by T L Greylock
The lady of Narvik thrust out one arm, striking out with all the vicious quickness of a snake, and clamped onto Eiger’s groin. The fat man shrieked but he was helpless, caught between Bryndis’s grip and Raef’s sword and in the throes of agony.
When she released him, Eiger fell back and Raef let him go as he sprawled onto the snow, the place between his legs damp with blood and fluid. The scream died on his lips, reduced to whimpers as Eiger shuddered through the lingering pain. Bryndis stepped back, her satisfaction turned to disgust, but before she could speak again, a loud, spiteful laugh filtered through the trees.
Raef spun to see Thorgrim Great-Belly emerge from among the charred trees. The lord of Balmoran, thought to be an invalid in Bryndis’s hall, had abandoned his hunched back, his shuffling gate. He stood tall and proud, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sword. The only hint of his illness lay in his eyes, edged with pain. Six warriors stood at his back, their faces grim as they witnessed Eiger’s humiliation. Raef recognized them as the captains of Balmoran and knew then that Eiger had overestimated their loyalty. And he knew, too, that Eiger, even through the depths of his pain, was beginning to understand this.
“You are a disgrace to our ancestors.” Thorgrim bent over Eiger, the pleasure he felt at witnessing his son’s distress plain for all to see. When Eiger tried to worm away from his father’s gaze, Thorgrim grabbed his jaw and held fast, forcing his son to look at him. “Yes, son, I am strong, still, despite the slow poison you have loosed upon my blood and bones. And now you will answer for it.” The Great-Belly released Eiger from his withering stare and straightened, then signaled for two of his warriors to step forward and seize Eiger. They hauled him to his feet, ignoring his moans and incoherent curses, and dragged him toward the river. The Great-Belly marched after them without so much as a glance at Raef or Bryndis.
Bryndis watched until they reached the shore, then turned back to Raef, Siv, and Vakre. The blood lust had vanished from her eyes.
“Are you unhurt, lady?” Raef asked.
Bryndis snorted. “It would take more than his vile words to wound me.” She paused, her gaze roving over Raef’s shoulder where Siv and Vakre stood. “You are lucky in your friends, Skallagrim.”
“Yes.”
Bryndis nodded, as though she had come to a decision. “I do not understand why you are leaving, Raef, nor do I understand your haste or Eiger’s strange accusation, and I can only begin to guess at what I saw across the river.” She paused. “But go with my good will and the good will of Narvik. You do not need it, of course, and having it means little to you, I think. I was never going to change your mind, was I?”
“No. But you do not regard yourself highly enough, Bryndis. Your good will means a great deal and I am glad to carry it with me where I am going.”
He saw the question on her lips and saw her bury it with a smile. “Long may there be friendship between Vannheim and Narvik.”
“It will endure until the last battle, lady, when all bonds are torn asunder.” Raef reached for his horse and remounted. He urged the mare onward, looking only once over his shoulder at the lady of Narvik, solemn and proud in her fox furs, but alone.
THIRTY-ONE
“It is as if I was watching Hoyvik work at his forge, but only now do I see the sword take shape beneath his hammer.”
The night was bitter under a sea of stars and Raef coaxed the fire to burn bright and warm them. They had ridden at a steady pace into the darkness, stopping at Bryndis’s hall to supplement their provisions and pay silver for grain for the horses, but still Raef had not explained what he had woven in his mind in the daylight hours. Siv and Vakre waited, the firelight flickering in their eyes.
Raef met Vakre’s gaze. “Do you remember when we were taken by Fengar below the eagle’s nest? And Anuleif risked his life to find me, to speak to me? He said he was the ancestor, that there could be life after the fires burn and the seas rise.” Vakre nodded. “That night, I dreamed of lightning. First I knew fear, but then, as each bolt struck closer and closer to my feet, blinding me, I felt hope kindle in my heart and I knew not to be afraid.” Raef poked at the fire once more with a bare branch, sending up a shower of sparks. “The dream was lost when I woke. Until last night when I dreamed it again. And I know now that the lightning was not the work of Thor, but of the very earth we stand upon, of the waters that flow around us and the air that we breathe.” Raef looked to the sky, as though he might see something among the stars. “The swift knows the way.” If the bird was darting in the night sky, he could not see it. “I do not know what that means, but those are the words Anuleif spoke that night. I saw the swift today, in the moment that I meant to take Hauk of Ruderk’s life. But that was not the first time. The Old Troll, Siv.” Siv was nodding, understanding widening her eyes. “The lightning fell at my feet, just as I had dreamed, and the swift was born in it.”
Raef paused and the silence stretched between them. Vakre passed around the single skin of mead they had been given by Bryndis’s steward. Raef let a trickle of the sweet liquid pass his lips, then swallowed and spoke again.
“I believe the first rooster, the crimson one, has crowed,” Raef said, hardly daring to speak the words. He did not name Fjalar, the red rooster whose voice would signal the approach of the final battle. “The birds heard him and fled in terror. The giants will be stirring, gathering.”
“Can we know this?” Siv asked.
“By the time we know, it will be too late,” Raef said, his voice harsher than he intended. He rose and paced away from the fire.
“Too late for what?”
Raef flung his arms out, frustration taking hold. “I do not know!” His shout was quickly swallowed by the darkness.
“I think you do.” Vakre spoke quietly.
Raef shook his head. “I am certain of nothing.”
“But you believe the boy.”
Raef hesitated, wondering if Siv and Vakre would reject his words. “I believe I must try.” He took a deep breath. “I was never meant to fight in Ragnarök. At last I think I understand why.”
“You want to save the nine realms from the long-told fate?” Siv’s face was mired in wonder and doubt.
“Not all nine.” Raef looked up at the stars once more. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, seeing a world made green with spring. “Just one.”
Siv got to her feet. “How can you succeed when Odin himself cannot turn back this tide?”
Raef shrugged and wanted to laugh at his helplessness. “I hope the swift will show me. I will not give up this world, Siv, not without a fight.”
To his surprise, Siv smiled. “Did I not tell you your ancestors were the mountains and rivers of old?”
“Then you do not think it is madness?”
Siv came close and took one of Raef’s hands between hers. “If it is madness,” she said, “I will share it with you.” Raef leaned forward and rested his forehead on hers. “Back to the Old Troll, then?”
“It is the only place I have to begin.”
“Do you think the golden apple tree is there? The one Ailmaer sought?”
“I think Ailmaer chased a legend. But something lies beneath that hill.”
Raef returned to the fire and settled down on a fallen log. Siv sat next to him and began to braid a small portion of hair at the base of his neck.
Vakre stretched out beside the flames and settled his hands behind his head. “Why did you let Hauk live?” he asked.
Raef was quiet for a long moment, trying to find words to express what he had felt in his heart the moment the swift flew overhead while Hauk was under his axe. “This is the wolf-age, the sword-age. Hauk said it. We are warriors and we consume violence as the gods do mead. We revel in it, and in this time before the darkness, we will get drunk on it. You know the stories as well as I. Brother will turn on brother. We will descend into depths we cannot emerge from. I had a choice, but it was no choice at all. Take my revenge and become death just as my father wa
s for his brother, just as Ulflaug and Kell-thor were for each other, just as I was for Isolf. Or choose,” Raef paused, struggling to make himself understood, “choose something I cannot yet name but that speaks to me. And though it shames me to say it, this voice is stronger than my father’s pleas for justice.”
“You think if you had taken Hauk’s life, you would not be able to follow the swift, wherever it leads?” Vakre’s voice was soft.
“No,” Raef said. “I think I would not have wanted to. I think I would have craved the end, longed for it.” Siv tucked her hand into his.
“And now?” Vakre’s voice slipped out of the darkness.
“Now, I will defy the Norns and everything they have carved in Yggdrasil’s bark.”
Silence across the fire.
“All for a bird.” Raef could hear the grin in Vakre’s voice and it lifted his heart.
“All for a bird.”
The first wolf came before the dawn. The horses grew nervous from the threat they could not see but whose scent came to them. Raef stirred at the sound of their snorts and stamped hooves, but he could see nothing in the grey half-light. Clouds had come in the night, slinking through the valleys, and had settled into the low places to await the sun, reducing Raef’s world to mist and the half-seen shapes of trees. Rising, Raef went to the horses, calming them with quiet words and gentle hands. He listened, straining to catch wind of what had made them anxious, but he heard nothing.
The chill had set into his bones as he slept and Raef longed to rekindle the fire, but warmth was a comfort they had to forgo, as was lingering over a meal. They would eat in the saddle. Raef leaned down over Siv’s sleeping form and was about to wake her when he caught sight of the four-legged shape stealing into the edge of his vision. Raef froze, his hand hovering over Siv’s shoulder. His sword was within reach and the wolf, a grey and white child of winter, was not close. The yellow eyes rested on Raef, steady, unafraid, and for a long moment man and wolf stared at each other. Then at last the wolf turned and trotted away into the shroud of the morning.
Raef exhaled the breath he had been holding and shook Siv on the shoulder. She woke slowly, her eyes searching Raef’s face as her senses were restored to her from the clutches of sleep.
“Come,” Raef said. “We must move on.”
They were mounted and headed north in a matter of moments, and Raef said nothing of the wolf as they ate in the saddle, sharing the dried plums, cold meat, and day-old bread from Bryndis’s hall. As the sun rose and light began to filter through the thick cloud cover, once or twice he caught a glimpse of something loping through the trees, first to their left, and then, not long after, to the right. Whether the lean, grey shape was the same wolf or whether there was more than one, Raef could not say with certainty.
By midday, the sun had burned away the clouds, leaving them exposed to the cold winds, but it was the sound of a wolf’s howl, unnatural under the blue sky and bright sun, that made Raef shiver. He exchanged a look with Siv and Vakre and together they increased their pace, taking advantage of an open stretch of land. The wolf went unanswered, but Raef found no comfort in that. They set a watch that night, each taking a turn before the small fire, but the pack did not show itself under the watchfulness of the moon.
“The land is quiet,” Vakre said, as they rode within sight of a small village the next morning. By Raef’s judgment, they were well within the lands of Silfravall, but they had crossed paths with no one and the village seemed deserted. Raef broke off from Siv and Vakre and brought his horse closer to the thatched roofs. He could see a well and a set of hides strung out to dry, but there was not even a boy fetching water or a hen pecking for food in the snow.
He was about to turn his horse away when movement caught his eye. A door creaked open and at first Raef thought the wind had done it, but then he saw a face in the crack. The face jerked out of sight, but then Raef heard a brief scuffle and anxious whispers. He waited, not wanting to make sudden movements in case an unseen foe had an arrow trained on him. He glanced to his left and saw that Siv and Vakre had angled around the tiny village and come to a stop on the northern edge.
The whispers grew louder and then at last a boy came bursting out of the door, stumbling forward as though he had been shoved. He caught his balance and faced Raef, defiance in his eyes, an axe in hand. But the boldness went no further and the boy could not find the courage to speak and challenge Raef.
“Where is your father, boy?” Raef called.
“Gone.” The boy swallowed. He was tall, but young. “Gone with the rest to hunt the wolves.”
“How long have they been gone?”
“This is the third day.”
It was too long and Raef could see the boy knew it.
“Tell your brother to come out of hiding.”
“I am alone.” The boy’s face flushed at the lie. Raef could see his knuckles were white from gripping the axe with all his strength.
“I am not going to hurt you.”
Still the boy did nothing. He was biting his lip against his fear.
“What of your mother? The other families?”
“Sick.” His gaze shifted from Raef to the small house closest to his own. “Maybe dead.”
“What ails them?”
The boy hesitated. “Fever.”
“When did it begin?”
“After the birds flew off.”
Raef’s heart constricted in his chest. “And the wolves came then, too?”
The boy nodded.
“What is your name?”
“Eddri, son of Ragnarr.” There was pride in the boy’s voice.
“I knew a man named Ragnarr, once.” Raef thought of Ragnarr Silenthand, the half god, the son of Heimdall. He had killed Ragnarr at the burning lake. “If your father is half the man he was, you are fortunate.”
Raef’s words seemed to please Eddri and the edge of his fear grew dull. Raef dismounted and walked closer.
“Do you have grain?” Raef drew an arm ring over his wrist and held it up so the boy could see it glint in the sun. “This is good silver and my horse is hungry.” Bryndis’s steward had given them enough grain for the horses for three days. They would need more to reach the Old Troll.
“We have grain.”
Raef smiled, trying to distill the last of the boy’s trepidation. “Perhaps your brother will help you carry it.”
After a moment, a grin split Eddri’s face. From the shadows of the doorway, another boy appeared. This one was small, his face streaked with dirt, and he glared at his older brother for giving him away.
“What is your name?”
The small boy turned his glare to Raef but his lips remained sealed
“He is called Tjorvi. He does not speak. Not to strangers, at least,” Eddri said. “He fell on his head as a baby,” he added.
“Well, perhaps he is not strong enough to carry the grain, then,” Raef said, trying not to laugh. It felt good to smile.
The younger boy flared up, his dark eyes growing fierce, and darted off around the corner of the house. When he reappeared a moment later, he was dragging two sacks of grain behind him and trying desperately to make it look easy. Raef drew his axe and set the arm ring on the ground as Eddri fetched two more bags. Taking careful aim, Raef chopped off four slender circles of silver. It was far more than the grain was worth and Eddri stared, speechless, as Raef dropped the payment into his palm.
“Thank you, sons of Ragnarr. Have you tried yellowhorn for your mother’s fever?”
Eddri shook his head.
“Look for it near water, dig up the roots, and boil them until you can no longer stand the smell.” Raef wanted to say more, wanted to give them something other than silver that would be of no use to them, wanted to shelter them from the storm that was coming to Midgard, but he could do nothing but signal for Vakre and Siv. Together, they strapped the grain to their packs, then, with a final wave to the watching brothers, rode off.
“The fever came w
ith the flight of the birds,” Raef told Siv and Vakre once the houses were out of sight. “And the wolves followed that night. Their father left to hunt the beasts with the other men. They have not returned.” Raef glanced at Siv. “I fear this is what we will find everywhere. Already Midgard is in the grip of death and ruin.”
Shadows the wolves had been, sensed yet never seen, but as the light failed and the sky darkened, those shadows grew bold, weaving their way between the trees to either side of Raef, Siv, and Vakre, staying just clear of the well-traveled path worn through the snow. Raef counted twelve. A large pack. They looked strong, as though they had prospered during the long days of winter. As they stalked the three riders with more aggression, Raef resisted the urge to increase his horse’s pace, though she strained under his hold on the reins, her instincts telling her to run. He did not need to tell Siv and Vakre that they would not be stopping for the night, but they could not risk overtiring the animals.
Siv unslung her bow from where it rested on her back and, balancing the long, slender yew across her lap, guided the horse with one hand and reached with the other into the pouch at her belt where she kept her strings. Gritting her teeth in concentration, Siv attached the string at one end of the bow, then released her hold on the reins. Raef watched, ready to intervene if her horse bolted, but Siv was quick, bending the yew bow under one knee with precision and speed and fastening the string in place. She knocked an arrow on the string, drew, aimed, and loosed. It was an awkward shot, made difficult by the length of the bow. It was a weapon made for hunting on foot, not for firing from horseback. The arrow flew long, sailing over the shoulders of the nearest wolf.
Undeterred, Siv chose another arrow, but her horse, eyes rolling with fear at the smell of the predators, lurched to the right, driving into the hindquarters of Vakre’s horse. Siv grabbed the reins in time but the impact caused Vakre’s horse to stumble and Siv’s horse reeled, half-rearing. The bow, catching on a tree branch, was ripped from her hands.
The commotion and the scent of fear set the wolves off and the twilight came alive with the sound of snarls and hungry whines. Raef circled his horse, intent on retrieving Siv’s bow from the snare, but found his path blocked by four wolves, feet planted, hackles raised, teeth bared in silent growls. Raef’s horse reared up, screaming, front hooves flailing in terror. Raef felt her lose her balance, felt her begin to topple backward and threw himself from the saddle.
