“Halogaland.”
“Then what are you doing all the way out here?” He looked from her to Juoksa and Mielat, then back again. The Sámi regarded him impassively and Gunnhild raised her chin yet higher to look the big Norseman in the face.
“Learning magic.” Gunnhild was losing patience, but she supposed if she were seeing things from his point of view, she might have questions, too.
He looked even more unsure at this, but said, “Well . . . we are going south. If you wish to come with us, you’ll have to take it up with King Eirik. I can bring you to him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Juoksa stiffen at the name.
“Thank you. I would appreciate that very much,” Gunnhild said, and turned back to her friends. Juoksa’s eyes blazed, while Mielat was doing his best to look reassuring, though he clearly had reservations. She threw an arm around each of their necks and hugged them close. Juoksa nearly jerked away, unused to such a show of affection from her, but Mielat laughed and clapped her on the back.
“You know how to find us if you have need,” Mielat said as they parted.
Gunnhild made to break from Juoksa, but he suddenly brought his arm up and clamped it around her waist. Despite the fact that the Norseman likely couldn’t understand their conversation, he lowered his voice to a whisper: “Eirik Haraldsson is a witch-killer. If this is the king he means, you must come straight back to us. Do you understand?”
Witch-killer? The very idea chilled her, but what was this Eirik Haraldsson compared with the rest of her problems? He was only a man.
“Heid taught me well. I can take care of myself,” she said as she pulled away from Juoksa, who seemed concerned and a bit offended that she hadn’t taken his warning seriously. “Farewell, my friends.”
“Farewell, Gunnhild,” said Mielat as she took up the handle of her cart and turned to go, following the Norseman into the trees. Once they were far enough away from the camp, the man fell into step beside her, and she realized she had not asked his name.
“Thorolf Skallagrimsson,” he said when she did. He ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. “I should have said that earlier. My apologies.”
Gunnhild turned to him as they walked, raising her eyebrows at the inclusion of his father’s nickname in his patronym. “Is your father truly called ‘Bald Grim’？”
“There are a lot of men named Grim,” Thorolf said with a smile and a shrug. “He doesn’t take offense. It’s not as though he’s not bald.”
Before she could stop herself, Gunnhild let out a bark of laughter and covered her mouth. When she looked sideways, Thorolf was now smiling at her so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkled, and she felt her traitorous face begin to heat.
But then he sobered, seeming uneasy. “So. You’re a witch?”
“I am. Do you have a problem with witches, Thorolf Skallagrimsson?”
“Not on principle. It’s just that the events of this summer have left us all a bit wary.”
“What happened this summer?”
They walked in silence for several paces while he gathered his thoughts. She waited patiently, for his face had taken on a haunted cast. Even though they’d just met, she somehow felt that such an expression was uncharacteristic of him.
“We raided a port in Bjarmaland. It was well defended. During the battle, four of the king’s hirdsmen turned on him. His foster brother and I were fighting closest to him and we had to—”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words “kill our friends,” but she gathered as much.
Gunnhild winced. “I’m sorry. But why do you think their actions were the result of witchcraft? These men could’ve been traitors.”
Thorolf shook his head. “No. I knew them well. And when it happened, their eyes were—strange. Different. As though someone else were looking out from behind them. They were amber, like a cat’s. And once they were dead, their eyes returned to normal.”
In her mind’s eye Gunnhild saw the yellowish eyes of the fox, and a shiver ran down her spine. Could this be a coincidence?
“Curious,” was all she could bring herself to say.
A long silence ensued as they continued to walk.
“I mean you no harm. I only wish to get home.” She paused. “But after what you’ve just told me, do you think your king would allow me on your ship?”
“I think he’d at least be willing to talk. This was just the latest in a long string of mischiefs that have happened around him. He’s been trying to hire a witch for some time now to defend against them, but all have refused. Even those among the Sámi.”
“Well, then I’ll be sorry to inform him that I’m not for hire, but I do have silver and can pay for my passage.” Then the rest of his words sank in. Not even the Sámi would help? It was not uncommon for the Norse to seek out noaidi for magical assistance when necessary. But the fact that everyone had refused did not bode well.
“Why has no one agreed to help?” Gunnhild asked, feigning calm, Juoksa’s words echoing in her head. “Surely if he’s so desperate, he’d be willing to compensate them handsomely. So it must be something else.” Something worse.
“Ah . . .” Thorolf rubbed the back of his neck.
Gunnhild stopped walking, stilled the cart behind her. “You’ll tell me now, or I’m going back this instant.”
He halted as well and ran a hand through his hair again. “It’s just that Eirik has had dealings with witches in the past”—Damn it, Gunnhild thought, Juoksa was right—“that have made him a bit unpopular among your kind.”
He started to walk once more, but Gunnhild stayed rooted to the spot, hand tightly clasping the handle of her cart. When Thorolf noticed she wasn’t following, he stopped again and turned around to face her.
“What dealings with witches has this king had?” Gunnhild asked through gritted teeth.
Thorolf looked away. “He killed his brother for practicing magic. But his father was the one who—”
“How?” Every hair on Gunnhild’s body stood on end. Witch-killer was bad enough, but to kill one’s own kin was an unimaginable crime. One for which not even gods could be forgiven. “How did he kill him?”
Thorolf hesitated. But he had an open, honest face, one that made her think he would tell her anything if she asked. And she needed to know what he was getting her into. Needed to know the price of getting to Oddny and finding Signy sooner rather than later.
“Eirik burned him in his hall,” Thorolf said. When he saw her eye twitch, he started, “But—”
“A burning-in?” she exploded. “That’s one of the worst and most cowardly ways to kill.”
“He acted at his father’s behest,” Thorolf said, surprised. He clearly hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from her. “King Harald was bewitched once and has no love of magic. But listen. Now—”
“I heard of King Harald’s ‘bewitchment’ by one of his wives when I was a child,” Gunnhild snapped. “They called her Snaefrid and she was Sámi—of a different kin group than my friends back there, but Sámi all the same. And they tell another story. They say King Harald loved her so much that he neglected his kingdom, became too obsessed with her to govern. But now that she’s dead, she can be blamed for just about anything, can’t she?” She began to turn her cart around. “I’m going back. I want nothing to do with this man.”