Free The Lost Sun by Tessa Gratton Page A

school.”
    “We’re adults and can leave school on our own. Didn’t you pass your citizen test?”
    “Of course.” She knows it. I had to before receiving my tattoo. “It’s only so empty here. Makes me nervous.”
    “Can you imagine living this far into the plains? There are still pygmy mammoths and hill trolls, and the walled towns are few and far between. Mom and I never camped alone in this part of the country.”
    I glance at her, to see she’s staring out her window with her fingers against the glass. “Like we did last night.”
    Astrid laughs and looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Mom and I didn’t have a berserk warrior with us.”
    I only grunt in response. The anxiety continues to itch between my shoulder blades, and I punch on the radio to HM, the public news station.
    Through static, the announcer’s voice slowly emerges: “… quell the rioting in Shenandoah. Graycloak has dispatched permission to all the kingstates for militia members to carry open steel in the streets, against the wishes of minority leader Edding.”
    My palms are slick against the steering wheel as all my skin begins to tingle.
    “It’s likely to be defeated by Lawspeaker Howardson when she brings it before Congress, but a source from the White Hall claims that the president hopes this situation with the missing god of light will be resolved before Sunsday’s emergency meeting.”
    Astrid sighs through her teeth and her head lolls against the seat back. “They can’t fix this with politics,” she murmurs.
    “They have to do what they’re best at,” I say.
    A little laugh escapes her, and she lifts her head as the announcer says, “Thousands of pilgrims have flocked to Skald, at the foot of Bright Home, with signs declaring that Ragnarok has begun. They’re gathered in the city parks mostly, and the militias are in a bit of a standoff there with religious leaders who insist on opening all the temples on Skald’s Chapel Row. The Valkyrie of the Rock arrived on the scene yesterday afternoon with seven of her wolves, and to the surprise of the king of Colorada, she held a prayer service in the city center, asking the mourners and pilgrims to remain calm and only pray together.”
    A new voice, that of a woman, speaks: “This near to Bright Home, our prayers will rise with the wind up to the Valhol, where Odin sits and searches for his lost son. We will give the Alfather our strength to stretch his reach over the mountains and prairie, from ocean to ocean of this great country. Baldur the Beautiful will be found, and will return to us with all the glory of the sun.” The radio announcer takes up the story again, adding, “On theheels of the Valkyrie’s prayer, a spokesman for Ardo Vassing, prince of Mizizibi and well-known telepreacher for the Bliss Church, told the press he’ll be hosting a three-hour televent tonight, beginning at the CST sunset hour.”
    Astrid leans nearer to me. “We’ll have found him by then.”
    My tension only lets me flick fast glances at her, but Astrid’s face is loose with expectation and hope. I push the gas pedal down another bit to flare the engine. There isn’t anyone for miles to notice I’m speeding.
    The morning news hour ends with Evelyna Salsdottir, the champion poet of New Asgard, reciting her award-winning verse, “Sunfall in Mesa Verde.” It’s about vanishing people, and the memories they leave behind, like the longest shadows cast as the sun sets. I’ve never heard it before, but Astrid murmurs the refrain along with the radio. When the last word fades under the buzz of our engine, she changes the station to iron rock.
    “We’ll be there soon,” she says, and shuts her eyes.
    I let the pounding rock shake the car. The rhythm travels up my hands from the steering wheel and into my shoulders, helping me relax. I drive through two and a half songs, eyes glazed on the black line of highway, before a high beep interrupts the music.
    “This is an emergency