Chapter Three

- A Cloak In The Night.

I thought about the Seer words, and my fathers over and over. In fact I struggled to think of anything else for the rest of the day, barely present whilst doing my chores. By the time darkness fell and distant wolves howled at the rising crescent of the moon, I was certain of my decision.

It had been fairly easy to sneak out of the hut once the Seer had long fell into a deep, mumbling sleep. He barely even stirred as my dark cloak drifted past his open doorway, my ice white hair covered by my hood, blending in to the dimness of the night. I touched the knife at my belt reassuringly as I made my way down the sloping pass towards the flickering glow of lights in the distance, the sound of rustling in the surrounding forests setting my nerves on edge.

After what the Seer had told me, a new, potent fear had awoken in me. A fear of what my life would become. What I would become. An empty vessel, devoid of care or love and without any dreams of my own. He was wrong, I could receive the gods' signs and still care for my family. Why did it have to be one or the other?

The knowledge that I was expected to sever the ties with anyone I had ever held close spurred me on down the rocky trail – I needed to see my family before they left for Francia. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't going willingly down the path that had been laid for me. I would not forget them, no matter how long I had to stay in the mountains. No matter how long they left me to my fate.

The dark made it hard to pick my way down the slant of the terrain and a few times I lost my footing but I kept on, until the glow of fires and lanterns were closer now standing as guides, beckoning me in. Voices became louder and I could hear the muffled notes of song carrying over the rooftops. Kattegat. My home. I stood in the clearing, taking in the sprawl of huts and longhouses for as far as I could see. I took in the shadows of the docks, the moonlight glistening atop the soft rolling waves of the sea.

A brisk wind caressed the edges of my cloak and I pulled my hood further over my face. My eyes scanned left to right for a few moments before I saw it, the earl's longhouse. The largest building and what sounded like the heart of the revelling. Throngs of people were outside it, drinking, arguing, laughing. I saw a couple of men doubled over heaving as their ale resurfaced. None seemed to pay me any attention as a reached the carved wooden doors, holding my cloak tightly around me just in case. Just as I reached a hand to the oak, I staggered back as the doors burst open and two figures stumbled out.

I only caught a glimpse of his profile as he passed but I recognised Bjorn instantly. His features were sharper and his sun bleached beard had filled out impressively and I realised quickly that he seemed to of aged much more than three winters. I watched, still tucked to the side of the doorway as his longer than ever braid swung at his back as he lurched forward, pulling the woman he was with close to his chest. He bent down, holding her back against him as he spoke into her ear. I smiled – he hadn't satiated his desire for women it seemed. He was man now, the son of a legend and fierce in his own right. I doubted he was ever short on female attention.

He stopped suddenly, releasing the giggling woman as he straightened up. His face titled to the side, illuminated by a lantern hanging nearby, and he reminded me of a wolf catching scents on the wind. But before he could cast a glance in my direction, I turned and ducked quickly through the entrance to the hall. No one needed to know I was here, and it especially didn't need to get back to the Seer. This was for me and I needed to keep in control no matter how much I wanted to just embrace my brother.

My resolve faltered though when through the mass of faces filling the hall, my eyes landed on the intricate braids and beautifully angled cheekbones of Lagertha, the legendary shield maiden, my mother. I walked slowly around the edge of the hall, moulding into the shadows of the walls as I watched her engaged in conversation with a small group of men and women. Unlike Bjorn, she hadn't aged a day. She was the smallest there, her slight frame leaning back against a table, yet she commanded the most presence. I slid onto the bench of an empty table, my eyes never leaving her as she threw her head back in a laugh.

Gods I wished to speak with her, tell her about everything that had happened that day. She would know what was the right thing to do and how to soothe my worries. But I was not a child any more and she was going to war when the sun rose. My troubles were my own.

I jerked as the table tilted under my arms and a figure sunk onto the bench opposite me, blocking my view, a finely carved drinking cup sliding into the space between us. I lowered my head quickly, the rim of my hood obscuring my face. Though moments later, a face dipped into my line of sight, tilted sideward to get a better look at me.

I recoiled back and he held up his hands, eyebrows raising.

"You look like you're seeing the dead." His voice was deep and gravelly. "Ale helps."

He pushed his cup across the table towards me, slowly and deliberately as if I might bolt at any moment. Which I was thinking about doing.

I noted the engraved rings on his fingers and followed up the curve of his arm to risk a look at his face properly. His eyes, surprisingly sharp considering the amount of ale that was flowing, were rimmed with inked tattoos that spiralled down to meet the edge of his beard. I noticed the same patterns trailed down his neck and disappeared under the embroidered neckline of his tunic. A dark thick braid, woven neatly, curled around his neck and hung down in front of his chest.

"I..." I faltered, suddenly not able to think clearly. "I should be going. Thank you."

I rose from the table but he mirrored me, abandoning his ale as he stood. "What is your name?"

A name, any name. "Margaret," I blurted as I clambered over the bench and headed towards the door, weaving between shoulders and ducking out the way of flailing arms.

"Have I offended you?"

Thor's hammer, why was his voice still so close? I picked up my pace until I made it outside, the cool air stinging my flushing face. I whirled around, having lost my barings in my rush, and spun face first into a mass of red and gold. A hand caught my arm as I lost my balance and steadied me, until I jerked away seconds later.

"I must say, most women do not run from my conversation as if being chased with a brandishing iron."

He had a bemused look on his face, which out in the moonlight now seemed a quite handsome face. I shook the thought out of my head - I felt my plans spiralling out of my control and I could see heads turning in our direction at the edge of my view. I sucked in a breath, turned on my heel and strode briskly in the opposite direction. I wasn't entirely sure if it was the best thing to do but it was the first formed thought I could grasp in my head.

"Wait!" He was chuckling now, his voice still too close.

An alleyway came up to my right and I darted into it. I spun on the spot and then my fist was driving through the air, possessed by the panic that was pulsating through me.