CHAPTER ONE

Four months earlier, in the faraway land of the Jutes, the farmstead of Vendlagard was a whirl of excitement. These were the last busy days before the Feast of Oaths.

Geese flapped, chickens squawked as hairy-chinned thralls chased them round the yard. The womenfolk, up to their armpits in bubbling tubs, scrubbed their finery: bright dresses of tight-woven wool, silken ribbons for their hair or costly shawls to adorn themselves for the revelry. Sunlight danced off blades burnished like mirrors by warriors’ servants. Every man was to look his best.

The boys and girls were sent to gather flowers and ivy from the woods, and heather growing wild on the heath to the west. The little ones shrieked around the yard in delight, strewing foliage in their wake.

Before long, the hall of Vendlagard was a burst of colour, its dark pillars decked in red and blue and white and yellow flowers, the carved faces in the gable still grousing away, in spite of the colours playing about their ears.

This day had been a while coming. In nineteen years of service, Tolla had seen many a young man stand before his lord and swear his oaths, kin looking on. No more than boys, every one. Some of them still lived; many had fallen. That was the way of things. The All-Father made his choosing, and nothing anyone could do about it.

But tonight was special. Tonight it was Hakan’s turn to bind himself, blood and iron, to his lord father. She felt a glow of pride. After all, didn’t she love him like he was her own? Perhaps better even than that.

And now all the Vendling kinsfolk would come, and many others from the Jutish families, to see him sealed a man. Word had gone out to every corner of Jutland. Lord Haldan’s hall would be full to the rafters with merriment. No seat left empty.

And it’s past noon already.

The thought suddenly made her feel sick. There was precious little time before the first guests arrived and still much to do.

Now where was Inga? Hakan’s younger cousin was flighty as a swallow. Always getting under your feet when you wanted her out the way, and never to be found when there was any work needed doing.

‘Einna!’ she yelled at the scrawny maid toting a pail of milk across the yard in a hurry. ‘You seen that dratted girl Inga?’

‘Like to get my hands on her myself,’ returned the girl, her cheeks flushed. ‘She promised she’d split half my chores and I haven’t seen a hair of her all morning.’

Lord Haldan’s spear-master loped by. ‘You haven’t seen Inga have you, Garik?’

‘Check the stables. I’d lay my hand she’s off on Sorvind. And Hakan with her.’

Most days, that was a fair bet, but Tolla had just come from the stables and Inga’s beloved stallion was tethered.

‘Thinks she’s too grand for hard work, that one,’ said Einna, setting down her milk and pushing her feathery hair out of her face.

‘Just needs taming by the right fella,’ grinned Garik, licking at a crooked tooth. ‘High blood or low – it’s the same for all you wenches.’

‘You just keep a-walking, you leery brute,’ snapped Tolla, shooing him away. ‘And mind you don’t talk like that about Lord Haldan’s kin. Especially not today.’

Garik gave her a wink. ‘They all gotta learn it sometime, sister,’ he laughed, and stalked off.

Maybe, Tolla thought. But not Inga. Not yet.

Now where the blazes was that girl?

‘They’re going to find out,’ giggled Inga, still making half-hearted efforts to fend off his wandering hands.

‘Never!’ Hakan laughed. ‘They wouldn’t know a nail if it poked ’em in the eye.’ He pushed her back against the tree. The sweet, sticky smell of pine mingled with the sea air. This time she gave in, looking up at him. He shook his head, marvelling at those doe eyes. In them he saw a girl and a goddess both. Everything he ever wanted.

‘You need a leash,’ she smiled, biting her lip. ‘And that Tolla – she’s got her beady eye on everything. We must be careful.’

‘Bah! Hel take the careful! Come here.’ He slipped his hand round her and drew her close, catching a whiff of the sea in her hair. Her lips met his and parted. She tasted salty. Her tongue flickered against his teeth – a trick they had discovered together that summer.

They had discovered many.

‘The best kisses are after a swim,’ she murmured.

‘Aye – and more than just kisses,’ growled Hakan, tugging hungrily at her girdle.

‘Not here! Not now. Someone might come.’ She glanced anxiously over his shoulder towards the farmstead.

‘You didn’t seem to care the other night.’

‘That was different.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘Besides, they’re expecting me in the yard. Tolla’s probably already marked me for a birching as it is.’

‘Just a while longer,’ he murmured into her dark curls.

‘I can’t,’ she insisted, pushing him away. ‘There’s too much to do.’

‘Horse shit.’

‘Well, you can hardly complain, cousin. It’s all for you, isn’t it?’ She broke free and began strutting up and down. ‘Tonight, you must become a man, Hakan,’ she boomed, aping his father’s voice.

‘I’m a man already.’ The joke irritated him. Hadn’t she made him that?

Was it only two months since the morning they had set out for the Skaw, the northernmost tip of Jutland? It seemed like a lifetime ago. They had been two different people then, riding north to the point. To the place where seas collide. That day, they had been cousins – the closest of childhood companions. Hers was the first face he could remember, the last he would ever forget. But that day, under the shadow of the swaying grass, he had tasted her for the first time. Had been able to show her the love he had always felt for her.

When they rode back to Vendlagard, to the ancient hall of their fathers, as they had done so many times before, they both knew. The world would never be the same again.

‘Don’t be angry.’ She brushed her fingertips against his cheek. ‘Come on.’ Taking his hand, she led him back to their things.

‘Are you nervous?’ she asked, as he pulled his tunic over his wet hair.

‘Nervous?’

‘About tonight,’ she replied, fussing at the brooches that held her work dress in place.

‘Maybe. A little.’ He shrugged. ‘Everyone’ll be looking at me. But it’s all pointless, don’t you think?’

‘Why?’

‘Hardly takes a ceremony to make me loyal to my own father. Or serve him. It’s not as if I have a choice.’

‘Maybe. But an oath makes all the difference. Your life becomes bound to his in a deeper way. In life. And in death.’

‘Gods – you sound like Garik!’

‘Well?’ she laughed. ‘Isn’t it true?’ Her face clouded. ‘Now you’ll have to fight.’

‘I would fight anyway,’ he said, bristling at the reminder that he had never stood in the shieldwall.

‘Yes, but you would be sworn to it.’ He saw a glimmer of sadness in her hazel eyes.

‘Inga,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘You know I’d never leave you alone.’

She forced a brave smile. ‘That’s for the Spear-God to decide.’

‘Listen, my fate is joined as tight to yours as any oath can tie me to my father.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘Haven’t I a thousand times?’

She made a teasing pout. ‘Just once more then.’

‘I promise.’

Inga smiled, and the breath caught in Hakan’s throat. Her beauty was fresh as the first morning of the world. Suddenly she pulled him close and kissed him.

‘Come on – I’ll race you back to the yard!’

‘Bitch,’ he grinned. ‘You know you’ll win.’

‘Every time,’ she winked, and took off down the slope, laughing.

He set out after her, pain shooting up his leg with every stride.

When they stumbled breathless back into the yard, the air was rich with aromas wafting from the cookhouse – hogs turning on spits, cauldrons filled with bubbling fish soups, garlic sauces and freshly baked bread. And of course the malty smell of ale.

When they spotted Tolla, she was talking with a woman neither recognized. From a distance, it didn’t seem the friendliest conversation.

‘I’ve told you once,’ snapped the nurse, her usually warm features looking decidedly cold. ‘We don’t want your kind here.’

‘But on such an occasion,’ insisted the stranger. ‘And such a noble family. The Lord of Vendlagard would be delighted to have a telling. Tonight of all nights.’

‘Don’t you presume to know Lord Haldan’s mind. He don’t want bothering with the likes of you!’

The stranger had quick, darting eyes. She couldn’t have seen more than thirty summers, though her skin was hard and tanned. ‘I’ll take my leave from him and none less,’ returned the woman. ‘So you’d better go and fetch him.’

She was leaning on a staff, for all the world looking like she owned the place. Tolla had a job on her hands.

Inga tapped Tolla on the shoulder. ‘Did you miss me?’

The nurse rounded on her. ‘You little pest! I’ll say I missed you. Where have you been?’

‘A girl needs to bathe,’ offered Inga.

‘Does she just? And while you’re splashing about, the rest of us do your work, is that it?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Inga was doing her best to look contrite. Not one of her more obvious qualities.

The fraught lines in Tolla’s face showed a woman in an unforgiving mood. Sensing his cousin was in for a tongue-lashing, Hakan decided to intervene.

‘Who’s this then?’ He jerked his head at the stranger.

‘A spakona!’ Tolla spat the word like a curse. Hakan didn’t see why Tolla was all riled up about a teller of fortunes. They were common enough in those parts.

‘My name is Heitha,’ said the woman, unruffled by Tolla’s hostility. ‘I am a vala.’

‘Vala? Spakona?’ exclaimed Tolla. ‘They’re all one. Leeches are leeches, I say.’

‘Oh, Tolla,’ said Inga. ‘Don’t be such a grouse. Why – this is perfect! You couldn’t have come on a better day.’

‘So I heard, little sister,’ nodded the vala. ‘Them folks at Hildagard told me of a feasting here tonight.’

‘Hildagard? My – that’s a long way!’

‘Not for these old legs,’ Heitha smiled. ‘They’ve carried me many leagues over the years, and they’ll carry me a lot further yet.’

‘Did you give the Hildagard folks a telling?’

‘Indeed, I did. Happens a fine one. A newling in the spring, and a good harvest before the leaves fall. Some other trifles. What I saw pleased them well enough.’

‘And I’ll warrant there’s gold in your pocket to prove it,’ said Tolla.

‘Happens there is, sister. I’m bound to say I found the lord of Hildagard an open-handed host.’

‘You’ll not find my uncle any the less,’ promised Inga. ‘Hush, you silly girl!’ snapped Tolla. ‘We need no foretellings here.’

‘What harm can it do?’ asked Hakan, amused.

‘These folk trade in curses,’ said Tolla. ‘They rob a man’s purse and put his feet on the road to Hel.’

‘Tolla!’ protested Inga. ‘She’s our guest.’

‘Not yet, she ain’t.’

‘Seems you have a dim view of a vala’s talents,’ smiled Heitha.

‘Talents? Is that what you call it? You meddle with darkness.

I’ve seen it. Your touch is death.’

‘Come, sister. These are lies.’ And for the first time, a little heat crept into Heitha’s cheeks. ‘A vala sees what will be, that’s all. I meddle with nothing. The Norns have woven all our fates. I only tell where the thread must run.’

Hakan’s mother had said the same. She would often sing of the three Norns – three sisters dwelling in the shadows among the roots of the Tree of Worlds, spinning and weaving the destiny of men. Each thread unbreakable as iron. Unchangeable as granite.

Tolla gave an indignant grunt. ‘That’s how it should be. But there’s none love gold more than a vala. None who’ll curse so black to get it.’

Heitha was peering at Tolla. Seeming curious at first, but then harder and harder, like she was looking right inside her. And then, unexpectedly, she gave a brittle laugh. ‘Now I begin to understand! I see what’s sown in your face.’ Tolla shifted uncomfortably. The vala cackled. ‘How much of the past is in the masks we wear!’

‘Never mind about my past.’ For a heartbeat, Tolla looked as though a shadow had crossed her soul.

‘It’s not for me to mind. But perhaps for others . . .’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Oh Tolla!’ broke in Inga. ‘Enough of this. You’re so serious! Let her stay. It could be exciting.’ She clapped. ‘Perhaps Heitha has brought us a great blessing.’ She looked around for Hakan. ‘Cousin – it’s your day. What say you? Wouldn’t a telling be fun?’

Hakan wasn’t sure. It might be amusing to know the course his life must take. But to have that knowledge . . . to be bound by it. Did he want that?

Before he could answer, a familiar voice called his name. They all turned to see his father crossing the yard.

Haldan Haldorsen – Lord of Vendlagard, headman of the Vendling blood and ruler over the Northern Jutes. He was taller than his son with shoulders broad as a bear, but the rest of him lean and hard as a knife. Folk often said Hakan was his father come again. Certainly they shared the same tousled black hair, same sharp nose, same square stance. But Hakan’s face was still young, while his father’s beard grew thick as tar, and twenty years of steel and slaughter leave their mark upon a face.

‘You should be getting ready, so you still have time to visit your mother before things get under way.’

‘All the way up there?’ Hakan’s mother was nothing now but bones, drying to dust in a barrow-grave on the hill where his father had laid her eight years before.

‘Just get it done. It’s what she would have wanted.’

‘If you say so.’ His father seemed to care a lot more what his mother wanted now that she was dead.

‘Who’s this?’ Haldan nodded at Heitha.

Inga started tugging excitedly at his hand. ‘Uncle, you have to help us. This is Heitha. She’s a vala, offering us a telling tonight. Please say she can.’

Haldan looked Heitha up and down.

‘All she wants is your gold, my lord,’ said Tolla. ‘Did you ever meet a vala wasn’t grasping as a dwarf when it came to gold?’

‘A woman has to live, my lord.’ Heitha smiled at Haldan.

The Vendling lord considered her. ‘A good vala speaks truthfully what she sees. An evil one what she thinks will please whoever’s paying her. Which are you?’

Heitha opened her palms. ‘I cannot speak for myself.’

‘Aren’t you curious, Uncle?’ asked Inga, excitedly.

‘I’ve known many folk regret learning too much about what will be,’ Haldan answered.

Hakan shrugged. ‘Surely it’s useful to know what good or evil is coming our way.’

His father’s mouth tilted in an ironic smile. ‘So you want to become all-wise, do you, my son?’

‘The vala’s word binds, my lord,’ pleaded Tolla. ‘It brings no good.’

Hakan saw the vala was staring at him intensely, and then at Inga, apparently heedless of the outcome of the talk. There was something discomfiting about those far-seeing eyes.

‘Then she can bless as well as foretell!’ cried Inga. ‘It’s simple. Give her gold to speak the truth of what she sees, and gold to speak a blessing over each of us.’

The vala smiled. ‘There is much love in this one. She’ll bring a man a good deal of luck one day.’ She turned to Hakan and for an unsettling moment, those darting eyes seemed to know his every secret. ‘Aye – and a good deal of trouble.’

‘You can stay,’ said Haldan.

‘But, my lord—’ began Tolla.

‘I said, she stays.’ Inga clapped her hands in triumph. Tolla bristled, but held her tongue. ‘You’ll get your gold.’ Haldan nodded to Heitha. ‘Only be sure you speak the truth. Now get along, all of you. Our first guests will arrive within the hour.’

Hakan was about to leave when his father beckoned him closer. ‘Are you ready?’ He took hold of Hakan’s shoulders, digging his thumbs in deep. Hakan nodded. ‘You know the oaths you will make?’

‘I do, Father.’ Hakan had known every word of the ritual for five summers past. Longer. Every boy knew them. Every boy dreamed of the day he would get to utter them – in fire, in iron, in blood.

‘The time is on you now, Hakan.’ A smile ghosted over his father’s lips. ‘My Chosen Son.’