“It smells,” I blurted out. “I didn’t realize it would stink this bad.”
It was a stupid thing to say. A stupid thing to think, but Bjorn only gave a grim nod. “A sweet-smelling victory is a myth, Born-in-Fire.”
Yet one I’d believed in.
I swallowed hard, feeling painfully naive, but before I was forced to acknowledge so to him, a commotion caught our attention.
Snorri was bent over a warrior, the dying man’s guts spilling out of a charred hole in his chain mail, suggesting Bjorn had been the one to strike the blow.
“It’s been a long time since we crossed blades, Jarl Torvin,” Snorri said, wiping gore from his brow. “It would’ve been better if you’d kept it that way.”
Torvin spat a mouthful of blood. “Your time will come soon enough,” he gasped out. “You possess the king-maker but have not the strength to keep her. Everyone is coming for her, to kill her or take her, and you’ll be a corpse alongside me soon enough.”
Snorri laughed. “How can I fear death when the gods themselves have foreseen my greatness?”
“They foresaw greatness,” Torvin whispered. “But is it yours? Or is it for the taking?”
Snorri’s face darkened and, rotating his axe head up, he shoved the haft into Torvin’s mouth, smiling as the man choked and gagged, clutching at his throat before finally going still.
No one spoke as Snorri straightened. “Ready the horses. We ride through the night to Fjalltindr.”
Bjorn cleared his throat. “They cut the lines and scattered the horses. It will take some time to track them down.”
“We don’t have time,” Ylva said. “You heard him—every jarl in Skaland is coming for her.”
“We’ve lost a third of our men,” Bjorn said. “We should return to Halsar.”
Blood dribbled down Snorri’s face, and I found myself staring at what looked like bits of skull caught in his beard. “No,” he said. “The specter said that if Freya isn’t able to give sacrifice on the first night of the full moon her thread will be cut short. And if she’s dead, I will not achieve my destiny.”
How many will die in the quest to get me to that moment? The question rippled through my thoughts, and I gripped my sword hilt. All this death for a chance at power.
“If what Torvin said is true, then more will be waiting to ambush us on the path up the mountain,” Bjorn said. “It’s narrow and we’ll be at a great disadvantage against those holding higher ground.”
Silence hung over the survivors of the battle, and though my fate sat at the center of this, I held my tongue.
Because I did not know which way forward was best.
If I didn’t make it to Fjalltindr, it meant I was dead, so turning back wasn’t an option. But that didn’t mean I’d survive pressing forward. Perhaps not even the gods knew for certain.
“There’s another path,” Snorri said, finally breaking the silence. “You and Freya will go that route while the rest of us provide diversion.”
Bjorn stared at him. “You don’t honestly mean…?”
“No one will think to guard that route.”
“Because only a lunatic would attempt that climb,” Bjorn exploded, sending a flood of unease through me. If it was dangerous enough to dissuade Bjorn, it must truly be madness to consider it.
I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, but before I could speak, Snorri said, “The gods have set Freya to this test, and Hlin herself has set you to guard her back.”
“No.” Bjorn was pale. “I’d rather fight my way through every clan in Skaland than go that route.”
“Which route?” I demanded. “What is this path you speak of?”
Snorri didn’t so much as look my way, but Bjorn’s gaze met mine. “It’s called the Path to Helheim. It’s a set of stairs and tunnels that runs inside the sheer side of the mountain.”
The idea of tunnels set my pulse to thrumming, as I had no liking for being underground, but I didn’t think Bjorn would blanch at the idea of confined spaces. “What is so dangerous about it?”
Bjorn’s tone was flat as he said, “It’s full of draug.”
The undead.
My skin crawled as memories of the stories I’d heard as a child filled my mind, corpses that couldn’t be killed with mortal weapons.
“Allegedly,” Snorri said. “There is no proof.”
“Hard for there to be any proof when any fool who attempts the climb is consumed,” Bjorn snapped. “The area around the entrance is littered with bones. Not even animals will venture close.”
“There is no choice.” Snorri’s hands fisted. “Freya must be there for the full moon. The specter told her that she must earn her fate, which means she must pass every test the gods set for her.”
“The specter spoke in riddles,” Bjorn retorted. “You might unwittingly be sending Freya to her death.”
“Is it Freya’s death you fear”—Snorri’s face was hard as granite—“or your own, Bjorn?”
No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.
“Are you my son or are you a coward, because you cannot be both,” Snorri said softly. “Choose.”
It was no choice, I knew that. Either Bjorn walked toward death and kept his honor, or he lived and was branded a coward, which meant he’d be exiled and ostracized by all he crossed paths with.
Stepping forward, I said, “I won’t condemn anyone to die just to spare myself death. I especially won’t condemn anyone to spend eternity as a draug.” Because that was the fate that awaited anyone who was killed by one.
Bjorn opened his mouth to speak, but Ylva interrupted him. “If you fail to make it by the full moon, Freya, you will cease to be of value. As will your family. Am I clear?”
I pressed my hands flat against my thighs because the alternative was to strike her. Hard. And I didn’t think I’d be able to stop with one blow. Didn’t think I’d be able to stop until her face was pulp beneath my fists. “The gods see all, Ylva. There will be a reckoning for this.”
“Foretellings are the words of the gods. Of Odin himself,” she answered. “They’d not have set us on this path if they did not intend to reward us for doing whatever it took to reach the end.”
I was tempted to point out that neither she nor Snorri were the ones who had to face the draug, but instead I said, “Then I’ll go alone.”
“No!” All three of them spoke at once, and all, I thought, for different reasons. Ylva, because she hoped the draug would kill Bjorn and clear the way for Leif. Snorri, because he feared losing his destiny. And Bjorn…I wasn’t entirely sure what his reasons were, only that his no had been more vehement than the others.
“It makes sense,” I said.
“It does not make sense.” Bjorn crossed his arms. “You don’t know the way. Going at all is insanity, but going by yourself is blind stupidity.”
“Agreed,” Snorri said. “Hlin wishes for him to see you through to fulfill your destiny, which means he must be with you through each test.”
Part of me thought that I should argue. Another part of me wondered if Snorri was right. “Fine.”
Holding his fingers to his lips, Bjorn whistled, and a heartbeat later, his ugly roan horse emerged from the trees, walking toward its master. “Pack only what you need. And what you’re willing to carry.” His gaze met mine. “Leave behind anything you don’t want lost to this world.”
My gaze instinctively went to the sword I still held, sticky with the blood of the men whose lives it had taken. It was the last thing I had of my father’s, and if I died, it should go to Geir, not be left to rust in a cave.
A dark voice whispered inside my head, Why? Because he valued it so greatly?
My jaw tightened, for the voice spoke true. Wiping the blade clean on the body of one of the fallen, I sheathed it at my side before turning to Snorri. “I want my own horse.”
Conversation was impossible as Bjorn led me through the forested paths, my attention all for guiding my horse, a small bay mare that Snorri had chosen for her even temper, for I was not the most experienced rider.