The men had loaded the mast, sails, and oars into the ship before our descent, and now we set them in position. Our sail was a plain off-white canvas, and Leif attached it quickly to the crossbars on the mast before we pushed off.
“Where are we going, exactly?” I grunted as I pulled my oar. They designed the ship for men, not valkyries, and my wings were pressed uncomfortably to the wooden floor of the boat.
“We’re just paddling around the outcropping of rock over there,” Søren tipped his chin. “I don’t want anyone to know about our ship until we’re down here in the morning. You know, in case anymore accidents happen.”
I understood all too well. We lived out of town, and the festivities didn’t start until later in the day. If people saw a second ship early in the morning, there was no telling what could happen.
The waters were calm, and it didn’t take us long to navigate around the corner Søren indicated. It hid a tiny cove, with a pebbled beach barely large enough to justify the name. We steered the ship up onto the rocks, and Søren secured it by tying the prow to a nearby boulder.
After climbing the narrow path to the top of the cliff, we started the trudge back up to Björn’s farm. Before too long, Leif, then Søren, peeled off toward their homes, and it was just Björn and me.
I had donned my woolen dress and carried my breastplate in a bag over my shoulder, with the rest of my armor concealed beneath my clothes. It made the most sense to avoid being seen with my giant wings if we could avoid it. I’d been tempted to offer Björn a ride—it would certainly have been faster—but something told me that would be a far more intimate act than I was willing to share with him at the moment.
Björn seemed to be lost in thought. He’d never been loquacious, but he usually had something to say, occasionally. We walked for over a half hour without a single word, not even a careless taunt about the nickname he gave me.
“Björn, is everything okay?” I had to ask. It was driving me mad. I’d dropped a lot of information on the guys today, and I wasn’t sure they had really processed it all.
He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he asked me one of his own. “Brenna, do you plan to leave?”
Ugh, this conversation again. “I can’t stay forever,” I said as gently as I could. “I don’t age, and people eventually notice. Especially in a village this small. It will just cause problems until there’s nothing I can do but run away. It’s not like I relish the idea of moving every few years.”
To be honest, I had a bone-deep weariness from the moving that still existed from my first spin on Midgard—a weariness that even my armor couldn’t fix. Like a scar that had healed over, but was never quite the same. “I just don’t see how I have another choice.”
Björn was quiet for another long stretch, and then he muttered, “I understand. How long do you think you can stay?”
“It depends on a few things,” I answered honestly. “Ideally, I’d be able to accumulate some wealth, make a name for myself, earn the favor of the Jarl, and receive a few gifts. That takes time, seasons, years. But if an opportunity comes up for something better, I may have to take it.”
“What kind of opportunity?” The question was sharp, to the point.
“Well, if I can earn enough to secure passage to… well, you’ve never heard of it, but there’s a place called Iceland. A few vikings have already visited this place, presumably by accident. But more will make treks there on purpose. It’s a beautiful place. If I can get passage on a ship to Iceland, I may take that opportunity. It’s out of the way, empty, and I could build a home and stay there for some time with no one knowing something was different about me. If I can secure enough wealth to buy what I need to live on.” I shrugged. “So there are a few considerations.”
He fell silent once more, and we finally approached the end of the road where his homestead waited, bathed in the light of the waning moon. He waited while I slipped out of my remaining armor and hid it in the loft, emerging from the barn with just my sword once more.
Before we reached the door to the longhouse, Björn paused. “Brenna, I… well, just know when you decide to leave, you don’t have to go alone. Okay?” He turned and opened the door so I couldn’t ask any more questions, then gestured me inside. I cast him a cautious smile in the low light of the burned-down fire, then settled onto my cushioned bench and considered everything that had been said throughout the day.
It was late, and I was tired. But I stayed up far longer than I intended, mulling over the past and preparing for the future.
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