“You and Sif have sorted things out, then,” she said.
Hakon nodded. “Sif has entrusted her submission to me,” he said simply.
“Then you’d better prove yourself worthy of such a gift, young warrior,” replied Gunhilde. “I’ll be keeping an eye out to make sure that you do.”
Gunnar tried to disguise a snort of laughter as a cough, and Gunhilde turned her eye on him. “Something to say?” she snapped.
Gunnar shuffled his feet, and said, “No, Elder Sister.”
“Good.” The witch nodded. “Least said, soonest mended. Not that young men like you know anything about that. You have an hour to make ready; we’ll be on our way before nightfall.”
“Where do we march?” asked Hakon respectfully.
“Back to the Ironwood, of course! Where else can we go? Honestly, it’s astonishing how little learning this generation has…” Gunhilde’s words fell to a low murmur as she stalked away, spreading the word to others.
Gunnar and Hakon stood quietly for a moment then chuckled as the Elder witch passed out of earshot.
“Like the grandmother we never had,” observed Gunnar.
“Odin’s beard, there’s a thought,” muttered Hakon. “Come on, then. Let’s see how much gear we can trick your foster brothers into carrying.”
***
It was in fact shortly before nightfall that the gathering of witches and their companions broke camp and began their journey. The refugees from Visby, under the command of their Jarl, had chosen to gain a night’s rest. A few of the townsfolk offered their thanks as the witches departed, but most simply stared sullenly as the witches walked by.
“You’d think they’d show at least a little gratitude,” said Gunnar, shaking his head.
“Gratitude, young man, is not appreciation for good things that have been done,” observed Sigrid ironically. “Rather, gratitude is the expectation of further favors to come. Do not look for gratitude here.”
“Frey’s cock, you lot must be a laugh around the dinner table,” muttered Gunnar, low enough that only Hakon and Sif could hear.
Sif was glad that she had been able to get a little bit of rest before the march. Hakon had packed her things and seemed to be very serious about taking care of her. She was glad, if she was being honest with herself. It wasn’t that Sif felt tired or in need of a fuss, but since she had begun to deepen the use of her powers, she often felt like she was less and less connected to the world in general; as if she was being called away from the earth to play in the sky. Sifneeded help to keep herself rooted to the ground, and for that she needed Hakon more than ever.
Baedi was taking advantage of the boredom of the night’s march to keep up a steady communication with Sif, using their mental connection to show the young witch spell after spell, song after song. Sif felt as though her head was actually getting physically larger as her knowledge of spellcraft grew by leaps and bounds. She was starting to see the connections between one type of magic and another, and understanding how one aspect of a spell could be used in another context to achieve a different result. The experience was intoxicating. Unfortunately, it did have a diminishing effect on her ability to notice the physical world around her.
“Right, that’s the third tree root that has almost put you on your face,” said Hakon, taking Sif’s elbow and steadying her. “Are you so tired that I need to carry you?”
“No, no,” Sif said, “it’s just that Baedi is sharing her learning with me, and it’s amazing, Hakon! There’s so much to learn, and it’s so exciting. I don’t think I could take it all in within a single lifetime.”
“That sounds amazing, my love, but it’s time to focus on the ground in front of you, before you do yourself an injury,” observed Hakon.
“I know you’re right, but—wait, what did you say?” demanded Sif.
“That you need to watch the ground,” replied Hakon, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Not that part, you lummox!” cried Sif, punching the warrior in the shoulder.
“I called you ‘my love.’ I love you, Sif, from morning till night and every other hour the gods give us.” With a sweep of his arms, Hakon plucked her up by the waist and kept marching, looking deeply into her eyes.
“I love you, too, Hakon,” replied Sif warmly, “with my whole self. Now kiss me and put me down, before you trip over a root the way you’ve been warning me about.”
Hakon laughed, kissed her deeply, and set the young witch back on her feet.
The march continued as the sky lightened somewhat. In more ordinary times, they would be able to see the dawn, but the thick clouds still hung heavily across the entire sky, and so all the group experienced was a lessening of the darkness rather than an arrivalof the day. The grey dreariness seemed to have an effect on everyone. Conversations were hushed, and there was no enthusiasm or laughter to be heard.
“We’d find more cheer at a funeral,” Gunnar muttered.
“Especially if it was Jarl Birger’s,” replied Hakon. “Gods! What an odious man. If I ever get that suspicious and cold, do me a favor and put an axe in my heart.”
