Page 45 of Sky in the Deep
I knelt down in front of him, looking up into his eyes. “Have you ever killed a man?”
He shook his head skittishly.
“Do you know how? Where to strike?”
“I—I think so.”
“Show me.”
His small, shaking hand lifted, pressing to my neck. I nodded. Then he dropped it down to my stomach, my side, my lower back.
“That’s right.” I tried to smile. “Are you better with a sword or a knife?” I knew he wasn’t very good with the axe. I’d seen it.
“Sword.” He lifted his chin and tried to pull the nerves back inside.
“Alright. Take a deep breath and listen to what I’m about to tell you.”
He obeyed, inhaling slowly and standing up straight in front of me.
“In a moment, someone will come through that door. They will try to kill us or take us, but I’m going to kill them before that happens.”
He nodded.
“If they kill me, or they take me, it will be your job to kill them. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I uttered the words that had once been said to me, the night my mother died. “You run into the forest. You don’t stop until morning. No matter what.”
The sound of screaming echoed in my head, taking me back to that night in Hylli. Running barefoot in the trees. Iri before me. My father’s deep, grinding voice behind me.
Run!
Halvard’s eyes danced over my face. “Alright.”
“You don’t try to help me. You don’t come back for Inge or Fiske or Iri. Yourun. You leave them behind.”
The night Iri pulled me into the forest was the same night I’d become a warrior. If he survived, this would be that night for Halvard too.
The tears smarted in his eyes again.
“Don’t cry,” I ordered, standing. “If you die tonight, you’ll see your father inFriðr.Right?”
He smiled, sniffing. “Right.”
The door creaked and Halvard’s face fell, his eyes going wide. I turned to stand in front of him, sliding my sword from its sheath slowly.
A figure stood in the open doorway.
And I knew right away. My sword almost fell from my grasp, my heart stopping. A wildfire of fear ran over me and I tried to pull air into my lungs. I blinked.
Slick, shining furs. The glint of silver. White, dead eyes.
Herja.
My eyes ran over him. His long stringy hair fell down around his face and he stared down at me with no expression. I eyed the sword in his hand and stepped back slowly.
“It’s just adýr,” he called back over his shoulder, his eyes on the collar around my neck.
