winter. She had not considered that a war augury would require someone to die.
Though the captains gave no details, it seemed the entire camp felt the new tension. Every night for the two months that she had slept under a south-facing window in the councilman’s house, Enna had heard men’s jocular voices intoning tavern songs or men’s solemn voices singing lost love and death songs. That night, silence. In the stillness, the hungry, crackling sound of fires wafted from the camp through her window. To Enna, it seemed that the sound itself could ignite the wooden shutters.
.
Chapter 8
At dawn, men were already gathering around the town square. Everyone was fully armed. Monulf and another man drove stakes into the hard earth and made a rope ring. When the soldiers saw it, they murmured to one another.
Enna accompanied Isi and Geric to the rope through a mob of soldiers who occasionally patted Geric on the back or touched Isi’s loose-hanging hair. They passed Hesel in the crowd, and Enna felt her face twist into a scowl. No, the girl was definitely not worthy of Finn. She had no substance—all face and hair and bright eyes.
At last they broke through the crowd to face the empty ring, and Enna took a breath, feeling suffocated by the heat of all those people.
“I’m nervous,” Enna said to Isi, holding a hand on her stomach. “This all feels so big.”
“Too big.” Isi frowned. “I don’t like it. We should do it in private. That way if our Bayern man dies, the army won’t know, and it won’t get them down with ideas that we’re doomed to lose the war.”
“What difference would that make?” said Enna. “The result’ll be the same no matter how many people see. Don’t you believe the augury foretells the truth?”
“Well, no.”
“Oh,” said Enna. She had never met anyone who doubted the signs all around them. Since she was a baby, her mother had taught her to predict the weather by the flight of wild geese or the harshness of coming winter by the movement of bumblebees. Perhaps such things had power only in Bayern, so Isi was never taught. But Enna looked at the rope ring, felt her stomach harden and freeze, and had no doubts. This augury was unlike anything her mother had shown her. It meant the life of at least one person today and the fate of their kingdom in the future.
Monulf entered the arena and held up his hands for silence. He turned around slowly, as though he meant to meet eyes with every observer. At last he spoke. “Who among us will enter this ring and represent us all?”
Perhaps thinking it no more than an exercise to rouse loyalty and energy, hundreds of soldiers raised their javelins and hollered, “I will! I will!” But others took him quite seriously and pushed their way toward the ring. One young man rolled under the rope before any other. He stood, straightened his shield bearing two trees, and lifted his javelin.
“No, no,” said Enna.
“I will,” said Finn.
Isi gripped Enna’s arm. “Oh, Finn,” she said quietly.
He looked as calm as he ever did coring apples or leading a wagon into market-square. The weapons did not fit him. Clearly his sword was not his own, the belt hanging low on his hips and sword point dangling near the ground. His expression was his same, soft expression that Enna knew. She almost expected him to duck his head and break out into one of his huge, bashful grins. But Razo was right—there was something more serious in him now. Tighter lips, perhaps, or a line across his brow. But she knew for all his seriousness that he was not the ideal champion of Bayern. Most likely the first time a sword hilt touched his hand was the day he joined Geric’s camp for the battle of Ostekin Fields.
Monulf raised Finn’s hand and said to the crowd, “This boy is Bayern. Now bring in Tira.”
Guards led a blue-coated man into the ring. He wore a leather helmet, and the tips of hair escaping its hold were a lighter color than most Bayern. He
Though the captains gave no details, it seemed the entire camp felt the new tension. Every night for the two months that she had slept under a south-facing window in the councilman’s house, Enna had heard men’s jocular voices intoning tavern songs or men’s solemn voices singing lost love and death songs. That night, silence. In the stillness, the hungry, crackling sound of fires wafted from the camp through her window. To Enna, it seemed that the sound itself could ignite the wooden shutters.
.
Chapter 8
At dawn, men were already gathering around the town square. Everyone was fully armed. Monulf and another man drove stakes into the hard earth and made a rope ring. When the soldiers saw it, they murmured to one another.
Enna accompanied Isi and Geric to the rope through a mob of soldiers who occasionally patted Geric on the back or touched Isi’s loose-hanging hair. They passed Hesel in the crowd, and Enna felt her face twist into a scowl. No, the girl was definitely not worthy of Finn. She had no substance—all face and hair and bright eyes.
At last they broke through the crowd to face the empty ring, and Enna took a breath, feeling suffocated by the heat of all those people.
“I’m nervous,” Enna said to Isi, holding a hand on her stomach. “This all feels so big.”
“Too big.” Isi frowned. “I don’t like it. We should do it in private. That way if our Bayern man dies, the army won’t know, and it won’t get them down with ideas that we’re doomed to lose the war.”
“What difference would that make?” said Enna. “The result’ll be the same no matter how many people see. Don’t you believe the augury foretells the truth?”
“Well, no.”
“Oh,” said Enna. She had never met anyone who doubted the signs all around them. Since she was a baby, her mother had taught her to predict the weather by the flight of wild geese or the harshness of coming winter by the movement of bumblebees. Perhaps such things had power only in Bayern, so Isi was never taught. But Enna looked at the rope ring, felt her stomach harden and freeze, and had no doubts. This augury was unlike anything her mother had shown her. It meant the life of at least one person today and the fate of their kingdom in the future.
Monulf entered the arena and held up his hands for silence. He turned around slowly, as though he meant to meet eyes with every observer. At last he spoke. “Who among us will enter this ring and represent us all?”
Perhaps thinking it no more than an exercise to rouse loyalty and energy, hundreds of soldiers raised their javelins and hollered, “I will! I will!” But others took him quite seriously and pushed their way toward the ring. One young man rolled under the rope before any other. He stood, straightened his shield bearing two trees, and lifted his javelin.
“No, no,” said Enna.
“I will,” said Finn.
Isi gripped Enna’s arm. “Oh, Finn,” she said quietly.
He looked as calm as he ever did coring apples or leading a wagon into market-square. The weapons did not fit him. Clearly his sword was not his own, the belt hanging low on his hips and sword point dangling near the ground. His expression was his same, soft expression that Enna knew. She almost expected him to duck his head and break out into one of his huge, bashful grins. But Razo was right—there was something more serious in him now. Tighter lips, perhaps, or a line across his brow. But she knew for all his seriousness that he was not the ideal champion of Bayern. Most likely the first time a sword hilt touched his hand was the day he joined Geric’s camp for the battle of Ostekin Fields.
Monulf raised Finn’s hand and said to the crowd, “This boy is Bayern. Now bring in Tira.”
Guards led a blue-coated man into the ring. He wore a leather helmet, and the tips of hair escaping its hold were a lighter color than most Bayern. He
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