CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Home at Last

After the Jarl of Saga’s village and a couple of other local leaders in the North, including that of the Sámi, had addressed the sorcerers, decisions were swiftly made. Unn and Frida were to remain in the ice castle with the Jarl and Rollo as the four of them investigated which of the sorcerers had been involved with Baldr’s terrible plot. Then they would work out what needed to happen next. The Fifth Winter Contest had been officially called off. By this point, Saga was feeling the after-effects of using too much magic and then pushing through to be reunited with her friends and Afi. She couldn’t stand straight.

‘Sit down,’ Ruvsá told her, finding her a comfortable spot on the sorcerers’ sledge as everyone made preparations to leave. It had been decided that they would travel home on the magical sledge, which was a relief after the freezing, stormy crossing the contestants had endured on their voyage to the Far North. But nobody was more relieved than Canute. ‘I’ll never have to sail across a sea again,’ he said, sighing happily, glazed over like honey.

Saga lay there, a contented smile on her face as she listened to Dag and Canute exchange stories of fighting mountain trolls, with Ruvsá and Bjørn nestled either side of her, Ruvsá interrupting Canute’s stories when they grew too far-fetched. Her afi gently wrapped a thick fur round her, tucking her in until she couldn’t feel the freezing air nip any more.

‘She did use the ice crystal. My mother,’ Saga told him. ‘All this time I was afraid of the magic inside me, but it was never the magic inside my mother that killed her.’

Afi hesitated, then showed Saga the hilt of his sword. He tapped the spent ice crystal embedded there. ‘No, it was this one. If I had known that was where your fear came from, I would have told you a long time ago.’

Saga stretched out a hand, touching the dull gemstone. All this time, the answer had been right in front of her. ‘I thought you told me that you used this in battle?’

‘I never said it was my battle,’ Afi said softly. ‘I kept it to honour her. To remind me what is most important in life: protecting my loved ones. Protecting you.’

Saga smiled. ‘I faced my fears and used the runes to try to find you,’ she mumbled sleepily to him. ‘Are you proud of me?’

‘I am always proud of you,’ Afi told her. ‘Whether you fight off a hundred trolls single-handedly or make an exceptionally delicious stew, I am never not proud of you. You’re my guiding star, Saga.’ His voice turned hoarse. ‘You light my world. But you’ve used a lot of magic today so now you need to rest. Sleep.’

And Saga finally closed her eyes.

When she woke, the sledge was flying over a forest.

‘We crossed the sea last night; we should be home soon,’ her afi told her, passing her a big bowl of porridge. He’d decorated it with hazelnuts and berries and thick cream until it looked like a bear’s face and Saga smiled almost not wanting to eat it.

Until a real bear paw dived in before she could catch it.

‘Bjørn!’

Her afi chortled. ‘I see some things haven’t changed.’

It wasn’t long before Saga’s friends woke up too and then Torben and Fenrir began the task of flying the sledge to different places to take everyone home. The shieldmaidens had disappeared during the night and Saga was disappointed that they hadn’t said goodbye, but Torben shrugged, telling her, ‘They like to be mysterious like that.’ Then he roared a laugh and ruffled her hair. ‘That was quite some battle you started back there. You let me know when you’re ready for your first voyage further afield.’

Canute was taken to a large village inland, to the east. It was ringed by jagged mountains and a frozen river sliced through it. No sooner had they landed the sledge than his parents came running out.

‘We should never have let you go,’ his father told him as Canute vanished between his parents’ hug.

‘We’ll never let you forget just how special you are again,’ his mother added. Canute had turned pink by the time he waved goodbye to the sledge.

Then they soared to a snowy valley where smoke curled up from the pointed tips of lávvus, and a herd of reindeer, hundreds strong, roamed beneath the starlight. The moment the sledge stopped, a white reindeer came lolloping out of the herd, calling excitedly.

‘Snowflake!’ Ruvsá hopped from the sledge, running over to her reindeer. From one of the lávvus, three older boys emerged, who all surrounded Ruvsá, jostling each other out of the way as they each competed to talk to her first. A woman that looked identical to Ruvsá came running then, folding her daughter into her arms as she sobbed into her hair.

After giving them a few moments to themselves, Saga wandered over. ‘I told you she wouldn’t be cross.’ Saga nudged Ruvsá affectionately.

Ruvsá was glowing. ‘I guess not.’ Her smile faded a little. ‘We’re just over the fjords,’ she told Saga.

‘Less than a day’s journey,’ Saga said back.

‘Do you promise that we’ll see each other again soon?’ Ruvsá’s eyebrows bunched together in concern. ‘Very soon?’

Saga squeezed Ruvsá’s hands in hers. ‘Wild mountain trolls couldn’t stop me,’ she teased.

There were a few more stops along the way, the raiders leaping off the sledge as they hurried back to their families, the captured villagers rushing home once more. Leif’s wife eagerly scooped up their young children as her husband waved farewell to the sledge, already soaring on to their next stop.

And there, at last, nestled between great curving fjords, sat their village. It was bathed in blue light, the first real light Saga had seen since she’d left. There had never been a lovelier sight. Soon, they would celebrate Jul, and then the sun would begin to rise above the horizon once more, bringing spring to their valley.

Afi rested a hand on Saga’s shoulder. ‘Take it all in,’ he said kindly as Saga wiped a sleeve over her eyes. ‘There’s nothing like that first glimpse of home after a long journey.’

‘Your grandfather’s a wise man.’ Torben nodded sagely, stroking his sparse beard as he glanced at Afi’s neatly braided beard. Saga suppressed a giggle. ‘The harder and more dangerous the journey, the sweeter the return.’ Torben suddenly slammed a hand on to his shield, making Saga jump. ‘Now, you’ll need one of these before I take you on your first raid –’

At that, Afi hurried Saga off the sledge.

Bjørn ambled behind them with Dag, and their friends and neighbours followed, exclaiming with delight at seeing their little village again. Soon fires were puffing out of longhouses and lanterns were lit along the coast, making their village cosy and twinkling once more.

‘Let’s get our fire lit –’ Afi said, rubbing his hands together – ‘and see what we can take to the feast tonight.’

But when Saga threw open the door to their longhouse, someone was already standing there.

‘It’s about time you returned.’ The seer peered at Saga with her milky eyes. Her cat-fur hat was discarded on the table and a stew was bubbling away in the cauldron over the fire, filling the longhouse with comforting warmth.

Afi shucked off his furs, eyeing the seer warily. ‘Last time you visited, you had foreseen a prophecy,’ he grunted, helping Saga remove her ice-encrusted boots. ‘Well, Saga did what you trusted her to do and now that her destiny is hers, I’d thank you to kindly leave it alone.’

Saga’s heart thumped. She’d always known her afi was proud that she’d had a magical destiny, but it was even better to discover that he was proud of her without one too.

The seer gave a raspy chuckle that sounded like rustling leaves. ‘Actually, Saga’s destiny has always been her own.’ She stirred the stew, ignoring the baffled looks Saga and her afi exchanged.

Bjørn huffed, stretching out before the fire and promptly falling asleep.

‘But you said that I would dream magic and that I held the fate of the North in my hands,’ Saga protested.

The seer gestured with a gnarled hand. ‘Well, the first part was true but the second was slightly, er, embellished.’

‘How embellished?’ Afi’s eyes flashed with anger.

‘Oh, completely.’ The seer chuckled again. ‘We seers saw what was coming up in the Far North and so we searched through the threads of time and fate until we found people powerful enough to resolve the impending danger before it turned to doom and the gods got involved.’ She shook her head. ‘That never bodes well.’

Saga sat down heavily. ‘So there was never a prophecy about me in the first place?’

‘Not at all!’ The seer started ladling out bowls of stew. Afi looked stunned. ‘We merely needed a hero, and I chose Saga, trusting that if she believed she was specially chosen, if she believed in herself, she could save us all. And so she did.’ The seer handed them each a bowl of stew and picked up her staff, making towards the door.

‘So, I’m not special?’ Saga asked.

The seer hesitated, light shining through the valleys and cracks on her face. ‘Oh, you’re a gemstone among rocks, dear. It is no small feat to believe in yourself, let alone march up to the Far North and battle against an entire ice castle filled with sorcerers, frost giants and mountain trolls.’ She winked. ‘But as for what made me choose you, well, that reason is at this very moment snoring in front of the fire.’

Saga and Afi’s gaze fell on Bjørn, happily asleep, his paws twitching as he chased rabbits in his dreams.

‘What you share with that bear is one of the most special things about you. It is why I chose you above the others; I knew that when the time came for you to face the fate I had chosen for you, you would not be alone. For you will never be alone, Saga. Bjørn is your guardian spirit in bear-form, and you are destined to tread your path together.’

Saga smiled at Bjørn. ‘Good,’ she whispered.

‘Now enjoy your stew, and fear not, there are no mushrooms in it.’ The seer pulled on her cat-fur hat and left, the longhouse door banging shut behind her.

Saga looked at her afi, who suddenly roared with laughter. ‘Well, that was a surprise,’ he admitted, picking up his bowl of stew and giving it a good sniff. ‘She’s a fine cook, though,’ he added, finding two spoons and passing one to Saga. ‘Now, come and sit beside the fire with me. I want to hear every one of your stories before you tell them at the feast later.’

Outside the longhouse, the Northern Lights danced more brightly than they had in an age, and when Saga peeked out of the door at them, her smile was every bit as bright. She was back home, with her afi, where they belonged. Her future stretched out before her, carefree and entirely her own.

Saga curled up next to the fire where Bjørn slumbered, her bowl of stew warming her hands, her afi listening as she started to weave her stories into a familiar pattern that she would tell again and again: ‘I rode my bear to the Far North, over the tundra, guided by the stars and a crafty seer who meddled with my fate …’