We move at a slow jog, careful to step around shards of earthenware and the singed spikes of fences, littered around the ruined buildings. Even with fear steadily rising in my chest, curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t help but look around. Most of what were once houses, barns, and outbuildings have been reduced to little more than piles of stone and scorched planks. The few structures still half standing are even more unsettling; you can still see the marks where the flames licked up the walls. Some even bear scratch marks. I wonder if they were made by the families trapped inside, trying desperately to claw their way out.
The air around us is eerily quiet. Not even birdsong can penetrate the realm of the dead. The land is black beneath our feet. No grass, no wildflowers, not even a weed grows anywhere in sight. Only yellow, honeycomb-like mushrooms crop up in clusters here and there. Eating just one would likely send even the strongest man to his deathbed.
Yafeu cranes her neck as we pass a stone ship. The survivors must have placed it here, in an attempt to honor the loved ones they could not bury.
Yafeu opens her mouth, no doubt to ask about the stones, then shuts it after glancing at me. I must look as scared as I feel.
Dísir, I pray silently to the spirits of my ancestors. Let us pass safely through this wretched place. Keep the curse at bay—for Mother’s sake, if not my own.
Yafeu drops my hand and turns abruptly, drawing her knife.
Then I hear it too: footsteps.
My breath catches in my throat. I stand as still as one of the stones, watching Yafeu’s reaction.
Something is following us.
Each heartbeat is like a swing of Mjölnir between my ears for a few long moments before Yafeu relaxes and puts the knife away. “It’s just a deer,” she says.
I risk a glance. I don’t see any deer. “How do you know it’s not a ghost?” I whisper.
Yafeu cuts me a look. “I know what a deer sounds like, Freydis. Ghosts don’t have four hooves.” She resumes our course.
“How do you know it’s not two ghosts?” I mutter to myself.
A soft rain picks up as we jog, streaking the dirt on our skin and clothes. But we pass the last structure without further incident. It’s the only building still standing: a dilapidated barn that was miraculously spared, despite being directly next to the old mead house where the fire started. Moments later, we reach the tall grasses marking the edge of the Dead City. My shoulders drop with relief. The soft shhh of the blades rubbing together in the wind soothes my frayed nerves.
I glance at the sky. The sun is fully visible above Mount Skagafell; my parents will have finished breakfast by now. We must get back to my room before Helge comes looking for us, if she hasn’t already.
“Which way?” Yafeu asks.
“We go south to the top of the hill, then turn east at the guard tower. The guard will have his back to us—he watches the fjord and the city. As long as we stay low and stick to the grasses, we won’t be seen.”
The grasses bend and crunch as we step inside. We hike until the guard tower comes into view, then I drop to my hands and knees. Yafeu follows suit. Just like I did as a child, we crawl around the tower.
As expected, the guard is looking out at the fjord ahead, leaning lazily against the railing. After all, with the mountains to the north, there’s no way to attack Skíringssal from behind.
And no one in their right mind would dare sneak through the Dead City.
Finally, we emerge into my family’s compound. I take a quick glance around, then sprint to the longhouse, Yafeu close on my heels.
I barge through the back door to my room and collapse on my bed, utterly exhausted.
I shake Freydis roughly. She can’t go to sleep. Not now. “We have to wash your face before Helge comes to wake us.”
She says something I can’t hear into the pillow.
“What?”
She swivels her neck to glare at me. “I need a moment!”
I look her up and down. Her hair is frizzed around her like a lion’s mane, and her face is caked in dirt and sweat and dried nose blood. “Your hair needs brushing too.”
“I’m sure it’s looked worse.”
“I don’t think so.”
That gets a smile out of her. “I can always count on you to soften the blow,” she says. But a sober expression steals over her face. She draws herself up to a seat. “Yafeu, we can’t go anywhere near my mother. Nor any women of childbearing age. Not until we’re certain the curse hasn’t passed on to us.”
I take a seat next to her. “What is this curse you’re so afraid of?”
She looks away, hugging her knees into her chest. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper: “They say that any woman who steps foot in the Dead City will no longer be able to bear a living child, and that any she touches will suffer the same fate. It began with Alvtir, as she was the one who started the fire. No woman will touch her now, lest they bring the curse on themselves. Even the men keep their distance, just to be safe.”
So that’s why no one will go near Alvtir. It all makes sense now.
“I don’t know what I would do,” Freydis continues, staring at the white ashes littering the hearth. “If I were the reason that Mother couldn’t…if she lost her…and my own husband would never forgive me if I couldn’t…” She can’t even say the words. Tears spill down her cheeks. She wipes them away with the butt of her palm, then gets up and sheds her tunic, kicking it under her bed. There’s an edge to her movements as she throws on a fresh linen shift and an unadorned yellow dress, fastening the shoulder straps with silver brooches.
A lump rises to my throat. I swallow and close my eyes, leaning my head against the wall. “The people in my village used to say I was cursed,” I begin. “They said I was haunted by an evil spirit, which is why I acted like a boy instead of a girl. They even said my father left my family to escape it. They must not have known Papa very well. He taught me that belief itself has power—and that we can choose what to believe. So I chose not to believe in the curse.”
I open my eyes to find Freydis staring at me, her expression unreadable.
“But it still hurt when they said those things,” I add softly. “Every time.”
Freydis waits for me to say more, but I already feel like I’ve revealed too much. I look away, embarrassed. After a moment, I feel her weight next to me on the bed, and suddenly her arms are around me, squeezing me tight. I have to stop myself from rearing back in surprise.
A few awkward moments pass. Then she gets up again and grabs her comb, raking it through her matted hair with a grimace.
I get up myself and rummage around for a rag. Luckily there’s water left in the bucket. I wet the rag and hand it to Freydis in exchange for the comb, motioning for her to sit on a stool. She wipes her face while I finish combing her hair.
“Gentle!” she cries as I yank her head back on a snag.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She twists back to face me, her brow furrowed.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s—Yafeu, do you trust me? Do you trust that I will never tell a soul what you did?”
“I trust you enough,” I say, almost under my breath.
She reaches out and clasps my forearm. “There’s going to be a big commotion over Broskrap’s death. He wasn’t just my father’s cousin; he was a man of considerable wealth and influence in his own right, so much so that Father made him a Thingman. He might have made Broskrap a jarl, but he was probably afraid that Broskrap would grow too powerful and challenge him for the throne. When word of his murder reaches the other Thingmen, they’ll demand answers, fearing a threat to their own lives. Father himself might suspect that someone is trying to undermine his control over the Thing. There’s a chance this will all go in our favor, that they’ll cast their suspicions on one another first. But it also means their search won’t end until they find whoever did this, or at least someone to blame.”
I nod, feeling numb. “What should we do?”
Freydis starts picking at the loose edges of her hair. I can almost see her mind sifting through the possibilities, coming up with a plan. When she looks up, her mossy eyes are blazing with conviction. “I’m not sure. Maybe we don’t need to do anything. But I do know one thing: I will earn your trust, Yafeu. Your full trust. No matter what it takes.”