Page 14 of The Girl the Sea Gave Back

Morning was just beginning to warm the sky as Halvard followed his older brother away from the shore, holding his breath against the bite of the cold water. He lifted the barbed spear over his head, keeping his balance against the current. Winter had left the fjord, but it would be weeks before the days began to stretch and the sun finished melting the ice. Until then, they’d fish in the bitter waters.

“Here.” Fiske stopped, sliding the axe back into the sheath at his back and turning to face him.

The water rose to Halvard’s chest as he found even footing beneath him. “You promised,” he muttered.

“After.”

Halvard glared at him. “When you were my age, you started your day training. Not fishing.”

“When I was your age, I watched my friends die in the fighting season.” His voice turned sharp, his eyes narrowing, and Halvard relented. The only thing worse than standing chest-deep in the icy fjord was invoking the disapproval of his brother.

He took the spear before him, watching the shadows beneath the water. The clouds were thick enough to keep the glare from the surface, but he’d never been good at spearing fish. “My throw is bearing right.”

“I know. And we’ll work on it. After,” Fiske said again.

Halvard clenched his teeth, his hands tightening on the spear as he brought it before him. When his father died, Fiske had become the leader of their family and responsible for raising him. But with ten years between them, Fiske had a different kind of life planned for Halvard than the one he’d had as a boy.

He stilled, following the movement of the fish until he saw the flashing gleam of silver scales below. The weight of his feet sank into the silt and the wind calmed as he raised the rod higher.

“It will be different for you.” Fiske spoke quietly, watching him.

“I know.” Halvard brought the spear down with a snap, pinning the fish to the sand. They were the words he’d heard his brother say over and over since the day they came to live on the fjord.

Fiske met his eyes as he brought the spear’s end up out of the water. “I brought you here to have a different life.”The fish flicked as he pulled it from the two iron prongs and tossed it onto the ice beside him.

“But I have to know how to fight.”

“You do. I’ve been teaching you since before you could stand on your own feet.”

“Not like you. Not like Iri.” Halvard lifted the spear again, his attention going back to the water. The sooner they had four or five fish to take home, the sooner his brother would spar with him.

He still remembered watching Fiske and his father work at their armor and weapons beside the fire in the days before they left for Aurvanger, where they fought against the enemies of their god in the fighting season. He had watched them disappear into the forest, wondering if they would ever return. And he’d wanted to go with them, but even then, before the clans made peace, Fiske’s plans for Halvard had always been for him to take over his mother’s duties as the healer in their village. He’d never wanted to see him step foot into battle.

“You’ll get your chance,” Fiske finally said, as Halvard brought another fish up out of the water.

“You think the Svell will come?”

He’d heard the people in Hylli talking about the clan to the west. Some thought they’d be on the fjord by the next winter. Others thought that peace was possible. Fiske and his other brother Iri had never said what they thought the future held.

Fiske set the fish onto the ice beside the other one. “Ithink if it’s not the Svell, it will be someone else. Peace is never long-lived.”

Halvard lifted the spear again. “Then why are we fishing?”

A small smile pulled at the corner of Fiske’s mouth, but he was missing the wry look in his eye that was always there when he baited him. “Because I want to believe I’m wrong.”

Village of Liera, Svell Territory

Tova watched the cloud passing overhead, its shape wavering in her vision as her eyes filled with tears. Jorrund stood over her, squinting as he stitched the broken skin around her swollen lip.

He’d taken her to the healer, but she had refused to stitch Tova up, afraid that Eydis would bring a plague on the village.

Her blood shone on the needle as Jorrund pulled the thread in one long motion and tied it off. When a tear finally rolled down her cheek, he gave her another drink of the sour ale. She swallowed it down until the burn in her throat reached her chest. The sting of her lip was nothing compared to the bruises that were blooming over her back.

If the nighthawk had tried to warn her, she hadn’t heard him. She’d only opened her eyes to the sound of boots hitting the stone floor and before she’d even been able to think, she was being dragged through the forest screaming.

It wasn’t the first time someone from the village had tried to take her fate into their own hands. In the five years since Jorrund had brought her through the gates of Liera, she’d heard the whispers. She’d felt the stares pinned to her back. But no one had ever come so close to killing her.

She was a living curse. A betrayal to the Svell god. And even though she lived under the unspoken protection of Bekan and Jorrund, the disagreements over the clans to the east had fractured the people’s resolve to trust their Tala and chieftain. In the eyes of the Svell, she wasn’t just an eleven-year-old girl. She was a scourge. And there were many who wanted to see her dead.

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