Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2)

by Johanne Hildebrandt

  “Sigrid, Your Highness, I ask you as an intimate of Vanadís to personally send the girl to the afterworld,” Ingeborg said. “Then we’ll know for sure that Freya will let her serve my husband when he arrives at Folkvang.”

  Not that! Nausea ached in Sigrid’s belly. She really had no desire to send a young girl to the afterworld just to placate a vengeful widow. Sigrid noted all the expectant looks on the faces in the room. Ingeborg snuffled as her wide-eyed children clung tightly to her dress.

  Sigrid inclined her head with dignity.

  “As you wish.”

  She had no choice, and who was she to refuse the power of the Radiant One?

  “It’s going to be hilarious watching old Ax-Wolf try to keep that new wife of his in check,” Palna said with a wry smile as they walked across the courtyard, surrounded by Lejre’s splendid halls.

  Groups of warriors stood loudly chatting together as it grew dark, and fires burning outside tents filled the field a little farther off.

  “I’ve never seen the old guy so bewildered as when she led him away, like a castrated ox on his way to slaughter,” Åke replied, and they laughed along with Ragnvald and the rest of the men.

  Sweyn smiled faintly. This was the first time Palna and Åke had agreed on anything since Jómsborg, and it was heartening to see that Palna was no longer angry at his son.

  “I’ll ask Ax-Wolf to be jarl of Northern Zealand. I couldn’t get a better man to watch over my land,” Sweyn said.

  “The chieftains are expecting you to pick one of them,” Åke said, eyeing him skeptically.

  “Well, then they shouldn’t have been serving Erik behind my back.”

  Åke shrugged and grinned broadly.

  “Poor guy, he’s going to have a lot of hard work ahead of him.”

  Sweyn looked out at his ancestor’s barrows, the burial mounds that rose near the water’s edge. The grove of majestic oaks where he’d offered the sacrifice with Sigrid during the summer festival waved in the wind, and he could hear some quiet lute music coming from the open doors of the royal hall. She had paved the way for his victory. He took a deep breath of the warm summer air, the longing aching in his chest like an old, familiar wound. Sigrid was beautiful and not married. She could still be his.

  “Would you get this over with already?” Åke said with a sigh. “I’m so sick of watching you pine for that Tostedotter woman. I can’t take it anymore. She’s a widow now, so there’s nothing to stop her from marrying you.”

  Sweyn adjusted his belt and looked at the oak trees.

  “If I repudiate Gunhilda, I’ll lose the Scanians’ support,” he replied bitterly.

  There was no point in nourishing a hope with no future if he was about to die in battle. Saying that out loud to his men would break their fighting spirit, but any of them with any sense understood that their victory against the Svea had come far too easily and the Saxon threat remained. Odo wasn’t going to back down. There was going to be a war in the south, and what Sweyn needed now was men, not a wife.

  Palna’s face twitched, and he hesitated before speaking.

  “The intimacy between two people that the gods grant a man and a woman is good,” he said, sounding depressed in a way that was very unlike the rugged old leader. “If the gods will it, then take what you want. No man can control them, and life is too short to waste.”

  With those words Palna left them, and as he walked away across the courtyard, Sweyn noticed that his foster father was looking older.

  “His manhood really took a hit with the loss of Jómsborg,” Åke said.

  Sweyn nodded, but the words bothered him. When he was a young man, he had decided that Sigrid Tostedotter would be his, but fifteen years had elapsed, and now his death was rapidly approaching. If he didn’t do it now, the yearning he had harbored for so long would never be stilled. One single night had lasted for half a lifetime, so why should he give up a brief moment of joy before he went to the afterworld?

  He turned to Ragnvald, the warrior who had reliably served him for so many years. He was the right one to convey a new marriage proposal to Sigrid, and if he sailed at dawn, he could be there in a couple of days. Suddenly impatience became an excruciating burden, and Sweyn couldn’t understand what he was waiting for. She could join him soon, here in Lejre. A single instant with her would be enough to tide him over until the afterworld. He took a deep breath and was just about to give the order when Palna’s voice echoed in the courtyard.

  “Listen up, everyone: Gather the men! We’re heading out,” Palna announced. “The Saxons are marching toward Hedeby.”

  Sweyn nodded somberly and put his hand on his sword hilt. Then it was already too late. All that awaited him was death on the battlefield.

  The drums echoed like thunder around the ship in which Ulf lay, dressed for battle with his sword on his chest. Around his neck he wore a heavy gold chain, and his shoes were embellished with amber that had been stitched to the leather. His most loyal dog lay dead by his side, as did his horse, still wearing its finest harness, and all the other gifts that he was bringing to the afterworld.

  “You’ll want for nothing,” Sigrid murmured, looking down at her brother’s body.

  The torchlight danced over Ulf’s face when he opened his eyes, and there was only atonement in them. The past was laid to rest. Dark clouds hid the moon, and Sigrid took a deep breath when she saw the beings sweeping down toward them from the sky.

  “The valkyries are here,” she called out to the people who stood along the shore, so many that their torches lit up the beach as bright as daylight.

  The dark bellow of the death horns echoed over the water, and the maidservant was led out to the ship.

  Dressed in a light-colored dress, with silver jewelry around her neck and wrists, she was truly a magnificent gift. The death dís followed behind her with the box full of silk and the other things the maidservant would take to the afterworld with her.

  Ulf’s mistress walked along the shore, but then she stopped. She didn’t seem to know where she was. She turned around and started walking back, and the warriors had to grab hold of her and lift her over the gunwale, onto the wooden boat.

  The girl was so drunk on potion that she was already wandering between the worlds. She had been escorted among the male members of Ulf’s family, there to say their good-byes to their departed kinsman and chieftain by having sex with his barrow gift, and passing their greetings on to her so that she could share them with Ulf. Sigrid took a firmer hold of the rope she held as Ulf’s mistress was brought to her.

  “What do you see?” she asked in a loud voice.

  Nanna whispered something into the girl’s ear before the men lifted the girl toward the sky, their arms straight.

  “I see my master waiting,” Dagrun called out, reaching her hand into the air. “He asks me to come to him.”

  “Your wish will come true,” Sigrid cried out, and placed the rope around the girl’s neck.

  She gave one end to Sölve and the other to Runar, the men who’d been closest to her brother, and then pulled out her dagger, which she raised to the sky.

  “Hel, I beseech you to bless this gift and let her serve my brother.”

  An instant of clarity flashed in the girl’s eyes as she realized what was about to happen.

  “I don’t want to anymore,” she sobbed, and tried to wriggle free. “I want to live.”

  Fear and mortal dread shone from her eyes.

  “No, I don’t want to die!”

  The men pushed her down and held her firmly while she sobbed and pleaded for her life. Sigrid raised the dagger to Vanadís in the sky. The valkyries’ whispering voices filled the darkness as they swept back and forth over the ship, coveting the life they were here to take away. They filled the ship with such power that the air vibrated and it was barely possible to breathe.

  “Mighty Vanadís, O Radiant One. Let your valkyries take Ulf Tosteson, the leader of the Scylfing chieftains. He is worthy for accepta
nce into your hall among the greatest warriors.”

  Shrill shrieks were heard from the darkness, and eternity opened in the sky, an infinite spiral that slowly rotated through time.

  The sour stink of piss filled the boat as the girl wet herself. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks.

  “I don’t want to die! I changed my mind!”

  Sigrid took a firm hold of her knife and nodded to the men, who pulled the rope tight around her neck.

  Gasping, the girl flailed her arms as Sigrid once again raised her knife.

  “I dedicate you to Chieftain Ulf, beloved by the Scylfings,” Sigrid announced, and stabbed the knife into the girl’s chest.

  The knife hit a rib and did not pierce her heart. Damn it! The girl’s blue-black tongue was already starting to swell out of her mouth as Sigrid thrust again and this time hit the heart. Two death throes shook the girl, and she was dead.

  Sigrid stood up, holding the knife up to her kinfolk on the beach.

  “It is done,” she said, and then smoothed the girl’s dress before leaving the body and returning to shore.

  Toste held a burning torch aloft and then tossed it into the ship. Sigrid went to stand beside her father, watching as each of her relatives tossed a torch. As the ship slid out over the glassy water, the flames engulfed it with a roar. The blazing fire liberated her brother from where he floated on the calm water, and he rose with the dark smoke toward the lights of Folkvang in the sky.

  Sigrid’s heart sang with joy as the valkyries lifted her brother to Vanadís, because she knew he was blessed.

  The widow Ingeborg stood with dignity, her children by her side, and the crowd around them stared at the ship, filled with respect for the gods and the Scylfing tribe.

  All power required sacrifice.

  That was how it was, and it had always been that way.

  Right then the claws of grief eased their hold on her heart, and she could once again breathe freely. Sigrid raised her head and vigilantly looked around. Estrid was alive. She could feel her presence just as clearly as if the girl stood beside her. After all this time, she was finally certain.

  “One offering for another,” Sigrid whispered, and bowed her head in gratitude, feeling relieved.

  Estrid was alive, and she was free. The gods were watching over her daughter, and nothing else mattered.

  “Please wake up!”

  Estrid stared up at Vidya’s face, which was hovering over her, surrounded by a grove of tall trees and a clear blue sky. She sat up, her heart pounding, and looked around. The sun was in the middle of the sky, and its heat was sweltering even through the trees. All the colors felt more vibrant than before, and she felt strange and light, as if she were floating over the ground without a care.

  The white God had shown her paradise and God’s plan for mankind on earth. Estrid looked in amazement at the scraped knuckles on her hand as joy sang in her chest. She was free from the valley.

  “I don’t remember how we got here,” she said.

  Vidya was pale as snow, and her shift was soiled with mud and blood as she moved a bit away from her.

  “You ran beside me until you fell down.”

  Only now did Estrid notice how her body ached, but it didn’t matter at all. Irrepressible joy ran through her blood.

  “We escaped,” she said.

  “God saved us. It was a miracle,” Vidya confirmed, her face lighting up in a smile.

  “Yes,” Estrid whispered.

  Everything was going to be fine. The trees whispered comfortingly, and the earth held her securely in its embrace. Then the memory came back, and grief hit her in the gut.

  “Katla,” she managed to say.

  Her beloved had left them on the mountainside to fight Anund’s men. Katla had sacrificed herself so Estrid would make it to safety. Her only friend and love, the mighty death dís, was gone. Estrid curled up in a fetal position as she fully grasped what had happened during their nightmare flight up the mountainside. Katla was a dís, not fully of this world. Fear bit into Estrid’s belly.

  The death goddess’s servant had been by Estrid’s side her whole life, protecting and guiding her.

  “Katla is gone and I’m alone,” she said, stunned.

  Vidya moved still farther from her, looking worried and confused. She gulped and seemed to be searching for the right words before she spoke.

  “God liberated you from the demon so you could embrace life and the true faith,” she said, laboriously standing up, her injured arm dangling uselessly at her side.

  Demon? Estrid glared at the worthless slave.

  “You owe Katla your life! Without her you would still be in captivity, shackled to Agnatyr’s stake.”

  Vidya swallowed and looked down. She stood silent for a long time before speaking again.

  “That’s true, and I am grateful. But God’s miracle delivered us, and I can see that you’re not the same anymore. Let us honor life and keep going. If we stop here, we will surely be found and killed.”

  The slave’s words seemed correct and reasonable. Estrid’s body felt strangely light as she got to her feet. She studied the slave’s arm, which was badly injured from the dog bite that had penetrated all the way to the bone. Vidya moaned in pain and pulled away when Estrid grazed the swollen wound.

  “That’s quite a bite, and it’s going to get worse if we don’t cauterize it.”

  “There isn’t time. We have to keep going,” Vidya said, and started walking.

  Estrid picked up the bundle Vidya had left in the grass and followed the slave.

  A warm wind blew, rustling and clicking through the leaves of the trees, and the birds sang, gloating at the day. The immense Iron-Wood towered around them with all its hazards, but Estrid didn’t fear it.

  “You could have left me to die on the mountain,” Vidya said. “Why did you come back instead of just saving yourself?”

  Estrid squinted at the sun.

  She had wandered dead through the underworld, and it wasn’t until she had shown a slave mercy that the white god had rescued her from the darkness. Now she was reborn and healed by the light. Where death and darkness had dwelled before, there were now only life and bliss, and she knew the will of the white god. Everything she had previously learned to fear had become her salvation, thanks to Vidar, who sacrificed himself for her sake.

  “I didn’t save you,” she said, smiling at the slave, with happiness coursing through her body. “I saved myself.”

  Sweyn and Sigrid were walking together through a forest of tall oak trees, bathed in the light of the full moon. She was as beautiful as a dís with her blond hair spilling like moonbeams over her shoulders and her eyes washing away all death and sin so he was made pure again. There was no fear or death with her, only purity and joy.

  Without a word, she took his hand, and they walked along the road lined by the dead, who stood like pale shadows in rows three deep. They stared accusingly at him for having taken their lives, but they couldn’t get to him, not with her walking beside him.

  Sigrid smiled serenely as they reached the sacrificial oak, where they had once lain together in their youth, and there she let go of his hand.

  “There’s still time,” she said, slipping free of his hand and disappearing off between the oak trees so he was left standing alone in the dark.

  A hand roughly shook Sweyn’s shoulder.

  “Quit your yammering,” Åke, his foster brother, said, grinning crudely at Sweyn’s confusion. “We’ll be there soon.”

  Sweyn sat up in the tilting ship as the men rowed rhythmically for shore. Still half-asleep, Sweyn leaned over the gunwale and splashed some water on his face before shaking off sleep and standing up.

  “Hard to say whether it bodes well that you’ve been muttering that Tostedotter woman’s name before we even arrive in Hedeby,” Åke said.

  “It’s an omen of success,” Sweyn replied tersely, and tightened Battle-Fire’s sword belt around his waist.

  H
e’d certainly rather dream about Sigrid than his father’s ghost, who hadn’t visited him for a long time now.

  The promise that there was still time, communicated through his dream, also boded well in the face of the upcoming war against an enemy that outnumbered his forces, an enemy that made Erik of Svealand look like a rural farmer.

  At the end of the inlet before them, the mighty Hedeby was spread out like a pile of cow manure, surrounded by piers and high earthworks. The stench from the densely packed buildings crowded within the walls was so strong, he could smell it all the way out on the ship.

  Ships from all over the world crowded the harbor, trading in spices, leather, ochre, slaves, bronze, and whatever else. You could buy anything in the world along those odiferous streets, where Norwegians jostled with Muhammedans from Serkland and Obotrites haggled with Rus, Angles, Franks, and sometimes men from as far away as Bláland in the south. The market was like an insatiable mistress, parting her legs and offering to do anything for a piece of silver, and everyone wanted her.

  Sweyn stood at the prow and surveyed the jumble of thatched roofs that could be made out in the early-dawn light. The bells chimed dully from the bishop’s church, which sat within the two walls that protected the town, but even the walls couldn’t muffle the sound that drove away the old gods.

  “Well, it’s time to battle Odo for the jewel of Jutland,” Sweyn said. “Maybe this will be fun.”

  “He thinks you’re weak,” Åke said as the ship headed over toward the royal castle that towered on the hill, high above the stinking town.

  Sweyn smirked and raised his hand in greeting to the men waiting along the shore.

  “He ought to know better than that.”

  Sweyn hopped over the gunwale and waded toward Sten Starke, who waited on shore, dressed in the baggy breeches of the East and a colorful tunic of sumptuous fabric.

  “My king,” he said cordially, “I thank the gods for sending you.”

  The old warrior had grown corpulent, and the face around his eyes was so fleshy, he closely resembled a pig. The jarl was the slipperiest fellow Sweyn had ever met, but he’d always served Sweyn well and would continue to do so as long as it benefited him.