We flew past sweeping black hills and alongside rivers. I wondered how Ari could keep running for so long. My arms and hips ached. I shut my eyes a second to rest them.
Fire roared before me. A flaming arrow—the earth cracked open where it landed. The crack spread, like a tear in a sweater. Molten fire bubbled through it, overflowing into the land around it.
I felt my grip slipping and jerked awake with a gasp. Ari slowed and turned to look at me. “I’m okay,” I told him. “Just keep going.” Don’t stop now.
Ari ran on, and I clutched his fur tighter than I needed to. My hands were slick with sweat. The wind burned against my skin. In a distant corner of my mind I saw more arrows, all aflame, landing throughout Iceland—south, west, east, north. I saw arrows flying beyond the island, too, landing in places I knew from maps: Greenland. England and Norway. The northeastern United States. Wherever the arrows landed, cracks spread, tearing the land apart.
Seeing the future runs in our family. “That’d better not be the future.” I imagined the cracks in the earth spreading all the way to Tucson—all the way around the world. I’d always assumed that whatever happened here, home would be safe.
Would returning Hallgerd’s coin stop those arrows—stop that future? Or would it only give her more power, like Svan said? What if I needed to get rid of the fire in me to make the arrows stop?
We topped a rise. I looked down, over a glimmering lake and row after row of blocky stone walls. I dreamed of a tower made of a child’s gray blocks. “Thingvellir,” I said. This was where it all began.
Where it all ended, for Mom. I clutched Ari’s fur so hard my knuckles turned white.
I felt once more the fire flowing beneath the earth. I felt the fire burning through my veins. Somehow, I kept that fire beneath my skin. Ari ran faster. Sweat poured down my face. A few figures—ghosts like Hallgerd’s uncle—glanced up as we ran by. We left the lake and the ghosts behind, making our way past fields of gravelly black rock and through farmland broken up by farmhouses and small towns.
Ari stumbled, caught himself, and stumbled again. I stroked his fur. “Just a little further,” I said, hoping it was true.
Ari put on a final burst of speed as we left another town behind and headed into a broad valley. Grassy hills rose to our left, and a rocky field stretched out to our right. Ari wove around a herd of sheep that were sleepily crossing the road. Unlike the horse, the sheep didn’t seem to see us.
The horizon turned gray. Drizzle fell, sizzling as it hit my hot skin. Not panicking, not panicking … The rain rolled right off Ari’s white fur. He slowed down to look at a road sign. I shined the flashlight on it. Ari nodded and sped back up. Several more times he slowed to read signs and squint at the farmhouses beyond them.
Abruptly the pavement ended. The sky was brighter now, and I didn’t need a flashlight to see the sign at the roadside: Hlidarendi, it read. Ari turned left and headed up a steep gravel lane, damp with rain. Around us, yellow and orange grasses were dotted with dandelions gone to seed. Raindrops clung to their fuzzy white tops. We passed another farmhouse, rounded a bend, and headed toward a small red-roofed church. On the slopes beyond it I saw more farmhouses.
Bright light broke through the dripping gray clouds. Ari staggered, and his fur rippled beneath my hands. I lost my grip and slid to the ground, even as Ari shrank, fur withdrawing into skin, head and arms and legs all pulling back, reshaping themselves into a human face, human limbs. In moments Ari’s white hair was all that remained of the bear he’d been. He crouched on all fours, looking at me. I couldn’t tell whether his skin was drenched with sweat or rain.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess you’ll have to walk—the last few meters—” He tried to stand, but crumpled to the ground.
“Ari!” I knelt beside him, ignoring the fire that burned on in me, ignoring sore hips and aching hands and the rain that continued to fall. His eyes were closed. I leaned close to his lips to make sure he was breathing.
Ari’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a shaky smile. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?” He slowly sat up. “I’m okay. Just—a little tired.” His breath came out in gasps.
I remembered Svan talking about berserks. Strong enough during a change, not much use after. “Can you stand?”
“I can,” Ari said. “But I—would rather—not if—it’s all—the same to you. Gunnar’s home is somewhere—past the church, I think. You should be able to make it—the rest of the way—on your own.”
“Hell no. We got this far together. I’m not ditching you now.”
“Being ditched doesn’t sound—so bad. Just give me a few minutes.”
I rubbed my arms. Through the nylon and fleece, I felt the heat from my skin. How long could I wait?
Something must have showed in my face, because Ari nodded grimly and draped his arm over my shoulders. His legs wobbled as I pulled him to his feet. He shivered in the thin light. “Your skin is burning, Haley.”
“I know.” I unzipped my jacket. The fire burned on, sweat plastering my T-shirt to my skin. Ari looked at me, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I continued up the hill, dragging him with me. The path was steeper than it looked. My thighs ached as we climbed. Ari’s legs trembled.
“What you did,” I said as the rain kept falling around us, evaporating when it hit my skin. “That was amazing.”
Tired as he was, Ari grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? I think I could get used to being a bear.” He stumbled; I caught him. “Only the hangover the next morning? That part sucks.”
The gravel ended at a parking lot behind the church. From the roof, I heard chittering. A half dozen black-capped arctic terns were lined up there, staring at us through tiny eyes.
We walked faster, across the parking lot and up the hillside. Ari panted as we climbed through grasses slick with rain. Sheep grazed on the slopes above us. A stream trickled downhill a few dozen feet to our right, and a small wooden bridge arced over it. “I’m supposed—to go—here on—a class trip—next year. I don’t know—the exact spot—where Gunnar and Hallgerd had their house. But there’s a tourist sign.” Ari gestured up the hill. “Maybe it’s—close enough?”
The gray sky was bright, sun turning the clouds gold around the edges. I took a few steps toward the stream, stopped short, and looked around. “Here,” I said.
“How can you know—”
“I know this hillside. I stood here in my dreams.” Heat rose in me as I remembered—blocks falling, fiery arrows striking the ground—this ground. I released Ari’s arm to take off my backpack. He staggered and fell to his knees.
I knelt by his side. “You sure you’re all right?”
Ari gave me a long look. “As sure as you are.”
“Right.” I tore off my jacket. Wind blew through my sodden T-shirt, but it felt hot as the desert wind back home. I drew the spellbook from my pack and laid out the ingredients for the spelclass="underline" The mead. The bowl. The claw. The rock, which was softer than it looked, flaking at the edges. I left the knife in the pack—I didn’t plan to use it. At last I reached for the coin. Its heat felt good against my burning skin, like a warm caress. I pulled it out.
As I did, the air filled with the beating of wings. I stood and whirled around, shoving the coin back into my pocket. Ari got to his feet by my side, though his legs still shook.
Muninn circled once around us, then landed on a rock beside my backpack. The terns fell silent. The clouds thickened, and the drizzle turned to a fine misting rain.