Yilva chapter 2

Tomod surprises Yilva at her boat. She talks to Vlurst and her mother, Feryn.

CHAPTER 2:



Yilva walked through the center of Estigar with her hood pulled low, slowing slightly where a platform stood with a stone block to one side. Just a week ago, Gregor was beheaded for being a Volkvir—the morning after he spoke to her about her magic. Most of the village witnessed the execution. His blood stained the platform's wood, refusing to wash away, a warning to any Volkvir still hiding in Estigar. The memory of the head thudding to the ground sickened her.

She could still see his hands, trembling in the firelight. Still hear the urgency in his voice when he warned her about dark magic.

The wind shifted. She turned her face from it, but the cold found her anyway, sharp as always.

Gregor was gone. She had only watched.

Something needed to be done. The Clan of Mok not only hunted Volkvir, they continually taxed Estigar, at times to near starvation.

She needed answers, but no one ever talked about the past. Why couldn’t the Volkvir fight back with the powers they possessed? How did the Clan dominate so many villages along the shores of the Ees Jor?

The questions trailed her all the way to the forest—the same stretch of trees she’d returned to every day since that night. Sometimes, in the dim spaces between trunks, she thought she saw a shape watching her. Low to the ground. Still. Maybe the black wulfr, the one she had failed to heal.

But whenever she stepped closer, there was nothing there.

Behind a cluster of knotted trunks near the entrance to the grove lay a tarp-covered secret she’d been tending to. She pulled the cover aside, revealing her creation—a narrow boat, four feet wide, and ten long. Years of watching her father, Kegid, craft vessels had taught her everything she knew. She was sure she could navigate the Ees Jor alone and perhaps, if she was brave enough, reach the Volkvir homeland that Gregor and her mother spoke of in half-finished stories, a place that seemed more myth than reality.

Running a hand along the smooth hull, she allowed herself a small smile.

Almost ready.

She knelt to check the rudder’s alignment.

“Nice boat!”

Yilva jumped at the baritone voice. Relaxing only when she recognized it, she turned to glare. “Tomod! What were you planning on doing after you stopped my heart?”

He smirked. “I must have really startled you. Can’t blame you, though. Building this close to the forest? You want to get eaten by a behrg?”

“I’m fine,” she said, leaning over the hull with a cloth soaked with oil. “Nothing’s going to sneak up on me.” The smell of pine tar and oil filled the air as she rubbed the sanded wood.

“Look, I understand why you’d want to be secretive about something like this,” Tomod said, sitting beside her. He picked up an adze and fidgeted with it. “Wouldn’t want Vlurst or his men finding out you plan to sail away somewhere. How do you know one of them won’t come out here and discover it?”

“No one ever goes out this far from the village,” she said. “Least of all, any of Vlurst’s men.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “You can’t know that for sure. I followed you. Neither can you guarantee that some wild animal won’t maul you to death. It’s an awful lot of risk for a boat, if you ask me. Where do you plan on going anyway? You can at least tell your trustworthy friend.”

“No one needs to know what I’m doing out here or where I’m going,” Yilva said firmly. “I’m old enough to make my own choices.”

She seized the adze from his restless hands and placed it in her tool bag. “I appreciate how much you worry about me—“

“Someone has to.”

“—but nothing’s going to happen,” she said. “The boat’s finished now.”

“Vlurst is bound to notice you’re missing.”

“Vlurst has other things on his mind,” she said, “like stealing half of my father's earnings from his voyages.”

“Half?” Tomod shook his head. “By Luthos, the Clan of Mok keeps getting greedier.”

Yilva glanced at the moons. “Speaking of Luthos, the great moon’s gaining on Armos. A storm will come within the week.”

He eyed her. “You sailors and your weather-predicting skills.”

“You know the legends,” she said, peering at the two moons. “If I’m going out to sea, it’ll have to be real soon, or it’ll be another week or two before it's safe enough again.”

Tomod’s tone softened. “Then I guess this is goodbye.”

“I’m not leaving tonight. I need supplies and maps. And I’m coming back. I can’t leave you in this dull place forever.”

“I like this dull place,” he said. “I’m certain you’ll miss it too after you’re gone for a while. You’ll be wondering how Tomod’s getting along without anyone to roll their eyes at his jokes.”

His words caught her off guard. For a moment, she met his gaze, then quickly looked away.

Tomod had once said her gray eyes looked like storm clouds with flecks of purple flashing like lightning. As children, he teased her that he could always tell her mood, even if she tried to hide it, by how much violet shone through.

His grin faltered. “Just… be safe,” he said. “You never know what’s out there.”

Yilva turned toward the open sea. “My destiny,” she whispered.

She watched his figure disappear into the dusk, freshly falling snow swallowing his footsteps. Alone again, she circled the boat, measuring and re-measuring. Everything had to be perfect.

Packing the remaining tools, her hand brushed against the adze Tomod had fidgeted with. She would miss her friend more than she wanted to admit, but the call of the sea was stronger.

Her father would leave for weeks at a time, returning with food and treasures from far-off lands. She remembered the times she went with him, the wind blowing on her face, him showing her how to steer. She knew her way around a boat and knew the dangers.

She smoothed a hand over the cold wood, her mind racing through every possible thing that could go wrong: wrecking the boat, getting lost, never returning. Even the most seasoned sailors feared the sudden storms. And the Clan of Mok didn’t just rule the villages along the Ees Jor; they prowled the sea too.

She shook these thoughts off and steadied her breathing. “Feelings are fleeting,” she muttered, closing her tool bag.

A breeze pressed gently against her back, tugging on her braided sandy-blond hair, urging her forward. It was the same wind that had filled her father’s sails—the same wind that could carry her to the Volkvir homeland.

She imagined herself sailing wherever she pleased, living the stories she’d been told. She needed to discover her powers and find a way to use them against the Clan, somewhere away from prying eyes. Estigar had to be set free from their oppressor. The small coastal village needed to be a place where Volkvir felt safe again.

The last light faded from the horizon. The temperature dropped fast, causing a shiver to sweep across her whole body. She hurried past the dock and into town.

A massive figure stepped into her path, his heavy boots thudding in the snow.

Vlurst. Yilva was only a child when the Clan of Mok seized Estigar and made him their leader. No one liked him except his men, but everyone feared him.

“Out late, girl?” His voice rumbled like thunder. “Night’s no place for wanderers.”

Yilva bit back her anger. Vlurst had ordered Gregor’s execution. He had watched with a twisted satisfaction on his face. She wanted to lash out at him, or punch him, but doing so would give the man reason to throw her in prison, or worse, order her execution if he deemed her too much trouble.

“Just enjoying the cool air of the Ees Jor,” she said as lightly as she could muster, inhaling to prove it.

Vlurst’s gaze shifted toward the shore. A necklace of wulfr fangs hung around his large neck. “Waiting for your father, I wager. His tribute’s been lacking. Gormok’s patience wears thin.”

“You’ll have it soon enough,” she said, her smile tight. She had to get out of there. Her self-restraint was wearing thin. “If you’ll excuse me…”

He stepped aside. “Hurry home, little ekorn. Pray to the moon gods your father brings more than last time.”

She clenched her jaw and walked on, heart pounding. One day, he’d get what’s due to him. She’d make sure of it.

Not many windows remained lit in the houses along the shore or further inland, but ahead, candlelight flickered behind the window of her own home. Her mother was still awake.

She hesitated at the doorstep, preparing how to answer her mother’s inevitable questions. Inside, Feryn sat in the old, creaky rocking chair by the fireplace, pale and tired, her knitting idle.

“A little late to be getting home, aren’t we?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Aren’t you freezing? I’ll stoke the fire.”

“I’m fine. There are plenty of blankets.”

Feryn rose, leaving the chair swaying and creaking without her weight there. Her once-strong shoulders had stooped with the years, blond hair streaked with gray.

She had lost her magical powers years ago, but never told Yilva how it happened. Her silhouette against the firelight made her look thinner than she really was. Yet her eyes still held warmth.

“I won’t ask where you’ve been,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I was with Tomod,” Yilva muttered, leaving out how briefly.

Her mother’s face brightened. “Oh? Is there something I should know?”

Yilva groaned. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Good friends make the best—”

“Don’t say it.”

Feryn chuckled softly. “Just remember, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish. But one day, you may want to bind with someone and make a life.”

That was the last thing on Yilva’s mind. She longed for adventure. Her mother only wanted stability. Yilva wondered if Feryn ever dreamed of leaving, of going back to her childhood home across the sea, or if the Volkvir blood in her had become dormant.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yilva said. “I’ll be certain to let you know if I decide to bind with someone. Now I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Very well. We’ll talk more on the morrow.”

Yilva retreated to her room, wrapping herself in every blanket she could find, and dreamt of the wulfr.

She had brought a creature back from death. Not healed—revived. And still, no one knew. Not Tomod. Not her mother. The power inside her was growing, wild and untrained. If she stayed, it would either consume her or be discovered. And if Vlurst found out what she was, he wouldn’t hesitate to put her on the platform and decapitate her in front of everybody, just like he did to Gregor. If she trained, she could fight back against the Clan of Mok, and maybe even get rid of them completely.

The Volkvir homeland wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was her only chance to master her magic without fear—her only chance to survive.