‘He doesn’t want you to go on the raids,’ Finn said after a while. ‘Einer.’
Hilda didn’t let go of Einer’s stare. Einer and her might have drifted apart over the last few summers, but apart from her father, Einer was the closest she had to a family. Soon her father wouldn’t be around anymore. Einer was all she had. The only one who took her side no matter what, and always had. Despite what Finn said, Hilda had no doubt that Einer wanted the best for her.
‘I could help you,’ Finn said.
‘How?’ she asked, not out of interest, but in surprise.
She examined Finn’s sly smile. The few times she and Finn had spoken, it had always been about Einer, and never in a good way. Einer had never mentioned Finn, and Hilda did not know how well they knew each other, or if she could trust Finn. He was an older man and a more seasoned warrior.
‘We could go down to the tents and talk about it.’
Hilda scoffed. ‘You want to go to the tents with me?’ she mumbled. Her voice was smoothed with ale and though she knew perfectly well what men and women went there to do, she’d never expected to be asked to go there. No one dared ask a woman of Hilda’s status to go down to the tents. She wasn’t just anyone, she was the skald’s daughter.
She shook her head. Not wanting to go to the tents, and least of all tonight.
‘Come,’ Finn whispered into her ear, and before she could say anything, he dragged her along, out of the circle, away from the crowd and though she didn’t know why, Hilda turned her head to find Einer in the crowd. But they were going too fast and she couldn’t see him.
Finn’s grip was stronger than hers. She knew she wouldn’t be able to push him away, but she was smaller and she could wriggle out of his grip.
‘Stop,’ she said, pulling Finn in the opposite direction, back up the hill.
‘Come on.’ Finn dragged her wrist so she stumbled a little further down the road.
Again, she shook her head. ‘I won’t go to the tents, Finn.’ She was baffled that she had to say the words aloud. Finn was the same age as her aunt, and married too.
‘Hilda,’ a man called from behind, interrupting their conversation.
For a moment, her heart stopped beating and relief flushed over her: Einer had followed them down the road, he must have, but when she turned and saw that it wasn’t him at all, her heart sank. The man who had called her name wore yellowed clothes that had once been white. A thrall, but not just any thrall; her father’s loyal servant, and in his arms, he carried something big and heavy.
There were few lit torches along the road, but Hilda could see the rich red cloth of father’s tunic. Ragnar Erikson was carried out in the arms of his thrall like a child who couldn’t yet walk.
Hilda wrenched Finn’s hand off her wrist and rushed up towards the thrall and her father.
‘Where are the other servants?’
Her father didn’t look at her, though she was standing right in front of him. His eyes were wide open and far away, and he stared out into the distant night.
‘He has been sending them on errands,’ answered the thrall
‘You can’t carry him like this.’ She waved Finn over, but he didn’t come. Shook his head and kept his distance. ‘Finn,’ she called to him. ‘We need your help.’
Finn continued to scowl for a few moments, and glared at Hilda, but then the frown on his forehead softened and he took a step towards her. ‘What do you need?’ he asked.
‘A chair for my father to sit in.’
Finn moved like he was on a mission. Banged on the door of the nearest longhouse and entered before anyone answered.
Hilda turned back to the thrall. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘He ordered me to carry him out.’
‘You should at least have come to get me,’ she argued.
A hand reached for the sleeve of her dress. ‘Hilda,’ her father whispered. ‘Hilda.’
‘Did you give him mead?’ she asked the thrall, refusing to look at her father for a little longer as she tried to control the tears that swelled up in her eyes.
The thrall nodded without meeting her stare. ‘And a few dream caps,’ he said.
‘Good.’ She swallowed her spit. It took all her courage to look down at Ragnar and speak. ‘I’m here, Father,’ she said. ‘Hilda’s here.’
Before her father could respond, Finn arrived, hauling a heavy chair, and her father’s concentration floated away from her. Images were carved into the wood, of Odin’s lone travels in Midgard; a chair worthy of the village’s storyteller. And Hilda was certain it was the biggest one Finn had been able to find. She gave him a thankful nod.
He put the chair down on the wooden belayed part of the road and helped the thrall move Ragnar towards it.
‘I see Odin’s runes,’ Ragnar mumbled as they sat him down in the large chair. ‘Odin’s runes.’ Then he forgot about the runes and murmured Hilda’s name instead, over and over, though he didn’t look at her, and she wasn’t sure anymore if he knew she was there with him.
In her mind, she repeated what Einer had told her: “Think fondly of the dead, whether death took them in bed or in battle,” and struggled to keep her posture. She couldn’t cry. Finn was there, and shieldmaidens never showed weakness.
Her father was frail and tired, and so old. He had never looked old before, but a few stray hairs had become white over these past months and his skin was pale, almost grey. He looked dead already.
‘I forgive you, father,’ she said. ‘I forgive you.’
She waited for him to speak and tell her that everything was in order, and that he didn’t blame her for being angry with his decision to die at home, and that he was glad she forgave him. But when he spoke, those were not his words. ‘I see Odin’s runes,’ he said. ‘Everywhere, Hilda.’
She wasn’t sure he had understood or heard her. ‘I forgive you, Father,’ she repeated. Tears rolled down her cheeks and though Finn was there and watching, it didn’t matter. ‘I forgive you.’
‘Odin’s runes speak to me,’ was all Ragnar said.
She dried the tears under her chin while her father continued to mumble about the runes. The wind swirled around Hilda, and its loud whispers made it difficult to focus on her father.
‘Your eyes.’ He waved his left hand at the thrall. ‘His are red, but yours—yours are golden. You have a golden future, Hilda.’
She swallowed the lump of spit in her throat and glanced to Finn. He didn’t pay attention to Ragnar or her. Tapped his foot to the distant song from the circle. Maybe he just pretended not to see her cry, but the sight of him not noticing, relieved her.
‘Where else do you see the runes?’ she asked her father, and dried the last few tears.
‘They’re everywhere,’ he whispered. ‘There are more lights in the sky than there has ever been. And runes, everywhere.’ His focus became faint. ‘And Hilda,’ he called and grabbed her wrist, as if he remembered something of importance. ‘The runes on the house were cracked and faint. It will fall.’ His grip tightened and it began to hurt. He stared at her, waited for her to respond and held her tighter.
She nodded and smiled. ‘I understand, Father.’