I can’t.A lump formed in her throat, and she crawled towards her sword, picturing the glittering water just out of reach. She was about to grab the hilt, but Gerrie gently placed her spear on top of her hand, flattening it to the ground.
“You fought well today, but you must stop,” Gerrie said kindly. Solveig couldn’t bear the pity in her voice. She flipped over, attempting to kick Gerrie’s legs but in one swift movement, Gerrie manoeuvred her so she was flat on her back, the spear at her throat.
No no no no no.She could not be on her back again. Never again. Panic entered her eyes and Gerrie immediately released her, helping her sit up. Solveig put her head between her knees and gulped down the air.I got out. I got out. I got out.
Gerrie made her way to the edge of the ring. She returned carrying a waterskin, offering it to her. Solveig drank every last drop and when she was finished, she wiped the blood from her nose off her face. Gerrie sat with her, a solid, reassuring presence.
“Maybe I should delay—” Gerrie started to say.
“No,” Solveig interrupted.
“Sol, you need me. I thought maybe you were getting better, but unless you’re willing to rely on someone else, I should stay.”
“You can’t.”
“At this moment, you have no say over what I can and can’t do.”
“Think about it, Ger—regardless of what I need, if I asked you to stay, what would you tell the queens? You can’t tell them you’re staying because I’m too unstable without you. I’d lose my position anyway.”
“I would be more discreet than that.”
“And they would see right through it. You have to go.” Gerrie’s silence opened a pit in Solveig’s stomach. Even though she didn’t want her to go, that Gerrie didn’t push the argument meant she was already resigned.
“Can I ask you something?” Gerrie said quietly. Solveig nodded. “Your panic is worse when you’re lying down.” Even the suggestion of it made Solveig’s heart quicken.
“That’s not a question.”
“How bad was it?” Gerrie whispered. Solveig stared at the trees in the distance. The question was vague enough that Solveig could share as much or as little as she wanted. She took a deep breath. One. Two. Three.
“I was kept on my back, with chains so short I couldn’t stand. I only had enough room to bring food to my face and reach the hole in the ground to do my business.” Gerrie didn’t respond, absorbing the information.
Solveig didn’t want to think about it anymore. The memories already suffocated her in her sleep—she didn’t want to dwell on them in her waking hours as well. She started to get up, but Gerrie put a hand on her arm, stopping her.
“When I was small, I was petrified of birds. I don’t remember why, but for the longest time I couldn’t be anywhere near them. It came to the point where I wouldn’t even go outside. My mother would sit with me and wait for the panic to stop.” Solveig could easily picture it—that’s exactly what Gerrie had been doing with her. “But it never really got better. My father eventually said enough was enough. I was so scared he was going to throw me in a cage full of feathers and wings until I wasn’t scared anymore.
“Instead, he sat with me and talked about birds. He had me talk about them, too, about what I feared. We talked and talked and at first, we did it in the attic of our house where there were no windows. Then we moved to the kitchen with a view of our garden where birds would swoop down and startle me. Once a bird flying by no longer scared me, he took me to sit on the front steps. Slowly and calmly, he talked to me about my fears, but he also talked to me about everything else.
“He told me stories of his younger years, tales of battle, and how he met my mother. Eventually, we made our way to the garden. I had to run back inside a few times when a bird got too close. Then one day all I had to do was close my eyes if I got scared. We sat there until I could watch the birds fly by, until I could hold grain in my hands and have them land on me without flinching.
“He made me face my fears, a little bit at a time. I’m not as patient as my father, but I could help you. Your trauma is much worse than my witchling fear of birds, but I imagine it could work the same way for you.”
Solveig stayed silent for a long time. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to bury it so deep she never had to think about it again. Gerrie sighed.
“Sol, I love you even when you are being so incredibly stubborn. I’m sworn to protect you from any danger that comes your way. Right now, the danger is inside you. This will destroy you. Let me help you.”
“I can’t,” Solveig whispered.
“Yes, you can. You are the strongest warrior I know, other than myself. You have fought countless wars—you can fight this one too.” When Solveig didn’t respond, Gerrie got to her feet. “Damn it, Solveig, if you won’t start dealing with your shit, maybe you aren’t fit to lead. Maybe I should tell the queens that Latham is right. You can’t do it anymore.”
Solveig didn’t let herself think about the consequences. She lunged at Gerrie, tackling her to the ground. She caught her shieldmaiden by surprise and was able to get in one solid kick to her abdomen before Gerrie regrouped. In three moves, she was out from under Solveig and standing at the other side of the ring. Blood trickled down the side of her mouth.
“Solveig, I . . .”
“Leave.” She stared Gerrie down until the warrior retreated, only pausing to pick up her spear before mounting her horse and racing off.
Solveig counted the seconds until she was sure Gerrie was out of earshot. Then she screamed. She unleashed all her fear and anguish, heartbreak and pain in one loud roar at Valhalla.
She hadn’t noticed the rain clouds rolling in while she was sparring with Gerrie, so she was startled by the violent sky and the sensation of raindrops on her face. The water seeped into her skin as she continued to yell and shout at the gods who were powerless to hear her pleas. The cooldrops pervaded her soul, soothing her pain, calming her magic, softening the sharp edges of her sorrow.
