“Halldor,” she said, handing him the weapon, “this belonged to my father, and his father before him. As my sister’s husband, you’re my last living kinsman, which means it’s yours.”
Searching her face for signs of a jest and finding none, he sheathed his seax and took the sword. Oddny saw the gratitude in his eyes, for this meant Signy had at least accepted him as her brother-in-law, even if she hadn’t completely forgiven him for his role in the raid.
“Enough games,” Tryggvi said, watching the exchange through narrowed eyes.
“For once, we agree.” Halldor drew Ketil’s sword with one hand, its sheath in the other, and charged his cousin with a roar.
Alf and Eyvind followed, clashing with the other men as the Hordalanders poured from the longhouse and took on the rest, and Oddny grabbed Signy and Runfrid and ran.
They rounded the corner and found the door of the workshop ajar. A thin black thread trailed out of it and down to the water. Oddny frowned—this was no normal thread, but why wasn’t it glowing like the others she’d seen?—and went inside.
Gunnhild was crumpled near the hearth in the middle of the floor. Her head was in Ulla’s lap, and Ulla was sobbing and petting the queen’s loose hair, while Saeunn and Thora sat on the edge of the platform looking crestfallen. Ulla’s drum and mallet lay abandoned on the floor next to Gunnhild’s staff, which was connected to the black thread that led out the door.
Oddny was at Gunnhild’s side in an instant. “What happened?”
“I told her not to,” Ulla said miserably. “I told her it was too dangerous—”
“She tried to dispel the fog.” Saeunn shook her head sadly. “And then—something happened—she just collapsed.”
Thora, red-faced and crying as well, rubbed her nose and adjusted her cloak. “She won’t wake up.”
Oddny looked back to Gunnhild, whose eyes were half-closed and staring dimly at nothing. “She’s got a pulse. She’s still breathing. But—”
“She’s gone,” Ulla whispered. “I’ve heard this can happen to our noaidi, too. She’s lost somewhere. We couldn’t call her back with the songs, or with my drum—I tried—”
“Then someone has to find her,” Signy said. All heads turned to her, but she was looking at her sister. “Do you have any more of what you drank on the ship? Can’t you go . . . wherever she went—and bring her back?”
Oddny said, “I could try, but—”
“We’ll sing for you,” said Runfrid.
“And this time, I’m going, too,” Signy said firmly, resting her fingers on the bone-handled knife she still wore at her belt.
Oddny took out the leather canteen. “I don’t even know if I can get myself there, let alone someone else.”
“We’re about to do exactly what you said we needed to do, Oddny,” Signy said. “You said yourself that the three of us together can beat Thorbjorg.” She swiped the canteen from Oddny’s hands. “So it has to be both of us who go.”
Before Oddny could stop her, Signy took a swig, made a face, and passed the canteen back to her sister. Thora hurried to grab a distaff and pressed it into Signy’s hands, and Signy looked more disgusted at the prospect of even pretending to spin than by drinking the very old poisonous tea.
Oddny had no choice but to follow suit, and she and Signy sat down on either side of Gunnhild. When the women started singing and Ulla beat her drum, Oddny again felt a hook in her chest as she began to mime spinning, Signy copying her with less elegant movements.
Down, Oddny thought as she worked. Take me down. Lead me to her.
The thread began to form between her fingers, but when she looked up, Signy was having no such luck. Oddny reached out and grasped her hand with the one of hers that wasn’t pinching the air near the distaff—and Signy’s own thread started to take shape—
Then the scar on Oddny’s palm prickled and the world gave out beneath them, and they were falling. Oddny squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact—
But it never came. And when she dared to open her eyes, she was in a dark place that went on forever, and she was alone. She could hear the warding songs and drum echoing far above her. Trembling, she took a few steps forward and called out, “Signy? Gunnhild?”
“What are you doing here?” Thorbjorg demanded as she strode out of the darkness. Like Oddny, she had a thin, shimmering thread stretching upward from her sternum.
Oddny’s hand went to her knife. “Where is she?”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Thorbjorg said, and Oddny thought she heard fear in the witch’s voice.
“Too bad,” said Oddny through her teeth. “What have you done with her?”
“This is all wrong.” Thorbjorg fisted her hands in her pale hair, knocking her cap askew. “This was what I saw. You, here. Why is this happening? We did everything to prevent this—you shouldn’t be—”
“Pull yourself together, girl. We’re too close now for any mistakes,” came a distorted voice from Oddny’s right, and she turned to see a hooded figure approaching. “Gunnhild isn’t coming back, but so much for standing guard against her friends. I should’ve known you couldn’t handle this job alone when you’re the one who’s bungled everything from the start.”
The third witch, Oddny realized. “Who are you?”
By way of a response, the witch threw off her hood—and revealed a face she knew.
“Thora?” Oddny whispered in horror. “You’re—you’re the seal? How is this possible? You’re—up there—you’re—”
The woman smiled, and it was terrible. “It’s not hard to leave part of yourself behind—you’ve done something similar yourself, little hawk, probably without even realizing it. It’s how you keep the chant going. Or in my case, the songs. And if I keep my eyes closed and my staff under my cloak, well, who would be the wiser?”
Oddny understood at once. “It wasn’t Thorbjorg or Katla who ruined Gunnhild’s ritual at Winternights. It was you. And you were standing right there with us. You’re with us right now—” And she had no idea how to warn Runfrid, Ulla, and Saeunn of the traitor in their midst. “But—why? You were so kind—”
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear,” Thora said, tossing her cloak aside with a sneer so uncharacteristic of her that it made Oddny’s blood run cold. “My son may be the youngest of Harald’s brood, but I’ve foreseen that he will be king, and that one day Gunnhild will have a hand in his undoing. I mean to take her off the gaming board before she gets the chance. That’s why I didn’t stop you and your sister trying to reach her—better to do away with you all down here, where no one will ever know what happened to you. None in the waking world will be aware of my involvement. And I intend to keep it that way.”
Thorbjorg, hands still fisted in her hair, gave a nervous little laugh. She said, a bit hysterically, “Why don’t you just draw her a picture of our plan?”
“I said, pull yourself together,” Thora snapped. “And this attack was my plan, since you’re the one who started us off down the road to ruin the day you came up with the idea to kill Oddny and her sister after that vision you had. If we hadn’t followed your plan, Gunnhild would still be a hermit in the woods with that old lady protecting her. She might not have even met Eirik if not for you! No, Thorbjorg—we’re putting an end to this foolishness once and for all. It’s time for you to redeem yourself.”