Over the sea and down the rivers

[Alvlin]

When she rose in the morning, Eskil had unpacked a piece of cheese and dried meat and put it out on his blanket in front of the tent. She watched him for a while as he took out his knife to cut off a piece to chew on while he pulled a comb through the red blonde mess of his wet hair.

Obviously the Dnipro had already washed the outside of him clean. Right now, she focused more on what the night and morning had done to his inside.

"Good morning," she said, as much to get his attention as anything else. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm much calmer, but not much happier."

"Can I eat before your scolding continues?"

He wordlessly handed her the ham and cheese, then calmly waited for her to eat and put them back.

"Are you done?"

"Yes."

"What exactly did you try to do yesterday?"

She had thought a lot about that last night, and replied with what she thought had been hidden under the panic.

"I… I needed to see how you fared. See if I could find something I could do to help."

"I see. How did that work out for you?"

"Not as I had hoped. I was on my way back when Aslaug landed on me. But I wanted to help!"

"Now, say that the best help you could give would be getting out of the way…"

"Do you really want me to just sit still when something happens? I want to do something. I want to contribute!"

He lent back, crossing his arms.

"How? As long as you need protection, we're better off without you."

"There are women who fight."

"Yes, there are. They're exceptions. I have met two or three in my entire well travelled life, and one of them is with us. You're not them."

He sighed.

"I want to be absolutely clear about a few things. All this playing, the robbing, the stone lifting, the tips and tricks, were to get you to a point where you, with some luck, if your norne smiled at you and someone else was having a bad day, could defend yourself well enough to get away if someone tried to kill or rape or rob you. You are not a warrior. You are not prepared to fight. You are not prepared to do anything but what I tell you to, which usually will be to run, hide, or both."

"But Thorstein said he wasn't prepared either!"

"Thorstein made his first quarterstaff when he was six years old. I know, because I showed him how. I can't stress enough how differently prepared you are."

"I ate the storm!" she blurted out.

"And that's a good reason to be enslaved by the pecheneg?"

"No, but … I can be useful. My gut tells me I should be able to do something."

Eskil suddenly looked very, very tired.

"You're very useful. Just not everywhere, all the time."

He took a deep breath and slowly breathed out again.

"I sometimes forget that you are four years younger than me and have lived in the small world of a homestead. Listen, and hear me out. You can't trust your gut, because your gut doesn't know much yet. The gut needs to learn, and your gut is great at knowing the longhouse, or the forest around it, or the intention of the men or elves you meet. But it doesn't know how to read an ambush, or a riverbank, or even if something is going down in port. Which is one of the reasons I'm responsible for you, the other one being…"

The calm tone in his voice had now clearly crossed the line to insulting.

"... that you are my wife, which means a family member, paid for and handed from a father to a husband to take care of in exchange for children and cooperation and in some lucky cases love and companionship, whose whole life he is now personally responsible for. No matter how we spin this, every stupid decision you make is my problem. So. I would be so much happier if you didn't try to be useful in situations where you're completely useless!"

"So, what exactly do you want me to do next time?"

"What I tell you, and not improvise until your life's on the line."

"Fine. Do I have your permission to go now?"

"Sulk for as long as you need, as long as you're done by tomorrow morning."


But Kildevi didn't have much time to sulk, because she had barely moved away from the tent where Eskil still sat seething before Asgaut got a hold of her.

"I am not sure if maybe I should talk to your husband but it is a matter that is well within your domain so… "

He glanced over at Eskil, obviously not thrilled by the thought of going over to talk to him.

Kildevi, on the other hand, couldn't remember ever being so happy to talk to Asgaut.

"But of course, just ask!'

"So, seeress, we have six men to bury. There is no time or provision for a proper funeral, but these were ours. They deserve as good a send-off as we can give them, without funeral mead or more time than a day really."

"You want me to perform the rites."

"If you would be willing, you are the only one fit."

Firing off the warmest smile she could bring forth, she put her hand on his arm.

"Of course I will. It will be my duty and honour."


The losses hadn't been devastating. Three of the crates, two thralls, and six men had been lost to the raiders, which was considerably less than expected. The wounded were no worse than in need of some stitches and bandages.

As Hrafn had predicted, their attackers had only been a raiding party. They hadn't suffered much losses either, though, and on that funeral day in camp, everyone was still on their toes, not knowing if the Pechenegs planned another strike or had left in pursuit of easier prey.


While she prepared herself, the fallen's friends and shipmates prepared the pyres, binding makeshift biers out of young trees and the dead men's clothes.

When she stepped up on one of the dead men's ships in full dress with her stole and amulets, face painted to conceal the eyes under her hood, it was a refuge of power. Then and there, she was something else than the disobedient wife worthy of scorn.

She tried to do the ceremonies like a goði would, without opening herself to anything, yet when she closed the rites and committed the dead men to their journey, something touched her, a malignant rage devoid of thought. It couldn't be haggled with, it couldn't be sated. In a way, it was a relief to know that no deal could have eased their passing.


The rest of that day, she sat outside their tent, mending her torn shift and shoes as well as she could. Eskil was nowhere. It wasn't how he usually handled conflict, and it gnawed at her. Either he was busy, or he had decided she wasn't worth it, and no matter how much she told herself she didn't care and he wasn't worth it either, she really really hoped that he was just busy.


Stuck in those thoughts, it was a relief when a worried Thore came to sit down with her in the afternoon.

"I guess this isn't really my place, but… I just need to know. Are you… is everything alright?"

Hands busy with the needle, she gave a little shrug.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. He looked like he was going to strangle you yesterday, and when you had raised your tent we saw you talk and he looked… he looked in a way that made me and Audvard keep our ears open for a good while, in case things went overboard. We all know how it is to keep your temper when you still have that blood smell on you."

"As you can see, I'm still standing. But thank you for keeping an eye out for me."

She bit her lip and paused in her mending.

"It feels like everyone just hates and avoids me now."

He looked away, thoughtfully chewing on a straw.

"No, we don't. It was a really dumb thing to do, but most people in this convoy know you as the one who saved us on Ilmen, made that horrible sacrifice to Lovat, and made sure no one was drowned by the water maidens. Audvard was disappointed in that fatherly way of his, but everyone will get over it. Eskil will get over it. Thorven even thought it was ballsy, but that was just something he confessed to me."

He paused.

"The golden boys were very, very supportive of Eskil's rage yesterday, but they looked a bit daunted when they saw you walk up in your bling, all painted terrible, calling the gods for the fallen. You know, I think all your half-naked hair combing made them forget what it means that you're a vǫlva."

Thore grinned. There was something smugly satisfied in that smile.

"But they seem to remember now, Hrafn was pale and Hroar was biting his lip like a little boy, all glassy-eyed. You might want to plan something extra gory for that sacrifice on the holy island, as a goodbye gift."


When the patrolling sentries had a shift change in the early evening, she realised where Eskil had been ever since the funeral pyres were lit. He didn't ignore her as such when he returned, but he was curt, gave her the shortest of greetings, and only talked to her when he had to. She in turn did her best to ignore him unless spoken to, all while his words from that morning tumbled around in her head.


Kildevi didn't know if she was surprised or not when Eskil did come to sleep in their tent again that night.

"It's not the third night yet. That was yesterday."

He had stood on all fours arranging his sleepskins. Now he paused and gave her a long look where she lay, half turned away from him. Finally he replied, voice brimming with resentment.

"I haven't touched you."

"No, I just reminded you."

He opened his mouth, then bit down again, just loud enough for her to notice.

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing that would make anything better."

"No, please. You shouldn't feel that you have to hold back on me. My gut has a lot to learn, after all."

"That is also something I allow."

"What?"

"You asked what I bit back on. That was it. The third night rule is something that I allow you."

She turned to stare at him. Somehow she had started to take that compromise for granted.

"Do you want to go back on it? Is that what you're saying?"

"I never said that. But I don't want it thrown in my face out of nowhere after I backed off that third night for your sake."

"For my sake."

"Yes."

"Do I even want to know what you mean by that?"

"No."

He lay down, hands beneath his head, and looked up at the tent roof. In the following silence she saw him take a few deep breaths.

"I saw you do the rites today," he said conversationally, but she didn't feel even remotely ready for small-talk.

"Yes, should I have asked permission for that too?"

"No, that's one of those times when you're useful."

"Asgaut said it was in my domain. It's a comfort to be appreciated by someone for something."

Eskil raised his head and looked to her side.

"Can you stop?"

"Is that an order?"

"No, it's a request, because you're throwing words at me just aimed to maim and I don't even think you know why you're doing it."

She turned and pushed herself up sitting.

"How can you say that? After rubbing my face in how stupid and helpless I am. Don't you think I know that I live at your mercy?"

"Yes, so you don't have to live at the mercy of every single man you meet! Lucky for you that my mercy seems endless, the mercy of pecheneg slavers is not."

"Can you stop this time? You're going on about that and I wasn't even close to any slavers, I didn't even…"

"BUT I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!"

She froze. Even in the darkness of the tent with their tiny oil lamp as the only source of light she saw him staring at her, eyes wild, face flushed.

He seemed to calm himself in the following moment of silence. When he spoke next, the voice was level, almost devoid of tone.

"Five riders, heading north. One of them had a you-sized bundle thrown in front of him. We followed them, lost them, and when I looked under the ship where I had told you to stay, you were gone. Gone always. Gone forever. Gone as if the only thing left was Alfhild. I knew we didn't have a chance to find you, they would have had you to camp and sold up the Volga before we even had our ships past the rapids."

He looked down, gaze focused somewhere to her left as he continued.

"In my mind, you had already lived out your short life anywhere from the locked chamber of an old Abbasid to a Khazar war camp, with or without your tongue cut out because they realised you know magic, or because you mouthed off too much. And that would have been my fault for bringing you here in the first place. Not your fault for wanting to go, my fault for letting you."

He looked up at her again, lips white and thin.

"Then Aslaug pushed a ghost in front of me, and it instantly started squabbling, just so I could be sure it was really you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again."

What followed was not a comfortable silence. Finally, Kildevi looked up from her hands.

"Would you really have shackled and gagged me?"

She heard herself how thin her voice sounded, and he sighed, looking away again.

"When I said it? Gladly."

She swallowed.

"And now?"

"Only if your life depended on it."

Kildevi was silent again for a moment.

"You have no idea what it feels like being in the hands of someone else like this."

"Don't be so sure about that."

He had laid down again, turned away from her. She sat for a while, staring at his back where he lay, wrapped up in his blankets.

"So. What do we do now?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep."


They broke camp early the next morning, leaving the mounds of their fallen behind on a woodland slope, far away from their mothers and brothers. The ambush had hit the front of the convoy, and Kildevi had known none of them. Thore and Audvard had, and had stayed awake to celebrate what funeral they had, late into the evening.

The forest hadn't changed, but her view of it had, and she walked alone on the side of their ship, far enough away to be apart but close enough to be in range if something happened. She didn't know if she really was alone or if she just had made herself so by holding a distance, but ever since the ambush, in spite of Thore's words, it felt as if she was on the outside again, looking in at the belonging and camaraderie shared by the ship crews.

She'd snapped at Eskil again this morning, although she couldn't remember exactly over what and why, only that everything he said and did felt like an attack and she didn't have enough confidence left to turn it into banter. Only just enough to make it into a shield of defensive anger.

It was in that state, she more felt than saw someone walk up from behind and join at her side.


"I see you can still walk."

Kildevi didn't turn, she just stared ahead at the path still winding downhill, following the stream of the rapids.

"Don't you have a ship to haul, or something?"

"If you'd been mine and pulled that trick, you wouldn't."

Aslaug kept on walking beside her. They were about the same height, but it was hard for her not to notice that Aslaug's narrowest point under the linen tunic was roughly the same width as her own widest.

"Good thing I'm not yours, then."

Aslaug didn't reply, instead she nodded towards where Eskil manned one of the hauling stocks.

"That man is a hrafngrennir. Do you know that?"

Kildevi didn't know what to say, so she didn't. Aslaug snorted.

"He's no more a trader than I am queen of the Greeks."

"I wouldn't know anything about that. I've only known him at home before this."

"And he's your cuddly doggy at home? Is he licking your hands for a bone like a good boy?"

Annoyed, Kildevi refused to look anywhere but ahead.

"What do you want?"

"Now? To know what you are."

She turned around and looked down the row of men hauling.

"These rich guys usually go down the rivers with the rest of us, wave their dicks around a bit and go home again. Then they marry some girl of thirteen summers, knock her up and dump her at home, buy a ship to fill with people like me and go off again to grab more silver, until one day they don't even bother to come along anymore, just slap their name on it and feel like big men."

"That's clear-sighted of you."

"But he comes dragging you with him, you look like some old fart's wet dream, all wide eyed and rosy. We all assume he'll dump you in Ladoga, but no. Then Thore tells me you start throwing blood and chants around like some fucking sejðwitch on Ilmen, before I see you bleeding yourself into the Lovat."

Aslaug's gaze had wandered to Kildevi as she spoke, now it darted back to the men again.

"He's all drinking wine and oiling his beard, then he smashes Sigstein's face into a wall, steps in to punt you through the Sof eigi, swims the Gellandi, and now at the Eyfor he fights smart, brute and cold, in spite of that limp he tries to hide. In spite of his dumb fucking wife running around like she didn't have a death day."

Pointing to Eskil's back, she continued,

"That's not a fucking trader who fights, that's a fighter who trades. I know he's been down before, and I bet he didn't just wave his dick around. So what did he do?"

"He went mercenary for a year or so."

"A year? Looked more like ten to me."

Kildevi shrugged, still trying to ignore being called dumb, and not really up for hearing his praise sung.

"He did a couple of raids before that. Right now, you can have him if you think he's such a great man."

Aslaug gave her a resentful side-eye.

"I don't shit where I eat, but he doesn't deserve your snooty shit."

"Since that isn't up to you, I am asking again, what do you want?"

"Right now, I want you to stop being a worthless fucking beiskaldi and go to him and smile and say sorry and thank you and let him fuck you however he wants like a good little wife-whore, because you are just a spoiled ungrateful bitch who don't know how lucky you are to be standing upright."

Her voice was dripping with scorn. There followed a moment of shocked silence.

"Not sorry, pussycat. Someone had to say it, and all of these fucking cravens are too scared of you."

And with that, she ambled back towards her own ship.


When they stopped to eat by midday, Eskil came looking for her.

"What did Aslaug want?"

Kildevi didn't reply, just handed him the cheese and a piece of bread.

"It was a very long conversation to be saying nothing," he noted.

"She told me I should be grateful you didn't beat me so bad I couldn't walk."

This time Eskil was the one who didn't reply.

"She was quite impressed by you. Called you a raven-feeder, smart, brutal and cold, me spoiled and ungrateful."

"I think it looks like that from where she's standing. She left her crew to go looking for you."

Kildevi looked down at her hands, trying to push the lump in her throat back down into the stomach.

"You know, I just want to pretend that I have some sort of control of my fate. I know I shouldn't have run away from where you left me. I know what a mess I made for everyone. I... I just can't stand being helpless."

He frowned.

"But I am here so you don't have to be helpless. That's the whole point. You take care of the gods and the spirits, I take care of the men."

"But what if it's you?"

"No, no more what if. You got scared when you realised how angry I was, because the last time a husband of yours wanted to beat you senseless, he did. I didn't."

"So I just have to wait until one day you have a bad day and I'm not so lucky?"

"Except that won't happen. I plan to get angry with you many times yet before one of us dies. Not pissed and annoyed like our petty word battles, seeing-through-a-mist-of-blood-furious. But I don't make promises I can't keep, and if I have that kind of a bad day, I know well enough when it's time to walk away."

Eskil kept his eyes fixed on her. She stared at the ground. Finally, she glanced up.

"Do you know that we haven't touched each other since you dragged me up from under that ship?"

That made him blink.

"We haven't even touched like a hand on a shoulder, or a hug to feel that we're both solid and alive."

He stopped to think, looking at her with a slight tilt of his head.

"You're right. That's stupid. Come here."


It was late in the afternoon when they reached the bottom of the Eyfor. The next day the unloaded wagons would be taken back to the top, and when the men returned it was time to set off towards the Barufors.

One and a half day of portage was something else than doing the same stretch unburdened, and everyone seemed lighter somehow, knowing no boats would be rolled or hauled until they returned here.


Lying in their tent that night, both rolled up to sleep, Kildevi came to a decision about something that had gnawed on her for a while now. It was something she hadn't fully realised she would have to deal with until after the Lovat, and had then repressed and avoided to the best of her ability, because she knew that the longer she put it off, the worse it would be to tell him and he really should have known a long time ago.

So she had to say it now. Now or never.

"Ástin mín?"

"Yes."

"I haven't been completely open with you about something I think you should know."

Eskil groaned and half turned to glance at her.

"Is this really the time, then?"

"I think that maybe it is."

She swallowed.

"I am not as worried about my life as you are because I've been told that I will grow old before my day comes."

The following silence was so loud it echoed through the tent. Eskil didn't move. He just lay still, staring at her. Finally, he said:

"I can't believe you."

"And so will Anund."

"Anund. Of course he's in on this too."

"Yes. And no. That time I saw my grandmother at Sigulfs funeral… That time I mentioned at the camp at lake Ilmen, she told me that I would grow old, and so would my helper. Then she told me I had to find my footing and wait for you."

"I have … I have so many questions. Too many to even choose which one to ask first."

"Are you angry?"

"Yes! But most of all I wonder why you never said anything before we left? Or when Alfhild was born? Or every other time it was reasonable for me to worry that you'd die?"

Kildevi grimaced and looked away.

"It's not really something that there is a perfect time to tell anyone. When you came back, I didn't know you that well, and then I sort of… forgot?"

"Forgot. You forgot."

"It's not really something you think about every day, and when it comes up there is usually not much time to talk."

"I can't believe you."

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"No. That's the worst of it. I believe every word you say, I just can't believe you haven't told me. I thought you were dying! I sat in wake for a week, a week, not knowing if you would even wake up enough to say goodbye!"

He paused to breathe for a moment.

"And let's not even mention the small lies you have been hiding behind."

"Like what?"

"Like you are not going to die if you fall pregnant before we get home."

Kildevi pushed herself up on her elbows and stared down at him.

"Now I am the one who can't believe you. That's the first thing that springs to your mind?"

"It's definitely the one you've thrown in my face the most."

"Well, let me rephrase it, then. I don't want to have a child die at birth. I don't want to be a burden because I'm too cumbersome to move quickly. I don't want to piss five and twenty times a day over the side of a ship crossing the sea."

"Fine. You could have said all that without lying to me. And what about you being murdered by the Paviken brothers?"

"Would it surprise you to hear I'd rather not be abducted, raped and tortured, even though I'd somehow survive to live on? Is that a strange thought for you?"

That made him take pause.

"That was actually really stupid. I'm sorry," he said, letting his head fall down on the pillow again. "But I'm sure there is more that I am just too tired to think of right now. I am so happy to hear you will not die for many years yet, and I am fuming, I'm fucking fuming, that you've known all this time and just left me to worry."

"I know. I'm sorry. But I told you now?"

"Yes. Yes you did. Well done."


Sometime in the late morning as Eskil was leaving his guard-post to Eirik, Kildevi saw her chance and walked up to him.

"Are you still mad?"

"Yes."

"How can I make you not be mad?"

"You can't."

"Do you plan to be mad forever?"

"Yes."

"Then, there is something else I need to tell you."

He stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

"Something else. Just out with it."

"There is a spell. To handle our travel problem."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Go on. Explain why you haven't mentioned it before."

"Because it needs the afterbirth, so it has to be done at childbirth or the day after, and when Alfhild was born I didn't know that we were going on this journey."

"So, you couldn't have done it anyway."

"No."

"Is there any particular reason you chose to tell me now?"

"If you're mad at me anyway, I thought I would just get everything out there."

"I can see how that makes your special kind of sense."

"So… I'll see you in the boat, then."

"Yes."

She turned to go, then hesitantly looked back over her shoulder.

"Eskil?"

"Yes."

"Can you please try to stop being mad sometime around evening?"

"Why?"

"Because it's been a week, and an ambush and so much tension and I'm so tired of it all and just want you now."

He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and slowly let it seep out between his teeth.

"Same here. I'll try to get over it."

 

[Alvlin]

In a camp between the Eyfor and the Barufors, Eskil lay down on the sleepskins next to her. The night was warm, but not too warm to keep the linens on a while longer. Kildevi lay on her back, eyes turned up but lost in deep thought.

"What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about Aslaug."

He eyed her sceptically.

"Why are you thinking about Aslaug when you've urged me to your bed after a week?"

"She said… she said a lot of things, but one thing she said was that I should smile and let you fuck me however you wanted."

Eskil blinked.

"She said that? When did she say that?!"

"When she said all those other things, but that got me thinking… are you?"

"That is completely out of line. If she'd been a man…" His mouth twitched into a half-smile. "I wish I had seen your face, though."

Kildevi frowned and gave him an annoyed little wave, her mind somewhere else.

"You can see my face now, but I still want to know if you are."

"If I'm what?"

"Laying with me the way you want, or just the way you've found works and find proper."

"What kind of a question is that?"

"An honest one. I understand whenever or even wherever, but I am trying to imagine what she meant by however."

"Don't pay any mind to it, ástin. Aslaug has been around brothels and raids, she meant nothing that has anything to do with the two of us."

"I know of two ways and one, and that's patient, impatient and ritual. We are rarely impatient."

"Do you want me to be impatient?"

"Not while we are living on this meagre diet, but I wouldn't mind some impatience once we can be careless again."

"I'll remember that."

"I noticed that you never answered my question."

"And I hoped you wouldn't."

"You do know that I will ask it time and time again, until I get an answer?"

"Good, that buys me time to think of one."


Still thoughtful, she curled up and rested her head on his arm.

"So, what are you going to do about the things Aslaug said to me?"

Eskil frowned.

"I don't know. A man speaking to you like that would amount to a challenge, but no matter what she does, she's still not a man."

"Are you saying that I must be the one to defend my own honour here?"

"Unless we find her father or brother or husband somewhere, and something tells me we're not going to have much luck on that one."


Thore and Eirik got them safely through the Barufors, and not long thereafter Eskil had a chance to challenge the waters again. He and Thore took on the Hlajandi with Audvard sitting in the boat telling them where to go. That knee of his wasn't as bad as it had been, but he would not be punting any more rapids for this leg of the journey.


That night in the camp, something went missing.

"Eskil, have you seen my shift?" she called, unsure where he was.

"Aren't you wearing it?" he shouted back from inside the tent.

"Of course I am, but I hung my unbleached one to dry here before we started cooking, and now it's gone. Are you sure you haven't taken it?"

"Why do you suppose I'd steal your wet shift? We're already married!"

"What?"

"I don't know either. But no, I haven't touched your laundry. I don't even remember seeing it hung there."

"Strange. Thore! Thorven! Have you seen my shift somewhere?"

But they hadn't. Neither had Audvard or Thogard, or Eirik, or Asgaut. Nor Hrafn and Hroar, even though they both looked uncomfortable when asked.

Finally, she gave up and went to bed, because the most probable cause left was birds or elves and she didn't feel like stirring up the local dwellers over a garment that more or less had lived out its life anyway.


The next morning, she found it hanging, almost dry, on the railing of their ship.

"You must have hung it there and just forgotten about it," was Eskils verdict.

"No, I am absolutely sure I brought it up from the river."

"But how else could it have gotten there?"

She let it go. It wasn't worth squabbling about.


Early that day, the convoy passed the last rapid and made their camp at Khortytsia island around midday. Here they would sacrifice, rest for the night, and then say goodbye to the mercenaries Asgaut had recruited in Konugard.

When the crew's tents were up and they had prepared a small cooking-fire in the middle, Aslaug came sauntering into their circle of tents. She sat down by the makeshift hearth, seemingly just to hang around for a while.

Thore walked by and decided to join her. He seemed happy to see her.

Kildevi suspiciously watched them talk and even laugh. They seemed to get along. But of course they did. Thore got along with almost everyone.

When he took his leave, Kildevi walked over to the smiling figure. How could anyone manage to sit in an aggravating way?

"You seem repugnantly happy. Did someone die?"

Aslaug shielded her eyes against the sun, squinting up at her.

"You two seem sticky like honey again, and still no smile for me? Hope my advice didn't stretch you too far, sweetheart."

"What advice?"

"Ever got an answer to the how in however he wanted?"

"No."

"You think hard about why that is."

Aslaug winked, then she stood up and rolled her shoulders a few times to warm them up.

"No, I need to go do my fucking laundry. Don't want anything ending up in the wrong place."

Kildevi blinked, then looked up just in time to see Asgaut come walking with three live cockerels.

Yes. Aslaug could wait. Right now, she had more important things to care about than laundry. She had a rite to prepare.

Why, though? Why hadn't he answered?


On the holy island, an old oak stood proud, sucking its life-blood from the rivers of the underworld, its crown turned towards the sun in the heavens. She had felt it in her marrow when she touched the ground, as she had known she would, its presence a vibration in the elements around her.

There had been no greeting. She was yet too small. It recognised her only as part of a stream of fates, paying homage to the gods above and below it.

Now, she stood at its root, hands dripping as she skewered the third cockerel deep onto a spear, before driving the shaft into the earth. There were still six left. As the blood ran down the wooden shafts and met the ground, it was as if the earth itself had swallowed it.

The oak drank deep.

She did not know these gods. It felt wrong to call them in her tongue, but that was all she had to offer. They belonged here, and she was a stranger to their lands.

Or was she still a stranger to the land and its gods? She had been bound by its most treacherous river, tempted by its dead spirits, and a seeress who had worshipped these gods of old had known her marked by the god of rivers and the underworld.

She didn't dare to try to call for him. Not here. Not where the sacrifice should be shared between the heavens and the earth. To call on Veles might anger Perun.

That was definitely not knowledge she had before. Something was feeding it to her, and she really, really hoped that it was just her fylgja.

She finished the sacrifice, the calling and the singing, and dedicated the cockerels to the oak. When the crowd started to drift back towards the camp, she went to wipe her hands.

That blood is too holy to spill.

Nodding to no-one, she managed to grab ahold of Eskil, who was patiently waiting for her to finish up, and take his waterskin.

"Where are you going?"

"Just a last part of the rites. There is a glade on the other side of the oak used for that purpose. Can you wait for me a bit longer?"


As she fell to her knees in the glade and had just started her cleansing, something preyed on her focus. She tried to keep her eyes on washing the sacred blood off her hands and down into the soil, but a flicker in the corner of her eye made her look up.

Hroar stood between the trees, watching her with reverence. Quickly, she looked around to see if his brother was there too, but no. Just Hroar, the youngest one, with the sharp face and ash blonde hair and right now a more serious expression than either of the brothers usually had.

"Can I help you? Are you looking for my husband? Because he's waiting on the other side of the holy oak."

He shook his head.

"Vǫlva of the Westmen, will you see me?"

"What?"

"Will you see my fortune?"

He walked closer, looking very young, and very serious, and, she noted, young did not mean small. She didn't feel threatened, but she did straighten her back.

"I am prepared to pay a tribute, of course. I can give it to you in silver, but…"

Kildevi eyed him, suspiciously. Something was amiss. She knew it before he even opened his mouth again.

"... I would rather give that tribute by offering myself to you when Eskil dies."

"Excuse me?"

She had known something was not right here, but she had in no way guessed what it was. Blinking like an owl for a few seconds, she found her tongue again.

"That doesn't sound like a tribute to me, that sounds like a tribute to you."

"You misunderstand me," he protested, blue eyes open and earnest. "The tribute would be to gain riches and a name great enough for you to find me worthy!"

Kildevis eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Aren't you the one who was going back to farming? Or is my memory faulty?"

"Oh, I'm not going back to farm. I am going back to be a champion of the Ynglingar and with you… our sons could be great men, contenders even, our beautiful daughters queens."

"Where is all of this coming from?"

Didn't he hear the exasperation in her voice? No, it didn't seem like he did.

"I want you to be my Snófrid, my Gróa, my Frǫya."

"You've never even talked to me!?"

He looked taken aback.

"Of course not. I can't be seen courting a friend's wife. He would do right to make me regret it. But I believe I can become a greater man than he, and that I could make your legacy echo louder and further through time than he will."

"I… don't take this the wrong way, but should something happen to Eskil, I can't really see myself getting married again. Not now. I mean, why should I? Think about it. I can get my tribute from anyone who needs some fortune told, I could find a minor king somewhere and just move into his hall. I could live on as a widow doing whatever I darn well pleased except that my bed would be empty, and… you know…"

He looked perplexed. He had not followed.

"No, I don't think I do."

"It really had to be someone who knows and has a genuine interest in what he's doing for that to be worth it. I'm not seventeen anymore, I can't live on fumbling hands and flattery - not that I'm saying you don't know what you're doing - I wouldn't know anything about that! But… what I'm trying to say is, don't make your life-plans around it."

"I'll make myself the man I need to be."

Kildevi sighed. There was no reasoning with a young man's hero complex.

"You know what, do that. As long as you do it for you."

"So, will you see my fortune?"

"Sure. But I'll take the silver."


That turned out to be another conversation to have with Eskil on the way back.

"You don't mind if I disappear for a while this afternoon, do you?"

He eyed her suspiciously.

"When you say disappear… my guess is that you don't mean for a nap in the tent."

"No. You see, I need to see a fortune, and I really don't think personal foretellings should be told before a crowd. The fortune of a warband or a farmstead or a journey, sure, but no good has ever come from telling someone, in front of everyone, that they are fated to grow reasonably good turnips. No one wants that kind of embarrassment."

But Eskil still looked reluctant.

"You do realise this is still pecheneg territory, right? I will not let you go out into the woods here unguarded to sink into yourself and not even notice if someone sneaks up on you."

"I won't be completely unguarded!" she protested. "Hroar will be there with me."

That was when reluctance turned to refusal.

"Hroar." He shook his head. "No."

"Why not? He's a warrior, he's your friend, and he's the one who wants his fortune told."

"I am not going to let you disappear for an hour or two to be alone with someone that handsome."

She gave him a look of pure disbelief.

"You have got to be joking. He's younger than Svein! He's handsome, but he's not…" She made a face, waving at him roughly at face height. "...you. And since when are you jealous?"

Eskil kept walking.

"I'm not. I'm not worried you'd allow him anything. I just know what it would look like if someone saw you, and how quickly that would turn me into a laughingstock."

"But I'll bring Deva. We won't be alone."

"She's your thrall. She won't be considered a witness."

At that point, Kildevi had started to get a bit nettled about the whole thing.

"I am open to suggestions. I will need peace and quiet, some sort of light, something to sit on, and someone who sings. You need me to not be attacked by anything, and not make it look like I'm sneaking off to lay down with a young man I'll probably never see again. It shouldn't be an impossible riddle to solve."

He thought about it.

"How about you bring a witness who is well known to keep his mouth shut?"

"You're thinking about Thogard, aren't you?"

"Yep. He's my family's housecarl, and he doesn't gossip."

"I could work with that."


And thus, Thogard stood sentry while Kildevi sat on a bench just outside the camp, Deva singing behind her. She wasn't terribly used to this kind of foretelling, but it was the only thing many spàkonur ever did, and she knew it well enough. It wasn't her first.

But this wasn't like the ones she had done before. Halfway into the divination, she was glad they hadn't done this in front of the entire convoy.

When she finally closed herself, she knew that what he'd told her earlier hadn't been a young man's usual dreams of greatness.

Still pale, she looked up at him.

"I have good news, and bad news."

He looked so… expectant. Reverent. She really didn't want to tell him, but honour-bound, she had to.

"The good news is that you will indeed have a great life. You will travel far and serve a king of the Ynglingar just as you said you would. You will be known, your hall rich, your deeds sung. Your simple roots will be forgotten, a tale spun about heroic origins."

That was the easy part. Now came the hard one.

"But you will do it alone, because within a year, you will have killed your brother."


She expected him to grow furious. She'd seen it often enough when people were handed bad news on a plate like this: first shock, then disbelief, and then finally rage, sometimes within the span of moments.

This time, she waited in vain. He just nodded, solemnly.

"Did you see how?"

"No, only that the killing was just."

He nodded again.

"Were you in my future?"

"I don't know."

She gave him a small, apologetic smile.

"I can't see myself. My fate can be shown, but I can't seek it out. But that also tells me that the fair haired queen who will love and bind your firstborn isn't me."

"Sigfrid will be bound by magic?"

She blinked.

"He's born? You have a son?"

"Yes, he's three. He was an accident, but I've named him and I pay for him, so he's my firstborn."

"Well, you would do him a service if you teach him more about swordplay than farming, because he will be the illicit lover of a queen, and for a young man, that isn't the safest of pursuits."


Eskil was outside waiting for her when she returned.

"How'd it go with the turnips?"

Kildevi shook her head.

"No turnips."

"Oh. How much are you allowed to tell me?"

"I can say this much: there were absolutely no turnips. And if we don't see him again after today, we'll probably hear of him."

Eskil looked thoughtful.

"You know, you once said I had a fate and a story hanging over me. Have you ever looked any closer at that?"

Kildevi looked up, surprised.

"No. Your fate is so entwined with mine I don't think I would see much. Why?"

"I'm not really a young man anymore, unless you ask mother. I'm starting to wonder where my story has gone."

He looked worried. As if there was a way to just sidestep your fate and miss your story if you slept in on the wrong morning. Holding back a giggle, she leant in and put her hand on his arm with a comforting smile.

"You are going to Miklagard with the granddaughter of Mavdna, legendary vǫlva given as a bond of friendship between the finns and your people."

"You mean our people."

"Yes, that was the point I was trying to make. I am that bond made flesh, and you are bringing me to the most mythical village on Midgard. I think there is a story in there somewhere."

Struck by a thought, she paused.

"How would you say this journey has differed from your last?"

He thought about it for a moment.

"We have had ridiculous luck with the rivers and the winds, but I don't remember any water maidens or whispering rivers trying to call us off path last time."

Her forehead furrowed in thought.

"I don't think they were trying to call us off path - I am quite sure they were prodding us to see what we are made of. When that old woman in Smaleskia said I bore the mark of Veles, I was sure that only meant that Lovat had rubbed off on me. Then the water maidens said they were his daughters and wanted me to become one of them, and I am pretty sure that wasn't how they tempted Thore. And Thorven wasn't touched at all, I wonder if that was because they didn't care for him, or because there is something about Thorven we don't know about? And then there is this island, feeding knowledge right into my mind. I still don't know if it's the island, the tree, my fylgja or something else, but I am sure that I didn't know about Perun's enmity with Veles, or about the existence of that holy glade before today."

It wasn't until then Kildevi realised Eskil had been silent all through her little monologue. Usually, he would have tried to push in, or pick up a thread in the middle, but this time he just looked at her.

Finally, he said, "I didn't know a single thing of what you just said."

"What? I must have told you all of this at some point!"

"No. I am pretty sure I would have remembered most of that."

"Oh."

"It isn't as easy as you seem to think to keep up with you. You're supposed to tell me things. First your promise of a long life, then all of this at once. That you didn't tell me about Ketill was my own fault, but I've grown better, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have." She bit her lip, feeling a bit awkward. "I guess I had a habit of not telling and just went on as usual without thinking much about it."

"Is there anything else you can think of that I should know, but don't?"

"It was Aslaug who stole my shift."


"Eskil?"

"Mm."

"If I had done as she said, and told you to have me however you wanted, what would you have done?"

He groaned.

"I'm halfway asleep. I would have to start with if."

"You know what I mean."

"Is this your way of saying you have complaints? Because you usually seem happy."

"No! No. It's just that she seemed so smug about it."

"She's just smug because she knows you'll do exactly this: hound me with impossible questions in the middle of the night. I'm not going to play her games. I advise you to do the same."


In the four days coming up after they left the rapids behind them, the convoy was back to mostly sailing down a Dnipro that made most of their crew superfluous, and the first one to be out of things to do was Kildevi. She had learned a thing or two since they left the east coast of her homelands. She knew what the different ropes in the rigging did, broadly speaking why, and had gained about the same level of knowledge about the other parts of the vessel.

Everyone else knew more, though, and as the smallest and weakest and generally assumed not there to do the heavy lifting, she rarely touched anything except when doing repairs on the sail. That left her a lot of time to ponder her surroundings, and maybe that was why she so quickly started to go mad when small things started to become unpredictable.


She didn't know exactly what was going on, but something clearly was. As soon as they made camp each evening, Aslaug seemed to be everywhere. Not with her, just around, sometimes right outside her line of sight, but just as commonly within it.

And she smiled. And looked. And smirked. And almost touched, in passing.

Things had continued to disappear and appear in new places. Without ever really seeing anything, she knew it was Aslaug, because… well, because no one else was watching her with a knowing smirk, that's why.

Finally, she couldn't take it any more and walked up to Aslaug as she carried her tent beams up to the camp. There it was again. That annoying little not-smile.

"Hello, pussycat."

Kildevi didn't care to answer the greeting.

"I don't know what you're doing, but I want you to know that I know that it's you."

"Me doing what, pussycat?"

"Stop calling me that."

Aslaug glanced at her, the not-smile now clearly a smile.

"You're cute when you hiss at me and those claws are tiny. What else should I fucking call you?"

"My name works wonders."

"People have to earn their names with me, pussycat. You've earned nothing from me - yet."

They walked in silence for a few steps while Kildevi tried to force her pulse down from near bursting.

"Dare I ask how I earn the right to be called by my own name?!"

"You seem tense. He's not fucking you enough?"

Kildevi turned her head to stare.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Beneath that long, aquiline nose, Aslaug's smile had gone from smirk to leer.

"Just tell me if you want help with that."

"What are you…"

Her eyes narrowed.

"You are just playing with me again."

"I don't have to, pussycat. Right now, I bet your sweet little mind is trying to figure out how the fuck that would work. And you'll keep thinking and thinking, and the more you think, the smaller his dick will feel. Why should I care to fuck you up when you fuck yourself up for me?"

"I really want to smash your face into a tree right now."

"So why don't you?"

"Because you're stronger than me."

"And that is one thing I actually like about you. Savour it."


They walked side by side for a few moments. Kildevi didn't know what to say, or why she didn't just walk away, but for some reason, she didn't feel done. Finally she said,

"What happened to Jonar's nipple?"

Aslaug's smile disappeared, and she hauled the beams two more steps before she replied.

"I spit it into the sea outside Roskilde."

"Why did you bite it off?"

Aslaug still stared along the track in front of them.

"Got handsy."

"I wouldn't call someone close and naked enough for your teeth to reach his nipple 'handsy'."

"I don't care what you fucking call it, pussycat. I already knew you were a spoiled bitch."

"So you are friends with a man who tried to rape you?"

"Only tried once, taken cuts for me thrice. I'd say he's a mate."

The statement was left to hang like a shield between them. Aslaug's movements were restless now, tense like her own. Kildevi remembered how many times she'd seen them banter, hang out, and casually play tricks on each other. The words may have been spit, but they weren't a lie.

"You set a low bar for friendship."

"And yet you don't fucking pass."

A step later, she continued, "Jonar's as sweet as these horsefuckers get - as soon as you've taken a bite off of him so he knows his place. You… let's say you're more fun to look at. "

She stopped next to where the rest of her crew had started to gather.

"Now, sweetheart, I have a tent to raise. You can wriggle that pert ass inside it later as long as you don't use that mouth to talk, but right now I gotta work."

And that was where Kildevi felt they were way past done.


"What is it," she raged to Eskil a little bit later as they put up their tent, "that makes me able to master a storm and mistress the Lovat, but I can't hinder Aslaug from hiding my stuff and saying disturbing things to me?!"

Eskil was far more entertained than he should be, considering this was a slight against himself as well.

"I don't know. Why don't you trap and devour? Should be easy, right?"

"No! She's too petty, too… fleshy. I'm not even sure there is a separation in her, it's all shape and thought and luck and not even a trace of ancestors mashed together like a gloopy stew!"

"Well, I'm a simple man, I would just headbutt and follow up with a knee to the stomach, but I don't think that's a good idea for you to try."

"I should curse her. Make her face fill with boils and every bite she takes, taste of ashes."

"So, why don't you?"

"Don't know how."

"What would your gran do?"

"I don't know. I don't remember anyone being this disrespectful to her. I saw people angry, even hateful, but never disrespectful. No one talked to her like Aslaug does to me, and no one ever joked about tying her to a mast either." She frowned. "I have done some pretty impressive things in front of everyone, why don't people respect me?"

"They do! But you don't walk in, in your full regalia, surrounded by a following of solemn young women, keeping your distance above everyone else. You banter, build fires and fall down boulders. Thorven might joke about you, but when we thought you were dying after Lovat, every single one of our shipmates sat in wake. Even Asgaut, who doesn't usually do much heavy lifting. Even Eirik. Maybe you don't have their reverence, but you do have their loyalty, and Audvard has faced off to me twice already."

"Loyalty is good. But right now, I want to summon thunder and teach that rough-hewn bitch some manners!"

Kildevi turned to glare indignantly at him.

"Did you know, she even invited me into her tent, and I didn't grasp for what exactly, but it was obviously for something lewd!"

"Careful, I'm getting jealous. I'm still waiting for that maere-ride."

"Haha. Very funny.

.

.

.

"Eskil?"

"Mm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Mm."

"Are you…"

"Why would I do anything unless I wanted to?"

"No, I mean… you don't have to not want something to want something else."

"You don't even know what that would be!"

"Exactly! What did she mean?"

"Look, she is trying to make you feel inadequate by implying that I would rather have a woman with no standing to respect. If that had been true, I wouldn't have let you come along."

"But you didn't want me to come, remember?"

"Yes I did! I just had to get used to the idea, and realise you couldn't become what you were born to be if you never left the homestead. And remind myself your death day was set no matter what I did. And get father to let me bring two of the housecarls to bring you home if I died on the way. And realise that I was letting fear rule my decisions. That's a lot of steps."

Eskil sighed.

"I just want to sleep. I'm sure she meant nothing you'd want or I'd want to do to you. Let it go."

"But…"

"I can't make cloth, but you don't hear me clamouring for details about the different twists of weft."

"If you did, I'd tell you. Why don't you?"

"Because she's just messing with your head, and right now you're letting her win!"

.

.

.

"Eskil?"

"No."

"But…"

"Our marriage bed is not Aslaug's grappling ring. Next time, I won't even hear a word you say."

 

[Alvlin]

"Thore?"

"Yes?"

"If your wife still lived, would you have brought her along?"

They were sitting by the steering oar again. It was one of Thore's most common tasks, because he liked it, was good at it, and also because no one else wanted to do it if there were more free moving jobs available.

Now he chuckled at Kildevi's question.

"No way. And she wouldn't have come anyway, with anything less than brute force. I can almost hear her: 'now you listen to me, I didn't marry you to do everything meself! And if you're leaving 'til next harvest, you better come back with something to show for it!'"

Kildevi smiled at the fondness in his voice. She could almost hear Alfrida say something similar.

"Sounds like a farmwife."

"Yes, that she was. It was her birth-farm, her father's old tenancy, and she was a lot older than me so she pretty much ran things."

"How old is a lot older?"

"About the same age as I'm now. She had divorced her first husband for impotency, so, you know … I didn't know much, but I knew what was expected of me."

He was silent for a moment.

"It seems such an ill fate, trying to get with child for so many years, leaving everything to try with a new man, and then she died having it."

"Do you miss her?"

He shrugged.

"It was ten years ago and we were only married for a year or so, but sure. Sometimes I miss having someone to belong with."

Thore fell silent for a moment, and Kildevi pondered how a life would be when you could choose to just leave everything and go to sea, make new friends on the way, and be assumed to have the right to speak for yourself.

He seemed to be considering life choices, too.

"Who knows, maybe when this journey is over, I'll find somewhere more exciting than Attundaland, and with some luck a free woman whose father thinks I'm a catch. I have plenty of mates, but no one who really depends on me in the long run, or that I depend on. That's something else. Back where I come from, we have two men for every woman, so the prospects are bleak there."

"What about Konugard?" Kildevi suggested.

"Konugard… that's awfully far, if I ever want to see my brother and nephews again."

"Smaleskia? Holmgard?"

Thore thought about it for a while.

"You know what? Holmgard could work. Or Riga. I'll ask Hrodulf to keep an eye out for me, next time I see him."


The sea opened up for them as they left the Dnipro behind. On the island of the white shores, they stopped for two days, to make changes to the riggings and reload the weights for sailing on open waters. They would still follow the coast, but Kildevi had grasped enough to know there was a vast difference in what the winds would demand.

Here they were welcomed, hesitantly at first, by Rus dwellers of a small settlement, a force left to secure the island during the important summer trade months. The hesitation thawed at the mention of a few kyivan names, and they were told they were four weeks behind the major convoy. Restocked with rations, they bade farewell and set to sea.


Sleeping on the boat had never been a favourite of hers. The crowdedness, the abstinence, the constant exposure to the elements despite tents and tarpaulins, all made her long for land, even though she wasn't freezing this time.

But her Hnefatafl game was getting stronger, and so was her balance, after having boarded one of the other vessels several times to see to a messy wound that just wouldn't heal.

Asgaut had promised they would follow more closely to shore, as soon as they had passed the mouth of Salina, into the land of the Bulgars. She looked very much forward to making camp on land again. Asgaut, Audvard and Thore were all in agreement: it would be any day now, and the ships were sailing closer to shore to better see the delta when they passed.


Then came a day so clear, they could see the shoreline change ahead of them.

"Shit," she heard Eskil mutter. "Raiders."

Now she saw them too, a group of riders following them along the shore. Behind them, row after row of mounted men came to join with what Kildevi only now realised was the vanguard. As they drew ever closer, she could see them more clearly, armoured men with finely trimmed dark beards and olive complexions, moving as one with their steeds, armed with spears, sabers and bows.

It was the first time she had actually seen the Pechenegs. Their horses were adorned like fine warriors, bridles and breast-collars bedecked with bronze or pewter.

"No", Eskil said now, shaking his head. "That is not a raiding party. That is a warlord with his retinue."


"It would be strange indeed if they were here for us," Eskil commented just a short while later, after Asgaut had gathered the three other styrimaðr on their boat for a council. They and Asgaut himself were the original steersmen of the knarrs at the start of the journey, the rest of the boats led by more junior skipari.

"I agree," said Ingjald, a small man with red hair and an almost legendary sense of direction. "No-one would gather hundreds of men to attack a trading convoy of this size, but they will nonetheless attack if we give them an opportunity. Once we pass the mouth of the Selina, we'll be in the clear, but until then we can't let the boats get near the shore."

Kildevi was not really a part of the conversation. Instead, while the men talked behind her, she stood at the railing and watched the riders amass on the shore. The input she could give on how to handle a military threat was limited, but she tried to keep an ear open to what they were talking about.

At the very front of the band, she noticed how some of the riders gathered around a man on a brown steed, dressed in a coat or tunic of clear emerald green. He was too far away to make out much detail, but the midday sun reflected the richness of both his armour and his steed.

She looked at him, halfway through this world and halfway through her sight, until she knew the sense of him. There was something… right about that sense, an instinct of curiousity and ease she had no reason to have for a warlord of the Pecheneg.

Behind her, the men had concluded that they should indeed sail through the night until they were past the delta of Selina. That was when Ragnleif looked up and said: "Seeress, will you guide us?"


She had never paid much mind to Ragnleif before. He was steersman on one of the knarrs they hadn't been on, then went on to lead first a byrding, then a boat, where she knew no one. The only thing she knew about him was that he looked about the same age as Asgaut, and that one of his earlobes was split in two.

Unprepared, she turned to look at the five gathered men. Eskil's face had that neutral mask he slipped on when he didn't want to guide her decision. Asgaut looked serious, Hrolf hesitant, and Ingjald as surprised as she herself was.

"If that is your wish, I will. But I will need some things and demand others. First, I will need a platform with a tent raised over it, the entrance towards the shore. Second, I will do it at night. Third, I will go inside the tent alone with my helper, with no one to enter until we come out again. Eskil will stand guard outside, and hinder all who would try to pass into the vestibule of spirits, as well as act as my beacon in case I need one. By morning, I will have your prophecy."

Now, Eskil didn't look neutral anymore. He sent her a questioning look, well aware this was beyond what she usually needed for a foretelling. She forced her face to remain still, careful to look at everyone but him to avoid drawing any attention to Eskil's reaction from the steersmen.

Finally, Asgaut nodded.

"If that is what you need, we will have a tent raised by nightfall."


The three steersmen had barely gone back to their own boats before Eskil cornered her at the prow.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know full well you've made prophecy in the daytime, in front of people, so you're planning something else. What, is my question?"

"I am going to have a look around in the Pecheneg camp."

He crossed his arms, giving her an examining stare.

"Give me a risk assessment. What's the worst that can happen?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. Ragnarok?"

"Let me rephrase the question. What is the worst that is somewhat probable to happen?"

She considered that for a moment.

"I don't know," she finally confessed. "I guess they may have someone like me with them who may or may not challenge me, but that is all just guesswork. I think the greatest risk is that Deva stops singing, or that anyone comes in and disturbs the rite. I'm not sure, but I suspect one of the reasons I was lost for so long on my first travel was that Anund's voice broke at some point during the night."

Looking up, she realised Eskil had started to fidget and shift, that stare now turned out over the sea towards the shore.

"Are you really that ill at ease by the thought that Anund is my helper?"

Now, he turned his eyes to her again.

"It is a shame. It's a dishonour and a disgrace he brought upon himself and thereby on all of us. You can't expect me to not care about the risk of shame that brings to the entire family. My brother is argr, and still we love, house and depend on him."

Her heart had sped up at his words, but this wasn't the first time her sense of loyalty clashed with his sense of honour. When she had cried, screamed or stomped away, it had never worked as well as just pushing back, trying to hold that temper.

In the end, all she could do was to leave no doubt about her own position and hope he'll come around to a point slightly closer to it.

"I hope you aren't saying that we shouldn't."

"Not as it is now. He is my brother, and the gods have gifted him a valuable ability. But there may come a time when that has to be weighed against the future of all my other brothers, and then the one will have to be sacrificed for the many."

"As long as you are absolutely clear about what goes with him: the horses, and me. And if I go, I will bring with me all of your father's plans and machinations, apart from that everything we have built together will be torn asunder."

Her voice softened. "And I don't want that. I don't want to be torn between the love I have for my husband and my honourbound loyalty to my helper, and you have both risked so much and walked so far beside me. But if one of you denounces the other, I will have to side with the one wronged. Because I can't let you hurt my apprentice, nor can I let him hurt you."

"Apprentice. You tell me you would choose him over me and in the same breath you tell me he is turning into a full sejðmaðr."

She sighed. This was so tiring.

"Except I wouldn't choose him over you, I would side with the one wronged, whichever way that goes. Did you really think he was just going to sing for the rest of his life? No, he has learned some secrets, even though he doesn't have any sight to speak of. He can even make divinations now, albeit with many tools and mediaries. That might still change, though. Even I don't know if that is because he was given so little from birth, or because it isn't awake."

"Talking about this makes me deeply uncomfortable," Eskil said, plainly. "I'd rather not, and we both know that my right is your wrong, and your right is mine. But that aside, I have seen him laid, so he's not waiting for that, at least."

Kildevi shrugged.

"As I have said before, it's not being in the act, it's the fulfilment of a yearning for it. You feel nothing - you push nothing, and I doubt Anund had ever yearned enough for his hugr to break free of his hamr." She sighed again. "But if you're truly that uncomfortable, let's leave the subject. Just make sure no one comes in to disturb Deva, or me. That is the worst risk I can imagine for tonight."

Eskil's eyes were inscrutable, but there was a bitter little smile on his lips.

"I find it tragically fitting that the first time you've said that you love me is when you explain how you would leave me, just like your grandmother left your grandfather."

That earned him a long stare before she replied.

"The difference is that she never even liked him, and he simply replaced her with two younger wives who were easier to scare. I don't want to believe you would do that."

"Still, that threat and your family history doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."

"Let's make sure it never comes to that, then."


She had never flown before.

Riding on the winds over the sea, Kildevi looked down on the shore through the eyes of the cormorant. The bird obviously wasn't a nightly hunter, because the blackness was only pierced by the fires of the camp. The bird had no better dark vision than she would have in her human shape, but she could see each flicker of light more clearly than ever through her own eyes. Landing at the outskirts of the camp, she tenderly thanked the bird and bade farewell, hoping, but not demanding, it would stay and wait. It wasn't the cleverest of birds, but hopefully it would sit down to sleep somewhere close.

It was long past its time to rest.


The camp was asleep, or as asleep as a camp ever is. Guards were patrolling, a few younger men up around a few of the fires, but most of the warriors seemed to be sleeping. They were many, not a great army on its own, but a very well equipped unit or warband. More than two hundred, less than half a thousand? The horses were kept close to where their owners were sleeping. Some of them grew skittish as she passed.

After a short while she found a tent, a pavilion finer than the rest, fitted with carpets and a chair. On a low bed, she saw the shape of a man, a mind she sensed as burnished coats and equine muscle, a tang of steel and soil, the joy of a hunt, pride, strength, and underneath it all… love, and a softer pride. This warlord had blood to return to.

At a loss, she stood watching him sleep. What should she do now? Her first thought had been to snoop around for a sign of why they were here, but the truth was she had mainly wanted a reason to travel, and she had never done it on water. It had been so long. Her thought had craved its own adventure.

His eyes opened. In the borderland between dream and his waking sight, he stared right at her. And he saw.

The moment passed. He was awake, staring blindly through her before his eyes scanned the pavilion, suspiciously probing every shadow. It was time to leave.


The befuddled cormorant was once again going on a nightly flight it wouldn't remember, but the next time it looked out through its own eyes, it was back at that funny floating thing with no fish. It still had no fish.

Dejected, it returned to shore.


Gasping, Kildevi found herself back in the tent, in a hamr still open from henbane and trance. She let her thought fill her shape again, safely grounded, before she opened her eyes to see what fate had to show.


As was common after demanding feats of magic, her body was raging with lust, a hunger that seemed almost insatiable. As soon as she had closed herself from sight and fate, it filled up every part of her mind, her body burning with a desperation so intense it was almost like pain.

But there was no way to slake that need here, not on the boat, surrounded by all their shipmates and nowhere to go. Right then and there, she was past caring, but she knew that Eskil considered it akin to feasting in front of the starved, and after their words earlier, his convictions weren't going to be negotiable.

They're only seven. You can take them all. You can break them all. You can ride out their strength and revel in it. What would you do with all that power taken?

Oh no. That is not the path we want to take.

You could raise a storm to tear your enemies asunder, a plague to kill off their young. You could bind the seven and make them all your thralls, marked for use, a retinue of servant warriors.

That would cost me everything they're worth to me, my friends and my husband. I hope you are my fylgja whispering and not just another part of my thought, because this is not something I want to want.

But imagine… always at your fingertips. If you find that dark haired young man from Jonar's crew, you could have eight, a ninth can always be found. A sacred number of sacred servants. You could drain them, all of them.

Wait, why is he in this?

Oh, come on. We've been looking, we want him. The only reason you won't confess to it is because you're so invested in the idea of your perfect devotion to your companion.

You mean my husband.

That is a strange idea, to lend yourself to rules not in your favour. You have a thirst, and outside waits seven tankards filled with mead. Behind you stands a sweet-smelling wine you've never tasted. What did Aslaug mean when she said you wouldn't use your mouth to talk?

I… I don't know. But I know this isn't wisdom speaking.

Although infuriating, she is a handsome woman, isn't she? Such distinct features, those wide lips with their deep cupids' bow, that long, sculpted nose. I wonder if her body would feel like our own, or more like Eskil's? Would those hips be hard muscle or soft flesh?

This isn't working. And why do I remember the shape of Aslaug's lips?

You have a thrall behind you…

"Deva, go and get some sleep," she said quickly, before that inner voice had a chance to convince her.

Never again. Never again henbane on a boat.


She had fallen asleep somehow, and she woke up cranky but thankfully no longer beset by henbane. What she had learned the night before was divided into two paths, and not exactly clear in either direction. She had a nagging suspicion that her nightly journey had something to do with that.

Eskil had greeted her as usual when she came out of hiding, and not in that way he did when he wanted to pretend everything was fine. He had obviously put yesterday behind him somehow, which was exactly what she wanted to do too.


A short while later, the group of five was once again gathered on their deck, and this time, her shipmates weren't even trying to be discreet about listening in.

"What I saw was twofold. That is… unusual, but we are at a crossroads with two choices. Ahead, to the Bulgars, lies nothing. No threats, no opportunities before the end of our journey. That is indeed good, if uninspiring.

If, instead, we go to shore, I saw no bloodbath. New roads will open, bonds be made. How, and why, I couldn't see. Only that it was a path more laden with promises than threats."

"And what do you think we should do, seeress?"

It was Ragnleif who spoke, but they were all looking at her. Some fearful, some reluctant, some expectant, but all waiting for her words.

"I say we go to shore. If one path leads to nothing, one to something, neither to defeat, do we live for something, or for nothing?"

Now, she looked at Eskil. She hadn't before, not wanting to speak with his reactions in the balance, but he looked… proud? And amused?

"I'll leave you to talk," she said. "My council is council, the decision is yours."


During the meeting of steersmen and stakeholder, she realised her shipmates held an assembly of their own. She sauntered over to join them, and stepped right into a heated disagreement between Thore and Audvard, trying to keep their voices low.

"I don't trust the Pecheneg," Thore hissed. "It doesn't matter if I trust Kildevi or not when the whole idea doesn't make any sense! Why shouldn't they just raid us? And more promises than threats doesn't say anything about the margins between the two."

"It's not our place t'question fate," Audvard mumbled. "If our Lady's seen no bloodbath, there'll be no bloodbath. And she's right we as men should live for somethin', not for nothin'."

"I hope we're going to shore," Eirik put in. "This whole journey has been too safe and careful, and some of us want a story to bring home."

"I… just want silver, actually," Thorven stated for clarity. "I'm fine with both, as long as I get to Miklagard and back and my part of the split is big enough for me to settle down."

Thogard didn't say anything, but he looked thoughtful.

"Welcome to our little ship's council, o bringer of dilemmas," Thore said, looking up. "It would seem I'm the only one who disagrees with you entirely, so can you help me put my worries to rest?"

"I'm afraid not. I only know what I told them. But if it helps, it's out of my hands and firmly in the grasp of four old men with much to lose. I think you can trust that they won't take any bold risks."

 

[Alvlin]

The old men with much to lose had not been in agreement. The matter ended in a compromise where one boat would go ashore with a select few men, all volunteers, while the rest of the convoy remained at a safe distance. Ragnleif's boat was chosen, mainly because he had proposed the idea to please Hrolf and Asgaut, who had argued for the safe route on to the Bulgars.

The camp wasn't visible from the sea, but Kildevi knew it wasn't far away inland, just a short walk past the dunes. When they set out, the beach was empty, but as the shore grew closer they came in strength, around thirty riders gathering in a wide half circle, more a rough shape than a formation.


Kildevi stood at the prow. She hadn't been what she deemed fully dressed since they set out from the island of the white shores. Now she had chosen her dress and her regalia to show off her wealth and importance, white shift and blue kirtle, smokkr a deeper blue and decked with buckles, beads, amulets and with the full set of needle case, scissors and knife hanging in chains from the left buckle brooch. The headscarf was left on her own boat, instead the hair was hanging in a long braid, a single knot at the nape, with just a symbolic loose veil held by the bronze gilt headband, more a crowning than a coverage. Most importantly, her staff hung on her back, a comforting weight of heavy iron.


The riders waited. Eskil too had dressed to the teeth, the silver arm rings and neck ring gleaming. He wore his weapons for symbolic meaning more than battle, and the finely worked bronze on the hilt and scabbard shone warm against the emerald tunic with its silk facings on the hem and neckline. Sword and seax at the belt, the spear lay at his feet on deck. The mail, shield and helmet were also brought, but not worn, and he felt naked as they approached the fully armed and armoured pechenegs. Not that it would have made much difference in a fight between six on foot and a mounted thirty, but there was a comfort in feeling the weight of the byrne on his shoulders.

"How are we doing this?" asked a young man whose name he couldn't recall. "We didn't plan for them to wait for us, did we?"

"We go ashore, all but the thrall," Ragnleif replied. "First Eskil and I, then Eirik and Audvard flanking us, then you and Eymund at the sides, Kildevi last and behind us. They are waiting for her, not us."

"Why do you think that?"

"Look where the warlord holds his eyes."

The men on horseback may have been armed, but they were not moving. At the centre of the half-circle, a man in an emerald brocade caftan, a shade colder than his own tunic, had his gaze fastened at the boat as they approached. Now, Eskil realised that he was looking at Kildevi, not the rest of them. That held true all the way until their plank was put to shore and the six of them stood facing the pecheneg, with Kildevi behind them.

Not in the wildest imagination of his young self would he have thought he'd stand guard while his wife was the one acting as envoy to a warlord of the steppes. Now that warlord gestured, and the ranks opened on one side as two men came down onto the beach between them, carrying a carpet and two chairs.

"Who speaks?"

His Greek was broken, but understandable.

"I speak for her, he for the convoy," Eskil replied, with a nod to Ragnleif.

The warlord nodded.

"I speak to you. In Greek. Or Slav. Not Rus."

Eskil nodded, and when the warlord dismounted he too walked forward until they met at the chairs, both taking each other's measure before they sat down.

The pecheneg was older. Only slightly smaller than himself, but well scarred, and he moved with the strength and confidence of a lifelong warrior. His clothes were rich, silk brocade caftan split for the saddle, the strap-ends of the belt gilded, as was his sabre and the leather mounts on the harness of his horse.

"I am Yazı of Yazı-Qapan."

"I am Eskil Thorlevson, svear from Westmanland."

"Shaman is your wife?"

"Yes."

"I know her. From the night."

A couple of the closest riders started to chuckle, obviously thinking it an insult, but the warlord raised his hand and they fell silent.

"I saw her."

"This night, she was on our ship. I guard her body, her mind walks where she wants."

The dark eyes narrowed, then he nodded.

"Such it is with wives, if they think well. Not-shamans too. Does she speak in Greek or Slav?"

"No, only in Svea."

"I borrow your wife, one day. Alone."

Eskil shook his head.

"No, not alone."

"She will find for me, something of great value. Then I have her back to you."

"I want security. How do I know you will give her back, unharmed and not dishonoured?"

Yazı lent back, arms crossed. Their eyes were locked, none of them wavered.

"I will give my wife as hostage. One mark on one wife means two marks on other. If your shaman-wife helps, I give you my friendship and my name. My brethren know not to war with you on Dnipro."

"What more is your friendship worth?"

Now Yazı nodded, amused.

"Many coins of trade. You bring your swords, next time. I pay better than Greeks in Constantinople, and I pay in dirhams."

Eskil turned and looked back at Kildevi, who stood like a statue where the black sea met the western shore. He waved at her to come closer, and he saw the flicker of a pleased smile before she strode past the line of their men and up to their seats on the carpet.

He rose to leave her the chair before quickly going through what had been said, and she listened silently until he came to the part about the hostage.

"I would rather you didn't," she said. "I am less worried this man will hurt me than I am about you lot giving his wife a bruise by accident because she isn't used to boats."

"We'll be careful, I promise. But I will not show myself too much of a trusting fool in front of a warlord of the pecheneg."

She nodded.

"Will you at least tell him I will need to bring Deva? Both to help me and to translate."

Eskil did so, and as Yazı's wife was left in his hands, Kildevi followed the warlord back to his horse with the thrall trailing behind them.

"Are you sure this was a wise move?" Eirik asked in a low voice. "You are taking an awful lot on trust here."

"I'm pretty sure it's reckless," he replied. "But she saw no bloodbath, and I have good reason to know she'll not die today. Besides, the Pecheneg are known to be bad allies to armies, but good friends to people. Would you not rather have a Pecheneg friend whose name holds weight?"

Eirik didn't look convinced.

"She doesn't have a good history of common sense, and you're not exactly keeping her reins short."

"You mean like her last husband did? I'll take my chances with the warlord."

"What do you suggest we do with her?" asked the young man Ragnleif had called Eymund before Eirik had a chance to answer, if ever he planned to.

Eskil glanced at the olive skinned woman who stood with Ragnleif while the older steersman tried his best to introduce himself. She could be… he had no idea. Somewhere between his own age and ten years more, perhaps? Richly dressed, but he had never seen a Pecheneg woman before. Did they usually wear trousers? Her headdress was as richly adorned as her husband's weapons.

"I haven't thought about it," he confessed. "Take her back to Asgaut's ship, treat her like an honoured guest and then we do as little as possible? She can sleep in the tent where Kildevi did her rite, it's not luxurious, but it's secluded."

"Sleep?"

"He said one day. That can mean until tonight, or until next morning."

"Does she speak anything other than Pecheneg?"

Eskil glanced at Ragnleif, who still tried his best to find a way to communicate.

"Doesn't look like we're that lucky."


Kildevi looked down at the man on the bed. He lay on his back, hands to his sides, but the body was empty. Not dead, only uninhabited, like a house left unguarded with all people away.

"How long has he been like this?"

Deva repeated the words in Slavic, and Yazı replied back for her to tell it on.

"For five days."

The warlord spoke again.

"It is the shaman that is lost. He wants you to find him."

He had spoken directly to her all the while Deva was translating, respectfully but not deferently, and now she tore her eyes away from the shell to meet his gaze.

"I will try. But if I'm not awake by nightfall tonight, you must take the bear-tooth and the lion string from my brooches and hang them over the open tent flap. If I am still not back tomorrow, I will need my husband."

Slowly, he nodded.

"He let you go here, carelessly."

"He knows I won't die today. And you let your wife go too, without hesitation."

"Your whole tribe will need you back. She is only important to me. If something happens, I take the risk. He takes the risk of everyone."

"Is it a risk?"

"Only if you don't bring back our shaman."


Back at the ship, similar opinions were expressed.

"I don't trust the Pecheneg," Thore said, in an echo of his earlier statement. "And I really hope your assessment is sound, because you are not the only one with a stake in this."

"And what exactly is your stake in my wife?"

This was the second person questioning him, and Eskil started to get a bit testy. Not in the least because he had made the decision to let her go based on what he knew would be her wishes. His own assessment hadn't been as favourable, and he had doubts enough as it was.

But the thinly veiled implication aside, Thore wasn't backing down.

"We've been shipmates for so long she's almost a sister. Of course the rest of us have a stake in a mate and valuable crew member, don't make it sound like anything else. She's your wife, you make whatever decisions you want, but the rest of us have the fucking right to call you on them!"

At that point, Thorven took a step in front of Thore and Thogard put his hand on Eskil's shoulder.

"Why don't we all sit down with a mug of beer and send one into the tent with Mairenn for the nomad lady?" Thogard rumbled. "None of us likes to send our women away on their own, and everyone wants them to come back." He looked sternly between them. "Save your hot blood for if they don't."

Both the men started to back down, but the silence was still tense.

Thorven broke it.

"Who's Mairenn?"

Thogard looked at him for a moment before replying.

"The Irish girl at the stern."

"Huh. I just call her 'the blonde one.'"


The bear trailed across the forest steppe. This was not the land of the lower Danube. She had not walked far in the tracks of the shaman before the landscape changed into one more reminiscent of the eastern Dnipro. Was that where he'd come from?

Outside a tent in a glade sat a man with a gaming board in front of him. Without looking up, he said, "Welcome, sister Bear. What brings you to me?"

"I am looking for a shaman of the Pecheneg."

"I know where to find him. But it will cost you."

"What will it cost me?"

"You play me for it."

She thought about it.

"I will, on one condition. That we must drink for every move."

The man looked her up and down, a slip of a woman in his eyes.

"I accept."

Kildevi sat down, and when her seat touched the ground her body was the huge shape of a she-bear.

"We said nothing about shifting shape."

"Yet you were the one who welcomed sister Bear."


Back on the boat Eskil restlessly started going over his equipment, and as the day drew past midday, his gear was as shining and sharp as it had ever been, not a single speck of dirt or rust anywhere.

"You want to do mine too?" Thorven asked in jest, but Eskil just held out his hand, and after a few moments to overcome the younger man's disbelief, he sat with a new set of seax, axe and spear, polishing and sharpening. Thore joined him, and they sat for a while, only the sound of their two whetstones breaking the silence.

"You're a strange match, you know that?"

Surprised, Eskil took a moment to reply.

"No. Why would you say that?"

Thore looked up, face furrowed.

"You're looking and acting like a chieftain or trade patron, but you do for yourself and put in the same work as the rest of us. She's a queen when she wants to, and completely undignified whenever she can. I know your father is a tradesman with odal land, but what the fuck is she?"

Eskil took a moment to think.

"I guess I'm expected to make myself a chieftain or patron, but a man should know what's his and care for it. If I stop cleaning my own byrne, who knows what more I'll just leave and forget? I wouldn't want to follow a man who'd be helpless without a servant, so I don't have one. She's… I don't know where to start."

"Well, who's her father?"

"Thorvald Vibjornsson, chieftain of a river valley among the Dalecarlians. But…. was he her father? He never named her, so I guess that she could be considered fatherless even when he was alive."

"He didn't name her? And... still here she is?"

"I know. From what I've understood, there were so many omens when they tried to expose her, they finally gave up and let her grandmother have her. And that grandmother just happened to be an all-knowing sorceress of the Finns."

Thore gave a low whistle.

"How the fuck did you two end up married?"


The giant paw pushed a warrior forward. A king fell.

"I have captured you."

"You have captured my king."

"Is there a difference?"


"That is a story. It began some twenty and five years ago when my father met her father at the market between lake Siljan and lake Orsa. I don't know exactly what was said there, but from there on father first joined one of his raids, then started to lead Thorvald's expeditions east. I guess in part he was young and bored. He'd quested for my mother for three years, and then found himself stuck on a homestead with a woman he'd wanted for four years, but who didn't really have time for him."

Thore glanced up from the seax he was polishing.

"Quested?"

"Yep. He married up too, and grandfather took a chance on him, but only once he'd spent three years trying to find a rare spice, an Abbasid dirham and a wish from a plane other than Midgard."

He snorted. "I personally think he was set up to fail, but when he didn't, my grandfather was impressed enough to bless them, helped by my stubborn mother threatening to ruin her own reputation. She told her father, 'if I can't be his honour, he can well dishonour me, and what better suitor can you find me then, hm?'"

Thore sniggered.

"Doesn't sound like he gave his blessing."

"Well, it was a blessing of some sort that grandfather didn't send her brothers to kill him."

Both men took a moment to ponder the dangers of courtship.

"That is some story."

"Oh, it doesn't end there. But long story short: the wish turned out to be a curse, so when Kildevi's father's seat was raided and burnt in a feud, he picked her up and brought her home, thinking that a granddaughter of the greatest sejðwife of the Finns would surely be able to lift curses. If not, she might at least marry one of his unmarriageable sons. Turns out not many fathers want to give their daughters to cursed men."

"And she did."

"Twice."


"I know who you are. Why have you let me win?"

"I didn't. I played to lose."

"That is just words. If you play to lose, you let me win."

"Yet you are the one who always plays with words. There is a difference between aiming to lose and giving someone else a victory. And words have power, power to trap and force and shape."

"Are you saying that my shaman is trapped in words?"

"He is trapped in a riddle of his own making."


Thore frowned.

"So what about her first husband? I know she was married before you, but she's never even said his name."

"Ah. Yes. That was my big brother."

"So… you're still cursed?"

Eskil shook his head.

"No, she did lift the curse. But she decided she wanted him anyway."

Why did he still sound bitter? He had thought he was over that since long, it was an unwelcome surprise to realise he wasn't.

"Huh. So how did you happen?"

Eskil rested his head in his hand, thinking back.

"He was killed by a boar, and father was her last legal guardian, so she went back to him. He wanted to keep her, so he asked me if I wanted to take over. And… she is a chieftain's daughter with near mythical blood in her veins, and I already knew we got along. It seemed too good to refuse."

"I'm surprised. We just assumed you were a love match."


"What is the riddle?"

"You have already solved it."

"In that case, where is my shaman?"

"Is that all you want? No answers, no clues, nothing that might point you to what the riddle was? Are you not curious?"

"No. I am just here for the shaman. Riddles are means to an end. If one has reached the end, the riddle is, at best, a curiosity."

"But there are so many questions you cannot stop thinking about. Your whole mind is filled with questions."

"That is because I don't know which ends they are a means to yet."

"Then I will give you this: you will find him inside my tent, chained by something that grows stronger if you stare at it from afar, but crumbles if you reach out to touch it. Goodbye, sister Bear, and good luck with your quest for ends to suit your means."


With a snort, Eskil turned to look at Thore, eyes narrowed in the sharp sun.

"No. She straight out told me she didn't want love to complicate things this time. Her first marriage wasn't what it should have been."

"How so?"

"He forbade her sejðr and her sight, then beat her black and blue. "

"Oh. So why the fuck did she agree to a second marriage with one of you?"

"I don't know. My pretty face?"

"Nah. She'd prefer you plain, or so she says."

"If that's true, which I doubt, I wouldn't mind it. A face can give you a few good weeks, not a few good years." With a sigh, Eskil returned to Thorven's spear. "Truth is, I think she loves my parents and didn't want to disappoint them. My family is the only family she has left."

"So how did you go from that, to whatever it is you are now? I've seen you fall in love again twice over in just the few months since we left Southmanland."

"I'm surprised you've noticed our ups and downs."

"She needs to talk to someone, and I'm a mushy old sap with too much time on my hands."

How had that happened? He wasn't sure. He'd fallen in lust and then she'd just grown on him for a while. Not long, a few weeks? Half a season?

"I… I think we both just decided to make the best of it. And then, shortly thereafter, a man came back to kill her, and I was reminded of how fear tastes in a dry mouth."

"Something changed that day?"

More than he had realised.

"It did for me."


Inside the tent was a river valley pitted with bogs. Not a place for a bear to find her footing. With a sigh, she once more became a woman and began walking.

She found him in the peat bog, tied down with chains. They crumbled at her touch as she pushed her hands down into the dark water to free him. His hugr was younger than his hamr - a memory perhaps - like her amma's thought had looked like a mature matron and not a crone last time they saw each other. She grasped him as he swept like a rush of air backwards through his own steps, and she just about had time to let go before he once more filled his own shape and she was alone.

Whispering in his mortal ear, she breathed, "Can you relay a message?"


By nightfall, they saw a group of riders return, and the single boat set out again. When the men came ashore, Yazı was waiting for him with a retinue of five, the carpet and chairs now complemented with an oil lamp.

"Where is she?"

"Your wife is in camp, so say our shaman."

"Your wife is on the boat. We will give her back when you bring me mine."

"Ah, my friend. Your shaman did my wish, she honoured our agreement. There is one little problem."

Eskil went cold. Trying his best to keep the panic out of his voice, he said sharply, "What kind of problem?"

"Our shaman says, her spirit refuses her body until you alone can bring her from camp to boat."

Small warning bells started to go off in his head, but if this was a feint from the Pecheneg, it was a strange one indeed. They would have come up with something better, and that was the only reason he agreed.


"I think we should go with you," Eirik had pushed, and so had in all honesty Ragnleif too. Only Audvard stood, as steadfastly as always, by the word of his journey's own figurehead, claiming the words of the seeress should be followed to the letter. Eskil was a bit more practical than reverent.

"If they plan to take me, which I doubt, a few more men won't make a difference. They had us outnumbered on shore twice now, they have no reason to lure me away if they want to pick me off."

Yazı rose and walked the few steps back to his men, taking his steed by the reins.

"My men will stay with yours. If they can find words, they can talk. I gave my friendship, and your men are no enemies of mine. When you return with your wife, they will take mine back. Now come, you and I will walk."

"Just you and I?"

"Yes. Your shaman is young. She does things when they come to her in moment, but you are not as much young. I will not need my men to go with me."

They crested the dunes. Eskil had never been very engaged in the horse breeding side of his father's business, but he had absorbed enough to see that the steed was a noble animal, strong and lithe, a warlord like its rider.

"Is this the walk where we discuss the details of our earlier agreement?" he asked, with a wish to have that over and done with and not have to stay behind once Kildevi was safely back.

"This is the walk when I give my name."

"Your name? You said your name was Yazı?"

The pecheneg laughed, a low but genuine expression of mirth.

"Yazı is not my name. Yazı is my title. It is what they call me, I am Yazı of Yazı-Qapan. But it is not my name, it is not what my mother yelled when I pushed my sisters."

He walked a few more steps, still chuckling to himself.

"No, if my brother-in-law waits at ever-violent and hungry Eyfor, you tell them you are friend of Yazı Ashin of Yazı-Qapan.


Just as Yazı Ashin had told him, Eskil found the shell of her in a tent, and with a warm heart he saw his lion draped over her chest beneath the bear tooth.

When he and the Yazı entered, her chest heaved in a single sharp intake of air. For a moment she stared into nothing, before the body fell back, relaxed again, and she opened her eyes. They were black, only the slightest of bluish grey left like a ring around inhuman pupils.

Her mouth opened, what came out was a strange language. It sounded… maybe a bit like Karelian, but not really that either. After a sentence or two, she looked surprised.

"That wasn't how I usually speak to you."

"No. I understand you better in a language I know. Is it time to leave?"

She nodded, biting a lip so red he wondered what had happened.


They bid farewell and left with gifts and honours from the Yazı-Qapan, fur and ivory given from the northmen to the southern nomads. It was dark now, and as the fires of the camp disappeared behind them, all that lighted their way was a clear moon and a small lamp in Deva's hand.

When they caught a glimpse of the light from the waiting boat, Kildevi halted.

"Deva, continue to the boat. You can take the lamp with you."

Eskil gave her a questioning look as Deva silently disappeared over the dune.

"What's this? Why are you sending Deva ahead?"

"Because I need you to tear me down on the ground and take me."

After a deafening moment of silence, Eskil took a deep breath. The warm, hopeful feeling from seeing his lion on her chest was gone, but his pulse was rising, he had to give her that.

"I thought you needed me. Instead you called me - alone - into a Pecheneg war camp, for a roll in the bushes."

"I do need you! That's why I asked you to come and get me before I grew completely mad on henbane, because I almost lost my mind yesterday."

"You seem to have lost your mind. You can't just send for me whenever you have an itch to scratch, I am not your concubine!"

She shifted, looking restless and short of breath. Even her sigh sounded desperate now.

"It's not an itch. Look, you used to love to have me begging. Now I'm begging. If you touch me, I'll be sobbing. But we don't have long before we're back on the boat, so do you want to waste it feeling wronged, or do you want to quell this beast?"

"Do you love me?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question. Do you love me?"

"There is nothing simple about that question!"

Wild eyed and rambling, she continued, arms waving. "I hate that word, your brother ruined it for me and you almost saved it on Ilmen before Lovat trampled it forever and I'm not going to use it to make you do what I want because I love you too much to use it to trap and force and shape you, but I would never have beaten a god in Hnefatafl if you weren't with me, and I knew you were waiting for me on the other side!"


When she hit the ground, something ripped.

"Sorry about that."

"Fuck the shift."


The path to the bulgars was indeed a nothing, just day after day of smooth sailing and night after night of shoreside camps. It was welcome, though. If the little henbane-driven shoreside drama had taught her anything, it was that sleeping together kept them close. Not that she could fathom what this new need of his might entail, she couldn't remember him ever needing any kind of declaration of affection before they left home, but that had obviously changed.

One thing that had happened on the way between the Pechenegs and the Greeks was more of Aslaug. The weeks on open water had almost made her forget, but the very first night at camp she had joined their fire again, being fun and charming in a rough-and-tumble way, making most of her shipmates laugh. Only Thogard and Asgaut were a bit more reluctant. No attacks of any kind had been carried out, but Kildevi remembered all too well how her inner voice had whispered, and watching the sailor woman with those thoughts in mind made her uneasy enough.

Two days later her comb was gone. This time, she didn't waste time looking for it, but went straight to the source, cornering her tormentor at guard duty.

"Why do you hate me, what have I ever done to you?"

Aslaug gave a low chuckle, leaning on her spear.

"I don't hate you, pussycat. I'm that child who can't stop poking the chained up bitch with a stick, knowing the chain is too strong to snap. I'm just having fun watching you crack."

"But why?"

"Because I love watching your tits heave in that smock when you're upset."

"Why do you say things like that?"

"I'm the only one your husband won't kill for saying it. Even if he'd win, he'd be dishonoured forever. Wouldn't that be something?"

---

Authors note: This post was a bit late compared to my usual pace. I've tried to keep up posting roughly twice a week, but sometimes life happens. This time, I blame a family in tummy bug hell, as this week brought too many packets of ORS and repeat episodes of Paw Patrol to leave room for much else. But here it finally is. Yay!

 

[Yla]

where is my shaman?"

Click to shrink...

"Are you saying that my shaman is trapped in words?"

Click to shrink...

I'm trying to understand the significance of Kildevi calling someone she has never met, from a foreign tribe, "my shaman".

 

[Alvlin]

I'm trying to understand the significance of Kildevi calling someone she has never met, from a foreign tribe, "my shaman".

Click to shrink...

She's trying her claims to the shaman, against the backdrop of her opponent's statement that words are used to trap and force and shape. It's a way of seing if the one who has him trapped has accepted her win, or if it's going to be contested.


...was my thought. Which isn't necessarily the most interesting interpretation.

 

[Alvlin]

Authors note: Most of the Information files have been updated for this one, so if you want to know more about the 911 Rus-Byzantine treaty, go look there. A new cast-list will be up soon too.

If anyone who reads this know Koine Greek (sometimes called biblical Greek), please forgive me, because I don't and have in spite of this tried to write it in latin letters the way it may have sounded to Kildevi based on some dodgy use of translation sites, beginner's education material and comparing translations of bible verses. Yes, it should have been Medieval Greek. Yes, I sacrificed ambition for viability. Yes, I am ashamed, and yet not enough to abstain from doing it.

---

Kildevi looked in awe at the walls in the distance, all stone, and behind them roofs of shingle and mortar. The city seemed to go on forever, and the walls continued behind the tongue of land in front of them.

"Are we going to live inside or outside?"

"I wish we could just walk in and find lodging," Eskil mused, taking a deep breath of air. "But we need to set up in the district of St Mamas, and then we will be escorted whenever we go inside. Remember I told you about the treaty?"

She didn't, but didn't want to confess to how she just closed down when he used words like quota, terms or treaty, so she just smiled and nodded.

"I don't remember the details, though. But we'll take it as we go along."

"The most important part now is that we will have to register both ourselves and the cargo when we reach the pier, and then set up in the Varangian quarters around St Mamas off the coast of Marmara. They'll provide us with lodging and provisions, and we have to leave our weapons behind when we go into the city, escorted by someone imperial, guard or official. I'm not sure exactly how that will work in practice. Last time I found myself in service on the second day here, and when in service inside the walls, you are free to come and go. I guess we'll find out in a day?"

Still staring at the city in the distance, Kildevi nodded, careful not to let her dismay show. She had a need to get into the city without some nosy official trailing her every step, and it would seem she'd have to do it on her own, since the men would be under such scrutiny.

Which meant she couldn't tell him. That, too, was a problem she'd have to find a way around.


The boats didn't steer into any of the north-shore harbours. As they rounded the city, she stood staring at the walls around the shoreline and the city rising behind them. This close, she thought she must be having visions: walls behind walls, whole houses high as towers, and in the distance, a dome that glittered as if made of water.

"That is the big temple," Eskil whispered, and she nodded, before another statue caught her eye, seemingly hovering above the streets below.


They left the city behind, following a coastline disappointingly similar to the one by the Black Sea. Even here, past the city walls, there was the presence of the great village; a steady flow of travellers along a road paved like the finest of town streets, settlements and stone houses, small ports and piers, even a little market that stank of fish as they passed.

Finally, they turned into a great bay with several groups of settlements around it, and the boats passed into a harbour of a size she had never before seen.

Wharf after wharf lined up before her, filled with ships of different sizes and shapes. Among them was a large collection of smaller ships the size of their own boats, with the clinker built hulls she knew from home. That had to be the Rus convoy. They wouldn't be the only northmen here.

She remembered how she once had found the loading pier in Southmanland overwhelming. No wonder Eskil had been so amused.


As they entered the docks, they were met by a clerk and two guardsmen who went from boat to boat to take up registry. The clerk, a middle aged man with a sort of flat tablet he seemed to draw on, came up to Asgaut and started to ask questions. Kildevi heard him reply in Greek, and somewhere in there she noticed the names of everyone in the crew - except hers. He seemed to draw a lot on that tablet. Asgaut turned to the crew while the clerk drew on and on.

"For those of you who haven't been here before, our friend here will walk around and show you where to put an x next to your names. He'll ask your religion, you say Rus. All he's really interested in is if you're Christian, and I don't think we have any of those."


The Roman clerk did his rounds. When he came to Eskil, they had a short exchange in Greek, and she was almost certain they were in very polite disagreement.

All the while they spoke, the Roman official glanced her way. Were they talking about her? It seemed that way, because he walked up to her with his tablet, Eskil following to take up post hovering behind her. Not sure what good it could do, she decided to take a chance.

"Ónoma soi tí estin?"

"Tell him your name, he wanted yours too for some reason."

Eskil sounded annoyed, which suited her plan perfectly. Voice low and eyes modestly turned down, she replied, "Kildevi."

The clerk scribbled, and showed it to Eskil, who nodded. Now she recognized the Greek runes the Romans used.

"Threskeia?"

She had grasped this was the religion question, and buying time by waiting for Eskil to translate for her, she caught the clerk's gaze with a pleading expression and almost invisibly drew a cross with her thumb on her belly where her hand rested.

He gave her a sharp look, then his gaze darted up to Eskil who had just patiently told her to "Just say Rus."

"Are you sure, we aren't from there?" she asked, voice hesitant and nervous.

"I'm sure, just…"

Annoyed, he replied directly to the clerk in Greek, while she stood and tried to look demure, and just a touch scared.

"Ksyníēmi," the clerk said, before he turned the tablet to her so she could draw her x. With some satisfaction she noted there was a mark next to all names but hers. Instead there was a very discreet little cross that may as well have been an accident.

When the clerk left, Eskil gave her a suspicious glance, but he didn't say anything. That probably meant he had picked up on something, but not enough to grasp what it was about.

"Can we get off the boat now?" she asked, eagerly trying to look past the wharfs and further into the settlement. This wasn't even Miklagard itself, and yet all the houses were made of stone, the streets paved, and in the distance she saw a great building stretch out like a palace.

"Not quite yet. They will send someone to show us to our lodgings, but Asgaut and I will have to stay behind to oversee the unloading and make sure the cargo is labelled correctly. Do you want to stay and wait, or do you want to go with the others and set up?"

"I would very much like to go. I won't leave the others, I promise."

He put his arm around her shoulders and nodded.

"Thore and Audvard have been here before, and Audvard knows a bit of Greek, I'll ask them to help you along."

"Audvard knows Greek?"

Her surprise must have shown, because he smiled, clearly amused by her disbelief.

"He's been here thrice before, and believe it or not, he has a knack for languages if he thinks they sound pretty enough. I know Audvard can seem a bit slow, but he really isn't. He's just particular about what he considers worthwhile."


Just like Eskil had said, two guards came to escort them from the pier and into the district of St Mamas. To Kildevi's relief, they were both northmen, and when they started to call out all the names they did so in her own dialect. At the very end of the list, the older of them, a dark blonde man who could be in his early thirties, did a double take and looked at her, then back at his tablet before he waved her closer.

"Kildevi, am I right?"

"That is me."

He looked at her amulets, the iron staff on her back, easily recognisable in spite of its fine covering if someone knew what to look for. When he spoke, his voice was dry.

"You, seeress, are not a Christian."

"I am thinking about baptism."

"You are, are you?" He didn't sound convinced, but he lent closer, whispering, "if you put some effort into looking the part, I can put you on the pilgrim list. But it will cost you a favour."

"What kind of favour?"

"Not that kind. I'll set you and Thorlevson up somewhere nice, and explain before he gets back."

"You know my husband?"

"Know of, at least. Know enough to not want to get on his bad side."

Once again, Kildevi was forced to ponder the difference between the Eskil she knew and the Eskil that sometimes popped up from other parts of his life. Hrodulf, Aslaug, now this guardsman, all seemed to see a much more terrifying figure. She had never seen anything in him that would explain the respect given.

Sure, he fought well. Yes, he could be quick to draw, but the only time she had really seen him go off was that time with Sigulf many years ago, and that seemed a scant case to make a mythos.


The guardsmen led them away from the pier, past the sprawl of the Varangian port with its many warehouses and what she was told was administrative buildings.

"That last treaty sparked some buildin'," Audvard told her as they passed a short row of buildings just at the outskirts of the port. "All those are for the clerks who register everythin'. Every shipload, every man, every woman as we just saw, there aren't too many of you, so none of us knew they'd want you too."

"They just write everything down? What for?"

Kildevi was fascinated. She could carve and read runes, but wasn't used to writing being used for anything but memorials or short messages on sticks.

"They're keepin' track of us. All since that last time some folks tried to raid 'ere, they don't trust us. But we're bringin' too much worth in silver to kick out, so this is what they do instead. Everythin' written down, like a story or memorial for times to come, our names and what we bring and why."

He went silent for a moment before he added, "It's like we're all gettin' a shortcut to livin' on forever."


Back at the port, Eskil was just waiting for everything to be done so he could sign it off. It would take its bloody time though.

Looking for something to keep his hands busy, he sat down with this kit on the pier and started to go over it. It was just past midday, and the sun was burning, the breeze the only thing making it bearable on the stone pier with no protection from the merciless heat.

He had just started on his byrne when a shadow fell over him where he sat. Then a woman's voice spoke from above him, husky, drawling, not really possible to mistake for anyone else.

"You, that wife of yours."

"Yes, I've heard of her."

"What the fuck is she?"

Eskil looked up, squinting in the sharp sun.

"I'm pretty sure you know her name. You've been messing with her for a month now. Did you ever give back her needle case on our last camp?"

"Just answer my question."

"She's the granddaughter of the most all-knowing sejðwife the Finns ever gave to the Svear."

"Huh. So that's why she's so cocky. And you. Who are you?"

He smiled and continued with his byrne.

"I'm just the man fate dumped her with."

"So she's fated with you, and she's what, twenty?"

Eskil shrugged.

"Should be twenty and two by now."

"I think I'll hear more of you two after this journey. If you keep her alive."

"She told me she's foretold to grow old."

Aslaug cocked her head to the side, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"So why're you worried?"

"There are many ways to grow old. Would be a waste if she didn't make the legends."

"And you with her."

"That's the plan."


She turned to leave, but after a moment's hesitation she looked back again.

"You should have smashed my head into a fucking wall by now. I've said and done worse than Sigstein."

Eskil sat silent for a moment, then he replied, voice thoughtful.

"She would say you walk in twilight, living outside the rules that govern the rest of us. I can't challenge you. I know you've been testing me, but it won't work, because I know that even if I win, I lose."

"So you're just gonna let me play rough with your pussycat all the way back north?"

Her voice was amused now, like someone who just couldn't believe what they were hearing.

"Until she snaps and the claws come out."

"Is that what you're hoping for?"

Eskil replied with just a smile and Aslaug paused, gaze digging into his face still bent down over the mail.

"These vǫlvas, did you know they snare people by the pussy?"

She spoke slowly, clear enough for every word to be heard.

"You're still pushing."

"Cause she seems kinda bored, restless even. You sure your cock every third night is enough?"

"It won't work."

Her voice dripped down to a drawl.

"Sounds like a fucking promise to me. She felt really nice to lie on when you're primed by fighting."

"I know what you're doing."

"Pushing her squirming ass against me with my bloody hand slapped over her mouth. All because you sent me to fetch her."

Now he looked up.

"You know what? You are pissing me off. Doesn't mean I'll rise to the challenge."

"Good to know you won't stop me."

"She will."

Aslaug's wide mouth twisted into a smile.

"You sure about that? She's a disciple of fucking Froya, and I'm sure that horny bitch goddess loves her in all kinds of ways."

Still seemingly relaxed, he bent down to dip his rag in the oil.

"Whatever you do, you're not a man."

"So would she even realise it's adultery, or would she just smear that honey all over me?"

"I hear you've been thinking hard about that."

Aslaug was silent for a moment before she replied, this time her words came slower, more carefully chosen.

"Not as hard as her. You've put in some work to keep her unknowing about all the unwifely shit you don't want her to know about, and now she's trying to figure out what I'd even do that you don't. Thinking, and thinking, and thinking." She tilted her head with a smirk. "What are you not doing?"

"Doesn't matter. You're just saying that to fuck with my temper."

His voice didn't sound relaxed anymore.

"And it's working."

"Yep."

"Because you know there is a truth hiding somewhere behind all of my bullshit. But which one is it?"

He stayed silent for a moment.

"She said you called me a hrafngrennir. How did I lose that respect?"

Aslaug's smirk turned wider.

"Wouldn't work this hard to mess with anyone less, I've had fun watching you not handle it, let's see how long that lasts. I'll see you around, raven-feeder."

Eskil watched her saunter off the pier, making a little skip over her sailors sack before she threw it over her shoulder and continued towards the road leading to the Varangian St Mamas.

There went a complicating factor he looked forward to not having to deal with for a month or two.


The guardsmen set up the crew in what looked like the best sort of garrisons, with the exception of the steersmen and Eskil, who were given private quarters spread out over the district. She and Eskil received two rooms in a stone building, on top of an administrative office close to the road leading down to the harbours. Quite luxurious, she noticed with surprise, one large room separated into outer and inner space by a folding screen and heavy drapes, the other room a decorated vestibule with a simple sleeping alcove and a door leading to the stairway. Their window was overlooking a small enclosed garden with some kind of statue with a spring coming from it, all shadowed by greenery.

"As you can see, there is a servant alcove if you want your thrall with you," the older guardsman said with a glance at Deva. "Or you can put her with the ones in your cargo, down at the same lodging house as your crew. It's up to you."

"The lodging house is close, she can stay there," Kildevi replied. "We'll call her up if we need her."

He nodded.

"So, are your lodgings to your liking?"

"It's very fine, thank you."

"Like I said earlier, I have a list I can put you on. I won't put Thorlevson on it, but I don't think I'm taking as much of a risk with you. You, your thrall, but no armed men."

Kildevi nodded.

"What exactly are you afraid my husband would do that I won't?"

"Let's just say you don't have the same capacity for mayhem, and it's our job to keep the peace. We list the people in mercenary service and, this is where you come in, the Christian pilgrims. You fit the bill of the few northern converts who come here, so if you just do a better job of covering up, and leave your staff and amulets behind, no one should get too suspicious."

"And the favour?"

He shrugged.

"I just need a bit of luck two nights from now."

That was a relief. That she could do without too much fuss.

"Any special kind of luck?"

"No. Just a little more luck than I was born with."

She looked closely at him. He seemed born with no more or less luck than everyone else.

"I can do it, but I will need some of your hair."

He shrugged and let out a bit of his braid to cut off a thin lock.

"Now there is just one last thing."

He looked at her, frowning.

"What?"

"Your name. You know mine, but you have yet to give me yours."

The guardsman smiled, a wry expression with little mirth.

"Leidulf, Leidulf Karlison. Don't throw it around."


She was halfway through their unpacking when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Eskil appeared, followed by two men carrying their last chest of belongings. When they disappeared down the stairs, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down next to him on the bed.

"Welcome to Miklagard, ástin mín," he mumbled, nuzzling into her neck. Then he suddenly pulled back his head. "You… need a bath."

She snorted, having noticed something similar.

"And look who's talking! Let me tell you, I am not the rankest person on this bed."

"We will have to do something about that. Let's see if we can get something set up at the bathhouse."

Her eyes widened.

"There is a bathhouse?"

"Also a part of the treaty. It said that all Varangian merchants in the city should have as many baths drawn as they wanted, so during the summer they have a couple of simple bathhouses running for us. I don't think they all have a women's quarter, but let's go see, shall we?"


The closest bathhouse turned out to be a simple room with round wooden tubs, and Eskil was correct in his guess that there indeed was no women's quarter. There was a slave tub and nine were open for free men, but since only three of them were occupied, a burly matron had a drape hung around an empty tub before she sternly sent Eskil over to the men.

"I don't care if you're married, I'll have no funny business here," she stated in a Norse heavily accented by Slavic. "You want company, you find a woman."

That set the men in one of the tubs laughing, and looking over she realised Jonar's entire crew was filling it, most of them with mugs in their hands.

"Should I go get Aslaug for you?" Jonar shouted.

"She said no funny business," Kildevi shouted back. "I'd feel safer with you lot than with her!"

"That was not an invitation," she heard Eskil's voice. When she peeked out between the drapes she realised he had joined them, sitting next to a young man with thick brown hair and a short beard, sunkissed skin pale against dark eyes, his body still bearing traces of the gangliness of youth. Yes. That would be the one her fylgja had meant. Seeing them next to each other, she was suddenly very happy there was a drape to hide behind.


Cleaning the dirt, sweat and salt out of her hair, she distracted herself by pondering her future plans here. They would stay for six weeks. Eskil would conduct their business, and hopefully that meant she would have ample time alone when he was busy without her.

He had shown considerable interest in keeping her involved in the trade side of things, probably hoping she would get interested enough to become a partner as much as a companion. But truth be told, she just didn't have the patience for all the myriad of details and couldn't force herself to remember even the very basics of arithmetic beyond what was needed to keep track of a pantry. With some luck, he would grudgingly accept that she stayed behind after a day or two together at the markets.

That was another reason to start bringing Asbjorn along, she concluded. He would probably take to numbers, logistics and perceived value like she had taken to words and symbolism.

Her other problem was that she still wasn't sure what she was here to do. Someone was waiting for her inside the walls, someone she had to find. But how could you find someone when you don't even know what they are? And how was she supposed to even get from here to the city?


That evening, Asgaut had gathered a select few for dinner and wine in the cellar of a small dining hall close to their lodgings. The steersmen were there, so was she and Eskil, and to her surprise so was Thore, a big burly man from Hrolf's ship, and finally the young man called Eymund who had accompanied them on the boat to the Pechenegs.

The table was low and filled with food she had never seen before. Although there were a few chairs, Eskil sat down on pillows on the floor, gesturing for her to join him. The stone cellar was a refuge from the heat outside, air still balmy from the afternoon, and amphoras full of wine stood in wait further in where the outside sun couldn't reach them.

"Close your eyes."

Something salty and smooth slipped in between her lips, and when she bit down her teeth hit a hard kernel that she carefully cleaned before she opened her eyes again.

"What was that?"

"Your first olive. Welcome to the Greeks, ástin mín."

Looking around, she noticed that Eymund kept close to Ragnleif, the man whose name she didn't know sat talking to Hrolf, and Thore came over to them at their side.

"Hope you don't mind if I join you," he said. "I've never been to one of these things before, and frankly I don't know why I'm here."

"You're here because Asgaut believes you'll make something of yourself," Eskil replied. "And so do I. You can do much more than keeping that steering oar on course."

"Oh, I'm surprised. I'm a bit old to be a promising young lad."

"It's the exact opposite. You've done a few rounds now, everyone knows you're in this for life and won't go back farming a patch in Attundaland married to your second cousin."

Kildevi looked up in surprise. She had no idea Eskil had been on the lookout. Maybe he always was?

"I'll be honest," Eskil said, handing over a tall roman glass to their shipmate. "I asked for you. You're dependable, careful and have an almost unrivalled talent for getting along with just about everyone. You haven't been scared of asking me uncomfortable questions, and done it in a way that didn't leave me suspicious or defensive. If you can do that with more people - you are wasted at the oars. What do you know of the others?"

Thore looked thoughtful.

"Karli over there is a Gotlander, I'm not surprised to see him here. He has been doing some local runs on his own between Visby and Hedeby with a crew from his own village. But I was surprised to see him on this journey as a common footman, even if he's Hrolf's second."

Eskil nodded.

"And Eymund?"

"Eymund is the second son of an odal man from Southmanland. He has some wealth at his back, but I don't know how much of it is his own and how much is family fortune. He's done one summer at the Baltic coast before this and hasn't been tested much yet, but like you he's been trained. I think he'll be someone once he's hardened."

Eskil nodded again.

"And this is why I want you. Power is built on wealth, and wealth is built on trade and tribute. Trade and tribute in turn can only yield wealth with networks and stability, and to build stable networks you need trusted men with good information to help you build them."

"And what pegged me as a trusted man?"

"She did."

Kildevi tore herself from the olives and salted bread.

"I did?"

"Yes. She has a terrible taste in men, but a good instinct for people. When I look back on who she chose at home, and who she has taken to during this journey, it's clear to me her instincts for loyalty and danger are worth watching."

"But… Estrid?"

"Whatever my opinions about her conduct, mother confirmed she was fiercely loyal and the best spinner of the household."

"Anund?"

"As loyal to you as you are to him."

"Asbjorn over Holmger?"

"I've been coming around to the idea that you are absolutely right about which brother should be primed for trade. Let us aim to make Holmger a housecarl to one of the kings, that's where he'll shine."

Thore looked between them, seemingly amused.

"And here I thought we were just passing the time at the oar. What is going to happen tonight?"

Eskil replied with a nod towards the other side of the low table, where Asgaut sat whispering to a slave woman in surprisingly rich clothing, who then rose and disappeared behind a drape.

"Now, we eat, and Asgaut will go through our strategy for the upcoming weeks, what to bring where, what to look for, who to talk to. When the formal business has been taken care of and the wine has flowed for a while things may start to get rowdy, and we'll leave. But don't feel you need to go when we go. This is your first evening at the empire's expense, you should stay and enjoy it."

"And keep my ears open."

"That too. Ingjald especially tends to find himself a frillða of some sort on the first night that he'll keep for the whole stay, and he usually gets too chatty with her quickly - or so Asgaut tells me."

"Wait, did you say the empire?" Kildevis eyes widened. "Why? This can't possibly be a part of the treaty!"

"You are right, of course," Eskil mused. "This is not covered by the treaty, but it is a part of the game of gifts and diplomacy. The empire wants our slaves and furs, but it can be a hard sell that we're not allowed inside the walls without an escort. Thus they make sure everyone is as happy as possible out here, that rations are generous in drink for everyone and some friends of means get… more. Like old Asgaut there. This won't be his last evening hosting these things before we go back."

He stroked a finger down her cheek.

"I too was asked if I lacked for something, so I told them to spoil you."

"Me?"

"When we go in tomorrow, I'll leave you at the baths in Hebdomon. It will be like a roman version of a wedding morning."

Uh-oh. That did not sound like a good fit to her plans.

"Uhm. What does that mean exactly?"

"Your first meeting with roman luxury, my sweet. They go way beyond chamomile water in their regimens."

"Alone?"

Popping another olive in her mouth, he gave her a rueful smile.

"Sadly the church has forbidden me to join you, but I'm sure you'll find something else to rest your eyes on." Seeing the disbelief on her face, he added, "I mean statues and frescos. Nothing else."

She didn't have the heart to tell him that bathing alone for an entire morning sounded like the heights of boredom compared to walking the city, even surrounded by idols and painted walls. Instead she just smiled, nodded and said thank you, finding comfort in that this was just the first day of several weeks here.

With some luck, it might at least help her get rid of some of that unflattering sunburn. She was tired of looking like a well dressed thrall.

 

[Alvlin]

Cast - Part 15 forward

Kildevi/Kiéldvé Thorvaldsdottir - a young sejðkona, seer, chieftain's daughter, and orphan, first and this far only wife of Eskil, 22
Eskil/Áskell Thorlevson - former mercenary gone merchant, husband of Kildevi, 26

Eirik/Eiríkr the housecarl - a housecarl, good friend of Kildevi's former husband, late 20s.
Thogard/Þorgarðr - a housecarl and grappling champion, strangely good at learning the names of thralls, late 30s.

In the convoy
Asgaut - (former) viking, captain, merchant, acting convoy leader, early 40s
Aslaug - a foul-mouthed old sea dog with teeth in her cunt. 25-40?
Audvard - a viking with a scaldic streak, early 30s
Bjorn - childhood friend of Thorven, early 20s
Deva - a Slavic thrall, mid-20s
Eymund - a young viking from Southmanland, from a good family, very late 10s
Gunvar - a more sailor than viking, teaching young'uns, mid-30s.
Hrolf - a steersman, early 40s
Ingjald - a steersman with good sense of direction, late 30s
Jonar - a viking, and probably not really a piss-drinker, early 30s
Karli - a gotlander viking, second to Hrolf, late 20s
Kolvind - a viking, friend of Thorven, early 20s
Ragnleif - a steersman with a split earlobe, mid-40s
Sigstein - a viking with a broken nose, late 20s
Thore - a viking, mate of most, Kildevi's confidant, late 20s
Thorven - a viking with a running mouth, early 20s
Vibjorn Skytja - "That dark haired young man from Jonars crew", great marksman, early 20s.

The Rus
Chedomir - Drevlian merchant, based in Kyiv, early 40s
Glebu - Chedomirs son by his lifelong Danish concubine, late 10s
Helgi - one of three commanders of the Rus trading convoy, a man who neither smile nor drink, late 20s
Ormgeir - an important man in Kyiv, born a westman, early 50s
Pridbor - scion in the Druzhina, Helgis second, mid-20s

Miklagard and the Black sea
Altan - an Anatolian member of the Noumeroi guard who can play the pipe-flute.
Ashin, Yazı of Yazı-Qapan - a Pecheneg tribe leader, warlord, now a formal friend.
Eirene - Owner of a public house close to the Noumeroi barracks. Widow.
Gislar - a Frankish asshole in the Noumeroi guard, according to Eskil.
Irmenhild - a Frankish slave, accomplished translator and platonic life partner of Nonna Ikaria.
Leidulf Karlison - a Varangian member of the city guard, placed in St Mamas.
Nonna Ikaria - a greek apothecary and wise-woman from Ikaria.
Rasheed - an Egyptian member of the Noumeroi guard. Brother to Salih. A man with religious principles.
Salih - an Egyptian member of the Noumeroi guard. Brother to Rasheed. A man with less religious principles.
Steinvid - A Varangian member of the Noumeroi guard, now lacking a trefoil brooch.
Thord - A Varangian mid-level officer of the Noumeroi guard.
Ulf Sveinson - Old friend and group command of Eskil in the Noumeroi guard.


Kiev
Bjarni - a Kievan trader in wine and silk, old friend of Thorlev, late 40s
Beleka - his second wife, 24
Ragneda/Ragnhild - Bjarni's eldest daughter, married, 21
Ina/Ingeborg - Bjarni's lively second daughter, 18
Yaroslav - Bjarni's eldest living son, 6
Majka - Bjarni's youngest daughter, a small girl with sharp teeth (cameo), 4

At home
Thorlev/Þorrleifr Sigulfson - a viking, merchant and odal farmer, late-40s
Alfrida/Álfriðr Anundsdottir - his formidable and only wife, mid-40s

Anund/Ǫnnundr Thorlevson - the horse whisperer and sejðmaðr in training, 24.
Thorstein/Þorrsteinn Thorlevson - the puppy gone full dog, 22.
Svein/Svéinn Thorlevson - the one with hidden talents, 20.
Holmger/Holmgerðr Thorlevson - the Good one, 16.
Asbjorn/Ásbjǫrn Thorlevson - the nosy spy and spreader of news, 13.
Thore/Þórre Thorlevson - the sleepwalker, 10.
Geir/Geirr Thorlevson - the one with the ginger curls, 7.
Sigrunn Thorlevsdottir - the wild one, 4.
Alfhild Eskilsdottir - firstborn daughter of Eskil and Kildevi, 1

Alfjir/Álfjir- Three times widowed, midwife, head of the largest tenant household, workwoman, older than 65, younger than 80
Hrefna Ragnarsdottir - a dutiful and shy young woman, very literal, Thorstein's wife, 17

Dead
Gotvald - a Gotlander, brother of Ketill. Killed by Audvard and Jonar
Grim/Grímr Vibjornson - Kildevis uncle, lived in Thorvalds house.
Ketill - a Gotlander whose mind was carved slightly off center. Killed by Audvard and Jonar.
Mavdna/Mávdná - Kildevis grandmother (amma), a Finn, a vǫlva, a spá-wife, a seiðkonur.
Sigulf/Sígulfr Thorlevson - Firstborn son of Thorlev and Alfrida. Kildevis first husband, killed by a boar.
Thorvald/Þorrvàlðr Vibjornson - Kildevis father, minor chieftain, son of Mavdna.
Vibjorn/Víbjǫrn Thorvaldson - Kildevis grandfather, Mavdnas husband.


Extras
The bath house matron - A no-nonsense guardian of virtue.
Clerks - all holding different positions on the scale of corruption.
Thralls - slaves, ever present, seldom remembered.
Unnamed sailors - some for life, some just seeking their fortune

 

[Alvlin]

"Are you the one called Sacred spring?"

"Uhm… yes?"

"My mistress wants to meet you."

Kildevi looked up at a woman, marked as a house slave by her short hair, cut off at the shoulder. She had a strong accent, but her dialect was fully understandable.

"And who may your mistress be?"

"Nonna from Ikaria. She is not usually a patron of these baths, seeress. She has come here to meet you."


To her surprise, only Eskil, Asgaut and Ragnleif had been going into Miklagard that day. They had done so in a coach pulled by two horses, made only for people to sit in. The evening and morning in St Mamas had made the all-stone villages they passed, and their special little gardens, less eye-boggling. Upon entering Hebdomon, her sense of wonder made itself known again, as she saw not one, but several, opulent palaces centred down by the shoreline.

"Those are the summer houses of the royal court," Eskil had told her, pointing. "I once spent a week posted in that pink one over there."

Finally, the coach had halted in front of a marble clad building, one smaller than a palace but grander than any bath house she had ever seen. She was willing to bet they did not have rows of wooden tubs in there.

After very detailed instructions to wait for him there until he came back, and to not go anywhere, and to not trust anyone, and to not leave the premises, and to stay where she was, and to not try to go back on her own, and to only accept things she understood what they were, and to not go someplace alone with anyone - no, not even if they asked nicely, he'd left her in the hands of a young hostess and set off towards the city.

But not until after a quick reminder that she was supposed to stay there until he came to fetch her.


After that, it had been an… interesting morning, being handled by three very accommodating yet assertive women who didn't speak her language and thus decided freely what should be done to her.

A brief surprise among them once her hair had been let out from its coverings was soon followed by new pots being brought down from the upper shelves, at least one of them looking like honey. There had been a rough rubbing of skin, and after that, baths, as in several, all with different concoctions and herbs. Then, oils had been applied, but not before something stinging was done to her face and arms. The whole thing did seem to have left her skin less marked by the sun, although still not with the whiteness she once had been praised for.

But when they started to smear her with sticky honey to rip the hairs off her body a small piece at a time, she managed to stop them before they got too far below the face. She was not ready for that kind of worldliness.


So, warm, rosy and dipped in some sort of milk, hair drenched in a foreign oil and equally foreign juice of some sour-smelling fruit, she had sat in the warm steam of a rose scented sauna, pondering the strangeness of this women-only world with her third or fourth glass of wine in hand, when the slave approached to tell her this unknown Greek woman wanted to meet her.

Truth be told, it was the least strange thing that had happened all morning.

"Who is this Nonna? And where can I find her?"

The slave half turned and looked towards the door to the main pool.

"My mistress is waiting for you on the steps under the fresco of Cosmas and Damien. She found it fitting."

Kildevi didn't ask why, but she had no idea who they were. Instead, she smiled and nodded, with a mental note to look for a wall painting of two people and hope for the best.


A short while later, the three women had finished with her, and she ventured out into the baths alone. She glanced over the walls, until she saw a painting with two men together. Beneath it, on the steps down into the pool, sat a woman.

Kildevi had planned to have a peek before she made herself known, but she was too late. When her gaze fell on the figure beneath the fresco, their eyes met, and she realised she had been spotted since long.


Nonna Ikaria looked like what Kildevi already thought of as a Roman woman, skin slightly darker than her own, but not from sunburn, yet still pale against dark hair and brows. She was ageless in a way Kildevi had seldom seen, apart from Aslaug and the version of her amma seen in dreams. Older than herself, yes, but whether she was Eskil's age or fifteen years more was impossible for her to tell.

Nonna's hair framed the face in a cloud of dark curls, as untamed as the ones she once had loved on Sigulf and still loved on his mother. The look of this strange woman made the longing for Alfrida hit like a fist to the stomach. Maybe she was destined to be found by dark-curled mother figures?

That was a ridiculous thought with no basis in reality, and yet it made her approach this stranger with a warm heart and an open mind she might not otherwise have had.

Now, the Roman woman smiled and patted the marble step in an invitation to join her, and Kildevi slid down into the warm water. It was a strange yet intimate setting to meet someone for the first time, naked but comfortably so, in a world of its own. As they sat in silence, she realised Nonna was as unsure as herself about what to do in this meeting.

Finally, Kildevi turned with her hand on her chest.

"Kildevi."

Nonna echoed her gesture.

"Nonna Ikaria. Ikaria eí… uhm… "

She raised her hand, and her house slave came out from the arched passageway surrounding the pool to take up post between them, listening intently to the stream of words.

"My mistress says you will talk through me. She knows nothing of your language, and you know nothing of hers. She assures you that I know secrets already, and that much of what you will learn from each other can be shown, not told."

"Is that why we're here? To learn?"

"She believes so. My mistress does her Art behind the counter of her apothecary between the Forum and Harbour of Theodosius. I served seven years for a Danish master and know your gods, she knows you won't approach the Art in the same way."

"She is a seer?"

"No, she is a wise woman and foreteller with good knowledge."

"But she has visions? She can see what lies in the future?"

"Yes. But her ways there differ much from yours."


Kildevi had worried she'd be bored waiting for the men to return. Eskil had said he'd come back at midday, but since she spent that time with Nonna and Irmenhild, she didn't even mind when he didn't. Irmenhild was of middle age and indeed a house slave, yet Nonna did not treat her as such. Their relationship seemed more like the one Eskil had with the housecarls, or she herself had once had with Estrid: not quite peers, but still friends.

"I must tell you that I can't come freely. I don't know when or how often I can get away."

"Just come by when you can. One of us is always there, except for on Sundays. But what keeps you?"

"I'm married, and he is not allowed inside the walls without a guard. He would never let me walk around the city alone. I will come when he is away, and hope we don't run into each other on the streets."

"Are you running a risk?"

Kildevi thought about it, then she shook her head.

"I don't think so. I run the risk of making him upset and maybe be put under guard, but he would not raise a hand to me. I have done worse with no marks to show for it."

Nonna glanced at her.

"You know, I am surprised. Your men seem so brutish to us, they have a bad reputation."

"Whatever for?"

"They drink and fight without moderation, they are loud and lascivious and indulge in every gluttony. Your faith seems to have no mores for behaviour."

"And your young men don't drink and fight and enjoy women when they are far away from their wives and mothers?"

Nonna flashed a smile.

"Of course they do, but at least they know it to be shameful!"

"But why? What does your god have against manly vigour?"

"Is that how you think of it? And you don't mind it?"

"No, I mean… why should I mind that men fight each other if challenged? What use would I have for a man who didn't stand up for himself, or what's his?"

"But how could you entrust your life to a man if he has no higher reason to be good to you?"

Kildevi was struggling. That was indeed a perspective she'd never heard before.

"No reason? I'd say there are plenty of reasons, there is honour and loyalty and the wisdom that lies in keeping on the good side of the one with the keys to the house and pantry. But also because that would give me the right to leave. A wife isn't a thrall."

"Leave? You would tear apart a holy union?"

"Holy? Why would it be holy?"

"I think we will have some very interesting debates in the weeks to come."


When the men finally returned, it was afternoon and the three women, now fully dressed, stood outside on a balcony overlooking the street below. Kildevi saw their carriage stop in the little yard outside - Eskil had called it a small plateia - and when he stepped out it was in the company of another man, one dressed in the wide trousers and decorated tunic of the wealthy Rus.

Nonna's eyes widened.

"Is your husband the warrior, or the statue of a warrior saint?"

"Since you mention an idol, that would be him, yes."

"Is his soul as pure as his beauty?"

Kildevi snorted.

"He drinks and fights and is loud and lascivious, if that's what you mean. But he is fierce about his honour and his loyalty, and sees my knowledge as a source of pride, so as long as he remembers that I come first, he can drink and fight and lie around as much as he wants to."

"You are a strange woman."

"Look who's talking," Kildevi replied with a wry smile, before taking Nonna's hands in her own. "I'll come to you as soon as I'm able, I promise. I have only met Christians before, never known one. I look forward to changing that."


Her hair had been done up in the roman style by the women at the bath, and the thin cap was not enough to cover the multitude of loosely draped braids and twists. On the way out from the baths, she became acutely aware that the only ones she saw with heads as naked as hers were slaves or girls barely passing into womanhood. Every adult woman she saw was either fully veiled, or had their heads covered in long draped shawls that looked like cloaks layered over the dresses.

When she stepped out, Eskil gave her an appreciative look.

"You're shining. What have they done to you?"

"Very strange things with nettles and milk. But they did rub away some of the seaside sun."

Smiling, he waved her closer.

"Come, meet Helgi. Helgi, this is Kildevi, mistress of my house."

The man called Helgi met her gaze and nodded in greeting. He was about Eskil's age, hair kept surprisingly short beneath a pillow box hat, his brown beard long and smoothly shaped. The face did not look as if it was used to smiling much, but he did not look mean or disdainful, just inexpressive.

"She is far away from your house."

He spoke fluently with a Slavic accent, which probably meant he was raised east, but had at least a father of either the Svear or the Gothar.

"No. We carry our house with us."

That was not the reply she expected. She liked the sound of it, and Helgi seemed to accept the reply because he just nodded.

"Helgi is one of the commanders of the Rus convoy. We are in discussions about joining them on the way back."

"So, what would that mean, exactly?"

"That we'll stay in a much, much bigger camp. And that we'll be part of their logistics chain past the rapids."

As they started to stroll towards the carriage, Helgi nodded in confirmation.

"We will make more contact in the next few weeks. Now, St Mamas is full of Rus. We will get to know each other more as we live in the same village."


The first thing they did back at St Mamas was to take a stroll through the local market. Eskil hadn't been thrilled, but accepted the argument that she had been inside a bath house all day and should be given the chance to look around too. One idea he hadn't been ready to accept was to let her do it on her own.

"This isn't just a village market," he told her as they entered the open square. "The city has quotas and limits on a lot of wares, and many foreign merchants conduct their trade in those wares here, where it's easier to do it unnoticed."

He gave her a wry smile.

"This is actually where I invested in your dowry and morning gift. It's illegal to buy silk in those quantities."

"And here I thought you didn't break rules?"

He shrugged.

"I have no bonds of loyalty to the empire. Breaking their laws isn't a stain on my name."

It was, however, a village market too, and Kildevi moved between stands and pavilions, thrilled by everything from ribbons to trade tools, shoes and glassware in one stand, dolls and religious amulets in another. She especially noticed how Thor's hammers and signs she recognized from the sacred places of the Slavs were laid out on the same cloth as Christian crosses and Mohammedan hands.

After what she deemed an appropriate amount of just looking around, she decided it was time to raise the real reason she had insisted on a market stroll.

"Eskil?"

"Mm."

"I need a new veil."

He looked up from the artful bronzeware he had been examining.

"A new veil? What for?"

She tried not to roll her eyes, but not so hard he wouldn't be able to see that she wanted to.

"Look around us. I stick out like a sore thumb even here among the foreigners. In Hebdomon my cap made me look like an old maid with all that braid showing."

"You're not old."

"Too old to be unmarried unless there is something wrong with me."

She saw him make a point of carefully looking around at the women who passed.

"All I can see is a lot of women hiding what I can only assume to be flaws. Why should you ever need to hide?"

"And that was about as convincing as the milk and honey comment on our wedding night, after which you didn't mind the headscarf, if I remember correctly."

"I want you to look spoken for, that doesn't mean I want you hidden."

Kildevi cocked her head to the side. He was definitely fencing and feinting now.

"Are you really being a miser about a veil after ripping my best shift?"

She saw his mask had started to crack, and when he replied, the words came out through a snorted laugh.

"You are not blaming me for that!"

"You were the one who said sorry!"

"I didn't mean it! I'm not sorry! I was never sorry!"

"And that lie will cost you a veil!"

"All right, all right, get a veil, get three, layer them for all I care!"

"Now, there is an idea…"

"Just keep to the budget. We're supposed to make a profit from this journey."


Just as she had expected, Eskil did bring her with him inside the walls of Miklagard in the next two days. She did indeed gawk and stare at all the marble, and the statues, and the stone, because it seemed everything was in stone. The buildings were high and decorated in a way she wished she could have shown to Anund, who was the only one she could think of who would properly appreciate the work put into the craft.

And people. People everywhere, most of them simply dressed in tunics and dresses, the women with those long shawls she's seen in Hebdomon draped around them. The Greeks liked their colours and their decorations, and the sheer amount of ribbon on the garments and jewellery on both men and women of means were inspiring.

But out together among strangers she once again noticed the gazes Eskil drew, and felt like a mouse trailing behind a lion. There was something about the light here too, a tint painting everything a warm gold, that made him shine as if lit by firelight. She tried to feel proud, but somehow that only worked when she was confident, and that confidence only showed its face where people knew and respected her knowledge.


On the third day, she decided it would have to be enough.

"Are you sure? I'll be away for the entire day today, a few of us are meeting with one of the near-east consortiums close to the Constantine forum, and then I'll try to find a spice merchant at the Achilleos. I probably won't be back until sometime this evening, well after nightfall."

She shook her head.

"No, I don't think I can take a whole day of smiling while you talk in a language I don't even understand. I'll just stay here and maybe take a walk through St Mamas."

When she saw him hesitate, she put her hand on his arm with a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry. If I need anything, I have everyone at the lodging house to ask, and St Mamas is peaceful - at least in the day. I'll be fine, I promise."

The moment he was out the door, she collected the coins he'd left her for the market and started to get her dress in order. By the time his coach passed Hebdomon, she was down at the square where coaches waited or passed, ready for her first ever journey alone into the greatest village in Midgard.


"I did not see that face here yesterday. Is that you, Thorlevson?"

Eskil turned, trying to locate the well known voice along the stretch of palace wall. The clerk following them looked up, but when he saw who had been calling, he just nodded and Eskil broke away from the group with his blessing.

Smiling, he walked up to the guard standing post outside one of the servant entrances, the wall lending some shade in the midday sun.

"Ulf!" he laughed, embracing his old friend with a kiss on each cheek. "How is life treating you these days?"

"Good, as always. You can't tell by this posting, but I'm moving up."

"Glad to hear, it's well earned. What're you doing back here?"

"One of the new ones got in trouble yesterday, I'm just covering. But what happened to you? Last thing I heard you had to go home for an inheritance or something, and then you and your brother were just gone."

Eskil looked away, watching the length of the palace wall stretch out as far as his eye could see.

"My big brother had died, so no inheritance as such. Just a pair of shoes to fill."

"You would be welcome back," Ulf said, leaning against the marble wall. "You know that we had plans for your future, you weren't going to be a house guard to the Prinkep forever."

Eskil grimaced.

"I left without being released, that's not a good strategic move. And that posting came with its own benefits."

"...but no one important enough knew your name well enough to remember it. With my and Thord's names behind you, that can disappear." He gave a wry smile. "You'll see that everything can disappear here if you pay the right man."

"You know, I'm married now. With a daughter, my own name at home, a promising trade network."

"But you know what this life is. Gold, wine, games and play, not really cold even in the winters… I bet your wife has it set up for herself. Stay for ten years and she'll have divorced you long before you come back, with her full dowry and good prospects for a new match." The wry smile flashed again. "Maybe she'd even be better off without you. I know your kind, you need to know you might die once in a while or you'll go bad in the worst way."

Eskil took pause. This was the life he'd thought he'd have, and he had looked forward to a good ten years of it, not just the mere year. But he pushed that away and smiled back.

"There are factors you don't know about, Ulf. First of all, my wife is here, not back home."

"Here."

"Yep. She's probably browsing the markets down at St Mamas as we speak."

"Why the hell?"

"Let's say she knows what she wants, and Thorstein helped convince me. But Christian swearing Ulf? You've been here that long?"

"It sneaks in, you know. And the rites at Hagia Sophia are something to witness. I'm not leaving the old gods just yet, but it grows on you."

He put his free hand on Eskil's shoulder.

"But if you want to come by for a night, just send word to the barracks. We'll pick you up at the gate, and we're proper Empire officials with a right to escort, so the night watch won't have shit on you even past sundown. I'm off three nights a week, and there are more of us who'd like an old night out with one of the Thorlevsons."

"Trust me, I will. I'm not coming back, but I'd lie if I said I don't miss the life."

"Of course you do. I'll see you soon, then."


Meanwhile, Kildevi stood at the enormous Golden Gate with Deva behind her, trying to understand the guard currently in charge of the registry of foreigners. He was a man of very dark complexion, and this far he had tried at least three different languages, none of them one she understood a word of.

Finally, their charades seemed to work, and he looked her up on the long scroll of names before waving them through. Did everyone here speak several languages? It seemed that way. There probably was no way out of learning at least some Greek or Slavic, it wouldn't do to be completely dependent on a thrall forever.

As they had passed the gate and continued a bit down the wide road, she stopped for a while, just breathing. It had worked this far. She was inside the walls, alone. That was the first obstacle overcome, the next would be to figure out where she was going, and how.

Let's see, Irmenhild had said between the forum and the harbour, both of Theodosius. She and Eskil had passed the Forum of Theodosius both days, it was that square one, not the round one, right? She would just have to go down this road until it joined with the main street, and then follow that forever. Yes. That should be it.

With a sigh, she started walking.


When finally she stood on a narrow side street, peering up at a sign with snakes on it, she had accosted and confused a good half dozen very helpful women in her quest to find the Apothecary of Nonna Ikaria. They had all tried to talk to her in Greek, two of them in some other language too, but in the end what had worked best was to just smile and say the name as clearly as possible while looking almost as helpless as she felt.

But now, she was here. The alley was just about wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but only if they were comfortable rubbing shoulders, and when she opened the narrow door into the shop, she quickly had to tell Deva to close it behind them to give way for people to pass.

Nonna stood bent over a tablet behind a counter, and when the door opened she looked up. It took her a moment to register who it was, but then her face split in a wide smile.

"Khaîre Kildevi!"

"Sæl Nonna!"

Nonna raised a finger for her to wait.

"Irmenhild!"

Kildevi heard footsteps, then Irmenhild came out from the small arch leading into the back of the shop.

"It is good to see you found your way," she said as way of greeting. "Let me invite your thrall inside and get her comfortable, then I will come to help you."


A few hours later, it was time for goodbye. It felt like too few. This time, Irmenhild accompanied them to the gate, and helped them find a lift with some travellers leaving the city, who would take them as far as where the Via Egnatia split into its northern and southern branch. It would leave them a short walk away from St Mamas, but close enough to explain away as a stroll, should somebody see them.


When they passed the square outside the lodging house, it was full of men sitting in small groups, drinking and playing in the quickly waning light. The murmur of laughter and conversation made her long for the camps when she had been among them.

Thus, when Thorven spotted her and waved, she veered off towards the steps where he sat with a small group of other men their age that she recognised from their own convoy.

"Kildevi! Hey!"

When he saw her coming over, Thorven rose and went to greet her, happily leading her back to his mates.

"Come, join us! Guys, this is Kildevi, our own river-bleeder and storm-eater. I'm glad to be a mate, also glad I'm not a husband, because this lady can bite in a fight! Like that time he complained you were too snooty, and you only did what he told you to do for an entire day. Shit, he was livid!"

Thorven laughed to himself, and Kildevi realised he was several mugs past the point when he should have been allowed to talk at all. With what she hoped was an apologetic smile, she sat down on the warm stone and let him ply her with a mug before he continued the introduction.

"Kildevi, this is Bjorn, we're from the same village. That over there is Kolvind, he's from Fjadrundaland and that tells you everything you need to know about him!"

"So am I."

"Huh?"

"Eskil and I live in Fjadrundaland."

"Aren't you from Westmanland?"

"Thorven. Half of Fjadrundaland is in Westmanland."

"Oh. Sorry, then. In that case we're not at all joking back home that you guys are slow."

"...and we have met before, Vǫlu-Kildve," Eymund said and rose to greet her properly, saving Thorven from himself. "First when you warned us of the water maidens, then with the Yazı-Qapan and again just two nights ago. But are you here alone? Aren't Eskil with you?"

"He should be back from the city any time now," she replied, trying to discern if the undertone she picked up in Eymund's question was a wish to talk to him, an assurance he wasn't around, or a reminder that she shouldn't be here alone. It was hard to tell.

"And finally, this is Vibjorn, Vibjorn Skytja."

"And we also met two days ago," came an amused voice with the singing accent of the lands west. Probably not all the way to Norway? But it could well be all the way to Norway, she wasn't that good at dialects. She'd heard the voice before, though.

Turning to see who was talking, she froze.

It was him.

I hope you're happy, she thought pointedly, hoping someone inside her was listening. This wasn't a problem until you just had to blabber on about it!

But since no one answered, she had to find something to say in the flesh too.

"Yes, of course I remember you! From the bath! Your face. I just saw your face. It's your face I remember. Because you sat next to my husband and I was looking at him and then I had to look at you too, so it was by accident! Sorry."

If the dwellers of this square had been capable of pity, they would have pulled her down beneath the marble and sewn her mouth shut. But they didn't. Instead she had to accept that she was a babbling fool.

He still had a smile on his face, but it had turned visibly less confident.

"Why are you saying sorry because you saw me?"

"Because everyone was naked and I didn't want it to sound wrong."

Now Thorven, Bjorn and Kolvind were laughing, as if they thought she was joking. Even Eymund smiled, but a bit hesitantly as if he didn't know if it was appropriate or not. Then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Hi, everyone! And good evening, Kildevi. Didn't expect to see you here."

Thore sat down next to her. He looked comfortable, at ease, but also clearly taking up post there.

"Thorven, I don't think anyone wants their quarrels flaunted in front of everyone."

"I just thought it was funny, I mean, she did exactly what he'd said he wanted, but..."

"Yep, but some things stay on deck," Thore cut him off. "Speaking of deck, Vibjorn, how did it go with that broken deck board, did you get that fixed, or do you want help with it tomorrow?"

The man she now had a name on grimaced.

"We've started, but Jonar hurt his hand when we ripped out the broken pieces, so we still need to fit a new one. Early, before it gets too hot?"

"Sure, come wake me up when you're out of bed."

Kildevi turned to Thore, not even surprised anymore.

"Do you really know everyone?"

"Not everyone, but I was crewed with Vibjorn before he grew his beard. I showed this kid the ropes once, he showed me the strings. He's not called Skytja for nothing, great marksman, showed me all the things I had done wrong all my life."

He nodded towards the others.

"I've never worked with Bjorn and Kolvind, but they're friends with Thorven, and I've been his stand-in big brother for the entire way down. Eymund," he nodded towards the young Southmanlander, "we met in Tuna last summer. Saved his big brother from Aslaug."

"He still claims you should have let him go."

"Yeah, tell that to my broken fingers."

Thore turned to her again.

"Anyway, it's getting a bit too dark for you to drift around on your own. When you're leaving, I'll fetch Thogard. We'll escort you back."

"Do I really need two guards just to walk me home?"

"We want to make sure nothing looks wrong."

It was barely noticeable, but still a pointed reminder.


"You might want to think a bit more about what you're doing," he said a while later as they left the square with Thogard in tow. "This isn't a camp, and even there, it doesn't look good for you to join a group of men where no one is keeping an eye on Eskil's interests."

"But Thorven is a friend!"

"He wasn't really in shape to protect anyone's name there, not even his own." Thore fell silent for a moment before he continued, "you're not at a homestead here, Kildevi, you need to think. People like to gossip, and many would love someone like Eskil taken down a notch. And, you know… Vǫlvas are known to turn the heads of men, it would fit the stories."

She had been listening, ready to admit his point, but at that last line she just stopped in her tracks.

"You can't be serious! Did I really sound like a great seductress back there?"

Thore chortled, shaking his head.

"No. I can't see you seduce anyone with wiles and cunning."

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean. You either stand in judgement, or giggle and trip over yourself, not really royal concubine material. The point is that rumours care more about what's possible than what's plausible, because gossipers want to believe. Next time you're feeling sociable, make sure someone known to be loyal to him is there, and try to make the company include at least one who isn't a strapping young lad."


Eskil came home a while later, smelling of nutmeg and tasting of cardamom.

"So, what happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we'll rest. Sunday is their holy day, so nothing can be done anyway. But on Monday I'll be away all day, I might not come back before you go to sleep."

"Oh, what for?"

"I'm meeting some old friends from the Noumeroi. Don't wait up for me."


He had half expected her to try to come along, but to his surprise and relief she just smiled.

"Sounds perfect, I'm sure I'll find something to do."

 

[Alvlin]

"You don't happen to know how to help a woman not get with child?"

"Of course I do. Abstinence works wonders."

Kildevi rolled her eyes. The idea to ask Nonna had popped up the instant her new friend mentioned midwifery, but it hadn't felt like a question to pose on a first meeting, especially not with Irmenhild standing behind them, repeating every word back and forth.

"That method is known to me too. But say we are talking about a married woman with duties to fulfil."

"Then the true nature of those duties is to bear children, the creation of them is just a lucky part of the process."

Silence fell for a moment. Then Kildevi realised Nonna was chuckling.

"No, I'm just messing with you. I would advise her to use ways that don't lead to children."

Taking a pot down from a shelf, she continued. "That is, of course, the very reason they are sinful and wrong according to the church, but they are much more dependable than amulets or herbs, or having the man pace himself. That last one always goes wrong, sooner or later."

"And if the husband won't even talk about it, and shows no interest in anything else?"

"Then he must either abstain or become a father."

Kildevi grimaced.

"I was afraid you'd say that. No solution in sight, then."

Nonna looked up with a sardonic half-smile.

"I thought you people had no perception of sin? I am surprised by your problem."

"We don't talk about it like you do. Our skalds keep to 'and for three nights he laid down with the white armed maiden' and that's that. No flowers or kittens or… bees. Not even jumping baby goats."

Kildevi sighed.

"And no sin, but there are views about rank and dishonour, and those lean towards a man's duty to love his wife in such a way she bears him children." Snorting, she added, "...not that everyone is all that bothered. I guess it's just seen as respectful, and all other ways somewhat less, or outright humiliating."

"So what do those principled men do when they already have too many children?"

Kildevi bent over the counter to look at the syrup Nonna was preparing. Then she shrugged.

"Have more and hope to feed them? Not keep them all? If he can afford it, the man might get a concubine who has less weight behind her when he doesn't accept her children, or buys a bed thrall whose children he can choose if they are to be free heirs or thralls. Either way the wife sleeps alone."

Nonna glanced up at her. They had already spoken about their differing perspectives on child exposure and found common ground somewhere around "sometimes the lesser of two evils," but that common ground was surrounded by very different levels of condemnation and outrage.

"That doesn't seem like a blessing for the wife either."

No. It wasn't. She didn't want to have a child a year like her mother-in-law, she didn't want to bear children just to have them torn from her like her mother had, and she didn't want her bed to be abandoned, not in general and specifically not by him.

That was for herself, though, not the general argument. She wasn't sure which one was being discussed.

"No. But like my husband once said, love and companionship are for the lucky. I've been told that being left alone sometimes comes as a relief."

"But not for you?"

"No. In this case I'm unlucky enough to be among the lucky."

Nonna was silent for a moment, the only sound stone grinding against stone in the mortar. Irmenhild stood between them, waiting to translate.

"So," she said at length, "what would you say is the greatest difference between sin and dishonour?"

"In sin, you answer to your god, in dishonour you answer to your fellow man."

"That much is clear. But what would you say gives a difference in outcome?"

Kildevi considered it for a moment.

"You believe your god is all-seeing, our fellow men are not."

"And what does that mean, in turn?"

"That you can't hide a sin, nor negotiate around it, because the judging god has made the rules, and he sees and knows all. Our fellow men will only judge what they see, along the lines that they agree on."

Nonna nodded.

"And like you said, they only judge what they find wrong, which leaves room for argument when not everyone is all that steadfast in their beliefs."

"If there are cases to be made, and the husband is prepared to talk."

"Admittedly, yes."


That night, Eskil didn't come home, like she knew he wouldn't. Head spinning with thoughts about sin and dishonour and worry for the future, she went to sleep alone for the first time since Eyfor.


Eskil stared up at the ceiling. He had not woken up like this since…

No, it was hard to remember with a brain that refused to work. The morning he and Thorstein left Miklagard maybe? Or after the last night in Birka on the way home, that had been pretty bad too, if not as overflowing with exotic luxuries. Beer at home gave another kind of hangover than wine in Greece, that was just a fact. Not since he got home and married, at least, that he was sure of. The drinking on their wedding week had been more continuous than heavy.

The memories of last night were blurry. At the Noumeroi garrison, there had been… ten old friends? Fifteen? Three of the Mohammedan guys from the south had come by too, but they'd had a shift to cover and left again, which was a pity.

He'd known everyone, and they had all been really happy to see him, even that frankish bacraut Gislar who, for some reason, no one had killed yet. He'd lost his trefoil brooch at dice, but won back a very similar one from Steinvid, so that had gone well.

Then they'd left for Eirene's cellar, where there had been more wine and a couple of bowls with stuff to dip bread in that he had really missed. Eirene herself, this legend among public house widows, had come out with a broad smile on her face to kiss his cheek, flirt a bit and ask if he wanted the usual. He had happily confirmed and been treated to that lovely sweetened-and-spiced wine only she could make, and a round of the twelve lines game. He had lost to Ulf, due to not having played for almost three years.

Eirene's cellar had been a home away from home that year he'd spent in the empire's service, and she sure hadn't handed out kisses back then, to Thorstein's dismay.

From there, there had been singing and a dour visit from the night watch who still was cranky about them being untouchable, because some things never changed. A rather bloody cock fight later, the kind with actual cockerels in it, they had ended up at the better variety of disreputable bathhouse, still operating in spite of protests from the church. Three years ago, he hadn't been that bothered by people doing things around him, but this time it had been quite hard to have a conversation without getting distracted. Right now, the views from last night in vivid memory, he couldn't fathom why he had ever thought that bringing his wife here and honouring her standing wouldn't be much of a sacrifice.

But he was sure that it would come back to him as soon as his brain was working again. Some of the more questionable Romans had brought their wives along to bathe among hardened soldiers and prostitutes, but that was a thought he'd never touch while sober.

It wasn't clear exactly how or when he had come all the way back to St Mamas, but it had probably involved a bribe and a carriage.


Speaking of wife, where was she? Glancing out between the curtains, he realised it was past midday.

Sure enough, a short while later, he heard her footsteps going up the stairs and then the rustling of something being unpacked.

"Are you awake yet?" she yelled, and he grunted back.

"I brought back some food, but you'll have to get out here to get it!"

Finally, he managed to drag himself up, and shuffled out from behind the screen.

"G'morning ástin. How long have you been up?"

She gave him a wry onceover.

"An eight handed octopus, well soaked in wine, crawled into our bed some time after dawn, so I decided it was time to get out of it."

"Oh. That answers the next question of when I got home."

Brow furrowed, she did a double take.

"Is that a new brooch?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"What happened to your old one?"

"So, what have you been up to today?"


Kildevi never really asked him what he had been up to. He grudgingly confessed to losing his brooch in some kind of bet, and he'd found a pipe flute in his belt bag that probably belonged to someone named Altan, but he had no memory of how it got there.

Somewhere around late afternoon he seemed mostly recovered, and they drifted together down to the square. It wasn't as full of men as the night before, but Eskil spotted Helgi in one of the few groups there. To Kildevi's pleasant surprise, they were playing Hnefatafl. She had no idea that the Rus still played the same games.

"Eskil. Welcome. Does your wife play?"

Eskil glanced at her.

"She learned on the sea crossing, so yes. But she won her first game on the Dnipro."

Even though all of that was true, Kildevi did not like having it pointed out. Thus, it was with some satisfaction she saw Helgi invite Eskil to sit down opposite him.

It was, of course, not strategically good to hope the hangover would make him lose, but she felt that she could afford some smugness as revenge for him laughing about Aslaug ever since the rapids.

"Please. Meet me. In a friendly challenge."

From the stance of the other Rus, everybody knew this was not a friendly challenge, but Eskil sat down as casually as always.

"Of course. One game today, one game tomorrow with the sides switched? You challenged me, so I pick the attackers."

By choosing his weakest side, he was setting himself up for a strategic loss - lose today and win tomorrow. Suddenly, she wondered which game the Lord of wetlands had set himself up to win when he willingly lost to her.

Helgi nodded.

"I accept those terms. If one of us loses both games, he plays your wife."

She was set up as the killing blow. There was no great dishonour in losing to another warrior, but should the loser then lose against her, a beginner and a woman, that would turn a simple loss into a devastating defeat. Eskil looked annoyingly confident when he accepted.

It was a long game, before Helgi finally won. Kildevi did her best to follow the logic behind each move, and in so doing she realised that Helgi was doing exactly the same.

This wasn't a game. It was an evaluation of character.

Helgi's three companions, one an older man and two younger, all watched the game with interest, but several times when she looked up from the board the older of them was watching her. Finally, he bent closer to one of the younger men, and whispered something in his ear that instantly turned his gaze to her as well.

At least no one was laughing.

Selfconsciously, she straightened her back and looked right at them. The young man quickly looked away, but the older of them simply inclined his head, shifting his gaze just enough to avoid meeting hers. It was a thing that set the eastborn Rus and the Slavs apart from the northborn, this unwillingness to meet her eyes once they realised what she was.

But she wore no regalia, no cat skins, no amulets, just the usual beads worn by most women of her standing. She wondered who had told him, and why.


Once the last move was made, Helgi looked between the men.

"It's time for introductions. Chedomir, you have met Eskil, but Glebu and Pridbor have not. Glebu, Eskil is a svear, his father owns land to the west of the kingdoms. Glebu here is Chedomir's son. Pridbor is my second in command, in Kyiv he is also a scion in the Druzhina."

Helgi made no introduction of her, but when he fell silent, Chedomir turned to her with a visibly bent neck.

"Will no one introduce the Volkhva?"

He spoke slowly and carefully. It was clearly not the language he usually used, though he spoke it well enough.

Helgi paused. Eyes narrowed, he glanced at Eskil.

"And this, is Kildevi. Eskils wife. Forgive my oversight, Volkhva. I was not told."

"Your men speak of you," Chedomir continued, "and now some of our men do too. Of a powerful Volkhva who walks disguised as a young woman. Beneath the veil every strand on her head is spun of precious metal, pale gold and silver. She belongs to a man who brings her with him wherever he goes, because she is hunted by the underworld and he dares not leave her, lest her hair be cut and melted into rings used to bind her when she is brought to serve in the boglands below. Should another man try to take her, her face will turn into that of a vengeful hag with sharpened teeth, who rips pieces of flesh from his body and eats it until all that is left are his bare bones."

Kildevi couldn't recall the last time she had searched for something to say and come up this empty. So, lacking words, she just nodded graciously before she dared to glance at Eskil. He looked so neutral she expected him to break out laughing any moment now.

Thankfully, he didn't. Instead, he said, "I can't find fault with that story. The last claim has not been tried yet, but it rings true."

Helgi just nodded, face impassive as always.

"We will see each other again tomorrow. I live with other members of the Druzhina in a villa next to the road up to Rhegion. Come by, as my guests. Then, we will play."


That evening, they ate with Thore and Asgaut in the garden outside Asgaut's rooms. The evenings were comfortably warm compared to the smouldering days, and here, among her kinsmen, she had left the layered veils behind and settled for a cap again, albeit veiled on the way there.

When she took off the veil and the headband to sit down at the low table, Eskil looked up at her, then turned across the table to the others.

"Did you know her hair is made of precious metals that can be melted down to make rings?"

Asgaut looked up, eyebrows raised, but Thore just laughed.

"I actually did know that, that's one of Audvard's."

Kildevi groaned. Of course some of this was Audvard's doing.

"And those rings are supposedly used to trap me in the underworld?"

"No, that one was new. I have heard a version where you forged Eskils ring out of your hair to bind him, though."

Thore put another piece of ham on his plate and continued.

"I think this whole thing started two days from Paviken when we had those ridiculously good winds, and Audvard decided it must be your longing for land that brought them. Then after Ilmen, everything just took on a life of its own. I think the idea of the Stormborn child has died out because you would have shown by now, but once we got here and got lodged with some hundred of the Rus, they brought their own flavour to it all."

He shrugged. "Remember that our guys have some kind of grounding in seeing you every day and knowing people who know you. The Rus have only heard of this fearsome sorceress, and seen a young woman walk around with her hair suspiciously well covered. And while you merchants are busy trading, most of us are basically on six weeks of shore leave and not even let into the city without bothering with arrangements. That gives us a lot of time to tell stories."

Asgaut nodded.

"I hadn't heard about the hair, but of course I had heard about your binding of Eskil, and that you used magic to bring us good winds and kind rivers. That last part even has its grounding in reality."

"And the thing where I turn into a hag to tear the flesh off men who try to take me?"

Thore nodded with a grin. He seemed thoroughly amused by the whole thing.

"That would be an early Rus addition. I guess they couldn't understand why Eskil would let you run around on your own in a foreign town and inside the barracks of some two hundred men. Overall, they keep closer tabs on their women among the slavs than back in Svealand."

But there was something else Kildevi couldn't let go of.

"Do you think that I have bound him?"

Thore thought about it for a short moment.

"Not really, and absolutely not since your spat at the mouth of Lovat."

Asgaut shrugged. "Never considered it. If anything I believed he had snared you. But when I first saw you, I thought you were much younger than you are, and Froðe had mentioned Eskil dragging his poor young wife along with him, so that shaped perceptions."

"Wait, Froðe believes I forced her along?"

Already halfway through his second glass of wine, Asgaut chuckled at Eskil's disbelief.

"Ah, yes. The poor gifted child, kidnapped from the wild outskirts of the kingdoms to break a curse, and then forced to marry one of you after the other with no family left to speak for her. Such a pity for a helpless maid to be held captive in a gilded cage, far away from the mountains that birthed her, then dragged down treacherous rivers to attend to the needs of a selfish husband with no concern for her safety or comfort. A truly tragic tale."

Eskil looked visibly taken aback.

"I… I will need to talk to him about that as soon as we see him."

Asgaut lifted his hand in a dismissive wave.

"Just bring her along. He wasn't too upset to do business with you anyway, and just meeting her now should dispel most of that."

Kildevi could feel her arsenal of arms for marital teasing replenish itself.

"Self serving husband of mine, am I allowed to giggle in my tragedy?"

"No."


"Didn't Helgi call it a villa?"

Eskil looked around the atrium garden, lush in the warm light of morning.

"Yes, this is a villa."

"No, this is a palace."

"This is not a palace, this is a villa. It's big, it's rich, but it is a villa."

She'd have to take his word for it. The lodgings of the Rus commanders and nobility was a vast one floor structure around an open atrium. The walls were plastered, but the floors and the yard of the atrium garden were covered in marble and mosaics, a fountain in the middle taking the edge off the warm morning air.

A well dressed slave escorted them in and they were offered wine and fruit while they waited for Helgi in the shadow of a carefully pruned tree.

"Good morning," he greeted them when he appeared, seemingly unsurprised that she had come along. "Pridbor will join us soon, and so will Ormgeir, who used to be an important man in Ladoga, and now is an important man in Kyiv. He too is a westman." Looking at Eskil he added, "he claims to know your mother from youth."

"We look forward to seeing him, then. Mother seldom talks about her maiden days."


The game was set up when Pridbor and Ormgeir joined them, and after a short introduction the men began playing.

Ormgeir was a big man with no traces of colour left in his hair and beard, except a depth and a darkness of brow that suggested he once was dark. Some men were lucky in ageing, and he was one of them, shoulder length tresses of steely grey falling in waves around a chiselled face that wasn't wrinkled as much as roughened by sun and experience.

He had given Eskil what could only be described as an inspection, clearly taking his measure, before giving her a warm and smiling welcome. But he didn't mention anything about a common connection, and Kildevi couldn't help but wonder if maybe Alfrida had some secrets from her youth they didn't know about.

If Kildevi had thought yesterday's game long, this one was almost unbearably drawn out. She tried to keep her focus, but no matter how hard she tried, her mind started drifting. There was no way anyone would be able to stare at two people pushing pieces around a board for an entire morning without secretly wanting to be somewhere else.

Pridbor seemed to share her experience, but when she tried to catch his eyes in a shared moment of understanding he quickly looked away.

Right. She had forgotten about her dangerous gaze being filled with magic.

That was when Ormgeir rose and brought his chair around to her side. Leaning forward, he spoke in a low voice, low enough for it to almost drown in the birdsong around them.

"Do you see how Helgi is clustering his forces left?"

She nodded.

"He is trying to force Eskil to bring his king to the right, where he has set up to close in three moves. Let's see if he falls for it."

"I'm willing to bet my veil that he doesn't."

Ormgeir glanced at her, amused. Leaning in, he took a closer look at the veil before his eyes met hers again.

"That is a silk veil, so a high bet. But no, I'm not betting against you, not even to see what's beneath it."

For a moment, Kildevi's mind just froze, stunned by social unease. Was that flirtation? And what was she supposed to reply?

Then she remembered the story about her gold and silver hair and relaxed again. Of course, that must have been the root to that comment. Feeling a bit stupid in thinking anything else, she just smiled and turned her eyes back to the gaming board.

With Ormgeir running commentary she managed to follow the game for a while, but when it finally ended she was so deep in her own thoughts again she didn't even know who won until she saw the king still standing in the corner of the board.

She drew a sigh of relief. The last thing she had wanted to do was to sit down to play against Eskil. Even if that game would have been much, much shorter.

A while later they took their leave, and when Eskil asked if she wanted to accompany him to Asgaut, she wriggled out of it by claiming she needed to find a blacksmith to buy more needles.


Kildevi took her time strolling down the main street, looking for a sign of an ironworker of some kind. She was almost at the plateia outside the barracks when she suddenly heard a man's voice a few paces down the street behind her. He spoke in Greek, but she picked up the words "Eskil", "Rus" and "Souidiká" clearly enough. Turning, she saw a guardsman talking to someone who shook his head and continued down the street.

The guardsman's gaze now landed on her. She had been dressed for meeting Rus dignitaries, and his eyes wandered over her silk veil, crisp white shift and clear blue smokkr with the woven silk bands around the top, silver overlay on the heavy buckle brooches. Now she noticed he wasn't dressed like a common soldier. The armour was richer, both the sword and the helmet hanging from his belt of considerably better quality than the city guard.

"Matron," he greeted with a curt nod, in a southern dialect of her own language. "Do you know a man called Eskil Thorlevson, hair a blonde red, red beard, easy on the eyes?"

Kildevi pretended to think.

"Hm. I recognize that name, just give me a moment to place it… yes! I'm almost certain he's my husband!"

From the look that earned her, she could deduce he wasn't amused. Then the dismissive glare turned interested.

"Is that a row of lion's teeth between your brooches?"

"Yes, it is. This whole row of teeth and claws were the crown of my morning gift."

The man's face first twisted into a wry smile, and then he started to laugh.

"That pretentious fucking showman. Trust Thorlevson to stick to that like a drowning man to a shipwreck."

Kildevi snorted.

"Now I know you really know him. What's your name? You never introduced yourself."

"My apologies, matron, but neither did you. Name's Ulf, Ulf Steinnson. I led him for three months in the Noumeroi, was a friend for nine more."

She nodded gracefully.

"And I am Kildevi, his wife. How did he get to be called the lion? It sounds like there must be a story behind it."

"You're right there."

Ulf paused, squinting up at the sun.

"The Noumeroi guards the palaces, but more importantly to this story, the Noumeri prison. He came here well tempered already, so we got him on a lot of prison duty. And you know how he can be really cold and efficient, made him good to post with dissenters."

Kildevi shook her head.

"No, I don't know that. I have called him a lot of things, but cold has never been one of them."

"Huh. Must've changed, then. Or he didn't drag that home to his own folk. Anyway, that was what got him caught up in the prison incident."

"I'm guessing the incident wasn't really an incident?"

He snorted.

"No, it was a bloody full scale riot, the worst in my time here. Five of ours got trapped behind when the rioters took control of the prison, some forty inmates, at least half of them foreign military. He and two more came out again. None of them wanted to talk about what happened, but it was a fucking slaughter in there, one of the cells was burnt out, blood everywhere, a barricade made of bodies. One of the survivors spent three weeks at a monastery before he came back to duty, the other went back to Anatolia and enlisted in the theme, because war was better than going back to guarding that prison. Thorlevson was just… calm."

He paused, then shook his head.

"I don't know how to say it differently. He washed his face and cleaned his weapons and went on with it. How five men managed to cause that much carnage is beyond me, but the other two said they just followed his lead, and when we asked Thorlevson, he just said 'cut them off before you cut them down' as if that explained everything."

"And then?"

Ulf looked away, frowning.

"He was called the Lion of the Noumeroi, named hero of the day, which in this town means exactly that, a day, and given a place in the personal Hetaireia of some brother in law to one of the Lekapenos. If a relative to the emperors only has the vague title of prinkep, you know they're probably worthless at everything except backstabbing."

He chuckled sardonically.

"That pretty face of his worked against him, though, because the prince didn't want him around his womenfolk. He got stuck in one of the prinkep's other houses, paid really well for doing nothing for eight or nine months. We had done some work to get him back to a position that wouldn't be a demotion and get him in action again, when one day he told us he had to go back home. Two days later he and Thorstein were gone."

Kildevi thought of the lion that had been shielding her body every time she left it empty. So this was the story behind it. That felt too personal to say though, so instead she said,

"So that's why the guard who escorted us from the harbour had heard of him."

"Probably. But anyway, then he shows up here, ring on his finger, silk on his tunic. Same as always, except his greek sounds rusty and his hair has grown out. Tells us he has a wife down at St Mamas, kids in the homelands, and is here to trade. So when a couple of us wanted to take him out on a second round, I thought I'd go out here and see for myself. If Thorlevson has a wife, one that he brings all the way down here, she must be something else." He critically looked her up and down. "You don't look like I thought you would."

Somehow prepared for the insult, Kildevi met his gaze with what she hoped was calm confidence.

"I leave my iron staff behind when I go out."

His brow rose in surprise. There was something about his face though, that gave him a natural expression somewhere between wry and dry. Slowly, he nodded.

"A sejðwife. That explains it."

"No, he is not spellbound. The only things that bind him are honour and ambition."

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to."

For a few moments, their eyes were stuck in a staredown.

"Don't ever think you're the first woman he has allowed to slap him around."

"I know. I've met his mother."

Ulf started to laugh. For some reason, it felt like she had just passed some test she didn't know she was taking. But the disdainful stance was gone.

"And I haven't. Do you know where to find him, all-knowing one?"

Kildevi gave a curt nod.

"Look behind you."


Eskil had been sitting in the garden outside Asgaut's when word reached him there was a big guy in full armour looking for him down by the main street.

Thus, he'd taken his leave, bound up his hair, and gone straight down to the lodging house, because that was where he assumed Kildevi was going to end up, and he wanted her inside in case this man was trouble. When he turned the last corner, he was relieved to see that "full armour" meant the lamella of the Noumeroi with the helmet off.

He was less relieved to see his old group command in a staredown with his wife.

With a broad smile to disarm the tension, he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and him with a brotherly embrace.

"Ulf, I see you've met my wife. Kildevi, this is Ulf, an old brother from the guard. What brings you all the way out to St Mamas?"

"You. If you're going back with the Rus, we want to see some more of you."

Squinting, Ulf gave him a quick once over. "You'll go pudgy if you just hang around merchants eating ham and melons all day. If you ever want to hand their arses to some young'uns, we still have training every morning and every afternoon. If there is someone you know in charge, come join us."

Eskil nodded. Right now, he couldn't even remember if his body had been properly exhausted since they left the Dnipro rapids.

"You know, I think I will. We've done some play and games down here, but not nearly enough."

"And if you come in the afternoon, you might not have to go home at sundown."

He had recovered quite well, actually. Last time, they hadn't had time to see any thespians, and that was a form of entertainment he missed back home.

"Sounds good to me."

Kildevi had been silent throughout, now he turned to look at her reaction. With a markedly neutral expression, she said, "Just tell me beforehand, so I don't wait up."

"I'll try."


When Ulf took his leave and went back to the stables to fetch his horse, Kildevi hesitantly said, "He seemed nice."

Eskil looked down and gave her a dry smile.

"No, he didn't."

"You're right, he didn't."

"Ulf is a character. He likes insulting people, and he loves to get payback in kind. He has an ongoing petty war with the matron of his usual hangout that has lasted for several years now. I'm surprised they're not married yet."

"As someone who once embroidered your underwear out of spite, I suppose I can see the appeal."

As they started to slowly stroll towards their rooms, he draped his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm surprised you haven't even asked to come along. What do you do out here when I'm in the city all day - and night?"

She shrugged, not really sure what to say. The truth was out of the question.

"I don't know. Once or twice I've found our friends at the plateia, I've also been seeing to some small illness and bruises not serious enough to go to the healers. I'm planning some new clothes too."

At that, his face lit up.

"Oh, speaking of clothes! You've seen the Rus coats. I need one. I need one so much I feel my face grow green of envy every time I meet Helgi or Chedomir. All silk like Chedomir's is too much, but a base of wool with silk front and hem should be well within reach. Can you see to getting one made?"

She glanced up at him, trying to imagine what he'd look like in the eastern fashion, with the wide trousers and fitted caftans, striped bands and domed buttons in front. Her inner image of him was striking.

"I could, but I know how particular you can be. If you don't want to find the fabrics yourself, at least give me a colour to look for."

"Green," he promptly said. "Or blue, red as a last resort. The yellows are gorgeous, but too easily stained."

Kildevi bit her lip, thinking. She had no idea if they were made like a tunic or not. Either way, she was a mediocre clothes maker at best, and there really was no point in spending a fortune on fine fabrics just to have a bad fit ruin the impression.

"I'll see if Deva is used to them and knows how they're draped, she whipped up a shift for me on the way down that barely needed fitting, so obviously she has an eye for it. And I know she's Slavic, but I have no idea which tribes have caftans - or which one she comes from for that matter."

"Can't you just make it?"

She sighed. His confidence in her was cute, it really was.

"I can make precisely one kind of tunic and one kind of hose. Every pair of trousers you have ever gotten from home has been cut by Alfjir or one of the house thralls, the same goes for that wrapped jacket with the shaped sleeves. Haven't you noticed who fits them on you?"

"Yes, but I still thought you could."

"No. It's one of those skills you train into your hands, like woodwork or beadmaking. Most men can hew a pole, but now you're asking for a finely carved chair that doesn't rock."

"Can you at least be the one who makes the finishes? I like knowing that I carry some part of your handiwork on me wherever I go."

Heart melted to a puddle, she agreed. But she made a mental note to practise her stab stitches.


They took their meal alone that evening, down in the atrium. They usually had the atrium to themselves. The clerks below them went home when they finished for the day, and the only other occupant was a local dealer in wheat, who only came there to sleep before he left again early in the mornings.

The sun was setting and the air warm. Kildevi found she had gotten used to this strange summer that never got cold, nights as warm as the days at home, the days smouldering hot. Although she avoided the midday sun, it didn't pain her like it used to, her shift and the cap beneath her veil no longer dripping with sweat every time she returned home.

"How are things going?"

He looked up in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean with what you're here to do. Has all the trading gone well?"

He chuckled.

"I have finally understood that you don't want a detailed answer to that question. But yes, it's going well. We got a better price than anticipated for the foxes and about what I expected for the wolf and bear. I registered some of our cargo on Thore, just enough to give him a silk ration, so we'll be carrying 100 nomismata worth of silk back instead of 50. This far we will mostly be bringing back an assortment of spices, but I also invested in a small batch of wines, and right now I am looking for silver belt mounts and other small fittings."

She nodded. It was about what she expected.

"Have you taken height for an offering of spice to Ladoga?"

"Of course," he replied dryly. "I have no interest in dying a tribute, not even for you."

Finishing his meal, he leant back with his glass in hand.

"What about you? Have you found what you sought here?"

"I think so. In many ways, it was the journey in itself I had to make."

She shook her head, looking away as she tried to form her thoughts into sentences.

"So much has changed I sometimes wonder who I would have been if you had forced me to stay behind. Would I have grown, or would you have come back a bigger man, only to find me shrunk to even less than I used to be? My sight used once a year to decide which crops to grow, dreams the only time my thought broke free?"

He didn't reply, just looked at her as if waiting for her to say more. There was a sad streak in his expression, but apart from that she couldn't guess his thoughts. Instead she rose and drifted over to the bench overlooking the small fountain, pulling something up from under her smokkr.

"But I do have one thing left to do here that I need you for."

He turned, and did a double take when he saw the spell stick in her hand.

"What is it?"

"It's a spell."

"What kind of spell?"

She hesitated, long enough for him to come over and sit down next to her on the bench.

"Before you reply, you should know that I've seen it before. It fell out when we were planning a bed for Thorstein, but I could never make sense of it."

"That is because it's in my amma's language. But you found it? What did you do with it?"

Eskil shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

"I asked Anund, and he told me to shut up and put it back since it was none of my business. So I did."

"I'm surprised."

"So am I," he confessed with a snort. "But I still wonder what it is. Thorstein's wild guesses never gained much traction with me."

Kildevi sat silent for a moment, not sure how to frame it. How did you tell someone you'd had to put a spell on yourself to stand the thought of them?

Finally, she said, "it is a ward to keep your brother's memory out of our wedding bed, so I could meet you that night with less fear. Not without it, as you may recall, but with little enough to overcome."

He just sat for a while, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Looking back now, I see it. Back then I just read it as hesitation and distrust. But why the bed? Why not the house? Or at least the old longhouse?"

She paused again, fumbling for words. Yes, why?

"Because it seemed the most loaded place. I had seen you and had a clear view of how you acted outside it, but before our wedding you kept a distance that made my thoughts swirl in all kinds of directions. I had almost convinced myself you would be angry for having to be there and blame me for it."

Eskil didn't comment. He just shook his head, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, and so she continued.

"But I knew, somewhere beneath it all, that was his shadow. And I knew myself well enough by then to know that if I was to have the life meant for me and for my ancestral fylgja, that was a place where I needed to find courage again."

At the mention of her fylgja, he grimaced.

"I've never really understood your ancestral companion's interest. First, I thought it had to do with children, but that's not it, is it?"

She looked up at him, surprised by the question.

"No, it's not. And… why shouldn't it care? It is a source of power, one that drives men abroad and gods to stupidity. It creates life and fuels feuds, and like all powerful tools it can be used to build and to destroy, show love and hate and indifference. And that is just outside the rites."

She paused, unsure of how to explain the very nature of the ground she stood on to someone rooted in another soil.

"We sacrifice food, we sacrifice blood and riches. And when the need is dire or the goals fitting, we sacrifice the enjoyment at the core of life. Without that fire kept alive, I wouldn't know how to find the paths into the rites. Not that every rite is about lust, but there is a force behind it all… the life, the blood, the joining and rebirth, the sprouting seed cut down to harvest."

Her hand stroked along the battered stick, the face thoughtful.

"So, if I was to bind all of that to you alone for the rest of your lifetime, I had to try and find myself again after first pretending so much I lost track of what was real, and then suffering over two years of beating down on every want. I couldn't meet you like a wounded deer trying to soothe the wolf. So I put a spell on myself, whenever I entered the bed. To shield my new life from my old."

To her surprise, he didn't question it.

"And now?"

"Now it is time to let it burn."

Looking up to meet his eyes, she saw the gravity of the moment reflected.

"You once told me to bring my pain to Miklagard. I did. Will you be my witness?"


And so they stood out in the atrium and watched a fire take hold in the small brazier. When the flames had a firm grasp of the kindling, Kildevi carefully placed the stick in the fire, the row of runes framed by Anund's finely shaped pictures.

As she watched the first figure blacken and burn, she felt his arms wrap around her from behind, his chin resting against her shoulder.

"Finally, things are as they should," she said.

"Hm?"

She felt his question more than heard it, her eyes still fixed away from him, on the runes now engulfed in flames.

"He used to tell me to let things be as they should again. And now, they finally are."

 

[Alvlin]

Authors note: This chapter contains mention of past sexual abuse of a child. It's very summary and undetailed, but not something you want to drop in the head of a survivor without prior warning. It also contains half-explicit descriptions of a sad near-sex-experience, but I think my readers are used to those by now.

Also, the old Norse and modern Swedish word for snake is orm.

---

"When was the first time you felt something… wake? Like a door opened, or a connection to something deeper?"

Kildevi stood leaning on the counter, watching Nonna work. Irmenhild sat at the countertop across from her, legs dangling over the side. While Nonna could indeed work while she talked, none of them expected Irmenhild to do anything else while she translated back and forth between them.

Kildevi had not really learned any Greek, but she could pick out the words in a sentence easier than before, and knew a select few of them. Very few. She understood a greeting and an erratic number of herb names. Nonna's grasp of her tongue was slightly better, but only by a small margin, and so they still depended on Irmenhild for sharing confidences.

Now Nonna nodded.

"For me, it was the first time I took control of my fate."

"What did you do?"

"I murdered my first husband."


Nonna kept sorting dried herbs into the jars while silence reigned. Finally, Kildevi said,

"Why?"

Still working, Nonna kept her eyes on her hands.

"I was a child, he was an old man. My family was in debt. My marriage would solve all their problems and let them feed my siblings, so they gave me up. I was no apothecary back then, but I knew my mother had taken mandrake to sleep, so I started to put it in his evening drink in the hope he would be too tired and let me be. The day my flows started, I knew it could mean my death, bodies that age are not meant for birth. So I spiced the wine to hide the taste of overdose and when he started to shake and vomit I took what I could carry and left Ikaria behind me forever."

She closed the jar and sealed it carefully before she continued. "I felt something change in me that day. I knew where to go. I was drawn to the right harbour, which just happened to have a small boat leaving, with men who didn't know me and accepted to bring me to the coast."

"How did you end up here?"

"It was the only place to disappear to."

Smiling now, she started to put jars on the shelves behind the counter.

"Drifting through Thracesia, I met a wise woman who brought her son to Constantinople for tutoring, and while he trained with the doctors in Rhegion, she trained me. So I remarried the son Theodorus and we lived happily with our combined arts until he and my youngest daughter died in dysentery ten or so years ago. My eldest daughter lives a secluded life of holiness, my son is in the army, placed in Nicomedia. It is not that far, he visits for Easter."

Putting the last jar down on its shelf, she turned, still smiling.

"I must say, I have had a lot of luck in my life. I am not sure if the face of God would have smiled at me on his own, but he must have lent his ear to someone who knew what it was to be twelve and alone."

Kildevi was silent. She could almost imagine what it would be like to be that age and take your fate in your own hands like that, but she also believed she herself never would have.

"You know," she finally said, "your story made me realise how lucky I must be too. I never thought to kill my first husband. I sometimes imagined he would die, but the idea to help it along never occurred to me. Yet - he died, at the tusks of a boar. Just as things got worse, just as I, for the first time, thought I was going to die, he did. If that wasn't luck, I don't know what is."

Pausing, she pondered her blessings.

"When I was the one homeless and alone, I was found and taken in by a man as kind as one can possibly be among the ambitious, then given on to a man who cares for me and let me come with him to Constantinople. I had no children with my first, but very quickly had one with my second, so quickly it has had me anxious this entire journey. Yet here we are, almost a season later, and my flows are still coming. How long can this luck hold?"

"Maybe there is someone whispering in God's ear for you too."

Kildevi looked thoughtful.

"The goddess who brought sejðr to the Aesir sometimes rides a boar into battle. She is also good to call on for help in love and lust and fruitfulness and war. "

Nonna bent closer, eyes twinkling.

"It would be far from me to encourage heathen ways, but maybe you should find a way to thank her."


So, she had. This wasn't really the time and place to sacrifice a pig, but with Nonna's help to find a butcher she had managed to get ahold of the head of an already dead one, which she had stuffed with newly harvested grain to bring with her when she left for St Mamas.

Nonna had been equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the idea of willingly spraying oneself with animal blood, and declined the offer to come back with them and participate, even though this particular sacrifice would be without any blood stains.

In the dark of night, when she and Deva had been let off a farmer's wagon at the fork in the Roman road, she took a small detour into a roadside glade and dedicated the pig and grain to Frǫya, with a promise of more as soon as the opportunity showed itself.

She knew it wasn't a perfectly safe thing for two women to walk from Via Egnatia into St Mamas alone after nightfall, but she couldn't bloody well bring the housecarls, could she? Last time, they hadn't seen a single creature on the way into the settlement, and maybe that's why it took Kildevi so long to react when she heard footsteps and voices approaching.


Heart beating, she looked around for somewhere to hide, but came up empty. The glade with the pig's head left on a pike was too far behind, and the rest of the landscape was open. She could see lights in the opulent villa of the Rus further down a paved path swerving off the road many paces behind them. It was so dark, it would probably have sufficed to just take a step aside and lie down in a ditch, if not for the fact that her head was covered in the brightest white that silver could buy. Out of options, Kildevi donned her most confident and worldly expression, and strode on with as much dignity she could muster, Deva trailing just a pace behind.

Now, she saw torches coming closer, the voices loud, but not rowdy. She understood them. That meant it was indeed the Rus. By the torchlight, she could make out the figures of four men, and when the largest of them turned his head towards the light she recognized Ormgeir, the three other faces unknown to her.

The men didn't spot them until they were close. Just a few paces before the circle of light would reach her, the group slowed down, two of them putting their hands on their pommels.

One of them said something in Greek, before he followed up in the northern tongue.

"Who walks there?"

"I do."

As she stepped into the light and saw the men's attire, she realised this wasn't a group of Rus nobles. This was Ormgeir with three of his personal housecarls.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Greeting the men with a nod, Kildevi took a chance and made to pass them. She almost thought it had worked, when Ormgeir's arm blocked her way.

"Not so fast, Seeress. I can't let you walk."

Two of his three housecarls looked like they really didn't want to be there, but Ormgeir himself didn't show a trace of hesitation in either voice nor stance.

Feigning surprise, she looked up.

"Why not? I am on my way home, and so are you."

"Are you out here alone? Not even a guard?"

Kildevi hesitated. This would be a good time to lie, but before she could come up with what to say, he said, "I take that as a yes. Where have you been, alone with a thrall, at this time of night?"

"I can't see how that concerns you, but since you ask, I have made a sacrifice."

"In the dark?"

Now she turned her head to stare at him.

"How do you think the Christians would react to a bloodied pig's head on a spike?"

He looked amused now. Come to think of it, he hadn't really looked stern or disapproving at any point during their exchange.

"Does Eskil know you're here?"

Shit.

Once again, he seemed to draw his own conclusion from her hesitation.

"I take it he's out as well, then. Trusting you to stay home until he returns. And yet, here you are! What an interesting thing to know."

Spluttering curses in her head, she shrugged and tried to look unperturbed.

"Most men know what they risk if they try anything, and are wise enough to leave me be."

Ormgeir looked around, then down at her again, a single brow raised. He looked like he had good fun with the whole situation.

"I don't see anyone trying anything now. All I see is a young, beautiful vǫlva who with ease slips away from her guardian at night to sacrifice to her lady of… abundance."

He was too big to be a cat playing with a mouse. Did lynxes play before they went for the kill? Either way, she refused to play this game as a hare.

"I know what you're implying. And yet, I already have the most gorgeous man in St Mamas, and if you make a detour to the glade down there, you'll find a skewered pig's head filled with wheat."

He made a point of pretending to flinch.

"Ow, that stung my pride. But since you aren't out to catch bigger fish to fry, me and my men will escort you home. We wouldn't want to find the clean bones of some unlucky thug tomorrow."

"There really is no need."

"No, I insist! Can't let a woman of such renown walk alone, what would people say if they found out?"

Kildevi cocked her head, and gave him what she hoped was a cold stare.

"You're not at all perturbed by what they say about me?"

Ormgeir shot her a smile and looked straight into her eyes with full confidence, not showing any fear of her gaze.

"No, because I don't plan to take you anywhere but home - unless you want me to."

Kildevi had a short, shallow moment of temptation, both because her mind was naturally drawn to ponder really bad ideas, and because she was in no way used to being propositioned, especially not by men who still looked that good past 50.

As they started to walk, the impulse safely pushed away, she said, "are you going to tell anyone?"

He pretended to think about it.

"I think this can be our secret, for now. I'll let you know if I'm tempted to change my mind."


The three housecarls walked in a half-circle behind them, silent now that she was the centre of Ormgeir's attention. There was a marked difference between the nervous respect from the men and the relaxed, confident bearing of their householder.

Ormgeir had been considerate in his choice of route, leading her along the emptiest backstreets possible back to the rooms she shared with Eskil. The building was dark, not a single flicker of light anywhere.

"It looks like we're in time and he's not back yet. Where is he?"

Kildevi sighed. She couldn't come up with anything better than the truth.

"He once was a hero of the Noumeroi, and his old brothers in arms sometimes keeps him in the city."

"But if he's not out by sundown, the gates don't open again until dawn. That means he won't be back until morning."

She hadn't realised she effectively just told him she'd spend the night alone with, at best, a thrall-woman for protection. Knowing Eskil had allowed that only because Eirik or Thogard took up post in the atrium, she nonetheless felt it might give the wrong impression.

And rightly so.

"If I had brought my young and sylphlike wife somewhere, I wouldn't leave her bed empty to romp with guardsmen and whores."

Smiling sweetly, she replied, "I don't feel abandoned. I find him there six nights out of seven."

"Still sounds like a night forfeit. Speaking of nights, we should head back. As I'm sure you know, Seeress, I will see you again soon."


Kildevi woke up in an embrace. This time, Eskil had managed to get all the way to their bed and out of both shoes and all clothes but the linen braies without waking her up.

That was considerably better than last time, when she had been woken by his swearing as he tripped and fell over the threshold on the way through the door. But the octopus was back. Beard tickling as he nibbled his way down her neck, his hands seemed to be everywhere, and not really artful or focused, just… erratically squeezing and roving.

"Eskil."

"Mm."

"You're not really…"

"You taste good."

"That's lovely, but you're not in a shape to pace anything."

"I could be. You don't know that," he mumbled into the back of her head while one hand fumbled its way down the front of the shift.

"Yes, I do. And it's the wrong day anyway."

Firmly, she turned to take ahold of his hands - there were actually just two of them - and held them between her own.

"I can't give you that, but maybe I can give you something."

She let go of his hands to let her own trail nervously down his stomach and take a hesitant hold around the shaft beneath the unlaced braies. So far so good. Two years of marriage, laying together every night for most of it, and this was the first time she'd actually had her hand on him except for accidentally touching in passing.

She looked up. He looked confused.

"What are you doing?"

Finally, some sort of clarity seemed to hit him and he waved her hands away.

"No. No. I'm not old enough to need that kind of help. Does it look like I need help?"

"It's not help, it's something I can do instead."

"I… no. I… I should go sleep in the alcove."

Hearing him rummage around out there, Kildevi stared up at the ceiling. Well, that had been a disaster. Not even when early-morning-and-still-drunk...

At least he probably wouldn't remember it tomorrow.


If he did remember, he made no sign of it. Instead, he shuffled up around midday, the craving for love turned into an equally strong craving for water and cheese.

"I wonder, next time… could you maybe go sleep in the alcove when you come home?"

Eskil looked up from his cheese, the second to last they'd brought from home.

"Didn't I?"

"No… you climbed down to me and tried to convince me you were sober enough to be careful."

"Oh. Was I?"

"Let's say it wasn't tested. But being woken by a drunk man trying to have me reminds me of things I'd rather forget, so either you sleep in the alcove, or I do."

He sat for a moment, stunned. Then he made a face.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think about that. I'll take the alcove next time."

"Thank you."


Deva had known about the caftan coats, but never made one. She had looked so uneasy at the prospect of being handed the finest wool and patterned silk, Kildevi came up with the idea of first making a simpler one in wool with less expensive dye as a gift to Thore.

First she'd thought of Thogard, but they couldn't make him a gift without doing the same for Eirik, and Thore had in practice become Eskil's man more than just a mate, so it fit. It would even be a good way to signal that change. That meant that she did go with Eskil into Miklagard two days in a row, to look for fabrics.

"I had no idea your sense of direction was this good," he commented once when she accidentally showed him that she knew the way past the winding alleys behind the Forum of Theodosius. She had explained it away by claiming she'd had looked at everything very carefully on their first day here, and then she made sure she didn't show a trace of knowing more than she should have.

On the first day, she browsed, on the second she bought, just like Eskil had taught her, and she came back to St Mamas with a wonderful overdyed green wool twill and a rather attractive plain weave in a deep, warm brown she was willing to bet came from walnuts here too, as well as linings and two sets of domed buttons.

She was almost more excited about clothing Thore than Eskil. Thore had two work tunics and a nicer one, but Eskil had always been self-consciously keen on clothes and dressed accordingly.


On the third day, she strolled down to the barracks, which was how she thought about the lodging house, to look for him and fetch Deva.

"Do you know where I can find Thore?" she asked when she found Jonar and two of his shipmates outside.

"He's down at the docks with Thorven and Vibjorn."

Jonar looked up, squinting in the morning sun.

"Long time since you joined us now, Kildevi. You want to have a look at my hand while you wait?"

She hesitated. None of the three had any kind of loyalty to Eskil. But on the other hand, none of them were what anyone would call a strapping young lad, and that hand needed seeing to. The piece of broken deck board had more or less stabbed through the flesh between the thumb and the palm, and she was honestly surprised he hadn't come down with a fever or a nasty swelling.

"I'll have a look at your hand," she replied. "But then I need to fetch my thrall and see if I find our housecarls."

She saw the men exchange a look.

"I bet you'll find one of them with the thralls," one of them said, and Kildevi saw Jonar kick him beneath the table. She gave them a sharp look. Of the slaves brought to Constantinople, the only ones left at the barracks were Deva, a handful of men belonging to the Rus, and two women who also had owners she didn't think would allow anyone else to touch them.

"I'll come back for your hand later, Jonar."

Walking briskly towards the part of the lodging house where the slaves were kept, she realised she was shaking with anger. How dare he? No matter his level of regard for her word, Eskil had clearly delegated that decision to her, and yet…

No, she was willing to fight for this. Whether in reparations or lost service, he would pay.

Careful not to make herself known beforehand, she pushed up the door into the women's room, prepared to tear Eirik to pieces.


For a moment, she stood handfallen, not really knowing what to do with all that rage. Deva sat on a bench with a pair of worn trousers in her hand, but they weren't worn by anyone at the moment. Instead, a fully dressed Thogard sat on the floor a good distance from her, tying a new wrapping on the handle of his shield. Deva looked guilty. Thogard looked… like Thogard. She herself probably looked as confused as she was.

"What's happening here?"

Deva was silent, like she usually was if there was a free man present to talk.

"Nothing," Thogard finally said. "Deva has offered to help with some of my mending when you don't need her." He nodded towards her thrall, who sat pale, hands gripping the worn trousers as if to keep them still. "I didn't think it'd do any harm. If you don't allow it, she'll stop."

"No… I. I don't see a problem with that."

Thogard nodded, then he rose, throwing the shield up on his back.

"Good. The blame's on me."

"Maybe you should be more careful about going in here alone. The men out there clearly didn't think you were here with your mending."

Thogard looked at Deva, then back at Kildevi.

"Men who gossip like old hags shouldn't be called men."


She and Deva usually didn't talk much, but this time they weren't talking in a slightly more tense way, at least on Deva's part. As they waited for Thore to return, it started to get on Kildevi's nerves.

"Oh please, just relax, I'm not angry," she snapped.

Somehow that didn't instantly change anything. It was a relief when Thore came walking in with the two others in tow.

"I hope you don't have pressing plans today," Kildevi said by way of greeting. "Because Deva will need you around for a while."

"Deva? Whatever is she doing that you need me for?"

"Eskil can't really bring you down to the silversmiths at Makros Embolos with tar stains all over you."

"Look, someone is moving up!" Thorven said with a grin.

"Well deserved," Vibjorn added.

Kildevi had already mentally prepared to not look at him if the three men would come back together, and she carefully kept her eyes on Thore.

"And if you're going back north, maybe even to settle, your appearance should reflect where you've been. So we have decided Deva should make you a caftan."

She gestured towards the table where the fabrics lay folded.

"Deep, warm brown, on a pale tan lining, same hues as Vibjorn."

Oh no. Did she say that out loud?

Dying a bit inside, she continued. "That was a very random comparison, I just meant that the contrast is stronger than Thorven and the lining a bit paler than you. Uhm."

"Maybe we should start making more colour names from people?" Thorven said happily. "It could be Vibjorn-brown and Jonar-blue and Eskil-green. You could take the yellow, except no one would understand it anymore because you never have your hair out now."

"That's true, why is that?" Vibjorn asked.

Oh.

He'd noticed? Had he thought about what she looked like before? And now? How had she looked before? Messy, mostly. Scarfless, sometimes. The bathhouse. She'd been undressing to the shift in front of everyone, as usual back home, then washed behind a thin drape that didn't completely close. Had he looked? Had he liked what he saw? She had been silently staring at him for a while now.

Stop thinking! Just answer the question!

"I can't go showing my hair to everyone just because Eskil wants me to," she said with a giggle, trying to make light, but it didn't sound good when it came out. "I mean… he doesn't want me to look available, just…"

No, the best thing she could do now was to shut up. So she did. All the way until Thorven and Vibjorn took their leave and left them to work.


Thore was tactful enough to not say anything in front of Deva, but once she left the room to bring them something to eat, he gave her a questioning look.

"Kildevi."

"Mm."

"Are you throwing eyes at Vibjorn Skytja?"

Silence fell. It was long, uncomfortable, almost loud in the way it dominated the room while Kildevi stared at her hands with a sullen pout.

"No. Maybe. That depends."

"Depends on…"

"If you can shut your mouth about it or not."

Thore sighed.

"Does Eskil know?"

"Absolutely not. Never ever. And if you're going to tell him, then I am not and never have."

"Do you plan to act on it?"

"Of course not!"

Thore shrugged.

"Then I see no reason for anyone to tell him."

Kildevi looked up, suspiciously eyeing her friend.

"Aren't you shocked?"

"No, maybe a bit surprised. I mean, Vibjorn is a gangly moose of a man-boy, and you're married to Eskil." He paused. "More than married. When you have the full attention of someone like Eskil, I would expect your temptations to be more on par with him. You know. Someone as good looking, or heroic, or ambitious."

"Vibjorn looks good!"

"He does?"

"Yes. Just not in the same blatant in-your-face kind of way."

"If you say so, I guess he's grown up since I met him."

"Do you think Vibjorn has noticed?"

Thore thought about it for a moment, then he shook his head.

"I don't think he would consider the possibility that a fearsome sejðwife married to a man with both odal rights and tenant land would look twice at him, in spite of that young man's bravado he's casually acting out."

"I'm a horrible, horrible wife, aren't I?"

Thore chuckled.

"Yes, you are actually! But not because of this. You're a horrible wife because you can't take a no and only care about duties that fit what you want at any given moment, not because you occasionally switch his face for someone else's when he's on you."

"I've never done that."

"You haven't? It's a good trick when you're in a rut. You should try it."

 

[Alvlin]

The villa on the road to Rhegion was no less splendid in the golden light of evening. The runner who had come with the invitation hadn't been clear on exactly what kind or size of feast that was being held, but either way, the company wouldn't be humble.

Just as Kildevi had expected, the atrium was a minor parade of silk and vibrant colours. Of the men gathered she recognised four apart from Eskil and Asgaut, the rest of them also what she assumed to be boyars, war-leaders, merchants or all three. The only women there apart from her were serving or entertaining. By now, that had become so natural to her she had almost stopped noticing.

In honour of their hosts, Kildevi had once again rearranged her headdress, this time to the more Slavic style she'd seen Ina wear, albeit without the temple rings, because she didn't have any. After several weeks of being covered, she felt strangely naked baring her throat outside. Eskil had made some very appreciative comments, though, and so she had decided to make him happy and get used to it again.

In the corner of her eye, she now saw Ormgeir emerge from one of the arched pathways. Methodically moving around the atrium, he stopped to meet and greet every person he passed. He was dressed in wealth, silk hose and a knee length tunic, deep crimson wool with wide swaths of gilded silk in a byzantine pattern around the skirts, arms and neckline. When he reached them, he gave Eskil a polite nod before he bent closer to greet her, hair falling to frame a smiling face.

"Seeress. I told you we'd meet again soon."

When she only replied with a nod and a smile, he continued.

"I must say I like your new way of dress. The Rus suit you better than the Greeks, don't you agree, Eskil?"

"I do."

Still with that self assured smile on his face, he looked to her again.

"See, we both enjoy seeing a bit more of you."

Kildevi noticed how the casual smile on her husband's face had frozen, the green eyes just slightly narrowed.

With a wink, Ormgeir looked up at Eskil.

"Don't worry, I won't try to steal her from right under your nose."

"She's not that easily stolen."

"That does you honour, then. We should all enjoy what loyalty we've earned."

His voice was light, easy, as if they were a group of old friends bantering, but Kildevi felt the double edge of that last remark. It was a reminder that she hadn't been as loyal as her husband thought, and that Ormgeir placed the blame for that on him, because he hadn't earned more. Now the towering patriarch nodded towards a small group of men sitting in one of the archways.

"Helgi has something he wants to discuss with you. I'll make sure the Volkhva isn't left alone, in spite of the respect she carries among the men."

Eskil hesitated. She could see him trying to put everything together, without knowing he was missing some of the pieces.

"I'll be back, ástin mín, as soon as I've heard what Helgi wants," he said with a gentle squeeze of her hand, a tender gesture clearly meant for Ormgeir to see. "If you need me, I'll come right over."


"Is he always that soft and intimate in front of other men?"

Ormgeir stood casually next to her, bending his neck ever so slightly to lean close enough to keep his voice low.

"Are you always this forward with other men's wives?"

"I enjoy talking to a woman without having to fold double for her to hear me."

Kildevi wasn't prepared for that and had an undignified moment of laughing through her nose. Almost the height of most men herself, he nonetheless had at least half a foot on her, probably more.

"Speaking of height, is it true you once knew my mother-by-marriage?"

"Yes, and even though it was many years ago, my neck remembers her with pain."

"Tiny or not, she must have been striking back then."

"Sultry, is the word I'd use. But like I said, it was a very long time ago. I haven't been back in Westmanland for some eight and twenty years."


Eskil came back not long thereafter, and to her relief Chedomir had come to get ahold of Ormgeir, greeting her with a respectful bow from a safe distance, before saving her from two generations of tomcats swatting at each other over her head.

"What, was that?" Eskil asked in a low voice as soon as the two older men had disappeared to the other side of the fountain.

"I don't know," she murmured back. "But look at the way he moves around people. I bet he's just the sort of man who can't help himself from trying to charm someone, and I'm the only woman here with a choice to reject him."

Looking up, she realised he looked sceptical.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean! Men like you want your glorified view of yourselves rubbed as much as anything else."

"He and I are not alike."

"Time will tell."



Once the company took to the table, it didn't take very long for spirits to rise. Not only wine was flowing, beer did too, and someone longing for home had spiced it with mead the way sometimes done late in a honeymoon when the mead was running out.

Eskil did the same thing he'd done the first day of their wedding, making it look like he was drinking a lot more than he did, and the insight made her pace herself too. It didn't take long before they and Helgi were the least drunk people in the room. He didn't seem to drink at all, a strange thing to see, when most men approached the barrel as a test of strength.

The language spoken around her was a flowing mix of different northern and slavic, as was the men themselves. Some northborn like Ormgeir and Eskil, some eastborn like Helgi and Pridbor who both had fathers from the north and eastern mothers, some Polan or Drevlian slavs like Chedomir, who had Glebu with a Danishwoman he'd brought from Hedeby who had been his concubine for twenty years now. More tribes were mentioned, but those were the ones she remembered.

"If he has kept her that long, why hasn't he made her a wife?" she asked Eskil, trying to figure out the different bonds of kinship. "Twenty years is a long time to keep a woman in concubinage."

"Why should he? She's the mother of his heir, that makes her legitimate enough, and there is no family here to demand anything."

"To be fair, neither had I."

"Father was more interested in raising our standing than lowering yours. What would be the point of snatching a high born bride just to demote her to a servant? And a homestead needs a matron, a concubine wouldn't have the authority to oversee and govern all the thralls and workers, nor would I trust one with the keys."

Ill at ease from the reminder of what waited for her when they returned, Kildevi dropped the subject. She missed everyone, most of all Alfhild. She even missed some of the everyday things, like the smell of wet sheepswool that spread when the air was damp from rain, or the weight of a spindle kept in an even spin by delicate twists of the fingers. That longing aside, she couldn't imagine being content again in that world for long. Had she ever been? The restlessness that drove her dreams of Miklagard had spurred this journey, not the other way around.


Around the time when the company grew loud and unruly, Eskil decided it was time to leave.

"You don't have to shelter me from revel, you know I have seen worse."

"Doesn't mean you should."

She saw him cast an eye back towards the room where Ormgeir sat with his feet on the table, an arm around one of the musicians. When he saw her looking, he smiled and nodded in greeting.

It was clear to her that Eskil wanted her out of there before Ormgeir got drunk enough to cross a line where a challenge would be inevitable. She could agree with that assessment.

Helgi rose and followed them outside, bidding her goodbye with a nod.

"We didn't have much time to talk about the proposal," Eskil said. "We'll have to continue that discussion later."

"We are not in a hurry," Helgi replied. "Soon, we will have at least six weeks in a convoy to talk about the details of how you will spend the winter." Nodding towards the guardhouse, he added, "I have sent our hostess to fetch your housecarls, they will bring torches for you."



"What did he mean, spend the winter? Aren't we spending it with Bjarni's family?"

Back in their rooms again, it felt like a necessary issue to air. She had reached a point where she understood that having those conversations in the company of other men wouldn't work in her favour, but the question had gnawed on her for the entire walk home.

"Yes, that is the plan, but I hope you didn't expect me to sit still for almost five months?"

That was actually exactly what she had thought he would do.

"What can there possibly be to do in a town not your own while waiting for spring?"

"Well, there is the annual collection of tribute. It wouldn't hurt to spend some of that time hand in hand with the retinue of Prince Ingvar of Kyiv."

She froze, gaze fixed at him as he sorted his finest clothes back down into his chest.

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"That depends on what you think it means. Yes, I plan to take up arms. Helgi wants to form a unit out of the free mercenaries coming from the homelands, and offered me command during the collection."

So that was what they had played about. That was why both Pridbor and Ormgeir had been so interested in the outcome.

"So, we would be travelling the lands around Kyiv in the biting cold of winter?"

"Not we. I. You stay in Kyiv with Bjarni's family."

He said it so casually, as if there couldn't possibly be anything to protest. So casually, in fact, it took her a moment to understand what he had just said.

"So we would be apart. For the whole winter. You would just leave me for almost a season?"

"It won't be that long! Maybe two months, then we're in Kyiv for midwinter before going back for another month or two."

"So, first two months and then two more, when I won't even know if you are coming back or not."

Now he looked up, face furrowed in annoyance.

"I don't understand why you're turning this into a problem? You'd be safe and perfectly taken care of, I would come back with a good heið and even more valuable contacts."

"I'll come with you."

With a deep sigh, he rose to his feet.

"No. This isn't a trade expedition, I am not bringing you along when I lead a mercenary warband into the lands of the Slavic tribes."

"Aren't you even going to think about it?"

"No, I'm not. This time, you are the one who is going to take a step back and do some thinking. Get used to the idea. Think about how I brought you with me all the way to Miklagard, and how all you have to do now is spend two months with Ina in Kyiv before I come back again. I don't think you will hate the idea at all, once you get used to it."

Seeing the reluctance on her face, he put a hand on her cheek for a moment of comfort. Then he drew her close to brush his lips down the side of her neck, taking a deep breath at the base.

"We can talk about it again in a few days. Now, I want to see if you taste as sweet as you smell."

More keen on kisses than quarrel, she allowed him to derail the conversation. Still, a tiny voice inside her bitterly noted how he managed to shut her up and confirm his ownership in a single move by turning her own yearning against her.

With him away, at least no accidental children would be made, but that was a very small comfort in light of why.



"What is it, my friend? There is a lot on your mind today."

"There is."

"Maybe then sharing it is more important than teaching me to merge my thoughts with a song?"

Kildevi bit her lip, glancing between Nonna and Irmenhild. But there were no ties between them and her life. It should be safe. This was the safest place she would ever find.

"Right now, I have three men weighing on my mind, all three for different reasons."

"Three? That's your youth speaking, at my age you're lucky to have room for one."

Not feeling very lighthearted, Kildevi ignored the remark.

"First, there is a young man in one of our ship's crews, a marksman from the wild forests. I don't know… the spirit who walks through life with me pointed out that I should take him as a lover, and since then, I get really nervous whenever he's around."

"Sounds like you have a demon on your shoulder."

Kildevi snorted.

"I guess you could see it that way. Some fylgjas are ancestors, some animals, but there are others too and I think mine is something other. It's part of my whole, but still apart. I guess it's like your god is three at once, but four in everyone. The shape, the thought, the luck and the fylgja. One of the most powerful things I can do is separate them."

She reined herself in again and continued. "Anyway, it has very little care for human rules. It wants me to become all that I can be, which means it gives me strength when I feel weak, has shielded me from feeling things to help me through them - and it eggs me on to pursue power. In this case, it wanted me to take eight faceless lovers, and this specific one. Now I can't stop imagining it whenever I see him."

This was one of those rare occasions when Irmenhild translated and Nonna seemed to ask if she really had gotten it right. After two or three replies back and forth, Nonna turned the question to her instead.

"Nine. Did you just say nine!?"

She couldn't remember Nonna ever sounding shocked before.

"I had done a rite and was smeared with henbane."

"Ah. That explains it. I know your ways are different, but…"

"And then there is my husband that I love and is very lucky to have, but… he just told me he will be going away for several weeks, in a way that reminded me that what we have and do now isn't how it is going to be when we return. He expects a wife, a good matron of his house, to be his base and grounding to come home to. And I don't know if I can do that."

"Other women do."

"Yes. But I have something they don't."

"Sight?"

"Choice."

Nonna nodded.

"And the third?"

"Is an old, powerful man with goals I don't know yet, who for some reason gives me overtures, discreetly undermines my husband, and who happened upon me on my way home from you the last time we met. He knows very well what I am, but seems more drawn by novelty than repelled by caution."

"You should send him to me," Nonna teased. "God knows I need a man with a love for foretellers who doesn't try to marry my business. I've had this place courted so many times, I would almost consider a travelling heathen just to make sure it's me he is after."

"Trust me, if I could I would! He has aged with dignity and needs an apothecary business as much as a frog needs a spindle. But you would need a good pair of clogs to reach his face."

They laughed about it for a while. Nonna was not short for a Greek from a poor family, but Irmenhild was something as rare as a woman taller than herself, and in their company, Nonna looked like she was sculpted to another scale.


"No, jokes aside, it sounds like the young man is just temptation."

Kildevi sighed.

"You know I don't live in a struggle about my soul."

"No, you misunderstand me! I don't mean your soul is tempted by the devil, even though that might be the case too. I mean… you are married to a man who has many kinds of power over you. His wealth you share, but he controls it. His worldliness makes you feel childish, his beauty makes you feel plain, his prowess makes you feel helpless. You can't fathom what he sees in you that you don't. And he jealously guards your innocence, blind to the many small pains that it causes you. Am I close?"

Kildevi made a face. Although true, it stung to hear it said out loud.

Nonna threw her a glance and nodded before she continued. "...but this young man is more comfortable. He is a nice, empty wall for you to paint a picture of uncomplicated desire, where you can do what you want and not feel faulty, not feel plain, not feel weak and unknowing. Does that ring true?"

"Yes. Too true."

Nonna nodded again, face thoughtful.

"I truly believe that if you could find peace with your husband, this would go away."

"But how? It's not just me perceiving things, next to him I am childish, plain and helpless, and I can't fathom what he sees in me that I don't!"

"Do you have to understand everything to trust it?"

"It helps!"

"Do you know why things fall to the ground when you drop them?"

"No."

"And yet you assume they will fall, and trust that they will."

"That's different."

"Isn't that what you complain that he is saying when he can't argue for something?"

Kildevi glared. Then chortled.

"Yes."

With a kind smile, Nonna looked up and met her gaze before giving her entire figure a quick once over.

"Then start by asking yourself if you feel plain next to everyone else, or just in the company of those overly blessed? Because you look like a perfectly fine young woman when you straighten your back and don't slouch to hide your height. And no matter how far he has travelled, you have done so as a woman alone among men, with no guidance on how to act. You have dug out your place where he already had one to step into. He can wield a sword, but you can wield a rite. While he plays with men, you play with demons strong enough to be worshipped as gods. He holds your purse-strings, and yet your thoughts are not limited by his, you dare to think things he doesn't, and whisper them in his ear at night. Does that sound like a plain, helpless child to you?"

"No."

Nonna leant in and gave her cheek a pinch in jest.

"So stop being a child about it!"

"I try, but I see how people look at us!"

"But that's because people don't understand life! They claimed that next to me, Theodorus was plain of face and stature. But I adored his hands. Every trace of his art was found in them, roughened from needles, cut from bandages, fingertips as precise when scratching a cat as opening a vein. When he wrote he always bit his lip, don't ask me why. Whenever I see someone bite their lip with a pen in hand I warm to them. He was never plain to me."

"I imagine it's different when the man is plainer than the woman."

"And I imagine that depends on what you value."


Kildevi was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, "so that's two. What about the third?"

Nonna shook her head.

"The third, I have no real advice to give but what you already know. Keep your distance. Don't give him anything. Stall and see what he reveals, and tell your husband the secret as soon as possible so he loses that hold on you."

"Then I won't see you again."

Leaning in, Nonna glanced up at her.

"Maybe you can wait just a few more days, then. But if you don't return here, I will know it is because you had to tell him, and I will be happy for the time we had."

"How can you be so… good?"

"I am not. But no one knows what time they will have with anyone, so I must treasure each friend from what we have already shared, not what I hope that we will."

"Prophecy can tell."

"Prophecy often follows other paths than we expect when we hear it."


This time, she left the city in time to return before nightfall, and came home to empty rooms, like she knew she would.

For a few moments, she pondered if she should go with Deva back to the lodging house and see if she could find someone suitable to talk to, but decided against it. Instead, she carefully placed out gifts for the local dwellers around the atrium with Eirik watching her, probably bored out of his wits. She sat down in front of their little fireplace, slowly feeding it with kindling and small offerings, until she was sure it really had nothing to tell her.

With a sigh, she wished it goodnight, and went to bed.



The yard outside the Noumeroi garrison looked tidy as usual, and just like old times, Eskil knew that if you opened the doors to the outhouse or lifted the lids to the chests, chaos reigned. No matter how well each man cared for his own gear, the commons was only in order when someone had done something stupid enough to land them the assignment as punishment, or in the hours before an inspection.

"Last week, then," Ulf said, taking a gulp straight from the flagon of watered down wine.

"Yep."

Ulf nodded. They sat silent for a while, watching a few young men saunter across the yard.

"Many years ago, that used to be us."

"Yep."

A few more moments of silence fell. Ulf turned, squinting at him.

"Your wife looked alright."

Eskil took a mouthful before replying. It was the kind of conversation where no one was afraid of space or silence.

"I think she looks more than alright."

"Didn't mean like that. I mean, she looked like she wasn't too careful around you."

Eskil shook his head.

"No. She's not."

"I take it you don't bring it home, then."

"No. I try not to."

Ulf nodded.

"Don't know if I could do that."

Eskil shrugged, and threw a glance toward the palace. Between them and there lay the Noumeri prison.

"You split it up. Keep one side clean from the other."

"And when you can't?"

"You make sure there are good people around to hold you responsible."

"And when there's not?"

Eskil thought about that evening at the Eifor.

"You walk away."


They sat silent again, long enough to feel the moment close on them. Finally, Ulf leant back and looked up.

"So, what now?"

"Six weeks north, then we stay in Kyiv until the river is open again."

"You're going to just sit on your arse for five months? Sounds nice. You'll hate it."

Eskil chuckled.

"No, I'll be busy trying to get two long hundred of our tribesmen to walk in the same direction. All of them bloodied, no idea how many have been in a larger unit than a ship's crew before. If I'm lucky, it's most of them, or I'll have my work cut out for me."

Ulf smiled and gave him a pat on the back.

"Congratulations! You'll do fine. In pure numbers, I guess you'll outrank me. But I'll still have more shiny stuff to strut than you."

Eskil shook his head in reply.

"You can't compare the court of the Kniev of Kyiv to the imperial court of Constantinople, except maybe for how much blood is spilt at the top."

"True that. You bringing that sejðwife of yours with you to the prince?"

"No. She'll stay with friends in Kyiv."

"Why? I mean, there'll be loads more women there than down with the crews in St Mamas."

"You keep one side clean from the other."


Eskil decided to stay in the city that night too. One last night of goodbyes to Steinvid and Altan and Thord, one last night of hearing Rasheed go off at Salih because his brother broke their god's rule against drinking at every opportunity, one last night of hearing Ulf and Eirene nag at each other like an old married couple, one last night of sitting in the cold pool a bit too long, before bringing drink and food to the lukewarm one.

Ulf hadn't made any comments since his trip out to St Mamas, but now Thord threw a look toward the inner corner of the pool where two of their mates were busy with one of the basic infantry.

"When did you become a monk?"

"Old rule my father beat into my head. You don't go to one woman smelling of another."

"Isn't that why there's perfume in the water?"

Eskil snorted at the joke.

"The perfume is to help these poor women stand the stench of you lot."

Thord made a discreet nod to the side.

"The wife of Topoteretes Vlastos looks like she could stand you."

Eskil turned, and saw a fair woman about his own age look at him from the other end of the pool, strawberry blonde hair just a shade darker than his own wrapped up in a loose knot, the rest of her naked apart from the jewels still hanging from her ears.

"That's not his wife. That's Lydia, his Genoan mistress. Where's he?"

Thord shrugged.

"Not here."

"So why's she?"

"Who knows? Looking for her long lost brother?"

Eskil had never liked Vlastos. The idea of having the man's mistress behind his back was not displeasing. Just as that thought started to push against his principles, the man himself appeared from a side room. He decided to take it as a sign.

"She can keep looking, then. You'll never find a sister of mine in this kind of bathhouse."

"Didn't you say your sister was four?"

"Yes, there's that too."



"We are leaving the city on Friday, if the winds allow. That means this probably is our last meeting."

Nonna looked at her, the lively face equal parts sad and tender.

"I will miss you. I assumed we would teach each other secrets of magic, and there has of course been some of that, but… it feels the most important things you have taught me come from life, not art."

Kildevi swallowed, trying to force back the lump in her throat.

"I feel the same way. The rites you have taught me to do might come in use some day. What you have taught me to think, will last me a lifetime."

"So, what will we do, this our last meeting?"

"Will you read my fortune?"

Nonna hesitated.

"Are you sure that is what you want? We both know that knowing isn't always better than to walk through life blind."

"I am sure. I don't know if I will ever meet a foreteller again that I trust in both art and life. Not to sound too rude, but many just… aren't very good. And the ones I meet north all risk having a stake in what they see. If someone will ever see me, it should be you."

The look Nonna gave her was inscrutable, then she nodded.

"In that case, it would be my honour if you would do the same for me."


Nonna had taken out her bones, a collection of old and well worn remains from several cockerels kept in a bronze pot. Eyes closed, she sang over them, a low chant almost dropping to a murmur, before she lifted the jar to let the bones spill out over the old and worn silk cloth.

"As you already know, your life is long. Your death is violent but of your own choosing, that is not a common thing to see. Otherwise, I see no great surprises. You will have more children. Your husband will die before you, but it is not soon. You will travel widely, but that we already knew since we are far from your home. Many bones point to uncertainty, but that is not unusual for us who are gifted with knowledge. We walk outside the paths."

With great respect for her tools, she gathered the bones to throw them again.

"Soon, you will meet someone, someone who later will be very important in the life of…"

Nonna frowned. "It is strange. If you see here, that angle of the bone is directed at you, which means he will be important to someone close to you. But this ball of the bone touches his at an angle that says it's his sister. So his sister is someone close to you?"

"I can't imagine anyone like that," Kildevi mused. "Unless I am to meet one of your brothers by accident? Yet that seems far fetched. I have a friend in Kyiv, perhaps Ina turns out to have a brother I don't know of. Can you see if he does harm?"

Now Nonna shook her head. "The bones do not tell, but my intuition is the opposite."

"I guess I will just have to wait and see. Do you see anything else?"

Her friend bent over the bones again, loose curls falling around her face like a drape as she bent her head. Kildevi noted now, in the light of the lamp, that they had some first few speckles of silver. Ageless as she was, Nonna was ageing.

"I also see new bonds of kinship, it's close to you. Very close even, close enough you may gain a new sister."

"Hm, maybe one of Eskil's brothers is getting married soon? Wonder who that might be… Svein or Holmger possibly. I will probably find out when we come home!"

Smiling at her enthusiasm, Nonna collected the bones in their bronze jar and sang the chants over them again. She tipped the jar over and watched the bones roll out over the cloth. Then her smile grew wider.

"And I see this, this is not a final goodbye. We will meet again, which I assume means you will return here."

---

Endnote:
A long hundred isn't what we think about as a hundred, its 120, or six-score. When Eskil says he'll be in command of two long hunded, he means 240.

The term "basic infantry" refers to a prostitute who only does sex work, no singing or acting or other form of art.
The (suprisingly modern sounding) term is from the 6th century chronicle "The Secret History" where byzantine historian Procopius spends a few pages on slandering empress Theodora in pornographic detail. I'm not saying he's lying, but unless human anatomy has changed in the last 1500 years, some of his claims are questionable to modern medicine. Anyway, it's an old term with a story, and if you're bored, go read at some Procopius.

 

[Alvlin]

After four weeks of leisure, the activity of their last days in - or rather outside - Miklagard came as a welcome change of pace. Most of the crews were busy with last minute repairs and preparations, with the steersmen, skipari and stakeholders taking stock, counting rations and having endless talks about both legal and illegal aspects of Roman administration.

Kildevi herself felt she had said her goodbyes to the city when she'd torn herself from Nonna at the Golden Gate two days prior. Now, she waited. Leaving was bittersweet, but to her mind, the only thing left in that process was boarding the boat.

Knowing most of the men were with Asgaut at the dockside warehouse, she was unprepared for a knock on the door. Thinking it might be a messenger of some kind, she went to open it.


On the other side of the door stood a vision of a woman, an alluring figure draped in silk and pleated linen. For a moment, they both stood staring at each other.

Kildevi was struck by the look of her. Thick, dark hair, a reddish brown, lay parted around a heart shaped face, crowned by a veil of the sheerest silk. Long-lashed eyes a hue of warm brown stared into hers in wide eyed disbelief over high cheekbones, full lips parted for a greeting seemingly stuck in her throat.

She had obviously not expected Kildevi on the other side of that door, because her eyes darted up and down several times before settling at face height, taking in every detail of this varangina.

As her gaze travelled further down the woman's body, Kildevi realised she hadn't come alone. Next to her, half hidden behind the flowing skirts, was a small boy. He looked shyly up at her between half long strands of hair, a clear strawberry blonde, his eyes green and hazel, framed with copper lashes. The woman gently pushed him to the front, stroking the hair from his face as if to show him to her.

Kildevi took one step to the side and gestured for them to enter.

"Eskil?"

Helplessly, Kildevi made gestures she hoped would show that he was out but would be coming back. The woman nodded, and gracefully sank down on one of the low benches in the main room. Every move she made was soft, almost floating, just as every angle of her was firm yet rounded and luscious, her shape accentuated by a belt decorated with precious stones in metal mounts.

The boy crawled up behind her, his gaze never leaving Kildevi. The woman she assumed was his mother put her hand on her chest.

"Sophia."

"Kildevi."

"Keldvia?"

Kildevi nodded. Close enough.

Sophia nodded back, but her nod was now an obvious greeting.

"Gynaika? Mmm… Eskil uxorem?"

Kildevi must have looked as confused as she felt, because Sophia began to gesture, her hand, her heart, two fingers together, until finally she threw out:

"Gamos? Damar? Hamsar?"

"Eiginkona?" Kildevi tried as she held up the hand with her ring, and Sophia nodded. She pointed to the boy.

"Andronikos."

"Eskil's?"

Sophia looked at her son, then at Kildevi, and fired off a smile that meant "what do you think" in all dialects of body language.


They sat a long while, trying to speak through single words and gestures. At home with no plans to receive visitors, Kildevi had worn her cap unveiled, and she noted the little boy's fascination with her hair. The Greeks did not lack for blondes, but she hadn't seen her particular pale ashen colour on anyone outside of St Mamas, and in all honesty, it wasn't that common here either.

When he reached out to touch for the fourth time and Sophia rose to stop him, she pulled the pins from the knot and beckoned him closer to put the end of the braid in his hands.

At that moment, she heard someone coming up the stairs. The door creaked open.

"Eskil?"

"Yes, who else? Are we expecting someone?"

"There is someone here to see you."

He came inside, probably expecting one of the Rus or their own crew, then stopped to stare. Looking as if his spine couldn't decide on fight or flight, his eyes darted back and forth between the women, to finally land on Andronikos. Kildevi just barely had time to catch a glimpse of his panic, before he gained control of his face and made a small, courteous bow to Sophia.

She rose from the bench with a greeting Kildevi didn't recognise, but it was longer, sounded more formal than the ones she knew from Nonna. Eskil replied in kind, and they started talking, he in his fluent but foreign Greek, she in the quick flowing sentences of a native. They were hard to read, but Sophia looked like she wasn't there to play, gesturing so emphatically the bracelets rattled on her wrists. Eskil stood stonefaced, looking at her.

Kildevi knew that gaze. When directed at her, her own defence was to guardedly reply in kind. Sophia just seemed to talk faster, sounding more and more exasperated. Finally, she gestured towards Kildevi, and Eskil turned to her, face still hard, and when he spoke the voice was as tense as his jaw.

"So, long story short. She claims the boy is mine, and wants us to take him. She didn't know you existed, but now hopes you will, and I quote, 'find a mother's love in your heart'. If we don't take him, she says her husband will sell him as soon as he is big enough to be of use to anyone, and she believes it's just a matter of months now."

Kildevi looked from her husband to the smaller version of him, who now sat curled up on the bench his mother had left just a few moments ago. Scared, confused.

It was a beautiful child. He had his father's nose and cheekbones, the full lips of his mother, and the eyes were large and almond shaped beneath the long lashes. She wondered how much of this he had picked up.

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know. I wasn't prepared. I don't even know if he's mine. He looks the right age, but…"

Kildevi crossed her arms.

"You don't know if he's yours."

"No, I mean, that reddish blonde isn't that uncommon here. It's not much to go on."

"The boy looks like you. He'd look like you even if his hair was black. And you were with her for how long? Half a year?"

"More like eight months."

"That's plenty of time to put a child in a woman."

"Yes, but the times a child could have been put in her were few and far between."

Head tilted, she gave him a questioning look.

"Would you please expand on that?"

For some reason, he looked even more uncomfortable now.

"We usually found… other ways."

A quick flash of the last months of prying, of asking, of worry and humiliation, hit her like a blow. But this was not the time. First the boy, then his mother, then… then she would handle the rest.

"We will have a long talk about that later. I assume this means we will bring back her grandson to Alfrida."

"I haven't accepted him yet."

Well down the path towards rage, she leaned closer, hissing, "do you really want someone to look at a slave and see your face? Do you want to be the father of one? Look at him! What do you think he will be used for?"

Eskil shook his head, stubbornly looking away from the boy.

"I can't make this decision now. I need to think."

"What is there to think about? His father is a wealthy carl with odal land to inherit, his mother obviously noble, he can't be demeaned by serving men lesser than you! I can't believe I'm arguing for another woman's son, but it's a matter of honour. Do you have it or not?"

He stared at her, eyes dark now.

"Cold is the council of women. This is not your case to plead."

"Harsh it may be, but cold it is not. I don't plead, I judge, and you haven't answered my question. Do you have honour to keep, or are you less of a man than I thought?"

Eskil turned on his heel and walked away, storming off with a bare veneer of restraint. Sophia had been standing behind him, watching the unknown words dart back and forth, and now she looked at Kildevi as if to discern if this varangina was a friend or a foe. Lacking the words, Kildevi crouched down and looked at Andronikos.

"Andronikr? Jek heiti Kildvé."

The boy put a finger in his mouth.

"Khaîre."

"Khaîre, Andronikr."

She looked up at Sophia, first showing height with her hand, then two fingers, then three. Sophia raised two fingers.

"Þu eru tveir àr?"

The boy looked from his mother to this strange grey woman who spoke funny. Sophia said something to him in Greek, and he nodded.


Eskil didn't stomp off for long. He came back a little while later to take up where he left off, glaring at Kildevi.

"You are not going to take my lawful choice away from me."

Kildevi didn't look up from where she played tickle with the boy in Sophia's lap.

"There is always a choice. This one will decide whether I keep thinking of you as a man or not."

"We leave in two days. We can't just carry him past the rapids or the northern portages."

"I'm sure you'll find a way. You have made it abundantly clear that you are responsible for the needs and safety of this family. Or is that too much to expect from you?"

He glared at her again and sighed, then he turned to Sophia and started talking, harshly and rapidly.

Suddenly she stood up and threw herself around his neck. He stiffly returned the hug, then slowly relaxed into familiarity, leaning his head on hers.

Kildevi was not prepared for the sudden hit in the stomach. Somehow she had readied herself by picturing him with other women in every carnal scene she could fathom, limited though it was, but she had never considered that there would be intimacy, a sense of… of belonging. They looked like old lovers because they were. And they were matched in beauty.

She hadn't felt this inadequate since her wedding.


After what felt like forever, they let go of each other, and Sophia turned to give her a wide smile. She said something, bowing her neck in a gesture of gratitude.

"She says thanks. Much longer, but all of it means thank you."

He sounded resigned, as if his defences had cracked under the weight of acceptance.

Kildevi smiled. It was strained, but still a smile.

"Please tell her that her son will have a sister and an aunt almost his own age, and many small uncles to grow up with. He will fit right in."

Sophia listened, smiled and nodded. Her lower lip was trembling, but she kept both her composure and her smile. Andronikos pointed up at Kildevi and said a few words. Eskil replied and the boy's eyes widened. Even Sophia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"What was that?"

"He asked why you have so much grey in your blonde hair, and I told him it was because you are a sorceress of the ash tree."

"I am what?"

"There is no Greek word for sejðr that I know of. It was as close as I got." He glanced at Andronikos, face sad and thoughtful. "Sophia will come and leave him at the ship when we take off. She will try to explain to him, but he is really too small to understand."

"It will be a tough first couple of days."

"Yes. She will send a miniature of herself with him, and her name and the name of her husband, but I think we all know they probably won't meet again."

Sophia smiled, looked to the sky and threw a kiss before reciting something.

Eskil took his time with it, mumbling under his breath.

"She says:

This is indeed a happy day,

of sorrows buried,

new beginnings born.

If fate's cruel hand is thwarted once again

Cry not, but know

That time will heal what's torn."

Kildevi blinked.

"She just said that?"

"I had to change the rhythm to fit in translation, but yes. That's the sort of thing she does. I hope her husband knows to treasure it, but I doubt it."


Sophia and Andronikos stayed for a while longer. Kildevi was surprised to find that she too had a need for it, for some sort of normalcy in the upheaval brought in the last two hours. Sophia was remarkably pleasant to be around. She seemed to anticipate every change of mood, to adapt to smoothen both conversation and tone, in such a way it took Kildevi a good while to realise why a situation that could have been so strained, wasn't.

When they said their goodbyes, Sophia took her hand, eyes glittering, and said something long and winding. Then she took Andronikos' hand and led him down the stairs towards the street outside, gesturing to Eskil to pass it on. Eskil's face was an interesting hue of red.

"What did she say?

"I am not going to translate that."

Kildevi felt her eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Why? Is there something more you don't want me to know?"

He shook his head.

"It's not that."

"So, what was it?"

"She sends her well wishes to you, and claims to hope our marriage has benefited from her knowledge. With the formal name for every detailed example, just to make me translate. So I won't."

It took a moment for her mind to catch up.

"She's not talking about poetry, is she?"

"No."


The rest of the day was spent taking inventory down in the harbour, and Kildevi just stood and listened to Eskil and Asgaut talking endlessly about loading and unloading cargo on different kinds of vessels. None of them found the right time to speak about Andronikos or his mother until they finally came home to their quarters. The sun had started to set, and they ate in twilight.

"I am surprised you care so much for a son of mine that isn't yours."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do."

She couldn't really tell him the real reason without giving away her meetings with Nonna. She felt sure this little boy had a sister very close to her own heart. Instead, she shrugged.

"I just don't want to be bound to the father of a slave."

"You keep telling yourself that."

She didn't reply, but looked away with a furrowed brow.

"Have you ever seen children on the river convoys?"

"Children yes, toddlers no." Eskil frowned. "But I know it has been done before, some of our merchants move their families as far as Sýrnes, sometimes even Konugard, and some Rus move their families up and down between Holmgard and Konugard."

"And how do they get their toddlers past the portages?"

"Slaves or horses in the summer, sledges in the winter, a bit of luck all year around."

Eskil sighed.

"But I think we should just follow our old plan. Leaving the convoy would create a myriad of new problems, and winter will keep us in Konugard no matter what."

"And there he will stay with Bjarni's family? Then there will even be other children and provisions made for them. But how will he take the rapids?"

"The ships can't move fast anyway, so he can keep pace himself until he grows too tired. If Ashin's name doesn't protect us and we walk into another ambush, his chances are slim, but better to run a risk of death than assured enslavement."

Kildevi nodded.

"So, that's settled, then."

She put down her spoon and lent forward on the table.

"With that out of the way, I want you to talk about Sophia."



Eskil took another spoonful before replying. His gaze was safely fixed down on the bowl in front of him.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know why you even went home to claim me."

"Like I once said, there is a time for play and a time for duty."

"She was for play, and I was a duty."

He still hadn't looked up and she hadn't looked away. His voice turned more guarded and defensive for each sentence.

"You knew that. It was the first thing I told you when I got home."

"You've played me well."

"I never said it was a boring duty, or one I didn't want. I said that whatever we may have would grow over time. It has grown well, hasn't it?"

"But you chose her yourself, I was chosen for you."

Something snapped. Eskils head jerked up, and he threw his hands out wide, eyes wild, jaw tense.

"Yes, and you know what? We had a great time! We drank wine and she read poetry and she showed me things no woman at home could have taught me! She took the northern brute and turned him civilised, she even made holes in my ears and gave me stones to put there. Do you want to hear more? Because you can have it all!"

Kildevi just stared at him, but he continued without slowing down.

"When we met she was a royal concubine, bored and stuck in a house that belonged to my employer, one of the lower princes. He had grown tired of her, and she just sat there, waiting to be married off. An unbelievable bedmate for a guardsman, don't you think? The noble Romans don't just pick up concubines you know, they train them, like a craftsman trains apprentices, and they have names for everything. She chose me, by the way. I was appointed her guard whenever she went out. My only choice from there was to let her seduce me. And yes, I did, gladly! Look at her, who wouldn't?"

He had been ranting and raving, but now his voice lowered and his gestures ceased.

"But it never pained me that I couldn't bring her back home with me, because do you know what we didn't do? Mouth off. Sing to the elves. Have petty fights. She wouldn't know how to do anything back home, she couldn't live without her rose oils, and she would never, ever ask if I wanted to play Ralph the Robber."

"She is beautiful."

"Yes. Very. What's your point?"

Now he was the one staring at her, fixing her with those unblinking eyes. She safely placed her own gaze somewhere below his drinking cup.

"I have been playing with the thought of what would happen if you brought home a second woman, wife or concubine. I think it would take some getting used to, but I know it probably will happen at some point and we'll make things work. But in my mind it would be someone… someone ordinary."

"I won't speak less of her to make you feel better."

"Someone like me, just different."

"Your will alone drove us all the way to Constantinople."

"I wish you looked plain. I would want you just as much, maybe more, because I wouldn't feel flawed in comparison."

She still couldn't make herself look at him. His stare hadn't faltered. Now he leant back and crossed his arms, eyes still fixed on her face.

"The very first time I knew I wanted you, you looked horrible. Pallid, bloodied, unconscious. I had never seen that kind of magic up close and my young mind imagined you looked like that because you'd ridden my dreams at night. I stayed just to stare, until mother threw me out."

"I wish you ever looked horrible. Alfjir was right, it's rough on a bride when the groom is prettier than her."

"The second time forever stuck in my memory, you stood tousled and barefoot in a dirty shift, throwing your defiance in my face. And I had exactly one day to figure out how to get past that guard to get you to relax enough to trust me."

"I just wish I wasn't so ordinary."

"The most beautiful you've ever been, you stood at the prow on Lake Ilmen, terrible and magnificent, drenched in blood, screaming your rage at the sky while thunder roared above you. And I thought, 'that wild beast is tame in my hands.'"

"I guess I just don't see how I could ever compete with the women who want your attention, and I'm scared that I'll just disappear."

"They don't even know I don't like caraway."

"Do you want to see her again before we leave?"

"That's not a good idea for anyone."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Finally she looked up again.

Eskil wiped his mouth and rose, slamming his cup down on the table.

"I have three more things to say. One, you want me to say no for the wrong reasons. Two, maybe you shouldn't talk too much about who chose who after choosing my brother. Three, you're not listening and I am done talking about this."



That evening, it was hard not to act on the lingering tension. It clung to the air like a fog, sticking in her throat for every breath. He tried to act as if nothing had happened, casually talking and touching, but there was a slight hesitation in every word, in every hand on her shoulder.

What questions would Nonna have posed to help her think? Piece by piece, she saw patterns emerge in herself, and began to carefully sort them.

She was insecure about the difference in how others perceived them. That was not an issue that had solved itself by Nonna's words, but somehow she would have to find footing, to trust that the worth he put on her and the familiarity of life had made her beautiful to him if not to everyone else. She couldn't change the looks of admiration, nor assumptions about their worth to each other. But with time, she might learn to dismiss them.

Second, there was the way he wanted to be a man with a renowned wife but struggled with the reality of how her growing world gave her authority and confidence. She might not have been raised with marriage in mind, but he was, with all that entailed of rights and authority that left little room to be questioned or outshined. That would be a slow but steady journey, but one where she felt she'd at least made good progress, and he himself had done his best to adapt.

She knew now she couldn't live her life as the matron of a homestead, but she also couldn't find it in herself to leave everything and bring her toddler daughter on the road between the halls of big men and their violent schemes.

Her third source of sorrow was how he carefully kept her ignorant and refused to talk about things he felt uncomfortable about her even knowing, how he would risk her body and keep her in constant worry rather than bridge that gap between what she needed and he wanted.

She wondered if the lines he drew between her and his other women had to do with keeping control of that ignorance, or if the pedestal he kept her on was simply too high for the worlds to meet in his mind.

And if she was completely honest with herself, it wasn't just worry about getting with child. She worried just as much about the way boredom made her mind wander. Though not jealous by nature, knowing there were things he kept from her yet willingly had shared with other women nonetheless woke that in her.

That whole third heap of issues might be a beast, but at least one easier to grab by the horns. Between the revelation of Sophia and her own conversations with Nonna, she would never get a better opportunity to take that fight.



When he spooned up to her that night in an obvious overture, she pulled away from him, finally prepared to take some kind of a stand.

"Eskil, earlier you said that you and Sophia found other ways to be together."

He didn't reply, just sighed, let go of her, and sat up in the bed.

"I told you, we're done talking about Sophia."

Kildevi shook her head.

"Yes, and she's not what I want to talk about. But what other ways did you mean, exactly?"

"Nothing you should ask of your wife."

Hearing it put so plainly made the old humiliation well up in her throat, and some of it leaked out before she could stop herself.

"All this time, I thought you weren't interested. Turns out you were, just not with me."

"That's not it."

"So explain it to me."

"It's an insult that someone would treat my first and only wife like a concubine, even if that someone is me. I should treat you with the dignity you deserve."

Every word chafed her, like being forced to walk in an ill fitting shoe.

"But we both know you take great pleasure in breaking down my dignity."

"That's different! I would never do anything dishonorable or demeaning to you in that state."

It was hard for her to discern what he meant by dishonourable or demeaning when she didn't even know what range of things he could be talking about. Instead of throwing that in his face, she forced her voice to stay calm and level.

"So you'd rather risk me going pregnant up the rivers than treat me like a concubine, whatever you mean by that?"

"We've… cut down. And taken precautions."

She felt her jaw tighten again, and carefully took a few breaths to control her annoyance enough to keep it out of her voice.

"Wouldn't you rather we just found ways with no need to count days anymore?"

"No."

He sat stubbornly with his back at her, and she stared at his shoulders, searching for a way to breach the wall.

"I didn't come to you a maiden, you know."

"I know."

"Do you really want Sigulf to have gotten things from me that you don't?"

Now he turned to stare at her. There was a surprising amount of shock and outrage in his eyes.

"What did you say?!"

"Did you really think we risked something before a betrothal?"

"Yes. I actually thought that. Was there no end to how low he'd go?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know, I didn't know any better and quite enjoyed it. I was still a maiden when you found us in the smokehouse."

After a moment of silence, he sighed and turned away again.

"Now there is a picture I can't unsee. Can we talk about something else?"

Oh no. They couldn't.

"We can talk about how you know what he did to me over the course of our marriage, and this is where you think he hit rock bottom?"

Gaze still fixed on the wall, he spat, "there is a difference between using strength to get your way, and using lies and veils to trick someone into letting you degrade them. That's the lowest of means to the lowest of ends."

She tried to push down the pure rage that statement woke in her. It took effort not to go off and scream at him.

"I am not trying to make you do something madly degrading. I'm not asking you to treat me to the same humiliation you would a beaten foe."

Eskil sighed, but didn't reply. Kildevi decided it was time to pull out the battleaxe.

"Your own mother told me there were ways to drink from a keg without popping the seal."

"She must have meant something else."

"And I passed it on to Thorstein, who is way more worldly than you in that regard, by the way."

"Thorstein used his own wife like a thrall for a month without even noticing. Don't compare me to him."

So he'd moved on to just dodge and deflect. She'd been in this dance before.

"Thorstein aside, then: your father, for all his wealth, has only had one woman at home for the entirety of their marriage. That means he's not bored yet."

"He respects her highly."

Kildevi gleefully pretended to think, then she shook her head.

"Nah. I mean he does, but women talk, and I happen to know he isn't as squeamish as you about what he allows her. Don't walk into the brewery without knocking, is my advice to you. Sometimes they forget to block the door."

He turned to stare, dumbfounded. Was it the shock of the fact or the unwanted images? Either way, she almost felt sorry for him.

Finally he squeezed out, "I am not squeamish!"

She had him.

"Too squeamish to ask me to push my legs together."

"I could do that. I just don't like it much."

His dark glare was now a sullen pout.

"Too squeamish to let me put my hands on you."

"That's a desperate measure men use on themselves when there's no woman around, or if their manhood is failing them."

"No matter how? Or who, or when?"

No reply.

"With what? How many?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about anymore."

"Neither do I, but Alfjir mentioned something about nibbling on carrots that you might have to explain to me."

"Stop! Keep Alfjir out of this!"

It was almost impossible not to laugh at that indignant face. With her giggle trapped in a throat still sore from sadness, she put her head in his lap and looked up at him, very aware which parts of him her hair had covered.

"So tell me what you would let me do if I wasn't your wife, or I'll just have to keep flinging suggestions at you." Throwing him a brazen glance she added, "I know you like my hair."

"I'll think about it."

"Do you need some time to sulk first?"

"I'm not sulking!" The side of his mouth twitched, his hand already coiling a strand of hair around his fingers. "I'm revelling in my rightful wrath."



When Eskil woke up the next morning, he did so in the naive belief that the matter had been put to rest for a while with a slight give and his promise to think things over. Thus at ease, in spite of that uncomfortable conversation, he washed his face and hands, combed his hair, gave his beard a quick fix-up with the scissors, and sat down to break the fast on this the second to last day before the convoy would leave the great city on the day after the morrow.

Kildevi had risen before him, and was just now finishing her hair and dressing. With a sting of nostalgia, he thought back on when she had worn her hair braided and fastened under a cap or scarf, a sign of status and belonging that didn't hide too much of what she actually looked like.

In these last few weeks, inspired by the coverings of christians, she had just kept taking on more and more elaborate headwear, wraps and veils and who knew what pinned and twisted even around the neck, sometimes in several layers.

He'd made sure she knew he wasn't in favour of it. He rather liked seeing a bit of neck, and at least a glance of hair showing somewhere.


She stood next to him now, fumbling with the pins, and he wondered which of these foreign customs would survive all the way back home and if maybe this particular one could be left with the Greeks where it belonged. Thus, he was in no way prepared when she suddenly said:

"I think you should just pretend I'm your concubine tonight."

He blinked. Mouth full of bread, he had no time to say anything before she went on.

"And if you find me wildly different in the morning, or if I found it harrowing, we will go on to pretend it never happened. Then we'll have a long journey ahead of us to forget it if we want to."

He turned his head to stare at her. The veil was almost in place. She did not look like someone who would say something like that, not even on a whim. His mind searched for something meaningful to say but came up empty, so instead he sputtered,

"You. You are… shameless!"

She shrugged, in that dismissive way she did when she thought that he was being silly, even if all he was doing was to hold some sort of honour to her name and respect to her standing, when she herself stubbornly refused to do so.

"I came to the expectations of wifehood late, remember? Let's say the tapestry of shame woven for me was left thin or unfinished in some places."

"Some places…" he muttered.

"And I think you have been around too many Christians," she added as an afterthought. "They also seem to think that everything fun is shameful."

Not believing what his ears bore witness, Eskil looked up at her.

"I have been around too many Christians? Have you even seen yourself?!"

Her eyebrows flew up, almost touching the decorated headband-hat-thing she was still pinning more stuff onto.

"I look like one, you sound like one."

Before he had a chance to reply, she sighed.

"Look, I have been laid for ritual purposes, to tire and open my hamr. I have been laid like a wife for duty, children and by pure luck a certain measure of joy. But I have never been laid for indulgence, mine or another's. Is it so strange to wonder?"

"That's a very unfair description," he protested. "You're choosing words just to serve your purpose!"

"You can't introduce me to a Roman concubine and expect me to be happy with less than you gave her."

Exasperated at all the wrongs of that statement, he sputtered, "I didn't introduce you, what you get isn't less, and you are my wife, not a concubine!"

"Well, I'm all you've got at the moment, so I guess I'll have to be both."

"That's not…"

But she cut him off, already on her way into the next argument.

"And isn't the point of travel to gain wisdom and knowledge of what lies in the hearts of men? So where better to show me than here?"

Oh no she didn't. He was not going to let her twist the old wisdoms against him.

"As you well know, that isn't what that verse is about. And also, remember that a man who stands at a strange threshold should cross it with caution. I'm wisely cautious when a disciple of Frǫya is quoting Oðin's wisdoms to suit her ends."

Crossing her arms, she leant back, and gave him a smile dripping with scepticism.

"Really? I'm a disciple of Frǫya now?" she asked, amused. "In that case, remember who turned allfather Oðin into a sejðmaðr."

She tilted her head, with that stubborn little tweak of her lips that told him she was digging in with no intention to move her position.

"I will wear you down, you know, little by little. And sooner or later you will find a good enough reason to give in, because I don't think you will hate the idea at all, once you get used to it. You just want to be outraged about it for a while, like you are with everything else you didn't come up with yourself. Why not save yourself the time and trouble of going through all that again?"

He sighed, not really sure about which arguments to lean on anymore, but almost certain he probably was in the right.

"A lustful love is strong enough

to make a fool out of a man who once was wise,"

he quoted, muttering under his breath. "I'm feeling quite worn down and tired already. You know what? I will not give in to threats, but I can show you something, at least."

"Ooo, what?"

"They have the less official kind of bathhouses here, outside of the church's jurisdiction. Not exactly a brothel, but men and women bathe and drink together and anything goes, so you can imagine. Early in the day it shouldn't be that bad yet, though the frescoes are still there. Let's go quickly, before I start thinking too much and realise what a bad idea this is."

"Frescoes?"

"It's a brothel too, and the frescoes are like a list of services. It's a place to start. If you really want to go down this path, you go high. You learn the proper names. I'm not going to self-servingly just… do things because I feel like it."

He paused. "We have one problem, though."

"What?"

"Escort. I don't want an empire official to see me bring my wife to that kind of bathhouse."

"Would you mind it if you were alone?"

"No."

"Then I might have something to tell you…"


Considerably later, they still hadn't left their rooms and Kildevi began to believe she'd made a big mistake in telling him.

"I just want to go through everything you said again. You are here, registered as a Christian pilgrim."

"Yes."

"Something facilitated by a member of the city watch in return for him being a bit luckier than usual on one specific night."

"Yes."

"And that is why you have been taking on Christian fashion."

"In part, I also think it makes me look more worldly."

He nodded, in confirmation if not agreement.

"And when you stopped going with me into the city, you started to go on your own."

"Yes."

"With no one to accompany you."

"Deva was with me!"

The look he gave her told her clear as day that Deva didn't make a difference to his concerns.

"So, you went alone, into Constantinople, disguised as a humble pilgrim, walking from the gates down to the southern harbours. Alone."

"With Deva."

"Alone. Tell me again how you got from St Mamas to the gates?"

She shrugged.

"There was always some carriage or wagon going through, headed for the city. When there wasn't, I took some of the tribute I gained on the way and paid for a carriage."

"And you realise you could have disappeared on every single one of those wagons?"

"Why? I was a fellow Christian. Christians aren't allowed to enslave Christians, and I dressed humbly."

Once again he looked at her in a way that showed beyond any doubt how much he trusted that assessment.

"Let's go back to your travels. How did you get back again?"

"My friend's house-slave usually followed me to the gate and found a fare for us."

"And that would be by a shared wagon or a carriage, again?"

"Yes."

"And why did you do all of this?"

"Because I needed to visit my friend."

"Why?"

"To learn."

"Learn what?"

"Some secret knowledge, but mostly how to think better."

He leant back in the chair, arms crossed, taking his time just looking at her. Finally, he said, "it doesn't sound like you were thinking. Or that it improved much."

"Maybe that's because you aren't very good at it."

The statement was left to hang in the air as they sat, calmly staring at each other.

"I have been called many things, but stupid? That's a rare one."

Echoing his calm, slow tone, she replied, "I didn't call you stupid. I called you bad at thinking. By that I mean past your preconceptions. And not just about this. About me too. You are still so very sure about your view of the world being right, you can't be arsed to look around and see if it is."

Looking away, he nodded, mouth drawn into a thin, white line.

"Let's say you're right. Let's say I sometimes do have a problem when things aren't the way I've been taught to believe, and you almost quoted something a wise man once said to me. That doesn't change the fact that you have been taking risks with your life and my name, behind my back, covered up by lies."

"And if I had seen any other way to do what I had to, I would."

"Would you? Honestly? Then why didn't you even try to talk to me?"

"Because you would have just said no!"

"Yes, I would! And then you would have nagged, and threatened, and haggled, and finally we might have found a solution where, I don't know, we went together to the Forum of Theodosius, and then met again at the golden gate at sundown, because I would have met your friend, and her house slave, and been able to trust them to bring you to the gate to go back home with me."

"And you believe you would have accepted that?"

"Yes! When we set out on this journey I wouldn't, but since we left Syrnes? Yes!"

He rose and started to pace back and forth behind the table.

"I let you go to the water maidens, I let you read Hroar's fortune after we had found a solution to my objections together, I even let Yazı Ashin bring you alone into his war camp, a decision I had to defend in front of our entire crew. We would have found a way, if only you had talked to me. Probably as quickly as I found a solution now."

Kildevi grimaced.

"Maybe you're right. I can't be sorry for meeting with Nonna, but I am sorry that I didn't try to talk to you."

"I guess that's a good start."

"But there is something else you need to know."

She saw him slump, looking resigned more than anything else.

"What?"

"Ormgeir met us coming back one of those nights you were away. He doesn't know anything more than that I snuck out to make a sacrifice when you left me alone overnight. But, he has…"

"He has...?"

Kildevi shook her head.

"I don't know what to say, exactly. Reminded me? Just small words here and there so I didn't forget that he knew something that might land me in trouble if he told you. And that's what he's been a bit too… charming about."

Eskil turned his head to look at her for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and slowly breathed out through his teeth.

"So, a man who whispers straight into the ear of the Prince of Kyiv is discreetly reminding you about how he found you, alone, unguarded and ripe for the taking, on a dark road at night. He didn't. Instead, he is 'a bit too charming' to you about it."

"More or less, yes. But I think he's just amusing himself. I really don't think there is more to it."

"I don't know if you know anything about his past, but it has not lacked for violent amusements."

Kildevi didn't reply. She hadn't heard anything about him, at all. But Eskil didn't say more on the subject. Instead he made a deep sigh.

"It's not even noon, and I'm already sick and tired of today."

Leaned over the table with his full weight on his hands, he looked away.

"I need to think. Until I'm done thinking, you are not going anywhere without an escort - that means me, or someone loyal to me."

She glanced up at him.

"So… no bathhouse?"

He shook his head.

"Not today."

"Later?"

"You're not setting foot there in the evening."

"Can't we just talk about it until you find a solution?"

Still looking tired and resigned, he nonetheless chortled.

"Tomorrow. You and I in a tub, with a wall full of frescos to explain. Explain - not explore. That's my final offer."

---

Endnotes:
The references are to Havamal stanza 18, 1 and 92/94 depending on edition. The quote is from Jackson Crawford's translation from 2019, starting "Love is strong enough…". I modified it because the Swedish translations I have checked leave no doubt about what kind of love Oðin is talking about. The 1913 translation by Erik Brate just goes for "älskogens mäktiga åtrå" which roughly translates to "the mighty desire of lovemaking", leaving out love altogether. So there's that. I think Dr Crawford might have gone a bit prudish on this one.

I started writing the bathhouse scene. I wrote it again. Finally, I realised the only two ways I could write it was porn or slapstick, and neither version added anything except for gratuitous porn and/or slapstick. I have the highest respect for both genres, but it got cut anyway.
If anyone wants it - beep me. I don't judge.

 

[Yla]

"Do you really want Sigulf to have gotten things from me that you don't?"

Click to shrink...

Ahahahahaha!!

The marital dynamics of Kildevi and Eskil are fascinating to follow. Some of it is like a fencing match, but it's also unmistakable that, regardless of any other feelings, they definitely both respect each other.

 

[Alvlin]

Ahahahahaha!!

The marital dynamics of Kildevi and Eskil are fascinating to follow. Some of it is like a fencing match, but it's also unmistakable that, regardless of any other feelings, they definitely both respect each other.

Click to shrink...

Let's just say that entire exchange was a joy to write. I wrote the first draft of this chapter back before I'd even finished the Sister Bear part of the story, and that whole bedside argumentation was good fun to return to for last revisions.

 

[Alvlin]

It was heartbreaking to hear Andronikos' despair. Growing up in the hall of a chieftain, Kildevi was raised to a certain hardness in regard to suffering, even towards children, but something made the boy's cries cut right into her.

Maybe it was his likeness to Eskil, or the time they'd spent playing two days before. Maybe it was knowing he was to be the brother of her own children, or the stand she had chosen to take for him. Either way, it was hard to stand the panic in his eyes as the crew took to the oars and rowed out from the harbour to finally leave the bay behind them. Kildevi couldn't make herself turn to see if Sophia had left, or if she still stood on the pier, watching her son disappear forever.

"You don't go takin' a toddler from the mother," Audvard said with that sad and heavy tone to his voice he had when something had gotten to him. "It's a cruel fate for a child, ripp'd from'is land an home."

"He'll be fine," Thore replied with the full confidence of someone who hadn't cared for a wee one in his life. "Children cry, it's more or less what they do, and he's not abandoned, he just has a new family. Let him go off for a while, he'll get over it."

Neither of them did anything but air their opinions. With the cries of the child rubbing her nerves raw, Kildevi wanted to push both of them overboard.

"That's great," she snapped. "But unless you plan to get down here and distract him, your opinions are as worthless as you are!"

Finally, she and Deva managed to find a wooden doll in his sack of belongings that combined with peek-a-boo could provide magic. As they followed the Marmara coast east, a blessed if temporary silence fell. With a relieved sigh, Kildevi left her husband's son in Deva's hands to take a last goodbye of the city as they rounded it. She cursed how no one had considered that while they had both women and Greek speakers on board, there was no overlap between them.

Around her, their convoy stretched out in all directions, boat after boat, most of them re-fitted monoxylas, but also a few byrdings of the kind they had left in Rusa, and a handful of flat bottomed river boats like their own, stabilised for sea. She was not surprised in the least when the convoy continued to follow the coast west instead of setting out over the open sea.

When they left the port, both Eskil and Thore had been sporting their new coats. As the city disappeared behind them, the finery went into their chests again. Now, they truly were on the way. She wondered if the unspoken rules had changed back, too.


Asgaut had been none too happy when he learned that he would have a toddler on his vessel. Eskil's new affiliationwith the Rus had, however, tipped their power balance in such a way that after his initial protests, any disfavour mainly took the form of an annoyed frown whenever he was disturbed by the boy.

Apart from that, the boat felt like coming home. She had looked forward to it. Thogard's deep rumble, Audvard's contemplations, Thorven running his mouth and Thore patiently cutting him off, even Eirik's presence, felt like being around family.

Thus it was a double disappointment when Eskil sat down to inform her that she couldn't look forward to the same carefreeness that she had enjoyed on the way down.

"But why?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. "These are our shipmates. They're my friends and my brothers."

"Because," he patiently replied, "we are not in a convoy of 90 men led by a senior steersman anymore. We are in a convoy of 900, led by commanders from the prince's personal guard. You can still sit around our campfire, you can still talk with our shipmates, but you can't walk around the camp in disarray and you can't go alone between campfires like a well dressed washer woman, because that makes it look like I have no control over my household and you no sense of dignity. If you go around camp, you bring one of the housecarls, or Thore, or possibly Asgaut, unless I'm there."

"But the Rus think me a fearsome sorceress, they don't dare touch me."

"Yes, and how long do you think that will keep if you stroll around drinking with half of them?" He sighed. "What would your grandmother have done? Would she have run around in a shift and a cap being artlessly friendly with everyone from farmhands to commanders?"

"Not in a shift and cap. But she acted on her own. She made friends and started feuds to her liking. Are you giving me that same authority to manoeuvre?"

He gave her a look she thought probably meant that he didn't.

"Let's discuss that again in a few years. There is also Ormgeir to consider. I don't want him to find you unguarded and alone in the dark a second time."

"Ormgeir just talks, and that is a kind of battle I know how to fight. I've fought more fearsome beings than him."

"Ormgeir talks until one day he decides he has talked enough, and he acts in my realm. The less I seem to have you under guard, the more avenues of attack he'll have."

"He has never shown any sign he wants to attack me."

"No. At this point, he's attacking me."

So, that was that. There had been no anger or frustration in his stance during the exchange, just the firm, calm statement of how it was going to be. That made it much harder to argue.


A while later, when Eskil had turned to tar a rope, Thorven joined her where she sat at the prow, his face split in a wide grin.

"I am so happy you called us your brothers! Did you know we're the same age? Like, exactly the same age, two and twenty, born in spring."

She smiled.

"No Thorven, I didn't know that."

"I've thought a lot about why I have nothing going for you even though you're really pretty. I mean, I should have. I'm not picky. But no, nothing! It's like you're my real sister!"

Kildevi looked up at her youngest shipmate.

"And you don't think that has anything to do with having known my husband this entire time?"

"No. Usually not a problem."

"Seen me piss on ship for the entire journey?"

He thought about it for half a moment, then shook his head.

"No. Wouldn't have stopped me."

"The time you sat in wake? I don't remember anything, but it couldn't have been pretty."

"What kind of a monster doesn't want to fuck someone just because they're dying?"

Kildevi looked up at Eskil, who sat just a pace away. He had abandoned his rope, and was fighting a losing battle against laughter.

"Yes. What kind of a monster wouldn't?"

"But that also means that if someone is really trying to harm you, we kill them."

He looked around. "Or… I guess your housecarls were hired to do that anyway, and Thore has a bond now, and Audvard already has killed for you, so… I am just late. But late or not, I'm here."

"Thank you, Thorven. I really appreciate it. You are better brothers than my father's sons ever were."


With Deva busy keeping Andronikos from falling overboard, all needlework was back in her hands. The Romans had given them new sails, a mind boggling thing for her who understood the work involved.

That meant all that was left for her was the mending, and, now that they had a toddler among them, binding the mittens, socks and hats she knew would be needed in a few weeks' time as they went north. Even this far south, autumn was in the air, the balmy heat of summer turning to comfortably lukewarm days and chilly nights.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Eskil told her as he saw her sitting with one of Thorven's hose. "They can do it themselves, or Deva can do it once Andronikos is asleep."

"It's something to do," she replied. "And I don't want to be the distant lady at the prow again. Not among our own."

"You will want to make something for yourself," he noted with a look up and down her dress. "You will need at least one new dress and a new smokkr. Look through our Roman silk and put some decorations on your finest woollens too. Kyiv will have higher demands for dress."


There was a difference between building a camp for 90 men and one for over 900. Noone had been happy when Asgaut announced the convoy would sail through the night for two days and make camp on the third unless weather and winds called for exceptions.

That first full camp night, Kildevi understood why. The sheer space they occupied along the shoreline, the logistics of distributing campsites and collecting firewood, digging ditches for human waste, not to mention making provisions for rations and cooking, all of it made Kildevi realise that daily camps would have made their journey considerably longer.

On the other hand, the first camp night felt like a shore leave. They had started building it mid-afternoon and come evening, beer was brought out and meat was roasting around some of the campfires.

"For food, you signed up with the wrong crew," Thore commented as Kildevi looked around to see where the mouthwatering smell came from. "Thorven is a good trapper, but none of us are good enough to hunt well in unknown lands. I'm willing to bet Skytja's crew won't have that problem."

"So… do you think we could join them?"

"Probably? Can you keep those eyes in check?"

It took her a moment to realise he was teasing, not seriously questioning her.

"If I feel overwhelmed, I'll just look at you. That should cool me off."

"Ow, and here I thought I had cleaned up nicely."

He had. Thore wasn't what anyone would call beautiful or striking, but he looked… nice. Trustworthy and kind, with those sort of common features that could blend in more or less in any crowd. Well groomed and in well fitted clothes, he now looked like a man who might not make maidens swoon, but a good number of more practically inclined widows look twice.

"I'll take my chances. If not, you're there to save me."


Thore had been right, more than right.

The campfire had been hastily turned into a makeshift rectangular hearth. Vibjorn and one other man were still hewing a deer into pieces small enough to roast. At least some twenty people were milling around, some being useful, but most of them not. Kildevi noted how Thogard walked over to relieve the marksman from his labour, taking the axe out of the younger man's hand to firmly send him off to sit down by the hearth instead.

It felt like old times, Eskil sitting behind her with his cloak around them both, well known faces all around, Jonar and Eirik hogging the gaming board while Thorven sat talking in a circle of young men she only vaguely recognised.

From across the hearth, she saw the other butcher call Andronikos closer, to let him hold the grip of the butchering knife, the man guiding the blade as they cut. The boy's eyes were bulging, and she realised that a Roman town boy probably never had seen a slaughter, or held a real knife for that matter.

He had taken these last few days very unevenly, sometimes crying inconsolably, sometimes playing and laughing as if he wasn't on a strange boat with people who didn't speak his language. Even though Kildevi took part in looking after him, Deva took care of him most of the time, and at night, he had slept between her and the thrall while they sailed. He still cried every time he woke up, but she thought the bouts of despair were getting shorter.

Kildevi had not realised how many of the men had left sons and nephews and even little brothers at home. Once they got to shore, there seemed to be a good supply of people willing to play chase, or show him whatever they were doing at the moment. That was a relief. His own father hadn't exactly tried to get to know him.

"You're not very engaged in him," she commented with a frown, as she saw the butchering man place a piece of rib in the boy's chubby hands and send him off towards the hearth. "For a firstborn son, you seem thoroughly disinterested."

"I… I didn't know you wanted me to be," came Eskil's voice next to her ear. "I figured you'd be relieved if I don't take to him like I would to one of ours."

"I try to think of who he will be in the lives of our sons and daughters," she replied. "I know he will be important to Alfhild, but not in what way, so I would rather he not become bitter and jealous."

He didn't ask how she knew, but she felt him nod.

"It has all gone too fast, he doesn't feel like my son, you know? He came as a surprise, and then there was so much else to think about, between us, with preparations… Then we were stuck on a boat, and a boat is like a little realm of its own. It's like he's not real yet."

"He is real. And you are his father. People are even commenting on your likeness."

"And yet I feel nothing when I look at him."

"You'll never warm to him unless you try."

Eskil didn't reply, but he wrapped the cloak closer around them.


They were almost done with breakfast the next morning, when Vibjorn Skytja came wandering in between the tents and joined them. The night before, there had been so many people she had been able to avoid him with ease. Now, Kildevi noticed with some relief her mind didn't instantly clog and the nervous flutter in her chest, although still there, was more of a weak reminder than a full scale war on her senses. But she decided to be silent, just in case.

"Skytja! How can we help you?"

Thore rose with his bowl and went to wash it off in the wash bucket.

"I'm looking for a woman," the younger man said, seemingly unaware of the myriad of answers that opened for.

"Aren't we all," Thore replied, "anyone in particular?"

Kildevi thought that was a very polite reply to that particular comment. It must have been the early hour that hampered their wit.

"Aslaug needs some attention to her face, and she won't let us do it, claims she needs someone with a neater hand. So I thought of your thrall, she made those coats, so she should be fine, right?"

"I'll do it."

Thore turned, surprised.

"See, the vǫlva herself will do it. Wait, didn't you hate her guts?"

"Deva is busy with Andronikos, and Aslaug has less to tease me with now. I should be fine."

"Dress!" came Eskil's voice from inside their tent, and her yellow kirtle came flying out through the tent flaps, soon followed by the amber coloured smokkr.

"I won't throw the brooches, I'll put all of your tools and trinkets here, just reach in and take it."

With a sigh, Kidlevi wriggled into her layers of dress and fastened the buckles with a single row of beads between, needle case, scissors and knife hanging from the right-side one. She actually had the keys to their luggage coffers there too. The honorary house keys had been left at home with Alfrida, but it felt good to have something to show she managed his house, albeit now a symbolic one. Finally, she slung her bag across her chest and straightened the stockings.

"That should be it. Where is she?"


Skytja showed her and Thore to a place behind a couple of tents, strangely secluded in the midst of a crowded camp teeming with men. In the borderland between two crew's campsites, Aslaug sat on a small bench in just her stockings and braies with a rag and a bowl of salt water at her side. Blood was still running from her forehead, a thin steady trickle down into her eyebrow. She didn't look that badly hurt, just a bit beat up. Now, she squinted up at them.

"You came yourself? Missed me that much, pussycat?"

"I've been tossing and turning in yearning for you all this time," Kildevi replied, dryly. "But be warned, now I understand most of the bullshit you spout."

As the men walked away, Aslaug wiped some more blood off her face. She traced the split with her fingers and grimaced.

"How's your needlework, sweetheart? Care to stitch up this pretty face of mine?"

Kildevi crouched down in front of her, carefully following the swelling with her fingers.

"I'll do better. I'll sing over it as I work."

While she went through her bag for thread and unhooked her needle case from the brooch, she gave Aslaug a thorough once over.

With the tunic off, Kildevi didn't need her sight to see life carved into the surface of the skin like an inscription. Her breasts were tied down with what looked like leg wraps, the binding worn and discoloured. Layers of scarring laid out in the open, some of the common sort shared by everyone who used a sharpened blade on a daily basis, others not. Old, faded whip-marks marked the back and shoulders, newer cuts on the arms and torso more or less crudely stitched up, and one of the bigger ones distorted in a way Kildevi was willing to bet stemmed from a bad wound fever.

Aslaug smirked and pointed to her left shoulder, where a scar ran like a ridge across the muscle leading up to the neck. The skin almost looked overlapped.

"And that there is Jonar's handwork, if you wonder why I'm asking you to do the face. Fucking klutzes. Can't trust a mate with a needle."

"Does this happen a lot?"

The bound warrior shrugged, then twitched and carefully examined the left lower rib with her fingers.

"The way it is in every new fucking camp. Enough who don't know me - some cocky asshole wanna show I'm in the wrong place."

"What happens if you back off?"

"Can't afford to. I back off, I'm fucked."

"And if you lose?

"Depends on who I lose to."

"And this time?"

"Got broken up, much like that fucker's face. Are you done asking questions? Don't wanna rush you, sweetheart, but I'm bleeding here."

Kildevi carefully closed the split as neatly as she could, the galdr a whispered murmur as she pushed the needle through the layers of skin. Aslaug sat still, but her knuckles were white as she clutched the bench.

When she was done, Kildevi noted, "I wouldn't call you pretty, but you're quite handsome. No wonder my fylgja noticed."

"You fucking tease."

Kildevi didn't reply, instead she just smiled and cut the threads.

"There, you're done. Ready to heal and fight another day."

"Thank you."

"You can call me sweetheart, but no more pussycats."

"I swear on my cock, not to your face."


Although their campsite wasn't far off, Thore still escorted her back. About halfway, she suddenly heard a well known voice call her name.

"Kildevi!"

Ormgeir came walking up from the shore, a pleased smile on his face. He wasn't as lavishly dressed as on their earlier meetings, but the wide trousers were rich in fabric and of a clear blue wool that draped in beautiful folds beneath a madder-red tunic. It was its own kind of magic, how slight differences in weave and dye could make the most commonplace of garments look fit for kings.

She halted, and so did Thore, who eyed the newcomer with wariness. She wondered how much Eskil had told him.

"Good morning, Ormgeir. What are you doing in this part of the camp? I thought your men were lodged on the other side of the hill."

"Ah, I am just looking for Isidor, Pridbor thought he had gone to find Eskil. By pure luck, I ran into someone I would much rather speak to."

He looked at Thore.

"I see that you have an escort."

He didn't add "this time". That was left to hang in the air, unspoken.

"Yes, have you met Thore? He is not only Eskil's adjunct, but also a good friend."

"We have been introduced," he smiled with a nod, but didn't give the other man any further attention before he continued.

"Next camp night, come over and visit our pavilion. It is not fit for feasts, but it keeps us comfortable and off the ground while we eat." He leaned closer, looking her straight in the eye with a self assured smile. "Games kept outside, of course. I would love to grapple with your husband, so bring Eskil on your first visit. After that… let's how it goes, shall we?"

"They're expecting us back," Thore said abruptly. "We should go."

"What a great idea! I'll come with you, see if I am lucky enough to find Isidor."

He offered his arm and not really knowing how to refuse, Kildevi took it.


Isidor turned out to be a weathered man maybe one score years older than Eskil, tall and slender like a birch and with a face best described as weirdly beautiful, but whether it was beautiful because of, or in spite of, its odd proportions was anyone's guess. The cheekbones were just a smidgen too wide-set to fit the exceedingly long face, the eyes both large and deeply set beneath a straight and even brow. Kildevi got the impression two very good sculptors had worked on the same statue, without seeing each other's work in the process.

When they came into the circle of tents, she quickly let go of Ormgeir's arm to walk up to Eskil's side, where he instantly slung an arm around her waist in a marked gesture of possession. If the old silver fox took offence, he didn't show it, instead he gave Isidor a booming greeting and joined the men where they stood talking.

"We need to talk about how to go on past the middle Danube delta," Isidor said with a voice surprisingly soft in contrast to his gnarly appearance. He spoke Norse with a different Slavic accent to the rest of the eastborn, but she was willing to bet her brooches it was a native language. "If we are sailing through all the way to Belezan island, we need to re-stock provisions somewhere along the northern Bulgar coast."

"I have it on good authority most of the Yazı-Qapan has gone west with the Bulgars against the Serbs," Ormgeir replied. "Whatever camps they have left should be small, unless they brought the entire tribe west. You never know with Pechenegs."

Kildevi glanced up at Eskil. So that was why the forces had been gathered when they passed.

"We have a truce with the Yazı," he said casually, as if it was something to expect from a trade convoy of 90. "But I hesitate to think that would expand to the whole convoy. It would, however, create an opening for negotiations in case they have forces left."

Ormgeir showed no reaction except for one slightly raised brow, but Isidor turned towards them, visibly taken aback.

"A truce? With the Yazı? There must be something more behind this than a simple hit and run!"

"And there is. It is a story worth telling well, so let's save the details for a night around a fire. In short, he had lost something of great value, and my wife found it for him. He was grateful enough to lend us his friendship and we parted with generous gifts."

"So, it was your wife's triumph," Ormgeir noted. "Then she will tell the story, next camp. Let's all hear the volkhvas tale from the volkhvas mouth. I don't think this is a woman who needs someone to speak for her."

"You are right," Eskil replied, but there was a chill in his voice now that hadn't been there earlier in the exchange. "This is her triumph, and if she wants to tell her own story, we should all listen to what she has to say. Not only in her triumphs."

Ooo, she was nettled. At them both. Just as clearly as she remembered how Ormgeir had overridden her wishes and forced an escort on her that night outside St Mamas, she had in vivid memory how Eskil had put down the rules of dress and standing while dismissing her right to act on her own accord. She did not appreciate being used as a bludgeon in yet another insincere word battle.

"If I don't need anyone to speak for me, why do you both do it so often?"

With that, she turned her heel and went into their tent. It was just a handful of paces away, and she heard the following moment of silence well enough through the canvas.

"Is there something here that I don't know about?" Isidor said.

"I believe you just don't know the volkhva," came Ormgeirs amused voice in reply. "She does not suffer fools gladly, and she just labelled us fools."

"My wife has her realm, and I have mine. Sometimes she forgets which one she's in."

He spoke clearly and with emphasis, obviously meant for her to hear inside the tent. So, he wanted her to know that he was cranky. She decided that wasn't her problem.


Just a moment later, she heard the two Rus leave and Eskil came in after her. He didn't look furious, but his face was hard-set enough for his lips to have tensed to a thin white line.

"What was that?"

"That was my reaction to your childish cock-fight."

"I can't just not reply when he is shamelessly flirting with you!"

"But he's only doing it to get back at your father!"

Eskil blinked.

"Can you say that again? And start from the beginning this time."

Kildevi sighed. She had been thinking about it a lot, trying to put all the pieces together in a way that made sense to her, and now she thought she finally had it.

"Think about it. He knows your mother from his youth. He is about your father's age, maybe a handful of years more, yet he remembers her well enough to instantly recognize you as her son, even though he has been east for as long as you have lived, and you do not favour your mother's side. She never talks about anything that happened while Thorlev was away, but it was three years! For her it was between fourteen and seventeen. Do you really think she went invisible those years? That not a single man did a double take when she walked by with that vivacious hip swing? I bet she's always had that, it's in her bones. I also have a hard time believing someone as practical as Alfrida would simply wait at home and hope he would come back. No. I think Ormgeir was her back-up."

Eskil didn't look convinced.

"Do you have any evidence for this, at all."

"No."

"So can you please run me through your reasoning?"

Kildevi leaned closer, forefinger raised to count her arguments.

"He's been too hard on you. Not spiteful, but the natural thing for an older man when meeting someone younger from his own lands would be to take him under his wing. Instead, he's judging you harsher than the rest of the Rus do, especially concerning everything that has to do with me." She paused for effect, then raised another finger. "He was effusively friendly to me from the first time we met, and the only time I've heard him mention Alfrida was to comment on… I think the word he used to describe her was sultry. Do with it what thou wilt. He also left Westmanland for Ladoga about the same time that your parents married."

Eskil looked at her hand with its four raised fingers, then shook his head.

"All of that could be coincidence."

"Absolutely. It could. But it adds up quite well, don't you think?"

Eskil didn't protest, but he gave her a long look.

"Is it really that unfathomable to you that you could be courted in your own right?"

She looked up, surprised.

"No. If Helgi or Eymund or anyone else who isn't far out of my league were making eyes at me, I would think it was common yet inappropriate interest. But when it's people like you and Ormgeir, I find it more likely to be something else."

"But I adore you."

"Yes. Now. When we've bantered and squabbled and laughed and found that our desires fit well, and also because you have an interesting affinity for women who wield power in realms that you don't, and don't think I haven't noticed how you look at me as soon as I am doing something vǫlvic. You definitely didn't adore me from the first time you saw me."

He didn't refute the statement, which was a relief because that meant she could believe in the honesty of what he did say.

"I still think you're selling yourself short."

Kildevi shrugged.

"And maybe I am. That doesn't change that Ormgeir - probably - sees his chance to take a woman from the son of the man who once robbed him of the curvaceous yet supple joys of your mother."

"Don't. Don't say it like that."

He looked pained. This was fun!

"What? I've heard your father say much worse."

"I know. For some reason it sounds even worse from you."

"What does? The sensuous hip-swing? The alluring pout? Trust me, it wasn't her cooking that sent your teenaged father on a three year quest."

"I would like to think it was more than that. Liking, ambition, shared goals and kinship."

"Remind me, how early was your brother born again?"

"That is neither here nor there, we weren't talking about the presumed allure of my mother in her maiden years. We were talking about Ormgeir pushing me to a point where I'll have no choice but to act, and trust me, I already want to. The only thing holding me back is that it would ruin my relations with Kyiv. But on the other hand… " He shook his head. "I can't bloody well let him go on. If I'm not ready to stand up to him over you, then what is my name worth?"

"He is a powerful man. One of the richest this side of Holmgard."

"Rich men still bleed."

She sighed. This was one of those times when their differing backgrounds showed itself clearly.

"While it is true that they do, I think he expects you to let him. In truth, I think he is waiting for an offer to borrow me, either to signal loyalty or in exchange for… something. Trade deals, one of his own concubines, or just his good will, whatever you hope to get from him. I am not saying you should!" she added quickly, seeing his expression, "...but I believe that is what he is waiting for."

In an effort to soften the words, she reached out and put her hand on his cheek.

"You are rising, ástin mín. And like it or not, up where you're going, women are currency and markers of status. I am flattered by your reaction, I truly am, but there is nothing shocking about the expectation itself, bonds have been tied that way before. The outrageous part is that he is courting me for it. That's why I think he's trying to win me over, not just seal a deal."

"Let him wait, then, because that offer is not coming. You are not a slave, or even a concubine. You are my first wife, the highest ranking woman in my house. I even laid that out when I set the very first terms for our marriage: once you're mine, you're mine, it would be like lending him myself. And you are not only my wife, you wield power in your own right. A man might lend his chieftain a concubine, no one can lend another man a seeress."

Kildevi sighed. He had a point. But it was also… messy.

"Can you please sit on your hands, at least until we're past the rapids? I will avoid him. I will hang on your arm and coo like a dove if it helps. And once we reach Kyiv, you and he will go with the prince while I stay behind with Bjarni, and the problem will effectively have solved itself."

---

Endnote: For a bit of chit-chat on polygyny and woman-lending, see
Over the sea and down the rivers - A few notes on the history

 

[Ostgoten]

This is so good or skitbra so to speak!

 

[Alvlin]

This is so good or skitbra so to speak!

Click to shrink...

Tack!

I seem to have a very small but steadfast following, and all encouragement is much appreciated!
(I'm not even kidding. Comments make me giddy like a kid on Christmas.)

 

[Ostgoten]

This story is the best type of story since I learn so much new and get to read first class fiction!

 

[Alvlin]

Just as Kildevi expected, the pavilion wasn't as humble as Ormgeir had implied. The oiled canvas may have been undyed, but inside was a room carpeted and dressed with furs, pillows, even furnished with benches.

"It's not only the lavish tent," Eskil pointed out in a tone filled with equal parts awe and disgust. "He's also flaunting that he can afford to choose comfort over cargo space."

About a third was taken up by what could only be described as an inner chamber, with a low bed and a chest that she assumed held Ormgeir's personal luggage. The drapes around it were tied back, and as they entered the pavilion, she noticed that both the bed and the chest were occupied by a group of men, who lounged upon them with mugs in their hands.

It was a relief to see that all drink except for Ormgeir's own was served in clay mugs. Not even Ormgeir would bring a set of a dozen brittle glasses to camp.


Knowing that she would be expected to talk in front of everyone, Kildevi had fretted an awful lot over what to do with the myth of her gold and silver hair. Choosing to cover it was a very different thing from feeling the need to, and as much as she treasured the myth, she had also tired of the layers of veils and wimples. Thus, she had parted it into two long braids allowed to hang down each shoulder under a single veil, and had carefully wrapped them with ribbons, until not a single strand was visible. As a final touch, she had taken two stamped hacksilver armrings and bent them around the braids like rings, just below chest height.

She was proud of her hair. Now, at least, she could show the length of it.

"That looks too good," had been Eskil's comment. "I think you should just bring out all the veils you have and drape them to be as unflattering as possible."

That had earned him the eyeroll it deserved.


Before Ormgeir had a chance to rise from the group of men on the bed, Isidor stepped up to them, greeting Eskil with a friendly embrace and her with a bow and a smile, careful not to meet her gaze.

Leaning closer, he whispered, "I have suggested to my old friend that a grapple would have to end without injury for me to be fully happy. It seems there will be no games today."

Eskil gave him a sharp look. He covered it well, but she knew that his relief would battle with his hurt pride. Size was not everything, far from it, but for two men of equal skill, it would take a good portion of luck to overcome the difference in height and bulk.

Isidor had also plainly told them that Ormgeir would aim for injury, not just defeat. She made a note of that, too.

As they sat down on one of the benches, a beautiful slave with her hair kept long came and handed them mugs of mead spiced beer.

"I have been told that your father is a great man from humble origins," Isidor noted to Eskil. "That he won your mother in a quest, and has kept her alone all through his rise to riches."

"My ancestors have worked our land as far back as names are remembered, at least eight generations," Eskil replied. "First, it was a farmhouse. Then, it was a longhouse. Now, it is a humble hall. I have no reason to believe it will stay humble."

Isidor nodded.

"And you have done as your father? Placed all your eggs in one gilded basket?"

"If you are asking if I have another wife at home, then no. I brought my house with me."

"I know that it is not my place to say, but I think that you could both need a common woman. If not a wife, then at least a servant woman of high rank. One should not expect a seeress to carry all the duties of a wife, and it would… look better. This is not an attack, just advice for the future. In the most well meaning spirit."

Kildevi glanced at Eskil. Put like that, it didn't sound so bad to her. He looked hesitant, though.

"Think about it," Isidor added. "Two wives are not double the worry. If loyal, they keep an eye on each other for you."


Trying to put her story to verse had been humbling, to the point where she just gave up. It would have been a nice touch, but the alliterations distorted every nuance and she decided it would just have to do without.

Now, her heart was pounding. In spite of the braziers, in spite of the many oil lamps, her grounding in fire lacked a hearth. Thus, she was more relieved than worried when Ormgeir shifted over where he sat at the edge of his bed to make room for her, and she realised she wouldn't be expected to stand up for everyone to stare at.

It was a fascinating thing to see, the discreet, almost invisible shifts among the seated men. Cautious, respectful, in one or two cases even fearful, most of the men moved aside to give her as generous a space as possible, two even stepping off to the side. This in turn gave ample room for the only two who wanted her close, to sit close. Ormgeir already held one side, and Eskil resolutely took up post on the other.

Isidor looked around, and gestured for the thrall to bring him a bench.

"Those braids are very becoming," Ormgeir murmured on her left side.

"Told you so," Eskil muttered on the other.


"It was I who asked, now I ask anew. Vǫlu-Kildve Thorvaldsdottir, unnamed child of a mountain spring. Bear-daughter, bear-sister, gold-strand and silver-braid, wife of wolves and lions. Give us a tale of your dealings with the Yazı-Qapan."

"Who asks?"

"I, Isidor, son of Karli Gotvaldson and Svietoslava of the Polans, brother of fairest Kniahynia Ingvida, second commander of Kniaz Igor's Druzhina. It is I who ask for your story."

"What do you have to offer, Isidor, son of Karli? I do not give out stories for nothing."

Silence fell. Clearly, no one had expected that. Eskil looked unreadable, in the way he did when he had no idea what she was doing, couldn't do anything about it, and expected it to become his problem. It was a version of his stoneface well-known to her by now.

Isidor looked around.

"I can give you a song from my mother's people?"

"You sing me a song I've never heard, then tell me of Veles and Perun."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Ormgeir lean back and whisper something to Chedomir, whose eyes narrowed.

Thoughtfully, Isidor nodded.

"One of us will, maybe I am not the best fitted. But on our next camp night, you will have your tribute in myth."

With a look around the gathered men, Kildevi nodded acceptance.


"We set out from the white shores, kind weather kept us at sea. But men grew restless, water scarce, we knew that we would soon need to go ashore. As we followed land, we saw the Pecheneg. Raiders we believed, but they were many, first in scores and then in hundreds, and among them rode a man in green. As our steersmen sensed the threat, I sensed his worth. Then Ragnleif Split-Ear turned to me and asked for guidance. In return, I asked for a secluded night, alone, a golden beast guarding my tent."

"These were your own men. Do you always ask for tribute?"

It was Ormgeir who asked, but she replied to all.

"Always. My first husband taught me that things without a price will not be valued."

After a short pause, she continued.

"From afar, I heard the cry of the cormorant. Once called, it brought me ashore. But I was spotted. His thought met mine, for a mere moment, and the warlord knew me. When I returned to my shell, I saw that fate had split our path in two: one led to safe travels and modest riches, but the other path was fraught with unseen promise. By sunrise, I gave my vision to my steersmen and I asked, 'if one path leads to nothing, one to something, neither to defeat, do we live for something, or for nothing?'"

Looking around the gathered men, she saw some of them nod along. Helgi sat on the chest, inexpressive as always, but his hands were… braiding something?

Taken aback, she quickly looked away from him before she got too caught up in thoughts about why a warrior of high rank would sit and do women's craftwork surrounded by his peers, seemingly unaware of the shame it could bring.

"Thus it came to be that six brave men were met by horses, three of ten, all riders proud, their king a warlord of the steppes. The warlord and my husband forged a bond - for a day one wife changed for one, my help exchanged for bonds of friendship."

"You left your wife to the Pecheneg?" Ormgeir flung the question across her, voice dripping with scorn. Eskil kept his gaze on her.

"My wife eats storms and knows her death day."

Kildevi glanced to her side, impressed. That might have been his best reply so far in their weeks' long swatting match.

"Their shaman gone, I left my shell behind to find him, followed him on paths too short, back to the Dnipro steppes. There I met a man. He invited me to play. I said that we should drink for every move, and he agreed. But by a bear I was nursed, and as a bear I drank, and his ale did nothing to me. I did not yet know who he was."

She paused, gaze shifted from the crowd to a point behind the men in front of her.

"When his king fell, I told him that I had him captured, and he said that I had not, that all I had caught was his king…"

An idea passed her mind, a thought that merely touched her before it was out of reach again, and she turned to look at Ormgeir. There was… something there. A riddle, with a king, and a first game lost to win the endgame. But she hadn't glimpsed enough to piece it together, past a lingering feeling of a thread running through games and men and words she might already have forgotten.

"So, I looked at the Lord of the Boglands, and said…"


"I know who you are. Why have you let me win?"

"I didn't. I played to lose."


What was the significance of that? He had wanted her to capture his king. Or was the goal something else, and the king only a sacrifice? Had the goal been to be rid of him? Or was she utterly overthinking everything?

As she looked around, she realised the room had gone eerily silent. All eyes were on her, except for Ormgeir who, she noted, watched everyone else with intense interest.

"He opened his tent, and inside was a river valley pitted with bogs. I walked, and when I found what I was looking for, I pushed my hand into the peat bog to free him from the fear that held him chained. We rushed back in our own footsteps. When we reached the end of our journey, I stayed behind, and told him that I would not return to my shell, lest they send for my husband to come to greet me."

Helgi looked up, brows furrowed. It was about as much of a facial expression she'd ever seen on him.

"Why would you not inhabit your body unless Eskil was there?"

That earned him one or two annoyed glances. It was just one of those inconsistent details that wasn't relevant to the whole, but Helgi's mind for some reason got stuck on. Kildevi hesitated. It didn't feel like a good option to answer truthfully.

"Sometimes there is a moment of… confusion, when I might need my husband to lean on."

Eskil managed to turn a laugh into a snort and Kildevi decided to ignore him as she finished.

"...and that was the story of how we won the friendship of the Yazı of Yazı-Qapan."

For a moment more, silence reigned.

Finally, an older man at Helgi's side on the chest said, "most respectfully, Volkhva, it was not. I know that I speak for most of us when I say that I didn't hear a story of how you befriended a Pecheneg tribe. I heard the story of how you tricked and challenged a god, and returned to tell the tale."


Eskil tried to stay at her side the whole night, he really did. But no matter how much he brought her into every conversation, there finally came a time when Chedomir gave his excuse to borrow him for a moment and she stood on her own with her mug, watching people who in turn gave her a wide berth. Since she finished her tale, she had kept a careful distance to Ormgeir's bed, lest her mere vicinity be construed as encouragement.

As suspected, she hadn't stood alone for many breaths before he appeared. For such a big man, he moved silently indeed.

"That was a tale," he said, suddenly towering at her side. "Not what most of us expected."

"Did you learn something new about your peers?" she replied without turning to look at him.

"No, but I had a few suspicions confirmed." His tone light, he added, "what have you learned tonight?"

"Nothing new, but I too had a suspicion confirmed."

"Oh? Please, share."

"It's about you and Eskil, and how I like both of you so much better when you're not in each other's company."

He huffed in amusement and she turned to look up at him.

"What do you have against my husband?"

Ormheir gave a light shrug, and took a sip from his glass.

"Nothing, on his own. But he's a young lightweight handed a treasure he is not fit to guard, and a blade he is not fit to handle."

"And this perception has nothing to do with his mother?"

That made him look down in surprise.

"Why would you assume Alfrida has anything to do with my opinion of him? She was never the insolent upstart, just a young woman throwing her prospects away for a pretty face."

"Is that why you're trying to make me do the same?"

He caught the backhanded compliment with a raised eyebrow and barely concealed mirth.

"Why would you assume Alfrida has anything to do with my opinion of you?"

"Revenge?"

That made him take pause. When he replied, he didn't bother to cover his amusement anymore.

"I wonder what you have heard, and from whom, but I don't have any revenges or claims to any daughter of Anund."

"Oh."

"My father wanted her for my elder brother. It was a waste to see her go to the son of a builder, but it's nothing that has occupied my mind during your lifetime. However…"

Ormgeir's eyes followed the length of her braids down.

"...I believe more men than I wonder why those long braids are bound with a single ring of silver and not half score rings of gold. It seems a scant weight to keep you."

Putting his hand on her arm in a gesture of familiarity, he leaned closer, eyes gleaming.

"Dwell on it til next time. And I will try to count exactly how many years ago it was since I was last called just a pretty face."


Ormgeir left her side before Eskil returned. Walking back through the camp, he had a certain spring to his steps, a lightness he certainly hadn't sported on the way there.

"I must say, tonight went much better than I expected," he mused, arm casually thrown around her shoulders. "I went there half expecting it to end in a challenge that would ruin everything I've worked for. Instead… I get to take you back to my tent and unwind aaall that ribbon for you."

"Eskil Thorlevson, are you drunk?"

"A tiiiiny little bit, no more. Drunk on relief and drunk on the whiteness of my fair wife's… arm, and also a little bit on wine. But mostly the first two."

She had pondered whether or not she should tell him about her exchange with Ormgeir, but then and there, she decided not to ruin his night.



"I'm thinking about what Isidor said."

They were packing up to break camp the next morning. Kildevi was battling her sleepskins that just wouldn't roll up as tightly as she needed them to, and her reply carried that annoyance.

"About a second woman in our household?"

He looked up, seemingly amused by what he probably assumed was her reluctance.

"No, not like he suggested, but about someone keeping an eye on you when I'm away."

He took a step over her and continued.

"I trust Bjarni, but I would still feel better if we left your own guard with you. Our housecarls are both listed to go with me, and so is the rest of our crew, apart from Asgaut. So, I've been thinking…"

Kildevi waited.

"Aslaug."

She felt her jaw drop.

"You have got to be joking."

"No. She's a woman, she'll be allowed into spaces where men can't go. No one will whisper her name if you birth a dark-haired child, which could happen considering my mother and your father. And she's simple, as in uncomplicated. She'll do what we pay her to do for as long as she's contracted, because she can't disappear in the masses of guards for hire like a man could, her reputation can't afford a breach of contract."

"She also won't listen to me and will keep me constantly infuriated."

He shot her a smile.

"That's one of the perks, if you ask me. You won't be able to sneak away from her when you feel like it, and she's not scared of you, at all. Makes me feel safer."

"She's constantly propositioning me. That doesn't worry you?"

Eskil chuckled.

"No. If you didn't fall to the siren song of the water maidens, I doubt Aslaug has much to tempt you with."

Kildevi did not reply to that, because it seemed the wrong time to explain how Aslaug's questionable allure had more to do with manly virtues than the soft, sensuous call of the water maidens.


"Nah. I don't wanna babysit your pussy."

Eskil had dropped her off at the right campfire on his way down to the boats, and they were so close to the shore he hadn't bothered to secure an escort down afterwards. Thus, she and Aslaug were alone in a small grove behind the tents, where the crew had gathered their equipment while the rest of Aslaug's shipmates brought down the camp.

As Kildevi had predicted, the conversation wasn't running smoothly.

"There is more, you know. A whole person to keep an eye on."

Aslaug kept going through her luggage in search of something, until she pulled out a comb and started to go through her hair instead.

"Yeah, but we both know it's the taphole he's guarding. The rest is sort of your own to take care of if you want to, but that's his. And," she added as an afterthought, "I have somewhere else to be."

Kildevi looked sceptical.

"You have somewhere to be. In Kyiv. For the whole winter. And it's not following the court."

"I have more pussy than yours to take care of, sweetheart."

Though curious, Kildevi decided not to ask. She probably didn't want to know about Aslaug's love life.

"No, I don't think that is the only thing he wants kept safe in his absence."

With an amused smirk, Aslaug gave her a quick once-over.

"You do have the high, perky tits of that mama in the churches…"

She winked and twisted her chest-long hair into a knot.

"Don't take offence, honeypot. It's the deal you've all made. You fuck 'cause you're too weak to fight, and they fight to get in line to fuck you. It's like whoring, but less honest."

"It's always lovely to get a glimpse of your inner world, Aslaug. Where do you fit yourself in all this?"

"I fight to get to choose whether to fuck or not. I bet that's a freedom you've never earned."

Kildevi had promised herself not to let Aslaug get to her. Yet, here she was, teeth gritting.

"I have a choice, he wouldn't force me."

"...and that's very nice of him when he paid good blood and silver for you."

"Are you trying to make me punch you?"

"Just showing why you should have learned to fight instead of being fucked. Then you wouldn't have this problem."

That smirk…

"You think I won't."

"Feel free, pussycat."

Kildevi sighed and started to turn away, then she swung back as fast as she could, aiming her backhand at that infuriating smile.

Aslaug caught her wrist and a twist later, Kildevi found her hands locked down around herself, back pressed against Aslaug's chest. Furious, she kicked her heel against her captors shin, and before she knew it, her legs simply folded under her. Aslaug followed her down as she fell on her stomach in the undergrowth.

Lying on top almost exactly like she had at the Eyfor, her full weight evenly spread over Kildevi's slight frame, she hissed, "I left my sides open, and your elbow is free because I've underestimated you. Use it."

Lightheaded from panic, Kildevi didn't hold back. Her elbow hit something firm and as she used her full weight to heave sideways, she heard an amused "oof" from above and Aslaug rolled off her. By the time she was on her back and ready to get up, Aslaug was on her again, pushing her arms down and her legs into a lock between her knees.

"I'm too close, headbutt."

Kildevi followed, but this time Aslaug moved back to lessen the impact and suddenly Kildevi could wring her leg free to push it hard up into Aslaug's crotch.

"Nice one!"

Then Aslaug stopped playing around. In a swift move, she pulled the arms in until Kildevi's hands almost touched her head. Then she leant down on the wrists, hard enough to make the fingers tingle and pain shoot up the lower arms.

"And that's how it goes," she whispered. "You tried, but I can still do whatever the fuck I want to you. I want you to think about that. Look around that boat of yours. Not a single fucker there who can't make you his bitch if he wants to."

Slowly, the pressure eased and Aslaug got on her feet.

Kildevi sat up, rubbing her burning wrists. The older woman still stood over her, and for a moment she wanted to just kick those legs to try to trip her again, but resisted.

Aslaug caught her gaze and kept it, and when she spoke her voice wasn't teasing anymore, the drawl turned hoarse, a fast stream of words.

"Imagine it. Every time some mate passes you. Is he behind you or in front? If he grabs your arm, how do you strike and where? What'll be free if he pushes you against the railing, what is near you that you can use as a weapon, is he stupid enough to trap your arms but not your legs, or the other way around, you have to know because when it happens, you won't have time to think."

She leant closer, blue eyes still staring into Kildevi's grey.

"Think of their worst sides, the worst you've seen or the worst you've heard. If they go for you, is it to kill, torture, rape or bully? Let me give you a hint. Audvard kills, Thorven tortures, Asgaut rapes and Thore bullies. What your three guys do first is your own best guess, not mine, but trust me, they all got all four in them. So do I. So do you."

Kildevi just stared at her.

"And when you can't stand looking at them anymore with those thoughts in your head, you come see me. We got a few weeks. Let's see if we can improve your odds a bit."

Struck by having everything she carefully hadn't allowed herself to think about flung in her face, Kildevi tried to find her mental footing. But there was chaos.

"I hate you right now."

"That's good. I'm so much stronger, you can't afford to hesitate."

"I don't know if it would make a difference. I brawled with Eskil every day for two months, and this is where it got me."

Aslaug's shoulders sank to her usual posture as the tension faded, but she still looked as serious.

"It got you to where you tried to feint me before you struck, and you looked for openings. I guess that's something."

She reached down and helped Kildevi up on her feet.

"He tried to teach you how to fight if you're a big guy. It's not his fault, it's all he knows and it works fucking great for him. He'd take me in a fair fight. Face to face, spear and shield, he might break a sweat, but I'd go down. That's why you never fight fair, if you can avoid it."

"He actually told me that."

"But he couldn't show you, because he don't wanna break anything on that pert little body of yours. He likes it too much, and I don't think he has the instincts for it anyway. If you do it my way, I promise there'll be pain if you fail. You gotta have stakes. I don't think you can learn nasty shit in a nice way."


When Kildevi got to the boat Eskil was busy with the rigging, but he looked up when he heard her.

"How did it go?"

"She said no."

"Huh."

He looked a bit confounded, but then he shrugged.

"Oh well, it was worth asking."

"She said something else though. She offered to teach me her dirty tricks."

Now he let go of the ropes and rose, as if he suddenly realised her clothes were rumpled and dirty, her white veil not really white anymore.

"You know, we stopped training when we left. Maybe we should take it up again?"

Kildevi hesitated. How brittle was his pride? Then she decided not to care.

"I don't think you can teach me what she can."

Ah, that struck somewhere. She saw it as clearly as if she'd thrown a challenge in his face. He crossed his arms.

"I could take her."

"Yes, she said so too. But you can't think like her and I'm very glad that you don't. You and her… you're like Holmger and Asbjorn, and you said it yourself, I won't get anywhere on Holmger's path. If there is a devious improviser in this camp, it's Aslaug."

He paused, then nodded.

"I guess that's fair, but she'll kill you."

"No, she won't. But she will hurt and bruise and maybe mildly mar, because she doesn't… let's see, how did she phrase it? Right. She doesn't care if this 'pert little body of mine' breaks a bit, because she doesn't have any reason to be careful with your stuff."

The side of his mouth twitched a bit before he lost the battle against mirth.

"You went for her, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

"Not perfectly."

"And still, you want to do this?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd say you've earned it."

---

Endnote: I did as Kildevi, and tried to put her story into verse, but it turned out that putting English into Fornyrðislag (the simplest of the old Norse verse meters) was shoehorning a language with tiny words everywhere into a sparse form used by a language with all grammar put into word-endings. I'm not saying it can't be done. I'm just saying it probably shouldn't, or that it takes a better poet than me to pull it off.

So I tried with Swedish, and it sort of worked, but the alliterative rules are its own circle of hell and it wasn't pretty. I've written sonnets, this shit is something else. Languages and their interactions with art and culture are fascinating beasts.
Anyway, that's why Kildevi reached the same conclusion as I, and this chapter might be my latest post yet. On the plus side, I have a newfound respect for every single person who has ever tried to translate the Eddas.

 

[Alvlin]

"What's with you these days?"

Thore sat at the steering oar, across from him sat Kildevi, distant, lost inside her own mind.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged, the Thor's hammer around his neck moving with the gesture. It hung on a leather thong. She wondered if it was thick enough to hold through a stranglehold if she grabbed the hammer and twisted, or if it would just stretch and break.

"You've been… I don't know. I haven't seen you smile in a while, at least not the way you used to."

Kildevi looked out over the water, towards the nearing shores, the island only barely visible in the distance. She usually could talk to Thore. Maybe not always about the most intimate, the most shameful, or the things baring the most weakness, but still. Much had been passed to him, and been received well. But this was something else. This was, at least somewhat, about him. And the issue in itself made talking harder.

"There are a lot of things," she replied. "Some of it, you know. Some of it… is simply brooding and dwelling on omens and riddles, and envy over how almost every young man in this convoy has had an older man to lean on for experience, while I sit here with no one."

"Come on, we're not no one!"

Kildevi gave him a tired glance.

"And I can ask you about all your many experiences as a figure isolated by reverence, haunted by men and gods with unknown goals, yet subjected to rules set by a man whose authority you are under, but which the creatures haunting you don't recognize?"

"Oh, put like that… but I'm willing to listen, if it helps."

Eirik took a step behind her, reaching for something down on the deck. If he grabbed her arm, she would… shift her weight to her right foot and use her left fist to hit him in the face, hoping the force of the movement and the unexpected strike would be enough to wring her arm free.

"Thank you, Thore," she replied with a smile stiff from simultaneously keeping track of Eirik's movements. "You're a good friend."


She had thought a lot about what to expect from their housecarls should their worst sides show. Thogard was like Audvard when it came to violence, none of the two had a penchant for cruelty or degradation. They were killers, clear and simple.

Eirik, she could see both rape and bully. But she was willing to admit that her opinion of him still was tainted by how unbothered he had been about Sigulf doing exactly those things to his own family.

Eskil… she hadn't had to think much about him. She only had to remember his eyes after the ambush at the Eyfor when he told her to raise their tent and prepare to sleep alone in it, to remember he had all four in him.

That insight was made easier to bear seeing he had other things in him as well. Since their talk that first night around the campfire, his attitude to Andronikos had changed, maybe not to that of a proud father, but at least to the loving big brother he was used to being. Maybe there wasn't a difference? Kildevi was the first one to admit she had no experience of proud fathers.


Every camp along the coast had followed the same pattern: at least one visit to the Rus in the evening, and in the morning Aslaug would come sauntering over to drag her away. Thus far, she had come back a bit beat up, but not hurt beyond aching joints and bruises. The bruising was bad enough, though, and she pondered how lucky it was that no one but Eskil ever saw skin beyond the hands and face anymore.

It had led to an awkward situation one night, when she had been moving stiffly around the Rus pavilion and Ormgeir had looked between her and Eskil and drawn his own conclusions.

"You can't divorce over that here," he had murmured when Eskil turned his back for a moment. "But if you want to go your own way until you return to Fjardhundraland where you can, give me a word. It can be arranged."

"I am sure it could," she replied dryly. "But this is not Eskil's doing, or that of any other man for that matter."

"So what has done this?"

"You men have your realm, I have mine."

She was sure he wouldn't take kindly to her having the snot beaten out of her by Aslaug every third morning with Eskil's blessings. Sometimes being shrouded in mystery was a good thing to hide behind.


She had also begun to get a sense of the power relations between the Rus.

Chedomir was firmly Ormgeir's man, but carried his power in riches, not men.

Ormgeir had both. His personal army of housecarls made up a good part of the prince's army apart from the scions of the Druzhina.

Isidor was second in command of the scions, the personal forces of the Prince, a title he'd earned during two successful campaigns against the Pecheneg, and while leading a raiding fleet down the Volga. He didn't hail from the east Polans who paid tribute to Kyiv, but his mother was of the west Polans and his father was an eastgot somehow distantly related to the Dane king in Lejre. His sister was second or third wife of the Prince, but she wasn't sure exactly when in the succession Ingvida had been added to the consorts.

Helgi was a warrior only. He was an odd bird next to Ormgeir and Isidor, formally their equal but younger, and seemingly outside of all machinations of power.

"He is a landed boyar in his own right," she heard Isidor tell Eskil. "When the kniaz awarded him land, he ignored two powerful families' attempts to make him seek a wife from them, and married the best matron he could find, widowed after one of the scions. Then he left the lands to her and stayed in Kyiv. I don't even know if he visits."

"So he's alone?"

"No, he still has a slave he brought from home who seems to be acting wife, has two sons and a daughter from her that he's accepted. You see her sometimes, but he never brings her anywhere, never talks of her. But then again, talking for talking's sake isn't something he does."

"No, I've noticed," Eskil replied. "It reminds me of a brother of mine. So what does he bring?"

Isidor sighed.

"Let's say he is a good player, not an outstanding one, because his mind can't handle a simple gaming board. Too few details and he loses track of the whole. But given the endless complexity of real war… he doesn't miss. He is the most intelligent stupid man I have ever met."


But now, the shores of Berezan Island grew ever closer. Three whole days they would stay, and on leaving, the summer settlers on the island would return to Kyiv with them. They were a force of another hundred men, and with them came a number of wives and thralls and even children. It was a moving settlement, not an army or a trading convoy.


The white shores were as white as ever, but the weather had grown damp, with grey skies and a light rain. By the time they started to build camp, it had turned into a downpour.

"Great," Eirik said as they watched the ground turn to mud before their very eyes. "How are we even going to get any fires going in this weather?"

"The ruins," Thore said. "Quick, everyone else will have had the same idea!"


Last time they had been on the island, it had been summer, and they hadn't had any reason to explore much. Audvard and Asgaut had been here several times before, though, and they led them to the ruins of what long ago used to be an ancient settlement, in time to claim what once had been a house which was half a dug-out, the inner part still sheltered from above.

"This is way better than a tent," Thorven said, watching Thogard and Audvard use the tents to span a canvas roof and wall over the part of the ancient house that had been razed. "Warmer too, all eight of us and a fire."

It was. Once the rain went from downpour to drizzle, everyone in the crew but her and Asgaut left to take the boat around the island and bring the rest of their luggage up to their makeshift house. Deva and Andronikos stayed too. They were just about done collecting stones to circle a hearth when a crew's worth of men came sauntering in with Jonar in front .

"Hey, Thore didn't lie when he said you had it set up good here," he noted while the last of his mates dropped in. Kildevi recognised most of them, Eymund, Gunvar, Kolvind, Bjorn, a young man she was almost certain was named Ulf, another she had no idea who he was, and finally Vibjorn Skytja, with his unstrung bow on his back.

"We thought we'd cook with you, we don't have a dry spot anywhere, and no one wants to cook over a bowl of embers."

Kildevi opened her mouth to reply, but paused and waited for Asgaut. His pride probably couldn't take her speaking over him anymore.

"Why not," he said. "Hands off the thrall and everyone make sure the little one doesn't fall into the fire."

"Where are the others?" Kildevi asked. They may be a crew's worth of men, but really they were half of two crews.

"Spread out," Vibjorn replied. "Hrolf's crew found a good dry spot too, so did Ragnleif's. We were the ones who'd rather hang out with you."

Kildevi knew he didn't mean her. He probably meant Thore, or possibly Thorven. Or Thogard. She was far down that list, and yet - flutter. So no talking allowed unless she had to.

After some guesswork, she decided that Eymund was there to rub shoulders with Eskil, Jonar there for everyone else. Kolvind, Bjorn, maybe-Ulf and the unknown one were probably here for Thorven and Thore, possibly Eirik, Gunvar for Thore, Asgaut and Audvard.

No one would be there to meet her, which was reasonable. They were all men fond of both their lives and their reputation, she a married woman. But suddenly being left in Kyiv with someone she considered a friend didn't feel so bad after all.



"Is it true your grandmother was a noaidi?"

Kildevi had sat to the side, trying to discreetly wriggle out of her soaking wet stockings, when she looked up to find Vibjorns face less than a pace away. He sat crouched in front of her, looking almost as nervous as she felt, his thick, dark braid half undone by the weather. It took her a good while to find her tongue.

"That is not a word I have heard in a very long time."

"Me neither," he replied with a small chuckle, and looked away. "I… do you know her language?"

He had asked it in her ammas tongue, and she replied in the same. They both sounded hesitant, each word pronounced too carefully and clearly, their dialects slightly different.

"A bit. I only spoke it with her. I have used it for magic, but not talked in nine years."

"The last six years since my father died, I have done some haggling, not more."

"Your father? He was a Finn? Where from?"

Vibjorn nodded, looking a bit embarrassed.

"It was back when there was a king in Wermland, who traded much needed goods for borrowing the archer-sorcerers who couldn't miss. So he went south from Opplandene, married, and stayed."

Kildevis heart beat at a pace her mind couldn't keep up with.

"Your father was a sorcerer?"

"No, he was just a great marksman and good on his skis. He didn't need magic to do that."

"Like you."

Vibjorn chortled, looking even more embarrassed.

"No, I'm not like him. He only taught me what he could for fifteen years, maybe if he'd taught me ten more… but when he died, I could either go north to find a people I had never met, or east to those ships that brought riches and adventure. So here I am."

Looking at him now, she saw what Thore had meant when he called Vibjorn a gangly moose of a manboy. Neither short nor tall, he lacked the bulk that many of the men carried, both the big padded muscle of strongmen like Thogard and Audvard, or the leaner, more defined build of people like Eirik or Eskil. Instead, he was slender, and yes, a bit gangly, but she had seen youngsters try to string or even draw a bow - and fail. She'd seen his shoulders at the bathhouse and was willing to bet…

Stop. No. Why did her mind try to look beneath that tunic? Stupid mind!

"No wonder my fylgja noticed you."

And that was a stupid thing to say. Everything had worked so well up until now, why had she told him that?

"You talk to your fylgja? And it noticed me? What did it say?"

Shit.

"I know that language! It sounds like when you tried to talk to me in the Pecheneg camp! Skytja speaks it too?"

Her husband came, ripping the brittle, precious moment to rags. He saved her. It was for the best. But she really wished he was absolutely anywhere else right now. She hoped her smile didn't look too strained when he bent down to give her a quick kiss.

"Let me and Thorven put our chests in place, then I'll join you."

When he walked away, Vibjorn looked to her for guidance.

"I'm not sure what to do now. Did he want me to stay, or go away?"

"I don't know. I don't think he meant much more than that he'll be back in a moment. We probably shouldn't overthink it too much."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you company in the meantime," Thore said from behind her before he pointedly sat down between them. Kildevi had a moment of confusion about how he had understood them, before she realised the comment was a reply to what Eskil had said.

"We should probably change back to Norse," Vibjorn said, still in his southern dialect of Sámi.

"Yes," she agreed in the same tongue, giggle trapped in her nose, "we really should."

Thore looked suspiciously between them, so they did.


The men had brought up everything that wasn't nailed down or in crates of trade goods, and done their best to turn the ruin into a house. Eskil had used their two chests to wall in their sleepskins, and she saw that even though the six men all slept together in a row resembling the benches of a longhouse, Thogard had placed one of the camp benches between them and where Deva would sleep with the boy.

"Is that really necessary?" Thore asked, annoyed. "We need that bench better in front of the fire."

"Then I bring it back when we go to sleep."

Thore shrugged.

"If it makes you feel better to leave the boy freezing, sure. He could use the warmth of two people in this chill."

Thogard seemed to ponder it for a while, then reluctantly put his own skins down where the bench had stood.


In the end, the conversation that had started with her and Vibjorn grew. As Eskil joined them, so did Eymund, confirming her suspicion that the young man was there to seek out his older peer. When everything was put in order, Thore returned there too, bringing Thorven and with them came more or less the rest, apart from Gunvar and Audvard who sat alone reminiscing about an old friend they'd lost at the Pecheneg ambush on the way down. The young men whose names she'd been unsure of turned out to be Ulf and Olof, names short and easy to remember.

"Of course Thorven is on the only boat with two women," Olof complained when Eymund and Eskil were on a call from nature. "We just have Aslaug and she doesn't count."

"Hey!" Thorven protested. "Kildevi's a sister and the thrall is off limits, it's not like it's Riga all over again. Or even Wolan."

"We have none," Jonar shot in. "Not that it makes much of a difference. I bet you're all doing everything for yourselves anyway. I'd like to see one of you whelps push your stiff cock or worn out socks under Aslaug's nose."

"He isn't doing much for himself," Eirik said with a nod to Thogard.

"What happened in Wolan and Riga?" Kildevi asked, curious beyond all bounds.

"Happy accidents," Thorven replied with a big grin on his face. "You see, in both places, there was a widow, but in Riga the widow also had three daughters and…"

"... and no one should believe a word of it anyway," Thore shot in.

"But we all saw two of the Riga daughters sneak down to say goodbye!" Kolvind protested.

"Still don't believe it. No one is that lucky."

Then Eskil and Eymund returned, holding a lively discussion about the night after the next.

"See, all the summer settlers are moving, so tomorrow, they make a sacrifice of everything they can't bring back on the boats. Then on the last night before we all leave, there will be bonfires and games and beer and all the sacrificed pigs and hens get roasted and eaten in honour of the gods."

Kildevi's mind boggled at Eskil's words, and it seemed several of the men had the same reaction. Breaking the silence, it was Olof who voiced what everyone was thinking.

"But if they sacrifice tomorrow, that means there'll just be a day to take care of everything!"

"...and that's why everyone who is a decent butcher should pitch in tomorrow."


It had been such a good evening, Kildevi managed to forget that she was supposed to analyse every situation with suspicion. She hadn't considered a single way to counter anyone for several hours, and her shipmates started to feel like mates again.

"Is this like a tent-night, or like a ship-night?" she whispered, half-giggling as Eskil wrapped the blankets around them.

"Stay below me and we'll be fine," he whispered back.

"Can we still be shameless tomorrow?"

"Not with everyone awake, but if you wake me after your first sleep…"


When Kildevi woke up the next morning, Aslaug was there, a small fire dancing in the hearth. Most of the others were up, only Eskil and Eirik still snoring.

"Morning sweetheart," she said, and rose from her crouch. "Been looking around, and we'll have to be here. The whole fucking island is crawling with people who'd love to see us mudwrestle."

Kildevi wrapped her blanket closer around herself and eyed her teacher-tormentor with suspicion.

"Here, in front of everybody?"

"Why, you shy, honeypot?"

Apart from that one line to push her to make the first strike, Aslaug had kept her word and changed pussycat to honeypot. Kildevi wasn't sure it was a change for the better.

"Not shy, but… you told me to prepare to fight them off. Is it a good idea to show them what to expect?"

"Nah, that was practising to think. Unless someone is a real asshole or there's dirt somewhere, old mates aren't the ones who'll try anything. Who do you think is least likely to ever jump you?"

Everyone awake had paused whatever they were doing to gather around them, except for Andronikos who was busy climbing the bench and jumping from it over and over again.

"You ask me here? In front of everybody?!"

"Best place. Makes the rest of them think twice about why that is."

"Audvard," Kildevi replied without hesitation.

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't have a mean streak in him, and he's respectful to the point of reverence."

Audvard looked embarrassed. It was adorable to see a big, burly man shuffle his feet.

"Most likely?"

"One of the two sleeping. One has rights and entitlement, the other doesn't think I'm worth water."

Silence spread. Thore looked at Thogard, as if he was expecting him to protest, but he didn't.

"Ah, that struck somewhere," Aslaug said with a smirk.

Thore looked hesitant.

"I don't think Eskil would ever…"

"Shush finger boy, this isn't about you."

"I don't think either of them would," Kildevi added quickly. "But if I had to make what Eskil would call a risk assessment… Eirik would be most likely. If Eskil ever wants to hurt me, he won't jump me."

Aslaug stretched her arms, laced fingers cracking.

"Alright, then. We'll do this a bit differently this time. I'll hang out here and have breakfast. At some point Thorven will have a go at you."

"I will?"

"Yes, Audvard is too big, and I figure you're safe enough."

And thus Kildevi came to realise two things she would never have known otherwise. The first was that Thorven, though slight and on the short side, was way stronger than he looked like. The second that no one had told Eirik what they were doing, and even though both Eskil and Thogard didn't lift a finger, he pulled Thorven off her with a growl.

Maybe his opinion of her had shifted upwards somewhere along the way. Or he didn't like Thorven. But the first alternative felt better.


Kildevi wasn't surprised to see Ormgeir acting goði. It was usually the role of chieftains and lawmen, so it was a safe bet that one of the commanders would have that function, and he was the oldest of the three. The sheer size of the sacrifice demanded helpers, and ten of the settlers took turns leading pigs and poultry to slaughter, to finally hang them to bleed out over bowls collecting the blood.

When only one pig was left in the pen, Ormgeir held up his hand.

"That sow will wait for the Volkhva's luck tomorrow."

Eskil stood next to her with Andronikos on his shoulders. Faces that closely together, the likeness was ridiculous.

"Is this one of those things you have forgotten to tell me?"

Kildevi gave him an annoyed glance.

"No, that was news to me too. I was told I wouldn't have to make any sacrifices on behalf of the convoy, but not that they were expecting something else."

Rolling up her sleeves, she realised Eskil glanced back at her.

"I can't let you go elbow deep into a carcass with everyone watching."

"So what am I supposed to do? Just watch everyone else work?"

"Yes."

"And you?"

"Will seek out Isidor to see if I can accept what they have planned for my wife without telling me."

Kildevi turned, heart suddenly beating faster. This was new, and she had a feeling it was one of those stands she had to take, or she would lose that ground forever.

"This is my domain. Asgaut never went through you, so why should they?"

He sighed, then pointedly turned to face her.

"Asgaut never tried to wring you out of my hands."

"And you are not going to wring this out of mine."

It was not quite a staredown yet, but that was mainly because it's hard to keep a staredown while a toddler is tugging at the beard of one of the participants.

"Why the sudden protest? You accepted my right to make that call with the Pecheneg."

His voice had shifted to that tired, condescending calm that made her skin crawl.

"I accepted your right to decide if you would let me return to their camp with them. You never had a say in what rites I would perform!"

"It was understood by us all that if I let you, you would help them."

"And if not, I would have rejected your kind offer to let me go with them."

"Now you are simply playing word games again," he replied with yet another sigh. "We can call it an offer if that makes you feel better."

That jaw… Kildevi wondered if he knew that she could see his temper from the shape of it. Now, it told her he had shifted from a bit irked to fully provoked. No debates would go anywhere from there. What she had left was to dig her foot as deep down into the mud as possible and hope it stuck. Thus, she summoned as much steel as she could and dug her gaze into him.

"Let me be clear. If you come to any sort of agreement about what I will and will not do with any power granted by blood and knowledge, that is null and void. I will not accept it."

She paused, staring into those green-and-hazel eyes that once used to rattle her. Now they didn't.

"As you said yourself, I have power in my own right. And if you can't lend another man the body of your seeress, what makes you think you can lend him her power?"

A moment later, he nodded and looked away.

"You're right. But we also can't make it seem like they can make deals or expect things from you without going through me first. I don't know or trust them enough for that yet."

"You can ask Isidor what this is all about. You can question their right to plan anything without talking to you. But you can't accept that I will or will not do anything. For that, they will have to come to me."


When Eskil went looking for Isidor, she managed to sneak away on her own in the general milling about following the sacrifice. When she finally found Ormgeir, he was in the perfect spot to be cornered, washing the sacrificial blood off his arms between two pavilions among the Greek ruins.

"Don't worry, seeress, you will get your tribute," he said without turning, as he rubbed his hands in a bucket full of cold water, the sleeves of the undertunic rolled up above the elbow to show underarms muscled like a smaller man's calves.

"I don't doubt it, but what exactly do you want from me?"

Ormgeir dried off his arms, whipped up the towel on his shoulder and turned. He must have washed his face just before she came, because the hair falling around the sculpted cheeks was a darker shade of steel, and the white linen wet around the neck. Fully aware she'd been staring at him for a brief moment, he shot her a smile, infuriating in its complete confidence.

"That is a whole other question better not answered here."

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, he continued. "We simply want a bit of good will from fate as we enter the lower Dnipro. It shouldn't be a big thing for you, so I took the liberty to assume you would be willing to do that for us here, and then again on Khortytsia. Rowing upriver is another thing than the pleasant sailing on the way down, and a little bit of luck with the winds and the streams would make a big difference for the men. Especially now that they know we have a sorceress with us."

"I can do that, now that you explain yourself so nicely. Next time, ask, before you assume too much."

That pleased smile was back on his face, and when he replied, the voice was teasing.

"But I never get to see you alone to ask you. Not until I assume too much, and you come running to me."

"And you do realise why Eskil doesn't want you to see me alone?"

"Yes, he is clever enough to know that I can offer you things he can not, but not clever enough to work around it. Instead, he puts you under a guard you can easily sneak away from. Over and over again. Will he never learn?"


When Kildevi woke the next morning, Eskil was grumpy over something, and sometime after breakfast she had tired of trying to figure it out on her own. His talk with Isidor had gone well, he had received both an apologetic explanation and assurance he would be asked from there on, so it couldn't be that.

"Alright, what have I done now?"

"You never woke me up."

Now that was a pouty, sulky husband if ever she saw one. If it hadn't made her so indignant, she would have laughed.

"I slept through. It's hard to wake someone up when you're sleeping."

"You never sleep through the night. You could have just told me you'd changed your mind instead of making up excuses."

"Well, this time I did," she hissed. "Sleep through, not change my mind. I didn't change my mind until right now when I realised babies do grow beards!"

"Fine," he snapped. "If you'd rather lie bored at midnight staring at the ceiling, do that, see if I care."

"Calling luck involves no henbane whatsoever, so tonight you can watch me!"

He paused. Then the side of his mouth began losing its battle against levity.

"Watch you watch the ceiling?"

"Yes."

"This is a pretty stupid argument, isn't it?"

"Yes. I didn't start it. And you obviously care. You're the one that's stupid."

"If I agree that I'm the stupid one, will you wake me up tonight?"

"Yes. Unless we get back late and I sleep through again because you let me drink too much."


The clear morning had turned to a grey afternoon, dark clouds racing across overcast skies. Kildevi stood at the crest above the thin white shoreline, wind ripping into her hair beneath the hood. She had made two braids at the nape of her neck, and wrapped them around the rest like a ribbon to keep it from her face, but otherwise it flowed free in its full length, lashing like the tails of a whip with every burst of wind.

She had tried to imagine doing the rite with her hair bound and covered, but found that she couldn't. The veils and scarves were too deeply tied to that other role, to the wife bound by rules and expectations.

Let men talk. Let stories rise and die. This was not a plea best made by a tame beast.

Around her, the crowd was silent. Two children playing in the background were first hushed, then led away. Everyone she knew stood in that wide circle around her, the three commanders in the frontline, each steersman with their crews, many hundreds in row after row of solemn faces, slowly turning faceless as she reached inward and outward towards forces beyond the realm of men.

The cry carried across the windswept island, first a single tone that became sharper on the intake, before the shriek fell to a chant. Kildevi seldom sang around hearths and fires, but this she knew, a memory driven deep into her bones. The tones carried her rising thought, a firm connection between herself and the surrounding landscape.

Somewhere, beyond the grey, chance was listening.

Keeping the chant steady, she walked up to the three commanders and brought her hand down into the cooling blood of the sow. One by one, her hand left a mark in blood on their faces, before she dipped the twig and used it to whisk sprays of blood over the gathered men. Finally her voice rose to a scream, cut off and left to ring out through the silence.

It took her a few moments to return to herself, and when she did, the back of the crowd had begun to disperse. Left in the front row stood all of the Rus nobles and commanders, together with their own steersmen and skipari. As usual, her own crew had already scampered, except for Eskil. They were simply used to too much to feel the weight of any lesser moment than the skies clearing over lake Ilmen.

The savoury smell of roasting meat that spread from the village probably had something to do with it too, and she stood watching more and more of the men drift off toward the settlement, even a few of the nobles of the Druzhina.

The commanders didn't. Helgi seemed to have lost interest, eyes turned out over the sea, but Isidor and Ormgeir talked, both throwing very different glances her way. Isidor looked thoughtful, respectful and serious. Ormgeir's eyes burned, intense behind the bloodprints from her fingers. Calmly, she met his gaze and held it as she raised her hand, the dried blood a mirror image of his mark. Then she turned to go and join her waiting husband.


Eskil's eyes burned in a different way.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you do that," he murmured. "Everyone should be down at the revel, what do you say we sneak back…"

"This rite was made with not a single smear of henbane."

"I bet I can make you forget that."

She was tempted, especially since they would be back on the boat tomorrow. And after seeing Ormgeir's reaction to her plea to chance, she also very much wanted them to miss the games. Still convinced his desire was merely a by-product of whatever the old commander wanted her for, she nonetheless didn't think this display of power had made Eskil any less of a target.

"Bold words. Feed me, and I'll think about it."



"What are you doing?"

"Inspecting your bruises."

"Not in the dark, you're not."

She heard the smile in his voice when he replied.

"No, I'm not."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Exploring."

"I thought you'd know everything by now."

"This is no longer the same body I got to know on our first morning. It has grown my child, it has been cut and bled. It has travelled the rivers for more than a season and almost died once."

"And you feel the need to go explore this unknown land?"

Her voice was light. His wasn't.

"I don't think about it when I see you. But my hands remember."

---

Endnote: Though the seasonal settlement on Berezan island seems supported by both the Byzantian treaties and archeology, the size of it and the sacrificial slaughter feast is not. That is completely my own invention. While it is true that there was a Greek colony on the island that has been partly excavated and includes houses completely or partially dug out, I have no idea how much of these ruins would have been left above ground level a few hundred years later.

Through no choice of mine, a lot of this chapter was written to the soundtrack of the Swedish Song Contest (national eurovision) on repeat forever. This is in no way relevant to the story, I just want pity and/or recognition for writing blood rites to the sound of happy poppy schlager music accompanied by two kids singing along full force. This is the true meaning of easter school break.

 

[Alvlin]

Khortytsia island felt different as they slowly approached it from downriver. Last time they were here, they had passed the greatest challenge of the Dnipro, and had looked forward to a comfortable journey down towards the Black Sea.

This time, traversing the rapids lay before them, boats punted against the currents, and behind them many days of rowing upstream against the lower Dnipro. Those who had made the journey before claimed they had been lucky, that her plea to fortune had blessed them, and yet Kildevi saw how her shipmates laboured at the oars from dawn till dusk.

Last time, their stay at the holy island had been a celebration of hardships overcome. This time it was a much needed calm before the storm.


The weather had grown chill, the days cool and the nights cold enough for Eskil's limp to make itself known in the mornings they had slept on the boat. Overall, she thought it had grown steadily better, albeit so slowly it was easy to miss. That summer of their engagement, a slight limp had been noticeable daily whenever he exerted himself, sat down from a horse, or rose from a crouch. Now she really only saw it in the mornings, or on that stupid occasion when all of her shipmates except Thogard decided it would be a great idea to have a race to see who could walk the fastest while crouching. That time, she was the first to confess her pity had been limited to sarcasm.


Two camp nights up the Dnipro she had avoided Ormgeir's pavilion, which she had started to think of as the Rus camp court. The memory of his eyes at the rite, the naked hunger shining between the fingers of her own bloodied handprint, flashed before her inner eye whenever his name was mentioned. Her own theory was that he hadn't truly believed that she was anything more than a spàkona whose myth had grown, until he stood there, feeling the blood cool on his face and fate shift with the clouds above him.

The thought of trading double edged pleasantries, surrounded by the others, felt almost as disturbing as meeting him alone with his mask off.

"What's different?" Eskil had asked her on that first night she had refused to accompany him. "I'm not saying that to question you," he quickly added, "I just want to know, since you seemed to take him quite lightly before."

"I don't know. I guess that I'm not easily put off by motivations I understand. Boredom. Status. Curiosity from someone who has probably not been refused anything for many years now, even the goal of disrespecting you, for one reason or the other. But what I saw in his face on the island wasn't any of that. It was more like someone who suddenly realised he could have immortality, and I don't know what it is that he craves that much. I've become an icon of something he is willing to salt the earth for, and right now that makes me feel nauseous."

She had thought he would try to argue, but to her surprise, he didn't.

"You won't be able to keep away forever, but I'll happily leave you behind until they start to demand your presence."


On the third and last camp before the holy island, she hadn't been able to keep away any longer. Isidor himself, together with the 15 men strong crew of his own ship, had come by as they were unloading their boat and softly invited her to join them to discuss the holy island, and how they best could make sure fate smiled on their ascent of the rapids.

That night had been the first she felt truly included in the gathering of nobles. She had been invited to the table. Not placed somewhere, but expected to sit wherever she pleased. Not served by anyone else calling the thrall for her, but acting in her own interests.

Ormgeir had watched her, but kept a distance all the way until they were about to leave, when he had fetched her cat lined stole for her and draped it around her shoulders.

"It's good to see you again, seeress," he had said, voice low. "Next time, we will be on Khortytsia. Three days. Three nights. Two kings and one queen."

"And you consider yourself one of those kings?"

He did not look amused this time. Instead, his eyes bored into her.

"I am never the king. I am the kingmaker."


Once again, the camp was built on the north east of the great island. This time, it spread out through the glades and steppes, larger than a village, terraced by the sloping ground.

Kildevi noted how their campsite was placed a short distance from the holy oak, and yet the path led past the seat of the commanders, with Isidor's and Helgi's camps on one side and the great pavilion of Ormgeir on the other. She was willing to bet that wasn't by accident.


The Oak was silent, its presence looming, but something at the root of the island itself felt different now than it had at the height of summer. Above the damp soil, trees were set aflame by autumn.

The equinox was near, if it wasn't already upon them. Though celebrated as if it was one night, Kildevi knew well enough the lines were not that clearly drawn. It mattered little to the balance of the world if today was one or three nights after or before.

"You're distant today," Thore said jokingly as they built up the fireplace. "Still thinking about the best way to get away from us?"

She smiled. It was a joke, but as her friend, he had been quite uneasy about the whole thing.

"No, at least not in the way you're thinking of," she replied in the same light tone. "But the seasons are turning around us and here, in this place, it's… it's like I'm split between two worlds. I don't see or hear things that you don't, but I… sense them? Does that make sense?"

"Not to me, but if you say so, I believe you."

Something suddenly struck her.

"Thore, you usually have your ear to the ground. What has happened with the stories after my rite? Did the whole thing die just because my hair wasn't gold and silver?"

Thore laughed.

"Oh no, it was proven true! Glebu almost got in a fistfight with Eymund two camps ago, when our young southman tried to claim there was nothing special about it and Glebu went into a spin because they had all seen the gold whip around your face. Finally Eymund dragged Eskil into it, and our man just smiled and twisted the words around in Glebu's support as far as he could without lying. So, now we have your husband's word that your hair is special and shines golden in the sun and silver by moonlight, though the ring on his finger is not forged by it." Snorting, he added, "from what I've seen, a ring of hair wouldn't be around his finger anyway."

Kildevi's giggle got stuck in her nose in a very undignified way, and she shook her head.

"No. No, it wouldn't. No matter whose hair. Did you ever see Andronikos' mother?"

"Yes. I did. I think everyone on that pier looked at Andronikos' mother."

"Not everyone at her head, I bet. But then you know she also has… hair for that kind of binding, and I bet that if we ever run into any other old frillða of his, she will too. Do you think we should tweak the myth closer to the truth?"

"No need, it's already going there. I simply tried to be respectful and not tell you."

"So, who can I ask about the lurid details?"

"I think Thorven is a safe bet. He has about the same sense of propriety as you."


The first thing she did when the camp was built and ready was to scout another path up to the oak.

"What is it about this island?" Eskil asked as they circled the camps. "Last time, everything that happened here was… I don't know how to describe it. As if your realm was closer, in some way?"

Kildevi was silent for a moment. This was yet another thing she understood almost by instinct, but suspected that he didn't.

"This is a borderland. This whole island is a place of meetings. The river itself separates the highland from the lowland. On the very island, marshland meets the steppes, forests meet the meadows like a small world of its own. And at the centre, the oak connects the heavens and the underworld."

"It's not really at the centre, though," Eskil noted.

"Not if counted in paces, but counted in meaning - it is."

"It's unnerving, the way everything looks and works like it should, except that there is a weight, as if something is going to go wrong somewhere."

"No, it's not," she replied, voice soft. "I see why you would feel that way, this is not your land. But for me, it's different."

"What makes this your land more than mine? Except for the holy, magical part."

Kildevi shook her head.

"Because you, you are so clearly in your place. You know right from wrong and honour from dishonour with no need for much doubt in between. You are a man with a man's duties and you carry them out with a firm line drawn between what you do and what you don't."

He nodded along. This far, he followed.

"I am… not that. And I have never met a single sejðwife or spàkona who is. We are all odd birds, comfortable in borderlands, and the reason you cannot stand the thought of your brother as a sejðmadr is because that means that he is too. Stuck between worlds. Stuck between roles. Stuck in his own strangeness. But trust me when I say that sejð did not make him anything, sejð found him because of what he already was. On this island, everything shares that ambiguity. This land is mine."

"Do we really need to bring Anund's shame into this?"

As she had suspected, he sounded reluctant.

"I think we do. If there is a single place where I can make you understand, it's here."

"I see no wrong in having a pride and honour in manly virtues."

"The all-father himself has never been a paragon of manly virtues. He is too much of a trickster and… he's frankly too clever. Think of his sacrifices, his disguises, his sejð and his one eye who watches this world while the other watches beyond it from the well of wisdom. If you pledge sacrifices to Oðin, you have no business complaining that your brother walks in his footsteps."

"Yet Oðin learns from Frǫya and hides his knowledge. He isn't proud of it. He doesn't flaunt it. He uses it in secret."

"And since when does Anund flaunt anything? At all?"

"Hrm. I figured it out."

"But no one seems to suspect anything except for you, and," she teased, "you only noticed because you were disappointed I came back in a shift. Isn't it nice to know that none of your other brothers wished so hard that I'd be naked they wondered where the shift came from?"

He smiled at that. Obviously something had shifted if she could make him smile in a conversation about what, thus far, had remained their most aggravated dispute.

"If Anund is compared to father Oðin, then who am I in this story?"

"You can be Thor if you like, or Baldr, but frankly you're too confrontative so I'd go with Thor. But be careful with the parallels, because you just cast me as Anund's concubine, and I don't think a single one of us would be happy in that arrangement."

They had reached the oak, but kept a respectful distance to it, none of them ready to approach two gods at once without a gift for them.

"Why do you need a path here where the Rus won't see you?"

That was a good question, the reply to which was the very reason she had brought him along instead of Thore or Thogard.

"I have things I need to do here, and I don't want any of them to follow me only to stumble upon my empty shell."

"Here. Alone. No."

She smiled, well prepared for his objections.

"Not alone. Deva will sing, you will guard, I will go in search of answers."

"I? You want me there?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Something in his voice told her this reply was important.

"I trust you."

It seemed to be at least close to the answer he wanted.

"And what happens after?"

Remembering the last time she had turned to him after a journey on henbane, she said in a soft voice, "I don't want you there as my concubine, if that's what you're asking. I want you there to guard my body when I'm away, I want you there to call me back if I get lost, and if you want to join me in the raging storm afterwards, you're welcome to. But that last part is not why I'm asking you along."

"Thank you, but I was more thinking … after Ilmen, you were a snarling beast. At the Pecheneg camp you were not. So, should I be prepared to meet a black-eyed night-maere or just you, a bit more desperate than usual?"

Then and there, Kildevi regretted trying to be considerate. Clamping down on several abrasive replies, she answered the question instead of biting his head off.

"I don't know. I have only opened myself by henbane thrice and been there for the aftermath. But Ilmen was a battle, my search for the shaman was not, and if I had returned to the tent on the boat a night-maere, you would have noticed. So, I assume that what you will meet depends in some way on what I have done."


The last time she had been inside the glade, it had been a summer noon. Now the twilight of dusk painted the earth in a cold light. As she sat down on the ground with her staff and her ointment, she let her gaze fall into the bronze eyes of the bear head. Deva's voice didn't fill the glade, it merely floated like a top note, a thin tone whispering as it carried her into herself and tugged at the strings that kept her thought bound to its form.

Slowly, she rose, her hugr leaving her shell, the memory of her shape intact. Looking down, she realised she was naked, unadorned, the only trace of her wedding ring a groove at the base of her finger.

But she wasn't a memory from her conscious mind. Instead, her thought saw its naked shape for the first time in five years, somehow both from within and from without, being and seeing as one.

She rarely thought much about her body apart from its functions. For most of her life it had been irrelevant: her first seventeen years spent invisible, in a house where no one was meant to bring attention to her existence, and when she arrived to be fought over by Thorlev's sons, her willingness to marry any of them was more important than what she looked like. Later, when Sigulf's jealousy had deemed her desirable to everyone, she had known it for what it was.

No, the first time she had been truly self conscious about her appearance had been in the weeks leading up to her second wedding, when her symmetrically gifted betrothed hadn't seemed interested. After that worry was put to rest, she hadn't really thought about it again until they left the homestead and entered the outside world.

In her mind, she had been frozen in the image of that gangly seventeen-year-old she had seen on her first journey on henbane.

Thus it came as a surprise to her to see a slender pear-shape instead of a skinny birch, even the pout of a tiny belly visible if you looked for it. And her breasts… were there. Which they had only barely been before Alfhilds conception. She had seen in lakes and small mirrors that her face had sharpened, but it was yet another thing to see her own, adult face from the outside.

So, that was a pleasing development. Comfortable in her own skin - albeit outside of it - she gathered her hair and made a single knot at the nape, letting the tail fall freely down to her waist. Then she walked away from the glade, uphill towards the looming oak.


Standing below it, she saw the heavens, a storm gathered above the branches, in the distance a clatter of hooves and a faint echo of thunder. A snake slithered out from beneath the ancient roots, and she followed it eastward, away from the eyes of Perun.

Halfway down the hillside, she heard music and laughter.


Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Why was she here?

To look for answers.

To what question, exactly?

The question of what Veles wants with me.

You are not here to look for answers. You are here because he wants you to think you have a question.

But why would he put effort into making a web for me to get caught in?

I don't know. But the real question is, do you trust him enough to go into that revel?

He knows you now. He knows how questions tumble around in your mind, he knows how you rush to the end to be rid of them. Like now, stepping into the borderlands at the equinox, without a plan, just assuming that there is no deeper meaning to the myth that you would be bound in the underworld.

Is that because you believe sailors to be simple?

But the first witch fooled him so well in the story! Any man tricked by a naked woman promising him secrets should be too simple to play a game of veils and shadows.

And you think that taught him nothing? He is the god of sorcery and foretelling, of shifting shapes, of woodlands, wetlands, of the dead and those who pass between. He is defeated, yet he always rises again, to steal the cows of Perun.

Do you remember the details of that story about the first witch? A pale haired girl, walking naked through the woodlands after a heavy rain, trading the secret of how her clothes had been kept dry against knowledge of magic. A white birch, told valuable secrets by an enthralled god, yet what he received in return was naught more than the common sense of peasants. Do you remember his rage?

I am no longer a girl. And I sometimes wish I had the common sense of peasants.

You are no longer a birch tree, but you are a sorceress coming to his lands in search of secrets. Tread carefully. Ormgeir may not have sought revenge, but that does not mean that no one else here does. You rose naked from your clothed body. Maybe that was for a reason?

Kildevi listened, and turned back toward the glade. This time, she had gone in search of answers, only to find those she already had.


As she returned to the glade, she stood for a moment, watching the shapes of the others. They looked different from the outside. Deva's brown hair was long and bound into a knot, almost covered by a headscarf, with bronze rings braided into the hair at the temples. Her clothes were different too, a simple farmwife's finest, but the orange wool was worn and patched, the hem of the shift dirty and frayed.

Eskil stood in the clothes she knew he wore, but his hair was longer, thicker, falling in wild waves around a face more scarred than she knew it to be. Here, the nose that had healed back into its old shape was crooked and bent, the white line down his cheek through the beard still red and only barely closed.

Her own shell was empty, like she knew it would be. It beckoned. Scarred and bruised, it called her home.

She found her body… not inflamed? Had the nightshade thrown no shade?

Equal parts relieved and disappointed, she sat up and looked around. Barely any time seemed to have passed, she saw it on the still remaining twilight as well as the surprise on Deva's face as she stopped singing and silence fell over the glade. Then Eskil walked over to help her up.

"What did you learn?"

She still felt light, weightless over the ground.

"Enough, for now. I learned that sometimes, my head runs away with me. I realised that answers you are led to might not be the ones you need. But I also realised that we should give Deva better clothes, because she isn't only used for simple work, and it should show, and that your wounds are not as healed as they seem."

Then she frowned.

"I also saw myself from outside. Why haven't you told me I don't look like a scrawny girl anymore?"

Her mind danced around them, and she saw how he tried to follow. She knew that she was now lighter, faster, more elusive than he had ever been.

"Uhm. Because you haven't since I came back? It was the first thing I noticed when I saw you picking tansy behind the smithy."

He shrugged, still looking at her as if he tried to get a grasp of her floatiness.

"And in a way, I have. Many times. Sometimes twice a day in the beginning."

Kildevi crossed her arms to look at him, a bit too long, trying to keep herself grounded.

"With actual words?"

"Nah. You usually listen better without."

This was teasing, she recognised, and tried to look stern.

"Mhm."

When he continued he didn't tease anymore, so now came probably something as true but not meant to be taken as lightly, but still not heavily. She was pleased to have figured that out.

"And I assume people know what they look like. I mean… you wear clothes, right? You must have noticed the change in fit."

"Yes, but… they're let out and taken in and who knows how they end up?"

Silence fell. For a silence, it was quite loud. She gave him a glance and saw that this was something much more important to his sense of self than to hers, but he didn't know that and thought everyone else also thought about their meaty shells the same way she could spend hours finding meaning in the morning fog.

"You do know, don't you?"

Eskil nodded, a little bit pained.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Of course you do! And I don't. Because I can leave it behind and shift shape so it's not as much about me, and you don't do that and also people have looked at it all your life and told you what you are so of course you think it's important!"

Happy to have made things clear to him, she skipped down the path towards their camp.


The day before they left the island, she made another plea to chance for better luck, but unlike last time, she barely had time to get her hair in wifely order again before they gathered in the pavilion for a last night celebration.

Every time she had visited there had been drink, but this time, they were treated to as close to a full feast as possible while travelling: fish soup and salted pork, pan fried bread and hard cheese, and freshly made ale, probably brewed in camp. Kildevi was no master brewster, but ale was one of those things all women had to know how to make, and she was at least decent at it. This one had a nice tang of rowan berries.

She had two conversations ahead of her, and both of them felt less awkward to have after a few mugs of strong-ale. Looking around at the gathered men, she noticed she wasn't the only one wrapped in a pleasant blanket of inebriation.

The first man she cornered was Chedomir. He stood engaged in a relaxed conversation with Pridbor that turned markedly less relaxed when she joined them.

"I came to thank you," she said, fully focused on not trying to meet the gaze he carefully avoided her eyes with.

"Thank me, Volkhva? What would you have to thank me for?"

"Your choice of stories may well have saved me."

"I only made a humble guess of which stories might be most useful to you."

She smiled, glancing at Pridbor who had stood staring at her, but now quickly looked away to not be eye-cursed.

"And you guessed well. Had I not known about how Veles steals both wives and cattle, nor about the fair haired maiden who beat him in cunning, I might have made a fateful misstep."

She turned to Pridbor, who now instead stared unabashedly at her wrapped braids. It was pretty clear to her which myth his mind dwelled on. It would seem Khortytsia was the island where young men got hung up on stories and had silly thoughts about her.

"And I want you to report this whole exchange back to Helgi, with no details added for effect or drama. You are his second, you know well how he dwells on details. If you do that, I will choose to forget where your mind is going when you stare at my braids."

Smug about the stunned look of shame on the young man's face, Kildevi turned her back to them, to stalk her next and bigger prey.


"When you said two kings and one queen, which kings did you mean, exactly?"

Ormgeir turned at the sound of her voice, surprise on his face. This time, he obviously hadn't seen her coming.

"Why, Perun and Veles of course!"

His tone was light, in spite of the fact that hers certainly wasn't.

"And who would the queen be?"

He smiled. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Not even you would have the hubris to call yourself a kingmaker of the gods."

"Like yourself and him," he said with a nod towards Eskil, who stood with his back to them but well within earshot, "they have their realms, I have mine."

"My realm is not among the gods."

"No, it would seem you still are here, in the realm where I make kings. Which brings me to your tribute."

Kildevi's gaze followed his hand as he pulled two golden rings out of his belt bag and held them in his palm. Each ring was made of three strips of gold, two thicker and one twisted wire, beautifully wrapped into a spiral and bent into circles left open for a thumb's width. She was willing to bet this had once been an armring, cut in two and tapered to fit over the width of a wrapped braid.

"A half-score golden rings, to bind you to Midgard."

Kildevi's eyes narrowed. She had no objections to being bound to this realm, but she felt quite sure this came from his personal coffers, and did very much not want to be symbolically bound to him.

"And from whom is this tribute?"

"This is from the Prince, given in his name."

Kildevi nodded graciously.

"In that case, send him my regards."

 

[Alvlin]

CW and TW : This chapter contains explicit descriptions of domestic abuse and PTSD from the victim's perspective.

---

"Get up."

Kildevi lay on her side in the undergrowth when Aslaug's foot hit her midriff, pushing the air out of her again. The older woman stood over her, staring down with a smirk.

"This isn't enough? Am I going too fucking soft on you, sweetheart, stakes too low for you?"

Kildevi staggered to her feet, still gasping from the kick. Something warm ran down her lower leg, probably blood from the stone that had hit her knee as she struck ground. Behind her, the lowest drop of the Eyfor roared, a low rumble, indifferent in its rage.

"You done taking a nap? Next time you just fold over, I'll shove my hand up your cunt and wear you like a fucking puppet."

Aslaug circled her, knees bent, stance low. Maybe, if she could only shift a bit to the left, she could … yes! Kildevi got hold of the bag Aslaug had dropped and swung it full force against her head, but instead of an impact, she felt a tug as her opponent grabbed the leather satchel and pulled.

As Kildevi stumbled forward, Aslaug caught her and locked her elbows to her sides by wrapping both arms around her and pressing them down with her own. On the backs of her hips, she felt fingers pinch the layers of wool and linen and start to bunch them upwards.

Kildevi hadn't really taken the threat seriously. Now, pressed up against Aslaug's body with a knee pushed in between her own, back hem rising for every pinch, she suddenly wasn't so sure. Aslaug's face was just a hands-width away, too close to get any force behind a headbutt. She looked mocking, but the smirk was now a leer, the breath definitely heavy. Panic started to well up, heart beating on her eardrums from the inside.

But she was frozen in place.

"That's the look. That's the insight I'm looking for. And you know… whatever the fuck I do to you, they won't even call it rape unless I grow a cock." Aslaug took a deep breath through that aquiline nose, drawing in the scent of fear in fresh sweat. When she spoke, the voice was husky and raw. "I'm fucking tempted, you know that?"

Suddenly, she gave Kildevi a slap on the hip and pushed her away.

"But not today. I don't do that shit unless I'm primed and bloodied. But that thing you felt now, that's what you gotta fight with. That's your stake, right there. You realised it too late, and that's why you gotta act before you're pinned. Once you freeze, you're fucked."

"Nice one with the bag", she added. "But it would have worked better with a young'un who wasn't prepared."



The portage was the worst test of strength Kildevi had seen thus far along their journey. The Lovat had been treacherous, and punting the boats upstream through the lower Dnipro rapids both dangerous and demanding, but rolling what may well be a hundred boats uphill was back breaking labour, and the sheer length of the convoy meant that the front of it was half a morning up the path before the last boat was even on its rollers.

But this time, they didn't have to do it alone. A party of thralls and warriors met with them below the first terrace of the rapid, and with them the pace picked up to almost that of their descent a few months before.

She had tried to find clothes that would fade into the background in case she had to hide again, but not even Eskil thought it was a good idea for her to walk around in just a headscarf and an unbleached shift among this many strangers.

"And you stay where I can see you," he'd said as they began their ascent. "Last time, every single one of the men knew you by sight. Now, I don't know if even half would recognise you without your regalia, and apart from the settlers and a few in the Druzhina, no one has brought a woman with them. Someone may get ideas if it looks like a thrall is walking around unguarded, so I want you fully dressed, and within line of sight."

His voice was harsh, stern, like last time they'd been here and she had walked off to talk to Audvard. Kildevi didn't argue. The old knowledge of her own helplessness hung like a weight around her neck, the light flutter in her chest a constant companion as she plodded uphill in pace with the boats.

After the first break at noon, Audvard walked up to do her company, and when he took over Thogard's place at the rollers, the housecarl did the same. Neither of them were sparkling conversationalists, but that mattered less than the comfort of walking with someone who had seen that she was alone, and thought that they ought to do something about that. She remembered all too well the loneliness of being apart that had followed her down after the ambush, separated from her shipmates by shame and fear and defiance.

Ahead of them, Andronikos had been allowed to ride on Ingjald's boat as it was being rolled. As long as he was in there, at least no one had to keep track of where he was, and, as Ingjald himself noted, giggles and shouts were kinder on the ear than displeased utterances of the same magnitude.

"Aslaug went hard on you yesterday?" Thore asked when it was his turn to join her.

Kildevi grimaced.

"No worse than usual, but I hit my knee at one point, and it has started to ache from all this walking."

Thore nodded.

"We could get you on one of the wagons if you want to? With the thralls we borrowed from the Rus, we can even spare a man to go with you if Eskil doesn't want you to go alone. Audvard's knee could probably need a rest. He'd never ask for it unless the pain got bad, and by then the damage would be done. But if we ask him to accompany you… "

"...and if you tell me it's for Audvard's sake…"

"Yes, we can get both your knees rested with no pride lost!"

"You're right, it's too good to pass up."


She and Audvard had barely sat down on one of the cargo wagons, when one of the scions came by to invite them onto a more comfortable coach.

"This is Ormgeir's idea, isn't it?" Kildevi asked him, without even trying to hide her mistrust.

"It's his carriage, but it was Glebu who saw you here and suggested you should have a more fitting mode of travel."

"Very well, then me and my companion will come with you."

The scion hesitated, but didn't stop her as she signalled to Audvard to help her down and join them. As they walked up the length of the convoy, Kildevi leant closer to her shipmate.

"What would you say if I asked you to become my man?"

Audvard's bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"What d'you mean? I'll always have yer back if that's what yer askin'."

Kildevi shook her head.

"No, that is not what I mean. I'm asking you to become my heiðcarl. Not Eskil's, not Asgaut's, mine. Like Thogard and Eirik is for Eskil and his father, with the important difference that I have no land to offer for tenancy. Instead, I'd offer you a part of every tribute."

Audvard was silent.

"You don't have to give your answer now, but please, think about it! You would be oathbound, but you have my word in return that I will never keep you against your will. If you want to leave my service, I will release you."

"I'm not as young as I once was, y'know. And m'knee is still in a bad way sometimes. You want a better man."

Kildevi shook her head emphatically.

"I can't find a better man. And you're not even close to old! You're what? Three times ten and five more?"

"Three-times-ten an'three, but I feel old. I ponder th'world and it leans heav'ly on me."

"And that's what I want. I don't want a mindless youngling. I need someone who can see what needs to be done and do it, while still remaining true to himself and all those around him. I can't imagine anyone who fits that better than you."

"I am deeply honoured, Lady Kildvé. I'll need some time t'think, and I've promised m'self away in Kyiv, but I'll happily be yours til we get home."

Kildevi smiled, relieved. The decision to ask him had not been made in the moment, even though she had planned to wait until they left Kyiv after the winter.

"Thank you, Audvard. We are about to step into the carriage of someone I don't trust further than I can throw him, and it feels good to have someone with me whom I trust completely. And," she added in jest, "if you ever want to compose a poem about our travels, his name is one you might need to remember."


The carriage was a richly decorated open wagon with benches, a canvas roof suspended above. As Kildevi had suspected, Ormgeir was there. Glebu sat across from him, and the men were speaking in Slavic, but when they saw the scion return with her, they seamlessly shifted to Norse.

"Ah, Seeress, you came! Glebu told me he had invited you, so I thought I'd take the chance to sit down for a while myself."

Kildevi graciously accepted the mug of watered wine offered and sat down opposite him, next to Glebu, who nervously shifted to the side to give her room. Audvard awkwardly followed and sat down, trying to fade into the background. Ormgeir took no note of him.

"We were just discussing Glebu's future prospects. You see, he is engaged, but the bride is too young to marry in a few years yet. He feels he needs a wife quite before that, while I would argue that a man of nineteen only profits from the wait. What's your opinion?"

Kildevi looked between them. Glebu was throwing her curious glances, but he also very carefully avoided looking straight at her face. Hair a deep brown and skin pale in spite of a sunburn, he had about the same colouring as Vibjorn Skytja. Like him, he was of average height and slender build, but the beard was still patchy and thin, and he had wisely settled for a short stubble rather than trying to grow it out in full. Nineteen, they said he was? He wasn't well grown for his age, her guess would have been at least two years younger.

"I suppose that depends on why a man that young feels that he needs a wife? If he simply loathes returning to an empty bed each night, there are other arrangements for that. If it is about a companion for mutual help and support, that is something else. And if it is about a household that needs to be managed… I am sorry, but a girl so young you are waiting for her to grow up will simply not be very good for quite some time. Being a matron for a household is an art in every way as complicated as war or trade. Many men just don't notice, because you never do it."

Ormgeir observed her as she spoke, listening closely.

"But how does one know how to make the comparison? What do you know of trade and war?"

"More than most women, since I have observed it for our entire journey. I have also spent four years with one of the best matrons I have ever had the pleasure of watching work, and after those four years, I still could not do what she does half as well as her."

"So what would you say is the difference, between a decent matron and an excellent one?"

Kildevi considered it for a moment. This was one of those subjects she had thought about quite a lot in regard to herself and Alfrida, but no one had ever shown any interest in hearing her opinion.

"A decent matron makes sure everything is running. There is food on the table, no one is starving in spring, everyone is clothed to their standing and the mishaps and miscalculations that always happen are solved in some way, albeit not always making perfect use of every resource available. An excellent matron, on the other hand…"

She paused, and turned her gaze straight into Ormgeir's.

"Everything simply works. She sees that something is needed well before it is and prepares for it ahead of time, she knows the name of every thrall and worker and how to best make use of each of them. She keeps track of every little detail, what is running low in the pantries, which guests are likely to visit, which clothes will be needed, which skills cultivated in the children, which crops be sown, which meals be made to make sure nothing spoils in the pantry while everyone is well fed and happy, which clothes be sewn, what should be woven in the house and what should be traded, and I can't really finish the list of tasks done out of your sight because there is always more and yet an excellent matron just makes it work so you never notice if ever there is a miscalculation somewhere. And you will never find a girl who managed to pick up all that through childhood play."

He leant back, eyebrows raised.

"It sounds like I should appreciate my second wife more."

"If she is the one running things, you probably should. My guess is that you aren't home much."

Confirming this with a smile, he refilled her mug.

"My homelife has lost its spark since my first wife died. She kept it interesting."

"So your first match was one of the good ones?"

Ormgeir laughed, and took a sip from his glass.

"Oh no, she plotted to kill me for fifteen years. Kept me on my toes."

Kildevi lost her tongue for a moment.

"Oh."

"My second, who has seniority now, does her duty in keeping the reins on everything, and she does it like you described, seamlessly. I have never had reason to consider whatever it is she is doing. But she only does that. She has no interest in me at all, good or bad."

He leant forward, like they were friends sharing confidences.

"The rest are hens, trying hard to keep me happy, buttering up like they didn't have a trace of pride between them. But they keep each other occupied in their pecking games, so no harm done."

Kildevi cocked her head, giving him a critical eye.

"And you have no part in shaping your household? You're helplessly drowning in unwanted flattery without any way to quell the flow?"

He chuckled, eyes gleaming above the long nose as he tilted his head down to look up at her.

"That's what I mean, no one says those things to me since Kyllike died. You see that you have a role to play here." He shrugged and leant back in his seat again. "The youngest is slightly better than the other two. I've been thinking about taking her to Kyiv, to see if she can grow a spine before she's spoiled by the others."

"But," he added after a short pause, "I think we have drifted away from the subject of Glebu's marriage. Like the Volkhva said, you should simply take a concubine while you wait. Easier to handle in so many ways, and you can take on the responsibility that is a wife in due time."

"No. If someone is my wife in every other sense, she should be so in name too."

It was the first time Glebu himself had said a word since she entered the carriage. Ormgeir looked at him with what was best described as condescending amusement.

"Young men and principles. They either have too much or too little of them."

Kildevi glanced at Glebu, the son of an unmarried man and his lifelong concubine.

"It sounds to me like he has the perfect amount of principles."



When the convoy finally made camp, Kildevi returned to an unhappy Eskil.

"This is not a reasonable reaction to me changing wagons," she concluded.

"But it's not just this time." He replied, biting down on every sentence. "You have a history. Of disappearing. Without a trace. In enemy land. Without telling me. This, this was not the same as last time, but… "

He shook his head and looked away.

"How hard could it possibly be to send word, so I don't have to run around half of the convoy to find out where you are?"

"I didn't think it was that important!" She protested. "We are many long hundreds and you knew I had taken Audvard to find a wagon who had room for us. You didn't know which one we were on anyway, so what could possibly be the difference?!"

Eskil took a deep breath and let it seep out through his clenched teeth.

"First of all, which part of the convoy to look for you. I know where our wagons are. They are not in the same place as the Kniaz's cargo. Second, who you were with. Third, if the men manning the reins were in any way known to me. You understand these things. Don't play stupid."

"I'm not playing stupid. I'm simply tired of how you go through the roof every time you don't know exactly what I do and with whom for a moment."

"And I'm tired of how I can't trust a single word you say about where you will be and with whom, because if you don't straight out plan to go behind my back, you can also just have a change of heart at any given moment."

"So stop pretending I'm a child and trust me to make those calls!"

"I will. When you stop acting like one and I can trust the calls you make to be sensible."

"Then maybe you shouldn't expect a woman in the evenings, I'm either a child or I'm not."

Shaking his head, he gave her a disdainful look, equal parts tired and disgruntled.

"That makes no sense, but you know what? I won't. Maybe that will be enough incentive for you to start using your head."


Kildevi woke from her first sleep, still angry. Eskil had not only kept his word, he had sarcastically tucked her in after feigning surprise that she wanted to sleep there, and not with Deva and Andronikos. It wasn't usually a problem for her that she slept in two shifts and he in one, but tonight the very restfulness on his face annoyed her. Thus, she spitefully started to poke him in the side with a sharp finger to wake him up. Because misery loves company.

"I thought of something."

"Mhm."

He half turned, squinting at her in the dark.

"Children can't have heiðcarls either, and I have Audvard oathbound until we get home. How are you gonna solve that?"

Eskil blinked. She could see his mind trying to process what he just heard.

"Wh-what?"

"Yes. I finally asked Audvard if he wanted to be in my service, and he said yes for the reminder of the journey, except for the time you've already pissed him into your warband."

"That's… that's great! When? Why?"

"On the way to Ormgeir's wagon. I felt I should bring my own man with me."

"What a surprisingly mature decision! For you - that's almost like taking responsibility for yourself. Well done! Maybe I can rest in the knowledge that you're capable of thinking after all."

He sounded fully awake now. Kildevi realised she had liked him better when he slept.

"Are you already that desperate? Because even if you don't want Deva, I'm sure there is someone in the Druzhina willing to lend you a woman if you ask nicely."

It took him a few moments to grasp what she referred to, then the still sleepy face twisted in annoyance.

"No. Another thing adults don't do is break principles simply because they feel like it."

"I don't break principles."

"That's because you don't have any."

Kildevi didn't reply. Instead she turned her back to him and pretended to go back to sleep.

It took a long while, but she found comfort in hearing that he too was awake the whole time.



That day Kildevi felt something brewing in the back of her mind, a tension or sense of danger that slowly grew. It took her until noon to realise they were getting closer and closer to where they had raised stones in memory of their fallen. Soon every tree was steeped in memory. Not always of the kind that allowed her to look back, more the kind that made her see the surrounding forest in the same hue of light, tinting every stone in the shadows of before.

Eskil seemed to feel it too, or maybe he simply mirrored her own mood, because he was short spoken and iron handed, yet constantly touched her whenever he had the chance, as if to make sure she was really there. It was hard to handle, that rift between the harshness of his voice and the tenderness of his hands, while in spite of the daylight the world around her grew ever darker.

But there was no sign of the Pecheneg, and when they made camp that evening, she could see both the slope where their dead lay buried and the path where she had hid beneath their ship that whole painful afternoon. By chance, this too was a third night. None of them cared as much anymore, now that there were other things to do in between, but for some reason she still kept track, as if the counting itself was a spell to ward off anything growing inside her.

Maybe it was. If so, it seemed to work.



They sat outside their tent again, the tent she had raised alone on his orders. Like then, she said nothing, staring away from the fire, into the shadows.

"I know," he said slowly, "that we often like to pretend that I don't have authority over you. But I have. And that authority is not debatable. Do you understand?"

She didn't reply. His knuckles whitened.

"Do. You. Understand."

She felt herself nod, still not looking at him.

"Good. I need to make sure that what happened today will not happen again. From here on, you will follow my instructions, in every detail, with no childish whims, when I tell you to."

"Or?"

He stared at her. His jaw was so tense the scar shifted through his silence. When he spoke next he didn't raise his voice, just bit down on every word with chilling fury.

"Are you a child? Do you need consequences to stop testing limits? Because I once promised to never strike you, but… if you don't honour your duty to me, I have no reason to honour any promises I've made to you."

His right-hand wrist was still stained with blood, as was the tunic sleeve and the lower half of his face.

He rose, and as her heart began to race, she instinctively crawled backwards, away from him. Hands clenched, he walked after her until she was trapped against the tent, his body a towering black outline against the light of the fire.

"You're not going anywhere."

The silhouette loosened something from the belt, weighed it in his hand before he swung down. As the first strike landed on her shoulder she knew it was the belt bag, soft leather heavy with coins and dice, and she put her arms around her head to shield it.

Compared to the hot rage of his brother, Eskil was cold, every movement measured and exact, every strike hitting hard at a pace too unpredictable to prepare for, the blunt pain nauseating through her carefully kept silence. When finally she heard him drop the pouch to the ground, she lowered her bruised arms and dared to glance up.

His face was still in shadow, but she saw him reach down before he grabbed her arm to drag her to her feet and twist it up her back. Her shoulder screamed in pain. Staring at her face, he kept the pressure until she couldn't hold back anymore, sobs breaking through her breath.

"You can scream. You're mine. No one will come. No one will care."

Arms pressed up between her shoulder blades, her numb fear rose to panic as he led her away from the tent and the camp, down the slope to the river, where whitewater screamed in black streams between the rising boulders of the Eyfor.

"Please, not the river! Eskil please, it's me, you don't want to do this, this isn't you, I know you're angry, but …"

The braid wrapped around his hand, he pushed her face down beneath the surface.


She woke screaming, coughing, surprised to find that she could breathe, that no water blocked the flow of air down to her lungs.

Even in the waking world, his hands were on her, the weight of his body pressed to her side. Like in the dream, when he had used his weight to anchor her to the riverside in an echo of his brother, pushed her head down into the streams and beat it against the grovel of the riverbed until there was no way to separate the pain, and panic, and intrusion, not knowing if he planned to stop before the kill.

She could not yet separate waking from memory from dream.

His voice was a murmur in her ear, whispering threats disguised as calming nothings.

"Shhh ástin, it was just a dream, whatever it was, it was a dream, I'm here, I'm here, no one else, just me."

Panicked, she scrambled backwards, into the corner. Blanket wrapped around her as a shield, she stared at his face. There was something wrong. The blood was gone.

Realities ground against each other in her mind, a discord more terrifying than if the worst of them had stood alone.

He sat where she had left him, looking handfallen. Then he spoke again, voice low - but not a whisper.

"Yesterday we ate porridge, apple and rye, pieces of dried pork. Thorven dropped the butter. Do you remember what you said?"

No. Her mind searched for something, past the slowdown of time, past the violent silence. There had been a pale daylight, fading towards twilight.

"'Now I understand why Alfrida allow no men in the pantry.'"

He nodded, but made no sign to move closer.

"Who else was there?"

"I… I don't know."

"Was I there?"

Yes. Yes, he had been. A strange memory, another discordant note hammering against the walls of her haven.

"Where did I sit?"

"Here, outside. By the fire."

"What did I do?"

"You twisted my arm and told me to scream."

He froze for a moment. She could see his face adjust back to calm and grounded.

"When we ate together, yesterday. The porridge. I had my bowl on the ground next to me, not in front. Why?"

Yes. Why?

"Because I sat there."

"Why did you sit there?"

She had chosen to. Why?

Things were straining now, a pressure on her chest, as real as ever a weight would be.

"Because it was cold. When it's cold, I sit under your cloak."

He nodded.

"What more do you remember from yesterday?"

There was something there, in the shadows of her mind. A small creature, grown to a beast.

"I refused you."

He was silent for a moment, then he said, "no, you didn't. I kissed you to see if you responded, when you didn't, I backed off."

Too many realities battled for space. A small part of her wanted back into the dream. It was simple. Clear cut. Not like this confusion of not being.

Slowly, he stretched out his arm and put his hand on the ground midway between them.

"I am going to move closer. Then I am going to take your hand. Nothing else. Just take your hand. If you pull away, I won't follow. Nod if you understand."

Slowly, she nodded, and when she let go of the blanket to let him take her hand she realised she was shaking, heart galloping, forehead damp with cold sweat. The touch spread like a calm up through her arm, the panic from the dream now disentangled from the man in front of her. Beyond tired, she slumped forward, her head on his shoulder. Slowly, he put his free arm around her.

For a while, they just sat there, before he broke the silence.

"What did you dream?"

"We were back. At the night of the ambush."

She felt him nod.

"What happened?"

"You didn't walk away."

Now, she was grounded enough to hear his hesitation echoing through the silence, but she too was struggling for words and couldn't help him.

"What did I do?"

"You were the worst sides I've seen in you, acting on my worst memories of your brother, before you drowned me in the cold rage of the Eyfor."

"You know, I have promised to…"

"You declared each promise null and void before you broke them, because through it all, you were still you."

"Did I break them both?"

"Yes."

He paused, then his hand stroked her shoulder.

"It wasn't in the waking world, but I am still so very sorry."


Dawn was approaching and none of them returned to sleep that night. Instead, Kildevi started up breakfast early, before Deva or the first men had come out from their tents to greet the morning. Thore did a double take, then huffed in surprise.

"You? First up to make the fire?"

Kildevi shrugged.

"Bad dreams, too real to forget. I think it's the Eyfor pushing against my mind."

"I have no idea of what that means except it sounds bad. Do you need something?"

Kildevi thought about it for a moment.

"I think it would help if nothing else challenged me. So if you could try and keep everything worrying off my mind, I would be grateful. No Ormgeir, no Aslaug, no talk of dangers that aren't easily overcome, or telling of sad and violent stories."

He looked at her and nodded.

"Consider it done."


Thore kept his word. Though they reached the top of the Eyfor at noon, it was well into the afternoon before all of the convoy was gathered. She noticed that Aslaug came sauntering into their campsite, but also that Thore met up with her and after a short conversation they both drifted off towards her own campfire.


"Eskil?"

"Mm?"

"Are you still keeping away because of the fight?"

He was silent for a moment, but when he replied she heard it was through a smile.

"No. I had almost forgotten about that."

"Then why?"

"Because your memory knows me as one who broke your trust and almost killed you last night."

"But it was a dream. It wasn't real."

"Real enough."

It had felt real. Now, it was somehow at once raw and strangely distant.

"Can you hold me?"

She felt him come closer, then his arms nestled in around her beneath the blankets, hand softly cupping her left breast. She knew he read her heartbeats through his wrist.

"This morning… how did you know?"

"I didn't know that much."

"But… you seemed to know where I was. What to do. How did you know what to say?"

"I've done it before. I've been there before."

From his tone, she knew that she wouldn't get more, but then and there, she didn't need to. Safe in the embrace, she drifted into sleep.

 

[Alvlin]

They arrived in a grey Kyiv, wet under a steady drizzle that had kept on since morning. The overcast skies made it hard to know the time of day, but when their turn came to disembark, Kildevi thought it was sometime mid-afternoon. A crowd had gathered in spite of the rain, and the road from Podil up towards Kyiv Hill was packed with both wagons and people. When they had almost reached the palisade, Kildevi heard a voice boom from the left.

"But there you are! Both of you, back in one piece, looking splendid as ever!"

She turned to see Bjarni and Ina, together with a woman she assumed was Bjarni's wife, dark blonde hair showing beneath a woad blue headscarf crowned by a headband. Eskil broke free from the crowded road to meet his friend with open arms, laughing as he went. Kildevi met Ina's gaze, and when she saw her friend struggle to keep a straight face, it was hard to keep the giggle down.

"Let me look at you, son, is that silk on that coat? Someone has been drinking with the Rus, I see!"

That did it. Ina started laughing, and when she broke, so did Kildevi.

The unknown woman hissed something in Slavic. She had clearly turned to Ina, not to her, but Kildevi still managed to get her face under control again. She had forgotten there was a complicated relationship here to take heed of.

"Ina, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Yes, yes, of course. This is Kildevi, wife of Eskil, daughter of a chieftain back in the homelands. She is also an all-knowing sejðwife - that is a volkhva, if you don't know."

No one could miss how Ina's voice changed as she turned back to Kildevi.

"And this is Beleka, father's second wife. She was away when you were here last time, but now she's back again for a while."

Uneasy about the whole exchange, Kildevi smiled as warmly as she could, but at the mention of what she was, Beleka's eyes had lowered. Kildevi leaned closer with what she hoped was an easy friendliness.

"Please, don't worry. I would never be a threat to anyone in this household, and if we are to live together for the winter, I want you to be able to relax with me."

Beleka looked up again, but she still didn't meet her eyes.

"Of course, Volkhva. You are our guest, and as our guest you are welcome."

Her Norse was broken and clearly she hadn't used it in a long while, but it was fully understandable. It would make talking harder, but not in any way impossible.


Inside the vestibule, they were met by the two older children, followed by a toddler only barely on her feet who stubbornly tried to keep pace. Majka didn't have the time or interest for greetings, but Yaroslav skidded to a halt when he saw Eskil and eagerly hung around to get a word in. When Eskil saw them, he stopped mid-sentence and turned to Bjarni.

"Yes, that reminds me. We have my son with us." He turned to wave Andronikos forward. "He's only two, and what little he does speak is Greek. I hope that won't be a problem."

"I am sure it is not! You have a son, what wonderful news! And such a strong, fair lad, just like his father! Congratulations, young man!"

Ina glanced at her.

"How do you feel about this?" she mouthed.

Kildevi smiled and stroked some hair away from the boy's face where he stood, pressed into her skirts, overwhelmed by all the new faces.

"Tell you later," she mouthed back.


And she did. Beleka excused herself quite early, but the rest of them sat out in the main room and talked late into the evening. Ina boggled when she told her about the illicit visits into Miklagard, was a supportive friend about her feelings of inadequacy compared to Andronikos' mother, and was properly impressed by the company they had kept on the way back. Kildevi didn't mention anything about bathhouses, and only briefly mentioned Ormgeir's name. Both felt like subjects Eskil might take issue with if they spread among his peers.

When finally Ina decided it was time for her to go to bed, they found Andronikos asleep under the table.

"Where does he usually sleep?" Ina asked.

"When we've made camp, he's slept with the thrall who looks after him, but it doesn't feel right to send him to the house thralls now that we're finally in a real house." Kildevi grimaced. "But I don't think Eskil would be thrilled about having him between us the few nights left before the princely court leaves Kyiv."

Ina shrugged.

"I'll take him, then. There are already two children sleeping in my bed, one more won't make much of a difference."


The men went out after breakfast, and Kildevi started to unpack their luggage to see how much of their clothes needed mending or cleaning or both. It was most of it. The laundry left to the house thralls, she sat down on the guest bed with the heap that needed her attention before Eskil would leave in two days.

She had just started on his red trousers when she heard someone clearing their throat. She looked up. Ina was standing in the doorway, looking hesitant.

"Do you have a moment? I'll help you with the mending."

"Of course!"

"I don't think I'm supposed to talk to you about this, but I need to talk to someone and I can't think of anyone else."

"I am happy to listen, please, come closer!"

Still hesitant, Ina came over and sat down on the bed with her. Kildevi looked at the young woman she had considered her friend ever since their first meeting. Ina looked strained, distraught even. Whatever could it be that had her this rattled?

"I don't… I don't even know where to start. I have come to like talking to you very much, and maybe that will change now, I don't know."

She sighed and turned her gaze upwards.

"Oh please Ina, out with it. I am less easily shocked than you think. Are you in…. trouble?"

"Trouble?"

"You know… have you gotten in trouble with some man?"

Ina stared at her for a shocked moment.

"No! I would never do that to my family."

"So… whatever could it be that has you this torn up?"

But Ina still hesitated.

"This morning, father talked to me about…"

Her voice trailed off.

"About?"

Ina swallowed, her eyes now glued to the floor in front of her feet.

"He told me to make efforts to make your husband notice me."

Kildevi felt her own eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh. I see."

"And I don't know what to do. First of all, I really appreciate talking to you, and I don't want to be disloyal to a friend by clamouring for her husband's attention, but I can even less be disloyal to my family. And second… I don't even see a way to do what father asks of me."

Kildevi took a long look at her friend. She was young, but far from a child. Very fetching, in a well rounded way, but by the measure of mortal women, not legends. She was also obviously not playing any power games, unless this was all a feint, and Kildevi was willing to bet her best headdress that it wasn't.

Quickly, she came to a decision.

"First of all, I would do more to show off that thick hair of yours. That is the first thing he'll notice, believe me, so wrap those braids with ribbons and let them brush against him when you fill his cup. He is also quite vain and used to being approached by women, and I think being bold and flirtatious would work better than shy innocence."

She hesitated.

"Hm, but then again that might make him feel he needs to pointedly dismiss you for my sake. Maybe it's best to just be charming and familiar, I think that is your strong suit anyway. Don't be afraid of banter. As long as he's not in a bad mood, he can take a joke."

Ina's jaw had dropped.

"You… you are giving me advice?"

She looked so disbelieving Kildevi felt sorry for her.

"Look, Ina. I really like you. The feelings of friendship are mutual. And you are very good at what you do, this house is one of the most well organised I've ever seen from within. I also don't think you'll try to get rid of me."

She paused.

"I know that I will not be the only woman in his household forever, and instead of fighting it, tooth and claw, I see it as an opportunity for both him and me. One day, he will have a whole household someone has to run. By the time he inherits his odal lands, it will probably be closer to a chieftain's hall than an odal farm, and someone will have to oversee it, run it, be its matron in every practical sense."

"As his first wife, that would be you," Ina cut in. "I would not be a threat to that position. I was second to my sister for years, so I'm used to it."

"But you would be the matron, not me. My fate and talents lie elsewhere, and I have hoped for a while now that he would find someone else to shoulder that burden so I am not bound to a place and can do what I was born to do, without having to leave him behind."

She tilted her head with a smile.

"And I mean… he is younger than he could have been, reasonably exciting, and won't be home a lot of the time, so he would fulfil what you wished for in a husband on our first meeting. Do you like him?"

Ina still looked dumbfounded.

"I … I don't know, I've hardly spoken to him. He's behaving nicely and seems kind to you?"

"But would you mind taking him into your bed every now and then?"

The younger woman looked slightly cautious by now.

"He is a handsome man. He also seems quite committed to you."

Kildevi sighed.

"Yes, but that was not what I asked. I asked if the thought of finding him naked in your bed is pleasing, nauseating or just another household chore. Because two of those are possible to live with without being miserable, but the third one isn't."

"I have carefully not thought about that."

"If you had to be careful about it, I don't think that will be a problem."


Kildevi was relieved to see that Ina didn't go blatantly flirting at once. Instead, she was just a bit more sociable with him than usual at the evening meal, sending warm smiles his way, putting her hand on his shoulder when she asked if she should bring out more wine. It was all very innocuous, easily explained away as mere familiarity.

But Kildevi noticed it took about half the meal for her to not hesitate before she spoke or touched him. Poor Ina! She usually seemed quite confident, but now the nervousness was visible if you looked for it. When finally the food was eaten and everyone plied with wine or beer by preference, Kildevi managed to pull her aside.

"You know, we never talked about what you want. Do you want this?"

Ina glanced around, cautiously biting her lip.

"I… I think so? This morning, I thought it would cost me our friendship, and then you convinced me it wouldn't, but I haven't had time to think far beyond that."

Overcome by a sisterly tenderness, Kildevi took her hand and met her eyes. Right now, they were big, brown pools of uncertainty and confusion.

"Trust me, it will not. But if you want me to, I could probably discourage him. It would be a pity, but you seem so uncomfortable about the whole thing."

"I'm not uncomfortable about that. I'm uncomfortable about… you know… this whole trying to make him want me thing. Father's last match was an old man with attractive titles and coffers, who looked at me as if I was a honey-dipped apple without me having to do a thing. This time he's a man in his prime, who looks like he's the one dipped in honey and already has a young pretty wife he doesn't seem bored with. What am I supposed to do? Throw a log in his head?"

"Don't do that. I've already nursed him through one concussion, not even he managed to make it pretty."

Ina chortled. She started to look like herself again.

"But I don't want to compete with you. Not even if I could."

"I know, and I appreciate it. But no one in their right mind would see us as women competing for the same spot. I mean… even if you only use your eyes to see, I'm blonde and thin, you're dark and curvy. Add to that how I ponder the secrets of fate, while you roll up your sleeves and get things done, and any fool could see how well we complement each other."

"You make it sound like he should consider himself lucky?"

"On second thought, I don't think he deserves us together. Let's call the whole thing off!"

By now, Ina was laughing.

"Thank you. He's less intimidating now."


The more Kildevi thought about it, the more she realised the usual approach of making a man look twice and then waiting for him to ask the father simply would not work. It wasn't a matter of his fancy being impossible to tickle, but rather that when faced with all of those principles he had about putting her first in front of other women, it simply wouldn't matter. He also wouldn't seriously ponder the idea of making ties by marriage, unless someone pointed him in that direction. Worst case, he would see Ina in a bad light for being a disloyal friend.

As usual, the insight struck late at night when they were cuddled up to sleep. No. She would have to interfere.

"Ástin mín?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think about Ina?"

The relaxed sleepiness on his face disappeared in a heartbeat and was replaced with cautiously narrowed eyes.

"I haven't thought much about her to be honest. Why?"

"I think she's quite comely. Gorgeous hair, don't you think?"

"Sure, she's fine. What is this about?"

"So, a little bird told me that your old friend has tasked his daughter with getting your attention, and the little bird was very surprised to find me favourable."

His face had now gone from cautious to outright suspicious.

"Are you trying to convince me to take Ina as my second wife?"

"Well, yes."

He was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke the voice was low and filled with doubt.

"I thought things were good?"

"They are!"

"So, why are you trying to send me into the arms of Bjarni's daughter?"

Kildevi pushed herself up on her elbow.

"Because, I don't want this to be the last time I go with you! And if I am to follow you out on your travels, you will need a wife at home to fill the function as the matron of your household. I am not trying to send you off into the arms of someone else, I am willing to share you with someone at home, so that I don't have to part with you whenever you are going somewhere."

"That was a… different way of looking at it."

She shrugged.

"Not that different, I am certainly not the first woman to have that idea. Do you really think Jorunn could be Frodes treasurer if they didn't have Unna back home? There are more reasons for a man to have wives, or even concubines, than a choice of where to go at night."

"... and you consider it your duty to find that second wife for me?"

He sounded amused now, and Kildevi felt a quip form on her tongue, but reined it in. This time, she refused to be pulled off track by banter.

"Not necessarily, but a man benefits if his women get along. And it is not in my interest if you find some mindless young thing who won't further our house at all, or who tries to undermine me."

He still looked hesitant, but the look of caution and reluctance had disappeared when he realised she wasn't trying to get rid of him.

"I am spoiled by a history of accomplished women, I am not sure I could do right by someone who didn't impress me in some way."

"So, good thing she's already extraordinary. She and her sister did your mother's job together, as children. I don't know if you know how impressive that is."

He seemed to consider that for a moment.

"And what exactly do you expect from me in this arrangement? You know that I can't just bring her home, leave her to mother and then pretend she doesn't exist."

"No. And that would be your loss, by the way, she is kind and funny and easy on the eyes as far as I can tell. I expect you to give her the minimum of what you once grudgingly offered me, to allow her to run your household and show up in her bed at least once a week when we are home. I don't mind if you give her more. My only expectation is to keep my place as the first, both in standing and attention. I will not be replaced and forgotten."

"And you have no fear that could happen?"

"Not really."

He let out a low laugh.

"Once you wished you had my confidence, right now I wish I had yours."

"I will be frank with you, my love. I know that if you lost all interest in me, I could leave. I am not bound to wifehood like most women are. That means it is in your interest to keep me somewhat happy, as long as you want me. If, at some point, you don't anymore, I will take our most gifted daughters and leave."

"That is always harsh to hear."

She shook her head.

"It shouldn't be. The only thing I demand is that you keep treating me the way you have always done, long before you took the word love in your mouth. You should be forced to remember my worth, anything else would be beneath us. And should it ever come to that, you will have plenty of warning beforehand, and the chance for an amicable divorce. I have bound myself to you. Those bonds are not easily unravelled."

She wasn't sure he agreed, but he didn't push it further. Instead, he said, "there is another thing to consider. We both know that the main thing Bjarni wants out of this isn't a bride price. He wants to tie down our routes, and my guess is that he will want our ships to transport his wares, not to mention having a middleman to the markets at home."

"Surely the details of that must be a matter for later negotiations?"

"Yes, but it is still a decision I need to make about where to invest our time and resources. Is the route down to the Greeks one we want to make permanent? I have made the journey twice now, or really just once because my first run was not truly a trading expedition. They are profitable, but long and hazardous. If we were to forge this into something permanent, we would profit from setting up a second house, maybe in Holmgard or Smaleskia, and who would manage it?"

"Wouldn't this be one of those occasions when having too many brothers comes in handy?"

"Of course. Everything can be solved. But do we want to?"

Kildevi sighed.

"I feel that must be your decision. But you have already worked to set up contacts along the way, and nothing forces us to take the waterway between Smaleskia and Ladoga if the issue of Lovat is weighing on you. Sledding would be faster, although the loads are smaller, but with someone like Asbjorn in Holmgard that wouldn't necessarily be a problem."

"It sounds as if you have thought this through very long term, if Asbjorn is who you're thinking about."

Kildevi shook her head.

"No, I am just making this up as we go along, everything I say will have to be properly thought about later. The honest truth is that I really like her, and think of this as an opportunity to get you fully settled in a way that will work in the long run, to the benefit of everyone. And kin in Kyiv would be a great boon."

She sighed, watching him watching her. She didn't want this conversation to be one of loss, but maybe it couldn't be had without it.

"We both wanted to believe that I could be for you what your mother is for your father, but in truth I think we both know that has never been the case. It just took me a while to understand it."

"I have tried not to think about it."

So, he had realised. Of course he had.

"Me too. But it doesn't have to be the end of anything. It will just be… different from what you thought two years ago. And with no curse to hold you back, Isidor is right. It would look frugal of you to keep just one woman when your peers have at least a wife and a concubine, most of them more."

His face was past solemn. It wasn't like him to fall into brooding.

"I know. But father has always been very clear about mother being the sole queen of his kingdom, and he has never let his other women set foot in her realm. Bringing your competition into your own house goes against everything he taught me."

Smiling, Kildevi shook her head and looked down on him.

"And you just assume we would be competing? Because that is not what I think is going to happen. I've seen competing wives, but I have also seen some very cordial working friendships, and that is why I'm putting my nose where I'm sure you think it doesn't belong." She sighed. "Eskil, I am not going anywhere. You wouldn't lose a wife, you'd gain one. And did you really think that you could show me Miklagard, and then I'd be content to stay home to count the apples?"

He grimaced.

"No, not really."

"This wouldn't mean I would be less of your wife, quite the opposite. We would share more of life, not less."

"I know. That's why I haven't said no. But I need time to mourn my image of you as the matron of my house, before I can put it to rest and make other plans."

She nodded, softly stroking a strand of hair down behind his ear.

"I guess I can understand that. But now, at least, you know how to read the breakfast table tomorrow, and to react to her with this conversation in mind. Don't make any obvious moves to dismiss her."

"I'll be kind and ambiguous."

"Thank you."

Eyelids heavy, she laid her head down on his arm again and yawned.

"I think I need to sleep. Goodnight, ástin mín."

Eskil lay quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling. Kildevi squinted up at him.

"Don't you think we should blow out the light?"

"I… I don't think I can sleep now."

---

Endnote: I have made a factual mistake and mixed up the old Norse location names. The recorded name Sýrnes wasn't used about Gnezdovo, outside modern day Smolensk, but about Chernigov. I will go back and edit away all the Syrneses as soon as life allows.
So, when they talk about Gnezdovo in this chapter forward, what they mean is the place called Sýrnes earlier in the story.
Sorry 'bout that!
Update 3/5: Smaleskia, Sýrnes will be renamed Smaleskia. Which is a pity because Sýrnes has such a nice ring to it.

 

[Yla]

Nice thematic alignment with what she and Ormgeir had discussed.
Although I had to reread to remember who Ina was and when she and Kildevi had become such good friends.