“Something I wanted to tell you, chief,” she said.
“Aye, what is it, then?” Agnar said. He gave her a hard look, a warning to take care over what came out of her lips. They had sworn to keep silent about their destination, the few of them who had sworn the oath, not even telling the rest of the Battle-Grim.
“Not until we are on the north shore of Lake Horndal,” Agnar had said. “With the Boneback Mountains behind us and the Battle-Plain all that we can see before us. There will be no going back, then, no chance of desertion or betrayal.”
So, they had kept their silence, Agnar only telling the Battle-Grim that they had a new job and that it would pay well.
Pay better than any other job imaginable, Elvar thought. Finding Oskutree will change our lives. It may change all of Vigrie.
“That day Bjarn was taken,” she said.
“Aye,” Agnar said, his frown thickening, eyes flickering to see if anyone was close, or pausing in their tasks to flap their ears.
“I fought one of Ilska’s Raven-Feeders as they fled the tavern with the boy,” Elvar continued.
Agnar nodded, his frown fading now that he knew she was not talking about what had happened or been said inside the tavern kitchen.
“I think he was Tainted,” Elvar said. “He… changed. When he saw death looming. His teeth, his eyes.”
“Are you sure?” Agnar said.
Elvar took a moment. “No,” she said, thinking of the blond warrior, his beard and brynja, their combat lasting little more than a dozen heartbeats. And it had been dark, dawn only a hint in the perpetual gloom of Snakavik. “It was dark, and over too quickly. But I have lived around the Tainted, my father and his Berserkir-thralls. I have seen them turn.”
“Aye,” Agnar grunted, “I don’t doubt you have.” He tugged on his beard. “Tainted among Ilska’s Raven-Feeders,” he murmured. “If he was, which you say is not certain, then the question is: Did Ilska the Cruel know?”
Elvar shrugged.
“The Tainted can live among us and go unnoticed,” Agnar said. “Many do. That is the safer path for them. But to be a warrior in a crew like the Raven-Feeders, to live with death’s talons in your shoulder, her breath on your neck, and still manage to control that wildness of the blood…”
“Not so easy,” Elvar said.
“Aye,” Agnar grunted. “And if Ilska knew, then why wasn’t the warrior wearing a thrall-collar? Better to do her bidding, then, and she wouldn’t have to pay him as much. Or she could have sold him?” He looked at Elvar. “I do not know if this is important or not, but it is good to know, and good that you remembered. A fine quality to have, to be able to go back over the details and pick out the thread of a thing.” He patted her arm, saw the red and white scars spiralled around her wrist, then smiled.
“Look about you, Elvar St?rrsdottir. Did you ever think that you would be travelling on such a journey, such an adventure?”
“No,” Elvar smiled back, the thought of what they were doing, of where they were going, sparking a constant glow of excitement in the pit of her belly.
Oskutree, the great tree, centre of the dead god’s realm. To be part of a quest that will live on in songs and saga-tales for ever.
She grinned, wider, and turned to look out over the prow of the Wave-Jarl, over the green-black of the lake, a cold wind whipping white-flecked foam on wave tips. To the east and west the Boneback Mountains reared, green slopes thick with pine and the glitter of waterfalls. Here and there a sheer cliff face showed yellow or grey, the hint of colossal, ancient bones. Starl was built in the shadow of a high-curling rib of Snaka’s that arched high as the clouds, one of the few places where his ancient skeleton could still be seen. The rib cast a long shadow arcing across the wide water. The lake was one of two places where a handful of Snaka’s ribs had not been overlaid with rock and earth. Perhaps there had been a lake here before the death of the great serpent, denying a solid foundation for the upheaval and resettling that Snaka’s death caused. Elvar did not know, but whatever the reason, this was one of only two passes through the Boneback Mountains to the northern side. To the Battle-Plain, where the battle had raged the hardest on that dread day, the Guefalla, when the gods fell, and where vaesen prowled now in greater numbers. Looking up she saw the silhouettes of osprey in the sky, and further east an eagle. The Wave-Jarl cut through the waves, the speed of it tugging Elvar’s braid out behind her.
This is freedom, to sail with shield-brothers and sisters on a journey for fair battle-fame and dragon-hoarded treasure. In search of fabled Oskutree. The joy of it bubbled in her veins and she laughed out loud.