“Who was this Viking who fought against you in your dreams?” I asked, a sudden dread raising the hair on my arms.
Freydis shook her head angrily, as if to banish the memory. “He no longer matters. He ran away like a coward. He couldn’t have survived alone in the wilderness.” She spoke as if to convince herself. “He must be dead by now.”
I swallowed. Brandr wasn’t merely the hapless victim of Freydis’s rage; he was the enemy that strode through her nightmares—and he didn’t even know it.
She continued her tale. “Winter approached—I knew we should wait until spring to travel. But I had to obey the gods’ warning and go back to Greenland. The men didn’t believe my tales of skraeling armies and Frost Giants. They thought me mad—perhaps they still do. But my dreams were clear, and they kept coming. Night after sleepless night. So we set off, and when the sea stayed open for us, even as winter descended, I knew I’d made the right choice. But now the ocean freezes around us and stops our journey entirely.”
She paused and looked up from her loom to stare at me with stormy eyes. I tried to look solemn and wise, when in truth I had no idea what she wanted from me. When she spoke again, her voice trembled. “Was I wrong? Did the Aesir want me to stay in Vinland? I’ve always been a faithful follower of Thor… and yet I have no answers.” She clasped the hammer pendant around her neck. “Tell me what the gods intend.” She did not beg as an Inuk might entreat an angakkuq. Freydis Eriksdottir never begged. She commanded.
Even if I’d still possessed my magic, I couldn’t help her. What did I know of Odin and Thor besides the stories Brandr had told me? Still, she’d given me a sort of power—one I wouldn’t fail to wield.
“I will speak with your gods,” I said. “But only if you will let me care for my brother.” Give something, ask for something else. I’d learned such bargaining tactics from her. “And you will make sure Ingharr doesn’t hurt either of us again.”
Freydis’s chin bobbed in the smallest gesture of acquiescence. It was all the promise I would get from her.
I let my eyes flutter closed. After a long moment, I began to shudder and shake, as if possessed by my helping spirit. I am a fool and a fake, I knew. Ataata would be ashamed. But if it meant saving Kiasik, I would do whatever it took.
My eyes flew open; my hands stretched toward Freydis. “I have heard the words of Thor,” I intoned, deepening my voice. “He looked at me with eyes as brilliant as lightning, a voice as loud as thunder, a beard as bright as sunlight. He sings his praise for you, his favorite child, whom he has graced with hair like his own.”
To my surprise, the tall woman left her loom and knelt beside me. We were closer than we’d ever been. Her sharp nose reminded me of Brandr’s, but never had his gaze pierced like steel. “You see the god clearly. You have magic, indeed,” she said. “Tell me, what should I do?”
What more can any mortal say of the gods than that we cannot always understand their ways? But I wouldn’t pass up the chance to protect not just my brother, but my entire family. I would ensure the Norse never threatened us again.
I summoned all my knowledge of the Aesir and the Jotuns. “Thor says beware Loki the Trickster!” I cried, my eyes glazed. “When the gods seem contrary and their signs confused, Loki the Jotun must be at work! You have done all Thor has asked, and now he wants you home. He opened the sea for you, but now Loki freezes it with his Frost Giant magic. It is he who would trap you here, powerless against his wiles.”
Freydis looked at me like a hooked fish, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Thor says you must not give up hope. He will protect you.” I lowered my voice and spoke in an urgent whisper. “But only if you stay in this camp. You must never stray inland, nor walk northward along the shore. That is where Loki presides, and Thor will be of no help to you. As soon as the ice melts—leave. This is Loki’s world—not yours.” My eyes closed once more. My arms fell limp.
Freydis nodded. “So I was right.” She clutched her hammer pendant once more, as if to assure herself of Thor’s protection. “We will follow the gods’ will, and stay in this camp only as long as we must.” For a heartbeat, she bowed her head to me. That was as close as she would come to gratitude. She stood and wrapped a fur cloak around her shoulders.
“I’ve done what you asked,” I ventured. “Now my brother and I would return to our people. Let us leave this place.”
Freydis’s mouth twisted. “Oh no, little seer. I promised to help you—not release you. You’re more useful than I thought.” She picked up her thread and spindle, then stared down at me one last time. “And remember, if you want to keep my protection, not a word about this to anyone. My men must never know I sought a skraeling’s advice.” She strode from the tent.
I sank back on the pallet beside Kiasik, my lies more exhausting than any trek through ice and snow. Puja and the others, at least, would be safe for now. But Kiasik and I were still at Freydis’s mercy. And Brandr…?
Muirenn chuckled from her spot in the corner of the tent, where she crouched beside a basket of wool. I’d nearly forgotten she was there. “You’re smarter even than you know,” she said.
I grunted. I didn’t feel particularly smart. Only tired.
The thrall clambered to her feet with a groan, patted my brother’s hollow cheek, and flashed me a crooked smile. “The mistress reeled in a slippery fish when she pulled you from the sea.”
More than a fish, I thought, watching the old woman go. A shark.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
With Muirenn gone, Kiasik and I were finally alone in Freydis’s tent.
He seized my hand in his. “When are we getting out of here?” His words were strong but his voice rasping and weak.
Right away, I longed to say. But that would be a lie. “As soon as we can.”
“Did you see the mountain?” he begged. “We’re near the Land of the Great Whale.”
“Our camp is still many days away, and you—”
“But if the mountain is close enough to see,” Kiasik interrupted, “then our family’s close enough to reach. We can go home.”
“We would have to move swiftly,” I cautioned. “You’re so weak—”
“Not so weak I can’t run.”
He’d always been brave, my milk-brother. Too brave. He could barely walk, and a journey would surely finish the work the Norse had already begun. I placed my free hand on his, noting a new kink in his longest finger. In breaking his bones and tearing his skin, Ingharr and his men had opened a path for evil spirits to enter Kiasik’s body. It would take a real angakkuq to chase them away again.
“Freydis said she’d protect us,” I assured him. “And I’ve made sure our family will be safe for now.” I explained the lie I’d told the Norsewoman; she would keep her men from wandering far.
“That won’t stop Ingharr from killing us whenever he feels like it,” Kiasik insisted. “You don’t know him like I do. We run. We run now.”
Every instinct cried out for me to agree. Perhaps he’s stronger than he looks, I reasoned. And if his strength fails, I could use his cloak as a sled and drag him home.
A wracking cough tore from his throat. He curled around the pain in his chest. When the fit passed, his lips were speckled with blood.
“You can’t travel,” I said firmly. “Not like this.” I held up a hand before he could protest. “No. We wait until you’re healed. Freydis will look after us. She’ll make sure you get some decent food, and I’ll take care of you. Then, as soon as you can walk without collapsing, we leave. I promise.”
Muirenn bustled back inside before Kiasik could say anything more. “You have to leave the tent, my dears.”
“Freydis said—”
“Sorry, but she and her husband need the pallet for a spell.” Muirenn blinked one eye at me, conveying some inscrutable message.
With Kiasik leaning heavily on my shoulder, we stumbled from the tent. Freydis watched me coldly; Thorvard Einarsson had eyes only for his wife. His chee
ks were flushed, his needs clear from the bulge in his trousers. Muirenn held the flap open for them. Before she let it fall, I saw Thorvard grab his wife around the waist, his thick hands pulling at her green gown. Freydis stiffened as he placed his mouth on hers, his lips moving ravenously.
“Why—why is he doing that?” I asked Muirenn.
“Oh, you are a young one! Never seen a man bed his wife?”
“No, I mean… biting her. On her mouth,” I whispered, wondering why Muirenn wasn’t as shocked as I.
The old woman looked confused for a moment. “You mean, when he kissed her?”
“Kissed?”
She burst into laughter. “Never seen anyone kiss before? Well, what a strange girl you are! I’d kiss you myself to show you how, but it’s not the same coming from an old woman. You need some strong young man to do it for you.” She blinked one eye again and scuttled off to help the other thralls unload Freydis’s possessions.
I helped Kiasik hobble behind a low hillock and lowered him gently to the ground. He leaned against the snow, too tired to worry about the cold. I huddled beside him, wrapping my arms around him and wishing for a good fur parka. As his eyes drifted shut, I touched my own lips tentatively. Ice bears clacked their jaws together before mating. I’d always thought it a violent act—the male was often already bloody from fighting off his competition. Yet when I thought of Brandr’s jaw beneath my fingers that last night in our qarmaq—
Ingharr’s braying voice yanked me from my memory. “So Freydis is done with you.”
I’d hoped to rest out of sight for a moment; now I feared what Ingharr would do without the others watching. Kiasik dug his fingers into my arm. He had told me to run.
Ingharr’s hand strayed toward the handle of his sword. “Thorvard is in there enjoying himself. Now it’s my turn, ambatt.”
“Freydis protects us.”
“Freydis gave you to me.”
I would never understand these Norse and their talk of ownership. If Ingharr truly claimed me, then perhaps, for all my clever lies, Freydis couldn’t help me even if she wanted to. But men were men. I knew one thing that could dampen his lust: fear.
“I speak with the Aesir,” I warned him, rising to my feet. “They will avenge any wrong you do me.”
“Then why do you wear a thrall’s torque?” His lip curled. “You’re just another kunta to me.”
My milk-brother might not have known the words, but he understood the tone. He jerked forward unsteadily, as if he would rise to defend me. Ingharr didn’t bother drawing his sword. He simply slammed his boot beneath Kiasik’s chin. Black hair flying, Kiasik’s head whipped backward, his torso following. He fell hard, eyes closed.
Before I could go to my brother, Ingharr charged, grabbing me with both hands. He spun me to the ground, pinning me beneath his weight, and fumbled for the hem of my dress.
I drove my fists into his shoulders, his back.
His roving hand found my bare thigh.
I screamed my defiance in my own tongue. “Nuqqarit!” Stop. The same word had ripped from my throat moons before, when I’d watched Ingharr crush Kidla’s son beneath his boot.
“Nuqqarit!” I shouted again, baring my teeth in a snarl.
His face froze above mine, his mouth dropping open in sudden recognition.
I slammed my knee into his groin.
He curled like a snail. I crab-walked out of his reach and scrambled to my feet.
“Not just another kunta after all,” he gasped. Something like a laugh croaked between his words. “I remember you now… The skraeling with the harpoon beside the silly little snow hut.” He lurched to one knee. Then, bracing himself against the ground, to his feet. One hand drifted to his lower ribs. “I have you to thank for this scar.”
His sword rasped from its scabbard.
I did not flinch. Never again would I allow a man to touch me as Issuk had. I’d fling my own breast upon his sword if I had to—but I’d much rather turn the blade on him instead.
His lust had drained away, replaced not by fear, but by rage. “I owe you a wound, I think.” He leveled his blade at me. “Shall it be here?” He moved his sword point toward my waist. Then lower. “Or here?”
“You wouldn’t dare touch me, Ingharr Ketilsson,” I said slowly, my eyes never leaving his. “Didn’t you hear? I am more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” I raised my arms straight above my head, as if I would call down the Sun herself to punish this man before me.
“Oh, I doubt that, skraeling. I saw you trembling when I ripped the clothes from your body. You cower like any woman.”
“Then how can I speak Norse?”
He shrugged. Then he swung, so suddenly I barely had time to twist away. The blade cut through the air—a gust of cold raked my cheek in its wake.
“And how can I read your mind?” I shouted, desperate now. I thrust my finger toward him. “You think you should be the leader of this doomed journey. In Vinland you said, ‘Thorvard Einarsson is a mewling coward. Freydis Eriksdottir is a greedy fool.’ I was not there, and yet I know these things!”
Ingharr’s eyes grew huge. “Shut your mouth!”
I stood my ground. “If you strike me or my brother again, I’ll tell everyone of your disloyalty. Freydis will believe me.”
“Then I’ll have to kill you before you say another word.”
“You still don’t believe in my power, Norseman? You couldn’t harm me even if you tried.” I glared at him, summoning the strength I’d learned from Ataata, from Singarti. Had I been a wolf, my hair would’ve stood on end, my tail flattened like a spear. Freydis thought I was the wise one. Instead, I’d learned from her. A woman didn’t need a weapon to control a man.
Doubt crossed Ingharr’s face. He no longer knew if attacking me was worth the risk. He took a tentative step backward, his sword lowering. I’d won. He would leave me and Kiasik alone, at least for a while. Kiasik would heal. We would steal supplies. We would escape.
I should not have goaded him with my gloating. If I had hidden my feelings of triumph, my story would be a different one.
But I have always been proud.
I smirked at his surrender.
Ingharr’s cheeks flared red. He lifted his sword overhead.
I raised my arms above my face. A useless shield against edged iron.
“Ingharr Ketilsson!” Snorri panted, running toward us. “Ketilsson!”
“Off with you, boy,” Ingharr growled.
Snorri continued, undaunted. “Freydis sent me to give you this.” He held out a narrow twisted armband made not of iron or steel, but of solid sunlight. Beast heads capped each end of the braided crescent. The same creatures that rode upon the knarrs’ prows. I knew their name now: dragons.
Ingharr lowered his sword and took the proffered gift. “This was Finnbogi’s armband,” he said, turning it to catch the light.
“Until Thorvard took it and gave it to Freydis. And now she gives it to you.” Snorri cast me a worried glance. “In payment for your injury.”
“She said the thrall would serve as my ambatt. That was my payment.” Ingharr’s fist tightened around the gold circlet.
“Now she offers gold instead. A fair trade for two useless thralls.”
“Two?”
Snorri swallowed. “She wants to buy the sick one from you. He’s near death. Why would you want another mouth to feed?”
“Why would she?”
Snorri glanced in the direction of Freydis’s tent, as if afraid of being overheard. “Perhaps she feels remorse for killing the ambatts,” he whispered. “Perhaps she’s tired of blood.”
“Freydis will never be tired of blood.” Ingharr’s pale gaze fixed on me, his suspicions clear. I let a small smile play across my lips. Let him think I’m powerful enough to bewitch Freydis, to convince her to part with her treasure to save my life. The Norseman pulled at his braided beard in obvious discomfort, then gave a snort of disgust. “Freydis makes a bargain. Freydis breaks a bargai
n. The woman is sly as a fox and just as slippery.” Still, he pushed the armband up his forearm. It was too narrow for his bicep—Finnbogi must have been a slimmer man.
He looked at me one last time, his gaze still hungry. But if Freydis was a fox—I was a wolf. I stared back, unbowed. I have ripped the throat from my prey with my bare teeth. I will not hesitate to do the same to you.
As if he’d heard my silent vow, Ingharr turned away.
I hurried to Kiasik’s side. He was still unconscious, but his breath came evenly. He still had a chance. Snorri came to help me lift him. “Thank you,” I said to the boy. “For everything.”
He gave me a shy smile. “Thank Muirenn. She’s the one who gave me the armband.”
“Without asking Freydis?”
“Freydis was with her husband, and Muirenn said her mistress would understand.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “She said Freydis had promised to protect you, and that was one vow she had to keep, even if it meant breaking faith with Ingharr. She said you’re”—he swallowed hard—“more powerful than he is. Is that true?”
No, I wanted to say. If I were truly powerful, I would chase the evil spirits from Kiasik’s body, seize him in my raven’s beak, and fly him home to where we both belong. Instead I stand here amid strangers, with my brother dying in my arms. But I said nothing. Just smiled my small smile and let Snorri believe what he would.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
For a full turning of the Moon, Ingharr tracked me through camp like a hunter sniffing for prey. But he never pounced.
Freydis did not punish Muirenn for giving away the gold armband, though her eyes narrowed every time she saw it upon Ingharr’s forearm. As if to make sure I was worth the price she’d paid for me, Freydis kept me close, twisting prophecies from me as surely as she pulled thread from wool. I didn’t care. I would make up tales all night long if it meant giving Kiasik a chance to heal.
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