Skadi opened her eyes. Morning light filled the enclosure. She lay stretched out on the dirt, her body stiff and cold. With a start, she rolled over and sat up.

She was alone.

Natthrafn was at her hip, Thyrnir stood propped against the far boulder. The fire was little more than coals furred in white ashes.

Astrilda was gone.

Skadi knew this was best. That the other woman had been right to forgo an awkward goodbye. What more was there to say?

Skadi rose. The axe and knife were gone. A waterskin sat atop her towel and bundle of clothing. Skadi took it up and turned it around, then drank, swished, and spat.

Sighed.

Gathering her bundle under one arm she emerged through one of the slender gaps and rounded it to where the corpses lay. Their pouches and weapons were also gone.

Skadi stared at their ruined faces. The dark purple well where each of their left eyes had been.

She’d have to tell Glámr. Did she owe him an apology?

Perhaps.

Tucking her bundle under her arm, she set off up the slope toward the mountain road. Somewhere Astrilda was walking alone, making her way to the waiting dragon ship. She’d said it would take most of the day. Was she thinking of her as well?

“You are such a child.”

Skadi flushed and picked up her pace. Resentment burned in her chest. If she’d been more mature, would Astrilda be walking beside her now? Where had she failed? What could she have done differently?

She reached the mountain road an hour or so later, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, the kinks and stiffness worked out of her body. Taking a swig from the waterskin, she set off back down the trail of crushed gravel toward distant Kráka at a slow jog.

Her thoughts were chaotic. Thoughts of Niflheim and the dark years that had caused the fall of the Age of Dreams. Of Afastr and his endless appetite for wives. Of Astrilda’s scornful smile, her caress, her full lips, the last thing she had said to her before Skadi fell asleep: “Don’t change too quickly.”

If Skadi had the power, she’d change that very moment, become wiser, more adult, capable of being taken seriously by such a woman as Astrilda.

But such power was beyond her.

She’d not eaten dinner no breakfast, and her stomach was knotted up with hunger by the time she reached the path that led down to Kráka in the early afternoon. Ignoring the pangs she paused to finish the waterskin, and considered tossing it aside, only to note two runes carved into its base, one for love, one for fire. Astrilda.

She attached it to her belt instead and set off down the trail.

An hour later she spilled out into the great, sloping meadow that led down to the Raven’s Gate. Nothing seemed amiss as she drew closer, but when the guards sighted her they rang the warning bell, its peals excited and urgent.

The gates opened and Skadi was met by familiar faces, Nokkvi amongst them.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his slit eyes nearly closing as he scowled. “We’ve sent search parties out after you.”

“I was waylaid,” said Skadi, patting his shoulder as she strode past him. “I’m fine now. I’ll speak with my uncle first.”

The bell continued to peal, a set pattern that no doubt alerted the search parties to return home. The people of Kráka turned out to welcome her back, some calling out questions, others blessings, most simply staring or gracing her with a nod.

Begga, Kofri, and Ulfarr came hurrying up the street just as Skadi reached the front of the longhouse.

“There she is!” cried Begga, reaching for her. “Oh, my heart. Skadi, what happened? When Ásfríðr said she’d not seen you, we assumed the worst—”

“Let her talk, already,” growled Kofri, chewing furiously on his mustache. “Are you hurt? No? Are you—”

Ulfarr cut in, his voice low and steady. “Glámr, Damian, and Aurnir are out searching. They will hear the bell and return. The jarl awaits you within.”

Skadi pulled her hands free of Begga’s. “Thank you, all of you. I’m sorry for causing you concern. All is better now.”

The obvious alarm and motherly concern on Begga’s face summoned Astrilda’s voice: “You are such a child.”

“Well, of course, of course,” said Begga. “We’ll wait for you at home, then. You look half starved.”

Skadi nodded to them all, feeling stiff, not herself, and climbed the steps to where Marbjörn stood, hands on his hips, awaiting her.

“Afastr?” he rumbled.

Skadi nodded and walked past him into the hall’s gloom. Most of the warriors were absent from their benches—had they been sent out in search of her? Kvedulf was pacing at the rear of the hall, back and forth before his dais, but at the sight of her, he stilled and waited for her to approach.

“Niece,” he said, eyes narrowed. “I trust you didn’t fall asleep by accident in the forest.”

“No, Uncle.” Skadi drew herself up. “We should speak. Alone.”

Her uncle studied her the nodded curtly. Looked sidelong at a thrall who hovered close by. “Bring food and mead to my balcony.”

To Skadi’s surprise, it was Young Kylfa, one of the Skrímslaeyjan sailors she’d captured when she’d led her revolt against captivity. The young man had grown gaunt-cheeked, but he bowed his head without expression.

They ascended her uncle’s spiral stair and sat at his table. For a moment Skadi simply took in the fact that she was indeed returned, and then sighed and sat back.

“Tell me everything,” said her uncle. “Start at the beginning.”

Skadi did so, pausing only when Young Kylfa brought up a tray laden with rich food and drink. She tore into the loaf, dipped it into last evening’s stew, and spoke through the corner of her mouth as she wolfed the food down.

Kvedulf listened attentively, his focus absolute. When she described how she’d felled both half-trolls with Thyrnir, however, he gave a curt nod of approval. “Odin be praised. That spear has always flown true.”

Skadi hesitated. How to portray her lengthy conversation with Astrilda?

“I decided to interrogate Astrilda instead of killing her. We spoke for hours, and she told me many strange things. Uncle, why is this called the Draugr Coast?”

He blinked. “I assume this has bearing on what you learned? It’s an old name, stems, I believe, from a time when this land was even wilder than it is now. Why?”

So she told him of Afastr’s version of their history, how the Age of Dreams came to an end, the years of darkness, the again-walkers spilling out of Niflheim to the North.

“Fascinating,” murmured his uncle, leaning forward and setting his cup down. “I’ve never been one for ancient history. The present has been enthralling enough. But in Isern I heard tell that the ancient empire collapsed due to attacks from the Skaberi on their eastern flank, wave after wave of howling tribes that broke their armies and isolate their fortresses. They call this the Dark Age, but on account of their being little by way of written records from that time, and the collapse of ancient civilization as the people then knew it.”

Skadi frowned. “The Skaberi broke the Palió Oneiro empire? They conquered Isern?”

“It’s said that the people of Isern and Wuduholt are descendants of those tribes and the native inhabitants who were there before the legions conquered them. I don’t know.” Kvedulf waved a hand, brushing the problem away. “But no matter. In Isern they call the time after the fall of the empire the Dark Ages. Who knows? Maybe the name is more literal than they know.”

“How can anybody know?” asked Skadi irritably. “It happened hundreds and hundreds of years ago. But that’s what Afastr claims. That, and that Niflheim lies to the north. Is that true?”

Again her uncle frowned pensively. “I’ve heard people claim as much, yes. But just as our elders tell us the sun and moon are siblings who are chased across the sky by hungry wolves, who can say for sure? There are nomadic people who live far north of us, the Zeme, who herd reindeer and trade with us sometimes, furs, sheep skins. They range across the icy waste where even we Northmen would have trouble surviving. If anybody would know if Niflheim lies even further north than their own lands, it would be them.”

“Sounds like they would have spoken of it if it existed.”

“Rare is the person who speaks freely of such wonders and horrors. I cannot say for sure.”

“Well, seeing as Afastr has lied about this dire prophecy of his, I see no reason not to suspect him of lying about this as well. Astrilda told me startling truths. That she and Aldulfr, the powerful old warrior, are both his children, and that he kills his wives after they bear him children and in doing so remains young.”

Kvedulf stood abruptly, moved to the railing, then turned back, stroking his mustache. “Fanciful notions. But Afastr was a power in the North before I arrived here a decade ago. I’d heard rumors of his being ageless, but in this world we live in, such tales spring up whenever a jarl defies the odds or wins himself great power or fame.”

“So it could be true?”

Kvedulf smiled. “Skadi, we live in a world of gods and goddesses, troll-folk and jotunn, salt hags and fordæðas. I have seen wonders and wickedness beyond compare. If anything, our legends and myths fail to do justice to the magic and mystery that enshrouds Midgard. Yes, it could be true. But is it? That we cannot know.”

“Regardless.” Skadi took up her mead, breathed deep, then took the plunge. “Over the course of the night, Astrilda revealed her revulsion for her father. She left at dawn to confront him over her failure to bring me with her.”

“You let her go?”

Skadi raised her chin. “I did.”

“After she master-minded the plot to capture you?”

“She had a change of heart. In fact, I believe she never wanted to capture me at all, not really.”

“Which she convinced you of after you killed her companions and was at your mercy.”

Skadi stared at her uncle. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear our conversation.”

“Skadi.” Kvedulf sighed and sat. “I noticed how close you grew to Yri during your time with her. How you grieved her after.”

“This has nothing to do—”

“And now you ask me to believe that the reason you released Astrilda, who was as fine a piece of flesh as any I’ve seen, had nothing to do with her looks? Tell me true: did she flirt with you? Kiss you?”

Skadi flushed in mortification.

Kvedulf laughed. “So I see. Well, what’s done is done, and I hope that your future enemies aren’t as pleasing to the eye.”

“I absolutely did not—”

“Peace, Niece. I would be lying if I didn’t make mistakes in my youth due to a comely smile and smooth expanse of thigh. The tales I could tell you.” He chuckled, shook his head, and refilled his cup. “But that wouldn’t be very avuncular of me, would it? Regardless, she is gone, and you are returned.”

Skadi bit her lower lip, restraining the urge to protest further, but from the amused gleam in her uncle’s eye, she saw that doing so would only confirm his suspicions all the more.

“I want you to know that I disagree with your assessment,” she said loudly, “but won’t argue with you, seeing as your mind’s made up.”

“You are such a child.”

“You are still owed much honor for having escaped this attempt.” Kvedulf sipped from his cup. “I don’t know many who could have gone from naked and weaponless to taking full control of the situation. Well done. And if anything, this only motivates us further to prepare for war. It’s clear Afastr will stop at nothing to acquire you.”

“I’ll leave for Djúprvik tomorrow morning.”

“That you will. I’ve already sent messengers to Hake and Havaklif, invoking an All-Thing to be hosted at the Giant’s Rest in ten days’ time. I don’t know if they’ll be able to attend on such short notice, but my words will have hopefully motivated them to do their best.”

“Giant’s Rest?”

“Aye, a neutral place between Havaklif and Hake. The odds of Jarls Einarr and Baugr attending are higher if we meet closer to their settlements. It’s where you’ll command Snorri to come, as well.”

“Command? You mean ask.”

“No,” he said patiently. “I mean what I say. You will command him. The man will prefer to stay home and mend his fences if allowed. You will not allow him. Sail to Djúprvik tomorrow, arrive the next day, and then give him one day to prepare and sail south. You will have six days to reach the Giant’s Rest, a journey which should only take you five. If you can, go directly there. I will want you by my side as quickly as possible.”

There was a compliment there, but Skadi’s mind was already sped to what awaited her in Djúprvik. The demand she would have to couch in friendly terms, the means by which she would wrest Snorri and his men forth from their polluted village and into a grievous war.

“Yes, Uncle,” she said, voice soft. “It shall be as you say.”

“Good. Our only hope lies in convincing the other three jarls to stand with us. Without them, we are dead and Kráka little more than ashes.”

Skadi rose to her feet. “Then, seeing as our knorr was prepared to set sail this morning, I’ll leave soon. We’ll camp on the coast, and arrive at Djúprvik tomorrow afternoon.”

“I appreciate your motivation. If you can make it happen, then see that it does. Otherwise, dawn shall suffice.”

“Very well. I’ll get right to it. Goodbye, Uncle.”

“May your wyrd continue to guide you true, Niece.”

Skadi descended the curving stairwell but paused halfway down. It was now mid-afternoon.

Astrilda would be arriving at her waiting longship now. Perhaps had already arrived. For all, she knew the shieldmaiden might at this very moment be moving to stand before her towering father.

Skadi shivered.

Good luck, she thought, wishing she could do more, and then hurried down the steps and out into the great hall.