Halfdan glanced around the small cabin. It was dark, only illuminated by the sunlight entering through the doorway behind him. Ahead of him was a stone ring providing a place for a cooking fire, currently only ash. In typical fashion, the hut was divided in three parts; to his left was a small enclosure for animals, though empty, and the space to his right was occupied by a large bed. On it sat a girl, eight years old by his judgement, playing with a wooden doll. She turned her head to look at him with a smile. "Hullo!"

  *

  Freydis’ eyes darted back and forth. She immediately noticed the other person standing in the end of the cabin, in front of the empty enclosure. A woman, close to herself in age, with one hand casually resting on the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist. At once, Freydis’ grip around her own weapon tightened, though she kept it raised into the air for now. “Who are you? What is this?”

  *

  Sif blinked as she stared into the cooking fire right in front of her. The hut had seemed dark and empty when she entered it, though she had been walking behind the others, and maybe they had hidden the flames from her sight. It did not occur to her to wonder where the others had gone. A chopping sound to the side made her turn her head, and Sif saw an old crone cutting up vegetables by the table. Her hand holding the knife had a vicious scar, but otherwise, she resembled an ordinary, old woman. "Hi!" Sif exclaimed.

  *

  Halfdan regarded the child with narrowed eyes, knowing better than to trust what seemed obvious. "And who might you be?"

  "I'm Astrid!" The girl put her doll aside. "You must be Halfdan, the big warrior they are all talking about."

  "Are they, now? Well, I was told I might find what I need in here. Would you happen to know what I'm looking for?"

  Astrid nodded eagerly, and she held up a small sprig that looked like thyme or the needles of a pine tree. She jumped off the bed. "This!"

  "That little thing’s got the spells I need?" Halfdan's doubt filled his voice, though as he reminded himself again, yet seen stranger things.

  "It is! You eat this, and the magic is yours. Really simple and easy."

  Halfdan was not inclined to wolf down small bits of green given to him by strange children in mysterious huts, but he might as well acquire it and have Sif take a look. He stretched out his hand. "Let me have it, then."

  Astrid looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. "No."

  *

  The armed woman regarded Freydis with a look that seemed challenging if not outright disdainful. “You’ve come for this.” She held up a small twig of green between her fingers, barely visible in the dark room. Her other hand still rested on the pommel of her sword. “But you can’t have it.” She closed her hand around it.

  “I won’t leave without it.”

  The woman smiled, which only made her expression appear more infuriating. “Then you won’t leave.”

  Freydis let her spear fall into an attack position. “I assure you that I will. With that thing in hand.”

  Her adversary drew her blade, and their weapons nearly touched. “Do your worst.”

  Contempt ran across Freydis’ face as she thrust forward, making her assault.

  *

  Sif looked at the crone chopping the vegetables. “Who are you?”

  “Just an old woman, dearie. But you must be the little skáld who travels with Halfdan, aren’t you?”

  “I am! You’ve heard of us?”

  She smiled to herself. “Quite a lot have at this point. Be a dear and put the pot on the fire, would you? And fill some water from that bucket.” She gestured with her knife to the different items, and Sif obeyed.

  “I was supposed to find something… magic, I guess.” Sif looked around with an uncertain smile, mouth closed. “I guess I can look for it later. You know, you remind me of my grandma.”

  “Do I?” The old woman glanced at her briefly. “Do you remember her well?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t very old when she died. But I remember coming home from playing with the other kids, and she’d be working, making something to eat, like you are now. I guess that’s why I was thinking of her.”

  “Well, growing thing like you, you certainly could use something to eat.” The water was boiling at this point, and the crone began pouring chopped vegetables and herbs into the pot. “I don’t have any meat to add, unfortunately, but still, this’ll do you good. There, fetch some bowls and spoons for us.” She pointed at a shelf with the aforementioned items, and Sif brought them over.

  *

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “No? Who are you to refuse me?” The berserker looked down at the girl half his size. “Don’t make me angry, child.”

  Astrid returned his glare without any sign of being intimidated. She held up the sprig in her hand as if mocking him. “You can’t take it from me unless I want you to have it. You don’t have any power in here, Halfdan of Midgard.”

  Provoked and irritated, Halfdan vowed to prove her wrong. His hand shot out to grab her wrist, and with the other, he tried to wrest the magical piece of green from her grip. To his astonishment, he failed. Somehow, she could withstand his strength with ease. Now full of distrust and with a scowl, he released her and stepped back. “What manner of creature are you? Not the little girl you pretend to be!”

  “But I am. My name’s Astrid, and I was born eight summers ago.”

  “Lies! Eight-year-old children don’t have the strength to wrestle with me.”

  “I’m not just a child,” the girl admitted, “not in this place. But my age is true enough. I really haven’t lived longer than that, even if I know things that children shouldn’t, and I can do things that children can’t.” She shrugged. “One day, I’ll be a chieftain of the Vanir. In some ways, I already am. I have been for decades. But right now, I’m what you see me to be.” She cocked her head, staring intently at Halfdan as if measuring his reaction or whether he understood her explanation.

  He did not. “Either you’re telling me nonsense, or you’re lying to me, or you’re using magic. In any case, I don’t care for it. Give me the spells I need, and let me be on my way!”

  Astrid shook her head. “No. There’s no use trying to take it from me. You can’t, not in this place.”

  Halfdan clenched his jaw. “Do you know what happens when a berserker gets angry?” Magic or not, this girl could not withstand his full strength. [Berserker's Rage] would more than suffice for tearing that stupid little twig out of her grip. Probably he would tear her hand off with it.

  “You’d kill me.”

  “I would.” Halfdan stared down at her, trying to look as intimidating as possible. “So why don’t you give that to me before it’s too late.”

  “No.”

  A scowl filled the berserker’s face, and for a moment, he contemplated letting the girl feel the consequences of angering him. He had come too far to be denied, especially by a child. Who was she that she dared tell him no? Halfdan clenched his fists, and in his mind, he could see it happen like a premonition. His fury taking over, and how he would tear her apart like a rag doll to claim his prize.

  Clarity returned. Halfdan imagined returning to Sif with the blood of a young girl on his hands. It resolved the matter for him. The gruesome image of Astrid being torn to shreds by his sheer strength disappeared; that was one foretelling which would not come true. “Alright,” Halfdan breathed. “Fine then. I won’t hurt you.”

  The child smiled. “I’m glad. I am sure you could hurt me a lot.”

  Halfdan sank onto a bench. Was this defeat? Had his soft heart kept him from accomplishing his plan? He looked at Astrid. “Wait. Is there anything preventing you from giving me the little sprig?”

  She shook her head. “It’s up to me.”

  “So… if I asked you for it, would you give it to me freely?”

  “That depends. Why do you need it?”

  “To save myself. And my companions. Or we’ll be hunted all our lives, never knowing peace.” The berserker sighed, glancing around the dark hut. “We’ll never know a life like this. That’s why I’m desperate, you see. I can’t think of another way to keep us safe.”

  Astrid frowned her forehead in thought. “Alright. That’s a good reason.” She held out her hand.

  “Really?” Halfdan stared at her in disbelief even as he stretched out his own hand, and she let the bit of green fall into his open palm.

  “Sure!” The girl smiled. “Sometimes, all you have to do is ask.”

  *

  Combat inside the small hut was difficult. The spear with its long reach, usually an advantage for Freydis, proved of less value within this confined battlefield. She could not manoeuvre around before running into a wall, nor swing her weapon in an arch. At best, she could stab forward and keep her opponent at bay, but the Vani allowed for no further openings. She wielded her sword with skill and speed, parrying any attack. The blade’s short reach compared to the spear prevented any aggression, leaving Freydis safe, but also at a stalemate. She had no intention of giving up or retreating; she assumed that this would be their only chance to obtain what they needed, and if she failed now, there would be no further opportunities.

  Fortunately, Freydis had other weapons besides the spear, steel or otherwise. In one motion, she relinquished her spear, drew [Death’s Needle], and vanished, appearing behind her enemy.

  The Vani reacted immediately, striking backwards with an elbow into Freydis’ stomach. The wind knocked out of her, Freydis gasped, her own strike interrupted. She tried to retreat, but there was no space left in the hut. She was saved only because the Vani could not follow up, but had to turn around to deal another blow. The moment afforded Freydis enough time to vanish again, jumping back to the other side, but this time, two steps away. Already crouching, she picked up her dropped spear and drove it into the Vani.

  Now she gasped for air, dropping her sword, though her hand still clutched the magical sprig. Falling to the ground, a death rattle issued from her throat. Ignoring this, Freydis tried to grab the twig she had come for, but she could not unclench the fingers locked around it. She picked up her knife and drove it through the back of the Vani’s hand, causing a spasm that finally allowed the green to be released. Picking it up along with her weapons, Freydis got on her feet and left the hut.

  *

  “How’s the soup?” asked the old woman.

  “Oh, it’s good! I’ve had nothing but mushrooms for so, so long,” Sif impressed upon her. “I’d eat a cat at this point.”

  The crone laughed. “Well, no cats in my food, just vegetables. Good for you all the same. Now why don’t you tell me what made you come all the way to visit old Astrid?”

  “Oh, I forgot. I’m supposed to find spells for my friend. For him to use.”

  The Vani nodded. “The angry fellow. I remember him. The spells you need are over by my chopping board. That little sprig that looks like thyme.”

  Sif craned her neck to see. “Oh, that. May I have it?”

  “Certainly, dearie. Take it on your way out. I have no need of it.”

  The girl smiled. “Thanks! You’re nice. It’s been really lovely to visit you here.”

  “We tend to meet in foreign lands what we bring from home,” the crone replied in the manner of old people repeating proverbs. “Now eat up, and then you better get going. Your friends will be waiting for you.”

  Sif beamed another smile. “Alright!”