Events moved quickly after that.

With their course set, the warriors at the Giant’s Rest began to break down the camp. Navigators consulted the weather and gauged how favorable it would be to set out at dawn; the provenance of the wicked storm confounded them, but in a world dominated by gods and their vagaries they didn’t spend too much time worrying about it. Gear and equipment were loaded into the ships, tallies were taken of foodstuffs, and payments negotiated between the jarls for the providing of rations from each town they passed.

Skadi washed the woad and blood from her face and found herself missing the waterfall behind Kráka. She’d have done anything for a bone-chilling dive into that world of chaos and enraged bubbles.

Instead, she sat in her uncle’s tent and listened as he and Marbjörn and the other jarls and their primary warriors discussed the nature of the battle to come.

“All told, that’s just over four hundred and fifty fighting men and women,” said Einarr, who had been tallying their forces.

“Afastr is supposed to have six ships.” Kvedulf was staring at a roughly drawn map of the Draugr Coast. “Baugr, do you know if he intended to bring all six to the All-Thing?”

“I do not,” said the plump jarl. “Communication was scant and delivered by means of the spirits.”

“Then we cannot guess if he needs to return to Kaldrborg to gather his full strength or if he is already prepared for battle.” Kvedulf grimaced in frustration. “Would that we had Ásfríðr with us.”

Skadi stood. “Uncle, perhaps I could try.”

“To see how many ships Afastr has with him?”

“I am a völva, after all, and helped Ásfríðr with her visions several times over the summer. I can attempt it.”

Kvedulf frowned. “Is it safe?”

To which Baugr let out a bark of laughter. “What manner of question is that? If the völva says she can seek out the enemy, then let her do so. It’s her realm and her decision.”

Almost everyone nodded in agreement.

“I can but try.” Skadi drew herself up. “I’ll need a high chair built, and word to be put out amongst the other shieldmaidens present for those who know the charms and chants to attend me.”

“Very well,” said Kvedulf. “We’ll see it done.”

A couple of hours later Skadi found herself back where the holmgang had been fought, but now before the scaffolding of a lofty chair, twice the height of Ásfríðr’s.

Nokkvi grinned. “I had them build it higher. Thought: the better the vantage point, the greater the odds of your seeing something, no?”

Skadi gave him a nervous nod. She felt very unsure of herself. She wasn’t wearing the proper clothing, didn’t have candles or the right herbs, no incense to burn, no effigy to pray to. She yearned for the close and intimate confines of Ásfríðr temple, or for just a moment with the older woman, to ask her if what she sought to perform was folly.

But it was too late now. Six shieldmaidens had presented themselves, most hesitant if not outright skeptical, and these women now stood in a stiff group awaiting her instruction. Those with a spare moment had also clustered around, so that Skadi realized she’d be performing the ritual before a crowd of some fifty curious warriors.

Not ideal.

Still, she had her belt of charms around her waist, poor in quality and quantity of charms compared to Ásfríðr’s, and her staff in hand. Her threads had returned to her following her victory over Snarfari, though not all of them: ten blazed forth, meaning ten were yet to return to her.

Skadi bit her lower lip. She’d not gained a new thread after killing her foe. Was this holmgang not of sufficient weight and worthiness to increase her wyrd? Why had only ten threads returned? Had she erred somewhere? Misunderstood something of the process? Sometimes they came back all at once after a victory, other times they returned slowly, one by one, like lost calves returning to the fold. Where was the logic, or was she a fool for seeking a formula with something so ethereal as threads of fate?

Skadi thrust the questions and doubts from her mind and approached the shieldmaidens. They were a hard-bitten lot, most with the sides of their scalps shaved so that the top grew long and fell in a mixture of braids or beaded ropes down their backs. One was in her forties, her features long and dour, her body lean and sinewy, her expression forbidding, while another was young, the most hesitant, her temple inflamed from a freshly inked tattoo of whirling lines that formed an intricate knot.

Amongst them was the shieldmaiden who’d served Snarfari; the appalling scar that cut from the corner of her lips nearly up to her temple was as tender and purple as ever, her gaze inscrutable, her brows lowered.

“Greetings, sisters. I wish to seek out Jarl Afastr wherever he sails and determine the number of his ships, but I need your help to do so. Though I’m a völva, I’m very new at the practice, and your help in summoning and pleasing the spirits will be instrumental in our success. Do you all know the chants?”

Murmurs and nods all around, and then the oldest shieldmaiden lifted her chin in a confrontational manner. “You’ve never done this before?”

“No.”

“And you don’t have the robes, none of the other necessary tools?”

“Just what you see.”

The woman laughed incredulously. “You may have a staff, but this isn’t how it works, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. You try and connect with the spirits this blind you’ll get yourself in no end of trouble.”

“I know it.” Skadi tried to settle her roiling stomach with a deep breath. “But we need to know if Afastr is sailing to attack Kráka with all his ships or if he’s heading home to Kaldrborg to collect those he leaves behind.”

The scarred woman spoke up, her voice little more than a whisper. “Why?”

“Why?” Skadi blinked. “So that we know whether we have to race to save Kráka, or have more time to work our way up the coast collecting food and supplies as we go.”

The scarred woman’s gaze was penetrating. “Both ways lead north. You’re willing to risk your mind and spirit to determine how fast?”

“Yes,” said Skadi stoutly. “If it means saving almost a thousand innocents, amongst whom are people dear to me, of course.”

The older shieldmaiden spat on the ground. “You’re too eager to sacrifice yourself. Just tell your jarl to sail north as quickly as he can. He’s got three ships. Have Einarr and Havaklif send an extra ship with him so that he’s five. He can race as if Kráka’s burning, while the other ships come up more slowly from behind. Then if he finds Afastr in his fjord, her can draw him out and wait for reinforcements. If not, he can rest there instead, resupply, and wait.”

The scarred woman raised an eyebrow with wry humor. “Either way, you don’t need to risk your very spirit to help settle a point.”

Skadi didn’t know what to say. She wanted to attempt the viewing. She wanted to commune with the spirits, to add this weapon to her arsenal, to prove herself invaluable once more. To show all the warriors of the Draugr Coast that she was special.

But the shieldmaidens were right.

As much as it galled her, the older woman’s wisdom was sound.

“Your name?” asked Skadi.

“Líføy. I’m with Tryggr Ramundrson, row on the Sea Blade.”

“Úrœkja,” said the scarred woman when Skadi turned to her. “Row on the Long Spear.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Skadi to her, but she didn’t seem torn up over Snarfari’s death. The other four shieldmaidens introduced themselves in turn.

“Thank you for your advice, all of you. I’ve been amongst only men in my uncle’s hird for too long, it seems.”

Líføy smirked. “You’re doing all right, for all that. See you around, Styrbjörnsdóttir.”

The shieldmaidens walked away, but Úrœkja turned back at the last moment and stepped in close, her manner suddenly so intense that Skadi dropped her hand to Natthrafn’s hilt.

“Why did you decide to help Valka? To goad Snarfari into a fight?”

The woman’s glare was blistering, and made all the harder to meet for the vicious wound that snaked up her face.

“No,” said Skadi. “Because she deserved to be helped.”

Úrœkja narrowed her eyes. “She’s not why you came to his tent though. You led me to believe you were enamored of him.”

“I wanted him to think it, too. But what I really wanted was knowledge of Baugr’s surprise. Valka gave it to me.”

“In exchange for her freedom?”

“After I’d already sworn an oath to help her go free. Why? You mourn Snarfari?”

Úrœkja leaned back. “Once I might have. Those days are long gone. I’m…” She trailed off and studied Skadi. “Never mind. I’m glad I was wrong about you.”

And with that, she turned and strode away.

“Hey Skadi!” called Nokkvi. “You going to climb this chair or what?”

“Not today,” Skadi called back. “My apologies, Nokkvi, but thank you for the hard work.”

And she walked back to her uncle’s tent, ignoring the muttering and cursing that she left in her wake.

Her uncle was alone with Snorri and Marbjörn when she entered the tent. “And?” he asked. “Did the spirits oblige?”

“I was convinced not to attempt it by women wiser than myself,” said Skadi. “One of them, a Líføy from Hake, made a good suggestion instead.”

And she outlined the other shieldmaiden’s plan.

“I don’t like sailing blind,” scowled Kvedulf, moving back to the map. “But I suppose she’s right. If we sail as hard as we can—and if each jarl gives us a ship—then five of us can arrive back at Kráka as quickly as possible. Whether we know it’s being attacked won’t help us go any faster.”

Snorri grunted, his cup of mead balanced on his stomach. “We’ll sail with you with all speed. It’s five days to Kráka under normal conditions. I vouch we can make it back in three if we push hard.”

“We’ll make it four,” said Kvedulf, “or we’ll be in no condition to fight Afastr when we arrive. If he was close to the Giant’s Rest last night and has spent today sailing, then our four should catch us up to his five, allowing us to reach Kráka just in time.”

“We’ll be cutting it close,” said Snorri.

“Then we’ll have to trust to our wyrd,” grinned Kvedulf. “We’ll take it day by day.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent loading the ships. Einarr agreed to send his Surf Runner with them, and Baugr the Long Spear. They would cast off at first light tomorrow, and make all speed back to Kráka.

Snarfari’s funeral was only managed because of the hundred warriors who helped carve a great slice out of the side of the burial mound. Into this cavity they dragged a small knorr, the smallest of the supply ships, so that its stern lay within the perimeter of the hill’s base, and its prow jutted out.

The ritual was held by torchlight. Snarfari was laid in the stern in his finest raiment, with his weapons and treasure set beside him. A thrall woman was forced to drink a noxious poison and then raised to peer over the frames that symbolized the doorway to Hel so that she could declare the passage was clear. Baugr himself then stabbed her in the chest, and her body was laid beside Snarfari’s.

The requisite words were chanted, and then Baugr walked backwards away from the boat. Scores of men set to burying the rear of the ship, so that dirt flew onto the deck. Nobody spoke as Snarfari and the stern were buried, until at last the hill was restored to its natural shape, with the prow of the knorr seeming to emerge from the raw, packed earth, as if the ship itself sailed out of Hel.

The groups broke up. The plain seemed almost barren with everything but tents left on the trampled grass. Skadi crawled in beside her companions, all of whom soon fell asleep, lulled by the sound of Aurnir’s snoring outside.

Valka had been a shadow all day long, keeping to herself and hiding in the tent. Only now did she turn over to regard Skadi. In the gloom her blonde hair seemed white, and for a terrible moment, Skadi thought it was Yri who lay beside her, and couldn’t breathe.

“Skadi.”

She forced herself to swallow. “Yes?”

“I don’t want to return to Skegness.”

Skadi rose up on one elbow. “You don’t?”

“No.” Valka’s face was a smudge, but Skadi could hear the other woman’s frustration and certainty, her pain and resolve. “My father and brothers think me a traitor. I am a traitor. I opened the gate to Snarfari.”

“You knew he was bringing men into Skegness?”

“No!” Her reply was a sharp hiss. “But it doesn’t matter. He lied, told me he would take me away. Instead, I found myself brushed aside as countless warriors filed into the city. But do you think my father will forgive me because I was stupid instead of actively traitorous?”

“You were in love.” Skadi tried to be diplomatic but didn’t know what else to say.

“Snarfari ransacked my father’s hall. He stole family heirlooms. He killed good men, old and faithful members of my father’s hird. All because of me. If I return, my father will kill me.”

Skadi lay back down and stared at the tent’s ceiling. “Yes. When you put it that way.”

“Part of me wants to return regardless. To pay for the mistakes I made. But another part of me wants to do better. To live. To make a difference. To fight my father’s enemies and show him one day that I have balanced out my crime.”

“His enemy is Archea. We go to fight Afastr.”

“But after Afastr?”

Skadi stayed silent.

Now it was Valka’s turn to rise up on one elbow. “Let me travel with you. I want to become a shieldmaiden. I want to do great and daring things like you.”

Skadi wanted to say no immediately. You are too young, you don’t know how to wield a blade, you have no wyrd, the world is far harsher than you know.

All things that her eldest brother and father had said to her, not too long ago.

And was it true? After what Valka had lived through, was the world harsher than her own experiences with Snarfari?

“Do you know how to fight with a sword?”

Valka hesitated. “No.”

“Spear? Seax? Bow? Axe?”

“I can use a bow if the draw is light.”

“Hmph.”

“But I can learn. I swear it. I will train harder than anybody you’ve ever seen. I will learn faster than you think possible. And I can help in other ways. You have nobody to take care of your tent, to make your food—”

“You’re a good cook?”

“Well, not yet. But I will become one—”

“Peace, Valka, peace.” Skadi had to restrain herself from laughing. For a few minutes she lay there, chewing the problem over. On one hand, it was a ridiculous proposition: only four or five months ago she’d been the one begging for training. She was only eighteen, perhaps a year older than Valka. How was she supposed to teach her anything?

But then again. She was Skadi Giantslayer. She had killed Snarfari in a holmgang, had bested Rauðbjorn, Bölvun, Kagssok, and helped defeat Grýla.

She was a völva and Freyja’s chosen.

So while she might not be an experienced veteran like Marbjörn, she was clearly no longer a novice, either.

And who better could understand Valka’s ambition and passion for strength and independence?

“We travel north. There’s no time or way to send you anywhere else yet, so you’ll come with us. We’ll see what the days bring. Once this battle with Afastr is over, we shall revisit the conversation.”

“Yes. Thank you, Skadi. If I live to be a hundred I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

Valka flopped back down with a contented sigh. “I know.”

“So stop being so happy about it.”

“All right.”

For a moment they just lay there, and Skadi could almost hear the other woman grinning. Finally, she snorted in amusement and turned over onto her side. Only the norns knew what the next days would bring.