All I can manage to do is nod.
“Can you describe what attacked you?” Father asks. “Anything will help.”
“The creature was unlike any berserkr I’ve ever seen.” I struggle to sit up. “He was more a werewolf than a wolf. He stood on his hind legs like a man but also ran on all fours like a wolf, without any of its grace. And his glowing eyes… they weren’t yellow like a berserkr’s. They were completely white.”
Maybe it’s the grim light of the clinic, but it looks like Father’s face drains of color. “Are you certain?”
“I got a good look before the creature attacked this time.”
Father drags a hand through his short hair. “That sounds like anoriginal berserkr. I can’t be sure, since I’ve never seen one myself, however…” His voice trails off. He doesn’t need to finish.
Everyone at Skallagrim has heard about them.
Our founder, Egill, was the first berserkr. Before berserking became an inherited ability, the transformation wasn’t as natural as it is today. Original berserkir were neither fully man nor animal when they transformed. Instead, they were seers who wore animal pelts and channeled the beast’s spirit, making them more out of control. Animalistic. And now—
“Is that why Egill’s pelt went missing?” I ask. I’d completely forgotten about the theft until now. But it might just be what started everything.
Father grimaces. “It must be.”
The pieces of this puzzle are starting to click into place. It makes sense why Edith claimed the killer was following her through the seer campus too.
I stare at him expectantly. “That means the killer is a seer.”
The weight of my words settle over us.
“Which means it could be anyone,” Father says gravely.
I wait for him to offer more, but he doesn’t. I grasp the rough sheets, crushing them in my fist. Why won’t Father admitheis a seer? I saw his portrait in the seer school, right beside Trygve’s. Now I need to hear it from him.
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” I press. “Do you know of any other seers at Skallagrim?”
Come on, I plead silently.Tell me the truth.
Seconds stretch out painfully.
If there was any time to come clean, it’s right now.
Instead, Father says nothing.
My stomach bottoms out. Couldhebe the killer?
No. I don’t want to believe it. Father has dedicated himself toprotecting Skallagrim. But… he is the only seer I know, other than Irina. I’m ashamed to even think that it’s possible.
I fall silent, studying his severe face. My father is ruthless, a trained killer. He would be the only person in Skallagrim capable of taking Idris by surprise, let alone killing him. Ever since Idris stopped hunting, they’ve been at odds. He is—was—one of the only hunters to question what we do, and challenge others to do the same. Father hated him for it.
I feel suddenly sick.
But why would Father ever go berserk? He blames the berserkir for killing Trygve. Unless… is he trying to pin this on them? He ordered us to shoot any berserkir out after curfew. And this is all happening when the Unity Celebration is being held for the first time in thirty years. Is this some kind of twisted revenge for the Tragedy?
Even so, I can’t believe my father would ever willingly go berserk. Not when it would mean him becoming that which he hates more than anything.
Movement over Father’s shoulder catches my attention.
Someone ducks behind the wall, but I catch a flash of brown hair.
“Nils?” I ask in disbelief. Am I hallucinating?
Nils emerges from around the corner, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey,” he says, clearly uncomfortable. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I brought you some medicinal tea.”
