“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” he says as he walks to the door. “Do something for yourself today. Practice your craft.”
“Practice?”
He turns, his expression unexpectedly serious.
“Practice. You have been blessed with powers, Kilda. It would be a shame to let them dry up like stale bread. Or rot, like Njord in the dirt.”
My entire body cringes at his choice of words.
“Tha… Thank you, Ari.”
“I see your heart, Kilda, but also your mind. It is a blade. It must be sharpened so it does not grow dull.”
He turns and leaves.
CHAPTER 62
Ari inspired me. Nothing comes from moping about, feeling sorry for myself. Even so, the image of the weeping woman after the duel enters my mind as I follow the path deeper into the forest. It’s her I should feel sorry for.
Birds are singing, bumblebees buzz about, nature cares not about the plight of humanity. They know not of our loss. Our worries are our own, like the bee worries for its next flower.
A rock sits next to a sapling fir. It fits snugly into my hand. Not too big, not too small. Just right. It’s been days since I’ve practiced Seidr. Life has gotten in the way. My focus has slipped. Like Ari said, letting my powers dry up or rot or dull would be a shame to the gods who bless me.
I concentrate on my helpless struggle in the river. The depths of desperation. My resignation, but no, followed by resistance. My will to live persisted.
The rock grows cold in my grip. I didn’t even need to think it. Reason was not necessary. Cooling the rock was my destination, and I took the road that led there. I grin at the chilled stone.
Thrust, like Odin. That’s what Ylvin said. I know what she referred to. Odin throwing his spear over the Aesir, protecting them from harm. Thus began the war with the Vanir, in the times before Freya was welcome in Asgard. Before the joining of forces.
Unsure how to make the rock fly like Odin’s spear, I picture it snapping the sapling before me. The force of the rock connecting with the tree’s softer material in an inevitable meeting.
As I close my eyes, my mind goes to Ari, during the Holmgang. His maneuver, his powerful arms. The gladius shooting out with perfect force and precision. The blood that followed. A wave of vibration shoots out from my head and heart, converging in my hand and by extension the rock. I feel power swell.
My eyes snap open. What a morbid thought. The death of an innocent man, my bending the will of his killer. But what happened, happened. There is no turning back. Verthandi has carved it, and Urd remembers it. Skuld would surely swoon over Ari.
I snort at my memory of a space that doesn’t exist in this world. Shouldn’t exist. Time, the unavoidable march of time. The current moment, ever forward. Only the living recall what has passed.
My vision spins. I regain control. These powers are a gift from Asgard, but they are mine to wield. Shutting my eyes, I return to the bloodied memory.
The gliding skald approaching his opponent. A flash of a second. The moment of stillness before the attack. The strike of a predator. Hit your mark. The sapling, to be snapped in two, an unfortunate victim. I allow my mind to bathe in the texturesof the image. Shocked faces, the metallic tang of hot blood, Ari’s determination, Njord’s confusion.
It’s ugly, but it’s true.
It happened.
My body vibrates. No interruption. I let my mind flow with the tide, wherever it goes. Where it’s meant to go. The questions will be answered as they are asked. I am not asking. I am commanding.
A shockwave releases through my fingers. The rock flies from my palm—I don’t have to move a muscle. My body jolts in surprise. I can’t believe it. A thud, followed by a loud squawk. Opening my eyes, I’m not surprised to see the sapling untouched. A craft must be mastered.
Feathers float in the air nearby. What the?—
A crow lies mangled on the forest floor. It doesn’t move. Its life has ended. The scent of blood hits my nostrils. Fresh meat. Should I… eat it?
My mouth salivates as I bite my lip, suddenly hungry.
I can smell its flesh.
