Chapter 14 Freya
I woke at dawn to Hati licking my face and frost on the ground surrounding camp. Bjorn was already seeing to the horses, so I swiftly made porridge and then packed my things. The pair of us were on the road before the sun had fully crested the sky, sleep having done much to repair my composure.
But with composure came logic and reason, and trepidation marched along with them. It was because of Saga that Bjorn and Harald had pursued my death. She’d seemingly dedicated much of her life to destroying the future she feared. Even if Harald was correct in his interpretation that there was nuance in how that might be accomplished, it was not lost on me that the path Saga pursued might put me in the grave. That she might still want me dead, and I was riding directly toward her.
Bjorn and I had not exchanged so much as a single word, but clinging to silence when he might offer some insight seemed like willful stupidity. “Will your mother try to kill me herself?”
Bjorn’s horse sidled into the brush, which drew muttered curses from his lips. “No,” he answered. “She has no stomach for violence.”
“Poison in my cup will serve just as well.” And I’d seen several plants in our travels that would easily accomplish such a task. “She is as unfated as you are, so her actions can change the future.”
He furrowed his brow. “It would be out of character. She’s never killed anyone.”
“Given she ordered her son to kill a woman neither of you had ever met, I struggle to believe poison beneath her.”
His eyes flicked to the wolves trotting ahead of us, then he met my gaze and mouthed, “We can change course. We can leave Nordeland.”
“What was that?” I asked. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch what you said.”
Skoll stopped on the path and turned to regard us, confirming my suspicion that these were no simple wolves.
Bjorn glared at me, but I only said, “Saga is the one person who might be able to aid me. I simply wish to know how much caution I need to show around her.”
Silence stretched and my discomfort grew. Bjorn finally said, “I’ve been away from my mother for long years, Freya. Much could have changed. So I would suggest you take every caution.”
“Understood.” My answer was toneless, but unease turned my mouth dry as sand.
The path became more overgrown as we climbed. Rocky enough that our horses could go no faster than a trot, often forced to walk slowly around obstacles that had fallen. Bjorn always dismounted and took the time to move away debris, and from his muttering, it was clear he was displeased that this trail had not been cared for in his absence. I was less surprised given that we saw no signs of habitation—it seemed that if Saga desired isolation, she’d chosen this location well. It was just before midday when I spotted signs of human life in a pair of posts flanking the path, both heavily decorated with carvings.
“There is a perimeter of runes around her home,” Bjorn said. “They warn her of arrivals and dissuade those who might wish her harm.”
“She knows runic magic?” I asked, my discomfort growing because that made her significantly more dangerous. Ylva had taught me that.
“No.” He slowed his horse alongside mine, our knees bumping when his horse tripped on a rock. “Harald carved them. He’s very cautious with her safety.”
“How do you feel about them being together?” Knowing it would annoy him, I added, “Were they fucking before you came to Nordeland or did that only happen after?”
Bjorn gave me a flat glare. “It is not my business. Ask her what you wish to know. It isn’t as if you believe a word I say.”
Digging in his heels, he cantered down the path ahead of me, a cabin with two outbuildings appearing through the trees. Smoke rose from the opening in the roof, and my nose picked up the faint scent of baking bread.
As we reined in our horses in front of the cabin, a woman wearing a green dress trimmed with fur stepped out of the doorway. The shawl draped over her head in combination with the shadows cast by the trees made it hard to see her face, but as I dismounted, she came closer.
My shock nearly caused me to drop the reins of my horse, because Bjorn’s mother was beautiful.
Rather than showing surprise at our presence, Saga smiled happily and declared, “My son has returned!” then skipped to Bjorn. Reaching up, she cupped her hands around his cheeks, tiny before Bjorn’s impressive bulk. “Foolish boy. You know better than to fall for a huldra’s song. They love your pretty face and always come for you. Didn’t Troels save you from the previous one?”
Though I knew her to be a seer, her knowledge of what had befallen us was still unnerving.
“I was distracted.”
Saga made a humming noise but pulled him into an embrace before kissing both his cheeks. “It is your good fortune that you have proven to have excellent taste in women.”
I twitched, because those were not words one said about someone you had dedicated your life to killing.
“Freya is not mine, Mother.”
“Because you did not listen.” Saga shook her finger at him. “I told you, my darling. I told you to steal her that night at Fjalltindr. That you should tie her up and put her over your shoulder, never once looking back. Instead, you made her love you while lying to her, and now she will not forgive you.” She gave him a gentle cuff. “How is a boy of my blood so stupid?”
Bjorn crossed his arms. “You only told me that Harald might kill her outside the confines of the temple. He has been honest with me since, so you can let go of the deception.”
Saga shrugged. “My assessment of your behavior stands.”
Before he could answer, she turned away from him and strode to me. As I stared into her green eyes, the color identical to Bjorn’s, I found it hard to breathe. It should have been no shock that she was lovely given how beautiful Bjorn was. But face-to-face, it was striking. Her blue-black hair hung in long silken lengths to her waist, skin as suntanned as her son’s, and entirely unmarked by age despite her having to be nearly twenty years my senior. She was slender in the waist but curved in both breast and hip, and her face possessed the sort of perfection that seemed almost divine. High cheekbones and wide eyes, with full lips curved into a bow that any man, and many women, would be desperate to kiss.
And I realized I’d seen her before.
“You were at Fjalltindr,” I breathed. “You passed us while we were walking to the ritual. You wore a headdress of raven’s feathers.”
“I was there,” Saga answered. “The Allfather warned me that my son would struggle to keep to his path, so I journeyed back to my homeland to guide him.” She turned her head to give Bjorn a sour look. “Not that he listened. Even so, with that many Unfated present at Fjalltindr, I was hopeful that threads would twist and my visions would change.”
“How often does that happen?” I was desperate for her wisdom and comforted by the certainty that Odin would demand she speak the truth. “How often do the Unfated change the future you have foreseen?”
“More rarely than you might think.” Her green eyes searched mine, long black lashes sweeping down. I wondered what she saw. “The Norns know our hearts and minds as well as we do ourselves, and their ability to predict what we will do is rarely faulty. It is only when the Unfated go against their nature that the threads must be rewoven. It was why I hoped that Bjorn killing you would change things, for it is not in his nature to murder pretty young women. He had to do something entirely at odds with who he is.”
“I see.” Though she was bluntly explaining plans for my death, my thoughts were all for the times I’d tried to change fate. My failures now made sense. Then my skin prickled and our eyes locked. “Is it out of your character to murder pretty young women, Saga? Will you attempt to rectify Bjorn’s failures now that I am within reach? A knife in the back? Poison in my cup?”
Bjorn tensed, but I ignored him as I tried and failed to read Saga’s expression.
Tension mounted, breath and wind the only sounds to break the silence.
“If you try to harm Freya, Mother, I will stop you,” Bjorn said softly. “If I fail to stop you, I will follow her to Valhalla. I swear it on Tyr’s name.”
My chest clenched so painfully I could barely breathe, his words eliciting a twist of emotion in my core.
Saga only rolled her eyes. “You inherited Snorri’s penchant for dramatics, Bjorn. Rest easy, no one will die today. I swear it on Odin’s name.”
Linking arms with me, she gave Bjorn a pointed stare. “Horses. Wood. Then go hunting for something to put in the cooking pot, for your appetite will do my larder no favors.”
Bjorn hesitated, then took my reins and led the horses away. “Take the wolves with you,” Saga called. “They eat even more than you.”
At his whistle, Skoll and Hati broke into a loping run, my foolish horse squealing and trying to bolt, ever afraid of the large predators.
“Come.” Saga tugged on my arm with surprising strength. “It’s easier to talk about him when he’s not around.”
Her behavior was not at all what I’d anticipated. I’d expected one of Odin’s children to have a level of gravitas, yet Saga acted and spoke more like a village gossip. “I don’t wish to speak about Bjorn.”
Saga hummed softly, then said, “I’ll not press you to forgive my son, Freya, for I understand the hurt of lies and the pain men inflict better than most. But as his mother, I must tell you that what he feels for you is no deception. All of Nordeland desired your death, for we knew you were destined to be our curse, but Bjorn fought for your life at Fjalltindr. Fought to change your fate.”
“Has it changed?” It was hard to ask the question, but I forced it past my lips.
Saga stopped in her tracks, looking at me for a long time. “Yes. And no.”
“What does that mean?” My legs started moving as she pulled on my arm.
“The path you walk has been altered, but you will arrive at the same destination.”
My hands turned cold because Bjorn had described that destination to me, and his words echoed through my thoughts. She told me that the shield maiden would unite Skaland, but that tens of thousands would be left dead in your wake. That you’d walk upon the ground like a plague, pitting friend against friend, brother against brother, and that all would fear you.
“It’s not a place I wish to go,” I whispered as we stepped into the dim confines of the cabin. Saga didn’t answer, and I took the opportunity the silence presented to examine the interior. As was common in Skaland, it was only one room, though there were touches of wealth that spoke to Harald’s influence on her life, from the multitude of thick pelts to the quality of the pots hanging near the hearth, to the richly colored hangings on the walls that I recognized as craft from the distant south.
The cabin itself was made of thick logs with a thatched roof, the smoke from the hearth minimal for it was well constructed. A well-made table with two benches dominated the space, and to one side, a curtain hung from the ceiling to hide away the sleeping area. Dried herbs covered one wall, though the dust on them suggested that Saga was no better cook than her son. Indeed, I’d seen no sign of livestock, so either she was an excellent hunter or Harald arranged for her to be well provided.
“Sit.” Saga gestured to one of the benches. She then went to the fire and lifted off a steaming pot that smelled of red wine, cinnamon, and cloves. I revised my opinion of her skills as she ladled a cup for me before sitting on the other bench.
“It’s a relief speaking with you.” I curled my hands around the cup to warm them. “It has been so long since I spoke with anyone I could trust to answer honestly.”
Saga took a sip of her drink. “I can lie just as easily as you, Freya. But not about the visions that the Allfather has gifted me.”
“That’s something.” I drank, wincing as the liquid scalded my tongue. “It makes me feel at ease around you, even though we don’t know each other.” Shaking my head, I added, “It feels as though I know you because your words have impacted my life so greatly.”
“The Allfather’s words, not mine.” Saga smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “I wish I could say the sentiment is shared, Freya, but in truth, you terrify me. In my weaker moments, I weep that my son did not kill you the moment he set eyes on you, but he has drawn a line in the sand and I will not cross it. I will not kill the woman he loves so dearly for it would mean losing him, and that is not a loss I can bear. I am selfish, and it seems the Norns know that well.”
I hesitated, then said, “Harald questions whether your foretelling has other interpretations. You believed that for Snorri to lose control over me, I had to die. What if there is another way?”
“Harald does love to chase even the smallest embers in the darkness,” she replied. “I do not share his hope, but I cannot say with certainty that it’s not possible.”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, forcing myself to press onward. “Did you witness when the gods stepped onto the mortal plane at Fjalltindr?”
“Yes. I watched from afar. They called you a child of two bloods and said that they were watching you.”
“They did not mean mortal and divine,” I said. “They meant that I had the blood of two goddesses in my veins. Hlin. And Hel.”
Saga sat up straight.
“I can curse people.” My words were no more than a whisper. “I can tear their souls from their bodies and send them to Helheim, leaving behind only an empty corpse.”
“In my vision, your eyes burned red.”
“They do that now when my emotions run high. Especially when I’m angry. It feels as though she’s taking control. She…” I trailed off, not wanting to admit the truth lest Bjorn’s mother believe me mad.
“What does she do?” Saga pressed.
Perhaps I was wrong to think she’d judge me for hearing Hel’s voice, for did not Odin show his children visions? “Hel speaks to me inside my head.”
Saga’s head tilted, and the faint wariness in her eyes made my face burn. Yet all she said was, “You communicate with Hel?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “At least, I think I do.”
“And Hlin?”
I shook my head. “Not in the same way.”
“What does Hel tell you?”
“She is covetous. She pushes me to take what I want and fuels my anger when I am denied. She…she encouraged me to send the souls of Islunder raiders to her.”
Saga shivered, then took a long sip of her wine. “When I saw you in my second vision, you stood in a field of countless dead, your eyes burning like coals. It was not clear how they’d died, and I assumed that it was in a great battle, but this makes a great deal more sense. In the future I have foreseen, you use Hel’s magic to send thousands to your godly mother in Helheim.” She let out a shaky breath. “You are a mistress of death, Freya. Even the bravest of warriors will flee before you lest you steal their chance to journey to Valhalla. In Snorri’s hands, you truly would be a plague upon Nordeland.”
I could feel her fear and it turned my belly sour. “I’m not in his hands. I’m here, with you.”
“And yet I cannot shirk the sense that you remain under his control.” She pressed fingers to her temples. “As though he has a leash upon you.”
I could not speak on the matter. My oath to keep silent held my tongue still. Instead, I asked, “Saga, I do not want this future, but neither do I wish to die. Tell me how I might change my fate.”
The seer gave a slow shake of her head. “I see only one future, Freya. One dark and horrible future. If you came here seeking answers to how you might change your fate, I fear your journey was for nothing.”
Despair carved out my insides, that fleeting spark of hope extinguished and leaving me in darkness. She’d been my one chance for answers and now I had no notion of where I might turn. My eyes welled with unshed tears, and needing to come out of this moment with something, I said, “Then let it not be for nothing. Bjorn told me that it was not Harald who tried to murder you, but Snorri. From your lips, I would hear all that happened that night.”
Saga took a long drink, then refilled both our cups. “I will give you the truth.”