Low and rhythmic, Skalmöld began chanting. She sprinkled the mixture from her mortar into the fire, and it flared green and gold, casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. The herbs she burned added a new layer to the smoke, an aroma both sweet and tart that made Njord’s head swim.
“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice softer now. “Breathe deeply. Let the smoke fill your lungs. It will guide you.”
Njord was drawn to her voice. This indeed felt different from the journeys of the spirit he’d embarked on before. Somehow deeper. More powerful. The air around him was thick, and with each breath, he felt like he was sinking deeper into dark places. His limbs grew heavy, his thoughts slower, as if the world itself were receding.
“Good,” Skalmöld murmured. “Now, listen to my voice. Let it carry you.”
Her words blurred into a melody, rising and falling like the waves. The warmth faded, and the scent of the herbs transformed into the saline breath of the sea. He felt himself drifting, untethered, as if he were floating on an endless ocean.
And then there was darkness.
He wandered, lost between the stars. He’d forgotten his name, his purpose, but something was calling to him, and he drifted toward it as if pulled by a strong current.
A feeling of urgency washed over him, and suddenly he felt like he was swimming, diving, faster and faster to reach whatever tugged so insistently at his soul.
His world flipped, and it took him a moment to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of his scrying mind. He was seeing a raiders’ camp, longboats lying on a beach, and tents erected a little further up.
Ahti!
He was looking for his sister, Ahti.
Was she here?
He floated closer, hope and excitement searing in his chest as he spotted a dark head among the people bustling around the camp. A tall woman with dark brown hair. He scrambled to follow her.
Where was she going?
What was she doing here?
He was looking over the woman’s shoulder, watching her approach several cages made of wooden stakes. There were people crammed inside. Thralls.
What was he looking at?
The woman wore a simple brown dress; neither sword nor dagger girded her waist. She wasn’t one of the raiders, but still, she pulled a key from her pouch and started to unlock one of the cages. Agitation spread among the prisoners.
“Andora. Hey, Andora, listen to me!” The voice was male, smooth like honey, and vaguely familiar. “This isn’t the right time to free your friends. You have to go now. Hide. Bide your time. Come back in the dark. Come back when they’re not expecting you.”
What in Hel’s name?
The woman turned her head, and finally Njord could see her profile. Not Ahti. No grown woman at all, but a girl of maybe sixteen summers. She glared at a person locked alone in the cage next to the one she was trying to open. The man who’d spoken to her.
Njord stared disbelievingly at cropped short golden hair and amber eyes.
“Shut up, Thori!”
“They’ll catch you. If you stay, they’ll catch you all.”
Before Andora could respond, there was movement behind her, and a heavy hand clasped her shoulder. She froze, her breath hitching. A man loomed behind her, his face contorted in fury.
And Njord knew that face. Blasted Sveinn. Cruel and ruthless, and willing to trade with whatever brought the most silver.
“What do we have here?” Sveinn growled, snatching the keys from Andora’s trembling fingers. “What are you doing with my keys, little rat?”
The girl gritted her teeth even as she was starting to shake. But before Sveinn could unleash his anger on her, Thori spoke up.
“It was me.” He stepped forward in his cage, and Njord could make out heavy chains around his wrists, gleaming with binding runes. Their seiðr must hurt.
“What?”
