Beyond a Darkened Shore(80)
I shook my head, inwardly cursing the Northmen. Only they would think putting someone’s life in danger was the best teaching method. I hated to think how they taught their children.
“We will continue tomorrow night,” the seer said, already moving away toward her seat at the bow of the ship.
“I hope I survive,” I grumbled.
“I do as well,” she replied, “for I sense a storm is coming that will test us all.”
21
We practiced only at night for the next five days. Hours and hours spent searching for that door in my mind—the one that had saved me from the j?tnar twice. Two of my undead clansmen would stand watch over me while I forcefully pushed my spirit from my body. I couldn’t do it fast, and I couldn’t even do it reliably—one night I failed to do it at all, and I think if it hadn’t been for my undead army, Sigrid would have bashed me over the head with her gnarled stick. It wasn’t until the sixth night, though, that I realized what I’d been doing wrong: I’d been thinking about it too hard. The harder I concentrated, the more my conscious mind told me it was impossible, and then I couldn’t do it at all. I had to free my mind and think of the result instead, of my spirit floating high above my body. Only then was I able to release my spirit from my body the moment I closed my eyes.
Then I entered the furthest recesses of my mind, threw open the door of light, and plunged through it. I knew this time was different from all the other moments I’d attempted to leave my body. Everything was clearer, less hazy, and I felt stronger than I had before.
Seeing my unconscious form below me was as disconcerting as it ever was. My body lay slumped on the rough wooden bench of the ship, the bright spot of my heart glowing strongly. My undead clansmen were even more astonishing to behold: their bodies were nothing but skeletons surrounded by swirling black smoke. The two bright red hearts that animated them had ethereal silver chains that connected to my own heart. I touched my chest with my ghostly hand but felt nothing but mist. No matter how many times I’d seen it, it was still difficult to believe.
With my body safely guarded, I was free to soar high above the ship like a bird. Or a ghost. Untethered, I watched the sleeping forms of the Northmen, the water black and fathomless, the ships gliding along. I saw the bright red hearts of everyone on board, including Sigrid’s.
Then I had only to think of the beat of her heart, and I was there. Standing before her, I reached out and grasped her heart, feeling it beat steadily in my hand as she gasped and clutched her chest. Before the rhythm could be interrupted, I let go.
In the next instant, I returned to my body.
I walked over to her, expecting to hear her censure. Instead, she grinned at me.
“Now you are ready.”
The next day, under a sky so blue it hurt my eyes to stare too long, the men sat around the mast corrupting Arin with stories of gods that were excessively violent or bawdy or both. My grasp of their language had always been elementary, but these past few days in such close quarters had changed my knowledge to close to fluent—at least in what I understood.
My mind was wandering, but I couldn’t help but hear some of it, especially when I heard them mention the word j?tnar.
“And then the giantess Skadi came to avenge her father,” Agnarr said, his dark beard nearly the color of the bear’s pelt he wore over his shoulders, though both were crusted with salt from the water that sprayed us all near constantly. His matching dark eyebrows rose in a suggestive leer. “She wore form-fitting armor, but her big breasts were bare, and every god who lay eyes on her wanted her beneath him, no matter if she was j?tnar or not.”
“So, this giantess’s father was murdered by the gods,” I interrupted, my arms crossed over my own chest protectively, “and when she came to avenge him, all the gods did was look at her with lust?”
Agnarr shook his head. “They made reparations to her, of course. She was able to choose any husband from among the gods she liked, but she had to make her choice based only on the sight of the gods’ legs and feet.” Agnarr stood and flexed his hairy calf muscles while the rest of the men roared with laughter.
Drawn by the riotous sound, Leif appeared at my side as I stared at the men with confusion. “But why would she choose them based on such a ridiculous reason?” I asked.
“It’s just part of the legend,” Agnarr said, with a glance that said it was what I said that was ridiculous.
“So who did she choose?” Arin asked. His eyes lit up like my sisters’ did during story time.
“She picked the fairest legs she could, hoping they belonged to Baldur,” Agnarr continued, “but as it turned out, she’d picked the legs of Njord.” Again, the men laughed.
“Baldur is said to be the most handsome of the gods,” Leif said to me.
“As beautiful as you, Leif,” one of the other men called.
“Better to be beautiful than so ugly even maggots can’t stand the sight of you,” Leif called back to answering laughter.
“And who is Njord?” I asked.
“The sea god,” Leif answered.
“And was he so terrible a choice, then?”
“He was a terrible choice for an ice giant who lived on the highest mountain peaks where the snow never melts,” Agnarr said. “For nine days, Njord endured her cold, dark Thunder Home, before finally demanding they return to the sea. He hated the constant howling of the wolves and the cold that froze his piss the moment he relieved himself. But when they stayed for nine days in Noatun, Skadi found the cries of the seagulls so abrasive her ears bled by the end of her time spent there. Unable to agree on a place to live together, they parted ways.”