It made her proud. I could see it in the easy way she turned back to her task, threading beads onto Ingrid’s braids. In the way the corners of her mouth slightly turned upward.
Solvi’s hair was soft as lamb’s wool and just as difficult to deal with. I wet my hands in the basin across the room and raked the dampness through her curls, plaited them as fast as I could, and secured them with thin leather strips, tightly knotted. “I don’t get beads like Ingrid?” she asked, her blue eyes shimmering with sadness.
I uncoiled one of the twin iron serpents from my own hair and wound it into hers. “There. Now we match.”
She beamed a smile before running to retrieve her shield, Ingrid racing out of the room after her.
I looked over our home. After tonight, things would change. I wouldn’t be forced out immediately, but when I claimed my shield, I would have to present myself to the Jarl, swear allegiance to him, and ask him to put me on a longship when the winter broke.
I would have to prepare to leave home.
I could almost feel the ship rock and sway beneath me.
four
Hodor faced Father as the crowd of villagers formed a wide ring around them. My brother’s feet were light as they began to circle one another. He needed that speed to keep Father moving.
Father wore his shield on his right arm and carried his sword in his left as he laughed at a friend’s jibe.
The air was thick with laughter, music, sweat, and mead.
There were only half a dozen farms dotting the lands near the fjord, but many had travelled with the Jarl, who hosted the völva. I hadn’t seen her yet. My eyes scanned the crowd, seeing both familiar and unfamiliar faces. She was likely one of them, though I expected a witch to stand apart from those who possessed no magic. If not in how she looked, in how she felt or how she drew crowds of her own.
Hodor banged his axe on his shield. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Over and over again. In his hardened eyes, I could see the rage that had been building for so long...
Father was more than a head taller than Hodor, but my brother was ready. Ready to move on and be done with this, to become a man. A warrior. And leave his childhood in the past.
Father was the first to strike, bringing his sword down hard upon Hodor’s shield, but Hodor was quick of foot and spun to strike Father in the back, drawing blood but stopping short of hitting his kidney.
Father rained a series of powerful blows in response, gritting his teeth and roaring at Hodor for what he’d done. But Hodor deflected each, then kicked the back of Father’s knee and sent him to the ground. Father wasn’t fast enough and as he tried to rise, Hodor sliced his axe blade at his throat.
My breath hitched. Everyone’s did.
If Hodor hadn’t pulled back when he did, it would’ve been a death blow.
Hodor won, and he’d won breathtakingly fast.
He hadn’t worn Father out; he took advantage of the weakness of his aging joints – as any enemy would’ve done.
I would not be so lucky. Mother was younger than Father, still very nimble and limber. Still fast. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms, back, and calves, smiling as the crowd went wild for my brother. Some of the men lifted him onto their shoulders and handed him horns filled with ale. He drank what he could, though most spilled down his tunic or onto the heads of those hoisting him. They celebrated him as Father rose, pride and humiliation shining in his eyes – a dangerous and volatile combination.
Mother clapped for her son from across the crowd, her eyes narrowing on me. It was our turn and she was going to show everyone that age had not taken her ferocity away. I could see it in the familiar glint, the dare she threw my way. Humiliate me and I will end you, little girl.
When I was no older than Solvi, she’d looked at Father, put the tip of her knife in his gut, and threatened to spill his insides. I wasn’t sure what he’d done to make her so angry, but I knew she would do it if he said one more word to her.
He left the house that evening and didn’t return for weeks.
She wasn’t the least bit upset about his absence. If anything, she reveled in it. When he eventually came back, things were tense, but time softened the hurt between them, as it often did.
Mother grabbed the blank shield Father made me and waved me over. “Hold out your arm.”
“I can do it myself,” I argued.
She smiled. “I know, but this is symbolic. I give this to you… and you must take it from me – if you can.” She ticked her head at Father and Hodor. “You watched your father tie on your brother’s.”
I held my arm out, knowing I’d test the comfort and tightness when she was finished.
She adjusted the leather bindings and cinched them, buckling them onto my forearm. “You will need someone to have your back if you plan to fight. You steady them. They steady you. And you rely on them to fight at your side and watch over you as you watch over them. In many cases, it’s the only way you’ll come out of a battle alive.”
I nodded once, telling her I was listening to her advice as she slid her shield on, the soft leather fitted to her shape. Her wisdom was what Hodor and I had learned from tragedy, and what she’d learned from survival.
Her lips lifted on one side. “You will have no one to help you tonight, though.”
“Neither will you,” I quipped.
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, I will enjoy this.”
I grabbed the sword Father made for me. It was lightweight but strong. Neither too long nor too short. He’d woven dark leather over the handle, the grip settling comfortably along my finger’s joints.
Mother preferred a lightweight axe with a long handle. Easier to reach an opponent from far away, but close up… the length of the handle could pose a problem. That was why Father bored a hole in the handle’s end and had fitted a small spear inside. I’d have to watch out for both blades.
She nimbly twirled the axe, getting a feel for the weapon’s familiar weight. We were dressed alike, stood at the same height, and our features mirrored one another’s. She had years of fighting experience, had survived numerous raids and battles, and I was only now being tested.
She banged the head against the metal rimming her shield. Age hadn’t settled on Mother’s face the way it had Father’s. The lines on her face were as superficial as the scar on her jawline. If anything, they merely added to her beauty.
More mead flowed past lips all around us. Father and Hodor finally made peace and settled among the clansmen, their eyes trained on us. Shouts and shrill whistles erupted into the night air along with popping embers from fires set along the beach as we circled one another.
Mother’s eyes were calculating. Gone was the love that sometimes shone there.