Those Who Went Before: The Helvensgate Sagas, #1

Prologue

The villagers gave Adecca wonderful things for her funeral. They made her a feast of elk, bread, and cheese, and even a little dried fruit. They dressed her in a soft tunic, a skirt hemmed with a hundred tiny bells, and the most wonderful, cloud-soft fur coat she had ever touched. Then they painted her eyelids, lips, and the curves of her cheeks black—which made her look very adult—seated her in her litter, and carried her down to the river.

She loved every minute of it.

The entire village came to see her. There was music and singing, bonfires and food, and so, so, so much dancing. (Adecca wanted to dance, too, but they wouldn't let her off her litter.) She did not smile and wave—even though she wanted to—because she was dead, and being dead was supposed to be solemn. She kept her excitement on the inside instead.

Her mother was waiting for them at the river. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were a raw, unhappy red. She was trying to do her duty, so she wasn't crying, but she was only barely succeeding. She was standing beside the funerary boat, her shoulders low and her eyes focused far away, as if she was imagining running into the mountains.

Four villagers guided Adecca to the boat—the same number who would have carried a dead body, if she hadn't been able to walk—and sat her inside. The elder approached, torch in hand, and waved it here and there. If she was any other dead, he would have set it alight so she could start her journey down the water; Adecca had to imagine it. (All the while, she tried not to smile at his twin grandsons, Gerat and Eshma, who were two of her very best friends. Gerat had joked earlier that the elder might really set the boat on fire if Adecca didn't act serious enough, but he only looked uncomfortable now.) When the ritual was done, the villagers handed her mother a lamp, a rope, and the oars. Thence they shoved them into the current.

Adecca waited until they were in the middle of the river to say, You don't have to cry. I'm not afraid, I promise.

You're not supposed to talk, her mother snapped.

The river fought her mother at every stroke—it was late winter, and the melting snow had driven the river-spirit Alde into a frenzy—but it was not a long trip. Her mother ran the ship aground on the rocky shore of the Island of the Dead. It took her three times to light the lamp, and then she stood there, still and unmoving, staring at the island trembling from something that wasn't the cold.

The dead won't hurt you, Adecca reassured her. You can walk on the island. The spirits said so.

"I know." Her mother looked so afraid; she sounded so angry. She swept a finger in front of her eyes to ward off angry ghosts before she walked ashore.

The Island of the Dead was a sacred place where the living were not meant to tread, and where the souls of those who had passed could travel between the world of the living and the world below. Even though Adecca could see it from the village, if she squinted very hard, she had always wondered what the island was truly like—if the animals were possessed by wayward souls, or if the trees, which looked so real from afar, were all skeletal-dead—but it looked very… plain. There were river-sounds and bird-sounds like any wild place; the forest was overgrown and wild and probably spirit-touched, but it was still budding and green.

There was one rock-lined path that led through those deep, dark trees, and it led up a very steep hill. At its top were all the sights from every epic-tale she had ever heard about the island: eight burial mounds, tall and proud, adorned with moss and flowers and ringed with sacred ropes. In the middle of them, like the iris of a giant eye, was a hole into the earth. Adecca could almost see the hint of solid ground below.

Her mother tossed one side of the rope into the pit, braced herself, and nodded toward the depths. Give me your boots and your coat.

Adecca had expected more ceremony than that. I'm supposed to dance for her.

Yes. Down there.

"But it's cold."

It is. The Dusk Mother does not like dead skin. Take off your leather.

"But she's a spirit of the dead⁠—"

Adecca. They were not discussing this anymore.

Adecca handed them over and shimmied down the rope. When her feet hit the ice-cold rock, her mother pulled the rope up.

Only the thinnest sliver of light touched the floor of the cave. There were tunnels down here, or an impression of them, but they were barely brighter than the inside of her eyelids. High above, her mother had started crying again. She sounded strangely muted, as if the caves swallowed the sound like they devoured light.

"Momma, it's freezing." Adecca was not sure she was excited anymore.

Her mother might have cried harder. This made Adecca feel guilty, and that didn't feel fair. She wanted her to tell her the same things the villagers had—that the spirits needed someone to serve the Dusk Mother, that no one else could dance half as well as Adecca could, and that the spirits had whispered her name into the elder's ear because she was so special. Adecca was twelve years old, so she didn't need her mother to coddle her, but she did want her to, at least a little.

She did not know what she was supposed to do. The elder only told her to dance. Adecca snorted up a string of snot, pried her fingers out of her armpits, and stamped her feet. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel like dancing. But if she didn't start moving, she would probably lose her toes.

She dragged one foot in a circle behind her and lifted her hands. She made up the steps as she went, spinning from one foot and bounding to another. It was not much of a dance. Her fingers were stiff with cold; her feet slapped dully on the stone. It was hard to move without a rhythm. Her heart was beating too fast, and her breath was ragged from shivering. She didn't know how long she was supposed to move, or how she should know when to stop. What if she was doing this wrong? Was the Dusk Mother was the kind of spirit who ate you? If Adecca danced poorly enough, would she drag her into the the heart of the earth, down into the darkness and until she was like everyone else who came to the island, dead and frightened and cold⁠—

Oh.

There was a pressure. A weight. It felt as if someone had thrown a blanket full of rocks over Adecca's body. She tried to wheeze, but she couldn't breathe. Sparks flashed across her eyelids; she felt her knees hit the ground.

Adecca gaped, fish-like. If this was the spirit of death, she hurt. Her mother was still sobbing, unaware that Adecca was dying, and that, too, felt so terribly, awfully unfair. Adecca had tried, she had danced as well as she could, and she was alone and cold and in the dark, and she hated that her mother was crying, and hated that she wasn't with her, and now⁠—

Adecca drew in a long, ragged breath. Then another. Another. The darkness felt warm, all of a sudden, and she didn't know if it was because her heart was racing, because she was dying, or because something had just happened. But she was breathing. She was alive? (Except she wasn't. She attended her own funeral.) She was breathing.

Dearest, her mother's voice quivered. You... you made a noise. Is it... over?

Yes. She gasped. She didn't know. The darkness was warm and… and close. It felt like the darkness was watching her.

She wanted to leave.

There was a shuffle, a solid thump, and then the rope was dangling down the hole. Her mother didn't pull her up, so Adecca had to climb, even though every part of her felt strange and wrong with warm-cold-trembling weakness. When she clamped her hands onto the boundary between air and earth, life and death, and her mother dropped the rope. And even though Adecca still felt terrible, she threw her arms around her mother.

It's okay, she said in her bravest voice. She couldn't feel her toes. "See? I'm alive. She didn't eat me. I saw the Dusk Mother, I think, or I felt her, but… but she let me go. So it's okay. You can stop crying. She doesn't even want me⁠—"

Adecca's words trailed off.

A light drifted overhead. It was like a coal of fire, as big as her fist, bright as gold and sparkling. It made a soft, sweet sound as it drifted away. Another floated by, as blue as the sky before sunset. She had never seen anything like them. Adecca let go of her mother and walked to the edge of the hill. From here, she could see the whole island, the river that wound around it, and the village, the fields, and the heavens-high mountains that made the valley.

The lights were everywhere. Hundreds of them, hundreds of hundreds, more than she had ever needed numbers to count. They were gold and yellow, auburn and scarlet, every color she had names for and more. There were purple lights like the first gasp of dawn and red ones sputtering like flames. And everywhere, everywhere, there was a sound like the wind, low and soft and full of small, sad sounds. Words. Whispers. Voices.

Adecca's mother grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her around. You see something.

I don't know what⁠—

What are they? she sounded angry again.

Adecca hesitated. An orb of light drifted by, whispering—I remember the last time I saw her, she said I shouldn't go, it said—just as Adecca looked into her mother's eyes. There was no sense lying. She wasn't good at it. I see lights. Many, many lights.

"Good. Good, her mother responded, hoarse and rough in a way that did not sound remotely good. Silly child. Why would she reject you? You are beautiful and talented. Of course she loves you. Of course. Her voice cracked. Why did I hope otherwise? Any spirit would take you, if they could."

Adecca's eyes blurred. She didn't say anything.

"She is a spirit, child. They don't need words. They want what they will, and they do what they please, and… Her voice cracked. Every word stabbed a little deeper. I don't how I will leave you here alone. But you won't be, will you? You'll never be alone again. You'll have her. You'll have everyone, everyone who has ever lived and died, and I won't have anyone at all..."

There were a million things Adecca should have said, and a million more she should have done. She didn't feel Blessed, didn't know what she was seeing, or what it meant, or what she was supposed to do. Her funeral felt very real, suddenly. It was hard to imagine why she had been excited at all.

Her mother was sobbing. Maybe the Dusk Mother had swallowed Adecca's voice, because she could not open her mouth. She put her arms around her mother instead, even though her skin was thick with goose pimples and she badly wanted her boots, and held her. All the while, Adecca stared over her mother's shoulder and watched the beautiful blue-red-gold orbs. It took her a very long time to realize what they were. What the spirit had given her. What it meant, truly, when the villagers said that she would serve the Dusk Mother on the Island of the Dead.

Those were the spirits of the dead. She could see them. Hear them.

And in exchange for that gift, she would never leave this island again.

Chapter One

Adecca was sitting on the rocky ledge that jutted out over the river. It was just high enough that the spray usually didn't drench her. Still, there wasn't any shade and the wind coming off the water was cutting—particularly now, when winter had but barely passed—so it was cold, warm, and a little damp all at once. It wasn't a very good place to sit, honestly, but she did, just as she did every morning, because it had the best view of the village.

The villagers were doing something. There were no fishing boats out on the water, even though it was mid-morning, and she could see a distant blur of movement around a pillar of smoke. The villagers were clearly celebrating something. It wasn't the planting festival, because they were in the square and not the fields (and she guessed that was still weeks away), and no one had unfurled the red-sailed ship, so they weren't gathering a war-party (though the weather was warm enough now.) She didn't know. Adecca had tried to to tally the days during her first few years on the island, but she didn't know how to tell the solstice, she wasn't close enough to see the festival days, and the living were forbidden to speak to her. Her attempt at a calendar was such a patchwork of guesswork, imagination, and wishful thinking that she eventually gave up on the concept of time. Now that she had been here… some number of years (six? Seven? More, less?) she measured it with her heart. It wasn't as if it mattered if she was wrong.

The villagers put a boat in the water and set it aflame.

It's a funeral, Adecca realized, and she didn't want to watch anymore. (But also: what else was there to watch?) She clutched her shawl closer, feeling even colder and damper than before. She wondered who it was. It was a useless thought, because she'd know soon enough, but it made her heart ache. Another part of the village she remembered, the world that she knew, was gone. Time went on without her.

The boat caught the river's current just as the flames, oil-hurried, reached the bundle within. The current hurried them past the island. The river-spirit of the Alde would take the body where it was needed most, but that wasn't the part that mattered. The person within would be coming here. Or they should be, at least. The dead were, to put it gently, very easily confused.

This one, apparently, was not.

Where are they? A wispy voice demanded. Adecca was barely on her feet when they spoke, and nearly startled off the ledge. The soul was hovering behind her, glowering a furious red-orange.

Um. Welcome, Adecca stammered. I... Ah. I hope your passing was kind and your journey fast⁠—

Where are they? they repeated.

Where are… who?

The spirits! Where are the trials? The riddles! The river spirits that are supposed to lure my soul in the wrong direction, or the Wood that tries to trap me beneath its branches, or the winds that make me fight my way to my rightful rest⁠—

There's no one here but me, she said apologetically. You should go down the path, she said, with a wave of a hand toward the woods. For all she knew, the dead could have slipped into the underworld by going straight through the earth, but since she didn't, she stuck to the words the living used. The Dusk Mother should be waiting for you.

And then?

Adecca hesitated. Then you see the Dusk Mother.

And then I face my trials?

I don't know.

Annoyance flickered up its body, a sputter of red-hot flame. Is this my trial?! Having to beg for guidance? To plead for help? To be demeaned by the one who's meant to guide me?

You will find her faster if you do not yell at me, Adecca replied. I have somewhere to be.

Somewhere to be! the soul shrieked in disbelief. I am supposed to be challenged! Tested! You are supposed to prepare me!

Adecca flinched. Not because they were loud—although she did hate being yelled at—but because, despite her best intentions, it still stung. This soul was newly dead, confused, and upset, and clearly thought Adecca was trying to get rid of her. The worst part was that she was right. She was.

But what else could Adecca do? The dead found their way to the underworld, or didn't, no matter what she did. They had very short memories, for one thing, which made them very hard to guide anywhere. If Adecca tried to walk this soul to the gate of the underworld, they would likely forget what they were doing before they made it through the woods, or they'd float through things she couldn't, or fly higher than she could reach, or simply nestle themselves deep into the earth or the rocks and the trees and refuse to move. And if walking to the gate didn't work, there was nothing else Adecca could do. If there was something she was supposed to do, the Dusk Mother hadn't told her—because the Dusk Mother had never spoken to her at all.

And since the villagers were forbidden to speak to her, this was all she had: boredom, apologies, and guilt. The Speaker had felt so glamorous when she was young and bright-eyed and listening to tales around the fire; it was much less so when you didn't get to hear the stories yourself.

So Adecca had stopped trying, and nothing bad had happened. The newly dead continued to arrive, and as the island was not overflowing, she was fairly sure they found their own way to the underworld. Maybe the Dusk Mother helped them. Maybe they even had trials and adventures. She wouldn't know.

More importantly, Adecca did have somewhere else to be. Her offerings would be here any minute.

The bells woven into Adecca's skirts gave a deceptively cheerful jingle as she climbed down the rock. They were supposed to be soothing to the dead. (They weren't.) The newly-departed was still shouting at Adecca by the time she reached the ground. After a fit of muttering and grumbling, the soul bobbed after her.

By the time Adecca reached the spot where the shore dipped in—not enough to form a bay, but enough to protect a piece of the shoreline from the current—the rowboat had already turned itself around and the person manning it was vigorously rowing back to the village. They were too far away to recognize, but she could see them make a quick gesture, a swipe of a few fingers in front of their eyes, to protect them from the dead. From her, most likely, because she was the only one who could see the actual soul.

I was a good woman, the dead continued. I raised my children. I kept my fields. Where are the spirits? Where are my trials?

The visitor had left a basket that was a hair's breadth away from being carried away by the current. Adecca tried to distract the soul while she fished it out of the water. What is your name?

Have you always disrespected your elders, girl?

Are you Haervet? The dead made a terrible noise, so apparently that was wrong. Basket now in hand, Adecca turned toward the woods as she picked through its contents. Or maybe you're Idunn⁠—

The soul touched her.

A shock of cold jumped up her back. Adecca dropped the basket with a gasp. She spun to face the dead just as a jar of cream rolled underfoot, and then she stumbled forward, nearly fell, as it crunched underfoot in a shatter of glass.

"Don't touch me! Adecca yelled. Stay back!"

I remember! the dead wasn't listening. Their voice was glazed with awe. You are Hrefna's little girl. And I... I passed away. And now I am here, and you… why are you here, child?

I am the Speaker of the Dead, Adecca repeated. She felt as if someone had jabbed her in the back with an icicle. She clamped her arms around herself, trying… she didn't know. To protect herself, maybe. It felt as if she were cowering. Which you know already, because you insulted me, and yelled at me, just now tried to eat me. Leave me alone. Go up the hill.

You shine like the sun. I cannot look away from you. If you just gave me a little more⁠—

Leave me alone!

You are supposed to guide me, aren't you? The soul was no longer impressed. Did the elder really send such an irresponsible child to do such an important⁠—

Someone let out a whistle. Sharp, high, the kind that took fingers in your mouth and made everyone else briefly deaf.

There was not much distance between the rocky shoreline and the trees. He dropped down from the crown of those trees, from branch to branch, and after a dizzying few seconds he hit the ground. He moved across the leaf litter without a whisper of sound; it wasn't until he reached the shore that his feet finally crunched into the earth. He stared at... Adecca, because he couldn't see the soul and likely didn't know where else to look, but he wasn't talking to her when he said, with gentle menace: She said to leave her alone.

Wood-child wild, strips your bones and wears your hide… the dead whispered, with a treble of genuine fear. The dead pulled backwards, like she was flinching, then flew away across the water. She was going in the exact opposite direction of the hill. Adecca felt more relieved than guilty. She was a terrible Speaker.

She would feel bad about that later. But not now, because Mikael was being reckless.

He was watching her expectantly. Adecca stormed forward, took him by both his shoulders, and shoved him toward the trees. "And what do you think you're doing?! she snapped, sounding only slightly less angry than before. They just dropped off the offerings! They're still on the river! And you're whistling and walking around where they can see you!"

I am two steps out of the forest, Addi.

You are out in the open!

I'm not even out of the shade!

You are going to get us both in trouble!

"Ah. Yes. You're right. I am deeply sorry I tried to help you when you were upset. I will feel very bad if I get you in trouble with the people who are so afraid of this place that they won't set foot on it. He let her back him up, step-by-step, until they were under in the trees, and then he dug in his heels. He grabbed her by the wrists, as if he meant to take them off his shoulders, except he didn't. He just grinned right at her with the sort of grin you made when you were not sorry for anything at all. But you haven't even told me yet. Did I help?"

You sent Idunn running for the river, Adecca admitted. Now that he was teasing her—and, most importantly, out of sight from the water—she pulled her hands free. I think so, at least. She didn't tell me her name, but it sounded like her.

She sounded like a sharp-tongued harpy?

You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, Mikael.

"Why? Her hobbies were inventing rumors and frightening children. Her grandson shot a dozen arrows at me once, you know. Tracked me through the trees for half a day. I guess I can't blame her for that, but she seemed like the sort of person who'd think that's funny. He waved toward Adecca. That's why you were angry, isn't it? She hurt you."

The dead do what they please, was as much she cared to say. The stinging cold was already fading. She was lucky—she didn't feel tired at all. She walked back toward the shore and her abandoned basket.

Adecca didn't know how to describe what the dead did to her, and she didn't like to try. They… drew from her. It clearly helped them. She didn't know why, of course—because the spirits couldn't be bothered to tell her that, either—but it plainly made their thoughts clearer. If they drew enough of her, they could even make themselves visible to people who were not her. It was uncomfortable at best, frightening at worst, and every single soul she spent any amount of time with tried to do it. She was the flame and they were the moths, and it was unfair, because terrorizing her made them no more likely to find the gate. She did not want to think about any of it.

She was a terrible Speaker.

Hey, Mikael called out. Are you okay?

She realized, then, that she had been crouched in front of the basket while her thoughts wandered. Sorry. I was just...

Brooding?

She puffed out a breath. I didn't say that.

Okay. Then you were...?

She shoved the surviving offerings into the basket and trudged back to the woods. She waited until she was under the shadow of the trees to admit: ...Brooding. But only a little.

Ha, he said humorlessly. Why do you do this to yourself? Have you ever felt better after watching the villagers float around in their stupid little boats, doing their stupid human-things?

I like watching the villagers, she protested. And I wasn't thinking about them just now.

Then… He squinted at her. His spirit-touched eyes couldn't see anything special, not like very normal-looking gray ones, but they were such a vivid green that it was hard to not think of them as magical. You're feeling sorry for yourself again.

I am not.

"Because you think you're failing them. Or you think they're disappointed with you. And you're sad, because you think it's your fault you're here…"

I don't want to talk about this again⁠—

…even though they abandoned you and fed you to a spirit.

She looked at him plaintively. Pleadingly. What she said was: If you keep talking about this, I will eat everything in this basket by myself.

He waved the threat aside. You should think about something that might actually make you happy. Did you know there the astaria are blooming already? There's a whole patch of them on the south side of the island. Do you want to see them?

It was tempting to say something clever and rude right back, but she couldn't help herself: I do, actually. She lifted the basket. But I also want to break my fast. Can we? Please? Instead of talking about this?

He just grinned at her triumphantly. He liked winning arguments, and she was happy enough to pretend he had.

She knelt down and spread out the basket's contents. Technically, these were offerings for the dead and the chosen who slept above them all, but she was the only one on this island who could walk to the shore—so consequently, they were hers. Everything she wore, everything she decorated her hut with, and most of her food came from these daily gifts. Today, the villagers had sent her young spring carrots, good-sized parsnips, a bundle of leeks, a small loaf of bread (which was only slightly muddy from its fall), and even some dried cod. The jar of cream hadn't survived, and there were three jars full of something like oils or perfumes. She left them in the basket.

What we should do, Mikael decided, is find a place to build a fire, roast those, toast the the bread, and dig out the rest of the old jam…

You have to leave some for the chosen, Mikael.

Why?

She shot him a look.

"They're asleep!" he protested.

I have not seen them in days, and I need to bring something, she said, firmly. Leave them the carrots, at least.

He rolled his eyes. That was another of their old arguments. But the tone of the conversation had shifted—she was smiling, he was teasing—and neither of them was about to ruin it by being serious. So he waved it off with: Right, right. I can start a fire. You go grab the jam. Just hurry up, will you? I can't promise I'll leave them anything if you don't.

Chapter Two

The chosen slept on top of the hill at the heart of the Island of the Dead, and the only way to reach them was through the Wood.

Not a wood, like the forests outside the village. Those were full of normal trees, like pines and spruce, that grew well in the cold and the dark. The Island of the Dead was home to a Wood, a place where the magic rooted deep and the trees were tall, strange things with limbs as thick around as a person.

And what was more spirit-touched, more unknowable, more hostile to humanity, than a place with a gate to the land of the dead? There was hardly anywhere not wooded on the island, and that meant that there was nearly nowhere that was safe for her but the shore, the hill, and the single, claustrophobically narrow deer-path that connected the two. Mikael could walk the trees, of course, and she was safe enough when he was nearby, but that was the problem, really.

He was her secret.

He was alive, for one thing, and no living person was allowed on the island. (The longer he stayed, the less sure she was why. He confused the dead and sometimes frightened them, but not a single one of them had tried to nibble on his life. They were, as far as she could tell, far worse to her than him.) But—and far more importantly—he had a Blessing from a spirit of the Wood. And that meant… Well. It meant, to the villagers, that he was not meant to be alive at all.

There were countless spirits who gave countless Blessings. They were strange and wondrous, unknowable and mysterious, and village cherished them all—except those from the Wood. Wood-children were as vicious as the spirit that touched them, it was said, and their only gifts were in leading people astray, muddling their senses, and luring them to their deaths. Wood-children were not allowed to live in the village, or in any place that a human might dwell. And if they were found…

That was how they had met each other.

But that—that thunderous night, the stolen boat, the terror in his eyes, the blood—was not a happy memory, and Adecca was sick of being unhappy. She and Mikael had eaten breakfast, and talked, and laughed, and it seemed a shame to ruin it all now. Besides, she was about to do the only part of her duties that she enjoyed.

She was going to see the chosen.

The hill was never an easy climb. It sprung abruptly out of the mostly-flat island, as if it had been made by a giant sticking their finger up through the bottom of the earth. The soil was rocky and slid underfoot, and every step made her skirts jangle. The trees thinned as she climbed higher, then stopped completely before she stepped onto the mossy peak. There, eight rounded mounds of dirt formed a ring around the pit at their center: the dark, gaping maw of a boundary between life and death, this world and the next.

The air was crisper and the earth smelled headier, as if she had stepped into a dome of still air. Far below, she felt the Dusk Mother's presence: a rattle of energy, sharp and fast, followed by a long, slow stillness. Present, aware, watching—and judging, probably.

That wasn't a happy thought, either.

The light has come warm and bright this morning, Adecca greeted the mounds as cheerfully as she could. Are you hungry? I've brought gifts from the village.

There was an offering table in front of each mound, all in various stages of mold and rot. The mounds themselves were still, and that was why she loved this place. Because, unlike everyone else on this island—Mikael excluded—the people beneath these piles of earth were alive. And they were full of heroes.

Tavi! I hope you're resting well today, Adecca brushed the vermin-gnawed remains of last week's offerings off the first table. It's easier to sleep when it's warmer, isn't it? Thanks to the thaw, your great-great-great grandchildren's farm is already growing this season. They brought you radishes. Don't let the stoats eat them.

The next table was only a few decades old and made of such nice, dark maple that it felt ostentatious. Adecca didn't know if the ever-sleeping could hear, so she never commented on it. She didn't want to upset Dacia's neighbors. Dacia, I do not know why your two-times cousins sent a jar of oil. They want you to be proud of the quality, I think. But that seems like an unpleasant thing to stare at all day, so I brought you some flowers, too. Mikael keeps picking them, and I only have so many walls to hang them on.

Mound by mound. Offering by offering. Like every other part of her duties, Adecca had no idea what she was supposed to do for these people, or if she was supposed to do anything at all. But how could she ignore them? Beneath each of these mounds was one of the chosen, the rare and glorious few that the spirits had chosen to sleep beneath their eternal protection until the day they were needed. Those who go before us all, who leave us so that they may bring about the end of an era and the dawn of a new world. Adecca had heard every epic that the storytellers told about them; she knew the names of every chosen. When Adecca had realized that she would spend the rest of her life here, she had felt… a great many things, and most of them not appropriate for a Speaker, but she was at least honored to spend that life next to the champion-heroes of her village.

They would change the world, someday. She'd be forgotten—the village probably already had—but they'd be remembered forever. She tried her best to support them. She didn't actually know who had grown the vegetables, of course, and they probably weren't for anyone. But Tavi and Dacia and the others would do important things some day, and Adecca wanted them to feel appreciated.

Halat, your descendants sent carrots! Adecca cooed as she pulled the bundle out of her basket. I'm jealous. They're such a pretty purple⁠—

She stopped mid-step.

The hill was the only high point in the valley. That was another reason why she liked it so much—she could see all the way to the mountains. The island was a flat plane of trees; the river a sparkling cord. The village stretched across the plain to the west, their farms and pastures and small, smoking signs of life carved out of the edges of the forests. But it wasn't the sun on the water or the village that stopped her in her tracks. It was the boat with the blood-red sails that was, inexplicably, dropping anchor in the river.

By her island. Where no villager ever went. And it was the largest ship that the villagers had—its brave and mighty war-ship.

Huh. They're really not moving, Mikael observed.

"But why?" Adecca asked.

He shrugged unhelpfully.

They were sitting with their backs against Tavi's mound. Adecca had her knees up to her chest and her arms around them. Mikael had his knife out, and appeared to be carving a figure of a stoat out of a small block of wood. He wasn't taking this seriously at all.

"Why are they here? she repeated, as if saying it again would make him answer her. Could something be wrong with the ship?"

Why would they stop here, then? They're spitting distance from the village.

So you think they're coming here?

I don't care what they're doing.

She stared at him. He flicked a long curl off wood off his knife.

They must be planning a war party, she continued. Why else would they sail the war-ship?

Maybe they've decided to go to war with their ancestors.

She shot Mikael a look, and he flashed her a completely unapologetic grin. She huffed a sigh. A handful of souls drifted by, breathy and distracted, and she swatted at them like they were flies.

There has to be some reason… she started, before she cut herself off. Oh!

The sailors had lowered a boat into the water. She flew to her feet. The extra height didn't help her see any better, because they were too far away to begin with, but she was a child of a fishing village. She knew what they were doing. The shore around the island was rocky and too shallow for the war-ship to navigate. So if they were getting in a smaller boat…

They're rowing to the island, she said aloud, even though Mikael didn't need her to explain. What are they doing?

Addi, sit down.

But they're⁠—

He put his knife aside, grabbed her by the wrist, and tugged her downwards. She refused to be moved, which meant he had to stare pleading at her from the ground. Who cares what they're doing?

"You should. What if they see you?" She grabbed his arm, then, and tried to pull him up.

He wouldn't budge, either. He even had the gall to smile while she was yanking him sideways. Addi. You're worried about me.

Mikael, be serious!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But he wasn't. He was laughing, now. He pulled his arm free and, before she could grab him again, lifted his hands defensively between them. What are they going to do to me? This island is more Wood than rock. They couldn't find me if they tried.

You've apparently forgotten the last time they got your hands on you.

Ah. His eyes darkened. I promise I have not.

There. Now they were both unhappy.

Adecca turned back toward the shore. Three people had disembarked. She was too far away to recognize them, and it didn't matter, anyway, because they shouldn't have been here at all. I'm worried.

Why? he repeated. "Maybe they are angry with you. Maybe the village has been cursed and the spirits are furious, and the whole village will die unless they beg your forgiveness. Who cares? Ignore them. Maybe the ghosts will eat one of them."

Something must be wrong. She could not believe she needed to say this. They wouldn't come here unless they wanted to talk to me.

Probably.

Then they'll be furious if they can't find me.

"Oh, no. They'll be angry?" He sounded so bitter now. What a shame. They can tell you about it when they're all dead.

Mikael! she snapped. He stared back at her, but he wasn't good with eye contact. He looked unhappily and miserably over her shoulder, and it made him look like he was about to sulk. She drew in a very thin, tense breath. I'm going to see what they want.

Of course you are. He pulled the knife back out of its sheath and returned to his figurine. His cuts seemed more angry, but his voice was deadpan. Sometimes I think you'd fall on a sword if you thought it'd make someone else happy.

Maybe I would, she tried to sound as contrary as he did, but it sounded more pathetic than spiteful. She tried to save it with: You should come down to the house.

What, now? I thought it was dangerous.

She rolled her eyes. "Later."

Because you want to talk to me, right? Not because you want to argue about this more?

I don't have time for this. Just come, all right?

Fine. He glanced up at her from beneath his long bangs and flashed a razor-tight grin. It wasn't happy, but it felt like a truce. Do you think the chosen will mind if I help myself to the rest of the carrots? I'll grovel, I swear.

"If they wake up and slap