What followed was the longest day of Skadi’s life.

She’d suffered moments of bleaker anguish. Riki’s murder as Kalbaek burned. Yri’s death. Finding Begga, Kofri, and Ulfarr arranged amongst the Kráka dead. But those moments had been acute and then fallen away, giving her time to retreat into grief and numbness.

Not so this day.

Kvedulf’s sternum was broken. Each breath hurt, and but worse, something deeper within him, a force that had sustained him ever since they’d watched his great hall burn, had been quenched. His gaze was dull, his thoughts distant, his manner numb.

So Skadi stepped into the void he left behind.

Baugr and Einarr were both dead. Trygrr Ramundrson took control of what remained of Hake’s forces, while Úrœkja gave commands to the warriors of Havaklif. It wasn’t until Skadi pointed out mid-morning that she was acting as jarl and being obeyed that the scarred woman realized she had stepped into Baugr’s role.

“Keep at it,” Ørrakollr said grimly when Úrœkja had protested. The scarred old warrior was badly beaten and walked with a limp, but he smiled tiredly at the scarred shieldmaiden. “Word’s getting around how you killed Aldulfr. I’ve been encouraging them.”

Skadi was too tired to smile, but she cuffed the other woman lightly on the shoulder. “Fate goes ever as fate must. Ride this as far as it will take you.”

Úrœkja grimaced and reached up without realizing to touch her wicked scar before snatching her hand away. Skadi watched her accept the honor and responsibility, the burden and challenge, and give a firm nod.

The number that had died was awful. Five hundred had marched down upon Kaldrborg. Of that great host, only a hundred remained. Astrilda told how Afastr had lost two dragon ships en route to the All-Thing to Freyja’s storm, and how this had reduced his forces to little over two hundred, of which only a hundred had died.

“We can’t let that number be known,” Skadi said flatly, looking around at the others who had gathered. There were about twelve of them, ranging from Snorri and Trygrr to Úrœkja and Líføy, Astrilda and Nokkvi, Ørrakollr and old Skrǫggr. Glámr had nodded immediately.

“I’ll put the word out that over three hundred died. And tell Damian to do the same. Nobody questions the man intent on saving your life and limb.”

“How did we lose four hundred?” whispered Snorri. “And he a quarter of that number?”

Astrilda was changing before Skadi’s eyes, no longer the shattered woman Afastr had summoned from the temple that morning, but also no longer the confident, bitterly cynical woman that had kidnapped Skadi weeks ago. She stood straight, her expression hard, arms crossed over her chest.

“Afastr was a past master at warfare. He laid out his plans when his völvas revealed your approach. You must have lost almost a hundred to the spiked trenches alone. He slew some twenty more before the gates while the half-giants killed many more. Then the melee within the walls claimed another fifty, say, while he, Aldulfr, and the lighting claimed the rest. It all happened exactly as he planned.”

Tryggr swore. “What could we have done differently? We avoided his killing ground at the docks. We killed his linnorm. We attacked at dawn when his men should have been at their least alert. How could we have done everything right and still lost so many?”

“We’d have lost everyone if it hadn’t been for Astrilda’s bravery,” Skadi said. “That and we faced perhaps the greatest monster north of Trollheim. Greater than the linnorm, than Queen Grýla, than any cursed jarl or jotunn.”

“And now he is beastly dead,” whispered Úrœkja. “And may Odin turn him away from Valhöll.”

“You know he won’t,” said Kvedulf from where he sat close by. “Odin cares nothing for morality. He only desires the strongest Einherjar. He’ll welcome Afastr with wide arms and a gladsome smile.”

Skadi exchanged a glance with Astrilda and decided to let it go. A cool wind was blowing in from the fjord, dispelling the stench of blood and death. Already the crows were gathering in large numbers, even this far north. Shouts sounded from where warriors worked at tending the wounded, who sobbed and cried out for mercy.

“There are too many dead for proper burials.” Skadi rubbed her wrist against her lips. She was sticky with dried blood, wanted nothing so much as to dive into the sea. “We should build two pyres outside the walls and fire them.”

Astrilda nodded. “The dock walls can be torn down and used.”

“We need to send the Sea Wolf back south with enough men to bring back our ships,” said Trygrr. “I won’t feel right till my Sea Blade is where I can see her.”

“See to it,” Skadi said, too tired to care about how she spoke to Hake’s new jarl. “The Sea Wolf is yours to command. Take as many men as you need to bring two more ships back. The Sea Blade and the Wave Flame. We don’t have enough men to safely sail the other ships home. We’ll have to return for them in time.”

“You can dock them here,” said Astrilda. “I swear on my honor that I will not claim them.”

Many exchanged looks, but nobody contested her promise.

“Speaking of which,” said old Skrǫggrr, “we must speak of spoils. The Draugr Coast has bled itself dry to defeat Afastr. A worthy accomplishment, and with Kráka avenged I know we are all content. But we cannot return home having suffered so without enough gold to make good on our losses.”

“You wish for the flame of the sea?” Astrilda was contemptuous. “Then come. I shall throw open Afastr’s treasury to you four jarls, and allow each of you to take what you think is fair.”

The company stiffened, but they followed Astrilda as she led the way around the temple’s portico and into the central square.

There Skadi saw writ large the human sacrifices that Afastr had offered to Heimdall or whichever god he truly worshipped. Three bodies lay naked and cut open on a large altar that had been partially engulfed by the roots of an old hazel tree. Half its branches were alive with crimson leaves, the rest bare.

“It’s a cursed tree,” whispered Astrilda as she stopped before it. “It’s supped on blood for as long as I’ve been alive, and each time Afastr watered it so it sprouted red leaves. I will have it cut and the altar buried face down.”

“Wise,” said old Skrǫggrr.

Astrilda shuddered and led them into the farthest temple. Young women in heavy robes fled before them like wraiths as they entered the main hall. The interior of the temple was hollow, so that the roof rose high, high above them, dark and crisscrossed with rafters.

Astrilda led them without hesitation across the sanctified space to the back, where a massive statue of Odin stood, lean and gaunt, one-eyed and holding Gugnir his great spear.

“He worshipped Odin, then,” said Tryggr.

“There’s a statue to each god in each temple,” said Astrilda. “Odin, Thor, Tyr, and Freyja. He worshipped none of them, merely placated them so they’d leave him alone. Come.”

She led them to a huge trapdoor behind the statue. “I’ve never been below. Afastr would only allow his völvas to descend with him, or comely women or men who would never return thereafter. But this is where he kept his gold.”

It took Snorri and Glámr both to haul the huge trapdoor open, and a thick smell wafted up from the darkness below, an odor redolent of incense, musk, wax, dust, and old sweat.

Astrilda took up a lantern but hesitated at the threshold.

“We’re with you,” said Skadi softly, and the other woman nodded and descended.

The steps led down below the temple square. Twenty broad and eroded steps opened into a large chamber, its ceiling timbered with the hazel’s roots from whose tips hung fat droplets of blood. Three other sets of stairs rose to what had to be the other temples.

A second altar dominated the center of this chthonic chamber, and this one was adorned with skulls and deeply incised runes. A wicked shard of black metal with a silver edge and a hilt made of rawhide lay upon the stone, and Skadi immediately sensed how cursed the blade was. Pale white flowers grew around the base of the altar, a blood red heart at the center of the waxen flowers. Shelves along the walls were laden with more skulls and ancient candles, and chests were set beneath them.

“It happened here,” said Skadi with a shudder. “This is where he brought his wives and killed them before drinking deep of their wyrd.”

The air seethed, was palpable with a darkness the lantern light could not dispel. Skadi stared in horror at the skulls, at their gaping eyeholes, and realized that each had probably once been a wife, a woman Afastr had brought down here to devour.

Her gorge rose again and she nearly vomited.

The group stared about in morbid fascination.

“All this time,” whispered Snorri. “All this time while we went about our lives, he was coming down here to do his trolldómr.”

“Or force his völvas to enact it for him,” said Skadi, gathering herself.

Astrilda nodded jerkily. “Always he has had four, one for each temple, their wills made his own. I’ve always feared them. The way they were broken and doted on him filled me with revulsion.”

“All of Kaldrborg knew this chamber was here?” demanded Glámr. “And none amongst your number was stout enough to challenge Afastr?”

“Peace,” said Skadi. “Think on what you say.”

“We… we knew and did not know.” Astrilda’s voice had grown soft. She curled a tendril of red hair behind one ear. “We did not wish to know. This was our world, and Afastr our god. Life has always been an act of knowing what to think on, and what to ignore. I don’t say this as a defense, just… just an explanation. Perhaps we did know. But we never wished to acknowledge it, not even to ourselves.”

Glámr spat.

Astrilda smiled softly, a broken, jagged smile. “Your eloquence sums up how I feel about myself most succinctly.”

Skadi shook herself free of her stupor. It was too easy to just stare and think how her skull could have been one of the many embedded around the altar’s edge. How Afastr might have led her down here, a year from now, sobbing and unable to resist him.

“We take what we need and we leave. Astrilda. You would be best filling this room in with rocks and lye.”

“Or burning this whole town to the ground,” said Úrœkja. “How can you live here after having seen this?”

Astrilda passed a hand over her face and shuddered. Skadi stepped to her side, but before she could comfort the woman Astrilda straightened and regarded them all.

“Úrœkja speaks true. I… I had thought, perhaps, that we could make a fresh start there, but… no. This place will never be free of Afastr’s shadow, and the memory of what he did down here. Úrœkja is right. This should all be cleansed with fire.”

“Wise,” said Skrǫggrr, nodding his white-haired head. “We can bring the dead her and allow these temples to serve one last holy purpose.”

“And where will you go?” asked Skadi.

“Outside. I will talk about it outside.” Astrilda’s face had taken on a waxy sheen, and she suddenly hurried toward the steps. Paused at their base and thrust the lantern into Líføy’s hands. “The chests. The gold is in the chests.”

And then she fled upstairs.

Skrǫggrr and Snorri moved to the closest chests immediately, the others crowing in behind, but Skadi hurried after Astrilda. She chased the other woman as she fled the temple through a side door into a street where a score of dejected Kaldrborg warriors sat under the watchful eye of their guards.

“Astrilda.”

The other woman didn’t seem to hear. She plunged on, striding quickly down the street, took a corner, broke into a run. Skadi raced after, caught her just as she entered a large, elegant home, its eaves painted with now faded yellow and blue trim.

Astrilda took a half dozen steps inside and then seemed to run out of momentum. She just stood there and buried her face in her hands.

Skadi hesitated, looking around. It was a fine home. The ground was brushed and smoothly packed, the furnishings of the best quality, the rafters groaning under the weight of dried meats and nets filled with vegetables. A finely crafted bed was set against one wall, a beautiful upright loom against the other. Flower patterns were painted upon the rafters, but like outside, their colors were now faded.

Astrilda’s home.

“How?” Astrilda’s voice was wretched. “How did I not take my life? How have I lived so long in the shadow of such horror?”

Skadi moved up behind her, unsure.

“I feel as if I have been half dead all this time. As if I have sleep-walked through my life, not allowing myself to think, to feel, to be anything but a willing tool. But that room. Oh, by the gods, that room! To have spent my whole life so close to it, as a child, as a young woman, then as an adult. Not knowing, not wanting to know what happened to the people he led down there. My whole life. My whole. Cursed. Life!”

Astrilda cried out and began to beat at herself, and Skadi embraced her, wrapped her arms tightly around Astrilda’s, and held her as the other woman struggled.

Astrilda sobbed, tried to wrench fear with surprising strength, but then went limp and sagged in Skadi’s arms.

Half carrying the other woman, Skadi led her to the bed and lay her down. Sat by her side and ran her fingers through Astrilda’s crimson and silver hair, making gentle, soothing sounds, and eventually the other woman relaxed, her fists unclenching, and she fell asleep.

Skadi sat there for a while, soothing the other woman still, stroking her hair, studying her face. The black eyepatch, her cracked lips, the few freckles stark against her pale skin.

Her own heart throbbed with misery.

They had won. They had defeated a great evil, but at what cost? It felt as if everybody was either dead or broken.

But then Skadi thought of that cellar room, with its pale flowers and bloody roots, with its skulls and awful altar, and knew that no price was too high for ridding the world of Afastr’s darkness. For centuries he had lurked here at the very fringes of the frigid north, but at long last, he was gone.

The world was better for it.

But what now? What came next? Kráka was destroyed, her uncle broken, Marbjörn dead, the vast majority of the Draugr Coast warriors slaughtered, and soon Kaldrborg would burn.

Skadi stroked Astrilda’s hair and then sighed and looked out the open door at the frozen street where a light rain had begun to fall.

Where did they go from here?