“That one is no friend to foxes,” Freki whispered at my feet. I guessed that meant the man wasn’t Freki’s master. The little fox nudged my leg with his nose, then slipped back into the shadows.
The man stepped toward us. Ari edged closer to me. Behind us the sound of wings beat on. “And who might you two be?” The man’s voice was lazy and slow, as if he were used to having all the time in the world. He glanced back at Ari. “Your hair is white for one so young.”
Ari straightened beside me, though his hand was sweating in mine. “I am Ari, Katrin’s son. This is Haley, Gabriel’s daughter.” Gabriel—my father? “Who are you?”
“Svan is my name. Bjorn’s son. I guard this place in return for my lodging here.” He took another step toward us. I stepped back and nearly stumbled over the top stair. Ari grabbed my arm, steadying me.
He looked at the man. “Svan like in the saga? Surely not.”
The man laughed, though his gaze didn’t leave us. “Do they yet remember this old sorcerer out in the wide world?”
“Remember is one way of putting it,” Ari said.
Behind us, the wingbeats grew louder. My heart pounded. We had to get out of here. I stepped toward the door, not that I expected it to be that easy.
Svan grabbed his staff and stepped in front of me, blocking the way. He poked my chest with his free hand. I shoved him away, glaring.
Svan laughed again. “Haley. Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to tell him so. Try that again and you’re going to get kicked where it hurts. Ari made a low sound that reminded me of his bear’s growl. “Haley is an American. A—a Vinlander, you might say.”
I couldn’t tell whether the words—American or Vinlander, whatever that was—meant anything to Svan. A pair of terns flew chittering into the room, landed on Svan’s desk, and watched us.
“Please,” Ari said, the politeness obviously forced. “We need to leave this place.”
The sorcerer chuckled. “I can see you are the sort of man who would rather bargain than fight, Ari, Katrin’s son.” Was that an insult? “Tell me what gift you would offer in return for your freedom.”
Ari hesitated, then squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “A poem,” he said.
I looked at Ari. He shrugged uneasily. “It works in the sagas,” he said in English.
If Svan understood English he gave no sign. He tilted his head as if intrigued. “Very well. Let’s hear your poem, boy.”
Two more small birds swooped into the room and perched in niches in the wall. Ari switched back to Icelandic, looking right at Svan as he recited:
Images flashed through my head at Ari’s words: feet running over gravel, a raven crying out, the rush of water. Svan stared at Ari, as if considering his poem, but then he threw back his head and laughed. “You price your words too high, boy. You’ll have to do better than that!”
I glared at Svan. “I liked it,” I said.
Ari looked down, and his neck flushed red. “I don’t have anything else to bargain with.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” A slow smile crossed Svan’s face. He reached out and grabbed my arm.
I tried to pull away, but he was stronger than he looked. I kneed him in the groin, hard.
Svan grunted and let go, doubling over. His staff clattered to the floor, but he didn’t stop smiling. “A strong woman. I like that.” He winked at Ari. “What do you say? A gift for a lonely old man? Long have I been in this mountain. She’ll more than buy your freedom.”
I tensed, ready to kick him, even as my eyes scanned the room for a weapon. The sorcerer straightened.
Ari shone the flashlight right into his eyes. Svan threw a hand up over his face and staggered back. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “You’re only a boy, whatever the color of your hair. You wouldn’t know what to do with her!”
Ari growled softly. In my pocket, the coin flared with heat, burning through the denim. Heat was a weapon—I grabbed the coin. Memory washed over me.
A golden-haired girl and a man—Svan—sitting together on a black beach. The man drew circles and arcs and lines in the dark sand, and the girl carefully copied each symbol—each rune—in turn.
“See, Uncle, I can learn.”
“Yes, Hallgerd. Now do it again.”
“I already understand! Don’t you trust me?”
The coin burned hotter. I flinched, and it fell clattering to the stones.
“I do know you.” Svan’s voice brought me back to the present. He looked at me through slitted eyes, then held his hands out in front of him, as if to show he meant no harm. A bit late for that. “Your eyes are wrong, but you are surely Hallgerd’s kin.”
The distant wingbeats fell silent. Ari still held the flashlight, aimed just below Svan’s eyes now. A listening silence filled the room.
The sorcerer reached for the coin. I snapped it up—it was still warm, but not as hot as before—and shoved it into my pocket.
“The runes inscribed there are clearly my niece’s work,” Svan said. “How did it come to be yours?”
Damn good question. “Who’s Hallgerd?” Even as I asked, I knew: The other one, who Muninn wouldn’t name.
“Hallgerd was a bitch.” Ari’s eyes never left Svan—Hallgerd’s uncle. “She’s also someone you don’t want to mess with.”
“Aye, she is that.” A strange sadness crossed Svan’s features. He picked up his staff. “Teaching Hallgerd was a mistake. She combined the runes in ways I never intended, and in so doing called on fires that yet threaten the land beyond these stones. I think it is not by chance that you’ve come to me now.” He nodded. “It is time to undo my mistake. I will leave with you, Haley, and teach you the sorcery with which to end Hallgerd’s spell.”
“Hell no,” Ari said.
Muninn hadn’t seemed sure the spell could be ended. “You’d let us both leave if we let you come with us?” I said. That seemed way too easy.
Svan glanced sidelong at Ari, and I knew there’d been no both in his original bargain. He nodded. “Yes.”
“It’s the best chance we’re likely to get,” I told Ari in English, though I didn’t want Svan hanging around any more than Ari did.
“You’ll keep your hands to yourself,” Ari told the sorcerer in Icelandic.
“She is my kin!” Svan looked offended. He gestured at Ari with his staff. “What do you take me for, boy?”
“I do not think you want me to answer that,” Ari muttered darkly in English.
Svan laughed and strode across the room, ignoring the birds perched on the table. He fastened his cloak closed with a round silver pin—a snake eating its own tail—then wrapped a strip of leather inscribed with more runes around his staff.