Page 16 of Vow of the Undead
My pulse skipped. I snapped my attention from brushing. The sudden twitch of my wrist startled the old horse. His front hooves danced nervously and he almost reared back until I blew out a slow breath and calmed myself. When my energy settled, so did his, but I couldn’t help the nerves still buzzing beneath my ribs.
Villagers didn’t often disappear, but each time they did their absence left an unexplainable hole. Most assumed the missing person had succumbed to poor weather, buried in snow, or frozen.
I’d left Astrid and Sten the same way.
A shudder took control of my body for a second.
Other villagers usually insisted that the disappearance was the fault of wild animals catching the person and dragging them away to be devoured.
My mother said it was both of them,andmonsters.Everything comes back around. Nothing is truly ever over. The undead are proof of that. Draugr existed once, they’ll claw their way back to Midgard again. Giants and trolls can cross over from the other realms if the Gods are distracted. Nothing is truly ever ended, Little Spider, not even you.The memory of the nickname she’d given me pricked my heart.
“Gone?” I whispered.
He only scoffed. “Forget whatever foolishness you’re thinking. It’s not that. The king took her?—”
“No!” My outburst sent the horse skidding out of the stables. I stood with my arms limp, the brush still hanging in my hand.
“The executioners deemed her in violation of our law, Silver.”
I shook my head, taking a step back from him. “No. She never shed anyone’s blood. They took her because?—”
“Dammit, Silver! Don’t say it!”
She was a witch.I’d seen what they did to my mother when they claimed she’d broken the law. They made her vow that she wasn’t guilty with her breath over the flame of a candle. When the candle flickered, changing from yellow to black, they bound her wrists in shackles.
This gave her away, but she wasn’t guilty of anything other than existing. My father had conveniently forgotten that. He’d said I was remembering the moment wrong because I was young and emotional and it was so long ago. But I wasn’t that young. I was only sixteen when the Grimward caught my mother burning a sage branch and whispering incantations.
I’d never forget that day. How my father denied knowing about her nature as a witch to the Grimward, pleading his innocence instead of defending my mother’s right to exist.
“What law did she break then?” I pointed the brush at him like it was a weapon. “Tell me. What law? If she shed blood, they would have executed her in front of the entire village. So why take her and exile her?”
“There are other crimes. Theft. Denying food or shelter to executioners or royal travelers. Adultery.”
“Adultery?” I laughed without joy. “You’re seriously suggesting that Ragna fucked another man when her entire world is Rolf? Besides, nobody has considered adultery a crime in years. People fuck who they want.”
“Keep that filthy word out of your mouth, daughter.”
“I am a woman, Father, not just your daughter.” He opened his mouth to cut me off again but I spoke louder, unafraid. I was marching myself to the king anyway. “And I am a witch.” My stomach fluttered as I heard the words out loud. This was me, my identity, and it felt damn good to say it. So good that I didn’t care about the string of curses he released, or when he screamed at me as I spun around.
“Silver!”
I ducked away from him and ran out the back of the stables. I’d face him later, when we finally left for Mara. For now, I would find Rolf and get the real story. Had King Drakkar placed Ragna before a candle’s flame? Or did they test her another way?
I didn’t want to think about it for too long. Executioners were brutal, ruthless. Even something as simple as a dispute between two young men where their wrestling led to cut lips and a bloody nose had damned them both for execution. They’d been beheaded only days after news of their fight had spread to the nearest executioners. I never understood how the news always spread so quickly and easily. Who was stupid enough to turn their own neighbors over to death or exile or a lifetime of service in the royal court?
Running wasn’t the right word for my hurried limping toward the opposite end of Skaldir. Exhaustion still wracked my bones, and my heart was too weak to pump enough blood to keep me moving.
Cold air nipped at my ears, but I kept going.
I averted my eyes from the communal hearth, the small stone building that was built for the purpose of baking bread and large meals together.
I caught the echo of chatter from within. No doubt the women were discussing Ragna’s disappearance. Because I’d run into the forest, I was likely the last to hear of it.
Their muttered conversation sent a pang through mychest. The last time I stepped foot in the shelter of the hearth was ten years ago with my mother at my side.
Not an hour later she’d been dragged outside by the executioners. The bread we’d kneaded together hadn’t even finished baking when the masked men and women claimed my mother had hidden a young girl from them. A girl who stabbed a boy in the eye with a sharp stick. They failed to mention that this boy they named was a bully, a cruel young man who delighted in leaving bruises on those smaller than him. Though I didn’t doubt my mother would harbor this supposed criminal, I’d been with her constantly and had never seen the girl anywhere near her.
It was all a lie.
