Klint flew down and with his beak snatched something off Thidrek’s nose—probably a beetle or maggot. The draugr’s eyes snapped open; he gave a bellow and swatted at the bird. Klint flew off, squawking angrily. Thidrek jumped to his feet.
“Grelf! Wake up!”
Grelf stirred, yawning, then—as if remembering their plan—immediately came to his senses, blurting out, “The boy! He’s escaped—” Grelf’s head whipped around and saw that William was, alas, still tied to the tree.
“A raven attacked me!” Thidrek exclaimed. “Saddle the horses. We must ride!”
“To escape a raven, my lord?”
“The feathered wretch was Dane the Defiant’s pet, I’m sure of it.”
“But my lord, how could he have followed us?”
Thidrek picked up the blade, leveling his bloodshot eyes on Grelf. “Perhaps my loyal and trusted servant has been leaving marks along the trail.”
“Heavens, no, my lord! Not me. It—it had to be the boy.”
Grelf was the rat again, saving his own hide. How William yearned to spill the beans about their escape plot just to see Grelf squirm.
Thidrek came at William wearing a murderous look. He grabbed his knife from his belt and William thought his end had come. Do they take ten-year-old boys in Valhalla? he wondered. But Thidrek didn’t use the knife on William; instead he cut the rope binding him to the tree and yanked him to his feet.
“If your friends come close,” Thidrek growled, “it’s you I’ll threaten to send to Niflheim.”
Thidrek dragged William toward the horses Grelf was saddling. William knew the binding around his wrists had nearly been cut through but didn’t know if a strong yank would sever it. He had to wait for the exact right time to try.
“You’ll ride with me, boy,” Thidrek said. “I want to keep you close.”
Thidrek picked him up and flung him into the saddle. Now! William yanked hard on the binding. It broke, freeing his hands. He grabbed the reins, kicked the horse’s flanks. “Yah!” The horse bolted away like an arrow shot from his bow. He heard angry shouts but didn’t look back as the horse galloped away.
Overcome with a manic frenzy to flee, William raced blindly into the black forest, low-hanging branches whipping at him, slashing his face. He didn’t know how long he rode or in what direction; he was consumed by his raging need to distance himself from the devil Thidrek. Finally, clear thinking trumped his animal panic and he slowed his mount and listened for pursuing hoofbeats. He heard nothing but the normal night sounds of the forest. Had he eluded his tormentor? Maybe Thidrek had given up, knowing there were enemies about.
Poor Grelf. Still man-in-waiting to an odious draugr. But not for long. William had to find his friends. They were south—but what direction was that? Lut could look at the stars to navigate, a skill William had yet to learn. Then he remembered something Lut had taught him: Moss grew more thickly on the north sides of trees.
He dismounted and at a pine tree quickly felt along the bark for the spongy moss, since it was too dark to actually see it. There! He felt a thick, soft clump of it. Now he knew where south was—the opposite side of the tree pointed to it.
William threw himself into the saddle and gave a hard slap to the horse’s rear, and off she galloped, now headed in the right direction. Had Klint flown back to Dane, squawking and cawing in the secret language he and Dane shared, telling him that Thidrek had been found? If so, William’s friends were already headed his way. How joyous he’d be when he saw their faces again. How safe he would feel to be sheltered among them. They would hunt Thidrek down, and once cornered, the soulless wretch would fall to his knees and grovel for mercy. And when he was dispatched forever to Niflheim, William would finally know that the man who had murdered his mother and father would never bring pain to anyone again.
He emerged from thick forest into a wide meadow dimly lit by the moon. He knew this place. He, Grelf, and Thidrek had ridden past it that day. All he needed to do was find the rutted trail they had taken, then follow it south to Dane’s party. The horse trotted through the tall grass, scattering nesting birds. Halfway across the meadow he saw a dark swath of bare ground ahead. The trail!
Suddenly he felt a shiver, as if an icy hand had gripped the back of his neck. Instinctively he whipped his head around to look behind him—and saw a flash of light at the tree line from where he’d just come. His heart sank, for he was sure the metallic glint was moonlight reflecting off the Blade of Oblivion.
Thidrek exploded from the trees atop the other horse, his right hand thrust high, holding the axe. William’s heels dug into his mount’s flanks and the horse broke into a sprint. An instant later they were off the grass and onto the trail. Ahead maybe two hundred paces was the curtain of trees on the south side of the meadow. William raced for it, for he knew its dark cover gave him at least a slim chance to elude Thidrek. Out here in the moonlight, he was dead.
He looked back. Thidrek’s horse was sprinting, too, but had not made up any ground. William was going to make the trees—he was sure of it! Maybe he would stay on the trail in hopes of running into Dane’s party. What a sight to see, Thidrek suddenly turning tail and running from them!
He breached the tree line. Thidrek would surely give up now. He glanced back just in time to see the axe flying sideways toward him, its blade scything the air making a whooshing sound. In a blinding-white shower of sparks, his horse vanished from under him. The ground came up like a hard fist, knocking William senseless. He lay there, unable to move or talk. Seeming then as if in a dream, he saw Thidrek grinning down at him, the grin turning to a look of distress . . . Thidrek flinging the saddle, blanket, and reins into the tall grass beside the trail . . . William felt himself roughly lifted and slung over Thidrek’s horse . . . the horse led off the trail and into a thick covering of trees . . . Thidrek was now just standing there, looking off at something . . . William realized what it was! They were hiding from Dane’s party, passing along the trail. William tried to call out to tell them—Dane, help! I’m here!—but all he managed was strangled sounds. He saw Thidrek turn and scowl at him. And before he could make another sound, Thidrek brought the blade handle down upon William’s skull and blackness descended.
Chapter 16
A Negotiation with the Norns
Wait! I see something,” Dane said. The party halted. Dane dismounted and stepped off the trail into the tall grass. He kneeled down and saw a saddle and horse blanket lying there. The blanket was warm and moist, as if it had just come off a lathered horse. Nearby were the reins and mouth bit. He touched the bit and it, too, was warm. “Someone took these off a horse just moments ago.”
Lut dismounted, reached down for a pinch of soil, and brought it to his nose. “Ashes. Still warm,” Lut said gravely. Immediately they knew the awful significance of this. The Blade of Oblivion had struck. “On guard, everyone!” Lut ordered. “Thidrek has been here.”
Everyone’s hands grasped the hilts of their weapons. Jarl, Drott, and Fulnir, still mounted, nervously swiveled their heads around—but in the dim moonlight all they saw were grass and the dark shapes of trees. Then Dane saw something else on the ground. He bent down and picked it up. William’s shoe. Still warm. Dane felt sick again. Had Thidrek used the blade on the boy? Was William forever beyond his reach now, locked behind the gates of Niflheim? The thought of the innocent boy suffering in Hel’s dark realm tore at him.
“Thidrek!” Dane shouted at the night. “Show yourself! This time we settle it for good!” His words faded away across the meadow. Lut put a hand upon his shoulder.
“We don’t know for sure William is dead,” consoled Lut. Dane looked down at the boy’s shoe in his hand and managed a nod, although he feared the odds were slim. “Thidrek may already be gone,” Lut added. “If Three Brothers is his destination, then we must get there before him.” Dane put the shoe in his pocket, hoping that it would find its owner again. He and Lut mounted up and the party headed north.
They f
ollowed the trail as it crossed the meadow and plunged into the woods on the other side. Not long afterward a figure abruptly jumped from behind a tree in front of them, waving his arms madly and shouting. In the lead, Dane barely managed to pull up his horse to avoid running him over. It was Grelf.
“Odin be praised!” he rejoiced. “Hail the Rune Warriors! Come to save me from the clutches of my moldering lord.”
They just stared at him. “Come to save you? Our enemy’s loyal man?” said Dane.
“My loyalty ceased when his lordship ceased to breathe.”
“So,” Dane said, “all that blather about you being ‘most fortunate and happy to serve’ him was—”
“Blather,” Grelf concurred. “I was kidnapped by the foul draugr, pressed into service—just as William was. We were to escape when your bird interrupted our plans.” There came a squawk from above. Klint had just landed on the branch of a nearby tree.
“But William did escape,” Lut said.
Grelf told them of the boy galloping off on one of their horses and Thidrek’s pursuit atop the other, reins in one hand, blade in the other.
“And he used it,” Dane said bitterly. “We found the other horse’s blanket and saddle . . . and this.” Dane showed William’s shoe to Grelf.
“But he would not have killed the boy,” Grelf said.
“Why?” said Jarl. “He suddenly too moral to murder?”
“A dead boy serves him no purpose,” Grelf explained. “Thidrek means to use him as a hostage to check you.”
Dane felt renewed optimism for William’s chances. “Where is he taking him?”
Grelf told them of the Ship of the Dead buried in the cave behind the waterfall. “Your runes were correct. There are three islands near the mouth of the river that leads to the cave.”
“Ah! Three islands,” Drott said, sounding a little smug. “And who among us got that right?”
Fulnir sighed, tired of Drott harping on this. “Should we stop and throw you a banquet?”
“Maybe later,” Drott said, Fulnir’s sarcasm lost on him. “Remember, I like mutton.”
“Why are we standing around when there’s a draugr to kill?” Jarl said. “Let’s ride!” Jarl took off up the trail. Grelf panicked, afraid they were abandoning him.
“You can’t leave me here alone!” he whined. “Thidrek may still be about! And—and there’s forest creatures that would eat me!”
Dane turned to Lut. “He’s been to the cave—his knowledge may come in handy.” Lut agreed.
“All right, Grelf, you can ride with Drott,” Lut said.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Grelf crooned. Drott offered his hand, helping him up. “I shall not be a bother, just drop me at the first village we come to.”
“No, Grelf,” Lut said. “You’re taking us all the way to the Ship of the Dead.”
“The—the ship?” Grelf bleated. “But I do not wish to return there.”
“You’ll take us to the ship or we’ll leave you here,” Lut said.
Seeing he had no choice, Grelf whimpered, “Will cruelty to me never cease?”
The thought of once again facing the Norns made Astrid’s skin crawl. The Wyrd Sisters—how they hated this apt name—possessed the dazzling beauty of goddesses and the foul temperament of a bucket of vipers. Also known as the Fates, or the Mistresses of Time, they wrote the destinies of gods and humans.
Months before, when Astrid had discovered that they had fated Dane to die, she had gone to them to plead for his life. The scheming witches had agreed to spare him, but only if Astrid left her earthly existence to serve Odin and become a Valkyrie. Thus, Astrid had learned that the Norns made a hard bargain that was always to their advantage. This time, Astrid was determined to not let them get the best of her again.
As she and Vali emerged from the clouds, Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, loomed before them. The awe-inspiring ash tree dwarfed all living things; its branches spread out to the heavens, disappearing into the mists above, its roots plunged deep into the very center of the earth. Astrid knew that at the base of the tree the Norns dwelled and conspired.
Vali glided down into the lush grass next to a still pool. On her last visit here Astrid had looked into this pool, seeing visions of her past and future that shocked and amazed her. She hopped from Vali’s back as her steed instantly started gorging on the sweet grass. Astrid knew she needn’t tie his reins to a tree branch to prevent him from wandering; with such rich fodder he’d stay put and eat until his belly was bursting. Despite being a celestial species, when it came to food Vali was just as piggish as his earthly counterpart.
“Greetings, dear sister.”
Astrid turned to see Skuld, garbed in a scarlet robe and matching headdress, standing a few yards away, as if she had suddenly appeared there. “It is a pleasure to see you again,” she said with a welcoming smile that did not fool Astrid.
“As it is a pleasure to see you, dear Skuld. I trust you and your sisters are well,” said Astrid, attempting sincerity. Across a small meadow at the base of Yggdrasil she saw Verdandi and Urdr, Skuld’s fate-spinning sisters. Astrid wished a branch would fall and kill them—then revised her wish. Better that Skuld was with them so the branch would wipe them all out. Then humankind would forever be free of their vicious whims.
“To what do we owe your visit?” asked Skuld.
Was she jesting? She knew perfectly well why Astrid had come. But Astrid humored her, spilling out the story of Mist’s death at the hands of Aurora and her unjust conviction for the crime.
“It appears you’ve stumbled into quite a quandary,” said Skuld after Astrid had finished.
Astrid wanted to say the “quandary” was all Skuld’s doing. If she hadn’t sent Dane for the Blade of Oblivion in order to kill the draugr Thidrek, none of it would have happened. But casting blame on a Norn was—as Astrid’s father would say—about as futile and foolish as arguing a mother bear out of her cubs. So she said, “You are correct, m’lady. I had hoped you could advise me as to how I can prove myself innocent.”
“And exactly why should your innocence be my concern?”
Astrid was stumped for a moment. She had to proceed with caution. “Um, well . . . because you are most merciful and desire to see a mistake of justice righted.”
The good cheer vanished from Skuld’s face, replaced with a look of haughty contempt. “I do not make mistakes.”
“I wasn’t implying—”
“Do you think it’s easy crafting destinies for everyone? You try it. Every day I must create fates and keep things fresh—from cruel to joyous to somewhere in between. Of course, I could take the easy way out and make everyone happy, but that would be hack work and I have higher standards.”
“M’lady, I am not belittling your craft,” Astrid said, soothing her wounded pride. “I must admit the fate you’ve created for me is most original.”
“Of course it is,” Skuld said with a self-satisfied air. “I spin the future while my sisters work in the past and present. What skill is there in knowing what has gone before or what is now? They are rank amateurs compared to me. Only I have the genius to create what shall be.”
Skuld sure was laying it on thick. Astrid wondered why a goddess would have to sing her own praises and malign her two sisters. Maybe she was secretly insecure, like most people in power. “M’lady, your sagacity is without question, but I am confused as to why you would have me become a Valkyrie and then so soon after have Aurora’s vicious lies send me fleeing from the sisterhood.”
“Who are you to question my methods?” Skuld asked, her tone hardening. “How stupid you are. Do you think I work from moment to moment to refashion fate? I was here before the gods walked the earth—and I’ll be here when they are but dust in the wind. Your destiny was shaped before your father met your mother. I created the moment when you first laid eyes on Dane the Defiant and then fell in love with him—it has all led up to this.”
She gestured to the pond. Suddenly flames leaped
from the still surface. Astrid gasped in shock as in the pool’s reflection she saw her village on fire and under attack by a swarm of howling, half-decayed men. Draugrs! Thidrek led them, swinging the Blade of Oblivion, as the horde swept in, chopping down men, women, and children without mercy. Then she saw her father on his knees begging for his life as Thidrek stood over him, shrieking with laughter. The monster raised his sword, and Astrid cried “No!” covering her eyes before the blade hacked down, ending her father’s pleas. “No! You can’t!” Astrid cried. “You can’t let this happen!”
Skuld looked at the horrible scene without emotion, as if human suffering had no effect on her. “Destiny can be cruel” was all she said.
“It is you who are cruel, to create such a future as this!” Blind fury took Astrid, and she leaped at Skuld, meaning to wring the goddess’s neck. But all her hands grasped was air. A derisive chuckle made her whirl, and she saw all three of the Fates were now standing a short distance away.
“Now, now, a Valkyrie must keep her head,” teased Urdr, who was the Fate who kept the past.
“She must not let anger cloud her judgment,” mocked Verdandi, who kept the present.
Astrid took a breath, trying to calm herself. She remembered that the last time she had come before them, the Fates had used the same methods: their haughty manner and immunity to human suffering had caused Astrid to lose her head and lash out in anger. It was their way of manipulating her, Astrid realized. This time she would not play their game.
“Thank you for seeing me, sisters,” she said calmly. She turned her back on them and started toward her grazing mount.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Skuld demanded.
Astrid stopped and turned back to them. “As the Sisters of Fate, I would think you would know that.” She continued walking away from them.
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