Chapter 5 The Vala’s Prophecy
five
The Vala’s Prophecy
Thori
Gray clouds clung low over the mountains, and ceaseless rain soaked the raiders’ camp in mud.
Curling in on himself, Thori tried to find a bearable position in the only part of the cage more or less dry.
Still, his now short hair stuck to his face in wet strands, and the mud below him had seeped into his breeches.
Days had passed since the whipping, and though the initial pain had dulled, his back burned with a steady, searing ache.
Svanhild had come to him once afterward, pouring a stinking powder over his wounds.
The stinging pain that had followed had made him scream, but at least the wounds hadn’t become infected.
Only a living thrall would fetch a good price, she’d told him with a cruel smile, and he knew by now that his captors had every intention to sell him.
The mere thought made Thori’s cheeks burn with shame. How could he have let it come to this?
Roused by the sound of boots trudging through the mud, he lifted his head with some effort.
He should have probably been worried about his weakened state, but he suppressed his fear with the practiced nonchalance of a man who was used to pretending to be omniscient and invincible at the court of Asgard.
Whatever bloody seier Svanhild had woven into his bindings hurt like a bitch and was constantly draining his strength.
He only hoped she wasn’t feeding her own magic with his thunder.
The sight of Andora approaching chased away his gloomy thoughts and brought a flicker of a smile to his lips.
Although she had tried to free her friends, Sveinn was stupid enough to let her run freely around the camp.
He probably desperately needed thralls to handle the work for the warriors, and he clearly underestimated the girl.
Andora carried a small bundle tucked under her arm, glancing warily over her shoulder.
When she reached the cage, she crouched down; her face tightening with dismay as she took him in.
“Thori,” she whispered as if she feared they might be overheard. But everyone with a sense of self-preservation had fled the rain and was hiding in one of the tents or shelters.
“I hope you aren’t here to try to free me. That would be ill-advised.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Unwrapping her bundle, she offered him a small piece of bread and a bit of salted fish. “Eat. Quickly. I’m not supposed to feed you.”
Only as she pushed the food into his hands did Thori realize how hungry he was. And though the salt burned on his parched lips, he devoured her offerings without hesitation. It tasted delicious anyway.
“You should leave now,” Thori mumbled. “Don’t let them see you talking to me.”
“I’m allowed to be here,” she replied sharply, though her flickering gaze betrayed her unease. “Svanhild herself sent me to look after your wounds.” She fumbled around in her pouch and pulled out a small jar. “Turn around. Let me see your back.”
He hesitated. The Allfather taught him to expect betrayal at any time, and he had no reason to trust her.
She was a Vanr after all, and Svanhild could’ve easily manipulated or simply forced her into doing her bidding.
Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to refuse her.
Barely containing a groan, he turned to offer her his back.
Andora sucked in a sharp breath. The red whip marks surely weren’t a pleasant sight.
Looking over his shoulder, he watched her open the jar, and he noted with some satisfaction that she was still wearing his cloak.
Shuffling a little closer, she reached through the bars and gently started to smear the ointment over his wounds.
Thori hissed, the touch stinging like fire, but he clenched his jaw and bore it.
“You’re lucky. The wounds don’t seem to be infected,” she murmured. “But you’re cold. You can’t stay outside any longer, or I fear you will—” Her voice broke, and she looked completely lost. She was more a child than a young woman, Thori had to remind himself.
“Don’t worry. I’m a god. It takes more than a little whipping to truly harm me.”
“Silly áss, you aren’t invincible, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up shackled and locked in a cage like a trapped wolf.”
“Sveinn is no match for me,” Thori said petulantly. “If the coward hadn’t had dozens of priestesses with him to lend him their power, I would’ve destroyed him and his entire fleet. And Svanhild is so afraid of me that she doesn’t know how to help herself other than binding my thunder.”
Thori gestured at the heavy shackles around his wrists. As much as they sapped his strength, it might take a toll on Svanhild to restrain him like this. If so, she wouldn’t be able to keep him trapped forever.
Andora rolled her eyes.
“There’s talk that the sea king who arrived this morning travels with a powerful priestess. Perhaps I can—”
“New arrivals?” Thori interrupted her, his curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion.
Andora nodded.
“This morning. Many longships. A warlord and his warriors. Everyone’s talking about it. They say he’s from the east, a man of great renown.”
Thoughts sluggish, Thori tried to grasp the implications.
A new warlord. More warriors. Trouble, undoubtedly.
It reeked of Sveinn’s weakness that he had to tolerate the presence of another chieftain in his domain.
Unless the sea king was here to trade. Something close to fear constricted Thori’s chest.
“What’s his name?” he rasped.
“I don’t know.” Andora hesitated. “But I’ll find out.”
She finished tending to his wounds and sat back on her heels, regarding him with a concerned expression.
“You need to hold on just a little longer. I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”
“No, you won’t,” Thori hissed, overcome by worry. “It was a great mistake that you tried to free your friends the other day. A mistake that could have easily cost your life. You won’t repeat it.”
An angry frown appeared on Andora’s face. Like this, she reminded Thori of his little sister, Freyja.
“I know you think that I’m nothing more than a stupid thrall. But you took Sveinn’s punishment for me, and I’ll repay my debt.”
Her determination to help him warmed his heart more than he cared to admit, but he couldn’t allow the girl to risk her life for him. If Sveinn caught her doing something forbidden again, he was sure the bastard would kill her, and there was little Thori could do to stop him.
“There’s no debt to settle, silly Vanr,” Thori said as sternly as he could manage. “Don’t let anyone see you talking to me again.”
Despite his dismissive tone, Andora hesitated, but the sound of voices in the distance made her decision for her. She slipped the jar of salve through the bars and rose, pulling her hood over her head.
“I’ll come back,” she promised.
And then she was gone, disappearing into the mist and rain like a ghost. Thori slumped, the small amount of food Andora had brought him leaving him hungrier than before.
He hated this. He was a god, his power beyond measure.
Their short conversation shouldn’t have tired him.
But it had. Curling up to preserve some warmth, he decided to close his eyes just for a moment.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes, the sky had darkened and he felt colder than ever. Shivering, Thori pulled his legs closer to his chest. As he moved, the whip marks covering his back made themselves known with a stinging ache.
His memories of the whipping were somewhat hazy as the pain had overwhelmed his senses.
The priestesses must’ve enchanted Sveinn’s whip, because no mortal weapon should’ve been able to hurt a god.
But hurt it had. And when Thori had thought he couldn’t take it anymore, there’d been this presence calling to him.
It must’ve been a vision. A warrior standing in the shadows, watching Thori with compassion.
A man both familiar and strange to him. He’d clung to the image desperately, and even now the memory held something comforting.
Thori vaguely remembered being dragged to his cage afterward. Sveinn had separated him from the other thralls by moving him to the edge of the camp. Still, Thori could smell the fjord, although he couldn’t see what was happening down there. He wished he knew what was going on.
Light footsteps approached his cage. A slender figure moved towards him, and for a moment, Thori thought Andora had returned despite his harsh words.
But then the person drew closer, and Thori stiffened.
It was Svanhild. Her golden hair shimmered in the faint light of the torches like a treasure from Nidavellir.
The cruel smile that curled her lips promised nothing good.
She stepped in front of the cage and scrutinized him as one would a precious steed or a hunting dog.
“On your feet, thrall.”
How Thori wanted to snap her scrawny neck.
Rising slowly, he could feel her tainted seier thrumming through his shackles. It hurt. His power stirred beneath his skin, restless and angry, but it couldn’t break her grasp.
Svanhild’s eyes narrowed, and her smirk tightened. With a snap of her fingers, she made the cuffs around Thori’s wrists pull his arms behind his back, locking them there. Only then did she open the cage.
“Step out.”
Thori obeyed, although his whole body protested his movements. But being out of the cage meant more opportunities to flee. And if he played his cards right, maybe he could take Andora with him.
“My seier is working even better than I’d expected,” Svanhild said as she summoned a glowing rope that curled around Thori’s neck. “You’re slow. Weak.”