Chapter 1 #2
I would need his axe to survive the king’s Hird—the war academy Lika and my father had been traveling to.
There, the chiefs’ heirs and their iron-bound—the men and women bonded to each heir with a divine tether of blood—were fostered in combat, law, and loyalty, and the gods gifted us our runes if they found us worthy.
I touched the hilt of my sword again, my stomach turning. The Hird was nicknamed Fenrir’s Pit, after the gods’ bonded beast, for the ruthlessness with which the heirs and their inner circles were trained to further our iron grip on the world.
And I was going into it magicless.
The cliffs gave way to grass. I swept my hands over the yellow-and-green blades as they caressed my leather-clad legs, savoring the view of thick thatched roofs and familiar gray stone houses spreading out before me.
As my boots bit into the gravel my siblings and I had helped the village lay to ease the transport of goods from the harbor, all noises I’d known in my twenty-two years in this village were absent.
There were no boisterous conversations. No metal clinking as the women forged weapons. No clattering of plates or children screaming as they ran from the roaring river beneath the moss-covered homes. No shouts as the young honed their skills in battle and weaponry.
The wind whistling through the thick forest circling the village had died down, and even the river ran smoothly today—in stark contrast to the storm battling within me, despite my attempt at a calm surface.
People lifted their heads from their tasks as I passed them, and once more my vision went cloudy at the fear tightening their features.
“You know what you need to do,” I whispered to myself when my stride wavered. “You knew from the moment they went missing. This is your wyrd now.”
“Get that chin up,” Viljan said under his breath, his tone as urgent as the pain stabbing at my heart. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”
After taking a shallow breath, I did as he told me.
I was glad for the cold that remained in my limbs.
It kept my steps steady and my back straight as I walked up to my mother and siblings, who were standing outside the longhouse—the place where our village ate and spent time together and where my father would host his weekly meetings, discussing war and trade and everything day to day for our people.
Silva and Hera were pale, their hair looking like burning flames to their blanched cheeks, and the twins held on to our mother’s skirts as if she’d disappear like our father had if they let go.
None of them cried, though, and neither did my mother as she lifted a small hand and placed it over her heart.
“Viljan and I are leaving,” I said, my voice bouncing against the stone homes.
No emotions shadowed my mother’s features. “Is that so?”
“I have to try,” I said, the weight of my people’s gazes on me. “I have to try to save us.” I blew out a trembling breath. “We will tell the king and the other heirs that Lika and my father are waging war and that I was sent in Lika’s stead.”
“The gods are watching the Hird. You know that,” my mother said. “They’ll know the truth, and even if by some wyrd you survive until the end, you will have to answer to them.”
“They will see the courage in her heart,” Viljan said. “They will reward her for it.”
“Or they will punish her for the lie.” My mother pulled my siblings closer. “Then they’ll come for us.”
“I will be brave, Mother.” I did my best to mirror her blank features. “I will honor our people so that the gods see that our lineage deserves to live on. I will not allow the Hird to find out we have no magic. I will not let them come here.”
“We will see,” my mother said, her voice echoing with a familiar distance.
“I will survive this,” I said through clenched teeth. “I will. I will protect our people and earn a rune before anyone finds out father and Lika are dead.”
“I’ll make sure she lives,” Viljan added. “I will protect her every step.”
“And won’t she need it,” my mother mumbled. “As if you could take Lika’s place.”
“Mother,” I started when my stomach knitted, but she held up a hand.
“Elvara Sweengard,” she hissed. “You will not dishonor our family today. Not with your father and brother in Valhalla.”
My neck stiffened, my eyes going unseeing as I forced my body to display everything I didn’t feel—strength, conviction, and a power that no longer thrummed through my veins.
“May Odin protect you. May Thor give you strength. May Frigg offer you his knowledge. And may Tyr steer you right,” my mother said, her voice flat as she offered me our gods’ blessings.
I waited a beat, but she had no other words than the formal ones used to send off warriors into battle.
As the leaders of our people—our fylki—we were expected to remain strong, not betray the emotions that wanted to burst through our skin.
My mother had beaten this into my bones since I was young.
Hugs and warmth and emotions were not to be expected from Seindra Sweengard.
Vikings were not weak. Sacrifice came with our manner of living, and death was as familiar to us as the turn of the tide.
Still, she must feel it. The sorrow. The heartache.
Not for me—never for me—but for the husband and beloved son she’d lost.
Turning my back on the silent crowd that circled us, I reached out a shaking hand toward her, seeking hidden comfort. But a ripple of shame, like a rushing river in summer, wove across my skin when my mother shook her head and wrapped her arms around my younger siblings, steering them backward.
I hid my trembling inhale with a cough.
I should definitely have known better. She might be hurting as much as I was. Perhaps even more. But all that would have to wait until the dark of night—when we could cry into blankets and pretend for a while that our entire existence wasn’t to further our fylki’s territory.
Gravel crunched beneath my boots when I spun to make my way to the harbor.
Leather-clad people lined up on either side of the path, silently watching me leave. Their faces were marred by sorrow, the lines deepening for every step I took toward the wooden docks, and tears glistened on more than one pair of cheeks.
They weren’t crying only for the dead chief and the heir who’d been raised to rule them, or for the magic that no longer roared in our blood, but for me—for the daughter of the fylki—who would likely never return, and as such would force them into a new life.
Because that’s what would happen if I failed—if I also died—since Hera and Silva were too young to attend the Hird.
Another shiver pulled at my shoulders, but I ignored it as I straightened further, to my full five-five stature, looking each person I passed in the eye—to try to tell them I would fight to the end.
For them, I would offer up my very soul.
Even without a rune to power me, I would try to win our future with desperate will.
When I turned to Viljan and he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, I knew I’d hidden my heartbreak and the real fear coursing through my veins well enough.
But as sobs echoed over the water, my bottom lip shook.
It only did so once, but Viljan didn’t waste any time.
Taking the lead, he stalked down the long wooden dock, and even though my people whispered my name for every step I took toward one of my father’s vessels—a beautiful white wooden longship—I didn’t turn around.
It was only when my foot hovered over the soulless wood that I hesitated.
“Get in,” Viljan ordered, already seated in the bow, ready with the oars.
The wood this ship was made of would never again hum—would no longer sing or whisper or sail by itself. The hushed hulls nearly crushed me as I climbed aboard, my heart sticking in my throat when the people’s cries continued to echo over the dark water.
I stared furiously down into the beautifully curved body of the vessel as their pleas pierced the hard shell I tried to build around me.
Even though the sounds faded as Viljan started rowing, I gripped the wooden sides not to look up.
Wood stroked water, joining the broken cries, and I flexed my hands, moving them to my bent legs as I raised my eyes to the grass-thatched wooden homes, to the other docks where the people—my people—filed out to watch us leave.
Hands lifted into the air, forming into fists whenever we passed them. They pressed them against their hearts, then turned their open palms my way.
I anchor you in my heart until the winds bring you back.
It was our fylki’s formal farewell, a sign of strength, of holding on, of fighting for the ones we loved.
A thicket of open palms met the sky, the unspoken goodbye whispering over the grass and the dark water as if this was my final voyage. I shakily raised my own.
Twenty-two years I’d been in this village.
Twenty-two years during which I’d known every face greeting me on my walks.
Twenty-two years when I’d laughed, cried, found friends, loved my family—loved my entire life.
And twenty-two years during which my father had kept us all safe.
“Listen to me,” Viljan demanded as we turned the sharp bend that severed my sight of home and swept the river into a blanket of lush green forest while the scent of pine and sap enveloped us.
“Your mother is wrong. You will survive this. I know you will, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it,” Viljan said firmly.
“I know.” I tried for a weak smile. “Thank you for that too.”
Water splashed over the sides of the ship as Viljan took us farther and farther from our village.
Farther and farther from the mountains that shielded us from the worst of the northern winds, farther from the playful rivers where there was an abundance of fish, and farther from everything I’d ever known.
“Do you know what happens now?” my guard asked.