Gnut.
The other jarl had come to finish the job he’d started the night Bjorn and I set his ships on fire, taking advantage of Snorri’s absence to strike a blow that would not be easy to overcome. Not only was every home destroyed, but all the stores and supplies and tools within them were lost to the raiders’ fire. Everything would need to be rebuilt and replaced during the months most dedicated to farming and gathering, which meant all would be in a weakened position when winter struck.
I knew this because I’d seen it before. Had lived it.
These people had survived the raid, but that might only mean a prolonged death as they suffered and starved over winter, and my hands balled into fists. Gnut had done this to strike a blow at Snorri, but it would not be Snorri who suffered.
It wasn’t fair.
Which was perhaps a childish thing to think, because nothing about life was fair, yet I was so sick of seeing those who were powerless harmed by the actions of those who were supposed to protect them.
Snorri’s warriors and the survivors began bringing the fallen to the square before the ruins of the great hall. I moved to help them, but then hesitated. They were all strangers to me, whereas those who tended to them were their friends and family. Although I was Skalander through and through, I was also an outsider in this moment. At least I was until I saw a familiar form supported by two of Snorri’s men. “Oh, Liv,” I whispered.
Of their own accord, my feet took me to the still form of the healer, her eyes glazed and unseeing, the wound in her chest so catastrophic that I knew her end had been quick. Kneeling in the mud, I closed her lids, whispering my hopes that the gods had met her with open arms and full cups.
Bjorn knelt next to the healer, every muscle in his face tight with grief. And, I realized, anger.
“Why didn’t you run?” he asked under his breath. “What the fuck were you thinking, Liv?”
I knew what she was thinking. These were the people whom she had spent nearly every day of her life healing with her gift. She was connected to every single person in Halsar, whether it had been delivering them or their child, mending wounds from accident or battle, or chasing away sickness. She’d known what losing the village would mean, and though she opposed fighting to her core, she’d picked up a weapon to fight for her people. Had earned a place with the gods.
Bodil approached on horseback, her maidens holding back, their watchful eyes on the surrounding forest. Dismounting, she went to Ylva’s side. “I’ll send word to Brekkur requesting supplies and ships and laborers.”
“You have our thanks, my friend,” Ylva said, wiping tears from her face. “We will rebuild and—”
“We will not rebuild, for that is what Gnut wants!” Snorri roared, silencing everyone even as Ylva’s face filled with dismay. “He fears me! Fears the fate the gods have in store for me! That is why he struck when our backs were turned, attacking women and children, and burning homes—because he believed it would keep us from making war upon him. That he’d be able to hide in his stronghold another season while we toiled to rebuild. Gnut believes he has struck us a grievous blow, but I say he is mistaken!” Snorri paused, then shouted, “I say that he has given us the gift that will see his destruction!”
From the other side of Liv’s body, Bjorn made a noise of disgust, but I found myself leaning in Snorri’s direction, desperate to learn what silver lining he saw within this catastrophe. I was not alone. All around us, the people of Halsar watched their jarl with hope in their eyes, and for all I prayed that he had answers, it was not lost upon me that it was the consequences of his choices that we needed to be delivered from.
“Long have we known that Halsar was vulnerable!” Snorri leapt onto a pile of debris, his voice projecting across the smoking ruins. “Long have we known that its position was weak, ever a target of raiders from north and south, east and west. Yet it was our home, so we clung to it, allowing habit and sentiment and apathy to weaken us. But no longer.” His eyes surveyed his people. “For like a healer excises a rotten bit of flesh, so has Gnut burned away our weakness, leaving behind nothing but strength!”
I felt a fervor growing in the people, a restless energy stirred by Snorri’s words. Felt it in myself, and for the first time I saw a spark of why the gods foresaw him as king of Skaland, for he was a man whom other men followed on the strength of his words alone. Ylva, however, seemed unmoved, her arms crossed and eyes frosty.
“The gods themselves have seen a united Skaland. Have seen a king. And a king does not live in a muddy fishing village.” He paused again for effect. “And neither do a king’s people!”
Villagers and warriors alike voiced their agreement, lifting their fists into the air.
“So we will turn our backs on this pile of mud and ash,” Snorri shouted. “Will turn our eyes across the mountains and prepare for war. Will prepare to strike our enemy! And I swear to you this: The next roof you sleep beneath will be within the walls of Grindill!”
Roars of approval echoed across the ruins, everyone, including me, shouting for Gnut’s death. Shouting for blood. And shouting for vengeance. I allowed myself to be swept away by it, for a path forward was an escape from what had come before. From what surrounded me now.
“We’re going to make the bastards bleed for this,” I said, turning to Bjorn.
Only to discover that he was gone.
We set up camp near the ruins of Halsar, Snorri sending riders through his territories to call in every man and woman who could fight. Bodil sent for reinforcements from her own lands. Warriors and ships and supplies to feed those who’d lost everything to fire.
“Gnut’s scouts will hear of this,” she warned. “He will be ready for us.”
Snorri only scoffed. “Let his scouts go running back to him. I want Gnut cowering in terror behind his walls, knowing that I’m coming for him. I want his people to have time to understand that their jarl has brought this pain down upon them in his refusal to swear an oath to the rightful king of Skaland. In his refusal to bend to the will of the gods. Mark my words, they will turn on him sure and true.”
Despite the arrogance of his words, there was a fervor in them that fueled the fires in the hearts of all who heard. Only a few drowned in sorrow, all others turning their minds and hands to preparation for battle, forging weapons, fletching arrows, and gathering the supplies that would be needed. It was the nature of our people to spit in defiance of adversity, to look forward rather than backward, to fixate on vengeance rather than to grieve for the fallen.
Sitting next to a cookfire, I ate food that someone had prepared, my mind tossing and turning over what my role would be in the battle to come.
Bodil sat across the fire from me, a bowl in her hand. Despite not knowing her for very long, and the difficult questions she’d posed of me, there was no denying that I felt at ease in her presence. She was of an age with my mother, but whereas my mother was endlessly prying into my business so that she might pick apart flaws in my behavior, Bodil’s interest seemed motivated by curiosity rather than the desire to uncover my failings.
For a long time, the jarl said nothing, only watched as the others gathered around fires, drinking and singing and dancing, the air thick with energy, like in the moments before a storm. Finally she said, “Snorri believes his words. Believes that this is the fate the gods foresee for him. There is a sort of magic in that.” She gestured to the dancers. “A power to make others believe as well.”
Finishing my food, I set my bowl down. “Do you believe?”