The gleam in Bjorn’s eye told me he was thinking of making this situation worse, so I said, “She resisted, only agreeing to part ways with us after I gave my word that I’d tell her all she wished to know. And it’s well she didn’t make the climb, for she’d have surely fallen to the draug in the battle.” He seemed unappeased, so I added, “Steinunn herself told me her magic is more powerful when her song tells a story from the eyes of those who endure the trials, so it is best that it will be my story she sings without the influence of seeing the events herself.”
I held my breath as Snorri silently considered my words, then he nodded and said, “You will tell her all at the soonest opportunity. As it is, I wished her here to sing the ballad of your birth in fire and your marking for all clans to hear, and now that must wait.”
“I’ll tell her everything,” I lied, because there were most definitely moments in the tunnels that the world did not need to know.
Snorri gave me a curt nod, turning once again to Bjorn, and Ylva shoved me behind a curtain. “Clothes off. With all my thralls dead to ensure you lived, you’ll have to bathe yourself. Do it swiftly.”
You killed them, not me, I wanted to say. Instead I remained silent, pulling off my chain-mail shirt and then the garments underneath, cringing at the stink of metal, sweat, and blood that clung to me. Boots and trousers joined the pile on the floor, and I hoped I’d have time to wash them before having to don them again, because the smell would only worsen.
A bucket of steaming water arrived, and I struggled to unravel my braids with one hand. My right had stiffened horribly, the tightness of my scars made worse by the bruising I’d gained punching the draug.
“Cursed, useless girl.” Ylva abandoned her own washing to help me. “Head in the bucket.”
She swiftly washed my hair before leaving me to scrub the filth from my body with a rag. From the bags, she extracted a simple dress, which she helped me into before dressing herself.
“What will happen tonight?” I asked, finally in the position to get answers to the questions I’d been avoiding thinking about. An enormous price had been paid to get me here for the ritual, yet I still had no notion of what would occur.
“All those who have traveled to Fjalltindr will make sacrifices to the gods,” Ylva said. “As will you.”
“That’s it?” Not that I was complaining. If killing a chicken was all that I had to do, I’d gladly do it.
“There is a celebration afterwards, but you will come back here where we can ensure your safety. The runes on the hall will protect you.” She went to the wall where a dozen masks hung on hooks and selected one fashioned to look like a raven, a long cape of black feathers hanging from it. She fit it on my head, and when I looked up, it was to see the sharp beak protruding above my forehead. With ash, she shadowed the skin around my eyes as though I were going to war. Fastening a mask with deer antlers on her own head, she said, “We sent a messenger back to Halsar after you separated from us. Even now, Ragnar will be coming with all haste with the rest of our fighting men to ensure we get back down this mountain alive.”
“They’ll be leaving Halsar undefended?”
“Yes.” Her gaze was frosty. “I hope you appreciate what is being done to keep you safe.”
All of that so that I could kill a chicken in front of a crowd of people.
As though hearing my thoughts, Ylva gripped my shoulders, staring unblinkingly at me from behind her mask. “You are a child of the gods, girl. You are one of the Unfated, which means everything you do has the power to alter your destiny, and the destinies of those around you, for good and ill.”
Not for the first time, I hated that fact. Longed to be fully mortal so that everything I’d ever do was already woven. For it felt like I was running down an unmapped path where I might easily lose my way, dragging myself and all those I cared for to our doom.
Ylva looked me up and down, her lips pinched tight. “We have no more time, so this will have to do.”
When we stepped out from behind the curtain, it was to find Snorri and Bjorn waiting unmasked and in silence, the tension between them high. Both had removed their mail, and Bjorn had scrubbed the blood from his face, revealing shadows beneath his green eyes. Exhausted, yet he moved unerringly to my elbow, his father giving him a nod of approval before stepping outside, where the warriors waited.
Snorri and Ylva led the group through the trees, hundreds of people moving in the same direction. Many men and women wore elaborate masks like my own, often accompanied by decorated hides or cloaks of feathers, which made it seem like a herd of beasts approaching the ritual.
Bjorn walked at my left, his eyes roving over any who drew near. A woman walked against the flow, her face concealed by a mask of raven feathers that blended into her dark hair. Bjorn tensed as she drew close and my own heart skittered, seeing threats at every turn. But she only murmured, “What path do you follow?”
I blinked, opening my mouth to answer her, but Bjorn caught my arm and drew me forward. “Seems like many have already indulged in mushroom tea.”
Frowning, I cast a backward glance at the woman, but she’d already disappeared into the trees, so I turned my eyes to where torches glowed, illuminating a gathering of hundreds of people standing before a large flat rock. Drummers pounded the same rhythm they had before, low and ominous, and through the tree foliage a full moon glowed overhead.
As though they’d been waiting for our arrival, the drums increased their intensity, and the gothar appeared carrying bowls of liquid, offering mouthfuls to every individual they passed. One approached our group, but the warriors all shook their heads, declining the offering.
“You will drink,” Ylva said to me under her breath as both Snorri and Bjorn declined. “The tea will bring you closer to the gods.”
The last thing I wanted to do was drink the contents of the bowl. Even from here, I could smell the earthy musk of mushrooms, and I’d not lived such a sheltered life as to be unaware of what would happen if I drank.
The gothi smiled and lifted the bowl to my lips. I pretended to drink, but Ylva wasn’t fooled. “You think they can’t see?” she hissed. “You think they don’t know?”
I highly doubted the gods gave a shit whether I consumed mushroom tea or not, but I wouldn’t put it past Ylva to hold me down and force the entire bowl down my throat, so I took a tiny mouthful. Ylva declined to drink, and Bjorn gave a soft laugh at my scowl. “May the tea show you sweet visions, Born-in-Fire.”
Fuck.
I had no interest in seeing things, but short of sticking my fingers down my throat and vomiting in front of everyone, there wasn’t much to be done.
Peering between the heads of those taller than me, I watched a man lift a goat onto the altar, the creature showing little awareness, and therefore little concern, about its impending death. The drums grew louder, the man’s words to the gods drowned out by the noise. A blade made of white bone caught the moonlight and blood sprayed, the animal slumping as its lifeblood flowed into carved channels and dripped into waiting basins. A gothi dipped his hand in it, using it to mark the faces of those who’d offered the sacrifice. Blood dripped down foreheads and cheeks, and I swore I heard the droplets hit the ground despite distance making that impossible.
A shiver ran over me, the air charged in a way I’d never felt before. As if deeds done and words spoken in this place meant more than they did anywhere else. As though we truly were closer to the gods.
Discomfited, I stopped watching, focusing instead on the bald head of a man a few paces before me.
But the sensation didn’t lessen.
The air grew thick, smelling of thunder and rain. My skin crawled as the feeling intensified, and I broke my gaze from the bald head to glance at my companions. All were watching the altar, but as my eyes skipped over Bjorn, he rubbed his bare forearms, the dusting of dark hair on them lifting as though he were cold.
Bjorn never got cold.
What was going on?
Those around us who’d consumed the tea gaped at the sacrifice on the altar with strange, unblinking stares. I focused inward to see if my tiny mouthful of tea had taken effect.