“Does having a child hurt this badly?” Oddny had asked once in the throes of agony.
“Oh, my dear,” Yrsa had said, wiping the sweat from Oddny’s brow. “I won’t lie to you. It’s much, much worse.”
Oddny didn’t doubt this. Of the seven children Yrsa had borne, two had been stillborn, and two had died before their first winter. Vestein, Signy, and Oddny were the only three to live past infancy. And while Oddny and Signy had always been good with children and were often the ones to mind a small horde of youngsters at local gatherings—Signy’s stories and boundless energy keeping them entertained, and Oddny’s patience and no-nonsense attitude keeping them in line—the thought of birthing a baby herself made Oddny feel ill.
But she would endure, just as her mother had. Yrsa could never know what was truly in her heart. Oddny would not disappoint her.
“Thank you, Mother,” she whispered, and went off to find Signy.
* * *
—
THE FARM WAS BORDERED on one side by the deep, dark waters of the fjord, and on three other sides by scant pastureland, which sloped upward into forested foothills and eventually mountains. The foothills were where Ketil’s burial mound lay, and a massive pine tree loomed over it, causing a gap in the foliage that gave the clearing a view of the farm, the fjord, and Ozur’s island in the distance.
In death, Ketil was always watching over them, and his grave was Signy’s favorite spot to brood. So after filling her basket with plants for the tea, Oddny knew exactly where to find her sister.
As she made her way through the woods, she saw a swallow watching her from its perch on a tree branch, and she smiled as she passed it and said, “Hello, little friend.” The bird cocked its head and disappeared into the pines just as Oddny reached her father’s grave.
“Signy?” she said. “Are you all right?”
Signy sat on the mound with her knees to her chest, her arms folded atop them and her chin resting on her forearms. “Leave me alone.”
Oddny clambered up and sat down beside her, mimicking her pose. She could make out Vestein and one of the farmhands in the rowboat, fishing in the fjord.
“I’m so tired of this,” Signy said when it was clear her sister wasn’t leaving.
“I know,” Oddny said.
“Oh, do you?” Signy returned. “I find that hard to believe. Honestly, Oddny. You’re just like Mother.”
Oddny bristled. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“Isn’t it? You’ve always looked down on me. You and her both. You never take my side. I’m tired of it.”
Here we go. “You always do this. Don’t take your anger out on me—”
“Oh, you. Perfect little you. Let me tell you something about you, Oddny, you plain-faced little twig,” Signy sneered. Whatever had broken in her earlier that morning, it now seemed to have given way to something desperate, something cruel. “You’ve only resigned yourself to the fate Mother’s set out for you because in your heart you know you’re not exciting enough for anything else. The only thing that makes you special is how perfectly you fit the mold of what a woman is supposed to be, so you’re threatened by others who want to break out of it and be something more.”
Oddny reddened, all attempts at calm forgotten.
“People say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt and wish to make others hurt with them,” her mother had said once when Oddny was younger and had come crying to her after an argument with Signy. “You’re sisters. When two people know each other as well as you girls do, you know the exact things to say that will cause each other the most pain.”
Never had Yrsa’s words seemed more true—but even if Signy didn’t mean what she’d said, Oddny was sick of being the target of her sister’s ire, born from bitterness at their lot. This had been the way of things ever since they’d become ostracized the night of the prophecy: Oddny remaining silent while Signy carried on as though she were the only one suffering, as though their situations weren’t exactly the same. And Oddny was through.
“And you think your looks will disguise how fickle and rotten you are on the inside,” Oddny snarled, “but the truth is that any man worth having as a husband would know better than to take someone as flighty as you for a wife. You’ll get bored with him in no time and find some other lover, and run all your reputations into the ground.”
“Who says a woman has to be defined by her men? By her male kin, and then by her husband and sons? Who says? Who says a woman can’t stand for herself and make her own way?”
“She can, Signy! But she has to do something about it! What have you done to change your lot? Nothing, besides dallying with every man you think will be able to take you away from here. You could disobey Mother and go on the raids if you really wanted to, but you don’t even practice fighting. You’re too much of a coward.”
The barb struck true. Signy turned away from her and said coldly, “Leave.”
Oddny stood. “I only came here to comfort you—”
“Go.”
“Fine.” Oddny huffed and slid off the mound, then made her way back to the deer trail, holding on to trees to support her as she descended the slope. The pain in her belly pulsed down her legs. Up until a certain point she could force herself to push through it, but her limit was rapidly approaching.
As she headed home, she heard a startled cry as Signy burst from the trees and came up behind her. Oddny turned.
“Do you see that?” Signy pointed.
A thick fog was rolling through the mouth of the fjord, creeping toward the farm in long tendrils, skimming like fingers across the water’s eerily still surface as though seeking something just out of reach. Fog in itself was not unusual—but appearing so suddenly on an otherwise clear, cloudless day, it seemed downright sinister.
“What . . .” Oddny said, bewildered.
Signy gasped. “Is that—？”
Suddenly a ship barreled forward out of the fog, its sail full as it sliced across the water as cleanly as a blade through butter. It was coming in fast—unnaturally fast. Oddny felt the scar on her palm prickle as if in warning.
“Vestein!” Signy shouted. “Mother!”
“Signy, hold on—”
But Signy was gone in a flash, sprinting across the pasture, dodging cows and sheep and goats and their young as she went. Oddny followed, and when she looked at the water again, she saw Vestein and the farmhand rowing hastily to shore—but the ship was overtaking them.
At the same moment Oddny realized that the crew of the incoming ship had not removed the dragon head at its prow, she saw a tall, helmeted person come to stand beside the carved beast. Saw them hold up a bow, nock an arrow, and draw.
“No!” Oddny cried as she saw her brother crumple, and then there was another arrow and the farmhand collapsed as well, falling over the side of the boat and causing it to capsize with Vestein still in it. Only the farmhand resurfaced, facedown in the water, the arrow’s fletching sticking out of his back. On shore, the farm dogs bayed, frightened into a frenzy.
Oddny’s instinct was to run back to the trees and hide, but Signy was ahead of her and running straight into danger, and what about Yrsa and Lif and the rest of the people on the farm? She continued forward on wobbling legs, her breath coming in gasps, her feet moving of their own accord.