Ravens' Will

by Terry Graves

  “Greetings, Gerda Hallbjornsdóttir.” The giant’s tone softened. “And thank you for your politeness. I was craving conversation. I’ve been trapped here for so long, with just the birds and the squirrels to speak to.”

  “You should be dead!” claimed Alarr, still unable to reconcile his expectations with reality.

  “Should I? I don’t know about that. I remember the battle, the cries, the heavy sound of Gjallarhorn. They wounded me, yes. Twelve spears went through my legs. Thor crushed my skull with his hammer. Then I fell and, when I landed, I went into hiding. I tried to make my way into the Ironwood Forest. But the trolls that lived there mocked me, so I went away. Then the children of Ask and Embla — your race, little boy — found me. They climbed my thighs with ropes and hooks. They ripped my chest open and found nothing there, and they threw me into this lake before it was frozen. That I remember.” Fyrnir made a pause. “But I don’t remember dying.”

  “Only a god could survive all that,” said Alarr.

  “Then I must be a god.”

  A bit further away, the giant’s hand moved: it opened and closed, and the joints of his fingers creaked. Kai decided it was enough. Each time the creature spoke, they seemed more and more trapped in his discourse. It was time to run back to Veraheim, ask for help and hope that the elders knew what to do. They had voted against it, but the giant was alive, so the vote no longer had meaning.

  He tried to catch Gerda’s eye, but the girl had been carried away and was not paying attention to him, so he just said: “We must go.”

  “So soon?” Fyrnir seemed disappointed.

  “What’s the harm, Kai?” said Gerda. “He’s trapped. He said so himself.”

  “Giants are evil,” the boy replied. “He’s trying to trick us.”

  “Evil,” Fyrnir considered the word. “As evil as the storms can be, perhaps. As evil as the rivers and the forests are. For we Jötnar are the rain and the crops and the trees and all that flies and walks and craves. We’re not evil. We simply are.” He paused, during which he breathed heavily. But he had not finished. “How can we be evil when my grandfather gave rise to the world with his sacrifice? How can we be evil when we are the ancestors of the gods and goddesses you humans hold in such high esteem? How bad can we be if most of these gods decided to take Jötnar wives for themselves? There are lots of stories I could tell you, if you have time and want to hear them.”

  “We want to hear nothing,” said Kai. “We just want to go.”

  “You fear me, and I understand. After all, I’m big and you’re small. I’m old and you’re young. But you see, I’m trapped and you’re not, so there’s nothing to fear.”

  “We don’t fear you,” said Alarr, but his voice trembled and betrayed him.

  “Then go or stay,” muttered the giant. “Nothing stops you either way and you don’t need my permission.”

  Perhaps that was true, thought Kai; but still, the giant’s hand kept opening and closing slowly, taking the shape of a massive fist. He felt the wound in his own hand stinging. He wanted to push his palm against the snow to ease the pain, but not in the lake. The giant smelt the blood, he was sure. If he got familiar with his scent he could pursue him and discover Veraheim. Perhaps it was too late to prevent that already, and because of this they needed to rush.

  He started to get up and Runa did the same. But Gerda and Alarr remained seated, with their eyes interlocked and a renewed determination on their faces. They were competing, as they always did. Competing over who was the bravest, the fiercest, the most fearless. And so, they were not going to move, because the first one to get up and leave would lose.

  “Tell us a story, Fyrnir,” said Gerda. “We want to hear it.”

  Under the surface, Kai imagined the giant smiling, and the smallest of cracks suddenly drawing in the ice. “Some other time, maybe. I will tell you a story set in Jötunheim for a change.”

  “That’s the giants’ home, isn’t it?” said Gerda. “Jötunheim.”

  “Home. What a beautiful word, no matter the tongue in which it is spoken. Yes, Jötunheim is the realm where the frost giants roam, of mountains tall and eternal snow.”

  Kai was sure that Gerda knew this. The only explanation he could find for her asking made him feel uneasy: the girl was trying to trick Fyrnir.

  He exchanged looks with Runa. Most times, it was very difficult to know what she was thinking. The left side of her face was paralyzed, broken by a cobweb of scars, her eye perpetually opened, even when she slept. When Runa smiled, which happened quite rarely, only the right part of her lips curved upwards in something that very much resembled a smirk or an expression of pain. Maybe it hurt when she smiled, Kai didn’t know. But there was no doubt on this occasion. Runa was frightened.

  “Runa and I are leaving now,” Kai said. “And you two should do the same.”

  But they didn’t move, and Gerda and Alarr ignored his words.

  “I’m sure you miss it,” Gerda insisted.

  “I miss it very much, little girl. I would give anything to be free from the ice of this lake, to go back… home.” The echo of Fyrnir’s last word resonated in Kai’s head.

  “You have a nice shiny crown down there, Fyrnir,” said Alarr then, using his softest voice. “I wonder what it would take…”

  Kai looked down again and saw the crown over the giant’s forehead, blurry through the ice. It had mysterious runes scratched on its surface, a head of a snake carved in the center with its mouth open, and it was encrusted with precious stones. The shine of one of these stones was what had captured Gerda’s attention in the first place. The amount of gold required for its creation was astonishing; melted and turned into ingots, it could have easily filled a hay cart to the top.

  “This old thing?” Fyrnir said with fake surprise. He seemed pleased. “Barely a trifle for me. The mountains of Jötunheim are full of ore and gemstones. I would give it to you as a present, but I’m afraid it is down under. With me.”

  And then it happened.

  “Perhaps,” said Gerda. “Well, perhaps we could free you.”

  A chill went down Kai’s spine. The giant’s hand stopped moving and his eyelids closed in expectation. But before he could say another word, someone let out a cry in the distance. Kai raised his head and peered at the end of the lake, where there was a man with a bundle of sticks and a dead white hare hanging from his belt. It was Torgeir, on his way back from his morning hunt.

  Kai sighed with relief. Now someone else knows, he thought. But then, he noticed the four of them, how they were gathered perfectly into a circle, with blood pouring on the ground. And the word uttered in that single cry finally reached his head with all its meaning.

  Torgeir had yelled, “Sorcerers.”

  TWO

  In the past, the great hall of Veraheim had been a place for the gathering of chiefs and warriors, for discussing matters of war and celebrating the victories afterwards. The furniture still remained: the long oaken table and the dais over which the old throne stood, covered in moth-eaten furs of wolves and sheep. There was a hole in the roof to vent the fumes of the fire that crept in the center, but the interior was always dark and hazy. A pungent smell — one owed to woodsmoke and ashes and many years of cooking — invaded Gerda’s nostrils, and her eyes started to tear up.

  Thralls were at one end of the room, noiseless and dressed in rags. That was the name slaves were known by; their eyes were low and their feet always dragged when they moved. The freemen who had managed to leave their daily duties unattended for a while had turned up too. Gerda spotted her father seated on one of the benches. He gazed at her with eyes blurred by mead, anger and fear. She avoided his look and hastened behind Kai and the others.

  The elders had gathered on the steps below the dais. There were only eight of them, since one had died last winter. Not a council in the proper sense, but it was all that Veraheim had: old warriors from a different age who had outlived their kinsmen for too long.

  Sveinn wa
s sprawled out on the throne. He was dressed in several layers of expensive fabrics, even a small patch of silk bought from a merchant from some faraway land of the south, but all his clothes were dirty and rotten and worn out. The chief raised a hand full of rings and silence descended upon the room. He stared at the four of them intently, the fire throwing shadows and drawing a devilish expression on his face. He may not have seen combat, but he looked fierce, nonetheless. Gerda’s hand looked for Kai’s in the half-lit darkness, but the boy was too far away and she did not find it.

  “Speak,” Sveinn said.

  Torgeir stepped forward first, and described the encounter. The man had dropped the sticks on the way back, but the hare still hung from his belt, its white fur dyed with red blood. He told them about the giant, the circle, and the blood he had seen. It looked as if they were helping the monster. Fists hit the tabletop and many voices were raised among the audience when he finished.

  Gerda felt the urge to punch Torgeir very hard. The huntsman used to help her father with the slaughter every year and had known them all since they were children. He surely knew the only one slightly versed in magical arts was Kai. He could have had his doubts with Runa, due to the way the girl behaved, but Gerda and Alarr were out of the question.

  Sveinn raised his hand again. “Enough!” he bellowed. His eyes narrowed to two slits. “Now it’s your turn. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  Gerda spoke first. She started with a reedy voice, but the longer she talked, the more confident she felt. She explained how everything had taken place, how she had gone to the lake to skate but she had found the giant instead. She did not mention the golden crown at first, or what she would have done with all that wealth, although she had planned it carefully in her head. Some of it would have gone to the people of Veraheim: a brand-new workshop for Alarr’s family, a nice house for Runa, a stone bridge in the old path instead of a wooden one, a wall to protect them from Valdyr’s brigands and the starving wolf packs, perhaps even a cottage in one of the southern cities for her own father, where the weather was milder. And afterwards, she would have gotten the best weapons and armor, paid for soldiers and cooks, horses and a sorcerer, and traveled for years and years without having a worry — perhaps in the company of her friends, if they were keen to. She could have gone wherever she pleased and her feet had taken her, north or down south or across the ocean. She could have even tried to find Álfheim to see the elf people for herself, with their light bodies and their music and their gorgeous chants. Because one had to agree that if giants were real, dwarves and elves had to be real too.

  Now that everything had been revealed and she was talking in front of Sveinn and the elders, those dreams seemed even more unrealistic and out of her reach. Still, she told them how she had found the giant and how she had asked her friends to come, but she did not mention that the creature had spoken to them or that his name was Fyrnir.

  “We found the giant,” said Gerda, finally, “but there was no magic involved. The blood was our, yes, but only because we had just sworn an oath. We cut our hands with a knife to sanction it, as it is custom.”

  “And what was the oath for?” inquired one of the elders with malice.

  “We swore that no matter what, we would never fight over the golden crown that lay buried with the giant. But we did this before we knew he was alive, before his hand started to move.”

  The simple mention of gold caused a burst of murmurs. Gerda was good at lying. It was perhaps the only true skill she had inherited from her father, who used to make up stories about his times as a wanderer. She knew that the key lay in the attitude. When she lied, she kept the same voice and face and, without the slightest hesitation, words came out from her mouth in a stream.

  “Do you agree with her account of the story?” Sveinn asked the others.

  “I do,” Kai replied, and Alarr and Runa followed. None of them said much after that, and Gerda thanked them in silence for it.

  “Now it’s the time for the elders to speak.” Sveinn turned on his throne and faced the old women and men who stood on the stairs, with their gray hairs and their white beards and their wrinkled faces. “And after I have heard what they have to say, I will reach my verdict. And decide the punishment.”

  “I’m much more concerned about the creature than about these boys,” said one of them. “There’s no account of Jötnar since the times of Álfljótr the Shield-Breaker. It was believed that all of them roamed behind the mountains, and that the Snow Queen protected the paths from the Bifröst stronghold. If the last line of defense has been broken—”

  “It hasn’t,” a woman interrupted him. “It is clear to me that the monster has lain there since war times. It is an inconvenience, another dark omen, a signal that the powers of the Queen are faltering, that the Fimbulvetr weakens with every passing year, but nothing more than that. We knew all this already.”

  “Still, now we have to deal with it.”

  “No, we don’t,” the woman replied. “This is a problem for King Fróði and his soldiers. We must send a messenger to Heiðirsalr. And soon. Winter will be over by the time they come to assist us, and ice gets thinner every day.”

  “Do we all agree with what Gunnvor has said?”

  The elders nodded in unison.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Sveinn. “Torgeir will be our ambassador. He is a fast rider and knows the forest and the paths that lead to Heiðirsalr. You will depart today, before the last light dies.”

  “But nobody has seen a giant in many decades,” protested the man, uncomfortable with this new obligation. “What if they don’t believe me?”

  “They will.” Sveinn smiled and something in his expression made Gerda shudder. “We’ll bring them proof.”

  “We still have to consider them,” said another elder, short and roundish, pointing at them and making circles with his forefinger. “Specially the girl. She went to her friends first, instead of coming to us. We cannot trust a word she says.”

  “They’re good,” said Gunnvor. “We know them well.”

  “Gerda has always been trouble,” muttered another woman, thin and sullen, “which is not surprising, considering where she came from.”

  Gerda blushed, lowered her eyes, and said nothing to defend her father or herself. She was used to this, being the poor drunk’s daughter. She clenched her fists, but looked into Kai’s eyes and the anger faded away. The unconditional trust and support in them softened her. Kai had this effect on Gerda sometimes. He always believed in her with blind faith, and she knew she could keep going as long as Kai was beside her. But the embarrassment and the shame did not vanish.

  “We don’t know if that was indeed magic or not,” the short old man said. “If they were… conspiring…”

  Somewhere across the hall, a staff hit the stone floor twice. It was as if lightning had broken the room in two. The echo projected throughout the walls of the chamber, louder than Gerda thought possible by natural means. The short old man hushed at once.

  “Lord, if I may,” said a broken voice from the darkest corner of the room.

  Solfrid walked into the center. The sorceress was large, covered in furs through and through. A mantle made of bearskin lay on top, with the head of the animal serving as the hood, complete with ears and fangs. It framed the face of a woman of indefinable age with skin smudged by the dark ink of old tattoos.

  “Leave the elders with their deliberations,” Sveinn scowled at her. “You know very well that you have no voice in these matters.”

  “Indeed, Lord.” Solfrid lowered her head. The simple gesture would have meant submission in any other, but not in her. When she faced the floor, the bear eyes of her hood confronted Sveinn fiercely. “But what do these people know about magic? Not much. Not much at all.”

  The elders moved their feet, uncomfortable. The presence of the sorceress was a nuisance for them. Nobody had seen her enter the hall and they were not expecting her that morning, meddling in their matte
rs. Now she knew about the giant and she would have something to say about it, as happened with everything else.

  Solfrid was not a slave nor a freewoman, but a wanderer and a peddler who came and went as she pleased. She was despised because, in those days, magicians were untrustworthy. For them, magic was something to be revered. But now that the gods were gone and their rune spells had extinguished, it was also something to fear. When she was in Veraheim, Solfrid used to carry objects from distant lands in her bag, such as feathers, walrus tusks or pieces of ember, enough to exchange for food and shelter to keep her going. And they tolerated her because she knew how to calf a cow and take care of it afterwards, to splint a leg and to cure a child’s cough. Perhaps she used magic to do these things and perhaps she didn’t. But when the calf and the cow were safe and the man could walk and the child was recovered, that didn’t matter so much after all.

  Sometimes, Solfrid brought no feathers or ivory or ember. On those occasions she sought lodging at Kai’s house for week after week, eating his food and drinking his mead. Since Kai had no father or mother, nor brothers or sisters or cousins, his house had plenty of room, and he had offered to accommodate Solfrid so she could make use of it at her leisure. Gerda hated her for this, and also because of the way she spoke with Kai and took advantage of his kindness. She did not like the manner in which she tricked him into believing in her rituals and her nonsense. Moreover, Solfrid treated Gerda poorly, as if the girl was only a distraction hampering the boy from achieving the greatest things in life.

  “I, on the other hand, know a thing or two about magic,” said Solfrid then, and darted her glance at the multitude that had congregated in the hall until each and every one of them had avoided her wild, crazy eyes. “And I know blood magic won’t wake up a giant nor put him back to sleep.” She walked down slowly, marking each new step with a bang of her stick. She stopped in front of them, looked at Alarr first, then Runa, Kai, and Gerda. “I vouch for each and every one of them,” she said in a low voice, almost a whisper. “So whatever destiny my Lord decides, I will apply it to myself as well.”