Chapter 3
Drying herbs fill the air with their scent—yarrow, and something sharper, maybe juniper—distracting me from my teacher’s words. Or maybe it’s the dagger hidden beneath my dress. Groa snaps her fingers.
“A ritual isn’t enough,” says the older woman. “You need to give the energy direction, purpose. You need to know where it’s from and where it’s headed.”
I sit in her pillowed carriage. It’s full of lockboxes and amulets. Pendants dangle on the walls—triskelions with ravens, horses, snakes. Whatever enchantment someone needs, Groa supplies. Myself? That’s another story.
“I know,” I say. Enchanting a simple piece of bone is easier said than done. “Maybe I can’t—”
“Stop denying yourself,” Groa interrupts. “You can. I knew it when you had only tasted five summers.”
“I know, but I—”
“Now, with your twenty summers, you are bigger, but not much wiser,” she laughs. “Stop talking about what you know and open up to what you don’t.”
A candle is wedged in the board between us, its dancing light highlighting the Volva’s wrinkles. Next to Groa, I am a silly girl, a cocky child who needs her hand held.
“Forgive me.”
“No need. Hubris is the privilege of youth. Try again.”
I’ve always been grateful for Groa’s wisdom. Without a mother, where does a girl learn to be a woman? Groa practically adopted me, teaching me about the heavens. Gods and stars, destiny. Beneath them—plants, animals, and… men. I doubt my father could have given good advice when my bleeding arrived.
Since my eighteenth summer, she’s trained me as a Volva. I was honored. I am honored. Yet it’s hard. Seidr, the feminine magic, is elusive, treacherous.
Groa has told me of women going mad, losing speech, ripping at their own hair. Cursed to wander the woods alone. They had no guidance. I have Groa.
My hands hover over the talisman. How many times have I cursed, failing to manifest some simple enchantment or spell? Groa calls me impatient or optimistic—depending on her mood.
“Freya, grant me pow—”
“Don’t speak, girl, you’ve already asked Freya for help today.”
“I just—”
“Your prayer won’t lift the veil. Do it in silence.”
A sour flower blooms in my stomach. I respect Groa, love her, but she can be a real pain. Deep breaths to empty my mind. Just a puny spell is so hard… imagine cursing, far-sight, or shapeshifting. Will I ever stand a chance?
Time to focus. A simple warding spell, to keep the evil eye at bay. A neighbor’s envious gaze might just trip up a horse, or make a soup spill. Even such small misfortunes can lead to disaster.
“Stop thinking, Kilda,” snaps Groa.
How in Hel’s kingdom does she know?
“Odin’s beard, Groa,” I laugh. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Don’t be insolent,” she says.
We hold eye contact until her mouth betrays a smile. Groa can’t keep up her mask. We snicker together. I’m blessed she’s my teacher, my friend. She brushes a strand of blonde hair from her face.
“Just feel it, don’t think about it,” she says. “When we passed the waterfall earlier, did you notice its rushing waters?”
“Well, yes.”
“Did you allow it to flow?”
“Of course not.”
“So how can your mind control these currents? It’s not up to you.” Her eyes burn like a fire pit, searing into me. “Are you the All-Father?”
“No.” Silly question.
“Yet you speak of his beard.”
“I… what?”
“We are grateful for what we are given, what we are offered. When we receive a gift, we do not decide what it is or when it comes. All we can do is give thanks.”
“Is it early Yule this year or…?”
I reposition my legs, making sure the dagger is neatly tucked beneath my dress.
“I’m serious,” says Groa. “Dead serious.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just be open. Be ready. You’ll hear. The whispers may come at any time. A trickle can quickly grow to a cascading torrent.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t hear a fart on a windless night.”
Groa throws her head back, laughing.
“How crude,” she says. “You will learn as I did—a fart can quickly lead to a pile of shit. A tide, even.”
“An endless tide,” I add, shuffling nervously.
Tension fills the carriage like a coiled snake. Groa’s smile evaporates, her eyes sharpen. My temples tingle as she reaches out her hand.
“Give it to me,” she demands.
“Give what?”
“You know.”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice thinning. Groa stays calm. Her gaze is locked on my face, unwavering.
“I tolerate the secret you keep with my boy,” says Groa, “because I know he will be a good father to your child.”
She grins.
“Your other secret, you have to share it. Give it to me.”
A chill goes down my spine. Groa knows about my games with Narve in the forest? Harmless fun, now a betrayal of my closest ally. My only friend. My teacher, mother.
I bow my head to the floor, as small as possible.
“Forgive me, I beg you.” Groa laughs, but I stay low. I can’t lose her. “I enjoy Narve’s company. I feel safe with him.”
“Like I said, if you get pregnant, he will take you as wife. You will make a good one. I am not worried. Besides, you’re smart enough to make him pull away.”
I look up. She shakes her hand, palm open.
“Your other secret, you have to share. This is the last time I ask.”
As I’m leaning forward, the knife presses into my thigh.
Of course, my other secret. How am I so slow? There’s no dodging this. It’s all over. I’ve feared Groa’s wrath before, but never like this.
Reaching under my dress, I detach the knife, eyes on Groa.
“I had to,” I say. “My father, he—”
“I know your father,” she says.
I pull out the blade, its hilt glinting as it had in the moonlight. I place it in Groa’s hand, lowering my head. Freya give me strength.
Groa examines it and releases a long sigh.
“You stole this.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Very bad idea.”
“I bought it,” I lie.
“Viper’s tongue,” says Groa. “No one would sell this. You stole it.”
“I… It… you’re right.”
“Do you know what this is?”
“A fine dagger?”
She laughs without humor. “Much more. It’s an honor blade, a gift from the warrior’s chieftain for a great feat or undying loyalty.”
“I just—”
“You have dishonored its owner, you silly girl. He has only one way to resolve this.”
“Please forgive me, Groa. I can return it.”
“It’s too late for that.” Her gaze cuts colder than the blade. “They are coming.”