Eivor rode like the wind, hoping to reach Ravensthorpe as soon as possible.
By the gods, she should have been home already. Nearly a moon ago, she had sailed with Sigurd and the rest of the crew to help Ealdorman Geadric with stragglers from the armies that had clashed at Edington. Peace had come at last between King Aelfred and Guthrum Jarl, but many men who had fought under their command, Saxon or Dane alike, had refused to put down their arms, turning to a life of banditry instead.
Their presence was especially felt in Oxenefordscire and Glowecestrescire, which would soon be technically part of Wessex, as per Aelfred and Guthrum's treaty. In those past moons, Eivor's allies had often asked for help to enact justice upon these broken men. Eivor was glad to answer their call—but she was also weary, so weary, to leave her home again and again to fight other men's battles.
Especially now of all time, with her wedding to Randvi only a few days away.
Their wedding. By the end of the week, Eivor and Randvi would be married in view of friends and family. It seemed surreal, impossible even. Sometimes, Eivor pinched the skin of her arm to make sure she was not yet trapped in some twisted dream. Eivor was marrying the love of her life, a woman she thought out of reach forever. Surely such a thing could not be truly happening? Surely this was another trick, another ploy to cage her in a world too good to be true?
But no, this was reality; Randvi returned her feelings and Sigurd had given his blessings. The Nornir—if they even existed—had allowed Eivor this one happiness. And somehow, that made the grim, cruel world Eivor had grown to know seem all the brighter.
"Hyah!" Eivor cried, spurring on her horse forward. "Quick, Vindr, quick!"
These few weeks apart from her love had been torture. Thankfully, Sigurd had noted Eivor's restlessness, and he had proposed to lead the raiding crew in her place to deal with the few remaining stragglers. Eivor had been so ever grateful; she was loath to have Randvi take care of wedding preparations as well as the reception of the guests who would soon swarm the village for the festivities.
Sigurd had laughed at these worries. "Gods, Eivor, you underestimate the woman! Randvi could take care of both of these tasks in her sleep, and you know it."
"I want her to know she can depend on me," Eivor had replied. "How can I show my commitment if I keep leaving her behind?"
"You've always been with her when she needed you most, Eivor, from the moment you two met in Fornburg." There had been something wistful about his expression. Unlike the man she had married, he'd seemed to think. "Trust me, sister. Randvi knows you will always honour your vows to her, in this world and the next. But go to her, if that will bring you peace. I will stay with the crew to finish this sorry business."
They had embraced warmly, and Eivor had ridden off without delay. That had been a few days ago. Now, Eivor was in familiar territory; she recognized that well-trodden path, and the trees extending their long reach to offer the comfort of their shade. Through the thicket, she caught occasional glimpses of the Nene river, running alongside the road. Those welcoming sights made her heart swell. She was only a few hours away from Ravensthorpe.
From home, and from the woman who so tenderly held her heart in her capable hands.
Eivor patted the neck of her horse, fingers brushing the beast's soft, short black hair. Vindr, she was called, a suggestion of Randvi's. The wind that would always bring her home.
"Just a few miles more, my girl," Eivor encouraged the loyal steed. "Then Rowan will treat you like the queen you are, that I promise you!"
Vindr huffed slightly, making Eivor grin. But that smile was short-lived; Vindr suddenly let out a sharp, resounding cry. Shock and horror briefly seized Eivor as she saw the horse's front legs abruptly buckle under her weight.
A second later, and Eivor was flying in the air. The world spun around her, a dizzying swirl of colours—green and brown and even the barest patches of blue filtering through the canopy. Then, her head hit the ground, and everything went black.
A low rasp escaped Eivor's mouth as her eyes fluttered open. Pain was pinning her to the ground. Where was she? What had happened? Who was that figure hovering above her? They were fiddling with something around her waist—
"No…" Eivor weakly protested as the mysterious figure took a brown object in their hand. A small leather pouch. Despite her addled state, Eivor immediately recognized what it was.
"No," she slurred again, tongue thick in her mouth, "don't touch—you can't have, you can't—"
Another sound came from behind—gravel crunching under a boot. The figure whipped their head to look over their shoulder.
"Someone's coming!" said a man's voice. Saxon. He'd spoken in the Saxon language. "Leave it, Leofe!"
"I barely had the time to search her!" From the high pitch of that voice, the thief was a girl. A young one. "Just let me—"
She cried out in pain as the man cuffed her behind the head. "Stupid child! We need to go, now!"
"But—"
"You want the whole of their village on our arses? Do you?"
"Beorthric, I—"
By now, he was dragging the girl away by the arm. Soon, their figures had disappeared in the blur that was the end of the path. Eivor reached forward, trying to crawl after them.
"Bring it back," she snarled, pouring all of her remaining energy to fuel her rage, "bring it back!"
Wait, that sound in the distance… were those footfalls? Someone was running toward her—and crying her name.
"Eivor!" Not a moment later, and an auburn-haired woman was crouching next to her. "You're all right! Oh, thank the gods!"
Eivor knew that voice. "S-Sunniva? Is that you…?"
"No, don't try to stand," Sunniva said, holding her down. "You took quite a blow to the head."
"The girl snuck up on me," Eivor muttered. "A trap. She must have set a trap, and Vindr…"
"Vindr is fine, don't worry," Sunniva said. "She's barely limping. Rowan will take care of her back in Ravensthorpe. But Valka needs to see to that wound, Eivor."
"We can't go!" Eivor protested, dizzy with the loss of blood. "The girl, she took… she took…"
"What? What did she take, Eivor?"
"The girl took it." Eivor grabbed Sunniva's arm, shaking it, desperate to make the other woman understand the severity of the situation. "She took it, she took…"
That was too much; Eivor felt her arms dropping, becoming limp as a rag, and oblivion overtook her once more.
Birna was drinking.
In itself, that wasn't such a strange occurrence. Birna had seen all of seven winters when she had downed the pint of ale her favourite auntie had pressed into her hands. Three years after, she'd stolen the casket of mead her uncle had intended to offer his bride, to the great delight of the other children of her village. And by the time she had reached fourteen, she was drinking liquid courage on the regular to chat up pretty girls. Birna guzzled down mead like a bee drank nectar from a flower; one would cut her veins, and find ale instead of blood.
No, something else was amiss. It was early in the morning, and Birna was already drinking.
And she was drinking alone.
Despite the quality of Tekla's brew, the familiar taste only made her foul mood even fouler. Birna was drinking alone… because Eivor and the rest of the crew had sailed away a moon ago, leaving her behind.
"The Jarlskona doesn't need a drengr who can't be arsed to wake up in time to leave for the raids," Eydis had snapped when Birna had complained about the matter. "Perhaps if you weren't spending your days and nights making a drunken mess out of yourself, Eivor would take you. As things are, however, you're a liability, Birna. Straighten up first, and then perhaps I'll consider having you back on the raiding crew."
"Take all the time you need," Eivor had said, gently, when Birna had come to contest Eydis's decision. "I know what you are going through; I've lived through it. Take the time to heal—and come back to us stronger than you were before, Birna. I know you can do it."
Birna scowled as she remembered these words. Eydis's griping she could take, but Eivor's pity… gods, that made her want to vomit.
Since when had Eivor been so… infuriatingly wise? So damn reasonable? It wasn't so long ago that she had been just like Birna, brash and loud and filled with lust for the finer things in life. Was it being named Jarlskona that had shaped into the leader she had been destined to be? No, that wasn't it; these changes had come gradually, day by day, moon by boon, year by year, with every fight, with every victory, with every loss that Eivor had lived through.
And now the woman would be married. Only a few days more, and Eivor and Randvi would be wife and… wife. They would be united in view of men and gods (…and they would be free to use that poor map table for everything except its intended use).
Not all of their allies would be able to make it to the wedding. Old Ceolwulf had one foot in the grave, or so the latest rumours said. The Ragnarssons were all feasting by the Allfather's side, as was Eivor's cousin Bárid. And Tewdwr, the ever-fussy ealdorman of Glowecestrescire had his hands full dealing with the demands of his new West Saxon overlord, much like his neighbour Geadric.
Still, the village would soon be full of wedding guests coming from every corner of England. Birna wasn't exactly looking forward to their arrival. People would gather in Ravensthorpe to be merry, to celebrate life and love, and yet all she wanted was to be left alone in a corner with enough ale to fill a bathtub in which she could then drown.
Gods. Birna was almost glad that Soma could not see this pathetic display.
The whole of the universe seemed to scorn her today. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping—cheeky little bastards, Birna thought sullenly, they always started to sing early in the mornings where her hangovers were at their worst. Yanli and Swanburrow were exchanging pleasantries and laughing, and even that idiot Alvis was hard at work helping Gudrun with one of her sails. Knud was charging a boat to head to Grantebridge, ostensibly to buy materials for his father, but Birna knew it was mainly to see some girl who'd caught his fancy. Mayda was carrying a box of eggs across the village and—well, being pregnant made her grumpier than ever. Good, Birna thought, taking another swing. At least there was someone else who shared her misery.
That was her last mouthful of ale. Birna grimaced, inspecting the empty bottom of her mug. She let out a curse as she stood, feeling woozy and weak in the knees. Birna stumbled forward, intent on ignoring the concerned gazes sent in her direction. Weren't they supposed to be busy with wedding preparations? Surely her clansmates had better things to do than watch the sorry spectacle that was Birna's existence…
"Hej, Tekla!" she called as she staggered toward her destination. The brewer was moving around some barrels near the entrance of the alehouse. "How's my favourite person in the village?"
"I'm not giving you more ale," Tekla said, not even glancing toward her.
Birna was unable to stop herself from grimacing. Still, not a second later, and she was smirking again. "Aw, why not? Aren't I your most loyal customer?"
"Eydis would have my hide if I gave you just one more drop," the other woman answered curtly. "And the ale is meant for the whole of the village, not just a—"
"Not just a what?" Birna said; she was still smiling, but there was a hint of menace in her voice. "I'm a what, exactly?"
Tekla sighed, finally meeting Birna's gaze. "Forget about it. You'll drink at the feast tonight, same as everyone."
"All right, all right, I get it…"
"Don't give me lip, girl. Just go and make yourself useful, for once."
Old hag, Birna thought as Tekla went back inside the brewery. She stumbled about for a moment, hand tightly wrapped around her empty mug. Then…
"A longship!" someone cried from the docks. Sylvi. The girl was almost as tall as Birna now; poor Viggo and Runa would soon have to worry about suitors coming for their daughter's hand. "Coming from the east!"
People gathered at the harbour, gasping and pointing at the river. Instead of joining them, Birna went to sit at the table by the barracks. Now she could see the boat as well. A golden boar had been painted on the longship's great blue sail. Birna wracked her brain trying to remember where she'd seen that symbol. The Boar clan was the one that had settled in East Anglia, wasn't it?
Randvi was coming down from the longhouse to greet the visitors at the docks. That old arse Finnr and that oaf Broder were the first ones to disembark; Birna noted that the red-haired drengr's characteristic smug grin was nowhere to be found. Next was Queen Valdis of East Anglia, a dark-haired shieldmaiden with striking looks—and a very unfortunate taste in men. Behind her was the king—her very unfortunate choice of a husband. Two small children accompanied the royal couple. The boy attempted to take off the moment he stepped out of the boat, but Valdis stopped her son in his tracks, gently scolding him. His little sister was not so eager; she hid behind her father's leg, watching the whole of Ravensthorpe with narrow eyes filled with suspicion.
"My king, my queen!" Randvi called in greetings. "Welcome to Ravensthorpe."
"Thank you," said her diminutive royal guest. What was the twerp's name again? It wasn't as outlandish as some of those stupid Saxon names Birna had heard, if she remembered right. Moss-something-or-other? "We are honoured to have received your invitation."
"And we are honoured that you came all this way to celebrate our blah, blah, blah…"
Well, that wasn't exactly what Randvi had said, but Birna didn't care to waste more of her time listening to some useless exchange of pleasantries. She turned her gaze away, bringing her tankard to her lips to take another sip and grimacing when she remembered it was empty. Now the king and queen were introducing their children to Randvi. Gods, it went on and on. A certain red-haired drengr seemed as bored as she was by all of this needless pomp. Birna cursed under her breath as the man made his way toward her.
"Eivor isn't here?" was all he said in greetings.
"Hello to you too, Broder," Birna said, waving her tankard in the air. "How are you Birna? I'm fine, what about you, boil-bottom? Oh, everything is wonderful, it's so great to see you, so great…"
Broder snorted out a laugh. "Gods, as charming as ever… you never change, do you?"
"Why would I? Perfect the way I am, thank you very much."
Broder glanced back at the docks. "The longship isn't here. Eivor is out raiding, I presume?"
"Well, now. You actually used your head to make a deduction. Colour me impressed."
"Then why aren't you with them?"
Birna fought the urge to leap from her chair to cuss him out. Noisy bastard. "I'm surprised you actually came to Eivor's wedding," she said instead, tilting her head in feigned sympathy. "I thought… well, I'd heard that you…"
The idiot actually scowled. Birna hid a vindictive grin behind her tankard. Served him well. Git.
Before the man could retort, Randvi walked up to them, the king and his family standing primly behind her. "Birna," she said, "would you show our guests their quarters? The king and the queen will stay in Eivor's old room with their children."
I'm not your servant, Birna nearly snapped, but she kept her mouth shut. She'd already gotten on Eydis and Tekla's bad side; she couldn't draw Randvi's ire as well. That would mean Eivor would also get on her arse and… well, Birna was willing to admit she was a fuck-up, but that wasn't a line she was willing to cross just yet.
"Of course," Birna said, with an ugly smile. "Here, I'll lead the way."
She guided the East Anglian party up the path to the longhouse. The boy could not stop looking at her. Was that some snot dripping from his nose? Birna had to keep herself from scowling; nothing in her experiences as a smuggler and a raider had taught her how to deal with small children. What would Eivor have done? The Jarlskona was beloved by wee ones of all ages. Soma had been good with children too, came the unwanted thought. Birna immediately shooed it away, forcing another grin on her face.
"So," Birna asked him tentatively, "how did you enjoy your river journey, odlingr?"
"I enjoyed it a lot!" he replied. "Eivor kept sleeping and sleeping, but I helped around the boat!"
"On your way to become a true and tried Vikingr, are you?" Birna said, genuinely amused by the proud look on his little face.
"That's what Uncle kept saying!" the boy answered, prompting a chuckle from the man in question. "Said I was a born sailor! Not like Mama, being on the boat made her sick…"
"Mama's sick!" added his little sister—who seemed to have been named after Eivor. Birna wondered if the Jarlskona knew about that dubious honour.
"She kept throwing up overboard!" And the lad helpfully mimed the motion, to Birna's great delight—and to the king's intense horror.
"Eohric, stop it!" he said, sharply.
"I am not sick," Valdis assured them. "Everything is fine."
"Still," her husband—Mossvald, maybe?—said, "perhaps you should lie down and—"
Valdis gave the long-suffering sigh of a woman used to misbehaving children and fussy husbands. "Everything is fine," she repeated. "It will pass."
Young Eohric's attentions were already elsewhere; Birna could see that he was staring intently at her axe.
"You like this sharp friend of mine, don't you, little odlingr?" she said, waggling her eyebrows. "I bet it's bigger than your uncle Broder's axe."
"I can easily knock that grin from your face, you sour-faced—" Broder's response came to a sudden end when his sister threw him a murderous look.
"Oho. Is that a challenge, I hear?"
"Uncle is a better fighter than Grandfather," Eohric said cheerfully. At this response, Finnr groaned, rolling his eyes. "But Mama is the best of all!"
Birna gave him a wild grin. "Would you like to see me put your uncle on his arse, then?"
To her surprise, Mossvald actually glared at her. The little king's balls must have had dropped in the years following his coronation, Birna thought. Good for him. She would have pitied his wife, otherwise.
"Must we really give in to needless violence—" he began.
"Oh, yes, please!" Eohric said, hopping on his feet. "A fight, a fight!"
"Fight, fight!" said his sister with equal enthusiasm.
Hah! Birna turned to smirk at Broder, who puffed out his chest in response. Valdis sighed again, slightly shaking her head. Mossvald was pursing his mouth in that peeved, disapproving look all Christians seemed to share; he very much reminded Birna of that priest who had caught her with her face between a nun's thighs that one time in Ledecestre. Ah, Birna thought at the sweet memory, that had been a good plow…
Perhaps, in the end, this day would not turn out to be so bad after all!
The sun was shining bright and high up in the sky as Ljufvina of the Sikhirtya rode into Ravensthorpe.
The journey from Jorvik had been long, but pleasant. It had been good to leave behind the stuffiness of the city to breathe in the fresh air of the Northumbrian and Mercian countryside. Summer was well on its way, leaving the cold, wet days of winter well behind.
Ljufvina was also glad to escape the now oppressing confines of Jorvik. Between the deaths of Halfdan and Hjorr, not to mention Audun and Ricsige's prior betrayals, the city was in chaos. Rich merchants and clan leaders clawed to get their hands on any scrap of power they could find, uncaring that their selfishness was tearing apart all that had been accomplished since the Danes had taken Jorvik. When Ljufvina had tried to set some order, unofficially taking Hjorr's place on the council, she had instead been put aside by her own allies. By the spirits, she had spent two decades and a half as a Norse prince's wife, had given birth to his two sons—and yet that did not seem to mean anything now that Hjorr was dead.
Yes, she thought bitterly, Ljufvina was ever the outsider, the strange woman from barbaric Bjarmaland. Without Hjorr by her side, she would never find a place beside them.
Randvi's invitation had been a blessing in disguise. Ljufvina had gladly taken off the next day, taking only a few provisions for the road. Nothing could make one spirit's soar higher than the joyous chaos of a wedding—and no one deserved the effervescent bliss of new love more than Eivor. It would also be an occasion to visit the fabled Ravensthorpe, and see her friend's successes with her own eyes.
The settlement that greeted Ljufvina's sight was small, but lovely, with dwellings built in the Norwegian fashion. Her heart ached as she took in the sharply steeped roofs, the ornate wood carvings, the white and blue-green banners depicting the two black birds circling one another. It seemed as if a part of Fornburg had been plucked from Norway and placed right in the heart of England. Those sights reminded Ljufvina of simpler times… happier times.
Hjorr should have seen this. Hjorr should have been here.
By Tengri's holy name, here she was, losing herself in bitter musings again. Ljufvina forced her eyes forward, her gaze settling on a crowd in front of the longhouse. People were circling a pair of drengir who seemed to have been wrestling. Ljufvina recognized the two fighters; Birna, one of Eivor's raider, and Broder, Halfdan's reckless younger cousin. The two were bare-chested (though Birna wore a band around her breasts), sweat glistening on their skins.
Ljufvina descended from her horse, her interest piqued; friendly spars were a spectacle that the Sikhirtya and the Norse enjoyed in equal measure. She could not see any familiar face in the crowd of onlookers cheering on the fighters. Still, her eyes were drawn to two women in particular, who were more richly dressed than the rest. One had long dark hair, loose save for the side of her head, which was tightly braided. The other had her red mane gathered in a tail behind her head. That must have been Randvi, Eivor's betrothed.
A young boy beside the dark-haired woman was calling loudly, "You can do it, Uncle!" Beside him, a little girl was hopping up and down on her feet, though she seemed slightly confused as to what she was supposed to cheer for.
"Little odlingr!" Birna exclaimed in mock dismay. "I thought you were on my side!"
"You know what they say, troll-tooth!" Broder replied. "Blood is thicker, and the lad knows it!"
He took but one second to grin and pose for his nephew. That was the opening Birna was waiting for. She lunged at him, grabbing him and pinning his arms at the side. Before Broder could free himself, she aimed a kick at one of his knees. With a yelp, Broder toppled over, with the whole of Birna's weight pressing against him. In a fluid, practised motion, she twisted his arm behind his back, holding it in the air.
"Yield, dung-breath!" Birna shouted joyfully. "Yield, and prove my superiority!"
With a groan, the man tapped on the ground. Cheers rippled through the crowd, and Birna flexed her muscles for her admirers, clearly pleased with herself. Still, not a moment later, and Broder was laughing, accepting Birna's proffered hand. He clapped her shoulder after she helped him to his feet.
"Now, there's a good way to kick off a wedding celebration!" Broder said, with booming laughter. "You're full of surprises for one so small!"
"Well, I have finesse, while you deal only in brute strength." Birna made a mock bow. "Which is also why the ladies prefer to flock to me, of course."
"Next, you should try to beat my sister!"
"Mama would win!" the blond boy said fiercely. His little sister crossed her arms and nodded, face scrunched up in a rather ferocious look for one so young.
"Already poised to sing your glories like the tiniest of skalds, are they?" Birna told the woman next to Randvi. "I'm almost jealous!"
"They're fierce defenders all right," the children's mother said, stroking their little heads.
Randvi was shaking her head and smiling. Then, she finally caught sight of Ljufvina. "Hej, shieldmaiden!" she called. "You must be Ljufvina of Jorvik."
Of course the woman had recognized Ljufvina from Eivor's tales; almond-shaped eyes and raven black hair were not so common in these western lands. Ljufvina's own sons had been nicknamed Heljarskinn because they had inherited her darker complexion.
"I am," Ljufvina replied, gladly accepting Randvi's handshake. "So, you are the woman who has captured the famous Eivor Wolf-Kissed's heart?"
"'Captured'." Randvi snorted. "You make it sound so much grander than it truly was. I've no charming wit, no silver tongue. Eivor is the one who is talented in the art of courtship, not me."
"Don't be so modest, Randvi," Birna said with a wink. "Speaking as someone who appreciates the ladies, you are quite the catch!"
"Stop it, Birna. Flattery will get you nowhere." Randvi then turned to Ljufvina. "You came alone?"
"I came as a friend of Eivor, not in an official capacity," Ljufvina said. It would do her good to ignore politics for a few days, to simply be Ljufvina, and not a city councilman's widow.
"Eivor will be ever so glad to see you," Randvi said. "She counts you among her oldest friends."
Those words touched Ljufvina more than she would have wanted to admit. It felt an eternity ago since she had been shown genuine friendship—since the battle that had so cruelly torn her love away from her, in fact. It took Ljufvina some time to compose herself and say, "The feeling is mutual, I assure you. And that I hope to be counted among your friends as well, Randvi of the Raven clan."
"Good," said Randvi. "I will take your horse to our stablemaster, and then you will be able to—"
"Randvi!" cried a voice in the distance. Two figures were coming from west of the village, one leaning heavily on the other. Behind them followed a black horse, limping along.
Cries and gasps went through the villagers at the sight of the pair, and Randvi's eyes widened. "Sunniva…? And that… is that…"
"Eivor!" shouted a teenage girl, rushing toward the two women. Others followed after her, crying their jarlskona's name in distress.
Randvi was soon at the side of her beloved, taking Eivor from the other woman's grasp. A makeshift bandage had been wrapped around the jarlskona's head; it was already reddened with blood. "Eivor! Oh, my dear love, what has happened?"
"Bring her to the longhouse," the one named Sunniva said. "I will fetch Valka." As soon as these words had left her mouth, she was off, no doubt in search of a healer.
"Darling, speak to me," Randvi said to Eivor. "Tell me what has happened."
Eivor's blue eyes fluttered open. Her gaze fixed weakly on her betrothed. "Randvi… oh, Randvi, they took… they took…"
"Shh, be calm." Randvi gently guided Eivor toward the longhouse. "You are safe among friends, my love."
"Randvi," Eivor croaked, the sound half a sob, "they took your ring."