“That’s madness. After the Dead King there is no one worse to give the key to.”
“He knows where death’s door is though. Can you show it to me? Is there another choice? A better choice? One Kelem cannot deny me?” Snorri tucked the key away and closed his jacket. “Get a codfish on the line and you have dinner. Get a whale on the line and you might be the dinner.” He set a hand against the blade of his axe. “Let him reel me in, and we shall see.”
“At least it saves me trying to ease his hook out of you without killing you,” Skilfar said, her lips pursed. “Kara will go with you.”
“What?” Kara looked up at that, head turning sharp enough to fan out her hair.
“No. I—” Snorri couldn’t think of an objection other than it felt wrong. The sharp challenge in the woman’s regard had sparked an instant attraction in him. She reminded him of Freja. And that felt like betrayal. A foolish notion but an honest one, deep as bones.
“But—” Kara shook her head. “A warrior? What’s to be learned watching him swing his axe?”
“You’ll go with him, Kara.” Skilfar became stern. “A warrior? Today he is a warrior. Tomorrow, who knows? A man casts a million shadows, and yet you trap him within such a singular opinion. You travelled here seeking wisdom, girl, but all that I have here on these scrolls is information. The wise come into their majority out in the world, amid the muck and pain of living. It’s not all the dropping of runes and the wrapping of old platitudes in gravitas. Get out there. Go south. Burn in the sun. Sweat. Bleed. Learn. Come to me older, tempered, hardened.” She tapped a finger to the scroll case on her lap. “These words have waited here an age already—they will wait on you a little longer. Read them with eyes that have seen the wideness of the world and they will mean more to you. There is a singular benefit in Snorri’s choosing of Kelem to show him the door. A thousand-mile benefit. On such a journey a man might grow, and change, and find himself a new opinion. Perhaps you can help him.”
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Snorri stretched beside me. “And that was that.” He stood, the boat shifting beneath his weight, and glanced at Kara. “Skilfar shooed us out and her little dog followed to see that we left. Kara followed on minutes later. She said there were men hunting us on the mountain and that we’d find you near the crater on the west face.”
I looked between them, Snorri, Tuttugu, Kara—the madman, the faithful hound, the baby witch. Three of them against the Dead King, and if he didn’t take them then Kelem waited at the end of their journey. And the prize if they won was to open death’s door and let hell out . . .
“Florence, eh? The best path to Florence leads through Red March. You can drop me off there.”
TEN
Perhaps Kara had a magic about her that permeated her boat, or maybe I had found my sea legs at long last—either way, the voyage south from the Beerentoppen proved less horrendous than the many days with Snorri in the Sea-Troll. Kara had named her boat Errensa, after the valkyrie that swim beneath the waves to gather the war dead for Ragnarok. She knew the winds and kept her sails full, driving us south faster than a man can run.
“She’s a fine-looking woman,” I told Snorri when he came to join me, huddled in the prow. The boat wasn’t large but the wind gave us privacy, overwriting our conversation and snatching the words away.
“That she is. She’s got a strength about her. Didn’t think she’d be your type, Jal. And haven’t you been mooning over this Lisa of yours ever since we left Trond?”
“Well, yes, I mean Lisa’s a lovely girl . . . I’m sure I’ll climb her balcony once or twice when I get back but . . .” But a man has to think about the here and now, and right there and right then, Kara had all my attention.
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