Dawn broke as we lay panting in each other’s arms, concealed now only by the furs draped over us. I knew I should move away, that there needed to be distance between us before others
woke or it brightened enough for the scouts on duty to see clearly, but I didn’t want to. In Bjorn’s arms, I felt content and safe for the first time in so long, which is why I was still in them when Bodil yawned and sat upright.
“Morning, Freya,” she said, giving me a look that told me we’d not been half as discreet as I’d hoped. “Blood running hotter this morning? Fingers and toes still attached?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a squeak, for I was intimately aware that for all Bodil was close, Bjorn was closer. “I’m quite recovered.”
Bjorn snorted, then sat up, using the motion to pull my trousers up over my naked arse. He then reached under the furs to extract my hands, which he examined in the growing light. My skin was reddened and my fingertips
were white and waxy, but I still had sensation. “Can you grip?” he asked, and I was tempted to point out that he knew damn well that I could, but instead I squeezed my fist. “Yes.”
“What about her feet?”
All three of us looked up at the sound of Snorri’s voice. He picked his way through the rousing warriors surrounding us, furs pulled up around his head so that his face was cast in shadows. I reluctantly extracted one foot, knowing from the pain that my feet had not weathered my ordeal as well as my hands. As I pulled off the two pairs of woolen socks I wore, my stomach sank. My feet were well enough, but my toes were purple, the pain growing the more I stared at them.
“Can you walk?”
I pulled the stockings back on, relieved not to have to look at my toes any longer. Bjorn rose next to me, then reached down to catch me by the arms, lifting me upright. I clenched my teeth as my full weight pressed down, the pain intense but manageable. So I took a step, then another, my balance precarious.
“Freya can’t fight in this condition.” Bjorn’s voice was low, anger simmering beneath the surface. “I hope you are content, Father, for this is your doing.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks. Bjorn was trying to protect me, I knew that. But if this truly was a test set for me by the gods, I had to keep going. Even if it wasn’t, the people of Halsar were counting on us being victorious. On us winning them homes and walls that would protect them from the long winter.
“I sent for my healer before we left Halsar, but he’ll be two days in reaching us,” Bodil said, examining my feet. “Yet perhaps worth waiting for.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Eir is more likely to grant favor and heal me if I prove myself in battle, so I will fight and see your healer after.”
“You’ll risk your life for the sake of a better chance of a god sparing your toes?” Bjorn crossed his arms, glaring at me. “I think your wits froze worse than your feet if you’d make such a decision.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t see what other choice we had. Timing was everything if we were to be successful in this siege, so this was a risk I was willing to take. “I won’t jeopardize the lives of everyone in Halsar to protect myself.” Rounding on Snorri, I said, “How long until we reach Grindill?”
—
Three hours, Snorri had said.
It felt like an eternity.
Sweat ran in rivulets down my back, making me long for the frigid winds of the prior day, but the sky was clear, the morning sun cutting through the boughs of the trees and giving me no respite as it melted away the prior day’s snow. Though the tips of my toes were numb, the rest of them throbbed unmercifully with each stride across the wet earth, the full belly of food Bodil had cajoled me into eating threatening to rise.
“You look ready to spill your guts,” Bjorn said under his breath from where he walked at my left. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“You said I wouldn’t die today,” I reminded him. “Besides, once the battle starts, I won’t feel the pain.”
“The former was said while very little of the blood in my body was servicing the part that does the thinking,” he hissed. “As for the latter, who the fuck told you that bullshit?”
“Probably you.” I winced as my toe caught against a tree root, pain lancing up my leg. “The source of all bullshit.”
Bjorn kicked a rock, sending it flying through the trees and nearly hitting Bodil, who turned around and shot him a glare before disappearing into the distance.
“Everyone is in position,” I reminded him. “If we delay for the sake of my toes, we risk discovery. We need this fortress. Not only to house our people come winter, but to protect them when Nordeland tries to attack.”
“I’m aware of the stakes.” He caught hold of my arm, pulling me to a stop. “You don’t attack the strong when you’re weak, Freya. You bide your
time.”
“I am not weak.” I snapped the words despite the fact it was fear, not anger, that blossomed in my veins. So much depended on me in this fight. So much depended on us winning this fight, because retreat would not take us out of reach of winter. Jerking free, I strode forward until I reached Snorri, hoping he’d deter Bjorn from making any more comments to undercut my confidence.
A fool’s hope.
“Father,” he said, coming up on Snorri’s opposite side, “we need to delay. Wait for Bodil’s healer and have him see to Freya before we proceed.” He hesitated, then added, “Her role is crucial. If she falters, all of us are dead men.”
“I’m not a man,” I muttered.
“Thank you for clarifying that point,” Bjorn retorted. “I hadn’t noticed.” “You two quarrel like children!” Casting dark glares at both of us, Snorri
gestured with one hand. “Freya, run to those trees.” “What?” I demanded. “Why?”
“If you can run, you can fight. Go.”
Not giving myself time to think about it, I broke into a sprint, my shield bouncing on my back. Each step felt like knives slicing my feet but I ignored the pain and pushed for more speed, focusing on finding level ground so that I wouldn’t stumble. I could do this. I had to.
Sweat poured down my brow as the trees drew closer, then my eyes moved beyond. To one of Snorri’s warriors, who was riffling through the pockets of a man bleeding out on the ground. A hunter, judging from the bow next to him. Sliding to a stop, I demanded, “Who is that?”
“Someone with eyes,” the warrior answered, pulling silver rings off the hunter’s fingers and shoving them onto his own. The dying man stared at me, mouth opening and shutting, blood trickling down his chin courtesy of the arrow through his throat, then his eyes went dim, body limp.
Dead.
I’d seen more dead men than I could count, victims of raiders who’d come to take from my people. To kill my people. To steal away my people
and turn them into thralls. But this was different.
This time I was the raider.
My throat burned and I swallowed bile even as I turned to Snorri, ready to tell him that my feet were too injured for me to fight. To buy time to figure out another way to take this fortress than by force. But before I could speak, he said, “The time for retreat is over. Now we fight. Send up the signal.”
All around us, the warriors sloughed off the things they would not need, pulling shields from their backs and drawing weapons, the markings on their faces monstrous and terrifying where a heartbeat before they’d been only ashes and paint. Bodil withdrew a pot from her belongings and approached me, removing the lid to reveal blue paint. With her fingers she covered the skin around my eyes, then drew small droplets down my cheeks. “They say Hlin kisses away the tears of those who weep for the fallen,” she murmured. “May the world drown in the tears left in the wake of our blades today.”
I swallowed and gave a tight nod even as one of the men called, “The decoy forces have signaled. They move to attack.”
“As do we,” Snorri said. Reaching down, he ran his hand across the blood pooled next to the cooling corpse, then went to Bjorn, dragging his palm across his son’s face. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Bjorn didn’t answer, but his axe appeared in his hand, the divine fire burning in a silent inferno as his gaze locked on mine, sending a shiver coursing over me. He looked as dangerous as I’d ever seen him, eyes full of anger, and I turned away.
Because his anger was for me.
We moved down the mountain slope toward the plumes of smoke rising above the fortress. Not the orderly ranks used by the nations in the distant south, but like a pack of wolves moving through the trees on silent feet, teeth and claws formed of steel.
We reached the tree line, and I got my first glimpse of Gnut’s fortress, my chest tightening, for Bjorn’s description had not done it justice.
Easily three times the size of Halsar, Grindill was flanked to the north by a turbid river, called the Torne. The west side overlooked a cliff, leaving the south and east sides of the fortress approachable. Except it was also surrounded by a deep trench filled with sharpened stakes, passable only over a wooden bridge. But what stole my breath was the circular wall beyond. Steep embankments of earth covered with stakes were topped with towering wooden walls, which must have had a platform behind them, for I could see the heads and shoulders of a handful of archers standing upon them. There was only one entrance on this side, which was shut, more archers peering out of a covered structure built over the thick wooden gate.
Shouts filtered out from the fortress, the decoy force formed primarily of Bodil’s maidens having begun their attack on the south gate, and those trapped outside raced toward the east entrance, seeking refuge.
The archers above only shook their heads, their eyes on the tree line where we lurked, expressions grim. I didn’t blame them, for they were few in number, which meant the diversion had worked. Gnut’s spies had told him that I trained with Bodil’s maidens, which meant he believed I was with them and had drawn his forces to meet me at the main gate.
Leaving his arse exposed to the true attack.
“This one,” I heard Snorri say, and I turned to find him pointing at an old oak within the sea of pines. Bjorn dropped his shield, taking hold of the haft of his axe with both hands. With a grunt of effort, he swung, and the tree groaned as the blade of fire dug deep into its flesh. Bjorn wrenched it free, muscles straining, then swung again with unerring aim. A drop of sweat cut a line through the blood smeared across his face as he swung a third time.
The oak moaned its death cry as it slowly toppled, gaining speed as it fell to smash into the open field. Those gathered at the base of the wall screamed in panic, some wisely running away from the fortress, though many remained, pleading to be let in.
I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing their fear. Knowing what it felt like to be descended upon with safety just out of reach. Run, I willed them as Bjorn cut the tree to a manageable length, others moving to wrap rope
around the trunk. As they hoisted the ram off the ground, those on the wall called the alarm. Called for reinforcements.
They’d never make it in time.
Feeling as though I watched myself from afar, I took my place next to the ram, Bjorn ahead of me and Bodil behind. My shield was dead weight in my left hand, kept low until we needed it, my magic hidden until the final moment.
“Ahead,” Snorri ordered from where he stood near the front, and those supporting the ram strained with effort as we broke into a slow jog across the field between the forest and the wall. Our feet thundered as we crossed the bridge, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face as I took in the countless sharpened stakes below.
“Shields!” Snorri called as the archers on the wall lifted their weapons, and I lifted my shield, interlocking it with those to either side of me. The air filled with a soft hiss, and a heartbeat later arrows thudded into the shields above our heads. One punched through Bjorn’s shield, the tip stopping just shy of his shoulder, and I had to clench my teeth to keep from calling forth my magic to protect him.
“Hold,” Snorri shouted as if sensing my thoughts. As though he knew I was on the brink of giving myself away. “Hold!”
Someone near the front of the ram screamed, the tree trunk dipping as those holding it stumbled over the man who’d fallen. My stomach twisted as I stepped over the body.
Don’t look down, I ordered myself. Don’t do anything that might make you fall!
“Hold!” Snorri roared as we drew closer, now near enough that I could see the faces of those manning the walls. Their grim determination and fear as they dipped their arrowheads in pitch and set them aflame.
I clenched my teeth as the fiery brands flew toward us, striking our shields. A piece of burning pitch fell through a gap and landed on my wrist, the leather instantly blackening. I hissed, shaking my arm before it could burn through the thick leather. Others were less fortunate, screams rattling my ears.
“Hold!”
Only another dozen paces. “Hold!”
Ten.
“Now, Freya!” Snorri shouted, and I screamed Hlin’s name.
Magic coursed from my hand, covering first my shield and then Bjorn’s, moving ahead and behind me until all were aglow with silver light.
And not a heartbeat too soon.
The ram slammed into the gate with a boom. But it was nothing compared to the explosion above us. In my periphery, I saw liquid shoot in all directions as my magic repelled what must have been boiling water, steam clouding the air.
“Back!” Everyone shuffled backward at Snorri’s bellow, stumbling over the bodies of two who’d been struck by arrows, and I struggled to keep my footing. Fought to keep my shield in place, for if it separated from the others, they’d lose the protection of my magic.
“Heave!” Snorri roared, and we raced forward again, the ram swinging on the ropes slung between a dozen men. With each pass, warriors fell to arrows, the ground turning to an obstacle-filled slurry. It was chaos. My breath came in desperate pants as I focused on where I stepped, my feet sliding in the muck.
Boom!
The deafening noise of more boiling water exploding off my magic rattled my ears right as the ram struck. I staggered, catching myself against Bjorn, but managed to keep my shield high.
Steam stung my eyes and made me cough as we swung the ram again, the bodies beneath our feet crushed into a pool of blood and mud.
Boom!
On the heels of the explosion came screams, and under Bjorn’s arm, I watched one of our warriors spin away from the ram, face brilliant red with burns, his clothing soaked. I panicked, certain my magic had failed, but when I looked up, my shield still blazed bright above our heads.
“It wasn’t you,” I whispered to myself as we moved back to swing again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I could do this.
I would do this.
Then my foot caught on a corpse.
I stumbled, trying to catch my balance, but my toes hadn’t the strength to hold my weight.
A shriek tore from my lips as I fell, slamming into Bodil, who caught me against her chest, holding me as I gained my feet. “Arm up, Fr—”
A clap of thunder split the air as I forced my shield back into place, twisting in time to watch Bodil drop, a blackened hole in her shoulder. I screamed, horror and disbelief filling me as she hit the ground.
And Bodil wasn’t the only one who fell.
My misstep had ripped my magic from the shields of my comrades, and all around me men were soaked with boiling water, their faces brilliant red from burns. Screaming. Dying.
The ram fell with a crunch, and dimly I heard Snorri shout, “They have a child of Thor! Fall back!”
“Bodil,” I howled, seeing that there was still life in her eyes. If I could get her out of this mess, maybe she could be saved. If I could get her to a healer in time, then maybe she might live.
But Bjorn’s arm was around my waist, lifting me and tearing me away from her. “She’s lost,” he shouted. “We have to fall back!”
An arrow whizzed past my face, but I still fought him, reaching for Bodil as she lifted her hand to me. Our fingers brushed, then I was ripped away, an explosion sending Bjorn and me both flying sideways.
I landed hard right as the thunder clapped. Thick steam filled the air, and I couldn’t see Bodil. Couldn’t find my way back to her. Hands caught hold of me, dragging me over the ground. “Get up,” Bjorn screamed in my ear. “Run!”
Blinking away the haze of tears revealed that the gate was an inferno, the bodies and ram having been lit aflame by the lightning. I screamed in
wordless fury as Bjorn hauled me toward the trees, my heels bouncing on the torn-up grass, my eyes fixed on the scene.
Which is why I saw the child of Thor.
Standing in the covered structure over the gate stood a hooded figure with arcs of lightning crackling back and forth between their upraised palms.
The one who’d killed Bodil. The one who’d stolen her from me.
Screaming wordlessly, I tore out of Bjorn’s grip. Snatching up a fallen shield, I ran, calling forth my magic. My shield burned like a silver sun as the child of Thor lifted their hands.
Dropping to one knee, I raised my shield.
A clap of thunder split the air when the lightning struck my shield, as though Thor himself had stepped out of the sky and into battle. My ears rang. Light seared my eyes, and I knelt frozen in place, blind and deaf, until, slowly, the lights cleared and the ringing eased.
Revealing a hole where the gate had been, an entire part of the wall lying in ruin, the child of Thor gone.
Dumbfounded, I stared at the smoking ruins, charred remains of men resting atop blackened and smoldering wood.
“Attack!” Snorri screamed.
Warriors streamed past me, racing for the breach. Climbing over the remains of our clansmen. Over Bodil.
Never again would I hear her council. Share drinks with her over a fire.
Fight by her side.
They’d taken her away from me.
My blood surged and I scrambled to my feet, feeling no pain, only endless, ceaseless rage.
Pulling loose my father’s sword, I climbed over the rubble and through the smoke, racing after Snorri and the others between the buildings. Everywhere I looked, people ran screaming, but my eyes glossed over the women with children in their arms, the infirm, the weak, as I hunted for a fight. Hunted for release from the agony burning like acid beneath my rage.
A bearded warrior exploded out of a building, half his face burned away, though he didn’t seem to feel it as he raced toward me. His axe slammed against my shield, my magic sending it spinning away.
A wild laugh tore from my lips and I swung my own weapon, cleaving through the leather he wore, his innards spilling out. I spun away, meeting another man’s attack and leaving him less his throat as I moved on to the next. And the next.
Until there was no one else to fight.
Blood dripped from my face as I paused, my anger hunting for more
because it was not satisfied. Could not be satisfied.
Only for my eyes to land on Bjorn. He stood a few paces away, covered in blood and gore, shoulders rising and falling as he panted for breath. There were dead men at his feet that didn’t fall to my blade, yet I hadn’t even known he was there. Hadn’t seen anything other than the men and women who’d fought against me, their faces already a blur.
“Do you know how many times you almost died,” he hissed. “How many men came at your back while you were lost to bloodlust? How many times I screamed your name and you never heard?”
I bared my teeth, still lost to the rage. I didn’t want to find my way out, because once I did, I knew there would be a reckoning. So I twisted away, screaming, “Where is Gnut? Where is your jarl who brought blood and ash upon you rather than swear allegiance to the king of Skaland?”
“Freya!” Bjorn snarled, but I ignored him, moving between the buildings, my voice a strange singsong tone as I crooned, “Come out, Gnut. Where are you?”
Vaguely I was aware others had joined Bjorn. Heard Snorri demanding that I silence myself, but I ignored them all as I hunted.
Then a familiar man with an axe stepped from between the buildings, a dozen blood-spattered warriors behind him, all of them eyeing me warily.
“There you are, Gnut.” I gave him a bloody smirk. “I thought I was going to have to hunt you down among the children.”
“You let them be, witch,” he hissed, hefting his axe.
“It isn’t me they should fear.” I stalked closer. “It’s you. You, who cared more for your pride than for their safety.”
“Says the monster who slaughtered their parents!”
A shudder ran through me, the tip of my blade wavering, but I shoved away the rising guilt. Buried it deep beneath my rage. They deserved everything they got for standing against us. For killing Liv and burning Halsar. For taking Bodil from me.
My eyes filled with crimson and smoke, my skull throbbing with such ferocity that I couldn’t think. There was only wrath.
Lifting my sword, I screamed wordlessly and charged, needing his blood on my hands.
A flash of flame shot past me.
Gnut’s grin faded. The spark of malice in his eyes dimmed as his severed head slid sideways, landing on the ground with a thud a heartbeat before his body collapsed.
Dead.
“Do the rest of you surrender?” Bjorn’s voice cut through the silence. “Or do you wish to die to the man?”
The remaining warriors shifted uneasily, then tossed their weapons forward and fell to their knees.
I stared at them, my hands shaking, the magic on my shield pulsing. Gnut had been mine to kill. All these men had been mine to kill, and Bjorn had stolen that away from me.
Whirling around, I stalked toward him. “Why did you steal vengeance from me?”
He snorted in disgust. “You mean, vengeance from them?”
Knocking aside my weapon with a careless swipe of his hand, he caught hold of my shoulders, spinning me to see Snorri’s warriors shove a pair of archers out from behind cover. “Gnut was luring you in, Freya. Another few paces and you’d have had a pair of arrows in you, and Gnut would have died with the honor of having put you in the grave.”
He twisted me back around, bending so that we were nose-to-nose. “But maybe that was what you wanted?”
“Back off!” I shoved him hard, but I might as well have shoved a stone wall for all the good it did.
“Why?” Bjorn demanded. “So that I won’t be close enough to save you the next time you try to get yourself killed?”
“Silence yourselves!” Snorri roared, but I ignored him.
“Gnut deserved to die,” I shouted. “All of this is because he refused to bend. Bodil is dead because—”
“Because she willingly went into battle, and in battle, people fall. She knew the risks as well as anyone, Freya. Certainly knew them better than you.”
I flinched, stepping back from him, my rage faltering beneath the onslaught of sharper emotions. I’d chosen to fight today knowing that I was weak. I’d stumbled. I’d dropped my shield. I’d left Bodil exposed.
I’d killed her.
My shield slipped from my hand, magic extinguishing as it hit the ground. Bodil was dead because of me.
“Bodil was a warrior.” Bjorn’s voice was quiet, as though his anger had been extinguished alongside mine. “She died with a weapon in hand and will be in Valhalla now.”
Except she hadn’t.
My breath caught, my chest a riot of pain as I remembered Bodil’s blade on the ground, dropped so that she might catch me. And I hadn’t stopped to put it in her hand before fleeing. I’d left her to die without it.
Suddenly, I was running. Sprinting through the smoking fortress toward the gate, each step like running over knives, but I embraced the pain. The gate was entirely gone, charred wood littered across the ground as though it had been smashed by a giant fist. But my eyes went beyond, to the smoldering remains of the ram and the unrecognizable figures scattered around it.
The smell of burning flesh and hair filled my nose and I gagged, slowing my pace as I picked through the wreckage.
So many bodies.
So many, and their faces were gone, leaving only size and shape and soot-stained armor to identify them. The wind gusted, sending plumes of smoke rushing sideways, but I caught a flash of silver.
Tears dripping down my face, I moved closer. A long lock of silver hair, spared by some act of the gods from the fire, floated on the breeze from where it was pinned beneath the charred remains. Dropping to my knees, I caught hold of the hair, tangling it around my fingers as it pulled loose. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is my fault.”
Taking a deep breath, I moved my gaze from her skull, down her arm, to where her skeletal fingers clutched the hilt of her sword. I exhaled a loud whoosh of air, my shoulders slumping in relief. She is in Valhalla.
The ground burned my knees, but I didn’t move as I wrapped her hair into a coil, then gripped it tight in my fist as I heard him approach.
“Come to say that you told me so?” I asked softly. “If I’d waited for a healer to tend to my feet, Bodil might still be alive.”
Exhaling a long breath, Bjorn shook his head. “Or perhaps she would have slipped and fallen to her death as we retreated to find the healer. Perhaps it was her time to die.”
I dug my nails into my palms, wanting to scream.
Bjorn crouched next to me, his gaze fixed on Bodil’s blackened blade. “To have these thoughts will drive you mad, Freya, for there is no way to know if your choices caused certain outcomes.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think most people find comfort in being fated. In knowing that everything has already been set out for them, because…because no decision is truly yours but rather something determined by the Norns. Even the gods must take comfort in knowing that their fates are certain, the outcome of the end of days already known. But for whatever reason, those like you, and me, and Bodil are able to alter the weave of our threads, which means we must bear the full burden of every choice we make.”
“They say being given the blood of a god is a gift,” I whispered. “But it’s a curse.”
For a long moment, Bjorn was silent; then he said, “You were not yourself today. You—” he broke off, giving his head a sharp shake. “If you
keep down this path, Born-in-Fire, if you allow yourself to be controlled by my father, it will destroy you. You need to change your fate.”
“You may be right.” I rose to my feet and headed back inside the fortress. “The trouble is that each time I try to change the course of fate, everything becomes so much worse.”
