Chapter Thirty-five

Frigga leaned over a tub in the backroom, splashing the water Enid used to wash the dishes and dancing.

"Stop that, Frigga," Enid laughed. "You're getting dirty."

"She's already dirty!" Freya shouted, lifting and spinning the girl in the air as Frigga laughed, holding her arms up and kicking her feet.

"Again, again!" she said, and Freya went faster, roaring and spinning until both their cheeks were red and they were out of breath.

"Freya!" shouted Tyr from outside.

Enid was still smiling, Frigga still laughing and puffing, but the colour drained from Freya's face. She tossed Frigga to Enid, not stopping to see if Enid would catch her as she darted from the room, but she didn't have to go far. Tyr bounded through the door, his shield in one hand, his other pressed to his side to try to stop it from bleeding.

"Shields!" he yelled, and Freya wasted no time, reaching for her shield and her axe from her stash and standing by the door to the backroom.

"What's going on?" Enid asked, but Tyr didn't listen, only coming to stand by the right of his sister and watching the door, no trace of his smile, no hint of his warmth left in him. "Tyr?" Enid whispered.

A man stepped in through the door, his face red from a long slash along his cheek, the tip of his axe dripping with blood, and Enid almost fell then, feeling that terrible bite of fear grip her as it did that day outside the church.

"Shield wall!" Tyr shouted, and Enid heard the clank of their shields banging together as the children leaned forward, covering most of them from shoulder to knee and blocking the doorway she was standing in. Enid realised it then, that they were there to protect her and Frigga and that she was the safest one of them all.

That man took a step forward, laughing to himself and wiping the blood from his cheek and Enid shook her head, something more like a quick jerk than a real shake. No, this was all wrong. She'd promised Ivar she would protect them, that was why she had learned to fight, that was why she trained until her muscles ached and her hands were bleeding, and now when it mattered most she was standing behind them, behind their shields, behind their small bodies with not even a knife to defend them with. Enid heard the man take another step, watched him raise his axe and point at Tyr.

"You almost had me, son of Ivar the Deathless," he laughed, and Enid stared at that axe, knowing it was Tyr's and that he'd chosen his shield to make sure he could protect them.

Enid knew then, knew she was about to watch him die, that he would sacrifice himself to save them all, so she put Frigga down, desperately searching the room for something, anything, to hand to him, for anything she could use to save him, but coming up short. She threw a small metal pot, hearing it crash into the wall behind the man and making him duck.

"Get out!" Enid screamed, and that man stared at the pot behind him before turning back to her and laughing, but soon he had to duck again, dodging those bowls and plates and spoons and blocking those he couldn't with his shield.

All Enid could do was yell, yell and scream and throw those useless things at him and know that she was running out, her mind racing, desperately thinking of what she could do to try to save these children, her eyes brimming with tears, and then she had nothing, not even one thing left to throw at him.

The man laughed again, dropping his shield and asking, "Finished?"

"Get out!" Enid shook her head, but he took a step forward, a grin plastered on his face, his eyes bright and light, and then there was a sickening crunch.

He turned, staring at that axe buried in his shoulder as blood dripped from his mouth and he fell to his knees, still laughing, still smiling until he crashed to the floor and went silent. Ivar was stood there, his face covered in blood, his chest heaving.

"Are there more?" Tyr asked, and Ivar shook his head, a softness springing to his eyes before he fell, clutching his side and coughing up blood.

Enid felt it then, a fear that was more like a blind terror, that seemed to tear her stomach right out of her and leave her hollow.

"Ivar!" Freya shouted, and his hand went out, clumsily brushing against his axe as he stared at the girl, the light in his eyes already growing hazy, his body seemingly shrinking and sinking further into the floor. "The table!" Freya pointed, grabbing his axe and placing the head into the fire.

"Get his feet, Enid," Tyr said, racing to grab Ivar under his arms.

He was so much heavier than he looked and Enid felt her knees almost give out from under her as she almost burst into tears, but then they heaved together, placing him on the table as gently as they could. Ivar moaned, a moan that was deep and low and so much more like a grunt, but it knocked the air out of Enid's chest.

Freya came back, tossing more logs onto the fire and shouting, "Cut off his shirt!"

Enid's fingers shook as she reached for a knife from the table, desperately trying to keep them steady as she sliced at his shirt, tearing what she could and biting back sobs when she saw all the blood. He'd been slashed from the side of his chest to almost the middle of his stomach, like someone had swung at him with a long blade, and Enid's fingers shook again as she peeled back his clothes and tried not to look in his eyes.

"Hold this in his mouth." Tyr said, handing her a thick leather strap.

"His mouth?" Enid asked.

"Between his teeth! Hurry!" Freya snapped, holding his axe, the metal of it glowing bright red and smoking, and Enid raced to stand at his head, sliding the strap between his teeth and trying to catch her breath as Tyr gripped Ivar's legs, so tightly his knuckles had gone white, but still Enid feared it wouldn't be tight enough.

Ivar panted, his eyes flicking back and forth between the axe and the ceiling, but finally he nodded, his body going stiff, those eyes fixed staring straight ahead. Enid heard it then, a terrible, sickening sizzling, like fat dripping into a fire and Ivar yelling, a deep, low yell, as his eyes went dim and hazy. Enid closed her eyes, biting back her tears, trying to hold his head steady through the strap between his teeth.

When he finally stopped yelling, she looked, seeing they were only half-way done and knowing that they would have to do it again and her knees gave out. She found herself crouching down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling his chest heaving as he laid there, waiting and trembling.

"It's alright, Ivar," Enid whispered, "It's alright."

"Ready?" Freya asked, but Enid didn't think that she could do this again, her joints slow and heavy, her mind somehow racing, somehow completely stopping all at once, but she stood, sliding that strap between Ivar's teeth and bracing.

He looked at her, those eyes red and hazy, his face stiff and tense as he nodded again, but the smell. It was like pork, cooking and sizzling over a big fire, one Enid may have found pleasant if it hadn't been for that yell to remind her of where it came from. Enid put her forehead to his, wanting nothing more than to take his pain away, wishing with everything that she had that this day had never happened. When he finally went still she stood up, brushing the tears and the blood from his cheeks and not caring for her own.

"It's alright, Ivar," she said again, but those eyes stared straight through her, the small rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was still with them and not with his gods.

"Are you good, Tyr?" Freya asked.

"Yes," he said, and Freya nodded.

"Get the cart and the horse. We're going to Hilda's."