Eivor was cold, so dreadfully cold.

She hugged her tiny frame for warmth, shivering on the hard ground. What had happened? How long had she lay there? She did not know. In the darkness, she could hear the wolf prowling—the clicking of its claws on the rock, its raspy breathing, the occasional growl. Why had it not devoured her whole yet? Perhaps the beast enjoyed playing with its prey, so that its meat tasted of fear as well as blood. Eivor had caught but one glimpse of the creature when it had bitten her neck; it was black as night, and twice larger than any wolf she'd seen. She was certain it was Fenrir himself, freed from his bonds and ready to unleash Ragnarok upon doomed Midgard.

Nonsense, scoffed a man's voice inside her head. Get up, Wolf-Kissed! You've lain there long enough feeling sorry for yourself. GET UP!

Eivor ignored the voice. Instead, she whimpered, unable to move a single muscle. Perhaps if she made herself small enough, if she played dead, the beast would leave her alone. And yet, another part of her wanted to cry for help, to call out for her mother and father, to call out for Sigurd.

But none of her usual protectors were here to defend her from Fenrir's fangs.

Eivor was utterly alone.

Randvi was a prisoner in chains.

She did not remember how she had gotten there, in this dark, damp prison of rock. Her captor still lingered; sometimes, Randvi could hear a scoff or a degrading comment targeted at her person. Each of these barbs burrowed deep into Randvi's heart: she was dull, passive, subservient. A pretty object to look at, while others took the reins of power, while others fought the battles that had to be fought. How far have you fallen, sneered Randvi's captor. How little it took for you to sell your dignity like the meek little woman you truly are.

Randvi did not dare move. All the strength had gone from her body. Her own family—her father, who had so often called her his pride and joy!—had sold her to the Ravens as if she was a mare only fit for breeding. And yet her groom had wanted nothing with her! Gods, Randvi would have given away the last remnants of pride still present in her body for any scrap of affection thrown her way.

But there was nothing for her. She was a discarded woman, useless, worthless—a wife with no husband, no children, no family.

In the distance, someone was crying. Randvi tried to close her heart to the sound. It's not real, whispered Randvi's captor. No one else is there. You are alone.

A strange feeling sprang up in Randvi's heart, something akin to spite. It made her want to ignore those whispers to focus on the sobs. Why bring more sorrow to yourself? said her captor. You know what will happen if you pursue her. Save yourself the heartache. She is not yours, and she will never be.

Again came that twinge of annoyance. Dimly, Randvi remembered her father telling her mother, deny this one her heart's desire, and she will chase it with even more ferocity! He had laughed while saying these words. She frowned at the memory, as dim as it was in her clouded mind. Yes, her father had admired her spirit, had loved her fiercely because she always refused to give up.

Would such a man have considered worthless? No, Randvi told herself, mind finally clearing. Her family had loved her—and loved her still, despite the distance. They had not sold her in marriage; her union to Sigurd had been meant as a boon, a means to strengthen both clans.

Randvi could hear the cries more clearly. She could now remember to whom they belonged.

"Eivor!" Randvi exclaimed, voice rippling in echoes through the dark cave. She stood on unsteady feet, muscles tensing. Her strength was returning at last. She was here to save Eivor—the woman she respected above all other, the woman she loved. "EIVOR!"

No one will come. They have all left. Your parents, your clan. Styrbjorn and Sigurd. You've been forgotten, Eivor Wolf-Kissed. No one will sing your saga. You will die unloved and unmourned by all…

The wolf's voice was soft, softer than it ought to be. Each of its words rang with truth. The clan, Ravensthorpe. They would miss her for a while, but their lives would go on; the flow of time was unbending, cruel in its indifference. Styrbjorn, Sigurd. Would they even realize she was gone? Certainly not. Sigurd had great ambitions, greater than his love for anyone, even the sister of his heart.

No, Eivor would die here, and the wolf would tear at her flesh until only bones remained, bones that would then turn to dust over the ages. Perhaps it was the fate the Nornir had always intended for her, in the end; Sigurd saving her from those wolves all those years ago had only given her a few more winters of existence at the most.

Eivor closed her eyes, ready to let go. Then…

"—vor. Eivor!"

What was that voice? Where was it coming from? Eivor's eyes snapped open, and she inhaled sharply. Suddenly, she became aware of her surroundings; she was lying on the ground in a dimly lit cave. She was not her child self, small and scared, but an adult, wearing her leather armour and her thick travel cloak. Again, she heard someone calling out her name.

With great difficulty, Eivor pushed herself off the ground. Her neck stopped hurting; gingerly, she touched her skin, and only found the familiar scar, not a gaping wound as she would have believed.

"EIVOR! Eivor, where are you?!"

That voice, Eivor thought, heart beating faster. Eivor knew that voice. Eivor loved that voice.

"Randvi!" she cried out, with all the strength she could muster. "RANDVI!"

"Randvi!"

There! That was Eivor's voice. Eivor was calling for help!

Randvi screamed, pulling on her chains. Yes, now she remembered; she was a shieldmaiden, strong as a crashing wave, strong enough to wield hammer and shield. Her muscles burned from the effort, but Randvi did not let up. She refused to let up. Again, she screamed from rage and pain.

What are you trying to prove? her Shadow sneered. Who are you trying to impress? Randvi could see her moving in the darkness; those golden eyes burned in the gloom like ghost lights in the night. No one cares about your battle prowesses, wife. Your husband least of all.

The pain was almost blinding, and the manacles seared the fine skin of her wrists. But Randvi continued pulling. She had very little pride left, yes… but pride was steel-strong, unbending in the face of life's harshness. Randvi's screams scraped at her throat; she pulled and pulled, ignoring the foul insults her Shadow was throwing her way. She pulled and—

She broke free of her chains.

Immediately, Randvi began to run. She knew her Shadow was in pursuit, but she cared very little. Eivor was there—and Randvi knew she was strongest while defending another.

She'd become a shieldmaiden to protect her clan, after all.

Finally, she reached a larger space. Eivor was in the middle, lit by a stray strand of sunlight. She was on her knees, panting as if it was greatly difficult for her to breathe.

Randvi rushed to her side. "Eivor! Are you all right?"

Eivor looked at her. She almost seemed as if she could not believe what was in front of her eyes. The sight of such a proud warrior, brought to her knees like a fearful child, was heartbreaking. "Randvi…? Is that truly you? Are you real?"

"I am," Randvi said. "I came to save you."

"To save me…?" The hint of disbelief in Eivor's voice tore at Randvi's heart.

"Yes! Eivor, come, we must go!" Randvi's Shadow had not reappeared so far, but she was certain it lingered in the darkness still, ready to strike the moment Randvi would let down her guard.

"But… the wolf…"

"The wolf?"

"There was a black wolf, it attacked me." Eivor touched her neck. Her fingers were trembling. "Big as Fenrir, it was. It's still here, I can feel it in my bones."

As soon as those words escaped Eivor's mouth, Randvi heard it too: a low growl, coming from deeper in the cave. Her blood iced in her veins.

"I saw something too," Randvi said, hurriedly. "A vision of a woman wearing my face, clad in chains. She is sure to follow me here. We should be careful."

"A woman in chains?" Suddenly, Eivor looked over Randvi's shoulder. "I can hear her. I can hear the rustle of her chains…"

Before Randvi could answer, a black shape lunged from the shadows, barreling toward Eivor at great speed. Randvi rushed forward, sweeping with her hammer to shield Eivor from the attack. At the last second, the wolf bounded to the side to evade the weapon. Randvi could get a good look at it, now: eyes burning with mindless rage, jaws dripping with a black, tar-like substance, limbs marked by the scars left by shackles…

Eivor was right; it seemed Fenrir had come to finish what his children had started, all these winters ago.

Behind Randvi, Eivor cried, "Here she is! Brace yourself!" Randvi had no time to devote to her shadow self, however; Fenrir leaped at her with jaws wide open. She brought down her hammer to strike its head before its fangs could burrow into her flesh. The hammer passed through the beast as if it was made of shadow and smoke. Yet, Randvi felt Fenrir's cold bite all the same. She screamed, stepping out of its range. The wolf let go, preparing another attack.

Eivor was fighting as well; Randvi could hear her shouts, and the clang of her axe against the Shadow's chains. Randvi wished she could go to her aid—but Fenrir was relentless, surging toward her in lightning-quick assaults before retreating to the safety of the shadows. And yet none of her attacks connected. He was too swift for her hammer, a vile creature of seidr rather than a beast of flesh and blood.

We cannot win, Randvi thought. She and Eivor were faltering, but their opponents fought without ever tiring. Finally, Randvi and Eivor stood back to back, panting, faces wet with sweat. The wolf circled them, its growl as deep and rumbling as the sound of falling rocks. Randvi's Shadow dragged her chains on the ground in a silent promise of violence. They could surely end this as quickly as it had begun; so why were they now hesitating?

Through the fog of panic, Randvi tried to remember Ealhswith's words. Who said anything about defeating your own shadow? Sounds silly, don't you think? Why had she said such a thing? What did she truly mean? Ealhswith seemed to insinuate it was hopeless to fight your own Shadow.

Or rather, Randvi realized, heart hammering against her ribcage, it meant something else.

It meant letting go of her pride—and face that miserable wretch head-on.

"Eivor, let go of your weapon," Randvi said, releasing her hold on her hammer. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud. "We should not be fighting them."

"What?" Eivor said hoarsely. She tightened her grasp on her axe. "What are you saying, Randvi?"

Randvi turned her attention to her Shadow. What a loathsome figure it made—but now Randvi pitied it as well. She walked toward her other self, opening her arms. The Shadow looked upon her without flinching as Randvi put her hands upon its—her cold cheeks.

"I recognize you," Randvi began. "You're part of me, aren't you? I was wrong to reject you. Cowardly."

"Randvi, what are you—" Eivor said from behind.

"All these years you were screaming to be noticed, to be loved," Randvi continued, "and no one ever heard you. Not even me. I'm sorry."

There was a sharp exhale from the golden-eyed woman—and then, a smile, tight, sorrowful, graced her lips. A soft blue light enveloped her—and bit by bit, piece by piece, she scattered into the air. Randvi heard a gentle 'thank you' as the Shadow disappeared, the sound as sweet as a sigh.

Randvi's eyes burned. She clenched a fist at her chest, a torrent of emotions submerging her. Anger, shame, bitterness. But also a sense of release. For so long, she'd felt barren, bereft of love. Now, a single sprout emerged from her cracked heart—a promise to herself, and to the woman standing behind her. It was not much, but for now, it was enough.

When she turned to face a dumbfounded Eivor, her eyes were dry. "You must do the same," Randvi told her. "Your Shadow. It's part of you. You only need to accept it. Can't you hear her screams? Her cries? She needs you—and you need her."

The beast let out a sorrowful howl. Looking at her, Randvi understood it was not enraged—it was simply hurting. Oh, Eivor, thought Randvi. Her beloved had taken great pains to hide the source of her hurt from Randvi. Suddenly, all she wanted was the hold the drengr in her arms, to give her the much-needed comfort she deserved. But could Eivor ever let go of her pride long enough to allow Randvi to do so?

Eivor bared her teeth, shaking her head. "No… no. That… that thing," she had spat out the word as if it had been a curse, "is a vision of foul seidr meant to torment me. We need to put it down. Help me, Randvi. I cannot bear to look at it any longer."

Randvi approached Eivor, enlacing her. The latter looked upon her with surprised, almost guileless eyes. Over Eivor's shoulder, Randvi locked gazes with the wolf. She is not ready yet, she wanted to tell the beast. Give her enough time. She will understand, one day. I know she is strong enough. She just needs to realize that as well.

The wolf's golden eyes did not waver. Then, slowly, it backed away, retreating to the darkness. Randvi knew it was gone—for now.

It had returned to Eivor's heart, where it would remain, feasting on her pain until she finally agreed to accept it as a part of herself.

The two of them walked through a forest basked in twilight. Neither of them spoke on the way back. Eivor knew Randvi wanted to say something, but for once she was reluctant to hear the other woman's wise counsel. Perhaps later they would speak of the events that had transpired in that cave. Perhaps. For now, Eivor only wanted to lay down and sleep.

The old man and the blue-clad woman were gone from the hut. Vindr was grazing nearby, seemingly unconcerned by the strange duo's departure. Inside the wooden shack, Eivor found only cobwebs and cold ashes at the hearth. It was obvious that the place had been deserted for many years.

The only living thing present in the hut was a golden butterfly, idly spreading its wing on one corner of a table. Under their watchful gazes, it took flight, going out the door and into the dusk.

Eivor and Randvi were left alone in the dimming light, one with a heart made heavier with regrets, the other light with a wondrous realization: that she would nurture that seed of love inside of her like the precious gift that her other self had given her.