They trudged through the dark. Despite their apprehensions, the priestess and the skáld encountered nothing but more tunnels. Often, the path branched to either side; every time, Sif considered and chose their next direction. The only break from monotony were the glowing runes that lit up when they passed by them.

  “Are you sure this is the way?”

  “Well I can’t know for sure, can I?” Sif retorted. “But this should take us in a circle back to the entrance. If Halfdan went down the other path, we should meet him along the way. Wait,” the girl said, stopping to look at the illuminating symbols. “Don’t you find it weird?”

  “This entire place is strange,” Freydis argued. She hated being underground and how confusing it felt to wander these hallways; she understood that this was intentional, making it impossible for intruders to navigate, but it did not soften her opinion. “Come on. We have plenty of ground to cover.”

  “No, think about it. Read what they say.” Sif pointed at the bright runes.

  “What do they say, then?”

  “Wait, you can’t read them?”

  Freydis cleared her throat. Her upbringing had not allowed for such knowledge, nor had it been considered necessary ever since she found her calling. “Just tell me.”

  “Where Vanir dwell,” Sif said. “What does that mean?”

  The priestess did not know nor care. “Does it matter? Unless the message can point us to our wayward berserker, I don’t see the value.”

  “I think it says something about the chamber. Look, I think there’s one ahead.” Sif pointed at where the light seemed to disappear as the tunnel expanded. “Let’s find out!”

  “Rein in your horses,” Freydis told the girl, who had already started walking. No matter her annoyance at the child’s interruptions and questions, Freydis would not see her hurt. “One step behind me.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  They continued along the path until they reached the chamber. It was entirely round, just like where they had met the draugar. However, it contained no graves cut into the walls or any dead, whether restless or not. The walls were decorated with a landscape of rolling hills and fields in bloom, trees and woods teeming with deer and hogs. Curiously, roots spread across the floor, and these were not carved, but genuine plants.

  “Oh, I understand now!” Sif exclaimed. She turned to Freydis. “Don’t you recognise it?” She looked expectantly and finally crossed her arms. “It’s Vanaheim!”

  “I serve the Vanir as a humble priestess. They don’t exactly invite me to their home,” Freydis mumbled. So this was how the home of the Vanir was meant to look. It did seem a paradise. But every forest had its predators. “Stay back.”

  Enthralled by the beauty around them, Sif did not seem to hear. She walked deeper in.

  With a sudden movement, Freydis lunged forward and grabbed the girl by the neck of her tunic, pulling her back. A moment later, tendrils from the roots rose into the air where Sif had stood, squeezing air instead of flesh and bone.

  Gasping, the girl looked as the vines fell back to the ground again, once more appearing as innocuous roots. “How did you know?”

  “Everything here breathes danger,” Freydis admonished her. “You can’t trust anything. Anyway, we can’t cross through here.” She looked at the other end of the chamber, where another tunnel continued. “Can we go another way?”

  Still looking shaken, Sif took a moment to respond. “Uh, yes… I think so. We can try. There’s some paths back there that might lead around this chamber.”

  “Let’s go,” Freydis said with impatience in her voice. Standing still, especially near any kind of illumination, sent shivers down her spine. They knew that at least one J?tun roamed these tunnels; there could be all manner of dangerous creatures down here, whether sapient or not. J?tunheim had its share of monsters. She thought about the snake that had guarded Loki’s cave and shivered again.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, Freydis began walking; having composed herself, Sif hurried to follow. They had not gone far, however, before the girl asked, “Why would they make the chamber that way?”

  “Keep your attention on your surroundings, not idle speculations.”

  “You’re not curious?”

  “Curiosity is the domain of skálds,” Freydis remarked prosaically.

  “You’re not wondering at all?”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Of course not. I know exactly why they create such a chamber.”

  Sif looked at her with surprise that turned to doubt. “Why?”

  “To lure in those too curious for their own good. It worked on you. Now be quiet and focus on what’s around you, not in your head.”

  With a dissatisfied look, the skáld followed after the priestess.

  *

  Running down the tunnel, Halfdan had to consider something for the first time in his life. What do I do when I can’t win the fight? The thought echoed through his mind. He had no weapon to hurt the J?tun, and he lacked the strength. Terrible for a berserker, but true all the same. As much as it troubled Halfdan, he needed to think about alternatives. If he kept fleeing, could he find his way out of this place? Could he find Sif and Freydis? And if they left these accursed tunnels behind, how could he accomplish his task?

  The last question was for another time. Right now, he needed to figure out how to get past his pursuer and find a path back to the surface. With luck – though Halfdan felt lacking in that regard – his companions hid themselves nearby and would spot his return, or he might find them.

  Glowing runes gave Halfdan’s position away, and he cursed quietly. He could not see in the dark if Rimnir was close; he had turned a corner earlier, so hopefully the J?tun was far behind and had not seen him. Continuing, Halfdan saw that the tunnel expanded ahead into a chamber. While he felt highly reluctant at entering another such room, especially armed only with half a haft for a club, he did not have a lot of options. Steeling himself, Halfdan walked forward.

  Standing at the threshold, the berserker gazed into the chamber. Except in size and shape, it did not resemble its counterpart full of draugar. No alcoves or graves – no restless dead either, thank the gods. The walls were entirely bare, as was the floor. The only oddity, scarcely visible in the faint light from behind him, was a J?tun’s head.

  Halfdan stared, straining his eyes and [Keen of Sense] to understand. Unless his sight was deceived, which did seem a distinct possibility in this place, the opposite wall had a J?tun’s head mounted like a trophy. Despite missing its body, it did not appear to be in decay. It looked entirely fresh, as if it had just been chopped. Its eyes and mouth were closed, it had what appeared to be flaming red hair, but no beard.

  The berserker was so baffled, he forgot that death pursued him and drew ever closer. He took a step forward into the chamber, glancing to either side, in case he had missed something. Nothing. The walls were bare except for the J?tun’s head, its eyes open and staring at him, its mouth open as well…

  Realising the change, Halfdan stumbled backwards out of pure instinct. A moment later, the head spewed flames from its mouth to engulf the entire chamber, incinerating everything inside.

  As the fire died down, the room returned to its previous state, the head once more with closed eyes and mouth. Halfdan on the other hand stared with wide eyes, realising how close he had been to death. Even worse – [Keen of Sense] warned him of dragging footsteps that approached.

  Halfdan had trapped himself. Ahead, a chamber that would kill him once he set foot inside. Behind, an enemy beyond his power to defeat. He could choose between scorching fire or a frost-wielding foe.

  It occurred to him that the opposite elements at work could not be a coincidence; something deeper was afoot. But his present predicament did not lend itself to long deliberations about what and why; any moment now, Rimnir would appear around the corner. Raising his club, Halfdan prepared to fight while his mind raced trying to come up with a plan.

  An idea finally came to mind; whether it would work, Halfdan dared not to guess. He took position in front of the chamber, aware that if he took one step backwards, he would be incinerated. Rimnir appeared, frost shards in his hands, both of which he released. Halfdan blocked one with his club, but the other tore his shoulder open.

  The pain was excruciating, and it was tempting to sink into the rage that would leave his mind blank of such sensations. But he could not win this fight with fury and instinct, so Halfdan gritted his teeth and kept his cool. As Rimnir stepped forward, Halfdan struck with his club. The frost J?tun seized the weapon with one hand and reached out with the other to once again squeezed the life out of Halfdan.

  Prepared for this, making full use of the agility granted by [Swifter Than Them], Halfdan grabbed the J?tun’s wrist with both hands, placed one foot against his stomach, and threw himself on his back, thereby launching his enemy over his own head and into the chamber beyond.

  Unaware of the consequences, Rimnir did not make haste to escape; he got on his feet with the same slow, deliberate movements as before. In comparison, Halfdan hurried back up and stood, watching as flames engulfed the room in a terrible conflagration. The smell of dead flesh burning permeated everything. When the fire disappeared, a charred corpse lay on the ground.

  Mindful that it could easily have been him leaving nothing but a scorch mark, Halfdan vowed not to enter any more chambers in this gods-forsaken place. But he was not done. He had no idea what had happened to his companions. He needed to find them.

  First though, he needed a moment to let [Mend Your Wounds] do its work. As he leaned up against the stone wall, the wound in his shoulder slowly closed. Muscle and sinew knitted itself together until his arm was restored. Not just one, but two Seeds lay beneath the roots of his tree, ready to strengthen his gift. It seemed that killing an enemy so formidable granted him even more power than the usual reward. Trusting in his usual strategy, Halfdan kept them in reserve for now. But if the challenges ahead resembled this, perhaps it might be wise to increase [Enemy to Sorcery].

  While the healing took place, Halfdan had time to think about his situation. He had faced more danger in the last week than all the years preceding. Part of him resented Odin for placing this burden and this task upon him. However, his growth in power had been commensurate with the dangers faced and overcome. Once – if – he returned to Midgard, he would be a warrior without equal; he would never have to worry about doing the bidding of another again. And if the one-eyed god had not sent him on this journey, Sif would have stayed in Odinsvi, becoming apprenticed to a skáld as originally intended. Nor would Halfdan had met Freydis, though it seemed too early to judge whether that was a blessing or not.

  He could only count such companionship a boon, however, if they were still alive. At the moment, he had no idea one way or the other. But the girl was clever, and the woman knew how to make herself unseen. Taking comfort in that, Halfdan decided to have hope. After moving his shoulder, ensuring it was back to full use, he picked up the piece of wood that had once served as the haft of his axe.

  Walking over to the threshold, Halfdan stepped one foot inside before quickly withdrawing it. He held out his stick and watched as the fire filled the chamber, setting it ablaze. Armed with a torch, the berserker set about retracing his steps in search of his lost companions.