CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Saga, the Story Spinner

Torben laughed so hard he choked on his porridge. Slamming a hand down on the breakfast table, making the plates of bread and salted fish jump, he cleared his throat. Saga waited for him to finish wiping the tears that had sprung from the corners of his eyes. It was morning in the great hall and, after a few fitful hours’ sleep, Saga had impatiently waited just long enough for the remaining assortment of raiders, shieldmaidens, Sámi and wanderers to be deep in their plates before approaching Torben with Canute.

While Torben laughed, Saga glanced back at her own seat in time to spot Bjørn sneaking a paw into a bowl of honey. Ruvsá was sitting next to him, pretending to eat porridge while keeping an eye on the sorcerers. Canute was standing awkwardly at Saga’s side.

Outside, the storm was tiring at last. It had raged against the sorcerers’ magical shield all night, as if Thor was throwing a temper tantrum, making the great walls of ice creak and groan. When Saga had finally got back to bed, she’d lain awake, imagining the whole castle shattering. Although now she wondered if Rollo had stopped funnelling his magic into the storm because he had achieved what he’d wanted to; the storm had distracted everyone enough for him to sneak up to Bifrost by himself and hand over that horn of glimmering ice crystals. When she’d finally fallen asleep, her dreams had been wild and peculiar, of windows that shimmered with memories, and runes that let you soar over the tundra on invisible wings.

‘Ah, that’s a fine imagination you have there. One for a future bard or story weaver,’ Torben managed at last. ‘You really had me believing something was wrong for a moment.

‘It is wrong,’ Saga burst out. Canute coughed pointedly and Saga lowered her voice to a hush. ‘And we need your help. If the sorcerers are mining more and more ice crystals to give to the frost giants and letting them cross Bifrost, then the worlds as we know them are in danger! My afi is down in those mines.’ Saga’s heart gave a painful thump. It was chased by a bolt of pure, bright anger. ‘Maybe there’s someone you know down there too. I’m raising an army to free them and put a stop to the sorcerers.’

A cloud of concern passed over Torben’s face. This was the second time Saga had seen him look worried in as many days – first when her light-bear had sent Knut flying out of the sledge, and now this. It put Saga on edge; this was a raider who had cheered at entering a white-bear den, who had whooped as he’d leaped into a frozen sea.

‘Look, I like you, child,’ he began, raking his blond hair back with a curse. ‘I even admire you. The things you’ve done? Tyr knows I wouldn’t have had the courage at your age. But this is a dangerous accusation.’ He glanced up at the sorcerers. ‘At the very least, if you’re caught talking like this, you’ll be banished from the contest with just one challenge left to go. At the worst?’ He shook his head solemnly.

Saga felt as if she was back under the crushing weight of the storm last night. ‘You don’t believe me?’

At Torben’s side, Fenrir’s beady eyes tracked their conversation, curious and wary at once.

‘I don’t know what you’ve seen or what might be happening,’ Torben told her, ‘but I’m not prepared to risk my skin for a suspicion. You want my advice? Put this behind you, child, and focus on the final challenge. You’re going to need to if you want to tame that wild flame of magic you’re kindling there.’

‘It’s fine – we’ve still got the shieldmaidens,’ Ruvsá whispered when Saga and Canute gloomily returned to her side.

‘Saga’s scared of them,’ Canute whispered. Bjørn was now diving into his second bowl of honey, gleeful that nobody had stopped him yet, but Saga had bigger problems to worry about this morning than sticky paws.

‘I am not!’ Saga marched over to the shieldmaidens.

Solveig turned to survey her coolly. ‘Yes?’ The other three shieldmaidens in her warband all stopped what they were doing to listen. All four women had long blonde braids, though Saga wasn’t sure if that was natural or if they’d bleached their hair with lye to be more fashionable. They’d outlined their eyes with black kohl, turning their stares fiercer.

‘Well, there’s something happening in the castle that I think you should know about,’ Saga began.

‘Oh?’ Solveig arched an eyebrow.

Saga thought of Afi and Dag down in the mines and soldiered on. ‘You know all those troll raids on villages across the North for the past few years? I found out that the missing villagers have all been brought here. They’re working down in the mines so that the sorcerers have hundreds more ice crystals to give to the frost giants and –’

‘Relax,’ Solveig told her. ‘You don’t need to tell stories to better your chances at winning. The Fates have already granted you powerful magic. I suggest you work on attempting to control that rather than spinning silly little stories.’

Saga’s face burned. She thought hard of how to convince them, but before she could speak again Solveig continued, ‘Perhaps then you might return to win a future Fifth Winter.’ She leaned in closer to Saga, her armour softly clinking, the scent of the forest and tundra and stars clinging to her braids. ‘Because this one is ours.’

‘Have some cake.’ Ruvsá slid a plate stacked high with cardamom cake over to Saga, who had returned to their place, buried her head in her arms and silently screamed in frustration.

The cake was so soft and fluffy that it melted in Saga’s mouth, but not even this could cheer her. ‘Nobody believes me.’ She felt as miserable as the endless black skies and freezing cold outside. ‘Maybe we need to start thinking of a different plan.’

‘There’s still Unn and Leif,’ Canute suggested.

The three children peered down the table at them. Their heads were bent together, ignoring the food in favour of what looked like a serious conversation.

‘Maybe –’ Saga began.

Holger chose that moment to stand on the sorcerers’ podium. The contestants’ attention all flickered to him. He folded his hands over his blue robes, steadily gazing out. His short hair gleamed a brighter silver under the lanternlight, the blue runes on his cheeks shimmering with magic. ‘I am pleased to inform you that the storm is waning and we shall be able to reconvene with the third and final challenge tomorrow. Do enjoy your last day in the castle – this final challenge shall not be as easy as the ones you have faced so far.’ With that, he sat, resuming his feast with the other sorcerers.

Canute gave him an indignant look. ‘Easy? Easy! He thought those were easy?’

Ruvsá grimaced. ‘It’s been nice not having to worry about another challenge. I kind of hoped the storm would last another couple of days … Saga? What’s wrong?’

Saga almost couldn’t hear her over the roar of panic in her ears. She’d been concentrating so hard on recruiting other warriors to take on the mountain trolls and sorcerers, on the battle brewing between the frost giants and the gods, and her own place in it all with the seer’s prophecy thundering through her thoughts – she will hold the fate of the North in her hands – that she’d completely forgotten she’d have to compete in another challenge soon.

While the rest of the contestants lingered over the breakfast feast, Saga and her friends sneaked away.

Canute had voted to stay in their rooms, nervous about encountering the sorcerers anywhere else. Saga had made her case for the hot springs, craving the warmth and cosiness of the caves gleaming with lanterns and softly bubbling away. But Ruvsá, who was easily the most persuasive one, had won them both over to her side. Now, they were sitting in the storage cave, with one of Canute’s magical fires sizzling in the snow, and a whole cardamom cake shared out between the four of them.

‘We don’t need another task,’ Saga was saying. ‘We need to figure out how to persuade the others that I’m telling the truth!’

‘And I agree,’ Ruvsá repeated, ‘but this challenge is going to happen first and you still need to compete in it.’

Canute nodded, spraying cake crumbs everywhere as he agreed. ‘She’s right, Saga. You can’t leave now that your afi is right here, but if you don’t compete the sorcerers won’t let you stay in the castle!’ He jerked his head at the patch of snow in front of Saga. ‘Now, have another go. You can do it.’

Saga breathed deeply. She smelled the bite of snow, the fustiness of the cave, the spices in the cake.

‘Calm your mind and focus,’ Ruvsá said.

Saga let the world melt away: the cave, the occasional rumbles of thunder in the distance, her worries and fears that were all knotted together in one tight tangle. She let go of all of them, until it was only her and the sound of her breath, a steady wave rippling on to a calm shore. When everything had fallen away, she reached out a single hand and drew a rune in the snow. Two mountains with a window and a sun. The one that had cast its blinding light across the mountaintop last night.

She heard Canute suck in a breath, Bjørn’s wary growl, Ruvsá’s soft words in her own language. When Saga opened her eyes, there was a window shimmering in the air in front of her. Just like the one she’d seen in her dream. Its edges were blurred, but if you looked straight into it you did not see the cave with its shelves filled with pots, meats hanging to cure, baskets of vegetables and salted fish drying. No, you saw into the past.

‘It’s my memory,’ Saga whispered, watching as the window showed Ruvsá and Canute what had happened last night, the conversation she’d overheard with Vigga and Holger, the mountain troll and villagers in the mine, her afi suddenly staring up at her, horrified as he realized that his granddaughter had entered the mines, then the mountaintop, with Rollo and the frost giant and the ice crystals.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Ruvsá turned to Saga with shining eyes.

Saga nodded. ‘This is it. This is how I convince the others that I was telling the truth.’