Sifrid appears beside me, dress raised, having caught up in seconds.
“You’re fast!” I shout.
She laughs, and I laugh with her. The wind in my hair, the sensation of speed, the madness of chasing a goat. It reignitesme. For a second, I forget Sigurd’s fury. I forget Eidunn’s assault. Even Njord’s innocence slips from my mind.
Two girls, chasing a goat under the fog-covered mountains. As it has been and as it will be. The animal is doing me a favor.
Fulla arrives at the fence, decides against jumping it, turns and gives us a mean eye. She charges.
“Watch it!” shouts Sifrid as Fulla barrels between us. A good dodge, otherwise we would have tasted those horns for a year or more.
The goat returns to the milk bucket, slowing to a walk. It’s hard to understand the logic this animal lives by. Now Fulla just stands there, munching grass while waiting for us to complete the routine she loves to hate.
The thrall girls howl in laughter, rhythmically pounding the fence.
“She is such a fool,” says Sifrid with a laugh.
“And you said I was like her,” I joke, giving her a playful slap on the shoulder.
“Some may call you a fool,” says Sifrid. “But me, I thought you did right.”
“You do?” I ask. A pit forms in my stomach as the girl expresses her trust.
If only she knew. If she knew what Eidunn had told me, she would hate me. We pant as we walk back. I can’t share Eidunn’s truth. Hopefully she won’t either. I would be hated. I’m forced to hold my tongue. Deceive them all.
“I do,” says Sifrid. “What I was saying was—since you came, it’s been better here, for us girls.”
The opposite of what Eidunn said. If only she had told me the truth instead of pointing a finger at another. Maybe her actual abuser would be dead instead.
“Okay, let’s do this slowly,” says Sifrid.
I’m mentally preparing for the next round with Fulla. Heeding Sifrid’s advice, I creep closer to the feisty goat, ready to grab its horns if it bolts.
“Calm,” whispers Sifrid, either to the goat or to me, I’m not sure. “Calm.”
The goat accepts us, apparently worn out by its sudden escape. I don’t even need to hold it as Sifrid begins milking. Fulla stretches her neck to nibble at my robe. I respond by scratching her chin, right under the beard.
Giggles and salutations rise from the girls by the fence. I spot the cause for commotion. His hair glows dark in the white light. His size next to the ladies reminds me of how large he is. Only when compared to giants like Vidar, Sigurd or Asbjorn can he be called smaller.
Giants. The irony strikes me. Ari is the giant, not Vidar or Asbjorn.
He jumps the fence in one elegant motion, no doubt to impress the hungry-eyed thrall girls. Let them have him, the lying bastard. The deceiver. Let them?—
“Kilda,” he shouts across the field.
I don’t reply, turning my back and leaning my hip against the now calm Fulla. Her flank warms my blood, or maybe it’s Ari’s arrival. I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Kilda,” he says again, “may we?—”
“Busy,” I snap at him without turning.
In the corner of my eye, I see Sifrid raise her gaze at me then Ari. She continues her work without speaking.
“I just wanted to?—”
“Are you deaf, skald?” I bark over my shoulder. My face heats up.
He says nothing, but I know he is still standing there. A thrall talking to a free man like this is unacceptable, but I know Ari won’t punish me. I even know he won’t be rude like I am. A partof me wants to turn and speak to him, tell him everything about Njord, get it off my chest.
