Chapter One
Gudvangen, northern Norway, 825 A.D.
Why me?
Embla already knew the answer to that question.
Because I am soft!
There was no doubting it; shewassoft in every way.
Plump, sweet, devoted Embla.
Who looked and acted like a mother despite having no children of her own. Always willing to help those around her, especially the Jarl’s wife, Gertrud...
‘She has been good to me,’she would say whenever the other women rolled their eyes at her doglike obedience.
But such meekness and eagerness to please had only led her into situations such as this, alone and frightened. Left out in the cold.
‘It was for the boys,’ she told the icy landscape around her, and felt a little better for saying it out loud. She would gladly sacrifice her comfort for the children, and this was all it was: a little discomfort.
She only wished she were not alone. If only Gertrud had let her take one of the other women with her. Her sense of direction had never been good, and she was out much further then she was used to. If she had someone to help guide her, she might already be home by now, warming her toes in front of the fire, cooking up a hearty stew, or playing with the children. Instead, she was all alone in the forest and had lost the feeling in her toes not long after she had waved goodbye to the boys.
Embla had been more optimistic then, grateful that she had found the boys not too far from where they had said they would be. It was impressive enough that she had made it there without any issues. Fortune seemed to have favoured them all, as the boys had only a few minor scrapes and bruises from their sledging accident.
Thank Odin they were not badly hurt!
It could have been so much worse.
Young boys never seemed to realise how quickly fate could turn against you. They thought themselves immortal, even more so because they were Jarl Thorin’s sons. Never having known true hardship or cruelty, they did not comprehend that life could sometimes be unkind. Embla understood, but she would not wish that bitter truth on them just yet.
However, she did wish they were a little more cautious at times. No one with any sense would climb the mountain at this time of year. The days were short this far north, and already the fragile light was fading. Unseasonably warm weather could not be trusted, and if she had had any say in the matter, she would have forbidden the boys from going sledging in the first place, or at least insisted on guards going with them.
But of course, she had no right to order the Jarl’s three sons, and had to accept their mother’s judgement above her own. Gertrud had seen nothing wrong with letting the boys play with their new hand-pulled sledges. But as the morning progressed and the boys had failed to return, everyone had grown more troubled by their absence.
So, Embla had dutifully gone after them with a pony and her own sledge to hurry them home. She had found them, although they had moved a little further north from the frozen river, where they had said they would be. They’d been too tempted by a steep ridge further up. Unfortunately, the drop had been harsher than they had expected, and they had crashed into one another, breaking all but one of their new gifts. It was fortunate they had not broken their necks, and Embla had whispered a thank-you to the goddess Frigg.
Hakon had been badly bruised and tearful about his broken sledge. He had refused to leave it behind, behaving as if it were a wounded friend—which had made little Magnus insist on doing the same. So, poor Ketil, the eldest, had ended up dragging two by himself, while Hakon struggled with his. Little Magnus had been sat in the remaining sledge, frozen to the bone and whimpering pitifully from his ice-encrusted blankets.
So, Embla had quickly packed them up in her sledge, and tied their own ones behind it. Worried it would be a lot for her old pony to carry, she had decided to walk back alone. That way she ensured the boys would be home, safe and warm as soon as possible.
At the time, she had been confident she would make it back to Gudvangen before it grew dark. But that was looking more unlikely with every step.
It had seemed a perfectly reasonable plan at the time. Now she was cursing her own stupidity. She should have insisted the boys leave their broken sledges behind. One of the men could have come and collected them tomorrow...or more likely, she would have been sent back to fetch them. It was not a pleasant thought, but she would rather do fifty journeys on the sledge then this single walk back home.
The pony knew the way better than she did, and she was not built for this kind of labour. Her fingers and toes were numb, while the rest of her body was covered in sweat from the exertion of stumbling through the snow. She felt both feverish and painfully cold all at the same time.
Maybe, if she sampled less of her own cooking and spent more of her summers working in the fields rather than looking after the children, she might have squeezed into the sledge with the boys...or at least suffered this walk back with more grace. But as it was, she was plump, soft, and already breathless before she even lost sight of the boys ahead of her.
At first, she had only been embarrassed about how long it would take for her to get back. She knew Gertrud would give her a disapproving look.
‘You must be strong, Embla!’she would say, and sigh.
But she was not strong or brave. She had immediately taken a detour further up into the mountain forests when she had seen a pack of wolves running along the frozen river. Now she was no longer embarrassed or worried that this stroll home would take all day and most of the night.
No, she was scared of losing her life entirely!Each step towards home felt pointless, and she was afraid that she would never warm her toes by the fire or kiss the boys goodnight ever again.
Embla cursed as her foot sank deeply into the snow. Struggling to pull it out without losing her boot or footing, she shuffled forward with her other foot, only to fall into another soft pocket of snow. Suddenly she ploughed down into the bank up to her waist.
