Because that’s what would happen if I failed—if I also died—since Hera and Silva were too young to attend the Hird.
Another shiver pulled at my shoulders, but I ignored it as I straightened further, to my full five-five stature, looking each person I passed in the eye—to try to tell them I would fight to the end.
For them, I would offer up my very soul.
Even without a rune to power me, I would try to win our future with desperate will.
When I turned to Viljan and he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, I knew I’d hidden my heartbreak and the real fear coursing through my veins well enough. But as sobs echoed over the water, my bottom lip shook. It only did so once, but Viljan didn’t waste any time. Taking the lead, he stalked down the long wooden dock, and even though my people whispered my name for every step I took toward one of my father’s vessels—a beautiful white wooden longship—I didn’t turn around. It was only when my foot hovered over the soulless wood that I hesitated.
“Get in,” Viljan ordered, already seated in the bow, ready with the oars.
The wood this ship was made of would never again hum—would no longer sing or whisper or sail by itself. The hushed hulls nearly crushed me as I climbed aboard, my heart sticking in my throat when the people’s cries continued to echo over the dark water.
I stared furiously down into the beautifully curved body of the vessel as their pleas pierced the hard shell I tried to build around me. Even though the sounds faded as Viljan started rowing, I gripped the wooden sides not to look up. Wood stroked water, joining the broken cries, and I flexed my hands, moving them to my bent legs as I raised my eyes to the grass-thatched wooden homes, to the other docks where the people—my people—filed out to watch us leave.
Hands lifted into the air, forming intofists whenever we passed them. They pressed them against their hearts, then turned their open palms my way.
I anchor you in my heart until the winds bring you back.
It was our fylki’s formal farewell, a sign of strength, of holding on, of fighting for the ones we loved.
A thicket of open palms met the sky, the unspoken goodbye whispering over the grass and the dark water as if this was my final voyage. I shakily raised my own.
Twenty-two years I’d been in this village.
Twenty-two years during which I’d known every face greeting me on my walks.
Twenty-two years when I’d laughed, cried, found friends, loved my family—loved my entire life.
And twenty-two years during which my father had kept us all safe.
“Listen to me,” Viljan demanded as we turned the sharp bend that severed my sight of home and swept the river into a blanket of lush green forest while the scent of pine and sap enveloped us. “Your mother is wrong. You will survive this. I know you will, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it,” Viljan said firmly.
“I know.” I tried for a weak smile. “Thank you for that too.”
Water splashed over the sides of the ship as Viljan took us farther and farther from our village. Farther and farther from the mountains that shielded us from the worst of the northern winds, farther from the playful rivers where there was an abundance of fish, and farther from everything I’d ever known.
“Do you know what happens now?” my guard asked.
I forced a nod. “The summer trials come first. The heirs need to earn blood, steel, and wood, and then we’ll face the gods. If we receive their blessing, we’ll get our runes and we will be allowed into the academy as commanders of our section—the warrior clan that will later join our fylki.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Viljan responded as he rowedharder, the wooden oars slicing through the water with a speed that made my stomach lurch.
“It’s not.” I glided my hands over the sleek wood, my chest caving when it didn’t vibrate beneath my palms. “My mother was right. The godswillbe watching. And I will enter the summer trials on a lie. The king and the chiefs cannot find out my father is dead—that there is no divine strength running through my veins. They’ll kill me before I can even try to win the gods’ favor.”
“They won’t find out.” Viljan’s fingers coiled fiercely around the oars. “The other initiates have left their chiefs, so they don’t have magic anyway. It’s only the heirs who are allowed to keep their chief’s magic, and it’s only because you’re blood.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t notice when I can’t take down four men at the same time.”
When fear flickered in Viljan’s cerulean eyes, I wished I hadn’t said anything. But it was true. We were known for our strength, and it was harder to hide its lack than if we’d been able to sneak through a crowd unnoticed or had silver tongues.
“You’ve trained me well,” I added quickly. “I will do everything I can.”
“You will walk into the halls of the gods and carve the rune they offer you into your flesh, and after that you’ll begin your training as chief at the academy. You will. I know it.”
