The Stone of Sorrow Page 11

“Enough,” I say. “I’m too tired for all of this. I need to rest, and then I need to find my sister. I can’t waste time looking for lost loves.”

  “You must,” says Oski.

  “Give me one good reason,” I say, trying to get comfortable on the cold, hard ground that is to be my bed tonight.

  “Because Wyrd knows where to find the entrance to the great library,” says Oski.

  “I’ve always wanted to see that,” says Einar, awestruck.

  “The great library is a myth,” I say. “And besides, why do we want to go there?”

  Einar answers for Oski. “Because there we may find information about how to get rid of Katla once and for all.”

  I sigh. “Okay, so let me see if I’ve got this. Now you want to go on a quest to find someone to help us find Oski’s lover so she can help us find a mythical library that might give us some answers. Thanks, but I have all the answers I need,” I say, pointing to the red moon. “That is my journey.”

  Einar’s eyes flash brilliant gold in anger. “This is bigger than your journey,” he says, shocking me by raising his voice for the first time.

  “This could help everyone,” he continues. “Even if we make it to moonwater, how will we defeat Katla when we get there?”

  I’m so tired, and all I want in the world is to be with Sýr. “How far out of our way will we have to go?” I ask. “Or maybe that’s what you want, eh? To delay me?”

  Einar glances toward the east, where I know a dark forest lies. “Look, it’s not far. The place we seek is beyond the trees. And no, I’m not delaying you.”

  I am filled with a sense of foreboding. “What is in there, Einar?”

  “Elves, yes,” says Oski, their voice reverent. “They will know where to find Wyrd, for they are the keepers of secrets. My Wyrd. She angered the wrong god, made him lose in battle, humiliated him.”

  “What if she’s dead?” I ask, and Einar gives me a sharp look.

  Oski turns to me and smiles. “No, not dead. I would know. I’d feel it in my soul. Wyrd is not dead. But it might be easier if she were.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Shush,” says Oski. “Rest now. Sleep. We will see the elves this night.”

  I look at Einar, who gives me his usual shrug.

  I wonder if Sýr is all right. I’m coming, I say to her with my mind’s voice. I will find a way to save you.

  I sleep a black, dreamless sleep, and when I wake I see Einar’s face above mine. He’s close, and I should be afraid, but I’m not.

  “Shh,” he says. I can smell the sweet scent of his breath. “There are night creatures approaching us, and we don’t know if they’re under Katla’s command. We must move, and quietly, to the distant tree line of the dark forest.”

  Groggy, I stagger to my feet and shoulder my pack. Einar hands me my spear stick, giving it a quizzical look when he touches it. “Odd thing,” he whispers.

  I nod in return, trying to stifle a yawn, and he frowns at me. Why do I feel like the disappointing kid sister on this quest? When did Oski and Einar take control of my path? I’m too tired to act on my irritation though. I hear an undulating howl in the darkness and hurry behind Oski, who stamps out the fire and leads the way.

  We hug the line of rocks bordering the open land of the barrens, where nothing grows and there is no shelter. We try to keep the natural wall of the badlands to our backs, but we are exposed.

  I cannot see anything out here, and my eyes hurt from straining, but I know we’re being stalked. More than once I hear the huff of animal breath behind me. Einar draws closer, his large form a comforting presence. Even if he and Oski are taking this journey on a tangent, I am grateful I am not alone.

  It isn’t far to the trees, and we reach the first spindling outliers soon enough. Once we are within the forest’s boundaries, we turn and face the open field to see our pursuers. There is nothing there, save for the glinting eyes of creatures shrouded in darkness. We hear growls coming from the barrens.

  “So the witch sends her beasts,” Oski growls.

  “What do we do?” I ask. I feel overcome with worry.

  “This way,” says Einar. “Hurry. We will be safe in here.”

  I turn to follow him, but it is so dark that I have to grab hold of his flowing cloak. He reaches back and hooks his arm through mine, and I reach out on my other side and link arms with Oski. We are like a chain in the darkness, forging ahead into the unknown.

  We come to a place where several large trunks have intertwined and created a braided archway overhead. It’s dark, but the moon casts a glow through an opening in the treetops.

  “We need more light, Runa,” Einar says to me.

  I gather my runes in my palm, being careful not to drop them on the forest floor, and whisper to them. “By the rune of day, Dagaz, please light our way,” I say. They flicker at first, and I’m worried I have imbued them too much with my fear, but after a moment they glow bright again.

  “Hold your runes up,” says Einar.

  I lift them over my head, and strange markings appear on the tree trunks.

  “Elf speak,” says Oski.

  Einar steps forward to run his hands along the markings. He shakes his head. “Not speak,” he says. “Touch.” As his lithe hand traces the markings, they illuminate with a sparkling light. It’s as if the wood is alive with light bugs.

  “Starlight in the wood,” I say, my voice breathless in the cold night.

  Einar reaches the end of the markings, and there is a creaking sound in the wood as a heavy trunk pushes inward.

  Einar turns to me. “This place may not be safe for you.”

  “I am not staying out here,” I say.

  He nods. “I knew you would say that, but it’s…” He trails off.

  “What?” I ask.

  “The elves can smell you,” he says, shifting a little on his feet.

  Oski giggles. “Right, your elf nose has been smelling her this whole time.”

  I feel like the forest floor is going to split open and engulf me, and my skin flushes. If it wasn’t so dark, I’m sure they’d both see how red I am.

  Oski jabs me in the ribs. “If you run hot like that, you will stink to Valhalla.”

  “Oski,” Einar admonishes them. He turns to me. “It’s okay, but you should put this on your skin.” He hands me a salve that he pulls from his collection of little traveling jars. He’s like a walking apothecary.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He hesitates. “It will make you stink.”

  Oski continues snickering.

  I have the urge to kick a Valkyrie, but I refrain. “I’m amazed you’ve ever had any friends.”

  Oksi just laughs harder.

  I take the salve from Einar. “Why does it matter?” I ask him. “Are they going to eat me?” I struggle to swallow, my throat dry.

  “No,” says Einar, offended. “Elves don’t eat people. Usually. But we want to go as unnoticed as possible. So please put it on.”

  “Fine,” I say, taking a whiff of it. “Phew! That is rank.”

  Einar grins. “Yes. Put a little on your wrists and behind your neck. There,” he says, directing me. “Yes, better.” He places the salve back in his pack.

  Oski takes a step backward. “Runecaster,” they say, “you stink.”

  “Thanks, Oski,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Ready?” asks Einar.

  “Ready,” I answer.

  He reaches out and takes my hand, his warmth calming my fear even if his hand is shaking a little. “Remember, you’re with me. And I’ll do my best to protect you.”

  “Okay,” I say, following him into the darkness. Oski covers my back. I don’t know what we will find on the other side.

  The darkness of the entrance to the elf realm gives way to a long corridor of lined-up birch trees, all aglow with the sparkling elven writing. At first the place seems uninhabited, but I notice candle flames and hidden doorways and win
dows as we walk farther in. Faint music floats through the night, and when I look up I cannot see the sky. The red moon is gone, and in its stead is a different pattern of stars.

  “What gods are those?” I ask, pointing at the stars.

  “This way,” says Einar, ignoring me.

  Oski and I follow him to a door ringed with warm light, and when he pushes it inward, I’m hit with a flurry of sounds and smells. We step through into a bustling tavern and sit at a table against the wall.

  All around us are the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen, and my heart pounds with fear. I’m grateful for the salve Einar gave me, for every now and then an elegant elf glides past us in fine clothing and wrinkles their nose. They can smell me but aren’t interested at all. There are some non-elf creatures here, including a group of trolls that occupies the rowdiest table in the tavern.

  We sit, Oski and I agape at the sights, while Einar scans the room.

  “What’s next?” I whisper.

  “Drink,” says Oski, eyeing the jugs at the bar.

  “No,” Einar whispers urgently. “Do not eat or drink anything. You could be enchanted and stay here forever. It will be the best-tasting drink you’ve ever had, and it will be a lie.”

  I stare at him. He’s scared too, even though he’s half elf, and I realize he’s never been here before.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I say.

  He looks at me and opens his mouth to say something, but I suddenly find myself transfixed by a scene playing out across the tavern.

  Two elves are throwing darts, but that isn’t what is remarkable. What is remarkable is that the darts travel so fast I don’t even see them leave the elves’ hands. I watch as they pick up the bolts, and then the darts instantly appear in the target on the far wall, embedded as if they’ve always been there. But then, on another throw, the darts seem to move much slower, taking a long time to reach the target. So long, in fact, that it seems like I would have enough time to cross the tavern and pluck them from the air myself. My eyes feel aching and strange, and I worry that I’m going to have my sickness again. It has been a while since I’ve had a full episode. I’ve thought the urgency of my journey might be keeping it at bay.

  As I look around the room, things seem to be speeding up and slowing down. Oski and Einar are humming with a kinetic vibration. Maybe I’m reacting to the stuff Einar rubbed on me. I feel so weird. My eyes.

  “Oh no,” I say. “Einar. My eyes hurt. It’s the salve.”

  Einar looks stricken. He leans in. “Oh, Runa, I’m sorry. The herb I used sometimes helps people with eye problems but can have side effects. Can you see?”

  “Yes, but everything is moving in an odd way,” I answer. I watch a dart leave an elf’s hand and slow to the point of standing still in the air.

  “Oski, Einar,” I say. “Do you see…?” I trail off when I see their faces. They are frozen.

  I look around, and everything and everyone around me has slowed to a standstill. The mead and wine pouring from cups, the elves talking and dancing and kissing and eating, the candles flickering, the tallow dripping, perspiration beading, breath coming out in puffs—everything except for me. And someone else.

  Two golden eyes flicker across the room. A dark, elegant elf in the far corner lights a pipe, his face shrouded in darkness, and the embers glow in the haze of smoke.

  The elf is dressed in fine garments, and his long legs are crossed. He wears pointed boots made of buttery leather, and a hat tilted at a stylish angle. As he uncrosses his legs and stands, emerging from the darkness, I am entranced by his glowing eyes. They pierce through the shadows around him. He is handsome beyond imagination, far more beautiful than any of Amma’s tales could give him credit for, and he gleams in the candlelight.

  He walks toward me, smelling the air, and when he reaches our table he sits. As he does, I glance at my companions, my heart in my throat.

  I try to whisper to them. “Oski. Einar.” They don’t move, but I see something flicker in Einar’s eyes.

  “You smell strange,” says the elf, taking a long puff on his pipe. “What are you hiding?” He extends one long, sharp-nailed finger and touches my cheek.

  My heart is pounding. His eyes are hypnotic, and even though he radiates danger, I long for him to plant his lips on mine. He’s enchanting me, and I’m powerless to stop it. I see his mouth turn up—he knows what I am feeling. He stares into my eyes, then casts a furtive look around the room.

  “The herb you stink of won’t hide what you are,” he says at last.

  “What do you mean?” My voice quakes. “Please don’t eat me,” I say, and then regret it.

  He laughs, the sound assaulting me like little shocks to the skin.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask. “Make it stop.”

  “Me?” he says. “I’m not doing anything. You are the one who has pulled us out of time.”

  “What?” I don’t even get the word out before the room returns to its normal pace with such a violent burst of sound and sight that it makes me jump.

  As soon as Einar and Oski are able to move again, Einar has his arm in front of me and Oski has the tip of their sword at the elf’s throat.

  “Now, now,” says the elf. “I’m no foe. In fact, I think I may be family,” he says, looking at Einar.

  They stare at each other, and I at them. The resemblance is strong. All elves are beautiful, but both Einar and this older elf have the same notched eyebrows and constellation of freckles across their cheeks, not to mention the same gold-flecked eyes.

  Oski withdraws their sword from the elf’s neck, but keeps it trained on their target.

  “Thank you,” says the elf, before returning his attention to Einar. “Are you of the Svartálfar people?” he asks.

  “I am the son of Renna. From the Jötnar clan,” says Einar. “She was born Renna Ör.”

  “Ah,” says the older elf. “She was my cousin’s cousin. I am Píla Ör. This is my tavern, and my store, and I have influence here.”

  He reaches out and touches Einar’s shoulder. “I was sorry to hear of your mother’s death. It was far too soon. I am sad to say this is the risk an elf takes when living in the realm of mortals. I see it often.”

  Einar nods, seeming lost for words.

  “How I would love to show you the cities of Alfheim,” Píla says to Einar. “It is the most magical of the nine worlds. You’d never want to leave.”

  “Isn’t this Alfheim?” I ask.

  Píla laughs. “No. This is just an outpost. You would never get inside the deeper levels of the realm on your own.”

  “Please, can you help us?” Einar asks. “We need information.”

  “Of course, we are family,” says Píla. “But you will have to make alfablot. On that I insist.”

  “Alfablot? What is that?” I ask.

  “Elf sacrifice,” says Einar.

  “Sacrifice?” I ask, my body going cold.

  “Blood,” says Oski, drawing a curious look from Píla.

  “You are far from home, Valkyrie,” Píla says.

  Oski says nothing in response, but gives their sword a little twitch in warning. I wonder how frightened I should be of this sacrifice.

  “Whose blood do you want?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  “Human, of course,” says Píla. “It can be valuable to an elf. Oh, don’t worry, you don’t have to spill it all. Just a few drops.” Píla takes my left hand, and before I can protest, he pokes all my fingers with a dart.

  Oski snarls and tries to intervene, but Einar stops them.

  “Wait,” he says. “This is necessary.”

  Píla pulls a cloth from his pocket, fine and silken and white, like a woven spiderweb, and presses my fingers into it. Then he studies it.

  “Hmm. You all seek someone,” he says.

  “Yes,” I say. “A Norn named Wyrd.” I do not want to mention Sýr.

  Píla nods. “You will find what you seek beyond the valley of the
rock, beyond the crags, beyond the glacier. You must find the place where the island shoots its anger into the sky.”

  “The geyser,” says Oski.

  Píla nods. “And you must go before the yellow witch finds you.”

  “You know of Katla?” I ask, noticing as he slips the bloodied cloth into his pocket.

  He looks at me. “Yes. We know of the witch. She has poisoned and enslaved our people, taken our essence. She impersonates our kind.”

  “Like my mother,” says Einar. The sadness in his voice makes me ache.

  “An abomination,” says Píla, his rage humming under the surface of his words. “It is a capital offense. The sorceress Katla must die. She carries a great serpent inside her. Some say it is Grabak, one of the serpents that guards the roots of the world tree. And it eats power with an appetite that cannot be quelled.”

  Píla’s words strike fear in my heart, for I know every word to be true. “I’ve seen it,” I whisper. “The serpent.”

  Oski and Einar look at me.

  “When?” Einar asks.

  “In my dreams,” I say.

  “Are you certain they were dreams?” asks Píla.

  We all sit in silence for a moment, considering this.

  “Whatever protection the elves can afford you on your journey, you will have,” says Píla. “I pledge this. On one condition.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Runa, be careful what you agree to,” says Einar.

  “Fear not, I will not bind her or take her sanity,” says Píla. “I want her to destroy the witch, and if she’s able to bring me a little piece of her, I should like to eat it.” He chuckles a chilling laugh, his eyes flashing.

  “I will destroy her,” I say.

  “You must go, and soon, for she commands all the vilest creatures of the land, and she knows you are coming. That you can trust.”

  “There’s something else,” Einar says. “More common, but still important.”

  “Name it,” Píla says.

  Einar tells him we need supplies. “But we don’t have much to trade,” he says.

  “Wait,” I say, digging into my cloak pocket. I pull out the small coin I received at the crossroads and hand it to Píla. “Here.”

  “Where did you get this?” Píla asks. He seems impressed.