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[892 A.D. Dunholm]
Whispers echoed in my ears, words illegible and torn between languages.
My body swayed from side to side, water lapping at my feet, cold and crisp. I was in the forest somewhere, standing in the creek.
"On the path..."
I whipped my head to the side, straining to hear the voices of the Gods again, "Where?"
The wind picked up around me, the water growing colder. The skies darkened with clouds.
"Freyja, show me where to look?" I asked as my heart slowed its beat, quieting so I could hear the world around me.
"The path... look to the path..."
I shut my eyes, and I searched for a raven in the skies.
"A frail one is amongst them..." The song-like words echoed in my ears, "he is dying."
I shivered slightly, casting my power to the skies, catching an unsuspecting raven in my grips, stealing its eyes to see.
I looked down from the skies, along the path to Dunholm; there was a group travelling along it.
"You have found them," the Gods spoke in soft unison, "the frail one is with them."
I urged the bird to fly downward, trying to stay in control as the cold of the water on the skin of my body grew painful.
There was a man, his hair long and dark, sticking to his face, laid in a cart, his sword gripped between his hands. The frail one.
"Uhtred Ragnarsson," Freyja whispered in my ears, "heal him."
Confusion bloomed inside me; the Gods were rarely merciful with dying men to allow them to keep living, lacked amusement for them. "Goddess?"
"Heal him."
"Blasted bird." A hand swatted the raven form I had stolen, and the bird rushed to fly.
"It is waiting to eat him," a woman from the back of the line spoke, pale and painted. A seer.
"Be gone!" The man yelled again, his cheeks flushed with anger, his voice twinged with an Irish accent.
"Heal him," Freyja repeated as she realised my focus had been broken.
The raven flung me from its body, and my heartbeat jolted. My eyes snapped open as my back arched unwillingly, fire coursing through my blood.
"Uhtred Ragnarsson is cursed," the Gods muttered, "all those in his path are cursed with him,"
Images of the man in the cart crossed my mind, him in battle wielding a sword with a yellow stone at the top. The images quickly changed to the Saxon King, coughing blood in his chambers.
"Two hearts frail, only one will survive the battle."
"The Saxon King?" I grit out, my body bending and falling into the creek.
"The king will die," Freyja whispered in my ear, "before the next summer. Uhtred must know."
My body grew colder and colder by the second.
"Save him!"
I lurched forward, my eyes open wide, all traces of exhaustion fading from my body.
My tent was dark, the candle I had lit before passing out, burnt out, wax spilt down on the leg of my table.
I raised my hand, wiping the sweat off my forehead and throwing the bear fur off my legs, "Saga!"
The tent flap opened immediately, and Saga's pale face peered into the dark, "Lady?"
I rose from my bed, "Where is my father?"
"He rode out, Lady." Saga bowed as I dropped my dress and stepped behind a screen, rubbing a wet rag over my skin. "Ragnar sent a messenger for him, his brother has arrived, and he bears sickness."
"I am aware," I told her, dropping the rag. "The Gods have spoken to me." I moved out from behind the screen again, heading for my chair, pulling the armour I had left there onto my body. "We will ride for the fortress."
"I will have Henrick bring your horse," Saga nodded, her eyes burning into my back.
"I will have need for a nithstong," I revealed, "they bring with them a seer."
"I will send Olav into the pit to bring you one," Saga backed out of the tent as I walked towards her.
The sky was growing dark, clouds rolling above us. I looked for a raven; I needed a sign that the Gods were not far before I told any prophecies.
"Gyda," my eldest brother called out, his voice stoic, "you honour us with your presence."
Saga moved around me, her axe catching torch light and glinting with promise, "The Lady has seen a vision. She is not to be disturbed."
Daga snorted, his steps heavy as he walked towards us, "She has had a dream, not a vision. How long can this nonsense continue?"
"You will make a path," Saga lowered her voice, her hand rising to the handle of her axe at her back.
"You dare to threaten me, woman?" Daga grabbed the handle of his sword. "I am the Jarl's son and—"
"You are his son but not his heir," a soft voice travelled over us, and Henrick appeared with my horse, a black stallion named Helios. "Your father's heir stands before you. You will make a path for her."
Daga was a fool, but he was not fool enough to challenge Henrick, who had stood by my side as my father's guard since I was twelve. Instead, he let go of his sword and moved to the side. "I was jesting."
I turned to the side, ignoring his eyes and walking ahead to Henrick, who passed the bridle into my hand. "I will not return tonight. I will stay with my father."
"Yes, Lady," Henrick nodded, "will you take your hounds?"
I shook my head, "Fenrir is in unrest today. I will let the hounds sleep."
"I will ride with her," Saga called out. She turned to gather her horse before I could protest or suggest that I would be safe alone.
The Gods would warn me if someone were to want to harm me, but no one in my guard believed that was enough, and my father, more so, did not believe I was to ever be alone.
"Lady!" Olav's cheerfulness greeted me as I mounted Helios. He held a nithstong with a ram's head in his beefy arms. "Will this do?"
I eyed the nithstong. The strength of the wood and then the charms and runes. "It will do for now."
"Then, I will tie it to your horse." Olav beamed at me, looping rope off his waist and getting to work, his hands never straying closer to me than necessary.
"I will go ahead of Saga," I told them slowly as my heart lurched, "Freyja urges me forward. I need to arrive before the moon is at its highest point."
"I will inform her," Henrick agreed, holding up my sword to me.
It was a beautiful steel piece, vines of ivy carved into the blade and the handle covered with thick, brown leather and two rune charms; one for protection and one for strength.
I strapped it into the sheath on my back and urged Helios to turn around. "Close the gate tonight, else there will be Saxon visitors we have not invited arriving."
Henrick and Olav moved in unison, taking their right fists and beating them over their hearts twice; a sacred promise to me.
The road to the Dunholm fortress was empty and quiet, so I let Helios run as fast as he liked while I rested one hand on the nithstong behind me.
Saga did not chase me, but I sensed her not far behind at all times, her heart beating strong. She liked to pretend she was far away so I could taste freedom, but we both knew I was never alone.
Ragnar's men recognised my horse from a distance, clearing the gateway swiftly and pushing people out of the street.
Before I could enter the gate, Saga's horse raced past mine, and she jumped off while her horse still rode, barking orders at the men and gathering answers.
"Lady."
"Good evening," I greet the guard whose name I did not know but whose face I had seen three times before.
"Ragnar is in the hall," Saga cut in, "with your father."
I nodded curtly, allowing Ragnar's man to take Helios's bridle and lead him to the side, "And the frail man? Where is he?"
"The Lord Uhtred rests in the hall too, Lady," Ragnar's man spoke quietly, "he does not look well."
"Do not worry." I offered him a small smile. "The Gods are good."
"The Gods are good," the man agreed, holding his hand out to me, helping me from my horse.
"We will make haste," I ordered, nodding in thanks at him before I walked way, leading Saga towards the hall.
"The nithstong?" Saga asked, glaring at a group of men who had gathered to take a look at us.
We were well known here. A Jarl's daughter with the blood of Freyja and her Dane protector, the leader of her men.
"Leave it," I murmured, "we can not touch it again. It is for another's hand now. The one who knows Uhtred best."
"Who is that?" Saga frowned, "I shall inform them of their task the minute I see them."
I smiled, raising my hand to touch her arm, "Do not fret. All will come when the time is right." My heart thumped suddenly, breaking its steady rhythm almost painfully. "Uhtred is close."
"You sense him?" Saga sped up, placing her arm against the wooden door of the main hall.
"Freyja does," I mumbled, steadying my heart before I nodded to her, telling her to open the door.
Saga tapped the door slowly, five times, the sound echoing across the yard, making the men outside slow, and the men inside freeze. Then, she pushed it open.
"Saga," my father's voice greeted her happily instantly, and a wave of warmth from the inside disturbed the cold outside.
"Jarl." Saga bent her head slightly, stepping further in before standing to the side.
My father was standing with Ragnar. He was smiling while the latter frowned. "You had a vision?"
I stepped into the hall, allowing Saga to close the door behind me before I made my way towards them. "Freyja has spoken to me of a man."
"My brother," Ragnar jumped in, "Uhtred. He is ill."
"He is cursed," I corrected him, looking around the hall carefully.
Uhtred's men were seated. The Irishman that had swatted me away as a raven ate opposite my father and beside him sat a monk and a Dane man.
"What kind of curse is it?" My father asked, stepping around his seat and pulling out the one next to him, motioning for me to sit.
"It is one formed by paths," I told them, my ears sifting through the sounds of heartbeats, trying to find Uhtred's amongst them.
"What does that mean?" Ragnar pushed. "Can you break it?"
"Everyone in Uhtred's path is touched by his curse." I sat down beside my father, smoothing out my dress. "Death follows him."
"He will die?" Ragnar's face fell, his hand hitting the table as though to hold himself up.
I reached out, taking a cup off the table, letting one of Ragnar's slaves pour water inside it. "Is Brida close by?"
"Brida!" Ragnar roared, "Brida, you are needed in the hall!"
I took a sip of my water before setting it back down on the table and turning to look at Saga.
She stood rigid, her eyes trained straight ahead, her wrists clasped.
"Saga," I called to her, "you will take Brida to the nithstong. Only she can touch it. She will know what to do with it."
"Yes, Lady." Saga thumped her chest twice, as Henrick and Olav had done, before she climbed the stairs of the hall, heading to find Brida.
Ragnar sat down, his face pained, "I need to know, Gyda. Will my brother die?"
I reached for the cup of water again, the visions from earlier swirling in the liquid as I moved it around. "Three will die... but not your brother."
"The Gods have told you this?" Ragnar stood again, his chair nearly falling back.
I nodded shortly, "One has been claimed already. A woman—"
"Gisela," a soft voice spoke.
I turned my eyes to the shadows to the Dane man Uhtred walked with. He had a sharp face, his eyes dark and deep, two different colours; one like a freshly bloomed forest and the other like freshly overturned soil. They were dulled by the darkness around them, only slightly. His hair was braided back carefully and cleanly, away from the hammer of Thor that hung at his neck.
He cleared his throat, sitting up into the light, "The Lord Uhtred had a wife, Gisela. She died recently."
I nodded slowly, "She was the first. There will be two more."
"Who?" My father asked, his hand settling on top of my arm. "Do you know?"
I sighed, bending my head back to the water. "The Saxon King will be the third. I do not know who the second sacrifice will be. The Gods have not yet decided."
"Alfred will die?" Ragnar blurted, "It is decided?"
"I can not speak the prophecy to you before the Lord Uhtred hears it," I informed him calmly. I pushed away my cup, no longer wishing to see visions.
"Ragnar!" A shout sounded from the other side of the hall, "Ragnar! Your brother has awoken!"
The men looked to me as I rose from my seat. "His life is worth three," I stated, "stay out of his path until the curse is broken."
Ragnar did not hear me as he rushed down the hall, his grin wide.
I heard his words echo off the walls, and my heart lurched at the sound of them.
"Welcome back to the world of the living, little brother."
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