When the ordeal is ended, and the shed is empty, we all decide it would be better to wait until tomorrow to leave the fjord. The messengers want to leave this evening, but Bera persuades them to eat another good meal and get another good sleep before they depart in their smaller boat. Our ship waits for us, so heavy with our grief I do not know how it stays afloat.
After we have eaten a slow, silent meal, Alric stands. He and I haven’t talked about a tale. I feel unable to gather any words tonight, and I worry that he will call on me. But he begins without looking or nodding toward me, and it seems he intends to tell the story himself. So I am able to relax and listen, a part of his audience once again.
“It seems so long ago now,” Alric says, “that Solveig found the runestone down in the forest. I studied it and determined whom it was meant to honor, and then I set about harvesting his story from the lore. Now I will tell you what I have remembered of him.” And he begins.
“Many generations have passed since the gods first made kings of men, back when the fjords were still raw from being rent open. At that time, a warrior chose this place, where we have spent this winter, to build his meadhall and make his home. His household grew strong. His sons were mighty in battle, and his daughters delighted the eyes of all who beheld them.
“But then the frost giants came from high above the warrior’s hall, through the black forests, and over the mountains. Towering monsters of cunning, with the strength of ten men, the giants looked down on the fjord and spied the warrior’s daughters. They decided among themselves to steal the maidens away, to carry them back to their realm of rock and ice as brides.”
The story makes me think of Asa, and I glance at her. She sits near me, leaning forward with her hands folded against her stomach, her eyes fixed on Alric as though he is divining her past and her future.
“The giants descended,” Alric says. “The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the walls of the steading shook as though to fall. The warrior-king heard their coming and hid his daughters in a cave. Then he and his sons waited with sword and spear. In the shadow of a glacier, in the grip of a ravine, they stood ready to do battle with the giants.”
As he tells the story, I can almost feel the walls of our hall shaking.
Alric continues. “The sight of the giants would have caused lesser men to lower their spears, but the warrior-king raised his sword and cried, ‘No daughter shall be taken from this land, and death shall fall upon you if you make war with us!’ ”
As he speaks, I am reassured by the knowledge that my father would do the same for me, and has done for Asa.
“The frost giants roared and laughed,” Alric says. “Up the ravine they came, tearing boulders loose and toppling trees.
“The warrior-king looked with pride upon his sons, and spoke. ‘We hold them here,’ he said. ‘None shall break our shield-wall.’ And after hours of battle, not one single giant had. Because of the narrowness of the ravine where the warrior-king and his sons had made their stand, no two giants could pass through, and so the warrior-king and his sons fought each giant in turn, and in turn, sent each to the sleep of the sword, filling the ravine with the bodies.”
The expression on Alric’s face appears more earnest than I have ever seen it. It is almost as if he is finally telling a tale that he, himself, believes.
“After the last of the frost giants had fallen, and the ground was wet with their blood, the warrior-king broke gold rings on the battlefield and rewarded each of his sons for their valor. But there was one son among them, an assassin, who had treasure from the giants in his purse, given in payment for treachery. And as his father offered him his reward, the evil son drew a poisoned dagger and slashed his father’s hand.”
Around me, the audience gasps and rumbles in anger. The mention of poison falls heavy on us.
“The traitor fled, a coward.” Alric says. “And the daughters of the warrior-king came forth from the cave to find their father succumbing to the bane in his blood. They cleaned his wounds with their tears and fed him on their song, until Odin’s shield-maidens came to carry his spirit up.
“Then, his sons piled his ship with precious stones, and swords, shields, mead, honey, gold, and spears. They buried him with tribute befitting his final act and lifted a runestone so that his sacrifice would be remembered.”
Only the fire is breathing. The rest of us wait. Alric has not bowed his head, and so it seems the tale is not yet finished.
“It is not my custom,” he says, “to comment on my own story. But I feel compelled tonight to do so. That runestone down in the woods no longer marks the honor of the warrior-king alone. Many good men died here this winter. A death by treachery is no less honorable, and would our men have been called upon, each would have willingly fallen on the spear instead to protect the children of their king. They were here for their king, and they died for their king.
“Though we sail tomorrow, we do not leave this place emptied. We leave our love and gratitude inscribed on the runestone in the forest, which now marks a new generation of heroes.”
He bows his head.
And the room inhales.
Then we applaud him. All of us. Hake actually crosses the room and pulls the skald into an embrace. Again, I find myself in awe of Alric. After a day of mourning, a day spent in the dark wake of senseless death, Alric has given meaning to our pain. Something to help us see our way out of our grief so we can leave this place in peace. My father might be a king, but it seems that Alric also has power to lead us.
I greet the day with a newfound strength. We eat a final meal of oats and fish and throw snow on the fire. Hake gives the larder key back to Bera. Then Raudi comes over to Muninn’s cage.
“I will carry him down to the ship for you.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He lifts the cage, and we all file out of the hall. Harald leaps ahead, rushes back, and skips around us. Bera strides to the larder and locks it. It’s empty, but I think there is something in the act of locking it that helps her feel better about leaving.
We make our way down to the water, where we start to board our ships, the messengers in their small boat and the rest of us in our larger vessel. I climb in and find a bench out of the way. Harald is trembling with excitement beside me, barely sitting at all. The boat rolls a little against its anchor. I hear the water gurgling under the planking beneath my feet and smell the brine in the air. Raudi sets Muninn down near my feet and then goes to help the berserkers up the ramp. As one of them boards, leaning on Hake, he looks out across the fjord. He squints. Then he points and shouts.
“Ships!”
Hake looks up. He seats the berserker and thunders up to the prow. The rest of us crowd behind him.
“Who are they?” Per asks.
“Everyone out of the boat,” Hake says. Then he shouts across the water for the messengers to do the same.
We disembark in confusion. I look back over my shoulder at Muninn, but decide he’s probably safe where he is for now. We gather on the shore, waiting, while Hake and Per scan the water.
“There are two of them,” Per says. “I can almost make out their standard.”
“Drekars,” Hake says. A moment passes. “It is Gunnlaug.”
I gasp and Asa pales.
“It can’t be,” Bera says. “He lost the war.”
“He retreated,” Hake says, “to bring his war here.”
CHAPTER 16
BATTLE
The black ships heave toward us with the beating of their oars, the billowing of their sails. I want to scream. I want to hide. I want to drop to the rocky ground and claw my way under it. My dream has grown flesh. The wolf has come. The el der messenger rushes up. “We must go. All of you, hurry.”
“The fjord is too narrow,” Hake says. “Our ship will never make it past them.”
“Ours will,” the younger messenger says.
“No,” Hake says. “It won’t. And we need you here.”
“Two more
swords won’t make any difference to you now.” The el der messenger backs away from the rest of us, pulling his companion with him toward their boat. “And we must warn the king of what has happened.”
Hake shakes his head. “You won’t make it through.”
“We’ll take our chances,” the gray-haired messenger says before they both turn and sprint for their tiny craft.
“Cowards!” Per shouts after them, and then he looks to Hake. “Should we stop them?”
Hake turns from the shore. “Why? They would only run at the first opportunity. Let them die on the water.” He marches to the trailhead. “Everyone, go up to the steading. Quickly, now.”
We all move at the same time, some up the path, while the three berserkers and Per join Hake. Harald and Asa run together, holding hands, and I am about to follow them when I remember that Muninn is still on the ship. I turn back.
“Where are you going?” Alric asks me.
I don’t answer and sprint up the ramp onto the deck. I grab Muninn’s cage; he flaps inside and caws, shifting his weight. I rush back down to the shore, toward Hake. He motions for me to hurry as he watches the water. I glance toward the messengers’ little craft pushing out into the fjord. And the enemy ships looming beyond it. The drekars are almost close enough for me to see their snarling dragon prows, almost close enough to hear the men clamoring for our blood. Soon, they will land.
“Go!” Hake says.
I turn away and scurry up the path. But the cage is heavy, and Muninn still thrashes inside it, and after a few steps, my toe catches on something under the snow. I lurch forward. The cage flies away from me, tumbles through the air and lands with a splintering crack against a tree. The cage falls in pieces, and Muninn flutters free.
“No!” I shout.
Muninn flaps up onto the nearest tree branch, and from there he manages to hop and scramble well out of my reach.
“Muninn!” I am nearly hysterical. “Muninn, come back here. Right now!”
Alric rushes up to my side. “Solveig, you must leave him.”
“I can’t!”
“He survived in the woods before, he’ll be all right.”
“Muninn, come to me!”
“Solveig, hurry!” Alric tries to push me up the path.
But I fight him. Muninn looks down on me, unconcerned. And he starts to preen.
“You stupid, stupid bird!” I scream as Alric drags me away.
By the time we reach the top of the hill, I am sobbing. And then Asa and Harald are at my sides, trying to put their arms around me. “Muninn,” I say to them, but I can barely breathe and get out nothing more. My raven is gone, my friend, and it feels like a part of my own body has been torn away. I take a few deep breaths to calm the convulsions wracking my chest.
Hake and Per come up after me, supporting the three berserkers. Then the two of them charge to the cliff against a headwind, their cloaks flapping, and the rest of us steal up behind them. Below us, on the water, the messengers approach Gunnlaug’s ships in their little sailboat. But they are scrabbling against the wind while the drekars gallop with it over the waves.
“They’re dead,” Hake says.
We watch as the first warship reaches the sailboat, close enough, I am sure, for the messengers to see the eyes of the enemy across the water. I wonder if my father’s men are pleading for mercy, or if they shout defiant curses, or if they are still trying to escape, their heads bowed, desperate and futile. I am horrified, and do not want to watch them die, but I can’t look away.
Arrows like little black needles rain down on them from Gunnlaug’s ship, shredding the sail. And then, the sparks of several flames arc through the air, and fire blooms on the sail and the deck. Within moments, the little boat is engulfed, and Gunnlaug’s ship prowls ahead. I realize that it never even slowed.
“We’ll mourn them later,” Hake says. He leads us through the gate into the yard. “For now, we need to get the king’s children up to the cave. I will make a stand here.” He turns to his fellow berserkers, and something unspoken passes among them. “With my men. Perhaps in the hall, so they think that’s where we’ve holed up the children.”
The three berserkers pull upright and nod.
“I’ll guide them to the cave,” Per says.
“Very well,” Hake says. “You are responsible for getting them to safety.”
Per bows.
“Ole, Bera, Raudi.” Hake points up the ravine. “You, too. Everyone, move.”
Raudi stays rooted where he is. “I will stay and fight.” He swallows. “I would prefer a spear.”
No. I almost reach to grab him in my panic. He is trying to prove he isn’t a coward, but now is not the time.
Hake shakes his head, but there is respect in it. “You may yet be called upon to prove yourself, but not now. You must go with the others.”
We break into two groups. The warriors march to the gate, while the rest flock toward the hall. I watch them go, divided. Raudi has made me aware of something I’m only now realizing.
“Solveig, move,” Hake says.
But I don’t want to leave anyone behind. The warriors are going to die if they stay here. And in that moment I realize that Hake has come to mean something more to me. I don’t yet know what it is I feel for him, but I know that I don’t want to lose him.
“Come with us,” I say.
He pulls his war hammer free. “This is what I was sent here to do.” He smiles at me. “And I do it willingly. Go, now.”
Raudi comes up and tugs me away. I join the others, reluctantly, and we start across the yard. In the commotion, I feel someone grab my arm. I turn as Ole pulls me in close and hisses in my ear.
“Remember what you told me,” he says. “You are a skald now, not the daughter of any king.” And then he lets me go and slides away. A moment later, I see him touch Per’s shoulder. “There’s something I need in the hall,” he says.
Per halts, as do Asa, Harald, and I. “What could you possibly —?”
“It’s my bone knife. Had it since I was a boy.”
Alric, Bera, and Raudi don’t seem to have noticed that we’ve stopped. They race ahead.
“We’re not waiting for you,” Per says. He leads us away from Ole without looking back, down the side of the hall, and then through the garden patch where Raudi and I pulled up carrots all those months ago. As we reach the far side and start across the field, Per slows our pace.
“We won’t make it up to the cave,” he says. “I know of a better place to hide you.”
My skin goes cold beneath my furs. “Hake said to go to the cave.”
“I don’t think he thought about how far it was,” Per says. “Gunnlaug’s men will overtake us before we make it.” He turns and trots away toward a copse of trees on the north side of the field. “Hurry, follow me!”
Harald obeys, and then I see that Asa is about to start after them.
“This isn’t what Hake told us to do,” I say.
“Per knows this place,” Asa says. “He’s been here before.”
“He has?”
“Yes, he was the one who told Father about it. Come on.” She runs off.
Something doesn’t feel right about this. I see Raudi, Bera, and Alric in the distance. They have nearly reached the base of the ravine, and in a moment of indecision I almost run to join them. But instead, I hurry to catch up with my brother and sister. I find them standing in a small clearing, while Per trudges around in circles, kicking at the snow. Then he bends over and roots around a certain area with his hands.
“There,” he says, and heaves upward.
The ground yawns open, and snow pours down into a dark hole. Per holds up a trapdoor. “This was the larder, years ago,” he says. “Hurry down inside and hide. They won’t find you here.”
Harald bites his lip. “It’s dark.”
“Come,” Asa says. “Hold my hand.” She takes him and leads him down a set of earthen steps. The two of them look like they are walking
into a grave.
“We should go to the cave,” I say.
Per stares at me. “Hurry, Solveig. Get inside.”
My mind screams at me as my body does what he says. I tremble, and my eyes dart from side to side. I pass under Per’s arm and descend the stairs. When I reach the bottom, the smell of mold and clay choke me. I look back up at Per, but his face is all shadow against the white of the snow and the sky.
“Keep quiet,” he says. “It will be all right.”
The cellar door shuts.
The vein of light framing the trapdoor quickly disappears. Per must be covering it back up with snow. Within moments, the three of us are suspended in a dark and ceaseless void. My eyes focus and refocus, straining in the nothing. I catch glimpses of vague forms that dart and shift before me, black against blacker. It’s disconcerting, because I know it’s too dark to see anything. The earth is hard beneath my feet. I smell the rot of wood mixed with the sourness of stale mead.
I feel Harald’s hand grope for mine. “Tell me a story, Solveig.”
“Keep silent,” Asa says.
“I’ll tell you a story later,” I whisper.
I imagine him nodding.
And Asa is right. I hold my breath to hear whatever muffled sounds reach us under the earth. Long empty moments pass. Was that the crack of a sword against a shield? Was that a warrior’s cry? I cannot tell if my ears are hearing these things, or if I conjure up the sounds as my eyes conjure shadows.
So we stand here and wait.
And wait.
It seems that minutes pass. Then … an hour? I concentrate and realize that I cannot feel the movement of time inside me. Time is something that is seen. It’s in the burning of a hearth-log, in the drying of fish in the smokehouse, it’s in the lengthening of a stalk of wheat. Cut off from these signs, I wonder if time moves forward. Are Asa and Harald and I now outside of it, and does the world above age without us?
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