The last days of Sólmánuður drew to a close.

Skadi resolutely refused to watch the mouth of the fjord, that great bend where the water curved into view from the North Sea. To squint and stare and strain in an effort to make out dragon ships, her father’s ships, come to rescue her.

As one day bled into the next, the certainty that he wouldn’t come bloomed within her. And with it an acceptance. Both of her wyrd and her need to face Blakkr, and also of her own importance in the larger scheme of things. Her father dealt with King Harald and the future of the North Kingdom.

Of course, he’d not drop everything to sail across the Shattered Sea and up the Draugr Coast to fetch her.

In his mind, she was still the young woman who grew irate each time Naddr Leifrson flirted with her, the young woman who begged Svinnr for lessons with an axe, who teased Riki for wanting to grow his hair long.

She wasn’t Skadi the Giant-Slayer to him.

The long, hazy days of summer began to wane. The heat became gradually less intense, and as the month of Heyannir drew close she focused ever more energy into her training.

She trained at stones until her legs and arms and back were as jellied as marrow. Fought at Glima with such ferocity that even the largest of the men were forced to take her seriously, and often exclaimed in dismay when she raged and bucked and twisted like an animal to get out from under their pins. She trained with bow and with throwing axe, with spear and with bearded axe, with sword and with shield, until her hands were as callused as a sailor’s and her joints ached.

Begga chided her at first and then fell silent. Marbjörn accepted her focus with a pensive air. Glámr and Damian worked hard to keep up but frequently failed to match her intensity.

Only her uncle seemed amused, and her smirks drove her on more effectively than any lash.

One night at dinner in the great hall she turned to Kvedulf as he murmured something with Rannveyg, and waited till he realized he glanced her way.

“Yes, Niece?”

“In a few days, I will leave Kráka for Djúprvik. Before I go, I would hear the tale of your failed raid again, so that I can be sure to learn every detail of what I’m up against.”

Anarr the skald fell silent at her words, and then quickly busied himself with a new set of notes, but his attempt to cover the moment failed. Other warriors along the tables grew tense and still, watching and listening with gleaming eyes.

Kvedulf narrowed his eyes with displeasure, the air about him thickening with his anger.

Skadi merely raised an eyebrow at her uncle and waited. She could see him chewing over his desire to rebuke her, to argue how she categorized the attack, to deny what had happened.

But he couldn’t. Not only would it make him seem petty and vainglorious, but everyone in the hall knew she was right.

“Very well. Anarr. You were there. Regale my niece with the tale.”

“If it’s all the same, Uncle, I would hear it from you. How could Anarr match your understanding of the situation, your insight into what took place, and how best to counter it when I go at your command to do better?”

“Careful, Niece,” her uncle said softly. “You tread on dangerous ground.”

“I know exactly where I tread,” she said in the same strong voice. “Have I misspoken? Misrepresented the facts? No. So, Uncle. Do me the courtesy of recounting the tale so I may fight Jarl Blakkr with all the facts in my possession.”

For a moment, the atmosphere grew fraught, and then Kvedulf smiled and lounged back in his chair. “You are eager to seize glory, as is right for the daughter of my brother Styrbjörn. Your successes will only raise our family higher, and I am glad to provide you with the opportunity.”

The members of the hird slowly relaxed, the tension bleeding from the air.

Skadi studied her uncle. For all that he was relaxed, she could still read the hidden fury in his eyes.

“You wish to know more about Djúprvik. That is wise. Have you asked Ásfríðr to try another divination on the town?”

“She has, but says it is as veiled as before.”

“Not surprising. Blakkr has found himself a powerful fordæða, who filled our hearts with unnatural fear and made the very air hard to breathe. I caught a glimpse of her as we retreated. She wore a black mantle upon her shoulders, but her chest was bare, her skin tattooed and filthy. A skull hung from her hip, a boar’s, I think, from the tusks, and she wore a great antlered headpiece, twisted and unnatural as if the antlers had been culled from a monster and no ordinary animal. The headpiece covered the upper half of her face completely, so that any other woman would have been blinded.”

“And she cast a spell that filled our men with fear?”

“Thick, unnatural fear. Like drowning on dry land. Our chests seized up, our throats constricted, and our bowels turned to water. The fordæða laughed, and the sound was like nails scratching at the inside of our minds.”

Kvedulf frowned at the bottom of his cup, and Skadi waited.

“There was a berserker amongst Blakkr’s hird, who led the charge against our shield wall as it fell apart before the fordæða’s seiðr. Large as Marbjörn, he screamed like a beast as he came, bit the rim of his shield, and cast it away, and different warriors have all reported seeing arrows and spears bounce off his skin as if he were made of stone.”

“A fordæða and a berserker,” said Skadi. “What of Blakkr himself? Did you see him?”

“Blakkr is old,” said Marbjörn, who was leaning forward over the table so that he could be part of the conversation. “Older than any other jarl on the Draugr Coast. He was old when my father reaved. It’s a wonder that he still lives.”

“A wonder indeed,” said Rannveyg, toying with her silver cup. “And with a fordæða at his side…”

“To answer your question: no. I did not see Blakkr.”

“Could this fordæða be in charge of Djúprvik?”

“Who knows? But she would have to be a mighty sorceress indeed to command the loyalty of a hird. Such arrangements are deeply… unnatural.”

“I see.” Skadi sat back. “How many dragon ships does Blakkr command?”

“By reputation? Two. He has held his position on the coast more by guile and careful political positioning than the brute force of, say, Jarl Afastr.”

“I see. Two ships, so a hird of what—forty, sixty men?”

Kvedulf glanced at Marbjörn who considered and nodded.

“Plus a fordæða, a true berserker, and who knows what other tricks. You think most highly of me, Uncle.”

Kvedulf’s smile was predatory. “Of course I do. You are my niece.”

“That I am. I leave Kráka in three days’ time, on Moonday. It will take us a week to travel to Djúprvik via the mountain road. Thus in ten days’ time, I will resolve your problems with Djúprvik for you.”

“Boldly claimed,” said Kvedulf. “But renown is only earned after the fact. We shall see how you fare.”

Skadi stood. “At the very least I can promise I won’t flee with my tail between my legs.”

Again Anarr’s fingers played a discordant note on his lyre, and again every eye turned to glare at Skadi.

She rested her hand on Natthrafn’s pommel and gazed out over the hall. “Listen closely, oh warriors of Kráka. I, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir, do swear an oath to you all: I shall avenge you against this fordæða who used her foul magics to pervert your boldness. I shall bring justice to Jarl Blakkr, and make the people of Djúprvik fear us once more. When I am done with our foes, they shall no longer be of account. This I swear in Freyja’s name.”

A shudder passed through her, as if every one of her golden cords had been played by an invisible hand, just as Anarr did on his lyre.

“A mighty oath,” murmured Kvedulf. “Be wary of promising that which you can’t deliver. The consequences are… harsh.”

“Have no fear on that account. But know this. When I return victorious, I shall ask the use of one of your ships, dear uncle, and a crew to row me to my father. I ask not for gold, nor for weapons, nor for honor, nor for a drapa to be composed to recount my deeds. Just a dragon ship, to take me to Stóllborg and thereafter be free to return. Think you that fair?”

The entire hall ached with silence. Every warrior, every thrall, every woman and servant turned from her to gaze upon their jarl, whose smile had grown fixed and stiff upon his face.

“If you fulfill your oath, dear Niece, and kill this skass so she can curse us no more, if you break Djúprvik’s strength and reduce Jarl Blakkr to a nonentity, then of course. I would be glad to furnish you with a ship.”

“And to do so immediately, and not at some unforeseen future date.”

Marbjörn rose portentously to his feet, his expression dark, and several other men did the same. The air thrummed with anger at her insult, but Skadi merely raised her chin and smiled at her uncle.

Who returned the smile easily, though his eyes glittered as if filled with hoarfrost. “I do swear to furnish you with a ship as quickly as is possible, as determined by the weather, availability of the crew, and seaworthiness of the vessel.”

“A dragon ship.”

More men stood. Men with whom she’d wrestled at glima, whom she’d traded insults, with whom she’d eaten countless meals.

Skadi cared not.

She didn’t take her eyes off her uncle.

“A dragon ship,” he allowed, voice growing perilously soft.

“Very well.” She smiled. “An oath for an oath. How pleasing. Now, I grow tired. Good evening, Uncle. Good evening, Aunt Rannveyg.”

And she inclined her head and strode down the length of the hall, ignoring the glowers and murmurs that trailed after her like summer thunder.

It was only when she stepped out into the chill evening air that she paused and forced a swallow. Her pulse was pounding, warmth radiated throughout her body, and she felt painfully awake, raw and alive and breathless.

The cold night air was a balm, and she resumed walking down to the docks, feeling as if she walked a foot above the compacted dirt.

When she entered her home, she grinned at those within. “We have a ship!”

Everybody stopped.

“You have a ship,” repeated Glámr, in the process of pouring water from the kettle into a mug. “What by Yggdrasil’s twisted roots are you talking about?”

“Uncle Kvedulf promised me a dragon ship,” she said, unable to stop grinning as she moved over to a bowl of apples to pick up the topmost. “And a crew. And allowed that we sail to Stóllborg with it.”

“Well I never,” said Begga, her soup spoon still halfway raised to her mouth. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because he loves me so, and I’m his dearest niece, and he’s discovered that he can’t deny me,” said Skadi, and then took a loud, crunching bite from the apple.

“A jest,” said Damian, relaxing back onto the bench. “Ha ha. You almost had me.”

“Not a jesht,” said Skadi through her mouthful. “Promish. He shwore—” She gulped down the apple. “He swore it before his men. On one condition.”

“Ah,” said Ulfarr, and exhaled a cloud of blue, oily smoke. “Here we go.”

“That we kill the fordæða in Djúprvik, break Blakkr’s hird, and reduce him to a nonentity in Draugr Coast politics.”

“But… we’d already agreed to do that,” said Damian warily. “Because he’d given us no choice.”

“That’s right.” Skadi took another bite. “But I might have demanded he reward me for succeeding where he and his men failed before the entire hall.”

Everybody’s eyes widened as they stared at her.

“What?” asked Skadi with mock innocence. “Was that wrong?”

“Before his entire hall?” Kofri set his bowl aside with shaking hands. “Girl, you did not such thing.”

“I did. And underscored the nature of his oath, so that he agreed to a dragon ship and all the particulars. Oh, he wasn’t pleased about it, and half his hird rose to their feet in anger, but the oath was made.” Skadi’s smile slipped from her face. “And I care not if they like me, or think me respectful. I care not if they’re angry and wonder where the biddable girl has gone. I made my uncle agree to my terms. Bound him with his own vestiges of honor. And though we must still perform the same deed, we shall now be rewarded for it in terms that we’ll approve, as opposed to being shepherded to his next task.”

“Boldly played,” said Glámr, setting the kettle back down. “I applaud your bravery, at the very least. And an oath is an oath. What exactly did he swear to?”

“His exact words: ‘I do swear to furnish you with a dragon ship as quickly as is possible, as determined by the weather, availability of the crew, and seaworthiness of the vessel.’”

“Hmm,” said Glámr, tapping his chin. “If he is sufficiently wroth with you there are ways he could get around that oath.”

“He swore before his entire hall.”

“What if he sets to repair every dragon ship before you return? They would then not be seaworthy. What if nobody agrees to sail your ship, thus making no crew available?”

“Then I’ll curse him,” said Skadi viciously. “For breaking the spirit of his oath. And I’ll curse Kráka, too, for having as much honor as a salt hag.”

“Easy, my lady,” whispered Begga. “Such words will get you killed, jarl’s niece or not.”

“Let them try.” Skadi put her hand on Natthrafn’s hilt. “I will not be my uncle’s plaything any longer. Either he honors the oath, or I shall make him pay. If he thinks he can manipulate me with sly tricks, he’s sorely mistaken.”

Glámr raised both eyebrows and took a sip of his tea. “I suppose time will tell.”

Aurnir, who had been listening this whole time with great focus, gave a solemn nod. “Djúprvik.”

Everybody turned and stared at him.

Which caused him to suddenly turn red and cover his face with both large hands.

“You’re right,” laughed Skadi, walking over to him and patting his huge knee. “First we must deal with Djúprvik and Jarl Blakkr. My uncle shall be an afterthought.”

“I didn’t know he could say such a name,” said Begga. “Aurnir. Say it again.”

But Aurnir kept his face hidden behind his hands and shook his head vigorously.

“I also swore that we were leaving on Moonday,” said Skadi. “Enough time for us to pack, for me to undergo my rite to become a völva, and for us to be ready.”

“And set forth on the first day of Heyannir,” said Damian softly. “I’m sorry, Skadi. That your father could not come.”

Skadi grimaced. “Yes. Well. Such was my wyrd, and his. No matter. Our path carries us north along the mountain road. We’ll deal with what we find in Djúprvik, and then return by month’s end to break my betrothal to Afastr and sail to Stóllborg.”

“A good plan,” said Kofri. “Solid, and with the result being our finally going to Stóllborg. I approve.”

“As do I,” said Ulfarr. “If there’s anything we can do to help you prepare for your journey north, let us know.”

“You’ve all already done so much.” Skadi smiled at the three old faces. “I wish it hadn’t taken our world falling apart for me to get to know you this well. Thank you. You are each and every one of you a small piece of Kalbaek.”

Begga bobbed her head as her eyes teared up, and Kofri chewed with pleased embarrassment on his mustache. Ulfarr simply inhaled deeply of his pipe, and inclined his head to her.

“Three days,” said Glámr, sipping his tea. “They shall pass quickly. Which is well. To be honest, I grow tired of Kráka. Let us see if Djúprvik is more to our liking.”

“Unlikely,” laughed Damian. “But perhaps we shall improve it.”

“That we shall,” said Skadi. “Right, Aurnir?”

Who finally dropped his hands and gave Skadi the broadest, happiest smile.