Kráka’s gate came into sight and the sight felt almost like coming home. The very warmth of emotion that suffused Skadi’s chest made her feel a pang of guilt; was she so quick to replace Kalbaek?

“Why the frown?” asked Damian as he strode beside her. “Not excited by the prospect of a hot bath and cooked food?”

“Just wish we were coming home to Kalbaek, is all.”

“That’ll happen soon enough,” said Glámr from behind. “Kvedulf has no choice but to grant you a dragon ship now. We’ll soon be gone from here.”

“Not to Kalbaek, though. Stóllborg.”

Their silence was a testament to the fact that there was no going home. Down they strode, pace picking up, still with laughter they covered the last stretch at a run, Aurnir’s chortles the epitome of joy.

“Skadi’s returned!” cried someone from the gate, and the bell began to ring. Skadi slowed to a walk as she approached, the gate swinging open, Ásfríðr’s runes still stark and new on the timbers.

Guards emerged to study them with bright, expectant eyes.

Nokkvi was there, his black bow over his shoulder, his eyes slit as always. “And?”

“Jarl Blakkr is dead,” said Skadi loudly, “and his replacement is a friend to Kráka.”

“Unbelievable,” said Nokkvi as the others let out shouts of elation. “Is there anything you cannot do?”

“Marry Afastr, for one,” said Skadi as she strode past him and into the crowd. Questions were thrown at them from all sides, but she raised her hands and marched on in, entering the village and leading them all down to the longhouse.

What sweet relief to see Kráka’s clean streets, its buildings well cared for, its air fresh and without the scent of rot.

Word preceded their arrival and an even larger crowd had gathered to receive them. Excited shouts broke out over the hubbub and then Begga pushed her way through to gasp and gather Skadi in a tight embrace.

“You’re back! An unhurt—all of you! Oh, I’ve burnt offerings to Freyja each night, and here you are!”

Skadi hugged her tightly but then pulled away with a smile to climb the steps to the front doors, where Marbjörn stood grinning.

“I knew you’d return, Skadi. Did my gift come in useful?”

“Never got the chance to don it, though it was a kingly present. Thank you, Marbjörn.”

“Well, even better, then. And all of you returned. Perhaps the mission wasn’t as perilous as we feared.”

Skadi grinned. “Or we’re simply that good.”

And she stepped past him to enter the hall.

Her uncle awaited in his high chair, his expression thoughtful. Almost everybody else has moved outside to greet her, so she advanced through an empty hall, the villagers filling in behind her. Rannveyg stood beside the throne, dressed in sumptuous crimson trimmed in gold, and Sif darted out of the crowd to walk alongside Skadi while grinning up at her.

“Uncle,” said Skadi after stopping a respectful distance. “We are returned.”

“The sight of your face gladdens my heart,” said Kvedulf. “Tell me, Niece. How are matters in Djúprvik?”

The air within the great hall was so tense that it nearly ached. Skadi pitched her voice so that all could hear. “Jarl Blakkr is dead. Rauðbjorn his berserker is dead. Bölvun his fordæða is dead.”

Astonished cries of wonder broke out, which then grew into cheers. She heard Damian’s laughter, and knew that without looking that Glámr was scowling furiously.

“Aurnir happy,” chortled the half-giant from the back of the hall.

“This is a wonder indeed,” said Kvedulf, rising to his feet. He smiled broadly, but his gaze remained cool, calculating. “At this rate, Anarr will be hard pressed to keep up with your accomplishments. How did you leave matters there?”

“Jarl Snorri now rules. He is a friend to Kráka, and will be busy for the remainder of the year helping Djúprvik heal. The fordæða had greatly corrupted the town, and it will take much fire to remove her taint.”

More murmurs of wonder followed this.

“Were you not my own blood and kin I would scarcely believe this victory,” said Kvedulf with a grim smile. “As it is, we must plan a great feast to celebrate your astonishing deeds. And then, I fear, we must begin preparing to say goodbye. You still wish to sail to Stóllborg?”

“I do, my lord,” said Skadi firmly.

“That shall be our great loss. But we gave you our word, and so you shall have a dragon ship with a full crew to sail you to the capital.”

Skadi inclined her head, relief flooding her at those words. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“But you must be weary. Rest, refresh yourselves, and then tonight we will celebrate you all and hear the details of this great deed.”

A great roar of approval sounded out from the crowd.

Skadi inclined her head, stepped back, then turned to beam at the enthusiastic crowd. Begga came forth to claim her, ushering her protectively past the well-wishers, and led her outside as people called out questions, compliments, and ribald jests.

It felt like moments later that she slipped into a large, stand-up tub that Kofri had purchased from a trader who’d passed through the week before; it was made of tightly bound linden boards like those used to make shields, and allowed Skadi to crouch in sheer bliss up to her neck in steaming water.

The others bustled about, Aurnir settling with a sigh into his corner, Glámr accepting a cup of ale from Ulfarr, Damian willingly accepting being recruited by Begga to help cook. People spoke all around her, laughed, teased each other.

And for the first time since leaving Djúprvik, Skadi felt herself relax. She dunked her head, worked up a lather of soap in her long hair, then set to combing out the snarls and congealed blood and dirt.

“Aye, we’ve all been guessing when you’d return,” said Kofri. “Though of course there never was any doubt you would. And in only two or so weeks!’

“The sooner we left that place the better,” said Glámr. “One night was already too much.”

“It was bad, wasn’t it,” said Begga, pausing in her chopping.

“It was bad,” said Skadi, and a flash of the inside of the tannery appeared in her mind’s eye, causing her to flinch.

“Nothing that fire and sunlight won’t cleanse,” said Damian, chopping rapidly. “And within a week we’ll be gone and on to Stóllborg.”

“I’ll miss our little home,” said Begga sadly. “It’s strange to say, but it’s as if I’d begun falling asleep in Kalbaek. Routine, you understand. But ever since, I’ve felt so alive. These past few months have felt more vivid than the past few years combined.”

“There’s plenty more adventure to come,” said Ulfarr. “Though where we’ll end up I can’t rightly say. I suppose Jarl Styrbjörn will decide that.”

“We’ll stay together,” said Skadi. “That I know.”

“And it will be good, very good, to no longer be guests,” said Kofri stoutly. “We belong with our own.”

Skadi ceased listening. This moment of tranquility felt infinitely precious. She’d longed for it, and now that it was here, she wanted nothing more than to drink it deep.

* * *

That night’s celebration was a long and festive occasion. Her uncle has two cows and six sheep killed, and the grilled, hot meat was served sizzling on trenchers of fresh bread alongside pastries, pies, tureens of soup, wedges of cheese, and plenty of fruit. The stores of wine had been replenished the week before, which was fortunate as the white mead was running out.

Skadi told the tale, though she found that she couldn’t relate the worst parts; she was defeated by the faces listening eagerly to her in the firelight, their innocence and joy. It was sufficient to paint Rauðbjorn and Bölvun as the monsters they were without describing the true horrors they had seen.

When she told how Aurnir had helped defeat the fordæða with barrels of piss, the whole longhouse burst into delighted laugher, and Marbjörn rose to carry an entire barrel to where the half-giant sat, listening with obvious delight.

“It’s poor payment, but in honor of those barrels of piss that gave their lives so bravely in combat, here’s a barrel of your own with which to commemorate!”

The laughter was uproarious, and Aurnir clapped his hands in delight.

Finally, Kvedulf stood and raised his horn. The hall grew quiet. “Let us toast my niece, who in a few short months has carved out for herself more glory than most earn in a lifetime. We all know that she will soon leave us, but I believe I speak for us all when I say she feels like one of our treasured own. Skadi, Kráka is forever indebted to you, and shall forever be a second home to you.”

Cheers and vigorous pounding followed and continued till Skadi rose reluctantly to her feet once more.

“Friends, Uncle, you have all given me and mine so much more than we have given you. If by our deeds we have repaid your hospitality and kindness in even a small part, then my heart is gladdened. Kráka will always be dear to me, and I hope to one day to return, for the sight of these halls and treasured buildings feel like home when our own is ashes.”

More cheers.

Marbjörn stood. “I must admit when Skadi asked me to help train her that I was blind to her potential. How she has shown me wrong! A finer pupil I have never had. Skadi, I swear to you friendship, and would be honored to help you reach Stóllborg when you set sail.”

Almost every warrior then stood and cried out their willingness in turn. Skadi blushed and inclined her head to them all.

“At this rate, Skadi will have claimed all of my arm rings,” said Kvedulf with hearty amusement. “So I will instead offer her something different: in light of how she defended us from Kagssok the frost giant, how she helped me slay Grýla, and has now defeated our greatest enemy by slaying a berserker and fordæða, I name Skadi Kráka’s champion. She may leave our shores, but I know she will always care for our well-being and continue to assist us as best she can. Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir, do you accept this title?”

The hall grew hushed.

Skadi hesitated. Why were her uncle’s eyes gleaming so?

“Of course,” she said, and the crowd erupted in cheers. “You do me entirely too much honor, Uncle, and I fear I shall have little ability to help you from afar. For I must surely leave as soon as my ship is ready.”

“And you shall have my finest ship and the greatest crew. Marbjörn shall select the volunteers, and you shall sail when the winds are favorable. And we here in Kráka shall lament your leaving, even as we rejoice in the knowledge that you return to your father.”

Skadi inclined her head yet again and sat. Champion of Kráka? She’d not heard of such a title before. Still, her uncle did her honor, and for that she was content. Most importantly she would soon set sail, and he’d made no move to stop her.

Anarr struck a merry tune, and the people of Kráka rose to sing along with the popular song. Skadi put her worries aside and enjoyed the moment. She laughed and applauded, and when the tables were cleared for dancing was amongst the first to move to the center. At one point she cajoled the clapping Aurnir to join her, and she’d never seen him so excited or joyous as he stomped around in a tight circle, clapping and chortling, “Aurnir dance!”

The celebration lasted long into the night. Skadi lost track of the warriors who congratulated her on cleansing Djúprvik, and who entreated her to stay on another winter, to let King Harald and his loyal jarls deal with Archea on their own. The sentiment was that the Draugr Coast was and always would be removed from the great matters of the world stage, and that she could earn much glory going viking against the Skaberi next spring instead.

But always she demured with a smile. She had to find her father. Had to explain to him what had happened, and devise a way to rescue their mother and avenge Riki.

As soon as possible, she would sail for Stóllborg and put the Draugr Coast behind her.