Chapter Thirty-six

Ivar grunted one last time as he sat on the edge of the cart, and then Enid slipped out from under his arm, climbing up and helping him slide into the back. He let out a long breath as he laid down, his eyes somewhat hazy as he stared up into the clouds and Tyr handed Frigga to Enid, packing the last of their shields and weapons before jumping up to sit next to Freya in the front, and then they were off, but nothing could have prepared Enid for what she saw.

Everywhere she turned there was another, some of them piled on top of each other as they laid there, covered in blood and not moving. How many of them had he killed before he'd made it back to the house? The more she saw, the more she stared on in awe and the deeper that horror sunk in. A little while later and Freya sighed, pulling her eyes from the road and turning to Tyr.

"Let me see," she said, and Enid watched as Tyr lifted his shirt, her blood turning to ice as she saw that slit in his side.

"I'll put some paste on it when we get to Hilda's," Freya said. "Do you have something to wrap it with, Enid?"

"Here," Enid said, grabbing the hem of her dress and tearing a long strip free as Tyr swung a leg around, coming to sit at the back of the cart with them and lifting his shirt, but Little Frigga broke loose, climbing from Enid's lap and laying her head at Ivar's neck. Enid went to stop her, to bring her back, but then she saw that hand rising, saw him smoothing Frigga's hair and heard him sighing to himself, so she turned back to Tyr, her eyes growing heavy and painful when she saw that cut on his side and all of the blood.

She wrapped it, her fingers beginning to shake by the end, bile rising and biting at the back of her tongue, and then she grabbed him by the back of his neck, placing his forehead on hers and said, "Don't you dare choose your shield again."

"If I hadn't, you'd be dead," he smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"That doesn't matter," Enid gasped, but he laughed, pulling away and leaning against the side of the cart.

"But I didn't expect you to pay me back so quickly," he said. "We should call you, Enid the Pot Smasher."

"Pot Breaker sounds better," she heard Freya mumbling up front.

"Enid is just fine," Enid shook her head, but then the cart suddenly lurched, sticking on something in the road and making Ivar hiss.

"That's what you get for going off on your own!" Freya snapped, turning to glare at him and at first he seemed to want to say something back, those sky-blue eyes resting on the girl's face for a long while, but then he sighed, nodding slightly as he searched around the cart.

"Here," Enid said, moving so he could rest his head in her lap, and then he closed his eyes, those fingers stopping in Frigga's hair and his face went slack and pale.

For a moment Enid thought he was gone and with his gods and she almost slapped his cheek and screamed at him, but then she heard that small growl in his throat as he breathed in his sleep and she had to bite back a sigh.

"Why did he call him Deathless?" Enid asked, her voice soft and low, her eyes peeled to his face.

"The Jarl gave him that name," Tyr said. "Because the gods keep sending him back no matter how many times he tries to join them."

She was almost glad to hear that, some part of her wanting to smile, to nod her head and wipe that blood from his face, but it was so sad. It was a horrible name, a cruel name, one that spoke only of loss, so she prayed, asking whichever god that would listen that he wouldn't outlive them all and end up alone.

"Tyr," Freya said. "Take the reins, I'm going on ahead to warn Aunt Hilda."

"No," he said. "I should go. What if they're there too?"

"Then you can't fight," Freya whipped around to glare at him. "Take the reins and wait. If I'm not back soon, then head into town and don't come back."

Enid saw Tyr sit back, weighing everything Freya had said in his mind before he nodded, but she couldn't wait for his answer.

"No," Enid said. "Let me go. That's the safest."

"You don't know where her farm is," Freya shook her head, and then she slipped down from the cart, her hand reaching for only her axe as Tyr took the reins.

"No," Enid said again. "No, Freya, stop. You're not going on your own."

Freya smiled, tilting her head to the side and saying, "It's alright, Enid. My fate's already been decided, so you stay here and look after Ivar. I'm counting on you."