by T L Greylock
But it was not Siv. She was a stranger to Raef and yet the sight of her caused Raef’s heart to leap, for surely she was golden-haired Freyja herself. Raef took a deep breath and looked closer. She was adorned with gems. A thick rope of gold hung from her neck, the bright metal cradling stones of icy blue. Her hair was free and loose save for a single small braid that caressed her temple. There, entwined with her golden locks, was a strand of silver. She bore a pair of rings, one crusted with glittering black gems, the other small and plain and yet made from the finest copper. And yet despite all those riches, a strange thing caught his eye. A single golden arm ring encircled her upper arm, lost against the rich cloth, its serpent head chasing after the tail. A fitting prize for a warrior or shieldmaiden, but this woman did not have the look of battle about her. Her shoulders were slender, her hands smooth, her skin unscarred. Raef bent closer, drawn in by the well-worked gold, for he had never seen finer craft, when he saw something that took the breath from him.
There, at her throat, a pulse.
She was alive. Raef touched the Thor hammer that hung around his neck and took a step back, his eyes fixed on the faint, drumming muscle beneath the pale skin of her neck. It flickered unevenly, a candle threatened by even the slightest hint of air, and Raef reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder.
She sucked in a gasp of air, her eyelids fluttering open violently, the cords of her neck straining as she raised her head. Raef released his hold on her shoulder but before he could retreat, she was clawing at his arm, her fingers latching to his sleeve, and then she was twisting and falling from the top of the pyre and Raef thrust his arms around her and caught her as together they went to their knees.
It was her eyes that Raef could not look away from. They were black and full of stars, and that dark gaze gripped Raef’s heart. And then he blinked and her eyes were a calm sunlit sea, blue and vivid. She seemed unaware of the change, but as those blue eyes focused on his face, she pushed him away and staggered to her feet.
“You dare to touch me?” Her voice was rich and deep, but hoarse, and her beautiful features were distorted by a snarl Raef would have looked for on a wolf. “Bold. But fatal.” The snarl remained, but there was something new there, some wild pleasure, and she reached to her hip as a warrior would for a sword, but her fingers grasped only air. As her hands came up empty, the snarl turned to horror. Raef could see her fight to take in a breath and her hands began to shake as she raised them to her face. Before Raef could reach her, she crumpled to the deck.
She did not sob, she did not scream. Her eyes were dry and she drew even breaths. And yet those blue eyes flashed with stars once more and Raef could see a tide of burning rage and crushing grief, so sharp he felt it in his own heart, and the sun and the waves and the birds all seemed to vanish.
The sky was deep blue by the time Raef ventured to speak. He did not stir from his place beside the sheer strake, but let his voice cross the vast distance that seemed to swell between them.
“Lady, who are you?”
“Many names have I had, Spear-Breaker, Axe-Wielder, Crushing-Wind. But now I am nothing. I am no one.”
“Surely there are some who would rejoice to know you live?”
She frowned. “What do you speak of?”
Raef gestured to the ship around them. “You were set upon the pyre, but it was unburnt. Your ship drifted here. Was it an illness that made them think you dead?”
Her eyes took in the mast and sail, the smooth timbers beneath her, the funeral pyre. “I died, but am not dead,” she said. “No one will be looking for me.”
“Perhaps you have judged them harshly. A woman like you is not easily forgotten.”
She laughed then, a bitter sound. “Why? Because I am beautiful? Because men will wish to have me spread my legs? Yes, my father has seen to that. It is all he has left me.”
“Your father?”
For a moment, the stars returned to her eyes and her voice grew stronger. “He who sits on Hlidskjalf, he who wields Gungnir, he who rides Sleipnir and sends his ravens forth into the nine realms.” She fixed a piercing stare on Raef, daring him to question her, but she had said enough and Raef knew why her changing eyes sent shards of icy fear burrowing into him. She had nearly killed him with her sword of sunlight. Her voice had made bold warriors tremble and lose control of their bladders. She and her sisters had descended on the burning lake, carrying chaos on their shields.
“The Allfather has cast you out?”
The Valkyrie nodded.
“Why?”
“My sisters and I, we are loosed upon the field of battle, free to choose among the slain as we will. We bring the best to Valhalla, to line Odin’s long tables and await the last battle. But the Allfather has his say and he is not to be denied. I dared to disobey, choosing a man marked for the cold embrace of Hel. And for that I am banished to the world of men, to live out numbered days, I, who rode fleet-footed death and lived among the stars.” She fell silent but got to her feet and went to stand at the stern of the ship, her gaze searching for something in the dark fjord. “I can no longer see the shining hall, the shields that line the walls, the faces of those who were chosen.” She turned and faced Raef and even in the darkness, he could see the anger flashing in her eyes. “I am not meant to live among men. I have drunk mead at Odin’s table, I have tasted the wind that beats from Hraesvelg’s wings at the end of the world, I have slain frost giants and smelled the breath of Fenrir. Am I to spend my days serving a man? Am I to die without a name that men will speak to the end of days?” The anger was not enough to mask her fear.
“I will speak your name.” Raef crossed the deck and came to stand at her side. “A name of your choosing.”
“Why?”
“You may not be a shieldmaiden of Asgard anymore, but I will not forget it. We have met before.”
“Have we?”
“I have seen you in the thick of slaughter, I have heard you promise death, and I have looked into your eyes and seen my death there. I will shout your name to the world of men and they shall hear it and tremble.” As he spoke, the eyes of starlight returned and the Valkyrie was as he remembered her at the burning lake, a storm of terrifying beauty, a wild, blazing thing, as though his words had somehow summoned the pieces of her she had lost. But then she was golden-haired and blue-eyed once more and Raef, though he could see pride and valor and strength yet in her face, knew in his heart the stars would not return, knew the last skin of the Valkyrie had been shed.
“Then you shall have the name my father gave me. I am Visna.”
“Well, Visna. I have nothing to offer you but a fire, and fish, and a heart full of vengeance, but I will share it all with you.”
“What would you have of me?” Visna’s voice was tinged with suspicion.
Raef shrugged. “I would have you live. Live a bold and brilliant life, so that your sisters yet in Asgard will look down and know envy.”
This seemed to please her. “I will need a sword.”
“You shall have it.”
“And clothing. My father has seen fit to send me into the world of men dressed as Freyja.” She smiled then, and it was pure and true and a vestige of the light of those who dwelt in Asgard.
Raef laughed. “I am rich only in birch bark and pinecones.”
He led the way through the now dark forest, past the rushing river, and up the steep slope to the eagle’s nest. Visna followed easily, despite the long gown, but she drew up as they neared the edge of the bowl, her eyes on Vakre, who stood at the overlook, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Raef?” Vakre called to them and Raef heard a sharp intake of breath from Visna beside him.
“Here, we are here,” Raef answered. He stepped into the circle of firelight.
“You were gone a long time.” Vakre was pale, but he seemed stronger. His gaze flickered between Raef and Visna, who stood still in the shadows.
“I know, forgive me.”
“The ship?”
/> “Bore only her.” Raef gestured and Visna stepped forward.
“You did not say you knew a half god,” Visna said. Her voice was quiet but tense and Raef could see her shoulders were stiff.
“How could you know that?” Vakre’s eyes were wary.
“I know the blood of Asgard when I see it.”
And so Raef told Vakre of Visna and the punishment the Allfather had given her. When he had finished, Visna stepped closer to Vakre.
“Tyr?” She frowned to herself. “No. And not Thor. Perhaps Njord, but you do not have the look of the sea.”
Vakre looked over Visna’s shoulder and met Raef’s gaze. Raef could see the hesitation and struggle brim in Vakre’s face, but his voice was calm and clear when he spoke. “My father is Loki.”
Visna lunged, eyes blazing, hands grasping for Vakre’s throat. Vakre leaned back, surprise turning to feral savagery, and then he was flame and smoke and a flashing sword and it was Visna’s turn to recoil or face death.
“Enough!” Raef shouted, his voice ringing off the walls of the eagle’s nest. He could not see Vakre’s face, so thick was the fire, and it was a long moment before the son of Loki released the blaze. Even then, the air around him shimmered with heat.
Visna spat on the ground. “Tainted and accursed, you are. All men and gods know the children of Loki to be monstrous.”
“If this is so, let us finish it, then,” Vakre said. The flames that had sapped him of strength the day before now seemed to have brought him new vitality, and he stood, sword in hand, ready to strike.
“No,” Raef said. “You will both have to kill me first.”
“I am a daughter of Odin, a shieldmaiden of Asgard,” Visna said. “Loki is our foulest enemy and I am charged with bringing death to what he has spawned into the nine realms.”
“But you are not a shieldmaiden of Asgard,” Raef said, his voice harsh. “You are a mortal, banished from Odin’s hall, and though once you might have cleaved me in two without drawing breath, now we are more than a match, lady. Vakre is bound to me and I to him and you will not touch him.”
For a moment Raef thought Visna might turn on him, but with visible effort the Valkyrie fought the urge to lash out and stalked away from the fire, disappearing into the dark confines of the bowl.
“What do you mean to do with her?”
Raef shook his head. “I do not know.”
“She is proud.” Vakre returned to the fire and offered Raef the last of the dried meat they had taken from Vakre’s pursuers.
Raef followed and seated himself on a flat stone. “And she is afraid.” He drained the water from one of the skins to wash down the chewy venison. Vakre tossed him the second skin but only a few drops remained.
“I will go.” Vakre gathered the skins and descended into the dark valley, leaving Raef with the dying fire. He stood and went to the saddle packs, rummaging until he found the bag of grain the men had carried for the horses. As he gave each horse a portion, he could feel Visna’s eyes upon him, though where she lurked in the darkness he could not say. He might seek her out, speak to her, perhaps plant a seed of trust between her and Vakre, but he was weary of such thoughts, of playing the peacemaker when his own heart was so filled with fury. And so he settled into his furs, drawing them tight to his chin, and watched the stars behind the shifting clouds.
He thought of the raven, of Odin, Allfather, watching him. He wondered at the arrival of Visna, Odin’s own daughter, banished to a corner of Vannheim where only he might find her. He had questions, questions only the Allfather could answer, but it was thoughts of Siv that consumed him.
The horn sounded a moment after Raef let his eyelids close, but as he threw off the furs and jerked to his feet, so still was the night that for a moment Raef wondered if he had dreamt it. But then it sounded again, low and long, a single note, and Raef held his breath, waiting to hear the baying of hounds, the shouts of men, but nothing else interrupted the darkness. Keeping low to the ground, Raef crept to the edge of the bowl, scanning the slope below for torchlight and finding it.
The torches flickered in a faint line between the slope and the river. They were not many in number, but the horn was surely meant to signal others so that a host of men might climb to the eagle’s nest together. Raef thought of Vakre and hoped he had eluded capture, but even so, he was most likely caught between the river and the torches, cut off from the slope and unable to rejoin Raef. Of Visna there was still no sign, though Raef did not doubt that the Valkyrie was watching. They did not lack for weapons and the edge of the nest was a strong position. Together he and Visna might turn the steep final ascent into a killing ground, but they could not hope to hold it for long.
Raef crouched there, his mind racing, when a sudden movement to his left caught his eye and he drew his axe in haste. But it was only Vakre scrambling up the slope. Raef helped him over the edge, but the son of Loki stopped short, his gaze staring over Raef’s shoulder.
Visna stood there, a sword in each hand, and her eyes were hard in the last light of the fire. The glowing embers at her feet cast a dull red light across her golden gown, shading her skin an unnatural color, and for a moment she had the look of Asgard once more, but then she stepped away from the fire and the moment passed. She approached Vakre, who put a hand on the knife at his belt, and they stared hard at each other. Raef tensed, ready to intervene, but then Visna was handing a sword, hilt first, to Vakre, her attention turning to the torches that were growing closer.
“Do you mean to fight?” Visna asked Raef.
“We are but three. They will be many.” It was possible to escape the nest by climbing the walls of the bowl and taking to the mountains, but the climb was perilous and would take time.
Visna nodded. “I will fight. And I will show Odin what he has lost.” She hefted a shield that had hung from one of the saddles and stepped to the edge of the bowl.
Raef looked to Vakre, who, now armed with axe, knives, and sword, was assessing the second shield. It was well worn and notched in many places, and Vakre let it lie on the stones. “You know the way?” Vakre asked. Raef nodded. “Then go. We will give you what time we can.”
“No.” Raef felt a flush of shame spread through his chest. “I will not flee, not again. I will stand with you and we will die together.”
Vakre shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. “You have much to live for Raef, much to do. We,” he looked over his shoulder at Visna, who met his eyes, “we are outcasts. I do not speak for her, but gladly would I go to Valhalla so that you, my brother, might live.”
Raef’s legs seemed turned to stone and he could not tear his gaze from Vakre as his mind and heart warred with each other. To go meant a chance at survival and the hope of vengeance. But it also meant unending shame. Raef drew his sword and went to stand at Vakre’s side.
“No more running,” Raef said.
Vakre accepted this with a nod and then, as three, they turned to face whatever emerged from the trees.
FOUR
The clear voice of the horn rang out a third time as the torches paused at the tree line below the bowl. But the call was different, a pair of notes, one long and curving up into the second, higher one. In the silence that followed, Raef’s heart pounded in his ears.
The line of torches moved forward again, passing out of the sanctuary of the snow-covered pines, and now Raef could see shapes of men, though he could not count them. The illuminated figures, night blind by their own flames, had not yet seen the three warriors waiting at the summit, and this lack of caution, this careless approach, sowed a seed of doubt in Raef’s stomach. These did not seem to be men expecting a fight, though what the horn was for, he could not say.
Placing a hand on Vakre’s shoulder, Raef stared hard at the son of Loki. “Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then do as I say.” Raef directed Vakre to stand back from the edge of the bowl, deep in the shadows of a pile of boulders. Vakre frowned but obe
yed, and Raef placed Visna opposite Vakre, so that they might flank the entrance to the bowl. When they were hidden from his sight, Raef raked dirt over the last embers of the fire and stepped back into the darkness to stand by the horses, hoping to keep them quiet. A soft nose bumped into his back and the other horse blew hot breath in his ear. Raef placed a hand on the horse’s muzzle, his own breath released in the barest of whispers.
The figures hauled themselves over the edge of the summit and stepped into the nest, giving Raef his first good look at them. They were perhaps ten in number and their swords were yet at home in their sheaths. The torchlight danced over their bearded faces and one voice cursed quietly about a stone in his boot.
“He is not here,” one man said. “I told you. He is crow food.”
“I will believe that when I meet him in Valhalla.” The man who spoke shifted his torch, sending a flash of light through his eyes, but still Raef could not see him well. “If he is not here now, he will come.” Raef did not need to see the man’s face, for the voice was one he had known since childhood.
“Ruf.” Raef stepped from the shadows and the men whirled to face him, some sliding steel out to gleam in the firelight, but all went as still as the stones they stood on.
Rufnir Bjarneson dropped his torch and closed the distance between them in four long strides, his arms wrapping tight around Raef. Then he let out a great shout of laughter that echoed off the stone walls.
“I knew you lived yet, you skinny-arsed dog.” Rufnir laughed again and slapped Raef on the shoulder.
“It is good to see you, Ruf.” Raef gripped the young man’s arm. “We were making ready to fight.”
“We?” Rufnir’s eyes lit up. “Then you are not alone?”
“There is no host of men at my back, if that is what you mean, but I am not alone.” At Raef’s words, Vakre slid from the shadows, earning more than a few muttered curses from the men who had followed Rufnir up to the eagle’s nest, men who did not like to be surprised. The sight of Visna clad in her rich gown drew even more murmurs and Rufnir raised his thick eyebrows. But the coal-haired man soon returned his attention to Raef and sank down onto one knee.
