Pounding beers wasn’t difficult; I had lifetimes of experience pouring alcohol down my throat.
The difference was that, this time, I didn’t actually want to.
I wasn’t trying to forget anything or drown my misery. It didn’t taste good; I didn’t revel in the fuzziness that slowly obscured the edges of my thought. I just kept filling my mug and pouring the lukewarm brew down my throat to reach the bottom as quickly as possible.
Skarde and I each had our own mini barrel to finish. I gathered that the sooner I finished, the better; we could load up and set sail as soon as the barrel was empty. And we had plenty of advantages: for one, I was not nearly as affected by the alcohol as I would have been without my armor. It wasn’t here, clearing the toxicity from my system now; but it had fortified me enough from the hours last night that my body processed the booze faster and more efficiently than a normal human.
Second, we had a smaller team and a smaller ship. It wouldn’t take us as long to load onto our boat and launch out into the water as it would Skarde and his several dozen warriors.
But Skarde had the advantage of all those men rowing together, with experience under their belt. They would have a great deal of power out of the gate.
He also knew exactly where this route went, while I’d have to puzzle it out, fuzzy-brained, on the fly. I tried not to think about how the ship, rocking in the waves, would feel.
Plus, the man was enormous. He was clearly at an advantage when it came to fitting all of this booze in his gut. I comforted myself with the thought that I’d be able to throw it all up as soon as we got on the water and purge my system of the alcohol I no longer wanted.
With each cup we poured, the crowd grew rowdier. Skarde’s men huddled around him, jeering at me, congratulating him on his epic manliness.
Behind me stood my three teammates. They clapped with each finished cup and called an encouraging, “You can do it, Brenna!” But it was a drop in the ocean compared to the noise of Skarde’s support. A headache was growing in my temple, and I knew this event would cause an epic hangover tomorrow. Maybe I’d sleep in my armor, try to stave it off.
As I finished my last cup, my eyes drifted to the shore to gauge our route. The crowd had cleared a path to allow us to the ships, but what concerned me now was the sky.
It had been a bright, robins-egg blue when we arrived, and in the course of our little drinking contest thick, slate-grey clouds had crept in. Dark patches, nearly black, flashed with lightning over the water. The wind off the fjord picked up, the waves growing rough in the distance and crashing onto the rocky shore.
Draining the last drop of my beer, I held the cup upside down, then dropped it on the rocks and wiped my face with the back of my hand. In a fit of showmanship, I kicked the table over, revealing that my barrel was also empty, before I lurched toward the shore.
My guys let out a shout of triumph—Skarde was still drinking—and Leif and Björn took off running toward our ship. Søren stayed behind to walk with me. Not steadying me, just staying near in case I needed it.
I lurched a few steps but kept my feet beneath me as I made my way unsteadily to the ship. With so much liquid in my gut, I already felt like I was at sea. I clambered up into the boat and as soon as we pushed away from the shore, the sloshing in my gut grew worse. It was coming up, and soon. I just hoped I could get far enough out that the people in town couldn’t see it when I poured all that beer back into the water.
A loud cheer told me that Skarde had finished his barrel, and his team was on their way. We needed to get moving.
As soon as we turned the ship around, my guys tied their blindfolds on and waited for my command. The sail was already down, wind puffing out the fabric and dragging us gently forward.
I realized too late we should have practiced commands beforehand, but there was nothing for it now.
“Okay, unless I say otherwise, I want you to row on a five-count. Oars to front is one; in the water two, pull for three and four, and lift on five, returning to front for one again. I’ll start you out. Keep count in your mind so you can continue without cues. One!”
The guys pushed forward and down on their oars, lifting the tips out of the water.
“Two!”
They lifted the handles, dipping the oars into the water.
“Three! Four!”
They pulled back on the oars, pushing the boat forward.
“Five!”
They pushed down again, lifting the oars from the water.
“One! Two! Three! Four! Five!”
We repeated the count together a few times until they were moving smoothly in sync.
I glanced at the rapidly shrinking village and decided it was safe for me to lean over the edge and empty my sloshing stomach.
The relief was immediate, and my mind was instantly clearer. While I would have preferred to lie down for a nap, I bucked up for the challenge.
Fortunately for us, the wind was blowing in the exact direction we needed, helping to barrel us along in the right direction. I knew it would be problematic on the way back, but we’d face that challenge when we reached it. For now, we were skipping along the water, only battered a little by the waves and encroaching storm. Skarde was far enough behind us now that he wasn’t too great of a concern. The sailing was smooth.
I called out occasional commands to keep my rowers in sync, but for the most part, they did well. My mouth was sour with the taste of old beer vomit, but I had nothing besides seawater to wash it out with, so I just did my best to ignore it. The winds of the storm were stronger here, whipping ferociously at my hair and tugging on my dress. I could see Skarde’s sail was also full, the striped fabric straining against the force of the wind. His crew of over fifty men were all working hard, their oars like the dozens of legs of a centipede all crawling forward together.
I took the time to plan when we had to turn around. There was a large rock we apparently had to steer around—I was fairly certain I could see it now, waves crashing against the tall, skinny formation of dark grey stone. We’d be able to use the wind to steer around it, but unless a miracle happened and the wind shifted, I’d have to drop the sail and we’d be relying on oar-power to get us back.
Of which Skarde had significantly more than I did.
I explained my plan to my crew as we neared the stone goal post, and when I turned to gauge our distance from the target, something odd caught my eye.
A flash of lighting seemed to strike the very rock we were meant to sail around, revealing a shadow that looked like the outline of a man…
Heat drained from my face, and dread settled in my gut like a heavy stone.
Surely not. What was he doing here?
As we prepared to take the hard corner, my eyes remained glued to the top of the rock; Sure enough, Thor stood on the top, clutching Mjöllnir, his long blond hair whipping in the storm winds.
Anxiety clutched my chest, but I remembered my team was blindfolded and needed me to guide them. I pulled at the sail, turning it to capture the wind and instructing my team to maneuver our way around the rock.
Abruptly, the wind shifted direction, and suddenly it was filling our sails and pushing us back toward the village.
My heart swelled; thank you Thor!
I got my team back in sync, and we were rowing our merry way across the water. The wind began to let up, but I didn’t think too much about it. It was still blowing in the right direction and we had a good pace going, thanks to the lighter craft and strength of my oarsmen.
I glanced back to spot Skarde, and my heart dropped to my belly: Skarde had nearly caught us. His oarsmen were hard at work, but most noticeably, his sails were taut, billowing with wind.
“Guys, we need to row faster. Skarde is catching up. Let’s increase the pace on my count - one, two, three, four, five!” I shouted frantically, and the ship lurched forward with renewed energy from my team.
But I already knew it was too late. Skarde’s ship had overtaken us, and the man himself leered in my direction as they passed.
No doubt he attributed his success to his incredible leadership, but I knew the truth. As the ship passed, I could see the source of his impressive speed all too well. Thor—appearing to run on solid clouds—chased Skarde’s ship. His cheeks puffed out, blowing to fill Skarde’s sails and push him home. Lightning crackled around him, striking the water and flaring outward. Our ship rocked in the aftermath of waves as they continued, and our sails fell limp once they’d passed completely.
“How could you? It’s not fair!” I shouted into the wind at Thor’s back, furious and miserable and utterly hopeless.
I’d never had an issue with Thor. Despite all the Odin drama, he had never so much as lifted an eyebrow in my direction. So why was he suddenly helping my enemy? Had Odin put him up to it? Was there more at play in this village than I knew?
My team continued rowing at full speed, although we’d already lost. We could hear the cheers when Skarde’s skip landed, and they’d completely disembarked by the time we reached the shore. Of course, Thor was nowhere to be seen, the storm clouds rapidly dissipating and revealing glorious blue skies once more.
Naturally, I had to allow Skarde’s unearned celebration of his own prowess—it wasn’t as if I could point out that Thor had helped him. Even if they believed it, no one would understand that Thor hadn’t been helping Skarde succeed, so much as preventing me from winning.
The alcohol in my system dragged me down. Combined with the depressing reminder I was always going to be playing a game against beings far more powerful than myself, I felt my spirits sink to a place I hadn’t experienced since before I received my armor.
I knew, logically, this was a minor loss. We would still go on raids, and I still knew where to find the real treasure, and I could still earn enough to get me on my way to Iceland.
That didn’t help the disappointment filling my chest.
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