“Mountain,” he ses, shakin his head. He puts both squares back where they were.
“You gotta pay more attention, Granpa,” I say. I turn over the two barks with snow on, then the two mountains cuz I know where they are and all. The next one I turn over is grass, and I find that match too. I add them all to my pile, which is hek towerin now. Granpa Halvor’s only got two pairs, and even those ones I helped him with. It’s always like this when we play. He doesn’t mind, though — he loves seein me do it, like he’s impressed evry time. It’s easy for me; if I see somethin once, I’ll know it for always.
“I’ve been thinkin about what you said,” I say as I flip over another couple of barks. “About havin choices and makin the right ones . . . What if I went north and joined Mal-Rakki’s army?”
“Pah! Don’t even joke. You’d be runnin to your death.”
“You’re the one who’s always tellin me how great he is.”
“And evry word of it is true, but you’re too young to be joinin no rebel army. Until Mal-Rakki returns, all we can do is wait.”
“But why hasn’t he returned yet? How long we gotta wait?”
Granpa Halvor’s convinced that Mal-Rakki — the White Fox — is still alive, but he’s probly the only person in the whole country who’s sure. Mal-Rakki was Konge Grímr’s brother, but he disagreed with how the king was rulin, and — after Konge Grímr tried to kill him — he was forced into hidin. A few years back, Konge Grímr claimed he found him and had him killed, but Granpa ses he was only lyin to trick us all. I used to think that too — cuz no one ever saw no body — but if Mal-Rakki’s still alive, where the skit is he? Now that Konge Grímr’s gone, Mal-Rakki should’ve come out from wherever it is he’s been hidin, with all the other rebels. No one’s seen no peep of him, though.
“He’s comin,” Granpa Halvor ses. “Soon. And then we’ll all be set free.”
“What do you mean ‘free’? We’re not slaves.”
Granpa scoffs, loud as a pigburp. “We may not be chained up or kept in prisons, but believe me, we’re slaves all the same, and no mistakin. Workin hard day and night, then handin half or more of everythin we worked for over to the king. The fact that he’s dead now’s not gunna change nothin. What do you think’s gunna happen next? Same thing I seen time and time again all my life: someone new’ll take his place, take his power, and everythin’ll stay exactly how it was. That’s why we need Mal-Rakki, more than ever. If he was king, evrythin’d be diffrunt. He believes in a better life for all of us, not just for those in charge. Evryone deserves the chance to live their greatest possible life; that’s what Mal-Rakki ses, and he’s gunna make sure that happens. He’s gunna come back and free us, and then evrythin’ll be better. May the will of Øden assure it.”
“Isn’t it Øden’s will for us to serve our king?” I ask it on purpose to make Granpa skapped.
“Tush! Course it isn’t. I taught you better than that. You know as well as I do that’s just the excuse they give to get evrythin they want. The king’s just a man, same as you and me. Well, you’re a girl, but you get my meanin. Them’s in power’s always abusin Øden’s name, tellin us what we gotta do because it’s the will of Øden. Well, looks like Øden finally had enough of their lies. Sent that curse of shadows to wipe them clean out, didn’t he? Good riddance to them. They made a mockery of his name, of his values, of evrythin he holds true. . . .”
Talkin about the king always gets Granpa fiery. He hates all the things what Konge Grímr used to do, pretendin it was for the sake of Øden: fightin bloodsplash wars, enslavin rottens from overseas, takin all our foods and our pennies . . . I gotta change the subject or he’ll never stop yappin.
“It’s your turn,” I say.
He doesn’t flip over no barks. He’s still lookin at me. “Evryone deserves the chance to live their greatest possible life,” he ses. “That includes you, Sigrid. Especially you, and don’t you forget it.”
The door opens with a bang. I jump to my feet. It’s Mamma. She crashes in and somethin breaks. Sure as the moon she’s been drinkin today. I take a step back, but she grabs my arm before I’m outta reach. Swear Øden she’s got the strength of a growler bear when she’s been neckin.
“Come on, girl. Time to go.”
“Go where?” I’m tryin to pull my arm away even though I know there’s no use.
“Wait, we’re playin here,” ses Granpa Halvor. He’s standin up now too.
“We haven’t got time for no games,” ses Mamma, and she kicks the barks on the rug to prove it. “I got someone hek important for you to meet.”
“Who we meetin? Who’s important?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” she ses. She has this look on her face that’s all pleased with herself and isn’t just the drink talkin.
“Let go of her arm,” Granpa Halvor ses. “You’ll hurt her.”
“You tellin me how to take care of my own daughter now?” my mother ses to him. She looks at him with stormfire eyes.
Granpa doesn’t say nothin. I don’t say nothin neither.
“Come on, then,” my mother ses, and she takes me outta Granpa Halvor’s shack.
Granpa tries to follow us, but he can’t keep up cuz of the twist in his knee.
“I’ll be fine, Granpa,” I shout over my shoulder. “I’ll come see you when we get back.”
“I love you, Sigrid,” he replies. His voice cracks a little when he ses it.
Mamma tuts and drags me down the hills. We walk for a hek long time. She doesn’t let go of me for a blink, like she thinks I’m gunna try and run away or somethin. I’m not gunna run away; I haven’t got nowhere to run to. Few times I stumble cuz she’s pullin so fast.
“Keep up,” she ses, and then she pulls even more and goes even faster. It’s hurtin, but I’m used to that.
Once we’re faraways from Granpa Halvor’s shack, I start to see more people goin the same way we’re headin. There’s only one place I know in this direction. Sterkr Fjall. The hollow mountain, where the king used to live. It’s small in the distance but gettin closer. All kinds of bad mess happened there. Granpa Halvor told me. Evryone knows. People came from over the sea and brought death shadows with them. The shadows killed the whole lot of them in the mountain: The king, dead. His guards, dead. Evryone, dead.
So why we headin there?
There’s been rumors of someone new already stepped into Konge Grímr’s dead boots, but I don’t know nothin about that. Like Granpa Halvor ses, it’s not likely to be anyone good. Unless Mal-Rakki has come back, and that’s who we’re goin to meet? My heart skips a beat thinkin how hek ríkka that would be.
My mother stubs her toe on some skittin tree stump and swears loud to the high sky. She yanks my arm like it was my fault she did it.
“Maybe if we weren’t goin so quick,” I say.
“You shush up your mouth if you know what’s good,” she ses back.