They spent a desultory hour on the docks, speaking with fisherman and older folks, but nobody was eager to strike a deal. Many simply shook their heads and refused to speak, or if cajoled into conversation, said that they’d have to check first if they were even allowed to sail forth.

“But you own a beautiful fishing boat,” said Glámr in frustration after the third rejection. “It’s a stout knorr, you could sail it to Stóllborg or the Land of the Skaberi if you desired. How can you not sail forth with it?”

The ship’s owner, a tanned, older man who looked to be made of sinew and leather, shook his head. “We are not allowed to lose sight of Djúprvik. To do so is verboten.”

“Then how do you fish?” asked Skadi. “You’ll deplete the fjord in one summer if you all confine yourselves to it.”

“Völva Bölvun summons all the fish we could desire to the very shore,” said the man, gaze everywhere but meeting Skadi’s. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

It was with great reluctance that they returned to the great hall. They approached it from the far side so as to avoid the oak tree, and found a small gathering of warriors seated under the broad eaves beside a side entrance. Snorri the Bald was muttering with a dozen other men, some of them whittling, a long-legged youth chomping onto an apple as he leaned against a column.

“Ah, our visitors.” Snorri scratched behind his ear and sat back. “Did you find passage north?”

Aurnir dropped into his crouch, arms resting on his elbows so that he was of the same height as Skadi, and Glámr diplomatically faded back to not make himself a focal point. Damian crossed his arms, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, so that it was left to Skadi to step forward by herself.

“Not much luck, I’m afraid. Mostly because none of the fishermen are willing to leave sight of Djúprvik.”

“Ah, yes.” Snorri dropped his hands into his lap and frowned down at them. “There is that.”

“Yes. Yet Rauðbjorn sent me down to the docks regardless.”

“Full of jests, is our Rauðbjorn,” said Snorri, and the apple-munching youth snorted. “You’ll be wanting to know how to get permission from one of them to sail north in truth. The long and short of it is you’ll need Völva Bölvun to grant it.”

Skadi carefully schooled her features to innocent surprise. “I thought Jarl Blakkr was in charge.”

A hush descended upon the gathered warriors, who stilled and exchanged glances. Snorri considered Skadi, who held his gaze, and then sighed and stood. “Geirr, make sure our guests are pleasantly entertained while I stretch my legs.”

And with that he stepped past Skadi, hands linked behind his back, and walked away, whistling.

Skadi raised an eyebrow, taken aback, and then realized what was expected of her. She hurried to catch up with Snorri, who nodded to her companionably as he continued walking east, stepping out onto the narrow street that ran parallel to the shore. When they were a good distance from the longhouse he ceased his melancholic whistling.

“I can tell you’re a bright young woman. That you’ve more questions than you know what is good for you. But that very brightness should be sufficient to tell you this isn’t a good place for a woman such as yourself. For strangers. It’s far too easy to get into trouble here, and calling out Jarl Blakkr’s authority is the quickest.”

Skadi stopped. “You think I can avoid getting into trouble? Rauðbjorn has already marked me as his. What I need to do is get out of trouble.”

Snorri walked on a bit then stopped to turn back and frown at her. “I can’t argue with that. But none here but the völva dare gainsay Rauðbjorn. If he’s intent on pulling you into his bed, he’ll do so whether you will it or no, and split the skull of any man who tries to gainsay him.”

“I’m not looking for a savior.” Skaddi stepped closer. “Just a better understanding of the situation. For how long have matters been like this?”

Snorri glanced about then resumed walking. Voice hushed, he replied, “A year now, since Bölvun arrived. It was she that brought Odin’s blessings on Rauðbjorn, who until that time had been a large and noxious man, true, but nothing as he is today. She that convinced Blakkr that he need not beg for clemency from Afastr or Kvedulf. That there was a middle path to glory.”

“The jarl I saw is as interested in glory as he is in staying awake.”

“Regret, I believe. And horror. He agreed to too much, witnessed too many horrors, and now retreats into the cellars of his own mind. Blakkr was always thus, a sharp blade but brittle. His ambitions got the best of him, and then his guilt reduced him to a shadow of his former self.”

“Is there any restoring him?”

Snorri slowed, studying Skadi sidelong. “You should be asking about how to escape, now how to return our jarl to his days of glory.”

“I can’t escape, not with Rauðbjorn intent on tearing off my clothing the moment night falls. I wager if I were to slip out your gate he’d hie after me faster than I can run. If I were to steal a boat, he’d notice before I’d gone far and find a way to bring me back.”

“Can’t argue with that. You’ve come to the wrong town, there’s no getting away from it.”

“But now I’m here. Can Blakkr be restored, do you think? Awoke to his old power?”

Snorri rubbed at his luxurious mustache. “Anything is possible if the gods will it. Likely? No. He is old, and Boven’s blóts have undone what little tethering he has left. He fears her, hates Rauðbjorn, and loathes himself most of all. You’ll not find aid in the high chair.”

“Then…” Skadi scowled at the rutted road. “What of the people of Djúprvik? I’ve seen only fear. Few seem glad of these changes.”

“Few are, but those who spoke up against it now hang from the great oak or were bound to the ocean poles to welcome the tide.”

“So you stayed silent.”

Snorri inhaled deeply, his scowl severe. “You must think me a coward, and you would be right. But I’m also aware that few remain who can counsel the younger warriors or provide a voice of reason against the tempting siren call of lust and power. I chose to remain silent after better men were killed so that some spark of resistance would remain.”

Snorri stopped again and eyed her. “Why am I telling you all this? Who are you? Your presence is far greater than that of a frightened merchant’s daughter.”

“I told you true,” said Skadi, facing him once more. “My name is Skadi, and I want nothing more than to stop Bölvun and Rauðbjorn and end this evil.”

“That’s not what you said. You said you wanted passage north to be married.”

“But that’s not possible while Rauðbjorn seeks to have his way with me. Do you think my husband-to-be would welcome me if I came with another man’s seed bloating my belly?”

Snorri frowned and nodded his head. “Aye, that would require an exceptionally broad point of view.”

“So I must save myself. How many warriors do you think would stand with you in a moment of truth?”

Snorri studied her, then, with great reluctance, resumed speaking. “A dozen, perhaps. Which would leave Rauðbjorn three times as many.”

“Where are all these men? The town seems deserted.”

“They sleep by day in the great hall. No, they are not draugr or again-walkers. They are simply depleted each night by balun’s excesses.”

Skadi raised both brows. “She exhausts sixty men every night?”

Snorri grinned. “Aye, that she does, though not in the way you’re thinking. Each night she forces them to revel, to celebrate and drink and fight and hump. Each night she collects their energies and passions in her antlered headpiece, gaining power thereby. She’s told us that once her crown is filled with vigor, we’ll be able to sail to Kráka and defeat their men on their own turf as easily as we did when they came straggling up the street here.”

“Her crown.” Skadi mused. “So she’s filling it with power. Power which she culls from the men each night. They don’t grow weary of this forced celebrating?”

“By day they do, aye. They’re like the dead lying upon a battlefield. But when she begins her music and burns her incense and sings her songs an endless lust fills them, and they bellow and beat at each other like yearling bulls all over again.”

“And Blakkr just watches his from his high chair.”

“Aye, he does. And weeps, sometimes, which is all the worse. I yearn for our jarl of old. He’d not have sat and watched the debauchery as this shell of a man does.”

Skadi sucked on her teeth. They’d reached the edge of the village. The palisade curved before them, old and stout.

“And no, I will not aid you in a foolish revolt,” said Snorri with quiet certainty. “Your plight breaks my heart, but only a little; I’ve seen such horrors and stood by enough times that I don’t think myself much capable of shame anymore. My sole charge is to the dozen young men who aren’t fully given over to the völva’s dark ways. If you have some mad plan of concocting an uprising, you’ll not find me willing to throw those youths into the fire.”

“I see. And what are you saving those youths for?”

Snorri stared at her and gave no answer.

Skadi sighed. “I don’t fault you. In truth I understand. Bölvun is a mighty fordæða, and Rauðbjorn a monster.”

“There were good men once in Djúprvik,” whispered Snorri. “Good men, powerful and clear of moral vision. They’re dead now, and some died very, very badly.”

Skadi nodded. “Did the jarl have a son?”

“He did. Two. Both are dead now. One hangs from the oak.”

“If he dies, who would be jarl?”

“You need ask? Rauðbjorn would claim the position for himself.”

“And if Rauðbjorn then died?”

Snorri sneered. “If Rauðbjorn died? Well, if we’re to indulge in dreaming, why…” He trailed off. “There is no clear successor. Those who would have—”

“Are dead, yes. Would any contest your taking the chair?”

“Bölvun. She knows that my heart is yet my own.”

“But you have the respect of the hird.”

Snorri snorted. “I see what you are driving at, and no. I don’t. I may be the eldest of those that remain, but I have no moral high ground. No respect.”

For a moment they stood thus, and then Skadi nodded. “As you say.”

“Listen. The reason I brought you out here was to give you practical advice, and it is this: you made the mistake of coming to Djúprvik, and now you must accept the consequences. Allow Rauðbjorn to bed you. Don’t fight him, that only excites him more and rouses him to violence. Be limp as an eel, without passion or anger. He’ll grow bored quickly and discard you. Then you can seek Bölvun for permission to sail north. A week, no more, and you will be alive and free of here. Do you understand?”

“I do understand.” Skadi fought to keep the disgust from her face but failed. “And on some level, I know you are trying to help me, and for that I thank you. But such is not my wyrd.”

“As I used to believe.” Snorri snorted bitterly. “But time has shown me my true fate. Fight if you wish. But know that will only make it worse.”

“We should return.” Skadi began walking back along the road. “Where does Bölvun live?”

“She has a house close to the tannery on the far western edge of the village.”

“Close to the tannery? She doesn’t mind the stink?”

“She uses the tannery for her own purposes. None dare set foot in there. She fashions…” Snorri shuddered and said no more.

“I see. But she doesn’t emerge during the day? Come to the great hall?”

“No, not often. She rests and tends to her own practices during the day. Come dusk, that is when she approaches the longhouse and the night truly begins.”

“Good. What do you know of her?”

“Bölvun? That she is—” Snorri cut himself off, took a measured breath, then smiled. “That it is unwise to offend her. She knows much. She is a powerful völva, and can cast battle-winning spells.”

“Such as?”

“She has the ability to fill her foes with fear and cloud their minds. To summon fish into the fjord, as we told you, as well as control the weather. I’ve seen her banish dark clouds with a wave of her hand, summon rain, even pull down lightning from the heavens. Graut, a powerful elder, defied her when events began to slide into the midden heap, and she had him struck with such a bolt that he charred where he stood, and puff by puff the wind blew his cinders away.”

“And she has her crown.”

“Yes, with which she hides Djúprvik from enemy eyes, and with which she can find many hidden secrets. When she consolidated her hold on Djúprvik, she used its powers to ferret out traitors and those who opposed her.”

Skadi’s stomach tightened into a knot. “Her crown warns her of enemies?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. She would ask it to reveal those who wished her ill, and would then know as if she could read their minds. Many were pulled forth and executed for thoughts none knew they harbored.”

Great.

“But she has to ask the crown. It doesn’t volunteer information.”

Snorri laughed. “You think I can speak with certainty on this? But no. Each time during the village trials she would ask her crown, and only then would it reveal the truth to her.”

“And the crown was always right?”

“At first it was. But then it got so it mattered not. Everyone in their hearts opposed her until she broke us, one by one. Now we seek to simply survive.”

“I see.” The longhouse curved into view, looming massive and hoary over the smaller buildings. “Thank you, Snorri. I appreciate your telling me all this.”

Snorri smiled sadly. “I wish I could have done more. Good luck tonight, Skadi Alfwerdottir. I will pray to Thor, that he gives you strength and shields you as best he can, though it is Odin that holds sway.”

“I would appreciate all prayers.”

Snorri inclined his head and moved away, crossing an overgrown yard to cut back to the side door.

Skadi slowed, steeped in her own thoughts.

Tonight’s challenges grew ever more formidable.

Was it even possible to oppose such a dangerous duo as Rauðbjorn and Bölvun?

There was only one way to find out.