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A few years later…

Hilda grit her teeth as she absorbed the blow. Her blonde hair was tied into a ponytail and swung like a pendulum around her back as she twisted, but it was better than having her vision blinded by hair. She felt the reverberating shocks ripple up her arm, but she endured the pain and continued to grip her sword, determined not to let it fall from her grasp. To counter, she flicked her wrists and drove the sword back toward the enemy—her brother, Stephen.

He deflected her blow at the last moment and then skipped away, turning to use his momentum to deliver a crushing blow upon her. Hilda nimbly stepped away. This was a move her brother had used many times, and she had the bumps and bruises to prove it. But Hilda was the kind of woman who learned from her mistakes, and this was not one she was keen to repeat. Stephen ended up hitting empty air. His body doubled over as his sword slammed harmlessly against the ground, leaving him vulnerable to Hilda’s strike. She lunged toward him, throwing her entire body weight against him, and swept his legs out from under him.

He fell to his back, and she stood over him triumphantly, holding the point of her sword against his throat.

“Alright, alright, get that away from me,” Stephen grunted, pushing the blade away.

Hilda grinned and sheathed her sword, then kissed the small hammer she wore as a necklace, which signified her admiration to the god of thunder, Thor.

“You both did well,” their father, Varrik Aland, said as he helped up his son.

Stephen and Hilda had taken both their parents’ names and were known as Aland Callen. Their father was a proud man and had something of a strong reputation in the Highlands. Hilda had grown up hearing stories of heroism and villainy, and this was all she had wanted for herself. It made the world sound so exciting.

“Aye, but I could hae done better,” Stephen said. “I should never hae put all my strength intae that blow.”

“You took a risk. If your strike had been true, then the duel would have been over, and you would be the one standing here victorious. Life is always about managing risks and deciding whether they’re worth the reward. I took a risk once to come here and live with your mother. Returning to Norway may have been the more prudent thing to do, but instead, I decided to wager my future, and I feel as though I made the right decision.” His lips twitched into a smirk.

“Well, it was stupid tae take the risk,” Stephen said bitterly. He had always been too hard on himself.

Varrik put his hand on his son’s shoulders. “Sometimes, Stephen, we can fight our best and still lose. On this day, your sister was more skilled. There is no shame in that, and you don’t have to feel bad about it. It is simply the way of life.”

Stephen nodded. “Well fought,” he said, and held out his arm to Hilda. She gripped his forearm and gave it one hearty shake.

“I was due a victory,” she said, trying to lessen the sting of her win as she didn’t want her brother to feel bad. She wiped beads of glistening sweat from her brow and fixed her ponytail as a few strands of hair were threatening to become loose. She had inherited her father’s height and her mother’s beauty, and now that she was coming of age, there was starting to be talk of marriage.

“Hilda! Hilda!” Fiona cried, walking toward the training field. Hilda rolled her eyes and tucked Thor’s hammer underneath her tunic. Her mother wasn’t fond of her wearing the mark of a warrior. She handed the sword back to her father, who fastened it on a rack with other weapons.

“Aye, Ma?” Hilda asked, turning to face Fiona.

Fiona was shorter than her husband and all her children, but that didn’t make her any less imposing. Over the years, Hilda had received more than a few tongue lashings from the woman, and she wasn’t about to invite another one today.

“Ye hae spent enough time training for now. Come and spend time with the women,” Fiona said.

Hilda bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying something she might later regret. Instead, she was more diplomatic. “Ma, ye know that I’m nae suited tae the things the women enjoy daeing. Besides, I need tae bathe and refresh after this morning.”

“I’m sure ye can spare some time for me,” Fiona spoke in a tone that suggested there was no way for Hilda to wriggle out of this.

Others on the training field had turned to pay attention to this disturbance. Other warriors had been training as well, and the clash of steel fell silent as they put down their weapons.

“Aye, Hilda, it’s about time ye learn how tae be a lass. Ye are of marrying age, after all,” Angus joked. He was a wide-faced man, friends with Stephen, and he had always had a taunting, teasing sense of humor. His hair was as black as the night, and he always had a wicked smile on his face. The rest of the male warriors coaxed him on, except Stephen. “Perhaps we should even hae a contest tae see which of us can win yer hand,” he said.

“Ye will dae no such thing,” Stephen said, and playfully punched Angus in the arm.

Angus feigned injury and then struck back. The boys wrestled for a few moments, but there was nothing serious in the aggression.

“Are ye nae gaeing tae dae anything about this?” Fiona asked, looking at Varrik expectantly.

“It’s just boys being boys,” Varrik sighed, but even so, he walked up and broke Stephen and Angus up. “Come on, now. Make sure your swords are put back properly and sharpened well. That’s enough training for the day,” Varrik said.

Hilda wondered what kind of power Fiona had over Varrik. To her, Varrik was the epitome of what a man should be. He was tall, brave, and strong. There was never any sense that he would let anything bad happen to anyone he cared about, and from the stories she heard, there was nobody who could defeat him in battle. And yet, her mother, despite being far smaller in stature, wielded some kind of power over him that always made him yield to her. It was odd and not something that Hilda could quite understand.

While the men returned their swords to the rack, Hilda did as her mother asked and sullenly walked along, digging her heels into the ground as she followed Fiona to where the women were gathering berries and nuts.

Hilda set to work ripping great handfuls of berries off the bushes and branches, throwing them into the baskets. Her hands were soon red with the juice of berries that had been crushed in her palm.