Corpse in the Mead Hall

by Cate Martin

  "It took a lot of convincing for her to come with us," Nilda said. "In the end, I think it was her parents that did it. But this will be good for her. She misses her sister so much." She looked over at her own sister with great fondness, and a little of the steel rigidity of Kara's posture softened, if only a little.

  "And behind them?" I said conversationally, but then I recognized those men too. "That's Báfurr and Raggi, isn't it?"

  "It is," Nilda said. "They're close with Manni and Yngvi."

  "And will also behave themselves if they know what's good for them," Thorbjorn said, his voice almost a growl. I suspected objections had been raised to their presence.

  I wondered who had overruled him?

  "Are you hungry?" Nilda asked, digging down under the furs in the middle of the sleigh. "We won't be stopping for lunch, but I packed some food to eat on the go. Meat and bread and cheese. And," she paused until she found what she was looking for. She held a large thermos up into the air like an Arthur who had just freed his Excalibur from the stone. The chrome of the thermos even glinted in the sun like a silvery starburst. "Mulled wine!"

  "See why I picked the three of you for my sleigh?" Thorbjorn said. "You can always count on the Mikkelsen sisters to keep an entire company of men fed."

  "And yet, that's not the job I'm angling for," Nilda said with a laugh. "Hit me with the compliments when I've taken down the biggest elk of the party. Which I will."

  "Not a bear?" he asked, glancing back at her.

  "Ugh. I hate bear meat," she said, wrinkling her nose.

  "Hunting a bear is just about telling the tale afterward," he said. Then he winked at me. "I always bag a bear."

  "Here," Nilda said, nudging my shoulder. She put an enormous sandwich into my hands, then gestured for me to hand it to Thorbjorn.

  "Ah, perfection," Thorbjorn said and bit into it with gusto. Then he glanced over at me. "You should probably eat something if you want any of that mulled wine."

  "You're going to want some of my mulled wine," Nilda said, handing me a large, steaming mug of it. The heat felt wonderful in my hands, and the melange of spices in the air were warming just to smell.

  "Careful," Thorbjorn said. "It's got more of a kick than you'd think."

  I took a careful sip. It was sweet and spicy at first, but Thorbjorn was right. The alcohol content was quite pronounced.

  "Sandwich?" Nilda asked me, and I knew that even though I hadn't sputtered or coughed, she knew I was feeling the effects of her special brew.

  "Just cheese on mine," I said.

  I didn't take another sip until half of that sandwich was gone. But when I did, I was instantly warm all the way down to my toes.

  The wine warmed Kara up as well, and soon she was sitting up and leading us all in a singalong as we raced over the snow. Some of the songs I knew from my nights at the mead hall at the south end of Villmark, but many were new to me.

  But not to the others. As the day darkened towards sunset, the sleighs drew closer together, and soon the people in the other sleighs started joining in with our songs. The bells on the harnesses set the rhythm, making every song a joyous one.

  Then suddenly it all stopped. The drivers of the sleighs pulled the horses to a halt, and we all tumbled out of the warm furs into the air that had only gotten colder when the daylight had faded.

  "Just in time," Thorbjorn said, looking off to the west. The forest here was too thick to see the sun directly, but it definitely had gone behind one of the rolling hills, leaving the valley where we had stopped in murky grayness that was creeping towards night.

  "There's the lodge," Nilda said, pointing off to the left. I could just make out the shape of it through the trees, a tall A-frame structure made of sturdy logs. If it were decorated with carvings like my cottage or my grandmother's mead hall, it was too dark to tell. I would have to make a point to walk around outside in the morning.

  "Can you three take all the bags in while I see to the team and the sleigh?" Thorbjorn asked.

  "Of course," Kara said, and she and her sister walked around to the back of the sleigh and started untying the cargo.

  I dug through the furs in the front seat until I found Mjolner, still sleeping in his warm little nest. But when I lifted the last fur to reach for him, the cold air disturbed him. He woke with an irritated meow, then glared at me before hopping out of the sleigh and heading towards the lodge, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

  Well, he probably did.

  I slung my duffel bag full of clothes over my shoulder, then my heavier bag of art supplies, before reaching for one of the bags that Nilda and Kara were stacking on the snow. It was even heavier than my art supplies and rattled and clanged as I moved it. Cast iron cookware, I was sure.

  "Bring that to Gunna," Nilda said to me, and gave me a nudge toward the lodge. I certainly couldn't carry any more, even if I could somehow free up a hand. I tried not to grunt as I carried that bag into the open door of the lodge.

  The inside was just as cold as the outside, but that wouldn't be true for long. Already Thorbjorn's father Valki was lighting a fire in the center of the hall, and Thorge and Thormund brushed past me with armfuls of seasoned logs ready to add to it once it really got going.

  They had both taken off their hats already. Thormund's long hair looked like it kept his head warm enough, the three braids of his hair and two braids of his long beard thick and only a little frosted from his breath.

  Thorge kept the sides of his head shaved and never allowed the longer red hair on top to fall over the knot work tattoos that curved over his ears. I still really longed to draw them. Perhaps I would have the opportunity some evening while we were all gathered together by the fire.

  "Gunna?" I said as I approached the corner of the hall that served as the food preparation space. She was unpacking a crate filled with canisters of flour and sugar and salt, but looked up when she heard her name.

  "Ah, Ingrid," she said, and rubbed her palms down the front of her apron before extending a hand to me. I shifted my duffel and art bag a little higher up my shoulder before taking her hand. She had a very strong handshake, but she stopped just short of crushing me in her grip. "What do you have there?"

  "Pots and pans, I believe," I said.

  "And Thorbjorn made you carry it?" she asked, clearly amused. I heard Thorge chuckle, but when I looked his way he was dutifully focused on the fire.

  "Never mind, dear," Gunna said, taking pity on my inability to come up with an answer to that. "I'll take it. You can put your own things against one of the walls for now. We'll sort all that out later. We need to get everything inside before it's dark first."

  "Okay," I said, and walked past a long, crooked line of benches to set my bags against one of the log pillars. The wood was gorgeously stained, brightening the color and bringing out the patterns in the wood's grain, but was otherwise unadorned. No Nordic patterns or fanciful carvings of animals here.

  Talking and laughter drew my attention back to the open doors. Jóra's youngest three daughters were coming in, each with a great round sack in her arms. The aroma of fresh bread was so strong I could smell it even halfway down the hall. Raggi, Báfurr and Roarr came in behind them, each carrying a crate with an assortment of root vegetables inside.

  The laughter was from the sisters, who were ostensibly talking with each other, but kept casting looks back at the three men behind them. Raggi and Báfurr clearly noticed but were playing it cool.

  But Roarr, as usual, seemed completely oblivious to anything the women around him were doing. He just brought his crate over to Gunna in the kitchen. She pointed him towards a spot against the front wall, and he set his crate down then set to work arranging all the others around it that had been set there all pellmell.

  I went back outside to find Nilda and Kara standing by the mountain of sacks watching Thorbjorn and the other drivers guiding the horses into the stable that was at the back part of the hall. The sleighs had been lined up under the
overhanging roof. If it snowed like my weather app had predicted, at least the sleighs wouldn't get filled with cold drifts.

  "Can I help?" I asked Nilda.

  "Sure," she said, and tossed me a sack. I flinched, fearing another sack full of iron cookware was about to collide with my face, but the bag was flying through the air way too gently for it to be that.

  "Bedding," Nilda said with a grin. "Bulky, but not heavy."

  "I thought this was a family outing," I said to her as we picked up as many of the sacks as we could manage.

  "It is," Nilda said, giving me a puzzled frown. "Are you asking why we're here or why you are?"

  "It's not that," I quickly assured her.

  "Then what is it?"

  Another burst of loud giggles announced that the three youngest sisters were coming back outside to help with the rest of the baggage. They stopped and looked back, waiting until Raggi, Báfurr and Roarr finally appeared behind them. Then something set them off giggling again.

  "It feels like a singles meetup," I whispered to her. "Seriously."

  "That's just the Freyas," Kara said. She had a bag under each arm and another in each hand, and when she headed towards the lodge she waddled like a very round penguin.

  "So they're always like this?" I asked Nilda.

  "No, you're not wrong," she said. "The oldest two are married, and the five of them were always super competitive. It's probably a race among the last three not to be the last one to find a husband."

  "So long as it's just them, then," I said. "I didn't come out here to pair off with anyone, or to watch everyone else pair off."

  "I know. You're here for the culture," Nilda said with a teasing wink. "Come on, let's get everything inside so they can close the doors. I'm dying to feel warm again."

  "You could just have some more of that mulled wine of yours," I said.

  Nilda led the way inside to the far end of the room. I could just hear the sound of horses on the other side of the wall, but thankfully I couldn't smell them. I hoped they had a fire or a space heater or something besides their own body heat to keep them warm inside that stable, or they were going to be miserable indeed.

  At least it was already getting warmer inside the lodge.

  "We can just leave these here for now," Nilda said, dropping her sacks to the floor. "The bedding eventually goes in those cupboards while we're here, but that can wait until morning. No sense unpacking them until we need them."

  I set my sacks down next to hers, and we headed back outside. But the others had carried in the last of the supplies, and the drivers were coming back around the corner of the lodge from the stable.

  "I'm going to find my sister," Nilda said, then slipped back inside.

  "Waiting for me?" Thorbjorn asked.

  "I guess so. Are we all done out here?" I asked.

  "Looks that way," he said. "Let's get in and shut these doors."

  "Maybe I should stay out for bit," I said, looking back over my shoulder at the hall now filled with people. No quiet corners, no privacy of any kind.

  Thorbjorn gave me a puzzled frown. Then a look of sudden understanding dawned on his face. "The outhouse is around the other side," he said, pointing.

  "No, it's not that," I said, although that was useful information to have for later. "I'm going to need to be alone."

  "Now? Why?" he asked.

  "Not now necessarily, but at some point," I said. "I need to meditate or draw or whatever. You know, volva stuff."

  "Oh, sure," he said, nodding. Then he gave me one of his intense looks. "But not now. It's night, Ingrid."

  "I can see that, actually," I said.

  "You don't understand," he said. "We're a lot farther away from home than you've been before."

  "The trolls felt farther," I said, although I realized that couldn't be true. We had walked there in less time than it had taken to get here on horse-drawn sleighs.

  "Distance doesn't work here like it does closer to Villmark," he said. "And the north is its own thing."

  "Where are we exactly?" I asked. "If the north takes you back to Norway, where does the west go?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "It's just hills and trees, then more hills and trees."

  "You patrol here?" I asked.

  "Sometimes, but not often," he said. "Trouble comes from the north."

  I nearly asked him about the hamlet, and if that was different too. But I still didn't know if he knew the hamlet even existed. I really should've asked Haraldr about that. If I knew I could talk to Thorbjorn, I could ask him all my questions about the different things that lurked among the trees. Maybe he could even tell me what I had sensed that morning.

  But that would have to wait. "So it's safe here," I said instead.

  "It's safe during the day, aside from the usual dangers from bears and wolves and the like. At night, it's still safe in there," he said, pointing over his shoulder into the lodge. "But not out here. You can come out in the morning if you like and do whatever you need to do on your own, but not at night."

  "But what's out here at night?" I persisted. "Trolls? Giants? Something worse?"

  "I don't know what's out here at night," he admitted. Then he grinned at me. "Because I'm always indoors at night. Does this really need to be the next mystery you investigate?"

  "Of course not," I said. "I'm on vacation."

  "It's a relief to hear you say that," he said.

  "Thorbjorn!" his mother called from the doorway. "Get in the house. You know the rules!"

  I started to laugh, but at the sight of her standing in that doorway, her weighty arms crossed over her chest, that legendary temper just barely in check, I decided I would be better off making all haste to get inside.

  6

  While I had been outside with Thorbjorn, someone had put a massive cast-iron pot over the now-roaring fire in the center of the hall. One by one, Jóra and each of her daughters walked up to that pot and dumped in a bowl full of a different type of food. Jóra had sliced potatoes, Freyja sliced carrots, Freydis wedges of onions, Freylaug sliced fennel bulbs, Freygunnar chopped fresh herbs, and finally Frigg put in a bowl full of chopped dried meat.

  "The last of last year's hunt," Thorbjorn told me as we stood with the others watching this little ceremony. "Our traditional meal before this year's hunt begins."

  "It's going to take forever for that water to come to a boil," I said. "How late were we planning on eating?"

  "We did get here late," Kara said. She left unsaid but clearly meant for me to know that we were late on my account.

  "Can I try speeding things up?" I asked. "My little fireball is my only real spell, but it's reliable."

  "Please do," Gunna said. I hadn't realized she was standing right behind me and Thorbjorn. When I hesitated, she gestured towards the pot.

  Swallowing hard, I walked closer to the fire. I knew this spell well, but I usually used it for light. I had used it to warm my hands while drawing outside on a cold winter's day, but this was going to require a lot more than that. It was a lot of water. I was going to have to generate a lot of heat.

  At the same time, it was probably best if I didn't burn this ancestral hunting lodge down to the ground.

  I summoned the small version of the ball of light on my palms, then infused it with as much power as I dared. On impulse, I used some of the same techniques that Haraldr and I had been working on to contain my glow, only this time I was containing the power within the confines of a small, easily controlled ball.

  When it got too hot to hold, I tossed it into the fire directly under the bottom curve of that pot. To my surprise, the flames of that natural fire leaped up into the air in a variety of colors, snapping like flags in a stiff wind and shooting sparks through the air. But just when I was certain I had messed up and really was about to set the lodge ablaze, the effects passed away.

  I was looking at a perfectly ordinary fire now, burning hot within the red hearts of those logs under the cooking pot.

 
; And the water in the pot was at a brisk simmer.

  "That's a handy little trick," Freyja said. Her son was perched on her hip with a fist in his mouth, but at her words he threw both of his hands in the air and gave an inarticulate shout of delight.

  "Did you like the show, little one?" I asked him. He just looked back at me with huge blue eyes, but I could see he was impressed.

  "His name is Martin," Freyja told me.

  "How do you do, Martin?" I asked, putting out a hand. Martin looked at it suspiciously for a moment, then slapped it with his own chubby little hand. The one that had just been in his mouth. I discretely wiped it on the side of my pants.

  "Who's kill is in the pot?" Báfurr asked.

  "Was it Nilda and Kara's elk?" Jóra asked. "They brought that elk down the morning we left last year."

  "No, this was Thorge's kill," Gunna said, puffing her chest out with obvious pride. "He took down a deer while riding on the sleigh on the way home. That was the last kill."

  "You shot a deer from a moving sleigh?" Raggi asked, clearly impressed.

  Thorge tried to wave away the question, but Thorbjorn was having none of it. "We didn't even have to stop to track it or anything. It was a clean shot, right through the eye. One and done. We picked it up out of the snow and carried on back to the village. But I should let Thorge tell the tale."

  "No, that's all there was to it," Thorge said. He was rubbing at the back of his neck, and he looked a little embarrassed by his older brother's bragging on his behalf.

  "Don't tease him," I whispered to Thorbjorn.

  "I'm not," he whispered back to me. Then he spoke aloud to the room. "But it is time for the telling of tales. My brother is being modest. He doesn't want to brag about his superior skill with the bow. It makes me wonder if he's really a Valkisson at all."

  Some of the others tittered at that, and Thorge flushed even redder than before.

  "A fine tale could be made of it, sure enough. But it needs a better poet than I to do it justice," Thorbjorn went on. "In the meantime, I know a tale that needs no poetic skill to make exciting. Thorge and Thormund here know it as well as I, for they were there with me. I could tell it well enough, but my part in the events was small."