Chapter 52 Freya
All around me were people, living and undead, but I saw nothing but Bjorn. Nothing but his muddy cheeks streaked with tears and his hands with so much blood.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to mine. “Never do that to me again.”
If I had my way, I’d never go back to that place. Not even in death. “Harald is dead. I killed him with your axe.”
Bjorn blinked. “How…”
“It’s a long story better told with a cup of mead in hand.”
Geir stood back from us, and though it was hard to tell given how much of his face was now missing, I swore he was smiling.
“You did it, sister,” he said. “You united not just Skaland, but Nordeland along with it, and defeated the trickster who sought to twist all our fates. All skalds will sing of your story, for it is one to be passed down through generations to come.”
Once, that had been my dream. But now I dreamed of different things.
“You fought with honor at my side.” My voice was rough, and my mouth tasted like dirt. “You have earned a place in Valhalla, brother. I would release you to join the Allfather unless there is something else that you would do before you leave the mortal realm?”
Geir shook his head. “Take care of my family for me. Tell them my stories.”
“I will,” I promised. “They are mine to protect until I follow you to Valhalla. Have a cup waiting for me.”
Geir nodded, then pulled his sword and lifted it into the air, all the other Skalander draug doing the same with their weapons as they approached from the shadows. Men and women that I’d killed as enemies, brought back as allies, but now released as friends. My brother shouted, “Honor to Skaland! Honor to the shield maiden! Honor to Freya Born-in-Fire!”
My army screamed his words in their awful voices, and my heart swelled with pride to have fought alongside them. “I release you.”
Bodies crumpled to the earth all around me, mist swirling on the wind, a charge sharpening the air. Then they were gone.
My brother was gone.
Sorrow filled my chest, for though Geir had been dead for many days, he had still been with me. Had been a stalwart presence at my side. We’d reconciled our differences, and I grieved for the lost chance to live as a family without conflict between us. To watch him become a father. Twin tears carved their way down my cheeks, brown with mud as they dripped onto Bjorn’s shoulder.
“You’ll see him again,” Bjorn said. “He earned his place and he’ll be waiting for you.”
I believed that. Believed that the Allfather would want Geir in his army at the last battle and that, one day, I’d have the chance to fight alongside my brother once more.
But the afterlife would not reunite us with everyone we’d lost.
“Your mother has gone to Helheim. She took Harald’s soul with her to keep him from pursuing more trickery, but her last words to me were to tell you that she loves you.”
Bjorn’s jaw tightened, eyes turning liquid for a moment before he blinked. His voice was steady when he spoke again. “She’ll be at peace there. She was not meant for violence and war, and I think she’s suffered enough pain for two lifetimes.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “And she’ll keep Harald in check, that we know.”
Peace.
Oh, how that word sang to my soul, and as I looked around me at the Unfated who’d been my allies and enemies in equal measure, I longed for it. Longed to cast aside magic and weapons and violence and just live. Longed to be happy.
Footsteps approached, and I lifted my head to see Steinunn. The skald’s face was pale and splattered with blood, a bandage wrapped around one arm, but she also had my shield hooked over her shoulder. She must have found it near the river. The others allowed her to pass, and she dropped to her knees next to me and Bjorn. “I am sorry.” She handed me my shield, the silver metal dented from going over the falls. “Sorry for aiding him. Sorry for everything.”
“You were deceived,” Tora reminded her. “As were so many.”
“Yes, but I was also selfish. I cared not for Harald’s deception of others because I believed he had given me vengeance for the family I’d lost. I took no action until I learned that the person who deserved my vengeance was him.” Steinunn’s chin quivered. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, Freya, and do not ask for it. But please know that I am sorry, and that I will accept your punishment.”
What she said was true, and yet I did not have it in my heart to fault her for it. Not because her final song had unveiled the truth but because her weakness was one I bore as well. Was a weakness all of us here bore, for we all let our hearts make choices for us. It was only those who refused to acknowledge their weakness that I could not forgive. “I have decided on what your punishment will be.”
I could feel her fear, smell it in the sweat that dampened her clothes, but Steinunn nodded.
“I would have you compose a ballad of all that has happened. A ballad that you will sing all over Skaland and Nordeland so that everyone will know the truth.” I tilted my head. “And you must include your part in it as well.”
Steinunn lifted her face.
“You told me once that no one cared to hear your story,” I said. “But it was that you were too afraid to tell it. Your punishment is to confront that fear, Steinunn, and, in doing so, forgive yourself. Your destiny is your own, my friend.”
Tears rolled down the skald’s face, and she nodded. “A ballad for the ages. The Saga of the Unfated.”
“More caterwauling,” Bjorn grumbled. “But it is a good title.”
Laughter spilled through the group, dispelling the tension, and with it gone I felt exhaustion take hold. Seeming to sense it, Bjorn tightened his grip and lifted me into his arms. “You need warmth and rest and healing.”
“I can walk and you are too injured to carry me.” I was not entirely sure if that was the truth or a lie, because I was weary to the bone. “Put me down.”
“I’m fine. And after what you put me through, I have no intention of ever letting you go.”
I wrapped an arm around his neck, mindful of his injuries. “You do understand that isn’t practical.”
“I am not a practical man,” Bjorn retorted. “In fact, I would argue that I am one of the most impractical men you will ever meet.” He cast a sideways glance at Steinunn. “You may put that in the part of your song about me.”
“If there is space.” Steinunn adjusted her bandage. “There are only so many lines that I can dedicate to minor players, or the listeners may become bored.”
Bjorn burst into laughter. “I may revise my opinion of you, skald. You have more spirit than I once thought.”
I smiled, relaxing against him as the group laughed and bickered. Silence was never allowed to rule, and I knew that it was because all the Unfated present were coming to grips with the painful revelations that Steinunn’s song had delivered upon them. Many had spent most of their lives twisted up in Harald’s lies and were now faced with uncertain futures. I wondered how many would return to Hrafnheim and how many would move on to other places and find other jarls to serve.
Tora walked with a determination I’d never seen in her before. Finally unleashed from Harald’s runic magic, she seemed like another person entirely. Ready to take her fate by the horns with the same strength as her godly father, and I hoped that she’d guide the others to do the same.
Because I didn’t want any of them looking to me to weave the rest of their futures. I had my own to manage.
With Grindill having burned to the stones it was built upon, all had gathered in the village of Torne, and our group made its way to the mead hall where some of the jarls who had been sworn to Snorri had congregated.
“Put me down, Bjorn,” I said softly when we reached the doors. “This is a moment I must face on my feet.”
He set me down carefully, though his arm remained tight around my waist as I walked inside. All fell silent at the sight of us, and my eyes went immediately to Ylva, who stood at Leif’s elbow. We would never be friends, she and I, but we were no longer enemies. She gave me a nod of respect, and I reciprocated, because while she’d caused me a great deal of trouble, she was also a woman who fought for the well-being of her people. But most of all, she fought for those she loved.
“Harald is dead,” I said. “His soul is in Helheim, under the watch of the seer Saga, who will keep his trickery in check lest he trouble those who live in that realm.”
Conversation and exclamations turned the hall into a riot of noise, and I waited for it to quiet before I continued. “The story in its whole will be told to you with a child of Bragi’s magic so you may know the truth to it.”
Steinunn nodded. “A tale that will immortalize the heroism of all until the end of days.”
“What now?” a jarl demanded. “Do you claim both thrones, shield maiden? Are we to bend the knee to the queen of Nordeland and Skaland?”
I shook my head. “Our people were never meant to be ruled by one man or one woman. We are meant to be led by individuals who know the names of every soul in their jarldom. By men and women who know the needs of each village and farm, for we are clans. Families. Those who seek to change that do so not for the good of the people but because they desire power and influence, which makes them the worst sort to follow.”
Accepting a cup from Tora, I took a sip, finally washing away the taste of mud. “We united for the sake of defeating a common enemy. Now he is dead, and so we must turn back to our clans. Work together to heal after the losses of so many who have gone on to the halls of Valhalla to join the Allfather so that they might fight for us again at the end of days.”
“What of you, Freya?” Ylva asked. “It was foretold that you would unite Skaland.”
“But not that I would keep it that way.” I drew in a steadying breath. “We united for a purpose. For a moment when the strength of one clan was not enough, and it needed to be the strength of all. That moment has ended, and what will come next is unknown.”
Taking another sip, I lifted my cup. “Jarls, take our people home and look to your own clans and hearths, but never forget the moment when we stood side by side as allies. Skol! ”
“ Skol! ” Everyone in the room shouted, lifting a cup, and I stepped back so that they’d understand that the moment I’d stood above them was over, and that I was now one of them once more.
Or nearlyso.
Tugging on Bjorn’s arm, I led him to Ylva and Leif. Inclining my head, I said, “Jarl Leif.”
The boy blinked. “I…”
“You are Snorri’s heir,” I reminded him. “But more than that, you are Ylva’s heir, and I have faith that she will stand at your shoulder until you are ready to stand on your own.”
Ylva drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Freya. I do not deserve your generosity.”
“You are one of the most unpleasant women I have ever met,” I said. “But though I often wished to drown you in a pool of pig shit, I never doubted your commitment to those who matter to you.”
“I would be honored to have you both as members of my war band.” Leif looked between me and Bjorn. “No word of what you said was an untruth, but there will be jarls who see an opportunity to be had. Raids will follow. And with Grindill in ashes, we are an easy target.”
I went still, remembering when such an offer had consumed my dreams, asleep and awake. But now knowing the taste of war, the smell of it, the hurt of it, I found myself not wanting any part of it. I looked up at Bjorn, and I could see in his gaze that he felt the same.
Clearing his throat, Bjorn answered, “With respect, brother, we must decline.”
“But you can’t!” Leif’s eyes were full of panic. “I need you. You must stay.”
Despair filled me because of my sudden certainty that although Snorri was dead, I remained leashed. Forever to be used by those who desire my magic as a weapon. Yet as I forced myself to breathe, I discovered that the compulsion was not there. My gaze shot to Ylva’s. “The blood oath…How is this possible? It can only be broken by your death.”
“Or yours,” Ylva answered. “Runic magic is a power of the mortal realm. Death breaks its hold.”
“You were cold when we pulled you out of the ground, Freya,” Bjorn said. “Maybe…”
“It was before then.” My mind drifted to when Geir had been carrying me out of Helheim. How my heart and breath had stopped, my life slipping through my hands. For a moment, I’d been dead. “All this time, I’ve been free and I didn’t even know it.”
The revelation was a weight off my shoulders and, squaring them, I glared at Leif. “Don’t presume to order me about, jarl. If you want something from us, learn to ask nicely.”
Leif blinked, then gave me a respectful nod. “I will keep that in mind. But…where will you go?”
“Time will tell.”
Without another word, we turned and left the mead hall. Volund followed after us and saw to Bjorn’s injuries, and then we bid him farewell. There were no beds to be had in Torne, the now-homeless families of Grindill sleeping many to a bed in every spare room in the small town. Instead of taking space in the barn, Bjorn took a horse. “Can you ride, Born-in-Fire?”
Curious, I nodded. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can call our own.”
We rode at a walk, Bjorn’s axe illuminating the darkness until dawn lit the night sky, and when it did, a smile lit my face, for I knew where we were.
“I’ve thought a fair bit about where you would want to live, Born-in-Fire.”
“Oh, you did?” I examined the burned remains of Saga’s cabin, nearly consumed now by vegetation. “And between which instance of fighting for your life did you do this thinking?”
“I can do two things at once.”
I snorted, and he shrugged. “When I was locked up at Grindill, I had a great deal of time on my hands while I waited for you to rescue me. Time to think about what might come after you defeated all your enemies.”
Warmth suffused my chest at his admission that he thought about our future the way I did. Fantasies about what our life could look like if we only persevered. That I was the future he reached for in his darkest hours, just as I reached for him.
“It doesn’t have to be here. If you want to be nearer to Selvegr, we could rebuild your parents’ home.”
I turned my head to hide my smile at the faint hint of nervousness in his voice, unfamiliar because Bjorn was nothing if not wholly confident. But this was new. For him. And forme.
“Here is perfect,” I said. “I like the idea of having a warm bath whenever I desire it.”
“Do you desire it now?” His hands closed on my waist, lips brushing my neck. “Please say yes, for you taste like a mouthful of dirt.”
“You should look at your own reflection before you cast stones.” I turned in his arms, kissing him deeply and burying my fingers in his hair, not remotely caring that both of us were filthy with mud, blood, and worse. “Actually, I take that back. You are vain enough without getting in the habit of admiring your own reflection.”
He laughed, allowing me to walk him backward in the direction of the cave with the hot springs, leaving clothes in our wake.
“Marry me, Born-in-Fire,” he whispered as he drew me into the warm water, the current washing away the filth of our ordeals if not the memories. “Be my wife. Build a life with me in this place.”
“Are you sure?” I curved my hand around his face. “Are you sure you will be content with a quiet life?”
Because I needed peace. Needed to put away weapons and chain mail. Needed to hang up my shield. Needed to heal my body and my soul, and I did not foresee a time that I’d ever want to go back to the life I once dreamedof.
“The life I dream of is with you, Freya,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter where we are or what we are doing. As long as you are in my arms, I will be whole. Will you marry me?”
I smiled as the warm water wrapped around us, the darkness holding us close, because I’d fought for this fate and won. “Yes.”