“I came to inform you—the jarl summons you.”
“Now?”
“No, he is at a meeting outside the farm. He should be back tomorrow morning.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but he is meeting a Volva. A private meeting. He brought his retinue for protection.”
A torrent of thoughts. Meeting a Volva? To test me? Nerves knot in my stomach. To see if I am who I say I am? Could it be Groa?
“Why is he meeting a Volva?” I ask casually.
“As I said, it’s not your business, nor do I know, for it’s not my business either.”
“I will be ready tomorrow.”
“Before noon, perhaps?” he says with a broad smile.
“Stop it!” I snap. “I needed the rest. It’s exhausting being dragged by the neck after a brute all day.”
He roars with laughter as he begins walking away.
“You’re funny, for a thrall. I’ll see you soon, Kilda the Bull.”
“Hopefully later instead of sooner!” I shout after him.
I am a thrall. A slave girl. But I am also Kilda, the traveling enchantress. I will not let them own my life. My life, a gift from Odin. I am its owner. My destiny is not to serve.
My gaze sweeps over the valley that stretches downwards before sloping up to the peaks on the other side. Farms dominate the landscape. Civilization. Roads. Men. I cannot escape in that direction. Yet the valley stretches wide, daring me to try.
I turn, searching for a possible route. Dense forest, upward, toward the rounded mountain. I know Dovre Mountain is that way. The huge plateau—hard to hide there, but if I cross it, they won’t find me.
A mountain stream falls from the peak above, filling the entire valley with its thunderous noise. It’s the only way. Crossthe stream, run for the forest, put as many miles as possible between myself and these people who would rob me of my freedom. Blood pounds in my ears as I consider the risk.
If I escape, Asbjorn and Vidar might punish my people. Find my father, drunk and defenseless, slay him and the others. But if I could just reach them first…
Soon. First, I must rest. I must eat, grow strong for the coming trials. For now, I am Kilda the Thrall. But soon, I will be Kilda the Enchantress—Kilda the Wild. The wind will carry me. I will be free again. Soon.
CHAPTER 8
How has it come to this?
Twisting and turning, twitching. Nott refuses to bless me with rest, riding her dark horse over others while I lie awake. No mercy from the goddess of midnight. My jaw aches from clenching. I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore. The rhythmic breathing of the thralls breaks with the odd snore or shuffle of covers.
My life has ended—and yet begun anew. A child of the wind reborn in shackles. My people, already a faint memory. My routines, already spread like ashes from last night’s fire. Everything changed so fast.
The slave-quarters feel like the belly of a giant that has swallowed me whole. My bed an organ I cannot escape. Bodies packed close fill the air with sweat and breath. I sniffle, tucking my blanket tight around my shoulders. Even the wool I amsleeping in now is a gift from those who have taken everything from me. Much better quality than the one I had back home. Not that it was a home, just a filthy carriage shared with a drunk. My drunk. My father. How will he survive without me? He is probably ale-mad right now, passed out in a puddle of his own piss.
If I escape, or when I escape, I know the risk that follows. If I am caught, I will pay dearly, with my neck. Or even worse—be sold to some filthy old man who keeps thrall girls just to sell their bodies. The thought alone sends a cramp twisting through my gut. I will kill and die before that. Slash every throat around me. Let them try.
Struggling to find a comfortable position, I turn to my side. What if they didn’t catch me? What if I managed to disappear? Asbjorn knows who my father is. He knows my people. Narve. The jarl knows Groa. They could choose to attack them, to redress wounded honor. Dark images invade my mind as I fidget with the wool.
How can I be so selfish? My yearning for freedom—my plans of escape—can truly cause calamity for those who tolerated me as a little girl, those who watched me grow to a woman. Who I love.
I sit up, burying sobs as tears run down my cheeks. Is it pride?
Misplaced, no doubt. Am I too proud to pay the price for my actions? A lying, sneaky thief, Ragnhild had said. How could I argue? I have snuck. I have stolen. I don’t even know how many times I have lied. I always have good reasons, don’t I?
