Ylir
Odin’s Month
November
I lay awake for most of the night, listening to Ersel’s quiet snoring. By morning, I had a plan to win my men’s loyalty. Smyain had never received any weapons training, and many of the others were probably in the same position. How I could I expect them to follow me willingly when they didn’t have the skills to the fight the enemies I led them toward? Wherever their lives took them after we took back Kjorseyrr and parted ways, those skills would pay. If I taught them, they would be grateful to me.
Ersel still had not recovered from the ride. She woke damp with sweat. A few of her mermaid’s scales had erupted through the magic binding her to human form. They dotted her cheeks like flecks of silver dust. I left her to rest and went in search of Aslaug.
I was certain that my plan had merit, but if I was going to train with my men, we would need better weapons, targets, and horses. I’d never seen most of them ride. I didn’t know if they could swing an axe or a sword from the saddle. If Smyain’s story was typical, some might not even be able to shoot a bow.
I found my crew sprawled out on the floor of the guesthouse’s main chamber. Some had unrolled their furs and made beds, but many others had fallen asleep where they’d sat at the table. Trygve was asleep with his head on a plate; meat drippings stuck to his beard. I walked up behind him and cleared my throat. He jerked to attention, hands splaying, and sent his ale tankard flying. I rolled my eyes as he sputtered apologies.
“I’m going to find the húskarl.” I grabbed a wooden cup and carefully poured him some water from the jug. “Make sure none of them leave here before I get back.”
Trygve rubbed at his eyes. “Okay.”
“Don’t fall back to sleep,” I cautioned. “And check on Ersel. She’s ill.”
He sipped his water slowly. “Should we send for a healer?”
“Do you think a healer would know what to make of her?” I shook my head. “I think she’s just tired from the ride. She’s not used to walking as a human yet, much less riding for a full day.”
I turned to the door, but Smyain waved his hand at me. He groaned and climbed to his feet. “Do you need someone to go with you?” he asked. “We don’t know the people here. They might not all be as friendly as the jarl.”
“I’d feel better if you weren’t completely alone,” Trygve said.
Smyain dusted off his tunic and shot me a grin. “I’m a survivor, remember? I’ll make myself useful.”
His volunteering was unexpected, but they were right. I would be safer with company. I nodded, and Smyain followed me outside. It was a bright morning, but frost still clung to the trees. Frozen leaves crunched under our boots. The city below was quiet, and the streets were empty. I figured that being the húskarl, Aslaug would have a house somewhere on the jarl’s hill, so I set off across the courtyard.
We passed the jarl’s stable. The sweet, musty scent of horses and hay was so much like home that it lured me inside. A low nicker greeted us, and I blinked back homesick tears. The pony I’d ridden yesterday had the stall nearest the entrance, and when he saw me his little ears pricked straight up. He whinnied again.
I went to him and stroked the whorl of hair at the center of his forehead. “You’re no war steed,” I said.
“No,” Smyain said behind me. I could hear the smile in his voice. He stepped closer and held out a handful of frozen blackberries to the pony. “But he would try for you. Wouldn’t you, lad?”
The pony nibbled the edge of my hook. I leaned over his stall door to scratch his withers with the point, as I had done before. He stretched his neck to the side to give me better access, and his eyes rolled back in his head. I laughed. I never would have expected my hook to make such a good horse scratcher, but the little beast seemed to love it.
We walked down the aisles of stalls. My gaze rested on an obsidian mare with a jagged white star. She reminded me of Fjara, with her dark coat and delicate concave muzzle. I patted her neck. Her coat was impossibly soft. Someone must have spent hours every day brushing her. Her eyes had a rim of white around the iris, which gave her a curious expression. I swallowed a sob. In this stable, I was home again—up early in the morning, talking to Fjara before Mama woke up and put me to work cleaning stalls or mixing grain. It was how almost every day of my childhood had begun.
I slipped into the stable beside the mare and ran my hand across her back. She had a slight sway to her spine and one of her rear pasterns was too upright. If she had been one of our foals, Mama would have put special shoes on her as a filly to correct her stance. By now, she would stand straight.
“My mother bred horses like these,” I said, not sure if I was talking to the mare or Smyain, or why I was sharing at all. “People came from all over the island to see them.”
Smyain offered the mare a few blackberries. She took them delicately, barely brushing his palm with her lips, like a queen accepting a jewel. “I only rode a carthorse before I entered the jarl’s service.” His hazel eyes swept over my face. “You must miss them.”
The pity in his voice snapped me out of the memory. I didn’t want that from him or anyone on the crew. I straightened and gave the mare a final pat. “We should go.”
He scuffed his foot on the ground, looking as if he might say something else. But then he shrugged and waved goodbye to the mare, as if she were a small child instead of a warhorse.
As we approached the barn door, it swung it open. Aslaug stood in the entrance, wearing wintergreen trousers, a gold tunic that swept past their knees, and a long, black cloak trimmed in flame-colored fox fur. Their fine attire marked their high status in the city. They folded their arms over their chest; their expression was wary. “What are you doing in here? Not leaving?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re not here to steal a horse and run. I didn’t come all this way for that. We were looking for you and got sidetracked.”
Aslaug’s face softened. They walked to the obsidian mare and extended their hand for her to stiff. “Beautiful, isn’t she? She’s one of the jarl’s favorites.”
“Her back is a bit swayed, and her pasterns are too upright,” I said. “You should put special shoes on her. It should have been done when she was a foal, but it might not be too late.”
Aslaug glanced down the horse’s legs. “I don’t see it,” they said. “But I didn’t grow up with horses. Even here, we’ve heard of your mother’s stock. What did you need me for?”
“I need equipment. The jarl wants us to train. If we’re to do that, we’ll need a place to practice, some targets, and suitable mounts.”
Aslaug’s eyebrows shot up, but if they knew what the jarl had truly said in our meeting, they kept it to themself. “That’s easy enough to arrange. There’s a field farther up the hill where we graze the sheep in the summer. I can have some targets brought up for you, and bows. We don’t have many horses to spare, but I can let you use a few of our older mounts. They don’t see combat anymore, but they know their job.”
Part of me had hoped for something flashy, but if the crew didn’t know how to maintain paces or match strides, it was probably best they start on horses that were easy.
“I will offer my assistance, as well,” the húskarl said. “When the jarl can spare me. I know a few things about weapons.”
“Thank you,” I said and gave Smyain a small push toward the door. The húskarl had probably only offered so they could keep a closer eye on me and make sure we didn’t try to steal any of the horses they loaned us, but Aslaug’s help would almost certainly be better than the training I could provide. “We will gather the crew and meet you in the field.”
* * *
We spent the whole morning training on the field Aslaug had prepared. I was pleased to find that, although most of my crew came from farming or trading backgrounds, most were proficient with an axe, hammer, and sword. The men sparred as I watched them with a critical eye. Their style wasn’t graceful, but they knew where to strike. Aslaug walked among the pairs correcting stances and grips with infinite, gentle patience. They never raised their voice or became frustrated when a man failed to understand a new maneuver. It was easy to see why the jarl relied on them so heavily.
Riding and archery were another story. Even Torstein sat ahorse like a sack of rocks and managed to hit the target only once with an arrow. The men had grumbled on the beach about being forced to walk inland, but I was starting to suspect that had all been for show. I was grateful to the solid, old horses who never put a foot wrong or bucked, even when the riders jerked their mouths. Riding was my domain. I’d never ridden as well as Yarra, but Mama had taught me everything she knew. I had grown up caring for warhorses. While Aslaug continued to help with melee, I barked instructions to the riders.
“I’ve seen young children ride better than you!” I shouted at Torstein when he missed the target for the third pass. His roan gelding pinned back its ears. It wasn’t exactly a fair comment, as Yarra was a better rider than I was, too, but I wouldn’t admit that.
He pulled up beside me and tossed his sword on the ground. “Aye,” he said. “Better I stick to ships. Riding into a fight is more you islanders’ way.”
“If the stories about your wreck are to be believed, you’re not very good with ships either.”
I expected to see anger on his face, but he laughed. He swung his leg over the gelding’s back and hit the ground hard. “Probably not. But at least if I keep sailing to new places, I stay ahead of my reputation.”
By the time the sun reached its full height, I was bone-weary. I clapped my hands to get the crew’s attention, then dismissed them. They trotted off at once, racing each other in the direction of the guesthouse and lunch, tossing their weapons aside with little thought. I sighed and began collecting the discarded steel. I didn’t want the jarl to think we were ungrateful. I’d need to teach the men better respect for their weapons.
“I’ll see to that,” Aslaug said. They held two axes in their hands already. “You look exhausted.”
I flashed them a weary smile. Aslaug had been training all morning too—and had been moving more than me—but they still walked with light-footed grace, as if they had only just risen. My crew and I had a long way to go to match the húskarl’s fitness. I gathered the horses’ reins and led them back to their stable.
At the house, the crew sat on long benches. The tables were laden with a feast of chicken, apples, and assorted jams, but this time, no one had touched the food. They watched me enter with hungry eyes and kept their hands folded in their laps. I smiled and gestured for them to begin. They didn’t have to be told twice. A morning of exercise had sharpened their appetites. They had earned this meal.
Torstein and Steinair shifted on the bench to make a space for me, but Trygve and Ersel were not seated among them, and the bedroom door was closed. I shook my head. “I’m going to retire for a while. Make sure you save me something to eat.”
In the bedroom, Trygve knelt at Ersel’s side holding a bucket. She leaned over it and dry-heaved. A trail of bile dripped down her chin. I rushed to her. Her form had shifted; the human legs were gone, and the blanket hardly concealed her ever-moving tentacles. Topaz, lilac, and azure scales covered her body, but the webbing that usually grew between her fingers when she was in this form had not appeared. The blanket was wet with her sweat. I pulled it back and gasped. In her kraken’s form, she normally had eight tentacles, but now there were only four. Was she stuck in the middle of a transition? Had her illness caused this?
“What hurts? What can I do?” I asked.
She opened her mouth to respond, then retched into Trygve’s bucket again.
“We need to get a healer,” Trgyve said grimly. “I know they might not have seen anything like her, but she can’t even keep water down.”
I scrambled to my feet and pushed open the door to the main chamber. “Fetch a healer!” I demanded.
The crew turned on their benches to stare at me, mouths full. When none of them rose, my eyes narrowed. We’d had a good day practicing on the hills, but allowing them to become more comfortable with me was a mistake if it meant they couldn’t follow orders.
“Now!” I growled. My change in tone had all of them on their feet and out of the house in an instant.
I went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed. Ersel’s tentacles had vanished completely, replaced by her mermaid’s tail. As I watched, her body convulsed, and her scales vanished. The tail remained, but with its bare, sensitive, pink skin exposed. Ersel let out a chilling scream before she shifted back into a human girl.
“I don’t think she can control it,” Trygve said. “Maybe the healer will let some of her blood to get the infection out.”
I clasped Ersel’s clammy hand. Her eyes were focused on the headboard. I wasn’t sure she was aware I was here. How had this happened? Of all of us, she had eaten the best on the journey. She’d never suffered from illness at sea, and we hadn’t come close to anyone sick on shore.
She convulsed again, and three tentacles grew alongside her human legs.
The healer wouldn’t be able to help her. I knew that. From the way she was moving between forms, losing control of her abilities… there had to be a disease in her magic. The only being who could help her was the one who had given that power to her.
“We need to pray to Loki,” I said.
“No!” Ersel wheezed. She attempted to sit up, then fell back on her pillows. Her bloodshot eyes locked on mine. “I never want to see them again. I told you that. Promise me.”
“Shh, I won’t.” I stroked her hair while looking sharply at Trygve. Ersel’s fear of the god was clouding her senses, just as before. I wasn’t stupid enough to make a deal with Loki. But what could it hurt to pray to them? To bring them here? I didn’t have to agree to their terms, and they might be able to save her. They had followed us across the sea and tried to destroy us with a hurricane. I had believed that was all in pursuit of Ersel, but after what Jarl Honor had told me, I wasn’t so sure. If they had their own stake in my homeland, in my navigator’s marks, didn’t I deserve to hear for myself how the god wanted to use me?
I drew Trygve into the corner of the room. “We need to summon them.”
Trgyve shook his head. “They’re a god. You can’t just send one of the men to fetch them from the tavern.”
“They’ll come. They want something from me too.”
“You said you wouldn’t,” Trygve said stubbornly. “You promised her.”
“So what?” I hissed. “I let her die because she’s scared? She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s delirious. After everything she went through with Loki, she’s still alive, isn’t she? If they had wanted her dead, they’re a god, I’m sure they could have found a way.”
Trygve’s shoulders slumped. “As you think best.”
The bedroom door banged open and Torstein appeared, an elderly woman in tow. The healer was small and prim; her long gray hair was swept back into a utilitarian bun. She held a suede-covered equipment roll in her arms. I moved aside to let her sit by Ersel. She shook her head and did not move from the doorway.
“What is she?”
Ersel’s body convulsed and shifted fully into her mermaid’s form. The healer screamed. “What is she?” the old woman repeated and glared at Torstein. “I was told to come treat one of the jarl’s guests who had taken ill with fever. I assumed she would be human. Not some kind of god-spawn.”
“She isn’t god-spawn,” I said and fought to keep my voice gentle, even though I wanted to grab the old woman and shake her. “She’s a mermaid.”
“Mermaids aren’t real,” the healer sniffed. She crept cautiously over and then gave me a pat on the arm. “If that’s what it told you, then you’ve been deceived. Maybe it’s one of Loki’s beasts.”
“She’s not a creature of Loki,” I snapped and rolled up my sleeves so she could see my moving tattoos. “The only one here who is god-spawn is me and I’m pretty sure the jarl knows about that.”
“Just give her something for the fever.” Trygve pointed to the roll in the healer’s arms. “You must have something that will bring it down.”
“Whatever she is, her constitution may not be like ours,” the healer said. “Whatever I give her could be poisonous to her system. The jarl will throw me in the dungeons if I poison one of her guests. I’m sorry. I cannot treat her.”
She clutched her roll and rushed for the door.
“What will she do to you if you let one die?” I screamed at her back, but the door slammed closed.
Torstein edged over to Ersel’s bed. Her tentacles flashed, then changed color, each long limb a different hue of gray. “What’s wrong with her?”
I closed my eyes. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have sent you to fetch that old bitch.”
“We think it’s a disease in her magic,” Trygve said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Torstein understood the dismissal. He shuffled to the door. His hand had closed on the knob before he said to me, “We’ll keep her in our prayers, styrimaðr.”
I was so shocked by his words that I said nothing as he left the room. Praying for her? They all hated her. And with magic she couldn’t control, they should fear her more than ever. Ersel whimpered, and I took her hand. Their hatred of her was my fault. How many times had I used her to threaten them? She had been my weapon against them all along.
I ripped off a piece of the blanket and submerged it in the now-freezing bucket of water. I pressed it to Ersel’s cheek. Her sickness was my fault too. I had taken her hundreds of miles from her home, with no regard for how it might affect her. She hadn’t started eating human food until a few days ago. Maybe the healer was right—our food might be toxic to her, and it was the only thing I’d thought to offer her. I’d even ridiculed her the first night, when she had refused Halvag’s porridge.
“Keep her cool and get her to drink if you can,” I said. “I’m going for a walk.”