“Why?”
“Do you not remember? All of the meat had to be eaten before it spoiled… The Jarl and his men were due to arrive months ago. It would have been foolish to—”
“Yes. Yes. I remember,” Torunn snapped. She did remember. She had resisted Iri’s suggestions for weeks, hoping that her father would somehow come home before everything that had been set aside to welcome the men home would be wasted.
But when it was clear that all of her desperate prayers had gone unanswered, she had to give in. The people had eaten well, and even the poorest among them had dined as though they were celebrating a great victory instead of the start of winter and the hard months of the year.
She regretted it now, but it had been the only choice. Her father would understand. He would have to understand.
A hand touched her elbow and Torunn jerked away. Iri held out her wolfskin cloak and she snatched it out of his hand. “I’m ready,” she said as she swung the cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with a large silver pin.
Iri nodded and turned away, she knew that he had something on his mind. Iri always had something on his mind. She followed him out of the house and into the streets. The air was heavy with noisy excitement and Torunn’s stomach tightened at the smell of charring meat and spilled mead. There would be celebrations long into the night as the returning raiders told stories of their bravery. Each one more unbelievable than the last.
She was cheered by the smiles on the faces of the people they passed, but Iri seemed unmoved by all of it.
If she cared, she would ask, but she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to have any room for Iri’s. He would get over it, or she would have to beat it out of him like she had when they were children.
Later. Much later.
Iri led her down to the beach, and they pushed through the people who crowded the shoreline. The ships looked no closer, but Torunn knew it wouldn’t take long before the imposing ships would be bearing down on them.
She craned her neck to see and shaded her eyes with her hand. There were murmurs from the people around her, and a cold wind blew off the salt water that stung her skin and made her shiver.
“Where is my father?”
She said it softly so only Iri could hear, but he didn’t answer her. She looked over at him and nudged him with her elbow. “Iri—”
But the man at her side was staring at the boats with narrowed eyes and a strange look upon his face. Whatever emotion he’d been trying to hide earlier had been pushed aside for whatever he was feeling now.
“Something… something is wrong,” he muttered.”
“What?”
“There, who is standing on the bow of your father’s ship?”
Torunn focused on the ship and the figure that balanced on the rail with his arm wrapped around the figurehead. “It’s Hallvard. He’s always on the bow. Father hates it when he does that.”
Her older brother’s dark hair had been shaved before they departed Skaro, but they had been gone so long that it blew in the cold wind and obscured his face before he swept it out of his eyes and raised his arm in a triumphant greeting.
The people on the shore roared in response but Torunn knew that something wasn’t right.
Hallvard and Asgaut always stood together on the bow of their own ship, why were they on their father’s ship for this return. She counted the boats quickly, thinking that one might have been lost, but their number was the same.
“Where is my father.”
She felt something twisting inside her chest. Fear, maybe. Her mind raced as she raised her arm to salute her older brother. She had to do it, if she didn’t she would get a lecture. The people would notice if she paid the twins any disrespect, so, no matter how she felt about them, she always did as protocol dictated.
“I cannot see him,” Iri said.
“Neither can I.”
“Perhaps he is on another ship.”
“Have you ever known my father to sail on any ship but his own,” Torunn snorted.
Iri shook his head but did not reply. He knew as well as she did how much Arnd Reinnsson prized his ship. Everyone knew.
“Where is that Jarl,” someone muttered.
“I thought to have seen him by now.”
The murmurs grew around her, interspersed with other voices. “His sons are there. I can see Asgaut. Look at the cloak he is wearing…”
“Look how low the ships ride in the water! They must have brought back more treasure than last time…”
Torunn couldn’t take her eyes off the boats. They were low in the water, and that could only mean one thing. A successful raid, and a greedy one. Her father wasn’t well known for his excesses—except when it came to plundering. If there was gold to be found, Arnd Reinnsson would hunt down every last grain of it. No matter how long it took.
“What good is raiding if you leave anything behind?” That was his favorite phrase. Leave no gold. No food. No hope of recovery. When Arnd Reinnsson raided a settlement, there was never anything left behind.
Ruthless. Greedy. Cruel.
That was how their enemies knew her father.
At least, that was how he used to be.
“What if he is injured,” Iri said suddenly.
Torunn stared at him with wide eyes. “What if who is injured?”
“The Jarl,” he whispered back.
It was dangerous to talk of such things. Wishing death or illness upon the Jarl was a punishable offence, and Iri knew that well.
“Freya forbid it,” Torunn whispered. “And may she take your tongue, too.”
“Forgive me,” Iri whispered. “It is only— it does not seem right. Hallvard seems too…”
Torunn looked back at the ships. Her elder brother looked happy. It was never a good sign when Hallvard looked happy.
“No. You shall see when the ships arrive. He is probably just speaking to one of his men…” Anything. Any excuse not to think of what might have happened. Anything to keep her from considering the worst.
“Torunn… What if—”
She grabbed Iri’s tunic, pulled him close and glared into his eyes. “Listen to me Iri Hundolfsson. If you open your mouth one more time, I’m going to put my knife in your chest. Do you understand me?”
Iri swallowed hard and nodded. She had threatened his life countless times in the years they had known each other, but this was the first time she had meant it.
She knew what he wanted to say.
What if her father was injured?
What if he— What if the Jarl was dead?
Torunn pushed him away and strode through the crowd to where the men waited to pull the boats out of the water. The men on the closest ship were already preparing their ropes.
“Little sister!” Asgaut called out to her from the prow of their father’s ship. She could see someone behind him that might have been her father, but she couldn’t be certain. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked away the unexpected tears that stung her eyes.
She caught a rope that was flung toward the shore and hauled on it with the men behind her.
Torunn knew that she should have responded to her brother’s shout, but she had to keep herself occupied until she could find out the answer to her question. The people were starting to get anxious. She could feel the tension in the air, just below the bitter cold.