The village was in disarray when Petra returned from her hunt.

She'd spent her morning in the woods to tend to her traps and bring back her haul to Ravensthorpe. She had captured five fat rabbits, perfect for the feast tonight. With some luck, Petra would have enough time to return to the forest to find mushrooms and herbs to season the stew. According to Randvi, Ravensthorpe would host several important guests in the week leading up to the wedding. Of course, these people would have to be fed; it would have been quite the stain on the clan's honour, otherwise.

Petra didn't mind the additional work; it meant she had a good excuse to escape into the woods. Of all the places she had lived, Ravensthorpe was definitely not the worst, but… she wasn't quite made for the noisy bustle of village life. Sometimes, it was just… too much. Too much of the women gossiping at their looms, too much of the warriors laughing at the alehouse, too much of children screaming while at play. On those moments, Petra dreamed of building a cabin in the forest, where she could have enough silence to hear herself think. But, of course, she could have never left her brother behind.

"You need to come out of your shell, Petra," Wallace had said, one night she had once more left the traditional evening feast earlier than most. "These are good people. They won't bite, I promise."

Petra had only rolled her eyes, though she had been troubled by his words. She had only accepted to move to Ravensthorpe for his sake. Petra could live the lonely life of the hermit – but not Wallace. He was shy, but he loved people, and Petra knew he nursed a secret wish to have his own family. Oh, he would follow her to the end of the world, there was no doubt, but he would waste away if kept from civilization, like a dog left in the woods after a lifetime of tender care from an indulgent master.

But Petra…

Petra was like a wolf; she could not abide a cage.

She was wary of the agitation she found upon reaching Ravensthorpe. People were gathered in front of the longhouse, whispering among themselves in worried tones. Wallace was not outside of the hut, where he should have been tanning the hides she had brought yesterday. Petra dropped the rabbits inside, then made her way to the longhouse. She found her brother standing by the entrance.

"Wallace," she said, "what has happened?"

His eyes widened at the sight of her. "Petra, you're back! It's Eivor. She was injured, I think. Valka is tending to her wounds."

Petra whipped her head to look inside. "Eivor is…?" she said, in half a whisper. Before Wallace could answer, she rushed into the longhouse. She'd known for years that Eivor did not return her – well, the woman was getting married, so it was evident that – it was just that sometimes these kinds of feelings lingered, like an imprint upon someone's heart.

Petra stopped short at the sound of Eivor's laugh. The woman was sitting, naked from the top up save for the band wrapped around her chest. Valka was standing beside her, stitching a cut on the side her head. Others surrounded the two women: Randvi, Birna and Petra, and two dark-haired women that Petra did not know. All eyes turned to Petra, who suddenly felt rather foolish under their scrutiny.

"Petra!" Birna called with a grin. "Back from your hunt, are you?"

God, Petra wanted nothing to rush outside and drown herself in the Nene. "Yes, Wallace had said Eivor was hurt and…"

"I'm fine," Eivor said. "Everything is fine, Petra."

Valka and Randvi exchanged a look. These two had to deal with Eivor's stubbornness on a regular basis, and it showed. "You're not fine, Eivor," the seer said. "You've lost quite a lot of blood. And I'm concerned about those bouts of nausea you mentioned."

"It doesn't matter," Eivor said, her grin a little forced. "I have to go back."

"Eivor, it's just a ring," Randvi said. "I would rather have a hale and healthy bride than a piece of jewelry. You are worth more to me than any treasure in England. Or Norway."

Eivor's smile faded away. "Randvi, it belonged to Rosta. To my mother."

"Oh, Eivor," Randvi said, brushing her cheek. "I didn't—you hadn't told me."

"It's one of the only keepsakes I have of her," Eivor mumbled. "I never thought I would ever use it – well, I never expected to actually marry. To see it upon your finger would have been…" She echoed Randvi's sigh. "A dream come true, a blessing from my parents, even if they no longer walk this earth."

Birna banged on a table with her fist. "Then we have to get it back! Sunniva, bring us where you found Eivor. We'll find the pieces of shit who stole her ring and beat them to a bloody pulp."

Sunniva paced, hand to her chin. "A friend of mine from Grantebridge told me some bandits have been causing trouble around these parts. It could be the same people. Might be worth checking into."

"I will follow as well, if you'll have me," said one of the two dark-haired women.

"Valdis, this is not your fight," Eivor responded.

"Eivor, all that I cherish in this world is safe thanks to you," the other answered. "My debt to you can never be fully repaid."

"Your brother died for me," Eivor mumbled.

"My brother was glad to follow you into battle," said the one named Valdis. "He will tell you so when you meet him again in the Allfather's hall. Let me fight for you, Eivor. I will be glad to defend you if the need arises."

"I will offer you my axe as well," said the other woman. The shape of her eyes reminded Petra of Yanli's, though her face was rounder and her hair was touched with some grey. "It will be a welcome change of pace from the political nonsense I have to deal with in Jorvik."

Eivor inclined her head. "That is too kind of you, Ljufvina."

"And of course Sunniva and I will join you in your quest," Birna said, with a fierce grin. "We are drengir in your service, Jarlskona. I'd sooner make out with Hel herself than break an oath to my warchief."

Randvi exchanged another look with Valka, who only shrugged. Then she gave a beleaguered sigh. "All right. I will let you go, Eivor, if you take such an escort with you. I will also come with you."

"Really?" Birna said. "We're going to see our fierce Table Maiden in action? We'll watch you put wide-browed Thor to shame with that hammer of yours?"

Randvi managed a slight smile. "I admit I'm quite eager to find whoever did this to Eivor… and leave them a bloodied smear in the mud."

"I love it when you talk dirty, love," Eivor said, echoing her grin.

"I will also make sure that our Jarlskona stays out of trouble," Randvi continued, a bit sternly. "Or else I believe our dear Valka will hunt us to the ends of all nine realms to make her displeasure known."

Valka crossed her arms, a strange smile playing along the edge of her mouth. Somehow, that was even more unsettling than if she'd spouted vociferous threats.

"Still, we need to find out where these thieves are hiding first," mused Ljufvina.

"I can track them," Petra blurted out.

All turned to stare at her in surprise. It almost seemed as if they had just forgotten she had been standing there.

"Can you really?" Birna said, quirking a brow.

"I can track any beast," Petra said, irked that the other woman would even doubt her skills. "Furred or feathered, small or big, I know the shape of their hooves or paws, the timbre of their cries and calls. I can outwit all the animals of the forest." She paused, glaring at Birna as if to say, Go on, try and say you believe the contrary. "And humans are the stupidest beasts of all."


They went on foot, Valka having deemed Eivor unfit to ride a horse. Despite the severity of the situation, morale remained high, and Birna even managed to wrest a smile or two from Eivor with tales of past conquests – both in battle and in bed. Sunniva had to admit that the Dane woman was a born storyteller; she only got beat on that front by Eivor herself, who had a way with words that would have made a skald blush with envy. But if you wanted a good, bawdy tale, with lurid details aplenty, then Birna was your woman.

"Oh, it's an experience, taking a Christian to bed," she was now saying, after sharing a rather ribald tale concerning a farmer's daughter, the farmer in question, and a mob of angry villagers armed with pitchforks and torches. "You think they'd be prudish, guarding their cunts—or cocks, for you unfortunate men-lovers—as if it was a dragon's hoard, but once you get them between the sheets… by Freyja's tits, they're insatiable."

Ljufvina raised a brow in doubt. Petra rolled her eyes. Valdis, however, let out a slight laugh.

"Hah!" said Birna, while Valdis attempted to hide her smile. "She gets it!"

"I've had Christian women tell me that us Norses and Danes do make better lovers," Sunniva commented, thinking back on her travels across England. "Said we don't stink like Saxon men, for one."

That was met with loud laughter from Birna and Eivor. Petra muttered something, clearly unamused.

They continued on their way, only stopping occasionally to let Eivor rest. The Jarlskona grew tired more easily than usual, though, of course, she was too stubborn to say it. But Randvi knew her other half well, calling for halts even when Eivor persisted in saying that she could go on. They made a good team, Sunniva had to admit.

It was already late afternoon when they reached the place where Sunniva had found Eivor and her horse. To her relief, the marks left by Eivor's fall were still visible on the ground—along with footsteps, some of them probably belonging to the two brigands who had attacked her.

Petra immediately took the lead, inspecting the ground, then the side of the path. For her part, Sunniva searched for the rope that must have used to trip Eivor's horse. As she expected, she found nothing.

"They must have returned here after we were gone," Sunniva mused out loud. "I don't see the trap they must have set up for you, Eivor."

Petra frowned. "There's only one set of tracks leading into the forest. You said there were two of them, Eivor. Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure," Eivor snapped. "Let me look, you must have missed something." She pushed Petra away, foraging through the thicket much more roughly.

"Eivor—" Randvi said, reaching for the Jarlskona.

"Typical," Petra sneered, cutting her off. "Always have to do everything herself, don't you? You're human, Eivor, not some half-god with abilities beyond us lowly mortals. So trust us to do our jobs, will you?"

"Petra," Eivor began, in a warning growl.

"You go too far!" Randvi said, at the exact same time.

The two women had advanced toward Petra in a coordinated show of anger. Gods, Sunniva thought, stifling a smile, those two really made quite the pair.

"Everyone, everyone," Sunniva said, putting herself between Petra and Eivor, "we're losing sight on what's important here, I believe. Eivor, I think what Petra truly meant was… well, that you can trust us. We're a clan, and you're our Jarl: let us carry some of that weight for you sometimes."

It took some time, but eventually Eivor's scowl eased into a weary frown. "All right," she admitted, a bit gruffly. "Perhaps I should simply… simply sit down and…"

"How about this?" Sunniva proposed. "Petra and I will follow the tracks to see where they lead while you ladies set up camp for the night."

"Good idea," said Valdis. "Let's find a place where we can see the road while being hidden from view. This way we will be ready if those thieves return here to hunt."

"All right!" Sunniva clapped her hands, then she motioned to Petra. "Would you like to lead the way, please?"

Petra did not answer, only heading deeper into the forest. Sunniva saluted Eivor, then followed the huntress. Thankfully, the woods were rather sparse, letting them see their way even in the dimming sunlight. Petra remained silent, though she often stopped, inspecting a broken branch here, spotting a footstep in the mud there. Even though she was quiet, it was good to have some company. Sunniva was often alone on her travels. Sometimes she was jealous of Rowan, who was teaching Sylvi how to take care of the horses, or Gunnar, who'd taken Rima under his wing. Perhaps it was time for Sunniva to have her own apprentice, to train a new generation of scouts for the clan. The idea appealed to her.

Eventually, Petra spoke, frowning, "I don't see a second set of tracks. Eivor might have been mistaken."

"The other thief might have masked their tracks," Sunniva suggested. "That's what I do when I'm scouting." She considered the imprint of the boot Petra had found. "I'd say we have two culprits here: an incompetent with big feet… and someone who actually knows what they're doing." And whoever that was, they were good. They would have made a good scout for a raiding crew if they hadn't turned to a life of petty banditry.

Petra looked deeper into the forest. "We're close to the river. Can you hear it?"

Sunniva cocked her ear. Yes, she could hear the rustling of the water coming from not far away. "The Ouse. We must be north of Duroliponte."

They continued further in, following the noise of the river. Soon, the woods cleared up, and Sunniva could see further ahead. Across the Great Ouse, she could see a plume of dark smoke rising over the horizon.

"Wait," she said, "over there on the other side of the river, is that…?"

"A camp?" Petra wondered. "So close to Grantebridge? And no one has ever noticed it?"

Sunniva's jaw clenched. She remembered her friend Snorri telling her about the people they had lost in Hamtunscire, and the emptiness in his eyes as he'd mentioned the passing of their beloved Jarlskona. "We've barely enough troops to man the garrison," he'd said, the bags under his eyes as dark as bruises. "Lif is doing his best to fill in Soma's shoes, but…"

"Let's get to the other side," Sunniva said, suddenly feeling grim. "We need to find out more about this camp."

"They'll see us," Petra said, thumbing the grip of her bow nervously.

Sunniva managed a grin. "They won't see me. You have your thing, and I have mine. Stay here, it won't take long."

While Petra stayed behind, Sunniva swam across, then made her way through the marshlands. They must have settled the old camp at Utbech, she thought. She soon had her answer; indeed, there appeared to be human activity at the once-abandoned military outpost: beyond the half-rotten palisade, she could hear the clanging of a hammer at work, the crackling of a campfire, the strident neigh of a horse. Sunniva hid behind a tree, cursing that she did not have Sýnin's wings and eyes. She could, however, count a number of boats moored at the ramshackle docks of the encampment. Various men were loading the ships. With weapons, she noted, eyes widening. Spears, axes, even a few shields. They seemed agitated, exchanging a few curt words in the Saxon language. Not Dane or Norse raiders, then, but English-born curs. There were more of them than Sunniva would have expected. If they were common bandits preying on travellers, why did they have so many boats? And why had they gathered so many weapons?

They're not just highwaymen, Sunniva realized. With those axes and spears, they could surely besiege a village — no, even a city. This had gone far beyond the simple theft of a beloved family heirloom. Eivor had to learn of this camp, and fast.

A man went to join the spear-wielding guard standing at the entrance of the camp, and Sunniva crept closer to hear their conversation. That was as far as she could go; the camp had been built in the wetland, and the moss slurped and squished under her feet whenever with every move she made.

"That oaf Deorstan isn't back yet?" the first man asked.

"He went back to that place where the chief and the brat came upon that pagan," the spearman answered. "Brought a few others with him. I don't know what he expects to find, really. Most people avoid that road by now. They've heard the stories."

His companion scoffed. "That idiot. He'll never find his way back before sundown."

"I heard he had a row with the old man. Beorthric might have put him off the raid tomorrow."

Raid? Sunniva thought. What raid?

There was a snort. "Good riddance. With enough luck, he'll trip and crack his head open."

After sharing a laugh, the two men went silent. Sunniva had heard enough. A raid. Well, that was ominous. That camp was close to Grantebridge. Were they planning to attack the city while it was weakened by Soma's death? It seemed very likely.

Heart heavy with that knowledge, Sunniva made her way back, hoping Eivor would know what to make of that new threat.


Ljufvina and the others quickly found a place to set up a campfire. While Valdis and Birna tended to the fire, she skinned and prepared the rabbits Petra had caught in the morning. That simple task was rather comforting. Ljufvina's father had been a powerful chieftain, but he had also been a talented hunter, much like all the men of her tribe. From him, Ljufvina had learned to shoot a bow; from her grandfather, she'd learned patience. Both had served her well through the twists and turns of her storied life.

They ate in silence as the sun lowered below the horizon. Eivor looked half asleep, head resting on Randvi's shoulder. Valdis was rubbing her stomach as if she was fighting a bout of nausea. Even Birna remained unusually quiet.

Eventually, Ljufvina went to watch the road. She wondered how long it would take for Petra and Sunniva to come back. Night was coming fast. She hoped the other two women would soon find their way back to the camp.

Ljufvina was about to doze off as well, when a roar of laughter took her out of her reverie. It was deep and booming: a man's laughter. Someone was coming their way—and from the snickers that followed that laugh he was not alone.

Ljufvina returned to the camp. "There are people coming," she hissed. "Get ready."

Eivor immediately snapped out of her stupor. "Have they…?"

"Noticed us? I don't know. But if their intentions aren't good, it won't take long."

They tensed, taking their weapons in hand; the light of the campfire flickered on the silvery reflection of their blades. In the distance, the laughter faded to nothing. Now, all they could hear was the noises of the forest at night: the wind rustling in the leaves, the mournful hooting of an owl.

And then, the footsteps of a group of people trying to skulk about in the dark—and failing miserably to do so.

When the first man irrupted into the clearing, Birna was waiting for him. She evaded his clumsy swing, then she struck him in the chin with the butt of her axe. Ljufvina caught sight of three, four, five other enemies, before one of them was upon her. He was tall, taller than all the Saxon men she'd seen, taller even than the Norses she'd met since marrying a prince of Norway. Ljufvina was already shorter than most people living in these western lands; this giant towered above her.

"More of these pagan whores!" he boomed, uncaring that one of his men was already moaning and bleeding on the ground. "Like vermin they are… you crush one, and more crawl their way in. Let's put an end to this infestation, shall we, boys?"

With those words he brought down his gigantic axe. Ljufvina hastily sidestepped, then crouched to evade a second sweep. He was fast, faster than a man his size had any right to be. His grin grew even more twisted as she stumbled back, her eyes widening.

The others were engaged with enemies of their own. Randvi was valiantly defending Eivor, who seemed barely able to stand on her own two feet. Birna and Valdis were busy fighting three men, including one who kept taunting them with gleeful threats about how he would desecrate their godless bodies once they would fall to his blade.

Ljufvina was on her own.

Dimly, she remembered her grandfather. A taciturn man he'd been, more at ease when tracking beasts for the hunt than when dealing with people from the village. There had been stories that he had fought a polar bear one-on-one in his youth—and won. The old man never spoke of it, but the tale clung to him through the years, like a stench he could not shake. Children always pestered him to pry out the secret of his victory, but his lips remained sealed.

Ljufvina was the only one who knew the truth of the matter. "I was lucky," the old man had told her, one time she had followed him on a hunt for walruses, "and I was patient. I wasn't stronger or better. The spirits smiled on me that day. It was their victory as much as it was mine."

Luck and patience. Ljufvina had plenty of the second. As for the first…

The axe came down at her feet, missing her by a narrow margin. Still, it was enough to break her balance. She toppled backward, and the giant let out a sneering laugh in response. Ljufvina barely had the time to regain her breath when she had to roll away to evade another crushing blow. And then another, and another.

In the distance, she heard screaming; there was an object rolling her way. A human head, bearded face forever frozen in pain and fear.

Two of the men were running, howling curses into the night. "After them!" Eivor shouted. "Don't let them escape!" At her command, Birna and Valdis took off, disappearing into the trees.

That did not deter Ljufvina's opponent in the slightest. With a roar of rage, he kicked at her belly, and she grit her teeth, stifling a scream. Patience. He had every advantage on her—he was bigger, younger, stronger. And angrier.

Is this how this is going to end? Ljufvina wondered. This was how she was going to join Hjorr? By dying at the hands of some brainless Saxon goon?

Perhaps, she thought dimly, perhaps this was right. Perhaps it was better to welcome that fate, as disgraceful as it was. Her miserable existence on this world would finally cease—and she would free to join Hjorr in Valhalla.

Except…

Randvi was fighting, with all that she had, to shield Eivor from her own opponent. If she had not spent so much of her energy protecting her other half, Randvi would have won this fight handily. Seeing the two of them working in almost perfect synch was… beautiful. And thrilling. Like true drengir, they did not fear death—but they did not seek it either. They wanted to live, because Midgard, for all of its ugliness, had still so much to offer.

Ljufvina struggled to her feet, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. He was bigger, younger and stronger. But she had something all of her own, something she hadn't been taught by her father or grandfather, something that belonged to her and her only.

Skill.

Her opponent was getting sloppier. He'd been eager in the beginning, but now that the fight dragged on, he only wanted it to end. It was careless of him—and Ljufvina hadn't survived three decades of near constant warfare by making such basic mistakes.

The giant shouted a curse, attempting to sweep her head clean off. She deflected just in time with the twist of one foot, then drew her knife, planting it in his shoulder. She pulled it out and slashed at his thigh as she crouched to avoid another attack. Ljufvina remained out of his formidable reach, only counting on her speed to draw blood before darting out of the way of his axe. In a manner of seconds, the giant was panting and growling in pain, shaking on his own two feet.

Then, Ljufvina heard a dull thud coming from across the campfire—a corpse falling to the ground. She readied her axe, even as her opponent raised his own weapon. Luck was a fickle thing; that was the core of the lesson her grandfather had given her, all these years ago.

The man's spittle flew in Ljufvina's eyes as he prepared to split her skull in two, but then… his face suddenly went slack, and his expression of rage faded away. A moment later, and he was toppling forward with the great momentum of a falling tree.

Eivor's knife was embedded behind his skull.

Ljufvina threw her friend a grateful smile, and Eivor responded with a cocky salute.

The sword arm of a trusty friend—now there was something she could truly count on.


"S-Stay away!" one of the running men cried. "Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord…"

The two of them had quite the headstart on Valdis and Birna, but the terrain was difficult to navigate, and there was barely enough light to see any treacherous obstacle they might encounter. Birna was laughing, but Valdis remained silent, focused. She did not know who these men were, but if they were part of a band, then they could bring more of their forces to their location. Valdis and the others could not risk such a thing, especially when Eivor remained so weak from her injury.

There was a loud curse from ahead; the man closest to them had tripped over a root and fallen to the ground.

"Wilmund!" he screamed, reaching forward to his companion. "Wilmund, help me, help!"

To Valdis's surprise, the second man actually ran to help his comrade. Honour existed among thieves; who would have ever believed it? Still, the moment he was on his feet, the first man shoved the one called Wilmund toward Valdis, and he collided painfully with her. His cowardly companion then made his escape; he ran for a pathetic few lengths before Birna's knife stopped him dead in his tracks, lodging itself between his shoulder blades.

Next to Valdis, Wilmund was screaming and screaming. She pushed him on the ground, pinning his arms behind his back.

"Please, have mercy," he sobbed, "oh, please, oh, please…"

Birna crouched next to him, throwing him a predatory grin. "Funny how much you Saxons love that word when it's your life on the line. You weren't playing so nicely when it was you and your mates trying to kill us, were you?"

"I didn't want to—I swear I wasn't—"

"Wait," Birna said, inspecting him more closely. "That hair. And those clothes. You're a priest! A bloody monk, waving an axe around as if he meant to use it!"

Valdis frowned. Birna was right. His brown frock was tattered, but still recognizable as the garb of a Christian monk. And there was no mistaking that silly bald patch on his head. She released her hold on him, standing up. "Stop fretting. We won't harm you if you don't prove to be a treat."

It took some time for the man to go to his feet; his legs looked like they could barely support his weight. He looked up and down at Valdis, a now-incredulous expression showing on his face. "W-What trick is this…? What in Christ's name are you…?"

"What sort of priest becomes a bandit?" Valdis cut him off.

His features twisted in anger. It was hard to believe he'd been sobbing and snorting in fear just moments prior. "You have to ask that question?" The robed idiot was shaking from head to toe. "Because of heathen barbarians such as you!"

Valdis pursed her mouth. Her axe had fed on the flesh of weaklings such as him more than she could count. Once, she'd even flayed a man for calling her a barren whore. She could share tales with this lily-livered priest that would give him nightmares for months on end. Oh, yes, it would be ever so easy to answer his insolence with cruelty…

But Valdis Eiriksdóttir was weary of such things, so weary. She thought of Eivor, who had travelled across England to make allies, not enemies, and of her peace-inclined husband, who was surely putting their children to bed right now. "You attack travellers you meet on the road… because you've suffered as well?"

"There is no innocent Dane! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!"

"That's not how it should go, is it? According to the sermons, it's supposed to be 'turn the other cheek'."

"You know about Christian scriptures?" Birna said, with some amusement.

"I'm baptized," Valdis answered with a shrug.

"A Christian Dane?" The man paled, making the sign of the cross. "Lord above, our Saviour has truly forsaken His Saxon flock!"

"This isn't important," Valdis said, abruptly. "We only seek to take back a precious object that was stolen from us. There's no need for meaningless bloodshed."

"The Devil takes you, woman!"

"Thor's hairy balls, but you're a stubborn one!" Birna exclaimed. She lovingly caressed the blade of her axe. The priest gulped nervously at the gesture. "My friend here is being reasonable for your sake, you know? I wouldn't be so nice if I was the one calling the shots…"

"Stop threatening him, Birna," Valdis said. "The man is well over his head, and he is only starting to realize it." She turned to the man, boring her eyes into his. Again, he swallowed in fear. "You will tell us what we need to know. And then you will go far, far away from here. You're not cut out for this life. You should leave before you are too enmeshed with those friends of yours. You'll not survive long otherwise."

Wilmund wiped his forehead. "Perhaps… perhaps you're right. Beorthric and the others… godless men as well they are, murdering without a care…"

"Beorthric?" Valdis said. "Is that your leader?"

Wilmund nodded, with some difficulty.

"A friend of ours was attacked here this morning," Valdis continued. "Someone took a ring from her. Do you know what might have happened to this ring?"

"A ring? Is that what this is about? Leofe must have taken it. Greedy as a magpie, that one is. And ill-mannered as well."

"And where can we find this Leofe?"

"B-Back at the camp, across f-from Duroliponte… listen…" Wilmund was now wringing his hands together. "The chief, he was planning something, something big. I don't know the details, but—"

"What is that chief of yours planning?" Birna snapped. Her grin was gone. "Speak, man, or we'll find out how far up your arse my axe can—"

"Birna," Valdis said with a sigh.

If the man hadn't pissed his breeches before, then he must surely have done so at the naked fury showing on Birna's face. "A-A raid, s-somewhere close. Some ship was gone, or so Leofe said, and—"

"Where?" Valdis prompted, an icy edge to her voice.

"I-I don't know, I swear, Beorthric never told me, said I was too green—"

"Where?!" Birna exclaimed, shoving her axe in his face.

Valdis put a hand over her arm. Thankfully, Birna lowered her weapon, though not before shooting another murderous glare at Wilmund. The man whimpered in response.

"You're free to go," Valdis told the priest. "Now, run, before I change my mind."

With a yelp, Wilmund twisted on his heel, and ran in the opposite direction. Birna was giving Valdis a strange look.

"Forgiveness," she said. "A bizarre thing to see, coming from a drengr."

"Mercy is not forgiveness," Valdis explained. "This man has done nothing to us—"

"—save being a blight for my eyes and ears," Birna said with a snort.

"—and so there is no need for us to forgive him. We can, however, give him a second chance, where he can prove himself to be better."

"Will he? I'm sure he'll make a nuisance out of himself again."

"Then one day he will eventually suffer the consequences of his folly and die alone and unmourned by all. And this fate will be what he deserves."

"You're a strange one all right," Birna commented. "A Christian vikingr."

"I am not Christian. I keep our gods. I respect and fear their power." Valdis was suddenly reminded of an old memory, one that was bitter and sweet in equal measure. "In fact, if things had gone differently, I would have wanted to become a völva, like my aunt." She had loved the woman fiercely and had always heeded her counsel. Even in this strange new home of hers, Valdis could find the connection she craved with her gods by remembering old Ranka's words.

"But instead you married a follower of Christ," Birna said, sounding amused.

"Who would have become a priest if he had not been born a first son," Valdis mused. "It is ever so strange, the fate that the Nornir choose for us. Only they can see the tapestry of our life in its entirety, after all. We can only catch glimpses of a thread or two when we are lucky."

"Do you regret it? Not offering your life in the service of the High Ones?"

"No," Valdis answered. "I am content with this fate." And Oswald would have been wasted hidden away in some monastery. She was glad not to have to share him with some tight-arsed monks with a hatred of anything pagan. "So, I was baptized, yes, but I have not converted." Valdis jutted her chin at the running man. "Mostly because of hypocrites such as him."

Birna gave another snort. "I cannot take these Saxon priests seriously. It's the way they look in those stupid robes. I mean, if that little Christian of yours showed up one day with a tonsure and a brown frock, would you still want to plow him?"

Valdis couldn't help it; she laughed out loud at the image.