To her uncle’s frustration, Skadi excused herself shortly thereafter; his significant stare made it clear he wished to converse, but Skadi smiled at him with feigned blitheness and rose, leaving him to preside over the end of the feast.

The rest of the night passed with torturous slowness. Begga, Ulfarr, and Kofri bedded down as soon as they were certain she was safe, and Aurnir had already been snoring when she arrived.

She smiled fondly at the half-giant. “Some lookout you proved to be.”

Damian arrived shortly thereafter, but read her mood and had the tact not to question her further. Soon the home was dark and still but for the heavy breathing of the sleepers.

Skadi sat on her bench, back to the wall, and slowly turned Natthrafn about in her hands, running her thumb over its runes. Her thoughts flowed and leaped from memory to memory without coherent connection.

Kafssok sitting in the great hall, his gaze dour and stern. The salt hag that had nearly doomed them on their journey to Kráka. Svinnr showing her how to make a coin dance over her knuckles. Yri bathing in the waterfall. Her father laughing, a rare occurrence and to be treasured when it happened. Glámr over the half-troll’s shoulder. Freyja running her finger along Skadi’s jawline.

Afastr looming over her, predatory, alien, demanding, a force of nature.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she leaned her head back against the wall to close her eyes.

“Cattle die,

Kinsmen die,

So, too, must you die.

But golden fame

Never dies

For those that earn it.”

A second later the clicking of bowls and muttered conversation awoke her. Sere dawn light filtered in through the open doorway. Begga was boiling water, Kofri combing his beard, Ulfarr examining the sole of his boot with solemn disappointment.

“It’s dawn,” said Skadi. “It’s dawn!”

Before the others could respond she leaped up, shoved Thyrnir into her belt, snatched up her völva staff, and tore out the door.

Leaped from their path down to the walkway below, down its length, around Fengr’s home, over his fence, across his vegetable plot, out the gate, and down the lane to the docks.

Where a crowd stood waiting.

Afastr’s crews were back on their ships, seated on their sea chests, some chewing breakfasts, others looking slightly green and drinking from their water bottles.

Jarl Kvedulf and Afastr stood where the pier met the docks, the hird behind Kvedulf, his notable warriors behind Afastr.

Catching herself at the last second Skadi slowed to a dignified walk and approached. The world was gray and leached of all color, and dew-sweat from the flanks of the valkyries’ horses lay upon plank and greenery, the air fresh and smelling of salt.

“Good morning, Skadi,” said her uncle. Despite his composure, she could read a wealth of emotions within the depths of his eyes, hinted at in the lines around his lips, the creases in the corners of his eyes. Weariness, tension, anger, impatience.

“Good morning, Skadi.” Afastr’s deep rumble was like the promise of a summer storm. “We await your response as you requested. The dawn hour is upon us. Will you board my ship and sail home with me?”

Skadi drew herself up before the two jarls. Every eye was focused on her. Her words would determine their fates. Her choice could save scores of lives, or see the norns take up their shears to sever threads by the handful.

“Jarl Afastr, you have done me a great honor by requesting that I be your wife. Your fame and prowess are well known by all. But it is not my wyrd to journey to Kaldrborg. I pray you release me from your desires, and turn your eye upon a more willing wife.”

The tension in the air immediately grew thick and heavy. Nobody moved, but it was as if everybody prepared themselves for violence.

Afastr raised his helm and lowered it grimly upon his head, so that he became once more that menacing, monstrous figure that she had first seen standing at the helm of his ship.

“I am disappointed, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. You know my desire cannot be dissuaded. You will be mine. I shall come for you. Jarl Kvedulf, this is your one chance to avoid destruction. I tell you true: you cannot stand against me. Give me Skadi now, or this settlement will burn to its foundations.”

Kvedulf squared his shoulders and smiled. “Don’t act the fool, Afastr. You know I won’t betray my kin. You waste our time with your empty demands. Get thee gone from my fjord, and if ever you return, you shall be met with fire and iron.”

Kvedulf lifted his chin, and Skadi felt herself thrill with admiration at how he stared mockingly at his massive foe. “And remember, you may be the terror of the north, but I am not without great deeds of my own. Come at me at your own risk, Afastr. You have been warned.”

The huge jarl stared down impassively at Kvedulf, then raised his gaze to take in all of Kráka. Then, unhurried, he nodded to his people and strode down the pier toward his ship.

The half-trolls followed after, both half-giants going next. The massively muscled old man, the Skaberi father and his lean son, and then finally Astrilda, who smiled enigmatically at Skadi and mouthed, “See you soon.”

Nobody moved as the gangplank was retracted, the mooring ropes undone, and with shoves of their oars, both ships pushed away from the pier.

A warrior on each ship rose at the prow and placed huge skulls atop their figureheads in provocative violation of basic courtesy.

“They announce themselves as raiders,” growled Marbjörn. “Let us harry them out with arrows and spears.”

“No,” said her uncle.

They watched as both ships rowed backward and then turned, the steersmen pounding the rhythms on their drums, the giants hauling on their huge oars, and once they were turned about they slid forward through the dark water.

Afastr remained at the stern, watching her until the ships curved around the bend in the fjord and were gone.

The crowd let out a collective sigh, and as if a spell were ended broke up and began returning to their homes and the hall.

“It is done,” said Kvedulf, his brow furrowed. “Skadi, join me for my morning meal.”

She inclined her head in assent and followed her uncle up the road. Where was Glámr? The sister had been present, as collected and stern as if she’d spent the night in deep restorative sleep. Espying Damian at the edge of the crowd, she stepped over to him.

“Do me a favor? Find our missing friend. I’m worried about him.”

Damian nodded, his mouth tightening, and strode off.

The hird returned to the hall. Marbjörn called to them before they entered, however, and bid everybody follow him to the glima field. Nokkvi and Auðun didn’t seem surprised, but the others grumbled and muttered as they followed him around the building.

Thralls were busy cleaning out the hall; they swept, washed the tables with soapy water, righted benches, threw trash into buckets, and raked ashes out of the fire pits.

“This way. You, bring food and drink for two to my balcony.”

Kvedulf led her through a side door, part of the new construction at the back, then up a staircase that spiraled tightly like a snail shell to emerge on a tiny balcony that looked out over the back of the great hall. Skadi leaned out over the railing and could just see the fjord.

“What do you think?” asked Kvedulf, his self-mocking amusement obvious. “A vanity I chose to indulge in. I saw balconies like this in Isern, but far broader and with views over great ruined squares from the Age of Dreams. On one I had the best breakfast of my life.”

He sat at a small circular table, just barely large enough for three. “I ate with a philosopher from Nearós Ílios. He challenged me to a game called chess, which had spread to his country from Kara Kamar. He defeated me soundly three times, and then I challenged him to hnefatafl, and defeated him three times in turn. I’d never felt so proud of myself.”

Skadi sat. “What is it like, Isern?”

Kvedulf sighed and sat back. “A rich land. The soil is deep and fecund. Makes it easy to grow all manner of crops. A beautiful land, though I prefer the stark majesty of the north. Rolling hills, ancient dells, but most fascinating are the remnants of the old empire of Palió Oneiro. Buildings of stone that rise to challenge the gods themselves, but so old now that they are like the teeth in an elder’s mouth. Towers as tall as my hall is long, castles as big as Kráka, the ruins of great cities in which the people of Isern now huddle like savages, burning peat fires as they gaze up in wonder at the glories of another age.”

“Towers like Ylgrgarðr on the Iron Isle?”

Kvedulf sank into a pensive silence, and Skadi tried to imagine it. A building five times the size of this longhouse? All made of stone? Perhaps her uncle was teasing her.

Thralls arrived and set out breakfast of honeyed porridge, wedges of goat cheese, freshly baked rolls, bowls of fresh fruit, and cups of buttermilk.

They ate in silence, and Skadi enjoyed the novel experience of sitting high up above the village; the sounds filtered up to them from a remove, and a pleasant breeze wafted past, bringing with it the scents of the forest.

In the distance, she could hear shouts of effort coming from the glima field.

“Sounds like Marbjörn is planning to push the hird hard.”

Kvedulf washed down a mouthful of bread and set his cup down. “We need more than simple warriors. With what’s to come we need heroes. He’ll set the hird difficult challenges and offer great rewards. Those who rise to the occasion shall soon find themselves blessed by the norns.”

The simplicity of this idea struck Skadi powerfully. “You’re going to provoke them into becoming important.”

Kvedulf studied her. “Yes. Heroes are not made by lounging about in the hall making idle boasts. They must recover lost treasure from the depths of the fjord, scale impossible peaks, find monsters to defeat. Some will fail, some may die. But those who return and claim their prizes will be honored in song and given a chance at greatness.”

And earn threads of wyrd of their own. Of course.

“So,” said her uncle, his tone growing businesslike. “When shall you set sail?”

“Oh, Uncle.” Skadi sat back. “Don’t insult us both.”

“What?” He raised both bristling blond brows. “I gave you my oath. Marbjörn is ready to sail.”

“And leave you defenseless after what Afastr promised?” Skadi tore her roll in half. “You are too cunning by far, Uncle. You win every battle, but be wary of losing the war.”

Her uncle considered her in silence, his eyes narrowed, and then laughed. “How you have grown, Skadi, and how quickly. The stripling girl who arrived at my dock at the beginning of summer would never have spoken to me with such confidence.”

“That girl would have accused you of forcing her to grow too quickly. But.” Skadi shrugged and dipped a piece of bread in the buttermilk. “The truth is that one must grow quickly in this world if one wishes to remain their own master. So you have my thanks. For showing me the way this world works.”

“Hmmph. Not bad, as backhand compliments go. So you are sure? You will not set sail?”

“Of course not. You set your trap too neatly. I am grown too fond of Kráka to sail away callously with half its men and let it burn. Congratulations, Uncle. Well played.”

He glowered at her, on the verge of protesting, then shrugged and relaxed. “Very well. My oath remains true. At any time you may request a ship of me.”

“Once Afastr has been dealt with. Tell me you have a plan.”

“An onerous one, and one which flies in the face of why I fled to the Draugr Coast in the first place.” Kvedulf took up his cup and stared out over the village.

“To ally yourself with King Harald?”

“What? No!” Kvedulf sounded almost offended. “To forge an alliance with which to resist Afastr. Force the men of Hake and Djúprvik to ally with us against Kaldrborg. Havaklif if we can tempt them.”

“With you as the great jarl.”

“First amongst equals, yes. There is no other way. What we saw here was but a part of Afastr’s forces. He has berserkers, more half-giants, more warriors. His völva is ancient and greatly feared. Our only hope of defeating him lies with gathering the forces of every other settlement against him.”

Skadi mused, tapping her cup against her lip. “How long do you think we have?”

“We enter Tvímánuður, the harvest month. If he does not move against us before the Winter blót he shall have to wait till next Einmánuður at the earliest. So either he attacks us within two months’ time, or we have half a year. That said, Afastr is no fool. He’ll know I will seek alliances, and that each day is precious to me. I would wager her moves against us before the end of this month.”

“Four weeks to forge an alliance and have their warriors gather.” Skadi’s stomach sank. “That is not enough time.”

“It wouldn’t be if we were starting now.”

“But… you have already begun?”

Kvedulf’s eyes twinkled with dark amusement. “Come, Niece. Do you think so little of me?”

“Uncle, you are a wonder. What have you already accomplished?”

“Hake is with us. Jarl Einarr doesn’t have a choice. Jarl Snorri of Djúprvik is well disposed to us, is he not?”

“He is.”

“Then that leaves Havaklif, with whom I have opened negotiations. We have not settled on terms, but we shall. You will travel to Djúprvik to secure Snorri’s support. We shall gather our forces in his harbor, north of the Jotunn’s Teeth, and then strike at Afastr before he launches his own ships. Odin willing.”

“Odin willing.” Skadi took a deep breath. “So things are not nearly as bleak as I had thought.”

“Oh, they are bleak enough,” said Kvedulf quietly. “But I’ve never lost a battle yet. The greater the challenge, the greater the glory.”

Skadi watched her uncle, then gave a firm nod of her own. “I’ll travel to Djúprvik. I’m sure Snorri will commit his ships.”

“I know he will. If you ask it of him, he will be unable to deny you.” Kvedulf smiled coldly at her. “After all, you are Skadi Giantslayer and the path of your wyrd is bright, just like a meteor blistering its passage across the night sky. With you by my side, I am sure we shall win.”

Emotions swirled within Skadi. Awe and pride, doubt and hope, despair and resolve. Was she really as her uncle painted her?

She rose. “Then I’d best prepare to travel.”

“We’ll send you north by ship. Take the day to gather your people. Tomorrow, if our weather-luck holds, you will sail at dawn.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Skadi bowed her head and withdrew. Only to pause and glance back at him where he sat, musing and gazing over Kráka. She had thought Afastr the more dangerous of the two jarls, but now she wasn’t sure, not sure at all.

Her uncle was a truly dangerous man.

It would be good when she finally managed to get away from him.

So thinking she descended the stairs and set out in search of her friends.