Mörsugur
The Bone Month
December
Eirik needn’t have worried about the depth of the harbor. The weather in Brytten was uncharacteristically warm for winter. As we’d neared the island, I’d shed my fur cloak in favor of a lighter woven tunic. The snow on the mountain that overlooked the cove had started to melt; the edges of its white peak were bare and gray. The sea level had risen; the rocky beach was entirely submerged, and the waves crashed into heather. The trees still had their amber, gold, and pink autumn leaves. From afar, it looked as if the hills were blanketed in jewels.
We dropped the anchor. At the knarr’s helm, the jarl stood with her arms held out while Aslaug draped chain mail over her wool tunic. The crew hauled an iron chest full of helmets, swords, and axes into the center of the deck.
“We will disembark and climb the western summit of the mountain,” Honor said. “Our force will storm the town head-on. We will lure the bulk of the enemy force to us. Ragna and her men will seek out the keep.”
I swallowed. Jarl Honor and I had made the plan last night. She would lure the enemy from their keep and fight them in the open field beyond the town. Their keep was made from wood. The structure would keep out the wild animals that roamed the mountains, but they couldn’t barricade themselves inside without risk of being burned alive. Most of their force would rush to meet Honor’s warriors. They might leave a guard or two behind to keep whatever prisoners still lived from escaping, but we could handle them. But Loki’s creature would be in the keep too. It was up to me to figure out how to kill it or entice it to our side. If I failed, everything would be lost, even if Honor won on the field.
I prayed that Loki would decide to intervene.
As the jarl’s men selected their weapons, I readied one of the skiffs. I would board the snekke with Torstein, and we would land it together. The small boat was eerily like the one I’d used to escape the shipwreck. I thought of Ersel floating on her back in the water beside me, watching as I rowed. She had been so at ease that day, with a bemused smile on her lips, cheeks flushed, and rich cerulean hair fanning out around her face.
Aslaug freed the ropes binding the skiff to the deck. It splashed into the water below. I paddled the distance between the flagship and The Sea Witch. The waves were shallow and gray. A few dirty-looking seagulls bobbed beside me.
I longed to see the glimmer of Ersel’s lilac fins, but my own sea witch was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t going to come back. And for now, I had to forget her. We had a battle to win.
When I reached my ship, Torstein pulled me over the rail. The men were equipped and ready. Each of them wore a new tunic, designed by Halvag. It bore the same black axe as my sail.
Torstein clapped his hands, and the rest of the crew lined up for my inspection. I smiled and paced in front of them. They all looked strong and well-fed after the voyage. After a week at sea, my leg gave only the slightest twinge when I walked. We were as ready as we could be.
At my nod, the men rowed us to the shore. Unlike Jarl Honor’s heavy knarr, my little snekke had a shallow berth. We could anchor right off the beach and disembark without skiffs or rafts. The jarl’s forces would take time to cross the mountain. By the time they arrived, we needed to be in position to infiltrate the keep.
The ship ploughed into the sand. I leapt over the rail, landing knee-deep in the water. My new shield was strapped to my back. I carried a freshly forged battle-axe, light enough to be used one-handed; its blade had been sharpened to a dangerous gleam.
We left Trygve behind to make sure the ship did not drift. One of the jarl’s crews would stay in the cove, their duty to protect our ships at all costs, just in case some of Haakon’s men ventured over the mountains. Trygve only had to mind the tides.
Vaskr already waited for me on the beach. Despite his long journey, the pony stood still and quiet beside the raft the handler had used to bring him to shore. His eyes were wide, taking in the new world around him as his handler stroked his neck. Although I wouldn’t ride him into the town itself, Vaskr would carry me over the mountain to save my leg. Pain brought its own kind of exhaustion. I wanted to be alert when I embedded my new axe in my first enemy skull.
I bent my knee, and Torstein boosted me onto Vaskr’s back. Over the mountain rolled a dark thunder cloud, purple with its rage. Fog clawed up the rocks. From the south, the mountain would be almost entirely concealed. They would never see us coming. I smiled and patted Vaskr’s neck. At last, I was going home.
* * *
At the base of the mountain, my town lay in ruins. All the houses were gone, burned to ash. The fields, once so carefully tended, lush and green, were a tangle of charred stubble and bones. Haakon’s men had constructed a wooden longhouse in the town center, where a forge had once stood. A wall surrounded it, made from stolen stones, daub, and rotting timber. Two sentries paced in front of a crooked iron gate. A funeral pyre smoldered at the center of the town. From a distance, it was impossible to see the body that lay upon it, but I imagined my cousin’s small frame and had to choke back a sob. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and burning hair.
We waited in the remains of a farm cottage at the edge of the town, pressed against a low stone wall, for signs of Jarl Honor’s arrival. Her warriors would make as much noise as they could—I’d seen the wooden drums lined up on the knarr’s deck along with the jarl’s hunting horn—to draw the enemy’s attention. I crouched beside the window, my legs already cramped. A few of the men fidgeted, but one hissed command had them standing as still as statues. We must not be seen. Alone, we would be slaughtered.
The handler hid with Vaskr in a cave just beyond the village. The man had seemed frightened and restless, as though he might flee to the safety of the ships at any moment. So I had told him that, if I returned to find him alive while my pony was not, I would drag him to Norveggr behind the ship like a prized catch. Torstein had chuckled at the now familiar threat, but the handler had gone whiter than milk.
The hunting horn blew in the distance. The sound it emitted was high and sinister, like a valkyrie’s scream. The sentries opened the gate and fled into the fortress. They left the gate ajar. The hairs on my arms stood up. The pit of my stomach dropped.
The mountain roared with Honor’s battlesong. Torchlight flooded through the open gate. Haakon’s warriors erupted from the keep, banging swords and axes against their shields as they raced toward the sound. Loki’s creature did not run with them.
I held my breath until the last of the warriors streamed from the keep. Smyain stepped forward. He hoisted the shield from my back, then secured it to my arm. He placed my horned, iron helmet on my head and buckled the strap beneath my chin. My heart pounded so fiercely that I felt lightheaded, but the shield’s weight comforted me. Still crouching, I beckoned to the men.
We crept out of the farmhouse, hiding in the shadows of blackened buildings until we reached the gate. I put my fingers to my lips. There would still be guards inside. If we were to fight Loki’s creature, none of my crew could fall to human swords.
The gate led to a narrow, winding hall with damp walls that seemed to close in around us. The inside of the fortress smelled of rot and mold. My breath echoed inside my helmet. My crew were as silent as cats, moving a single step at a time, weapons held ready. From somewhere deep inside the keep, the sound of laughter reached us.
“We’re the lucky ones,” a deep voice said. “All we have to do is sit here and watch the brats. Did you hear those horns? It’s a proper army this time, not those little raiding forces sent by Jarl Thorn.”
“We don’t even have to watch them. Not with the beast here,” returned his companion. “Shall I fetch another round of ale?”
The fortress followed a design that I knew. Several of the jarls in Brytten had holds like this. The entry way wound around the central hold in a spiral before feeding into the keep. The narrow halls kept enemies from rushing in an organized line. Light from the central keep spilled out into the hall, creating shadows. Once we rounded the next corner, we would be in the heart of the longhouse, visible to any straggling enemies.
I pressed my back against the wall, my axe held to my chest. Our footfalls suddenly seemed as loud as shouts to me. Signaling to my men to stay hidden, I peered around the corner.
Two warriors sat playing dice at a table. As I studied them, my blood ran cold. I recognized one of the men. He wore an eye patch over his left eye and had two matching scars running down his cheeks like tears from my nails. He still wore a faded, dirty red tunic, emblazoned with Haakon’s sigil. It was the same man who’d grabbed me the night the raiders came. He and his companion had killed my family in their beds.
I wanted to rush forward to slice open his belly with my axe and spill his guts over the wooden floor. But a long shadow cast on the floor behind them kept me motionless. I peeked around the wall again, looking for the source of the shadow. A large horse stood behind the game table; its head was partially submerged in a feeding trough. It was pure white with a light pink muzzle and electric blue eyes. It had eight legs instead of four, with cat-like paws in place of hooves. When it lifted its head, a man’s arm dangled from its muzzle. Golden rings still decorated the man’s hand. The creature chewed it absently, its great jaws grinding the bone as easily as hay.
The Sleipnir. I recognized it from the stories Mama had told me as a child. Once the valued steed of Odin, the beast had been born of Loki’s own flesh. They had given natural birth to the creature and it was the strongest of their beasts. It had lived for centuries and had survived against powerful enemies. It stood over a trap door. I knew with sickening certainty that was where we would find the children. If I wanted to get to Yarra, I had to defeat a creature that feasted on human bones.
We would have to charge together. Separate, we had no chance of survival. Even together, my small band of men might not be enough. I considered falling on my knees and begging Loki for intervention.
Smyain tiptoed closer to me, then pulled his bow over his shoulder. He nocked an arrow and aimed it at the nearest warrior’s heart. Carefully, I repositioned his elbow so that the arrow would strike the other guard. Whatever the eight-legged horse might do, the man who had killed my brother was going to die at my hand. An arrow to the chest was a mercy he did not deserve.
The arrow flew and struck deep. The one-eyed guard shouted as his companion slumped and fell from his chair. The arm dropped from the Sleipnir’s mouth, and it pivoted toward us. Steinair stepped out into the keep and raised his sword. His legs were shaking.
“Reckless boy,” Torstein cursed. He lunged for the back of Steinair’s tunic, but it was too late.
The Sleipnir’s eyes narrowed; it crouched like a great cat. Then in a flash of cyan smoke, it struck. The creature’s jaws closed around Steinair’s skinny neck, snapping his head from his body. It rolled toward us, eyes still wide. The Sleipnir hauled his body—its new prize—to the feeding trough and deposited the corpse inside. I covered my mouth. Steinair had been little more than a child himself, not even sixteen. I should have left him on the ship with Trygve, whatever his skill with a sword.
“Come out and play, cowards,” the guard called. He banged his sword against the table. His voice was so hauntingly familiar. It had been half a year, but I remembered his hot breath against my cheek and the way he had held me against his chest, blade at my throat.
The men at my back glanced at the hall behind us. The Sleipnir moved like nothing I’d ever seen. No wonder Haakon’s men had dared to leave only two warriors behind. The remaining guard rose from the table, holding his sword outstretched. He snapped his fingers, and the Sleipnir grudgingly turned its head. Its eyes fixed on us. I sensed that it could see where we crouched, even through the walls. If we tried to run, none of us would make it out alive. We needed more men—another army maybe—to defeat it.
Or one god.
My crew had proved themselves. They had risked their lives defending me from the fenrir. If I wanted to be worthy of their loyalty, I had to be willing to sacrifice too.
“I’ll do it,” I hissed, not knowing if Loki could even hear me. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
The silence that followed made my stomach curdle. The Trickster was content to wait for another navigator after all. We weren’t going to get out. We were all going to die here. My men had finally started to respect me, and I’d led them straight into a trap.
“All the pieces?” The voice was soft, rustling past my ear like leaves on an autumn wind.
“All of them. Just call your beast away.” I nearly trembled with relief.
“If you try to break our bargain, I will send the Sleipnir to hunt down and devour anyone you have ever spoken to. Your crew. Your cousin. The old man who weaves. Even into the ocean to devour your pretty mermaid.” A glimmer of light appeared at the corner of my vision, hovering like a specter.
“I won’t back out.”
“I believe you,” said Loki. “But it never hurts to have guaran-tees.”
The god’s form solidified. They appeared as a burly, muscled warrior with a long, braided, blond beard. They clutched a cyan shield in their hands and wore antlers so tall they nearly scraped the low ceiling of the fortress. My men jumped back, their eyes wild. A few fell to their knees.
The Trickster brushed past them. They walked confidentially into the center of the keep. A genuine, affectionate smile lit their face at the sight of the creature. The Sleipnir cocked its head. Haakon’s guard sneered. “One warrior?” he called down the hall. “You send one warrior to face our beast?”
Loki laughed. The voice that emerged from their lips now belonged to a child, not the formidable warrior standing in the keep. “Our beast,” they giggled.
The color slowly drained from the warrior’s face. He stepped back, using the table to shield himself. Loki tapped their cyan shield and held out their hand. The surface of the shield rippled like the water of a pond. Nostrils flared, the Sleipnir prowled over to them. Then it dropped its blood-stained muzzle into the Trickster’s outstretched palm. Loki reached up to pat its neck, and the creature vanished.
Loki turned to me and smiled. Their shield bore a new decoration. A great white horse with eight monstrous legs galloped across the face.
The warrior fell to his knees. “You… we had a deal. The hersir made a bargain.”
“Yes,” said Loki. They jerked their head toward the corridor, toward me. “And she offered me another one. I have never once gone back on a promise. Your hersir bargained for a creature to guard these children against invaders. I supplied such a creature, but we did not agree how long you could keep him.”
Beckoning to my men, I stepped out into the light.
“I will be back,” the Trickster said to me. “To claim what you owe.”
Loki evaporated, along with his new shield, into a cloud of a cyan smoke. A vicious smile stretched my lips. I bared my teeth. I might have sold my life to Loki, engaged myself to a service that might take years, but the only thing on my mind now was the enemy who had killed my brother. I was going to savor my revenge.
Sword falling from his hands, the warrior stumbled back against the fortress’ wall. “Mercy,” he whimpered. “Take me prisoner. I’ll serve your jarl.”
“You will serve no one.” I yanked my helmet from my head. My white-blonde hair fell to my shoulders. He looked into my face, then let out a cry of recognition.
He fell to his knees at my feet. I kicked him into the wall. He threw his arms up to cover his face.
“Hold him,” I yelled to Torstein. My warrior looked sidelong at me, his eyes questioning. The enemy was unarmed now, and I could have ended it in a second. A single blow to the skull with my axe would have been enough. But I didn’t want to. This was the man who had come into my home, who had killed my brother in cold blood. I was going to take my time. Maybe this would finally be enough to quench my burning thirst for revenge. Maybe after I did this, I would finally find peace.
Torstein seized the man’s arms and yanked them to the side. I stepped over him, planting a foot on either side of his writhing body. Then I angled my axe and slit open his belly.
“Ragna…” Torstein whispered, his teeth gritted. He’d never used my given name. Even when he had hated me, it had always been “girl” or “you.” For the barest second, it was enough to make me pause. “This isn’t honorable.”
I had once believed Torstein to be a murderer, capable of slaying women and children in cold blood. I had been so wrong about him. He still maintained a code, a sense of honor, that I’d already lost.
“This man.” I pointed my axe at the warrior’s chest while he screamed, and blood poured from the wound in his abdomen. “Came into my house in the dead of night and murdered my seven-year-old brother in his bed. He and his companions killed my parents. He does not get off easily.”
Torstein took a deep breath. He turned his head to the side. “Get on with it then.”
“No!” the man shrieked.
My first cut had been shallow, only deep enough to break through the skin. The warrior moaned as I crouched down and whispered, “My brother was seven. Seven. He was gentle. Think about that.”
I slipped my hook into the opening in his stomach. Muscle and blood squelched around my arm. The man writhed, as his legs desperately scraped the floor for purchase. I pulled my hook out; his bowel dangled from it like an oversized worm. Ignoring the smell and the blood that seeped through my fingers, I unwound it like a rope, then slung it around the man’s neck. I pulled it tight, cutting off his cries. His face went purple. I kept up the pressure until he stopped twitching.
Torstein just stared at me; his whole body was rigid.
Smyain stepped forward, pushing his way through the line of men. He sighed and kicked the warrior’s corpse aside. My lungs felt like ice. I started to shiver. A strange emptiness filled me as I looked at the smear of blood on the floor, then at the dead man’s purple face.
There was justice in what I’d done, so why did I feel like this? It had to be battle fever. It was the only explanation.
He was gentle. My own words echoed in my mind. Whatever the man’s crimes against him, Lief never would have condoned what I had just done.
Smyain ripped off a piece of his tunic. He wiped the blood off my face, both of my arms and hook. “There,” he said, his voice a little strained. “Good as new.”
“He will haunt you,” Torstein murmured. “You’re not a monster. The manner of his death will haunt you.”
“He already haunted me.” I knelt beside the trapdoor. “Maybe now, he’ll finally be quiet.”