Chapter 20 – “The Goddess Ascends”

The first snowfall of winter came not with joy, but dread. As flakes settled over charred longhouses and churned earth, the villagers of Fryst lit candles in their windows and whispered prayers—not to the old gods, nor to Christ, but to something new.

Something they feared more.

At the heart of the frozen clearing, a pillar of spears rose like a monument of warning. Impaled upon it were the helmets and sigils of Sigmund's fallen—the iron wolf cracked in half, the red ring burned black by fire. And beneath it, freshly scrawled in blood on a crude slab of driftwood: Kneel or Burn.

Tanya stood just behind it, cloaked in furs blackened with soot. Around her, the villagers knelt. Men, women, even children. Some wept. Some offered food. One boy, no older than six, bowed so low his forehead bled against the frozen soil.

Arnar stepped forward from her side, voice raised.

"From this day forward, Fryst belongs to Her," he bellowed. "Your spears are hers. Your halls, hers. The Valkyrie of Fire watches your lives now."

No cheers followed. Only silence, broken by the low groan of wind through the deadwood. That silence was better than any roar of approval—it was the silence of terror.

Tanya raised her hand, gloved fingers cutting the air.

"Good," she said, her voice low, cold, precise. "Now let us discuss tribute."

Within the hour, three goats, six sacks of rye, and all the smithing tools the village could gather were dragged forward. The chieftain, an older man with one eye and cracked hands, bent his knee.

"We give what we have," he muttered. "Please… keep your monsters away from our children."

Mayuri let out a delighted hum from behind Tanya.

"I do so appreciate polite negotiation," he said. "It saves me the trouble of peeling the layers myself."

Tanya gave him a side glance. "You'll get your material. For now, keep the outer circle secured. Anyone trying to flee should be intercepted and… persuaded."

"Ah, persuaded," Mayuri echoed with a sick grin. "How delightfully vague."

As the villagers dispersed like scattered leaves, Tanya and Arnar moved toward the largest longhouse—now her command post. Inside, maps and supply ledgers littered the table. Arnar poured himself a horn of ale and downed it in one go.

"Three villages in your grasp in less than two weeks," he muttered. "If I weren't seein' it, I'd think it was a saga."

"This isn't a saga," Tanya replied, unfolding a fresh piece of vellum. "It's administration. We've established a logistical triangle. The coastline secures our supply of saltfish and timber. The inland villages feed our animals and offer grain. By winter's end, we'll be self-sufficient."

Arnar blinked. "And what of the south? Jarl Erling's not deaf. He'll hear of what you did to Sigmund."

Tanya smiled thinly.

"Then we let him hear more. Let him hear of a ghost in the north. A flame-bringer. A valkyrie who does not die and bends warriors to her will. Let them build a myth. It buys us time."

Arnar laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. "You speak like a skald."

"I speak like a soldier," Tanya corrected. "Myths are useful until the real army arrives. And I assure you—one will."

There was a beat of silence. Then, softly, Arnar asked, "And what do you plan to do with us? When the kings come? When the sea-folk or southern jarls ride north with their banners?"

Tanya's eyes narrowed, gaze sharp as a knife's edge. "We'll greet them as a nation, not a loose band of raiders. Unified. Disciplined. Fearsome. You want to live, Arnar? Then we build something worthy of survival."

Arnar stared into the fire. The flickering light caught the scar across his nose and deepened the lines in his face. "Aye… you've changed things. Whether we like it or not."

Just then, a shout came from outside. A scout burst through the longhouse doors, panting.

"Commander!" he barked. "Smoke to the west. A village burnin'. Not ours—too far. Could be raiders. Could be Erling's men."

Tanya was already moving, brushing past him with her coat swirling behind her. "Ready three riders. I want eyes on the ground and confirmation by dusk."

"Aye!" the man shouted, scrambling away.

Outside, snow continued to fall, quiet and relentless. The impaled helmets gleamed with frost, and the wind carried whispers—names, curses, prayers.

Tanya stood at the edge of the bluff once more, eyes fixed on the horizon. Mayuri stepped beside her, looking unusually subdued.

"Do you think," he asked suddenly, "they'll still kneel when they find out what you really are?"

She didn't look at him. "They already have. That's all that matters."

Far below, a boy knelt beside the blood-stained pillar, tracing her name with his finger through the snow.