Kark took Sif and Freydis through narrow spiral staircases and small corridors, meant for thralls to move about the structure without getting in the way of their betters. It also meant no windows, and as Kark had not brought any lamp, they moved in darkness. Clearly familiar with the route, the thrall did not hesitate or stumble, but turned swiftly around each invisible corner, leading them on sure feet deeper and further down into the complex.

  Freydis followed straight after, likewise at ease in the dark. Whether it was simply years of experience or the return of her ability [Never Seen], making her at home where light was absent, she did not know. Regardless, she had no trouble keeping up, and their movements even helped her get an understanding of the building they walked within. Clearly, they had been up high on a top floor. The gate probably stood inside a tower or similar, somewhere easy to watch and block off if need be. Had the arrogance of the gods towards mortals been less, a horde of einherjar would have stood outside that room.

  She could not tell where exactly Kark led them, but she guessed the thralls’ quarters or a storage room or the like, somewhere out of sight. And while they walked, since she did not require sight, Freydis closed her eyes to summon her gift.

  Her tree shone, stronger than ever, and she felt once again overwhelming relief at its return. Not only for her own sake, her power restored and even magnified, but because it meant communication with Halfdan. Freydis know the cruelty of the Aesir; she could well have imagined some kind of torture or fiendish device to keep Halfdan weakened and unable to use his new abilities. The beast summoned to help them against Heimdall proved otherwise. In fact, in all her years serving Loki, Freydis had never known such intervention from her patron.

  She looked at her abilities. Most importantly, [Deceiver’s Gift], her foundational skill that let her vanish and reappear – what a relief to have this available again. [Never Seen], [Never Locked], [Never Caught], helping her with every manner of skullduggery. They possessed their old ranks, none of it lost. [Piercing Hatred], aiding her with weaponry, the same; [Deceiver’s Charm], [Deceiver’s Heart], and [Deceiver’s Eyes], all tools to let her infiltrate and gain trust, at her disposal.

  But a new branch had appeared, already sprouting its first leaf though Freydis had never placed any Seed in it. [Most Favoured]. Freydis’ heart did a double beat before the severity of her current circumstances made her focus. This had to be what caused the bear to appear in the fight. She knew some servants of the gods had fylgjur, spirits that watched over them and guarded them as needed, but she had never imagined to be blessed in this way. Suddenly, this incursion deep into Valh?ll and Odin’s secrets no longer seemed certain to end in death.

  Which was good, given the words that gleamed in the starry night above her tree.

  [Task: Steal Sindri’s Hammer]

  Kark made an abrupt turn, and distracted, Freydis almost walked into a wall before she recovered and swiftly followed him around the corner. He opened one more door, beyond which was light. A small lamp struggled to illuminate a room no bigger than the gate chamber they had left, but it was filled up with beds layered on top of each other. Each had some hay and a thin blanket for bedding.

  “Everyone is working, so we shouldn’t be disturbed,” Kark explained, and Freydis guessed that these were the thralls’ quarters. “But even if we did, I doubt any would rat us out. You killed one of them – you must be great heroes.”

  Freydis prevented a sheepish emotion from reaching her face, keeping her expression blank. “Well, not so great that we can do this alone. We need your help.”

  “My name is Sif,” the girl interjected. “And this is Freydis.”

  Trust a skáld to care about names. “Yes, yes. Time is scarce. Where might Odin keep an artefact of immense power?”

  “Well, presumably his chamber. None ever enter, and he hardly ever leaves except briefly at the evening meal,” Kark explained. “Mostly just to be seen, I think. I’m not sure he really eats anything.”

  “Alright. That gives us our location and window of opportunity,” Freydis remarked, finally feeling at home with a familiar task ahead of her. “Any dangers or obstacles we should know about?”

  Kark shrugged. “As said, none of us have been inside. But I know the door is locked and barred by his magic. Enough to keep us simple folk out.”

  “Very well. We’ll trust in our abilities to handle that. Anything else you can tell us?”

  “I can give you directions to get there unseen, and how to reach the gate chamber. But I can’t take you myself,” he admitted with an anxious look. “I am expected to serve at the feast.”

  “That’s fine. I’m good with directions.” Sif gave him a reassuring smile.

  “How – how is it to be gifted?”

  The unexpected question made them both look anew at the thrall, including the iron collar around his neck. Although thin, it was etched with runes, and Freydis figured that its dainty size belied its strength.

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  “It’s wonderful!” Sif exclaimed before her happy expression faltered. “I mean… you’re not missing much.”

  “What led you to this fate?” Freydis asked softly.

  “My father caused some offence to Odin. I don’t know the details.” Kark shrugged. “I was given to the god to make amends when I was seven. I have served him since.”

  He looked to be thirty or older, though given the circumstances of his life, he might be younger. Regardless, Freydis felt for him. [Deceiver’s Heart] told her of his desire. An overwhelming urge to be free, as to be expected, but also the wish for power. Not to subdue others, but to stand tall and not be cowed anymore. In truth, she had not needed her ability to tell her this; it mirrored her own desires exactly back when a collar had graced her neck.

  Sif tentatively reached out a finger to touch the rune-written iron. “Sorry. The power is in the very metal. Too strong for me.”

  Kark gave a mirthless smile. “Some things are too much to hope for.”

  “You could come with us,” the skáld suggested. “The hammer we’re looking for, it would break that collar easily! I think…”

  The thrall shook his head. “And if you fail to find it? I’ll be dead for aiding you.”

  Freydis did not require any skills to understand his fear. She had lived through it. It was how slaves were kept in their place. She had only found the courage to fight back when pushed to the limit, and she would have burned at the stake if not for the intervention of a higher power.

  “You are not the first to live in iron and fear,” the priestess spoke in the same soft tone of voice as before. “They make it seem as if you have no choice. You must live by their rules, do their bidding, or the punishment will terrible.”

  The thrall did not reply. He sat on a bed opposite her and listened.

  Freydis did not require [Deceiver’s Charm] to be woven into her words. She had no purpose that required bending his will or manipulating his mind; she simply spoke the truth. “But you chose to help us, Kark.” She emphasised his name, knowing the importance of having an identity. Perhaps the skálds are right. As for Freydis, she no longer remembered what she had been called in childhood before the iron was wrought around her neck. “You made a significant choice today because deep down, your desires are stronger than your fears. They placed that collar on you, Kark. But your mind can only be enslaved if you allow it.”

  “Not much difference, is there?” He smiled bitterly. “I still have to do their bidding. I’ll still be punished if I don’t obey or I displease them in any way.”

  “Until you take the first step towards the light, you’ll never flee the darkness. It begins,” she impressed on him, “with the first step. And you are not alone, Kark. There are more powers in this world besides those of Asgard, and at least one is sympathetic to your cause.”

  “Who, Baldr? Another god, and a dead one at that. If he had any power to help us, to strike this iron from our necks, he’d have done so long ago.” Disdain found its way to Kark’s voice.

  “Not him. Loki.”

  “Plenty have pleaded his name,” the thrall said dismissively. “He can do nothing for us either.”

  “Who do you think sent us? By whose power do you think Heimdall died?” Freydis asked.

  Kark frowned. “Really? Him?”

  She nodded. “I am his priestess. Once, I was chained like you, facing death. But I cried out, and he delivered me from death.” Freydis did not mention that technically, the Loki who had freed her was not the same as the current holder of the name. It seemed an unnecessary complication.

  “I don’t understand. Isn’t he imprisoned? How can he have the power to do anything?”

  “Through us,” the priestess explained. “I have the utmost faith in him.” Her eyes wandered, and her gaze became absent. “He never abandoned me even when I deserved it.”

  Silence filled the small room until Kark finally stood up. “I’ll bring you something to eat if I can. And give you the directions. When the bell rings, Odin will leave for the feast. You have until someone becomes suspicious of Heimdall’s absence and looks for him.”

  “That’ll have to do.” Freydis looked at Sif. “Rest now while you can. Once we leave here, everything will suddenly happen very fast.”

  The skáld nodded and lay down on the uncomfortable bed. Before she closed her eyes, she removed Hel’s dagger from her belt and placed it at the foot of the bed. Lying on her side, she pulled her legs up, putting distance between herself and the blade, and tried to rest as instructed.

  *

  Halfdan tried a dozen times to recreate the connection with his priestess, but nothing happened. Perhaps it only worked if she initiated it, invoking his name. Or maybe it took the ability longer to recover. Halfdan had no way of knowing. For the hundredth time, he wished that he had someone to ask for help. His earlier elation at seeing his companions succeed had evaporated. He did not know what had happened afterwards, after all. Perhaps they had been discovered, and a thousand guards had swarmed them. Perhaps they were dead.

  Would he know it if so? Would his connection to Freydis tell him if she was hurt or worse? Or would it simply be like now, him shouting aimlessly into a canyon that swallowed his voice and yielded nothing in return? Halfdan imagined waiting in the dark, no way to know how many hours, days, months, years had passed, never receiving an answer, holding on to dwindling hope that he might hear her voice again.

  He felt despair slowly close its grip around his heart. Staring up at empty air, he did not notice the rune stone on his chest slowly begin to glow, its power fuelled by his emotions. Lost in his own feelings, Halfdan did not realise how his mind wandered, the snare that it bewildered itself into.

  A voice reached him, speaking his name and tearing him from his stupor. His senses returned to his present surroundings, his mind reasserted itself. The rune stone returned to a dull, grey colour. The sound did not provide the relief that Halfdan longed for, however. The voice did not belong to Freydis. It was not even a woman’s. Stupefied, Halfdan was left with only a mystery, wondering who had called out to him with such fervour that their words had reached him – and why.