Page 16 of Rune

I needed to know.

I looked up. My confusion gave way to determination. I’d find out for certain if the gods were real, then move forward down whatever path was before me. “Smite me if you are real, and prove you are powerful.”

To my knowledge, for as long as this vineyard had stood, no mortal had tasted the grapes. That would change today.

My hand wavered ever so slightly before it tossed the grape into my mouth. I bit down hard, then clenched my entire body to see what would happen.

The grape tasted lovely, only dimmed by the fear humming inside and what would come next. Nothing did.

Thor did not come down with his lightning.

Odin did not scorch me from the face of the land.

If the gods saw, they made no note of it.

“Just as I suspected,” I whispered. It was an odd mixture of defeat and triumph radiating through me, with the knowledge that I was right in the gods being an illusion and the loss of what I once held on such a pedestal.

I plucked another grape from the vine. “At least now I know.” I tossed it into my mouth. “Now I know the gods are not real.”

I moved through the vineyard at a quick pace, stopping only long enough to pluck a small bushel of grapes and eat them as I walked. I ate one after the other, each growing my strength until I was revitalizedenough to come up with a new plan. I could not go back to my old clan. It wasn’t worth the heartache. Instead, I’d find a new one. I’d forge a new path through the hill until I found a clan small enough to need extra help, and I’d craft a home for myself there. I’d farm with them. I’d raid with them. But I would not pray with them.

From now on, I fought for my own dreams, instead of handing them off to some god.

I stopped at the end of the vineyard, overlooking the rolling hills. The sun was quite high now, though still cloaked by clouds, and the sea of green held a muddy color. Those seas of tall grasses held my future. Perhaps I’d turn myself into a legend. Be a god myself.

Rune, the god of determination and wit. Bring her sacrifices of sugary breads and sharp axes, and she will be happy.

I chuckled to myself. “What a fine future that would be.”

I took one step out of the vineyard when a rustle sounded behind me. I froze.

“Did you say something?” A man spoke with the smoothest voice I’d ever heard, and I turned slowly. He stood uphill from me, strolling through the narrow path, with a strong build that said he’d known much manual labor. His pure white tunic didn’t fit a worker, and his skin was unblemished by the sun. He had dark, graying hair cut short and wrinkles by the corners of his eyes to give him a permanent smile.

He must be tending the vineyards. I wiped my hands on my sides, hoping he hadn’t seen me feasting on the grapes. “No, I didn’t say anything.”

“I see.” He paused not far from me and gave me a knowing smile that I shifted beneath. “I thoughtI heard something.”

I cleared my throat. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, but I found it difficult to speak with his gaze on me. “I did say something,” I admitted. “But only to myself. I’m sorry to intrude.” I bowed, then backed away. He didn’t move until I’d turned completely and gone ten steps away.

“I have been summoned here,” he said. His words were hollow like they might not be meant for me, but they stopped me all the same. There was a power to them, like I was being drawn into his presence. He continued. “And I believe it was you who called me.”

“Called you?” I spoke carefully.

“Yes. Did you call for me?” He folded his hands in front of his body and stood with such stillness that he might have been content if I waited a hundred years to answer that simple question.

I did not have a hundred years. I edged backward. “I did not, I’m sorry.”

“Are you certain?” he asked quickly. “There is something about you I recognize. Who are you?”

He came closer, and I struggled not to flee as gooseflesh spread over my body. “Do you work here?” I pointed up the hill. “I’m from the Fjord Clan. I mean no harm.”

His attention snapped to my arm, and with lightning speed, he was beside me and digging his fingers into my wrist where the skin was tender. He traced his other hand over the scars. “What is this?”

I yanked away. I only had a dulled axe at my back, but it’d do the trick. “It’s none of your concern.”

Now close, his features were off. He was younger than I’d originally guessed, with skin far too smooth and movements too steady to belong to a man of old age. And the size of him was massive. His shadow towered over me, and I took a step back.

His expression had shifted from blank to puzzled, and he looked at me with intensity. “Who are you?”

---