Contender, page 6
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I’m never touching water again.
It was dark by the time Erik and I found a place suitable to make camp—a process about which he was wildly more fastidious than I would have ever imagined. I realized now, our tree the night before had been a fluke. It had been dark, and stormy, and my ankle was so freshly twisted, we simply took whatever we could find. It wasn’t like that now. The man had options.
And he meticulously considered every one.
After the first three places I suggested were discarded for ‘obvious’ reasons, I decided to keep silent and simply watch the madness unfold. At first, we were too close to the river, and might attract the attention of one of the larger predators. Then we were too far from the river, and would not be able to mask our scent if we heard the hounds. The underbrush was too thick, or not thick enough. We were facing east—an unforgivable lapse. He missed the cover of the trees.
It wasn’t until I plopped down at the base of a large aspen, he seemed to realize I’d reached a limit and flashed his most maddening smile. Why, it’s perfect Liv! I could have killed him. Our boots came off and I took great relish in pouring the river water from mine, as he pulled a knife from his belt and declared it was finally safe enough to hunt. Only then, did I realize what this implied.
“With that?” I asked with a hint of alarm, watching as he pushed to his feet. “Erik, you can’t be serious. What are you going to do—dance with the thing, before stabbing it?”
He nodded without a hint of expression. “Is that not how they hunt in the south?”
Seriously, I’m going to kill him.
“Erik—”
“It’s all I have,” he said simply, tying his hair behind him. “What else would you have me do? We have nothing to make traps or snares—which take time, at any rate. I have no bow, and the sword I brought with me is leaning against the bureau in my room.”
I stared at him blankly, and he hastened to explain.
“It’s a small chest of drawers where one puts clothes—”
“I know what a bureau is, Erik.”
He lifted his hands peaceably, the knife still gripped in his hand. “Forgive the assumption. It’s just, you are wretchedly poor.”
“And now you are, too,” I shot back, fiercely as I could manage.
His eyes twinkled with a hidden smile. “As you keep reminding me...” He took a few steps from the tree, then paused nearly as quickly, making a quick study of our surroundings, before lifting his eyes worriedly to the peaks. “I don’t like to be away so long,” he murmured under his breath. “Perhaps you should come with me.”
Hunting?
I froze in surprise, then perked up with a reflexive smile.
“Yes, I think I’d be great at that.”
He shook his head vaguely, distracted by other things.
“You’re right,” he muttered, still planning on the fly. “You’d scare away anything within leagues. I must go alone, it’s just...” His eyes lifted once more to the mountains where we’d just come from, before lowering to mine. “If you see anything—anything—if anyone comes near...I want you to scream, all right? Don’t hesitate or second guess. If something comes, you scream.”
Looking back on it later, the entire situation was rather sweet. His inability to part for any length of time, the way his brow furrowed into a worried crease. I might have even counted it as a point in his favor, if we hadn’t spent the last two hours relocating our impromptu camp.
I stared at him very seriously, never breaking his gaze. “What if that something is you?”
He opened his mouth reflexively to reply, then shot me a withering look and turned on his heel—pacing into the scrubby forest that lay in patches along the river’s shore. He was gone before I had a chance to elaborate, before I had a chance to caution him again about the knife.
What can he possibly fight with that thing?
My pulse quickened nervously, as I considered a more pertinent question.
What might he try?
With nothing but that unnerving thought to keep me company, I gave up trying to look for him and let my eyes drift aimlessly around the camp. It was a generous use of the word, given that there was nothing remotely camp-like about it. We had no supplies, no possessions of any sort. If I hadn’t been sitting on the ground beside the aspen, it might have been any other clutch of trees.
That’s good, Liv. Nothing for them to track you.
Comforting words, but they offered little actual solace. What I wouldn’t give to have traded even the smallest bit of that security for a tarp or canopy to keep out the wind. There were clouds on the horizon, though Erik had sworn they were heading in another direction. What if he was wrong and last night’s storm was only the beginning. What if those lashing winds fell on us again?
Don’t think about that.
The voice was half mine, and half Trina’s—with a good deal of my grandmother thrown in on the side. With a forced determination, I put it from my mind, focusing on things I could control.
Every good camp needs a fire...
For the next half hour, I skittered around the little clearing—making homey touches where I could, random nothings to make Erik smile—and gathering pieces of kindling. While I might have been a village girl with questionable balance and a laughable sense of direction, the one thing I’d perfected over my years working in a tavern, was the art of crafting a perfect fire. I started first with the moss, sprinkling on pieces of bark and little pine needles, before moving on to the larger sticks and twigs. When the base was set, I heaped more on the top, dragging over whatever logs I could move and placing them in a large stack beside the circle of stones—the circle being one of those homey touches I’d deemed essential in terms of aesthetic and morale.
I was just putting on the finishing touches, when there was a rustling in the forest and I saw Erik walking towards me through the trees. He was carrying a rabbit in each hand, far safer prey than I’d been imagining, but faster—and I had no idea how he’d managed to take them down. The second our eyes met, I drew in a theatrical breath, preparing to scream just as he’d told me.
He reached me first, clapping a bloodied hand over my mouth.
Disgusting!
“You made a fire,” he said with a touch of surprise, looking at the immaculate pile I’d created within the stones. His eyes lingered on the circle, warming with an inner smile. “That looks wonderful, thank you. Have you found any flint?”
I hadn’t, but it wasn’t hard to locate. There were usually a few pieces scattered around the river. We struck the stone and watched the sparks jump to the moss, crackling happily against the needles I’d sprinkled on top. Only a few moments later, the first flames burst to life.
We moved instinctively closer, stretching out our hands. The rabbits were temporarily forgotten, it felt like we hadn’t been properly warm in days. Even longer, for me. I thought with a shudder about my pale tower in the center of the village square. Between the stone floors and the soldiers’ impromptu shower, it was a small miracle I hadn’t managed to freeze.
“Is it bad form to climb inside?” I asked politely, edging to the very limit of the rocks. “It might be a little counterproductive—burning, after all this effort. But one can’t fault us for irony.”
I lifted my gaze with a little grin, expecting to see it shared. But the words had sparked some dark memory, and he was silent—his lovely face flickering between shadow and flame.
“You should eat something,” he finally replied, reaching for the rabbits.
Less than an hour later, the meal was gone and the fire had burned down to embers. The two of us were lying on our backs in the soft grass, soaking in the final bits of warmth, and staring into the bright sky above. The moon was high above us, nearly a perfect circle, but this time, it was accompanied by a host of shimmering stars. They were even brighter out here than they’d been outside the village—without the smoke from a dozen fires marring the sky. I drew in a deep breath, feeling once again, the sense of being something much smaller than what was around me.
“Do you know any of their stories?” I asked suddenly, twisting a little to see him. “The stars, I mean. Trina always told me there were constellations, but I never knew what any of them were.”
It was one of the few holes in my education, and one of the few regrets. Vikings had great stories for the stars. It had always been a longing to hear them.
He smiled to himself, framed in the grass beside me. “I know a few,” he answered. “My father taught me some. My mother, some others.” He paused a moment, rifling through memories long since passed. After a few minutes, he lifted his finger. “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing above us. “The two bright points, at the edge of that cloud?” I peered into the heavens, and nodded. “That is Auguthjaza, the eyes of Þjazi.”
The names rolled like music off his tongue. Beautiful, strange music—like taking a journey to a place I’d never been before. The embers glowed by our heads, as I settled down to listen.
“In the ancient times, great Odin and his youngest son were on a hunt in the middle of the forest. They slaughtered an oxen and made to cook the beast, only to discover, something was wrong with the animal and it was unable to heat. In bewilderment, they searched the woods, only to discover that Þjazi, a Frost Giant and wicked shape-shifter, had turned himself into an eagle and stopped the coals from doing their work. In return for the fire, he demanded he be given a portion of the oxen for himself, but the cuts he took were too large and Loki became enraged. He struck at the eagle with his staff, but Þjazi lifted him high into the air, flying over mountains and plains.”
It was one of those stories that had me smiling before I realized. A ridiculous story, yet I was born in this land of frost and blood, and there was a part of me that believed every word. At any rate, who was I to say any different? How did I know, what had placed those shimmering stars?
“So they killed a cow, and the eagle took it...” I prompted.
Erik snorted with laughter, elbowing me in the ribs. “Say oxen, it sounds better. But yes, the eagle stole what he liked of the oxen and flew the mischief god high into the air. When Loki begged to be returned to the ground, Þjazi agreed, but only on the condition that Loki return to the house of Asgard and deliver him Iðunn, the goddess of youth, and keeper of the immortal apples.”
This was typically where I could suggest we make some effort to find these apples. At the very least, I would chide him for returning only with rabbits, and not some offering of celestial fruit.
But the coals were glowing, and my thoughts were drifting on the breeze.
“Did the god do it?” I asked.
Erik nodded vaguely, his bright eyes drifting through the stars. “He delivered the goddess, but without her apples, the rest of the gods began to grow old and grey. Knowing something must be done, they stole the woman back and promised her another husband. When Þjazi found out what had been done, he flew into a rage and chased Loki all the way back to Asgard. But by then, the gods had a great pyre going. The eagle crashed right into the center and set his feathers alive. While he was trying to escape, the gods leapt upon him and killed him.”
He paused a moment, considering.
“I’m assuming that’s when Odin took his eyes.”
I cast him a quick look, then turned back to the heavens. Most of our stories ended like this, most of the time, I felt worst for the woman. Stolen from her home, only to be delivered into the hands of a monster. Her only salvation was to be bartered like chattel to yet another great lord.
Even our goddesses live at the pleasure of men.
I was about to make mention of this, when I saw Erik’s eyes were already fluttering. The fire had been warm, and the last of the summer heat still lingered in the forest. I nestled deeper into the cloak I wore, and drifted off beside him, my mind still leaping from star to star.
It was nearly midnight when I opened my eyes again. The fire was gone and every bit of heat had dissipated into the night. I pulled in a shivering breath, drawing my hands into my sleeves.
That was when I heard the wolves.
Chapter 5
It started like something out of a dream, a sound drifting in the darkness, the gradual rising sensation that something wasn’t as it should be. Something wasn’t right.
My eyes fluttered open and my body went completely still, listening for it again. At first, I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t even be sure I was completely awake. My legs and arms had gone numb with the loss of the fire, and my stomach felt like it had detached from the rest of my body. The picture was frozen in suspension, the lore of the stars was ringing in my ears.
It was the cold that convinced me.
My limbs were tingling, but the rest of me was bitingly cold.
“Erik,” I whispered, glancing to the boy at my side.
He shivered, but didn’t wake. Unlike me, he didn’t have even the protection of a lone cloak, just the thin weave of his tunic. His arms were wrapped around his chest, and his snowy hair made it look like he’d been doused in winter already, shining almost silver in the moonlight. His skin, when I reached to touch it, had turned to ice. I cursed myself for consenting to keep the cloak, and our foolishness the night before. Summer meant little, so high in the mountains. We should have kept the fire going and slept together for warmth.
Don’t wake him, listen first.
I did, although my heart was racing. No point in rousing him and stealing those precious moments of sleep unless I was certain. The sound had come once, and not again. Even if it was real, there was a chance the creatures were moving—
A howl split the silence, much closer this time.
“Erik!” I whispered frantically, shaking him at the same time.
His eyes flew open, and his hand was around my wrist in the same moment, as though I might have changed allegiance and pulled a dagger on him in the night. No sooner had his vision cleared, focusing onto my face, than the howl came again—louder and sustained, as though some unkindly wind was blowing it in precisely our direction.
This time, we both heard it. Every bit of color left his face.
Shit!
We scrambled to our feet at the same time, crunching our frozen limbs into submission, our breath clouding in the frosty air. The forest was near pitch black, the moon hidden by some clouds that had rolled in off the mountains. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction, and the coals that might have helped us had long since turned to ash. We looked at them anyway, unable to think of anything else. Wolves were pack animals that ruled the forests, just as clearly as the men who’d claimed the forts and settlements along the coast. Unless one was traveling in a group even larger, or with the proper equipment, it was virtual suicide to engage one on your own.
We had a pair of small knives, same as Erik had used against the rabbits.
Heavens, help us!
“Get into a tree,” he whispered, fingers gripped like a vice around my arm. His eyes flew in a desperate circle around the clearing, unable to penetrate the shadows. “They cannot climb trees.”
Every fiber was thrumming with urgency, yet neither of us dared to move. Instead, our eyes flew at the same time around the grove of trees where we’d finally decided to make camp. A grove of aspen, to keep off the rain. Tall, slender trunks, too smooth to grip. The nearest branches were nearly thirty feet above us. Our eyes widened in silent horror, as the howl came again.
“What about the river?” I asked, desperate enough to suggest it. Better to be carried along those icy waves than be ripped apart in the jaws of a savage beast. It would be better even to drown.
Of course, that was more foolishness. I’d thought those were the only options.
“If they decide to follow...” He trailed into silence, staring into the darkness with a kind of quiet dread. A moment passed, then he concluded simply, “They are good swimmers.”
Where does that leave us?
It was quiet a few moments, long enough that each of us dared to secretly hope, then the howl struck the air, hovering in all its terrible splendor. It was joined almost immediately by another.
My face blanked as I realized it didn’t leave us anywhere.
We are going to die.
“Erik,” I said quietly, without anything to come next.
His eyes flashed to mine, silver rings in the darkness. They lingered there a moment, as if he was memorizing the sight of me, before flashing once more to the darkened rise of the forest. It was thicker up the hill, enough that we might have been able to scramble to safety after all. But the call of the wolves had come from that direction. We would be running directly into their path.
“Can you do it again?” he asked in a low murmur, never taking his eyes from the trees.
It took a second to understand him. My eyes lowered to my hands.
For the first time in months, perhaps longer, I lifted them in front of me, feeling that old familiar frustration as whatever power they might have tapped into lay firmly beyond my reach. It had been like this in the beginning, when Karmen was still alive and I was trying to practice. Time after time I would attempt to locate the ability, but it was like reaching your hand for something, only to discover it was behind a pane of glass. It didn’t matter what I tried, the light wouldn’t come.
The wolves howled again, calling back and forth to one another. It sounded like there were only two, a small mercy considering the size of most packs. But a single beast would have been more than enough. My eyes stung with tears as I flexed my fingers, again and again. Nothing happened.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, trembling with the effort. “I’m trying...”
It’s not going to work.
I didn’t need to say it. At any rate, I’d told him already before. Never in my life had I been able to draw upon the gift like I’d done in the settlement. It had come to me like a bolt of lightning; there and undeniable and just in the nick of time. The same lightning had not struck since.
