Runestone Saga by Cinda Williams Chima

Author:Cinda Williams Chima
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-08-22T00:00:00+00:00

32

Dancing to the Music That No One Else Hears

IN THE WEEKS FOLLOWING THE Council of Elders meeting and Modir Tyra’s use of mind magic, Reginn struggled to read the books the kennari had given her.

They were histories and sagas and stories about Brenna Wayfinder, founder of the Grove, and Jotunheim, the homeland that had been destroyed during the Great War. That’s what Modir Tyra had said. They might have been tales from the Caliphate, for all Reginn could glean from them. She would barely get beyond the first page before her mind wandered off down less resistant paths.

Gradually, old memories poked through the fog of Tyra’s magic, like weeds through a furrow. People, mostly. Tove, who’d rescued her, raised her, and sold her off to Asger Eldr, thus teaching her the meaning of love and the pain of betrayal. Asger, whose desperate need all but made her disappear. Eiric Halvorsen, who mingled violence, kindness, and rough courage.

Reginn’s mind was still a tangle of old and new threads with lots of broken ends. Every night she lay sleepless, trying to spin them into something strong enough to withstand the pressure of everything she had to learn. Everything she had to do.

Learn to read. Learn to write. Summon the dead. Protect New Jotunheim.

She would find a way. She would not allow the ugly world she’d left behind to reach out and destroy this sanctuary.

As promised, the kennari arranged for Reginn to spend time with the other dedicates. That was a welcome break. With Katia, she rode horses along the eastern coast of the island, from the Langa River in the north to the village of Austhavn to the south. There was no question that she now preferred riding to reading. Along the way, Katia pointed out the barrows and burrows and nests of the wights and described their role in protecting the sanctuary.

They dismounted atop the high cliffs where the Langa roared down to the sea. The onshore breeze drove spray from the falls into their faces. On the far side of the river, the forests were just as thick as in the Grove itself.

“That’s the Modirlund,” Katia said. “The founder’s forest. Further north is Sundhavn, the closest port to the temple.”

Reginn gazed out to sea, to their systir island of Ithavoll. Yellow fumes rose from the rift that split it in two. North of the rift, Reginn could see clusters of buildings, horse corrals, and the like. On the south side, a barren plateau peppered with ruins.

“Have you been to Ithavoll?” Reginn said.

“Oh yes,” Katia said. “Many times.”

“What’s it like?” Reginn said.

Katia shrugged. “It’s not as beautiful as Eimyrja, but then, nothing is. Our largest production facilities are over there, so it’s critical to the future of New Jotunheim. For that reason, there is also a strong security presence.”

“Production facilities? What do they produce?”

“Everything we need that we cannot grow,” Katia said. “I expect that magical fabricators like Systir Eira and those like me with security assignments will be posted there permanently once we are raised to adept.

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