Skadi stared up into Afastr’s face, hypnotized by the very power of his certainty, then tore her gaze away and stood.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, ignoring the stares, and made her way to the side door and then out into the night. Sidestepped and leaned against the wall, her whole body shaking from the intensity of her emotions.

It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t be fated to be just a mother. To bear Afastr’s child and spend the rest of her life in his shadow. She was destined for more than that. She had to avenge Riki, rescue her mother—

But what greater blow could she deal to the Archeans than birth the man who would destroy them?

Skadi placed her hand over her stomach. Never once had she dreamed of kindling life in there. When other girls had mooned over the young warriors in her father’s hird, she’d scoffed and hefted her throwing axe. When the girls had discussed their prospects, which suitor would give them the best gift price for their hand, who had the better extended family and alliances, where they’d be forced to move if they started a new home—Skadi had been grateful that such considerations were out of her control, and thus nothing she need waste time thinking about.

She’d willingly chosen blindness and pretended that she was like Riki and Svinnr, destined to join her father’s hird and go viking in other lands. To travel, cross the whale road and see new lands. Marvel at the forests of the Skaberi, the monumental ruins that dotted the Isern landscape, to perhaps even cross the Hollow Hills to Tristesse. To earn glory, commission her own dragon ship, form a crew, to live, to determine her own path—

Her hand over her stomach curled into a fist. But to instead become the wife to such a man as Afastr? To live in remote Kaldrborg, as far from any civilized land as one could go? To spend the rest of her life managing his affairs, running his home… She just couldn’t picture it.

Tried to imagine Afastr smiling or laughing. Seated and at ease by a hearth, talking quietly about the day’s affairs as she brought him a cup of mead and offered counsel.

No.

Absurd.

Afastr seemed inhuman. Not only in size, but in temperament; he was too dominating, too powerful, too overwhelming. She’d be a shadow in his longhouse. Couldn’t imagine getting to know him as anything else than her master.

And even so, might it not be worth it, this sacrifice, if it meant spawning a legend that would defeat Archea? Could she really say no simply because it wasn’t her desire?

“You are to be a peaceweaver,” her father had said. Was this what he had meant? To sacrifice herself on the altar of the world’s needs?

She felt lost, rudderless.

There was only one person whose counsel she desired. On impulse she shoved off the wall and broke into a run, leaving the longhouse behind and breaking out into the street. Headed uphill and when she reached the Raven’s Gate, she she cried out for the doors to be opened.

The warriors didn’t question her.

She raced up the rock trail. The night was cool but pleasant; the stars were vivid overhead, a great smear of spangles against a deeper bruise of purple. Up she ran, then took the familiar turn-off into the alpine meadow. She ran without fear. Nothing out here could threaten her now with her wyrd and Thyrnir in her belt. On she ran, her pace unflagging, along a dark copse, up ridges, ever under the night sky, until at last she reached Ásfríðr’s glade.

Puffing for breath she climbed up the short cliff face and strode through the gods’ gate toward the open door. She’d visited so many times that the temple was now bereft of the awe-inspiring atmosphere it had first possessed. Now it was almost familiar, so that Skadi entered through the doorway, calling out as she went, “Ásfríðr?”

“Within,” called back the völva. “Skadi?”

Skadi entered the main chamber with its great Freyja statue and altar of candles. The air was rich with herbal smoke and the rich savory scent of stew. After the chaotic madness of the packed longhouse, the quiet and tranquility of the temple felt infinitely preferable.

“What is it?” asked the völva, emerging from a side door clad only in a long tunic and plain belt, her burgundy hair plaited into a simple braid. “Does Kvedulf not hold a feast—”

Skadi wanted nothing more than to hug the older woman, bury her face in her shoulder, and take comfort from her presence. Instead, she forced herself to stand straight. “Jarl Afastr said his völva spoke a prophecy. That he and I had to wed so that we might produce a child who would be the world’s only hope against the Archeans. He said he wanted me to come willingly, but would take me by force if he had to.”

Ásfríðr’s eyes widened. “A prophecy?”

Skadi nodded. “He seems absolutely sure. Made it clear that he will do anything to have this child if it means Kaldrborg’s salvation.”

“I have seen nothing of this,” said Ásfríðr. “No sign or portent.”

Skadi fought to not wring her hands. “What can we do?”

To which Ásfríðr gave a predatory smile. “Why, we are völvas, too. We shall seek our own vision and question what the norns have spun.”

“Yes,” breathed Skadi in relief. “Yes, good.”

“Let me dress. You prepare the room. We shall attempt a simple searching first, and if that fails, probe more deeply into the mysteries.”

Skadi busied herself with the rituals Ásfríðr had taught her, cleaning away and setting out, replacing the candles and placing fresh offerings at Freyja’s feet. It felt so good to be productively employed, to have something to do.

Ásfríðr emerged at last in her full regalia, the upper half of her face hidden behind her fringe, twin horns rising from her brow, wearing her cat skin gloves and belt from which hung her numerous charms. She raised her staff and gazed up at Freyja, then bowed her head to mumble her greeting prayer.

When she finished, Skadi volunteered one last piece of information. “He said this prophecy was given by Odin.”

“By the Masked One? Well. Let us see what our Honorable Lady has to say about that. Begin the chant.”

For the next hour, they labored together, moving through each step of the ritual until at last Ásfríðr climbed the rungs to her high seat and gazed out into the hidden world.

Skadi watched with aching impatience. Finally, when Ásfríðr frowned, she could hold back no longer. “What do you see?”

Ásfríðr blinked and gazed down at her. “Nothing. This prophecy is well hidden. Let us try more drastic measures.”

Together they selected a sheep from the enclosure behind the temple, bound its feet together as it bleated and struggled, then hoisted it over a broad branch whose limb had been worn smooth by previous sacrifices.

In the dark they intoned prayers to Freyja, then Ásfríðr cut the sheep’s throat and caught the black fluid in a deep bowl. When she had enough she led Skadi back into the temple and before the great statue. She dripped a hawthorn branch into the blood and spattered it over the statue, then Skadi, then herself.

The droplets were warm on Skadi’s face, and she tasted copper.

Finally, Ásfríðr climbed back up to her high seat and rocked back and forth, moaning under her breath as she chanted the same phrase over and over again. No matter how carefully Skadi listened she couldn’t make out the words.

“Did you see anything?” asked Skadi, heart in her throat.

“Nothing,” croaked the völva. “Let me climb down and change clothing, and I’ll make us some tea.”

* * *

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” demanded Skadi irritably as they sat at a low table in a side chamber. “Was the sheep not enough?”

Ásfríðr poured their tea calmly. She ignored Skadi’s question with sublime indifference until both cups were full, and then set a third cup before her.

“There’s always a first time when a völva is asked such a question. Well do I remember my confusion and doubt when I couldn’t answer. When the spirits failed to provide me with information, when I peered from up on high and saw… nothing.”

Skadi glanced down at the third cup. “And?”

“And? Here. Give me the stone from that empty cup.”

Skadi looked inside again. It was empty. “What stone?”

Ásfríðr smiled but said with great firmness, “The stone in the cup. Give it to me.”

Skadi scowled, took up the cup, and inverted it. Nothing fell out. “See?” She shook it.

“Where is the stone?”

“There is no bleeding stone.”

“But I asked for it. I told you it’s in there.”

Skadi set the cup down. “He’s lying.”

“That, or I’m a poor excuse for a völva. Such a prophecy that encompasses the whole world would be hard to miss, unless Odin himself hides it for reasons unknown. But barring that, yes. He is lying.”

Skadi sat back and stared out into the middle distance. Said nothing for a spell, then blinked and focused on the older woman. “But he was so sure. He didn’t even sound excited or eager to convince me. Made it feel like a grim burden he had to shoulder.”

Ásfríðr smiled again. “Some men are very good liars.”

“But then… why the pretense?”

“Should be obvious, I would think. He very much wants to get you to Kaldrborg. He must have heard about your loss at Kalbaek, and fashioned a lie tailored to your grief and desire for vengeance. He did a good job. I’ve never seen you so rattled.”

“The bastard.”

“A fair assessment.”

“But why does he want me so badly?” Skadi glared at Ásfríðr. “I’ve been told I’m pleasing to the eye, but there are many other beautiful women he could surely have without starting a war. And he made his request to marry me before even seeing me. He can’t be enamored.”

“My guess? Given his stature, power, and commitment? It must have something to do with the potency of your wyrd. He must have sensed your rise, somehow.”

“That can be done?”

“Through the blessings of the gods, a powerful spirit, a great sorceress, or a potent treasure, assuredly. I’ve never heard of the like, but that means little. This world is vast and most strange. Miracles abound.”

“But why? My wyrd is my own. Plus I saw numerous warriors in his train with powerful wyrds. What need does he have for mine?”

“That I cannot say. But what do we know? He is the most powerful jarl on the Draugr Coast, and the most remote. He is willing to lie and deceive to acquire you, and if that fails, to go to war. Thus his reason is unlikely to be frivolous or one of mere fancy.”

Skadi frowned and sipped her tea. Recalled the huge jarl, his matter-of-fact way of selling his outrageous lie. How could he be so casually duplicitous?

“He doesn’t respect me,” she said slowly. “Or he would not have tried such a bald lie. He didn’t think me capable of verifying the truth, or that I’d approach you for help.”

“Men believe women only develop sharp minds if they aren’t blessed with a pretty face. The world revolves around their egos and cocks, so why would a woman need to think if they can get by instead with a smile?”

Skadi laughed. “At least the men of Kráka have seen that I’m capable of both.”

“Have they? Somehow it seems as if Kvedulf is still seeking to use you.”

Skadi’s smile disappeared. “He has kept to his oath, but I can’t deny that this all seems engineered by him. I just can’t see the why of it.”

“A völva must be able to pierce mysteries. When dealing with mortals and gods, the first thing they must ask is: what does your subject truly desire?”

“My uncle? To be a powerful jarl. To be uncontested.”

“All right. What is preventing him from being just that?”

“Afastr.”

“Why is Afastr an obstacle?”

The answer seemed obvious: his power, his ships, his warriors. But in and of themselves those weren’t a problem. Her uncle didn’t resent Afastr his power; he couldn’t countenance his using them against him.

“Because Afastr is willing to wage war to acquire me?”

“Your uncle arranged your marriage soon after you arrived. Which means Afastr must have asked for your hand almost as soon as you stepped off your ship.”

“So he tried to marry me off to avoid war. But then after his loss to Blakkr—well, Bölvun, I suppose—he had to avenge his honor and chose to use me against them. But the result was my no longer being available for marriage.”

“Which left him facing war with Afastr.”

“Even if I left?”

“Afastr would crush Kvedulf for allowing you to leave. And then, no doubt, send agents after you to bring you back.”

Skadi recalled Afastr’s last words: “And believe me, Skadi. I have never failed at anything to which I have set my mind.”

“So my uncle is faced with a war soon after his losses to Djúprvik. So he delayed my leaving just enough for Afastr to arrive and—what? Deceive me into marrying him?”

Ásfríðr shrugged. “He probably did not know the nature of the lie, but must have imagined Afastr would attempt something effective.”

“A second attempt to win through. Use me to quell Djúprvik and then marry me off anyways, staving off war with Kaldrborg. Oh, he is crafty.”

“More than you know. He would anticipate your refusing Afastr. What would his backup plan be?”

“He has none. His oath requires his furnishing me with a dragon ship and full crew.”

“Which he will. But that requires your being willing to accept it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Think, Skadi: Afastr has promised swift war. You will be taking away Marbjörn and forty of his best men just before the fighting breaks out, leaving him in a perilously weakened state.”

Skadi gaped at Ásfríðr. “That’s why he has showered me with so many honors. Given me his best ship and most experienced warriors. Not so that I’d arrive in Stóllborg safely with all honors, but so that I’d realize I was ensuring his death by leaving.”

Ásfríðr nodded as she rubbed her cup across her lower lip.

“Then I’ll simply ask for a humble knorr. We can sail that ourselves. I’ll leave him his dragon ship and men.”

Ásfríðr raised an eyebrow.

“And… he’ll refuse.” Skadi clenched her fists. “He would be bound by honor and his oath to insist I take the dragon ship.”

“That and a knorr crewed by only your friends would be a tempting target for every viking ship and spirit from here to the Iron Isle. I would not advise you to undertake such a journey with so small a crew.”

“My wyrd is strong,” protested Skadi.

“It is. Which is why you no doubt would survive and be washed up on shore after your ship is wrecked in a storm with all hands lost.”

“Damn it.” Skadi rose and began to pace. “How have I been so blind?”

“You are learning. Whereas Kvedulf has been playing this game since before you were born. He, too, was once trusting.”

Skadi laughed bitterly. “And I thought my exacting his oath was wise and canny.”

“A step in the right direction.”

“Damn.” Skadi sat heavily. “What should I do?”

To which Ásfríðr could only smile sadly. “Consult with your heart and your honor, and see what real options remain to you.”

Skadi sank her head into her hands and stared at the tabletop. “Damn,” she whispered again, bitterness and impotent rage seeping into her words. “Damn them all to Hel.”