CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE ORKA

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ORKA

O rka leaned and pulled, leaned and pulled, her oar dipping and rowing, rising and dipping again. Sweat dripped into her eyes, ran down her neck and back. It felt good to lose herself for a while in the physicality of rowing. She had watched the oath-taking ceremony of Varg No-Sense, and it had stirred up memories that lurked deep within her, memories that she had tried to bury for the pain that they caused.

She could still hear the words of her old chief, Boevar-Claw. "Orka Skullsplitter, why are you here?"

"To be one of you," she had given her answer, "to be kin."

And yet I walked away, turned my back on them all. I am a nieing oath-breaker.

For our son , she heard Thorkel's voice whisper in her thought-cage.

"Aye, for our son," she breathed out as she pulled.

"What's that, Mama?" Breca asked, who was sitting on the sea-chest beside her, his hands wrapped around Orka's oar, pretending to row alongside her. Vesli the tennúr sat on Breca's lap, eating teeth from the pouch at her belt.

"Nothing," Orka grunted.

A horn blew, signalling the end of Orka's shift at the bench and she raised her oar and stood, a female warrior named ?sa that had not been one of the Bloodsworn in Orka's time moving to take her place.

"My thanks, Skullsplitter," ?sa said to her.

Orka grunted and moved out of the way.

"I want to row, Mama," Breca said.

"No," Orka said.

"Why not?" Breca scowled. "And do not say I am too young. She is rowing," and he nodded at Refna Strong-Hands, who was taking her place on an oar-chest.

"It is harder than it looks," Orka said. "If you're not used to it, you will splinter the oar, throw the rhythm, maybe break the arm of the rower ahead or behind you."

Breca muttered something under his breath.

Orka ignored him, walking towards the water barrel. A shadow flickered across the deck of the Sea-Wolf , the beating of air, one of the giant ravens spiralling above them, sweeping down. It croaked and squawked, wings beating, and alighted upon the deck, rocking the Sea-Wolf .

"Grok bring news, Grok bring news," the raven shrieked as Glornir passed the steering oar to Einar and approached the raven.

"What news, friend?" Glornir asked the crow.

"The dragon has left Darl," Grok rasped, running his black beak through feathers on his wing.

"Where is she going?" Glornir asked her.

"West. Many walk with her."

"She is not flying, or sailing, then?" Vol asked as she joined them, her serpent wrapped across her shoulders. She was stroking its head.

"No, not fly, not sail," Grok croaked. "They walk."

"Do you know where they are going?"

"Grok not fly close enough to hear them," the raven cawed. "Grok not want to be eaten by dragon. Or spiders, or trolls." He gave what passed for a shrug. "They walk west."

Vol looked at Glornir. "Snakavik is west of Darl."

"Aye. She will have heard that Ulfrir is there, no doubt. It would be hard to keep a wolf-god secret," he said.

"Grok hungry," the raven squawked.

"Follow me," Vol said to the crow. "We have a barrel of pickled herring that I think you might like."

"Grok love tasty fish," the raven said, clacking its beak and hopping after Vol.

Orka scooped a ladle of water from the water barrel and drank deep, then scooped another one and drank again.

"So, Lik-Rifa marches on Snakavik," Orka said, looking to Glornir.

"Aye," he grunted. "That is good. Less time spent sailing and hunting her if she is coming to us." He walked to Breca and put a big hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Aye," Orka agreed. A memory of Drekr filled her head. Now that she had Breca back, the thought of vengeance for Thorkel spiralled in her head like hunting wolves smelling blood.

"Thirsty work on the oar-bench," a voice said behind her and Orka turned to see Svik, his usual smile on his face. By the look of his sweat-stained tunic he had just finished his own shift on the oar-bench. Orka offered him the water ladle. Behind him she glimpsed R?kia sparring with Varg No-Sense. They paused in their axe-work and turned to watch Svik, who took the ladle from Orka and took a deep drink, then followed Orka's eyes to look back at R?kia and Varg.

"You remember the words he spoke last night?" Svik asked Orka. His smile still lingered at the edges of his mouth, though it was not in his eyes.

Orka just looked at him.

"Did you not hear me?" Svik said.

"I heard you," Orka grunted.

"Then the least you could do is answer me," he said. "I—" he paused, swallowed. "I loved you like a son. My heart broke when I thought you dead. I … grieved for you." He dragged in a deep breath. "And yet you did not die, you just … left. Without any word."

A flash of memory in her thought-cage, of pulling back a gorse bush to find a snarling boy, frightened and fierce, mud-spattered, bruised, red weals on his back from the lash of a whip.

Orka had words she wanted to say to him, had prepared to say, had imagined herself saying many times over, but they turned to ash in her mouth.

"So, do you remember the words of your oath?" Svik asked her again.

"They are carved on my soul," Orka breathed.

Svik blinked at that, nodded.

"Then why did you leave us. Why did you leave me ?"

She looked at him then, felt the words pile up in her throat, thought of clamping her jaws shut, thought of turning around and walking away.

"For my son," she said eventually. "To keep him safe, to bring him up in peace."

A silence settled over them, Svik looking at her, and Orka became aware that many of the Bloodsworn were gathered close, listening, and those on oar-benches nearby were leaning her way, ears straining.

She puffed out a hard breath. "That did not work out so well. Our steading burned, Thorkel slain, my son stolen by dragon-born, and now we are on the Sea-Wolf sailing towards a red war. I chose to leave death behind me, but it seems death has not chosen to let me go."

A few snorts of laughter and agreement around her, but Svik still stared at her. Slowly he nodded.

"So, are you back with us now?" Svik said. "Are you Bloodsworn, are you kin?"

"In here, I always have been," Orka said, touching her chest. She shrugged. "I am Bloodsworn, if Glornir will have me back, and forgive me for leaving."

A silence, all looking at Glornir.

"In here," Glornir said, putting a big hand over his heart, "you never left."

A flapping of wings from above them and they all looked up to see Kló sweeping over them, circling down. She landed on the starboard top-rail, the Sea-Wolf listing dangerously low, and she hopped off onto the deck. A raucous squawking and Grok spread his wings, glided over to her and the two giant ravens began preening each other's feathers.

"Kló have news," the raven said, looking up and cocking her head to fix Glornir with a black-gleaming eye while Grok continued to run his beak through her feathers.

"Ships sail from Snaka's skull," the raven croaked. "Many ships."

"Elvar," Glornir said. "Where are they going?"

"They sailed south, then rowed into the Jarnvidr," Kló said.

"The Iron Wood," Vol said, joining them again. "Why have they sailed into the Iron Wood?"

"Ulfrir's den, the Wolfdale," Grok said, stopping his preening for a moment.

"The Wolf-Dale?" Glornir said.

"The Wolf-Dale, Ulfrir-wolf's den, Ulfrir's home," Kló squawked.

"I have never heard of it," Glornir frowned.

"Does not mean it is not there," Grok cawed.

"And how do you know they have gone there?" Vol asked Kló.

"Kló saw it, Kló heard it. Wolves howling, hurt Kló's ears."

Glornir shared a look with Vol.

"Lik-Rifa is on the move, Ulfrir and Elvar have sailed," Vol said. "This war is close."

"Aye," Glornir grunted. "Grok, Kló, can you tell Jarl Orlyg of this news? Tell him that we have a change of course. Tell him we are sailing for the Iron Wood."