Prologue
HER FATHER USED TO TELL HER THEstory on summer nights, the tall windows in their parlor flung wide, the tangy air blowing up from the sea:
Once there was a boy who made a deal with a god.
It was centuries ago, far away in Halda, and the boy’s name was Erris. He lived in a hut on the edge of a wood with his twin brother, Cainnar, and their widowed mother. Erris was fiercely devoted to the gods and brought offerings to their altars every week; Cainnar scoffed at Erris’s beliefs and did not bring any.
One day, an oracle came to the hut with the news that the gods had chosen Cainnar to be Halda’s first king. The boys’ mother was overjoyed, and Cainnar was quick to accept the declaration of the gods he did not believe in. He went to live in the glittering new palace on the top of a hill by a bright lake, and Erris stayed in the hut with their mother.
In the winter, their mother fell ill and died, and Erris packed his few belongings and went to the palace on the hill. He thought Cainnar would welcome him gladly, but Cainnar had grown proud. He refused to acknowledge that Erris was his brother—he refused to acknowledge him at all. So Erris became a servant in the palace, because he had nowhere else to go, and he thought in time Cainnar would accept him.
Cainnar did not. Day after day Erris saw him, dressed in silk and dripping with jewels, the gods’ chosen king. And day after day, Erris’s envy grew, until he could no longer bear it.
And so he left the palace and climbed up Tuer’s Mountain. Tuer was the first god to be formed on Endahr and was said to be more powerful than all the other gods combined. Erris built an altar to Tuer and waited beside it for nine scorching days and nine freezing nights.
On the tenth day, Tuer came, and he looked at Erris with deep sorrow. “What is it you wish of me, son of the dust?”
“I wish to be king in place of my brother,” Erris told him.
“And what offering do you bring to me, that I might grant your request?”
“My devotion,” said Erris.
“That is not enough,” said the god.
“My life, then.”
“What good is it to be king if you are dead?”
Erris thought. “My brother’s life.”
“He was chosen by the gods already—his life is not yours to give.”
“What is mine to give?”
“Your soul,” said the god. “Your time. Your heart.”
“Take them freely,” said Erris.
Eda always interrupted the story at this point: “Why would he give those things up so quickly?”
“Because he was a fool,” her father said, “and because his hatred blinded him.”
“Very well,” said the god. “If you are certain.” And he spoke a Word of power that burned into Erris’s forehead.
Erris went down the mountain again.
When he returned to the palace, he was astonished to find the walls crumbled away, reduced to ancient weathered stones scattered in the grass. He wandered awhile among the ruins, until he came upon a child with a shepherd’s crook.
“What happened here?” asked Erris.
“This was the palace of a mighty king, centuries ago,” said the child. “But there is no king here anymore. Oh! I see you are king.”
And Erris reached up to find a crown upon his head.
“Here,” said the child, “I shall make you a throne.” He piled up stones and laid leaves on them for a cushion.
Erris sat. He was bewildered, but felt neither loss, nor anger, nor sorrow, for he had given away his heart, and was incapable of feeling anything.
