Chapter 29
How long have I been hiding in the woods?
No clue, but my stomach is rumbling and the sun is setting.
So that’s an indicator. A knot pulses in my gut as I approach the camp.
Ari will make a poem about this, I’m sure.
Folk will love it. He will call me a frilla, a wanton woman. A sex-crazed wanton woman.
Being a stone’s throw from the camp, I stop and consider turning around, disappearing, never returning. At least I wouldn’t be a slave. A wanton sex-crazed slave. Head for the hills. Who cares what happens to my people? Who’s to say Sigurd will exact revenge on them? He seems decent enough.
My doubts are dispelled when the scent of Ari’s stew hits my nostrils.
He’s probably cooked again, using the leftovers from last night.
So good. The fat, the browned carrots and meat, the spice.
The best. I will starve if I flee. I will freeze.
Ari will know why I left. He will laugh.
I exhale a long-contained breath as I advance. Be strong, Kilda.
What a tragedy. A disgrace. How will I look Ari in the eyes? What honor can a maiden hold when—
“There you are,” Ylvin shouts.
I’m not even in sight yet, being hidden behind Ylvin’s lavvu. I didn’t make much noise. How does she know I’ve arrived? Okay, brave smile. No problem. Let’s do this. I turn the corner.
“Happy blessings, guys,” I say, instantly regretting it. A formal greeting with “guys” tacked on. So forced.
“Blessings,” replies Elof without raising his face from his steaming bowl of stew. Seeing him shovel meat into his mouth makes me salivate. I must be really hungry.
“Eat slower, darling,” says Ylvin to her husband. “You’ll burn your tongue eating like a troll.”
My eyes find the reason for my discomfort. The bastard skald. The crow. He says nothing, just locks his eyes onto mine with a secretive grin. Bastard.
“Eat Kilda, you must be starving,” insists Ylvin. “Your friend made an even better stew than yesterday. Truly grand.”
My friend? My enemy more like. Ari is smug in general, but by the gods, I’ve never seen him look so self-satisfied.
He looks like he single-handedly defeated the Midgard Wyrm.
Like he ripped apart the jaws of Fenrir, the world-ending wolf.
Ylvin doesn’t have her horny, wolfish grin, so I’m assuming he hasn’t told them what happened. A small victory.
“I could eat a bear,” I chirp sweetly, pretending like nothing.
Behind our hosts’ backs, I shoot Ari a furious look.
The only space is on the same log as the bastard.
My cheeks are probably hotter than the fire crackling between them.
I fetch my bowl and fill it with a monstrous portion of Ari’s magic.
He pisses me off, but the man can cook. It’s undeniable.
“Where have you been all day?” asks Ylvin. “I had a lesson planned.”
“I was, uh, practicing being myself. Like you said.”
“Ah, very good. What did you discover?”
“Good stuff,” grunts Elof, but I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or about the stew. His focus seems firmly planted in his food.
“I have a lot to learn,” I reply. “I pondered on our conversation earlier.”
“Indeed, you do,” says Ylvin. “The path of the Volva is purely about self-exploration, even if everyone thinks it’s about rituals and fancy words.”
I nod, blowing on a piece of deer before placing it on my tongue. The thing just melts in my mouth, releasing its hearty flavor. It’s like its own magic. I would never tell Ausveig, but Ari’s stew is on another level than hers. Another world.
“I’m interested,” says Ari, startling me. “How have you explored yourself in the woods?”
“Good question, Ari,” mumbles Ylvin with her mouth full. She points a spoon at him as she swallows. “It will help Kilda to formulate her experiences.”
“Thank you, lady staff-bearer.”
“Oh, stop it, you. I told you to call me Ylvin.”
“Thank you, Ylvin.”
What a sick bastard. Getting compliments from Ylvin for putting me on the spot.
He turns his head to me with a smile that shows all his teeth.
He couldn’t hide his glee if he tried. My shitstorm is his grandest pleasure.
Me peeking at him was probably the peak of his existence. The highest point in his life.
Everyone turns to me. Even Elof takes a pause from his chewing and looks up. Ari nods rapidly, egging me on. He really is a sick man.
“Well, I… I needed to reconnect with my roots. To rediscover my role as a woman within nature. Like you said, Ylvin, we have all these social expectations that limit us in our expression.”
“Not bad,” says Ylvin. “It seems you’ve been paying attention.”
“Fascinating,” says Ari. “It does seem like you are taking in Ylvin’s teachings. But, may I ask another question?”
I turn to Ari with a punishing look. This bowl of stew is itching to land on his fucking head. Controlling the impulse to spill his own cooking on his stupid face should be considered its own form of magic, like cooking. His eyes are unmoving.
“Well, Ari,” I reply tensely. “I’m eating right now, so—”
“Nonsense,” interrupts Ylvin. “Ask away, Ari, it’s only good for her.”
“Thank you, my lady sta—”
“It’s Ylvin, Ari. For fuck’s sake.”
“Ylvin,” he finishes. His eyes haven’t moved from my face.
“Go on then,” I sigh while placing down my bowl demonstratively.
“Other than Ylvin’s wisdom, what helped you reflect today? Out in the woods alone, did anything in particular inspire you?”
Such a bastard. Blood simmers in my chest. Let me scratch his eyes out, rip at his hair, kick his balls. Freya will forgive.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” I reply. “Or wait, now that you mention it. I did see a mangy crow, missing feathers, bald and ugly. It poked its little beak in the river, desperately trying to preen itself.”
Ari throws his head back and laughs, making Ylvin give him a sideways glance. Elof doesn’t react. He’s busy refilling his bowl.
“Right…” says Ylvin. “What did that crow make you reflect on?”
“How insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. How we may feel like the center of the world, but we are all just a drop in the river, washed away in seconds.”
“Interesting reflections, dear,” says Ylvin. “Yet contradicted by how you got those reflections in the first place.”
“Oh?” I say. “I don’t understand. How so?”
“Please explain, Ylvin,” says Ari, keeping that smug fucking grin of his.
“Well, you say the crow is insignificant, desperate, ugly. You say we are just a drop in the river.”
She pauses for effect, making us all wait a few seconds. Even Elof stops devouring the stew and looks at her.
“But we are led by fate, by the gods. That crow, no matter how pitiful in his own life, was there, right at that moment. He made an impact on your life. Made you feel and think, hopefully in a new way. For a second, he was the center of your world. He affected your Volva training. His mere existence has changed your future. Forever. And what is a river? Countless drops. Take one drop away, you wouldn’t notice.
But keep taking them, and all you will have is a dry riverbed. The gods provide.”
“All true,” confirms Elof before chomping some more.
“Very wise,” says Ari, eyes piercing me as his grin grows. “We wouldn’t want a river to lose its wetness just because a crow was taking a bath.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. What a blithering idiot. A conceited piece of shit. He can’t hold it in. He couldn’t if he tried. I barely want to eat his stew now. Okay, maybe a little more. I take a spoon.
“Wait,” says Ylvin, her gaze bouncing between Ari and me. “Something’s in the air. Something I don’t know about. What happened?”
“Oh no, nothing,” says Ari quickly as he looks down.
“No secrets, you two, tell me.”
“Maybe Kilda will share,” he says as he shakes his head.
I slam my bowl on the ground, spilling some of its contents.
“Oy, the stew,” mumbles Elof.
“I’m tired,” I announce before stomping toward our tent.
Even through the red mist of rage, I feel my stomach—hollow, rumbling.
I return, avoiding eye contact with everyone, but I can feel Ylvin’s eyes burning into me.
Bending to pick up the bowl I just slammed makes me feel silly, like a petulant child.
But I don’t give a fuck. I want to eat. I want to get away. I do both. I decide.
“Rest well,” calls Ylvin after me, her tone dripping with amusement.
Fucking Ari. Mangy fucking crow. My hasty retreat to our tent is a defeat, yes, but at least I can escape that maniacal shitbag of a skald. I don’t care. I just want to sit and enjoy a meal in peace.
Alone in the tent, I eat the mangy crow’s mangy stew. I feel like an animal, wolfing down the meat as I sit on my cow-hide. Some might say I’m eating like a pig, but I prefer lynx. Yes, I am a lynx.
I finish my food by drinking the liquid like the bowl is a cup.
The best. So good. Annoyingly so. Intolerable. The worst.