Prologue

The sounds coming from the inner room were driving me crazy. I paced our living quarters without seeing the obstacles. One moment Sæbjort would be humming a soft tune, and the next she’d be shrieking at pitches I hadn’t known she could produce. This had been going on for too long. Something had to be wrong. I wanted to barge into our bedroom and see for myself that she was all right, but the midwife—my sister, as it happened—had made it abundantly clear that birthing was a woman’s job, and men were not wanted.

I wiped a hand across my face. All had to be well. I couldn’t imagine life without Sæbjort’s gentle guidance in my life. I might have been chief of our clans, but it was her voice as much as mine that led Storeheltur.

Another cry jerked me back toward the closed curtain that constituted the door. This time, though, there was a word in the inarticulate cries.

“Geirfinnur!” My name echoed off the stone ceiling.

Without waiting or even thinking about what I was doing, I thrust the tapestry aside and within three steps was beside my wife, her best friend giving way to me.

“Sæbjort, I’m here.”

Her face was pale, her knuckles white where they clenched the back of a chair. She swayed back and forth, the moaning hum building again. I rested a hand on her back.

Froða huffed—a sound I’d known since childhood, and one I’d learned to ignore. “This is no place for a man, Sæbjort.”

In answer, my wife clutched my hand. The strength in her grip surprised me. I blew air out through my nose, not about to complain about the loss of circulation to my littlest finger—not with Froða glaring at me.

“Fine.” My sister shook her head. “Stay out of the way. Josebina, take this side.” She relinquished her spot to my wife’s closest friend to kneel in front of Sæbjort. Then she started humming, the same low and controlled sound I’d heard from the other room.

Sæbjort joined in, her voice creating the tune while the others backed it up. The repeating themes were simple enough that even I could pick up on them. And when my kæra broke off, her voice stollen by a contraction, Froða or Josebina would pick up the melody, keeping the music flowing—this song of my wife’s own making, forged in the midst of bringing our child into the world.

“I…” Sæbjort panted, her face pinched. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Froða encouraged her. “Every woman who’s ever born a child has done this. You can too.”

Josebina rubbed Sæbjort’s back while my wife all but crushed my hand.

“It… It’s too… too much!” Sæbjort ended with a yelp.

“There has to be something you can do,” I beseeched Froða.

“Ferish Pools,” Froða offered. “Being in the water may help. She’ll not make the journey, though—the contractions are too close together; she won’t be able to cover so much distance in time for it to make a difference.”

“I’ll carry her if I must.” At last, there was something I could do! “Come, Sæbjort, let’s go.”

She took a couple of steps, but a contraction seized her, and she was rooted in place, groaning and crying out. “I… I… can’t.”

“Will you let me carry you?”

Sæbjort nodded. “Put me down if it’s too much.”

“I will.” Defying my sister to stop me, I gathered my wife into my arms.

When she wrapped her arms around my neck, leaning into my shoulder, she fit perfectly. Well, not like she had nine lunar cycles earlier, but this was where she belonged, even if she was currently dripping some kind of fluid onto my trousers.

It took us twice as long as it would normally have taken to traverse the stone ways and reach the cavern with the pools, but finally, we arrived. I gently drew Sæbjort’s robe off and placed it off to the side. Not eager to display my undershorts to my sister or Josebina, I glanced about. Froða had her back to me, and Josebina had gone to retrieve a poultice my sister had ordered. I shucked off my stained trousers, refusing to acknowledge that there was blood on them—too much blood—and led Sæbjort into the hot springs. The moment the water touched her legs, her balance failed; I quickly pulled her against me, thinking to cushion her fall with my body, if need be, but she landed seated in my lap, pushing me deep into the pool. My head barely stayed above the surface, and my hair floated out behind me.

Sæbjort’s humming turned into a moan.

“It’ll be fine, kæra.” I brushed her dark hair out of her face.

She smiled at me, but it was weak. “Promise me, you’ll be strong, Geirfinnur. You’ll be there for our son.”

“Hush, kæra, hush.”

“No, you must promise me.”

Before I could reply, she arched her back and cried out. Froða was beside us in an instant. Her steadying presence kept the terror at bay, but not for long. One look at my sister’s face, and I knew something had gone terribly wrong. If it had been anyone else, I might have been fooled, but to her brother her eyes were as clear to read as the stars in the sky.

“Keep her steady, Geirfinnur. Don’t let her slide in any deeper.”

With a short nod, I held my wife to me. Tears worked their way down her cheeks; her breath came in short gasps.

The door opened, and Josebina’s face turned pale as she set a basket down near Sæbjort’s robe and hurried over. “How can I help?”

Froða shook her head ever so slightly. “Sæbjort, I’m going to see what I can do.” Her hands faded from sight under the water—water that was murky with red.

I blinked, but Sæbjortcried out, then bit her lip, distracting me from all else but her.

“Hush, kæra, hush.” I kissed her cheek, and she sagged into my chest.

“I can feel the baby’s head.” Froða’s voice was calm, but still her eyes betrayed her. “We’re almost ready, Sæbjort. All you have to do is push this little one out. Geirfinnur will hold you steady. You just push with the next contraction.”

Sæbjort nodded, then put her hand up to my face, blindly feeling for my cheek even as her shoulders pressed back into my chest—already falling into the rigor of the next surge. “Geirfinnur, you didn’t promise me.”

Her fingers felt so frail. Why couldn’t she have forgotten about whatever promise she wanted me to make?

“You’ll be strong for our child, won’t you?” She was panting; I could feel her body tightening. “You’ll be there teaching and guiding him. You won’t let leadership of the clan steal you from him, like it stole your father from you.”

At least that was something I could readily promise. “Yes, I’ll be there for our little one, but so will you, kæra. We’ll teach him together.”

Her fingers tightened on my cheeks, and she gritted her teeth. Her guttural groan was almost a growl like the snow cats that roamed Toppur.

“Good,” Froða encouraged. “Keep that up, and you’ll be holding this little one in your arms in no time.”

Sæbjort’s grip slackened, and she smiled—that lovely lifting of her lips that had drawn me to her six rotations ago even before my father had approached hers with a request for a betrothal.

Five more of those gut-wrenching growls, five more times squeezing the life out of my fingers, and Sæbjort fell limp in my arms with a weak cry.

“Keep her head above the water,” Froða ordered as she stood, a small red form barely discernible in her hands, still obscured by the thickening cloud of red.

“Is…” I licked my lips. “Is that…”

“Your son.” Froða’s expression softened the gruffness in her tone. “I need to bring him up and get the cord cut, but Sæbjort’s in no condition to help us. You need to lift her up onto the ledge.”

Blinking back tears as I watched my son squirm, I nodded. Soon, I had Sæbjort resting on the upper step where the water lapped gently at her ribs. Froða placed my son against Sæbjort’s chest and swiftly wound a thread tightly around the cord; she was probably glaring as she cut it, but I wasn’t looking at her. I was too caught up in the small life before me.

Sæbjort smiled, her hands enveloping the tiny body—a mother’s tender hands, holding her child, warming him, shielding him. “He’s beautiful.”

“Just like his mother,” I said, through a heart that was ready to burst.

“Kristjan.” Sæbjort caressed his dark head, her fingers too limp. “After my brother.”

“Yes. He was a good man.” At the moment I would have let her name him anything.

“Kristjan, you’re going to be a strong man one step. Listen to your father. I…” Her eyes drifted closed, then lifted back open. “I love you, my son.”

For one strained moment her gaze was trained on him, but she could only hold out so long. Her eyes slid shut and her hand fell from his back, and Kristjan squalled. The boy squirmed and without his mother’s steadying hand, slid from her chest. I snatched him up before he could fall into the water.

His cry was pitiful, pure, demanding, as only an infant’s could be. Such a large sound for such a small person. Every single detail was perfect—little fingers, toes, and eyes. He stared up at me, but it only broke me into pieces. He should have been looking up at his mother, learning the face that belonged to the loving voice of the one who’d carried him this far.

But no farther.

A sob escaped my lips.

Froða rested a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to take him so you can say your farewell?”

Numb, I handed Kristjan over to his aunt and knelt down beside Sæbjort. Her beautiful face was at peace. I caressed it, noticing a tear that clung to her cheek.

Gone. With the ancients now. If the stories were true, no more to cry. I regarded that single tear, wondering if I should wipe it away, but if I did, then I’d accept what had befallen us.

Why? Why had she left me? The dam broke, and my own tears flowed, splashing into her hair and then running into the hot springs, flooding over her face until there were too many to distinguish between what had been hers and which were mine. 

I didn’t know how long I remained there, but when I’d cried more tears than I knew I possessed, I passed into a state of quiet unreality, like I’d entered into the halls of the ancients myself, and it was only my spirit that stood and dried myself off. My trousers were blood-stained; I didn’t want to put them on. They would bring me back into the mortal world, where everything was shattered obsidian. But I couldn’t be wandering Storeheltur’s halls in only my undershorts, so I slipped them back on, and none too soon. Froða returned with Kristjan.

“Here.” She held Kristjan out to me; he was bundled in a blanket but still squalling. “Josebina went to talk to Telma. She may be able to help us keep this little one alive.”

I hadn’t even considered that it would be possible to lose my son as well. Without thinking, I pulled Kristjan close to me, while Froða went to see to her sister-in-law’s body, and I stood there with a crying baby—and a hole in my heart.

Chapter 1

There might as well have been a chasm separating Kristjan and his best friend.

“Oh, come on! You can do it,” Marko called down from the ledge.

Beside Kristjan, Bastian grinned. “Don’t want to have rumors spread that the chief’s son is a coward, do you, cousin?”

With a sigh, Kristjan forced the cold knot in his stomach aside and placed his hands where Marko had. The luminescent yoma on the rock walls gave off enough light to see each divot and crack in the cliff face.

“That’s it,” Marko encouraged him. “It’ll be worth it. The dioptase up here is beautiful.”

“Maybe even good enough to set in a ring for Tinna,” Bastian added, scaling the cliff in moments.

“It’ll take something spectacular for Tinna to think of marrying you, Bastian.” Marko laughed.

Bastian slapped Marko on the arm. “Don’t see you trying to impress any girl.”

“I have time.”

Kristjan’s hand slipped, and he froze. He couldn’t do this. If he fell, he’d break a leg—or worse!

“Easy, Kristjan.” Marko’s voice soothed Kristjan’s fraying nerves. “You can do this. Bring your hand back up. There’s a better hold right there.” He pointed out the protruding rock.

“Come on, Kristjan. The sooner you’re up here, the sooner I can get that stone.”

“Would you shut up, Bastian?” Marko shook his head. “You’d think you’d be more considerate of your cousin.”

Kristjan tuned their conversation out and concentrated on where to place his hand, then his foot, and then a hand, trying not to think about the burning strain in his arms. If he thought too much about the fatigue, his muscles might give out. At last, he hauled himself over the ledge, laying his ribs on the rock so he could finally step his feet up with the rest of him. He flopped back, not daring to look over to the ground below, or to think of how he was going to get back down, but exhilarated all the same.

“Ready?” Marko held out a hand. “You did it.”

“Yeah, I did!” Kristjan allowed his friend to help him up.

“Now can I show you this deposit?” Bastian stood with his hand on his hip. At a nod from Kristjan, he sprinted off down the path, hunched over taking care to watch his head in the low-ceilinged cavern.

Shaking his head, Kristjan followed his cousin, although at a much slower pace. The green glow from the yoma minerals here gave off enough light to see by, but not much more than that.

“So, is this really worth it, or were you just humoring Bastian?” Kristjan bobbed around a low-hanging stalactite.

“I’ll let the vein speak for itself.” Marko caught up with Kristjan and as the path widened, came to walk beside his friend. “Bastian has a reason to want some of the dioptase.”

“I know,” Kristjan sighed. “I just wish he didn’t have to constantly try to build himself up over me.”

Marko shrugged. “I think it comes from being nephew to the chief. Mikkael has always lived in his brother-in-law’s shadow, and that rubbed off on his son.”

“Are you two coming?” Bastian called from ahead.

The yoma ahead were glowing more brightly—not only green, but a bright pink as well, casting a halo around Bastian who stood in the center of the way.

“Wish he was as much an angel as he looks there.” Kristjan muttered with a friendly smirk.

Marko laughed. “You both are angelic if you ask me, just in different ways.” He clapped Kristjan on the shoulder. “Let’s go. He won’t wait for long.”

When Kristjan stepped into the cavern, he whistled. The sight was beautiful. The yoma here lent a yellow hue to the walls where among the copper, the deep blue-green of the dioptase sat.

“Told you it was worth it.” Bastian bounced on the balls of his feet as he spread his hands wide, turning in an encompassing circle. “And it’s all ours. We found it, so we can mine it first.”

Technically, yes, but Kristjan knew that the mineral veins were growing sparse. The people of Storeheltur needed all the ore they could find to keep going. If they didn’t have the minerals to trade, then they’d have to rely more on hunting and the limited resources around them, rather than the merchants who brought supplies in exchange for the ore mined from the caverns.

Bastian trailed his finger along a particularly strong strip of the cobalt rock. “Here’s where I want to start. See this one?” He paused and tapped the stone. “This is the one that I’ll ask Iðna to add to a ring for Tinna. I can see it now, so beautiful—just like her.”

Marko and Kristjan exchanged glances, which did not at all help them tamp down their imminent laughter.

“What? It’s true.” Bastian turned to them.

“Sure, it is, but the way you say it…” Marko chuckled.

“Just wait until you find a girl. See if I spare you any teasing.” Bastian pulled a pick from his belt and tapped along the rock.

Kristjan shook his head but followed suit. Soon the cave filled with the tap, tap, tap of three picks. Bastian had been right about one thing—this vein was deep and ran on for what seemed like forever. Before he knew it, he had several rough nuggets in a pile at his feet. He glanced around and saw Marko and Bastian also had excellent rocks.

“How long have we been at this?” Kristjan stretched his fingers and slid his pick back into his belt.

“Not long enough.” Bastian grinned, letting Kristjan know his cousin was only half joking.

“Father wanted me back before the final meal of the step.”

Bastian grimaced. “Uncle’s still keeping you on a tight leash?”

“You know Father.” Kristjan shrugged. “Always concerned with appearances and how I’m to be chief one step.”

“Yeah.” Bastian looked like he’d bitten into a sour cranleaf.

“We can always come back next step.” Marko replaced his pick and pulled out a pouch for the gems at his feet.

“True.” Bastian agreed, but the set of his shoulders said different. “At least I got this one mostly out—shouldn’t take too long to finish excavating.”

Kristjan joined his cousin and examined the crystal in question. “It is beautiful, Bastian. Tinna will love it.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Now let’s head back.”

As Kristjan had anticipated, he froze at the cliff. There was no way he was going to be able to make the descent, despite all the logic Marko tried. Kristjan’s legs trembled and wouldn’t listen to his brain, which was busy trying to tell them that they could work just fine if they would just move.

What type of chief are you going to make, if you can’t even handle scaling a cliff? He could hear the condemnation from the elders. Father wouldn’t let a little height discourage him. Yet it did no good.

Finally, Marko changed his tactic. “Bastian, go down ahead of him. That way if he slips, you’ll be there to help him land on his feet. I’ll come down beside you, Kristjan. You can grip ahold of my shoulder. I won’t let you fall.”

Like a snow fox pup led by its mother through the caverns, Kristjan allowed his friend to help him down. When his feet hit solid ground again, he collapsed into a heap, his face in his hands.

Bastian rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, cuz. Even the best chief has to have some weakness. Yours just happens to be heights.”

“Thanks.” Kristjan scrubbed a shaky hand over his cheeks, ashamed of the damp that came away.

He hoped that what Bastian said was true. If it was, what was his father’s weakness? He’d never witnessed it.

“Think you can stand now?” Marko offered a hand.

With a nod, Kristjan accepted his friend’s help. Together they followed the yoma until torches lit the smooth stone paths.

***

“Kristjan? Is that you?” Father called from his study.

“Yes.” Kristjan steadied himself to face his father.

“Why are you so late?” Father entered the main living area, straightening his hair as if he was facing the elders. “The final meal has grown cold. I told you I wanted you back before then.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Kristjan tried to hide his irritation at his father’s tone, but from the way his father’s eyebrow quirked up and he rested his hand on his hip, Kristjan hadn’t done a good enough job. It was never good enough.

“It wouldn’t have been too terrible if it was just our meal, but Friðfinn showed up. He wanted to discuss a betrothal.”

“Betrothal?” Kristjan rolled his eyes.

“Kristjan, one step, you’re going to have to take these seriously. Friðfinn’s daughter, Tinna, would be a good wife—beautiful, able to cook, and keeps up with the best of the women in the mines.”

And Bastian’s had his eye set on her for who knows how many rotations. Kristjan didn’t voice his thought. Instead, he put on the face he used when the elders discussed all he needed to learn to be a good chief.

“I’ll consider it in time, Father, but I have no intention of taking a wife at the moment. I’m perfectly fine as I am.”

“Kristjan, son.” Father rubbed the back of his neck. “I was two rotations younger than you when I married your mother.”

And look where that got you. Kristjan had only voiced that sentiment once. The clenched jaw and fists had been warning enough.

“Maybe, but I’m not you, Father.”

“But you’re my son and will be chief after me.”

“Which isn’t for many rotations yet,” Kristjan countered.

“Maybe not, but we can’t let the Jorvarsson line die out.”

Here it came: the story of Jorvar the Great. The man who had saved a whole village of people during the Impact with his quick thinking.

“If Jorvar would have thought only of himself, the holdt wouldn’t be here, but he didn’t. He took his people into Verndandi and waited out the storm.”

“Yes, Father, I’ve heard it before. Then when he realized the storm wouldn’t abate, he didn’t think of himself, but took Iunn as a wife. Together they carved Storeheltur out of the mountain and provided a place for us all.” Kristjan blew a breath out through his nose, calming his tone. “I’m not Jorvar any more than I’m you. Give me time, and I’ll take a wife and be the chief you want me to be, but for now, just let me be me.” Kristjan let the words hang, apprehensive. Would his father understand or turn away in frustration as he always did?

“Son, I know it’s hard for you, but—”

The “but” always came.

Kristjan shook his head. “Father, I’m tired. I just want to eat and got to bed. I’ll see you after the resting period.”

“Where are you going, Kristjan? You can’t push life away forever.”

Stars forbid Geirfinnur’s son would do as his father had for the past eighteen rotations.

“Father, I’m going to get some food and eat it while viewing the stars and then head to bed.” Kristjan kept his tone civil. “I’ll see you after Handi rises.”

Not allowing his father any further say, Kristjan left the room. He filled a bowl and grabbed a roll. Balancing the two in one hand, he snatched his cloak from the hook and strode through the narrow, stone tunnel, wending his way until he came to a gradual slope. He rejoiced in it for that meant he was nearing Toppur—his place of peace.

According to Father, it was where Jorvar—everyone—had lived before the Impact. Kristjan couldn’t understand how they would have endured the harsh climate, but Father said it hadn’t always been this way.

When the air took on a crisp scent, and before the chill could get too uncomfortable, Kristjan set his bowl down on a ledge and wrapped his cloak about his shoulders. Then satisfied that he was as protected as he could be, he walked the rest of the way to his thinking spot.

***

I’d done it again. How many times had I pushed my son away? It had started that first moonstep when he was born and Froða had handed him over to Telma to nurse. From that moonstep on, no matter my intentions, it seemed that I’d been constantly watching my son leave me.

If only… How often had I thought that since Sæbjort had passed into the halls of the ancients? And it’d never done me any good—this step or any other. Instead, I stood there like an idiot while my son walked out the door to Toppur. I hadn’t even asked where he’d gone with Marko and Bastian.

With a sigh that reminded me of my own father, I turned and walked back to my study. There Friðfinn’s proposal sat on my desk. What was wrong with Tinna? She was as beautiful a girl as girls went—nothing like Sæbjort, but no one would ever match her beauty.

I thought I might as well try to figure out a way to phrase the rejection without injuring Friðfinn’s pride. I’d already written four of these, but Friðfinn was an elder—and my friend.

But instead of putting quill to paper, I stared into the flickering flame and prayed—unburdening my heart to Jeeah.

The candle was burning low, the letter to Friðfinn unwritten, and only the yoma lit the room when I heard Kristjan’s soft steps returning. He’d always been a quiet boy, even from the first. He’d hardly ever fussed, even when he was hungry. He’d even started losing weight because Telma couldn’t always tell that he needed to eat. It’d been like he was waiting for his mother to appear—like she was the only one he’d tell if he needed something. In some sense, he’d been that way ever since.

Should I go to him? Sæbjort would say “yes,” but any time I did, it seemed to make things worse.

Wiping a hand across my face, I stood and went to my room. There’d be time later to talk with Kristjan. Time when he’d listen.

Chapter 2

ey, Bastian, how’s it going?” Kristjan called to his cousin as he headed to the water reservoir three moonsteps later, but Bastian ignored him.

What have I done now? With Bastian, it was always something. Shrugging it off, Kristjan resumed his trek. If he didn’t bring the water, Father would be upset.

“Hi, Kristjan.” Friðfinn fell into step beside him. “Your father is so fortunate to have you as a son.”

“Thank you.” Kristjan had a guess as to where this conversation was going, but he knew he needed to be polite.

“No, really. Most men wouldn’t be caught dead gathering water or preparing a meal, but you’re always willing to help no matter the task. It’s what’ll make you a wonderful chief when your time comes.” Friðfinn stroked his beard. “It’s also why I thought of you for Tinna. She has her heart set on you.”

Kristjan bit his tongue. “Really? I thought she was interested in Bastian. He’s a wonderful man.”

“Your cousin’s nothing like you, Kristjan, and Tinna sees that. He’s impulsive and reckless. You, on the other hand, are steady, dependable, and kind. Everything a girl needs in a husband.”

“When the time comes, I’m sure I’ll take a wife, Friðfinn, but—”

“Listen to me, Kristjan. You’re eighteen. When your father and I were your age, we’d been married for at least two rotations. You’ve had the time to grow up. Now you need to consider the next step to manhood.” Friðfinn rested a heavy hand on Kristjan’s shoulder. “As future chief, you need to consider wisely who you will marry.”

Kristjan had to fight not to sigh. Would Friðfinn contrive to mention this every time they met now?

“Jorvar and Arnor worked together to bring Storeheltur into existence,” Friðfinn pressed. “Why not join the two families as one officially? Consider my offer. Talk with Tinna if you must. I’ll arrange for you to see her during the third watch this step. Come by after your final meal.”

Realizing that, one way or another, Friðfinn would grind an answer out of him eventually, Kristjan forced out an, “All right, then.” His refusal would go over better if he at least pretended to give it some consideration first.

Someone brushed against them. Kristjan glanced up to see Bastian’s back. He knew that he’d better make things right with his cousin before it was too late, but first he needed to fill the water reservoir in their kitchen.

After five trips with the jug, Father stopped Kristjan.

“There’s an elder meeting this watch. I want you to join me.”

It wasn’t a request.

“Very well.”

“Be ready in a span. Oh, and Kristjan? Thank you for filling the water.”

“You’re welcome.”

Father sighed. “I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate all you do around here. I know you don’t want to think of marriage, but it would ease your duties in the house.”

Kristjan smiled. “Maybe, but who’d take care of you then?”

“Don’t let that stop you from considering a proposal, son.” Father’s brown eyes were sincere, even tender. “No father should hold his son back. Our job is to give flight to your dreams.”

“Thank you.”

But would Father even want to know what my dreams are?

“Now, I have a few notes to gather before the meeting.”

Back to business. Father always dealt with clan business better than he did with Kristjan. With a shake of his head, Kristjan returned to his room; he might as well get started on the schematic for an idea that he’d had to make things easier for the holdt. He picked up his journal, thumbing through the pages before wrapping a leather cord around it and placing it in its niche. He pulled the paper out of another stone cubby where various projects were kept in alphabetical order by name. Another alcove held his tools: straightedge along the side, eraser and adhesive in the middle, and old stubs of pencils that were good for shading tied together on the other side. Spreading out the curling sheet, he rested the straightedge on top to hold it down until he could place four unique rocks—tokens he’d claimed while traveling Toppur with Sigmar, learning the ways of the iced land—on the corners. Satisfied with the arrangement, he picked up his pencil from the bin of his favorites, and traced the distance between the well and their house. Next, he’d add the other homes along the route. Step by step, with meticulous, mind-settling precision, he worked until the clean lines had detailed every aspect of the proposed project area.

When Father came for him, he’d added a line to show where he’d put the pipe to draw the water from the well to the individual homes. If he could implement it, it’d save many spans for the whole clan.

The two walked side by side through the halls. People greeted them with nods and even a few bows as they passed by. Father acknowledged them all by name. Kristjan didn’t know how he kept the names and faces straight. Those who interacted directly with them, made sense, but to know every single name of each community member was overwhelming for Kristjan.

You could do it if you put your mind to it. The voice was quiet but firm.

It’s what’s expected of the chief, another voice added.

Kristjan pushed them both aside. He had a meeting to attend.

The elders met in a chamber where the yoma, set into the high arched ceiling, illuminated a stone table inlaid with half a hand’s breadth of deep green dioptase. Cushioned chairs sat around the table. Father took the one at the head and motioned to his right. Kristjan accepted his place. He could handle sitting at Father’s right; it was the thought of sitting in Father’s own seat that sent chills down his spine.

You’ll be fine when it’s your turn, the softer voice reminded him.

Or will you bumble it like you do everything else?

Always it was the two—one encouraging and one discouraging—much like Marko and Bastian.

It didn’t take long for the six elders to join them and repeat the pledge that reminded them of their duty to the holdt and to Jeeah.

Father clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. “Men, I’ve requested Kristjan’s presence so that you can explain to him what you’ve seen, as well as your suggestion.”

Kristjan schooled his face. When Father had told him of the meeting, he’d assumed that the elders had requested his presence, not that he was being foisted into their counsel.

Karva nodded. As the oldest, he’d be the one the others would look to lead. Yet, Karva didn’t speak or meet Kristjan’s gaze. This didn’t bode well. None of the elders looked at him. Hafnar, the newest member, stared at his hands.

What have you done now?

Kristjan mentally sorted through his recent activities, but he couldn’t think of any that would have disturbed the elders.

You’re fine.

Father waited without saying a word.

At last, a man with greying hair sat forward, picking a piece of lint from his sleeve before folding his hands in front of him on the table. Kristjan knew Orlaugur well. He was in charge of the mines and had mentored Kristjan for a few cycles until Father had put an end to that, claiming it was too dangerous.

The elder spared Kristjan a grim smile before turning away to the chief. “Geirfinnur, as you know, mining has dwindled over the past cycles. The veins aren’t as rich, and we’re having to dig deeper into the ground to extract what we’re finding. We don’t have the equipment that our fathers had, or it’s falling into disrepair, despite all the upkeep.”

This was exactly what Kristjan had thought of when Bastian wanted to keep the new strain of dioptase to themselves.

Karva shook his head. “In all my rotations as an elder and even before I took my father’s place, I’ve not seen a step when a merchant left Storeheltur dissatisfied.”

Kristjan swallowed—hard. This was worse than he thought. Father adjusted his position in his seat, but that was the only indication that the news perturbed him.

Karva continued, “Androw left without a full load, and let it be known he’d inform any merchants he met that it wasn’t worth coming this far north.”

A sickly silence fell over the table.

No merchants meant no food, no supplies from the south.

“Wha…” Kristjan’s voice wobbled, and he licked his lips. “What’s more important—finding ore, or making sure we can all eat?”

Orlaugur’s smile was hid in his thick beard, but his eyes sparkled. “Knew Geirfinnur was raising his son right. For now, we need to have food. That means hunting parties will have to brave Toppur. Every able-bodied person will be called in to help expand the mines and locate fresh ore.”

“We’ll need someone to be in charge of organizing all the efforts.” Reinar ran a hand through his greying hair. “I can offer, but in reality, Arny’s better suited for that than me.”

Father smiled. It seemed an odd reaction to Kristjan, but the expression softened Father’s face. “Then please ask her to help us.”

Of the two options—hunting or expanding the mines—hunting was the one Kristjan felt he’d be best at. He loved going to Toppur despite the cold.

Before Father could interject with a denial, Kristjan leaned forward. “I’m willing to go on a hunting expedition. I know the ways of Toppur—how the moons glide through the sky, and how to read the stars. Bastian’s the best hunter we have, and Marko can scout a trail better than anyone else his age. If I talk with them, they’ll agree to form a party.”

“Kristjan.” Father’s jaw dropped, but he shut it quickly. “Kristjan, Toppur has so much to comprehend—more than you’ve just listed. When was the last you were there for any extended length of time?”

Friðfinn cocked his head as if evaluating Kristjan’s offer.

“I go up at least once a step.”

Father wasn’t to be deterred. “That’s different, son. You go to your thinking spot. That’s not the same as hunting. There are all kinds of dangers in Toppur. It’s why Jorvar came down into the ground where the heated vents are. Without the warmth they provide, you’ll not last long.”

“Let the boy speak, Geirfinnur.” Friðfinn was polite, but only barely. “I understand he’s your only son, but if he’s to be chief, he’ll need to show himself capable—just as you did.”

Pursing his lips, Father nodded.

Support from Friðfinn was unlooked-for, but Kristjan ran with it. “As I was saying, I believe my friends and I can make a safe hunting expedition and return in a phase, maybe two at the most, with food to last a phase. We won’t have to worry about what we kill going bad like hunting parties in the caverns do. The climate is cold, but not beyond what we can handle.” Kristjan wanted to rub his hands on his knees, but all of the elders were staring at him.

Karva pursed his lips. “I’m not sure risking the few strong young people that know Toppur, especially our chief’s son, is a good idea.”

“But if the situation is as dire as you say—” Kristjan cut off, realizing how condescending that might sound. “I mean, we need to start hunting and gathering in resources now. If we’re so cautious about risking people, then we’ll wait too long and put everyone at greater risk as we get more desperate. And at this moment, I believe I’m best suited to go. I’ve studied under Sigmar.” He looked to Hafnar for confirmation.

“My brother’s the best there is when it comes to knowing the ways of Toppur,” Hafnar said.

At last, Karva nodded. “Very well, Kristjan. You and your friends have two phases to bring back as much meat as you can.”

***

I sat staring at my son; he betrayed no fear, only determination. He was resolved that such a fate should not come to pass, and by stating the stakes so clearly, he was calling the elders to act to the best of their ability. There’d be no one slacking in the next phases, I felt sure.

Did I want him to go to Toppur for two phases? No more than I’d wanted Sæbjort to walk the halls of the ancients, but I couldn’t deny him.

“Very well, then. Kristjan and his friends will make our first expedition into Toppur. Arny will organize the other parties, including the explorers.” I glanced about to see if there was any other discussion. Seeing none, I rose. “I’ll adjourn this elders’ meeting.”

Chairs scraped against the stone floor as first one and then another joined me and expressed their gratitude to Kristjan. At least he didn’t beam with pride at their words.

Friðfinn settled a hand on Kristjan’s shoulder. “When you return, please reconsider my daughter.”

Kristjan nodded, but it was the type of inclination of the head that I’d used many times to say I’d think on the option without committing to anything. How much he reminded me of myself at that age. If only Sæbjort was here to see him. She’d have been as proud of him as I.

“Father, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find Bastian and Marko.”

I studied his green eyes, so like his mother’s that it’d sent me into despair at times when he was younger. Now, I saw it as a blessing—a reminder of better times.

“Son, I’m proud of you.” My voice faltered, and I glanced down at my hands—anything to keep from looking up at him and losing all self-control and crying. “Take care. I…” I couldn’t finish the thought or my greatest fear would come to life. “Come back safely.”

“I will, Father.” Was there a waver in his voice as well?

He turned before I could look at his face again; Reinar had commanded his attention. I watched them interact, again wondering at the young man Kristjan had grown into. Where had the rotations gone? Where once there’d been a small, insecure boy, there now stood a fledgling adult.

He strode out of the meeting hall with the confidence I’d taught him to have.

“You did well with him, Geirfinnur.” Friðfinn nodded to Kristjan’s departing form. “I noticed he didn’t give me an answer. Will he marry my daughter?”

“I can’t force him, Friðfinn, and neither can you.”

“But we can encourage the arrangement. Will you press my case?”

I wanted to sigh but held it in check. Tinna was an excellent choice. Why didn’t Kristjan want her? Was it true that he didn’t have his eye on any particular girl? If so, then he should be happy with an arranged marriage. It was the way of our people. If a couple didn’t have an opinion, their parents would settle on an agreement.

“Can’t guarantee my word will hold any sway, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Geirfinnur. You’re a true friend.”

The words meant more coming from Friðfinn. The elder was quiet and kept to himself most of the time, yet his wealth of wisdom was great. Kristjan would do well to have Friðfinn as a father-in-law. If only the boy would see that.

***

Kristjan didn’t have far to go to find his friend. Marko was bouncing his baby sister on his knee. It didn’t make sense that Marko could be so happy with that many younger siblings running around his home. He was the oldest of nine, and the responsibilities that came with that seemed endless as far as Kristjan could see. The youngest smiled up at Kristjan with slobber dribbling down her chin.

“You’ll want to wipe her mouth.” Kristjan pointed, but his warning came too late. The drool landed on Marko’s leg.

Marko laughed. “That’s nothing, Kristjan. Wait until the cloth doesn’t hold, and it leaks out the sides.”

“Ew!” Kristjan couldn’t keep the disgust from showing.

Marko laughed at his reaction and set his sister on the floor. “Myr, I’m going out with Kristjan. Can you keep an eye on Glyta until Mother returns from the market?”

Myr practically threw down her embroidery. “Oh, and abandon this knotted mess, which I’d much prefer to shred then sew? How unfortunate. O well.” She grinned. “I suppose I can make some sacrifice. Have fun.”

Marko waited until they were well out of earshot of the household before he spoke. “So, what has you so downtrodden?”

It always amazed Kristjan how his friend could see past the outer expressions to what Kristjan truly felt.

“Let’s wait until we’re not out in the open.”

“All right.” Marko drew the words out but didn’t push for anything more.

Kristjan led the way to where he knew his cousin would be working. Bastian had been assigned to clean the heating ducts that ran throughout Storeheltur. The tunnels carried the thermal air and waters that warmed the cavern system, but they also built up gunk that needed to be scraped out occasionally. No one liked the chore, but it was a necessary evil that every male over twelve rotations endured.

The scratch of the metal spatula echoed off the walls as they drew near.

Instead of crawling into the tunnel, Kristjan called down into the hatch. “Bastian, come here. I have something you’ll like more than scraping.”

The clank of the handle hitting the rock was his only reply. Then his cousin’s face, grimy and green in the light of the yoma, popped into view.

“Anything to get out of here. Don’t you want to join me, cuz?” Bastian smiled, but his eyes were still hard.

Kristjan wished he could figure out what had changed his cousin’s attitude.

“I’d rather not.” Kristjan glanced about, and realizing they were alone, he let a sigh escape his lips. “Father called me to an elder meeting.”

“What? Another wedding proposal?” Bastian waved his hand. “I’ll go back to scraping if that’s the case.”

Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. “Bastian, I’m not trying to woo Tinna. Her father’s pushing the arrangement. I’m not sure if she really even wants it or if she just can’t tell her father no.”

Bastian glared at him. “You’re trying to tell me; you want nothing to do with the girl of my dreams?”

“Why would I? Sure, she’s nice and all that, but you’ve had your heart set on her for cycles now, Bastian. What type of cousin, or even friend, would I be if I tried to take her away from you?”

A smile twitched at Bastian’s lips, and then he grinned. “Thank you, Kristjan. I’ll take my ring to her as soon as Iðna has it ready.”

“Well, hopefully, he can finish it by next step. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait two phases.”

Marko shook his head. “All right, enough mysterious little hints. Out with it.”

Kristjan leaned against the stone wall and explained what he’d volunteered them for.

When he finished, Bastian pulled himself out of the tunnel hatch. “Count me in. I’ll see if Iðna can complete the ring so I can give it to Tinna before we leave at first watch. Marko, we’ll need you to get the sleigh and the rest of the equipment. I can help, but I’ll want a bath first.”

Marko gripped Kristjan’s hand and then took Bastian’s grubby one. “Let’s go. The sooner our people’s food supply is secure, the better.”