Begga had Aurnir hauling an ancient stump out of the bleak yard behind their home when Skadi returned. She’d intertwined a stout rope between the roots and was now encouraging Aurnir to pull. The half-giant stared at her without understanding as she mimed him yanking.

“Pull! The rope! Grab the rope with your big hands and pull the stump out. Out, Aurnir, out!”

Aurnir gave the rope a listless tug and then looked expectantly at the old woman.

“Skadi! Thank the gods, see if you can’t convince this lug to tear the stump out. He’s just smiling at me like a newborn fool and for the life of me I can’t make him understand.”

Skadi grinned. Nobody had even glanced at the old half-spear in her hand. “Why do you want the stump out?”

“Why? For a garden, of course! We’re already late in the season, but we could plant any number of vegetables and herbs if we could but use the space. I’ve tried working around the roots, but they go deep. It needs to be torn out, the earth sorted for rocks, and then I can get to work.”

“Very well.” Skadi shoved Thyrnir through her belt and stepped up alongside the half-giant. “Let’s do what she asks, shall we?”

And without bothering to explain, she leaned back and pulled as hard as she could on the rope.

Nothing happened.

Aurnir watched for a moment, then seized the rope as well and tugged.

The rope grew thinner as its fibers bunched together. The stump shivered, shook, and rose an inch.

“That’s it! Keep going!” Begga began to hop from foot to foot in excitement. “Tear it out, roots and—”

The rope snapped.

Skadi tumbled onto her arse, while Aurnir, fortunately, caught his balance before sitting on her.

“—and bother.” Begga stumped up to the torn rope and lifted one frayed end. “I’ll be having words with Fengr over this. Swore it was good rope.”

Skadi stood, dusted herself off, and winked. “You do that, Begga. Take him some tea while you’re at it.”

“Take him—he’s the one who owes me a rope, why would I—?”

Skadi left Aurnir to listen to Begga’s ire and entered the house. Ulfarr was sharpening stakes by the fire, carving broad curls from the pale wood, while Kofri sat on a bench, green in the face and belching unhappily. Glámr had returned and was chopping roots on a thick cutting board, while Damian moved slowly through a series of slow postures, murmuring quietly as he did so.

Skadi’s arrival drew everybody’s eye.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Skadi assured Damian.

“It’s no interruption. Just a moving meditation. A way to dedicate your day’s energy to the sun.” Damian smiled. “Been so long since I practice my devotional forms that a quick pause won’t offend my god.”

“Best that he didn’t notice,” said Glámr, returning to cutting the large, pale roots. “Lives are best lived outside of the gods’ attention.”

“Didn’t see you complaining when I healed your shoulder,” grinned Damian, passing the cutting board and snagging a small chunk which he popped in his mouth. “That’s right, Skadi. I performed a miracle yesterday evening. The sun saw fit to heal Brother Glámr’s shoulder.”

“Brother Glámr,” snorted the half-troll.

Ulfarr paused in his carving. “Were or were you not soused at the time?”

“A few cups of white mead, to be sure. But perhaps I am to become a drunken ágios, one of the original wandering miracle-workers who emerged from the desert to spread the word of the sun—”

“Emerged from the desert?” asked Glámr. “Where they worshipped the sun? Sounds like your religion is based on heat sickness.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the half-troll.

“I am well, thank you for asking,” said Skadi, moving to their water pitcher. “My uncle gifted me with a weapon of my choosing as promised. Oh, it was quite wondrous. But go on, continue this interesting discussion on the originals of sun worship.”

“He did?” Glámr set down his cleaver. “Where is it? I only see a ruined spear.”

Kofri belched and pressed his hand on his stomach.

“This is indeed it,” said Skadi, drawing Thyrnir. “A wondrous gift.”

The silence that followed was hesitant. On each face was that delicate hesitancy that comes before imparting bad news.

Ulfarr closed one eye as he studied the weapon. “I don’t understand. That’s the sign of a jarl’s favor?”

“Its name is Thyrnir,” laughed Skadi, unable to restrain herself any longer. “It was once wielded by Halfdan Snakehair.”

“That I’ll believe,” said Kofri, voice tight. “Looks older than me.”

“Skadi?” Glámr paused. “I am trying to find a manner most politic to address this clear lapse in judgment on your part, but—”

Skadi hefted the broken weapon, then paused. She didn’t know how far Thyrnir might travel, and the danger of hurling it through the wall into a passerby was too great. “Suffice to say that it was my destiny to choose this weapon, and now that it is come to me I’m confident my wyrd has grown stronger.”

The others exchanged glances.

“As you say,” said Ulfarr calmly, and returned to his carving.

“You could, urp, adopt an interesting fighting stance with, ah, your weapons,” said Kofri, rising carefully to his feet. “Seax in your main hand, short spear in the off.” He turned to unleash a reverberating burp against the wall, his whole body bending to the release, then sighed with contentment after. “Ah. That’s better. Like this, see.”

Skadi handed Thyrnir and Natthrafn over. Kofri adopted a three-quarters profile and held the seax before him. His other hand he raised so that his fist was by his temple, the spear held as if to be hurled.

“Now you advance, swiping with the seax, and when ready, you jab with the spear. It will take your opponent by surprise, the reach of it. Watch.” Kofri stepped forward, waving the seax in sideways slashes, and then bent forward to stab the spear, its head plunging a good six feet forward before him.

The activity was too vigorous; Kofri remained bent over and loosed another gargling burp, which became a vigorous, albeit brief, fart when he stood.

“Apologies,” he said, handing the weapons over. “Not fit for company right now.”

“We need Aurnir to break us open a window,” said Glámr, rising from his stool to move to the doorway.

“Best if you went for a walk,” suggested Ulfarr, burying his nose in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m better now,” protested Kofri. “But…” He looked around and then sighed. “A swim would do me good.”

With that, he stepped outside.

Skadi adopted the same posture. Natthrafn out front, Thyrnir poised to strike.

“Just like a scorpion,” said Damian. “Claws up front, poisoned stinger overhead.”

“Scorpion?” asked Skadi, rising from her stance.

“A deadly desert beast. We get them in southern Nearós Ílios. They can grow as big as a man, some say bigger. Claws like crabs up front, and an arched tail overhead. They trap their prey with the claws, then sting them with a jab of their tail, poisoning them.”

“Skadi the Scorpion,” said Glámr, moving back to his stool. “Has a good ring to it.”

“Skadi the Scorpion,” mused Skadi, moving back into the combat stance. She crossed the floor, alternating between seax slashes and spear thrusts. “Could work.”

“Won’t help you unless you can get Blakkr to stand still before you,” said Glámr, taking up his cleaver. “With all respect to your uncle, he’s placed you in an impossible situation.”

“Impossible were it not for the strength of my wyrd,” said Skadi. “I’m confident I’ll find a way out of this problem.”

“But you’re denied a ship,” protested Damian. “That’s the part I can’t understand. How does he expect you to accomplish what he and three dragon ships failed to do without a single ship to your name?”

Skadi didn’t have a ready answer, so instead she sheathed Natthrafn, stuck Thyrnir through her belt, and dipped her cup back into the water barrel.

“He was wise enough to stipulate you can’t bring Afastr into the mix,” said Glámr. “Otherwise we could have engineered a misunderstanding between the two of them. Instead, you have to neutralize a powerful jarl and his warriors by yourself. Your wyrd is powerful, I’ll not argue that, but sufficiently powerful to accomplish such a task?”

“Ulfarr?” Skadi sat on the bench. “Your thoughts.”

Ulfarr pursed his lips and slowly ran his adze down the length of the stake. “We cannot choose the circumstances of our lives, merely how we react to them. Thus if you must neutralize Blakkr, that is what you must do. If you have no ship, then your plans should not depend on sailing.”

“Profound,” said Glámr. “If unhelpful.”

“It’s unhelpful if you are unwilling to think things through,” said Ulfarr, pausing to stare at the half-troll. “That has rarely been your failing thus far, Glámr. If one does not have a ship and cannot sail, what can one do?”

“Walk,” said Skadi. “The mountain road. It connects every fjord.”

“Aye.” Ulfarr resumed smoothing the wood. “You should learn the distance to Djúprvik, and then factor that travel time into your plans. You have three months.”

Damian ran his fingers through his dark curls. “But say we use the mountain road to reach Djúprvik. Then what? We assault the town? Aurnir might knock a hole in their wall, but we’d be slaughtered before we made it to the great hall.”

“We can’t assault them,” said Skadi, tapping her cup against her chin. “But Ulfarr’s right. We’ll march to Djúprvik. I can’t imagine it’d take more than a week to reach.”

“I don’t think that qualifies as a plan,” said Glámr. “More like a statement of intent. But still. You can, of course, count on my assistance.”

“And mine,” said Damian immediately.

“Aurnir will go,” continued Glámr.

“As would I,” said Ulfarr, “but in truth, I think you would be better off without me. Kofri and I are willing, but our days of crossing the mountains and emerging ready for battle on the far side are long behind us.”

“No, you and Kofri must stay. Whatever plan we enact must be executed by we four.” Skadi sighed and then downed her cup. “But we need more information. More options. Ásfríðr has agreed to teach me seiðr.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Is that so?” Ulfarr considered. “That will indeed add more options, but it will also complicate your fate.”

“It’s complicated enough already,” smiled Skadi. “What’s a little more?”

“We must if possible work toward a stated goal,” said Glámr. “Kvedulf demanded we render Blakkr no longer a menace. A menace to Kráka and his right to rule here. Which means we need not necessarily kill the jarl. We could, say, destroy his ships.”

“True,” said Skadi.

“Or… convert all of Djúprvik to sun worship,” smiled Damian. “Then they’ll refuse to do Blakkr’s bidding.”

“Also technically true,” said Skadi.

“An arrow in the throat would be effective, however,” mused Glámr, setting the cleaver down. “Depending on who would claim jarldom after.”

Skadi thought of the mass of golden threads that enveloped Kvedulf. “I sincerely doubt we could end this quest so easily. Blakkr’s wyrd is probably not to be killed by an unseen assassin.”

“We should prepare to head out soon, however,” said Damian. “If we’re to find a way to neutralize him, we should begin as quickly as possible. That way we can study Djúprvik and have time to come up with a plan.”

“If I may,” said Ulfarr. “One thing my experiences have taught me is to not rush into battle. You have three months. I doubt you need that much to effect whichever plan you set your hearts upon. So use it wisely. Skadi here just said she might be learning seiðr. That might prove more useful than any stratagem you could devise without it.”

Damian frowned, considered, then nodded reluctantly. “You speak wisdom indeed.”

“Agreed,” said Skadi. “We should learn how long it will take to travel to Djúprvik and what perils may lie on the way. The mountains are hardly friendly terrain. I’ll meet with Ásfríðr to get a sense of how much I can learn in the best amount of time. That and I need to continue working on my fighting. You, too, Damian.”

He looked stricken. “More running up mountains with shields in both hands?”

“It’ll depend. We’ll speak with Marbjörn and get his opinion. One thing’s for certain. We can’t continue to rely on luck and our wyrd to get us through these battles.”

She considered her broken spear. “When we fight against Jarl Blakkr and his men, we’ll need to preserve our luck as much as possible. There will be no Jarl Kvedulf or his hird to help us overcome impossible odds. It’ll all depend on our own talent and ability. And I refuse to lose any of you because I stinted on my training.”

“The young woman will become a hero yet,” said Ulfarr with a smile.

“Become?” Glámr turned to the old man in exasperation. “As if she isn’t already?”

“This is but a frigid and remote corner of the world, friend half-troll,” said Ulfarr. “For all that her deeds may echo loudly here, she has yet to step on the world stage and contest with the true powers of the middle realm. But I believe she shall. Her wyrd is strong and her will may even be stronger. So begins her legend, but mark me well, this is still but the beginning.”

Glámr shook his head in mute despair. “I cannot fathom the nature of the deeds she must yet accomplish if she’s to become a hero in truth.”

“Time will tell. Fate goes ever as fate must.”

Those words caused Skadi to shiver and her hair to prickle down her arms. “Yes. Well. Let’s get to moving fate right along. Glámr, it couldn’t hurt you to work on your weapon skills. Come with Damian and me.”

“I will pass. I’d rather not have Marbjörn use me as a target with which to train you all.”

“Wasn’t a request,” said Skadi sweetly. “It was an order. So stand. Grab your gear, and follow.”

For a long, drawn-out moment, Glámr merely stared at her, and then he sighed and bowed his head. “Why did I ever think it wise to join with you? This will quite literally be the death of me.”

“Cease your bellyaching. Damian?”

“Yes, yes, I find that I quite miss running with shields till I vomit.”

“Good.” Skadi smiled at Ulfarr. “We’ll see you soon.”

To which Ulfarr raised a hand in farewell. “Have fun. It only gets harder from here on out.”