The days at sea that followed the storm were uneventful. The sun shone in abundance as we sailed closer to Leif’s homeland, and after a fortnight had passed, I was desperate for rain, if only to wash the salt from my body. My hair no longer flowed freely, but instead was a tangled mess of waves. Every inch of my skin and armor had a coating of gritty salt, both from the sea and my own sweat. Despite such deterrents, Leif and I shared the same bed of furs each night, though we did nothing but sleep. I appreciated his respectful restraint, but it was torturous all the same.
And just when I thought I couldn’t take another day at sea, Leif called for a raven to be released.
“If I’m right,” he told me as I watched the bird soar away hopefully, “we aren’t far from land.”
“How will the raven tell us?” I asked.
“If it returns, then it couldn’t find land.”
I watched the sky that day like I had once watched it for storm clouds, but the bird never returned. I paced even more rapidly in the little space I had. The thought of land made the ship now seem desperately small. A light breeze teased at my hair, sending stray pieces into my eyes, and I pushed them away irritably.
“Land ahead,” Leif said, and as though he had conjured it with his words alone, mountains rose in the distance.
The V of ships headed for a small spot in between the mountains like geese flying toward a pond. But as we drew closer, I realized the spot was a fjord.
The men rowed, and a hush fell over us all as the ships sailed into the narrow inlet. A mist rose from the clear, cold water as verdant mountains rose on either side. Sunlight filtered in from the clouds, dancing upon the glittering water.
I felt eyes upon me and turned to find Leif watching me intently. “What is it?” I asked.
He smiled. “I am only enjoying the sight of you seeing my fjord for the first time.”
“It’s far more beautiful than I could have imagined,” I said. “The mountains are so green here.”
“You expected snow and ice?”
What had I expected? Whenever I thought of the land where the Northmen came from, it was always bleak and dark in my mind. A cold, barren wasteland. Certainly not the awe-inspiring beauty of the soaring cliffs and glassy waters. “Yes, but this . . . this is almost as beautiful as éirinn. Why, then, do Northmen plague our lands?”
“The fjords are impressive to look at, but we lack the fertile farmlands of the south.”
“So you take ours,” I said with a nod of understanding.
Leif grinned, his mood much too buoyant at the sight of land to be brought down by even my provocative questions. “We take them after defeating their owners; they are the spoils of war.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s a hard battle against farmers.”
His gaze shifted to the fjord. “Most of us are farmers. You’ll see.”
Warrior farmers, I thought, but didn’t say. Up ahead, a quay jutted out into the water, its planks covered by at least one hundred people. They must’ve caught sight of the red skeletal dragon when we entered the fjord. Cheers of excitement carried back to us on the wind. So different from the screams of terror they would be greeted with in éirinn.
Behind them stood rows of wooden, thatched houses—not unlike the ones in Dubhlinn, only larger. The crowd was mostly made up of women and children, though there were also a few older men, and men who must have stayed behind to watch over the village.
I glanced up at Leif, this man I was so drawn to and yet knew so little about. An answering excitement bubbled up within me at the thought that maybe I would have the chance to learn more about him.
The men rowed our longship to one side of the quay, the knarr on the other. The three remaining longships were rowed all the way to the shore, where their shallow hulls breached. As soon as the ships were secured, men streamed off, eager to see the loved ones they’d left behind. The bloodthirsty warriors I’d come to know transformed into loving husbands and fathers; even the most fearsome of them were surrounded by laughing children. Here they were not dragons, only ordinary family men.
Sigtrygg’s men were nearly indistinguishable from the Northmen. All were equally filthy, for one thing. The sea had not been kind. But I also heard many speaking in the Northmen’s own language, conversing as easily as warriors who have fought battles together would do. The close confines of the ship had done much for bringing us all together.
Arin greeted a young girl about his age, both shyly smiling at each other, but clearly thrilled to be reunited. Leif slipped an arm around me, a relaxed smile on his face. He didn’t seem to be looking for anyone in the crowd, only relieved to be home. Again I wondered at his life before we met. Had it been a lonely one?
Then a slim woman approached us, and I stiffened in surprise. Perhaps I had been wrong to assume he had left no one behind.
“Leif,” she said, “I thank the gods you have returned. Shall I prepare a feast in celebration?”
Something in me relaxed as I translated the Norse words. A servant, then.
“Thank you, Zinna,” he said. “Tomorrow night we will feast, and we’ve returned with food to replenish the larders. We must give our allies time to arrive. But why has my father not come to greet us?”
A shadow passed over her face, and she bowed her head. “He has been unwell these past few weeks and mostly stays confined to his room. He’s been looking forward to your return, though, and reserving his strength for the feast.”
A muscle in Leif’s jaw flexed. “I’ll go to him as soon as we are settled.”
Zinna’s almond-shaped eyes shifted to my face, but she did not voice her silent question. Leif caught her questioning look. “This is Ciara, Queen of Dyflin and Princess of Mide. Let everyone know her commands are to be followed as if I had given them myself.”
Zinna nodded. “Of course. Welcome, Queen Ciara.”
Some of the gaiety of the crowd dimmed when they caught sight of my undead army, remaining on board the ships. They glanced at one another and murmured, clearly unnerved by what they saw. “These are men of Hel,” they said to one another.
One of the men unloaded Abrax and Sleipnir, and the sight of the black stallion with red eyes nearly silenced the crowd. Some of the women cried out, and I heard the same name repeated over and over: Helhest.
I turned to Leif, my brows knitted in concern and question. “Helhest is the steed of Hel, and is said to be a plague-bringer,” he said. “Hel is a daughter of Loki, and she maintains the realm of the dead.” To his people, he raised his hands. “There is nothing to fear from these warriors and this horse. They are our allies, sworn to defend us against the j?tnar.”
His words had a calming effect, but still, many shot distrustful glances toward the ships and my horse.
Leif smiled, his mood lighter than I’d ever seen it. “Come, it’s time to show you my home.”
“I will follow you anywhere as long as there is a bath at the end of it.”
He laughed. “Did the rainstorm not count?”
I shook my head as I smiled back at him. “Even if it did, that was a week ago.”
“I’m sure we can find something for you to bathe in.” His gaze held mine for a moment—a promise of things to come—and my stomach fluttered.
Though the majority of the villagers were down by the ships, I could tell the village was as busy as any city. We passed a blacksmith forge, horseshoes and weapons upon the walls in place of a sign; stray chickens and pens of sheep and goats; a stable for the horses; various shops with pottery and baskets; and everywhere, wooden shields and iron axes.