rusty, mismatched armor, gasping and wheezing and bleeding together on the beach beside her. One of them fell to his knees, his hand pressed to his chest, and two of his companions held him up and carried him through the door back inside the city. The last fisherman was the man who had stood at her side on the wall, and he shuffled over beside her and sat down in the snow.
After a few minutes, they both looked up to see a blinding white light bouncing along the top of the wall, and soon they could see Omar’s face as he ran toward them, sword in hand, and a moment later he was standing over them with a gathering crowd of men and women trickling out the seawall door to stare at the huge hairy body.
Back in the city there was cheering and shouting and laughing, and for a moment Freya couldn’t understand why anyone in the world could possibly feel any joy at that moment.
The old fisherman stood up, and Omar sat down in his place.
“We lost Erik?” he asked.
Freya nodded.
Omar stared blankly ahead, and then his face twisted in rage, and he leaned forward and plunged his bright sword into the body of the beast, and the fur and flesh instantly blackened, smoked, and burst into flame.
Chapter 32. Grief
Dimly, at the edges of her sight and hearing, Freya sensed the other people around them on the beach, some gawking at the corpse, some joking about the battle, others boasting and bragging. Gradually, they all moved back inside the wall, away from the stench of the burning reaver. But she stayed. And Omar stayed.
After an hour or so, when the fire had died down quite a bit and the drunken revelers of Rekavik were roaring merrily, Omar said, “My first wife died of old age. She was just forty-two, but that was quite old back then. I think I loved her, in a way. We were never close though. Two people in a house, was all. But we got along well, and there’s a kind of love that comes from just being together. Fixtures in each others’ lives. She died in her sleep, very peacefully, or so I was told. I wasn’t there. I was too busy forging my immortality. I regret that, a little. Even now. I can still remember her face, would you believe? But I’ve forgotten her name.”
Freya sighed.
“My other wives, I left. One by one, here and there. I don’t really know why I married any of them, except that at the time it made me happy,” he said. “They were pretty, or clever, or simply good company. It never lasted very long. Sooner or later, I would be ready to move on to some other project in some other country, and they wouldn’t want to go, and I never made them. A new land, a new life, a new wife.”
Freya sniffed and sat up a little bit, grateful for the distraction. “Did you really love any of them? I mean, really love them?”
“Yes, quite a few of them, though only for a short time. And that time grew shorter the older I grew. I’ve been losing touch with… whatever it is that makes a man a man. Growing, aging. Fearing, striving. I see young people like you, so full of life and passion, staring out at a world full of things you know nothing about, and yet full of confidence and bravado and your own sort of immortality, and I envy you, in all your crazed stupidity. Real immortality is a hollow imitation of the arrogance of youth. You have passions. I have regrets.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying. Erik deserved better. And you deserved better, too, after all of this nonsense. But that’s all just more regret, and that’s no good to him or to you now. Just remember that he loved you, and he must have been very happy in that love.”
“How do you know?” she croaked through her raw throat.
“I knew it from the moment I met you two. You had your own secret language. It was the two of you, together, against the whole world. Against murderers and queens and monsters. And when the plague took him, he went to the water mill to wait for you, in chains. At that moment, facing the end of his life, the end of his humanity, no one could blame him for running away to save his own skin. But he was as good as his word. He stayed. Because he trusted you. He knew you would save him. And you did. You risked your life to save him.”
“I didn’t save him tonight.”
“The fishermen told me what happened,” Omar said. “It was his turn to save you. And he gave his life for yours. Many a young man throughout history, all across the world, in countless languages, has promised a beautiful young woman that he would die for her. But precious few actually would, or do.”
“I didn’t want him to die for me.”
“I know.” Omar paused. “So, this one was Magnus, the long lost prince?”
Freya nodded.
“Such a pity. Such a waste. I remember him. He was a good man too, like his father. Brash and brave and bold, but honest. Decent. He deserved better than this, too. It seems no one gets what they deserve in this life.”
“Skadi did,” Freya whispered. “You killed her.”
“I did, fair lady, I most certainly did.” Omar leaned back to look up at the stars. The clouds had broken up and the snow had stopped and now the starry heavens stood naked above them. “But I’m afraid I didn’t kill her for you, or Ivar, or anyone else in Ysland.”
“You killed her for the pilot woman, didn’t you?”
Omar nodded. “Yes, I did. Maybe it was a moment of weakness on my part, but Riuza didn’t deserve to suffer and die like that for my stupid quest, for my selfish arrogance. Killing Skadi was the very least I could do for her, not that it did Riuza any good. Usually, when I see people die, I can tell myself that it’s none of my business. They would have died anyway, sooner or later. Riuza would have died sooner or later, too, but I can’t imagine it ever would have been so terrible as the end I brought her to. That was my fault, and it was unforgiveable.”
“Her death was Skadi’s fault, not yours.”
He shrugged and looked away.
“You really loved Riuza, didn’t you?”
Omar smiled at her. “I suppose I did, for a time.”
Freya sighed and leaned forward to pick at the small stones on the ground. “I should be more angry, shouldn’t I?”
He nodded at the charred remains of the reaver. “It looks to me that you were extremely angry. From my most considerable experience, I can tell you that most grieving women don’t rise to the task of giant-slaying in the heat of the moment. So perhaps you’ve already exhausted all your anger here.”
“Maybe. I should be sadder though, shouldn’t I? I’m not even crying anymore.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure you’ll cry some more later. Although, I have noticed that Yslanders are some of the more practical and less sentimental people in the world. That’s not a sin, fair lady. Erik knew you loved him. And you know that you loved him. Your gods won’t count your tears to judge whether your love was deep enough, or your devotion was strong enough. Feel whatever you feel, and when you’re ready, life will be waiting for you to move on.”
“To move on?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say-”
“No, it’s all right, I know what you meant.” Freya looked at him. “Tell me something. How did you cure the plague, really?”
“I told you, with the bloodflies.”
“But how? You didn’t want Skadi to know, but now I want to know. This whole business of souls and aether and rinegold, it’s not natural. But it’s in me now. It’s in all of us, and I want to know about it.”
“Actually, it’s more natural than you might want to believe. There are natural laws for everything in this world, and aether is no exception. I have studied it for centuries with-”
“Omar. Just tell me about the cure. Please.”
He took a long, deep breath. “Well, I told you that I couldn’t just pull out the fox-soul from the reavers, no more than you can pull a drop of fresh water out of the sea. So instead, I added something. I bred up my new bloodflies with another sort of soul in them, a soul that could counteract the fox, a soul that was so healthy and stable that it would restore a reaver to its natural human state, ears notwithstanding.” He cleared his throat. “ My
