Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
Anger flamed to life in my chest, but I bit my lip and kept silent.
“It was either do nothing or commit murder on the grounds of Fjalltindr,” Bjorn answered. “Be glad I checked my violence, Father.”
Snorri snorted, seemingly unconvinced. “Act like the weapon you are. Put fear into the hearts of our enemies. Be worthy of Tyr’s fire.”
Snap back, I willed Bjorn. Put him in his place. But he only said, “Yes, Father.”
Scowling, I stepped over the pooled water to place a coin at Odin’s feet. “Odin,” I whispered. Allfather, if it is your will, please see Bjorn released from the burden of his past so that he might fight those who deserve his vengeance. Accept this offering on his behalf.
A shiver passed over me, my skin prickling. But the sensation quickly passed, leaving me suddenly drained. I’d barely slept in days, climbed mountains infested with monsters, and fought battles with words and weapons. All I wanted was to curl up on a flat surface somewhere and not move until dawn tomorrow.
Except judging from the rhythmic drumming outside, sleep was not an option.
“The ritual is beginning,” Ylva said. “We must go prepare, and quickly.”
Surrounded by Snorri’s warriors, we went to a small hall that appeared to have been granted to Snorri for his use. We paused outside, Ylva using a stick of charcoal to draw runes on the door, the markings flaring bright and then seeming to sink into the wood when she was finished. “While we call this hall home, no one with ill intent to any of our party may enter,” she murmured. “Though it will not stop them from burning it down around our heads.”
“I’ll post guards,” Snorri said, then motioned for me to go inside.
The hall was simply furnished with many cots, and a fire burned in the hearth, but otherwise, it was empty.
“Where is Steinunn?” Snorri asked of Bjorn, genuine concern in his voice. “Did she fall?”
“It was too dangerous for her to come,” Bjorn answered. “I sent her back with your warrior. Told her to try to catch up to you.”
Snorri’s face darkened. “We saw no sign of her. She was supposed to travel with you for a reason, Bjorn.”
The gleam in Bjorn’s eye told me he was thinking of making this situation worse, so I said, “She resisted, only agreeing to part ways with us after I gave my word that I’d tell her all she wished to know. And it’s well she didn’t make the climb, for she’d have surely fallen to the draug in the battle.” He seemed unappeased, so I added, “Steinunn herself told me her magic is more powerful when her song tells a story from the eyes of those who endure the trials, so it is best that it will be my story she sings without the influence of seeing the events herself.”
I held my breath as Snorri silently considered my words, then he nodded and said, “You will tell her all at the soonest opportunity. As it is, I wished her here to sing the ballad of your birth in fire and your marking for all clans to hear, and now that must wait.”
“I’ll tell her everything,” I lied, because there were most definitely moments in the tunnels that the world did not need to know.
Snorri gave me a curt nod, turning once again to Bjorn, and Ylva shoved me behind a curtain. “Clothes off. With all my thralls dead to ensure you lived, you’ll have to bathe yourself. Do it swiftly.”
You killed them, not me, I wanted to say. Instead I remained silent, pulling off my chain-mail shirt and then the garments underneath, cringing at the stink of metal, sweat, and blood that clung to me. Boots and trousers joined the pile on the floor, and I hoped I’d have time to wash them before having to don them again, because the smell would only worsen.
A bucket of steaming water arrived, and I struggled to unravel my braids with one hand. My right had stiffened horribly, the tightness of my scars made worse by the bruising I’d gained punching the draug.
“Cursed, useless girl.” Ylva abandoned her own washing to help me. “Head in the bucket.”
She swiftly washed my hair before leaving me to scrub the filth from my body with a rag. From the bags, she extracted a simple dress, which she helped me into before dressing herself.
“What will happen tonight?” I asked, finally in the position to get answers to the questions I’d been avoiding thinking about. An enormous price had been paid to get me here for the ritual, yet I still had no notion of what would occur.
“All those who have traveled to Fjalltindr will make sacrifices to the gods,” Ylva said. “As will you.”
“That’s it?” Not that I was complaining. If killing a chicken was all that I had to do, I’d gladly do it.
“There is a celebration afterwards, but you will come back here where we can ensure your safety. The runes on the hall will protect you.” She went to the wall where a dozen masks hung on hooks and selected one fashioned to look like a raven, a long cape of black feathers hanging from it. She fit it on my head, and when I looked up, it was to see the sharp beak protruding above my forehead. With ash, she shadowed the skin around my eyes as though I were going to war. Fastening a mask with deer antlers on her own head, she said, “We sent a messenger back to Halsar after you separated from us. Even now, Ragnar will be coming with all haste with the rest of our fighting men to ensure we get back down this mountain alive.”
“They’ll be leaving Halsar undefended?”
“Yes.” Her gaze was frosty. “I hope you appreciate what is being done to keep you safe.”
All of that so that I could kill a chicken in front of a crowd of people.
As though hearing my thoughts, Ylva gripped my shoulders, staring unblinkingly at me from behind her mask. “You are a child of the gods, girl. You are one of the Unfated, which means everything you do has the power to alter your destiny, and the destinies of those around you, for good and ill.”
Not for the first time, I hated that fact. Longed to be fully mortal so that everything I’d ever do was already woven. For it felt like I was running down an unmapped path where I might easily lose my way, dragging myself and all those I cared for to our doom.
Ylva looked me up and down, her lips pinched tight. “We have no more time, so this will have to do.”
When we stepped out from behind the curtain, it was to find Snorri and Bjorn waiting unmasked and in silence, the tension between them high. Both had removed their mail, and Bjorn had scrubbed the blood from his face, revealing shadows beneath his green eyes. Exhausted, yet he moved unerringly to my elbow, his father giving him a nod of approval before stepping outside, where the warriors waited.
Snorri and Ylva led the group through the trees, hundreds of people moving in the same direction. Many men and women wore elaborate masks like my own, often accompanied by decorated hides or cloaks of feathers, which made it seem like a herd of beasts approaching the ritual.
Bjorn walked at my left, his eyes roving over any who drew near. A woman walked against the flow, her face concealed by a mask of raven feathers that blended into her dark hair. Bjorn tensed as she drew close and my own heart skittered, seeing threats at every turn. But she only murmured, “What path do you follow?”
I blinked, opening my mouth to answer her, but Bjorn caught my arm and drew me forward. “Seems like many have already indulged in mushroom tea.”
Frowning, I cast a backward glance at the woman, but she’d already disappeared into the trees, so I turned my eyes to where torches glowed, illuminating a gathering of hundreds of people standing before a large flat rock. Drummers pounded the same rhythm they had before, low and ominous, and through the tree foliage a full moon glowed overhead.