Over the sea and down the rivers

[Alvlin]

When the men came back Kildevi had already been asleep, helped by a few drops of a poppy-tincture from Nonna's farewell gift. Nonna had shown her how to handle the seeds to make more, but Kildevi was far from sure that the poppies at home would make as potent a tincture, and even less sure that she would be able to refine it correctly, so she treated the small bottle as if it is held molten gold. Last night, though, she had needed it.

Everything had been perfectly fine for a while. She had felt genuine pride in how she had managed to stay calm, play on the knowledge she had carefully picked up, and come out of the whole thing better off than anyone would have thought possible. The entire scene had carved itself into her memory, every expression on his face, every word spoken, the feeling in her stomach the moment she realised that she now directed the conversation and Ormgeir had gone on the defensive.

Maybe he had allowed it. She was not confident enough to think she had beaten a three times ten years older statesman at his own game. But she had done far better than she'd expected. Happy though she was that no one had overheard the last part of their conversation, she nonetheless wished that someone would have seen her triumph.

She hadn't told anyone anything, apart from asking Ina not to say anything to Eskil before she'd had a chance to speak to him. But later that evening, it turned out her mind had been kept cool by a thick layer of snow and when that melted, chaos reigned.

Was this shock? It had to be. She had been caught off guard, left at the mercy of the merciless. Once it caught up with her, her heartbeat had been as erratic as her mind, somehow running furiously in complete inertia.

Somewhere, deep down, she had known he wouldn't escalate to violence, not there, not against her. How did she know? That, she had no answer to. But it had still been one of those times when time slowed and emotion shut down. Somehow the stakes were no lower, nothing made less frightening or complicated, by the fact that the attraction had been mutual. All it had done was to lend her refusal an extra edge of resentment. Over two hundred pounds of armoured muscle was made no less terrifying by also being attractive.

"So, I have some sort of infatuation with Vibjorn, I have obviously grown to love my husband, and still I want to grapple with Ormgeir like we were fighting a battle. What is wrong with me?"

Haven't you figured that out yet? I have watched over your line of Embla's daughters for many generations now, and have come to understand a thing or two.

One is what you would have chosen.
One is what you were given.
One is what you've been denied.

It's that simple.

"I actually figured that out about Vibjorn, but Ormgeir hasn't denied me anything, except for peace of mind."

You're a clever overthinker. Dwell on it.

So, the poppy it was. Mixed in wine, it had sent her off into blissfully dreamless sleep.


But now, the morning after, she was faced with trying to explain it to Eskil. It was barely a day after their open-hearted agreement on a truce, still brittle and fraught with too many uncertainties to be called a peace treaty.

"I talked to Ormgeir yesterday, and you need to know what was said, because the outcome is pretty important."

"What? When? What was said?"

That was definitely a suspicious frown. This started well. She swallowed.

"He has now sworn, on his honour and his heirs, that he will not try to have me as a woman from here on. In fact, he has sworn to stop questioning your worth as my husband altogether."

A careful look at his face showed that he wasn't exactly relieved by her words.

"In exchange for what?"

"A mutual friendship."

"That entails what, exactly?"

"That… could have been more clearly defined," she admitted. "But I suspect he will want the help I can give in consolidating the power of the Kniaz of Kyiv into the hands of him and Sigvard through Ingvar. That part will be fully in my realm. You would not be bound by it."

"You have negotiated an alliance on vague grounds without my knowledge and consent."

"Yes."

"What makes you think I will accept that? After everything we spoke about?"

"Because the alternative is that he pushes you to where you either bow in dishonour, gelded forever, or that you die from the challenge. Your feud with Ulfrik has a good chance to end in your favour. This one, simply can't."

She shrugged, guarded and defensive as her heart began to race. She should have known he wouldn't receive this as good news, but somehow she had still hoped for some sort of recognition.

"It is, of course, up to you if you want to take a meaningless stand by trying to kill him, but even if you succeed, the result will be the same. Either you lose, and he takes me as spoils, something that will end with me being killed once he grows tired of the nightmares and the bad luck. Or you manage to kill him, only to have our entire family stuck in a feud that can only end in the destruction of everyone we love. He has six sons, and four wives who probably all have come with agreements of aid in feuds and war. I understand that you would rather see us all dead than lose face, but I saw another way out of this whole mess, so I took it. Are you really going to force us back to fight a losing battle, only because you loathe that I was the one who brought us out of it?"

He took a deep breath, then he closed his eyes.

"No. I'm not."

Looking up, he met her gaze again.

"But you do understand that he will try to push the limits of that friendship, until the only difference will be where you spend your nights."

"And I thought that was a rather important difference for you. If not, I must have misunderstood you somewhere along the Bulgar coast."

Why was there a lump in her throat? Determined to push it back, she continued.

"But if you put so little worth on it, I'm sure you can still make a decent alliance of your own by giving me over."

He sighed, as if it was a heavy burden for him that she didn't simply fold over in shame.

"That was unnecessary. You know what I said, and that I stand by it."

"I know that I just won an unlikely victory that puts both of us in a better position than before, and you act as if…" She trailed off.

"As if?"

Eyes closed, she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter. But I find it ironically fitting that he seems more impressed by me than you have ever been. You are not an easy man to make happy, and an even harder one to make proud."

"You dump this on my head, after everything we've been through, and you expect me to be happy?"

It had begun to become impossible to hold those tears back, so before everything just came gushing forward, she simply said "yes," and walked out. Past the housecarls and the silent Ina, past the door, and out on the muddy path outside.

It was hard to find a place to be alone in a village turned camp housing an army, but finally, she found a henhouse with a door where she could sit down on the straw and cry her eyes out about everything, surrounded by scrawny winter birds clucking indignantly.

"Don't look at me like that," she told a speckled hen staring at her with black eyes. "You're fifteen hens to one cock, I bet you don't care much about what he thinks of each of you as long as he does what he's supposed to."

"Bock."

"I wish I was a hen."

The hen clucked again. As far as consolation went, it was better than nothing.



"Where is she?"

"She's in the henhouse outside Chedomir's. Audvard is staying there waiting for her when she comes out."

Eskil nodded and squinted up at Thore.

"You heard everything?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what happened here? Because I can't follow. Maybe I shouldn't have let her go, but …"

Thore sat down on the sidebench, resting his arms on his knees.

"This is one of those times when I see where both of you are coming from."

"You know, it's not the first time she just storms out for little or no reason."

Thore sat silent for a while before he replied.

"Do you even know what happened between her and Ormgeir?"

"No, as you heard, we never got to that."

"Ina told me. She was outside and didn't hear much, but he walked in on her in the bathhouse. It must have been when the vanguard came back yesterday, because he was still in full battle gear. He walked in, they talked, or rather, she did most of the talking. Ina couldn't make out the words, but they have very different pitches to their voices. A little while later he came out and walked off. Ina found her in the bathtub, way too calm and distant. She must have brokered that deal alone, more or less naked in front of a fully armed man well known for rape and murder. I'd say that takes some balls."

"It's Kildevi. Of course she has balls."

"Have you ever told her that?"

Eskil snorted, a bitter little sound that could have been a chuckle if only it had carried any mirth or amusement.

"Every other fight we have is about her slapping those balls in my face, like she did now."

"Yes, but do you know what balls are also known for? Hurting when kicked. And you didn't exactly fondle them back there, did you?"

"Do you think I should have, after everything? What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that you keep telling me how formidable she is, and she has said she loves you dozens of times - when you're not there. But none of you ever seem able to tell each other what you need to hear. So, what about you go out to that henhouse, sit down and take your time telling her everything you've ever told me about the things you admire her for."

"Not even a day after our last talk, she went behind my back - again!"

Thore had kept patiently calm during the entire conversation, but now his voice turned harsh.

"No, she didn't! That wisp of a woman was cornered alone in the bath by an armed giant wanting to fuck her and talked herself out of it for your sake. Go show some fucking appreciation."

Eskil had a moment when he didn't know if he should reach for his sword or his mug. Then something sank in.

"Wait, for my sake?"

"Think about it. If you'd been a woman in that situation, wouldn't you rather give than have it taken?"

That was a perspective Eskil had never really had reason to think about.

"I thought you said you could see where we both came from?"

"Yes. Doesn't mean I think you're both right. I could never be married to someone that unmanageable, and she has screwed up dozens of times, but this one is on you."



"Kildevi."

"Go away."

Eskil sighed, leaning his head against the timbered door of the henhouse.

"No. I'm here to grovel, whether you like it or not."

"Aren't you a few days early for that?"

Ouch.

"I came here to tell you how impressed I am by how you always seem to find your mind and tongue to argue your case, no matter what situation you find yourself in. But it's not as fun when I'm the target."

From inside the henhouse came silence.

"Thore told me you were cornered in the bathhouse."

"So?"

"I thought you had planned it all and sought him out. I should have asked before I argued."

For a moment, the only thing he heard was a slight bok-bok-bok, then her voice sounded again.

"What difference does it make, you're still complaining it didn't turn out exactly like you wanted."

"No." He paused. "Yes. I did. But that's because you always explain the good points to me in your defence, and all that is left for me to do is to point out the problems."

"Go away."

"I'm not doing a very good job with the grovelling, am I?"

"No."

"It's hard to grovel through the wall of Chedomir's henhouse, and Glebu is watching us in a way that tells me he will soon come and ask what we're doing. Can you please come out? Before I have to explain to him that you've locked yourself in a henhouse and refuse to talk to me?"

Now, he heard a rustle from inside, accompanied by a few irate cackles, and the door squeaked open. Kildevi glared up at him from the doorway. It was hard to know exactly how to react to the view - on the one hand her eyes were red from crying, face flushed in that undignified way that comes from desperately bawling your eyes out. On the other hand, she stood stroking a brown hen that obviously hadn't volunteered for the position, with feathers and down stuck all over her broadcloth coat.

"I didn't know Chedomir's household was lodged here," she said, carefully putting the hen down on the floor again.

"Why have you locked yourself in a henhouse?"

"They're better to talk to than you."

Eskil opened his arms, and after a moment of sullen hesitation, she took a step forward and let herself be hugged.


With the house full of people, they started to stroll towards the edge of the village in search of somewhere to talk undisturbed. Soon, they found a little hill overlooking the village, well within sight, but almost certainly out of earshot.

"If you tell me what happened, maybe I can be better than a flock of hens."

He saw her hesitate, gaze on her shoes in thought.

"If I do, you must promise a couple of things. First, that you won't run off and do something before you have heard me out. Second, that it stays between us. Third, that you don't exact any vengeance on anyone."

"Those are some heavy demands. I can't promise to forgo retribution for something I don't know what it is."

"Let's say he didn't throw any insults at either of us, he didn't try to take anything, and I do not have a single mark on me. But I won't tell you the rest unless you promise."

That was not exactly reassuring. Yet… if the alternative was to not even know…

Slowly, he nodded, and he saw her breathe out.

"In that case, I want you to keep in mind that this was a game he never intended to act on. Everything he said was meant to threaten and provoke, not to go through with."

"Are you defending him before you even start?"

"No. I am giving you the tools to think of this as a gaming board. Every comment, every threat, is a move. And though I lost most of my pieces, I got my king to the corner."


Kildevi told him almost everything, except for the sealing kiss. She also left out why Ina had proposed a bath on a Wednesday, because for some reason it felt embarrassing to tell Eskil that he had been the motivation.

The kiss, she had carefully put in a locked chest of its own in her mind, safely detached from everything and everyone. There were so many reasons to act as if it hadn't happened, and given time, she might come to fully convince herself that it hadn't. That lie had already started to feel true.


Eskil managed to stay silent all the way through, but at certain points in her story she saw his knuckles whiten. As she recited the part where she'd been threatened with Kyllike's fate, his jaw was so tense she half expected him to break at least one of his promises, but instead he sat still, listening until she was done.

When finally he spoke he said, "you must have been scared."

"Yes. No. I don't know. It was a battle and I was busy fighting it. I think the fear came in a rush afterwards."

He nodded. That was an explanation he seemed to understand well enough.

"When I found you asleep with your hair unbraided, I tried to wake you, but you didn't even stir."

"I gave sleep some help."

She paused.

"Wait, why did you try to wake me?"

"I know what a mess you'd have to comb out in the morning. And…"

He shrugged, a gesture so tiny it was almost invisible.

"... I sort of, kind of hoped you'd left it like that for me, and fell asleep while you waited."

Seeing the slight but noticeable embarrassment on his face, Kildevi felt a bit silly about keeping her own guard up.

"I had planned to," she confessed. "Ina pointed out that I didn't exactly look or smell my best, that's why I was in the bathhouse in the first place. But after he left, my head spun, and insofar you passed my mind at all it was about how to tell you this without you going off. Being inviting sort of got lost in… everything."

He didn't reply to that, instead he draped his cloak around them both and drew her in. After a few moments, he picked up the thread again.

"There are a few things I don't understand, though. First of all, where were Audvard and Eystein?"

"Inside, waiting for you and keeping half an eye through the window slit. I mean, the yard is only shared by the blacksmith, and in the third house is Eymund and Pridbor and a handful of other young men who see me as this deadly mythical figure. Ina stood guard so no one would get too curious. None of us expected anything worse than some drunk youngling trying to watch to score points with his peers."

Kildevi felt him nod.

"Now we know better. I trust the blacksmith to stop a band of northmen, and the young men are well aware they should be on the lookout for Ulfrik, but if Ormgeir knocked on either door, demanding to pass through…"

He was right. There were many reasons no one would have stopped him.

"The second thing, then. How did you know what to say? You must have taken a lot of chances, hoping luck would see you through."

Something within Kildevi stirred, to harden and set. Not rage or annoyance, but something more grounded, a determination that simply refused that description.

"No. Luck had nothing to do with it. I knew. I have watched him watch me for several months now, and he has told me more than it would seem at first glance. No one can be certain what lies in the hearts of men, but I knew what I was aiming at. He has not bothered to hide how much he has enjoyed our grappling, happier the more I questioned him. He has married five times, and the only one he speaks of with any kind of longing is the first, who he has also mentioned in passing tried to kill him for fifteen years. The rest of the wives, he has dismissed as hens, quite unfairly from what I saw in Rozalia when we met. And yet, he is clearly not seeking another captive. I knew all of that. Don't dismiss my knowledge as luck."

"I don't! I know you're clever and wise. I just also think you were born with a bit more luck than most."

Kildevi was not convinced.

"Look who's talking. A man born with that face, son of a karl and now the friend of mighty jarls."

"I never said that I wasn't. I am well aware of how lucky I am. And a part of that luck is being handed quite a formidable wife, with no effort of my own to win or earn that honour."

Somewhat appeased, Kildevi huffed and cuddled into his shoulder.

"Except for the part where I actually like and care about you. That part is earned."

This time, he was the one who sighed with a huff and continued.

"Third and last, then. When he said you'd rubbed him the wrong way… hadn't you sung over his horse last time you met more than in passing?"

Kildevi took a pause before replying. She had almost forgotten about everything that had happened during her house arrest. It had been drowned out in the onslaught of yesterday.

"I think it was on the first day locked inside that his housecarl came to call me to the hall, and I refused to come. I was a bit… maybe I was a bit angry with you and decided to let him have it."

"Dare I ask?"

"I told the housecarl I wouldn't come because I didn't feel like it. But if he had anything to say that he thought I would actually be interested in hearing, I just might be able to receive him because I'm terribly occupied and he should be used to coming second by now…"

"You were so terribly occupied in house arrest you didn't feel like coming to court when called?"

Kildevi glanced at him. He was fighting a hard battle with mirth.

That is an important thing to love, she thought to anyone unseen who might be able to listen. No matter how heavy or solemn the moment, he will find something to laugh about in the end. And even though that often is me, it's always tender, never nasty.

Now, he said, "I don't know if your hubris is magnificent, or if you are."

"I don't have hubris. I'm one of those dogs that bite when they're scared."

"Must be you, then."



It wasn't hard to find where Ingvida had settled in with her little court of followers, but this time it was in the local chieftain's actual loom house, not the inner sanctum of a dwelling. When Milosh saw her approach, he immediately stepped aside. It would seem that the first invitation had been a standing welcome.

"Milosh," she said by way of greeting. "I hope you don't mind if I leave my housecarls here with you?"

"Not at all, we'll help them pass the time. You didn't bring your… apprentice?"

"Oh, Ina is not my apprentice," Kildevi replied with a kind smile. "She is promised to my husband, and…" She leant closer, close enough to lower her voice to a whisper. "...I know of your little ruse. If you, ever, try to use it against her, I will know that too. And I will come for you."

Still with that gentle smile on her face, she straightened to look him straight in the eye.

"I hope we understand each other. I might ask her along next time, but for now, I'll send her your regards."



It felt like a long afternoon of needlework and pleasantries, but in reality, the sun hadn't moved much before Kildevi rose.

"No, I should be heading back to my own companion before my husband returns with his men. Rozalia, will you walk with me?"

Surprise did not cover the reaction from the room. Stunned silence reigned, until finally Ingvida turned to her niece with a pointed glance.

"Aren't you going to rise?"

Reluctantly and with eyes shining with mistrust, Rozalia rose and put her half-made silk braid down on the table.

"If you so wish, Kniahynia."

They left the room in silence, but Kildevi was willing to bet her bear-staff that the room would fill with an excited buzz as soon as the door closed.

They had only come a house or two down the pathway before Rozalia couldn't hold her tongue anymore.

"What do you want? It's humiliating, walking with you like this. Everybody knows. You don't have to rub it in."

"I'm not."

"You're not as pretty as you think, he wouldn't even look at you without your knowledge and secrets!"

"That is undoubtedly true."

Kildevi kept her calm. For some reason, the words, and the spite, simply ran off of her in the face of all that young hurt and frustration. She was willing to bet most of it had nothing to do with her anyway.

"Tell me, how old are you, Rozalia?"

"This is my eighteenth year. Why?"

Kildevi gave her a quick once-over. Rarely had she seen a face so pale, cheeks so rosy, mouth so like a rosebud. Her own hair was longer and paler, but Rozalia's flowed like thick waves of molten honey beneath a veil that marked her status while not really covering much. From the neck down, the young woman was hidden by layers of woollen clothing, but Kildevi guessed that the rest of her would be just as flawless.

"And you have been this beautiful for all of those eighteen years?"

"I look as I have done ever since I became a woman."

"You have been married for over three seasons, so obviously beauty alone isn't enough to keep his interest. But, I am here to tell you how to do that - if you're willing to listen."

Rozalia opened her mouth to reply, but Kildevi kept talking.

"First of all, stop trying to please. It's a way to soothe him, sure, but it's not the way to make him want you around, or care one bit about you. I have seen you, struggling to be pleasant and hold your tongue. Don't. He wants to be challenged, and right now, you bore him."

"And why should I listen to you? Why would you give me sound advice?"

"Because I want him out of my hair, you want him into yours."

Kildevi shook her head, gaze now firmly placed in Rozalia's defiant eyes.

"Believe me when I say that I am not your competition. I am going to have to spend more time in his company once we leave the East Polans. When he tires of being deferred to, and goes looking for a woman he has any sort of respect for, I would rather he had someone else than me to seek out. That's why I'm giving you the chance to get ahead of your co-wives. Right now, he thinks you're a hen. Are you?"

To Kildevi's surprise, Rozalia refused to be baited. Instead she went straight to reasoning.

"There is a reason we're all trying to keep him happy. He's rarely violent, but it happens, and he is scary when he's angry. His roaring is bad, his whispers are worse. Advice is cheap to give when you won't be the one to suffer from it."

Kildevi considered that for a short moment.

"You know what? If he actually raises a hand to you, tell him you were only following my advice. Put it all on me. But if he doesn't… just push. Let him roar, let him hiss, that defiance you have pointed at me now, give him a piece of that. Make demands. You need to let him know you are not scared of him. Even if you are."

She shook her head, sure about her assessment of him, but still only hoping she was right in her assessment of Rozalia.

"In the end, there isn't much you can refuse him, but you can - pointedly - make the absolute worst of everything he wants from you. Soon, he will understand that the only way he can have any real use of you is to show you the respect and consideration you deserve. He will only treat you as badly as you let him."

She saw Rozalia hesitate. She seemed to be wavering, the open hostility gone from her stance.

"My family would make my life very difficult if I did that."

"Really? How would they know? Do you think Ormgeir, or any man worth the name, would confess in front of other men that their wife serves his guests with the bare minimum that hospitality demands? That she only pretends to hear him if he stands right in front of her, and makes a show of losing interest in everything he is saying half-way through whatever point he is trying to make? Do you think he would want it known that she responds to his advances with an eyeroll, only to later interrupt his enjoyment with a yawn to ask him if this is going to take long? Because I think he would rather roll naked in nettles than have it widely known he's no longer man enough to keep the respect and attention of a young woman like you."

Kildevi leaned closer, and her smile grew toothy and sharp.

"Remember, he is not exactly in his prime anymore, is he? He must have some fear that his age is catching up with him. Whereas you, as I am sure you are well aware of, look like honey dripped over a wheat cake with a cherry on top. Even I want to bite you."

Kildevi regretted that last comment the moment she saw Rozalia bite that cherry lip, a new rosy blush on her cheeks, but thankfully none of them said anything more about it and she decided to pretend it had never happened.

"What's the worst you've ever said to him?"

There was a hunger in the young woman's voice that had nothing to do with love bites.

Oh my. That was a tough one.

"I've told him that if his own wives bored him with their flattery it might be his own fault, and maybe he should take better care of you."

Rozalia chortled.

"I have said that he was just another pretty face…"

That chortle was now definitely turning into a giggle.

"... and that he still wasn't as pretty as my husband, so whatever use could I have of him?"

She had said much worse things in the bathhouse, but Kildevi was not going to stand in front of an eighteen-year old who was just now starting to find her footing and tell her that she had to stop acting afraid of a man, only to in the next breath tell her that the very same man had threatened to kill a sejðwife's husband to force her into thralldom.

No. Even though she had herself never sworn any oath of silence, that episode would stay within the four walls of her own household.

"How did he take that?"

"With amusement. Haughty makes him happy. Never forget: he has no respect for people who show fear - of anything, him included. Now go use it."



"Kildevi?"

"Mm."

"There is a thing I can't let go of."

"Mm?"

"Could you really have brought death to all of his sons and daughters?"

"I dunno. Maybe?"

"It's such a specific thing to claim."

Relaxed and with her guard down for the first time in what felt like ages, Kildevi had been drifting off. Now she stretched with a yawn.

"Don't worry, I won't do it as long as you're alive."

"I'm not worried, I'm thinking about what it would be to have that kind of power."

Eskil fell silent for a moment. Kildevi started to fall back into the warm fuzz of half-sleep, only to be yanked back once again.

"What stops you from doing it now? Is it deeper knowledge you need? Or do you believe I would disagree with it, because that would fully depend on who…"

"No, it's because you wouldn't like the how," she mumbled. "Or, maybe-how. I was a bit desperate on henbane when my fylgia dropped the suggestion in my head. Maybe I could get away with less…"

"Less of what? If we're going to get better at working together, you will have to tell me more about what you need for your craft."

"I'm not sure, I remember it as the strength of nine men, but I might be able to get away with seven."

The compact silence from his side finally made her eyes flicker open.

"Don't play shocked, you've seen that kind of sacrifices."

"On thralls! In preparation to sacrifice them!"

"Maybe you haven't seen it, then. I have, anyway. It's either wild and frenzied or solemn and heavy. Sometimes it's both. No one ever looks like they have fun. Fun is not the point."

"And you would really…?"

His voice was thick with shock and disbelief. Jaded by now, she lifted her head to squint at him.

"Don't worry, I won't do it as long as you're alive," she repeated.

"What can you do with the strength of, like, one?"

Still squinting, she frowned.

"A baby?"

Determined to go all the way to sleep this time, she let her head fall down on the pillow again.

---

Endnote:
Please don't mix opiates and alcohol. In general, Kildevi is a terrible person for modern people to take advice from. She does many things that have "Death" on at least one row in a randomised D100 table.

Also on the list to avoid: overdosing on henbane, mixing alcohol and psychoactive drugs while pregnant, and using coitus interruptus as your only birth control. Also don't ever try to fix an abusive relationship by balancing any kind of scales. That is potentially lethal advice, which is why I mention it.

If you can't remember when Kildevi's fylgia tipped her off to what she could do with a retinue of seven (or, better yet, nine) servant warriors, you'll find that in Part 14: The other Pecheneg.


Now, a few comments on Ibn Fadlan.
At the very end of this chapter, Eskil is alluding to rites as described by Ahmad Ibn Fadlan, an abbasid diplomat who witnessed a chieftain's funeral among the Volga Rus in 922. A lot can be said about his description of the Rus, and the funeral specifically has been used (and overused) in popular fiction because it's brutal and shocking and unique as a first hand account.

BUT, it is also the only clear source of Vikings as heavily tattooed, a claim that is highly questionable from the archeological material that has left us with no traces whatsoever to support it. We should be careful with using it as a truthful description, even on top of the fact that the Volga Rus by that date weren't straight out of Roden/Roslagen. They'd had a generation or two to merge with local cultures and grow their own rites and customs. When the movie The Northman suddenly had transferred the whole debacle to Iceland, some of us wanted to bash our heads into a wall and call it a night because context matters.

I've hand picked things from Ibn Fadlan too (as seen above). I've also had it as one of my inspirations for the connection between sex, drugs and magic. But it is what it is.

 

[Alvlin]

"Hrolf! Look!"

The young sentry looked up to see what his friend was pointing at. It was hard to see anything in the darkness of winter evenings, but the snow shone white under the pale halfmoon, enough to see the silhouettes of trees, a deeper black at the edge of the forest.

"I don't see anything but trees," he replied, still squinting along the path that ran through the treacherous marshlands and further into the woods.

"No, I'm sure! There is something, it's moving!"

Hrolf looked again. Yes, Harald was right. Something moved through the shadows. Mouth dry, he gripped his spear tighter and held up the torch behind his friend's back, careful not to put it straight in their line of sight.

A figure stepped into the long arc of light in front of them. Wrapped in a cloak and with a hood over the downcast face, it was hard to see what they were dealing with. When it finally halted and looked up at them, the hood fell back and he realised it was a woman.

Her hair was laid bare in a wild mess around the ashen face, traces of thin braids the only sign it once had been tamed. The creature - because his mind had not yet accepted it as a woman - looked dead, a corpse as bruised as it was beautiful.

Cautious, Hrolf watched as Harald threw his shield up onto his back and hurried closer. As usual, his friend showed no sign of either caution or suspicion.

"What happened to you? Have you been lost? Do you belong inside, or have you come seeking help?"

Her back straightened. From a handful of paces away, Hrolf saw her gaze fix itself on Harald, who sank to the ground before it. It was as if the weight of that gaze alone had forced him down on his knee.

"What is your name?"

The voice was thin, it cut through the stillness like a shard of ice.

"Harald, from Frosta."

"Tell me, Harald Froste, are you mine?"

"Yes, Vǫlva."

"Then your first task is to bring me my staff."

Now, the gaze fell on Hrolf, who stood frozen with the torch in one hand, spear in the other.

"You will bring me straight to Helgi."

I don't know why I imagined her differently, Hrolf thought, as he stared into the ancient eyes of the Lady of the Slain. We think so much about our swords and glory, and yet we are surprised to find that what we meet is Death.


Two weeks earlier

"You know, you have promised me things…"

In the warmth behind the bed drapes, Kildevi rolled over onto her side with a coy smile and gave his lower lip a playful bite. Their linens lay in a crumpled heap somewhere in the mess of skins and blankets.

"I…" she replied with a coquettish tilt of her shoulder, "...have promised you many things, old man, but I didn't think you had anything left in you tonight."

"And I…" Eskil mirrored her, "...didn't mean those kinds of things, but if that was a challenge…"

Kildevi's smile turned into a giggle as he rolled onto her again and paused with his weight on his elbows to look down at her face, still flushed and sweaty from before. Her foot slowly stroked up the back of his leg, but when he leant in to kiss her she turned away, suddenly distracted.

"You know, I think you will have to tell me, or it will tug on my mind at the wrong moments."

"I meant cursing Ulfrik with bad luck."

"Oh! I'll take care of that tomorrow."

"And now…?"

As her leg wrapped around his hip, her lips parted to whisper, "now, I'll take care of you."


Two days later, they left the Polans to follow the Dnipro north. Eskil had been proven right, and Kildevi had been called to ride more or less at the Kniaz's side.

No one had to tell her in what capacity she had been called to ride with the prince, and she'd had a full morning of laughs and silliness while she and Ina had gone through their collective luggage to make her look as vǫlvic as possible.

It had also been eye opening in other ways.

"You don't think men should be Volkhv? Why?!"

Kildevi had found herself arguing for a side she was used to arguing against.

"Because men work in the open. They don't hide behind veils, and they shouldn't let other creatures enter them. Man is whole, enough in himself. I don't agree that men shouldn't, but when they do, they are no longer fully men. I don't think it is shameful to not be fully a man, but Eskil does. It is one of those things we simply can't find a way to agree on."

"Veles is our god of magic and secrets. He's a man. He is no less of a man than any of the other gods. Also, I've seen both the Kniaz and Ormgeir act as priests, are you saying they are not men?"

After a lot of squabbling and confusion, Kildevi learned that Slavic priests could also be foretellers and spellworkers, and their magicians were nearly always priests. Ina on the other hand learned that the two were mutually exclusive in her new homeland.

Both had found the other's point of view strange but interesting, and in the end accepted that the other had the right to keep on being wrong.


When Kildevi spotted Ormgeir's silhouette on Steinfari's back on that very first day, she found herself short of breath. It was a weird mixture of memories that shaped that anxiety, a mess of different emotions too tangled in each other to be easily separated. The many flavours of fear alone were too complicated to be fully put into words. With rage, attraction and guilt thrown on top of it all, she was left with a slow thought and a racing heart.

He wore the same byrne and cloak as he had in the bathhouse, and something of the cold defiance of that evening seeped into her voice and stance when she greeted him.

"Seeress," he returned the greeting with a polite nod. "If I'm not mistaken, you have a daughter back in Westmanland?"

Kildevi was hit by a pang of longing. What would her daughter look like now? Was she sleeping through the night like her father, or waking once or twice like herself? Was she running? Talking? Would she be loud and bold, or silent and careful?

That path led to madness. Kildevi shoved the thoughts as far into the back of her mind as possible.

"Yes. Her name is Alfhild Eskilsdottir. Remember that name, you might hear it again."

If Ormgeir picked up on her guarded stance or defensive tone, he didn't show it. Instead his voice sounded as if he was making smalltalk, calm and casual.

"I don't doubt it. Her name - and her future husband's. Since your husband hasn't made your father's mistake."

For a moment, Kildevi wondered if that was meant as some sort of compliment to Eskil, but decided it wasn't important. Not in light of this being his first acknowledgement of her motherhood. However faintly, Kildevi started to relax her guard.

"The reason I ask is because I owe you a tribute for Steinfari."

Ormgeir reached down into his saddle bag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in a piece of wool. She noted how effortlessly he moved in the saddle without even holding the reins, but when he handed it over to her, she couldn't match his feat.

"I'm afraid you'll either have to unwrap it for me, or wait until our next stop. You may be comfortably riding an old friend, but…"

This would be exposing a weakness, maybe she shouldn't... No. They had sealed a deal of friendship. Not in a very friendlike way, but they had nonetheless named it a friendship. That meant she should be allowed to speak more freely, and thus she defiantly did so.

"I am simply not a very good rider," she confessed. "I wasn't properly taught until I came to Eskil's family and one of his brothers took pity on me."

She saw him open his mouth to reply, then carefully close it again. She had worried about the danger that could come from losing his respect if she confessed to a fault, instead he was battling a vulgar pun? A good portion of the fear born from feeling his physical threat in the bathhouse shifted into pure annoyance.

"Horses, Ormgeir. We're strictly talking about horses."

The small amused smile was back.

"It is hard to break a habit. I want it noted that I did not say a word."

"It is noted. What's in the bundle?"

"A horse suited for someone of an age where no double meanings exist yet. It rolls on metal wheels and has a doll fit to ride it."

When she stayed silent, he added, "it's Greek, I would be surprised if there was another one like it in any of the Svear kingdoms. It should be a gift worthy of the favour."

When finally she spoke again, her voice was but a hoarse whisper.

"It's not that."

Kildevi shook her head, trying to find a way to speak. A serpent of sorrow tried to tear itself out through her chest, violent, bitter; and in their struggle it hissed a venomous truth about what she'd been denied.

"It's that… no one has ever given me a doll before."


He is not my father.

No.

But he's no less violent and ruthless.

No.

Yet he is a greater man than my father ever was.

Yes.

That shadow shouldn't tempt me.

And how often do you want what you should?

Inside her own mind, Kildevi fell silent. The presence remained, apart, yet always a part of her whole.

Why are you suddenly so present and engaged?

These are tumultuous times. You can still choose between all three of them and they will bring you down very different paths. I am here to guide you through life. I want that decision made with open eyes.

I made that choice behind the smithy three years ago, I would even say I made it in the fish house when I accepted Thorlev's offer of a new family.

To see it that way is a choice in itself. Is that what you choose?


With that conversation tumbling around in her head, she would have to get used to spending her days in the company of Ingvar, Ormgeir and Sigvard. Closely behind them rode Isidor and Helgi, and the rest of the Kniaz's most high ranking men. A few times, other company would be summoned, and two of the consorts made brief visits to their husband's side, but most of the day she was the only woman there.

Ormgeir had taken upon himself to act as her host, and Isidor made a point of not letting Ormgeir monopolise her time completely, but Helgi was his usual self, speaking only when he had something pressing to say. Sigvard was dour, he seemed only to become talkative after more ale than a day on horseback would allow. Kniaz Ingvar didn't take much notice of her, apart from respectfully greeting her.

"I can see that you're already bored with us," Ormgeir noted at the end of the first day. "I guess a young woman can only take so many musings between men. Would you like to bring a companion with you?"

She honestly would, but she also remembered how Eskil had promised Bjarni to keep Ina as far away from the Kniaz's advisors as possible.

"I have spent most of this last year as the only woman among a crew of men," Kildevi retorted. "And I wouldn't find it fair of you to take both of my husband's women away from him all day. No, you will find that I am easy to bore and have grown quite skilled at entertaining myself."

"So what do you do to entertain yourself?"

Kildevi shrugged.

"I think about things."

Ormgeir smiled with one of those raised eyebrows he sported when she amused him.

"What kind of things would that be?"

"My own things, mainly. Next time I look distant, ask what I am pondering. If for some reason I can't tell you, I'll be honest enough to say exactly that."



That evening, she was sitting with Eskil outside their tent in the huge camp that housed the court and the army. Their own equipment had been fitted for a trade convoy, and when they built camp, Kildevi was surprised to find that several items had been added to show off their status.

Isidor had gifted them a travellers' bed, and lent them a bigger tent. It wasn't a full pavilion, but it had room for the bed and a chest-bench, and she could stand fully upright inside a good third of it.

Their old tent was now occupied by Ina, sharing with Lida for warmth. The new tent was large enough to fit a proper brazier instead of just a bowl of embers, and Kildevi had tried to invite her to share their new abode with them. Ina had dryly refused the offer.

"I've heard you. Either I'd be in your way, or I wouldn't, and I don't even know which one of those would be most uncomfortable."

"It's not that I haven't seen people lie together before," she'd added after a pause, "but they weren't my future husband and my best friend, and there was much less giggling going on. I think I'll wait, thank you very much."

Other things were new too, and Kildevi could more or less see the patterns of patronage in who had given or lent them each item. Now, she rose to pour some ale from the clay carafe gifted by Chedomir, then turned to face her husband.

He sat bent over his task, thin strands of coppery blonde falling free from the single braid down his back. His hair reached almost past his shoulder blades again, and she wondered if he planned to grow it back to its full length, or if he simply hadn't come around to cutting it.

She also noticed that he had grown thinner. Not exactly drawn, but his skin now covered little but bone and muscle, the healthy layer he'd had between almost gone. Kildevi promised herself to make sure he ate enough.

How rarely she truly looked at him nowadays. That face had grown so familiar she barely saw it anymore, except that she recognised him by it. She wondered if that was what she had become too, her shape more a representation of what she was to him than a thing in itself?

Either way, if she was going to be away all day, every day, for this leg of the journey, she needed to push him along.

"Don't you think it's time you gave Ina some of that courtship you denied me?"

Eskil looked up from the shoes he had been oiling, genuinely surprised.

"You want me to court her? It doesn't seem appropriate to give her something I didn't give you. Are you sure you wouldn't feel set aside if I did that?"

Kildevi sat down on the bench beside him and put her hand on his arm.

"That's very sweet of you. Now that you have told me why you haven't, I'm even more fine with it. Learn from your mistakes, don't make them twice for my sake."

She shrugged.

"Besides, I wouldn't mind some courtship too. You haven't composed a single line for me since the bees and the canaries."

Eskil wicked the excess oil from the upper leather and chuckled.

"And the reward given for those lines was rich and swift. I don't think anyone has ever written maiden songs for their own wives. It's not what they're for. That's why they're illegal."

"Maybe," Kildevi replied, tongue in cheek, "I should play less eager, so you have to make an effort to earn rewards again. And I'm quite sure no þing would deem a man guilty of seduction of his own wife."

He seemed to ponder that for a moment.

"Then I have a confession to make."

Eskil lent closer, surreptitiously looking around to make sure no one could hear them.

"I'm not very good at it. I can improvise stanzas in an insult or brag battle, and I can throw together words in the greek fashion, but maiden songs? It would just end up with both styles mixed into alliterated allegories and too many internal rhyme schemes on flowers and powers and towers. Nobody wants that."

He paused, then added, "besides, maiden songs are all about praising a woman to win her over from a rival, sometimes admittedly to brag about what you've already done behind his back. But as far as I know I haven't lost you to anyone, and whenever I tell you how fair I find you, you don't believe me and accuse me of just trying to make you feel better."

"You make me a maiden song - I promise you not to protest anything you say in it."

Putting the shoes down on the bench, Eskil turned and squinted at her in the last rays of late winter sun.

"Anything? It seems I have a rare opportunity to brag, then. Have you noticed how many good things that alliterate on F? Fighting. Feasting. Fu… rescoes."

"Don't you dare…"

"Don't worry, I won't compose anything I can't recite in front of Mother."

Somehow, Kildevi was not completely relieved by that statement.



The next day, Ormgeir showed that he had taken her words to heart.

"What are you thinking about, seeress?"

"I wondered what this scene would look like if made into a picture stone."

…

"What are you thinking about now?"

"If men truly are made less by letting other beings enter them, or if they live their lives only half of what they could be."

"Your heart is an interesting place."

"Have you ever asked Rozalia what she's thinking about when she falls silent?"

"I've never thought about it."

"Maybe you should. She might surprise you."


Another night, another camp. Another day listening to men who, to her disappointment, never seemed to forget her presence. Their conversation was kept carefully groomed and guarded, in spite of the long road.


"What are you thinking about, Seeress?"

"Now? I'm thinking about how many words I can find that rhyme or half-rhyme with fresco."

"Not many. Are you trying to compose?"

"No, but I'm pondering the risk that someone is."

Kildevi rode on for a moment or two, then she asked, "did you ever follow my advice?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"And how did it go?"

"She refused to tell. That did surprise me."

…

"What are you thinking about this time?"

"Why everyone in Isidor's family have names so different from everyone else, except for Ingvida."

This was the first time Ormgeir's questions made one of the others join their conversation.

"That is because my father wanted all his children to have Roman names," Isidor replied from behind them, "and we in turn honoured him by naming our children in the same manner."

"Oh. But what about Ingvida?"

Now, Kniaz Ingvar turned.

"I changed it to mine."

Kildevi couldn't help but wonder if a man would do such a thing out of jealous love - or out of spite. Not that she had found the two all that different.


When she returned with Vidar and Thogard that evening, she snuck up on Eskil and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He instinctively turned to throw her off, but to her own surprise as well as his, she reacted instantly and clung on, losing her footing but not her hold. Before they left home, she would have flown like a mitten.

"I am so happy I'm yours," she concluded, still laughing as he helped her back onto her feet.

"Glad to hear it, but how so?"

"You haven't tried to change my name even once."

Eskil threw her a glance, looking equal parts amused and puzzled.

"That's a strange reason, but I take what I can get. A poem from you to me would be interesting."

"Speaking of, how is my poem faring?"

"It's… troublesome. I've had to put some thought into what to write about."

Kildevi knit her brow and gave him a long look.

"How can finding what to say be troublesome? You have five seasons of marriage to draw from!"

"...and for none of those seasons have you belonged to anyone else for me to take the piss out of, which only leaves the kind of poem that would damage your name by my bragging about acts I don't want other men to imagine you in. So I'm doing the most selfless of things. I'm making a dràpa that will never be recited in front of anyone but you."

"A secret poem?"

"...and Audvard, of course. I have promised to protect your name as my own, but his respect for you is unshakeable."

"Audvard?!"

"He's helping me. Trust me, you should thank him. He won't let me get away with a sloppy meter, and he is stern about the flowers."



When they gathered to eat, Kildevi noticed with some amusement how Eskil's slow approach towards Ina had advanced to a point where he touched her with a familiarity that didn't look forced or premeditated.

He was very good at making carefully weighted escalations seem natural or casual, but their marriage was well past the point where she saw through it, even when turned against herself. Now, he stood with his hand resting on Ina's waist as he kept her company by the pot hanging over the fire.

"I don't know why that looks so wrong," she suddenly heard Thore say from behind as he came climbing over the bench to take up a seat next to her. "No matter what you say, whenever I see him making eyes at her and being handsy, I get the urge to slap him for doing it in front of you."

"I don't know either," Kildevi replied, amused by his indignation. "But even though uncalled for, I appreciate the loyalty. I'm mainly curious to see how far he manages to hunt his prey without going for the kill. I expect he is right now in a full scale battle with the impulse to lean closer to compliment something small and specific about her that aims to make her feel special and seen."

"That doesn't sound so bad?"

"No, but then, when she shows enough signs to have warmed to him, comes the more intimate gestures, stroking hair from the face, subtle caresses in innocent places and the such, and then the whispers become bolder and once he realises he can make her pulse go up at will, he will have a very hard time reining himself in enough to remember why he didn't plan to bed her in the first place."

She shrugged with evident schadenfreude.

"I'm simply observing how close to that line he dares to venture."

Thore looked sceptical.

"Give him some credit, will you. He's way past that stage in life where a man is a slave to his cock."

"Oh, it's not the cock that craves a tribute, it's the vanity. Trust me, it goes straight to his head. Desirous eyes make a flattering mirror."

"But, what about Ina? Shouldn't you at least warn her?"

But Kildevi was unmoved.

"I don't see much harm in it. And you know Ina, she's sensible, not exactly a swooning maiden."

Kildevi frowned and continued her thinking out loud.

"On the other hand, she is utterly unused to being touched - at all - by men other than her father. And she knows she'll lie down with him at some point and has probably already wondered what that would be like. But I guess that if she should fall for it, they are already engaged and no great harm done."

She paused, then quickly decided to test the waters and see how much he was willing to tell her.

"It might hurry the wedding, though, but that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. From what I've heard, she will not be coming back with us when the ice breaks, instead Bjarni plans to send her with her uncle when he's bringing a shipment of wine up to Holmgard, and we will leave someone trusted behind to bring her the rest of the way home. That would mean a harvest wedding in Westmanland, but to me, it seems much more sensible to secure her standing before we travel. It would offer her more security if something should happen to us on the way."

Now Thore looked a bit uneasy.

"That is how I would have done it, but they both argued against having the wedding here. I think Eskil's argument was that a full week-long wedding would grant her a better start in her new home, and Bjarni agreed so wholeheartedly I suspect he had his own motives."

Kildevi snorted. The pieces finally fell into place.

"I bet he wants her back if this goes wrong. If they marry and Eskil dies on the way back, she has the right to her dowry, morning gift and close to full independence, including who - or if - she chooses to remarry, and Bjarni is left with nothing but the bride price. Which is precisely why I would rather see them married as soon as possible. And nothing forces a quick marriage like being caught red handed."

"It's too late for a swelling belly to show before we leave…"

Thore sounded hesitant and Kildevi shrugged.

"Nonetheless, if everyone knew they got down to it, it would make her less marriageable if this falls through. Would he rather have his daughter a dishonoured maiden or a respectable widow? If the option of a respectable maiden wasn't there anymore?"

Thore looked like he had a headache quickly in the coming.

"This whole thing makes me appreciate how we did marriage where I come from. Save up. Find a girl. See if she likes you better than the other two guys hustling for her attention. Then ask yourself three questions: Can she work? Is she dependable? Will she keep her bed empty if you go away for the summer? If yes, check if her father hates you, if not, see you in the glade. And then you sacrifice a little something to thank Frǫy and Frǫya she chose a hard life with you over concubining some guy who could afford to keep her warmer."

"Was that how you found your wife?"

Relaxed again, he chuckled.

"Almost. No. Honestly, my father tipped me off that one of the other farmsteads would soon get a daughter back who would need a husband to keep their tenant land, and told me to grab the chance. She was resourceful and reliable, and looked good enough to me, so the risk that she might be barren felt worth taking. But still. It was simple, and quick. And once you were settled, you were done and could live your life knowing you had no choice but to lean on each other and wouldn't have to worry about finding someone else unless she died, or you screwed her up so bad she could leave you with her reputation intact."

"Is that what you want again?"

"More or less, but not as a tenant farmer in Attundaland. Hopefully things can be as simple in a trade town. I've seen people lead simple lives from Roskilde to Konugard, so it doesn't seem impossible."

Thore fell silent and looked over to the fire again. Ina's hair was bound back with a scarf while she worked, but beneath it, the thick braids fell free down to her waist. Tearing his eyes from Eskil's hand, he shook his head.

"I don't understand you. In your position, I wouldn't stand to even look at them."

Kildevi took her time to think before she spoke again. This wasn't posturing. She truly was unbothered by the idea of them together. Yet, she and Eskil were better now than she could ever remember, with the possible exception of their second honeymoon down the Dnipro. Her two bouts with jealousy had both been set off by rejection.

She glanced to where her husband had just let go of her friend to let her pick something up from the ground. They were talking, and Ina laughed at something he'd said. It looked like an honest laugh, not a polite gesture to ease the mood.

"I guess that means my cup is full enough to share. If it was left empty, I probably wouldn't feel so generous."



Three days in the saddle, three nights in a camp. On the fourth day, the court passed along a narrow path through a frozen bogland, the ground frost a safeguard against the treacherous soil. On the far side of the marshes, a Dregovian chieftain was waiting for them.

Kildevi felt his eyes on her as they approached, and she kept her back straight and her face set as stone. The force behind the chieftain did not match their own for numbers, but they were decidedly more numerous than the small personal retinues that had accompanied the Polan chieftains who had welcomed them. There was a tension here, one she didn't remember from their meeting the Polans.

Once they were near enough to greet, the chieftain very notably did not look at her anymore.

Kildevi tried to spot how the Dregoviches differed from the east Polans, but had to give up. To her, the weapons, the hats, the tunics decorated with colourful ribbons, all looked the same. She promised herself to ask Ina once they had settled in.

An exchange followed, but Kildevi couldn't decipher any of it. It was a sign in itself, she thought, that they spoke Slavic, not Norse, and maybe also that the prince accepted it. At one point, she heard the word Volkhva mentioned twice, and Ingvar turned his head to look at her before he replied, but apart from that, she had no idea what was going on.

"Chief Rastislav offered you the best dwelling outside the gord."

It was Isidor's voice. Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn't realised how close he was.

"It will suit Eskil well, we will put the camps on that side, and many of us outside the Kniaz's personal retinue will be lodged around you in the village below the palisades. But it means he doesn't want you in the sanctum of his house and temple. It means, he is afraid of you."

Kildevi never really knew what to make of Isidor. The man seemed to have no temper. His voice was calm and soft, he never spoke carelessly, and if he had a vice, it was that he had none. A man did not rise to his position without a certain prowess in war, but he didn't flaunt any of those skills. She had never even heard him boast, although she had heard other men do it for him. He was also a weirdly beautiful man to whom she felt absolutely no attraction, and though she liked him, she had never really managed to get to know him.

Eskil clearly held him in high regard, as a man of honour, wisdom and strength. To her, he was elusive like water.

"Thank you," she said as she watched the Kniaz receive the symbolic drink of hospitality. "And where do you think you'll find your household?"

"Close enough to visit."

At that point, the greeting was over and their column started to move again, following chieftain Rastislav on the final stretch to the fortress and the village.


The gord was the first she had seen on flat land. It came as no surprise that the fortification was much smaller than Kyiv, but it was a surprise to find how empty it was of both people and riches.

She wasn't the only one with forebodings. Ormgeir's eyes narrowed as they rode through the outside dwellings, almost empty of both pigs and poultry, with no artisans filling the workshops and tenancy plots. As the Kniaz and his retinue reached the yard outside the hall, he exchanged a few words with Ingvar who then turned to his major domus.

"Gather my council. I want every man in charge of more than a long hundred."

As the runners departed to spread the word, Kildevi turned to leave. She had barely begun to turn her horse when Sigvard's gloved hand caught her reins.

"You too, Seeress," Ingvar said without turning. "We will start before the others arrive."


Around the table stood Ormgeir, Sigvard, Isidor and Lyuboslav, only she and Ingvar were seated.

Helgi stood to the side, leaning against a beam that supported the roof halfway to the ridge. He looked distracted, almost disinterested, and she noticed how his hand fiddled with something in his belt bag.

"So, the gord is emptied," Ormgeir said as soon as the guarding scions closed the door around them. "Rastislav is not the richest or most influential of the chieftains, but he can field more than the five score men he brought. Unless they have suffered some ill we don't know of, everything except for the most basic of tributes and provisions has been moved elsewhere, together with all women and children not in servitude. The question is where?"

"Turov?"

"Turov is a long way," Lyuboslav replied to Ingvar's suggestion. "Too far to move both treasure and provisions without some word reaching us from the outposts. Unless the Voivode of Chernigov has thrown his weight behind them, but that doesn't seem likely."

"What about the peat-gord?" Helgi said.

"No," Ormgeir replied. "It's too small. The only reason it has a gord at all is because the nomads sometimes raid it for iron. We wouldn't even care enough to go there if they didn't pay their tribute in chain links."

"This sounds like a war council," Sigvard grunted. "I say we stay here and fortify until we've called in the Polans and the Drevlians."

"That will take 'til spring," Isidor said. "And the Polans are in the middle of an internal power struggle, on top of their usual friction with the Drevlians. None of the sides will want to spare their men."

Ormgeir looked at her, and so did Ingvar. She was supposed to say something, but had nothing.

"I will seek guidance," she said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt, "and will return with my council tomorrow."


One by one, more men gathered in the room, first the captain of the men drafted from the Kyivan slavs, then Eskil and Thore, soon followed by Pridbor and two more of the seconds.

Finally, there entered a man Kildevi hadn't seen before. He was tall, stocky, his hair a middle brown drawn into a braid at the back. There was something familiar about him. It wasn't until he walked up to stand next to Ormgeir that she realised where she had seen that nose and that straight brow before. His age was hard to pin down, but Kildevi thought he was somewhere in his twenties, probably no more than Eskil who was turning seven and twenty sometime late summer.

"Valdemar," Sigvard said in greeting. "Good to see you caught up with us."

"I still have my warband hidden in the woods outside," Valdemar replied. "We've been here for two days, waiting for you."

Ormgeir half turned to him. When he spoke, his voice was as if he addressed any other man in the room.

"Do you bear any news for us?"

"Yes, Father. We've seen small movements of men going west ever since midwinter. No great forces one by one, but a slow trickle quickly fills up a mug - or a gord. I have heard rumours that a messenger was sent from Rastislav to the nearest Severians at midwinter, but they sent him back without his head."

"And these rumours came from that girl in Chernigov?"

Though still respectful, there was just a hint of gritted teeth in Valdemar's voice when he replied.

"Not only. For your sake, Father, I had it confirmed."

Ingvar had been silent, listening with narrowed eyes as his advisors talked.

"Valdemar, you will scout the gords from here to the northwest, we need to know where they have gone. In the meantime, we use this settlement as our base. We can always take some of our men and tax whatever we can reach from here, beginning with the peat-gord. I need two volunteers, one for the gord, one to go through the nearest farmsteads for more provisions."

"I can take the gord," Eskil said, and Kildevi had to bite her cheek to not throw him a glare of disbelief and dismay. What was he thinking? But Ingvar simply nodded.

"We can send some scions out to dig up provisions," Sigvard said. "A few of the younger ones are getting restless. They could use something to do."


As they left the hall, Kildevi quickly joined Eskil and Thore on their way back, finally voicing her question.

"What in Thor's name are you thinking?" she hissed before even greeting them properly. "You know you have a ship's crew of Roden rowers waiting for a chance to pick you off, and you volunteer? To go out alone, into a fortified peat bog?"

Eskil looked at her with a sideways smile.

"Yes, completely alone with five and twenty of my own men and a unit of two short hundred. To tax a settlement of peat farmers behind a palisade. What in Thor's name was I thinking?"

"And Ulfrik?"

Eskil shrugged, uncharacteristically nonchalant about the whole situation.

"Let him come. If he has even gone this way, which we have no reason to believe, I actually prefer him going after me out of sight of the court. If I'm really lucky, he's here and this will draw him out. If not, at least I have made myself useful and given my men a chance to add to their share. Something about seeing you and the prince sit down with all the big players on their feet around you made me feel I have something to aspire to."

"You have nothing to prove to me."

"And yet, you were the one who once called me a coward for playing too safe. How quickly the tables turn, ástin mín."



The house was just as fine as promised, almost the size of the homestead back home, but Kildevi felt strangely awkward in it. It clearly belonged to an important man among those outside the gord. There was even room enough to invite more men than the housecarls to stay there, and still bring the horses inside.

But it was hard for her to discern her place here, not really a matron and not really a husbandman, but something between the two. It would seem she was fated to always return to that place of not belonging: well respected - but useless.

Annoyed by her own melancholia, she tried to talk herself straight.

But you have a role to fill.

Yet my sight is blind, the spirits silent.

You know how to call for divinations. So why don't you?

Yes, why didn't she? It simply felt like she shouldn't.

Thinking she was just being silly, she resolved to do the rites as soon as the men had left tomorrow.


She was busy pondering all of that when Eskil sat down on the bench opposite her, leaning across the table.

"Who do you want to stay with you tomorrow?"

Kindevi looked up, surprised by the question.

"Why do you ask? You don't usually ask."

Eskil paused, face furrowed in a frown.

"I… I'm not sure. Maybe it feels more important since we're in more hostile territory? The risk that I get into actual combat is higher, and those men who are here out of loyalty to you will be more inclined to fight if they know they're going into the fray by your will. Eystein and Vidar joined to protect you, not to follow me."

"And Jonar," she helpfully reminded him. "He really doesn't give a rat's arse about you."

Eskil snorted.

"Jonar will go where the fighting is. No way I would leave him to guard you."

Now, Kildevi was the one to snort.

"He wouldn't touch a hair on my head, if nothing else because he knows how many of his mates would shun him for it. But I still don't want him sulking and cussing in a corner when he misses out on the skull cracking."

"Yes. Jonar is better off where his talent for brute force and menace can be put to use."

Eskil paused, as if another thought had hit him.

"I'm also not sure why Vibjorn chose to come along, but I don't think it's me. He's here either because Thore needed help, or because you are his kin, however distant. He's a better bowman than a spearman, and is wasted at close quarters, but I could still leave him behind if you want to? Whenever I hear you two talk in that singing tongue of yours, it feels like you have at least a remnant of a blood family. I suppose I should be jealous of that tie, but…"

…but he rarely felt threatened by men he deemed less than himself. She knew that well enough. That was why his outburst of jealousy back in Kyiv had been aimed at Hrafn who was bigger, Helgi who was of higher rank, and Ormgeir who was both. That was why her entire infatuation had slipped beneath his guard, it was too far from what his view of the world would allow.

Her heart sped up at the thought of having a full day at Vibjorn's side. They could talk about anything, and some familiarity could surely pass the vigilance of Ina and whatever other man they had with them. The thought of touch, however casual, sent a warm wave all the way down through her stomach.

And that was the heart of the matter, wasn't it? Eskil was not the only one tempted to toe lines where actions would have very real consequences.

Suddenly certain in her decision, she smiled.

"No, I think you're right. His talents are better used with you. Leave me with Eystein, and maybe Thogard, if you want one of your own here. That would give me two strongmen hovering behind me, and Thogard wouldn't be at my beck and call, he would protect your interests."

But Eskil looked hesitant.

"I want Thogard with me…"

He frowned, then seemed to reach a decision.

"I don't need someone here to protect my interests. I trust your interests to align with mine, as we agreed on."

Kildevi had committed to the idea of building trust through cooperation and had no plans to do anything behind his back, but she still made note of what a double edged comment that was. The decision was based on trust, yet he couldn't help but to point out how this was him making a gesture of good faith.

"They do. But I still want someone I know… I understand that you need Thore, and Thorven can't be trusted to shut up in the company I will have to keep. Audvard? Eymund?"

He shook his head in reply.

"If something song-worthy happens, Audvard is the closest we have to a skald, and Eymund is young and hungry for glory. I think he'd loathe being left behind."

"...and hungry to make a name for himself. Don't you think he'd love to be in the presence of the most powerful men in Kyiv?"

Eskil seemed to ponder that for a moment, then he chuckled.

"You're right. He would walk around, wishing you were attacked so he could defend you with every fibre of his being. Eystein and Eymund it is."


When they went to bed, rest did not come easy to either of them. It was as if a wakefulness had crawled into the sleepskins, and though her body was still, her mind was rootless, restless, raw and out of rhythm.

Through the darkness of their enclosed bed, she felt him stir. Before he drew breath, she knew he would speak.

"I haven't heard you sing since Khortytsia."

The voice was a soft whisper behind her, void of tonality. When she replied, her voice mirrored his, as if afraid of touching melody.

"You know that I don't sing."

A hand now touched her shoulder, his breath close enough for every sound to brush the skin behind her ear.

"Yes, you do."

Her reply was slow in coming. The night did not call for haste.

"Not without a purpose."

"Why not?"

Yes. Why not? She never had. It was a tool, and as a tool she had used it.

"I don't know how to sing, just to call."

She felt him move to rest against her back, their closeness a shield against the night around them.

"But your voice is beautiful. Haunting. Fierce and fragile. If you call for sleep, both man and child alike could rest in it."

Now, she turned, gazing where she knew his face would be.

"Are you asking me for a lullaby, ástin mín?"

"Yes."

Kildevi could hear the small smile in his voice, as if no grown man had ever before longed to be sung to sleep.

Any other night, she would have refused. This night, she didn't.

"Do you want a song to call children to sleep, or a song to soothe the thought from worry? I have not simply sung since amma died. I can't promise that nothing will listen."

"You choose. I trust you."



Before sunrise, she followed Eskil, Thore, all of the housecarls, and the five others that had lodged with them, to the outskirts of the camps, to send them on their way with a call for luck on their mission.

When they got there, Kolvind and Bjorn were packing up, but Thorven was nowhere to be seen. He had declined Eskil's offer to be lodged with their household, and now Kildevi was confused.

"Isn't he sharing with you two?"

The young men glanced at each other.

"Uhm… no?" Bjorn suggested.

"So… where is he?"

Kolvind now glanced at Eskil, and upon seeing that he simply looked amused, decided to spill the beans.

"Do you remember that stubborn cold he had the first week after midwinter? He helped out doing some repairs that had really bothered the domestics, and the laundry matron invited him to stay inside with them for a while until the cough went away. And… he stayed. He's been the only man sleeping there for two weeks now."

"Wait. Hold on. Are you saying Thorven is staying with the Kniaz's laundry-women?!"

Bjorn made a small, uneasy shrug.

"That happens a lot."

"Is he a sorcerer that has simply passed my detection?!"

"He has always been a bit luckier than the rest of us. Things tend to just work out for him, you know."

"But he did sleep at the barracks in St Mamas?"

"Most of the time. He ran into a small cult of mystics, who…"

Kildevi raised her hand, looking pained.

"Stop. That's enough, I get the gist."

Shortly thereafter, Thorven came strolling down from the gord. His clothes and gear were visibly cleaner than anyone would expect the day after a week-long journey.

"Tell me, Thorven… you've never told me who your father is. Only that your mother's husband took you as his own when they married."

Thorven looked up. He looked surprised, but not wary.

"That's because I don't know. Mamma's householder lent her to a wanderer after losing a game of dice. She remembers him fondly, even left her a little something for a gift when he didn't have to. Apart from me, that is."

He paused, as if suddenly struck by something.

"You could actually be my sister, we don't know!"

"I doubt she would have remembered him fondly."


After the rites, Kildevi kissed her husband goodbye and bade the men farewell. She stayed to watch them disappear into the twilight of morning, the sun not yet visible above the horizon. Finally, she looked from Eymund to Eystein with a small smile, and nudged her horse to a slow walk back through the camps.

None of them took notice of the fact that a few men were seen moving between the tents. Kildevi knew that some of Eskil's men had kin among the scions, and new bonds of friendship had been forged on the way. Thus she barely had time to grasp that something was wrong before Eystein had his axe drawn and she stared into the eyes of a man she didn't recognise.

Without thinking, she pushed her foot in his face with all the force she could muster.

Kildevi didn't have stirrups, only leather straps for footrests. Generally, she didn't use them unless the ride was long enough to tire her out, and this time she had only used the ball of her foot to gain leverage for the kick. That was probably why her ankle didn't get stuck when the man grabbed her foot and pushed back, hard enough for her to lose both her reins and her balance, as she fell headlong down on the ground.

Kildevi landed hard, but layers of winter woollens softened the impact, and she managed to continue the roll away from the deadly hooves of her startled horse. Her face had scraped against the ground when she landed, but her mind didn't have time to dwell on it, instead she focused on the second man who lunged at her from above. Quickly, she gripped his ankle with her feet and pulled. He grunted in surprise, and landed on the ground with a satisfying thump.

"Shitsniffing whore of a…"

It took him a breath or two, but then he was on her. She tried to find an angle for a headbutt, but once her attacker had realised she wasn't going to fold without a fight, he grew more careful and the best she managed was to hammer his back with her heels as he pushed her over on her stomach to twist her arms back and slip a noose around her wrists.

The last thing she saw, before her hood was pulled down over her eyes, was Eymund's empty horse. Then, all that was left was a dull light seeping in from below.

Next, she was lifted up on horseback, the rope from her wrists tied to the saddle behind her. A man mounted, keeping her in place with his arms as he grabbed the reins around her.

"You fight, I let you fall," he hissed.

She recognised the dialect. If she'd ever doubted these were Ulfrik's men, she didn't anymore.

If she fell off, she would probably break both her arms, so she decided not to.


They rode at a trot. After a short while, they stopped. Someone secured the bonds around her wrists, and made sure her hood was still pulled as far down as possible. She made a point to bite towards the hand, and was rewarded with a harsh pull on the ties that made her shoulders protest painfully. Four voices held a short discussion about whether to move her to another horse, but decided against it, and when they continued on their way more hooves followed behind her.

It was a strange thing, to be bored while also being terrified. To wish that something would break the monotony, yet fearing what that would be and why. She remembered the taste of it from when Eskil had forced her into hiding during the ambush at Eyfor. This was different, but one thing was the same: the feeling that nothing was truly real, as if what happened here had no bearing on the rest of her life.

The man riding behind her smelled of clean sweat, wool and something sweet she decided was probably winter apples. He didn't feel like a looming presence behind her, and she took her time to ponder whether he rode there because he'd caught her, or to make the double burden easier on the horse. It was her own, of that she was certain. She knew the gelding's gait by now, he had a soft, even flow that not all horses were blessed with. But he also wasn't a youngster, and she worried about what such a heavy burden would do to his back.


It was hard to tell how much time had passed, but when she finally felt her bonds untied from the saddle and lifted off the horse, her thighs and bottom were aching. Anund would not have approved of her posture.

Whoever carried her was big enough to have her thrown over his shoulder, but her feet were free, and more for the sake of it than in any real hope to achieve anything, she waved her legs around blindly in the hope of hitting something.

"Spitting like a cat," she heard an amused voice from one side. "And kicking like a mule. There's good fight in this one."

The man who carried her replied.

"Yes, I think fate saved my brother from himself."

She knew that voice. Hrafn did not sound amused. He sounded like those gritted teeth could grind pebbles to sand, and she felt his arm tighten around her. The other voice seemed unperturbed, though, and had a clear tone of approval as it continued.

"Got a good look at that hair when we wrestled. Fell me like a fucking tree, she did. Didn't look like real gold, that was a bit disappointing."

"No, it's all ordinary hair."

He sounded dismissive. And yet she remembered all too well how those eyes had wandered.

"Didn't stop you from staring. Must have been a first for you, seeing long hair on a woman."

As she closed her mouth, Kildevi realised those were the first words she'd spoken during this entire ordeal. She took it as a sign that her mind was in better condition than she thought. Or that Hrafn annoyed her enough. It was probably the latter.

"Hoho! Did she just say you've only ever fucked thralls, with the double meaning your mamma and sisters don't have long hair either? You two should flyte it out! Say 'strands on a starling' instead of 'hair on a woman' and you got yourself a four repeat start rhyme, atop a double st-ending in the middle. St-art rhyme. See what I did there?"

"I don't battle women, and if you don't shut up Joar, we are going to have a problem."


She felt the shift in air as they moved over the threshold and two steps down into a pit house. The murmur of many voices died away as Hrafn walked in with her, then someone grabbed her legs and secured them with several wraps around each ankle. A couple of steps later she was put down on her side with her back towards the room, on what felt like naked floorboards. Just as she realised that her hood had slipped up enough for her to actually see something, a blanket was thrown over her, and all she saw was darkness.

Conversations started up again, careful whispers impossible to discern beneath the thick wool.

She heard the door open and close, then came Ulfrik's voice from behind her.

"You stay. When we're gone, gag her, then bag her head. Don't touch, don't talk."

"She's pretty, seems like a waste not to…"

The second voice. Higher, younger, but definitely still a man's voice.

"She also a fucking sejðwife, she might just pull that strength out of you and turn it on your sorry head. Only Oðin knows what could befall us, and not even he would try. So no taking, no touching, no talking."

"If she's that dangerous… why not kill her?" said a third voice. "We'll have no ransom off a dead westman, anyway."

"Cleanface is small fry. I bet we could sell her to more or less every power-hungry motherfucker this side of the eastern sea. If Ormgeir won't pay, I hear she pissed off one of the Slavic gods. You don't waste that kind of sacrifice."

Behind her, Kildevi heard the rustle of men rising.

"We're leaving. Keep an eye on her, and don't let her look at you. If we're not back by nightfall, give her some water."

A draft reached her from the door, followed by the sound of many footsteps, before the door shut closed again.


Kildevi felt people moving in the room. At least two, probably more. Had Ulfrik left several men behind to guard her? What was he afraid she'd do?

"How are we supposed to gag her without letting her look at us?"

It was the same voice that had proposed they should kill her, and Kildevi thought he sounded wary past the point of cowardice. Then again, maybe she was biased.

Two sets of feet approached, and then the blanket was yanked off, only to be replaced by what she thought was a small sack of canvas, pulled down over her head.

A hand tried to push a rag into her mouth under the bag. Her teeth caught hold of something meaty, and the hand disappeared with a satisfying grunt of pain and surprise. The gag was then decisively forced in between her teeth and tied behind her neck.

Someone pulled on the ropes, checking that her hands were still properly tied. They were. Kildevi had already tested her strength against the bonds and cursed being captured by sailors.

A hand pushed up beneath the skirts, roughly kneading her thigh and hip through the braies she wore in winter. When it started to tug at the laces, she twisted around as hard as she could, hissing through the gag.

Ulfrik was right in that she could bring down a terrible vengeance. That did not mean she thought it worth it.

"The fuck are you doing? Are you trying to get us all cursed?"

This voice was new. There were at least three, if she'd counted correctly, and thus far only one of them seemed inclined to defy Ulfrik's orders.

The hand disappeared.

"Oh, come on, not you too! I mean, if we kill the Westman and sacrifice her, what difference does it make if we have some fun with her first?"

"Have you ever heard of death curses? And what if she's ransomed? Do you want to meet the son born from the rape of a vǫlva?"

"Show some respect, you whelp," a fourth voice cut in. "That's not some girl tossing bones for fun, that's a staff wielder, a full blown vǫlva, learned in secrets so far beyond what your mind can grasp you don't even…"

The voice was bristling with indignation and the sentence punctuated by a fist hitting the table.

Four, then. Three against one.

"She probably doesn't even look like that," the craven one added. "I've heard she's an ancient hag that saw cleanface from afar and fell in love and shapeshifted to a young woman to enthral him, and if you take off her wedding ring, she'll turn back again. So, she's pretty now, but beneath it, she's probably toothless and wrinkly with hairs sticking out of her warts."

Maybe it was fear, or stress, or simply weariness taking its toll. Through the pain and discomfort, the absurdity hit her right in the gut. Kildevi began to laugh. It burst out of her chest, through rags and sacks and everything else that could have forced it back, her entire body shaking until her shoulders ached from the pull of a chest convulsing in spite of the arms tied behind her back. The sound of her mirth reigned supreme, echoing through compact silence.

As the laugh died, someone approached behind her, then a hand carefully pulled her skirts back down again.

The respectful voice said, "our apologies, Vǫlva. You have my word we will treat you with no more dishonour. Should it come to that, your end will be dignified."

Well, that first part was a relief. Dying was the one thing she wasn't that worried about.


Time passed. How much? She had no way to tell. Thoughts tumbled around in her head, chaotic and fragmented.

She hadn't thought about anyone but Eskil being willing to pay a ransom. If Ormgeir did that, would that be a ransom Eskil would owe him? If Eskil died, would she be considered a captured thrall and property of whoever paid, or would she simply be indebted? And what had happened back in the camp? Eymund had been unhorsed, but had her men been killed or simply left behind? If news had spread, how long would it take for her people to understand what had happened? And would there be search parties, or was that something Eskil was supposed to arrange when he got back? Because in that case, nothing would happen until tomorrow. No one in their right mind would try to search through unknown woodlands after dark.

Someone had lifted her onto a sheepskin and placed something beneath her head. Kildevi was willing to wager that the same voice that had promised her dignity had now also lessened her discomfort. She didn't want to feel gratitude towards any of her captors, but she wished him less ill than the rest of them.

Bruises that had been nothing but a nuisance now began to overwhelm her senses as her weight rested on black marks and scratches. Her battered joints and muscles ached from being restrained, and for some reason her lower back burned from having her shoulders forced into a backwards position.

Unmoored in both time and her own deprived senses, she was in no way prepared to be torn back into reality.


Something broke, with a loud smash of crushed wood. Next - a scream, a roar, growls resounding so loudly through the clatter of panicked footsteps she knew there was a beast inside the house.

Flesh ripped, a man's shriek, too fast to follow. Through the chaos tore another scream and she heard running steps. The floorboards shook as a heavy weight landed far behind her.

Something struck the floor once, then twice more, like the rhythm of a beating heart.

All was still. Kildevi shook, yet she tried with every part of herself to hide in that surrounding stillness.

She could not see. She could not turn. She could not run. The only thing she could do to trick the walking death behind her was to play as dead as those already fallen.

The stench of blood hung in the air, together with the unmistakable tint of piss and shit.

How dignified we are, to leave this life the same way that we enter it, she thought. Helpless and drenched in our own fluids.

Through the floor, she felt it approach. Then, something big softly bumped into her back with a low rumble, nudging her as if it tried to roll her over.

The smell of beast was strong now, almost overpowering, even through the sack of rough-spun.

Suddenly teeth scratched her face through the sack, and her heart stopped for just a moment. I am not going to die, she thought, trying to force her own panic to listen. I will not die today, I know I will not die today. Whatever this is, it will not kill me.

The sack slid off. When her mind could grasp what her eyes were seeing, she found herself staring into the face of a bear.

With care, a claw worked its way between the ropes around her wrists and started to rip into her bonds. With a painful pull, her hands were free again. Raising her stiff arms, she pulled the gag out of her mouth.

"You are not here to hurt me, are you?"

The bear lowered its head to nuzzle her face. It wanted something. What did it want?

Slowly, both from aching and from a wish to not startle the beast, Kildevi bent down and started to work on the knots that held her ankles. When they came loose, she looked up again. The black eyes were still turned towards her face.

"I think you want me to become like you, but I don't know how. In Midgard, I only have this shape."

It didn't look like it believed her. Instead it bumped her again, urging her on.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really am. Outside of my shell, I can change my shape at will. Inside it… you'll have to make do with what you see."

The bear rose up, then turned towards the door.

Now she could see the bloodbath it had left behind. She knew none of the men by face, only by voice, but from their ages she guessed that her prospective rapist was the one in front of one of the benches with his throat torn open and his guts on the floor. Parts of two more lay strewn around the room in pools of blood.

The last of them had fallen halfway through the door, head cracked open against the threshold. He alone had not been dismembered.

Silently, she followed the bear out through the carnage.


It should have been night, or at least twilight, but instead she was met by a bleak afternoon sun as she walked out of the pit house to follow the great beast into the frozen wetlands. The trees stood naked along the path, clamouring for higher ground.

"Brother Bear, where are you taking me?"

He turned to look at her, then responded with a grunt and lowered himself so she could climb up. With her on his back, he set off at a steady run, covering ground at a pace her feet would never have been able to hold for long.

The bear halted where a small creek cut through a clearing. Willows clung along its banks. Their branches brushed the frozen surface, as if their looming shapes were women letting their hair fall free as they watched their own reflection in the water.

Kildevi climbed down, and dug her fingers into the thick ruff.

"You should not be awake, brother Bear. Why are you not sleeping?"

As she turned her eyes back to the willows, she felt the fur change between her fingers, and found her hand tenderly tangled in the snow white mane of an old man. He was old - but his eyes twinkled and his face was furrowed from a long life of joy and mischief. Now, he took her hand from his neck and placed a kiss in her palm before he let it go.

She knew him. Last time they met, she had been the bear, knocking his pieces off the board with her claw. Cautious, she took a step back, away from the weathered old man.

"So, you caught me at last. What is this? If you killed my enemies to battle or bind me, why am I here in this holy place, unharmed?"

"Because I have never sought you harm. Why would I, when you are so much like a daughter of mine?"

His voice was just as it had been, only more. Now that she knew who he was, the weight of his presence flooded her senses, drowned them, leaving his voice a muffled echo as if her head was under water. Still, it filled every part of her as he spoke.

"There is wisdom in your chaos, trickery in your magic. You sing, you play, you love in the same way that water rises and falls, ruled by laws, yet unpredictable. You were made a bear cub and named after a mountain spring when all the rivers of this land belong to me, Bear King of the Forest. Mavdna may have shaped your omens by her own hand, but she did it well, and omens they were. Fate often needs a hand, and it will find it, one way or the other."

Never sought her harm… He was the god of Lovat. He was the trickster, the musician, the lord of swamps and boglands. The bear king, the dragon, the serpent, the hunter and the cow herder, ruling over earth and water, and of Nav, these lands' realm of the dead. He was the first sorcerer, telling his secrets to the first young woman who found that she now could shape the world around her.

Defiant and suspicious in the face of standing this close to someone so powerful that her mind didn't have the tools to grasp it, she went straight to the point.

"If you haven't come to bind or battle, why have you taken me?"

"I have sought you to tell me my fortune."


Kildevi did as Veles asked of her. Seeing the fate of a being was not the same as seeing the fate of a man. She watched time pass, hills flatten, rivers change their course. Tribes flowed together and apart, each human lifetime nothing but a flicker. And yet, through it all…

"What do you see, all seeing one?"

"I see change. I see rebirth. I see gods die and others take their place, but you will simply change, as is your nature."


Kildevi did not know how long she spoke, or even what. Words flowed from her mouth like water down a fall, washing over him, never to return to her. The old man stood in the deluge, listening. At some points, he nodded, at some his face knit into a thoughtful frown.

When the words ceased into stillness, her throat was sore, and yet the sun had barely moved.

"You have seen, and you have spoken. I have much to think about. It is time for me to send you on your way."

He looked up and pointed along the path that wound through the clearing and further into the woods, away from where they came from.

"If you follow this trail, you will reach a crossroads. There, you choose the path with the alders. You will pass two clearings, when the third opens, you will see the lights of your men. Dark will fall before you find shelter, but you have my word: nothing you meet will be as dangerous as you."

For a moment, Kildevi stood silent, confounded.

"Are you just going to let me go?"

"I took you from your captors. Their lives are your tribute, as is your freedom."

"I thought you had me captured?"

"I never captured you…"


"I have captured you."

"You have captured my king."

"Is there a difference?"


"Eskil. What have you done with him?"

Before her, the old man she once had played for the pecheneg shaman changed. His beard grew shorter, his white hair darkened to a deep brown, horns growing through the wild waves until what stood before her was a young, horned man of a strong, feral beauty. He stood in the snow, eyes glinting with madness.

"I have stolen him, of course."

"He's mine."

Veles smiled.

"So take him back."

---

End note: This update has been a long time in process for several reasons, most of them to do with life, but some of it was me completely underestimating how long it would take for the story to go full circle back to the sentries in the first scene.
From here on, a realistic expectation is for me to post a chapter of more reasonable length (3000-6000 words) every other week or so. Also know that I will never leave this unfinished. This journey will be written all the way to the end, possibly with sequels.

On words
Dràpa = song/poem
Gord = a ringfort with a wooden palissade. Often, but not always, a hillfort.

The title is a word play. Froya/Fröa/Fröja/Freya/Freja (spelling optional) is the name of the norse vanir goddess that brought sejd-magic to the aesir gods. She is also known to be the most beautiful among all women alive, be they gods, jotunn or people, and on top of that a war goddess who takes half of all men who fall in battle as her own. Froya is also literally a title for a high born woman and mistress of a house, almost translatable to Lady (in the olden sense of Lady of the manor).
Valfroya is one of Froya's alternative names that literally means "Lady of the slain" (compare to the more well known word Valkyrie=chooser of the slain.)
The title thus means:
Frǫyan Ljónsins = either "The lion's Froya" or "The lion's lady"
Valfrǫyan Bjarnarins = "The bear's Lady of the slain."

References from far back
Thore talks to Kildevi about his dead wife in the opening scene of Part 14: The other Pecheneg.
Kildevi's dislike of Hrafn springs from her impression of him in Part 11: Rapids and Pechenegs
Kildevi meets Veles for the first time and beats him in Hnefatafl in Part 15: The Warlord.


On history
As per usual, I want to make a few points about the history and what I have/haven't got actual sources on. I stubbornly keep doing that, because I know that I write in a space of historical detail where it's easy to inadvertently sell in unfounded assumptions as actual history, due to it being mixed into a setting with a higher level of historical accuracy. If you wonder about anything specific, just ask.

Flyting is a poetry battle, performed in front of an audience. It will never cease to amuse me how similar old Norse/Anglo Saxon flyting is to modern battle rap, with intricate rhymes and alliterations presented in spoken word, vicious attacks and low blows meant to both humiliate and entertain. Many more or less well spoken versions of "you're ugly and your mum's a whore so suck my dick" has been uttered throughout history. Just like now, wordplay and rhythm was the way to make the audience go whoop-whoop.
Since this was an oral tradition, very little has survived, but there are examples in Beowulf, and the Icelandic sagas. Humanity is a beautiful thing.

Maiden songs really are its own genre of old Norse poetry. They were illegal on Iceland, because the impact of words were assumed to be closely related to magic, and to bind another man's woman by words is the worst kind of stealing.
The poem was also more often than not an attack on the woman's husband/father/fiancee, sometimes even to the woman herself if the poet claimed to have done more with her than just thinking about it a lot. To add insult to injury, a poet was expected to get some kind of reward for his (occasionally her) work, so you can imagine how that would put everyone in an awkward situation.
And that's why the sagas sometimes refer to maiden songs being written, but there are not many examples cited for us to read.


All things Slavic in this story stands on a rockier foundation than anything Scandinavian for two reasons:
1, My understanding of the culture is more shallow. I don't have the rich and nuanced plethora of details to weave together to form a whole, because I haven't been immersed in the stories and landscape and art like I have with the cultural history of the lands I've grown up in and identify with.
2, The language barrier. A lot of the historical and archeological research about eastern Slavic folklore and tradition is written in languages I don't speak, often in an alphabet I can't read. That means I've been more dependent on non-academic sources.

So, Veles, aka Volos. Sources on all of the pre-Christian gods are scarce and I've had a real problem discerning what is based on actual sources and what is a part of various Slavic neo-pagan movements. Just like with old Norse mythology and culture, the stories and ideas about the past has been used for a variety of different purposes. This is politically loaded territory.

My depiction of Veles is based on the aspects of the deity I've been able to find around the web. I have not knowingly made anything up on my own, apart from the interpretation that always occurs when you put a character into a story, but I can't confirm that my sources are any good, and I've leant heavily on the interpretations of others.

One thing that seems well attested though, is that the deity later shifted into several saints when the Slavic tribes were christianised, and that he was one of the few gods worshipped all over the Slavic sphere.


Ingvar/Igor is an historical figure, but we don't even know exactly when his rule was (913-945 is commonly assumed, but it is contested), and absolutely nothing about what kind of man he was, or what he looked like. All of his consorts and advisors are made up. All we historically know of him, except that he attacked Constantinople in 941, is that he married Helga/Olga from Pskov somewhere around 940, and when he was killed by the Drevlians in 945 she went medieval on their asses. She was also made a saint.


The Dregoviches are mentioned as one of the tribes that pay tribute to Kyiv in De Administrando Imperio by byzantine emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus written some 20 years after this story takes place. When their lands were integrated into the Kyivan Rus later in the 10th century, the princedom of Turov became subordinate to the grand prince of Kyiv. We don't know much more, except they integrated into new eastern Slavic configurations in the 11th century and the name disappears.
I made up an uprising. We have no idea what their resistance looked like - or even what their attitude was to the rising power of Kyiv. Maybe they were happy? The Severian seems to have prefferred the Kyivan Rus to the Khazars and been rather welcoming. The Drevlians, on the other hand, certainly weren't in 945. It didn't feel like a stretch to imagine the Dregoviches trying to push back, but it is one of those things I feel the need to point out is completely made up.

Pew. That was it. Thank you, everyone who has read this far.

/Alva

 

[Alvlin]

Vanadis: alternative name for Frǫya.
Vanir: Froya's tribe of gods.
Leidang: the conscription of free men to man a ship in the service of some sort of king

Frǫyas husband Oðr is always away. Sometimes she goes searching for him to no avail and she cries tears of red gold for him. They have at least one daughter. (More on this in the endnote.)

Oh, and she rides the boar Hildisvíni in battle, because why not?

---

Fear fueled rage. She savoured the iron taste on her tongue. Inside her mind, a stillness, cold fury cutting like an echo through the emptiness.

Snow stuck to her shoes, the hose damp, a dull ache in her ankles.

Vanadis, Valfroya,
Vanirs' mistress
you who know both love and battle.
Men that will fall
maids they fathered
I give the fair Frǫya
I'll give them fear, Frǫya.

She wasn't sure when the words pushed themselves from the border of her thoughts and out between her cracked lips, but they did.

You dread his drift away
your daughter's father
travels far from sight and sway.
You look for him,
you long, you mourn,
you know of loved ones lost
You cry for loved ones lost

The voice that started as a mumble rose to speech, hoarse and desperate as she walked a narrow path, alone in a strange woodland, bruised and beat and barely a spark away from igniting a wildfire to devour everything that came in her way.

A warm trickle ran down from her hairline. It halted to fill her eyebrow before she wiped it away, the blood a messy smudge down her cheek and temple.

A dragon took
My daughter's father
Stole him from my sight and sway
Roar, in rage
Ride the boar
To tear him from the talons
To bleed the snake with talons

In the grey shadow of the forest at twilight, the bleeding felt like a sign her prayer-poem had been heard. As she tasted her own blood from a fingertip, her voice rose to a call.

Valfroya, Vanadis
Vanirs' beloved
You who love both blood and battle
Hear my prayer
Heed my plea
For wife to win her husband
Bring battle for bear's husband

Shadows moved between the trees. Let them come. Let them die.

Half undone, her bound hair tugged at the roots, and she tore at it, ripped the last pins and threadings from loosened braids and twists.

Her shriek dripped of bloodthirst. When she bared her fangs, the shadows shrunk away.


As Veles had promised, the path opened into a third clearing, with lights flickering from the camps and the houses. Her eyes shunned the brightness from distant torches, and she let her hood fall down over her eyes to shield them from the pain it brought to a sight accustomed to a faint moonlight filtered through naked branches. She needed her staff. She needed knowledge. She needed men, however few.

Squinting up from beneath the hood, she saw the silhouettes of two guards against the dirty sheen of a raised torch. They would do.


The young man tasked to help her find Helgi said not a word as he escorted her to the gord, not until the guards at the gates barred their way. Kildevi only picked up a vague notion of their conversation, her mind full of more important things. They asked too many questions. Irrelevant questions. Where she was found, and how, wasn't important.

She was mere moments from snarling at them, when suddenly the gates opened and they were let inside. A short while later, the aggravating spectacle started up again outside one of the longhouses next to the hall. These men were housecarls, not scions, and she recognised one of them as Ormgeir's.

This time, she saw no point in patience. Without a word, she walked past where they stood bickering with her new man. Ignoring their protests, she opened the door and continued inside.

"Seeress! Wait! You can't…"

She could and she did. Quickly taking in the first room, she deemed everyone there insignificant, and strode on through the next door. Behind her, some sort of ruckus had flared up.

Someone was following her as she passed another room of useless people, and more voices were thrown at her.

"What happened to you?"

"Seeress! We didn't expect…"

"Can we help you…?"

"We heard that…"

"This is outrageous!"

As she reached to open the door to the innermost room, she felt a hand grab her arm, and she turned with a growl to look straight into the hazel eyes of Rozalia.

"Kildevi, stop. That is not a room for women."

For a moment their eyes were locked. Then some sort of understanding seemed to dawn on the girl.

"...but you are not here as the lion's wife. In fact, you're barely here. Step inside, I will come along to serve you."

Her hand left Kildevi to knock on the door and push it open. Then, the shadow of a man fell over them.

"Mistress, you can't…"

Rozalia did not turn to the housecarl. Instead, she kept Kildevi's gaze, and as the door squeaked open she replied, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"But I can. This is my house, I decide which guests to welcome. And unless he refuses, I decide that it's in my husband's interests to receive her. Either way, it is not your place to question me or stand in my way."

"Rozalia, that's enough, my men are not yours to scold," came Ormgeir's voice from inside. "Jens, next time, give your young matron her due - if she acts it, she can…"

Fed up by the irrelevance of their bickering, Kildevi had continued her stride forward and the voice broke off abruptly. In a room lit by both braziers and several oil lamps, she saw three men seated.

One of them was Helgi. Between her and him, Ormgeir stood like a human palisade. She tried to walk around him, but he shifted to block her way, then signalled to Rozalia to leave and close the door behind her.

"What happened to you?"

"I need Helgi."

"You need to tell us what happened this morning. We have had men out all day, searching the woods."

"Eskil's been stolen."

He paused. Although her words made perfect sense, he was too stupid to understand them.

"And from the look of you, not by any lady of the court."

Now she finally took her eyes off Helgi and lifted her chin to stare at Ormgeir.

"I don't care if he fucks them all. I don't care how many men he leads or wives he takes. He's mine. And Veles' people have taken him. As if anyone would ever have the right to claim what's mine!"

The last sentence came out as a feral snarl. In the silence that followed her statement, she raised her arm to point at the man she knew that she needed.

"You. You will help me find him. Then, I'll bring him back."

She saw Ormgeir and Sigvard exchange a glance.

Helgi just looked at her. Following her wild hair down, his eyes took in every piece of her stained clothing and scraped skin, then back at her eyes, burning in a face bloodied and pallid. Without any sign of surprise - or courtesy for that matter - he said: "If you say so. But we already know where he is, and it is not beneath the world."

Ormgeir threw him an annoyed glance. If Helgi noticed, he didn't show it.

"No, we don't. You assume he is in the peat gord, because you assume they have crammed too large a force into a glorified pig pen."

Kildevi turned and started to go towards the door.

"Seeress, where do you think you're going?"

"The peat gord. To take back my husband."

"No."

In the corner of her eye, she saw that Sigvard and Pridbor had risen from their seats.

"You are not walking out into the piss dark of night to trudge alone through a winter woodland packed with starving wolves."

"Either you let me go, or I go through you."

Ormgeir now stood between her and the door. He made no sign to move. So then, through him it was.

As she reached to open the door behind him, he blocked her, and without a moment's hesitation she grabbed his hand and twisted the wrist backwards to force it out of her way. At first, nothing happened. Then she felt an arm lock down around her, as Ormgeir grabbed her and lifted her off the floor, ignoring her heels drumming against his legs. Suddenly, her rage had found a focus close enough to be unleashed.

"How dare you put your hands on me! You are a doomed man. You are a dead man, I will…"

Without further ado, a hand was put over her mouth. Next, she heard him voice an unintelligible noise from behind, and Pridbor nodded and walked out of the room. Still livid, she struggled to break free, but it was like pushing against a stone wall. He didn't even care to avoid her kicks.

She would have felt humiliated, if not for the taste of iron in her mouth and a chest bursting with hate. There was no room for anything else.

"We should get someone in here to see to those wounds," Helgi noted from the table, and she felt Ormgeir's head move as he nodded once. Then came Sigvard's voice.

"We can't let more people see her like this. Too many already have."

She felt Ormgeir's voice like a distorted buzz in his chest when he replied.

"Roz has already seen her… Kildevi, here is what is going to happen. You will eat, you will drink and you will sleep. If you don't, we'll make you. Do you understand?"

No. There was no time to sleep. And why? She wasn't hungry. She wasn't thirsty. She wasn't tired. But if he just let her go…

The door opened. Rozalia took a moment to stare, then she put a tray down on the table and turned to leave.

"Stay."

"Pridbor found her man outside. He's talking to him now. Should I send them in?"

"Not yet."

Pretending to give up, Kildevi relented her struggle. Limp and soft in his grip, she nodded.


Hrolf did not have the best night of his life. The scions at the gate had known him as one of their own and mainly wanted information, but Ormgeir's housecarls were a loyal and arrogant bunch, and had treated him with outright suspicion. Then, one among his own high command had come to fetch him in person. This was not how Hrolf had imagined himself introduced to Pridbor, cornered and asked questions he didn't know how to answer.

But at least he was indoors, and had been given something hot to drink. That was a step up from before.

"Let's start over. Who are you?"

"Hrolf, from Holmby."

"And where do you come from?"

"Uhm… Holmby?"

"Holmby Gotland, Holmby Geatland, what Holmby?"

"Holmby Skaniland."

"Are you a Dane, Hrolf?"

"No, herr Pridbor. I'm a Skani, and a man of Ingvar Kniaz."

"How do you know Kildevi Thorvaldsdottir?"

"I-I don't, I didn't know her name until now!"

"Are you saying you've never heard of Vǫlu-Kildve?"

"I knew that the Kniaz brought an all-knowing woman, but I didn't know her name."

"And you're a scion?"

"Yes, but I've been on outside duty the whole time, and…"

"...and never at court, that's why I don't know you. Where did you find her?"

"My friend Harald and I were standing guard at the camp."

"What camp?"

"The Lion's camp, the empty one, then she came walking straight at us."

"From where?"

"The forest. I think. I thought I saw something else at first, but it was a woman. I think it was a woman."

"You think? You're not sure?"

"I mean, it was. It is. But there was something else. Something not."

Pridbor was clearly a man of great lineage. Hrolf had known himself the son of a pretty big man back home, but son of a jarl he was not, not even a chieftain. He didn't want to sound like a naive farm boy in front of a man like that, but he also couldn't be a lying coward. Fumbling for words, he continued.

"She had something in her, as if… as if she had come for us. I tell you, she wasn't right."

"Hm. And the other man? Harald, was that his name?"

"She told him to get her staff, and me to bring her to Helgi. And I only know that he is the Kniaz' war-advisor so I asked the men at the gate who told me to look here."

"The station you left, who mans it?"

"Two of the men from the gate walked down to take over."

Pridbor nodded. He seemed more content with the replies than the housecarls had been, and now, he grabbed hold of a middle aged woman walking past.

"Get this man something to eat, and if necessary somewhere to sleep."

As the woman hurried away, the young jarl turned back to Hrolf.

"You stay here, I think the master of this house will want to talk to you later."

Hrolf sighed. More talking. He was really tired of answering questions.


Her ruse could have worked. If only she had waited, if she hadn't sunk her teeth into his hand with uninhibited force. But she did.

Next, the still-bleeding hand covered her eyes and clamped her nose shut, and someone poured bitter ale down her throat. She knew that taste. Clever girl, to hide it in ale, where the bitter would blend with fern and berries. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if they had the dosage right.

It wasn't long before her body began to soften, a vague shudder that rippled like pleasure from her abdomen, leaving a heaviness of limbs, her mind in a complacent half sleep. So, whoever mixed the potion had been generous. But she knew she would not die yet, so it wasn't much of a bother, really.

In the background, voices were at it again, and she listened in with detached curiosity. So, Ormgeir had to leave in a while because Ingvar expected him, but would be back as soon as they were done. Pridbor was there again to tell where the young man had found her, but also that he was too simple to be useful. Ormgeir wanted Helgi to leave with Pridbor, but Helgi said no and told Rozalia to send word to her uncle and Ormgeir told her not to. Who was her uncle again?

She missed Eskil. And Thore. And Ina, and the housecarls. She really shouldn't trust any of these people. Speaking of Eskil… she really had to get him back. But she was so tired. She had to put her head down on the table for a bit.

Just as she was drifting off, Ormgeir's hand softly shook her shoulder.

"Kildevi. What happened today?"

His voice was much softer than usual, void of both threat and jest. It was a stable, soothing thing to rest in. Though she knew well enough that she ought not to trust that voice, it was hard to remember why.

"I was taken away, and then Ulfrik left with everyone but four, and then a bear came to save me but it turns out it wasn't a bear, it was the king of the forest wanting his fortune told, and then when he set me free, the horned hunter told me he had stolen my husband. At Khortytsia, I thought he tried to steal me, and now I feel silly. I can be very self-centred sometimes."

There was a long pause. Maybe enough to close her eyes for a bit?

"Where did they keep you?"

It was so blurry, all of it.

"In a pithouse."

"How long did you ride to get there?"

"Don't know, but we went by walk and tolt and then my butt hurt."

"How did you get back?"

"I walked. He promised that nothing in these woods would be more dangerous than I. And I think he meant it."

Her voice had slowed. From here on, all that was left was a frown and a mumble.

"...but I'm not very dangerous, am I? It takes a much smaller man than you to grab me and walk off. It's very strange, all of it. How I can tear the skies apart, but not… walk out that door, if someone's in the way… But Frǫya… is with me. She knows. She knows…"

"One last thing. Do you know anything about where we can find the Dregoviches?"

"No… but their name means bogmen, so… I think they've got… my love. I think they've got ástin mín…"

"I'll just let you sleep now."

So she did.


There were voices. Different dialects speaking. She was no longer sprawled across the table. Instead, she lay on soft furs under thick blankets. Someone had relieved her of her cloak, coat and brooches, her ring the only jewellery left, but she was far from undressed.

Squinting to her side, she saw the young Harald sitting with his back to her at the edge of the side bench she was resting on. Her staff lay next to him, a comforting reminder of her own power and weight.

Though still tired, some of the mind-fog had melted away, and she made a quick decision to close her eyes and pretend to still be asleep. Men were talking in the room, obviously in the belief she was still out of it.

"She hasn't been of much use this far. We should have brought Aud."

It was Sigvard's voice.

"I disagree," came Ormgeir's voice in reply. "Those who were with us to the emperor this year have all seen with their own eyes how fortune answered her call on the white-shored island. And she's just young and decorative enough to inspire, but not so much it takes from her gravity. As a banner, I'd say she has worked flawlessly."

Sigvard didn't object to the claims, but didn't seem convinced.

"She works as a symbol, but as a seer, she hasn't given us a single omen. No great rites. And now, she has cracked."

"Seers don't crack."

That was a third voice… She recognised it. Who was it?

"She knows things we don't," the voice continued, "and her mind is let loose from the knowledge. I say we better listen."

After a short moment of silence, Ormgeir asked, "as an acting goði of the Slavs, do you think she actually met Veles?"

"I have never told her of the horned hunter. Someone else might have, but I think she saw him."

Chedomir. It was Chedomir. She had no idea he was also a priest, but it fit with his knowledge, and that Isidor had tasked him with paying her tribute in stories about the gods.

"So, we have a lost warband of two short hundred, their leader assumed captured. We have a village emptied of men, a displaced chieftain, and a god meddling in the affairs of men. What was the role of this steersman who abducted her?"

That was Ormgeir again. So, Rastislav had scarpered. But didn't he know about Ulfrik?

"He is the son of a roden hersir. His crew is the men he took in leidang last spring. They left the Upsala king to seek their fortune down here. Since he can not go back, he started to wrestle Eskil for the unaligned. He suffered a loss and left, and a struggle for men turned into a feud. He is in need of treasure to keep his men. Selling Eskil's wife would afford him both a ransom and a revenge."

That last one was Helgi, that much she was sure of. It may be the most she had ever heard him speak, but he had a different cadence from the rest of them, flatter, never agitated. At first, that had put her off. She wondered why she had ever thought that way. Now, hearing him made her feel less alone in her strangeness. Interesting that he was still here, in what was probably the middle of the night.

"Selling, to whom?"

That was a stupid question, Kildevi concluded, considering how overt Ormgeir had been about his intentions. Helgi seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"You, I assume. Mother, maybe. She is too noble and renowned for thralldom. It would also be hard to make full use of her knowledge as a thrall. But indebtment, would be a powerful hold."

Ormgeir didn't reply to that. Instead, he said, "It's getting very late. I'm going to bed, I suggest you do too. I will send word if anything noteworthy happens."

"It will not look good to leave her alone in your house," Helgi replied. "I can leave Pridbor here."

"About Pridbor…" said Chedomir's voice. "I'm not sure he's the one who looks best to leave as a witness to virtue. Pridbor is not dishonourable, he's a promising young man, but he is… curious about certain rumours about her. Very curious, according to Glebu, who is of a less curious kind. And he has full command of the young scion. The opportunity may be hard to resist. No, let the young scion stand guard alone, with a servant woman."

"Then I will stay," Helgi said. "Tomorrow, we will fetch her Eymund. I am not known to be curious. I am also not known as anyone's lackey."

"I can't remember inviting anyone to stay in my house."

Ormgeir sounded irate.

"Then you will not mind if we move her."

That was Helgi again. Why was he sticking his neck out for her?

Oh, yes. Now she remembered who his mother was. Miellikki's son, born from her captor, would probably harbour some sort of ill feelings about leaving Ormgeir alone in control of women who had refused him. And Helgi was the one who had offered Eskil his position and introduced him to the rest. That left a bond, of a kind.

Ormgeir gave in.

"I mind. We can't have her seen. I will send a woman in."

Those were some gritted teeth. Wonder what plan of his that Helgi had just thwarted?

It would make no sense for him to act on any baser wants, both breaking his word and risking the cooperation that word had brought him. Especially since he hadn't acted on the two occasions when she'd been truly alone and at his mercy.

Now she dared a second glance. Harald had turned his head to look at her, and when their eyes met, she winked at him. He winked back, and turned towards the room again as if nothing had happened. The young man from Froste seemed to have meant it when he said he was her man now. But he was also a scion. Maybe he hadn't even considered that those loyalties could clash at some point.

He looked about her age, maybe a bit younger. Shaped like you'd expect from a trained warrior around twenty, his hair and beard a sandy colour, but the plain face looked open and honest.

He didn't seem to be going anywhere. Maybe she could sleep a while longer…


Next time she woke, a pale daylight was seeping in through a smoke rift. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why there was an absence pressing at her side. When she did, the urgency was back in her mind and chest again, but it was a faint shadow of yesterday. Now she could think, and hear her own thoughts.

In the corner of the side bench, Helgi sat sleeping, fully dressed under the blankets. Between him and herself, a middle aged servant woman lay curled up into a ball.

Looking up, she saw Harald Froste sit on the edge of the bench, close to her head. He was carving something, but looked up when he saw her stir. The look he gave her held equal parts curiosity and reverence.

"You meant it when you said you were mine, didn't you?"

"Of course, all-seeing one. A word is a word."

He did not speak her own dialect of the northern tongue, but she understood him well enough.

"But you are also oath-sworn to the Kniaz."

"Yes."

"What will you do when you find yourself torn between them?"

"If they won't release me, I will find a path around it."

Kildevi paused for a moment, hesitating from the insight of what that actually meant.

"You would leave your position as a scion of the rising prince of Kyiv, to follow a woman you have never met before?"

He shrugged, as if there wasn't an issue in sight.

"I would follow an all-knowing disciple of Froya, just as I have worshipped her brother Froy for all my life. To serve a king of men is good, but to serve an envoy between men and fate, touched by the fair hand of Vanadis… That opportunity will not come twice in a man's lifetime."

"And if Chedomir had kept his mouth shut, and you had been left with your captain's captain, who then ordered you away?"

"Then I would ask him why he went against his own chieftain. I don't think him copping a feel of a sacred woman in sleep is in the interest of Ingvar Kniaz."

Kildevi shook her head. Her thoughts were going down several paths at once, but this conversation was something fairly simple to hold on to.

"I knew Pridbor had talked some nonsense, and that a few tales took a rowdier turn among that particular group of young men than among their elders, but I would not have deemed him a threat. To be honest, I'm still not sure that I do."

Harald nodded, seemingly in agreement.

"There is a difference between what a man will say in front of a noble matron, and what tales he'll tell his mates when he's drunk and running his mouth. And not only men, for that matter. I've heard what my sisters whisper with their heads together, and that is not what they say in front of Father. Or their husbands. Their poor, poor husbands..."

Kildevi remembered many afternoons when the spindles spun and unthinkable thoughts were put into words. Then she imagined saying the same things in front of Thorlev. Now that she thought about it, her foster father was not exactly priggish about female virtue, so that would probably work out quite well. For her. Not necessarily for any man mentioned.

Then she imagined saying them in front of Eskil. No. That would not work out well. For anyone.

"You seem very relaxed about your sisters."

"Life is short, so we must live it."

His attitude was a strange and endearing combination of reverence and casual familiarity. She decided this one was for keeping.


Almost as if their mention of his name had summoned him, there was a knock on the door and Pridbor came in, carefully closing it behind him. Harald was instantly on his feet, bowing in greeting, but Pridbor himself was in turn busy bending his own neck to greet her.

He was still carefully not looking at her eyes, but now he was also decidedly not looking at her hair, which still fell in a tousled mess all the way down to disappear beneath the blankets. The effect was that he ended up with his gaze drifting all over the wall behind her as he searched for a safe spot to place it.

"Volkhva. I came to wake up Helgi, but I will come back later, when you…"

"Oh please, we have more important things to deal with. You've all seen hair before, and mine is just ordinary hair. I won't bind you with it or turn into a hag and rip the flesh from your bones, unless you actually try anything because then I most certainly will. It's not precious metals to make rings out of, and it turned out Veles didn't want to bind me in the underworld anyway, so how about you just fetch me a comb and tell me what happened to my men."

Now, Helgi stirred. She wondered how long he had been listening. Without a word, Pridbor reached into his belt bag, pulled out his comb, and gave it to her. She took it with a gracious nod and began to untease the matted lengths.

"So, what happened to Eystein and Eymund?"

"One of your guards was slain. We found him and he has been put in a resting grave, waiting for word from someone who knew him."

Since Eymund and Pridbor were friends, that would be Eystein who had fallen.

"And Eymund?"

"He was the one who brought us the news you had been taken, then he was out searching for you all day. Since his party returned, he has locked himself inside and refused to see anyone."

Yes. That fit.

"He has now, has he? Well, he can't refuse me, not without staining himself with disloyalty. Harald, will you go fetch my guardsman before he drowns himself in shame and self-pity?"


It wasn't long before Harald returned with Eymund, barely enough time for her to eat and get her hair presentable. Her young Southman came trailing behind him, gaze held away from her. As he fell on one knee in front of her, his eyes were still downcast.

Kildevi looked to Helgi and Pridbor and Harald. She didn't have to tell them anything. Helgi and his second left without a word, and Harald followed.

Eymund's face was grey, almost white beneath the pale winter tan, when he opened his mouth to speak.

"I… I failed. I failed you."

The voice was dead, almost void of tone and cadence.

"I failed the trust Eskil put in me."

Stone-faced, Kildevi stared down at him.

"Get up."

He blinked, finally looking up at her.

"You don't understand… I failed. I had one duty, and I didn't do it."

"Don't presume to grasp the depth of my knowledge. Your task was to guard my life, and here you are, looking straight at me. That means you haven't failed, only given up your post like a craven. Are you a craven, Eymund?"

When he didn't respond, she continued.

"Because either you rise and pick up that duty where you left it, or I will have it known, from here to the eastern shores of Southmanland, that Eymund, son of Arni, is a coward who fled his post because he was too weak to live and too scared to die."

Eymund opened and closed his mouth a few times, but some of the colour was back on his cheeks. Something had struck a nerve.

"I am not a coward!"

It was ridiculous how easy he was to play.

"What else do you call a man who locks himself inside with the women? Except you don't even have a woman here, is that why you're acting like one?"

"You… you are a… a… a harridan! A harridan mare!"

Kildevi smiled, stone-face cracked by warmth, and reached out her hand to drag him up.

"That struck closer to the truth than you think, but Eskil usually goes for harpy or beiskaldi. Now, get on your feet and prove me wrong!"

He didn't ask forgiveness or take back his words, but he did look a bit ashamed as he rose, his eyes now level with her own.

"What will you tell Eskil, if he returns?"

"The truth. That you were outnumbered three to one, and they unhorsed you. Eskil isn't a young man drunk on stories. He knows what those numbers mean in an ambush."

Thoughtfully, she added, "but I won't tell him what you called me. He might mistake it for an insult."

Eymund met her eyes now, face serious.

"Eskil. What has happened to him?"

Kildevi sighed.

"That's what we're trying to figure out. When the fog lifts and the sight clears, I take him back."

"And if you can't?"

"You mean if he dies? Vengeance. Until there is no more blood left to spill. These rivers will know vengeance like they will not do again for seventeen years."

"What happens in seventeen years?"

There was an underlying trust in that question. Eymund did not question the truth of her statement, he simply wanted to know.

Kildevi frowned. Where had that come from? When she said it, she had known it to be true.

"I don't know. But I know she will be so terrible that men a thousand years from now will know her name."

When Eymund had pondered the gravity of such a claim for a moment, he looked up and nodded.

"Thank you, I'll heed that warning and have my family somewhere else when that time comes. Now, there is something else you need to know."

"What?"

"You have a very prestigious group of men standing outside in the main room, waiting for you. I didn't have time to see much as we walked past, but Isidor and Ormgeir looked like they were one wrong step away from drawn weapons."

He frowned.

"The new man - name was Harald, right? He told me you had come out of the forest like a sacred fury, and then, when he brought your staff to you, he was surprised to find you asleep. So he decided it was best he stayed, because something didn't seem right."

Eymund was clearly looking for clues or reactions to help confirm the story, and when he found none, he continued.

"Since he was a scion, no one really questioned his loyalties or right to be there. He could easily have been Pridbor's man, or Sigvard's, no one had any reason to think he had gone and grown loyalties to you. But he told me you had spent the night here. In this room. Guarded by himself and Helgi."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Just let them in, Eymund. We can let the big men talk, then you may draw your own conclusions."


It was a strange but beautiful thing, how Kildevi simply moved into Ormgeir's inner room and made it her court.

A day before, it would never have happened, but between the uncompromising rage still seething in her belly and the knowledge that he had taken the liberty to stop her onslaught, to dose her down with poppy, she felt completely within her rights to use the space as her own. He had without hesitation used force to keep her there against her will, and the price he now paid was that she decided to stay. Not by his grace or orders, but by pure and simple right, as if she lived there.

The surprise to everyone else was that he let her. Kildevi herself was not surprised until afterwards, when the sacred fury had lifted its fog off her mind. On that day, when Eymund opened the door to declare her ready to receive them, it was the most natural thing to her that he would yield, in reparations for the humiliation he had caused her.

To say that he yielded would have been to say too much, but he made no move to contest her. Rather he watched in satisfied amusement as she sat down at the end of the table to gather the men around it.

"I want to make one thing clear," she stated as the door closed. "I don't care about anything other than taking back my husband, and with him, my friends and followers. You, you care about quelling an uprising and finding your lost men, one of whom happens to be my lion. Thus, it would seem my interests align with yours, but they are not the same."

"What do you bring?"

It was Sigvard. The one she had known would be her greatest sceptic.

"Why should you even be at this table?"

"I bring knowledge. I bring luck. I bring the blessing of the Lady who will come to bring you home once you have fallen."

"And have you anything but your word for this?"

"Have you found the pithouse? Did you see the carnage left behind by the Forest King as he freed me so I could read his fortune?

Then you know
that I have walked
from there to here through foreign
woods in winter.
Wolves and darkness
flee in fear before my feet.
fear defeat before my feet.

I would say my standing here is proof of knowledge, luck and blessings."

And there seemed to be a general consensus that indeed, it was.

Kildevi now looked around at the gathered men. There sat Helgi, with Pridbor at his side. Pridbor who was his second, but so often there even when none of the other seconds were present. She understood now that Pridbor wasn't only a second. Helgi depended on him for more guidance than that. Next to them sat Isidor, his eyes only rarely leaving Ormgeir. He did not look happy. Sigvard sat further down the table from her, his arms crossed.

Harald had taken up a post at the left side bench behind her, while Eymund stood hovering next to the door.

Seven men, in all. Three of them of wide renown, a fourth the mind they turned to when their own was not enough, one man to guide him, two guards to guard her… and then, herself.

"Where is the Kniaz?"

"Ingvar is still in Rastislav's hall with his senechal," Ormgeir replied. "This is merely a first council to help things… settle into place, before we bring it to his ears."

So, Ingvar would be making all the decisions. They would simply decide beforehand what those decisions would be.

Isidor's eyes narrowed.

"I find it curious that no one thought to send word that she was found," he said with a cold stare at Ormgeir. "My man is gone, and his abducted wife shows up at your doorstep, so you invite her to spend the night - guarded by Helgi and a scion, I assume for decorum. I learn about this in the morning, only because my sister has spent the night with her namesake husband. I expect there is a good reason the news did not reach me sooner, say the moment she passed the first line of sentries?"

Ormgeir looked around the room. His gaze fastened on Kildevi for a moment, before it moved on to Isidor.

"When Kildevi returned, she was in… distress, and as her friend, I decided it was best to let her gather her strength before she was faced with too many questions at once. To make sure everyone would know she was in no way taken advantage of, I decided that she would be lodged in this room, guarded by men known not to be under my command or influence. My stakes in this are entirely altruistic."

Hands spread in a small gesture, a little smile played at the corner of his mouth as he took a rhetorical pause.

"Of course, it was my intention to let you know, but I saw no point in dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night. You would not be able to speak to her until this morning anyway, and her husband is just as gone now as he was yesterday."

Isidor did not look like he believed much of that explanation.

"And the reason she wasn't sent home..?"

"You would leave a distraught woman alone with no protection, when her husband has taken all sworn men from her household? On the very day she had been torn from the talons of a warband of traitors? Eskil should be considered lucky to have her returned intact."

Ormgeir now turned his eyes to her, as if he was daring her to comment. There were many reasons she didn't. First of all, she wasn't sure it was even in her interest, but she also didn't want to waste any more time on irrelevant cockfighting, only thinly veiled as concern.

So say it. You are a truthspeaker, not a peacekeeper.

"We don't have time for word-fencing and cockfights," she stated, "and Eskil's luck depends on what will come, not what has been. What we need right now is to learn what has happened to my husband and his two short hundred men. Helgi claims to be sure Rastislav and his remaining forces are at the peat gord, and probably my husband with them. The rest of you claim it is too small for any real use in war. How far away is it?"

Sigvard straightened and uncrossed his arm to let them rest on the table.

"Two to three hours on horseback, only slightly more on foot. The ground is too treacherous for anything but a walking tolt."

"Without a guide who knows these woodlands well, it may be longer," Isidor cut in. "The paths are hard to follow and even a well travelled pathsman will not easily find his way back after a single journey there. That means that any messenger sent out yesterday may well have found themselves lost in the woods at nightfall. "

"And how long since anyone here actually saw this gord?" Kildevi asked. "Because if you haven't seen it since last winter, why do you believe it is still small?"

Ormgeir's reply to her question wasn't an answer.

"Valdemar reported men going west. The gord is east. It would make much more sense for any chieftain to gather westward, into their own lands, than to isolate in the borderlands of a rival. Why the peat gord? It fills no purpose that isn't better served at one of the bigger fortifications west."

Helgi was silent for a while before he replied.

"It would only take one failed crop of grain to make provisions scarce at the larger gords, but not here, where the land feeds sheep and cattle and farmers don't have fields, only kale-gardens. We have seen more cheese and vegetables than grain in our provisions."

His voice was almost flat, but it was very articulate, every word pronounced in full, an audible pause between each sentence.

"Also", he continued, "you overlook other factors. This is not a mass of faceless Dregoviches, this is Rastislav. He has emptied and sacrificed his village, not ceded his lands. That peat gord is small to us, but it is important in this village. It is important to his people. And he knows that we would find it worthy to visit only for tribute. I know he is there."

"Maybe we should ask our seer to see," Sigvard suggested in a dour tone. "I know that rites take time, but seeing is what you do, isn't it?"

"I would rather have her focus where she deems it needed," Ormgeir cut back. "I sent men out this morning, two to the peat gord and two west to get hold of Valdemar, all of them with good knowledge of these lands. We should have word from them not long after mid-day."

Kildevi rose.

"If we are all in agreement to wait for word from Ormgeir's scouts, I will need to collect some supplies. No matter if the time has come for rites of divination, I will need more than my staff before this is over."

"Sit down, seeress, I will send a man down for your things."

Kildevi felt her brow rise as she coldly turned to look at Ormgeir. That had sounded eerily close to a command.

"And your man knows where to find my herb chest, I gather? He knows the difference between henbane seeds and hemp and common grey peas?"

Without giving him a chance to reply, she continued.

"I'd rather go myself. I have some Greek powders and tinctures in there, and you know how… valuable those can be, and how easily misused."


It wasn't until she had left the gord with Harald and Eymund in tow that she remembered that not everyone else would be with Eskil.


"You forgot about me, didn't you?"

Ina looked like she hadn't slept much. Truth be told, she looked like she had done her fair share of crying. Now she stood up from the edge of her bed, wringing a piece of cloth in her hands, lip trembling.

"You… him and you…"

She swallowed, then took a deep breath and forced her voice steady.

"He, at least, makes an effort to give me a bit of attention, but as soon as you two are together, I'm invisible. It's like I'm not even here. Promised to become a part of this family, I thought I was somehow important, but it's clear I'm not."

Defensive from guilt, Kildevi picked the only angle that allowed her to push back.

"You knew I would come first! You said you didn't even want love in a marriage, and now you're suddenly jealous?!"

"I'm not! I don't care about him!"

Ina sunk down on the bench again.

"For almost two weeks, you've been away all day, from morning until we make camp. When you're here… you don't even notice I'm around. You find him, and then you stay there. You talk to him, not to me. You joke and laugh and banter with him, but not with me. And now, you don't even care to tell me you're alive?"

"I was abducted, then told my husband is gone and don't even know where he is or if he's still breathing!"

"And all that is terrible, but… not even a messenger?"

She swallowed, eyes now firmly fixed on the hands in her lap.

"You two ride off. You're supposed to come back, but you don't. Then, a man comes by with word from Eymund to tell me you've been taken, Eystein killed, and no one knows where you are except that Ulfrik has got his hands on you. The man is just a messenger, so he can't tell me anything more. But Eskil should be back later, right? Except he isn't. And there is no one here. Everyone I know, everyone I even recognise are gone, because Eystein couldn't really return here from death, could he? So I try to find someone to ask, but I know almost no one in this court, and I can't really go alone to Milosh because a man who would deceive his own father would probably have no qualms about using my situation to his advantage. I run into Pridbor, but he just tells me to go back and lock the door since there are men everywhere but no man around for protection. So here I sit. Alone. Waiting for something I don't know what it is. Next thing I know it's evening, and an unknown northman storms in from the dark, telling me you've ordered him to fetch your staff. I try to grasp what's happening, but he just takes the staff and runs off."

When she began, Ina's voice had been filled with sadness and hurt, growing stronger and more exasperated as she spoke. Now, it started to build towards rage. Kildevi had never seen Ina angry before. It was like watching the first clouds gather in a clear summer sky, only to find they brought thunder.

"But now that I know you're alive and back in camp," Ina continued, "I know you will soon send some kind of word. Just to make sure I know that you are free and unharmed. You wouldn't leave me alone thinking the worst things that could possibly have befallen you, right?"

In the ensuing silence, Ina looked up.

"Right? At least show me the respect of a reply!"

"I… I can't… I should have, but… I… I have been busy with… things. I can't do this now. I have to go back! The men are waiting for me."

"Then I'm coming."

Kildevi stared as Ina rose to her full height, almost level with her own nose.

"You can't! I won't be able to take care of you, or even think of you!"

"As usual, then. But I won't sit another moment alone in this house wondering what is happening and if any of you are coming back. If you're going, so am I."

"Eskil promised to keep you away from the Kniaz' advisors, and guess who I will be with!"

Ina cocked her head. As a gesture of soft power, it was effective.

"But Eskil is not here, is he? And I'm coming, even if that means being in the same room as Ormgeir. I am more afraid to be left here alone again than I am of him."

"I'm… different with them than I am with you, and I can't let you be in the way while I'm trying to save Eskil!"

"Well, I'm not staying here, and you can't make me. No matter how much you take me for granted, you are not my husband."

---

Endnote:

References from far back
Sigvard tells Kildevi about Helgi's mother who Ormgeir gave as concubine to his battle brother Egil in Part 31: Midwinter

Kildevi takes a trip (pun intended) to learn more about Veles, but gets cold feet when she realises he's known for stealing wives and cattle in Part 25: In the shadow of the oak. In the same chapter we also learn that Kildevi's myth has begun to turn ribald among the frat boy clique of nobles, and that Chedomir has paid the tribute in stories that Kildevi was promised in Part 23: Many flavours of well meaning advice.

Tribal geography
Skaniland: The early mediaeval name for the region now called Skåne/Scania in what is now southernmost Sweden but was Danish until 1658. Rich Scanian farmers always were an independent bunch with a strong regional identity. Hrolf and Harald would not have identified as Danes.

That pesky mythology
So, Frǫya is married to Oðr. He is a god only ever mentioned as her husband, who walks around like a friggin Gandalf in several disguises, and no one knows where he is at any given moment. When he is gone, Frǫya travels around trying to find him, and when she fails she cries tears of pure red gold, a fact so well known at the time that "Frǫya's tears" is used as a kenning for gold. They have the daughters Hnoss and Gersemi, both names meaning "jewel", but Gersemi is much more obscure than Hnoss and may just be another name for the same daughter, construed as two different by some confused later chronicler.

Now, Oðin the allfather is married to Frigga. He is known to travel widely in disguise. In several stories, Frǫya is his concubine. As per usual, the stories are a bit all over the place, and then Snorri Sturlason tries to make sense of them (and adds his own touch, no one knows how much, might be Marvel-level much for all we know) two hundred years or so later.

No one has a definitive answer here, but people better read than me have argued that Oðr simply is Oðin, and then there is a scholarly debate about whether or not Frigga and Frǫya used to be the same goddess, or if Oðin had two wives, or if maybe Frǫya was a concubine all along but stories written down in the mediaeval period gave her a husband to make her acceptable in Christian eyes. Remember that there is no sense of shame or sin connected to concubinage pre-christianity, just a lower and less secure status.

That was a rant, but I wanted to show how the sprawl of Norse mythology isn't a clearly defined set of canon characters with well known traits and clear cut singular responsibilities, like it's too often presented to the world (and Swedish middle schoolers).

 

[Alvlin]

The forest wasn't dense, but it was void of almost every landmark. They passed naked oaks and slender pine trunks, small clearings interspersed between swathes of forest. The paths they followed were almost invisible against a forest floor laid bare this late in winter, but sometimes, high reeds above the crust of snow revealed they were travelling through frozen swamps, or around icebound ponds.

The landscape was in no way foreign to him. Eskil was used to finding his way through woodlands very much like this one, but always with rocks and boulders to use as landmarks. Here, there were none.

Out of his two short hundred, seventeen had been here before, three of them twice, but none of the three were woodsmen enough to act as guides. At his side rode instead one of the Slavic scions, a man a few years older than himself named Drago, who had been serving at the outposts hereabouts in his youth. He was a Severian, and Eskil couldn't help but wonder how loyalties worked when men were torn between their sworn allegiances and their tribe. Either way, it was a relief to have found a guide with no kin among the Dregoviches.

That was the upside. The downside was that he had been answering - and evading - questions about his wife all morning. Nothing impudent or disrespectful, only a lot.

Had he known about her secret knowledge at their engagement? Had he been forced to prove his worth in some way? How many children did they have? Had she used her magic at childbirth? Was she as young as she looked, or was she blessed with eternal youth? Did she give him daily council? Weekly, then? Did she nag and complain like common wives or was she above that sort of thing? What did he do when her housework was sloppy? It would be hard to rebuke a seer, not to mention discipline one, right? Would there be spells in everything she wove, or could she make common cloth too? Did he have a way to know the difference?

Eskil hadn't minded at first, but there were limits to the sheer amount of time a man could talk about his wife without sounding like he didn't have a life of his own. Thus, it came as a relief when the woodlands opened into a frozen marshland and he saw a palisade rise on the higher ground ahead of them.

As they rode closer, he spotted three rows of ditches around the gord. Nothing surprising in itself, but they showed clear as day where the line was drawn between marsh and hill - the third ditch was almost invisible under a thick layer of muddy ice.

He saw now why Ormgeir hadn't been ready to believe that any larger force would gather here. The size of the gord itself wasn't the problem, but he could see columns of smoke rise from the inside. That would be from roasting pits, furnaces and forges. Just behind the palisaded settlement, the forest regained dominion. Between the peat and the wood there was ample fuel to feed the ever hungry fires, but if stacked with too many people, the whole gord would become a fire trap.


The vanguard halted halfway into the open land to wait for the rest of the force to gather. Of the two hundred, only twenty were on horseback. Not that it had mattered much for their pace, on some stretches the men on foot had moved quicker than the riders.

Eskil saw two figures break from their respective bands of men, one of them on horseback and the other on foot. That would be Gunnar on foot and Vermund on that stocky chestnut and white steed of his. He turned to greet the walking steersman of the Norunda men and the riding captain of the Pink Tunics.

That last warband was an interesting lot, twenty guards for hire that travelled along with whichever river caravan had need of them, and joined whichever court promised the highest profit during the winter season. Eskil was surprised Vermund hadn't been the one to challenge his position. He had a nagging feeling the grizzled old Gotlander had far more experience with both warfare and leadership.

"Plan stands?"

Eskil nodded.

"I bring five men from each of you, and a handful more from the smaller bands. I think 30 in all is a good number."

Vermund nodded.

"That's what I'd done."

Gunnar from Norunda had come up to them now, and looked at the fortifications with a thoughtful frown on his face.

"I've been told this settlement is only ten households, some two score adult men with three score women and children, and maybe half a score of thrall men. That means our three of ten would be matched man for man."

"True," Vermund replied. "You'd do with twenty."

Eskil shook his head.

"I want a margin in case some of the villagers are here. And your men may all be well trained and tempered, Vermund, but I have a few farmhands new to shaving among mine, and so does Gunnar."

Gunnar nodded.

"Four of mine are still unbloodied, but they'll stay outside. The ones I send in will be volunteers not on their first journey."

Eskil nodded back in confirmation.

"I will leave you two in joint command out here, with Thore speaking for me."

Vermund frowned.

"Why not him?"

"He's not a commander. Sensible, wise, practical man, but not one with authority to command a following. My own men will know I'm behind him, but the other fractions will need leaders they have heard of and already respect. Both of you are well known and have acted as heads of everyone lodged at your camp sites. You are simply a better fit."

"If we don't agree?"

It was sometimes tricky to decipher exactly what Vermund aimed at with his clipped questions, but Eskil had found it got easier the more he worked with the man. He probably didn't mean agree to take a shared command, but what would happen if they didn't agree on what decisions to make.

"Then you Vermund have the last word on battle and battle tactics, Gunnar on the rest."

Both men hesitated before they accepted the premise, but in the end Vermund offered his hand and Gunnar took it.



"Isn't that Hroar?"

Thore kept his voice low. Eskil didn't turn to look.

"Yes."

"Is he riding in with you?"

"Yes."

"Is that a good idea?"

Eskil sighed.

"No. I don't trust him. But he volunteered and Gunnar claims he is only trying to atone for his brother."

"I suppose sending him back wouldn't be a good diplomatic move?"

Eskil shook his head. He had considered it for a moment when he saw the men gather, but quickly rejected it.

"Gunnar isn't too happy about sharing command with Vermund, and he likes Hroar. He has gone on about how it's such a shame when one man's actions sullies the conscience of another, one brother of a dark mind, one a shining light, blah blah blah. I've heard things like that about myself since Sigulf died, and I know I'm not some shining beacon of virtue."

"...but you kind of are."

Thore frowned and continued.

"Being honourable can't mean to live without a single blind spot or misstep, and you beat yourself up hard for every single one of those you make. I wouldn't turn my naked back on Hroar, but I wouldn't dismiss the likeness either. I mean, how old were you when you publicly threatened Kildevi with rape to get to your brother?"

Eskil wasn't aware that Thore knew about that less than proud moment, and it took him a heartbeat to grasp what had been said.

"Wait… she told you about that?"

It felt like disloyalty somehow, but Thore looked unperturbed.

"I asked her about those chickens you sometimes claim you can't afford. My point is you must have been older than Hroar was last summer. Sometimes honourable men do less than decent things in the heat of the moment. Especially before they've screwed up a few times."

Thore shrugged.

"I still think he's a liability. I'm simply saying that Gunnar might be right."


Not much differed between today and every other day Eskil had been sent out to collect tribute from villages or settlements too small or unprestigious to house a court.

This time, the man who came out to meet him was of middle age, weathered and worn, and with the arms you would expect from an experienced blacksmith. After a greeting, his Norse vocabulary was exhausted, and a halting conversation in Slavic followed. Eskil had both an ear for and an interest in language, but his Slavic was rudimentary at best, and the polanian dialect he had picked up was just different enough to further hamper his understanding. Not that much was needed. The blacksmith didn't seem interested in small talk.


They had already gathered in the largest longhouse and been served both food and drink, when Eskil realised that something was wrong.

At first, it was nothing but a creeping suspicion, but as the first coffers were brought in, too many men seemed to follow. Glancing down the table, he saw Eirik look around with narrowed eyes and Thogard discreetly shift to have room to draw if needed. So, he wasn't the only one who sensed something. In here, they were only five; himself, his own two housecarls, Audvard, and Karol, one of Vermund's men in his birch-pink tunic. The rest had been gathered outside, but he hadn't heard any commotion.

Until now. Shouts and footsteps were heard from the outside. As he rose to reach for his weapon, a voice sounded from further inside the house.

"Sit down. We do not kill you, but if you attack, we will pick off men outside."

The Norse was broken and heavily accented, but fully understandable. Rastislav came walking in, surrounded by five men, two of them in chainmail.

Eskil hadn't been close enough to have a good look at him before. For a chieftain, he was young, no more than Eskil himself, and instead of a beard he had grown his moustache to an impressive thickness and length. Rastislav seemed to take a good long look back.

Finally he said, "I hoped for Valdemar, but you will work. If not, the other northman kills you."

Of course. How stupid could a grown man be? So, he'd made the same mistake twice now, maybe thrice, or more, but… There had been no ritual, no sudden visions, and since she hadn't framed her intuition as a foretelling, he hadn't listened. But she had told him not to go, because Ulfrik could be out here. Eskil still remembered every word, and easily conjured up her face when she questioned his decision, small mouth twisted to a lopsided scowl that made her lower lip jut out, the frown somehow making her eyes look huge when she accusingly stared at him.

It took every bit of strength he had to let go of the sword, but he had five and twenty of his men outside. Between Rastislav and Ulfrik, they would be ridiculously outnumbered.

In the corner of his eye, he saw his four companions do the same, with Karol the last one to let go of his longseax.

As he let himself be led away, he saw the others disarmed and placed back at the benches, with more and more men coming in from outside. They left the house through a door at the back, just in time to see a few men pass with their horses. Eskils heart jumped.

Not because he recognised the men as Ulfrik's. But because he recognized the chestnut gelding as Kildevi's.


The earth cellar was dark, only half dug out, with no rifts or windows to let any light in apart from a slight shimmer of brightness seeping in through a thin gap around the door. To his surprise, he wasn't tied. Instead, a chain ran from an iron around his right ankle and fastened to the back wall, long enough to move around the cellar, too short to reach the door.

The Dregoviches had taken his weapons, but otherwise left him free with all of his possessions, even the shirt of mail still on. In addition to an oil lamp and a small bowl of embers, the cellar was furnished with a folding chair and a few sheepskins. Atop a keg he found a plate of cheese and fried bread next to a jug of weak ale. So, he was obviously kept for bargain and ransom. That made sense. You didn't want to mistreat a noble if you planned to keep him alive, no point in breeding resentment that might turn into a thirst for personal vengeance.

He barely had time to sit down and have a look around the room before the door squeaked open to reveal two figures, their features hidden by the sharp backlight. As the door closed behind them, he recognized Ulfrik, and with him was another Roden man that Eskil knew by face, but not by name.

"Hello Cleanface."

Ulfrik's nose was still swollen, but it looked like it had been set and would heal straight. Such a pity. Eskil nodded in a polite greeting.

"Pighead."

Ulfrik smirked at the insult.

"Pigs are very useful, can't say that about smooth cheeked men with no dirt on their hands. Then again… smooth cheeks can be well used. Is that how you got your command?"

Eskil breathed. Shake it off, he told that inner part of him screaming in shame. You're not sixteen anymore. You've proven enough. Your hands have never been clean, your body never used, you've never left a battle without blood on your hands. Hold back your hand, respond in kind.

"I've stopped keeping track of how many men I've killed. But you're going on that list. And I'm going to savour it."

The unnamed rodener chuckled at that claim, and Ulfrik snorted. When he spoke again, the voice was derisive.

"You should know we have your whore tied and bagged in the woods with four of my men. I told them not to soil the merchandise, but none of them have seen a woman in a while, so…"

He shrugged, but the eyes he kept on Eskil was far from casual. They were carefully examining his face, looking for clues as to what struck or not. If Eskil had ever wondered if this was anything but pure goading, he didn't anymore.

All he had to do was to stay calm, and put every word on the scales for the future to balance. The Dregoviches wanted him alive, so Ulfrik would be looking for a good enough reason to kill him.

"Whatever they do, let's hope the big man still wants her afterwards. If not, we'll just give her to Veles." He paused, as if to think. "Where would you prefer she'd end up when you die? Ormgeir's fucktoy or bound down in a bog?"

"Fuck you."

"Careful, I might get ideas. Shaved, you'd be a gorgeous woman. Good enough for my rowers, anyway."

"I don't pityfuck the ugly, but I'll make an exception for you."

"I think we're done here," Ulfrik replied. "I have more things to do than you, but I'll leave Aki here to keep you company. You see, Rastislav has men guarding the door, but I don't think you should be left alone too long. No one wants to see you get hurt trying to save yourself."


Next time the door opened, the light shining in was the twilight of dusk. Aki left and a new man entered with fuel for the fire bowl, oil for the lamp, and a bowl of thick soup that tasted much like the ever-simmering stews back home. Aki had been silently carving on something his entire shift, but this new man was more talkative, and considerably less hostile.

"It's better if you don't know my real name," he said without preamble. "But call me Bunny, most people do."

"Bunny?"

Eskil could hear the scepticism in his own voice, but the man seemed unruffled by it.

"There was an accident. With a bunny."

Eskil didn't ask, but when Bunny invited him to a game of dice to pass the time, he grudgingly agreed.

Some time during the night, Eskil was woken by Bunny being relieved of his shift. The men spoke in hushed voices, and all he picked up was something about a house with blood everywhere. He tried to push away all thoughts about things he couldn't act on, but it was hard to go back to sleep and not know if some of that blood belonged to his wife.


He woke again in the early morning, heart racing from a nightmare almost gone from his memory. Cold sweat dripped down his face, and a pressure on his chest made it hard to breathe. He so rarely woke up in that state anymore.

In that place between sleep and waking, he turned to where there would be a warmth to ground him, a smell of home with warm notes of honey and juniper, sometimes of peppery musk. There was nothing. Only a sheepskin warmed by himself and the glowing embers in the fire bowl.

Slowly, he started to mutter, silently yet with moving lips.

"You are six and twenty, the eldest son of Thorlev Sigulfsson from Backby. You are married to Kildevi, a vǫlva from the wild north, and you are the father of Alfhild, first and only, first of many. You are not a blood splattered boy in Karelia, your brother is dead, and you are not a guard in the Noumeroi. That smoke does not smell of burnt flesh. You are in an earth cellar in Garðarike. Yesterday you led two short hundred men to this place to claim tribute for the Kniaz of Kyiv. You are captured. You have three times ten men inside the gord, another long hundred and half a short outside. Man up. Get up. Bide your time."

He did.



Later that same morning, Kildevi came walking through the great hall and further into the inner room where the Kniaz held his council.

She had been sent here by a suspiciously respectful housecarl, who hadn't even tried to stop Harald and Eymund from bringing her small chest into Ormgeir's innermost room. Rozalia had flitted past on the way in, but the young woman had avoided her gaze and quickly left the room, so she had done the same. Kildevi didn't know if it was shame for the poppy, unease about her unclear status as a guest or prisoner, or simple jealousy about the leeway that Ormgeir granted to her, but probably not to his youngest wife. Either way, Kildevi couldn't find it in herself to care enough to ask.

Now, two scions wordlessly opened the doors for her entourage, and she strode on forth into another room clearly not meant for women. Kildevi herself was used to it by now. Ina, however, had grown smaller and more childlike for every step inside the gord. By now, she was visibly pale, and her hands were clasped in front of her to stop them from shaking.

The room was at least half-full. Lyuboslav, his and Sigvard's seconds, the Kniaz and his seneschal were added to their earlier council, all in all ten men, and now herself and her guards. They all looked up when she walked in, but Ormgeir's gaze went straight to Ina.

"What is she doing here?" he asked without preamble.

Kildevi cocked her head.

"With my husband gone, she is my responsibility. And you wouldn't leave a distraught woman alone with no protection when my husband has taken all sworn men from our household, would you?"

The mélange eyes now shifted to give her a long look. Behind him, Isidor showed just the shadow of a smile.

"And what is her allegiance?"

"She is my companion and promised to my husband."

He sighed and rephrased the question with condescending patience.

"What are her tribal affiliations?"

"The eastern Polans."

"...and nothing else?"

Kildevi suddenly realised she didn't really know further back than one generation. She glanced at Ina, who shook her head.

"Her father is Bjarni the Half-Dane, who was born in Fjardundraland. You should be able to guess what her other tribal affiliations are."

"She can wait outside."

Kildevi looked around the room. Sigvard simply looked tired of them, Isidor and Lyuboslav both mildly amused. Helgi and Ingvar showed no sign to even have noticed their presence.

"Why? You all have your seconds with you. She is here as my second. And the men are here to ensure that I am not the only one in this room without martial prowess to fall back on. I hear no one complain about their presence."

"Our seconds are here to listen and learn, to be able to step up in our absence."

"So is she."

"And what are you teaching her, Seeress? I am hard pressed to see your little friend straighten her back and take your place."

Ormgeir's teeth had begun to sound gritted. Kildevi found that brought her immense joy.

"I am teaching her how to act as a highborn matron in our homelands. No one is born with that knowledge and authority, you know. It has to be taught. And with my husband away, she will be the one who speaks for me in my absence. It is a simple line of legal authority, from first wife to second."

Kildevi thought she heard a whimper behind her, but that was probably Ina thinking it so loudly she too could hear it.

Oh, how she wished he would go on to question the fact that an engagement was not a marriage. She had so many points to make about the sometimes blurry lines between concubinage, engagement and full marital status, so many legal examples of what could constitute a wedding, and had prepared to argue them since long before today.

Come at me, she thought. I dare you.

"I'm not sure you are the right woman to teach anyone wifely virtues, Seeress."

"And you are getting awfully close to a challenge for insult. With my husband away the honour of fighting for me would fall on one of my guards. Is this really the time to start killing our own men?"

Isidor shifted forward with a hand leaning on his pommel.

"I would…"

"She can stay."

Isidor's soft voice was cut off by the full authority of the Kyivan throne, and Ingvar's tone was dismissive yet final.

"We'll keep her in sight until everything is set in motion. And her father is dependent on our good will. She betrays us, he is done."

Now Sigvard simply waved Kildevi forward to the table. Behind her, she saw Eymund offer Ina his arm and lead her to a chair in the corner.

"A short summary," began the weathered old warrior. "Eskil entered the gord with a force of three times ten. A while later, the gates closed, and no one has gone in or out since. Two men are in charge outside, Gunnar who is leading an expedition of leidang men from Norunda for the Upsala king, and our old friend Vermund of the Pink Tunics. Vermund suspects they move men in and out of the gord somehow, but hasn't figured out how. There is a new gate in the palisade at the forest side, but they haven't seen anyone come and go there since the front gates closed. Oh, and that steersman from Roden has joined the Dregoviches. In pure numbers, they only barely make a difference, but it means Rastislav will know much more about the men he's fighting. Both captives and besiegers. That also explains why his taking of you was so well timed. They must have had sentries to keep an eye out for when we sent men out to the peat gord."

Helgi had been staring at a point past the table, now he looked up.

"They have not sent a messenger. You cannot have ransom without exchange. Yet they have not sent word, simply taken a hostage and closed the gates."

"Maybe they have killed him?" Sigvard suggested with a shrug. "Rastislav's little gift to that steersman?"

"It seems stupid to risk retribution from us and personal vengeance from a sorceress for a steersman with some twenty men left," Lyuboslav shot in. "It's a steep price to pay for such a small friendship."

"Unless he is stalling."

Ormgeir had seamlessly shifted from his little power struggle with Kildevi and back to the matter at hand. Helgi looked at him and nodded.

"Yes. He is stalling."

"But what for?"

Ingvar's question seemed more rhetorical than anything else.

After a short moment of silence, Helgi said, "we know they have forces gathered west. He has given up his village and gord to us. He keeps our hostage in a gord, in the middle of a swampy woodland, hard to find and hard to reach…"

He trailed off, but no one tried to fill the silence.

"Now, before deeper considerations, I think he is trying to make us split our forces in two. To keep as many of our men as possible tied up at the peat gord until the other chieftains have taken this village back from whatever forces we have left here. Eskil is not for ransom. He is bait."


Isidor was the first to break the silence that followed.

"That fits. I think we can plan with what Helgi said in mind."

Ormgeir and Sigvard exchanged a look. After three times ten years of brotherhood, Kildevi had a sense that it conveyed more than she could discern from the outside.

Still looking at his brother in arms, Ormgeir said, "Feint or not, we cannot let them get away with the challenge of capturing one of ours. If we leave the unaligned to fend for themselves, we will have to work hard to win back anything that even resembles loyalty. Most of them we can live without, but Vermund's men are grizzled and hardened, and he could have recruited tenfold more if only he had wanted to. We don't want him to carry a grudge."

"They could hold out in that peat gord for a week or more," Sigvard huffed. "We would have our forces tied down in a siege over a worthless clump of hovels and a handful of furnaces."

"No," Isidor replied. "We would have our forces tied down over the fate of a promising, highly visible young man, who will one day be as well renowned as each and every one of us. If we leave him to his fate, after he volunteered to ride out as an emissary, every single man will know that service to the Kniaz of Kyiv is a one sided duty. Loyalty is rarely evenly balanced, but we do carry an obligation for our own."

"For me, this is not a point of debate."

Kildevi's voice was curt and sharp.

"As I stated this morning, I am only here to get my husband and his men back. So, I am going to that gord, and I invite you to come with me, but if you don't, I will still go."

"And what are you going to do when you get there?" Lyoboslav asked.

"I will leave my shell to Walk, until I find him. I will See what is inside. Then I will bring what I learned to whatever commander I can find. Hopefully, it will be one of you. If not, maybe this Vermund you speak of. But I will hand whoever that is whatever he needs to do what he has to. And…"

"See, this might not take very long after all," Ormgeir cut her off in a tone that made it impossible to know if he was being serious or flippant. "With good intelligence, we might have our forces gathered back here again in just a day or two."

"…then I will tear the remnants of luck from their hands, gather up a thunderstorm, and sit back to watch how a whole village of people doing Veles' bidding will handle the wrath of Perun. I don't think it will be pretty, all that fire in a storm."

Without waiting for a response from the men, Kildevi turned to Ina.

"I hope you remember your varðlokur."

Ina looked up from her hands to stare, confused and overwhelmed.

"Varðlokur?"

"The chants."

"Y-yes. But I have only sung them as lullabies, never for… magic."

"What do you think a lullaby is?" Kildevi asked, voice snapping like a whip. "You have already galdered, and you don't even know it!"

Ina flinched. This was a side of Kildevi she had never seen before.

"Yes, all-knowing one."

Something about Ina's reaction poked at Kildevi's mind. A reminder of something other than the urgency of sharp, controlled fury. When she continued, her voice had softened.

"Good. I know you can do this. If you can call sleep to your siblings, you can sing for me. He will soon be your husband, too. It is only fair that you have a part in this."

Meanwhile, Ormgeir had turned to Ingvar Kniaz.

"I can bring out two short hundred of my men. That would mean you keep both the scions and the Kyivan Polans here, enough to hold this place and probably beat the Dregoviches back, in case they arrive before our return from the peat gord."

Slowly, Ingvar nodded his approval.

"Then you will hold my proxy, old friend. Don't do anything I wouldn't have done."

Looking at the men where they stood, each with a hand on the other's shoulder, Kildevi realised that wasn't reassuring. Ingvar showed little of Ormgeir's wit and humour, but apart from that, they were cast in the same mould.

Helgi looked around the room, nodding at Isidor and then at herself before he spoke.

"I too will come."

He rose, hands behind his back.

"I have no troops of my own, but I can be useful."

"I think we might have use of you here," Sigvard said.

"Maybe. But when the Volkhva returned, beset by fury, it was I that she called for. I take that as a sign of where I should be."

"Then I want Chedomir as well," Ormgeir retorted. "If this is indeed a game of gods and fate, I want a priest of those gods at my side."

Silence fell as everyone looked at Ingvar. He stood there, looking between the men of his council before his gaze fell on Kildevi. It was as if he truly looked at her for the first time, and she could almost feel his eyes rake her face, her height, her slight frame draped in wool of blue and green. Finally, he nodded.

"We will do so. Volkhva, I will lend you my scion. When this is over, I can release him to you if he wants to. If not, you borrow him as your own until your men return. Now, go and prepare. You will leave as soon as Ormgeir has gathered his men, and my senechal is done with preparations to transport equipment and provisions. If you need anything - take it with Hjalmar."


Back in Ormgeir's house, Kildevi's chests were already packed and ready. Certain in her belief that she was safe enough when fully awake, she had sent both Eymund and Harald back to their respective lodgings to pack and prepare. Ina had gone with them, both to pack what belongings she would need, and to tell Lida that they would be leaving.

Now, she was going through her herb chest, chin tense as she jerked out the small pouches and boxes to sort them.

"You seem cross with me. More cross than usual, and that is saying something."

Ormgeir was sitting at one of the benches around the table, watching her work in a way that made her want to do gruesome harm to his eyeballs. Now, she turned to shoot him a gaze of resentful distrust.

"You locked me in a grapple, and force fed me with enough poppy to make a grown man sleep. For what? To hinder my sacred duty to bring my husband back from the talons of a dragon, and to have me helpless and alone under your roof. I think that is more than one good reason to be cross with you."

Silent for a moment, he returned her look with a smile as mild as it was patronising.

"Seeress, I won't insult your wit by claiming I don't usually do things for my own benefit, but keeping you here that evening created a lot more problems for me than if I had simply let you run off."

Ormgeir rose from the bench, carefully pulling his hair back to tie it.

"I realise I cannot make you think of it as me saving your life, but maybe I can at least make you see how I was doing you a favour."

"A favour you later wrung what advantage you could out of."

Smiling, he gazed down at her, amused by her indignation.

"Of course. You make the best out of wherever you find yourself."

"And if you had been left alone with me, then what would you have done?"

"Asked other questions."

"What questions?"

Eyebrows raised, Ormgeir shook his head and shot her a flippant look.

"Uh-uh, you chose to be my friend, not my consort. That means there are things I won't tell you."

He walked towards the door, but paused to turn to her again.

"But it was good to hold you again, albeit under less pleasing circumstances."

As the door closed behind him, the last pouch was sorted and Kildevi slammed the lid down on her herb chest. What was it with her these days? So much anger, and since when did she let Ormgeir get to her? In some ways, he admittedly always had, but not like this. It was the loneliness, it had to be. Except, she wasn't alone. Ina had prompted her to bring her along, and she counted as company more than most. So why?

She knew as soon as she had put the issue into words. There was no one left to lean on. Ina was her responsibility, not the other way around. She commanded Eymund and Harald, and none of the other men had any sort of obligation or loyalty to her. She might not be alone, but she alone carried the authority to make decisions and take direction.

How she had loathed that Eskil held that power, and now, how she wished that he was here so she could share it.


It was in those thoughts she heard a knock on the door. Eymund entered, carrying a sailor's sack and what looked like every weapon he could possibly use. He put all of it down on a bench, then pulled off his helmet with a sigh to tug his fingers through chin length tresses, damp with sweat. Kildevi thought it looked like a very impractical length of hair, too short to bind, but still long enough to get in the way. At least it was decently flattering.

"So, Kildevi, I think that's it," Eymund said as he walked back to close the door. "Ina is still going through her things down at your lodgings, but Harald is waiting for her outside. He left his luggage with the pack mules, so he has hands left to help her carry everything."

"Good. Thank you."

They both stood silent for a moment, then Kildevi leaned closer.

"We have a lot of things to do, but I have one thing to ask while we are still alone."

"Of course, anything."

He looked so sincere, really keen to help.

"Yesterday, Chedomir didn't want to leave Pridbor to guard me while I slept. Do you have any idea why that is?"

Eymund obviously hadn't been prepared for that question. His face went from earnest to panicked as the words seemed to slap him in the face. Kildevi calmly waited.

"I… no… and you know Glebu, he always… uhm."

"I asked about Pridbor. What does Glebu have to do with it?"

"He must have said…things, to his father, that weren't really meant to… you know… misunderstood some things and you know how things can sound if you weren't there…"

"Were you there, Eymund? Maybe you can give me a less misunderstood version?"

"Maybe not misunderstood, but… misread and, you know how people can talk… and… no one ever thought Glebu would take it seriously and get his balls in a twist about it."

Kildevi hadn't moved. She sat there, watching him, calm and outwardly expressionless.

"You still haven't told me what."

"No, but I mean... It's not really important. It was just … many people say all kinds of things!"

"And you, Eymund? Do you say all kinds of things?"

"No… I… sometimes I dispel them!"

"Give me an example. Of things you've dispelled."

When Eymund stayed silent, she added, "we can wait until I have taken Eskil back, if you want to. Maybe you would rather tell it to his face than to mine?"

He was sweating now. She couldn't help but wonder how coarse things had to be, to be that hard to say out loud.

Finally, he squeezed out, "I've told them your hair isn't made of gold."

"I know. And Glebu fought you for it after the rites at the white shores."

"...anywhere."

"Oh."

"And that you don't… use it on your lovers."

"I really hope you meant my one husband."

"Of course!" Eymund said quickly. "Everyone who knows you also knows… that."

Kildevi was silent. There had been a moment of stunned shame before she had even realised that he had said lovers in plural. She hoped Eymund took it for disapproval and not for being called out.

"So, I'll try again. Why wouldn't Chedomir want to leave Pridbor to guard me when I'm asleep?"

Eymund seemed to realise there was no way out except forward, and sighed.

"Baseless boasting. Some of it funny, some of it not."

"I mean," he added quickly, "boasting like you do before a battle, not after it! Things you will do, not things you have done. And you're not the only one bragged about that way, not even the only married one, but your magic leaves more room for wild tales, and Eskil hasn't taken any of the opportunities thrown at him since you joined him here, and the opinion is that must be because there is something that makes you… eh, different in some ways and then everyone knows Ormgeir has been trying to pluck you and have you seen his latest wife? And then there is everything Ulfrik said about you and the crews when he was gauding Eskil to fight, and no one thinks that really happened, but you still get visions of what it would look like stuck in your head, especially if you would've been there for it, and… eh…"

Eymund trailed off, as if he only now realised he might have said more in his nervous rant than he intended to. And he hadn't exactly sounded disgusted.

"So," he concluded, deflated. "That's probably why."

Kildevi cocked her head, just watching him before she replied, tone deceptively soft.

"But, Pridbor was never lodged at the barracks in St Mamas, Eymund. You were."

Silence was allowed to reign for a while. In truth, she felt nauseous and needed the moment to collect herself, but she certainly didn't mind how that left Eymund to stew.

This was worse than anything she had ever heard while spinning a spindle.

She felt… soiled. As if she had somehow been an accomplice to acts she had never partaken in. The thought that Eymund had enjoyed inner visions of her willingly being passed between groups of men, himself among them, made it hard to look at him. And yet - he and Harald were the only men she had left. She had no choice but to keep him.

Eymund looked like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere but there. It didn't really make anything better, but at least it seemed fair that he shouldered some of the shame that threatened to swallow her.

Finally, she said, "I still don't understand how this makes Pridbor worse than the rest of you."

The young man flinched, then he nervously replied.

"He's always the loudest one, and the one who brings up you all the time, especially since what you said on Khortytsia. But it's just flaunting. Flexing. You know, showing he's not daunted by you eating storms and talking to gods."

"He sounds quite daunted."

Kildevi didn't know what Eymund was alluding to, she couldn't remember anything from the holy island that had to do with Pridbor. She sighed, resigned.

"First of all, as soon as the men are back, you will be moving in with our household. You may not be a housecarl, but Eskil has trusted you enough to keep you close, and it's obvious now that lodging six young men, together with their slaves but with no families to temper you, wasn't a great idea by whoever was acting seneschal."

She paused for emphasis before she continued.

"If Eskil learns about this, he'll have to kill Pridbor, or in the best case we end up with a trial followed by reparations. And I don't have to tell you how it looks that you didn't protest anything. Eskil would expect you to defend me. I would expect you to defend me."

Eymund looked like he wanted to protest. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"About Pridbor, or about you? I don't know yet. We'll have to save him first. See it as your chance to redeem yourself."

---

Endnote:

References from far back, in the order they come up in this chapter
Eskil called Kildevi argr and threatened to "mistake her for a thrall one night", then paid her six speckled hens in reparations in Sister Bear Part 5: Alfrida's judgement and the six speckled hens.
Ulf tells Kildevi about when Eskil was trapped in a riot at the Noumeri prison in Part 18: Conversations in Constantinople. He also mentions burnt out cells and barricades made out of bodies.
Allusions to Eskil's hair fetish have been dropped so many times I can't be arsed to find them all, but I think the first vague hint is the night before their wedding in Sister Bear Part 10: The threat of non-roman poetry. (Maybe something already somewhat sexually loaded within a culture shouldn't be called a fetish, but if you like a thing as a separate thing from the thing it is on, I'd say that's a thing. And by thing I mean fetish.)
Ulfrik claimed that all the ship crews had taken turns on Kildevi in Part 33: Wolves and snakes 1/3. That's also when Eskil broke his nose.
Kildevi snaps at Pridbor for staring at her in Part 25: In the shadow of the oak. In the same chapter, Thore tells Kildevi that Glebu and Eymund almost got in a fist-fight about whether her hair was real gold or not.

On the Pink Tunics
Pink didn't become a girly colour until very recently. If I remember correctly the shift is somewhere at the end of the 19th century, but don't quote me on that. As late as the 18th century, pink was considered a manly colour reminiscent of diluted blood, and blue a light, fresh, calming hue, well suited for the delightful nature of girls. I don't presume that people in the 10th century necessarily thought like people in the 18th, but they certainly wouldn't think like 21st century people either.

Birch bark can be used to dye wool several different hues of dusty pink, ranging from mild lavender to salmon. It would have been readily available, and easy enough for the men themselves to freshen up in a new dye bath once a year or so. It simply seemed like a practical gimmick at a time when uniforms weren't a thing.


Also: I now know details about early medieval extraction of bog ore that I had no clue about just a month ago. Writing is a great hobby to promote lifelong learning. I wonder how hard it is to make a clay furnace?


Edit 16/9: Fixed a minor grammatical error.

 

[Alvlin]

"It's so strange. This time yesterday, we hadn't met yet."

Sitting on a horse she barely knew, Kildevi had kept her racing thoughts in check by being fully focused on her riding. Now she looked up, surprised, and grateful to be distracted from her inner turmoil.

"Why is that strange?"

"I don't know. One day you sleep in late because you know you will stand sentry all evening, and the next you're trusted with the life of a far seeing woman, who commands your commanders yet talks to you as if she was no higher above you than your mother. And your whole life changes." Harald paused. "I really should tell Hrolf that I am going north again, I hope he wants to come."

"I take it you still wish to be released from your oath to Ingvar Kniaz?"

"That's the plan. I said I was your man, and so I am. But, I want your permission to speak freely, Seeress. I have a question that might seem a bit nosy."

Kildevi glanced to the side where he rode next to her. Behind them were Ina and Eymund, talking about something else. If they kept their voices low, no one else would be within earshot.

"Speak, Harald. I can't promise you an answer, but I will hear your question."

"Are you and Ormgeir old lovers?"

Kildevi suddenly had something stuck in her nose, and not knowing if it was laughter, panic or something actually stuck in there, she took a moment to sneeze-snort-cough it out in an undignified way. The back muscles on her new horse began to twitch nervously from her sudden movement, and she tried her best to keep her convulsions down.

Finally she managed to squeak, "no, not… no. Never. Only in his head. Maybe not even that, I don't know, but no loving has been… done. Made. Ever. Why?"

Harald eyed her curiously as she struggled for composure.

"You act like people do when they have had something. Like you can't help but pinch each other at every opportunity, and the tension... phew. You seem ready to ravage each other out of wanton spite. If someone had told me you used to be engaged, but you found him in bed with your sister two days before the wedding and for revenge married his brother instead, but he still thinks you're overreacting and wants you back, I would have believed it. It would have fit. Are you sure…?"

It took Kildevi a moment to untangle the many twists in that story before she replied.

"That was strangely specific, but no. I am absolutely dead sure I have never been engaged to Ormgeir, nor has he ever been my lover, and I don't have a sister. If I am to speak as freely as you did when you asked that highly improper question, I have had exactly two lovers in my entire life, and they would be my first husband, and my second. I once gave myself as hostage to a cruel and wicked river, but I don't think she counts in this regard."

He pondered that last statement at length before he smiled and seemed to let it go.

"Oh well, that's a shame. But I guess a disciple of Frǫya doesn't have to follow in all of her footsteps. Who is your husband? I know we're on our way to save him, but it helps to know who to look for."

"He is my lion, first among the unaligned northmen. Strong like the beast whose name he carries, beautiful like Balder, stubborn like a donkey, and worries I'll die if he leaves me out of sight, even though he knows that I will have more children and outlive him."

"So, we're looking for Thorlevson, then?"

Kildevi blinked.

"You know my husband? From way back when?"

"Thorlevson? Whose empty camp we guarded? Can't say I know him, but my big brother Troels does. We all met up by accident in Ladoga three or so years ago when me and Hrolf were going south, and both Troels and Thorlevson were heading home to their breathlessly waiting brides. But we joked about Troels' bride being less breathless and more breathing down his neck. The whole thing was rushed because she popped out his first son some eight months after he left. So, you were the waiting bride, then?"

"Yes."

"Were you breathless?"

"Not really. But he grew on me." Kildevi paused before she added, "he also owes me a poem, and if he dies before I get it, I will use that to bargain him back from whatever Asgard hall he feasts in, because now I love him and I want that poem. Even though it might be built around crude alliterations on F."

Harald chuckled.

"So, what turned you around? I mean, if being disgustingly handsome didn't impress you, what did?"

Kildevi snorted.

"Do you have any idea how daunting it is, being given to someone who would have no reason to look twice at you? Particularly if he doesn't even want to kiss you after the engagement. We spent three months engaged, sleeping three paces apart - not a glance. Not a touch. Not even a knowing smile. Then suddenly on the wedding night, I was compared to milk, honey and canary birds, and it turned out he really likes my craft and the disinterest was respect for my widowhood and why am I telling you this when we haven't known each other for a full day yet?"

Harald shrugged, but looked cheerful.

"I don't know. Don't worry, I sense it too. Like we should have known each other for a long time by now, even though it's only been a day. It is like that sometimes. Some people feel like they're one of yours, but you don't know why yet."

He paused.

"But, you never answered my question, the one about what you warmed to if it wasn't the looks. Could you please answer it, even if it's just with a no? My mind gets all muddled when things are left to hang like that, and then it pops up when I should be focused on something else and my mind just won't let go. Does that ever happen to you?"


It was a nice respite, talking to Harald, but the woodlands were empty. Not of trees, not of men, but of life. It took her a while to realise that the emptiness she felt around her was as if a constant sound had suddenly ceased, leaving a loud silence in its wake.

Kildevi hadn't considered how the small folk and dwellers used to fill her mind, not with prattle, but with an awareness of their presence. Here, their absence was eerie. Not every tree in the forested swamp lacked consciousness, but all the small spirits that usually inhabited the land had fled. Only the old ones remained, deeply rooted in ancient soil.

"What happens now?"

Ina had silently fallen in at her side, filling the space Harald had left.

"I don't know. I guess that depends on what we find when we arrive. But no matter what, I will not let Ormgeir make any decisions without me. I've begun to trust that Helgi would place himself between me and Ormgeir, but he has no reason to keep an eye out for you, so you will have to rely solely on our own men. I hope we will find our friends and housecarls when we get there, but this far, Harald or Eymund needs to have you within line of sight at all times."

Kildevi suddenly remembered a rather awkward moment outside Ladoga when Thogard had refused to leave her alone down by the river. He had quickly turned around when she pointedly shoved a bloodied rag in front of him.

"If you need to take care of any sort of womanly troubles, they will simply have to look away."

Contrary to her own reaction when Eskil had told her she would have to be under constant guard, Ina didn't protest, nor did she look defeated. If anything, she looked relieved.

"I don't know Harald yet, but I'm comfortable with Eymund," she replied. "He is nice and courteous and I know that Eskil trusts him."

Reminded of her last conversation with Eymund, Kildevi closed her eyes. Should she? Should she tell her? No. The last thing she wanted was for Ina to lose trust in one of the people she had no choice but to lean on. Thus, she smiled, but the smile was forced and bleak.

"Then I will happily leave you Eymund if we have to part ways. Something tells me he won't mind."


The path had widened when the column suddenly stopped. A short while later, a well known voice sounded from the front.

"Kildevi! Eymund!"

Thore's voice was as strong as it was relieved as he rode towards them with his horse in a brisk walk.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you!"

It wasn't until he came closer that he seemed to notice Ina. His face shifted into a small frown.

"Ina, what are you doing here?"

Turning to Kildevi, he added, "why isn't she back in the village? This bogland may well become a battlefield, that's no place for an unarmed woman."

For some reason it didn't occur to Kildevi that she too was an unarmed woman, not until she saw Harald open his mouth like he wanted to say something, then slowly close it again.

"Things have happened," she said, curtly. "Things that have forced me to reconsider what the gameboard looks like."

Thore's frown had deepened, but when their eyes met they locked in understanding, not conflict. When he spoke again, his voice had softened.

"Kildevi, what has happened since yesterday morning?"

With Thore here, Kildevi felt her hard shell soften, a reminder of how her mind and body kept going on pure urgency and need. But she couldn't stop. Not yet. This was not the time to cry.

"So many things, and I can't afford to be tired yet. But before we begin, you must know that I was taken for ransom by Ulfrik's men, and Eystein died trying to defend me. I am so sorry, Thore. I know you knew him better than any of us."

Thore took a moment as her words sank in, then he swallowed and nodded.

"He always was afraid he would die without a purpose. I guess you gave him one." He paused, still nodding to himself. "Yes, his was a good death. When this is over, we will see how many more we will have to celebrate and mourn."



Kildevi had seen many camps built, or added to. In the background, tents were raised, fires built, lines drawn between groups and functions as Ormgeirs forces added new waste pits and a tent was raised to receive the wounded.

Usually, she would be in the middle of it all, lending a hand and giving directions. This time the hustle was only a backdrop. Her eyes were fixed on the gord with its palisade of sharpened tree trunks and rising columns of smoke. The ditches were shallow compared to those she had seen at the bigger gords and forts, but they were too wide to jump and just deep enough to make any pace of riding perilous.

Somewhere in there, Eskil sat captured.

That was why she wasn't down there, building the camp, meeting what men Eskil had left behind. Between two people, or in the small world of their family of fellows, love might be a driving force. Here, in the open for everyone to see, this battle was a matter of pride and power.

Veles might have played this as a prank on her, but to the men he played with, it was not. It was a challenge, an insult, an act of war. And she had to act accordingly.


Vermund was not only considerably older but considerably uglier than Kildevi had expected from the leader of a well known warband. She had heard his name several times before, and seen him from a distance, but this was the first time she was close enough to say that she had met him.

Apart from a skin ridden by pox scars he sported a club nose, and the small eyes above it were thin slits deeply set in a round face. But the main thing she noticed was the scar that ran from a jawline disfigured by fractures, all the way across his face, leaving a valley in the ridge of the left eyebrow. That was not a wound Kildevi would have thought any man could survive. Those deep sockets must have been the only thing that had saved his eyesight.

Now he came strolling up to them with that rolling gait commonly seen in sailors and riders. Kildevi was willing to bet this man was both. When he realised she was there, half hidden behind Helgi, Pridbor and Thore, he took a moment to goggle at her, before he sank down on one knee with surprising agility for a middle aged man of such stubby stature.

"M'queen," he mumbled, voice deep and hoarse. "You came, to retake what's yours. I hope you have not come for my old debts."

Kildevi had never before been called queen, but she instinctively understood its meaning. It was an honorific from a man who wanted to state his respect, not any misconception about who she was married to.

"I am here to take back what's mine, but I know of no debts."

"Oh, alright then."

Vermund rose with almost the same floating ease and wiped off the snow that had stuck to his knee.

"But if I fall here, I know you'll bring me where I should be."

Now he looked around, a bit awkward, as if he didn't know exactly where to go from there. Finally, he took refuge in Helgi.

"Where is Gunnar and his men?"

"Building ladders."

"Now?"

"Yes. We rode past a grove of young pine trees that would not be seen from the gord. His men are farmers and timbermen. Now, that is useful."

Vermund nodded.

"Got to be useful for something, the farmers. What are we looking at?"

"I am looking at you and the palissade behind you."

"What situation?"

"I do not understand the question. What situation do you refer to?"

Helgi's voice was calm as ever, but by now Vermund looked visibly frustrated. Pridbor whispered something and Helgi nodded.

"Now, we are waiting for Ormgeir's men to settle in with their equipment. Meanwhile, the ladders are built, and kept out of sight. Our priest will make sacrifices and call his blessings, then our vǫlva will…" He glanced at Kildevi. "...will See what she can See and bring it to us. We shall not storm before we know what to expect."

"So where do the ladders come into play?"

"When you realise that you need them, it will be too late to make them."

"This is a siege. I thought we set the time."

With another look at Kildevi, Helgi put his hands behind his back.

"This siege will not be long. If the hostages are not free by midday tomorrow, Omgeir will sacrifice them and take the gord."

"No!"

Kildevi heard her own voice before she had made a decision to speak.

"Yes, I believe that he will. It is a simple assessment of costs and benefits. And you, Seeress, should consider beforehand what it would be worth to you if he did not. If nothing is set in motion by then, I believe that you will be facing an offer at some point late tomorrow morning."

"And what do you base this on?"

"What was said at the Kniaz' council. And your resistance has been a loss of face and prestige to him. If you give yourself over freely, that statement of strength would be worth a delay to him. Or so I believe."

"When you say give myself over…"

"This is not about urges, Seeress. This is about politics, and needs to be a public matter. Would you yield into a long concubinage to buy your men time, or would you sacrifice them to deny him the triumph?"

"He's a right bastard," Vermund interjected. "But Eskil has been juggling a command that ought to have blown up in his face in the first week, one I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole-arm. I like'im. Could help himself to a pink tunic if ever he wants one."

Vermund paused to look towards the gord, with its closed gates and only a narrow walkway over the ditches.

"I say don't dwell on it, M'lady, at least not until tomorrow morning. That red-headed sisterfucker has a way to make things work for'im."



"So… I thought maybe you'd want to know that your wife probably ain't dead."

In the earth cellar, guards had come and gone. Two men had passed since early morning, and a third sat here now, watching him with obvious curiosity. Eskil vaguely recognised him as one of the men he'd seen drifting around Ulfrik's part of the camp. Now, his head snapped up, and he did his best to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Hroar, wasn't it? What more can you tell me?"

"Nah, you're thinking about Hrafn's brother. Joar's the name. And I met your wife, just a day ago. Then she was in full vigour."

He chuckled.

"Definitely alive enough to bruise."

"So where is she?"

"We don't know. We found what was left of Knut, Gulli, Grimulf and Ulfkil, but no woman… parts." The young man paused, forehead now twisted in a deep frown. "It looked like they had been torn to pieces by a bear. She has a bear on her staff. Right?"

Eskil could feel the assumption hang in the air, almost tangible. A shudder rippled down his back. Could she…? She had talked of being able to call down a terrible vengeance if men forced their strength on her. Was that what had happened?

It was hard to say which part of that thought was most disturbing - the prelude of his woman being misused, or the aftermath where she turned into a bear to rip four men to pieces.

Joar hesitated in the face of Eskil's silence, then he leant closer and lowered his voice.

"Speaking of wives… I want to go home. You see, some of us were halfway between Ladoga and Holmgard before we realised Ulfrik had gone east against the king's orders. Most of us are unhitched and the few married men are pretty sure their wives are staying, but I'm… I have someone waiting for me and she's not going to wait forever. Her father isn't too fond of me to begin with, so…"

Eskil waited. He thought he had an idea about where this was going, and rightly so.

"... I'm thinking, what if I help you get out of this mudhole, and you help me get out of this mess? I don't think you've heard, but a shitload of Kyivans has joined your guys outside, and they've raised a pavilion that looks an awful lot like a commander's camp. I'm no commander, just a promising young pig farmer with a decent fishing boat, but I'm betting my fattest sow that they'll topple the palisade, and if they do it too soon, that guy with the moustache will give you to Ulfrik. Don't know what they're waiting for, to be honest, but they probably want you out in one piece, and I want to go with you. All the way back home."

Silence reigned for a while, then slowly Eskil nodded.

"You have yourself a deal."


Meanwhile, Jonar stood leaning against a timbered wall, fiddling with his seax. The men had been split up into groups and ushered inside like pigs into a pigsty. After a night and half a day in there, some friendships were more strained than others.

They had been relieved of their weapons, but while each man had handed over their sword or axe, no one had patted them down to see what else that had. Jonar wasn't the only one who had managed to sneak away his sidearm.

"Fuck," he concluded. "I'm stuck in a fucking shack with a couple of yapping whelps. Because of Prighead Thorlevson."

"Maybe this isn't the time to call us names, Jonar," Kolvind ventured, only to be met with a look of pure disdain. "I've been out before," he continued, "so has Bjorn, Olof and Thorven. We had to leave Ulf behind because he hadn't."

"Well, you're not fucking Aslaug, are you?"

"Neither are you. No one she sails with is ever fucking Aslaug."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No! No, absolutely not, I just thought…"

"That's the problem right there. You fuckers are so green you need to think, because your spine can't make proper calls yet. Shite… It's down to me now, isn't it?"

He paused, and a shadow fell across his face as he looked around the other men, none of them more than a fart past twenty.

"Shite," he repeated. "It really is down to me now."



Kildevi stood like an idol by Chedomir's side as he did his duties, calling on gods she only rarely knew the names of. When he closed the rites, he turned to meet her gaze for the very first time.

It was a strange thing, to finally look into the eyes of someone you had known for over a season. To receive their trust like you would accept a sword from a man handing over his weapon. To have him stand before you, naked and unprotected. Somehow she hadn't thought that way about those men who had never feared her gaze.

In front of her stood Ormgeir and Helgi, Vermund and the man she had been told was Gunnar, with Thore next to them. Behind her, Ina waited with Harald and Eymund. Eskil's absence was so tangible, it was almost a presence, the outline of where he should have been a gaping wound.

Her voice rose as she called what luck she could, but she was in no state to plead. This time, her bargain with chance was a demand, and an offer.

Every fallen man, I have sworn to Valfroya, each one of the daughters made fatherless. Each fallen enemy will be my sacrifice. But of my own men, you will get nothing. Thus, if you grant me luck, your reward will be swift. But if you don't, you will leave with empty hands.

Then, she turned her back to the crowd of men. Her own feat of strength still lay before her.


The pavilion had been raised for the commanders. It was, first and foremost, a room for council. Now, it was the only place that could provide seclusion from the crowded camp and the elements.

The layers of winter woollens were needed even inside the pavilion, in spite of its glowing braziers. Kildevi had not changed her dress apart from freeing her hair from its coverings, and now the unpinned braids and loose tresses were curbed only by the cat skin stole and a fur lined hood.

Though secluded from the hustle of the camp, they were not alone, and a handful of men spoke in hushed voices while she prepared. With her were Ina, Eymund and Harald. Around a small table stood Ormgeir and Chedomir next to Helgi and Pridbor. She could feel their attention from across the room, only barely disguised by their conversation.

"Listen Ina, I need you to sing, and I need you to not stop until you meet my eyes and know them as mine. Can you do that?"

"I… I think so."

Their eyes met. Kildevi had never dwelled on the colour of Ina's eyes, but now she noted they were blue. Not the stark blue of her grandmother, but the more common variety of blue-grey that was just melange enough to shift in hue with the changing light.

"Drink before we begin, and don't go in too hard. Find a tone and a strength you can keep to. This isn't going to be like singing a lullaby, you need to find a comfortable place where you can hold a tone for as long as it takes."

Ina swallowed, then nodded. She looked so small, so scared, yet stubbornly determined to go through with whatever was asked of her. If only the men hadn't been there, Kildevi would have been able to show some sort of tenderness, and convey something of the gratitude she felt, but now…

No, wait. Ormgeir and Chedomir, Helgi and Pridbor were not the ones who would leave everything they had ever known behind to move into her house and build a home with her. And she needed strength too. She had surged forward on pure will, hiding her fear behind rage and determination, but only because it was so overbearing, so overwhelming, it would swallow her and spit out the bones if she allowed it to.

Without any further hesitation she opened her arms, and Ina fell into them.

There was comfort in closeness. There was strength to be found in common fears, common goals and a common future. There was nothing common about it.


When finally they let go, Kildevi turned to the men, who no longer pretended to ignore their presence.

"When I come back, I need you to guard me, two at a time. If you have to, shackle me, and if you do, don't release me until the black is gone from my eyes. You can't let me touch you, you can't let me be alone with anyone."

"Why?"

It was Ormgeir's voice and she bore her eyes into his, trying to convey the weight of her words.

"You know how men will end a battle with a victor's joy and rage, thirsty for rape and destruction? You have seen the fires, you know the fate of the spoils."

Turning her gaze to the room, she continued, "I have that madness, too. How I return has, this far, depended much on what I have done and the nature of any spirit that might follow me back. This time… you will not want to stand too close."


Through the chant, her hands followed well known patterns, gestures she had seen so many times that doing them was second nature. Thick with white paste, her fingers traced the width of her face, temple to temple, leaving a smear across both eyelids. The eyes of her bear burned amber in the bronze, anchored in the heavy iron of the staff.


Unleashed by henbane, the roaring rage she had pushed down surged forward, a force of nature snarling like a beast. No. Not a beast. As the lightness spread through her limbs and her thought opened to rise, she saw the true nature of her whispering fylgia. It was the snarl of spreading flames.

In the fire, figures, reflected. All of them tall, none of them male, a line of those who came before her. They carried burdens of spears and arrows, fallen bears and slaughtered seals, lost men and children. Over generations, dark brown eyes turned blue through new meetings, some of them freely chosen, others not.

I am the scorching flame only when you breathe fire.

Around her rising thought fell sparks of embers.



Inside the earth cellar, Joar had produced a couple of strangely shaped nails and gone to work on the irons. Eskil observed him with interest.

"That is a handy set of tools for a pig farmer to carry around," he noted. "Care to tell me why, just to pass the time?"

"Never know when you have a lock to pick," Joar replied, still bent over Eskil's foot. "People tend to lock down the good stuff in chests and boxes. Sometimes it begs to be released into the world again."

"I'm starting to see why her father doesn't like you."

"Nah, it was more that thing with her shift and a pig and two hen's worth of feathers…"

Eskil tried hard to imagine a situation where these three things would be commonly used together, and came up with nothing.

"What happened with the shift and the pig and the feathers?"

"An accident."

"Do you rodeners often have accidents with farm animals and women's linens?"

Joar shrugged.

"Don't know if you've ever lived on a tiny island. Not much to do there."

He paused as the padlock opened with a click, then added, "but whatever names she called me, the feathers worked fine. No one noticed the blood."



"What is she saying?"

At first, no one answered Ormgeir's question. Then Ina looked up at Eymund. Still singing, she raised her hands as if to draw a bow.

"That is how she speaks with Vibjorn," he said in reply to the gesture. "I don't know what it's called, but Ina's right, it sounds like that."

Ormgeir looked around at the men.

"Vibjorn?"

"Vibjorn Skytja. One of the men who came with us. Not of great renown, but a good man nonetheless."

"So what are you waiting for? Fetch him!"

Eymund's eyes darted between Ina and Harald, then back at Ormgeir.

"I am bound by a duty to guard these women. I can't leave this room."

Ormgeir looked like a man whose patience was being severely tested.

"And what do you worry will happen when you leave? Our Seeress and her little friend are caught up in rites that will determine the luck of our war. If you think I, or anyone else, would turn the winds of fortune against ourselves to disturb them, you are even dumber than you look."

"That doesn't matter. I have a chance to redeem a wrong by proving my loyalty. I can't leave this room."

By now, Ormgeir looked ready to burst. A thick vein on his temple throbbed as he leant down to growl, "every moment you stand there squabbling, she speaks words lost to us forever. Get. Me. The. Fucking. Finn."

Eymund was saved by a quickly standing Pridbor.

"I know who he is," he said with a glance at Eymund. "And among Eskil's men, everyone knows him. Just send a man into the camps, unless he's out hunting he'll be easy to find."

With one last glare at Eymund, Ormgeir took a step back and called in one of his housecarls from the guard outside.


"So, what has happened outside?"

"I don't know much about the plans Ulfrik's made with the guy with the moustache, but you have some eight to ten guys or so in the back room of the longhouse, the rest is split between the old granary and a small pithouse next to the furnaces. From what I know, no one put any thought into who went where except for where they happened to be. That means that in the longhouse you'll find your housecarls and whoever else you had with you when the trap closed."

Joar looked towards the door, chewing on a nail.

"Gord is packed. And I mean packed. That smoke you see from the northern side aren't from furnaces, they stopped smelting ore a week ago. Only two furnaces are still burning and there used to be a good three times ten. That's campfires. We got men and thralls sleeping in tents there, every house is lodging double what they should, some of them women, children and some old folks."

"How's the leadership?"

"Fractured."

Joar snorted.

"The guy who's usually the big man here is none too happy about the moustachioed one taking over on his turf and putting his family in danger, and Ulfrik's been frothing at the mouth ever since he heard your wifey killed his men and disappeared."

He squinted up at Eskil.

"Must be a bit nerve-racking. I mean, when you fight, you're never worried that she'd just..?"

Joar made a cracking noise and played dead for a moment.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because she wouldn't."

"What's the most impressive thing she's ever done, then? Is she ever scary? She doesn't look scary, but she fought me like an angry cat."

Eskil took a moment. He had been awestruck at Ilmen. Breathless at the white shores. Heartbroken at Lovat. But all of that was outside of what he himself could grasp. Other things weren't.

"When my daughter was born, she defied my mother. In her own house, she made my proud matron of a mother go against her own conviction to let me in before they had washed away all traces of her battle. Not even my father challenges my mother in her own domain. But she did. In some states, she's not afraid of anything."

"She'll give you good, strong sons, then."

If we get out of this alive.

"I hope so."


For a common man, Vibjorn Skytja seemed strangely relaxed when he entered the pavilion and into the company of men who could crush him like a bug. He strolled in behind the housecarl sent to fetch him, and made a polite bow in the direction of Ormgeir and Helgi. He then gave Ina and Eymund a friendly nod, Harald a curious glance, and fell to a crouch at Kildevi's side. After a quick look at her face, he looked up with a suspicious frown.

"She's hurt. Who scraped her head like that?"

Eymund cleared his throat.

"She fell off her horse when she tried to kick one of Ulfrik's men in the face."

It took Vibjorn a moment to digest that information, then he nodded.

"I hear things have happened back at the village. But I guess that will have to wait. She talked before?"

Now the body lay silent, but behind closed lids, the eyes were moving.

"Yes," Ormgeir replied from behind them. His tone was courteous in a way it hadn't been before. "Mumbling, mostly. Her companion recognised it. I didn't know she came from the Finns."


Vibjorn bent closer. If she'd been awake, he would never dare to be so close he almost touched skin, but now he listened, both for breath and whispers. He was honoured to be there, he really was, but he was also worried. This was a role he had never played before, and he handled it by giving the rest of the room as little attention as possible, his full focus on the still young woman in front of him.

No, he corrected himself. He had to remember she wasn't a young woman. She was the Ashen vǫlva, the Lady at the prow, the Bear-sister and to him the link between himself and his father's people. Whatever shape she might have, it should not be important. And he was called to serve.

"Bear-sister," he said, tryingly. "It is I, Vibjorn the Archer. If you hear me, I am here to listen."

He felt a bit silly, speaking to a body that so obviously was asleep. Thus unprepared for a reply, Vibjorn jumped as her voice reached his ear.

"Sacred Bear…"

Her eyes were still closed, her body still, but the lips moved.

"Your name, it means Sacred Bear. Bears don't mate for life. Don't tell them."

"What is she saying?"

Vibjorn had no idea how to respond to Ormgeir's question. He wasn't even sure he had understood her correctly, neither of them spoke fluently enough to master nuances or double meanings.

"This far, she's just greeting me," he finally replied.

"You will follow me, as I walk into battle, a shadow at my side, as I bend the skies to my will."

That was not a human voice. Without a word, he put his forehead against hers in a gesture of acceptance before he turned to the men behind him.

"Now, she tells me to go with her, I think she's going to do something with the weather, but I don't know how I am supposed to…"

In the middle of his sentence, Kildevi's eyes opened, black like polished jet. They stared into the distance, unseeing, as she rose and began to walk towards the entrance and the slowly fading daylight.


In the darkness of the earth cellar, Eskil never saw the twilight of dusk darken as clouds rolled in from the northeast, covering the clear sky across the horizon. But when he did hear the rumble of thunder, he turned his face upwards.

"She's here."

---

Endnote: I'll stop trying to make predictions about how often I'll be able to post, because life is happening and forces me to be too adult with my time. But since writing is the box of crayons in my colouring book of life, and I have an outline and at least 1 scene written for each of the next seven chapters, at least you know it's coming.