In front of me, my mother was transformed. She was no longer the one who cared for my wounds and lay cold cloths on my feverish head, or the woman who taught me to weave and cook.
She was every inch a warrior. My mother was gone.
I wondered if she looked at me in the same way, if she saw a stranger where her daughter had just stood.
She waited for me to strike. She wanted to see what I was made of.
I was made of patience and knew she had little.
When she grew tired of dancing, she struck out. I shielded myself, striking fast toward her stomach. She caught my blade with her axe, anticipating the move, then crouched low as if she expected me to fight like Hodor, forgetting that we were nothing alike.
I brought my sword down hard on her shield. The metal hissed as it raked across the top metal rim. I dented it. I’d left a scar. One her eyes took sharp note of. Her jaw hardened. I could almost hear her teeth rake against each other.
She jabbed at me with the spear. I managed to bend at the last second to avoid a puncture, but she hooked it in my shirt and tore a hole at my side, then twirled the axe and arced it toward my head. My shield didn’t buckle. It met axe blade and spear and protected me as it should.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, her impatience driving her into a rage. She rained blows upon me mercilessly, but I blocked them all. When she thought I’d rest and let her go on the offensive again, I struck.
I thrust my sword toward her, but she caught my blade with the head of her axe. Metal raked metal as we slid them apart.
She roared, running at me with quick steps.
She swung. I blocked, then chopped at her from the side. She sucked her stomach in and bent to avoid the blow, a vicious snarl ripping from her throat. Her cheeks puffed as she panted, adjusting her grip on her axe’s handle.
I waited again to see what else she would throw at me.
She fought me backward with a series of sharp, blunt blows, then swiped her long axe toward my shins. I jumped and tucked my feet into my body, behind my shield. The crowd gasped, then cheered.
Whether she liked it or not, I was her equal.
I just needed to become better.
There was only one way to do that, and though she might hate me for it, it had to be done.
I kept her occupied with my sword, keeping her axe busy, and when she wasn’t looking at my shield, used its metal edging to crack her hand. Her mouth gaped open in surprise. Her grip relaxed – long enough for me to use my sword to disarm her. Her axe fell to the gritty soil.
She clamored to reach it.
I leapt toward her and placed my fur-lined boot atop her handle just as her fingers touched the wood, positioning the tip of my sword under her jaw. Her breath hitched as she panted, her eyes sliding from the axe she could touch but not retrieve, to me.
“This shield is mine,” I panted.
The look she gave me was part hatred, part respect. I reveled in it. I reveled in the victory and the first taste of true freedom.
I removed the tip of my blade from her skin and slid it back into the loop at my waist, holding a hand out to her. The crowd hushed as she considered it, but then she laughed and took hold of my palm. “Well done,” she finally said. “Liv Eriksson, Shield Maiden.”
She made a fist with the hand I hit, but never admitted that it hurt. I hoped I didn’t break her bones. I wasn’t sure how hard I hit her, but it must’ve been intense for her to let go.
Father and Hodor approached, both putting the spar behind them. Father and Mother shared an exhausted laugh. “I can’t believe both of them won,” Father said. “I believe age is catching up to us.”
Gunnar and Ingrid chattered between me and Hodor while Solvi climbed Father’s back and sat atop his shoulders. They were discussing what to eat first, their noses pointed toward the tables piled with food just beyond the still-boisterous crowd of clansmen.
“I never dreamed anyone would best you, Hella,” a loud voice boomed from behind us.
I turned to see who’d spoken. I didn’t recognize the man, but the way he looked at my mother while stroking his fat-soaked beard set my teeth on edge.
Mother’s smile fell away and her snarl returned.
Father bristled, gently extracting Solvi and setting her on the ground. His shoulders squared as he faced the man. My hands fell on each of the girls’ shoulders and I eased them behind me. My shield was still fastened to my forearm, my sword still in my hand.
The man looked part beast with a broad, hairy chest and limbs as thick as oaks. Father and Mother maneuvered themselves between him and us. Hodor slid his axe from his belt. The man caught the movement. His eyes glittered as they flicked from my brother’s axe to my face.
“Your daughter has grown up fine, Hella,” he said, still only speaking to Mother and wholly ignoring Father at her side. “Very fine,” he added, sliding his gaze downward. “She looks just like you.”
“Enough!” Father barked.
“She’s of age to be married, is she not?” The brute grinned, finally locking eyes with Father.
“Not to the likes of you,” he snarled. “Nor to your kind.”
“My kind?” The behemoth laughed. “And what kind would that be?”
“Mutts,” my mother snapped harshly. “If you come near her, I’ll chop you limb from limb, starting with the one you value most.”
The man did not have a retort for her threat, but his beady eyes narrowed.
“Come along, children,” she said to us, her eyes warning me to stay close.
Hodor kept hold of his axe as he and I herded Gunnar, Ingrid, and Solvi closer to our parents, forming a protective ring around them as we followed Mother through the crowd.
“Come,” she urged as she carved a quick path far away from the smelly lout.
“I’m hungry,” Solvi complained, clutching her stomach, blissfully unaware of what had just happened.
“Who was that man?” I asked, pushing closer to Mother.
She threw a sharp look over her shoulder. “He is no one you should concern yourself with.”
Father’s steps were angry. He forged ahead, leading us to tables teeming with all sorts of food. Gunnar, Ingrid, and Solvi plucked small loaves of bread and hunks of meat from the bounty, while Father and Mother found bowls to heap their dinners upon.
Stars sparkled overhead.
I began to feel a pull, a strange sensation washing over me that tugged me toward the shore… The völva was near.
Hodor’s brows pinched together as he filled a bowl of his own. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed.
I shook my head. I’d tell him later.