Hilda turned to see what had taken his attention.
Einer was there, tall behind her. His straw-like hair had been brushed away from his face to reveal his green eyes. ‘Hei, Hilda,’ he said and smiled as he always did when he saw her.
‘Hei,’ she piped. Quickly, she combed her hair with her fingers and arranged the two brooches on top of her breasts so the beaded necklace between them hung nicely.
Einer caught Finn’s glare then, and raised an eyebrow at him. Finn held the stare. For a while the two men glared at each other and Hilda felt as though they were having a silent conversation in which she wasn’t allowed to participate. Finn broke the stare, submerged his horn into the wooden tub to refill it. He glanced at Hilda, regained a grin for a heartbeat, and turned away.
Einer’s eyes fell back on Hilda.
She had waited for a chance away from the feast table to speak with him. ‘Why haven’t you talked to the chieftain?’ she immediately asked. She had to lift her chin to be able to look him straight in the eyes. ‘I talked to your father, and he refused to take me on the raids. Why didn’t you try to convince him?’
He almost seemed embarrassed to look at her. ‘He doesn’t listen. Forgive,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried.’
Hilda didn’t forgive so easily. All she had ever worked towards and trained for was to join the raids. Einer knew how much it meant to her. Better than anyone. He knew.
‘Have you talked to your father?’ Einer asked. He didn’t look into her eyes as he had used to do when they were younger. Freed a plain cup from his belt and filled it with ale, instead. The cup was too modest for the son of a chief. It surprised her that he hadn’t taken one of his horns, or at least a prettier cup. Not that Einer ever boasted about his family’s wealth, or cared that he looked like a poor farmer.
‘Have you?’ she asked.
Einer nodded.
‘And you forgive him?’ She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know.
‘Hilda, he’s like a father to me,’ he answered without truly answering.
She had thought he would understand, but things had been different since Einer had started raiding. He was no longer as eager for fights and battles as her.
‘You have to take him along on the raids and let him die with honour,’ she insisted.
‘We’ve all tried. He doesn’t want to come.’
‘He’s just saying that so he won’t be a burden for you.’
Einer nodded, but didn’t respond. He took a quick sip of ale, and stared at her for three entire heartbeats. Hilda wanted to look away, no longer used to him staring straight at her. His gaze felt different. Since that night on the beach.
As if he knew it made her uncomfortable, Einer diverted his eyes. ‘My father says it’s because he misses her,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Your mother.’ He spun the drink in his hand and his lips trembled. ‘Dying like this is the only way he can see her again.’
‘His rightful place is in Valhalla, as was hers. Leif too.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why won’t you take him on the raid?’
‘When I went to see him this morning he said something he once told us as children: “Think fondly of the dead, whether death took them in bed or in battle”.’
It was her father’s voice that Hilda heard. Those words and the smell of smoke on her clothes brought her right back to that rainy afternoon in the longhouse. She remembered how he had said it as he gazed into the fire. Hilda and Einer had been mere children. Had asked about her mother’s death. ‘Think fondly of the dead, whether death took them in bed or in battle,’ was all her father had told them; and never again had they talked about her.
Tears rolled over Hilda’s cheeks before she knew what was happening. Her vision blurred and her face felt warm. She blinked to force the tears back and peered up at Einer. His cheeks were flushed, and she knew he hadn’t expected her to cry. Not that she had expected it either.
‘Forgive,’ he muttered, drying her tears with the back of his hand.
Hilda brushed his hand away and dried the remaining tears with the sleeve of her dress, so no one else would see her. Swallowed her feelings up and hid them away. Warriors didn’t cry.
Einer looked down at the drink in his hands. ‘Are you going to pluck flowers and dream of your future husband?’ he asked, and she knew he wanted to make her think on other matters.
‘Nej.’ She sniffed to stop her nose from running and turned away from him, towards the wooden tub of ale to refill her horn. She refused his help although he offered. ‘Had you spoken to your father, I wouldn’t need to consider it. I would have sailed with you on Frey’s day.’
She took a big slurp of ale, but didn’t empty it like before.
‘Shieldmaidens have husbands too,’ Einer muttered, maybe more to himself than her, but she didn’t fail to hear, and didn’t allow him to have the last word.
‘I have all I want.’ She began to walk away.
‘Hilda,’ he said.
She lifted her eyes to the dark sky and faced him, again. Her leather shoes sunk into the mud.
Her childhood friend didn’t speak, though he had called for her, and it seemed as if he had lost his words. Unlike him; Einer had always had a smooth tongue. ‘Will you jump across the fire with me?’
She didn’t answer. Didn’t know why he asked.
‘Not now. Later. After the flames have died down,’ he continued. ‘Like we did when we were younger.’
For a bit longer, she watched him and tried to find out what he was really doing. Why he asked. He couldn’t honestly mean for them to declare their love.
She laughed, at him, at herself, at the situation, the absurdity, and glanced over the crowd to see if his friends were there somewhere and it was but a dare, but she couldn’t find them.
‘You’re like a brother to me, Einer,’ she said. ‘Jumping the Midsummer fire isn’t something brothers and sisters do.’ With those words, she walked away, leaving Einer alone. And though she wanted to see his reaction, she didn’t turn back to look, but for some reason she felt awful for having laughed and for leaving him like that, and the wind whisked around her with disapproving whispers.
‘I’m not your brother,’ she heard him say, and she knew he was right. Einer would never truly feel like a brother. Especially not since that night on the beach.
Hilda shook her head to forget about him and pushed her way in towards the fire. There were only embers, and through the hot air she saw Finn. He had bound his hair up with a red strip of linen. Their eyes caught each other, but when she blinked, he was gone.
Eager to get lost in the music, Hilda stomped her feet along to the song.
Right when the deep hum of the song was at its best, someone tugged at her braided hair.
She swung around and Finn let go of her blonde hair. Smiled to her, and it was as though she couldn’t quite focus on him, though she tried. He caught her as she staggered and they laughed. Even when he no longer did, Hilda couldn’t stop laughing. She held Finn’s overtunic for balance. Glanced to the ash tree where Einer sat with his friends. He was looking at her. At once, her laugh was forgotten. Despite everything that had happened between then, she missed spending time with Einer, doing nothing and everything. They had used to always be together.