Land of the Geats, 868

Three winters Valdis had been wed. Three winters.

Those years seemed to stretch into decades, yet they had also passed in the blink of an eye. Time had lost its meaning, and Valdis erred through selfsame days, a numb, hapless passenger in her own body. She'd forgotten the touch of song and smiles upon her lips, and the sound of her own laughter. Every meal tasted like ashes in her mouth. Even the sweetness of mead seemed to sour on her tongue.

(And worse of all were the stains, the stains on her hands that only she could see, the red of the blood she'd spilled, the red that seemed to stay etched on her skin even as she scrubbed and scrubbed it raw. The sagas never spoke of such things—of nights spent hearing screams and sobs in the slumbering world. Battles were supposed to fill her heart with glory and purpose, not with this strange sense of apathy.

No, the sagas never spoke of such things. Why did the saga never speak of such things?)

It had not been so in the early days of her marriage. In those first few moons, Hakon Jarl had still ruled over the clan, and Rued played the dutiful son—the dutiful husband. There had been warning signs, of course, but Valdis, in her youth—in her stupidity—had ignored them. Every marriage faced its share of early obstacles, her husband's mother had told her when she had asked the old woman for counsel. Rued was a harsh man in battle, a sturdy warrior whose feats of war were worth a few songs or two; of course he'd be quick to anger when faced with incompetence and idiocy. Yes, he showed little to no interest in knowing more of his wife's interests and ambitions; and yet, wasn't it Valdis herself who had told everyone willing to hear that theirs was a union made out of convenience, not out of love? As for the disparaging comments he sometimes made while in the company of his warriors…

"Gods, woman!" Rued would say with a laugh when she would react in anger at these snide remarks. "That was a jest! You are a daughter of warriors, surely you're not thin-skinned enough to think I meant that in earnest?"

Valdis would always frown at his answers. Eventually, she stopped talking back altogether. It was simply too tiring to muster enough anger to fight back all the time—to bicker like a bitter bride. That energy was better spent elsewhere, wasn't it? And Valdis was steadfast enough to endure a few drunken barbs or two; as Rued was so keen on pointing out, she was a scion of a strong, noble lineage. Valdis would only shame her ancestors by throwing tantrums at every petty insult.

Still, three moons after her wedding day, Hakon died, leaving Rued the head of the clan.

And Valdis' husband decided to drop the facade entirely.

Then, there was no kind word, no sweet gesture, not even a shred of respect. Little by little, day by day, Rued grinded away at Valdis's dignity, at her spirit. Her pride as a leader he eroded first, questioning her counsel every time she dared offer her opinion; soon enough, all of her propositions, even the most sensible ones, were met with suspicion and laughter on the part of their banner-folk. Then he questioned her devotion; why did she keep sending her part of their raids' plunder back to the clan of her birth? Why couldn't these riches benefit her new family instead? Valdis was all too aware of the murmurs that soon began to follow her; now people whispered behind her back, calling her selfish, haughty for refusing to sever ties with her previous clan.

Then came the threats, veiled, unspoken at first. It wasn't Rued's fault that she tested his patience so easily. Valdis could be so difficult, after all. Was this why Ketil had been so eager to be rid of her? At first Valdis had been outraged to be treated in such a way, and that first night he had exploded at her she had given him as good as he'd gotten, but then… but then…

Then, Valdis learned to keep her mouth shut. She learned to keep her head down, to let no emotion show upon her face. Because Rued had no use for the fire burning in Valdis's soul, the one her father had cherished so dearly. All he wanted was a figure carved out from the inside, pretty but hollow, a figure he could then fill with his hatred and his poison.

And Valdis had simply let him. She'd let him smother that flame so he could mould her into whatever he wanted.

How could she have lost her pride so easily?

The first day of her twenty-first summer, Valdis came to her husband as he lounged in his throne, surveying the whole of the meadhall. New tapestries hung from the walls, depicting the clan's recent glories. In one hand, the Jarl drank from a goblet made of pure gold; the other was wrapped around the waist of a buxom thrall straddling his lap. A new one, Valdis noted. Rued usually kept a woman for a moon or two, before settling on another mistress—for the same reason he had begun to shun Valdis's company in the marriage bed, in truth. These poor girls, Valdis thought. They hoped—in vain—to be chosen as concubines. They would be sorely disappointed; she suspected none of them could give Rued what he wanted.

Such luxuries must have cost a pretty penny. And Valdis was all too aware just where her husband had come upon that wealth. In her personal belongings was a chest filled with silver—the dowry she'd brought from her clan, the one her father had begun to gather the day she'd been born. It was supposed to remain untouched, put aside for the use of Valdis's own children, only…

She planted herself in front of her husband, crossing her arms over her chest. In the meadhall, laughter and conversation dimmed, until silence reigned in the vast, vaulted space. The whole of the clan was now looking at her. Valdis was all too aware of the scorn in their gazes. Rued drank from his cup, long and deep, before settling a pair of cold blue eyes upon his wife.

"Finished sulking, have you?" Rued said. "Are we finally worthy of your company, oh dear wife?"

Valdis's face was as stone. "I've noticed you helped yourself to my dowry. You should not be touching it. That silver was meant to benefit our family."

"Our family?" Rued's eyes fell to her stomach. "What family? If you won't fulfill your end of our bargain, then I don't see why I couldn't be given a little leeway as well."

Low chuckles filled the longhouse at these words. Valdis's cheeks grew hot with shame—and rage. She could not believe he'd said such a thing while so many ears were listening. Valdis wanted nothing more than to explode in fury, but—no, she had to keep her emotions in check. She had been married into this clan for three winters—but they weren't her people. They were starving dogs slobbering at her husband's feet in vain hopes that he would deign to throw them even a single scrap of rotting food.

If Valdis showed weakness, they would devour her whole.

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply, then said, "I came to ask something else. Now that summer is upon us, I wish to visit my mother. I've heard that she has taken ill."

"Now? Just as the raiding season has started? Have you lost your mind, woman?"

Valdis held on to his glare. "During the fall, you said I would be needed to supervise the harvest. In the winter months, you said that it would be too dangerous to travel. And last spring you forbade me without so much an explanation. When will be a good time to visit my family?"

"I'll not waste one of my longships on such a pointless endeavour," Rued said, taking another swing from his cup. He was not even looking toward her. "There will be riches aplenty on the mainland this summer, I will need the whole fleet to carry them back to our shores."

"I'll go with one of our traders, then. They bring me news from home, I can follow them back to—"

"Gods, you're a stubborn one," Rued interrupted her. "As if I'll allow you to traipse around while we are in need of your sword-arm. Your father didn't tell me he was giving me such a selfish bride. Always making demands, you are, and never providing anything in return."

Again, his words prompted nasty chuckles from the rest of his dogs. Perhaps he's right, came the sour insinuation, perhaps you are selfish and weak—Valdis smothered that voice before those thoughts could burrow in too deep. "I'll go and come back as fast as possible. You'll never notice that I'm gone."

"Do you delight in going against my orders at every turn, dear wife? In front of my warriors no less?"

By Tyr, Valdis wanted nothing more than to bury her father's dagger deep in her husband's throat. She had every right to explode in anger for every insult he sent her way. But Valdis could not act in a reckless manner; Rued's mongrels were watching her with cruel grins, ready to unleash violence upon her if she dared act in a way not befitting of her role as their jarl's pretty and pliant wife. No, instead, Valdis had to bide for her time. Eventually, the gods would present her with a way out of this prison of shame, she was certain of it.

One moon later, Valdis was gifted with such an opportunity—when she received word that her mother had passed away.

This time, Rued could not deny her demand, not without becoming an object of scorn across the lands ruled by the Ragnarssons. Valdis's mother was their king's beloved cousin, a woman he'd loved like a sister. Halfdan himself and his brothers could not go to the woman's funeral; the whole of Denmark knew they were away on a campaign in England, ravaging the Saxons' isles to avenge their father after he'd been murdered by that coward king, Aella of Northumbria. Valdis's heart stung with acrimony at the thought. Out there, her kin was battling worthier foes to court glorious death while she… while Valdis was stuck in a dying land, wrangling the petty ambitions of lesser men to keep her people safe. Gods, it made her want to scream in rage.

Still, Valdis was filled with a familiar sense of peace as she climbed out of Rued's longship to find the well-worn wood of her village's docks under her feet. Her heart swelled a little at the sight of the new ships moored in the harbour. Evidently, Ketil had followed her instructions and built the fleet anew with the silver they'd received as bride's price.

Brothir and Broder were waiting for her at the docks. Without exchanging a word, the twins brought their sister into their arms. Valdis did not expect to feel so shaken in the safety and warmth of their embrace. Still, she smothered the emotion swelling inside of her; out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rued and his warriors watching her like hawks, ready to strike if she dared showed weakness. When her brothers let go of her, she turned a pair of dry eyes toward them and said, "Bring me to her."

The stone ship where Ylva's body had burned had been built atop the sacred hill. Valdis's brothers had assured her that their mother had expired while clasping her axe in her hands. The same axe had been laid upon her breast as she had made her final journey; Valdis could see a piece of twisted, blackened steel among the pile of ashes and stones. Valdis's mother had not died in battle, but—she'd shown fierceness aplenty in her life, hadn't she? Ylva Leifsdóttir had fought alongside her cousins when they had been eager young wolves, part of their illustrious father's army. Surely the Valkyries would take that in account? Surely they would see in her a soul worthy of Odin's golden hall? Valdis desperately wished it so.

A knot formed in Valdis's throat as she beheld the charred remains of the stone ship. That was the only thing remaining of the woman who had borne her. Ashes and naught else. Mouth twisting, Valdis spun on her heel to descend the sacred hill, followed by a quiet procession. Then the whole of the village gathered in the longhouse, to celebrate the woman's life by sharing her favourite stories, by singing the songs she loved most, by drinking in her name.

Throughout the night, familiar, beloved sights met Valdis's eyes wherever she looked: her father's seat, where he had so often played the lyre to the great delight of all, the wooden beam she'd nicked while pretending to be a sword-toting Valkyrie, that rug on which she'd so often fallen asleep while listening to tales about warriors of old. She drew strength from this place—her place—and from the warm tones of the voices speaking to her. It proved what she had thought all along. These were her people; with them she belonged.

Somewhere, it felt as if the Nornir were smiling down on her. Valdis would not squander that chance.

While Rued had gone outside to relieve himself, Valdis took Brothir aside and said, low enough so only he could hear, "Brother, I need your help."

Brothir frowned. "What is it? Will there be any trouble?"

There it was, that familiar hint of concern. Her oldest brother could be such a worrywart sometimes. "There might be," Valdis replied. "You must tell the rest of our warriors, but as covertly as possible. Don't speak to any of my husband's men, do you understand?"

His eyes widened. "Valdis, is your husband—"

"Later!" she cut him off. "We'll speak of this later! Now is the time for action. Do as I ask." She paused and bit down her lip, before adding, so quietly she almost could not hear her own voice, "Please?"

Brothir grabbed her shoulder, briefly touching her forehead with his. "Of course, sister. Of course."

The evening was already well advanced when Valdis caught her two brothers' gazes from across the meadhall. Brothir nodded, slightly. Valdis noted that other members of her clan were looking at her as well. Their faces were set with grim determination.

That was all she needed to act. Valdis stood from her chair, rather abruptly. Rued shot her a scornful glance.

"Where's the hurry, Valdis?" he drawled. "Don't you enjoy the pleasure of my company?"

Valdis placed herself in front of the table. "I have an announcement to make."

Rued had been lounging in his seat; he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Oh? What is it you mean to tell me, dear wife?"

Valdis waited until all were silent, until she could feel the attention of both clans upon her. Then, she said, loud and clear, "I wish to separate from my husband."

Rued's smirk disappeared. Now, all eyes were upon him—and most of these gazes were everything but kind. He rose from his seat. "What did you just say?"

"Did I stutter?" Valdis snapped. "Or mumble? I wish to separate from you, Rued. In what way are these words not clear?"

His eyes flashed. "You've lost your wits. There is no reason for us to—"

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you," Valdis said, with all the venom she could muster.

"I have given you everything, woman!" Rued shouted. "Thralls, jewels, silver… what more do you need?"

You stole everything from me! Valdis wanted to scream. You stole my smiles, my love of song, my pride. You stole from me the last moments I could have shared with my mother in wretched Midgard!

Of course, Valdis did not—could not—say that out loud. Instead, she inhaled sharply and said, "It should be easy to dissolve the bonds of our marriage. Our clans have not been tethered together by the presence of children."

"And whose fault is that?" Rued roared. "Your father didn't tell me he was giving me a bitch with a barren womb when he laid out the terms of our union!"

Valdis could hear her brothers shouting in outrage behind her, but she raised her hand, silencing their rage. "Or perhaps," she said calmly, "it is your seed that is weak. You've plowed a fair number of thralls, yet I've never seen any of their bellies growing round. Why is that, I wonder?"

The blood fled from Rued's face. Murmurs flowed through the crowd surrounding them—mixed with laughter.

"You troll-cursed bitch," Rued said, advancing toward her and raising a hand. "You'll shut your mouth or –"

"Think before you act, Rued," Valdis said, not budging an inch. "Will you really show what little control you have over yourself by striking your wife in view of all? You'd only prove my claims that you are weaker than you appear." She had counted on him losing his temper in public; behind closed doors, she would not have fared as well. "Simply admit that you have not given what you promised to my family when you married me. That is all I ask."

"I have fulfilled my term of the bargain," Rued said with a savage smile. "I haven't burned your pathetic little village to the ground."

"Of course you haven't," Valdis replied, heart giving a slight jolt at his words. Control your fear, she reminded herself. "We would have put up a fight, and that wouldn't do. You always go for easy pickings. Like a fly that only seeks shit."

She could hear Broder clapping and roaring in laughter behind her. The rest of the Boar clan shared his merriment, their guffaws rippling through the meadhall. Valdis almost smiled; she had nearly forgotten how it felt, not being the main target of scorn.

Rued snarled, not too subtly putting a hand over the handle of his axe. The response from Valdis's clansmates was immediate; all leaped from their seats, moving to grab their weapons as well. No matter their age, their sex, or their status, the members of the Boar clan stood beside Valdis, united in their fury. Their strength only fanned the flame within her, making it burn ever brighter. Rued removed his hand, eyes darting to every corner. Valdis could see him mouthing a curse.

"Fine!" he spat. "I rebuke you, Valdis Eirikrsdóttir! You are no longer my wife!"

"And you are no longer my husband, Rued Hakonsson," Valdis replied, with cool assurance.

"And I am glad of it. What man would want such a shrew as a bride?" Rued leaned forward to whisper at her ear, "I will leave now, but I will return, with the whole of my clan sailing along this time. I will destroy your home and let my men hunt your people for sport. Those who will survive will leave this place in chains. I will break them, every man, woman and child, I will make them less than animals, until you come to me begging on your knees, as you should. This I promise you, oh dear Valdis."

For what seemed like an eternity, Valdis stared into his icy blue eyes, unable to muster any sort of response. She had endured three years of torment at this man's hands, yet a terror unlike anything she had ever felt now surged over her. Rued's threat was not an empty one; again and again, she'd seen what happened to the poor souls who had been unfortunate enough to stand in his way.

She herself had wielded the axe responsible for that violence more often than she could count.

And yet, if Valdis showed fear, everything would be lost. All the senseless horrors she had inflicted in Rued's name—all the senseless horrors that had been inflicted on her—all of it would be for naught if Valdis even faltered for a moment.

She glanced aside, seeing worried faces looking back at her. Jorund, their smith, with his gaggle of children behind him. Old Ranka, the völva of the clan, whose eyes were still bright and shrewd despite her age. Asfrid and Katla, sisters and shieldmaidens, who had been loyal playmates in Valdis's youth. And so many others who had shared her joys and her sorrows, her triumphs and her failures.

Valdis had no doubt that her people would prevail in a fight against Rued's men. Still, who among these beloved souls would follow the Valkyries to Odin's hall if Rued were to unleash his wrath upon the Boar clan? She did not care to find out.

Give me strength, Valdis prayed, to the gods, to the ancients of her clan, to the parents who had cherished her so dearly, give me strength, please, do not let me falter, do not let me show weakness.

"No," she managed, meeting his cold gaze once more. "You will never lay a hand on me and mine again. This is the oath I take, before my clan, before my ancestors, before the gods themselves. If you pursue me, you will suffer a humiliation so great that people all across the land will mock and curse your name over generations to come. If you hurt those I care about, you will be subjected to an indignity so grand that you will beg for death on your knees, as you should. This I promise you, Rued."

All she got in response was a snarl from the man who had dared call himself her husband. Without another word, Rued whirled on his heel, stomping out of the meadhall with the rest of his warriors. Only then did Valdis felt like she could release the breath she'd been holding.

"Valdis!" In an instant, Brothir was at her side, putting a hand on her back. "Sister, are you all right?"

"Gods!" Broder said, standing by Valdis's other side. "I've half a mind to pursue that thrice-cursed mongrel and—"

"No," Valdis said, interrupted him, "there is something more important I need you to do. We must prepare."

"Prepare for what—"

"You stupid girl!" Ketil exclaimed, finally moving from where he'd stood frozen. He grabbed Valdis's arm, digging his fingers into her sleeve. "You've just doomed us all!"

"Don't you dare put your hands on her!" Broder roared.

Valdis wrestled her arm from Ketil's grip. "The next time you touch me without my consent," she said, very calmly, "will be the last time you will ever use that hand, Ketil."

Ketil flinched as if she had struck him. "You don't know what you're doing," he said. "Gods, you idiot child, as if we were in a position to bring another clan's fury upon ourselves after the losses of the past years! Truly, you have no sense!"

"We won't have to face Rued and his men," Valdis said, feeling almost as if she had stepped into a dream. "We will be leaving."

Gasps and shocked murmurs followed that declaration. The people of her clan exchanged worried glances, before looking at Valdis with uncertainty.

"Leaving?" Ketil repeated. "Leaving where?"

"To England, and to greener pastures and greater glories," Valdis said. "We will join the Ragnarssons in their endeavour and win ourselves a new home." Only then could Valdis provide security and stability for her clan. Only then could she wash away the shameful stain of her marriage to that foul swine.

Only then could she atone for bringing Rued's wrath upon her people simply because she had been too weak to endure more of his cruelty.

"I stand with my sister!" Brothir shouted, and Valdis stifled a sigh of relief. Gods, all she wanted was to crawl into some hidden corner of her childhood home and weep. "To England we go!"

"To England!" Broder added, raising his fist into the air.

The next few days were spent in a flurry of preparations. Even with the new ships they could not carry the whole of their belongings to England. Heartrending choices had to be made, and Valdis felt like the cruelest of tyrants every time she forbade someone to bring a beloved family heirloom or what little livestock they still possessed.

Valdis herself had little possessions to take with her to England. Broder had inherited their father's shield, while their mother's sword had gone to Brothir. In the end, she settled on Eirikr's lyre; when she plucked on its strings, she could almost hear the deep rumble of his voice rising alongside hers. Then she had taken a small wooden box with her to the hill where her mother had burned, hoping to fill it with ashes from the woman's pyre and some earth from the homeland she was about to depart.

As she kneeled in front of the stone ship, Valdis dug her fingers into the ground, hoping to stop the shivers taking hold of her body. The cold wind whipping at her face was not helping. Then, Valdis's eyes filled with tears, and she screamed, letting out a long wail full of rage and shame and grief. She screamed until her voice was hoarse, she cried until she had no more tears, for all the times she had not allowed herself to feel, for all the times she'd let her heart be hardened by frost. And all at once it was over, and Valdis stopped, her whole body shaking. Gods, she felt as weak as a newborn lamb.

Then, she made an offering to Freyr, the patron god of her clan, and to Njörd, to assure safe passage on the swan-roads. Lastly, Valdis beseeched Tyr's help. Surely, the god of oaths and victory, the god who had sacrificed his hand to bind the Fenris-wolf and protect his people, surely him of all the Aesir would see the justness of her cause.

Afterwards, she went to Jorunn, the barber's wife who also worked with body paints. Valdis came out of the old woman's hut with her hair shorn to the barest of inches, and Tyr's rune tattooed on her chin. When she emerged on the docks, shocked murmurs went through the crowd gathered in front of the longships. Valdis wished she had but an infirm part of her father's charismatic presence. With only a few words and a grin, he would have soothed their worries and bolstered their courage. At that very moment, Valdis missed him so much it was almost painful. Even her mother—even blunt, pragmatic Ylva—would have known what to say.

All they had was her, however.

"I know I am asking much of you," Valdis told her people. "I know I am bringing frightening change upon your lives. But I swear, on Tyr's name, that I will devote myself to the protection and betterment of our clan. I will fight, with everything I have, to bring the glory and happiness you deserve. May the gods strike me where I stand if there is falseness in my heart."

Her declaration was met with more hushed words. She could see concern, even a touch of apprehension upon the faces staring back at her, but… there was no resentment, no mistrust in their gazes. Valdis' people stood beside her, for ill or for good.

Only a few of the village's elders remained on the docks as the longships sailed away, toward a cold sea. Ketil was among them; the fool believed he could parley with Rued, stave off his rage. Only the gods knew what would become of Valdis's stepfather. For her part, she believed he'd sealed his own fate by accepting submission to save his sorry skin. Valdis made the secret vow to never let her life be dictated by the whims of weaker men ever again.

Instead, she turned away, setting her gaze upon the great grey expanse stretching to the horizon. The sea could be harsh, cruel—even moreso than the wretched rabble that formed Rued's clan. Still, Valdis's people had been taming those waves for more generations than she could count. They would greet the inevitable storms in their path as one would greet an old friend—with smiles and song.

The Saxons of England, however…

The poor Christian sheep would be met with steel.

Elmenham, 873

Grey clouds hung over Elmenham as Valdis rode into town, followed by Finnr. Immediately, one of the two guardsmen standing watch at the entrance of the village raised his spear. "You! Stop there!"

Valdis sighed. She should have expected such a welcome. "You know who I am," she told him. "I was betrothed to your—"

"Of course we know who you are," the other guardsman said, coldly. "That doesn't mean you're worthy of stepping one foot inside of Elmenham after all you've done."

"Listen, you—" Finnr said, prompting his horse forward.

Valdis held up her hand to stop him, shocked that he'd even risen to her defence. "It's fine, Finnr," she said. "These people have plenty of reasons to doubt our intentions." She let out another sigh, looking at the man who had first addressed her. "Yet we've found ourselves in need of your help."

The young guardsman narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you, now? And why should we help you, Dane?"

"Because otherwise your lord will have died in vain," Valdis said.

That did the trick; the two guardsmen exchanged a wide-eyed look, before turning toward Valdis, mouths agape.

"I want to finish what Oswald started," Valdis continued. "But to accomplish this, I need help. I need to people of Elmenham to stand by me."

There was clear hesitation on the part of both men. Then, the youngest of the pair stepped aside, as if to let her through.

"Eoppa!" his companion hissed.

"What?" the latter retorted. "Why not hear what she has to say? If it's something Os—Lord Oswald would have wanted, then…"

"Thank you," Valdis said. She was surprised to find herself truly meaning these words. "Would you help gather the villagers in front of the longhouse?"

"Er, yes, I can do that," Eoppa said. His fellow guardsman struck him in the ribs with the point of his elbow, and the young man winced. "L-Leave it to me, my lady."

Thankfully enough, Eoppa did as instructed, and not long after Valdis found herself standing before the whole of Elmenham. A vast array of emotions showed on the wan faces looking at her. Mistrust. Fear. Hatred.

My people looked upon Oswald the same way, Valdis thought, dully. He had not deserved their scorn—but she had certainly earned his people's disdain.

"Good people of Elmenham," she began, putting aside her concerns, "I know you've suffered a great loss—"

"Do you, really?" a broad-shouldered youth interrupted her. "How could you know?"

"Oswald was our ally," Valdis countered, "we grieve his passing and—"

"You Danes are the reason why he's gone!" an old man shouted, saying that particular word like a curse. "You have some nerve, coming back here to make more demands of us!"

Was that how Oswald had felt? How had he done it? How had he convinced a group of people who despised his very kind that he was the right man to lead them? "Yes," she agreed, "but thanks to his sacrifice, we—"

"Without you pagan brutes, our poor lord would still be alive!" a middle-aged woman raged. "He would still be alive to marry a good Christian woman instead of some heathen she-wolf who treated him worse than the dirt on her shoes!"

Valdis felt as if she had been struck. Yes, the thought came unbidden. If not for Valdis, Oswald would probably have married a woman who would have shared his beliefs, a woman who would have valued his kindness, cherished it even. The man had been served a poor fate the moment the Nornir had decided to weave the fabrics of their lives together. The realization was sobering.

Finnr opened his mouth, clearly about to give a rebuke, but Valdis put a hand over his arm to silence him.

"That is true," she said. "Oswald died because of us. He found himself having to fight because we've pushed him to that brink. And for this I apologize. To all of you."

Valdis felt the eyes of every man, woman and child upon her. Oh, how these people had loved their young lord, not just for the fairness of his rule, but because he was one of their own. The elderly had known him since birth; how many looked upon him and saw their old lord's beloved, precious son? And the village's youths had grown alongside him; some might have been boyhood friends raging that he had met such an unfortunate end.

Valdis suddenly realized that she shared something with the men and women assembled before her—with the God-fearing Saxons of Elmenham. Looking upon their faces, she thought of the handkerchief, safely tucked away in the pouch above her heart. The people of Elmenham wanted to avenge Oswald—and so did she. That realization struck her hard, nearly sapping the air out of her lungs. The last time Valdis had desired something so strongly, she had rebuked Rued as a husband and sailed away to England with the few people she still loved in cursed Midgard.

"I apologize," she said, with stronger conviction. "I apologize and I ask, humbly, of you: will you fight with me? Will you help me finish what Oswald started? Would you help me protect East Anglia in his name?"

One young man scoffed. "Would you die for East Anglia?"

"Of course," Valdis said, without hesitation. "I can think of no death more glorious than one found while avenging the only man willing to stand for this kingdom while the rest of us bickered and cowered."

The young man's eyes were full of suspicion, but he nodded all the same. Beside him, other youths were talking among themselves. Their angry mutters rose in intensity, and soon they were staring at Valdis with the same look of fiery determination.

An older man walked up to the front of the crowd. "I'll fight at your side, pagan. That's the least Lord Oswald deserves."

"I'll fight, too!" a youth said. "To avenge Oswald, and to drive these devils from our lands!"

"He saved my sister from these brutes," said one of the guardsmen they'd met at the entrance of town. "Let's do this! For Lord Oswald!"

"And for East Anglia!" the first man exclaimed, raising his fist in the air.

"For East Anglia!" another shouted.

And finally, finally, the crowd took up the chant, "For Oswald! For East Anglia!"

"For the king!" Finnr roared beside Valdis; gods, she'd never seen such naked emotion upon his face. "Let's put an end to these bastards!"

The Saxons shouted in assent, their clamours rumbling in Valdis's ribcage. Such righteous power she heard in those voices—the people assembled before her were not the sheep she'd written off as meek prey when she had first set out from Denmark. Oswald had once told her that his people were once raiders who had invaded England from beyond the sea, wrestling it from the Britons' control.

Now she believed it; in front of her were the descendants of these proud warriors.

Valdis's hand went to the pouch around her neck, for some reason. Oswald had given her a pretty, precious and utterly useless gift—simply because he believed she was someone deserving of kindness and beauty. Valdis couldn't even remember the last time she had been shown such a thoughtful attention. She tightened her grasp around her pouch, feeling—no, she could not allow herself to feel anything, not while there was still so much at stake.

Once this was over, Valdis would stop and consider that strange, unknown thing she had lost when Oswald had fallen to his death at Dunwic. She would grieve for what was not to be.

She would allow herself to mourn a pair of kind blue eyes—to mourn the warmth she would have wanted for herself and the children she would have borne.

Burgh Castle, 873

Valdis was no stranger to battle.

She had fought, at an early age, to protect her hometown from raiders. She had fought to lay waste to other villages, murdering at Rued's behest like the mindless beast he'd made of her. And she had fought against the brave, but doomed souls of King Edmund's army as they defended their precious East Anglia from the Ragnarssons' great army.

Those memories should have filled her with pride, but they were tainted, twisted with shame and self-hatred. Valdis found no glory in these past battles, only fear—her own, and that of the people she'd cut down.

Tonight, however…

Tonight righteous anger burned in her veins, and she held her head high as she led the Saxon fyrd hoping to breach Burgh Castle. The first approach was the most crucial—and most dangerous—part of their operation. Archers were posted over the walls around the entrance. Valdis's Saxon allies were fully exposed to the volley of arrows while the ram worked to make splinters out of that hefty wood gate. The fastest they could tear their way inside, the more of Oswald's people she could protect from an agonizing death.

The more of them she could bring home safe and sound.

Valdis felt the impact in her very teeth every time the great log rammed into the gate. Still, she kept yelling, "Again!" Her muscles burned as she and the others toiled to move the battering ram. "Push, push!"

Up the ramparts, she could see the archers lifting their bows once more. Valdis's breath caught in her throat.

"SHIELDS!" she shouted, raising her own shield above her head. As death rained down upon them, she heard the Saxons screaming in fright and pain. Still, to their credit, none faltered or ran, even as some of their companions fell at their feet, bodies riddled with arrows.

When the archers were done firing, she barked another command, voice hoarse from the shouting, and the Saxons moved to slam the battering ram on the wood. With a satisfying crunch that she felt to the marrow of her bones, the gate exploded. Her Christian allies roared in triumph; at these ferocious sounds, Valdis's lips almost formed a smile.

"Press on!" she screamed. To spur her companions forward, she rushed headlong into the great gap left by the ram and found herself faced by a group of raiders. She hacked and tore her way through, heart suffused by a strange, serene kind of rage. Soon enough, the fyrd had encircled their remaining enemies, making good use of the element of surprise to finish what Valdis had started. She took a moment to regain her breath and assess their surroundings; they'd breached into the castle courtyard.

Valdis's blood thumped in her ears. That meant superior numbers on the part of their enemy.

"Regroup!" she commanded. "Form the shield wall!"

The Saxons raised their shields just in time to break the wave of enemies crashing upon them. Valdis planted her feet in the ground, unwilling to give them even the barest of inches. She pushed with all the strength she had, screaming all the while.

Despite the ferocity of their enemies' wrath, they held on. They held on. Valdis felt a burst of pride, a swell of jubilant vindication. That was what she had been born to do, that was what the songs always sung about. Valdis could die tonight and meet her parents in Odin's golden hall without any shame weighing down her heart. She'd never felt freer than in this moment.

Then, a terrible noise sounded in the distance, a great explosion that nearly tore at Valdis's eardrums. Dust and debris were blown in the air, while screams flared from the harbour. Valdis blinked the ashes out of her eyes, finding flames rising toward the moonless sky; that was where the sea gate had been, she realized, heart pounding. Through the fire and the smoke, she could see the silhouettes of many masts rising above, like a sea of trees on the water. Eivor, Finnr and her brothers had finally come.

By the gods, those raging flames should have been frightening, but to Valdis's eyes, they were beautiful, sending a shower of sparks across the darkness of the night sky. Still, the Saxon fyrd halted. Oswald's people were looking at the fire overtaking the harbour, pure terror etched on their faces.

Valdis turned to them. "Do not fear!" she shouted. "Eivor and the others have brought the flames of your Hell to our enemies! Keep faith! Your God would not let his children be slaughtered so easily!"

That did the trick; her Christian allies roared in renewed ardour, raising their weapons in the air. If the Christ-Lord does not watch over his flock, Valdis thought, then I will. For Oswald's sake. In Oswald's stead.

And they fought. By the gods, they fought, with a fury that would have made their ancestors proud. The thrill of battle sang in Valdis's veins, drowning out the sounds of death. Later they would mourn, later they would rebuild, later they would sow the fields anew. This night belonged to the wolves.

Eventually, the Saxons began to falter. They moved a little more slowly, stumbling on ground slick with rain and shaking on weary feet. Valdis moved to the front, as if she could protect the whole of the fyrd by herself. Her enemies grinned as they saw her standing alone, and one even let out a low chuckle. The smirk was abruptly wiped off his face when the blade of an axe buried itself between his shoulder blades. The man fell with an undignified splat in the blood-soaked mud.

His companions fared no better. From behind them poured an army of screaming drengir, swords and axes held aloft. These men and women bore the black standard of the Ragnarssons, the gold emblem of the Boar clan, the blue shields of the Raven clan. At their head was a familiar figure, dark war paint covering the top part of her face.

"Valdis!" Eivor called as she removed her axe from the neck of another opponent. "Well met!"

"You and your warriors are a sight for sore eyes, Wolf-Kissed!" Valdis replied.

"Does that include us as well, sister?" Broder was following Eivor, a cocky smirk etched on his lips.

"Don't push your luck," Valdis said in mock chiding.

"Save the banter for later, you two," Brothir said. He blocked an oncoming attack with his shield, then countered by burying his axe in the man's flank. With a grunt, he kicked the man off his blade and said, "The battle is not yet won!"

"It soon will be!" Broder exclaimed with great glee.

Valdis turned to look at the fyrd. "Onward!" she said, banging her axe on her shield. "Onward!"

And so, Saxons fought alongside Danes, pagans fought alongside Christians. Only a few moons ago, would have Valdis even believed what the Nornir had woven into her future? No, she would have not. But here, in the heat of the moment, Valdis was proud to have been chosen for such a fate.

They pushed back the last of Rued's men into a corner of the courtyard. Pure hatred burned within Valdis at the sight of these wretched cowards. How she wanted them to suffer for the torment they had put her through! She bared her teeth, barely constraining her shudders of rage. It would be so easy to snap the thread of their lives with the bite of her axe—

From behind her, there was a great exclamation of surprise, then the whole of the army stopped, many pointing at the rampart just above their head. On a raised platform stood a tall, dark-haired man. Blood rushed out of Valdis's cheeks at his sight. Rued. Rued still lived. At his feet another figure was kneeling. His face was covered in grime, and his hair was so matted and dirty it was difficult to see what colour it was. With great difficulty, Rued's prisoner raised his head, finding Valdis's gaze from across the distance.

Blue met green, and Valdis felt as she was falling, falling from a great height, much like the owner of these eyes had fallen to what should have been his doom. Her anger faded, the flames of her rage submerged by a force as soothing and powerful as a river in spring. Fear and relief flooded her instead, fear and relief—and that strange, unknown feeling, the one for which she still had no name.

"He lives…" Eivor said, in quiet disbelief. Then, she shouted, raising her axe, "Oswald lives!"

The fyrd answered with the same fervour. "He lives!" the Saxons cried, lifting their weapons much like Eivor had done. "Our king lives!"

Valdis could see a flash of fear in Rued's eyes as he watched the rage rippling through the fyrd. He tightened his hold on Oswald, taking a step back.

"E-Eivor! Valdis!" From this distance, they could barely hear Oswald's hoarse shout. "I-Is that…"

Rued struck him across the face, and Valdis' heart clenched at the agony showing on Oswald's fair features.

"Shut your arse, twig-spine!" Rued roared.

"Stand fast!" Eivor cried. "This will be over soon!"

"Worry not for me!" Oswald called back. "You must stop—"

"Silence, fool!" Rued said, grabbing him by the throat. Then, to Valdis's great horror, he began to drag Oswald away, hiding him from their view.

"I cannot get to him in time," Valdis said, with some despair. "Eivor, please—"

The fierce drengr nodded, and not a second later she was rushing toward the platform with almost supernatural speed. Valdis forced herself to move forward as well, despite the fear holding her heart in an icy grip. Oswald's fate was up to the gods, now—hers and his.

Valdis fought with renewed ferocity. She fought as she had always done—for the sake of her clan. But she also fought for the courageous men standing—and dying—by her side. She fought for a chance to live in a world where kindness and beauty could thrive, a world where something other than violence existed, a world where she did not have to answer every insult with the point of a knife.

But most of all, she fought for Oswald—for the man who had almost made her believe such a world was possible.