Sky in the Deep Read online

  I closed my eyes as the prayer found a familiar place on my tongue. “Take my love to my mother and my brother. Ask them to keep watch for me. Tell them my soul follows behind you.”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat before I opened my eyes and looked down into the woman’s peaceful face one more time. I hadn’t been able to say the words over Iri’s body the way I had when my mother died, but Sigr had taken him anyway.

  “Have you ever seen something like that before?” I whispered. “Something that wasn’t real?”

  Mýra blinked. “It was real. Iri’s soul is real.”

  “But he was older—a man. He spoke to me. He touched me, Mýra.”

  She stood, shifting an armful of axes up onto her shoulder. “I was there that day, Eelyn. Iri died. I saw it with my own eyes. That was real.” It was the same battle that took Mýra’s sister. We’d been friends before that day, but we hadn’t really needed each other until then.

  I remembered it so clearly—the picture of him like a reflection on ice. Iri’s lifeless body at the bottom of the trench. Lying across the perfect white snow, blood seeping out around him in a melted pool. I could still see his blond hair fanned out around his head, his empty eyes wide open and staring into nothing.

  “I know.”

  Mýra reached up, squeezing my shoulder. “Then you know it wasn’t Iri—not his flesh.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. I prayed for Iri’s soul every day. If Sigr had sent him to protect me, he really was in Sólbjǫrg—our people’s final sunset. “I knew he would make it.” I breathed through the tightness in my throat.

  “We all did.” A small smile lifted on her lips.

  I looked back down to the woman lying between us. We would leave her as she was—as she died—with honor. Like we did with all our fallen warriors.

  Like we’d left Iri.

  “Was he as handsome as he was before?” Mýra’s smile turned wry as her eyes flickered back up to meet mine.

  “He was beautiful,” I whispered.

  THREE

  I bit down on the thick leather strap of my scabbard as the healer worked, sewing the gash in my arm closed. It was deeper than I wanted to admit.

  Whatever Kalda was thinking, her face didn’t betray it. “I can still fight,” I said. It wasn’t a question. And she had treated me after battle enough times to know it.

  Mýra sighed beside me, though it looked as if she was enjoying it a little. I shot my eyes to her before she could say a word.

  “That’s your decision.” Kalda looked up at me through her dark eyelashes.

  It wasn’t the first time she had stitched me up and it wouldn’t be the last. But the only time she’d ever told me I couldn’t fight was when I broke two ribs. I’d waited five years to avenge Iri in my second fighting season and I spent a month of it sitting in the camp, cleaning weapons and seething with anger while my father and Mýra went out into battle without me.

  “It won’t stay closed if you’re using your axe.” Kalda dropped the needle into the bowl beside her before wiping her hands on her bloodstained apron.

  I stared back at her. “I have to use my axe.”

  “Use a shield in that hand.” Mýra glowered, flinging a hand toward me.

  “I don’t use a shield,” I bit back at her. “I use a sword in my right and an axe in my left. You know that.” Changing the way I fought would only get me killed.

  Kalda sighed. “Then when you tear it open again you’ll have to come back and let me restitch it.”

  “Fine.” I stood, pulling my sleeve back down over my swollen arm and trying not to let the wince show on my face.

  The Aska man waiting behind us sat down on the stool and Kalda got to work on the cut carved into his cheek. “I heard Sigr honored you today.” He was a friend of my father’s. Everyone was.

  “He did,” Mýra said through a traitorous smile. She loved to see me embarrassed.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He reached up with his fist, tapping me on my good shoulder with his big knuckles as I reached for his shoulder and did the same.

  We ducked out of the foul smell of the tent and walked through camp as the sky grew warm with the setting sun and my stomach growled at the smell of supper cooking over flames. My father was waiting for me in front of our fire.

  “See you in the morning.” Mýra squeezed my hand before she broke off from me.

  “Maybe,” I said, watching her walk to her tent. I wasn’t convinced the Riki wouldn’t be back before the sun rose.

  My father stood with his arms folded over his chest, staring down into the fire. He had washed his hands and face, but I could still see the blood and dirt clinging to the rest of him.

  “Taken care of?” His bushy eyebrows lifted up.

  I nodded, raising my scabbard over my head. He unbuckled the axe sheath on my back and took my arm into his hands, inspecting it.

  “It’s fine,” I said. He didn’t worry about me often, but I could see it when he did.

  He pushed the unruly hair back from my face. I was an Aska warrior, but I was still his daughter. “You look more like your mother every day. Are you ready?”

  I gave him a tired smile. If my father believed Sigr sent Iri’s soul to me, I could believe it too. I was too afraid of any other truth that lingered in the back of my thoughts. “Ready.”

  We walked side by side to the other end of the camp. I could feel the eyes on me, but my father paid our clansmen no attention, putting me at ease. The meeting tent that served as our ritual house sat at the end of our encampment with white smoke trailing up into the evening sky from its center. Espen stood like an enormous statue beneath its frame, the Tala beside him. Our clan’s leader was the greatest of our warriors, the oldest Aska leader in three generations. He lifted his chin, his fingers pulling at his long beard.

  “Aghi.” He called to my father from where he stood.

  My father pulled three coins from his vest and handed them to me. He walked toward them, grasping Espen’s shoulder in greeting, and Espen did the same before he spoke. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his eyes found me over my father’s shoulder, making me feel suddenly unsteady.

  “Eelyn.”

  I jolted. Hemming was waiting at the gate of the pen.

  I pressed the coins into his open hand and he dropped them into the heavy purse hanging from his belt.

  He smiled up at me, one tooth missing from the front of his mouth where he was kicked by a horse two winters ago. “I heard what happened.” He stepped over the wall of the pen and grabbed a pale gray goat by the horns. “This one okay?”

  I crouched down, inspecting the animal carefully. “Turn him around.” Hemming shifted, pulling the goat toward him, and I shook my head. “What about him?” I pointed to a large white goat in the corner.

  “He’s four penningr.” Hemming struggled to keep his hold on the gray goat.

  A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and I looked up to see my father, peering over me into the pen. “What’s this?”

  Hemming let go of the animal, standing up straight under my father’s gaze. “He’s four penningr.”

  “Is he the best?”

  “Yes, Aghi.” Hemming nodded. “The best.”

  “Then four penningr it is.” He pulled another coin free and tossed it to Hemming.

  I climbed into the pen to help the boy wrangle the goat to the gate. My father took one horn and I took the other as we led him to the altar in the middle of the meeting tent. The fire was already burning strong, its flames licking up around the wood and warming me through my armor as the cold crept in from outside.

  “May I join you?” Espen’s voice came from behind us.

  My father turned, his eyes widening a little before he nodded.

  The Tala followed, looking at me. “You’ve brought honor to Sigr by destroying his enemies, Eelyn. He’s honored you in return.”

  I nodded nervously, biting down hard on my bottom lip. The Tala ha
d never spoken to me before. I’d been afraid of him as a child, hiding behind Iri in the ritual house during sacrifices and ceremonies. I didn’t like the idea of a person who spoke the will of the gods. I was afraid of what he may see in me. What he may see in my future.

  Espen found a place beside me and we led the animal forward to the large trough in front of the blazing fire. My father pulled out the small wooden idol of my mother he had tucked into his vest and handed it to me. I pulled the one I had of Iri from my own and set them beside one another on the stone before us. Sacrifices made me think of my mother. She’d tell the story of the Riki god Thora, who erupted from the mountain in fire and the flames that had come down to the fjord. Sigr had risen up from the sea to protect his people and every five years, we went back to battle to defend his honor, bound by the blood feud between us.

  There wasn’t much about my mother that I remembered, but the night she died still hung clearly in my mind. I remembered the river of silent Herja that streamed into our village in the dead of night, their swords reflecting moonlight, their skin as pale as the dead against the thick furs they wore upon their shoulders. I remembered the way my mother looked, lying on the beach with the light leaving her eyes. My father, covered in her blood.

  I sat, holding my mother’s still-warm body as the Aska followed them into the winter sea, where they disappeared in the dark water like demons. We’d seen raids before, but never like that. They hadn’t come to steal, they’d come only to kill. The ones they took, they sacrificed to their god. And no one knew where they came from or if they were even human. Espen had hung one of the bodies from a tree at the entrance to our village and the bones still hung there, knocking together in the wind. We hadn’t seen the Herja since. Perhaps whatever god had sent them had quenched their anger. Still, our blood ran cold at the mention of their name.

  Iri and I had wept over the sacrifice my father made the next morning, thanking Sigr for sparing his children’s lives. Only a few years later, he made another—when Iri died.

  “Draw your knife, Eelyn,” my father instructed, taking both horns into his hands.

  I stared at him, confused. I’d only ever stood behind my father as he performed a sacrifice.

  “This is your sacrifice, sváss. Draw your knife.”

  The Tala nodded beside him.

  I tugged my knife from my belt, watching the firelight against the letters of my name, forged into the smooth surface of the blade below the spine. It was the knife my father gave to me before my first fighting season five years ago. Since then, it had taken too many lives to count.

  I came down beside the goat, taking its body into my arms, and found the pulsing artery at his neck with my fingers. I positioned my knife, taking a breath before I recited the words. “We honor you, Sigr, with this undefiled sacrifice.” They were the words I’d heard my father and fellow clansmen say my whole life. “We thank you for your provision and your favor. We ask that you follow us, protect us, until the day we reach Sólbjǫrg in final rest.”

  I dragged the blade swiftly across the goat’s soft flesh, tightening my grip on him with my other arm as he kicked. The stitches in my arm pulled, sending the sting of the wound down to my wrist. His hot blood poured out over my hands, into the trough, and I pressed my face into his white fur until he was still.

  We stood in silence, listening to the blood drain into the trough, and my eyes lifted to the idols of my mother and my brother on the stone. They were lit up in the amber light, shadows dancing over their carved faces.

  I’d felt the absence of my mother as soon as she stopped breathing. As if with that last breath, her soul had let go of her body. But with Iri, it had never been that way. I still felt him. Maybe I always would.

  FOUR

  We woke to the warning whistle in the middle of the night. The horse’s hooves stamped nervously outside our tent and my father was on his feet before my eyes were even open.

  “Up, Eelyn.” He was a blur in the dark. “You were right.”

  I pulled myself up, reaching for the sword beside my cot and breathing through the pain igniting sharp and angry in my arm. I fought with my boots and pulled my armor vest on, letting my father fasten it for me. He slid my scabbard over my head and across my chest, followed by my axe sheath, and then patted me on the back, letting me know I was ready. I took up the idol of my mother from where it sat beside his cot and quickly pressed it to my lips before I handed it to him. He tucked it into his vest and I tucked the one of Iri into mine.

  We slipped out into the night, heading toward the end of the river that wrapped around one side of our camp. The starless sky melted into the night-cloaked land beyond the fires and I could feel them out there.

  The Riki.

  Thunder grumbled over us and the unmistakable smell of a storm rode on the wind. My father planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Vegr yfir fjor.” He pushed me toward the other end of the line, where I would find Mýra.

  She pulled me to her, lifting my axe from its sheath on my back and handing it to me. I tightened the bandage around my arm and shook the numbness out of my hand. She didn’t say it this time, but I knew what she was thinking because I was thinking it too. My left side was almost useless now. I’d fought in the dark with my clan before, but never this injured. The thought made me uneasy.

  “Stay close to me.” She waited for me to nod in agreement before she led us to the front of the line.

  The fighting erupted before we were even in place. To the left, down by the water, the shouting began, but this end of the line was still quiet. I said my prayers, my eyes searching for movement around us as raindrops began to fall. Beside me, Mýra’s eyes closed, her lips moving around the ancient words.

  The next whistle sounded like the soft call of a bird, and we lifted onto our feet, moving silently as one entity into the black. I put my hand on the back of the Aska in front of me and felt the hot hand of the warrior behind me, keeping us together. We stepped in rhythm, our boots breaking the thin frost on the grass. The sound of the river pulled in from the left and the muted quiet of the forest from the right as the familiar sound of battle grew between.

  Straight ahead, the Riki moved toward us like fish under water.

  We walked until I could hear them and Mýra’s elbow pressed into me, letting me know she heard it too. I clicked my tongue, and the clansmen around me repeated the sound, spreading the message through the line. They were close. Mýra pulled up her shield and I tucked myself closer to her as we moved faster. Beneath my vest, my heart beat unevenly, sending my sore ribs into spasms.

  A gurgling wail beside us signaled the Riki’s arrival to our end of the line and as soon as I saw movement ahead of us, I swung, driving my sword forward and catching the hard surface of a shield. The form knocked Mýra to the ground and I lunged again, swinging my sword up and around me to let it cut down. This time, I heard the scrape of bone on my blade. I kicked at the lump, freeing my sword, and we pushed farther in. The rain fell harder as the sky opened up and the clouds pulled back just enough for a bit of moonlight to fall down on us.

  I couldn’t help it. My eyes were already combing through the Riki on the field. Searching.

  Lightning washed across the night sky and the mass of warriors scrambled like insects, crawling over the land as it lit everything white and then flickered out again. The crack exploded around us, shaking the ground.

  Mýra caught the thigh of a man with her knife, knocking him over with her shield, and I came down on him with my axe, grunting against the searing burn in my arm. Mýra caught me as I fell, yanking me up and throwing my weight forward. I gripped the handle of my axe as we jumped over the body and the silhouette of a screaming woman came at me from the left. I swung again, catching her in the side. She went down, splashing in the mud, and I doubled over to keep from losing my balance.

  “Eelyn!” Mýra called for me, getting sucked into the fighting as I searched the ground for my axe.

  I raked my fingers th
rough the grass until I found the handle. “I’m here!” I ran toward her voice.

  Lightning lit across the sky again, howling and hissing, and I found her standing over another body.

  We headed toward the trees and my eyes trained on the figures before me. We cut them down one by one, reading each other’s movements, until we had a clear path. Mýra pushed harder, trying to balance the deficiency of my arm and ribs. I bit down, gritting my teeth, and tightened my grip on my sword, trying to pull my body in line.

  And then I saw it. From the corner of my eye—a pale flame moving in the trees.

  I stopped short, sliding in the mud with my heart jumping up into my throat. “Iri.”

  I took off running, tracking him with my eyes and dodging Riki as I neared the tree line. He wielded his axe, sending it into an Aska and then rearing back and sending another one to the ground. Beside him, a Riki was swinging his sword, dropping my clansmen left and right. The Riki who’d almost taken my life.

  I followed them as they moved together, weaving between the trees deeper into the forest. Behind me, Mýra’s faint voice called my name.

  I jumped over the bodies on the forest floor and ducked into the cover of the trees. I pushed my sword into my scabbard and sunk my weight as close to the ground as I could, running with my axe out before me. My stomach twisted, knowing I should stop. Go back to Mýra.

  Instead, I followed the familiar form driving deeper into the darkness. The lightning multiplied and the sound of rain on the canopy beat above us. When a hand caught me in the dark, I snapped my arm back, swinging my axe. The fingers clamped down on me, digging into my wrist until I dropped it. I fell flat on my back and the hand grabbed ahold of my boot, dragging me in the other direction. I reached for the trees as they passed, searching for something to hold onto as I slid over the wet ground, my ribs screaming.

  The shadow reached down and pulled me upright, slamming me into a tree.