Skadi staggered back against the longhouse wall and stared.

Kagssok lay unmoving, the tension slowly leaving his body, his back falling with his last breath, the sheer size of him awesome.

Her breath plumed before her face with each pant, small, ragged clouds that disappeared as quickly as they came.

She was unhurt. Her body ached, her shoulder, her hip, but she’d suffered no actual wound.

This alone seemed the greatest miracle of all.

Movement on the periphery of her vision.

A troll.

It edged around the longhall’s corner, having emerged from the ruined front entrance, and simply gaped at the fallen frost giant. The sight seemed to shake it to its core, and its massive, deep-chested body began to tremble. It howled and fled, running bent over toward the remnants of the Raven’s Gate.

The other trolls followed after.

Skadi laughed, the sound shaky, too close to hysteria for comfort, and slid down the wall as the strength in her legs gave out.

Flashes of the fight came back to her. She couldn’t piece it together in narrative order. She’d leaped twice off the rafters. Had been thrown against the wall. Evaded trolls, slashed and fought, Glámr and Yri—

Glámr and Yri!

With great effort, she stood and staggered down the length of the giant toward the back of the hall and the building into which the half-troll had been flung.

Only to see him step into view, unharmed, thatch and dust and cobwebs in his hair and stuck to his clothing, his eyes wide, his tusked mouth hanging open.

“Glámr!” Such was her joy that she bounded forward and hugged him.

The half-troll’s shock only deepened; he didn’t know what to do, so he stood there stiffly, waiting, until she stepped back, grinning.

“We did it!”

“Did we?” He pressed a hand to his head. “I can’t believe it. Yri?”

“In that tree up there.” Skadi turned and called out, “Yri?!”

“Alive.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

Skadi regarded Kagssok. His mammoth tusks had forced his head to wrench right around so that he looked straight over his left shoulder, the tusks extending in a furrow before him, the makeshift spear extended four feet from his ruined eye.

Skadi still couldn’t believe it.

Yri emerged from the canopy, wincing and unsteady, to drop from branch to branch. Glámr jogged over to help her with the last fall.

Villagers were slowly emerging from their homes. Skadi caught sight of faces in windows, heard the murmur of voices.

“The giant is dead!” She pitched her voice to carry. “Have no fear! Kagssok is dead and the trolls are gone! Kráka is ours once more!”

It took a good half hour for everybody to appear. Their terror and disbelief were that great, but when they finally gathered around the huge, pale-blue body, their eyes widened and then rose to stare at Skadi, who was devouring a platter of smoked meat she’d salvaged from within the hall.

Rannveyg, Kvedulf’s wife, emerged from the crowd to stare with glittering eyes at the fallen giant. With great effort, she tore her gaze away to regard Skadi. “How?”

Skadi inhaled deeply, considering her answer. Best to keep it simple. “Freyja came to me. She answered my prayer with a great gift, a dwarven chain made in Svartalfaheimr.” Skadi drew it forth and held it up. Even in the clear, gray dawn light, it glimmered. “Ásfríðr brewed a terrible poison. Together, Glámr and I tricked the giant into drinking it, and then I trapped his weapon beneath this chain.”

“Even so.” Rannveyg drew her cloak about herself. “To slay a jotunn? Yourself, alone?”

“I had help. Yri and Glámr helped me beyond measure.”

Begga broke free of the crowd. “But aye, it was our Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir who slew the giant! She it is that walks with Freyja’s blessing, she it is that struck the killing blow, did you not, Skadi?”

“I did. My seax is lodged deep inside the giant’s skull. I don’t relish digging it back out.”

Chuckles broke from some of the elders.

“Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir,” cried Begga again, turning from side to side to take in the whole crowd. “Beloved of Freyja, killer of giants!”

The shock was slowly wearing off, and more and more of the people of Kráka were staring at her in awe. “Skadi!” a few cried out, then more, and before Skadi could stop them they were roaring her name, shaking their fists and weapons in the air.

Skadi drank in the praise, trying to stand sternly but unable to resist a smile. Her gaze kept being drawn back to the massive blue face. To the proof of what she’d done.

“Skadi the Giant-Slayer,” cried Sif, the little girl.

“Skadi the Giant-Slayer!” roared many more.

Skadi sharpened her vision and saw two new threads of golden glory emerge from her chest, the others restoring themselves as well to bring her total to nine.

Rannveyg was watching her carefully, her expression calculating. Already the jarl’s wife had moved to the next step, the shape of things to come.

“The frost jotunn may be dead,” she called out, turning to address the crowd, “but our warriors are still Grýla’s guests. The Raven’s Gate with its wards is destroyed, and our longhouse ruined. This fight is far from over.”

“True,” said an iron-haired old man, his face creased around a terrible scar that had blinded him in one eye, his right arm missing from above the elbow. “But we must relish our victories where we find them. In this world, they are few and far between.”

Glámr nudged Skadi in the side, nodded for her to step forward.

She did so, and the crowd quieted to listen.

“We must work had to repair the gate as best we can, and fetch the völva to inscribe what warding runes she can fashion before the fall of night. Those who do not work at the gate must make weapons. Perhaps there are some unfinished ones within the smithy. Most importantly, we must pray for the return of Jarl Kvedulf with his hird. Only when our best warriors are returned can we assault Grýla’s palace and rescue our kin.”

“You think it can be done?” asked Rannveyg, her tone soft. “Defeat Grýla in her own hall?”

“Jarl Kvedulf reached it once, did he not?”

Nods.

“We shall do so again. Further, we have no choice. I won’t leave my companions as thralls to the Ice Jotunn. Kvedulf was due to arrive soon. If the gods favor us, he shall do so before the enemy can attack us once more, and then we shall teach them the consequences of assaulting Kráka!”

People shouted their agreement, and more than one yelled her name.

Rannveyg set to designating whom would work on which project, and Skadi found herself surrounded by admirers. She was not accustomed to being seen with such wonder and awe, and when, urged on by Ulfarr, she pulled free Natthrafn from the jotunn’s eye, the crowd roared anew.

She lifted the slaughter seax on high, the blue blood fleeing its fearless blade, and felt her heart thrill.

This was her wyrd.

This was the path she was meant to walk.

Not Skadi the jarl’s wife, but Skadi Giantslayer.

She washed Natthrafn’s hilt, carefully dried it, and marveled again at its pure, unblemished edge.

“One day you’re going to have to tell me how you got this,” she said to Glámr.

“Fair. That day has moved closer than I anticipated. But first, some sleep?”

Yri was alive with fevered energy, unable to sit, to stop circling the massive corpse, and after disentangling herself from her mother, who berated and praised her in equal measure, returned to crouch beside them.

“We did it.” She scarcely seemed to believe it herself. “Somehow we did it. I thought myself a dead woman walking, but would rather be smashed by the giant’s hammer than live in shame under his yoke.”

“We did,” agreed Skadi with a smile.

“And now?” Yri put a hand on her shoulder and rotated her arm, wincing at the pain. Her face was flecked with countless cuts and scratches, and she walked with a noticeable limp. “Shall we fetch Ásfríðr so that she may begin her work?”

“I,” said Skadi with emphasis, “am going to sleep. I snatched a few hours last night, but I could sleep a dozen more. Tonight might prove interesting. I’d urge you to rest as well. You need to heal those sprains.”

Yri sneered at the prospect of sleep, but then winced and sat back on her ass. “I could maybe go for an ice bath. Always helps with my injuries when I push myself too hard.”

“A good idea. A dip in the waterfall, and then a deep and dreamless sleep.”

“It’s not safe out there alone,” said Glámr. “I’ll escort you both.”

“Pervert,” said Yri, then laughed when Glámr’s gray face flushed dark. “I jest! You walked too easily into that one.”

“Perhaps I did.” Glámr rose to his feet and hauled Skadi up by the hand.

Eyes followed them as they approached Rannveyg, who had tied her hair back with a scarf and was giving permission for timber to be harvested from the longhouse for the gate.

“We’ll be back shortly,” said Skadi, being careful to not make it sound like a request. “We’re going to bathe in the Ice Goblet and then return.”

“Is that wise? The woods and mountains are alive with troll activity.”

“They’re welcome to bother me if they like.” Skadi smiled boldly, and with a nod to her companions led the way up the street to the ruined gate.

Which sobered her mood greatly. There was no conceivable way they could fix it in one day. Huge boards and shattered timbers lay everywhere, the ancient crossbar broken completely in half, the hinges torn free of the frame. It would take a full team of carpenters and laborers a week at least to erect something serviceable.

“We’ll have to count on the wards,” said Glámr softly. “And the ice queen having no more frost giants to send against us.”

“True enough.”

They crossed the meadow in silence, the ground wet and spongy underfoot as the last of the snows had melted, and reached the waterfall without adventure.

Glámr sat with his back to a large rock, bow laid across his thighs, facing in the direction of Kráka.

Smirking, Yri clambered across the large rocks to the edge of the pool, where she sat and went still, staring into the frothing waters.

Skadi, about to pull off her tunic, paused. Yri hadn’t gone still, she’d frozen.

Her heart began to pound, and she drew Natthrafn from his scabbard. A spell? “Glámr?”

No response.

And then a figure emerged from the waterfall proper, the white waters forming her raiment, becoming silver robes, and Freyja stepped out upon the scudding surface of the pool. Even in the light of early morning, she appeared radiant, more glorious than the rising sun, her eyes alive with impossible passions, her lips quirked with unguessed at humors. She wasn’t as massive in stature as she’d been in the völva’s temple, but even at a normal woman’s height, she seemed vast, as if her slender frame contained energies and powers beyond mortal ken.

“You have done well, Skadi Giantslayer. I savor the ring of that title. It is well earned.”

Skadi stood straight, inhaled deeply, then bowed her head. “We couldn’t have done it without your blessings, Honorable Lady. That should go without saying, but I’ll say it regardless. Thank you.”

“You appreciate my role in these matters. Good. But do not downplay your own. Your journey is but beginning. Soon your fame will stretch far and wide. We shall see then how humble you remain.”

Skadi’s heart thrilled at those words, and her elation grew. “My thanks.”

“But I have come to collect, Skadi. You used Seimur with great ingenuity. And now you must return it.”

Skadi drew the slender chain from her pouch and considered its glimmering red-gold beauty. It was the finest and most beautiful treasure she’d ever beheld, wondrous beyond measure. It pained her to part with it, but she poured its links into the goddess’s outstretched palm.

“Thank you for lending it to me. I will remember it always with awe and wonder.”

“As you should. And receive gladsome tidings: Jarl Kvedulf is but a day’s sailing away from Kráka.”

“That’s wonderful!” Skadi turned to sight out over the fjord, half-expecting to see sails at its mouth.

“But do not be too pleased. His arrival will bring you succor, but also challenges of its own.” Freyja smiled, and Skadi’s blood ran cold. “But that is what you live for, is it not, Styrbjörnsdóttir? Challenges. And challenges you shall have aplenty.”

And with that, she stepped back into the cascading waters and was gone.

Yri sighed. “I’m suddenly grown so weary I could sleep right here in the sun. Do you think this is what old age is like, Skadi? Aches and pains and a vengeful desire for rest?”

“Perhaps.” Skadi pulled off her tunic, her boots, her braies, removed her undergarment, and then stepped to the water’s frothing, furious edge. “But I do not think I will live to see it.”

And with that, she leaped into the whirling maelstrom of the goblet’s waters.