Page 22 of Sky in the Deep
Inge shook her head. “No.” She pulled the bench out from under the table and she worked at Fiske’s hair, braiding it back against the scalp before pulling the length of it into a neat knot and securing it with a leather tie. “Aska, can you do Iri’s?” She nodded toward him and my fingers curled around the leather strap.
He sat down and I stood, coming behind him to take his hair into my hands. He didn’t look up at me, but he didn’t flinch under my touch, instantly making me feel like I was going to cry.
“Do you know how?” Halvard asked, looking up at me from where he sat on the ground.
Inge laughed. “She has hair, doesn’t she?”
“I used to do my brother’s,” I answered. The breath caught in my chest.
Inge and Halvard both looked at me. Iri stilled, sitting up straighter.
“What happened to him?” Halvard’s voice turned wary.
“Halvard,” Inge scolded him, her brow furrowing.
I pulled the hair into three measured sections. “He’s dead,” I said flatly.
Halvard went quiet.
I braided the thick, waving strands back away from his face, taking the pleats all the way to the end of his hair and then tying them. I used to braid Iri’s hair all the time just like this and then he would do mine. Remembering it was like swallowing a stone.
Iri sitting before our fire, laughing.
Iri lying in the snow, bleeding.
I blinked. Fiske sat in front of him, leaning forward on his elbows and looking at me, like he could see the memories cast behind my eyes.
I looked away, brushing off Iri’s shoulders, and brought the braids to lie down his back. He stood, taking the Rikiarmor vest from the table and fitting it over the fine tunic. He didn’t look at me as I reached up to buckle the sides, his eyes strained behind the strength painted on his face.
I tightened the straps around his thick torso, remembering. I did the same thing before battle five years ago, in the darkness of our father’s tent. Hours later, Iri was gone.
Once he was dressed, he picked up a round, flat black stone from the table and rubbed his thumb over its surface where worn letters were carved. He looked at it for a moment before tucking it into his vest.
“You did a good job on these.” Inge worked at Fiske’s armor. “They’re cleaner than they’ve been in years.”
Hearing her say it made me wish I hadn’t done it.
When they were dressed, Inge looked them over carefully, turning them each around and inspecting them.
Halvard still watched from the floor, his face sleepy. “When do I get to go fight?”
“Never.” Iri half-smiled.
In five years, he’d be old enough. But the young ones only finished off the fallen on the battlefield. It would be ten years before he was allowed on the front line.
Inge held out a folded length of cloth to me, tied with a strand of twine. “Here.”
I didn’t take it.
Her face twisted, confused. “It’s a dress.”
“For what?” I looked down at it.
“ForAdalgildi.” Halvard stood, unfolding the length of it to show me. It was a plain black wool dress with long sleevesand a long, full skirt. Little white bone buttons ran up the front torso in a simple, neat line.
I swallowed, shaking my head. “No.”
“Well, you can’t wearthat.” Inge’s eyes dropped down to my tunic, armor vest, and pants. The same clothes I went to battle in.
