The last lessons I remember about the gods were from our mother and father. They broke away from the clan when they married and established themselves beyond the mountain pass. After their deaths, Jorvik brought us to the Beaivi Clan and immediately I wanted to leave. I was too young to travel alone, and by the time I found a place out of the kitchen and into the hunting party, I couldn’t remember the way through the mountains. In a decade, the landscape of the mountains and forest has changed, and the tiny cabin we lived in when it was the four of us is probably buried under piles of rocks and snow.
Aslaug follows me to the door of my bedroom. I’m not sure if she is trying to come with me or make me stay, but her paws still have raw spots, and Shaw would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her. Promising to return with more food, I take a chance at scratching her head the way he did and lock her inside for the night.
Letting my instincts carry me, I am already out of my room and down the stairs without dwelling on the consequences. Sneaking past the small groups of men drinking around the fire pits is easy, and in a few more steps, I leave the stronghold.
My red hair is braided in one long plait and covered by the hood of my fur cloak. The fjord is beyond Harald’s wall, and at this time of night, no one will be traipsing through the snow. Searching for the tomb or the bow should be easy while they enjoy a fresh round of music and drinking on one of the less exuberant nights of Yule.
I thought of asking Joanna to come with me, but the risk of running into the women from the longhouse is too great. The less people who know where I am the less I will have to worry about endangering anyone on my behalf.
Now that I know my way around better, I find where the wall is weakest and slip through without alerting the gate guards. Wedging my shoulder and hip between the narrow, broken slats is hard, given my wide hips. It’s going to leave a bruise, but I push through anyway and kneel in the snow to catch my breath.
Freedom is beyond this wall. Freedom is deep in the forest where I can disappear into the towering pine trees and evergreens. The icy snow biting into my knees and palms reminds me of my mother, harsh on the outside but always teaching me a lesson. She loved us and tried to give us a life away from a clan that only sought to chain me to a marriage bed. But Jorvik is staining her teachings. He is determined to live a life opposite our mother and father, as if he can spite their corpses with his strict adherence to clan rules.
Standing, I leave the dark snowy forest to my left and head for the fjord. It is tempting to run and never look back, but there are too many women who follow me as their guide through the season.
The water is frozen solid and will be for another few months, until the spring thaw, but that doesn’t make walking over it easy. Gingerly, I step onto the ice. As I adjust my balance so I don’t slip, I am suddenly knocked on my ass. Muscled fur crashes into me, and we slide across the ice. Reaching for her thick coat, I hiss her name into the never ending darkness.
“Aslaug, you can’t be out here.” Hearing me, she digs those piercing claws into the ice, and we stop sliding. Underneath, the thick layers buckle and sway with our combined weight. Pushing thoughts of being submerged in the numbing waters away, I find my footing and step away from the great lynx.
Turning her head without moving her body, she glares at me. I worry for anyone who actually crosses her path when she’s in good health. The healing gash in her fur is still prominent from my view as I try to glide around her on the ice.
“What is that look for? I told you to stay inside,” I chide, but she ignores me. Squinting to see the slowly drifting plumes of smoke over the stronghold, I look for a sign that someone could have seen her. Shaw will be furious when, or if, he finds out we are both out on the fjord. Thankfully, the trees along the bank are still, and I don’t even see an owl or a fox.
Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I bury the foolish hope that sparked when I met Shaw. That tiny flicker of anticipation he might burst through the woods is snuffed out by the cold. He is onlygoing to bring me heartbreak, but his cat, on the other hand, might be helpful.
“How did you get out? Did anyone see you?” I ask logical questions, but she slinks away, walking gracefully toward the mountains and maybe the tomb. Having no choice other than following her, I try my best to slide and walk without slipping. In some places, the ice cracks underneath my boots, and my heart lurches, causing me to shuffle one way or the other.
The moon is three quarters of the way full, and the clouds out here are not as dense, giving me decent visibility in the dark. Feeling my hip for my knife, I double check its position, calming my nerves. The closer we get the more the wind picks up from the mountains, sweeping wet ice and snowflakes around my face until my teeth clatter.
“Are you sure we are going the right way, Aslaug?” I ask, bending down to brace myself against a harsh gust. Tucked into the tunic under my coat is a fire starter, but finding a place to block out the wind is going to be difficult, and making a fire might be impossible.
The lynx stops a few feet away from where the mountain looks like it sinks into the fjord. Sharp rocks stick out from the ice, and I have no way of knowing how stable my steps are the closer I am to where land should be underneath.
“Aslaug wait!” I yell as she leaps from the ice, using her massive back legs to land up on a dry ledge. She peers over the top as if to sayyou next.
I can’t jump that high. My fingers are cold inside the pockets of my coat, and when I let out a hot breath, it instantly freezes against the cold air. Walking underneath the ledge, I keep my gaze on her, waiting to see what she does, but she’s not looking at me.
Something beneath the ice has her attention. Using the protruding rocks, I slide myself around to look down at the same angle. The rocks are covered in layers of ice that melt where I touch, making my fingers numb. The walls of the mountain are sheer and flat for as far as I can see in the dark.
“I can’t stay out here all night. I’ll freeze to death,” I whisper,trying not to totally break down, but I don’t understand what she is trying to show me. The snow covering the mountains might be hiding an entrance but I might need to come back in the daylight to further explore.
Aslaug shifts above me, letting out a long whine, and pushes massive icicles off the ledge. Ducking under it, I narrowly miss a sharp piece of broken ice as it crashes onto the frozen fjord.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I question the cat but receive no response. Carefully gripping the side of the mountain, I slide back out and lose my balance. Struggling on my hands and knees, I see the shape of a longboat underneath the ice. Aslaug looks down at me, and I smile while her huge, glowing amber eyes watch me as if to say,Don’t you trust me?
Chuckling, I wipe the ice off my cheeks and try to breathe properly. Below us is a funeral boat carved from stone, and I might not be the best at reading, but I know what a bow rune looks like when I see one.
“Why did you jump up there if the tomb is under the ice?” I ask, my voice bubbling out over cold, shallow breaths. Aslaug lays down, her huge paws hanging over the edge like she has been waiting to come here, and now that she’s here, she is going to sleep.
I’ll never be able to break through the ice to reach the stone boat, and my body is already succumbing to the plummeting temperature. I can come back tomorrow with Joanna and Katrine, or maybe with Shaw if he is in a good mood?
Gazing up at Aslaug, I have the strange sense she is waiting for me to do something. I pat my thighs like I am calling a dog from a herd of sheep, but Aslaug is too existential for such things. She opens her strong jaws, showing off those big fangs, and yawns.
“Well it is Yule, and during Yule, we make offerings. The only thing I have tonight is my blood,” I say to myself, wondering if the great cat is even listening anymore. Taking the knife from inside my tunic, I carve the same runes I painted on the Yule log into the ice. My legs start to lose all feeling, but if I die out here, at least I won’t have to marry Harald.
The cynical way my thoughts have protected me causes a smileto perk up my cold lips. Pushing my sleeves up, I slice my forearm open because I don’t think my numb palms have any blood flow. I squeeze my arm and watch my hot blood drip down my elbow. The deep crimson fills the etched ice carving, and a fresh wave of dizziness overtakes me.
8
