“You look terrible,” Erik said, glancing up from his seat by the table when Vidar entered.

  Vidar threw the sack at him.

  Sven and Erik jostled it between them but finally got it open. Erik removed the lantern, then peered inside. Quite a bit of food remained. They set to eating immediately as Vidar triggered a few sowilo runes around the room to up the temperature.

  Only then did he see the bits of wood on the table. There were quite a number of them, but only a few looked like the circular discs he’d instructed Erik and Sven to gather.

  “What are these?” he asked, holding up a rectangular shape. At least the thickness was right.

  “They weren’t letting anyone out of the city,” Erik answered around a mouthful of bread.

  Vidar plucked a rough, oval shape and then a square, narrowing his eyes. The top and bottom were rough, but the sides were mostly smooth.

  “Then where did you get these?”

  “Furniture,” Sven grunted.

  Erik nodded. “Table legs, a pole. Bits and pieces.”

  “You got creative,” Vidar said, nodding approvingly. They weren’t pretty, but that mattered little. Function over form.

  Both boys beamed from the approval but didn’t stop wolfing down the food Vidar brought.

  “Where’s Siv?” he asked.

  They shrugged.

  Looking for Ida, Vidar supposed. He waved their arms off the table to grab the pages where she’d been sitting. On top of several sheets full of well-drawn kenaz and sowilo runes was a single page cramped with letters written in a shaky hand next to scribbles of objects. The letter A was right next to what looked like an apple.

  Vidar grabbed the book she’d brought and found she’d been copying from the pages. “That’s one way to learn,” he said to himself.

  “What’s that?” Erik asked, but Vidar ignored him. At the bottom of her page of letters, Siv had written her own name. Siv. Quite the hand for penmanship on that girl. These urchins from Rat Town were turning out to be quite industrious, and he was not surprised. When you had to fight for the right to eat every day like them, you became a quick study.

  Vidar grabbed the supplies and painted runes onto a few of the pieces of wood. Only kenaz and sowilo runes, of course. Anything else, he’d make himself. He trusted the boys to a point, and didn’t think they’d even know what the different runes meant, but you couldn’t be too careful with this sort of thing.

  “I want you to make grooves in the wood following these lines,” he told them, making a circle around a light rune on one of the rectangular pieces. “And the circle on this. Be careful, mind you.”

  They both groaned. “We’ve been working on those all day. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “You may finish your meal,” Vidar graciously allowed.

  Most pieces didn’t need a circle, since the wood became a natural barrier for the essence, he’d learned, but the light rune he intended to affix to his forehead when times called for it. Drilling holes into the corners would surely destroy the rune, if not for a circle separating the symbol from the rest of the wood. This would be the prototype of his new design. The gold in his pocket was nothing compared to the riches he’d make with that.

  “I’m going to sleep. Be careful in making those runes for me.”

  They both glared at him, so he dug into his pocket, careful not to show the glimmer of gold. “A little something for your troubles.” The copper was enough to wipe away the worst of their scowls.

  * * *

  He woke during the night from a sound at the door leading to the hallway. Reaching for the knife, Vidar crept to the rickety door separating his own tiny room from the communal one, and gently pressed down on the handle until it opened on blessedly silent hinges.

  Bright, cold light filled the room as he triggered the paper kenaz rune he’d kept on his forehead while sleeping. Siv pressed her eyes shut tight and let out a startled, throaty yip. Neither Erik nor Sven stirred in their corner.

  “Sorry,” Vidar whispered, lowering the intensity of the light with barely a thought. “No Ida?”

  Siv blinked several times and then rubbed at her eyes before being able to see again. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head before her eyes widened and she hurried up to him to grab his hand. The dark, burned skin on his hand looked the same, but the red skin around it was angrier, and the pain even as she touched the unburned part was blinding. Vidar found he could no longer move his fingers as much.

  “That’s not good,” he said.

  Siv shook her head, agreeing. Then she held up a finger, as if asking him to wait, as she hurried back outside. A moment later, she returned with a handful of snow. Guiding his hand to the table, she placed it, palms up, on there before putting the already melting snow right on top of the burn.

  Vidar gritted his teeth against the sharp pain, but Siv held him fast. The snow soon began having a soothing effect. Pain still surged through the hand and even his wrist, but it helped somewhat. Siv released his hand and rounded the table to sit with her book, flipping pages as if looking for something. Every few moments, she looked up, her eyes going to the ceiling as she thought and considered.

  When she was done, she slid the paper to him and tapped it thrice with her finger, giving him a serious look. Vidar turned the paper over and pulled it close, squinting to make out the letters as they slid into each other and turned upon themselves.

  “Physica?” he asked.

  She made a gesture, one hand going around her arm, as if bandaging it, mouthing the word. Only small grunts made it past her lips.

  Vidar repeated the gesture. “Physica?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know anyone who knows how to treat a wound. Only the veterinarian Ida went to with her eye.”

  The mention of her sister’s name looked like it’d been a slap to her face, but Siv nodded, despite showing disgust on her face. No, not for the mention of her sister, he realized, but for the man who’d treated her. Neither sister thought very highly of the man, and he didn’t blame them.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I’ll go today,” he promised. And he would too, right after visiting the smith and the locksmith. “Have you had anything to eat?”

  Siv shrugged.

  He handed over a few silver coins. “Make sure the three of you eat, and keep working on your letters. You’re doing good.”

  He was about to walk out, not wanting to waste time sitting around despite the early hour, but Siv grabbed his right hand.

  Vidar turned back. “What?”

  She pointed at her paper filled with runes.

  “You did well on those as well.”

  Siv shook her head and pointed at the runes, made a gesture with two of her fingers, then to herself.

  “You want to learn more?”

  She nodded.

  He copied her sign. “What’s that? Rune?”

  Nodded again.

  “It can be dangerous. Are you sure?”

  The look on her face told him just how much of an idiot she thought he was for even asking that question. He sat down next to her by the table and taught her while the boys snored in the corner. Not everything, of course, but enough to get her started. How to visualize the circle in her mind with the runic symbol encircled, how to make the mind’s version a copy of what was before her, and then, finally, how to carefully trigger a rune.

  Rejuvenation of runes would come later once she got the hang of the first pieces of the rune crafting puzzle.

  Siv practiced with one of his kenaz runes while he carefully painted a few of the still-blank pieces of wood. Using the tool Erik fetched to make the grooves proved more difficult than he’d anticipated, partly because he was only able to use one hand, but he managed shallow marks that’d at least work a little better than painting directly on the wood.

  When he’d made himself a proper algiz rune, and one for Siv, and then a few stakra ones, she still hadn’t managed to trigger the light rune.

  “It takes practice,” he said, trying to ease her furious expression of concentration. Her head almost vibrated from how tense she was, but his instruction only made her stare at the rune in front of her even harder.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She shut them so hard her whole face turned into a grimace of someone pressing too hard at the privy. Success still eluded her. He was about to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder but pulled away, unsure how she felt about touch.

  “Keep trying,” he said, letting his healthy hand fall to his side.

  When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he made the sign for physica she’d shown him.

  “I’ll go visit the vet.”

  She nodded encouragingly, then closed her eyes again and turned her focus to the runes.

  “When the boys wake up, have them gather more wood. I have no clue why they’re not letting anyone out of the city, but tell them more of these sorry things are fine for now.”

  Siv nodded again without opening her eyes. Without looking, she made the sign for the physica.

  “Yes, yes. I told you, I will!”

  He closed the door behind him and hurried out into the early morning. More time than he expected had passed around the table with Siv, and the first glimmer of dawn showed on the horizon. A few workers closed their winter clothes around them, huddling as they hurried this way and that.

  Vidar didn’t like carrying so many valuables on his person, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving gold in the room, either. Instead, he stowed most of it in an alley after making sure he wasn’t followed. The bone spikes, he kept, along with the silver coins and a single gold one. This would be a day for spending, after all.

  Considering his options, he settled on the locksmith first. He was an early riser, and having an extra set of keys to the underground system, as well as to Alvarn’s chapter hall, was only prudent.

  Unfortunately, the smithy was burned to the ground. Crestfallen, Vidar hurried to the rune scribes’ chapter house. Even after waiting an hour in the snow, Alvarn made no appearance.

  “Stupid merchant boy,” Vidar muttered, clenching his hands into fists, only to cry out in pain strong enough to make him woozy. Looking down at his hand, he thought it might even look a little worse than that morning.

  Not wanting to lose the hand, he made his way to the veterinarian and spent a good few minutes banging on his door and yelling until the man appeared from the barn-looking structure. His apron was just as messy this time, and if Vidar wasn’t mistaken, many of the now-brown-looking stains were the same ones as when he and Ida visited.

  “The little thief’s boyfriend? What do you want?” he asked, scratching at his bushy mustache.

  Vidar held up his hand. “I need help with this.”

  The veterinarian winced. Not a good sign.

  “Nasty, that,” he said, walking up to grab Vidar’s arm so he could get a closer look at the wound. “What did ye do?”

  “Burn.”

  “I can see that. Infected too.”

  “Can you help? I can pay my way.”

  He pursed his lips and then pulled Vidar’s coat up to inspect his arm. “No spread of the infection. About the only good thing about this, that. If ye were an animal, I’d recommend we put you down.”

  “I’d be grateful if you can offer a different solution,” Vidar said, wincing as the burly man twisted his arm this way and that.

  “How about you go to one of them proper physicas?”

  “Where can I find one of those?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. I don’t have the sort of coin for ’em.”

  “Then how about you help me?”

  “Didn’t I say asking for a favor needed a little sugar last time you were here?”

  Vidar fished up a piece of silver. “This sugar enough?”

  “That it is, boy. That it is,” he said, snatching the coin before turning back and heading for the barn, waving for Vidar to follow.

  The building smelled of manure, piss, and animals. Several small pigs trundled around freely on the hay-covered floor while a bunch of goats screeched at him from an enclosure.

  “Ignore their bleating and come here with that hand. And take off your coat so I can examine your arm,” the veterinarian said.

  Vidar followed, removed the coat, and hung it over the back of a chair, before sitting down in front of a rickety table at the back of the barn.

  “Put your hand out on the table.”

  Once Vidar followed the instructions, the veterinarian brought out a white, only slightly soiled cloth and a glass bottle of clear liquid without a label. He uncorked it and the smell of spirits was strong enough to overpower everything else for a moment, before it settled and mingled with all the other terrible scents.

  The veterinarian put his items on top of the table, then brought out a strap and began tying Vidar’s hand to the table.

  Vidar’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax, I’m not going to cut it off. Not just yet, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “This is going to hurt. A lot. Don’t need you tossing and turning to make it worse.”

  He grabbed the bottle, then thought of something and put it back, going off to the side to retrieve what looked like a harness made for an ox pulling a cart.

  “Put this strap between your teeth.”

  “I don’t nee—” Vidar began, but the veterinarian proffered it.

  “You will need it, boy.”

  “Fine,” Vidar grunted, putting it between his teeth. The old leather tasted like the whole barn smelled. Not pleasant.

  “Ready?”

  Vidar nodded.

  The veterinarian gave him a long look, then upended the bottle over his hand, splashing the contents over his wound. It stung. A lot. Vidar swallowed hard and heaved quick breaths through his nose, but thought he managed the pain pretty well. Then the veterinarian started in with the cloth, pressing it against the palm of Vidar’s hand and moving it roughly around.

  Vidar clamped down on the strap in his mouth and cried out. His eyes filled with tears as bolts of lightning shot through his hand and up his arm. The entirety of his existence became a singular point of bright hot pain that never lessened, only grew. Close to puking his guts out, Vidar breathed through his open lips, his teeth creaking from the immense pressure of his jaw.

  Through it all, he could not stop looking at that cloth as the veterinarian wiped with it, again and again, moving across raw flesh and into tiny, hidden crevices in Vidar’s pocketed skin. The now wet cloth turned pink, then red as blood began to pour, and Vidar’s hearing rose into a high-pitched whine that drowned out all else, even his own desperate screams.

  The veterinarian said something, but Vidar was beyond listening. Even if he could hear, he would not have been able to understand. He wished for the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, but his mind stubbornly refused to go dark.

  Rune.

  The thought came with a picture in Vidar’s mind. A few lines making up the symbol that’d been burned into his flesh. On instinct, he grasped for it, pouring essence and feeding himself to the symbol to numb the pain.

  It filled to the brim and it did indeed dull the pain, if only a little. His fingers tingled, as well as his palm, but the sensation felt wrong. Like he’d used the rune incorrectly somehow. That feeling was fleeting, however, for the pain redoubled as the veterinarian brought out a sharp tool to dig in the grooves of Vidar’s hand.

  The tool struck something in his hand and pain surged up his arm, to his shoulder, then finally down his entire spine and up to his head. Only then, finally, did the darkness take him.