The Twelve Stars

Chapter 8

I didn't know what he was so upset about. It was just a dagger. How would he know what it looked like? Unless... that's when I remembered the engraving of initials under the desk in the library and the story it came with.

"I didn't get it from anywhere," I said. "I've always had it. It's been with me for as long as I can remember." He came forward and held it up, his fingers wrapped tightly around its leather hilt.

"This is not just any dagger," he said. "This was my brother's dagger." His teeth clenched.

I scoffed in disbelief. "Sure, and I'm Ragnar," I feigned. I don't know what led me to say that. That response just aggravated him.

"You're not Ragnar," he said.

"Then why did that Shade address us as Brothers of Blood?" I asked.

"You're not Ragnar!" he repeated, louder this time. "My brother is dead. I would know if you were him-"

"Would you?" I queried. I recalled our first encounter. "Remember what you said that night? You asked if you knew me." Pieces of an unlikely possibility were starting to come together, as much as I wanted to deny the hard evidence before us. So why was I was being so persistent on piecing together puzzles of a mystery that had already been declared closed? "Just think about it. I never knew my parents. I don't remember my childhood. We're the same age. I'm a wielder and so are you. I have Ragnar's dagger-"

"STOP! Just stop!" he shouted.

He was struggling to take everything in, and frankly, so was I. Finn placed his hands on the side of his head, overwhelmed. His breaths were ragged as he turned away from me. I couldn't blame him. He took a moment to collect himself. Movement caught my eye and I glanced to my left. Perched atop the stone entrance sat a raven as black as the night. I didn't think anything of it first, just that it looked out of place. It ruffled its midnight, black plumage. Its presence only became curious when it didn't flutter an eye or bat a wing in our indiscretion. It just sat there, watching us. That's when the feeling of discomfort took over. Almost as if it could understand us.

"Finn," I attempted. I tried reaching a hand out to him.

"The Norns will know," he finally said. I pulled my hand back.

"The Norns?" I asked.

"They know everything," he resumed. "If anyone can tell us the truth, they can. They might also be able to tell us how to switch back. It's worth a try."

"How do we find them?" I didn't like where this was going. I feared I already knew where.

"They reside underneath Yggdrasil," he answered. "To get there, we will need your uncle. And someone who knows Rune Magick."

***

With no steed to get us home, we were forced to walk. It was a day's journey on foot, so we decided to make camp that night in the same clearing before the day's trip ahead. Since a campfire would only give us away, we called it a day. We used the grass as a mattress and placed our coats on the ground for comfort. Luckily, Finn had stashed rations in his pockets on his way to get me from the cells. I stared up at the starry night sky, my hands cushioning my head. The silence was welcoming.

"What would you do?" I asked, "If you found out Ragnar was still alive?"

The silence continued. When I turned my head to my right, I saw that Finn had his back to me. Whether he was asleep or pretending to be asleep, I couldn't say.

"I'm not sure," he eventually answered. "Just knowing that he could still be alive, that you might even be Ragnar, hurts. I've grown up believing he was dead. How should I react?" It was a rhetorical question. And yet I felt obligated to answer.