Read Online The Lost Sun by Tessa Gratton - Free Book Online

stopping her hand as it skimmed over the pockets.
    “No, but I want a charm or two, and lavender oil will calm me.”
    “A charm?”
    Pulling a round, flat piece of horn from one of the pockets, she said, “Yes, this one.” She offered it to me.
    The cool horn coin was rubbed smooth on both sides. Astreak of gray mottled the edge. If there had ever been a rune marked in, it was long worn away. “What is it?”
    “Walrus tusk.”
    I wrapped my hand around the charm. Walrus tusk for heightened strength and potency. Thor himself prized such items.
    “And this,” she said as she gave me another.
    A molar, the size of my thumb knuckle.
    “From a hill troll.”
    The two charms together in my hand tingled warmly. I raised my fist to my mouth and said against my skin, “Myself to myself.” It was the oldest of Odin’s blessings, invoking the power found in self-sacrifice.
    “Thank you, Soren.” Astrid dabbed lavender oil from a tiny flask onto her neck. She took the charms back and tucked them into her bra.
    The mayor of Bassett steps forward from the crowd to officiate. “Who challenges?” he calls.
    Astrid replies, “I do. I am Astrid Glyn, daughter of Jenna, daughter of Ariel, all of us daughters of the Feather-Flying Goddess, Freya.”
    With relish, I watch Oz’s face slacken. He knows the name of Jenna Glyn. Hisses and whispers flicker around the gathered crowd like a swarm of flies.
    Swallowing his questions, the mayor waves for the guy withthe camera to keep filming and yells, “And who answers her challenge?”
    “I do. I am Oslaf Smithson, son of Erik, son of Patrik, all of us sons of Thor Thunderer.” Oz puts his fists on his hips. He wears only loose pants similar to Astrid’s. In older times, the holmgang was fought in battle raiment and boots, often with helmets. But modern sensibility allows for less terrible holmgang, especially between young people, and it can be little more than a common spar. Even when it involves blood.
    “As the challenged,” the mayor continues, “you, Oslaf, may choose settlement and weapon.”
    “I choose blood,” he snarls. The iron hammer of Thor is black against his pasty chest. “And small swords.”
    “I accept,” Astrid says before the mayor can ask.
    She returns to me so that I can hand her the first of three thin round shields—provided by the holmgang committee of the local 4-H club, Esmeralda confided quietly.
    “You wouldn’t have chosen small swords, would you, Soren?” Astrid whispers when she accepts the shield from me.
    I raise my eyebrows. “No.”
    She grins, and then laughs. I can’t help laughing, too. This is all so ridiculous: challenging holmgang in a diner, running across Nebrasge after a missing god, leaving school with a strange, beautiful girl. And now she’s teasing me before entering the ring.
    Our quiet laughter breaks some of the tension in the birch grove. Several pairs of eyes watch us warily. I look to Oz. He’sglaring, and David stands behind with hands on Oz’s shoulders, speaking quickly.
    “Make it fast, Astrid” is all I say as she steps into the ring.
    They’re each given a small sword; Astrid chooses first. The sword is a short, fat one with very little crossguard. Roman style, meant for a one-handed grip. The mayor removes himself from the holmring. Silence falls and wind rattles the birch branches together. Astrid and Oz face one another. Her back swells with a deep breath. I wish I’d seen her fight before, so I’d know what to expect.
    The mayor calls out, “Hear!”
    Astrid salutes Oz with the tip of her sword, and he returns the gesture. They lower into fighting stances. Astrid is on her toes, ready to dart in or back. She should be faster than him, but I can’t be certain.
    Oz attacks with an abrupt charge, and Astrid dances out of the way. Her hair flings itself around her neck, curls bouncing. I curse myself for not telling her to braid it back. But she avoids the hit.
    The same give-and-take continues