Skadi dropped to her knees, feeling just as helpless as she had the last time her daughter’s life had been in Agnar’s hands.
‘Be brave, Princess, reach for my hand!’ shouted Agnar, dropping down a few feet more past the frayed section of rope. A few more stands sprung free and Skadi’s heart scattered down the cliff with the rest of her courage.
The ties holding Astra to Oddmund’s back fell away, and the only thing keeping her to him were her legs and arms wrapped around him. Astra looked up at her tearfully, her sapphire eyes more precious than any gem Skadi possessed.
‘Moma?’ she questioned and it was a fragile question wrapped in uncertainty and fear.
‘Take his hand! Trust him, Astra, he’s got you!’ yelled Skadi and she prayed to all the gods that she had finally chosen the right man to trust.
Now that the men below Oddmund were moving down with speed, Oddmund did the same. Agnar leaned closer, dangerously close. She was afraid he would fall by mistake if he stretched much further.
Astra lunged for Agnar, letting go of Oddmund as he slid down the rope.
Skadi swallowed a scream, her fingers clawing into the earth, as her child dangled precariously from Agnar’s arm. The image of him holding Astra up in her chamber that first night flashed through her mind.
This time she prayed he would not drop her. Thrudheim’s future, her purpose and her heart depended on him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Snow danced around them, snowflakes catching in his eyes and making it difficult to see. He wasn’t sure if it was actually snowing still, or if the wind battering the cliffs was simply lifting it from the rockface.
He didn’t care about the cold or discomfort. He had Astra and that’s all that mattered.
Swinging her up and shifting his body awkwardly with a grunt, he managed to pull her on to his back, grateful that Oddmund had more sense than to try to fight for her. He was too terrified about the tattered rope to do anything more than scramble down as quickly as he could.
Astra clung to Agnar’s neck so tightly, he had to gasp for air, her wretched sobs hot against his ear. She’d been so brave and he suspected her nerves were beginning to fray…not unlike the rope above their heads.
‘I’ve got you, little one,’ he reassured her, ‘Wrap your legs around my waist, but…’ He swallowed deeply as her grip tightened and he barely managed to croak out, ‘Less tightly on my throat.’
Now that Agnar had Astra more securely, he began to climb the rope as quickly as he could. The frayed ball of fibres seemed so much further up than he’d imagined. With every moment that passed, every gust of wind that sent them swaying back and forth it seemed to lose more threads.
There wasn’t enough time!
He grabbed the little axe at his belt and slammed it into the rock above his head, shoving his feet against cracks in the rock to find purchase. It was enough to keep him upright as the rope finally gave way and snapped.
It burned through his hand and whistled past him, slapping against his thigh like an angry cat’s tail on its way down. Its rapid descent was met by the screams of men, followed quickly by wet thuds against rock, as well as splashes as a couple of lucky men fell into the sea and a horrible crack of wood as one hit the rigging of the ship below.
‘Don’t look down!’ he shouted above the noise of the wind, obeying his own command and staring up at the end of the rope above his head. Now that Astra was his responsibility the knowledge filled him with fear and uncertainty. He could protect himself, had always been able to. Where he’d failed was in protecting others, protecting his mother and even Skadi.
The little axe that he’d relied on all those years ago was the only thing between them and a grisly fall and he could feel it straining under their weight, slowly slipping from the rock, like a creaky door. His feet were giving little support against the cracks in the rock. If the axe fell, so would he.
He reached up with one hand and could only feel the barest whisper of thread against his fingers. His other shifted on to the top of the axe, his hand slippery with his own blood, as he clawed up with his fingers a little further and was able to grip the bundle of frayed threads. Desperately he grabbed hold of it and forced his body up, fist over fist.
As if knowing its work was done, the little axe slipped free and clattered down the cliff. His heart ached at its loss. It had always been a reminder of his mother’s sacrifice, of his own ability to never give up—even in the darkest of moments.
Perhaps it would find its way to the eastern sea, where his mother’s ashes had been scattered, or it would help some other person in their time of need?
By letting go of the past, was he finally choosing to be happy?
Such strange thoughts filled his mind as he grunted and forced his body upwards. Afraid to drop Astra or the slippery rope, but climbing anyway in the hopes of a better future for all of them. He ignored the pain in his bloodied palms and the pull of Astra’s arms as she wept against his neck. He would get her to safety, even—and most likely—if it killed him.
‘Most impressive!’ declared a voice to the side of him, and he was absently aware that it was Sven a few feet away, still on his ledge.
Agnar didn’t acknowledge him. He was a little surprised that Sven hadn’t tried to cut his rope with his axe. But the ledge was tiny, and he imagined Sven couldn’t pull it free, let alone swing it without losing his footing. As always, Sven valued himself above all things.
‘Any chance you can swing the rope my way? If you reach the top…’
Agnar continued to ignore him. But Astra was feeling brave and, through her tears, she snapped, ‘I hope you’re stuck there for a hundred years!’
