Marching on, they found nothing to satiate hunger, but they came across a stream of running water that at least let them deal with their thirst. “You should look for stones,” Halfdan told Sif after drinking their fill. The girl nodded and began searching for rocks suitable to sling. “And your arm needs cleaning,” he continued, looking at Freydis.

  “I can do it myself,” she suggested with half a smile.

  Halfdan simply grunted, shaking his head, and gestured for her to join him by the stream. Cautiously, he unwrapped the rust-red bandage; the priestess winced but kept quiet. Pouring water on her arm, Halfdan cleaned the blood away as best he could without disturbing the deep claw marks that had torn her flesh. “This needs to be sewn, but we have no needle or thread.”

  “It will heal just fine,” the priestess promised. “I am tougher than I look.”

  “That’s good, because you look as tough as a newborn fawn.”

  She laughed, unexpectedly, and the sound reminded Halfdan of a gentle breeze shaking the leaves of the forest. Silence filled the space between them as he continued his work. “I can’t believe we are following a bird,” she finally said, perhaps to distract herself from the pain.

  This time, Halfdan gave a snort of laughter, as she had echoed his thoughts. It made him consider their journey and destination, including what he had so far avoided to dwell on. Other than asking Sif once about the location of Sindri’s forge, Halfdan had kept quiet about what the norn had told him at Urd’s Well, pushing it from his thoughts.

  He had doubted the old crone at first; it was easy to predict where a man might go if you were the one who sent him there. And if empty and devoid of its prisoner, why would Loki’s cave be a place of any importance to him or his life?

  But glancing at Freydis, her green eyes wandering as she tried to distract herself, Halfdan feared that he understood. Fate had indeed kept something in store for him in that location; his path had irrevocably changed. Which suggested the remainder of the norn’s prophecy would also be true. He would find himself in Sindri’s forge, and after that, only Hel awaited – the end of his journey.

  All the more reason to ensure someone else would be ready and available to bring Sif home.

  “We do not travel solely on the counsel of that black-feathered beak,” Halfdan finally said. Done with cleansing the wound, he began to apply a new bandage. “Do you know of Sindri’s forge?”

  “I know the name. Most famous of the Dwarven smiths. That is all.”

  “It lies in Myrkheim, I’m told. And that is where Loki is headed. In fact, given his head start, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has already escaped this realm and reached Myrkheim.”

  “The realm of the Dwarves?”

  “But we don’t need to worry about tracking our prey or finding allies that can help us find him. We need to find gates that will take us across worlds.” Halfdan looked up at the raven flying above them. “I think that is where he is taking us.”

  The wound dressed, Freydis removed her arm from his grasp. “How have you come by this knowledge?”

  “You could say a little bird told me.”

  Sif returned, her armoury of sling-worthy stones replenished. They all drank as much water as they could bear and resumed their journey.

  *

  As the day waned, moor turned to grassland, which turned to fields in summer’s full bloom. The sun descended ahead of them, colouring the golden grain. “We’ve reached settled lands,” Halfdan remarked. “An opportunity for provisions and maybe other aid.”

  “We should be careful,” Freydis cautioned. “Your gift may be hidden, but any with the skill to read mine will know whom I serve. And the gods have few if any friends in this land, whether they approve of our mission or not.”

  “We’ll need food all the same,” Halfdan remarked prosaically.

  A homestead came into sight; a longhouse, barn, stables, and everything else a farm required. Here and there, workers tended to different tasks. As for the raven that guided them, it flew directly in the direction of the buildings. “Svarti wants us to go there,” Sif declared.

  Halfdan shot her a look. “You named the bird?” The girl shrugged. “Alright.” The berserker took a deep breath. “Let’s see what happens. It goes without saying that if I give the command…”

  “We run and hide,” Sif finished his sentence. “Yes, it goes without saying.”

  *

  As they approached the courtyard, the farmhands all ceased their work and turned to stare at them. With his axe still strapped to his back, Halfdan extended his open hands, trying to appear non-threatening. “Where is your master? We are weary travellers and would ask for his hospitality.”

  One of them nodded and quickly made his way to the longhouse, sticking his head inside the door. Soon after, a grey-bearded J?tun appeared on the threshold. He was dressed in similar clothes to his workers, a simple linen tunic, but his bore no signs of wear or work. “Who comes to my home?”

  “I am Halfdan, and these are my companions.” He did not mention their names, should as both invoked the gods, which might make the J?tun ill-disposed towards them; best to avoid conjuring lies unless necessary, especially when invoking the bond of guest and host. “We ask for your hospitality. Shelter for the night, water from your well, and if you can spare it, any food.”

  The master of the homestead surveyed them and finally nodded. “As long as you come in peace, I will extend hospitality with its privileges and responsibilities for us both.”

  Halfdan placed at hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Most agreeable.”

  “In that case, be welcome to the home of Hymir. Drink from the well as you need and join us in the longhouse. Food shall soon be served.” The J?tun returned inside, and the farmhands resumed their work.

  Sif grabbed Halfdan’s sleeve, tugging on it. “Svarti was right!”

  “What do you mean, child?”

  “Hymir is the father of Tyr! One of the gods! He’s on our side!”

  “That sounds odd.” The berserker gave her a doubtful look. “I think you’ve misunderstood the family tree.”

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  The girl shook her head vigorously. “It’s my gift, my skill. As soon as I heard his name, I just knew it to be true.”

  “Skálds are blessed by Bragi to share in his knowledge,” Freydis interjected. “We all have a god whispering in our ear, it seems, even if less evident for some.”

  Halfdan frowned, confused. “But how can a god of the Aesir have a J?tun for a father?”

  “Things were simpler in the old days,” Freydis remarked. “Before the war with the Vanir, before the Aesir raised the wall and hid themselves in Asgard.”

  “You seem sceptical of the gods for a priestess.”

  “Not all gods are Aesir, as I told you. My lady is born of the Vanir, and they remember the old days differently than what Odin would tell you.” The priestess turned towards the longhouse. “At least we are assured a meal.”

  *

  The travellers slaked their thirst at the well before going to the longhouse. The day’s work done, the farmhands joined them for the evening meal. It was simple fare, potage made from grain, as to be expected; Halfdan had no complaints, as long as it nourished him. He glanced at their host, still finding it difficult to believe that the J?tun had a god for a son. The homestead, the people, and the longhouse itself, all of it seemed an entirely normal farm that could be found all over Midgard.

  “What news do you bring?” asked Hymir, requesting the common payment that travellers gave in return for hospitality.

  “We come from the east,” Freydis said tentatively; both she and Halfdan watched the J?tun’s reaction.

  “Nothing there but the moor and dangerous beasts,” their host remarked. “Strange you would journey from there.”

  “There is one place of interest. A cave.” Halfdan’s gaze became a stare.

  Hymir ceased eating, and he looked back at his guests. “You are not simple travellers.”

  The berserker shook his head. “We have been given a task for the safety of all the realms.”

  “I can guess whom you serve,” the J?tun claimed. “Well, you shall find no trouble from me or mine.”

  “Then it would grieve you to know that the cave lies empty,” Halfdan continued.

  Hymir sat in silence, his expression frozen. Finally, he rose. “Leave,” he told his people. Some protested at their supper being interrupted, but they were quickly silenced. With impatient gestures, the master of the house ushered them all outside before he returned. He sat down on the bench opposite his guests once more. “How? Spells and wards, crafted by your own masters, lay upon that cave to keep him imprisoned for a thousand years and a thousand more.”

  “All the same, the deceiver has escaped his bonds,” Freydis said simply. “We pursue him.”

  “I believe he intends to flee to Myrkheim. Perhaps he has already made the journey. We need to be able to follow him,” Halfdan elaborated.

  Hymir scratched his grey beard. “Only two ways in these lands that one might travel the realms. North of here lies the home of my master, J?tun-Loki.”

  Halfdan blinked, thinking he must have misheard. He glanced over his shoulder at his axe, leaning against the wall. “You serve him? The very man we hunt?”

  “No.” Hymir raised his hand in a calming gesture. “They share a name, but nothing more. J?tun-Loki he is called among us, Utgarda-Loki by your kind. He is a match in wit and cunning for the old deceiver, who’d never be able to fool J?tun-Loki or convince him to open a gate.”

  Halfdan grumbled, wondering what fool would give their child such an infamous name. Needlessly confusing. “So what’s the other way?”

  “West of here lies an ancient path that bridged the realms, built by Dwarven hands. My son used it in the old days when he would still visit. When his mother still lived.” Hymir spoke with a calm voice, and his face betrayed no emotions; even so, Halfdan felt a needle’s touch of sympathy. “The gate doesn’t require J?tun sorcery to open, though if it still works after all this time… Dwarven craftsmanship endures, they say.”

  “If that’s the only place to reach Myrkheim, that’s where we’ll go,” Halfdan declared. He glanced at Freydis, who nodded slightly. As for Sif, she looked to be struggling to stay awake after a long day’s marching and other exertions.

  “Take care,” Hymir warned them. “When enmity rose between our kind and the Aesir, the gate was closed, and my master made the area forbidden for outsiders to enter under pain of death. Not that he needed to. For centuries, we have buried our dead in the barrows, and the dead keep watch.”

  Halfdan groaned inwardly, remembering his previous meeting with draugar.

  “Beyond that, I’ve no doubt that my master has fortified the place with his sorcery, to keep it hidden and safe.” The J?tun looked at the berserker and priestess in turn. “You might be wise to seek his help. None among our kind is more powerful, and he is no friend to the deceiver.”

  “Nor a friend to the Aesir,” Freydis pointed out.

  “I’ll grant you that. But if you enter the ruins without his leave, he will not be a friend to you either.”

  “We thank you for your advice and the hospitality you’ve shown,” Halfdan interjected. He glanced at Sif, her head buried in her arms on the table. “We should sleep. We have long days ahead of us.”

  “Of course. The barn has hay that makes for a better bed than the cold ground,” Hymir told them. “Simple lodgings, but the roof will keep you dry.”

  “We need no luxuries,” Halfdan assured him.

  Nodding to himself, the old J?tun gathered up bread and other provisions. “For your journey. Now rest as you can. I must warn J?tun-Loki of the deceiver’s escape.”

  “Our thanks.” As Halfdan accepted the food, Freydis gently stirred Sif, and the trio left the longhouse. Hymir went with them to address his workers, who returned inside to finish their supper, except for one who fetched a horse for his master.

  *

  Their beds for the night were as described by the host, simple but sufficient. Already, Sif lay down in the hay, fallen into a proper sleep. Putting his axe aside, Halfdan was about to do the same when Freydis stopped him. “We should leave this very moment.”

  “Why?” Halfdan repeated, taken aback.

  “Because soon, Utgarda-Loki will know of our presence, our task, and our destination. And there is no greater enemy of the Aesir in all of J?tunheim.”

  “But we are not his enemies, and the old J?tun promised us hospitality,” Halfdan protested. “We seek to capture Loki – the evil one,” he clarified, still frustrated at the confusion of names. “Why would this other Loki interfere?”

  “Because he doesn’t need us to deal with this, given all his power. Or at least, so he might think. If in addition he can capture two servants of the gods…” Freydis stared at him intently. “We can’t risk it. He knows where we travel. We must make haste and reach it first.”

  “You heard the old man. Draugar and other danger awaits us. Shouldn’t we seek all aid and allies that we can?”

  “Deliver ourselves into the hands of a J?tun eager to punish us for your master’s sins?” Freydis gave him an intense look. “What do you think will become of Sif?”

  Halfdan looked down at the sleeping girl.

  “You speculated earlier that Loki has already fled to Myrkheim. All the more reason we need to make haste. And if we follow him, we’ll leave J?tunheim and its dangers behind – including all the J?tnar that would disembowel us for one reason or another.”

  “Alright,” Halfdan conceded, worn down by her arguments. “We’ll go now.” He reached down to stir Sif awake once again.

  “We could take horses to speed us on our way,” suggested Freydis.

  Halfdan glanced at her before he hoisted Sif onto his shoulders. “No. Our host has shown us only friendship. We won’t break the law of hospitality.” As the girl slumped forward, resting on his head, he turned towards the barndoor. “Besides, horses will tire before a berserker does. This is your suggestion, priestess – time to prove that you can keep up.”

  She grabbed her spear and other belongings. “Lead the way, thick-fur.”