put him on the throne. They put him on the throne and brought daughters into the temple.”
“What do you know of Ghisla, Arwin?” he pressed, trying to keep his tone even. He dried his hands, keeping his back turned to his teacher.
“She is the king’s witch now,” Arwin repeated. “He has marked her.”
“Marked her how?”
“He will make her the new queen. I have seen it.”
“You have seen it?” It was an old manipulation. Arwin always claimed to have “seen” something when he tired of Hod’s questions, and Hod had always resented it. Mayhaps it was because he could see nothing and thus had no use for visions meant to mold belief or obedience.
“How has he marked her?” Hod insisted, refusing to be distracted by Arwin’s prophecies.
“She wears his emblem. She is his.”
Arwin was trying to wound him; Hod could hear it in the words he chose. Arwin did not lie . . . but he evaded, and his erratic heartbeat exposed him.
“I am going out, Master. I am going to hunt. I won’t be far,” he said, retrieving his staff.
“I told the king he has a son . . . but he does not care,” Arwin shouted. He did not want Hod to leave yet. “He did not believe me. Just like you do not believe me.”
“When did you speak to the king?” Hod gasped.
“I spoke to him in the square when he brought the Songr back. I warned him about her. And I told him about you. But he just laughed.”
“You warned him about her?” Hod fell back into the bedside chair.
“The king did not believe me. He is mad. She has addled his brain.”
“Oh, Arwin,” Hod said. “What have you done?”
“He put me in the stocks. No one would listen to me. The Highest Keeper told me to leave. They have let us down. They have let us all down.”
Months passed.
Five months. Six. Seven. Arwin’s condition continued to deteriorate. He orated the eighteen spell songs of Odin one day, reciting them without mistake, only to forget his own name the next. And through it all, Ghisla failed to sing. Hod grew more and more desperate, going so far as to ask his master on a more lucid day to draw the rune of the seeker and tell him what he saw. Arwin did not seem surprised, nor did he argue the wisdom of such a request. He simply sighed and stroked the rope of his beard.
“I cannot . . . remember . . . the rune, my boy,” Arwin whispered, regretful and almost sweet.
“I will draw the rune. I need only for you to tell me what you see,” Hod reassured him.
“But I have been banned from the mount, and you have been shunned by the Highest Keeper.”
“I know, Master. They have shunned us both, and yet . . . I still know the runes.”
Arwin cackled, pleased at this truth. “They cannot strike the knowledge from our minds,” he crowed, the irony lost on him.
Hod nicked his finger and drew the seeker rune on Arwin’s palms, careful to be precise.
“Just . . . hold the runes to your closed eyes.”
“Yes. Yes. I remember now.”
“Find Ghisla, Arwin.”
“You seek the Songr. The little girl washed up on the shore,” Arwin said slowly. His voice was low and the sound came from just above his heart, as though he’d tucked his chin to study the runes Hod had drawn.
“Yes, Master. Do you remember her?”
“I shunned her. She begged me to let her stay. But I was afraid. I was afraid she would make you weak.”
“Yes,” Hod said, trying not to weep.
“We sent her to the temple . . . and now . . . the temple is barred from us.”
“They cannot bar your eyes, Master.”
“No. They cannot bar my eyes,” Arwin sighed, and lifted the runes to his lids. “Show me . . .”
“Ghisla,” Hod finished for him, and Arwin repeated the plea.
“Show me Ghisla,” he asked.
He stiffened and swayed, and Hod feared he would drop his hands. Then he stilled and his breath whooshed from his lips.
“She is there.”
“Where, Master?”
“She is . . . on the temple steps. I can see the castle and the square and the spires . . . The columns are behind her. She sings the song of supplication. All around her are the keepers . . . the keepers and daughters . . . all around.”
Hod wished he could hear her, but he did not interrupt, barely breathing as Arwin continued.