It was the same figure I’d seen during the funeral of the victims of the raid, smoke and ash drifting away on a wind despite the air being still.
“Bjorn!” I pointed. “Do you see that person?”
He turned his head, and through the mail and all the padding he wore beneath it, I felt him tense. “Where? I see no one.”
A chill of fear ran down my spine, because if Bjorn couldn’t see the figure, I was either losing my mind or this was a specter revealing itself only to me. “Stop the horse.”
Bjorn drew up his mount, the rest of our party following suit even as Snorri demanded, “Why are you stopping?”
I pointed again at the specter, which remained with its head lowered, embers and ash falling around it. “Do any of you see that hooded figure? The embers? The smoke?”
Confusion radiated across our party as everyone looked to where I pointed, shaking their heads. Nothing. Yet the horses seemed aware, all of them snorting and stomping, their ears pinned flat.
“A specter,” Snorri breathed. “Perhaps even one of the gods having stepped onto the mortal plane. Speak to him, Freya.”
My palms turned clammy because that was the last thing I wanted to do. “Try to get closer.”
Bjorn urged his mount toward the outcropping until the horse finally dug in its heels, refusing to go closer. “What do you want?” I shouted at the specter.
“So polite, Born-in-Fire,” Bjorn murmured, but I ignored him as the specter’s head tracked toward me, face still hidden by the hood. Then it lifted its hand and spoke, voice rough and pained.
“She, the unfated, she the child of Hlin, she who was born in fire must give sacrifice to the gods on the mount at the first night of the full moon else her thread will be cut short, the future that was foreseen unwoven.”
The words settled into my head, understanding of what they meant twisting my guts with nausea.
“Did it answer?” Bjorn asked, and I gave a tight nod. “Yes.” Louder, I asked, “Why? Why must I do this?”
“She must earn her fate,” the specter answered, then exploded into embers and smoke.
The horse reared, and I cursed, clinging to Bjorn’s waist to keep from falling while he settled the animal.
“How did the specter answer?” Snorri demanded, riding his snorting mount in circles around us. “Did it identify itself?”
“It said that I must earn my fate,” I answered, righting myself behind Bjorn. “That I must give sacrifice to the gods on the mount on the first night of the full moon, or my thread will be cut short.”
“A test!” Snorri’s eyes brightened. “Surely the specter was one of the gods, for they delight in such things.”
A test that, if I failed, would see me dead. Needless to say, I did not share in Snorri’s enthusiasm.
“The gods will not grant you greatness for nothing,” he said. “You must prove yourself to them.”
It was not lost on me that I’d once dreamed of greatness, and now, presented with it, it felt like the last thing I wanted.
Besides, I was unfated. How could the specter, the gods, or anyone truly predict what my future held? How could they know for certain that if I didn’t go to Fjalltindr, I’d die? Maybe I could alter my destiny and escape this. Maybe I could wait for a moment when backs were turned and run. I could retrieve my family, and together we could flee out of Snorri’s reach. I could weave a new fate for myself. The race of thoughts made me abruptly regret not taking Bjorn up on his offer to help me escape.
As though hearing my thoughts, Snorri added, “If you destroy the fate foreseen for me, Freya, you had best hope that you are dead. For my wrath will burn like wildfire, and it will turn on everything you love.”
Hate boiled in my chest because the gods weren’t the threat I feared. It was the bastard standing before me.
“We’ve wasted enough time! We ride to Fjalltindr,” he ordered, spinning his horse and setting off at a gallop.
Instead of following, Bjorn twisted in the saddle, wrapping one arm around my waist, and pulling me in front of him. As I struggled to right my legs around the horse’s shoulders, he said, “I don’t think the specter was threatening you, Freya. I think it was warning you that there will be those along the way who will try to kill you.”
“As if I didn’t already know that.”
“The mountaintop is sacred ground.” Bjorn’s hand pressed against my ribs to hold me steady. “No weapons are allowed, as all deaths must be in sacrifice to the gods, which means some level of safety within Fjalltindr’s borders.”