Eirik hesitated for a long moment before storming away toward the prow of the ship. “Where are my cats?”
Someone lifted a board and Eirik dragged out the box where he’d thrown them, and as soon as the lid was opened both felines leapt out, making their anger known loudly. The wind started to pick up again and Eirik ordered the sail let down, and before long the ship was headed once again toward Hordaland.
Thorolf appeared at Oddny’s elbow with a stack of dry pelts, blankets, and cloaks that had been sealed up in a tent canvas. He didn’t look at Gunnhild as he handed them over. Oddny thanked him and he went to give the rest of the pile to Eirik.
Gunnhild’s heart hurt. He’ll never speak to me again, will he?
Oddny held up a blanket for her to change behind, and Gunnhild peeled off her wet clothes and wrapped herself in a cloak and several furs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Eirik was doing the same at the other end of the ship, with far less concern for who saw him.
She pointedly averted her eyes and sank down heavily onto the box that had been hauled up for her to sit on. Something shiny came into her line of sight; Oddny was laying her staff across her lap. Gunnhild blinked back tears. She hadn’t even realized that it was missing.
“Svein grabbed this and your bag before they went overboard. It got caught on a shield,” Oddny said. “I tried to catch you, too, but Halldor held me back.”
“That was probably for the best,” Gunnhild said.
Oddny crouched at her feet and began tending to her ankle.
“Did Eirik say that he . . . kicked a seal in the face?” Oddny asked once she’d applied the poultice and had started to wrap the wound in a damp linen bandage. “I just saw this—shape—in the water, looking up at you, and that’s when I started pulling your thread—”
The seal.
Gunnhild’s head snapped up and she gripped her staff as she scanned the waves. She half expected to see the creature’s head bobbing there in the water, fixing her with those horrible eyes, but nothing broke the surface. She sagged, having expended her very last bit of energy anticipating yet another attack. She was so tired, so cold.
“The third witch,” she murmured.
“Gunnhild?” Oddny’s thin, dark eyebrows drew together in worry. “What are you talking about?”
“There were three of them. The day of the raid. Thorbjorg, the fox. Katla, the eagle. And a third in the water—one that I never saw.”
Oddny tied off the bandage and sat back on her haunches. “Well, I suppose now you know what form this third witch takes. But who are they?”
Who, indeed? Gunnhild looked out over the water once more, tightening her hands around her staff, the events of the day hitting her all at once—making it difficult to breathe, making her hands shake.
Eirik had saved her, though she’d never admit it to him. She’d never come so close to death before. It took everything in her to tamp down the fear creeping up her spine like ice. Thorbjorg and Katla invoked only anger in her, not fear—but their companion had nearly succeeded in taking her life. Until now, she’d been unwilling to admit that she was outmatched.
That she could lose.
And she hated it.
PART III
18
ALREKSSTADIR LAY AT THE innermost point of a fjord and extended back into the valley, beyond Oddny’s sight. Lush trees clung to the cliffs that rose on either side of the estate, leaves painted in the vibrant oranges and yellows and reds of autumn. From a distance, the landscape seemed to cradle the massive hall and clusters of outbuildings like cupped hands.
The sight stole Oddny’s breath away; this place was so big yet so familiar. Smoke wafted from the holes in the roofs of the buildings. The chatter of people going about their day soon reached her ears, along with the sounds of dogs and livestock and children running and playing. It made her chest constrict as she longed for a home that no longer existed.
As the ship docked, a group of servants—at least Oddny suspected they were servants, since they were too well-dressed to be thralls—arrived to unload it once the hird disembarked. A few smaller ships were moored to the left of Eirik’s, and along the shore, Oddny could see that several other vessels had been hauled up on land, likely to be moved to boat sheds for maintenance and repairs over the winter.
The mood had lightened among the men as they’d gotten closer to the estate. Even Eirik had seemed to be in better spirits, though that wasn’t saying much. Gunnhild, on the other hand, had not said a word since Oddny had bound her ankle, and her eyes had taken on a vacant cast.
“It’s all right to be afraid, you know,” Oddny said softly as they followed the trail of men up the gentle slope from the docks to the main hall. “What happened today—”
“I’m not afraid,” Gunnhild said without looking at her.
Before Oddny could reply, they were inside the longhouse, and her jaw dropped. It was impressive enough from the outside, but inside, it proved to be at least four times bigger than Ozur’s hall. It had three hearths running down the middle and a row of posts along either side to support the high ceiling; the posts, each fixed with a hanging brazier, were decorated with stamped golden squares that seemed to glow in the firelight, making the space much brighter than any hall Oddny was accustomed to. At the far end, massive wooden statues of Odin, Thor, and Frey were lofted to loom over the cavernous room, and beneath them were two doors that Oddny guessed led to private chambers: a luxury she knew she’d never experience.
With servants sweeping the clean floors and not even the faintest hint of foul smells on the air, Oddny could tell at once, with a twinge of jealousy, that no livestock had ever set foot inside this place. Even at Ozur’s farm, the sheep, cows, goats, and horses were brought inside to winter at the opposite end of the longhouse from the family’s chambers, keeping the animals warm while also adding heat to the hall; at Oddny’s own farm there had been no room for such division, and the family and their workers lived amid the smell of manure all winter in a cramped, dimly lit space.
What must it be like, she wondered, to have the resources to live so comfortably? To have warmth and light all winter long with no worry that the oil or wood would run out?
She almost asked Gunnhild as much before remembering that her friend had grown up with similar comforts—until she’d run away, at least. Moreover, Gunnhild was still staring straight ahead as though not really seeing, so the two of them stood awkwardly near one of the hearths as the crowd milled about. Serving women circled the hall, offering pitchers of ale and sly smiles to the tired sailors.
At last Arinbjorn and Svein appeared next to Oddny and Gunnhild, each man holding two cups of ale.
“Welcome to Alreksstadir,” Arinbjorn said as he handed one cup to Gunnhild and then knocked the other against it in a toast. “Drink up. It’s thanks to you we made it here in one piece.”
Gunnhild’s eyes seemed to focus at last and she gave him a wan smile. Oddny took a cup from Svein and asked, “Where are we to sleep?”
“I heard Eirik ordering your things taken to the textile workshop,” said Svein. “That’s where a lot of the women go when they’re between places.”
Oddny brightened. “Textile workshop?”