After a short while, [Mend Your Wounds] had done its work. Halfdan could feel the difference going from first to third rank; besides keeping him alive throughout the fight, it healed minor cuts and injuries swiftly when given the chance. Thinking of that, Halfdan examined his gift. Killing the snake yesterday had yielded a Seed of Power, as had this fight against the draugar. One had been spent on [Scorn the Steel], though at first rank, it did little to dull the blades striking him. First rank simply did not yield enough. Halfdan had two Seeds available. While he usually favoured keeping them in reserve, these last fights had happened fast and been unpredictable.
Deciding to trust his patron and the gifts on offer, Halfdan added one Seed to [Blessing of the One-eyed], increasing it to second rank, thereby allowing him to also increase its branching skill [Scorn the Steel] to second. Hopefully that would avert a blade or two in the future.
Ready to continue, Halfdan opened his eyes to see Sif standing over him, her sling prepared. “Where’s the other?” he asked, sitting upright.
“She went to scout the surroundings.” Sif frowned, looking at him. “What happened to your gift?”
“You reading me? It’s considered uncouth to do that to your companions.”
“Well, I’m curious. I want to see how you grow,” Sif defended yourself.
“One day, I won’t accept ‘curiosity’ as an argument from you.”
“But what happened to your blessing?” she asked.
“Nothing. Why?”
“When I try to read your gift, it only says berserker. Nothing about Odin.”
Now it was Halfdan’s turn to frown. He looked at his tree, only to find it as expected. Considering he had just spent two Seeds on Odin’s blessings, it was clearly there. As he realised the truth, he laughed. “Don’t worry, little one.” [Blessing of the One-eyed] not only helped Halfdan to hide when needed; it also hid his gift from those who would try to read him. Increasing it to second rank had made it strong enough to beat Sif’s own skill. “The one-eyed god has his tricks, it seems.”
Freydis returned, once again stepping gingerly a path to avoid the dismembered corpses. “No sight of anything, living or dead.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Halfdan muttered.
“Well, it’s true at present. But I’ll take your point in good spirit and suggest we leave before anything else happens.” Glancing over the fallen draugar, she found the headless remains of their host, still dressed in his wedding finery. “So this is Thrym. I heard the story but never imagined this.”
“Wait, what’s the story?” Sif exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of him!”
“Nor I,” Halfdan admitted, getting on his feet.
“Few have. I heard it from my mistress.”
“Tell us!” Sif pleaded.
“If you wish. It’s brief.” Freydis kneeled next to Thrym’s corpse and began pulling the silver clasp of his cloak from the worn fabric. “Thrym was a J?tun of ambition and cunning, but little wisdom. One night, he stole into Asgard and took Thor’s hammer away.”
Halfdan whistled, and Sif gasped at the thought.
“To return it, he demanded Freya as his wife. Naturally, my lady refused, and Loki came up with a ruse. Thor disguised himself as the bride with Loki as his bridesmaid.” Freydis gave a dark chuckle as she stood up, looking down at the headless Thrym. “I always thought it an amusing tale, but not from the viewpoint of the J?tnar, I suppose.”
“What happened?” Sif asked.
“The ruse worked. Thrym brought the hammer out for his wedding feast, Thor seized his weapon, and you’ve seen the result. The Aesir are known for their violence.” Freydis picked up the blanket that Sif used as a cloak, draped it around the girl’s shoulders, and fastened the silver clasp to keep it in place. “There. Suitable attire for a skáld.”
“Thanks!” Sif looked around at the dead wedding guests. “I can’t imagine going to a celebration, and then everyone gets killed.”
“The wrath of the Thunderer is no small matter.” Freydis stood up and gathered her belongings. “Let’s go. I think we’ve lingered long enough.”
Picking up his axe, Halfdan agreed, and the trio left the longhouse behind, now a shrine to death and decay.
*
“Hey, where’s the raven?” Sif asked as they breathed the air in the courtyard. The sun had yet to rise, but twilight provided enough illumination to see their surroundings.
“I don’t know. I neither saw nor heard sign of it,” Freydis admitted.
Halfdan tried not to dwell on how their entire journey seemed to hinge on a random bird. “Well, it appeared by its own accord. It’ll return by that same measure.” He walked over to the well and began hauling up water. The fight had left him absolutely parched.
Once the bucket was in his hands with its precious content, Halfdan tipped it back over his head to drink greedily. His entire body flinched as a dead bird followed the water out to land on his face. Spluttering, Halfdan leapt backwards like a frightened cat, dropping the bucket.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Freydis looked down at the carcass, dripping with water. “You found the raven,” she remarked.
“What happened to it?” Sif asked with a distressed voice.
Recovered, Halfdan bent down and pushed its feathers aside to reveal a wound. “Someone killed it. The draugar? Strange that they’d care about a bird.”
“Their anger might be against all things living,” Freydis speculated. “No other animals make their home here, not even the smallest critter.”
Above them, the sound of a raven croaking could be heard. They looked up to see a black-feathered bird land on top of the wellhouse.
Halfdan looked from the dead avian to its still living counterpart. “Wait, which one is ours?”
“Maybe they both are,” Sif suggested. “The draugar killed that one,” she said, pointing at the dead specimen, “so Odin sent another.”
As if in reply, the raven cried out and resumed its flight. Halfdan looked at it and sighed. As someone used to relying on his own strength, trusting in himself, he was not fond of how the winds of fate currently blew, making him trudge after a bird. He picked up his axe and sighed again. “Let’s go.”
*
The landscape slowly changed from grassland to moor, becoming flat in the process. It made it less likely they would encounter others, as the land could not be farmed, though Halfdan wondered what lay in this direction. It also raised the issue of provisions; water could not be found nearby, and they could not eat heather. Freydis had brought some for herself, not a company of three.
Sif spotted a hare running in the distance; before she could place a stone in her sling, Freydis’ spear flew to impale the creature. “There’s supper.”
Halfdan looked around, uneasy. “A fire will attract attention.”
“From whom? Nightfall is late this time of summer. If we make the fire before that, it won’t be visible. Nor will the smoke, not when made by me.”
“What, you possess magic flint and tinder?”
“No, but as a former thief, I know how to stay unseen,” Freydis argued.
Taking another look around at the empty moor, Halfdan relented. “I’ll get to skinning, then.”
*
Although lean, the hare provided a good meal to those with a starving belly. Halfdan also had to admit Freydis did not boast; no smoke rose from the flames that burned on the heather serving as fuel.
“A useful skill,” he acknowledged, mostly to himself. It made him think of his own, all of which served no purpose except for combat. Excellent for a warrior, where failure meant death. A smith would survive making a bad nail, but a berserker could die from a wrong swing of the axe.
“What of our little skáld?” Freydis asked. “I’ve yet to hear a song from you.”
Sif cleared her throat, looking at the ground. “I don’t know. I haven’t practised or tried to learn that. I’ve spent my Seeds on skills for knowledge, to be more useful.” She raised her eyes to Halfdan with an unspoken question.
“You’re fine, child,” he told her, feeling awkward; he was not used to others looking to him for opinion or approval. Whether his answer had satisfied or not, nobody else spoke. Halfdan glanced up at the sky; dusk was encroaching on day, but night had yet to arrive, and they had a fugitive to catch up to. “We should continue. Still some daylight left for walking.”
“As our fearless leader commands,” Freydis spoke with a playful smile. They picked up their possessions, Halfdan stamped out the remains of the fire, and they resumed their journey.
*
They made camp when darkness made further travelling unfeasible, and no fire this time. “Rest,” Halfdan told Sif. “We don’t know how long a march lies ahead.”
However, the girl, sitting cross-legged with her cloak around her, did not lie down. “What happens when you break an oath?” She looked at Freydis. “You swore not to hurt us. What happens if you do?”
The gyeja responded with a smirk. “Are you worried, little skáld?”
“No, just curious.”
Halfdan kept quiet, wondering what Freydis might answer. He had heard plenty of warnings, but he wondered how a priestess of Freya would reply.
“Well, all oaths invoke someone whose power guarantees it is kept, usually the gods,” she began to explain. “Vár is goddess for oaths, and her punishment strikes those who break their word. Heimdall’s watchful eye falls on those who break the sacred bond of hospitality. The curse will fit the misdeed.” Freydis’ eyes became distant. “I knew of a rich man who, despite all his wealth and cattle, nonetheless coveted his poor neighbour’s land. Thinking that none would dare speak against him for the sake of a wretch, the rich farmer invited his neighbour to a feast, yet broke the promise of hospitality and killed him. For his greed, the man’s teeth grew into tusks, his nose became a snout, his hair turned to bristles, and no more could he speak. He fled into the night on all fours, only to be hunted down and killed.”
Sif sat with wide eyes, enthralled by the story. Even Halfdan felt affected; he imagined before his inner eye the sight of the gruesome yet deserved transformation from man into beast.
“For those of us who serve immortal powers, punishment may be worse. To swear by those who grant us our gifts…” Freydis paused a moment, and neither in her audience spoke to interrupt. “You have seen the wrath of the Thunderer earlier today. Imagine how much greater if dishonoured and betrayed by your own servant. Look only to Loki to see the cruelty that the gods may devise for those they once held dear. Eternal torment.”
“Until he escaped,” Halfdan muttered to himself.
“But Loki deserved it,” Sif argued. “He killed Baldr without cause, the son of his blood-brother. Who wouldn’t do the same?”
“That’s a heavy question for someone so young to ponder,” Freydis remarked with a mirthless smile.
“I’m not a child, I’m awakened,” Sif protested.
“One doesn’t necessarily exclude the other,” the priestess spoke quietly. “Don’t be in a hurry to discard the last vestiges of childhood. They’ll be gone soon enough.”
“I think that’s enough cryptic talk of gods and whatnot for tonight,” Halfdan interjected. Personally, he did not like the reminder of higher powers that so easily could intervene or affect someone’s life, even if he himself currently served a god; he had not been given a choice in the matter either, after all. “We all need rest.”
“Practical words, but also true,” Freydis conceded. “Goodnight.” She lay down to sleep.
“Night,” Sif replied, doing the same.
Resuming the same position as last night, Halfdan remained sitting, axe across his legs. In the far distance, he thought he heard the howling of a solitary wolf, but if so, it did not repeat, no matter how much he strained his ears; soon after, he fell into a light, uneasy slumber.
