by Julia Ember
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Just a bit tired, I think.” She pointed to the bedroom at the back of the house. “I assume we’ll take that? I think I should lie down for a while.”
After my relative success in talking to Smyain, I had planned to spend more time talking with the men before retiring, but after the way I’d displayed her to Aslaug, I decided to go with her. I took her arm to steady her as we walked to the bedroom. The crew hardly paid us any attention. Most of the men were still stuffing whatever food remained into their mouths and getting drunk on Jarl Honor’s seemingly endless supply of ale. Suckling pigs were expensive, as was drink. If I couldn’t prove myself to her, and quickly, I wondered how long the jarl’s hospitality would last.
I closed the doors behind us. Ersel sank bonelessly onto the bed. I cursed myself for not realizing how much riding would tire her out. I was only a few weeks out of practice and my legs still ached from such a long journey. When we travelled back to the coast, I would see if there was a wagon she could ride in.
A bucket filled with soapy water stood beside the bed. Someone had left two new sets of clothes for us, draped over the chair by the window: identical pairs of cream trousers, pale blue tunics, and gray cloaks that fastened with blue glass pins. It would be wonderful to change clothes at last. I knelt beside the bucket and hastily scrubbed my arms and neck. The water was tepid, but it smelled of lilac and rose petals. I would have loved a full bath, but I wouldn’t complain to our host. My hair was matted from the ocean gales, and salt grains clung to my scalp. I leaned back into the bucket and submerged as much of my hair as possible.
After washing, I flopped down beside Ersel and stared up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For?”
“Making you shift in front of Aslaug.” The more I thought about it, the more I realized what a violation it had been. I hadn’t asked her, and her clothes had torn. I’d displayed her like a prize. I looked down at my lap, disgusted with myself.
Ersel pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. And it’s not as though I haven’t shifted in front of humans. But I didn’t leave my home and come with you to be treated like this. I’m not a weapon. I’m here because I want to see the world and because I care for you, but if you treat me like a member of your crew whom you can order about, I’ll go.”
“I should have asked. Before, when we were alone. I can tell it’s been bothering you.”
“I felt naked,” she said, her voice quivering. “For the first time.”
“I’m sorry.”
She scooted closer to me and propped herself up weakly on one elbow. “So, will Jarl Honor help?”
I let out an aggravated sigh. “Not yet. She says that my men lack discipline and don’t follow me out of any real loyalty. She says she won’t risk her own thegns to sail with a crew like that.”
Ersel ran her hand over the bed’s ornately carved headboard. “Look at this place. They have everything. She’s just making excuses. She could take your town back by herself if she wanted to.”
“She tried.” I cast a furtive glance at the door, then dropped my voice to a whisper. “There’s more guarding the town than you saw.”
“What?”
“There’s a creature. The jarl said it belongs to Loki. It guards the keep where they’re holding the children. Honor has been on the island. She’s seen it herself. The only reason she’d even talk to me about going back is because of my magic and because you’re with me and you know Loki.”
Ersel eased herself up on the pillows. “I don’t think anyone really knows Loki. I want nothing else to do with them.”
“I won’t make you fight them,” I said. “I won’t even ask you to. I just need you to tell the jarl whatever you know of them.”
“You can’t fight whatever Loki will send. The only way to beat them is to play their game and win. I sailed with you to get away from them, not to go through this again. I’m done with Loki and their tricks and with other people trying to control me. If you care for me, keep me out this.” She rolled over, her back to me.
I blew out the candle on the bedside table. I wouldn’t ask her to fight, but she would come around when the time came. I knew she would. Part of her had to want revenge on Loki for what they’d done to her. If she thought we could beat the god, really beat them, then she would want to play a part in that. Wouldn’t she?
Cyan lamplight pooled into the room, coming from the window. I jumped out of bed and wrenched the window open, hoping to catch the eavesdropper. I didn’t want my men knowing that a creature of Loki waited for them or that the jarl wasn’t satisfied with my leadership. But when I looked out into the night, there was nothing. I could only see the black shadows of the jarl’s fruit trees and the orange fire-glow from the city below the hill.
I closed the shutters and crept to the bed. Ersel was already snoring, but her skin was cold to the touch. I pulled the thick wool blanket over her shoulders and smoothed her sweaty hair off her face. One of the sea pearls came loose in my hand. I cupped it in my palm and stared down at it. It had a faint pink sheen and was oblong rather than round. Not a perfect specimen, but it might still buy a horse. Ersel’s hair draped over the pillow. The pearl closest to her temple was an exact sphere and soft, milky white. I hesitated for only a moment before gently teasing it from her hair. I tucked both pearls into the pouch at my belt. She would never miss them.
I lay down and tried to sleep, but my eyes kept travelling to the closed window. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been listening.
Ten
Ylir
Odin’s Month
November
I lay awake for most of the night, listening to Ersel’s quiet snoring. By morning, I had a plan to win my men’s loyalty. Smyain had never received any weapons training, and many of the others were probably in the same position. How I could I expect them to follow me willingly when they didn’t have the skills to the fight the enemies I led them toward? Wherever their lives took them after we took back Kjorseyrr and parted ways, those skills would pay. If I taught them, they would be grateful to me.
Ersel still had not recovered from the ride. She woke damp with sweat. A few of her mermaid’s scales had erupted through the magic binding her to human form. They dotted her cheeks like flecks of silver dust. I left her to rest and went in search of Aslaug.
I was certain that my plan had merit, but if I was going to train with my men, we would need better weapons, targets, and horses. I’d never seen most of them ride. I didn’t know if they could swing an axe or a sword from the saddle. If Smyain’s story was typical, some might not even be able to shoot a bow.
I found my crew sprawled out on the floor of the guesthouse’s main chamber. Some had unrolled their furs and made beds, but many others had fallen asleep where they’d sat at the table. Trygve was asleep with his head on a plate; meat drippings stuck to his beard. I walked up behind him and cleared my throat. He jerked to attention, hands splaying, and sent his ale tankard flying. I rolled my eyes as he sputtered apologies.
“I’m going to find the húskarl.” I grabbed a wooden cup and carefully poured him some water from the jug. “Make sure none of them leave here before I get back.”
Trygve rubbed at his eyes. “Okay.”
“Don’t fall back to sleep,” I cautioned. “And check on Ersel. She’s ill.”
He sipped his water slowly. “Should we send for a healer?”
“Do you think a healer would know what to make of her?” I shook my head. “I think she’s just tired from the ride. She’s not used to walking as a human yet, much less riding for a full day.”
I turned to the door, but Smyain waved his hand at me. He groaned and climbed to his feet. “Do you need someone to go with you?” he asked. “We don’t know the people here. They might
not all be as friendly as the jarl.”
“I’d feel better if you weren’t completely alone,” Trygve said.
Smyain dusted off his tunic and shot me a grin. “I’m a survivor, remember? I’ll make myself useful.”
His volunteering was unexpected, but they were right. I would be safer with company. I nodded, and Smyain followed me outside. It was a bright morning, but frost still clung to the trees. Frozen leaves crunched under our boots. The city below was quiet, and the streets were empty. I figured that being the húskarl, Aslaug would have a house somewhere on the jarl’s hill, so I set off across the courtyard.
We passed the jarl’s stable. The sweet, musty scent of horses and hay was so much like home that it lured me inside. A low nicker greeted us, and I blinked back homesick tears. The pony I’d ridden yesterday had the stall nearest the entrance, and when he saw me his little ears pricked straight up. He whinnied again.
I went to him and stroked the whorl of hair at the center of his forehead. “You’re no war steed,” I said.
“No,” Smyain said behind me. I could hear the smile in his voice. He stepped closer and held out a handful of frozen blackberries to the pony. “But he would try for you. Wouldn’t you, lad?”
The pony nibbled the edge of my hook. I leaned over his stall door to scratch his withers with the point, as I had done before. He stretched his neck to the side to give me better access, and his eyes rolled back in his head. I laughed. I never would have expected my hook to make such a good horse scratcher, but the little beast seemed to love it.
We walked down the aisles of stalls. My gaze rested on an obsidian mare with a jagged white star. She reminded me of Fjara, with her dark coat and delicate concave muzzle. I patted her neck. Her coat was impossibly soft. Someone must have spent hours every day brushing her. Her eyes had a rim of white around the iris, which gave her a curious expression. I swallowed a sob. In this stable, I was home again—up early in the morning, talking to Fjara before Mama woke up and put me to work cleaning stalls or mixing grain. It was how almost every day of my childhood had begun.
I slipped into the stable beside the mare and ran my hand across her back. She had a slight sway to her spine and one of her rear pasterns was too upright. If she had been one of our foals, Mama would have put special shoes on her as a filly to correct her stance. By now, she would stand straight.
“My mother bred horses like these,” I said, not sure if I was talking to the mare or Smyain, or why I was sharing at all. “People came from all over the island to see them.”
Smyain offered the mare a few blackberries. She took them delicately, barely brushing his palm with her lips, like a queen accepting a jewel. “I only rode a carthorse before I entered the jarl’s service.” His hazel eyes swept over my face. “You must miss them.”
The pity in his voice snapped me out of the memory. I didn’t want that from him or anyone on the crew. I straightened and gave the mare a final pat. “We should go.”
He scuffed his foot on the ground, looking as if he might say something else. But then he shrugged and waved goodbye to the mare, as if she were a small child instead of a warhorse.
As we approached the barn door, it swung it open. Aslaug stood in the entrance, wearing wintergreen trousers, a gold tunic that swept past their knees, and a long, black cloak trimmed in flame-colored fox fur. Their fine attire marked their high status in the city. They folded their arms over their chest; their expression was wary. “What are you doing in here? Not leaving?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re not here to steal a horse and run. I didn’t come all this way for that. We were looking for you and got sidetracked.”
Aslaug’s face softened. They walked to the obsidian mare and extended their hand for her to stiff. “Beautiful, isn’t she? She’s one of the jarl’s favorites.”
“Her back is a bit swayed, and her pasterns are too upright,” I said. “You should put special shoes on her. It should have been done when she was a foal, but it might not be too late.”
Aslaug glanced down the horse’s legs. “I don’t see it,” they said. “But I didn’t grow up with horses. Even here, we’ve heard of your mother’s stock. What did you need me for?”
“I need equipment. The jarl wants us to train. If we’re to do that, we’ll need a place to practice, some targets, and suitable mounts.”
Aslaug’s eyebrows shot up, but if they knew what the jarl had truly said in our meeting, they kept it to themself. “That’s easy enough to arrange. There’s a field farther up the hill where we graze the sheep in the summer. I can have some targets brought up for you, and bows. We don’t have many horses to spare, but I can let you use a few of our older mounts. They don’t see combat anymore, but they know their job.”
Part of me had hoped for something flashy, but if the crew didn’t know how to maintain paces or match strides, it was probably best they start on horses that were easy.
“I will offer my assistance, as well,” the húskarl said. “When the jarl can spare me. I know a few things about weapons.”
“Thank you,” I said and gave Smyain a small push toward the door. The húskarl had probably only offered so they could keep a closer eye on me and make sure we didn’t try to steal any of the horses they loaned us, but Aslaug’s help would almost certainly be better than the training I could provide. “We will gather the crew and meet you in the field.”
* * *
We spent the whole morning training on the field Aslaug had prepared. I was pleased to find that, although most of my crew came from farming or trading backgrounds, most were proficient with an axe, hammer, and sword. The men sparred as I watched them with a critical eye. Their style wasn’t graceful, but they knew where to strike. Aslaug walked among the pairs correcting stances and grips with infinite, gentle patience. They never raised their voice or became frustrated when a man failed to understand a new maneuver. It was easy to see why the jarl relied on them so heavily.
Riding and archery were another story. Even Torstein sat ahorse like a sack of rocks and managed to hit the target only once with an arrow. The men had grumbled on the beach about being forced to walk inland, but I was starting to suspect that had all been for show. I was grateful to the solid, old horses who never put a foot wrong or bucked, even when the riders jerked their mouths. Riding was my domain. I’d never ridden as well as Yarra, but Mama had taught me everything she knew. I had grown up caring for warhorses. While Aslaug continued to help with melee, I barked instructions to the riders.
“I’ve seen young children ride better than you!” I shouted at Torstein when he missed the target for the third pass. His roan gelding pinned back its ears. It wasn’t exactly a fair comment, as Yarra was a better rider than I was, too, but I wouldn’t admit that.
He pulled up beside me and tossed his sword on the ground. “Aye,” he said. “Better I stick to ships. Riding into a fight is more you islanders’ way.”
“If the stories about your wreck are to be believed, you’re not very good with ships either.”
I expected to see anger on his face, but he laughed. He swung his leg over the gelding’s back and hit the ground hard. “Probably not. But at least if I keep sailing to new places, I stay ahead of my reputation.”
By the time the sun reached its full height, I was bone-weary. I clapped my hands to get the crew’s attention, then dismissed them. They trotted off at once, racing each other in the direction of the guesthouse and lunch, tossing their weapons aside with little thought. I sighed and began collecting the discarded steel. I didn’t want the jarl to think we were ungrateful. I’d need to teach the men better respect for their weapons.
“I’ll see to that,” Aslaug said. They held two axes in their hands already. “You look exhausted.”
I flashed them a weary smile. Aslaug had been training all morning too—and had been moving more than me—but they still walked with
light-footed grace, as if they had only just risen. My crew and I had a long way to go to match the húskarl’s fitness. I gathered the horses’ reins and led them back to their stable.
At the house, the crew sat on long benches. The tables were laden with a feast of chicken, apples, and assorted jams, but this time, no one had touched the food. They watched me enter with hungry eyes and kept their hands folded in their laps. I smiled and gestured for them to begin. They didn’t have to be told twice. A morning of exercise had sharpened their appetites. They had earned this meal.
Torstein and Steinair shifted on the bench to make a space for me, but Trygve and Ersel were not seated among them, and the bedroom door was closed. I shook my head. “I’m going to retire for a while. Make sure you save me something to eat.”
In the bedroom, Trygve knelt at Ersel’s side holding a bucket. She leaned over it and dry-heaved. A trail of bile dripped down her chin. I rushed to her. Her form had shifted; the human legs were gone, and the blanket hardly concealed her ever-moving tentacles. Topaz, lilac, and azure scales covered her body, but the webbing that usually grew between her fingers when she was in this form had not appeared. The blanket was wet with her sweat. I pulled it back and gasped. In her kraken’s form, she normally had eight tentacles, but now there were only four. Was she stuck in the middle of a transition? Had her illness caused this?
“What hurts? What can I do?” I asked.
She opened her mouth to respond, then retched into Trygve’s bucket again.
“We need to get a healer,” Trgyve said grimly. “I know they might not have seen anything like her, but she can’t even keep water down.”
I scrambled to my feet and pushed open the door to the main chamber. “Fetch a healer!” I demanded.
The crew turned on their benches to stare at me, mouths full. When none of them rose, my eyes narrowed. We’d had a good day practicing on the hills, but allowing them to become more comfortable with me was a mistake if it meant they couldn’t follow orders.