The temples burned as if starved for fire. The black wood cracked and warped and erupted into flames that were more blue than anything else, going up so quickly that in moments all four buildings were wreathed in shimmering curtains of azure.

There was surprisingly little heat until the flames spread to the wood stockpiled over and under the corpses; this burned with normal crimson and lurid orange hues, so that for a brief while the pyre was a crown of blue with a core of red and woolen black smoke rising to choke the stars.

The massed crowd watched in somber stillness. Nobody had been moved to speak grandiose words, nor had they protested when Astrilda walked forth with the first flaming brand.

It felt right, watching the ancient temples burn. Skadi couldn’t begin to fathom for how long they had stood here on this frozen shore, what horrors they had witnessed over the long centuries, what evil shades now were finally released with this immolation.

When the fire reached the very center of the temple yard, Skadi swore she heard the ancient hazel tree scream; it seemed to writhe in the center of the flames, its branches waving to and fro, but she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was the eddies of superheated air, or the distortion of the fire itself.

Still, when the tree cracked and split apart, Skadi felt a profound sense of relief.

The fire raged for hours. The host never stirred, however; nobody present didn’t have a brother or boon companion who didn’t ash within the pyre. The temples collapsed into themselves with muffled roars, and toward the end the temple square tumbled down into the room below, sinking with a roar that sent great gouts of flames leaping high into the dim night.

When finally the fire had died down to a sufficiently low ebb the crowd dispersed. Most men descended to the docks and the three ships that Trygrr had sailed back before dusk. The Kaldrborg warriors returned to their homes. Kvedulf joined the remaining warriors of Kráka—barely thirty of them in all—to a camp they’d built around the smithy close to the front gate but away from the slaughter.

Damian, haggard and exhausted, had clapped Skadi on the shoulder, his golden eyes heavy-lidded, and stumbled away to sleep. Glámr had sensed her need to be alone and faded into the darkness. Aurnir hadn’t emerged from the giant’s house. Astrilda gathered the remaining elders and leaders of Kaldrborg for a final conference. One by one every familiar face departed, until Skadi stood alone before the great pyre, wrapped in a dark cloak and even darker thoughts.

A woman emerged from the flames.

She strode free of the fire as if emerging from a garden, her robes unsinged, her hair draping her voluptuous frame, a great shield in one hand, a long spear in the other. In the flickering light of the dying fire, she appeared terrifying and stern, alluring and divine, and her eyes burned as she gazed at Skadi.

Freyja.

Skadi lowered herself to one knee, but she surprised herself by not feeling the reverential awe she had at previous encounters. Now she felt stony respect, grim admiration, and no small amount of conflicted resentment and suspicion.

“You have done well, daughter of mine,” said the goddess as she stopped before Skadi. “All that you have set your hand to you have accomplished. Your enemies are slain. Your wyrd grown. Your future bright.”

“Thank you, Honorable Lady. If I have done well, it is due to your blessings.”

“So unyielding your demeanor, so formal your words. Why do you look so dour, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir? Are you not content for having won your freedom?”

“I am, Honorable Lady. Yet I grieve for the fallen. For the countless dead.”

“Grieve not. Even now they celebrate and give great cheer in Valhöll and Sessrúmnir. They feast with the glorious dead, and their deeds are honored by all. What cause, then, to grieve?”

Skadi remained silent, knowing that she couldn’t explain this feeling of loss and bereavement, hollowness and sorrow to one who knew nothing but the glories of eternal life.

“I am come to give my blessing to your journey west. I foresee your arrival in Stóllborg, and how your presence shall shift the tides of war. But be warned, daughter mine: you shall not always achieve victory. The forces you shall face are great even compared to those you have hitherto fought, and you must make your peace with silver linings and cutting defeats. The stage upon which you shall soon step is peopled by others of great if not greater wyrds, men and women whose fortunes grow as yours does.”

Skadi looked up at the goddess’s perilously beautiful visage. “I will do whatever it takes to avenge my brother, free my mother, and defeat the Archean Empire.”

Freyja reached down to trace the length of her jaw. “I know, child, which is why I am so fond of you. But true wars are not won by individual desires, a bitter lesson you shall soon learn. But no matter. For now, you are ascendant, your wyrd mighty, your passions affirmed, your path clear. Know that I walk by your side, and be glad.”

“Thank you, goddess. I honor you and thank you for your blessings.”

Freyja studied her, the silence growing between them, until at last the goddess smiled. “Ah, now I see it. You resent the favor you promised me.”

Skadi struggled to find the right words and failed.

“Do you fear that I will use you poorly? Do not be afraid, dearest; of all the mortals that currently walk Midgardr, you are my seventh favorite. Our ambitions and goals are aligned.”

“Then release me from my oath.”

The goddess laughed, the sound akin to rain falling on leaves. “Alas, oaths are sacred. Fear it not. One day I shall collect, and I am sure you shall be most glad to deliver.”

Skadi bowed her head.

Fingers found her chin and raised her face. Freyja leaned down, her gaze fever-bright and containing constellations, fired by an intelligence so vast and a passion so deep that Skadi felt as if she gazed into Urd’s well or the very void of Ginnungagap itself.

“Know that you are mine, Skadi,” whispered the goddess. “Take pleasure in my interest. Take pride. I gave you this second life, I led you to greatness, and all that you are, all that you have, is mine in turn.”

And the goddess turned her face and pressed her lips to Skadi’s. She tasted of wine and gooseberries, then of blood and copper, then candlelight and smoke, then finally as a woman, nothing less, nothing more.

Skadi felt rooted to the spot, frozen, entranced, held, captivated, owned. She reveled in the surrender even as she loathed it.

When finally the goddess pulled back, her full lips twisted into a smirk, Skadi didn’t know if a moment had passed or an age.

“Never forget, Skadi.” The goddess took a step back. “Never forget to whom you owe it all.”

And then she was gone.

Skadi shivered and drew her cloak about herself. She felt aroused beyond measure yet also violated, a deep ache in her core and a rage that whipped up as quickly as the temple flames.

And she thought then of Afastr and realized how godlike he had been in his sublime arrogance, his utter lack of empathy, his primordial obsession with his own needs and wants.

She shuddered again and rose to her feet. Lifted her hand to wipe away the sensation of Freyja’s lips from her own, then, hating herself for her weakness, chose not to.

* * *

All were eager to be quit of Kaldrborg.

A freezing wind was blowing when dawn broke, driving stinging pellets of ice before it, but the weather was deemed sufficiently favorable for them to sail forth.

Of the ten ships that had sailed north, only three were needed to return. Baugr’s Wave Flame, now commanded by Úrœkja, and Tryggr’s Sea Blade, which would leave Snorri and his remaining dozen warriors in Djúprvik before continuing home to Hake.

Kvedulf, ashen face cast in a perpetual grimace, pulled Skadi aside. “It pleases me to finally fulfill my oath to you.”

“Come with me to Stóllborg, Uncle. My father will welcome you, and King Harald no less for your wisdom and cunning in battle.”

“Cunning in battle. Ha!” He winced and pressed his hand to his chest. “Don’t make me laugh. We ran like lambs into Afastr’s traps. It’s him you should have recruited if you wished to defeat the Archeans.”

“I know why you say that,” she replied softly, “but I won’t agree with you there, not even in jest.”

“Well.” He rubbed at his chest again. “No matter. I won’t limp into Harald’s court like this. I would rather walk into the wilderness and let the troll-folk take me. No; you take the Sea Wolf and as many men and women who wish to sail with you. Carry the fight to the Archeans. Your tale is just beginning, Skadi. Mine is ending.”

Skadi felt a knot rise abruptly in her throat, an upsurge of emotion that surprised her. “Your life is not ended, Uncle. You have life in you yet. Are respected. Once you have healed, you will begin a new era in your life.”

Kvedulf smiled sourly with something of his old personality. “I am not so old that I need a stripling girl of eighteen years to lecture me.”

She grinned back. “Are you so sure?”

“Bah. If I were not wounded and you so formidable I’d cuff you for your insolence. No. Take the Sea Wolf. Sail to Stóllborg. I will winter with Tryggr Ramundrson in Hake with what men wish to follow me there, and come spring, I shall see how the world lies.”

Skadi bowed her head. “Very well, Uncle. Thank you. For taking me in.”

Again he grinned sourly. “Don’t thank me. I sought to use you to my advantage at every turn. Had my wyrd been but a bit stronger, or Afastr’s less formidable, I’d be returning now to Kráka with Djúprvik pacified and Kaldrborg ruined. But that is how it goes. We jarls play our games, and the children pay the price.”

And as quickly as a candle flame being blown out, his expression grew hollowed and haunted.

“Farewell, Uncle. I have learned much from you. I shall never forget this summer.”

“And I have learned something from you in turn.” He roused himself from his bitter stupor. “Take care, Skadi. Though in truth I feel pity for your foes. They won’t know how terrible their enemy is until it’s too late.”

They parted, and Kvedulf spoke with the remaining warriors from Kráka. Twenty of them decided to crew the Sea Wolf, though Nokkvi opted to remain with his jarl, and another twenty from the other settlements received permission from their jarls to come as well. Skadi was gratified to see Líføy amongst their number.

They gathered aboard the Sea Wolf. For a while, all was busy chaos, as men and women stowed their gear in sea chests, sought our rowing partners, examined the ship, and settled new shields along the gunwale. Skadi felt a pang of loss as she thought of Ulfarr, and how she wished his steady hand would be upon the steering oar, but Bósi, who had steered their knorr south to the All-Thing, volunteered to guide them, and Skadi gratefully accepted.

She saw Glámr checking their supplies on the dock, and slipped down. He straightened, muttering figures to himself, and raised his eyebrows as she approached.

“Glámr. A moment?”

“Assuredly.”

“I… we have not had much opportunity to speak, you and I.”

“There has been nothing to discuss. Where you go I follow, and blood flows.”

“I just… I have come to rely on you to such a degree that I don’t question or even wonder if you will be there. That moment in the battle when you set your shield so I could leap over the wall, I’ve come to expect such closeness. But I want you to know that I don’t take it for granted.”

“Perhaps you should. No, listen: I am with you, Skadi. I’ve had many opportunities to leave, and have spurned them all. Where you go, I shall follow. It is as simple as that.”

Frustration arose within her. “It’s not as simple as that. You are no hound that I should expect to trot at my heel. You’re my closest friend. But… somehow, over all these months, I’ve not treated you as such. Life has been so intense and events have followed each other so rapidly that I’ve told myself that I’ve not had the time to talk to you. But that’s not true.”

Glámr raised an eyebrow.

“I have taken you for granted. I have counted on your wisdom and steady presence, your support and strength. While I wrestled and dealt with others, I assumed that you would be there for me.”

“That is what friends are for.”

“No.” His very placidity was infuriating her. “Don’t you see? I… I never asked how you were after our first conversation about Náttfari’s death. I knew you felt strongly about her, but I let that matter fall away and didn’t think to concern myself with your pain.”

Glámr frowned.

“So… what I’m trying to say, is that I will do better. You are my best friend. My most trusted ally. I love Damian, but he is different than we are, he is from Nearós Ílios and all that brings. You and I, we are of the North. It was you that threw Natthrafn to me, so many moons ago. You whom I trust in battle and in counsel, whom I look for at camp and at dinner. You’re my boon companion, Glámr. I swear to you that I will treat you as such moving forward.”

Glámr swallowed, went to speak, looked down, then cleared his throat. “None of this is necessary, Skadi. But thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.”

“Good. So, here.” She dug her hands into her pack and drew forth one of the golden arm rings Kvedulf had gifted her that summer. “This is for you. Wear it with pride, Glámr. If ever I have a hird, you shall be its leader.”

The half-troll took the thick, golden ring with wonder, turned it about, and then flicked his gaze up to her. “You… are you… thank you, Skadi.” He slid it up his arm and squeezed the gold tight about his bicep. “I shall wear it with honor.”

Skadi squeezed his shoulder with fierce happiness, then heard the loud tread of a half-giant approaching, and turned.

And stared.

Aurnir stood garbed as she had never seen him before. A blue cloak fell to his heels, made of thickly felted wool, while a russet tunic was belted over gray leggings. Leather boots rose as high as each knee, each large enough for her to have stood in, and a dagger as large as a sword was lashed to his belt. His blond hair was washed and pulled back for the first time ever into a nub of a ponytail, and a grim dignity sat upon his craggy countenance that was just as new. Under one arm he carried a chest, and in the other hand he held his dire flail.

Activity on the docks and all the ships slowed and then stopped as everyone stared in wonder.

“Skadi,” he said, his voice deep and reverberant as the mountains. “We sail?”

A new intelligence burned in his eyes, frost-bright and shrewd.

“Aurnir. Yes. We sail for Stóllborg.”

He nodded and turned to examine the ships. “On Sea Wolf?”

“That’s right. Jarl Kvedulf has gifted it to us.”

“Good. I will board.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait, Aurnir.”

The half-giant turned back, one pale eyebrow raised.

“I…” She wanted to express her delight, but something in his newfound gravity precluded her bubbling words. “I want to formally thank you, and recognize your service in battle.”

She was even speaking to him differently now.

He turned all the way back to face her. “Service in battle?”

“Yes.” She drew forth a massive golden brooch, nearly as large as an arm ring. “You are a warrior in my service. If I am to be your jarl, then I must be a ring giver. But lacking the gold to girdle your arm, I thought instead to pin this to your chest.”

Aurnir studied the brooch, then slowly, carefully, lowered himself to one knee.

Skadi stepped up and pinned the brooch through the thick material of his tunic.

“There. Thank you, Aurnir, for all that you have done.”

Aurnir studied the brooch on his chest, then rose to his feet, the chains of his dire flail clinking. To her immense relief, he smiled at her. Not the blithe, carefree smile of before, but a warm smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Skadi.”

So saying he bowed his head, but startled as cheering broke out across the ships and docks.

Trygrr moved to the prow of his ship. “All hail Aurnir Gatebreaker! All hail Aurnir, friend of the Draugr Coast!”

The cheering rose in pitch, and tears came to Skadi’s eyes. Now she did clap her hands, and when Glámr let out a cry of pride and exultation she turned to him and laughed.

Aurnir looked up and down the docks in wonder, his pale features flushing deeply, but then he raised his dire flail into the sky.

The ships were supplied. The Sea Wolf took on enough provisions to last at least till they reached the Iron Isle.

Valka and Damian appeared together, both still wearied from the last day’s labor amongst the wounded, and till the last helped with loading them onto the ships so that both decks and several knorrs were laden with fallen warriors.

Yet as exhausted as Damian appeared to be, he seemed buoyant, enthused, and when Skadi caught him sharing a warm look with Valka, she understood why, and smiled.

The last to arrive was Astrilda. Skadi noticed her hesitating in the shadows of one of the dockside buildings, and after a few minutes descended to greet her. Astrilda was garbed in gray furs lined with white fox fur, her huge axe held in one fist, a large leather pack slung over her shoulders. Her crimson and silver hair was bound back by a plain leather thong, and though she was freshly scrubbed and scrupulously clean, she still appeared exhausted and worn.

“You came,” said Skadi.

Astrilda grimaced and looked up at the Sea Wolf. “Here I am.”

“Well, come aboard. Let me introduce you to the others.”

“Are… are you sure this is a good idea?” She rushed to speak before Skadi could answer. “I am Jarl Afastr’s daughter. I kidnapped you. Up until yesterday, I was their avowed enemy.”

Skadi slipped her arm through Astrilda’s and pulled her forth. “You also are the woman who killed Afastr and saved our attack from abject defeat. They saw you light the pyre yesterday, and know that I bless your presence on my ship. Come. I promise you, it will go well.”

Astrilda allowed herself to be coaxed forth, and together they walked down the dock toward the dragon ship.

Skadi studied the other woman. “Don’t look so glum! Have you ever sailed around the Iron Isle?”

“I have not.”

“Wait till you see its towers. Ylgrgarðr is like nothing you’ve ever seen. And Stóllborg! It makes every town on the Draugr Coast seem like a hamlet. And I saw mermaids on the way up here—they were so beautiful, but terrifying, too. Maybe we’ll see some more on the way down.”

Astrilda smiled at her, bemused, then laughed.

Skadi grinned and tugged at her arm. “What?”

Astrilda snorted. “You are such a child, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir.”

“Ha,” she replied, but this time it didn’t bother her at all. “Hurry up already. I want to introduce you to the crew and set sail. There’s a whole world out there.”

They climbed the gangplank and stepped out onto the deck of her ship. Sailors and friends turned to welcome them.

Skadi felt her heart fill to the brim with emotion. “And I for one can’t wait to see it all.”

END OF ARC 1