"They say our destinies have already been woven by The Norns. I believe this, " Asvoria informed. "Therefore it only makes sense that our names are chosen before we are born as well - destined for us. Don't you agree?"
She leaned back, her eyes glinting with pride. "My name means Divine Wisdom."
"Alright. . ." Svea began cautiously.
"Divine Wisdom," Asvoria repeated more forcefully, smiling as if she had uncovered a truth no one else could grasp. Not yet.
"If The Norns, nay, the gods themselves, decided that I should be granted a name meaning divine wisdom, if they wove that into the life they planned for me, then how can we not see that my choices are guided by them? My hand is in theirs. Everything I do is as it is meant to be, Svea. How can we be blind to the truth. . ." she gave a soft, breathless laugh, "that I know best."
She laughed freely as though the relief she had sought out her entire life was finally hers to claim.
"Giving away my land to join Aeneas. . . that was the right thing to do. It made me realize I am more than a simple warrior. I am meant to rule. Beyond being a Jarl, I could unite all. I could be the Queen of it all. I need you; you could help me."
Svea rested her cheek into her palm, scratching at her temple with the nail of her smallest finger. It was a large thing to ask of anyone, let alone for someone half the village barely remembered while the other half no longer trusted them.
"I can't ask the people of this village to commit something that could be viewed as treason," she said. "How could you ever consider this option? Not. . ."
"Why is it alright that you did it?" Asvoria cut in, rising too fast from the table, the blanket around her shoulders dropped onto the bench beneath her cascading over to the ground. "You killed a Jarl! You did so, making off like a thief in the night -"
"I was fighting for my life!" Svea snapped, disbelief in her eyes and voice. She had never expected such a thing to be thrown back into her face.
How could Asvoria ever think the two were the same?
Asvoria gritted her teeth, "Tell me how this is different? He rules our lives and ruins them. He's killing this land. I have seen it with my own eyes. Odin's turned his favor from him! Aeneas is weak, he is sick. A liar who doesn't honor our ways -"
"Asvoria, he is a Jarl! How could he not have Odin's favor?"
Suddenly, for the first time in Svea's presence, Asvoria seemed unsure.
Her eyes drifted across the mead hall, searching the shadows for anyone who might have lingered. She drew a long breath, steadying herself before speaking again.
"The gods would not grant their favors to one who has forsaken them."
The words hung heavily between them. Accusation after accusation was being made yet Asvoria had not produced anything to prove what she said. It seemed to come from hatred if nothing else.
After a moment, Asvoria elaborated. "Raoul had this among his things," she confessed. "Surrounded by the bones of sheep and oxen. . . candles for fire. . ."
She listed the offerings one by one, each more unsettling than the last. What she named were devotional items for something far older than the gods they knew. A Primordial. From within a folded cloth, she drew a small wooden block, wrapped carefully so her skin wouldn't touch it.
Carved upon it was Surtr, the Jötunn, the great fire-bearer himself, proudly clutching the sword he would raise when the time of Ragnarök came unto them.
Perhaps it was Svea's imagination, but she was certain the candlelight flickered.
Surtr? The Jötunn? It must be him. . . one who is not of frost, nor mountain, nor storm, no ice or forest - not of nature at all - but of fire.
Surtr, born in the flame. The destroyer who will burn the worlds when the time comes.
It is said when the time comes, Surtr will rise from the fiery hell of Muspelheim, leading an army forged in his own flame. They will wage the last battle against all things, even the gods, until the world is taken by fire. Until every realm is swallowed by Surtr's never quenched flame.
Now, Svea's hand trembled.
She did not want to believe it. The cloth between her fingers was the only comfort she could find, the only barrier that sat between her skin and the carving she should never have touched. Yet she had to see it. She had to know if it was real.
"I'd like to ask you something," Herja said to the girl she had taken in, knowing full well she had killed a Jarl with her own hands. "In return, I'll allow you to ask me one thing."
Somehow, the offer filled Svea's head with questions though it managed to leave her mind blank, split between the urge to know everything accompanied by the weight of not knowing where to begin.
Seeing the silence wasn't refusal, Herja chose to continue.
"When the trial began, you first chose the shield. After, you skipped the first axe. Why do you do these things? Is something guiding you? Are you physically unable to reach for -" she stopped herself, unwilling to reveal anymore.
Herja sat down along the rocky shoreline, where the wet pebbles darkened into the murky water and the pale ones scattered like treasure beneath the darkening sky. Her weathered leather armor clung to her frame, the runes once painted upon it fading - the same runes drawn to welcome the girls who survived the challenge.
At her feet were jagged stones. With steady hands, she gathered some, rolling them slowly against one another in her palm.
"When I first came to this village," she began, "I didn't believe I was meant for this."
Svea watched her incredulously. How could Herja of all people have doubted herself?
"I didn't know my mother." Herja's brows furrowed, her gaze distant. She had only learned of her when she had arrived to Valkvann and been granted her inheritance. "Unlike the others, my father was not a man blessed by the gods for fame or glory. He was a happy man though, one who loved his daughters. I was born to a woman who was not his wife, and so he sent me here when the women of Valkvann visited my village."
Herja stopped. Allowing herself a moment as the wind rolled past them. "There was one who knew before I did what my purpose was. She brought me to this same beach. She'd toy with these stones as a I do now then tell me to focus on them, to grow strong not only in body but in mind. To learn patience, discipline. . . to learn the secrets of the stones. . . how they yield to none, yet their very sister can mark the other."
She demonstrated, dragging one dry rock across the other to leave a white, ashy line. The stones fell back easily into their endless rhythm, echoing the pulse of the earth beneath them.
"She asked me the same question then," Herja said. "Why do you do these things?"
Now her blue eyes turned toward Svea.
For Svea, it felt like a teat. She searched Herja's face for a hint, even a glance toward the stones, but she saw none.
"I wish I knew," the young one confessed at last. "If I could explain it, my life might be easier. When something feels wrong, it is as if my spirit and my mind are torn apart. I can still act, but I know I'd lose any peace I've ever known. When things are wrong. . . they are very wrong."
Her jaw tightened. "I imagine myself like a lynx hunting in the woods. My eyes lock in, my body follows. I don't think of surviving - I think of living."
Herja tilted her head. "And when things feel right, Little Wing?"
Svea swallowed. "I don't feel much. I don't even feel like I'm in my body when things are right."
Herja set the stones into her hands, studying her silence.
"Under the one you skipped," she said, "we had placed a figure of Surtr."
She felt as she had in that moment. Something had been off all night, even as she celebrated. As though she had somehow known this idol was on its way to her, like a curse finding the one it was excited to torment. It made her stomach turn.
She knew why Herja and the other women had kept such an object once: to test the girls they had brought to Valkvann, to see who relied on instinct and who only followed. But that had been years ago. There was no reason to still keep one, no reason except for something darker.
As painful as it was to swallow her now parched mouth, Svea managed. "Do you have proof then? That Aeneas approves, let alone know of this?" Svea asked, stiffening more the longer she held it. She wanted to burn it. She had expected cold, the kind of chill a child would feel when they were certain something awaited them under their bed, but instead came a heat she could no match, a fullness in her chest warning her that she was no longer safe.
Fight for your life, whispered a voice inside her over and over again. Run before his descent. Escape the same eyes that are already watching you. \
"It was in Raouls' room," Asvoria insisted.
"Then the proof you bring is against Raoul, not Aeneas," Svea countered, covering the wood with the cloth as if to muffle its presence. "Not even Hvitserk. The husband you shared quarters with! Then I urge you to explain now, what is it you accuse him off? That Aeneas himself made offerings to Surtr? That he would summon the end of all things while you slept beside his conspirator? The tender to his altar!?"
Her hand moved to the back of her neck, nails dragging faintly. She couldn't shake the sensation of insects crawling over her, nor the small shiver creeping beneath her skin.
Snatching the statue back, Asvoria tuckered it away as if afraid it might still burn her through the fabric.
"I need you to believe me," She said, her voice trembling. She had never shown Svea this side of her. "I need you to help me." her voice dropped deeper, masking the need to cry she never indulged. "I've already called upon Torvi, leader of the eastern villages, to build us once more. These are my people -"
"No, not anymore. They are my people. I protect them, I am the one who guides them,
Who offers them help." Svea's jaw set. "You placed Agathe in charge claiming the seers said it was fated. You chose her over me, still I am the one who -" She exhaled, making a fist at her side. "I will not ask these folk to commit treason or place themselves in danger for someone most do not know." One I no longer remember. "You have been gone a long time, even if it does not seem so to you. I cannot make the goal of this village to take down your enemies. I cannot promise you revenge in the way you want. What I can promise is that we can grow together, we can make them stronger."
"I am ready to lead. I have returned for my land, for my people, Svea."
"Then you have set your course wrong." Svea shot back, considering the boat that had brought her. "Think. We cannot openly accuse anyone in the house of a Jarl, they hold more land than we do. No one here knows you or trusts you. I won't have you making a scandal to bring them harm. I will, however, help you build strength. We can become powerful enough to stand as sovereigns." She leaned forward. "You must understand you cannot speak of this to anyone. Not a word. It must not leave this room."
Asvoria tsked. "You ask me to tear out my own tongue!"
Svea rolled her eyes. "I tell you to use your mind, my sister! Quiet the trickster that had wormed into your thoughts, the one beckoning you to act reckless and foolish. Bide your time." She lowered her voice. "Do not make me mourn you - this is all I ask of you."
The women stared at one another, neither satisfied with the fragile peace attempting to settle between them. They were frozen despite the scorching demon between them that had sparked their quarrel.
Eventually, Asvoria turned her head away from Svea. The dying candles in the room began throwing their long, twisted shadows until the dark engulfed them one by one.
One woman had been scorned, left out of every home she had ever known. She still believed justice would find her side, that her path would open again if only she could make the other woman understand. For now, she would have to accept her place. Even if that meant being humbled and waiting.
Opposite her stood the more cautious one, burdened by all she had to lose. Freedom would always be out of reach so long as she had something left to protect. Even if she felt strong, she knew how unjust it would be to make such a choice for all of the village - to drag them into Asvoria's quarrel when she, for once, had peace.
Correcting her calmly, Svea spoke,
"I invite you to be one of us."