by Julia Ember
In a snarling streak of black and gray fur, four wolves erupted from the cave. Their backs stood as high as my chin. Their huge maws dangled open, showing two parallel rows of yellow fangs. Instead of front paws, they had hands like a man’s, but covered in coarse black hair. The creatures didn’t charge. They formed an arrowhead behind the largest of their group. He watched me with appraising, too-human eyes.
The welcome we’d received in the village suddenly made sense. No wonder they had laughed when I had mentioned their “little wolf problem.” If any of the villagers had seen these creatures up close, they knew we wouldn’t face normal wolves. I wondered if the jarl had known before she sent us, or if the leader of the village had downplayed their situation to encourage her to send aid.
The lead creature crouched and roared. The rocks beneath my feet shook.
“Fenrir,” Torstein gasped.
The men backed away, opening our defensive circle. The fenrir were legends, creatures of Asgard, who had snuck through the cracks between worlds. They digested fear. My crew had followed me willingly when they thought we hunted simple animals. They might have stood with me in battle against other warriors. But the jarl wanted to know if they would stand firm against creatures of myth. They had already failed. Honor must have known about these wolves.
My golden mare screamed again and lashed out at Trygve with her front hooves. He dropped her reins, and she bolted down the mountain. My eyes followed her for a moment too long, watching as she disappeared with my beautiful new shield.
The lead fenrir leapt.
A scream tore from my lips before I could stop it. I raised my axe too late. My hook rose involuntarily to shield my face.
A whir of arrows flew over my head. The creature whimpered; the sound was more mortal than I had expected. Blood splattered my face as the arrows bit into the fenrir’s flesh. My crew’s aim was impeccable, but I didn’t have time for pride. The fenrir tackled me, slamming into me with its full weight. I fell backward, hitting my head on a rock. The beast’s sharp teeth closed on my calf. It shook its head from side to side, shredding muscle while I moaned. The pain made me wild. I slashed at the creature’s belly with my hook, tearing its flesh open. I twisted in its hold until I could sit up. Then I brought my axe down on the fenrir’s neck, severing its head.
Hackles raised, the other creatures formed a circle around me. Drool dripped from their jaws. They moved closer. I needed to get up, to get a better angle to swing with my axe, but my leg was a mess of torn muscle and exposed bone. Another arrow sank deep into the flank of one of the creatures. It snarled, jaws snapping inches from my face.
My crew would be able to save themselves. Thanks to Aslaug’s help, their arrows flew straight and found their marks. But although they might help me from afar, none of them would risk their lives for me. Maybe even Trygve had grown sick of following me, sick of my temper and inability to let go of a hatred these men had never earned. The performance of comradery we’d acted over the past week hadn’t been enough. Jarl Honor had seen it for the hollow thing that it was. I’d trusted that illusion, thought it would be enough to get me home. I was the one who had failed. If Ersel had been here, she would have rushed in. But I’d betrayed her, and now she wasn’t here to save me.
I couldn’t fight a whole pack of these creatures. I closed my eyes and hoped that the fenrirs would go for my throat, so I wouldn’t have to feel them eat me. I remembered how I’d threatened to dangle Torstein over the bow of the ship with my hook through his eye socket and let the sharks devour him from the feet up. Was this a god’s idea of sick irony? I wondered if Torstein would see it that way, once I was dead.
A battle cry sounded behind me. The fenrirs turned, and my crew charged. The creatures abandoned me and rushed toward the men. Pain made my vision fade at the edges. Men’s shouts and animal whines blended. Blood made a sticky pool beneath me.
Soft, hay-scented breath caressed my cheek. I heard a whicker, and then a velvet nose nuzzled my hair. I looked up into the face of the dun pony I’d ridden to meet the jarl. I scooted backward until I found his front legs. He stood in place while I hauled myself upright. Pain shot through my leg but, by leaning on the pony, I managed to stay on my feet.
My crew were clustered around the carcasses of the remaining three fenrir. When they saw me rise, they trotted to me. They were covered in black blood. Steinair clutched at his arm, but their faces showed triumph. Why had they saved me? They had to know that my performance over the last week was for Jarl Honor’s benefit. They could have let me die.
Trygve reached me first. “Gods, Ragna. Why didn’t you move? It was as if you were frozen, and then that beast just jumped on top of you.”
“I know. I got distracted by the horse.”
“You all right?” Torstein pushed Trygve out of the way.
The sleeve of his red tunic was ripped. I blinked as spots blurred my vision, which shimmered like water. I was losing too much blood. “Why?”
Torstein raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”
“Why didn’t you just run?”
“Where would we be without our grumpy captain?” His tone was teasing, and his eyes were gentle. But when he noticed my trembling chin, he sobered. “The styrimaðr who took you and sacked your home? We all know he was a bastard. Some of us have a pretty good idea of what you must have gone through. And Haakon? We didn’t like him any better.”
“Then why did you follow him?” I had asked almost all the other men to tell me their stories over the past few weeks, but I had never asked Torstein.
Torstein shrugged. “What choice was there? I was born in Bjornstad. My father was a scribe, but I was never any good at letters. The only other jobs were at the jarl’s longhouse.”
“But—” The sight of exposed bone and the smell of my own blood was making me nauseous. “You hate me.”
“Maybe at first,” Torstein agreed. He offered his arm. “But we are not all like the men who took you. Even Haakon thought Magnus—the styrimaðr who took you—was rotten. He picked him for the raid on your village. The rest of us? We never wanted any part in killing women and children. So Haakon chose Magnus for the job, knowing full well he was the only captain who’d do it. Magnus found a crew as dirty as him. All that man ever cared about was blood-sport and gold.” He spat on the ground. “He had no honor.”
Magnus. The name echoed in my ears. All this time, I’d never known my captor’s name. The men who destroyed my town were nameless monsters, which made them even more terrifying and hateful in my memory.
Torstein shook his head slowly. “Light fire to a whole town while they slept? Round up and kill a group of children? Before I joined you, I fought in battles against seasoned warriors. I never killed a child or burned innocent people in their beds.” He looked into my eyes. “I know you believe the worst of us, but we’re not all the same.”
Magnus. I thought of the styrimaðr stepping into the hold where Vidar and I had been kept in his long black cloak, the way he had cut off his own sailor’s head without hesitation, and of Vidar’s screams when they had thrown him overboard. Magnus had been a monster, but he was dead. My crew were not him.
I gripped the pony’s back. I couldn’t meet Torstein’s gaze, so I looked over my shoulder at the rest of the crew. They were loading the fenrir carcasses onto the other pony. I was going to skin the one who had bitten me and wear his pelt as a cloak.
“Shall I help you up?” Torstein pointed at my leg. “You need to get that cleaned or it’s going to fester.”
I nodded, and he lifted me by the waist as if I were no heavier than a child, seating me sidesaddle so that my injured leg wouldn’t have to grip the pony’s sides. He tore off a section of his tunic—Haakon’s tunic—and wrapped it carefully around my calf, binding my leg so the blood would stop. My leg stung where the skin had been ripped away, but Torstein’s makeshift bandage helped.
“I’ll call you Vaskr.” I scratched his withers with my hook. The pony was fearless and deserved the name. His ears swiveled back, listening to me. “People won’t think we’re worth anything,” I whispered to him. “A one-handed girl riding a farm pony. But we know what we’re made of, don’t we?”
I clucked my tongue, and Vaskr took a hesitant step forward. He turned to eye me, as if to make sure I wouldn’t fall. The pony stopped beside Trygve, and my boatswain jumped up behind me. He wrapped both arms around me to keep me aboard, and we set off for the capital.
Two
Mörsugur
The Bone Month
December
Even carrying two people, Vaskr could run faster than my crew could travel on foot. I was losing sensation in my lower leg. If it became infected, our journey to Brytten could be delayed by weeks. I held my arm out straight as I could, so Trgyve could follow the map and steer the pony.
Nausea made it hard to focus. Trees and farms whipped by in a green blur. Vaskr was breathing hard. His wind came in short puffs that looked like dragon smoke. I leaned into Trygve’s warm, solid body and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to vomit on my hero pony’s neck.
Aslaug met us at the city gate. The húskarl waited with their arms folded, talking to one of the sentries. Trygve pulled the pony to a halt in front of them. When they noticed my injured leg, their face went white. Then they peered hesitantly around Vaskr’s flank.
“Where is your crew?” they asked.
“If I say dead, will you be sorry?” I glared down at Aslaug. In the heat of the moment, when my survival had been in question, I hadn’t thought about their part in the jarl’s plan. But now that we were standing at the gate to her city with my leg a shredded mess of muscle and torn skin, anger bubbled up inside me. Aslaug had been training beside us for weeks. They knew my men and had helped them, taken food with them. How could they have let us walk into such an ambush?
“They’re not.” Aslaug rolled their eyes. But when I didn’t respond, their voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re not… are they?”
“No,” Trygve said, taking pity on them when I stayed silent. “Ragna was injured, so we galloped back as fast we could. The men will be here soon.”
“No thanks to you or your jarl.” I growled. “Please inform her that I will dine with her tonight, and that, sadly, I will require another shield.”
“Where is the mare?”
“Gone. I’ve decided this pony will do.”
“The cart pony?”
“Better the cart pony than that cowardly, useless mare. Where did you find her? Was she the reject of the market?”
Trygve nudged me. I knew I was being rude, but after our encounter with fenrir, I didn’t care. I clicked my tongue at Vaskr. The pony walked through the gate, toward the stable where he knew he’d find fresh hay. “And,” I called over my shoulder. “Send a healer to the guesthouse.”
“What was that?” Trgyve demanded when we had ridden out of the húskarl’s hearing. “Aslaug has given us far more help than we had any right to ask for. They have practiced with us every day, despite all the other work I’m sure the jarl has them doing.”
“They could have warned me.”
“They are Jarl Honor’s second in command. Their loyalty is to her. If you told me a plan in secret, do you think I would tell her?”
“That’s not the point,” I growled, but a flush crept up my neck.
By the time we reached the top of the hill, Vaskr was dragging his hooves. We’d travelled over six miles, much of it at full speed. He had more than earned a few days’ rest. I would make sure the stable boy brought him extra oats.
Trygve lifted me from the saddle. My leg swung limply over his arm, and I stifled a cry. He carried me into the guesthouse, nudged doors open with his broad shoulders, and laid me on the bed.
“You’ll have to cut off my trousers,” I said and gripped the headboard to steady myself. I was seeing spots again. “And bring the water. Clean the injury as best you can. I don’t know how long it will be before the healer arrives, if she comes at all. She left rather angry.”
Trygve ran his hand through his hair and muttered, “Wouldn’t it be better if a woman did that?”
“Do you see any women here?” I snapped. “Go on. It’s not as though this is the worst off you’ve seen me, and we both know I’ve never been interested in a man.”
He sat beside me on the bed and pulled out a small bronze dagger. Carefully, he cut away the fabric of my trousers, leaving my leg bare. I winced. The wound went straight to the bone, as I’d first thought. The muscle was gnawed away, but, though a tiny splinter of bone had broken off, the rest of it remained whole. I took a deep breath. If the healer could remove the shard, I might be back on a horse in a few short weeks.
Trygve dragged the water bucket across the room. He dabbed around the injury, cleaning away dirt, leaves, and dried blood.
I remembered the last time he had done this. His mother had pulled me from the sea, thirsty and wretched. I’d been at sea for a week, tossed by the waves in the tiny skiff Ersel and I managed to repair. Once I’d recovered my strength, I’d disguised myself as a merchant, peddling the trinkets Ersel had left in my little boat, and gone to Jarl Haakon’s fortress. It had been evening. The jarl had been at his supper. His guards had seen in me what they wanted to see: a petite girl with a fancy, ancient hunting horn to sell, no one of consequence, never a threat. They’d waved me in and stood outside the door while I stabbed their jarl in the chest over a dozen times.
But Haakon had been faster than I’d thought an old jarl with gout would be. When I had first come in, he had been asleep. But his sword had lain beside his feet and in his dying breath he’d severed my hand just above the wrist. I’d fled through the window at the rear of the longhouse and collapsed on Trygve’s doorstep again. He’d wanted to simply clean and bind the stump. The hook had been my choice.
“You should have trained as a healer,” I said. My knuckles were white. Blood loss was making me cold and numb. I could hardly feel the cloth on my skin. “You seem to be doing this often.”
Trygve sighed. “Yes, and I’d be happy to never do it again. But somehow, I think if I stay with you, I’ll be cleaning a lot of wounds.”
“You must not think very much of my fighting abilities.”
He laughed. “I think the world of your abilities, but you try to fight everyone, and no one can.” His expression sobered. “What will you say to the jarl tonight?”
“I’m not sure.” I scowled. “She knew those weren’t ordinary wolves. If she had said they were fenrir, I would have gone anyway. But why lie to us? Still, if she’s ready to sail next week, we need her.”
Yarra was waiting across the Northern Sea. Once I freed her, we could go anywhere. We could find Ersel, and the three of us could travel the seas together. The rest of my family was gone. Nothing tied me to Kjorseyrr. I’d told Honor that I would govern and send tribute. But if she couldn’t be trusted to tell me the truth, then why should I keep that promise?
The bedroom door burst open. Aslaug rushed into the room, leading the same ornery old healer who had refused to treat Ersel. Jarl Honor appeared in the doorway a moment later. She hovered on the threshold, forehead creased with worry. Her hands twitched at her sides as if she couldn’t decide where
to place them.
The healer sat beside me and took the cloth from Trygve. She clucked her tongue. “Well, at least you haven’t brought me to see that damned Loki-spawned creature—”
I slapped her. The room went silent, and the healer clutched her cheek. Trygve covered his face with his sleeve, as if so embarrassed he couldn’t look at me. Aslaug’s hand went to their sword, but the jarl shook her head.
“Do not,” I ground out, “ever call her ‘a Loki-spawned creature’ again.”
“I cannot work under these conditions,” the healer whimpered. She turned to the jarl and gestured toward me. “How can you expect me to work on a violent patient? I was harassed the last time I came here as well, just for stating the obvious that human medicines might kill a… being of the ocean!”
Jarl Honor crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “You have worked on much less agreeable patients outside the alehouses. How much gold do you want?”
“I am afraid for my personal safety—”
“You are not,” said Aslaug. The húskarl stood behind the jarl and folded their arms as well. “The mermaid was a guest of the jarl. You had no right to speak that way about her, then or now.”
The healer’s chin jutted out, but she rummaged through her roll of supplies. She drew out a sachet of dried herbs and barked at Trygve to boil water. Even though I was furious with the jarl, I was glad of her presence. I didn’t think the old woman would dare poison me in front of her lord.
She brewed an herbal tea that smelled of ginger and pine. I drank it at her instruction. A numbing, intoxicating warmth spread from my throat all over my body. My limbs felt suddenly heavy, as if I’d drunk too much wine, but my mind remained sharp.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ll need to stay in bed for a few days,” the healer said.
I nodded, then looked away as the she threaded a long, silver needle. The jarl finally moved from the doorway to sit on a chair beside me.