, or should a assume that I‘m

right?‖

Ilume closed her eyes for a moment. ―Will you accept anything but the answer you think

you already have?‖

―I doubt it, grandmother, I can‘t come up with any reason to believe.‖

―Very few can. That‘s why we need the Seer.‖

―He doesn‘t exist!‖

―THAT DOESN‘T MAKE HIM ANY LESS IMPORTANT!‖

It was the first time Hirka had seen Ilume step out of her stone statue. She was about to

unravel, just like her grandson.

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―You are unbelievable! You are all unbelievable!‖ Rime put a hand to his head and began

pacing. ―You uphold this Seer that… that never existed. And you behave like I’m blasphemous

when I point it out! You are lying! Lying to the world. You say there‘s salvation when there‘s

just… this!‖

―Then you have at least understood why.‖

―Why?! So that you can cling to a rotten power you never had. Like scavengers! And to

keep others from taking part, you kill the Might in them before they turn sixteen!‖

Even though she was some distance off, Hirka could see that Ilume was surprised that

Rime knew. It was knowledge that was impossible to obtain. No one would have told him, and no

one would have written it down. But then he wouldn‘t have known it without the help of an

Odin‘s child with a death sentence. A tailless who could feel the Might in others.

―You are killing the Might! Even though you know that the blind are raging, and that the

Might could be the only thing people have to protect themselves! But I guess it‘s been

generations since anyone could use it for anything at all. What‘s the reason for that, Ilume?

What? Haven‘t you been complaining that no one has been born in ages with as much as a sign of

strength in the Might? You‘ve eradicated the Might and you complain that it‘s gone! You take…‖

Rime staggered and put his sword in the opposite hand. ―You take something that doesn‘t belong

to you. Something no one can own. Because it‘s the only thing that justifies why the twelve

families are still sitting around the table. Around… Him!‖

Rime laughed—a frightening laugh—while he pointed to the center of the empty tree.

―That‘s why Mother left you, wasn‘t it? She came to you for help. Seeking justice when Ramoja

was taken by force! And you said no. But Mother wouldn‘t let it lie. Wasn‘t that it? She wanted

to talk to the Seer herself. Like I wanted. She came here too. She knew it would cost her her life

to know that He wasn‘t here, so she fled.‖

All of Ilume‘s being had changed while Rime spoke. Now she had a sad smile on her face.

―Nothing I can say will make it better,‖ she said. ―Nothing will make you understand. Because

you have never seen things the way I see them. The world is different in your eyes. You know

that it is the Might that the blind desire. To limit the Might in the world keeps people safe. Giving

people a Seer is not a lie, but a gift. What else were they supposed to follow? They have followed

Him for a thousand years. Do we have the right to take Him away from people? I have paid

dearly for people to still have a Seer. More dearly than you know.‖

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Rime stared at her, wide-eyed. ―You‘re… you‘re proud?‖

―Rime…‖

―YOU‘RE PROUD?!‖

―The Seer has taught us that…‖

―THE SEER DIES TODAY!‖

Hirka could feel the Might emanate from Rime like rings in water. It hit her, and she

heard the ravens coo from enjoyment behind her. She had to stop Rime. He had raised his sword

and was running toward the tree, screaming. An injured wolf.

―RIME!‖

Hirka ran to them, but too late to stop the sword that rung against the stone. Everything

became quiet. The blade stuck, buried in the tree. Rime pulled it out and wanted to take another

blow. Then the trunk cracked. The crack creaked as it spread to all the branches. They fell to the

floor and shattered into dust against the patterned tiles. A black, razor-sharp rain descended on

them. Hirka squatted and used her arms to protect her head.

―Rime!‖

It was quiet again. Only the ravens shrieked from the room next door. Hirka lifted her

gaze and looked around. The tree was gone. A cracked stump was left. The floor was covered in

black stone. Rime stood with his head lowered. His chest rose with each breath. His sword hung

limply at his side. Ilume stared at Hirka. Her eyes were wider than usual. She had a strange smile

on her lips.

Something is wrong.

―Hirka?‖ Her voice was husky. Questioning. A drop of blood trickled from the corner of

her mouth. She was hurt! Hirka took a step toward her, but then Ilume‘s knees gave way and her

body fell to the side. Behind her was Urd.

Ilume landed in an impossible position, with her eyes fixed on Hirka. A knife protruded

from her back. ―Kol… kagga,‖ she gasped. Then the light disappeared from her eyes.

There was a madness in Urd‘s eyes that made Hirka stand perfectly still. She glanced at

Rime, but he hadn‘t raised his head. He had lost the leather straps around his ponytail. His white

hair dropped down and covered his face. She could see that he opened and closed his fingers

around the sword‘s hilt.

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Urd carefully took a step back toward the door. And another. Another. He started to laugh.

His laughter became a gurgle. He coughed, and touched the collar he wore around his neck. He

stared at Rime.

―And they say there‘s no Seer! You have just done the impossible. Broken in to the

holiest of holy places. Helped me get rid of the only opposition I have in Eisvaldr. Brought the

tailless right back into my hands, as if on command. And you‘ve exposed the one secret that

ensures they can never let you live. Blood didn‘t save your parents and it won‘t save you either.‖

Urd had made it to the doors. ―It‘s almost too easy. The son of a traitor in turn becomes a traitor.

With the Odin‘s child as an accomplice, he breaks in to the Seer in an attempt to kill Him. He

fails, but kills Ilume. I couldn‘t have asked for more than this. You are truly a Seer, Rime An-

Elderin!‖

Rime lifted his head. His eyes were narrow slits. ―You can‘t afford it,‖ he said, through

clenched teeth. ―You can‘t afford us telling them what we know about you, Urd. You can‘t afford

to let us capture.‖ Rime moved closer to him, extremely slowly, as if Urd was prey he didn‘t want

to scare off.

―Ah, it‘s like seeing myself, An-Elderin. I see it in your eyes. I thought the exact same

thing. It‘s like losing all hope, all inhibitions, isn‘t it? Right now you have no superior, and no

savior.‖ Urd spoke as though he was amused. He grabbed the doors. Rime ran toward him.

―Fight me! Kill me! You have no other choice!‖

―You are Kolkagga. Do you think I‘m an idiot?‖

Urd slipped out and the doors slammed shut. Rime banged his hands against them, but

they wouldn‘t budge. He frantically searched along the walls for a mechanism.

―Rime, it‘s too late!‖ Hirka heard Urd call for the guards on the other side of the door.

Distant cries gathered. Very soon they would be surrounded. ―Rime, listen to me!‖ She grabbed

hold of him. His eyes burned white with hatred. The top of his chest heaved for air. He looked at

her without seeing her. ―It‘s too late. They‘re on their way across the bridge. We have to get out

of here.‖

―Out? There is no out of here, Hirka. You won‘t find better swordmen and archers than

the guards in Eisvaldr. We are already dead.‖

―Not yet!‖ She put his face between her hands and looked up at him.

―Rime, you have to wake up. We‘re still alive!‖

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Rime closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked half dead. Exhausted. But

awake. His eyes rested on Ilume‘s motionless body. They heard way too many running feet on

the bridge out there. Metal shoes that hit the surface. Hirka pulled Rime into the ravens.

―We‘ll be picked down by arrows, Hirka…‖

―Not if they can‘t see us! Come on!‖ Hirka began to climb the beams up toward the

ceiling. Rime followed. The guards burst into the room outside, and they heard the crunching of

stone. Some slipped and swore. Somewhere she could hear Urd proclaiming what had happened.

The murder they had committed. He yelled that the Seer was safe, and that the lawless would

have to pay.

She climbed higher and higher with Rime close behind. The ravens cawed around them.

She was waiting for the right moment. It would work. It had to work. The guards forced their

way into the raven room, and she knew that the rain of arrows would come. She filled her lungs

and shouted at the top of her voice.

―ARKA! ARKA! ARKA!‖

She shouted like Kuro had when he was attacked by the grandeagle at Ravnhov. The

simple word had a life-saving effect. The ravens became completely unhinged. They screeched

like crazy and flew in circles around the room to chase an enemy that didn‘t exist.

Hirka glanced down. The guards were barely visible through the cloud of black wings.

Two arrows bounced off the wall below them, but no more were fired. All she heard was arguing

between the ravens‘ cries. Someone ordered the shooting to end. One didn‘t kill ravens without in

turn being killed. At least not in Eisvaldr. But surely this had to be an exception? Lawless people

were on the run.

The moral dilemma below them bought Hirka and Rime enough time to reach the hatches.

The draft came from across the room. The hatches closest to them were shut. Hirka sent a silent

thank you to the Seer for the fact that her night vision had always been good, but then she

remembered that He didn‘t exist. She loosened a clasp, but the hatch hadn‘t been used for a long

time. She had to kick it open before she was able to crawl out on the roof. Rime followed.

A series of arrows hit the ceiling beneath them. The moral dilemma had apparently been

solved. One of the arrows continued up the hatch, past them, and into the sky. She felt a stab in

her back. For a moment she thought she had been shot, but she felt no pain. She cast a glance

behind her. The arrow had hit her backpack. Rime pulled it out and stared at it.

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―Are you ready?‖ she asked.

Hirka stared at him, waiting for the Might. Rime shook his head, like a wet dog. Not to

refuse, but to come to his senses again. He sheathed his sword, put his arm around Hirka and

embraced the Might. Then they flung themselves off the roof and into the darkness.

76

Beyond Salvation

Blindból. You‘d be hard pressed to find a more fitting name. They had fumbled their way

through the darkness until Hirka had called a halt. She blamed being tired. Said they had to take

shelter before the storm set in. It was true enough, but really an excuse to get Rime to calm down.

He was the one raging. He was the one who had to find balance before they continued.

The night was loaded with the Might. Intense. Waiting. Hirka felt it in her entire body. A

tingling sensation beneath her skin. A rush in her veins. They sat some distance up the

mountainside on one of the many god fingers. Like they were shipwrecked, but hoping to remain

unseen. A fools‘s wish, because they had far to go. There was only one destination, now that

Eisvaldr wanted to chase them to the end of the world. Now that nothing could ever be the same.

They had to get to Ravnhov through Blindból.

Hirka knew that there was no other way out, but convincing Rime hadn‘t been easy. Five

days—maybe more—through the land of Kolkagga, without being seen? All they had to cling

onto, was that no one would look for them here.

Hirka pulled her knees close to her body and wrapped her arms around them to keep

warm. In front of her, Kuro sat on a branch that wound its way over the edge of the cliff. A

mocking image of the Seer that no longer existed. He always knew when she was about to leave.

That was when he decided to tag along.

Suddenly, the Might tore across the sky, and Hirka jumped. The lightening scared her

more than Kuro. The raven just shook his feathers, and took a few steps closer to the trunk. The

pine needles looked sharp in the dark. She clung to the thought. That they were like little spears.

That nothing could come past this tree and reach her and Rime. A fool‘s thoughts, but she had

come to terms with the fact that the mind did foolish things in order to survive. You believed

what you had to believe, given the circumstances.

Once again she pictured the light in Ilume‘s eyes dying. Her words.

I have paid dearly for people to have a Seer.

The jump from the Seer‘s tower had cost Hirka a lot. The Might had been wilder than

ever. A hunger that ate away at her when she dared open up to it. The traces still ached in her

body. Pulsated through her veins. Colored by Rime‘s inconceivable wrath.

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He sat pressed against the rock that stooped over them. Then the thunderclaps began.

Blindból raged, and soon they would be soaking wet.

Glimpses of his face cut Hirka‘s heart. Grief had put out the light in his eyes. Drained

them for everything but blackness. Grief for Ilume. For the Seer. For what was to become their

destinies. Because not even Ravnhov could withstand Mannfalla when all broke loose. It was

only a matter of time now. The Council had all the reasons they needed. Urd would paint a

picture of the rot and the lawless that the whole world would unite over. The two who broke in to

kill the Seer. Who killed Ilume. On Ravnhov‘s orders. They didn‘t stand a chance.

Rime had wanted to stay. Wanted to fight in Eisvaldr along with Ramoja. But he had

realized that it was impossible. He would put the raveners at a greater risk than they already were.

He didn‘t know their plans. And Hirka wasn‘t stupid. She understood that he had to come along

for her sake. She would never make it through Blindból on her own.

He had lost everything. For her. She could try to talk it off. Talk away that suffocating

blanket that covered them. Like she always did. Be curious. Maybe ask about what had gnawed at

the back of her mind the whole way here.

―How could the tower float without the Seer? I mean… He‘s the one who shapes the

Might to keep it afloat?‖

―It doesn‘t float. Never did.‖ His voice was dark.

―What do you mean? I saw…‖

―Mirrors. They make it look like the tower floats. Especially from inside the Rite Hall

when the doors open. Genius, right? I was nine when I found out how it worked. But I didn‘t say

anything.‖

Hirka shrugged. ―Would it have mattered?‖

―Of course! If people had known that, they might also have figured out…‖

―Figured what out? That He doesn‘t exist? You didn‘t.‖

The white fire returned to his eyes. She was nearing the core. A drop of rain hit her hand.

Soon there would be more.

―Would you have figured it out? What if you had seen a lot more, Hirka? Seen the

Council manipulate people all your life to appear more powerful and wise than they are? Yes, I

knew how they twisted the laws to benefit themselves. I knew that the mirrors made the tower

float. I knew that a row of ingeniously placed windows bathe the twelve of them in light when

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they sit down in the Rite Hall. I‘ve always known. Their hoods are lined with gold, which makes

their faces look like they‘re always glowing. A mallet is dragged across a copper dome beneath

the protrusion when they enter. A sound you can‘t hear, but that you feel in your body. It‘s like

the world vibrates when you see them. Simple, but effective.‖ He tugged at the neckline of his

suit, as though it had become too small. ―I never believed in them. How could I believe in Him?‖

Hirka knew why. She had always known why. Her whole life, she had seen it in the eyes

of those who were sick. Bleeding. Suffering. She knew Rime better now than he knew himself.

She looked at him and attempted to smile.

―Because there was nothing else to believe in.‖

The rain came. The sky began to weep for a conversation no one had thought possible.

Not at any place, or at any time. Rime‘s eyes flickered. The scope of what they were discussing

was slowly sinking in. Hirka feared the outcome. She wanted to say that it was liberating for her

to know that the final answer didn‘t exist. It meant that no one was in the right. No one could

control her life. The fate of the Odin‘s child was not prophesied. She was her own destiny.

Orphaned, homeless and godless. She was free.

But it wouldn‘t help him now. She had to give him something to stand on, now that

everything he had lived was a lie.

―No one really ever lied to me about the tower, Rime. People have assumed that it was

floating, and said so for a thousand years. A thousand years is a long time. And the longer people

say something, the truer it becomes.‖

He laughed joylessly. Rime had always been the strong one of the two. He was the one

who was meant to pull her up. Now he was unraveling before her eyes. She couldn‘t let that

happen.

―Who are you, Rime?‖

―You know that better than anyone, right? You‘ve said it yourself I‘m the killer of the

Council. I‘m an assassin for a fake Seer. I‘m already dead.‖

Hirka moved closer until she sat in front of him. She put her hands around his face. His

beauty was so exhausting. She had never seen eyes like his. Light gray circles of savagery where

the soul fought to find its footing. She ran her thumbs beneath them, where the skin was bluer.

His pupils dilated and contracted along with his pulse. The eyes of a wolf. He blinked like he had

never seen her before.

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―Who are you?‖ she repeated.

―I‘m Rime. Rime An-Elderin.‖ He spat out the family name.

―What matters to Rime An-Elderin?‖

He laughed, almost mockingly. His jaws clenched under her fingers. ―His word. The

Seer‘s word was important. The only important thing.‖

―What was the Seer‘s word, Rime?‖

He said them off by heart, like it bored him for the first time. ―Strength. Love. Truth.

Justice.‖

―Do the words still matter? Without Him?‖

He looked at her as though the question was impossible. ―There is no Seer, Hirka.

They‘ve…‖

She let go of his face. ―You‘re telling me that you‘ve been fighting for a raven? For a ball

of feathers?! Or have you been fighting for what He was to you? What He was to you still exists,

even if he doesn‘t. For a thousand years, the Seer has been the answer to everything we don‘t

know, and Ilume was right! Whether He exists or not is insignificant! Because there is a Rime

An-Elderin. Does strength matter to him?‖ Rime stared at her. ―Answer me, Rime.‖

He gave a half-nod. He was so close to her that her chest stung. She heard her father

whisper warnings from Stilla, but it was too late now. His voice couldn‘t drown out the longing.

The weakness in her body. Rime nodded again, several times. The sky gave in and the rain pelted

the mountain with the force of a rockslide. It soaked through their clothes in an instant. The

ground turned to mud around them.

―It‘s important,‖ he responded, his voice husky. The rain ran down his face. Dripped form

his pale lips, almost blue in the dark. Hirka fought back the thirst for the Might, but her body

wouldn‘t obey. It prepared itself. The blood pounded in her veins, in the hopes that he would

brace. Something was about to happen. She could see it in his eyes. She knew before he grabbed

her. His hand buried itself in her hair and he pulled her close. His lips closed around hers. Wet

from rain. Fierce. Hirka lost the feeling in her arms. She wanted to put them around his neck, but

couldn‘t lift them. He grabbed her head with both hands, and it seemed to be the only thing

keeping her up. He ate like a starved man, and she reciprocated. She had no idea where her

instincts were coming from. The fearlessness. The certainty. The desire. The Might caught them

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both, and she didn‘t think he had meant to brace. Her body awoke and became demanding. She

pressed herself against him and heard herself gasp.

Dangerous! This is dangerous!

The Might brought with it the truth of who she was. This divine newness wasn‘t for her.

Rime wasn‘t for her. She was the Odin‘s child. The rot.

He’s going to die! He knows it!

She felt strength return to her arms. Rime kissed her because he no longer had anything to

lose. He was risking the rot! Hirka tore herself away and pushed him off. He smiled, but without

joy. He knew what she was thinking.

―Is the rot the only thing you choose to believe in, Hirka?‖

Her body screamed for him to be right. To listen to him. He had kissed her, without

rotting. A little more couldn‘t hurt… But the blood that rushed through her veins knew that it was

a false hope. If she drank more of him now, she would never be able to stop. Never get enough.

And then it would be too late to turn back. The rot would show itself, either as a lie or the truth.

The risk was too great. It would always be too great.

Her forehead fell against his chin. He put his arms around her, and pulled her close. ―I am

Rime An-Elderin,‖ he mumbled into her hair. ―Strength matters. Love matters. Truth and justice

will be ours. Not in His name, but in my own.‖

She closed her eyes against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. The loveliest sound she

had ever heard. The loveliest she had ever felt. And yet the worst. She had gotten a taste of what

could never be hers. Not without it killing him. It was unbearable.

81

Blood

Blindból was almost harder to navigate during the day than at night. The mountains cast

shadows that blended together to create a forest-clad labyrinth where people were never meant to

travel.

The hollows had started getting patches of yellow and orange. It became cooler as they

made their way further north and on high. A sign that they were drawing nearer to Ravnhov, but

it was incredibly slow going. Half a day of struggling across moss-covered rocks seemed

completely wasted when they saw what short distance they had left behind. It made Hirka

remember the night when Father had told her the truth. She had run to Alldjup, collapsed on the

ground and dreamed about being a bug. A small spider that could disappear into the holes in

moss. Now her dream had come true, whether she liked it or not.

The worst part was that there were simpler ways of going about it. They could have

followed little rivers along the hollows where the terrain was friendlier and bathing in sunshine.

Or they could have made it almost the whole way with Kolkagga‘s network of drawbridges and

paths. But they couldn‘t do either. If they did, they would be easy prey for the black shadows.

Rime walked like a millstone, unstoppable and always in front of her. Strong and limber.

Hirka had wanted to give up numerous times, purely because he showed no sign of being tired.

Every once in a while he took a break, sat down to drink from the one water skin they had, or to

eat a fistful of golden cloudberries, but she knew that he did it for her.

She could have gone faster, if not for the plants. These mountains were a healer‘s dream.

Wherever you looked, you saw nothing but vengethorn and suntear. She had seen goldbells

multiple times, enough to cure all the fevers in Mannfalla. Opa grew wild up high, often on the

east side of the mountains. If she hadn‘t seen what opa could do to people, she would have

chewed it the whole way for strength. They had passed bloodweed once. The poison that had

taken Father. Enough to send twenty men to Stilla if you didn‘t know what you were going. With

just the one cluster, she could probably have bought a house. If selling it had been legal. And if

she hadn‘t been lawless and sentenced to death, of course…

Her backpack was full of plants, and could hold no more. She couldn‘t stand looking at all

the things she had to walk past, so she had started looking at birds instead. Blue-spotted owls,

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hawks and colorful songbirds. There were also animals to avoid. They had seen bears twice, and

the previous night, the wolf had howled to the moon. Luckily there was enough small game to

keep the carnivores fed, so that Hirka and Rime were left alone.

Hirka could see the Might at work in this place. The timelessness. How all things

depended on one another. How nothing could have been different than what it was, or in any

other place, at any other time. It was a mixture of mortal danger and safety, like being close to

Rime when he braced.

She had said that the Might felt different everywhere. Familiar, but still different. He had

grinned for the first time in days. It seemed like the Might was a good topic for him to talk about.

It never stopped moving. It wandered through the earth, floated with the water, pulsated with life.

The Might was everything that was. Everything that had been. And nothing had been the same in

two places in this world. There were stone whisperers in Eisvaldr who claimed that the Might

was also everything that would happen, but that debate was as old as the force of life itself. No

one could prove it, but soothsayers still made money from reading the Might in people.

Hirka felt a pang of guilt. She had done exactly the same when she was patching people

up, or giving them teas and extracts for their illness. No one liked to hear that she reasoned out

what they needed. They wanted to hear that she was listening to the Might. That she just knew.

On her own. What would they have said if they knew she couldn‘t even brace? That the only

Might she felt was the one running through blue-blooded people like Rime? Once again it started

gnawing at her, the certainty that she could never belong.

You shouldn’t have been here.

Hlosnian‘s echo. Like the sculptor was closer, but it wasn‘t like that. She was the one who

was getting closer to the certainty of what she had to do. If Urd‘s madness had a hint of truth to it,

then it was the only way to stop the blind. She had to go back the same way she had come.

It was hard to say how long she had known. She had suppressed the thought. She didn‘t

even know if it was possible. Or if it would solve the problems. Not to mention what awaited her

on the other side. The complete unknown…

No! There were other ways. She could live at Ravnhov.

Until Mannfalla’s army bursts through the wooden gate.

She could move further north! To Vargheim. Live under the ice. She had heard that

people did that.

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Until they realize what you are and chase you away like a blind.

Anything seemed better than entering into the unknown, but the deciding factor was still

the blind. As long as she was here, on the wrong side… As long as she was alive, Urd could take

advantage of the possibility. People would die. And Urd had obviously lost control. What would

happen if he made a mistake? Would deadborns flow over into the eleven realms? A new war? A

war that only found its match in the legends? And what were they to do this time, without the

Seer? Hirka became dizzy. She had caused so much suffering already. So much death. Just by

existing. So much blood on her hands. And Rime‘s hungry kiss had made it far too clear that she

had more to lose.

She was battling the thought when a miracle revealed itself. A hot spring. She was tired

and had been itchy since the day before. She‘s had a moment where her own death seemed to be

an increasingly tempting solution to the world‘s problems. And then there it was. The spring.

Steam rose from the surface. A sickle-shaped gift from the gods at the foot of a rock that made a

steep cut down, deep into the water. So deep that there was no bottom in sight. The water was

pale green and clear. It whispered to her. Come. Rest. Cleanse.

She stopped. She looked up at Rime who continued on. They had passed one of these

earlier, and there were several that he knew well. Springs that Kolkagga used.

―Rime…‖

Rime stopped and turned toward her. It didn‘t take long for him to understand what she

wanted. He shook his head. ―The springs are the first places I would search.‖

―Do I look like I care?‖ Hirka no longer remembered what they were fleeing from. Or

why Kolkagga was anything to fear. After all, Rime was one of them! ―We‘ve walked for five

days, Rime. If they haven‘t found us by now, they never will.‖

Rime put on a stern look. Hirka sat down on the ground with her arms crossed. ―You

know, we could either be slaughtered by Kolkagga in Blindból, or we could be eaten by our own

flees. Your call, then. I actually work with these things; I know we‘ll die from fevers this way!

Tiny little beasts will feast on our dirt and dig their way into—―

―Fine. We‘ll stop here, but be quick.‖ Rime disappeared around the rock to keep an eye on

the landscape and give her some space. Hirka tore her clothes off and dropped them on the heath.

Goosebumps covered her skin. Small, black flowers grew around the life-giving water. They

reminded her of elfin kisses, only in the opposite color. She had heard that all things had their

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contrast in the realm of death. Perhaps she was already dead, and had wandered around Stilla for

days?

She was about to dive in when she heard Rime call from the other side of the rock.

―Needless to say, but don‘t forget to check how hot it is before you jump in.‖

Hirka blushed. ―I‘m not an idiot!‖

She put her big toe in and quickly retracted it. It was hot. She had better take it slow.

Piece by piece, she lowered her body into the water, until she sat on the slanted rock with her feet

dangling in the deep and only her head above water. Never ever had any of yms kin been this

content.

An Odin’s child. Never has an Odin’s child been this content.

She tore off a fistful of heath and scrubbed her skin until it turned red. She also had the

bar of soap she had been given when they first arrived in town. It had broken when the arrow hit

her backpack. The characteristic mark of the Seer was split in half, and almost washed off. She

had to get clean. Clean for heavy thoughts. She washed off what was left of her fear. There was

no more. Only traces of a girl who had once feared the Seer.

Hirka submerged herself, rinsing the last remaining woodspin from her hair. She had to

pull on it to see the ends now, but the red color had returned, stronger than she remembered it.

She felt the water tease her feet. A current way down there. Like the Might. The earth was alive

and breathing below her. Where did this water come from? And where did it end up? When she

exhaled and let her body sink deeper, she felt the pull even stronger. Dangerously strong. If she

just let go and let herself be pulled under… Drown. Would the earth accept her? Could they flow

together forever? Would that solve her problems? Or were the paths between the worlds open as

long as she was here, dead or alive?

She heard Kuro caw in the distance. An echo from a dream world above her. She pulled

herself to the surface, broke through it and sat down in the heath until she was dry enough to put

her clothes back on. Not without reluctance; they too should have been washed. Not just washed,

but boiled!

―Did you drown?‖ Rime‘s voice came from the other side of the rock, and sounded more

annoyed than worried.

―Yes.‖

He came over to her. ―I won‘t be long,‖ he said, taking his shoes off.

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―I wasn‘t either.‖ Hirka grabbed her backpack and went around the rock. She sat down on

a protrusion and emptied the backpack next to her. It had rained heavily. She feared the condition

of her things. This was a good time to repack. The air had turned colder; the light whiter. It

wouldn‘t rain more. She began sorting through the plants she had picked.

Rime will probably be quick. A quick dive in and back up again.

She had bloodweed, vengethorn and goldbell.

He’ll take off his black suit. The suit that puts him outside of everything else. He’ll be just

Rime. In a hot spring.

The spiral-shaped stone from Hlosnian. A couple of small linen bags containing Father‘s

most valuable herbs.

Naked.

Hirka quickly gathered her things and thrust them into the backpack. She put her hand on

the wolf‘s tooth she carried around her neck. Her fingers felt the marks. Eight on one side. Seven

on the other. It wasn‘t right anymore. He had received one for pulling her out of Alldjup. Sure, it

had been forced; she hadn‘t had a lot of choice. But he had helped her during the Rite. He had

also saved her from Urd. Saved her life. A couple of times. Definitely. It would have to be

included in this one mark.

Hirka pulled out her pocketknife and scratched a neat mark on Rime‘s side. It was lighter

than the other marks. The first in more than three years. She had clearly grown since then,

because she no longer felt as cross about giving away marks. She smiled, pleased with herself.

Grown up and mature. Wiser. He should probably get another for not rotting yet, but she‘d never

lain against that.

If Rime knew that she still carried the marks, he would laugh at her. Call her a child.

He doesn’t know about he current. He could drown!

It was probably best that she kept an eye on him. Hirka put her backpack on again, and

carefully crept to the top of the rock. There was a crack up there that she could look through. Just

to make sure he was safe, of course.

Rime had climbed back out of the spring. He had put his black trousers back on and was

attaching his sword belt. His hair hung in white streaks down his naked back. It was wide at the

shoulders and narrow at his waist. A dark hollow marked his spine, all the way down until it

disappeared below his waistline. His tail hung straight down, but curved right before it reached

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the ground. He bent over to put on his shoes. A necklace fell from his chest and dangled on a

leather strap from his neck until he straightened back up. She was too far away to see what it was,

but she guessed it was a raven necklace, a picture of the Seer that he wasn‘t yet ready to part

with.

He laced up his shoes. He looked strong. His arms weren‘t as big as Father‘s, but they still

looked stronger. The ripple of the muscles was more pronounced. Was it the Might? Had it eaten

away at everything superfluous? Rime was clean-cut, like the mountains. Hirka hid her own

smile behind her arm.

Fine. He didn’t drown. Good.

She forced herself to look away and out at the landscape. They were nearing Ravnhov

now. With any luck, they had spent their last night in Blindból. The mountains were naked here.

Pale and gray. Some already had snow-covered peaks. A shadow in the corner of her eye made

her cower, even though she was already in hiding. What was that? What had she seen?

Two figures dressed in black crawled down the mountainside. Her blood froze.

Kolkagga!

It was nearly impossible to see them, even when she knew they were there. She stopped

breathing and her mouth became dry. Her arms tingled, and they refused to obey.

Down! Get down!

They had caught up with them. Everything had been in vain. She managed to slide down

the side of the rock and ran toward Rime. His eyes met hers. ―I know,‖ he whispered, but

remained calm.

―Two of them,‖ Hirka swallowed.

―Three.‖ He tightened the belt around his waist.

She tiptoed, her eyes searching for the third one, but she couldn‘t find him.

―Hirka, it‘s important that you listen to me right now. Do you understand?‖

She nodded and waited for him to tell her to run. He didn‘t. Perhaps she should run

anyway? He pulled his wet hair back into a ponytail and tightened the knot. He did everything

painfully slowly. Moved slowly. Spoke slowly. It was maddening.

―Pay attention to where they are at all times, and make sure you are as far away as

possible. Don‘t run away from here, and don‘t come toward us. Be where I can see you, but move

so that I‘m always between you and them. Do you understand?‖

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She didn‘t, but she nodded anyway. Her heart beat at the top of her throat, and the only

clear thought she had was that she had no idea what to do.

―Turn your back to me and walk. Now!‖

Rime gave her chest a shove, and she backed away. She walked until she reached the

rock, and then she stopped to look back. He continued to tighten his belt as though he had all the

time in the world, while three figures appeared behind him. His torso was still bare. Unprotected

against the shadows behind him that were completely black. Only their eyes were visible through

small slits in their hoods.

She jumped when Rime suddenly threw himself around. She could hardly tell what

happened, but he pulled his swords, crouched down and shot forward, with the glinting blades

sweeping along the ground. He hit the closest of the three black figures, whose shin gave a

nauseating snap and he fell onto his back. They had thought Rime didn‘t see them. Now they paid

the price.

The injured one tried to get up, but there was no use. Half of his leg dangled from a shred,

so he remained on the ground, hissing and flinging his sword arm around. Rime put his foot down

on his elbow. There was a crunching sound. The man on the ground spread his fingers and let go

of the sword.

Hirka felt her stomach turn. She had seen suffering and sickness her whole life, but

always as a healer. Cuts and broken bones had come to her for relief. For repair. She had never

before seen anyone deliberately crush like this. Cut like this. Destroy. Kill.

And it was Rime.

He stood with his swords raised to either side. Bared his naked chest, like an invitation,

and began circling with the two that were left.

―No one here has anything to die for today.‖ His voice was steady. His eyes locked on a

spot somewhere between the two who had their swords raised toward him.

―You‘re here because you think I‘m a traitor, but we are the ones who have been betrayed.

All of us. Nothing I say will stop you, but I‘m still giving you a choice. No one here has anything

to die for today. The Seer is a lie.‖

Hirkas knees weakened in despair. His words were meaningless. This wasn‘t a truth one

could explain during battle. No one would pause and say ‗Really? You don‘t say. Well, in that

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case.‘ It was a truth far too large, and the way Rime proposed it, it could only be interpreted one

way.

―Blasphemer!‖ The cry came from the shorter of the two dressed in black. He raised his

sword over his head and pulled it across Rime‘s body. But Rime was no longer in front of him.

He was over him, and on the other side. He was dancing. Hirka felt the Might flow toward her. It

hadn‘t been like this the first few times in Riverrest. It had grown. Now it was clear as the blade

of a knife. Balanced. Full of purpose. She could taste the steel in her mouth.

―You were always the most devoted, Launhug. If you choose to die for Him, you‘ll die for

the Council‘s lies.‖

―Like we have sworn to do,‖ Launhug responded.

He took a stab at Rime. Hirka‘s whole body jerked. She wanted to help. Had to do

something. Rime defended himself well, but it was two against one. If he hadn‘t taken one of

them out before it began, he would have been dead by now.

Hirka sat like in a trance and watched them dance around each other. A macabre

partnership of movement she would never be able to emulate. But this was no dance. It wouldn‘t

end until someone was dead.

The shadow that didn‘t yet have a name ran forward and made a direct blow against

Rime‘s head, but Rime had more to defend himself with. He kicked and hit the shadow under his

chin. Hirka heard his neck break. His body slammed to the ground and was still. Only two men

remained.

Launhug had come closer. An inconceivable courage given that the other two had fallen.

Rime turned the swords in his hand to better his grip. His Might was superior. He knew that he

would be victorious here, but it bothered him. Hirka could feel it. A sorrowful victory. He

prepared for the deathblow.

―You were supposed to bring us luck!‖ Launhug yelled. ―You were the An-Elderin child.

I believed in you!‖

Rime stopped. He lowered his swords. Hirka felt the Might blacken in despair. What

happened? What was he thinking? He would die!

Lift your sword, Rime!

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Hirka acted quickly. While Rime half-heartedly blocked the attacks from Launhug, she

ran toward them. Launhug would kill Rime. Kill her. For nothing! He had no right. No right!

Hirka pulled out her knife, threw herself at Launhug and buried the knife in his shoulder.

She screamed. She held the knife with both hands. Warm blood trickled from beneath her

fists. Launhug fell over on his side and brought her down with him. He stared at her with eyes

that were growing with shock. With recognition. He had seen her before, she realized. On the

roof of Ravnhov. Hirka let go of the knife and got off him. What had happened? It was her knife.

Her knife protruding from his shoulder.

She looked up at Rime and stood back. She had to get away. Rime stared at her. Launhug

was on his stomach behind him, but Rime was no longer concerned with the shadow. Rime came

toward her. He looked like a wild animal. He was bleeding from a wound on his upper arm. He

reached out a hand to her. She wouldn‘t take it. Couldn‘t take it. What had he turned her into?

She crawled even further away.

Hirka stared at the man dressed in black, with the knife sticking out of his shoulder. He sat

up, fumbling for his sword. Hirka pointed. She shouted, but no sound came out. Rime sensed

danger and turned just as the sword hit his side. He screamed. The Might died and left an icy cold

in her chest. Launhug backed away, but it was too late. Rime kicked his knees and they gave

way. Before the shadow had time to fall, Rime had pulled the knife from his shoulder and planted

it in his chest. Launhug gaped, but no sound came out. Hirka turned away and closed her eyes.

She heard a blow hit. She didn‘t know where. Didn‘t want to know where. It was quiet. Then she

heard Rime fall.

She got to her feet, and ran toward him. Rime sat on his knees with his back straight. His

head slumped forward. She could smell that something was wrong. Really wrong. She was just

afraid to see it. But she had to see. Had to help. She leaned over him.

His left side was open. Blood gushed from the cut like a river, seeping into his waistline.

It was already soaked through. She saw white ribs. Her feet withered, and she fell to her knees.

Her eyes darted around. Over his body. Over the ground. Three dead. Black-clad. Launhug on his

stomach, halfway into the spring. He had made the water turn red. The water she had bathed in.

The current deep down had caught the blood and pulled it downward. It looked like it willingly

fled from the dead body and plunged into the unknown.

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Rime‘s body was hunching over, and something happened inside her. It was like a candle

had been blown out by the wind. Extinguished. She was no longer Hirka. She was something

else. She was somewhere she was needed. She played a part. She was already dead. She started to

speak. Slowly.

―Rime, the others are dead. I can‘t help them. But I will help you.‖

He didn‘t respond. She grabbed his torso and turned him over on his side, so that the

wound faced upwards and away from his view.

―Don‘t respond to me, Rime, just breathe calmly and listen to what I‘m saying.‖ She tried

to laugh, and ape his voice. ―It‘s important that you listen to me right now. Do you understand?‖

She thought she saw him smile. She tore her backpack off and pulled out the plants. ―You have a

small cut. It feels worse than it actually is.‖

His eyes became questioning. She smiled as comfortingly as she could. ―I‘ll cleanse and

bandage it, and then we‘ll get a proper look at it when we reach Ravnhov in a couple of hours.‖

He smiled and closed his eyes. He couldn‘t be fooled. He was Kolkagga. She could tell

that he knew how serious this was. ―This is child‘s play, Rime. Not even close to the worst I‘ve

ever seen. Just lie still and I‘ll give you a few stiches. It‘s only temporary.‖

She pulled out a needle and thread that she wiped with goldbell. This might need inner

stiches too, but she couldn‘t do that here. There was no time. The ravens would come. They

would lead the way for more Kolkagga. She just had to keep him together until they arrived at

Ravnhov.

Wiping it clean was futile. It gushed too much. He didn‘t react when she let the needle

pierce his skin. First on one side of the cut, then the other. She pulled the ends tight. The gap was

shrunk. She made another stitch, and the gap shrank once more. Shrank with each stich. Her eyes

began to sting. She blinked to keep them clear. He would see that this was child‘s play. This

wasn‘t so bad.

Twelve stiches wasn‘t enough. Not even close. But it would have to suffice. She had

spread them evenly. Rime had to get back on his feet. Quickly. One of the black-clad men had to

sacrifice a pant leg to fashion a bandage. He didn‘t need it anymore.

―Rime, I‘ve given you some stiches and rubbed goldbell on there. I‘m putting on a

bandage now.‖

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Rime still didn‘t react. She tore the black fabric into strips and wound it around him.

Several times. It would have to do. ―It looks very good, Rime. You‘re starting to look like a

Kolkagga again.‖ She smiled at him. ―Sit up carefully so I can attach the ends.‖

He sat up, wincing in pain.

―It feels worse than it is. Just take your time. Try not to move your arm. And chew on

these.‖ She handed him half a fistful of opa berries. The leaves alone wouldn‘t cut it here. These

would keep him going for a while. He did what she asked. His lips felt cold against her hand. She

tied the ends of the bandage on his back. His necklace was in the way, and she swept it aside. It

dangled and spun a few times. She stared at it.

It was a shell. She took it in her hand. R and H. Eight scratches under each letter.

Something welled up in her chest. It threatened to suffocate her. Filled her throat. She swallowed

and swallowed. Her fingers were shaking now. Rime sat with his eyes closed, waiting to be told

what to do. The bandage was already wet. A darker stain on the black fabric. She stood up and

swayed for a moment.

I got up too quickly. That’s all.

She found his shirt, and together they were able to put it on. ―Come on. The nights get

cold quickly, and the two of us will be at Ravnhov before the sun rises again.‖

Rime stood up. His arm limp at his side. He walked stiffly and slowly. But he walked. She

hadn‘t been sure that he would.

We have so little time.

They moved through the landscape at a snail‘s pace. They didn‘t care where they walked

anymore. They followed the hollows, where it was easiest to walk. She wanted to run. Wanted to

get him to safety. To a warm bed. Give him something to sleep on so that she could work on his

wound, uninterrupted. For a moment she thought that Rinna or someone else at Ravnhov would

know what to do, but she knew it was false hope. She was the one in the know now. Father was

dead. Even the Seer was dead. There was no one else to ask.

But until they made it, she could do nothing but talk. Talk about anything she could think

of. About Ravnhov. About the weather there. The beautiful houses of stone and wood, that

looked like they were a part of the mountains themselves. About how they stooped against each

other on narrow streets. About the pointed thatched roofs. About Eirik. About the city gates,

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made from logs of timber. She talked about the stone circle, and about how Father had found her.

And about Hlosnian, who had known she didn‘t belong here.

She heard ravens close-by. Several of them. Kuro had company. So she talked about the

ravens, and about Tein. How he had looked at her in the bath. And she talked about tea. And

plants. The good plants he had on his wound. It would heal before he knew it.

She heard that he stopped walking behind her. He sat down, and smiled like an old man

who had found the best place in the world to sit. ―Rime, we can‘t rest now. We‘ll rest soon.‖ She

walked over to him. His face was paler. ―Rime, I know you‘re tired. Be tired later!‖

Rime leaned his head against a rock. ―I‘m… coming. You go. Will… follow.‖ He wasn‘t

inhaling air properly anymore. Hirka screamed at him.

―On your feet, Kolkagga!‖

He didn‘t move. She felt a cold wind against her face. It was wet from tears.

I’m just tired. We’re both just tired.

―I‘ll help you.‖ She put her hands under his arms and lifted his torso. He didn‘t react. Not

even pain. Hirka wiped snot on her shirtsleeve and lifted again. ―Come on!‖

Rime‘s body fell to the ground again. She felt the sobs coming on. It was impossible to

keep pretending. Rime was fading. She was losing him. ―The Might, Rime! You have to hold

onto the Might.‖ She yelled into his ear. Banged her fists against his chest. ―Use the Might, you

idiot!‖

The last word was nothing more than a hollow call. Like the cry of a wolf. A small

murder of ravens screeched and flew in larger circled around them. Pain turned in her stomach.

Nausea. This wasn‘t real. It wasn‘t happening.

She felt a tingling warmth and realized that he was trying to brace. She gripped it,

desperately. Held onto the Might. Let it flow through her. Vitality. He needed life.

In the name of the Seer, Rime…

But there was no Seer. Rime‘s eyes turned glassy, and she heard herself shout that he

wasn‘t allowed. She lay on top of him. Put her head against his chest and clung to the Might. She

had to give him everything she had. But it was empty. What did she have to give? An intense

exhaustion settled in her body. Pressed her face against his chest. She became dizzier. The Might

drained her.

So tired.

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Rime…

Someone came. Figures in haze moved over the rocks. Kolkagga. Several Kolkagga. It

was over. His hand slipped from her arm and landed on the heath. Small, white things fell on his

face. Snow? It was snowing.

Way too early.

She slipped into the Might. Escaped into it. Became one with the snow. A snowflake. She

became cold and white. Danced on air. She fell down on Rime‘s face. Melted and vanished.

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SUMMARY / THE ENDING

Rime survives. He wakes up in Ravnhov, surrounded by enemies. People who have despised the

Council for generations, and to them, he still represents the suppressive power of Mannfalla. He

gains the trust of the chieftain by helping his son save face, and by defeating a group of deadborn.

There are two imminent threats: The deadborn and the approaching army of Mannfalla. To

overcome the first, Hirka comes to terms with her role. She knows she has to leave this world for

good. To overcome the other, Rime has to regain the trust of Kolkagga, facing the unforgiving

assassins he was forced to betray. Hirka and Rime have to part ways. Forever.

With the help of Hlosnian, the stone whisperer, Hirka finds one of the stone circles—The Raven

Rings—on a mountaintop outside Ravnhov. She knows she will save lives by leaving, but she is

devastated by the thought of never seeing Rime again, and never knowing how the war ends. But

she is then surrounded by Urd and his men. Her time has come. He forces the gates open, stirring

the mountain, summoning the blind.

In the climax that follows, Urd is defeated, the Rite Hall crumbles under the force of the Might,

and Rime claims his dead grandmother‘s seat on the Council. A new era is born when he is

appointed as the Raven Bearer. Yet Hirka knows that the war will never be over as long as she is

in Ymslanda. With newfound strength, she bargains with the Council, making them swear to

support Rime‘s rule. Then she leaves Ymslanda. She walks through the gates, putting everything

she loves behind her, to enter a world unknown.