“I see.”
“Oh, the wild has changed him. I doubt anyone would recognize him if he ever did make it home. He’s not nearly so arrogant or selfish. But I’m afraid he’s still attracted to anything female.”
The door in the floor opens with a slam, and Iric and I jump. We’d been so engrossed in our conversation, we didn’t even hear Soren climbing the tree.
Iric and I are being entirely obvious with our silence and the way we’re staring at Soren.
“Were you talking about me?” he asks.
“No,” Iric says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
Iric doesn’t believe in the goddess, so lying doesn’t faze him, but I still cringe at the sound of the lie. Obviously, Soren believes me.
“Only good things, I hope?”
“Yes,” Iric says at the same time I say, “No.”
“Have you been harassing her?” Soren asks Iric.
“She’s the harasser!” Iric says. “She keeps pestering me about information from our home and our trial.”
“That’s what normal people do,” Soren says. “They talk. Make conversation.”
“We’re not normal people. Normal people don’t have to try this hard to stay alive.” Iric holds the spit out to him.
Soren takes it and blows onto a portion before tearing into it. A week ago, I might have been disgusted by sharing a spit with two boys. But there’s a sense of camaraderie, of togetherness, that I haven’t felt since leaving home. Oh, how I miss Irrenia.
“My sister’s salve,” I interject suddenly. “Where is it?”
Soren looks down at the spit. “We had to use the last of it on you. Your wound was deep, and the blood pumping out of the injury kept washing the salve out. I had to apply generously.”
“Do you still have the canister?” I ask.
“Of course.” Soren hands me the spit and fumbles through a pile near Iric’s mattress. Eventually he comes away with the empty container.
Having taken a bite, I pass the spit back to Iric before receiving the canister from Soren.
“It might be silly, but—” I start.
“There is nothing silly about wanting something of your sister’s out here,” Soren interjects.
Iric points to his mattress. “You see that blanket? The gray one covered in holes? It’s practically useless for keeping warm, but my mother made it.”
I nod, glad they understand, and press the canister against my heart.
“I want to go home,” I say.
“It’s not so bad out here,” Soren says. “The food is good, and the fires are warm.”
“The company leaves something to be desired, though,” Iric says.
Soren rolls his eyes.
“I will never be content out here,” I say. “No matter how comfortable you’ve made living in the wild. I told my sister I would try to return home. I intend to keep that promise. And I will not risk my soul by dying any other way than by attempting my mattugr.”
“Not this again,” Iric groans. “Don’t be in a hurry to die. Your life is not worth so little.”
“I’m not in a hurry to die,” I argue. “I’m in a hurry to defeat Peruxolo.”
Iric scoffs.
“I made him bleed,” I say. “And I’ve learned more about his power. I think I’m getting close to learning how to defeat him.”
“You made him bleed?” Soren asks. “I missed that part.”
“I threw a rock at him. It struck true.”
“Well done,” Iric says. “You can stone him to death. And somehow manage to do it before he kills you with his power.”
“You’re very unhelpful,” I snap.
“You nearly died. If Soren hadn’t been there, you’d be a pile of picked-clean bones outside the god’s home. And you want to get excited over a couple drops of blood?”
“Well, I don’t see you making any progress. You haven’t even bothered to learn how to swim. That’s just sad.”
“But I’m alive and well. At least I don’t have strangers offering to help me piss in the woods.”
“Alive and well. And a coward bound for hell.”
“Whoa, now,” Soren says, stepping in. “Let’s stop with the insults and—”
“Oh, shove off,” Iric says. He thrusts the spit into Soren’s chest, smearing grease against his shirt. “I’m not hungry anymore. You can stay here with your new beau.”
Iric slams the trapdoor on his way out.
Soren sighs. “That wasn’t good.”
“Is he always so argumentative?” I ask.
“Are you?”
“Hey, now. I’m in the right. You know I’m in the right. You know the goddess’s will.”
Soren hands the spit over to me. “You may know what is best for you, but you have no right to say what is best for someone else. Iric has his own beliefs. Don’t try to take those away from him. You would not appreciate someone trying to dissuade you from believing in Rexasena and her teachings.”
And with that, Soren follows his friend down the trapdoor.
I scowl at the closed door long after Soren climbs down the tree.
I don’t know why I thought Soren would take my side. He’s known Iric far longer, and no one ever bothered listening to me inside my village. I shouldn’t have thought things would be different outside of it.
I may have been groomed for leadership, but I am clearly terrible at it. I can’t make others follow my example. I can’t get them to listen to me. I never could garner respect.
And why should Soren and Iric respect me? I may have saved Soren’s life, but because of that life debt, he’s followed me into danger more than once. I also helped when Iric fell to the bottom of the hyggja’s lake, but since then I’ve done nothing but argue with him and belittle his beliefs. It may not be entirely one-sided; Iric has done plenty of arguing and belittling of his own—but I have entered his home, have upset his way of life. I am the newcomer, and Iric has been kind enough to welcome me, in his own way.
There are only two other people living in the wild, and I’ve managed to upset both of them.
Well done, Rasmira. Well done.
I need to fix this.
Regardless of his belief in the goddess, Iric wants to return home. He wants to see Aros again. Soren wants to see Iric safe and happy. The way for everyone to achieve what they want is for everyone to complete their mattugrs.
I have learned much of the wild and its dangers, but the thing that has become the clearest is this: Survival is more likely if we stick together.
The two times I faced the god, Soren was there to help. When the gunda came after us, Iric helped us defeat it. When Iric came close to drowning, it was Soren and I who saved him together. We can do impossible things if we work together, I’m sure of it.
And I need their help. I can’t go into the god’s lair while wearing my armor, yet I can’t risk another encounter with the god without protection. Soren said Iric is a talented smithy—perhaps he would have an idea? But I’m not about to ask without offering something in return. I can teach Iric to swim. Hell, I’ll jump in the lake with him again to defeat the hyggja, if that’s what it takes.
Both boys are angry with me. I need to make things right with them, and then, somehow, I need to convince them that we can accomplish our quests. We can go home and make everything right.
It may take time, but I have nothing better to do while I heal.
CHAPTER
12
When the trapdoor opens later that evening, I pretend to be asleep. It’s not the right time to broach the topic of our quests. I should let them both sleep off the argument.
I hear boots discarded on the floor, clothing rustling, then two bodies falling onto the other mattress.
“She’s a deep sleeper,” Soren whispers.
“You really shouldn’t take a liking to her,” Iric says.
“Why not?”
“She’s determined to go after Peruxolo again. She won’t be long for this world. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Soren lets out a brief exhale of incredulity. “Since when don’t you want to see me hurt? You’ve made it your mission to keep me miserable out here as payment for getting you banished. And I don’t think Rasmira is going to get herself killed. She’s more determined and skilled with an ax than anyone else I’ve ever met.”