“I have swimming to practice,” he says innocently before taking off for the pool we’d been using.
Soren stands next to me, the water reaching up to our shoulders. Good thing, since he still has all his armor on. A calculated decision on Iric’s part, I’m sure. He didn’t want to drown his friend, only drench him.
“Traitor,” Soren says to me.
“I don’t owe you any loyalty.”
“I saved you from Peruxolo! That doesn’t earn me any loyalty?”
“No.” I raise my arm and send a wave of water crashing onto his head.
He glares at me for a moment, before watching Iric try to float in the far-off pool some more. I’m amazed and proud of Iric’s confidence in the water alone.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Soren says. “It’s a nice change.” With a smile on his lips, Soren turns from Iric to me.
With Soren standing so close to me, I remember just how close in height we are. Our eyes are on par with each other. Our noses.
Our mouths.
I’m startled by the thought. Where in the world did it come from? Soren has always had a mouth, obviously. But now I’m noticing it as an individual entity.
His lips look so soft, a stark contrast to the rest of his muscled body.
If Soren notices a change in my demeanor, he doesn’t show it. No, he sucks in a big gulp of air and goes under the water. I watch his body closely, trying to figure out what he’s doing. A hand darts in my direction, and I realize too late—
I’m sucked under.
I send a punch Soren’s way. It doesn’t gather much force underwater, but it’s enough to make him release me.
We both breach the surface.
“You ass.”
He laughs again.
I jump, get my hands on either side of his shoulders, and push back. He might have been stable enough to withstand me without the armor, but with?
His armor drags him down.
He sinks rapidly to the bottom. It takes him some time to get his feet under him to drag the extra weight to the surface. He rubs water from his eyes, which are no longer filled with mischief.
The smallest of smiles rests at the corner of his lips, and I realize then that I’d almost forgotten what it was to have fun. Strange that Soren, a boy from the wild, should help me to remember.
“Truce?” he asks.
“For today.” I return to Iric and monitor his progress.
* * *
IN ANOTHER WEEK, Iric is swimming. He’s by no means a strong swimmer, but he knows how to float both on his back and stomach. He can paddle himself through the water and even manage big strokes above it. The most important improvement, however, is his confidence.
That lack of fear, his ability to put his head under the water and hold his breath without worry, it bolsters him. Gives him a sense of freedom he didn’t have before.
Despite the improvement, I don’t let up on our practices. Swimming muscles need to be exercised regularly, until they’re strong. Iric gets tired out far too soon, but I will make a strong swimmer of him yet.
My wound is essentially healed, but I’ve made no plans to return to my little fort in the wild. There seems to be little point when I spend my days helping Iric and Soren, especially when there’s room for all of us in the tree house.
It surprises me how much I’ve come to trust them, but I remind myself not to get too attached. We’re exchanging services. I teach Iric to swim, and he helps me with new armor so I can enter the god’s lair. It’s a trade-off, and when all is said and done, Iric and Soren will return to Restin, while I will go home to Seravin. Assuming the villages really do welcome us back home and don’t treat us as forever outcasts.
When Iric insists that he needs to start spending more time in his forge, I let him. There are traps that need mending, and Iric needs to work on my armor.
So as not to be a distraction, I spend the time with Soren. The summer months won’t last forever, so we need to start stocking up on firewood for winter—just in case we’re not returned home by then.
“Don’t dull your weapon by using your own ax on the firewood,” Soren insists.
“But the other axes have wooden shafts,” I say, staring at the tools Iric designed. I’m still not used to the idea of long-lasting wood, despite having lived in the tree house for the last few weeks.
“They won’t break,” Soren says. “I promise.” He grabs a piece of wood, places it on the stump in front of him, and takes a hearty swing.
I sling my ax on my back and stare warily at the axes Iric has made for chopping. Eventually, I decide to give them a try. Even so, I start off by making kindling, grabbing smaller pieces of wood and placing the ax carefully to cut the pieces lengthwise into even thinner segments.
“Coward,” Soren says playfully. “What do you think is going to happen? The ax head will go flying?”
“Yes!”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Sounds like an excuse to get out of doing work.”
“I am not afraid of work.”
“Says the privileged village leader’s daughter.”
“You know what? I’m going to outchop you,” I say. I grab a large round of wood, chop it in half, then cut those halves into quarters.
“Fat chance,” Soren says. He throws down his ax to grab a heavy piece of wood and place it on his stump.
I focus on my own wood pile for the next minute, cutting through segment after segment.
After a while, Soren says, “I think we need to place some wagers. Make this more interesting. Whoever gets through their pile last has to wash the winner’s clothes for the next week.”
I drop my ax to the ground, place my hands on my knees.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Is there anything that won’t remind me of Torrin?
The trial blazes behind my eyes. Our competition to see who could kill the most ziken. And after that—
He—
I shut my eyes as tightly as they will go, as though I can will the memories away. I don’t want to think of it. Torrin won that day at the trial, and he keeps winning every time I think of him in the wild. Every time I feel like I can’t do something because it reminds me of him.
I will not let him win anymore.
“Rasmira, are you all right?”
I open my eyes, focus them on Soren’s face.
I’m with Soren.
Not Torrin.
Soren is banished with me, and he will help me because he also wants to go home. He’s not setting me up. He’s not going to betray me.
I’ve let Torrin win long enough.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. And though it hurts me to say it, though everything in my body screams at me to run away, to strike out on my own and not trust anyone, I add, “You’re on.”
I pick up my ax and resume chopping. Soren watches me for a moment, as though he’s unsure what he should do.
“Do you have a strong desire to do my laundry, Soren?”
He smirks before returning to his own ax.
When I chop through my last piece of wood, I look over at Soren’s pile. He still has five large rounds to get through.
I won.
I beat Soren.
And I beat Torrin’s memory.
I’m getting my life back.
“I’ll just add my clothes to your dirty pile, then,” I say with a grin.
Soren stares at my mouth for just a beat longer than necessary, but before I can do anything about it, he says, “Or maybe we could just slip everything into Iric’s pile.”
“Are you kidding? Iric hasn’t laundered his clothes in weeks.”
“Good point,” Soren says. “Fine. You win this time, but next time we’re raising the stakes.”
“Loser does laundry for a month?” I ask.
“Laundry and cooking.”
“Better sharpen your ax before then.”
“Oh, I will.”
Soren and I stack the wood in the storage shed, until the large space is fit to bursting. There’s something so satisfying about staring at the work I’ve done and knowing how it will keep me alive for the next several months.
Just as we finish loading in the last of it, Iric races up one of the trails, holding long metal rods in his hands. “I’ve done it. I know how we’re going to kill the hyggja!”
“Are those spears?” Soren asks, eyeing the weapons.
Iric comes to a stop in front of us. “Yes! I’ve just finished them.”