Page 33 of Rune

A new kind of home. One that didn’t feel like me.

Yet no god had questioned my identity as their lost goddess. To them, I was clearly Astrid. Surely they could recognize a weak mortal? I’d always questioned the power of the gods, but was it so weak, they couldn’t tell when a mortal stood before them?

Did they see something I didn’t? Unless. . .

Was I wrong?

Was I. . . a goddess?

No. Still, I humored the illusion. As I moved, I tried to find fragments of myself here. Tried to piece together lost parts of my pastand trace them back to this place. It was like clinging to a cloud—you can almost feel it on your hands but you can never truly hold it. The more I fought to remember, the less certain I was about my memories at all.

It felt futile to hope. I wasn’t sure if I should hope—or should fear—the idea that I was really a lost goddess. I preferred to keep those emotions shoved back in the tightest corner of my mind, but today they forced themselves to the front until I could hardly think of anything else. Was I fighting to get back home, or fighting to run from it?

“I wish I remembered,” I whispered, letting my fingers trickle over the sticky sap of a tree. “I wish I knew the truth.”

Like most people, I supposed, I didn’t remember much from before I was six. Just little scraps of memories I couldn’t be certain were mine, or were simply fragments I’d created based on stories I’d heard.

Once you fell asleep under my cot, and it took us hours to find you,Faðirhad said. Then I could picture being snug under the cot. But was that my memory or me creating it?

You brought back the wrong berries from the woods, and were sick for a week.I remembered being sick, but who could say which time that was?

Then the big one.

When you fell from a tree, the branches scarred your arm.

I pushed up the sleeve of my tunic and stared at the marks.

I could picture what it was like to fall from a tree and could summon a phantom pain from the webs of scars. But was falling from the tree a real memory I had, or simply one I imagined from how many times my parents explained my marks to people? Almost like they spoke the experience into my mind.

I always thought I remembered. Now I wasn’t so certain.

I shoved my sleeve back down.

This mark was what made Balder so certain I was a goddess. It was the same reason I doubted, because of my parents’ stories. But my belief was fading, and all that remained was confusion.

“It’s impossible to remember being here as a toddler,” I reminded myself. “But if I remember how I got these scars, truly remember, it invalidates their claim over me. It means I don’t belong here…”

My voice trailed off.

It meant I didn’t deserve their kindness. It meant I had no home.

It wasn’t the loss of their love that frightened me, but being aimless. A wandering Viking was easy to kill, and I had no safe place to call my own.

But it was better than being desperate for love. A desire to be loved would cripple me if I let it. Already it threatened to creep in. So I shoved the thoughts back into that tight corner of my mind and continued my search for the escape.

Just then, a flash of white stone broke through the pines. Pebbles crunched underfoot as I drew closer, and I curled my toes over their cool surface while checking for anyone else. My steps slowed. My eyes went on alert.

The glint of white turned into a lavish gate, complete with a pearly latch and gilded posts, thick in frame and wide in stance. A fence attached itself to both sides with three points like sharp claws, grabbing hold of the frame. I approached it.

The fence was built of thin lines and short poles, with brocade designs giving it an old-fashioned look as it wrapped through the trees, marking a barrier to something unknown. It wound twenty paces before sharply turning inward to dive through the thickets. I paused there.

As far as I could see, there was no one on the other side. A path started outside the gate, and I allowed myself to stand upon it as I gazedup at the arched frame. It was just the type of thing I could see leading back to Danmark, complete with depictions of mortals carved into it. Heroes of ages past, wielding their axes high as they conquered the lands we were now settled in.

My fingers wandered over the carvings. I waited for something to tell me this was a magical gate, but if magic could be felt, it wasn’t here. Still, I reached for the latch and lifted it, watching as the gate swung inward.

I slipped inside, ignoring the churn in my stomach that warned me I shouldn’t be here.

But I couldn’t figure out where here was.

---