by T L Greylock
“She has forgiven me.” It was clear from Vakre’s tone and face that he had not forgiven himself.
“I am glad.”
Vakre was quiet for a moment. “I wanted to believe the Far-Traveled. “
“Believe him? What did he say?”
“He said he did not know what the future held for me, that when he looked at me he saw my blood burning with Loki’s fire, saw things he could not understand. But he said I could find peace in my father’s gift. I asked him how, for I wanted his words to be true, but he had no answer for me. But I see it now. Every day, my father’s claim over me grows stronger. I can bring only destruction. Death.” Vakre took a deep breath. Raef waited. “I told you once before to let me go, to leave me to my fate.”
“And I told you I would not turn my back on you. Never, Vakre.”
“And I will not ask you to. I ask only for your sword hand to do what must be done.”
Raef felt himself shaking his head. “No, no. This I will not do.”
“I am resolved, Raef.” Vakre’s voice was sure and steady, but gentle. “I have caused too much pain and misery. I have become a tool to be wielded by my father. I will not be the source of more suffering.”
“No.” It was all Raef could muster.
“If you will not do it for those I have harmed, then do it for me.” Vakre’s voice had a new sharpness to it and he made a visible effort to calm himself. “End my suffering, Raef. There is no one I would rather have do this, and there is no other hand I trust. I will not ask another, Raef, I cannot.”
Raef closed his eyes. He had been dreading this, he knew, from the very moment Bekkhild was found dead, though it had been nothing more than a nebulous fear burrowed deep within him.
“What of your uncle?” Raef threw the question to the wind, trying to find some means to forestall Vakre.
Vakre sighed. “He is not among the dead. But,” he went on as Raef started to speak, “I will not hold my hatred of him above the well-being of countless lives. If he is gone and out of reach, so be it.”
“You do not know what lies ahead, Vakre.”
“Yet I see clearly what lies behind.”
Raef forced himself to hold Vakre’s gaze. “Today I bring death to Hauk of Ruderk and avenge my father. When it is done, then,” Raef paused, the words sticking in his throat, “then I will do what you ask.”
Relief stole across Vakre’s face, and with it came a rush of heat emanating from the son of Loki’s skin, so warm that Raef drew back.
“Where is Siv now?”
“She said she would give her sister to the river. She wanted you to join her.”
Raef nodded, but he hesitated before turning away from Vakre, as though he might yet undo what he had promised if only he remained, but he could not see how to loosen Vakre’s resolve.
Raef separated a drowsy horse from the rest and walked it north along the river’s edge until he came to the shallow ford. Siv waited across the river, her cloak pulled tight about her, the moonlight caressing the shadows on her face. Patting the horse’s neck, Raef mounted, murmured encouragement, and urged the horse into the water. Tossing its head, the horse stepped nimbly through the black and silver eddies. Siv smiled as he dismounted and Raef was glad to see true warmth in her face.
Together they lifted Bekkhild’s body and walked along the river until they reached a spot where they could easily wade into the water. Raef walked backward out toward the middle, feeling the current tug at his calves.
“This will do,” Raef said. “It is not deep, but the water is strong here. It will take her south.”
Siv nodded.
“Do these waters flow past the valley that was your home in Wayhold?”
“Perhaps.”
“We could have burned her.”
“No, she would prefer it this way. She always liked the sea.” Siv lowered her sister’s head, setting it gently into the water. Raef did the same with the feet. They released Bekkhild at the same time.
For a moment, the body lingered at their feet, then the current caught her up and she was swept away. They watched until she was lost to the darkness and the bend of the river, then waded to shore.
“Are you cold?” Raef asked.
Siv took her eyes from the river for the first time. “Is the eagle proud? Is the sun bright?” Siv teased. Raef laughed and spread wide the folds of his cloak, tucking her in against his chest when she stepped close.
“But are you well?” He hardly dared ask the question, for he could not bear the thought of Siv without the joy that gave her light.
She was still against him for a moment, and quiet, but then she nodded. “Yes.” Silence. Raef waited, sensing there was more. “I hardly remember a time when I was not searching for my sister. I was guided for many years by the vow I made and I do not regret it. But now it is ended.” She looked up at Raef and smiled, but when she saw the stillness in his face, she frowned. “Do you think me coldhearted for letting go?”
Raef shook his head. “Cold is the last thing you are, Siv.” He kissed her forehead and then, taking her face in his hands, her lips. “I stare only because I marvel at your strength of spirit and the love you have for the world.”
“Sometimes I think your ancestors were trees and rivers and mountains. Sturdy oaks and towering spines of rock with roots that go deep.”
Raef laughed. “Why do you say that?”
Siv remained serious. “Because your love for the world is far greater than mine. It is in your blood. Your heart beats in time with the earth.” She placed a hand on his chest, then looked at him. She started to speak, then thought better of it, smiling instead.
“What is it?” Raef asked.
“A thought only.”
“Tell me.”
Siv held Raef’s gaze. “Long have I thought that is the reason you will not see Valhalla or fight alongside the Einherjar at Ragnarök. Because you will be here. Your last breaths will be the heard by the trees. Your final heartbeat will be felt by the earth. And when the end comes, you will be its witness.”
Her words should have troubled Raef, but instead he felt no fear for his unknown fate, no fear of the words the Allfather had chilled his blood with. He knew only a great swelling of peace under the light of the moon and in the embrace of the woman who was the sun and the stars in the sky of his heart.
THIRTY
The sky was spitting sleet and snow when Raef awoke curled alongside Siv. He raised his head out from under the thick wool blanket and felt the tiny shards of rain strike his face. For a moment, he could hear only the quiet, steady voice of the river, but then the sounds of men stirring and the smell of morning fires came to him and all that had happened in the past day came rushing back.
Raef ducked back under the blanket as Siv stirred next to him, as though he might be able to close his eyes and lose himself in sleep and memories once more.
“You are solemn, Raef,” Siv said. “And troubled.”
“At last Hauk of Ruderk will answer for his crime,” Raef said. “Today my father will know that I have not failed him.”
“But this does not please you.”
Raef sighed. “I do not know what is in my heart. Strange, that I should have lusted after this death for so long, and now, when at last I shall avenge my father, I can find no joy in what will happen today.” He looked at Siv. “I can think only of my uncle.”
“Then you believe the story Hauk wove about Dainn’s death?”
“I do not wish to,” Raef said, irritated with his own uncertainty, “but seldom did my father speak of his brother. When he did, there was sadness there, I could see, but also reluctance and something I am not ready to name, something with an edge, like a blade shrouded in darkness.” Raef felt for the Thor’s hammer that no longer hung around his neck, his fingers plucking at nothing.
“Could you forgive your father if it were true?” Siv prodded with a gentle voice.
Raef was quiet for a long moment and when at last he
did speak, his words were no answer to Siv’s question. “It troubles me that I cannot answer that. He was a good father. Stern when he needed to be. Affectionate when he wanted to be. Fair, always, even when it caused me pain. He had my respect as well as my love. And yet when I begin to soften, when I want to forgive him for that moment of rage and wrath that killed my uncle, a moment I am sure he regretted, I see my own hands slick with the blood of my cousin.”
“Isolf was a traitor to your shared blood,” Siv said.
“But he was my blood.” Raef swept away the blanket and emerged once more into the grey, wet morning, no closer to understanding his mind. Standing, he stamped his feet to encourage the flow of blood as Lochauld approached bearing two bowls of steaming broth. These he set down on a flat rock as Raef gave thanks and retrieved strips of dried venison from his pack.
“Our supplies are running low, lord.” Lochauld said.
Raef nodded. “We will see home soon, Lochauld. Once this day is finished, we will set our sights to the sea.” Lochauld turned to go and Raef called after him. “Tell Njall to organize a hunt and seek out Bryndis or her uncle to discover if there is a lake nearby where we might fish through the ice. We will feast tonight and have plenty for the journey home.”
“Yes, lord.”
“And tell Dvalarr to be sure the prisoner is fed. I will not have it said that I did not grant him the comfort of a full belly.”
“Yes, lord.”
Raef strapped on his sword belt and fastened his knives and axe securely on the worn leather, then cradled one of the bowls of broth and handed it to Siv before taking the second for himself. The sleet pricked his face, harder now, and already the broth had lost much of its heat. Raef slurped it down and then bit off a piece of venison and began to worry it between his teeth.
“Cilla,” he called. “I know you are there. Come eat.”
It was a moment before the girl stepped out from behind the tree she had sheltered under during the night, but she took the meat Raef offered her with eager hands and chewed quickly, eyes wide, her jaw working hard.
“Have you been training, Cilla?” Siv asked.
The girl nodded, her cheeks too full to speak. But her eyes turned flinty and when she swallowed she spoke with vehemence. “They took my bow. And my knife.”
Siv smiled. “I will make you another.”
“Can I have a shield, too?”
“If you like.”
“What will we do now?” The question was directed at Raef before she tore off another piece of meat.
“What do you mean? The war is done.” This did not satisfy the girl, Raef could see, but he was not willing to speak of the final battle that he waited for with every breath. “It is time I went home, Cilla.”
Cilla wrinkled her nose. “That is all?”
“No,” Raef said, finding a smile despite his mood. “No, then I shall find someone to conduct the ceremony that binds me to Siv and her to me. But,” he went on, knowing Cilla craved something she could not name, “the lady Bryndis means to call a gathering so that the warriors might choose a king, as should have been done before the snow.”
The young girl’s eyes gleamed. “Will you go? Who will you name?” It was clear the girl had not heard of Raef’s own naming, and he was glad of that.
“If anyone asks my opinion, I will tell them to consider Eirik of Kolhaugen.” The choice came to Raef without thought, but it pleased him. The new lord of Kolhaugen would make a good king, if the final battle did not begin before he could be chosen. “But I will not go, Cilla.”
She snorted, showing her disapproval of that decision, then returned her attention to the last of the venison, her teeth flashing with all the fervor of a dog.
“And what will you do, Cilla?” Raef asked.
“Are you going to tell me to go back to my brother and sister?” Cilla was trying not to show her disappointment at the thought of being sent north to the foster home her siblings had found in Finngale.
“No.”
She beamed. “I would like to stay for the gathering.”
“You must ask the lady of Narvik.”
Cilla nodded, then rose from the stone she had been seated on and skipped off into the trees, no doubt intent on searching out Bryndis immediately. When she had gone only a few steps, she paused and Raef could see her straighten her shoulders and hold her head high. When she began again, her gait was steady and without the restlessness of a child.
“Perhaps I should send her north to Finngale,” Raef said, more to himself than anything. “But I cannot make her want to see her family again. When the rooster crows and sends the Einherjar into battle, she may come to that understanding on her own.”
“She is too fierce to run to them in fear.”
“Yes, but that does not mean she should not, when the time comes.”
“Would you run, Raef?” Siv’s question seemed to squeeze Raef’s heart and it beat faster in his chest as he imagined the fires and the flood coming for him.
“What man would not?” And yet the words tasted strange in his mouth. Siv watched him bend and pick up the two wooden bowls as though she knew what was in his mind. Raef took her hand with his free one. “Of one thing I am certain, Siv. I fear that we will never be joined in the sight of the gods.”
Siv pushed her palm out to face him, fingers spread. Raef’s hand rested against hers, reflecting it. “I am yours and you are mine. What need have we for the gods in this?”
Raef smiled, his heart lighter than it had been since waking. “None. But I should like the Allfather to know that I have found a woman superior to the goddesses in Asgard.” Siv laughed and the sound warmed him. But no sooner had he turned away than the darkness of the day seemed to settle on his shoulders once more, and he did not think even the sun, if it found the strength to break through the clouds, would chase the cold or the melancholy in his mind away.
It was past midday when the warriors gathered to see the lord of Ruderk die. Raef had chosen a spot deep in the pines, finding level ground where the trees grew further apart, letting in what light there was. The sleet had changed to snow, coating the exposed ground in fresh whiteness, and then back again so that it pricked at the necks of those who did not draw up their hoods.
Many were the faces who had come to see Raef enact his vengeance. All the warriors of Vannheim were there. They were quiet, their jaws tight, their brows creased as they anticipated the death that would bring long awaited retribution to all of Vannheim. Some had been with Raef and his father in Balmoran and these, above the rest, had reason to wish for Hauk’s death, for their own honor was at stake as long as he lived and their lord, slaughtered under their watch, went unavenged.
Eiger, Raef saw, watched with open interest. The Great-Belly’s son did not hide himself in the trees, but stood at the forefront of the watchers, nearly as close to Raef as Dvalarr the Crow. Cilla watched at Siv’s side, her young face carefully blank but Raef was sure he could see an undercurrent of impatience.
Behind the first ring, Raef saw Bryndis and her uncle and many warriors of Narvik and Balmoran. They knew only that Hauk would fall to Raef’s sword and that it was right. Little talk of Einarr’s death had spread to them, leaving the reasons for Raef’s actions unclear. It did not bother most; they were long accustomed to blood feuds.
Raef searched the crowd for Vakre, but if the son of Loki was present he did not show himself, and his absence lowered Raef’s spirits even further. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the murmuring voices around him, and ducked his head against the sleet. His mind ran far away until he was immersed in a different forest, this one green with summer and rich with life. He knew the place and in his mind he climbed the hill above him until the forest fell away and there was nothing but sky, blue and vivid, and the rays of the sun, warm and bright.
With a deep breath, Raef opened his eyes, exhaling white vapor as he raised his head. He nodded to Dvalarr.
“Bring the prisoner, Crow.”
/> Dvalarr left the ring of watchers, and the moments of his absence seemed to press down on Raef, stifling him with the weight of what was to come. When he tried to remind himself what this was for, instead of his father’s voice, he heard Isolf’s screams. Raef tried to push away the weakness that threatened him, but it persisted, making his heart pound though he hardly seemed to draw breath. By the time Dvalarr returned with Njall and Hauk of Ruderk between them, Raef’s palms were hot and he could feel sweat beading on his back.
Vakre appeared, trailing just behind Hauk. If he had stayed to watch the prisoner and make certain there was no chance of escape, Raef did not know, but seeing Vakre’s face calmed his racing heart for a moment. He would not let himself think of what would come after, of what he had promised Vakre he would do. If he let that in, it would destroy him. He had only his strength left to him, and even that seemed uncertain.
He watched as Vakre took a place next to Siv and did not wish to look away, but then Hauk was being forced to kneel at his feet and Raef had no choice but to turn to his prisoner.
The lord of Ruderk’s wrists were bound behind his back, but he kept his balance as Njall and the Crow shoved him in front of Raef, coming to his knees with as much dignity as a man could hope for. Raef nodded at the two warriors and they backed away.
The hatred Raef had for Hauk simmered under his skin and Raef drew strength from it. But even then the knowledge that avenging his father was right was not enough and as he looked into Hauk’s eyes he saw his uncle drowning, saw Isolf’s agony.
“We can still rid the world of kings, Skallagrim.” Hauk spoke quietly but the words bit into Raef. “You and I can draw swords together and out of this dark hour we will shape a new world.”
Raef was shaking now, for with every word Hauk spoke he felt one of Isolf’s ribs crack in his hands once more. Summoning every last shred of control, Raef willed his body to obey him.
“There will be no new world, Hauk,” Raef said. He could not keep his voice steady and he was glad no one was close enough to hear his ragged reply. “Just as there will be no world soon enough.” He saw Hauk frown but his own turmoil was so great that it barely registered. “Ragnarök is coming. Soon Heimdall will summon the Einherjar to the last battle. Odin will know the sharpness of Fenrir’s teeth and mighty Thor will take his nine steps and fall with the serpent’s poison in his blood. And all will be darkness, for the wolves will devour the sun and the moon and the stars will fall. But the world does not end in that darkness. No, first the flames will bring a terrible light, Hauk, for Black Surt is coming and nothing will escape his blazing sword. Yggdrasil will burn. And then Jörmungand, the great serpent, will lash the seas and send the salt waters flooding over land. The fires will go out and then, yes, then, there will be a darkness eternal.”
