Thief Eyes - Janni Lee Simner [67]
The air wavered with heat. I cried out at a sudden movement, even as Gunnar shot at the hand that reached over the edge. The hand lost its grip, and the man hit the ground below with a thud. I handed Gunnar another arrow, and another. The roaring in my ears went on. The air grew heavy with the smell of sweat and dirt. There was a long cut along one of Gunnar’s sleeves, and the fabric around it was dark with clotted blood.
“Give me the coin,” Hallgerd hissed in my head. “Let me return to him.” For just a moment, my sight blurred and I saw the path between Hallgerd and me.
She was supposed to hate Gunnar. The story said so. She wasn’t supposed to want to stay by his side.
Sweat made my burning hair cling to my neck. I kept handing Gunnar arrows, clutching the coin tightly in my other hand. I’d returned it, just like the spellbook said. Only the spellbook hadn’t told me what to do after that. If I threw the coin to Hallgerd again would we be back where we’d started, with me holding the coin in my own time?
Another hand reached over the roof, but Gunnar shot it as well. Sweat poured down his face and stained his heavy leather tunic.
“Haley,” Hallgerd said. Her voice was suddenly, eerily calm. “It is a funny thing about berserks. They are so strong in their animal forms, but so weak afterward. And I see you have left me your knife.”
“Ari.” I’d left him with Hallgerd. The fear in me turned up another notch, and the heat in me rose with it.
“Return to me my life, Haley, and I’ll return yours to you.” Once more I saw the path between Hallgerd and me, generations of ancestors between us.
I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I was only supposed to return the coin. Maybe I hadn’t really done that yet. Maybe I needed to throw it to Hallgerd again. I drew my hand back, knowing the spell was still alive between us.
A sharp twang brought me back to where I was. Gunnar dropped his bow—its string had snapped—and grabbed a long-handled axe, swinging it at the man who was climbing into the loft, sword in hand. Gunnar’s blade connected with the man’s neck. Blood spurted everywhere—on Gunnar’s face and clothes, on the wooden planks, on my cloak. The man fell backward off the edge, hands grasping the air even as he died.
I braced my hands against the floor. Fire roared in me, around me. The stench of sweat and blood was everywhere. Through the roaring, I heard Gunnar’s voice. “Hallgerd,” he called. “Give me two locks of your hair. Twist them into a bowstring for me.” There was a hint of strain in his voice now. Another man came over the wall. Gunnar swung at him, and the man fell away.
My hair—this was where Gunnar was supposed to die. This was where Hallgerd killed him.
Hell no. I wasn’t Hallgerd. I didn’t have to follow her script. If Gunnar wanted a few locks of hair, he could have them. I shoved the coin into the pouch at my belt and reached for the small knife. Hang in there a little longer, Ari.
“Yes, Haley,” Hallgerd said. “Whatever Gunnar needs, give it to him. Don’t you dare let him die.”
What? Hallgerd wasn’t supposed to agree with me. I grabbed a lock of long blond hair and drew the knife close.
The hair burned—hot as liquid glass, hot as spun fire. Sparks flew from the strands. I let them go. “Free,” a rough voice whispered in my head. “We will be free.”
“Do not lose courage now,” Hallgerd’s more human voice said. “It will not burn your hands long, that hair into which the giants bound their power long ago. Only so long as it takes to string Gunnar’s bow.”
“Oh God.” A bow strung with fire. That fire lighting arrows and opening molten cracks in the earth as the arrows fell. The fire spirits had bound their magic into my blood, but, for Hallgerd, they’d bound it into her hair. They’d even said so. If I gave that fire to Gunnar’s bow—I felt ill all over again.
I couldn’t do it. Even without my dreams, I knew it down to my bones. The arrow