“Some say,” Magnus replied, “that Ran, Goddess of the Sea, is the God Loki’s sister. And Hel is Loki’s daughter.”
“Aye,” Grimnir agreed. “Hel and Ran are kin. But we’ve defied them both many times before, Magnus. Each time a warrior enters a battle or boards a ship, Death is being risked. If you won’t help us, I’ll have to talk with Njal.”
“Njal’s ship is a rotten pile of timber,” Magnus growled.
“True,” Grimnir grinned, “while Waveslasher is the finest ship ever to skim Aegir’s Rooftop.”
Magnus thought a moment more, then laughed. “I thought I’d never return to the Berserkers’ Isle. Do you suppose,” he added in a whisper, with a glance back at the dwelling where his wife waited, “that Zara might still remember me? Understand,” he quickly added to Bloodsong, “that I was younger then. I had not met Ulla, my wife. And, well—”
“Berserker women make love the same way they fight.” Grimnir explained, winking at Bloodsong, “Magnus thought he was going to die the next morning.”
Magnus laughed at the memory.
“When you two are finished telling old tales,” Bloodsong said, “could you trouble yourselves to make ready to sail? Each moment wasted is another which my daughter spends in Thokk’s clutches.”
Magnus’s and Grimnir’s smiles faded. “We can be ready to sail by morning,” Magnus said.
“By this afternoon,” Grimnir corrected.
Magnus started to protest, saw the look on Bloodsong’s face, and changed his mind.
“By this afternoon,” he agreed, and hurried off to begin preparations, wondering if Grimnir had not, unknowingly or otherwise, found himself a Berserker woman of his own.
* * *
The mountain reared skyward into boiling black clouds. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed incessantly around the cloud-enshrouded summit. Though it was near noon, the land was bathed in a twilight gloom, save for the moments when the blinding whiteness of the lightning seared the Earth. Near the base of the peak, rain fell in torrents.
“No one could live atop that mountain,” Jalna said skeptically,” not even someone called the Keeper of the Lightning’s Blood.”
“The tales say that the summit is above the clouds,” Tyrulf replied. “But in order to get there, you have to climb through that tempest.”
“Curse Thokk and Kovna and all people like them,” Jalna growled. “Most people could happily live together in peace, save for the greedy ones who lust for power.”
“And save for those who anxiously follow such leaders,” Tyrulf added. “But if not for their kind, Jalna, warriors such as you and I would have to find other work.”
“I was not always a warrior,” Jalna reminded him. “I became one to make certain that I would never again be made a slave. If not for the Nidhugs and Kovnas and Thokks of this world, I would never have been a slave to begin with.”
Thunder crashed overhead.
“Freya’s Mound is supposed to be near the base of the mountain, according to the tale you told me,” Jalna remembered.
“The drunken warrior who told me of this place said people came here only to worship, but we’d be fools not to keep watch for danger.”
“Aye,” Jalna agreed, loosening her sword in its scabbard, “and people who worship here might not approve of our taking away any magic we find.”
“No.” Tyrulf agreed, “that they might not.”
Neither Tyrulf nor Jalna had expected the mound to look as it did. Each had seen grave mounds before, some quite large, towering many times a person’s height. But the earthen mound looming before them was massive beyond their imaginings, and high atop it grew an ancient tree, branches spreading protectively over the top of the mound, limbs heavy with leaves, gnarled roots thrusting deep into the mound’s rich, black soil.
Three figures stood atop the mound, looking down at Jalna and Tyrulf. One of them beckoned.
“I suppose we should dismount,” Jalna said. “We are here to obtain Freya’s help, not to insult Her and make Her our enemy by riding horses to the summit.”
“I doubt I’ll be allowed to approach,” Tyrulf said. “I was told that only women could worship here.”
“We’re not here to worship.”
Tyrulf nodded. “I will come as far with you as I can. Those three atop the mound are all women,” he noted. “They could be the three Norns the way they stand there staring down at us, spinning our fate as we watch.”
Jalna and Tyrulf dismounted and tied their horses’ reins to stout bushes nearby.
Jalna’s eyes met his. She surprised him with a smile and again by touching his hand. “If we die here today, Tyrulf, know that I am grateful for your help, and that I am no longer quite as suspicious of your planning a trick. I may not return the strong feelings you have for me, but—”
“But you may in time?”
Jalna removed her hand from his. “I make no promises.”
“My thanks for the smile.”
“Perhaps but the first.” She smiled again.
Tyrulf laughed.
They moved forward, reached the base of the mound, and began to climb a pathway that spiraled around the earthen site toward the top. A thick carpet of green grass covered the mound. Brightly colored wildflowers grew everywhere in defiance of the gloomy, storm-ridden skies.
The mound was far enough away from the mountains so that no rain fell upon it, but windblown spray from the nearby tempest filled the air, chilling exposed flesh, while moisture soon collected upon clothing and weapons.
When they reached the top of the mound, the three women came forward to greet them. All stood naked beneath flowing green cloaks, the hoods thrown back, the aura of power strong around them. One was a girl on the brink of womanhood, one a mature woman, one an elder.
“They look even more like the Norns close-up,” Tyrulf whispered to Jalna, a chill of superstitious dread flashing along his spine.
“Aye,” Jalna agreed, tensed as if for battle.
“We are but reflections of the true Norns,” the mature woman said. “Freya has made your quest known to us. You seek Her aid against Hel. If you dare enter the mound, and if you survive the dangers there, you may possibly win the aid you seek.”
“You say Freya has told you of our mission,” Jalna said suspiciously, “but perhaps Thokk’s sorcery is at work here. You could be in her employ, or demons sent to trick us.”
“Yes. We could be. It is up to you to decide. But know this—if you decide to enter the mound, you must do so without weapons. Your trust in us must be complete before the Earth will receive you into this, its womb.”
Jalna looked at Tyrulf.
He shrugged. “Thokk could have attacked before this,” he said, “if she knew of our quest. So I assume she does not. But as to whether we can trust these three?”
“Do we have a choice, Tyrulf? I suppose that if we used our swords on them, we would never find the entrance.”
“You would not live to do us harm should you try,” the elder assured them.
“But it would take you a long time to die,” the youngest promised.
“Freya protects we three,” the mature woman explained, “the guardians of Her sacred site.”
“I am no enemy of Freya’s,” Jalna told them.
“But Freya tells us you have had dealings with Hel.” The elder frowned at Jalna.
“It was necessary to survive Nidhug and help defeat him, a greater evil.”
“But you do not, in your heart, consider Hel truly evil,” the young woman said.
“Yet now you fight against the Underworld’s Queen?” The mature woman inclined her head, expecting a reply.
Jalna nodded. “I fight whoever would enslave me or harm my friends. Thokk, a servant of Hel, is my enemy. Whether she truly does Hel’s will, as she believes, or not, only
Hel knows. Many who think they know the mind of a God or Goddess are only pawns of their own lusts.”
The women stared down at her as if expecting more.
“What are your lusts?” she asked them, then laughed. “Standing naked before strangers while acting important?”
Tyrulf cursed under his breath and prepared to reach for his sword. “Are you trying to get us killed?” he whispered.
But then the elder laughed. “Our lusts are beyond anything you would understand.” She glanced at the other two and laughed again. They joined her.
Jalna hesitated a moment longer, then reached up and began to unstrap her sword and shield. “I will enter your mound, if you permit it, for my endangered friends’ sakes. And may this man come with me?” Jalna placed her sword and shield on the ground.
“He not only may,” said the younger.
“He must,” said the mature.
“If the two of you are to find what you seek,” added the elder.
“In that case—” Tyrulf said, then unstrapped his weapons and put them on the ground beside Jalna’s.
THE THREE WOMEN motioned for Jalna and Tyrulf to follow them. They led the way over the grass, circled behind the massive trunk of the ancient tree, stopped, and turned to face the two warriors.
The mature woman caught Tyrulf’s gaze. “You are the first man to enter the mound in many lifetimes. Even if the woman survives, you may not. Will you still go?”
“She is going.” He looked at Jalna.
“I believe that means yes,” Jalna looked back.
He winked at her. “What form will Freya’s aid take?” He turned his attention back to the three. “For what will we be looking?”
“Freya is ever Hel’s enemy,” said the younger woman.
“That’s not an answer,” Tyrulf complained.
“Though Freya leads the Choosers of the Slain,” said the elder, “and claims half the battle-slain dead, She is first a champion of Life.”
“We wish you victory within the mound,” continued the mature, “but if you fail, Freya will in time find others to aid Her struggle against Hel’s plans.”
“The plans you aided,” said the elder, looking at Jalna, “by helping Bloodsong return the War Skull.”
“Freya should have stopped us then,” Jalna accused back, “or Odin, or any of Hel’s enemies. But no God or Goddess did. I acted to revenge myself against the Hel-traitor, Nidhug, and Hel helped me survive.”
“Freya’s not having acted to stop you does not mean She approved,” the elder responded.
“Your trial within the mound may be more severe because of you helped Hel,” the youngest warned.
“And is part of my test seeing how long I’ll stand here?” Jalna smiled at the women, “enduring your tedious speeches?”
Tyrulf rolled his eyes but saw the three smile back.
The mature said, “We will delay your Orlog no longer, whatever that fate may be.”
The three walked to a circle of blood-red flowers that formed a ring in the green grass nearby. They joined hands circle around the ring of flowers and began to chant a phrase in the lilting tongue Jalna had often heard Huld use to perform Freya’s magic.
From deep within the Earth came a rumbling that made the ground vibrate beneath their feet. The women discarded their green cloaks and began to dance around the ring of flowers, holding hands, dancing slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster. The elder moved as smoothly and gracefully as her younger companions. The chanting and dancing went on and on until suddenly the grass within the circle collapsed into a narrow passageway leading down into darkness.
The women stopped and stood, still and silent.
Jalna and Tyrulf looked at each other.
He reached for her hand.
She took his hand and squeezed it.
“Shall I be polite and let you go first?” he asked. “Or heroic and lead the way?”
“The woman enters first,” the mature woman said.
Jalna strode forward as the women stepped back. She stood on the edge of the opening and looked down. A tunnel from whose walls protruded countless roots yawned darkly. The rich scent of moist earth filled the air. She looked back at the women. “Have any of you been down there?”
All three laughed.
“We will need light,” Jalna continued. “A torch.”
Three heads shook negatively amidst more laughter.
“Perhaps,” Tyrulf said, coming up beside her, “we should forget Freya’s aid and start climbing the mountain. Thor’s aid may be more easily obtained, after all. This mound and that passageway chills me deeply, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“I don’t relish it, either,” Jalna replied, “but I’m going in, unless—”
She looked thoughtfully at the three women. “If you serve Freya, and Freya wants to aid us against Hel, why don’t you three simply come with us? I assume you all wield magic? You could help us defeat Thokk’s sorcery. Perhaps there is no aid within the mound? Perhaps you three are the aid we’ve come seeking.”
The three women laughed yet again. “Leave the mound?” the youngest asked incredulously.
“Easier should the tree leave the mound than we,” the elder added.
“Cursed Witches,” Jalna said under her breath as she sat down on the grass and swung her legs over the edge into the opening, deciding that she should get started before the fear she was hiding grew any stronger.
‘‘‘Just one more thing,” the mature woman said. ‘‘In your impatience to seek your fate I forgot to tell you that you must enter the mound naked. Otherwise, you will die at once, buried alive in the darkness below.”
Jalna got back to her feet and approached the woman. “I think you are enjoying this too much,” she growled. “Why must we be naked? It’s bad enough to voluntarily enter a place of danger without weapons, but to have to do so naked?”
“Save for Brisingamen, Her sacred necklace, has anyone ever seen Freya clothed?” the elder asked.
“Has anyone ever seen Freya at all?” Tyrulf grumbled.
“Many times,” the youngest assured him. “She looks much like me.”
“Now you sound like Huld,” Jalna said, “another Freya-Witch I know, bragging.”
“Whoever sees Freya,” said the elder, “sees herself.”
“Cursed Witches,” Jalna repeated.
“The opening will close soon,” the mature woman told them, “and cannot be reopened for one lunar cycle. Strip naked and enter now, or return to your horses and ride away.”
“How will we get out if it won’t open again for a month?” Jalna asked.
“There are many ways out, but only one way in.”
Cursing beneath her breath, Jalna began to remove her clothes. As she tossed aside her tunic and stood bared to her waste, she looked at Tyrulf. He was watching as if entranced. She glared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Is that a joke?” he asked.
“You won’t see anything here you didn’t see in Nidhug’s dungeon.”
“Jalna, I—”
“So let’s get a look at you! Or are you afraid to be naked with me? Undress!”
“Right.” Tyrulf started fumbling at his clothes.
“Do you need help?” the youngest of the trio asked, then all three women laughed.
Jalna joined them as she jerked off her boots and started tugging at her breeches.
“Curse you all!” Tyrulf growled, his face growing red.
Soon, Jalna squeezed into the cold, damp passageway and crawled downward into the Earth.
Tyrulf followed.
The opening rumbled shut above them.
As Tyrulf crawled blindly through the complete darkness he said. “Maybe to honor Freya in Her role of a Love Goddess, we should stop for a moment and m
ake love.”
“I am afraid, too,” Jalna replied.
“What?”
“You made a joke to try relieving the stress of the fear we both feel.”
“Think you’re smart? Maybe I just want to make love to you.”
“Really?”
“Now who is joking?”
“What do you mean?”
“You really don’t know that I want to—”
Jalna cut him off with a laugh.
“Cursed woman.”
“Cursed? A moment ago, you wanted to love me.”
“Never mind!”
They forced their way through a narrow passageway. Moist earth pressed close all around. Jalna heard soft whimpering, realized that it was coming from her own throat, clamped down on her fear. “I could use a good joke about now.”
He grunted. “You had your chance.”
She pushed herself to keep going. “I feel buried alive!”
“Concentrate on the alive part.”
They crawled on through the clinging earth.
“It’s widening!” she exclaimed and crawled faster, anxious to get free of the constricting dirt.
The tunnel also stopped descending and leveled out. Jalna got to her feet, stood panting, her fear subsiding slightly as she wiped at the dirt she felt clinging to her face.
Beside her, Tyrulf also stood. “Is that light?” He wiped at his eyes.
“Where? Oh! Yes! I see it now, too!
“The walls themselves are glowing. But it’s not my favorite shade of green.”
“You have a favorite shade of green?”
“Any shade that doesn’t glow,” he replied. “No, wait. I take that back. I like any light that lets me see how good you look, covered in mud and nothing else.”
She laughed. “It suits you, too.”
They walked forward. The tunnel angled downward again and became warmer beneath their bare feet.
“Things are growing in the walls,” she noted.
“Yes. And moving.”
Bloodsong Hel X 3 Page 37
