“I don’t like this,” I mumbled, feeling sick to my stomach as Steinunn sped up time, only flickers of moments filling my eyes as I climbed and climbed. “I don’t feel well.”
“Steady,” Bodil said. “It is just memory. You aren’t there.”
But all I could see was Bjorn edging through the narrow space, knowing what was coming, knowing that draug would soon be upon us. He cursed as he tripped over the cup, and I looked down as it shot past my feet.
Those aren’t my shoes.
I had no chance to think about the unfamiliar red laces on the leather shoes before the roar of the mountain breathing struck my ears, the rising drums, the scratch of bony feet against stone. Vertigo and a wave of nausea hit me, and I twisted out of Bodil’s grip to fall to my knees.
“Are you well, Freya?” I dimly heard her ask right before I fell sideways, the world going dark.
I awoke to Bodil’s face inches from mine. “How do you feel, Freya? Are you ready to fight?”
“No.” I rolled over, burying my face in my cloak. Clouded memory of vomiting into the dirt came back to me, and I winced, realizing that Bodil and her maidens must have had to drag my drunk self into the tent. “Is it already dawn?”
“Dawn came and went hours ago,” Bodil replied.
“What?” I sat upright, peering through the open flaps of the tent, which revealed dark gray sky, rain misting down into the mud. “Why did no one wake me?”
“Because Bjorn has been sitting in front of your tent since he carried you in here last night,” she said. “He threatened to cut the throat of anyone who disturbed you, saying you needed sleep, or you’d be no good to anyone.” She fished in my cloak pocket and extracted the pot of salve. “I’m supposed to remind you to put this on your hand.”
I grimaced as I took the pot from her, and found myself tucking it back into my pocket rather than putting it on. “We are to begin training now, then?”
Bodil laughed. “Unless you need another few hours to sleep off your hangover.”
It was already shameful enough that I’d drunk so much mead, then embarrassed myself puking into the dirt and passing out. As though sensing my thoughts, the jarl said, “No one noticed, so enraptured were they in Steinunn’s tale.”
“But not you?” I drank deeply from a skin of water I found sitting next to my pallet. “I thought you knew Steinunn. Liked her.”
Bodil shook her head. “I only met her a year ago. I’ve never cared much for skald magic, particularly when I know it’s being deployed as propaganda, which was why she traveled to Brekkur on Snorri’s behalf. I stuffed my ears with wool when she began singing.” Straightening, she added, “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Again, I was struck that while Bodil might have an interest in a united Skaland and in seeing what the gods had in store for us, she was only tolerating Snorri and had little desire to see him as king. Which made me wonder what her endgame could be. Made me wonder if Bodil, like all the other jarls, saw herself as the one who would control my fate, but was clever enough to come at it by a circular approach.
I belted my father’s sword and a long-bladed seax to my waist, then donned my cloak and left the tent.
Mist immediately coated my face, and I shivered and stomped my feet as I walked, needing my blood to flow so that it might vanquish both the chill and my headache. Most of Snorri’s warriors seemed hard at work fortifying our camp’s perimeter with stakes, others forging and fletching weapons, and judging from the absence of women and children, others were out hunting and foraging. Everyone set to a task but me, who’d slept away the morning. So it was shame that drove away the chill, my cheeks burning hot as I followed Bodil through the opening in the stakes and down to the beach.
“Freya!”
My spine stiffened at Bjorn’s voice, and I turned to find him walking toward us with an armload of sticks for stakes. Before he could start in with his teasing, I snapped, “I don’t need to be coddled. I will rise when everyone else rises, and I will pull my own weight. I don’t need you interfering.”
Irritation flared in his eyes. “Maybe you should’ve considered that before drinking yourself sick.”
He wasn’t wrong. “That’s my problem, not yours.” Crossing my arms, I glared at him. “If I want your opinion or your assistance, I’ll ask.” I twisted on my heels and strode down to the ash-streaked beach.
Bodil gave me an approving nod. “Men need to be taught their place.” Then a lopsided smile formed on her face. “But the boy did clean vomit off your face after you fell nose-first into it.”