“I’d rather die than be anywhere near you,” I say, glaring through my tears. Looking down at where his hands touch my body, smudging the runes that Katrine shakily painted on me, I realize it doesn’t matter if my body is marked. My soul will not be traveling across the Vanheim tonight, not if I can help it.
Harald moves to the stern and shoves the boat. “That is one wish I can grant you,” he yells. Watching the stars zoom by above me, I feel the rickety boat skid across the rough ice until it slows. Irest my cheek on the wooden bench, trying to see if I am any closer to where the tomb lies below, but it is hard to tell where I’ve landed. I am too deep in the well of the boat to see the fjord or the men standing on the snowy crust of earth, waiting to set me ablaze.
Drums start beating what we play for a funeral, and I close my eyes, listening to my heart pound in my ears. Recounting all the precious prayers my mother taught me keeps me from shattering. A horn sounds as I try to feel the chain around my wrists. Shaw is the only blacksmith that makes this type of iron work, so this must be part of the plan, or he would have fought harder to free me. I need to succumb to the tomb to find the bow.
Suddenly, hot fire streaks across the sky, and I hide my face against my shoulder in vain as arrows rain down into the boat. Listening to wood crack and snap with each volley makes me dry heave uselessly against the bench. Flames erupt around me when the smoldering arrows catch the dry holly leaves and pine needles from the evergreen boughs.
My arms slide under the chains, making my skin buckle and bruise. Flames rise around me, licking my skin, but the oil Siggy doused me with is working, and though I feel so hot I want to scream, my skin stays intact.
Over the tall flames, I see two tufted ears and two amber eyes, but where the fuck is Shaw?
“Aslaug help me!” I wince as the flames start to eat away at the oil. She gets on her hind legs and opens her mouth above me. With a thud, a small amulet falls onto my stomach, and I try to shrug my shoulders to bring it closer, but it stays nestled in the chains tying me down.
“Aslaug!” I scream. She’s gone or maybe she is going to summon Freya? Can she do that? My mind races through the possibilities. I look at the mountain range to one side of my vision and try to figure out if I am close to the spot Aslaug brought me too before.
Fire eats the old wooden longboat in seconds, and I close my eyes, waiting to burn. The wood cracks and splits underneath. My rib cage tightens as I hyperventilate. Any moment now, my flesh is going to peel away in the flames. Wiggling in the chains, I feel theweight of the iron suddenly slip away, and I roll off the burning bench without thinking. Moving my arms, expecting to feel ice and snow, I hit a solid smooth slab instead and pat my body for the amulet.
I fear I have died, and in my shock, I didn’t feel it because the boat is no longer underneath me, and the chains are nowhere to be found. Flames as tall as the walls around Harald’s village burn so deeply crimson they match my hair.
The amulet Aslaug dropped on my stomach lies at my feet. Picking it up, I graze my fingers over the metal lid and shiny clasp. It’s exquisite. There is only one man I know who can craft this type of piece. Shaking out my wrist, I see the bracelet he gave me slide forward, and I compare the engravings. I wish I could be surprised, but something nags in the well of my soul. A tiny morsel of truth that this is how it is supposed to be—that he gave me these gifts because he felt that tug as well.
Assuming I am closer to the Vanheim or dead, I bravely wave my hand over the blood red flames and feel no pain. The next place to go is out of the circle of fire. I haven’t been burned yet, so I take one step at a time, and with a shaky exhale, I move past the burning crimson wall.
The amulet gripped tightly in hand, I try to think of helpful thoughts instead of miserable ones. Like how Shaw could be dead because they think I am burning alive. Our runes predicted our deaths only a few nights ago. I should have seen this coming. Did Shaw? And that’s why he let them drag me away? Maybe I am dead, left to wander what our parents called the inbetween. Glancing up, I see the flaming boat fracturing in the ceiling of ice above me.
Panicked laughter escapes my swollen lips as I think about how we traditionally pack seasonal outfits in funeral longboats to give the dead soul plenty of clothes to wear in the afterlife. I rub my arms and legs for warmth, knowing I am an unlucky soul who only has the snow and mud covered dress I’m wearing.
Keeping the amulet in my palm, I roll it over, watching the thick,scarlet liquid coat the inside. It is either my blood from the ice or Shaw’s, based on how I am drawn to its contents..
Wherever I am, it looks like it was once beautiful and has since been left to ruin. Columns resembling tree trunks give off a liquid glow, and hesitantly, I touch the structures, following the rivers of gold in between groves of the rich brown wood. Taking long steps into the darkness, I feel the corners of the stone crack and crumble under my feet. With no leaves or colors of life, I feel like I am in the forest on the last day of fall, right before the first snow, when everything is dead and awaiting a triumphant return.
One foot in front of the other, I walk into what can be best described as a shrine, but has been forgotten by man and left barren. In the middle of the room at the top of the nine steps the columns change to resemble trees. The number nine is always used when speaking about the Immortal Realm. Nine runes were also represented in the Divination night.
In the center of the shrine lies an altar. Picking up my pace, I lean over the giant slab to find a strange set of wheels. Three interlocking wheels are carved into the stone, and around them is a groove no bigger than my pinky finger. Tracing the outline, I catch the bracelet on my wrist out of the corner of my eye and slip it off to examine Shaw’s carved scroll work.
This must mean something? He isn’t the type to give a woman a trinket.Rolling the bracelet around, I feel a tiny slit on the inside. I slide it forward, and an audible gasp escapes my shivering lips. Shaw’s broken chain necklace falls out and slides down my dress, but I scoop it up before it can fall to the floor.
Holding it up in the strange light of the shrine, I watch each tiny link sparkle and want to scream. What does any of this mean? Skadi didn’t wear a necklace to my knowledge. What does this have to do with wielding her bow? Looking back up at the icy ceiling, I can still see the boat burning, and I’m not sure what that means either.
Where the fuck are Aslaug and Shaw?The overwhelming feeling of frustration makes my eyes burn with tears. I hate crying, and so far all I’ve done during Yule is cry over my inability to accomplish anything.
I lay the chain on the top of the altar and walk around the space. The light continues to reflect off the silver and gold, but then again, so do the edges of the wheels, so maybe…
Pushing the chain into the grooves around the interlocking wheels, I pray that Shaw is really as good a blacksmith as he claims to be and give the chain a tug. The wheels move, releasing ancient dust into the stagnant air. Keeping the chain taut, I pull until the wheels have made one continuous rotation.Thank the fucking fates,the lid slides open.
Carefully, I take the chain out of the grooves and slip it back into the bracelet, making sure it is secure around my wrist. My excitement pushes my heart to keep beating as I reach into the oval opening and pull out an ancient deerskin quiver with the tip of a bow sticking out the top.
The slender trees shake and vibrate, giving me no time to examine the bow. Dropping the amulet into the quiver, I grab it and look for another way out. I run down the long shrine steps and see the cracks in the ice before I hear them. The burning boat overhead is melting the top crust of the fjord, and glacial water is starting to pour in from the narrow cracks.
Clutching the bow to my chest, I run to where the crimson flames shone through the ceiling, but there is nothing now. Water drenches the trees, dripping onto the pristine floor, and the sounds of snapping ice and wood reignite my panic.
The chains that Harald used to tie me to the long boat come crashing through the ice ceiling, and a deluge of frozen water closes the space between the shrine and the fjord. In one massive wave, I am swept away.
Bone crushing, frigid water slices through my nerves, worse than taking any knife or arrow through my flesh, and all at once I am drowning. Opening my eyes, I force myself to stay calm in order to swim.
My knees refuse to work, tightening with every frozen inch I try to gain to find the surface. The current created by the flooding shrine throws me through the water. My jaw clicks, and my ears pop as I fight with one arm to get upright.
Nerves fire in all the wrong ways, forcing me to want to breathe, even though I will suck in ice water and ruin my lungs. I can’t understand which way is up or down, and the cold is making my eyelids heavy.
