If she could obey this force, free it, she could defeat anyone. She didn’t know if the gods were giving her this strength or if it was something from deep inside herself, a gift from her ancestors, but it belonged to her alone now. This fighting rage was hers and she felt as if she were made of steel.
Ari came at her again and again, using his great strength and his years of experience to try to gain an advantage over her. Each time, she repelled him. Each time, her blade was there before his was. But even with this new-found power of hers, going up against a man like Ari took every ounce of her stamina. She could not let herself tire, couldn’t let herself make a single mistake. She looked in Ari’s bright blue eyes and he gave her an encouraging smile.
“Tired, little girl?”
She gave him a wry smile and lunged at him, bashing her sword against his with great force. Taken by surprise, he barely blocked it. She advanced again and a third time, giving Ari no time to react. With each attack, it was harder for him to block against her moves. She was faster than her opponent. And with this hail of sudden attacks, she started to tire him. They both breathed heavily from the combat, but no one was ready to give up.
Harald watched all of this with a slight smile on his lips. He knew that Gunnar had taught his daughter to fight, but he had had no idea that she could be this good. What he saw before him was a stunning young woman who fought as well as many of his seasoned warriors. How she moved, how she handled her sword, her ferocity, perhaps this girl could be useful in the future. He had the best warriors guarding him and yet few of them could match this girl’s skill. More to the point, none of his men would ever dare to stand against Ari. But this young woman had taken him on courageously, without hesitation. But her courage needed tempering, discipline. The skill was not enough. She needed experience, a taste of true battle.
Fljótdís didn’t give Ari a chance to regroup. She pushed him into a corner with incredible agility and wounded him on his leg as he had wounded her arm, a warning. Shocked by her move, Ari was unprepared for her next move.
She slammed her blade against his great sword with such force that the massive blade fell heavily to the floor. She pressed the tip of her blade against Ari’s throat and picked up his sword cautiously, keeping her eyes on him at all times. The muscles flexed along his jawline as the reality of this situation struck them both. This was not merely the end of an exhibition for the King’s amusement. There was much more at stake here. Ari knelt to one knee, admitting his defeat.
Fljótdís breathed heavily as she looked down at the defeated warrior, this man who was the King’s favourite and most trusted man, the man who had taken her father’s place. Adrenaline still rushed through in her veins. It was intoxicating, this feeling of victory, this godlike power of life and death. It was almost a pity that all the fun was over.
“Finish him.”
Fljótdís startled at the sound of the King’s voice. She had almost forgotten about him. She looked over her shoulder and saw him sitting dispassionately on his throne. His face was cold and cruel, but his eyes glittered with excitement. The thrill of victory had taken a dark turn.
“Your pardon, my lord, perhaps I misheard you?”
She returned her focus to Ari who now lowered his head in submission to the will of the King he served without question. Harald came down and stopped a few steps away from her.
“Do you know what it is to serve the King, Fljótdís, daughter of Gunnar? Do you understand what an honour it is? Do you know what it means? It means absolute loyalty. It means you do what your King asks you to do obediently, without thought or hesitation. It means you feel what your King tells you to feel, think what your King tells you to think. It’s an irrevocable vow, a lifelong commitment to my will. And the cost of failure or betrayal is death in shame. Do you understand me? Are you sure you want this?”
Fljótdís looked down at Ari, still holding her sword against his throat. His gaze was like stone, revealing nothing. And yet, his face told her volumes about what it meant to be in the King’s service. It was without recourse, without mercy. She looked back at the King.
“Yes, my lord, I want it.”
Harald shrugged and straightened his tunic. “Good. Then kill him. Kill him and I will take it as your pledge of loyalty to me, your King.”
Ari looked up at her and there was no fear in his eyes. This man didn’t fear death. His gaze was even encouraging. He smiled at her and for an instant, she saw her father’s smile. The illusion vanished, but its impact didn’t. Ari seemed to be almost proud of her. How could she kill him?
This wasn’t an honourable way to earn her place. But what choice did she have? She could kill the most important of the King’s guards and thereby be named a great warrior. She could earn her place protecting the King with her own life, her dream. Or she could return to her house by the river, ashamed, a failure, and marry someone she cared nothing about and give him many sons, keeping the household while he fought glorious battles, battles she would always long to see. She took a deep breath and raised her sword for the blow.
Ari squared his shoulders proudly. “I will feast with your father tonight.”
Fljótdís hesitated. Could she carry Ari’s death on her conscience? It tore her apart. Raising her sword against this man made her feel like she was raising it against her own father. She opened her grip and let her sword fall. It hit the floor, echoing in the silence of the Great Hall.
“I am sorry, my lord. Do with me what you will, but I cannot kill this man, even if it means the end of all that I care about in the world. There are some laws of honour taught to me by my father that I will not break, even on pain of death. I ask your forgiveness, but I am willing to bear the consequences of my actions.”
Everyone in the Hall let go their held breath at once as the King returned to his throne. They all waited to see what would happen next. The King’s moods were unpredictable.
“Very well, Fljótdís, you have made your choice. So be it. Rise Ari, your life is spared. But the gods and everyone here know that I look for strong warriors who obey my commands. It is my decisions and only my decisions that matter. You are not such a warrior and I must say no to your request.”
Ari stood up and bowed to the King.
“Lord, I thank you for your generosity in sparing my life. But I ask you, you saw this woman’s fighting skills. It is my opinion that with some training, she could be of true value to you, to us all. How unexpected would she be as a weapon against our enemies, how surprising and strong? If you let her go, you may lose one of the best future warriors this Hall has ever seen. She is Gunnar’s daughter, my King. If today is any indication, one day she may be greater even than her father.”
Harald sighed. “I need warriors, Ari, not a woman pretending to be one.”
Ari saw a tiny hole in the King’s stubborn armour. “Give her to me, my lord. Let me train her, make the most of her talents. If she fails you, I swear it before all gathered here, I will pay for it with my honour and my life.”
Fljótdís heard them deciding her fate. How she hated herself right now for not being the kind of merciless, cold-hearted killer that might have caused all of this to go much differently. She had failed her father. She had failed herself. Right now, she didn’t care what the King and Ari decided to do with her. All that she had hoped to achieve had turned to dust.
The King stroked his dark beard. “Very well, Ari, I give her to you. Make a warrior out of her or a wife, as you wish. Fljótdís...”
She raised her gaze to Harald and tried to respond, but words failed her.
“You will be under Ari’s protection now and you are his responsibility. You will obey him in all things and you will do well not to dishonour him or yourself. He will teach you, and when he says you are ready, I will look at your request again. Do you understand?”
Fljótdís could do nothing but nod, her mind a chaos of questions and protests.
Harald held his smile in check. “Very well. You’r
e free to go now. Do not disappoint us, Fljótdís.”
Fljótdís bowed her head slightly and taking her sword from the floor, she left the Hall. The cold north wind punished her as she leaned against the wall, fighting the heart sick despair that overtook her.
Ari’s protection, what the Hel did that mean? Did she truly have to obey him in all things now? Sleep with him? No, no, no, death would be better. She would give herself to the river before surrendering herself against her will. She had thought of Ari as a great and honourable man. But she had been mistaken. She should have killed the bastard when she had the chance. But it was too late for regrets now. It was time to decide her next move. Run? Abandon her house and hide in the mountains, live as an outcast? Perhaps there was another king she could serve?
“All is well, my dear?” a silken female voice asked softly.
“It’s over.” Her words were hollow as she avoided her stepmother’s sly regard.
“Don’t worry so much, child.” Irena gently smoothed back Fljótdís’ hair. “You are in good hands now. Ari is a robust man and wealthy as well.”
Fljótdís grabbed her stepmother’s hand painfully and pushed it away. “I won’t marry him or sleep with him. I would rather die.”
Irena shook her head slowly. “You are hopeless. You’ve been handed venison and you regard it as gruel. Your life is settled now, secure. You have no more worries. Why not be satisfied? He’s quite the handsome and viral beast. He’ll make you sleep well each night. You could do far worse, you know?”
“How?” She gave her stepmother a scathing look and went home. As she lay on her bed, the sound of the river slowly led her into a very deep sleep.
Chapter 3
The light was blinding. She felt so good, so free, so warm. But the bright light spoiled this wonderful feeling. Whatever this light was, she needed to face it, so she opened her eyes, still half in her dreams. A dazzling ray of sun shone down on her. She pushed the furs off and kept her sight trained on the ceiling overhead as she listened attentively. Father would return soon from fishing, bringing delicious fresh salmon. In the mountains, in one of those small waterfalls the river made on its way, there were so many salmon that on such a sunny day they jumped into your hands.
Fljótdís smiled and stretched in anticipation of a glorious day. But her smile faded. She sat up and looked around the room. The fire on the hearth had burned itself out. Father’s cloak hung by the door. The house was silent. Father was gone and she was alone among these walls.
Last night wasn’t a dream and she really belonged to that bloody bastard, Ari. The question was did he really want to teach her the hard skills of a warrior, or would he take her as his wife? Perhaps he would simply have her as an entertainment, an ornament for his amusement until he tired of her.
She climbed out of bed and threw one of the furs around her shoulders. In spite of the bright sun, it was cold. She lit some wood on the hearth and soon a fire crackled, giving warmth to the room. She coaxed another log into the fire and watched how the flames mirrored in her ring, the only thing she had left from her mother.
She hadn’t known her mother. Honestly, no one had known her. She was a mystery. Father always told her how beautiful her mother had been, far more beautiful than Irena. And strong. But he never said where and how he had met her. All she knew was that her mother had been gentle with those she loved, but that she had possessed a warrior’s spirit and that she had able to protect herself like no one else. No wonder some of the family claimed that her mother could have been a Valkyrie. Fairy tales, of course, but when she was little, she had so enjoyed the thought of her mother as a Valkyrie looking over her from Valhalla.
When she had been old enough, she had been told that her mother had died giving her life. Such a price to pay. Fljótdís looked at the ring, wondering what the decorative runes could mean, runes even the great Vǫlva Irena wasn’t able to decipher. But it didn’t matter now. This was her only bond with her mother, and it was a bond no one understood.
She took the simplest of her tunics and trousers and sat on the edge of the bed. As she slipped into her clothing, she watched the sun’s glowing pattern on the floor. It was a strange morning, very rare. Such a sunny morning shortly before the start of Winter Nights was a true blessing. Winter was harsh and always started early. And spring came so painfully slowly. But right now it seemed that the golden Frey himself was smiling upon the town.
The wind bit sharply as she headed into the forest, but the sun poured its golden light into the river. A couple days earlier she had set a few rabbit traps. Rabbit stew would be very welcome for dinner tonight. But dinner would be for only one person now. Brother and Father would not be at the table.
The distant mountains were like old friends. She knew this place as well as she knew her own heart. This was her home. And yet she heard a voice calling her away, a call to adventure, like a horn being sounded to a battle she had yet to name. No matter how much she loved this place, she didn’t want to stay here. Maybe she would return later when her fights had all been won and her goals had all been achieved.
The first rabbit trap was empty. She went to the next one. There were some salted fish and bread at home, but it would be so nice to have some fresh meat for a change. The second trap was empty as well and she prayed to the gods for the last one to be full. She almost danced with joy when she found one fat rabbit fallen in her little trap. She thanked the gods and headed back home. This indeed was a lovely morning. And prosperous.
Fljótdís stopped cold. A huge man leaned against her house, his attention on the waters running by. His large hand rested on the hilt of his ulfberht. The wind raised his long, straw-coloured hair from his broad shoulders. And again Fljótdís caught herself thinking how much this man reminded her of her father.
But she remembered quickly who this man really was in her life now and a wave of anger coursed through her blood. He wanted nothing but her body and her subservience. Still, she didn’t belong to Ari yet. And if he dared to put a finger on her, he would end up with his throat cut just like the previous two. She pulled the knife out of her boot and approached him boldly.
Ari raised his head and smiled his usual warm smile in greeting.
“Góðan morgin, daughter of Gunnar.”
“Good morning,” she said as politely as possible. “What winds have blown you here?”
His demeanour became very businesslike. “I need to talk to you.”
She nodded and opened the door, granting him permission to come in and watched as he took a seat at the table. It was her father’s chair and she bristled. There was an air of ownership about the move, and she didn’t like it. Still holding the dagger in one hand, she put the rabbit on the table and looked down at her intruder.
“Can I offer you a cup of mead?” She fetched a pitcher. “I have a piece of apple pie left from yesterday.”
“If that pie is half as good as your mother’s, I won’t say no.” His smile was reserved, but it was there.
Fljótdís turned to face him. “My mother’s?”
“Don’t be so surprised, I knew her well, as I knew your father.”
She placed the plate of apple pie and a cup of mead in front of him. It was a struggle for her to be civil to him, but she had been taught to be polite to every guest who crossed this house’s threshold.
Fljótdís folded her arms in resistance. “If you knew them so well, why didn’t my father ever tell me about you?”
Ari took a large gulp of the mead and focused his gaze on the flames on the hearth, his words barely above a whisper.
“I loved your mother. She knew it. Your father knew it. Your father told me to stay away.”
It was all very clear to her now. “And he did right! You couldn’t have my mother, so now you want me.”
His expression was one of utter shock. “Gods, no! I mean, I do not want to marry you or insult you in any way. I want to be of help to you.”
She regarded him with suspicion a
nd mistrust. What the Hel did this man really have on his mind? “And in return?”
It was all some kind of trick. Worse still, this was a scheme of Irena’s or even the King’s, a way to be rid of her or to bring her to her knees once and for all. Well, it wasn’t going to work.
She put her knife on the table so Ari could see it and leaned very close to him. She had bested him in physical combat. It was time he understood that she would not let him defeat her in any other way. “Why would you want to help me, Ari? What’s in it for you?”
Ari looked at her with something close to sorrow, an uncustomary vulnerability. “I want to help you, Fljótdís, because if the gods had made a different decision, you could have been my daughter.”
It was too much. She had lost everyone she loved and now this man was trying to play on her emotions, trying to convince her he wanted to be a father to her. She had no need for another father. And if this bastard thought for a moment that she was going to fall into his trap, he was in for a world of disappointment.
“I don’t have to listen to this!” Fljótdís swiped up her blade, but Ari grabbed her wrist, holding it tightly. She tried to free herself from this grip, but he had too much strength.
Ari didn’t underestimate her anger as he held her firmly. He spoke softly, but his words were filled with frustration and determination. “Listen to me, gods’ damn, Fljótdís, you are alone here. There have already been attempts to take you by force. You are in danger. Men in town talk about you. They know that you are alone here. It is only a matter of time till they will try to have you, freely or with injury.”
Fljotis focused on her father’s cloak by the door, trying not to admit to herself that Ari was right. To admit it would make her weak. She could not afford that, not to herself and most of all, not to him. But what could she do? She had no one to help her. Even Irena had given up on trying to make her into something she was not. Irena would be glad to see her fall victim to her own independence. The anger inside her was white hot. She gave Ari a glare that smouldered with rage. By all she held dear, she would not admit helplessness.
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 3