“Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel.”

Fate goes ever as fate must.

~ Beowulf

“Heppnin er hugrakkur.”

Fortune favors the bold.

~ Common aphorism

Skadi scaled the raw boulders and strode up the occasional goat path toward Widow’s Rock with fierce resentment. The chill wind that blew down the length of the fjord from the Shattered Sea did nothing to cool her anger, and she climbed over outpourings of stone bramble and bittercress without noting their new blossoms. She ignored the view from the clifftop of the gleaming dark waters below, nor bothered to watch as a great eagle broke its glide to dive at some hidden prey.

Higher she climbed, moving quickly and with confidence. The wind tore at her heavy cloak and set the slender, brown braids that had escaped her bun to dancing. Her anger beat dully in her temple, and it was with brusque athleticism that she vaulted the last ridge and raced up the final rise to see Naddr Leifrson standing at the very lip of the overlook.

He was dressed in his finest, the same outfit he’d worn at the Winternight Festival some four months ago. A cerulean blue tunic edged with patterned azure, a fine woolen cloak of the softest gray, and elegant calfskin boots that were ridiculously inappropriate for this climb. Gold sewn into his cuffs, gold his kneecap-sized brooch, gold the buckle on his belt. A new blade hung from his hip, the scabbard inlaid, and his hand rested upon the pommel as if he were a jarl gazing out over his land.

Skadi clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to shove him over the edge.

Naddr must have sensed her, for he turned, the motion abrupt, nervous, and then smiled broadly, the expression stiff.

He’s scared, Skadi thought, walking forward with great reluctance. As well he should be.

“Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. Thank you for coming.”

“You gave me no choice. Not if I wanted to return this to you.” And she held out her hand, the fine gold necklace pooled like a fiery snake in her palm.

Naddr made no move to take it. “It is yours, freely given, though I’d hoped you’d appreciate its worth - and what it means for me to gift it to you.”

“I appreciate your intent well enough.” She tilted her hand so that the necklace slipped from her palm to fall gleaming to the rocks. “And my answer remains the same as it was at Winternight, and the month after, and the month after that. No, Naddr. I care not for your family’s wealth nor for you.”

His smile remained fixed, though his eyes glittered coldly. “So you said, and said again, but I’m convinced that I will change your mind. No - hear me out. The world is changing, Skadi. Who knows better than I? Just last year the Archean Empire drove my family out of Laxa as they took Skrímslaeyja with fire and iron. Do you think that was all they desired?”

Skadi raised her chin and smiled at Naddr as a wolf might smile at a hound. “Don’t compare the jarls of Skrímslaeyja to my father. He’d never abandon his home to flee with all his wealth to another island. That, and he has more ships and huscarls under his command than Geirsa, Sanda, and Laxa combined.”

“But your father isn’t here,” said Naddr softly.

“What of it? The Archean Empire will never suspect his being gone raiding this early in the season.” She squared her shoulders. “And King Harald is alert to their ambitions now. He’ll be ready.”

“King Harald sits in Stóllborg, a good four days’ sailing from here. By the time he heard of an attack it would be - again - far too late for him to respond.”

Skadi studied Naddr’s face. There was an arrogance, a boldness there that she’d never seen before; his smile was smug, his stance proud. But he’d startled when she’d arrived.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, taking another step closer. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Skadi, is that a wise woman would realize when her options have narrowed to one. A wise woman would appreciate an outstretched hand when all others have closed into fists. I know you disdain me. That you’re unimpressed with my father’s wealth and care little for my jokes and the great tales I tell in the hall after dinner. But that’s fine. Your love will come in time, just as you’ll come to appreciate what I’m doing for you. The favor I’m showing.”

His eyes burned fever bright and he licked his lips quickly, his tongue darting into view like a lizard’s tail flashing before it flicked back under its rock.

“You’re talking madness.”

“When the world’s going mad, what else would you have me say? Come. Step up beside me. Don’t be afraid. I want to show you something.”

Keeping out of his arm’s reach, though she feared his strength not at all, Skadi stepped up to the edge of the Widow’s Rock and gazed out over the fjord.

They were a hundred feet above the frigid waters. Across from them the wooded flanks of the far slopes were yet wreathed in dawn mist. Kalbaek was nestled at the head of the placid waters, its folk already at work amongst the many piers that extended from the docks, the town alive with industry and activity.

Skadi’s looked to the bend of the fjord, the massive shoulder of mountain blocking the view of the Shattered Sea beyond.

The bend around which Archean triremes were easing into sight, huge eyes painted on their prows, their black sails limp, their banks of long oars dipping in perfect unison into the dark waters.

The warning bell began to toll, its golden peals echoing within the fjord.

“How did you know?” she whispered, her whole body petrified by the sight.

“How did I know? You haven’t guessed?” His voice was hearty, relieved. “Who do you think it was that told them your father planned to slip away?”

She rounded on him, eyes wide. “You betrayed us.”

“No, I bowed to the inevitable.” His face flushed. “This was always going to come. But now we can manage it, benefit from it. Which is why I’m making you this offer, Skadi. Agree to become my woman. If you please me, if you work hard enough in bed, then I might even make you my wife. Refuse?” His voice turned ugly. “And the Archeans will enslave you just like everyone else.”

Skadi’s mind was blank, her very being overwhelmed. “My father gave you guest right. We’ve sheltered you since Laxa fell. How could you do this to us?”

Naddr sneered. “Don’t give me that. I told you. This is a new world. Archea’s world. The North Kingdom, the Iron Isle, Isern, Wuduholt - everyone will fall before the True Sun. But it’s a world of opportunity, Skadi, one where you and I can prosper - oh, I know you will hate me at first, but this is your chance to live -”

Skadi drew her hatchet from its loop at her waist, took a single step forward, and buried its gleaming edge in Naddr’s face.

The blade bit deep as it broke the architecture of his skull. Blood spattered her. Naddr’s shock was such that he didn’t even scream; for a moment he fumbled at the buried blade with clumsy fingers, then he collapsed and fell over the edge of the overlook.

“No!” A second too late Skadi realized he’d taken her only weapon with him. She dropped to her knees but he was gone, his body twisting and then breaking far below as it hit the rocks.

The bell yet tolled. People were rushing to their homes that lined the shore, even as huscarls boiled out of the longhouse or raced toward the water’s edge from far-flung corners of the village.

But her father’s five ships were gone, and with them the vast bulk of Kalbaek’s defenders.

Aghast, Skadi looked back to the Archean triremes. They drew ever closer with implacable surety. Five ships. It wouldn’t have been enough, shouldn’t have been enough, but they’d known her father was gone.

What to do? At their current speed, they’d reach the docks far before Skadi could run back down the mountain.

She was breathing rapidly, her shoulders rising and falling, her heart pounding.

What to do?

She’d always dreamed of being a shieldmaiden. Demanded lessons from anyone who would give her a few minutes, practiced with stolen weapons in the woods just outside the village.

“You’re to be a peace bringer, little one,” her father had said the first and only time she’d begged for formal training. “You will end wars, not fight them.”

“No,” she whispered, climbing to her feet and drawing back from the edge. “You’re not here, Father.” With nerveless fingers, she pulled her brooch free so that her cloak pooled around her feet and then peeled off her knee-high boots. “I can’t end this war. But I will fight it.”

Before she could change her mind she broke into a sprint. Seven long steps, and then she leaped, pushed off the ragged edge of rock to soar out into the void.

The urge to scream was violent, but she clenched her jaws as she fell feet first toward the dark waters below.

The cliff rushed by.

The world became too much.

The widow from legend had thrown herself onto the very rocks that had burst Naddr, giving the overlook its name, and for a terrible second Skadi thought her wyrd was to be the same, but then she knifed down into the frigid black just beyond the last boulder.

The winter ice had melted away weeks ago, but still it felt as if she broke through a layer of black crystal, the water thick and viscous with life-sapping cold. Down she plunged in a profusion of bubbles, the violence of her fall driving her to the unlit depths.

Terror clawed at her heart. Down here, far beneath the surface, was where the salt hags whiled away their bitter eternity. She’d entered their domain, maybe drawn their yellow eyes.

Desperate, she clawed at the water, fought for air, and swam back to the glimmering surface.

Her head broke free and she inhaled a ragged gasp, then set to swimming before the cold could numb her to death. The triremes had already rowed past, and shouts and screams echoed off the sides of the fjord now along with the still tolling bell.

Skadi swam, putting her fear and fury into the long strokes that pulled her through the choppy water. She was a jarl’s daughter. She knew that five enemy ships would carry far too many warriors for her father’s men to fend off.

She couldn’t pretend this wasn’t going to be a massacre.

But still she swam on, cutting through the water toward the rear of the closest ship, praying all the while that no bony claw would curl about her ankle with a grip of steel to drag her back under.

The trireme’s curved stern rose from the waves like a fishtail, its side flanked by twin pinned ladders, an Archean flag whipped by the wind. The oars were banked, the rudder still, the gunwale too high above the waterline for her to reach.

Wild thoughts. Swim between the boats to the shore? No. She swam up to the rudder oar’s great pole and clasped it, the wood slick. She fumbled for the small knife stowed in her sash. Thought it gone, lost to the fjord, then closed her nerveless fingers over the familiar wrapped hilt. Tore it free. Lunged up and stabbed its point into the rudder.

Heaving, slippery as an eel, she worked her way up the rudder’s oblique length, stabbing the blade higher up once more. She hauled, legs wrapped around the pole, wanting to gasp from the shock, higher and higher, till she lunged, grasped the edge of the gunwale, and pulled herself shivering and wide-eyed onto the deck.

The pilot’s seat was empty. The deck was a smooth expanse, the rowers being situated below. Bodies swarmed at the prow, men in Archean winter armor loosing flaming shafts at the shore even as others leaped onto one of the piers where the fighting was thickest.

Skadi’s every instinct told her to lie still, to not draw attention to herself, but she thought of her mother in the great hall, the hundreds of friends and people she knew who were fighting for their lives even as she lay there, and with a grimace she rose like a vengeful ghost, shivering and dripping and without a weapon but for the two-inch blade in her fist.

One of the archers turned to snatch up a new quiver and saw her. He was a short man, shoulders broad and back hunched from a lifetime spent drawing arrows, clothed in quilted black armor and with a cloth cap pulled tightly down over his ears. His eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed with delight. He lowered his bow and drew his sword from its sheath.

“Come here,” he called as he approached, the blade gleaming brightly like a shard of the moon. “Come here, beautiful girl. Bardas is going to take good care of you.”