The ship grew steadily larger. Lethargy befell the ship’s crew, and everybody stood at the gunwale, watching, waiting.

“If it comes to a fight,” said Biolfr quietly by Skadi’s side. “Will you give us weapons?”

“No,” said Skadi. “If it comes to a fight, I don’t trust you to fight for us.”

Biolfr bowed his head and stepped back.

The ship drew ever closer. The dip and pull of their oars were hypnotic. Details became evident. There were easily some twenty men on board, all hale and unwounded. They approached with admirable calm. Standing at the prow was a large man clad in a black bearskin cloak; sunlight glinted off the blade of his spear, and what Skadi at first thought was a black tunic revealed itself to be a fine shirt of chainmail.

“A wealthy man,” murmured Glámr by her side, fingering the edge of his ax. “A jarl, perhaps? But no, only the one ship; a wealthy landowner, venturing forth for some private entertainment.”

Finally the stranger’s boat came to a stop a short distance off, and the men rose from their benches to stare at them over the waters.

There was no hiding their predicament.

The bear-cloaked man stepped up onto the gunwale, one hand resting lightly on the dragon figurehead.

“Greetings,” he called, voice carrying cleanly across the waves. “To where are you bound, and from where have you come?”

Skadi climbed up in similar manner, balancing easily on the inch-thick gunwale, and pitched her voice to carry. “We hail from Kalbaek, and sail to Kráka, where we shall claim guest right from my uncle, Jarl Kvedulf.”

The sailors on the other ship exchanged glances.

“Kráka is far from here, young maiden,” called their captain, his amusement obvious. “I fear that you’ll not make it. Perhaps we could be of assistance?”

“We are fine.” Skadi fought to keep her voice strong. “But we thank you for your offer.”

“No, it would be remiss of me to not intervene. I see amongst you old men, old women. A stranger crew I’ve never seen, but surely fate brought us together. I will lighten your load. It will make for easier sailing if you are not weighed down by all those chests and barrels.”

The other ship began to row closer, not waiting for a response.

Damian made a gesture toward the sun. “At least we may escape yet with our lives.”

Kofri scoffed. “And sail for a week without water and food? We’d have to land on the Draugr Coast, too close to Trollheim for aught but trouble. No. We fight!”

“Fight and die,” said Glámr. “If we show signs of resistance they’ll whittle us down with spears before closing to finish the job.”

“If Aurnir doesn’t tip the ship,” muttered Kofri.

Skadi focused on the captain. He was tall, of middle years, his black beard threaded with gray. But powerful yet, and confident; his expression was that of a man who knows his worth, and that the situation was well in hand. She focused further, and golden threads formed around him in a nimbus - five in all, emerging from his heart and spearing out every direction.

“Captain! Your name?”

The rowers paused, oars dripping water, the ship gliding yet closer.

The captain laughed. “My apologies. I am Tryggr Ramundrson, and this is my ship, the Sea Blade.”

“Ah,” said Biolfr.

“You know him?” snapped Glámr.

“Of him.” Biolfr’s tone was glum. “He hails from Hake. A true reaver. It’s said he spent the night with the Queen of Pines and survived to tell the tale, as well as being part of the attack that burned Stowbury to the ground.”

Skadi turned back to the ship, the wind tugging at her dark hair. “Tryggr Ramundrson! I am Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir, and I offer you a challenge!”

“A challenge?” Tryggr’s tone was part wary, part amused. “Let us hear it, little maid. But don’t waste my time - the time for foolishness is past.”

“I swear on Odin that I will die before I let you plunder my ship.” She felt more than saw the startlement of her own companions. “But where is the glory in your cutting down a girl? No - let us bring this before the gods. I will close my eyes and spread my arms here upon the gunwale. All you need do is hurl your spear across the waters. If you strike me true and slay me, then my ship and everything in it is yours to do as you will, and none shall raise a hand to oppose you.”

Tryggr gazed at her in disbelief. “And if I miss?”

“Then you give us four of your best men to help us reach Kráka. But we shall leave them in Hake when we pass it, so that they may find their own way home.”

The silence was total but for the lap of the waves against the side of their boats, and then Tryggr shook his head in sadness. “Skadi, you are brave, I will give you that. But at this distance, and on such calm seas? I cannot miss. My spear is famed for flying true. Come, leave this challenge. I will not slay you, but bring you with me to Wuduholt. Who knows what your wyrd shall bring you there?”

“I have laid my challenge before the All-Father,” cried Skadi. “If there is not sufficient wolf in you to meet it, then come raid my ship like dogs.”

Tryggr sighed and hefted his spear. “There burns in you the spirit of a drengr, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. Your father and jarl would be proud. But your tale ends here.”

“What are you doing?” hissed Damian. “Skadi!”

Aurnir moaned in deep consternation.

Feeling alive, terribly light, as if the wind might pluck her from the gunwale like a feather, she released the figurehead and spread her arms wide. “Loose, Ramundrson. Loose, and let the fates decide what is to pass.”

“The fates have ever been kind to me,” called the captain. “But before Odin, I shall meet your challenge.”

Skadi closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. The ship rocked, rose and fell, and she balanced perfectly, remained utterly still, arms spread wide to welcome the flying spear. The sun’s warmth was a caress on her face, and she inhaled deeply, feeling her ribs expand, supremely aware of the blood pumping within her, her heart, her vulnerability before Tryggr’s great spear.

Tryggr grunted with effort, Skadi braced, but then a massive splash sounded, and cries of alarm and wonder tore themselves free from over thirty throats.

Skadi wobbled, caught her balance, and opened her eyes.

The water between their boats thrashed, and she caught sight of Tryggr’s spear whipping back and forth amidst the froth. A fish larger than a man spasmed and beat its tale, then dove down, taking the spear with it.

Tryggr gaped, face drained of all color, and then, as if it was the hardest feat he’d ever attempted, he raised his gaze to stare at Skadi.

“By the gods,” whispered Kofri. “By the gods.”

Skadi’s heart pounded like a shipwright’s hammer. She felt loose and shivery but forced her expression to remain stern and met Tryggr’s gaze without faltering.

All five of his golden threads were gone.

Only one remained burning bright from her breast.

“A sign from Odin,” called a grizzled old warrior from one of the benches. “A salmon, the fish of wisdom. A salmon like I’ve never seen.”

“ ’Twas black,” said Glámr, awed. “Black from its great head to its middle, after which it was red like blood.”

Skadi resisted the urge to reach for the figurehead. Balanced upon the gunwale, and raised her chin. “Odin has spoken.”

“That he has,” said Tryggr, his voice weak with awe. “I… I’ve never heard of the like. There can be no doubt. You are free to go, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir, and with my blessings. I… I pray you forgive us for this… this interruption in your journeys.”

“I will row for her,” said one of the sailors, a compact young man with prematurely graying hair.

“As will I,” said a second, and then half the ship rose to its feet, clamoring for the honor.

Tryggr was overwhelmed. His gaze kept dragging itself down to the waters. A second man, his helmsmen, perhaps, older and with a face creased like granite, barked out for silence, and in rapid order selected four men to board Skadi’s ship.

She hopped down from the gunwale. Everyone on her ship was gazing at her in awe, except for Aurnir who gave her a great, pleased smile.

Glámr pulled himself together first. “I am starting to believe we shall reach Kráka without much trouble.”

To which Ulfarr chuckled, regaining his wits as well. “Aye, perhaps we shall. I’ve felt the touch of the gods upon Skadi here since we were dragged on this ship. Whatever her wyrd, it’s a powerful one.”

Lage, broad and soft and bald like a boiled egg, stepped forward. “You’ve no reason to trust me, Styrbjörnsdóttir, I know that, I swear I do, but in Tyr’s name I promise I’ll do all that I can to help you reach your uncle.”

“As will I,” said Ywan, his voice muffled by his still healing broken nose.

“I’d be a fool to not agree.” Biolfr’s smile was rueful.

Only Young Kylfa remained silent, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed.

“We’ll see,” said Skadi, unable to do more than watch as Tryggr’s ship drew closer. Two men three hooked ropes which caught on the gunwale, and after a few moments hauling their ships came together, side to side.

Skadi rested her hand on Natthrafn’s pommel. The others might think her protected, but she was painfully aware of the single thread that separated her from common mortality.

Tryggr remained on his perch by the figurehead, but his composure was slowly returning; he nodded to the four men who grabbed their tightly rolled packs and climbed into Skadi’s ship, then regarded her once more.

“This is a tale worthy of the greatest halls,” he said. “Jarl Kvedulf is a fearsome man, but something tells me you shall hold your own. But a word of warning, if I may be so bold: the interest of the gods is a two-sided blade. Be wary of their blessings, for there is always a cost, and if you do not pay it, those close to you shall.”

Skadi could only nod.

The hooks were removed, poles were used to push off, and the Sea Blade drifted away.

“Fare well,” she called.

“And you,” replied Tryggr, and at his nod his remaining eighteen men dipped their oars and began to pull away.

There was silence as they watched the ship recede, and then Skadi turned to her four new crew members. They were openly staring at her, eyes wide with awe.

Her first instinct was to dispel their amazement, to insist on her being a jarl’s daughter like any other, but then she realized their awe was a tool; it was best if they remained pliant.

“Stow your gear beneath your benches, and let’s get to rowing.” She looked to Ulfarr, who nodded and retreated to the rudder. “What are your names?”

They introduced themselves, and when questioned guessed that they were a week south of Kráka. They spoke with Ulfarr about the weather they’d seen, and soon were settled and at the oars.

Biolfr and his three companions sat as well, and with Skadi, Glámr, and Aurnir also rowing, they began to do more than limp.

Nobody spoke. There was an air of amazement over the crew. Skadi caught the men stealing glances at her.

She felt stiff, almost awkward. What was she becoming? Should she welcome this change? Encourage it? She still felt very much herself, but then she couldn’t deny her vision of the World Tree, Freyja’s blessing, the salmon that had leaped from the depths of the Anvil Sea to save her life from Tryggr’s spear.

Best to simply row. To stop thinking and enter a meditative trance as she hauled at the water, pushing their ship ever closer to Kráka, to her uncle, and to whatever answers lay within his great hall.

He would know what to do. He would give her guidance. He would help her determine the best way forward with her new and terrible wyrd.