He looks pensive for a moment. “Do you know anything about the Valtia?”
I let out a dry croak of laughter. “A little.” But I’ve learned more about magic in the last month than I did in twelve years in the temple.
Oskar nods. “So you know that she wields both ice and fire in perfect balance.”
“Right.” My voice sounds as hollow as I feel.
“And that she possesses extreme amounts of both.” He beckons to me and begins to hike again. “But you also know by now that many people possess this kind of magic, just not as much, and not as balanced. They can’t do anything like she does.”
“Nothing like she does,” I whisper, huddling within my cloak as we reach a copse of trees to the south of the rolling white dunes.
“Some people have a bit of ice, like Veikko and Senja and little Kukka, and others a touch of fire, like Aira and Ismael, and like Jouni, too. Most wielders tend toward one more than the other, but nearly everyone has some amount of both elements,” Oskar continues. “Except for a few of us. We have only the tiniest spark of one element, and so much of the other that it nearly kills us.” He guides me to a gnarled tree and sweeps his arm across a branch that’s jutting out at the level of his hip. Then, without asking permission of any kind, he grasps my waist and lifts me onto the branch. I’m shocked by the feel of his hands on me, but he pulls away quickly. “You’ll be more comfortable there, with your feet out of the snow.”
“Thanks,” I say, a bit breathlessly, surprised at how badly I wish he would touch me again. “So . . . you were telling me you have only ice magic.”
“It feels like it’s trying to tear me apart sometimes.” He rubs his chest, and I have a flashing memory of ice blades jutting from Sofia’s body, killing her from the inside out. “But worse than that, I have so little fire inside that I can’t stay warm. And that’s why I hate the cold.”
I think of Sig, shirtless as he stalked out of the cavern and into the chilly air. “Sig is the opposite of you, isn’t he?”
Oskar grimaces. “I suppose you could say that.”
“Why does he seem to hate you so much?”
He bows his head. “We used to be friends. He joined the camp about five years ago. He was alone, and my family took him in. He’d had a terrible time of it, but he healed up quickly. Raimo helped. It was good to have Sig around. We balance each other out.” He curls his gloved fingers into fists. “But each time we were chased or burned out of our camps by the miners or the constables or the farmers, Sig grew angrier. He wanted to use his magic to fight back, despite the risk of revealing ourselves. And it wasn’t hard for him to bring some of the others around to his way of thinking.”
“But not you.”
His eyes meet mine. “I don’t want to fight. I only want to live.”
“Don’t you have to fight for some things?” I think back to that moment in the bronze cage, when I fought with everything inside me, just for the chance to take another breath.
Oskar takes a step away from me. “When I fight, people die.” His eyes aren’t inscrutable now. They’re brimming with pain. I reach for his hand, but it disappears beneath his cloak and he closes his eyes. “There are bears in the forest. Grizzlies with heads the size of cauldrons. One pelt can buy enough food to feed a family for two months.” His voice is flat as he spins out these words, like he’s plodding through deep, deep snow. “My father was determined to find one. He set out traps, much the same as the one that took your fingers off. And one summer day, I went with him to check them. When we heard the snap of it, we ran. I was thinking I had so much energy, that I could run like this forever. I ran so fast that I passed my father, so fast that I didn’t hear his shouts until it was too late.”
He stares down at the snow. “The trap had snared a cub. It was squalling and screaming. I remember seeing its blood speckling the pine needles. It’s the last thing I saw before the mother bear attacked.” He pulls his cloak back and lifts his tunic for a moment, revealing the three slashing marks across his ribs, wide and pink. “My father hit her before she could kill me.”
He raises his head. “That was the first time my magic came out. It was like”—he lets out a long breath—“an avalanche. And when it stopped, everything around me was quiet.” Like his voice right now. “The bear was frozen solid. But so was my father.”
Oh, stars. I hear Elder Kauko’s voice in my head, telling me how the magic protects the wielder in a dangerous or stressful situation: It usually bursts forth with such strength . . . I imagine a dark-haired, granite-eyed little boy, staggering back in the wake of his own icy power. “What did you do?”