Iric crosses his arms, angry now. I feel a little guilty for incensing him so close to a near-death experience, but not guilty enough to take back the words.
“I told you before,” Iric says, “dying horribly is stupid. I don’t believe in your goddess, and I will not get eaten by the hyggja because our village demands it.”
“And you?” I ask, turning to Soren. I know he believes in the goddess. He’s mentioned her before.
“I can’t die. I have to protect Iric.”
“What, do you owe him a life debt, too? Are you incapable of saving yourself?”
Soren glares at me. Good. I want him angry with me. Maybe he’ll finally leave me alone.
“I do not owe Iric a life debt,” he says, “but I am the reason he was banished to the wild in the first place, so I will keep him alive and help him survive. I won’t risk my life by attempting my mattugr, and I’m not about to go home without him even if I did complete it.”
I shake my head at both of them. These stupid, stupid boys. “Fine. You’re both lazy cowards. Stay out here and die for all I care.”
I wring out my shirt as best I can and head for the cliff to retrieve my ax and armor.
“Are you going to try to kill the god again?” Soren asks.
“Obviously,” I say, not bothering to turn around.
Silence for a moment, and I can imagine perfectly what must be going through his head. He owes me a life debt and wants to help me, but he doesn’t want to risk himself because he feels that he owes Iric.
Finally, he says, “I will help you.”
I stop and spin around. “Do your own damn task! I don’t need help from any boys!”
Iric’s face curls down into a frown. I think he’s decided that he doesn’t like me, despite the fact that I saved Soren’s life. “Hurry and put your armor back on,” he snaps. “You’re showing everything.”
Then he turns on his heel and darts away, his last words no doubt meant to embarrass me.
I look down at my shirt. It’s sticking to me like a second skin, and the chill—it’s not helping to hide anything.
Soren glances over, as though his eyes are reacting to Iric’s words before his mind has a chance to catch up to them. He looks away quickly and blushes.
Actually blushes.
“What are you, twelve?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I scurry up the hill, gather my things, and return to my boy-free fort.
* * *
THOUGH I HAVE NOTHING to cook, I build myself a fire first thing upon arriving at my camp. As the flames heat my chilled skin, I remove my sopping clothes and hang them on a nearby branch to dry. I don one of the spare pairs of clothing from my pack and stare at the flames in front of me.
Dying horribly is stupid.
No, Iric. Losing all honor and doing nothing to get it back is stupid. An eternity of damnation is stupid.
Tomorrow, it’s back to observing the god for me.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, I stand in front of the map I’ve carved into my tree. I use the rock to shape a hole at the end of the trail the god travels regularly, the one that wends below the tree I usually use as a hiding place when observing him. I was surprised by what I found at the trail’s end.
A latrine.
It was unremarkable and disgusting, but now I know the god must eat and drink as a man does.
Once done with the drawing, I turn to the side and add to my list.
FACE OF A MAN
BLOND HAIR
CARRIES AN AX
CAN USE HIS POWER TO LIFT ME OFF THE GROUND
USES A LATRINE
On the other side, I have other details written down.
PERUXOLO’S DOMAIN:
I CANNOT ENTER
MY AX CANNOT ENTER
ROCKS CAN ENTER
STICKS CAN ENTER
I let the rock drop from my hand and clatter to the ground. I’ve learned a little, but I don’t know what to try next. How are rocks and sticks going to help me?
“How’s the god hunting coming along?”
I spin, my hand going for my ax, but of course, it is only Soren. “Could you wear a bell or something?”
“I think what you meant to say was ‘It’s nice to see you again, Soren.’”
“I cannot tell a lie.”
“Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
This time, I actually do reach for my ax.
“Now, before you get angry,” he says, “you should know that I brought you dinner.”
That’s when the smell hits me. Juicy valder meat. Soren holds a skinned, roasted beast on a spit. He offers it to me.
I eye the meat, my mouth watering. I haven’t had hot food since I was still in the village. Despite my irritation, I take the meat and bite into it. It’s tender, and I chew slowly, savoring the taste.
“Thank you,” I say once I swallow.
“I’ve seen you with your pack of supplies. You must be running out of food.”
He’s not wrong.
“So I brought you this,” he continues, shrugging a large metal contraption off one of his shoulders. It’s circular with metal spikes around the edges. A dried brown substance crusts the tips. Blood.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A trap for catching valder. Iric designed it. He’s the most talented metalsmith I’ve ever met. Let me show you how it works.”
The hunters from Seravin use traps, but they’re all made out of rope. Nets that raise into the air when stepped in. I’ve never seen one made out of iron.
“I thought Iric was a warrior, like you,” I say.
“He took the warrior trial, but he trained most of his life with the smithies.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It’s … complicated.”
“Make it uncomplicated.”
“It’s not really my story to tell.”
“Then what’s your story?” I ask.
I don’t know why I bother. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been alone for the last few days with no one to talk to.
“If I tell you my story, will you tell me yours?” he asks.
“No.” I don’t hesitate before answering.
Soren looks down at his boots and smiles softly. “When Iric failed his trial, I failed on purpose so I could watch over him in the wild.”
“That’s very noble of you,” I say.
“Not really. Not when it was my fault he was banished at all.”
And that’s the part he won’t explain. But something tells me he didn’t grab a decapitated ziken head and clamp it onto Iric’s arm. How else could you cause someone to fail? If Soren willingly lost to protect his friend, then he couldn’t have purposely made Iric fail, could he?
Soren lays the trap down by his feet. Spikes that can only be described as teeth make a circle around a metal lever in the middle. Soren explains how the device works, how pressure on the lever sends the sharp teeth clamping shut like a mouth, trapping whatever steps on it. He and Iric usually place a morsel of food on the trap to attract the valder. He recommends I set it up away from camp so that if something is caught, it won’t alert ziken to the whereabouts of my camp.
“It’s very clever, but why would Iric give me this?”
“It’s his way of saying thanks for helping him out of the lake.”
“I’m surprised,” I say. “I thought he didn’t like me.”
“Well,” Soren says, his lips pressing together in thought. “You’re not his favorite person, but after some convincing, he agreed you should have it.”
I let out a short laugh. “Then please do pass along my thanks to Iric.”
He stills. Just for the briefest of moments. Then, “Of course.”
“And thank you, Soren, for bringing it. It is much appreciated.”
He beams. After a moment, he asks, “Would you take a walk with me?”
I’m taken aback. “Why?” Then I realize it doesn’t matter. “No.”
“It could be fun.”
“I doubt it.”
“Now that’s hurtful.”
“You’ll recover.”
Soren looks down at the toe of his boot, thinking for a moment. Then he says, “Could I show you where the yellow berries grow the thickest so you can pick them on your own?”
I scramble for an excuse not to come.
“If you learn where they are, then I won’t have to come back here to deliver more to you,” he adds.
He’s good. Very good. I can’t argue with that logic.
“All right, then. Lead the way.”
If he wants to smirk over the victory, he’s smart enough to hide it from me.