by Julia Ember
When she saw me, Honor’s jaw tightened. “Is it done?” she asked. “Where are your men? Is the creature still alive?”
A murmur of panic whispered through the thegns around us.
“It’s gone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Gone but not dead?”
“It won’t be coming back to bother us,” I said. “Not unless I renege on my side of the bargain.”
“And what are the terms of that bargain?”
“You know what they’re after.” I glanced at the warriors around us and dropped my voice. “I have to find it. Loki wants their true voice freed.”
The jarl sighed. “I thought it might come to that. Once, I thought I might ask you to find it for me, but I realized on our journey that you’d never agree to that.” She gestured to the charred buildings behind the beach. “As long as it exists, none of you are ever going to be safe. You may take the ship I gave you. I will nominate another steward to govern here until your return.”
The jarl’s thegns marched chained prisoners past us. They shuffled in the heavy manacles and kept their gazes trained on the bloody ground.
“What will you do with the prisoners?” I asked.
“We will use them to negotiate. Even now that Haakon is dead, thegns from his provinces still raid my borderlands. These men are the sons and brothers of some of those thegns.”
“So they won’t be punished at all.” Petulance seeped into my voice.
“Building peace is sometimes more important than retribution—something you’re going to have to learn as governor here.” Honor said. “I’m going to send settlers to help you.”
“What?”
“You saw Skjordal. There are entire towns in my province with nothing left, soil that doesn’t yield. I’m going to send those people here. They’re hardworking and they won’t cause trouble. You can’t rebuild this town with only children and a few sailors.”
I would be governor of a real town, responsible not only for a group of children, but for farmers, craftsmen… people’s whole lives. When I’d made my proposal to Honor, part of me hadn’t grasped what being a governor would entail. The town was in ruins. All those people would need homes and food we didn’t have. I could lead us to fresh water, to deer and wild boar. But a few deer weren’t going to feed an entire town through the coming winter. Even with settlers, I wasn’t sure we had a chance. My shoulders sagged.
“It will be fine,” said the jarl, noticing my expression. “These people know their trades. They will be a help to you.”
“Halvag.” An old weaver might not be very useful, but he had claimed me as his kin. I had a duty to him now. “I want my kinsman with me.”
“And your cousin?” Honor asked hesitantly. “You haven’t mentioned her. Is she… well?”
“She’s missing, but alive. The other children say that she was never taken at all.” Yarra would be alive. She had to be.
Torstein must have alerted Vaskr’s handler to the battle’s outcome, because he stood a few paces away. Hands shaking, he led the pony around the bodies that littered the streets. Vaskr paid no more heed to the corpses than he would to stones in his path. He stepped nimbly around them and nickered at me. The handler thrust Vaskr’s reins into my hand, turned aside, and vomited. One of the thegns led the jarl’s stallion forward.
“Honestly, Walden.” Aslaug shook their head at the handler. They held fast to the stallion’s bridle while Honor vaulted astride. “Why did you volunteer to come? Someone else could have looked after the jarl’s horses here.”
The handler flushed. He wiped his mouth, then lifted his chin to glare at Aslaug. “The jarl’s horses are my duty.”
“He manages them like no one else.” Honor gave the handler a fond smile. She pulled a red cloak from the stallion’s saddlebag and slung it over her shoulders. It fell elegantly over her horse’s rump.
I mounted, and we trotted together to the town outskirts. Aslaug jogged beside the jarl’s horse, still holding their bronze shield. Even now, when the battle was won and the enemies our prisoners, the húskarl wouldn’t take chances with Honor’s safety.
We stopped at the edge of the moor that framed Kjorseyrr’s eastern edge. To my surprise, a flock of shaggy, long-tailed sheep still grazed there, oblivious to the fate of their owners. They bleated as we approached and circled around the horses. A bolder ewe nudged my foot, looking for grain.
“Your future citizens,” Honor said solemnly.
We all burst out laughing. The jarl leaned over in her saddle and hugged me. The unexpected gesture made a sob rise in my throat. I coughed to banish it. “You’re home,” she whispered, solid arms holding me tight.
“If you see Ersel, tell her I’ll be back soon,” I sniffled. “And thank you.”
Six
Mörsugur
The Bone Month
December
When Aslaug and the jarl had disappeared over the hill, I took a steadying breath and pushed back my sleeve. The tattoos had returned to their normal, deep-blue color. The map depicted was familiar: the angular mountain peaks, the jagged coastline, all as they had been a thousand times when I’d ridden Fjara into the hills, looking for an adventure.
Yarra, I thought. Nothing shifted. Cold fear twisted in my stomach like a knife. What if the other children had been wrong? I imagined Yarra’s small, charred feet protruding from a pile of smoldering bodies. That couldn’t be. The children remembered Mjolnir, and he was gone. They had fled together. They must have.
Yarra. I pleaded with the magic this time. Yarra was not a navigator. If she had escaped, had she found shelter? Water? Food? I’d been so proud of her for escaping, I’d never considered how she might have survived afterward. Tough as she was, she was still a child. The idea that my cousin might have escaped, only to face a slow death from thirst and starvation was too much.
The skin above my wrist started to prickle. The tattoos shifted; the change was as slow as ice creeping over the surface of a pond. When I was tired, sometimes the magic didn’t come swiftly. I held my breath as the markings revealed a forest grove a few miles away. I knew it well. A shallow stream ran through a clearing in the grove. When we were younger, Mama had taken all of us there to learn to swim. There was a natural cave in the hill beside it. Snowberries and wild carrots grew in the woods around it.
I nudged Vaskr, and the pony sprang into a gallop. A few sheep tried to follow us, but after a week aboard the knarr, Vaskr was ready to run. His bounding strides ate up the ground beneath us. When I’d ridden Fjara through these fields, I’d always had to stay focused on her. My mare had been strong and fast, but she spooked at shadows. I had to think ahead of her nerves, anticipate her. This brave pony would run anywhere I asked and never balk. I wondered how I’d ever thought he was worthless.
When we neared the grove, I dismounted. If Yarra heard galloping hoofbeats, she might panic. She might run or hide so well I’d look right past her. The storm clouds finally opened, and the rain came down in fierce rivulets. Firelight emanated from the cave mouth and bathed the earth in a flicking, soft glow. Swallowing hard, I led Vaskr toward it.
A golden stallion flew at us from the cave’s mouth. He lunged at me with his teeth bared and his ears pinned flat against his head. He reared, striking with his front feet.
“Mjolnir!” I shouted, throwing up my hand. “It’s me. Stop!”
At the sound of my voice, the horse stilled. His nostrils flared. My gaze swept over him. Where his coat had once been as shiny and smooth as new bronze, now it was matted and marred by cuts. His stance was uneven; three deep puncture wounds were visible on his haunches, as if he had been struck with a mace. A flap of skin dangled from his shoulder.
I hummed softly to him and reached for the rope dangling from his head collar. I pressed my knuckles against his skin. His shoulder was burning to the touch, infected. It was a wonder t
he stallion hadn’t died already from the fever. They had not escaped quietly and they had been hunted. The stallion’s injuries all showed different stages of healing. If Yarra was alive now, it was because Mjolnir had fought their way to freedom.
“Ragna?”
The sound of her small, unsure voice made my eyes sting. I turned. Yarra stood at the edge of the clearing. She carried an armful of damp firewood and still wore her woolen nightdress, soaked from the rain and covered in mud. She dropped the wood at her feet. I fell to my knees and opened my arms.
She ran to me. I pressed my lips to her wet, blond hair. She felt painfully thin in my arms. A shudder passed through me, and tears welled in my eyes. If I had come a month later, after the frost had settled, she would have been gone.
We clung to each other and sobbed. I still had a bargain to keep, but for her the ordeal was over.
“How did you escape?” I murmured, still refusing to let her go.
Yarra stiffened in my embrace. “My father. He heard what was happening outside and he made me hide in the forge. I waited until I couldn’t hear anything in the courtyard and then I snuck into the barn to get Mjolnir.” Her voice trembled, and my heart broke. “They killed Papa, but they never found me. We tried to get into town a few times to get supplies. That’s how Mjolnir got hurt.”
Her small fingers reached for my hook and grasped it. “What happened to you?”
“I lost my hand in a fight.”
Yarra’s cheeks dimpled. “So, you did it? You’re a warrior now?”
I tapped my chest proudly. “A styrimaðr. I have my own ship.”
“I knew you would.” She shook her head. “Even if you can’t ride.”
I rose from my knees and scooped her up and over my shoulder. Yarra squealed with laughter as I carried her to Vaskr. “Never repeat that to my men!” I said. “I have a reputation to protect.”
Yarra slid onto Vaskr’s back and wrapped her arms around his chubby neck. “He’s cute.”
“He’s the best warsteed I’ve ridden,” I said.
“If your mama heard that,” Yarra giggled.
Her voice trailed off. Her eyes met mine, and we both fell silent. I grabbed Mjolnir’s lead, then jumped onto Vaskr’s back behind her.
“They’ve gone to Valhalla. It’s just us now, and we’ve got to do what we must.” I nudged Vaskr with my heels.
* * *
By the time we returned to the town, Jarl Honor was already setting things in order. Her thegns had gathered the enemy bodies and burned them on a pyre. Tents for the soldiers had been pitched in the stubble fields. The fortress’ keep had been cleaned and scrubbed. Walden took Mjolnir and Vaskr to the remains of my family’s barn. The stallion had flattened his ears, but, after a scolding from Yarra, had followed Walden to have his wounds cleaned.
A tent had been set up for me. Smyain met me at its entrance with a tray in his hands. He swept me a bow that made Yarra giggle before setting the tray on the floor for her. It was laden with sheep’s milk, bread, and cheese. She tore into the bread like a starved dog, pausing only to gulp milk. When she had finished, I tucked her into a bed of wolf pelts. Smyain knelt beside her.
“I’ll watch her. You should let the jarl know you’re back,” he said.
As I closed the tent flap, I heard him begin a story about a dangerous fenrir and a brave pony who saved a girl. Yarra gave a shriek of delight. I hid a smile behind my hand.
In the fortress, the jarl sat at the dice table. She had bathed, and her dark hair hung lose at her shoulders. Aslaug was in their customary position behind her chair. They still wore their armor, though it was no longer splattered in blood. A scribe sat to her left.
I had half-expected to find Ersel with her, in human form, dressed in one of the jarl’s gowns. But she was nowhere to be seen. Biting back disappointment, I bowed to Honor and took the chair to her right.
“Ersel left?”
The jarl nodded. “We didn’t know how long you’d be gone. Her people swam a long way. She said she wanted to spend the night with her mother. She will find you in the morning.”
That made sense. Ersel had always been close to her mother. The merclan wouldn’t stay. She needed her chance to say goodbye.
A square piece of vellum was stretched across the table. The scribe had made a list of supplies: bushels of wheat, pounds of meat, axes, and pelts. The jarl pointed to the first line. “I am making a list of provisions that will be sent to you along with the new settlers. My scribe will make two copies. This is a loan. We will expect to be repaid for the goods in three years’ time, after the farmers have taken three good harvests.” Her eyes crinkled with a smile. “The soil here is good. I expect this town to bring revenue. I return home tomorrow.”
“So soon?” I’d expected her to stay at least until the new steward settled.
“The food on the ships will not last long. I will not have my warriors eating what little can be foraged around this settlement.”
“And Jarl Ivargar? What if he decides to move in, now that the town is undefended?”
The scribe held up a rolled parchment, tied with a braided golden ribbon and marked with Honor’s seal.
“I have written a letter,” Honor said. “This settlement is mine. Should he try to take it, I will sack his capital. A jarl who couldn’t stand up to a cohort of raiders will not take risks with me.”
I scanned the list again. She was sending enough wheat and salt fish to feed a village for months, along with the tools we would need to rebuild houses, fences, and barns. We could round up the loose sheep on the moors. We could trade for broodmares. I could start Mama’s line of horses again. Kjorseyrr could prosper.
“This is so much,” I whispered.
“As I said, it’s a start and will be repaid.” The jarl leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “I’ve invested a lot in you.”
She rose from her chair and took Aslaug’s arm. “I am exhausted. Let’s find a bedchamber.”
“I always sleep well in the beds of enemies I have slain,” said the húskarl.
Shaking my head, I left them. But instead of going straight to Yarra, I went for a walk. The weights of nostalgia, familiarity, and strangeness all pressed down on me. My legs carried me to the remains of my old house. The roof and most of the walls had been burned, leaving only the stone foundation. I walked to the space that had been my room. The metal chest remained, but it had been flung open and my old clothes stolen. Lief’s room had fared better. His bed still stood, black with ash. I knelt beside it. We would rebuild the rest of the town, but I would leave this place as it was. I couldn’t live here and I wouldn’t erect something in place of my family’s memory. A sad smile tugged at my lips. All the construction to come, the remaking of things, would have delighted Lief.
I walked to my tent. Unshed tears stung my eyes, but I was too tired to cry. Yarra was alive. Ersel had come back. The men who had kidnapped me and killed my brother were all dead. It would have to be enough.
A candle in his hand, Smyain stood outside the tent. He cleared his throat, then bent and lifted a shield. “This was left for you. One of Honor’s thegns brought it by.”
The shield was bright cyan and polished to gleaming. A white, eight-legged horse galloped across its face. I sucked in a sharp breath. The horse’s legs almost seemed to move; its mane fluttered in a magical wind. Loki was still here, and they were not waiting to call in their bargain. I had hoped they would give me the winter at least, maybe a year—some time to spend here and rebuild—before taking me away. I should have known better. Loki was close to the freedom they’d desired for centuries. They were not going to wait any longer.
The shield was a warning. Ignoring Loki was a risk I couldn’t take. Once the jarl’s thegns departed, the Sleipnir could destroy my twenty warriors in a heartbeat. The thought of them feasting on our corpses m
ade my stomach heave. I would have to trust my crew to begin the town’s reconstruction without me.
“Give me tonight. At least one night,” I hissed and slipped into the tent.
Yarra slept curled under a gray wolf pelt. She hugged her knees to her chest. As quietly as I could, I stripped off my armor and sweaty clothes. One of the men had left a clean tunic and trousers along with a bucket of fresh water. I guzzled some of the water, then used the rest of it to clean myself. Dressed in new clothes, I lifted the pelt and crawled into bed beside my cousin. She wrapped her arms around me in sleep. For this night, we were together again. I would try to forget what was coming in the morning.
Seven
Mörsugur
The Bone Month
December
I was awoken by Trygve shouting my name. A sword in his hand, he pushed the tent flap aside. “Ragna!”
Without even pausing to rub the sleep from my eyes, I bolted upright and seized my axe from the floor beside our bed of pelts. Had more of Haakon’s men been found? Was the Sleipnir running through the camp? Had the Trickster decided that even one night was too much to ask? My gaze darted to Loki’s shield. The white horse remained, its silhouette unchanged from last night.
“Enemy ship,” Trygve wheezed. “There’s an unknown ship sailing toward the harbor.”
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Human enemies were better than monsters. But where was Ersel? If the rest of her merclan had departed, she could be out in the harbor, alone, when our enemies landed on the beach.
“What is it?” Yarra sat up beside me. Her brown eyes were round with fear. She clutched the wolf pelt in her small hands.
“I don’t know,” I whispered and smoothed my hand over her hair.
I waved my hook at Trygve, beckoning him inside. “Help me with my armor.”
Trygve scooped up the tangle of chain mail and began shaking out the links. I scrambled for my boots and hide braces. The first time raiders had come to Kjorseyrr, I hadn’t been prepared. Now, I vowed to always sleep with my fighting gear beside me. I would never be caught unarmed and afraid again. My chain mail was crusted in sweat and dirt. My axe still had brown blood on the blade. I vowed to keep my weapons in better condition too.