Mira wasn’t the only one adjusting to a new way of life. Sigyn Speartooth’s bruises were all gone, and his rippled scarring faded from violet to red to pink. He could remember the things he’d known before the lightning strike with ease, only he couldn’t remember anything that happened after it.

Each day it was like he’d just arrived back from the sea. People were gentle about it, but he could sense that they were humouring him sometimes. He’d get angry and shout that some terrible secret was being kept from him or attack those he felt were part of a sinister plot against him. Sometimes Fell or another villager would explain that he was struck by lightning and his memory was ruined, but his reaction would be different depending on the day, so there was no knowing whether this would be helpful or not. Some days this knowledge eased him, and he would ask after what he missed or take to his work like nothing was wrong. Occasionally, he’d even jest about it.

“Would you like to borrow some coin? I won’t remember you owing me tomorrow, so now is your chance.”

Other days, shadowy despair would cling to him. Twice he’d tried to take his own life. It took several men to hold him down as he raged about the pointlessness of his days despite Myret telling him that there was no way to know that his memory wouldn’t begin working again one day. Often, he would grow adamant about discussing his raiding plans for the next season, suspecting that his captain would not have him. Viggo swore on his own life that he would take Sigyn next year, no matter the trouble it caused.

“You will face the steel men at least once more,” he said with such firmness that no one dared argue with the man even though the expressions of several nearby revealed they were not certain this was a wise course.

On days when everyone was tired of the emotional and physical strife that came along with the truth, people would offer Sigyn wine and pretend that it was the day he thought it was, that he’d just come back from the sea and they’d missed him.

One cloudy day, when he’d been told the truth, that he had no new memories since he was struck by Hyrold, he didn’t argue or laugh (which were his two most common reactions). Instead, Sigyn grew silent, and, for some reason, that day, he went to Mira.

He sat beside her on the docks watching the waves rove, and when she spoke, he jumped. “You know our words?” His shoulders sank as if big rocks were set upon them. “Oh, right… I have forgotten….”

Mira did feel bad for Sigyn that day, especially about letting the children chuck rocks at him and tease him. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live each day knowing you weren’t going to remember any of it.

“But at least….” He furrowed his brow. “I mean, a memory—” He held one hand up in the air. “—For a full life.” He lifted the other hand. “That is probably a fair trade, right?”

Mira’s chest ached, and she did not correct him. She didn’t tell him that she wasn’t actually a prisoner back home and that he’d made a terrible mistake. She nodded and said, “thank you.”

And from that day on, whenever Sigyn was having a particularly hard time, Mira would go to him and thank him for what he’d done. Usually, the idea of saving a young woman from a horrible life as a prisoner lifted his spirits enough that he could carry on being confused.

Mira would tell him things about her life back home that were bleak or sad or brutal, and, in a way, this helped her too. It felt good to get the darker things outside her body. It didn’t matter what she said because he wouldn’t remember it the next day, so she could even discuss feelings for her mother that would riddle her with guilt if someone were to recall her saying them. She spoke about the burning of witches and corsets and the punishments she was given for the slightest of offences. About the necklace that women who spoke too much could be forced to wear that had a spikey ball that went into the mouth, how it would cut her if she moved her tongue at all. Mira told Sigyn about the fear that she felt every day back home. About the things she realized when Egil’s children came to town.

***

Not long after Mira began to make amends with Sigyn, there was an evening when she came to the hearth alone. Her plan was to grab a wineskin and wander off on her own where she could have a drink without the incessant picking and poking of the townsfolk, which had perhaps lessened but was nowhere near dissolved. Maybe she would climb the hills and play her harp to herself? The moon was especially bright that evening, and she wanted to enjoy something of her day since Fell had gone hunting with a few of his friends, and he wouldn’t be back until later in the night or perhaps even the following day.

Vreydis was there and figured out what Mira was doing, and the woman knocked the drink out of Mira’s hands with a chuckle. There was no reason for it that Mira could fathom—maybe she was tired of being pushed around, maybe she was extra irritable because she was always a little hungry since Gorn teased her over each meal, maybe the child inside her that she didn’t know about yet made her stronger—whatever the cause, her patience was gone and with it went her good sense. She made a sound without meaning to, a sort of angry growl-scream. Her frustration was too great. It needed out.

But the sound was not enough, and her anger pushed forward in another way. She swung for Vreydis, and because the woman wasn’t expecting a reaction like that, she was startled. Mira managed to hit her three times before the woman took her to the ground and began to hit back.

In a way, the whole thing was awful because it hurt. A lot. But in another, it wasn’t as bad as Mira thought a fight would be. There was an energy that came into her blood that softened the pain a little and made it easy to choose what to do next. She could hear the sounds of people watching and reacting, only she wasn’t distracted by them.

The fight didn’t last long. Vreydis stopped, and Mira—without understanding what she was doing—followed the woman’s lead. They were sitting on the ground, both of them breathless. Every part of Mira hurt, but her cheekbone on the right side and her stomach and her left hip hurt the most. Everything was sore and throbbing, and, inexplicably, this made her hearing worse.

Vreydis laughed. “You are slightly less pathetic than I thought.”

Vreydis got up first because she was far less sore. She took wine for herself—and one for Mira.

When Fell finally made it to the hearth that evening, his eyes shot to Mira instantly. “You are unwell?” That’s what his mouth said, but his eyes were saying, who do I need to hurt?

Mira’s pain had come on in full by that point, and her lip was swollen, so her words didn’t feel right in her mouth. “I don’t know.”

He lifted her chin and tilted her face to each side to have a better look. “Do you still have all your teeth?”

Mira stuck a finger into her mouth. She hadn’t known that you could lose teeth from fighting. They all seemed to be there.

It didn’t take Fell long to figure out what happened. He scanned the faces of those at the hearth, and Vreydis’ eye was red and swollen. His eyebrows lifted playfully, but the quick rise and fall of his chest revealed he didn’t think what happened was amusing—he was angry about it.

“It was Mira that started it,” said Toke.

Fell’s brow furrowed.

“It’s true,” Orvir said. “We all saw.”

There were nods and mumbles of agreeance.

Fell turned back to Mira, no longer angry in the least. His eyes were bright with interest, and… maybe it was pride? Mira had never made an adult feel proud of her, or at least, she never knew about it if she did. He said, “You picked a fight?”

Mira wouldn’t have called it that. She would have said Vreydis started it by knocking the wine out of her hand.

Fell laughed and turned to Vreydis. “How did she fare?”

“Not as bad as you would think.”

“Ha!”

Later on, Mira would be able to look back and laugh the way Fell did in the moment. At the time, however, she was too grumpy from the dozen aches she felt all at once. Still, it was good that it happened that way because after that night, for the most part, the Northern folk in Gittenurg stopped pushing Mira to see what she was made of. They knew she was made of something firm enough to be called Norsen.