Page 38 of Sky in the Deep
“Sigr, keep the soul of my mother safe inSólbjorg.Protect my father. Do not take your favor from me.” The words bent and turned around each other. I sniffed them back. “Don’t forget me.”
TWENTY-THREE
Inge filled her basket and put on her cloak as Halvard settled down to sleep. “I want you to go to the mountainside cellar. We need to store the sage and I need you to get some vinegar from the barrel.” She took my cloak from the hook on the wall and handed me an empty jar.
“You’re not going with me?” My brow lifted.
“I have patients to tend to. The cellar is below the ritual house. You’ll see the door in the rock face.” Inge took up a small torch from beside the door and lit it in the fire before opening the door. But she paused, looking back at me. Her lips pressed together as thoughts flitted behind her eyes. “Good-bye, Eelyn.” She turned before she’d even said my name, stepping out into the darkening village.
I stood, staring at the door, my mind jumping from one thought to the next. She was letting me go. She was giving me my chance. My heart raced past my mind and I ran formy boots. I fit them on clumsily before pulling my cloak around me.
The door creaked open and I looked down the empty path, turning the jar over in my hand as my pulse picked up. I could take some food from the cellar and slip into the forest. There was still some sunlight left and if I hurried, I could make it to the river. No one would notice I was gone until morning.
I loaded up my arms with the bundles of sage and watched. The village was quiet, but the Riki were still awake, behind closed doors. I lit the other torch and stepped out the door, walking quickly. Inge stood in the candlelit doorway of Gyda’s house.
I headed toward the ritual house, staying to the side of the path, and avoided the gaze of anyone who passed. The blacksmith stood in his tent, pounding against his anvil and sending orange sparks out around him in the growing dark. I cringed at the sound of the embers sizzling in the snow, remembering the burn of the collar on my neck. He glanced up as I passed before he turned back to his hammer.
The cellar was carved into the side of the mountain, with a large wood plank door set into it. I gripped the sage with one arm and pulled at the cold iron handle, opening the door against the snow. I pushed my weight into it until I could fit through the opening. It was dark and damp, the sound of melted snow echoing in the space as it dripped from the rock ceiling. The walls were stacked with barrels and crates—food, ale, medicines. The village’s winter stores were stocked high,with grain packed into woven bags and set up on top of wooden stands to keep them off the ground.
On the back wall, salted meat hung on metal hooks. I stuck the torch in the mount that hung on the wall and opened my bag, filling it with a small sack of grain and shoving clean bandages into it. I reached up for the meat, and almost slipped, catching myself on a basket of ginger root and sending the pieces rolling across the floor. I cursed under my breath, lifting onto my toes until I had ahold of a long strip of venison and pulled it free.
The sound of the door made me stop, my hands freezing on my bag. A red-bearded man stood in the opening, leaning against the rock wall with an axe in his hand. The man fromAdalgildi.
“What are you doing in here, Aska?” I could hardly see his lips moving beneath his thick beard.
I stood, slipping the meat into my bag, and took the jar from the pouch inside. The barrel of vinegar was sitting open behind me with a wooden ladle hung on the wall beside it. I turned my back to him, taking the lid from the jar and filling it to the top.
“I said what are you doing in here? Stealing?”
I dropped the jar back into my bag and walked across the cellar floor, taking the torch from the wall and waiting for him to move.
“Did Fiske cut your tongue out?” He hooked one of his fingers into the collar and jerked me forward.
“Don’t touch me.” I pulled away from him.
He smiled, one eyebrow lifting. “I need something from you before you go.” He reached out and put his hand on my waist. His rough, stained fingers set against the line of my hip, and his eyes met mine.
I knew these eyes. I’d seen them in battle and other places too.
His voice was calm when he spoke. “You’re adýr,Aska. You’ll do what I say or you’ll be punished.”
“I belong to Fiske. If you want something, you’ll have to ask him for it.” The words were rotten in my mouth.
I waited for his anger. For him to push harder. But the man looked down at me with something that looked like relief on his face. And as quickly as I realized it was coming, his hand was flying through the air. It cracked against the side of my face and I fell into the wall, dropping the torch. The bag on my shoulder fell open and I caught it, gripping the jar in my hand and swinging my arm wide. My shoulder popped as it caught him in the face. The glass shattered, the vinegar exploding from the jar, and he howled, clawing at his eyes with his hands. I jumped over him, running for the door, and he caught my foot. I hit the ground hard, trying to crawl away as his other hand clasped around my ankle.
He cursed, pulling me back. I kicked until my heel found his chin and he pulled again, harder, until I was underneath him. He took my face in his hand, squeezing. His eyes were red, glassed over with the burn of the vinegar. “You’ll pay for that, Aska.”
Fingers hooked beneath my collar and he dragged medown the path. I clawed at his arms, choking as my feet slid around me. He towed me past the ritual house and into the forest. Deeper. Farther. When he finally stopped, I tried to stand, but he pushed me back down, grabbing the collar again and threading a thick rope through it.
“Stand up,” he spat, yanking me forward.
I searched around us again, but it was too dark. I couldn’t tell how far from the village we were. Even if anyone saw us, they wouldn’t help me. If I screamed, no one would come.
I stood shakily, my hair wet and cold, suddenly wanting Iri so badly that my insides ached. I could see him, riding away on the horse. Trying to meet my eyes. Trying to reach me.
He pulled me to the trunk of a wide tree and wrapped the rope around it, pulling it tight. I was pinned in place, my face against the rough bark.
“What are you doing?” I tried to pull away.
