THE NEXT MORNING Nena was awakened by the clatter of the entry boards. Upon Jarl’s bidding, a guard entered, his clothing and boots covered in dust and blood. Nena was instantly alert. Were the Northmen under attack? She strained her ears but heard nothing out of the ordinary outside the tent. She looked back to the man. He did not appear to be overly excited. Nor did he have any injuries or damage to his clothing from fighting that she could see.
“I have the report you requested,” he said to Jarl.
Jarl rose and hastened to meet him at the doorway. “Outside,” he directed.
The two men moved far from the tent, and though she could hear their voices, no matter how hard she tried, Nena could not make out their words. When Jarl returned, his mood seemed pensive. He looked at her as if he were about to say something, but was interrupted by a second excited rattle of the boards.
“Come in,” he called out. It was Altene.
“My lord, I have news,” she said in a rush.
Jarl held up his hand. “First. What is the significance of placing a body off the ground on a raised platform made out of sticks?” Jarl heard Nena’s chain rattle behind him, a sound he only heard when she changed positions abruptly, which was rare. It was actually uncanny how she was able to move most of the time without the slightest clink. For him to hear it so loudly now, he knew it had to be in response to his question.
“I do not know, my lord,” Altene answered quickly, clearly more eager to give him her own news than give much consideration to his question.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” he demanded.
“It’s not a Dor custom I know of,” she offered, sensing her mistake. “but I was taken from my tribe when I was young.”
“Do the Dor burn their dead on a pyre?” he asked.
“Not that I’ve ever heard. We always buried them.”
“Wait outside. I will call for your news in a moment.”
He moved to stand in front of Nena. She remained kneeling, balanced on the balls of her feet, a position he had seen her hold for hours at a time. She seemed composed, but her face was drawn.
“You know what it means,” Jarl stated without asking.
“Why did you ask her that?” Nena responded without looking up from the floor.
Jarl hesitated. “There is no trace of your father, but your brother and six other Teclan were killed in the battle.”
She looked at him then, her eyes searching his face. “You lie.”
He shook his head. “Why would I? If I wanted you to feel alone and vulnerable, I would have told you all were dead. If I wanted you to be happy and have hope of rescue, I would have said all lived. I will not lie to you. I sent men back to the village to examine every body. Six men bearing the Teclan star on their arms were discovered among the dead. The seventh’s body was found on the platform I described. His arm bore the star and also bore the lightning bolt, as does yours.” He paused. “He was young.”
Nena fought back the wave of pain that threatened to choke her. It was her brother, Ruga. What the Northmen had mistaken for a funeral pyre, was in fact a sky grave, the final resting place for a warrior killed far from home. Only the Teclan believed this, and for her brother to have been so placed meant another Teclan yet lived. If she believed him about the identity of the six dead, then it would have to have been her father. But why would he not have taken care of the others?
Her face was so pale, Jarl felt compelled to say something. “It did not appear anyone had attempted to set it on fire, or by my men’s accounts, that it was even complete enough to hold a flame. Perhaps they ran out of time. I can have my men return to finish building it, and light it, if you wish.”
Her head snapped up. “No. They must not touch him.”
“Explain to me why and I will make sure it is so,” he reassured her.
Nena did not want to talk to him of this, of all things, but her brother’s body could not be disturbed. She began to speak, her thick accent blurred with obvious pain, making some of her words difficult to understand. “When a Teclan warrior dies, our spirit makes the great journey to the sky to join our ancestors in the afterlife. From our mountain home the journey is short and the path easy to find. But if a warrior falls on the plains, too far from the mountain for their body to be returned there, then sometimes the spirit can be lost making the great journey. The sky grave separates the body and spirit from the ground, allowing the wind to pass beneath it and show it the way to the afterlife.”
Jarl nodded. “I understand. We will leave him.”
He turned to the door. “Come in, Altene. What is your news?”
“I have found a man who saw the Teclan fall to your soldiers. All are dead. Meln from a battle-axe to the head, and Ruga, his son, to a sword,” Altene said with great relish.
Jarl looked to Nena, trying to gauge the impact of Altene’s words, but the Teclan woman remained unmoving, as if she had not heard or understood. He turned back to Altene. “Is that all?” he asked curtly.
“Yes, my lord,” she said, confused by his unexpected response. “But do not pity her. She does not mourn them, I assure you. The Teclan believe it is a great honor to die in battle. Though that is probably easier for them to believe when their own losses are usually few and their victims’ are many,” she spat, unable to hide her true feelings.
“Then they are much like us, the Norse,
