“What have you received in exchange for your eyes?” she asked. “What has the well shown you?”
He grew silent, as if the conversation had turned to ground he didn’t want to tread. They had not talked about Gudrun or the Northmen while on the hillside. They’d avoided Banruud altogether. They’d inhabited a world of lovers, of kisses and caresses and careless whispering, like time would wait until they’d caught up.
“In one week, King Banruud will go back to Berne. I will be going with him,” Hod said.
Ghisla brought their clasped hands to her chest, and he soothed her quickening heart with the back of his hand.
“I will return with him . . . and with Gudrun. And when I do . . . you must be ready to flee, Ghisla. Gudrun plans to overthrow the king and take the hill. I will not stop him. In fact, I will help him. And when Banruud has fallen, I will kill Gudrun myself.”
“But Banruud will not be the only one to fall.”
“No. Men will die. Chieftains who have done nothing but suck the teat of Saylok will fight beside the king. Their warriors, the king’s guard, the clanless . . . some of them will die too.”
“What of the temple? What of the daughters? There are more women in the temple now than just my sisters. It is a sanctuary. What will the Northmen do to them, Hod?”
“You will go. All of you. Alba, Ghost, the women, and the keepers. You will go to Bayr in Dolphys. And when the battle is done . . . those who wish will return. And you and I will be free. Mayhaps Saylok will finally be free.”
“You think Banruud’s death will break the curse?”
“Arwin says the scourge began with Bayr, and it will end with him. He even believed . . . that I would be the one to take his life. Like Hod, the blind god.”
“Hod . . . no. Oh no.” It was what Master Ivo feared. What Dagmar feared. What she had come to fear as well.
“Shh, my love. Listen to me,” he urged, and she did her best to control her terrible dread.
“I have puzzled over Desdemona and her runes all these long years. I have thought of my own mother. Of her sacrifices for me. A mother does not curse her son. She seeks only to bless him.” He was quiet, pondering. “I do not think the scourge will end with Bayr’s death, Ghisla, but with his ascendance to the throne.”
Her breath caught, and her eyes clung to Hod’s face. He touched her cheek, ever so softly, as if needing to reassure himself she was there.
“It is the story of Baldr and Hod, two brothers, two gods. One who ushered in the end, and one who rose again. It is the tale that has followed me all my life. I cannot escape it.”
“And . . . which one . . . are you?” she asked.
“I am the one who ushers in the end,” he said gently.
“I am afraid,” she moaned.
“As am I. It is not my destiny to kill Bayr . . . but to help him rise again.”
“If we are going to be apart, you must make a new rune on my hand,” Ghisla pled with Hod the next time they met.
“I fear it will only bring you trouble, my love.” He’d thought about the matter a great deal.
No matter what happened—if Banruud fell or Banruud prevailed—it would not end well for Hod. His allegiance would be questioned, and rightfully so. His only loyalty was to Ghisla and to the brother that didn’t know he existed, and he would be hard pressed to defend himself among any of the opposing factions. The best outcome would be for Banruud and Gudrun to both fall in battle, but Hod would be branded a traitor on either side.
He did not want Ghisla branded with him. It was bad enough that she had the rune of the blind god, however faint, scarred into the lines of her left palm.
“You already wear the mark of Hod,” he whispered.
“I wear the king’s mark.” She traced the star of Saylok in her palm. “I wanted to wear yours.”
“It is a rune, that star. And it does not belong to Banruud. It belongs to Saylok,” he said, pulling her right hand into his lap.
“A rune?”
“Yes . . . A seeker rune.”
“A seeker rune?” she gasped. “I have had a seeker rune on my hand all this time?”
“Start at the tip of Adyar, North, the top of the star, and move around it, from east to west, tracing the lines, until you rejoin the tip of Adyar.” He traced the grooves as he spoke, showing her.
“And what of these lines?” she asked, using his finger to trace spokes that ran from the tip of each leg and met in the middle.
“Those connect the star to the center.”
“To the temple?”
“Yes.” The idea pained him. “After you have traced the star, start again at the tip of Adyar, where you began, and draw the line to the center. Then go to Berne and do the same. Then Dolphys, Ebba, Joran, and Leok, until every line has been traced.
“When you have traced the star with your blood, just like I’ve shown you, press the rune to your brow, where the star is drawn at coronations or at a child’s birth, and ask the Star of Saylok to show you one of her children or a place within her shores.”
“I could have seen you . . . all this time?” she gasped.
“Mayhaps . . . but I was not in Saylok, love. The star only works in Saylok. Every rune has its limits, and the fates decide whether to answer the summons.”
She shook her head in disbelief, and he wrapped her hand in his, covering the scar burned there. He hated it as much as she; he felt scalded each time his fingers brushed it.
“You know the runes. Did you ever try to see me?” she asked quietly.
“Seeker runes do not give a man eyes. I have been taught to make and unlock the runes, but knowledge is not always enough. I did try to see you. I even begged Arwin to reassure me.”
“And did he?”
“Somewhat. His mind was going, and he was sick. He was never the same after Master Ivo turned me away. He lost his faith.”
“Master Ivo taught me the rune of the blind god. Left to right, top to bottom. I carved it in my hand, hoping I could summon you.”
“It is not that kind of rune.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I pressed it to my eyes . . . the way I’d done with the seeker runes, and I said your name. It did not give me sight. It took my sight. I was blind until the bleeding stopped.”
“When was this?” he gasped.
“Months after you left, after the tournament. Master Ivo showed me how the runes of Hod and Baldr were the same.”
“He sought to make you understand why . . . I am the enemy.”
She exhaled heavily, but she did not argue.
“You lost your sight,” he breathed, realization dawning.
“I was terrified. I bound my hand and sat in the sanctum for hours, scared the king would send for me, terrified that my sisters—or Ivo—would find me, and afraid I’d lost my eyes in my foolishness.”
“But your sight came back.”
“Yes. I sang the song, and as the rune healed, my sight returned. Had I not sung the song . . . it might have taken days instead of hours. Had I done it sooner, I would have saved myself a great deal of fear.”
“That was the day I saw,” he said, understanding washing over him, an answer to a mystery that had baffled him for years.