I wondered how they intended to get the ship out of the barn; certainly, it wouldn’t fit through the tiny doorway we used. Björn had to duck to pass through that door.
I should have known Søren had a plan. Leif and Søren left for supper and to allow us to get the girls settled. Once the night had fallen and we told Signe we’d be out for a while in case she woke while we were gone, we headed out to the barn. Björn opened the shutters to let in the moonlight, and I climbed the ladder.
Ducking up to the dark loft to change swiftly into my armor, I was out of sight when Leif and Søren entered the barn. Just for the hell of it, I took a leap from the loft and let my powerful wings slow my descent to the floor. The wind they kicked up blew dirt and bits of hay over the men, and they cringed in surprise.
I landed, smirking, and tucked my wings back. Truthfully, the barn was a rather tight space with the boat filling the entire first floor, but I couldn’t help showing off just a little.
Leif recovered first, and he beamed at me with absolute adoration. “Just full of surprises, aren’t you, Brenna?”
“Maybe,” I grinned in response.
“I have a surprise for you. It required a quick change, but I hope you’ll approve.” Stepping forward, Leif handed me a cloth-wrapped bundle. “Open it!”
Slightly nervous, I unwrapped the gift and gazed at it in confusion. “Leif, is this…?”
“Yes, it’s you. We needed a figurehead for the ship, and I wanted to do something other than a dragon. I took you as inspiration, and what was originally meant to be flowing hair and fabric became your wings.”
The carved and polished figurehead was incredible work, particularly given the tools Leif had at his disposal. It was the head and torso of a woman, neatly tapered at the waist to fit the prow of the ship, with delicately carved features and detailed hair that flowed behind her. At some point, the hair took on the curves and angles of wings, with individual feathers cut into the wood.
“Leif, thank you. I don’t know what to say, I’ve… never been made into a figurehead before.”
“I wanted something beautiful and powerful to represent us, and I couldn’t think of another creature that represented that better than you.” His cheeks were flushed crimson, visible even in the relative darkness. “You should attach it. It’s the last piece.”
I considered flying up to do it, but there really wasn’t room to get a good takeoff, and it was a little unnecessary. Instead, I clambered up the side of the cart they’d built the ship on, and with minimal effort forced the pegged bottom of the figurehead into the hole carved to hold it. It fit perfectly.
Once I was back on the dirt floor of the barn, I turned to Björn. “So, I agreed to help get this beast down to the water, but no one has mentioned yet how we’re getting it out of the barn?”
Björn, a hulking figure in the relative darkness, grinned. Moonlight played on his pearly teeth. “Oh, we have a solution for that, Little Bird.”
That pulled me up short. “Little Bird?”
“Yes, that is what I’m going to call you now. Fitting, don’t you think?”
Indignation bubbled in my chest. “No, I do not think. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m neither little, nor a bird. I’m a valkyrie. Do you need me to pull out my sword and remind you?”
“Well, to me, you are little. And you have wings, like a bird has wings. So, to me you are a Little Bird.”
“I absolutely refuse to answer to that.” I glared at him as impressively as I was able, in the darkness with him nearly a foot taller than me. My wings shuddered as I attempted to fold them tighter, and the sound of the feathers rubbing together was audible.
“Ah, it seems I’ve ruffled your feathers, Little Bird. My apologies, it’s not an insult.”
The indignity of this human talking to me like a child, this man who couldn’t even fathom the number of years older than him I actually was, set my blood boiling. “You will not call me Little Bird.”
“Oh, and how will you stop me?”
Inspiration struck. “A wager. If I win the challenge tomorrow, you may never call me Little Bird again.”
“Agreed. And if you lose, the name stays.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“So,” I huffed, “how are we getting the boat out? Or are we all just going to stand around the entire night, coming up with stupid names for people that don’t make sense?”
Søren and Leif were barely visible in the darkness, having crossed to the side of the barn where the door led back to the house.
“Like this,” Søren called, and pushed at the wall near the ground. Leif pushed from the other side, and the wall moved.
Somehow, they’d built a hinge into the wall, attached to the frame. Björn rushed forward with a pole—I didn’t see where he got it from—and propped Søren’s side of the wall up. He repeated the process with Leif’s side, and now we had a clear path to pull the ship through the front of the barn.
It was easier to see now, with the wall open and moonlight pouring in. “So, do you approve of our design?” Søren grinned, evidently pleased with himself.
“It is very clever,” I admitted. Far more clever of engineering design than a viking should have produced. Typically, their structures depended on the support of timbers all around the house. This was an open-frame construction that wouldn’t be introduced for centuries. Suspicion warred with admiration in my heart. How could Søren have dreamed this up? It seemed impossible, and I couldn’t help suspecting interference from Asgardians.
And if they were interfering, it was bound to be bad news for me.
While I’d been thinking, Björn had gone to fetch the oxen. Now he hooked their yolk up to the wooden cart that cradled the ship and set them to work to pull it out of the barn.
But though he called and cracked the whip more than once, the ship didn’t budge.
This was definitely my cue.
Björn fetched me a rope, and I secured it to the front of the cart and around my waist. On the count of three, Björn once again whipped the oxen forward, and I took to the air, pulling with all the strength of my magical wings.
After a slow, painful creak, the ship moved. It had settled into the ground under the weight, but once the wheels began rolling, it went more smoothly. The oxen could now manage the pace, and I untied myself and focused on helping to steer.
It was a slow, torturous process. We had to descend quite a way, and at times it took all of my strength to stop the cart from rolling over the animals. Other times the weight was enough that the ship didn’t want to follow the curve of the path and I had to push from either side, carefully guiding it down the hill to the waters of the fjord.
Finally, we reached the shore, and eased to a stop on the gravel beside the larger, more traditional drakkar.
“So, how do you intend to get it into the water?”
Søren wiped an arm across his sweaty brow. We’d all been working hard, but the men didn’t have the benefit of magical, soul-powered restorative armor. “We have to turn it and back it into the water. It needs to get deep enough that the ship floats off the cart and we can just cast it off.”
After that journey, the oxen were hardly interested in this circle and back-up maneuver Søren had planned. It took a lot more whip than coaxing, but we eventually got it into place and began slowly easing the wooden cart into the fjord.
When the oxen were nearly up to their bellies in chilly water, the ship started rocking. A few more steps back and I took to the air, pushing with all of my strength to ease the ship from the wooden cart. Once it was completely free of the cart, it bobbed sickeningly a few times, then settled into the water as if it were home.
Søren, Leif, and Björn all cheered, and I added my voice to their joyful noise. “Okay, now what?”
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