“What’s there to figure out?” Arinbjorn shrugged him off. “I’m usually the one with solutions. But this time I have none.”
As the sailors tried to figure out a plan, Oddny walked to the prow of the ship, contemplating. She adjusted her healing bag on her shoulder, paused at an unfamiliar slosh from inside, and reached into the bag to extract Gunnhild’s leather canteen of henbane tea. It had probably gone bad by now, but maybe . . .
“Do you think you’d ever want to learn magic . . . You can see the threads . . . you’ve got a touch of something in you . . .”
“I have an idea,” she said to no one in particular.
She hadn’t realized that Signy and Runfrid had followed until Runfrid said, “You do?”
Oddny whirled on them. “I need you two to sing for me.”
“Sing?” Signy echoed. “Sing what?”
“The warding songs. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” Runfrid gave her a dubious look. “Oddny . . . Gunnhild spent twelve winters learning magic. I don’t think it’s something you can just do, any more than a person can pick up a lyre and call themselves a skald.”
“Or pick up some herbs and call themselves a healer, or pick up a needle and call themselves a tattooist,” Oddny agreed. “I know. It takes practice. But Gunnhild said I had—something in me. I can see the threads that bind the witches’ minds to their bodies, and I memorized the chant Gunnhild used to clear the storm that hit us on the way from Halogaland. And this winter she explained a bit of what it was like to travel. And at least if I fail, we’ll know we’ve done everything we could, right?”
“Those are the threads you two were talking about at the ritual,” Signy said under her breath, and Runfrid said, “All right. Let’s give it a try. But don’t you need a—？”
Oddny reached into her bag and pulled out a very small distaff dressed in unspun wool, and pinched off the thread connecting it to her drop spindle.
Signy rolled her eyes. “You would have thought to bring your spinning along on a dangerous adventure. Mother would be proud.”
“Some things never change,” said Oddny without malice. She handed her bag to Signy and tucked the distaff under her arm, then turned to the men. “I’m going to try something,” she said loudly, and they all stopped talking and turned to look at her.
“Oddny?” Halldor said suspiciously, standing. “What do you mean to do?”
“Something impossible. And if I succeed, we must move quickly,” Oddny said. To the hirdsmen, past and present: “You remember the storm? Halfdan’s witch, Katla, was the eagle causing it. I’d bet my life she’s in the fog right now, too. If this works, she’ll come after me. So if you see her, shoot her down.”
All eyes moved to Runfrid, who said, “I won’t fail if you won’t.”
“I can’t promise that. But I have no choice but to try.” Oddny squared her shoulders. “Like I said, if this works, we’ll need to move. Our ship is the smallest here, isn’t it?” When Arinbjorn nodded, she went on, “While you clash with Olaf, we’ll skirt the battle, get to shore, and try to find Gunnhild. With luck, there’ll be so much going on that no one will follow us.”
A beat passed. Most of the men looked at Oddny as though she’d gone mad, but Arinbjorn was grinning.
“Well, you heard her,” he said. “Let’s get ready to cause some chaos.”
Arinbjorn and Thorolf went back to the larger ship, and Svein decided to go with them, while Alf and Eyvind opted to stay on the knarr to help save their sister. Before the ships untied from each other, Runfrid gave Arinbjorn a kiss goodbye as he handed over her bow and quiver of arrows.
“If we both live through this,” Arinbjorn called to Halldor as the ships broke apart, “you still owe me that rematch, Halldor Bjarnarson.” He pointed to the scar across the bridge of his nose.
Halldor seemed stunned at the use of his true patronym and all it implied—solid proof that Arinbjorn knew, and that meant Runfrid probably knew, and neither had turned their back on him—but then he nodded, and turned to Oddny looking a bit overcome.
“Are you sure about this?” Halldor asked, hands on her shoulders.
“Not at all. Even if it does work, what if I’m not a bird? What if I’m—a narwhal, or a cat or something?” Oddny said. “I don’t know if I can decide. I think it just happens.”
“Then I guess it’ll be a surprise.” Halldor kissed her once on the forehead and then again on the lips. “Go. We’ll be looking out for you down here.”
Oddny went back to the prow of the ship and waited until Signy and Runfrid had joined her; then she sat down on a ship box and drank the tea. She gagged a few times—it had definitely gone bad—before finally managing to get some of it down.
Signy and Runfrid sang. Oddny closed her eyes and waited a few moments before imitating the motions of spinning, feeling a bit silly at first—and then she felt something under her fingers when she pinched the air near the distaff and pulled off—
A thread. Her thread.
Signy and Runfrid harmonized with surprising ease, and the sound enveloped Oddny like a light that warmed her down to her bones, bolstering her confidence. In the center of her sternum she felt a sensation like the jab of a hook, and just as she began to recite Gunnhild’s chant, she felt something within her come loose, and then she was—
Out.
She was above them, looking down at her body on the deck: distaff in hand, eyes rolled back into her head, lips moving to form the words of the spell. Signy and Runfrid didn’t falter, but cheers went up from the decks of both ships.
Halldor cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “You’re a hawk!”
Oddny flew into the fog and began to circle, as she’d seen Katla’s eagle do, and she felt her chant begin to shift the wind. She willed it to pick up, but then realized her flying pattern affected the direction in which it blew, so she swooped down and made for the fjord; the wind came with her, blowing the fog forward. As it cleared, she saw the ships’ sails fill, and they started to move as well, with the small knarr in the lead. The sailors cheered again.
It’s working, she realized in wonder. I’m really doing it—
Something slammed into her.
The hawk managed to evade the talons that swiped at her as she faltered, but the sudden impact didn’t break Oddny’s concentration. When she righted herself, she saw a one-eyed eagle, its huge beating wings dispelling the fog around them.
What do you think you’re doing? Katla demanded. Before Oddny could reply, the eagle squawked in anger as an arrow whizzed past her wing.
Below, Runfrid stopped singing long enough to swear, then resumed as she nocked another arrow.
The eagle rushed Oddny—causing Runfrid to miss her target again, this time with a louder expletive punctuating her song—but Oddny dodged again and made haste toward the mouth of the fjord. Katla was right behind her.
“Shoot her down! Shoot her down!” Arinbjorn shouted, for some of the sailors had picked up their bows to help Runfrid, and the fleet was picking up speed; if Oddny didn’t finish what she’d started, they’d risk slamming into the cliffs.