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“Well, excuse me for being a good person,” she said.

His leg pained him still, and he walked slowly. After they had left the monastery earlier that morning, it had become clear he wouldn’t be able to go far without some sort of help. Cathy had found a stick in a small grove, which allowed him to ease the weight off of his leg and walk.

His headaches had stopped, although the back of his head still throbbed where his scalp was sutured. And though he was still weak from blood loss, he was strong enough to start the long journey ahead.

The need to flee the monastery had become even stronger after Andor learned that this was the place he had gotten the jeweled Bible for Ubba.

The task that had kept him from getting home on time. The reason Svana had died.

Healthy or not, sitting in one place—especially that place—left him face-to-face with his memories of Hvaldalen and Svana. They tore his heart apart, blistered him, lacerated him. To escape them, he was ready to go to Helheim. No physical wound could cripple like the one in his heart.

Forgiveness.

The monk was right, it was the most difficult thing. Because it required facing the ghosts of those wronged. And he was not ready to face them yet.

The beach was clear of the dead. Pebbles crunched as Cathy and Andor made their way towards the cave. The wind blew strong. The scent of the sea and the sound of the crashing waves calmed Andor down.

“Hurry.” Andor glanced at the hillfort on top of the cliff, but it was hard to see if anyone was watching them. “I do not like to be out here longer than we must.”

Cathy rolled her eyes. “Buddy, I’m not the one slowing us down. We’re almost there, anyway.”

A few more steps and they reached the cave.

“They removed the corpse,” Cathy said when they looked behind the bush in front of it.

“The corpse?”

“Yes, the one who had your banner.”

Andor’s blood stood still. The banner had completely escaped his mind. “Was there a raven on it?”

“Yes, I think so. Some sort of black bird.”

Andor scorned himself. How could he have forgotten about it? Not only had the Viking troops lost an important battle, and Ubba, they had also lost the legendary raven banner—Odin’s blessing. The sign that the gods were with them.

Andor could only imagine how dispirited they must be.

“Where is it now?” he said.

She patted the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Right here.”

Andor’s whole body loosened. He was ready to kiss her.

“Wow,” Cathy said. “I think that is the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on you. It suits you. You should try it more often.”

“How do you have it?” he croaked.

“It was the only thing I could find to bandage your head, and then when I was getting rid of everything Viking you had on you, it had to go, too.” Cathy removed the banner from the bag, then stretched it out to show him, firing up Andor’s blood. “But I didn’t want to leave it behind, so I took it with me.”

The raven on the banner flew in dark-red caked blood. Odin must be joyous now—this was probably much more to his liking.

“You are not that crazy after all, I suppose,” Andor said. “Put it back before anyone sees it. I must hurry to Jorvik to deliver it to my people.”

“Why thank you, Andor,” she said while wrapping the banner and putting it back in the purse. “Another compliment wrapped in an insult. You should write a book of those.”

He shook his head. He knew what books were, and how the Saxons valued them. Like that Bible. He couldn’t imagine wasting his time creating such a thing.

“Let us hurry, Cathy,” he said. “Go get me my sword and let us be on our way.”