AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finally Astrid put her skirt over Bjorn’s shoulders as he went hands-and-knees upon the cold floor, and then the women let him be—except Ulfrica, who made a threatening motion with a heavy distaff each time she passed.
If a man intrudes upon noblewomen’s quarters he is made a footrest for his pains; not many dare or brook the loss of pride.
“White horses, like the Elder are said to have ridden.” My brother could finally give his news in a breathless jumble, shifting uneasily beneath Astrid’s skirt—which threatened to slide from his broad shoulders. “’Tis the boy and the wolf-ones. They have two extra mounts, too.”
“Ponies?” Arn brightened; she did like to ride. So far she seemed to consider this entire affair simply a pleasant jaunt, though I could not tell how much of her show of unconcern was meant to soothe my nerves.
Normally I was the one smoothing her sharp temper; she relied upon my wit as I relied upon her spear.
“Not ponies. Bigger. I do not know how they intend to feed such mounts in winter; they are but lightly equipped.” Bjorn glanced at me. “I also do not know who will carry your chest, Solveig.”
“They cannot expect me to come without a spare dress,” I pointed out, practically enough, and winced as Astrid tugged at my hair. She was applying many red coral beads in with quick expert motions; I would not go uncrowned. Indeed I suspected Dun Rithell’s entire stock of those lucky items was about to rest upon my braids. “How did Mother greet them?”
“With cup and bread.” My brother’s eyes were round. He pulled Astrid’s skirt higher over his shoulders, like a child seeking comfort. The maneuver showed her knitted stockings—a pair I had made myself, whispering words of comfort and grace into each row. “She knows their ritual words. The youth said her phrasing is fine.”
Well, my mother Gwendelint’s people were traditionalists and she had been educated by aseidhrin her youth, so naturally she would at least offer welcome and farewell in the Old Tongue. Those with the power also teach the lesser though commonly available magics of writing and figuring, especially in houses where some strain of Elder, however fictional, is held as a matter of pride. My mother’s bright gaze spoke of some such blood in our far past.
So does mine, though my eyes are winter sky to her deeper, richer summer.
“Just a few left.” Astrid moved slightly, her knee digging intoBjorn’s back. “I will put every single coral we have upon your head, Sol. They will not leadyouinto a bog.”
“It would be a waste of time for them to do so.” I held very still against Astrid’s pulling; she grows fierce near the end of hurried braids. “Unless their gods require it, in which case—”
“I may still challenge them.” Arn, in her most well-beloved and comfortable hauberk with a few extra layers underneath, finished shrugging into her plain dun hooded overmantle, one slim callused hand questing for spear-haft and closing upon it without needing her gaze for direction. “’Tis still an option, that is all I am saying.”
“May all the gods save us from that.” Ulfrica halted, bending swiftly to whisk a piece of straycloth from my fingers once I finished wiping. A hurried breakfast was congealing behind my breastbone; its traces were now gone from my lips. “Here, my lady. Your gloves; I shall have your mantle directly.”
“Cannot leave that behind.” Arn nodded, hopped on her boot-toes slightly to test the heft and fall of her armor; she settled upon her heels, satisfied. “And the undercloak, ’tis hanging right next to it.”
“Iknow.” With one last menacing movement toward a flinching Bjorn, her skirt fluttering, Ulfrica was gone. I had to hide a smile; I oft thought the sparks from rubbing against each other’s temper could well denote some affection on her part. Bjorn seemed oblivious, only bearing her ill treatment with oxlike patience. If her father’s hall were a little more advantageously placed Eril might have induced my brother to make some offer, but the son of Dun Rithell seemed only to see Ulfrica’s sharp tongue and not the girl behind it.
Of course, they knew each other from childhood; a familiar chair is never seen until it is missed, as the saying goes. And though she was sharp with him, she was likewise with a few other young warriors.
I would not be here to watch what happened as spring came, or to weigh different marriage offers and give my support to one or another. The thought sobered me, and suddenly departure was a fearful certainty instead of merely a looming maybe. “I suppose I shall see what you packed as we travel.” My neck ached, held at a precise angle so Astrid could finish her labors. “I mislike leaving my share of the sewing to you.”
“I put a few pieces in, so you may have summat to work upon in the cold North.” She turned slightly, still holding me as a hawk with its claws in prey. “Hand up a ribbon, Bjorn. No, not that one… not that one either. Yes,finally, thank you.” Astrid made a softtch-tch. “They will no doubt give you cloth there, though.”
“Mh.” I could sew just as easily at home, and some part of me still expected them to demand half the roof-gilt at the last moment instead.
So often we will not face what is before us until we are absolutely forced to. It was, I realized that fogbound morn, fast becoming one of my habits. Idra would have dispensed a sharp tug upon one of my braids and a steadying admonition, but my teacher was in Hel’s country now, and probably glad of the rest after a lifetime spent in service.
That is another meaning toseidhr, and though there were others possessing the weirding in Dun Rithell I thought the community still might miss me. It seemed easier to think of their feelings than my own, especially when I embraced Astrid with an admonition tobe good, and do not weep.
She disobeyed, promptly bursting into tears; afterward, in the hall outside the women’s quarters Bjorn enclosed me in a bear’s fierce silent hug. He said nothing, though his throat worked, and I knew he was sorry indeed.
“Comfort Astrid,” I told him. “And, by Odynn and every other god, my brother,keep your temper.”
He nodded, disheveled and morning-rumpled, his jaw set as ever Father’s was. So I left my siblings, with an eldest sister’s nagging. I did not tell them I loved them.
I hope they knew, but how I wish I could be certain.
The hurry and bustle of travel-readiness turned to a breathless hush when I entered the greathall in my green undermantle, my overboots laced securely for long travel and my hair braided with every red coral bead Dun Rithell had laboriously bargained for in riversidefairs. I was nervous as I had not been since my fourth summer, when Idra told my mother I had the weirding and would survive the training were it begun soon.
Arn was stiff-straight at my shoulder as I paused upon the entry steps, her spear’s blade—as long as her hand and forearm—glittering wickedly even in hornlight. My mother passed words with the Northerners, but I was too far away to hear.
At the moment, I was too busy keeping my fingers from knotting together. Avolvamust wear her bands proudly, a lord’s daughter meet her fate with chin high and shoulders straight. I did not like the idea of facing the Northerners without the stairs granting me some additional measure of height, but at least their group separated smoothly when I approached, Arn prowling alongside.
A breath of smoke clung to their black-clad forms. Later I learned they had built the pyre for their fallen companion down by the riverbank, and stood vigil beside it as well. They did not suffer any southroner to bring fuel, nor to keen at the flameside; straight from the warm embers they came to my father’s greathall.
