Viking Vow Read online

  “Good question.” Professor Kristensen moved so he stood in front of the table holding his books. “Let me turn that question around on you. Can you think of any comparable tools you may have at your disposal on land?”

  “Um . . .” I glanced down at my notes. “I guess there will always be animals wherever we’re going—so instead of whales we could follow birds, or deer if they’re visible.”

  “Good, Saga.” Professor Kristensen turned his attention on the eyelash-flutterer beside me. “What do you think, Ingrid? I know you’re new to the class, but at sea you’d listen for waves to determine your proximity to the shoreline. What might you listen for on land?”

  Ingrid’s cheeks flushed. “Well . . .”

  “Say you were in a forest,” Professor Kristensen offered. “What sounds might let you know whether you were near its edge?”

  “Wind,” Ingrid offered. “The wind in the trees at the edge of a forest has a lighter sound than in the center, because of the decreased density of the flora.”

  Nice. I hadn’t even realized she’d been paying attention.

  “Very good.” Professor Kristensen turned his attention to a girl at the front of the room. “Stina, any other senses you might call upon if the stars weren’t visible?”

  “Smell,” Stina answered. “If you’re moving toward a settlement you might smell fire, or cooked fish.”

  “Whereas if you’re moving toward the ocean you’ll smell saltwater, or if you’re nearing a bog you may pick up on the scent of the mud.” Professor Kristensen folded his hands together. “By training yourself to be aware of your surroundings at all times, you’ll learn the cues that may well save your life should you find yourself in unfamiliar territory. I’m glad you asked that question, Saga. It leads me to our next research assignment.”

  Great. I was that student.

  “Your homework,” Professor Kristensen began, “is to familiarize yourself with mud.”

  “Excuse me?” The girl to my left raised her hand. “Did you say mud?”

  “Ja.” Professor Kristensen smiled. “I want you to find a partner, and locate a muddy area of Valkyris. Most of the island is still snow-ridden, but there are some areas near the shieldmaiden’s compound that have thawed out—the area due west of the Cliffs of Conquest has a fairly substantial patch.”

  “And what exactly are we supposed to do with this mud?” the girl in the front row asked.

  “Traverse it.” Professor Kristensen crossed his arms.

  Ingrid let out a quiet sigh, whether at the idea of climbing through mud or the way Kristensen’s biceps strained against his shirt, I couldn’t tell.

  “As we move into our warm season, we’re going to transition to the study of non-icy terrestrial dangers—wildlife, cliff-scaling, and of course, bogs. As the snow melts, much of the countryside will become waterlogged, creating conditions ripe for wetlands with the capacity to trap an unaware traveler in their muddy, flora-laden tentacles. Once you’re in, struggling is futile—the more you fight against its hold, the deeper you’ll sink into the mud. We’ll go over survival techniques in our next class, including fashioning a floatation device from a bag or, better yet, a piece of material you’ll have had the foresight to pack in your emergency kit. But the best defense against a bog is to not fall in one in the first place.”

  Professor Kristensen waggled his eyebrows, earning a giggle from the front row.

  “This week, I want you to work in pairs to study mud—learn its odor, its texture, density. A good explorer can scent a bog before they come upon it, and navigate an alternate route. They can also gauge depth and buoyancy using sticks, touch, and even taste.”

  “Taste?” the girl to my left blurted.

  I couldn’t help but agree—no way did I intend to taste mud.

  Professor Kristensen’s eyes crinkled around the corners. “Bog mud has a different taste than its shallower counterparts, owing to the different minerals in deeper, more flora-based soil.”

  I leaned over and whispered to Ingrid, “Still think he’s hot now that you know he’s tasted mud?”

  “I’m focused,” she hissed back. “Shieldmaiden Squadron goals, remember?”

  Right.

  “Next class, I want a full write-up—one per team will suffice—of the properties you observed in your mud-hole. Please be sure to include depth, width, and any observations you had during your traverse.”

  “To be clear . . .” Ingrid looked up from the parchment on which she’d been furiously scribbling notes. “You want us to catalogue the properties of mud, ranging from texture to taste, then walk in it and . . . what exactly?”

  “Observe any difficulties in movement, and brainstorm ways to work around them,” Professor Kristensen clarified. “We’ll discuss survival techniques in our next class.”

  Which would be Monday—after Ingrid and I had left for our first conversion mission. God willing Erik and I didn’t find ourselves in any bogs while we were gone.

  “Class is dismissed. I’ll see you after the weekend.” Professor Kristensen raised a hand in farewell, and my classmates put down their writing feathers. I slowly packed up. It usually took a few minutes for the room to clear, and I wanted to ask the teacher for an advance on my exploring lessons. Specifically, I wanted to know if there were any tools I should have in my figurative belt before taking off on dragon back with Erik. And since we were keeping our mission on the downlow, I wanted to ask him in private.

  I waited until the giggling girl group cleared out. When only Ingrid and I remained, I picked up my things and approached Professor Kristensen’s desk.

  “Professor?” I asked.

  He looked up from his papers with a smile.

  “Ah, Saga. I presume you have a question about your upcoming expedition? Erik told me you’d be heading due north, while your friends are traveling east.”

  “Yes.” I shifted my papers and writing feather to one arm. “Since Ingrid and I will be gone next week, I just wanted to see if there was anything you thought we needed to know before we left—we’ll miss the bog lesson, so if there’s a chance that’s something we might encounter. . .”

  “Preparation is the key to success.” Professor Kristensen’s dimple popped. “Very well. Ingrid, come on up. You’re more likely to encounter deep mud than Saga, seeing as the snow won’t have melted much in the north. Erik tells me you’re traveling east?”

  “Do I have to taste the mud?” Ingrid eyed our teacher skeptically.

  Professor Kristensen laughed. “Since you’re short on time, let me just explain how to extract yourself should you fall into a bog. You will be packing a generous cut of non-porous fabric in your emergency kits, ja?”

  By non-porous fabric, I assumed he meant a tarp. But since Erik was in charge of all things survival on our end, and since I didn’t know what passed for a tarp in Vikingdom, I had no idea how to answer the question. “Um . . .”

  “Make sure your kits are outfitted with a large piece of cloth that is impervious to taking on liquid. I believe the älva handlers have worked with the craftsmen to develop a waterproof fabric?”

  He was met with two blank stares.

  “Are you to tell me neither of you know anything about your survival kits?” Professor Kristensen’s brows knitted together.

  My neck warmed. “To be fair, neither of us have been here as long as our mission partners. Erik and Axel probably know all about the, uh, waterproof fabric.”

  “Regardless . . .” Professor Kristensen frowned, “. . . it’s imprudent to leave your safety in the hands of another—even one you trust implicitly. A good explorer always knows the contents of his kit. How else will you know what you have at your disposal should an emergency arise?”

  The heat shot from my neck up to my cheeks. “I understand.”

  “Make sure the waterproof fabric is packed along with your other supplies,” Professor Kristensen said. “And should you find yourself sinking into mud, gather it tightly together with
a rope, or through careful folding, and blow air into it so it forms a cushion. Then, place that cushion on your chest and lay atop it so your weight is somewhat evenly distributed. This will allow you to crawl out of the mud, saving yourself from a most unpleasant demise.”

  I nodded. “Is there anything else we should know?”

  “Plenty. But I trust Erik will be aware of what to be on the lookout for—increased lushness in flora, slightly unstable ground surface, the scent of peat . . . the usual indicators of nearby bogs. Ingrid, who is your travel partner?”

  “Axel Andersson,” she replied.

  “Then you’ll be in excellent hands.” Professor Kristensen smiled. “Axel was one of my finest students.”

  Ingrid sighed. “He told me as much.”

  “I’m sure he did.” The professor chuckled. “Well, what you lack in experience and training, you both make up for in enthusiasm. I’ve not heard of students undertaking expeditions of this scope prior to graduation. I must say, I am impressed.”

  “Yeah, well.” I toed the ground. “Valkyris needs all the help we can get, right?”

  “That we do.” Professor Kristensen’s smile disappeared. “And I hope you can bring it to us.”

  For all of our sakes, I hoped I could, too.

  That afternoon I had archery, followed by a swordfighting lesson with an unusually enthusiastic Erik Halvarsson. If the stress of our mission was getting to him, he wasn’t letting it show. The fifth time he forced my blade to the ground, I dropped onto my butt and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

  “You win. Again. Can we please take a break already?”

  “You’re no quitter. Get up.” Erik’s grin let me know he was enjoying this far more than I was.

  “I don’t think I can,” I admitted. “Professor Sterk put us through nonstop shooting drills this afternoon, and you’re even more overzealous than usual. I’m done.”

  “And?”

  “And I’d be really happy if we could take five?”

  “The enemy doesn’t care if you’re tired,” Erik reminded me. “And it’s not my job to make you happy—it’s my job to keep you alive.”

  What kind of boyfriend was he?

  “It’s kind of your job to make me happy,” I muttered. But I got to my feet, and lifted my sword. It only wobbled a little bit.

  “Last round,” Erik promised. “You can lead.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said drily.

  I tightened my grip on my sword and lunged at Erik’s shoulder. He parried with a clang, and I spun to strike his shin. He swatted my sword away, then shifted his weight to his back leg. I saw the sweep coming a second before his foot would connect with my ankle, and launched myself backward just in time. Knowing he was off-balance, I quickly stepped forward and raised my knee to his chest. Breath left his lungs in a whoosh as he doubled over. Before he could right himself I delivered a swift front-kick to his shoulder. He stumbled, swiping at my torso, and forcing me to pivot to block his blow. The second it took me to regain my footing was all the time he needed to launch his final attack. Before I knew what was happening, he was in front of me in a whirl of metal and . . .

  Was he laughing?

  My sword clattered to the ground as Erik forced it down. Just before I hit the floor, Erik snaked one arm around the back of my head. He lowered me slowly, holding his sword to the side as he straddled my sweat-covered chest.

  “Now we can be done.” He grinned. “You’re right; you are tired.”

  “You think?” I panted.

  “Remind me to work with you on your recovery time.”

  “Are you calling me slow?” I glared at the hulk of Viking muscle looming over me. Six matches had done little to tire him—the only signs of strain were the light droplets of sweat making an errant blond strand stick to Erik’s cheek.

  “If the tunic fits . . .”

  Oh. He was going to get it. “As soon as I’m not exhausted, I’m taking you down, Halvarsson.”

  “I’m afraid your conquest will have to wait. Unless you want to squeeze in an extra training session before we head north?” Erik’s eyes twinkled as he held out his fist and pulled me to my feet.

  “Okay, I give up. What are you so happy about?”

  “Spending the afternoon with you.” Erik grabbed a towel from the table in the corner and tossed it at me.

  “Besides that.” I mopped the sweat from my face.

  “Truthfully?” Erik slung a towel around his neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been allowed to leave the region.”

  “You came for me at the Ting. Thing. Whatever it was called.”

  “That was more than half a year ago. And before that, I’d been confined to Valkyris and Valkyris East for a good while. Once I became the heir, my parents put an end to my expeditions. My duty to the tribe became their sole focus.” Erik shrugged. “I miss traveling.”

  I crossed the room and picked up another towel. I mulled over Erik’s words as I wiped down my blade. “You told me you used to lead expeditions. When did that stop?”

  “When Liana died,” Erik said quietly. “I haven’t been at sea for more than two years. And I know we’re taking the dragons—it’s not quite the same. But seeing a different part of our world, even with the element of discovery removed . . . there’s a thrill to that. One I’ve missed.”

  “I get it.” I placed my towel in the basket beside the table. “This isn’t the life you imagined for yourself.”

  “No,” Erik said honestly. “It’s not. I never wanted to be Valkyris’ leader. I enjoyed exploring, and I was good at it. During my time at sea, I brought back a wealth of tools and culture that our disseminators spread throughout the northern territories. Governance has its place, and I do understand my role within it. But . . .”

  “But if you had your way, you’d be like Professor Kristensen?” I guessed.

  “He has a good life.” Erik sighed. “He spends half his year at sea, collecting knowledge and treasures, and half training our people to do the same. He gets to live, Saga. And leave a legacy behind, all the same.”

  “You’ll leave a legacy behind . . .” I reached up to touch Erik’s arm, “. . . as our leader.”

  “And I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity to serve.” Erik’s lips turned down at the corners. “It’s just . . .”

  “It’s your parents’ legacy,” I deduced. “Not yours.”

  “Exactly.” His eyes met mine. “Someday, when everything calms down and my parents aren’t so fearful for our future, I hope to take you on an expedition. A true expedition. One where we sail for weeks on end, and maybe discover a part of the world that’s been untouched. If such a place even exists anymore.”

  “Oh, there are plenty of places that haven’t been discovered yet. At least, not by anyone from around here. My home, for one—America.”

  Erik tilted his head. “Where is it, exactly?”

  “It’s west of here. Across the ocean, a long way.”

  “Is it close to Iceland?” Erik asked.

  “It’s way past that. And farther south.” I drew hard on the remnants of my eighth-grade geography. “Maybe three times that far? Four?”

  Erik let out a low whistle. “Are there islands between there and here? Or do your ships carry enough food for the journey?”

  “We don’t travel by ship where I’m from. I mean, we do. But not all the way from America to Norway.”

  “How do you travel then?”

  “Um . . .” I wasn’t sure how to answer him. Flying boxes with wings seemed unlikely to resonate. “We use air travel—kind of like your dragons, but on a . . . different scale.”

  “Interesting.” Erik’s brows knitted together. “What’s it like? Your homeland?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “The actual country, America, is big, with lots of different landscapes—deserts, mountains, lakes, ocean . . . all of it. The part I live in—well, lived in—is snowy in the winter, and mild in the summer. We have good p
laces to ski, and hike, and camp.”

  “Are the food sources plentiful?” Erik asked.

  If he counted the grocery stores, definitely.

  “I think so,” I said cautiously. “I’ve never been there in this time, but I’d assume the lakes have always been there—and I’m guessing they’ve always had fish.”

  “Your forests. Are there many bears? Reindeer?”

  “I’ve never seen reindeer.” I bit back my smile. “But if you’re looking for protein sources, I’m sure there’s something.”

  “Hmm.” Erik stroked his beard. “Well, if we can carry enough food for the journey, would you join me on an expedition to your homeland? Or better yet, lead it with me?”

  An expedition to my homeland? “You want to take me to America?”

  “Assuming my parents grant me leave, and assuming you’re not too exhausted from learning proper swordfighting techniques, then yes. I would very much like to do that.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.” I stuck my tongue out. “Very funny.”

  “I mean it.” Erik’s smile disappeared. “This may be the only opportunity we have to explore on a wide scale. I don’t know how long my parents will want to carry the responsibility of Valkyris, but once they pass it to me . . .”

  Erik’s gaze shifted, holding mine in an unspoken plea. He hadn’t asked for this life. He’d only ever wanted to be an explorer—to see the world and share its wonders with a country so far removed that it may as well have been at the edge of the Earth. He loved Valkyris, and would perform his duty by serving it. But his heart sought adventure—the kind you couldn’t find within the borders of an island.

  “I’d love to explore with you.” I rested my fingertips on his arm. “We’ll find a way to convince your parents.”

  One corner of Erik’s mouth tugged upward. “You’re something else, Saga Skånstad.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” I raised my sword. “Do I put this away, or are we taking the blades on our mission?”