As they continued their march, Halfdan felt his uncertainty and doubt increase with every step. Their tentative plan required them to travel to Urd’s Well, for which they had to reach Odinsvi, unless they could find another way; if such existed, none of them knew of it, though, and so they had to stay in Midgard or come up with another plan.

  And while the gate’s presence on this supposed island meant they could escape to another realm, it also meant that at any moment, Odin’s hounds might show up and pursue them. He tried to find solace in the thought that their enemy could not know for certain where they had travelled to; the gate left no indications of how it had been used, after all. Did it?

  “Sif, is it possible to know where someone travelled to when using the gate?”

  Next to him, walking in the sand, the skáld shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve not noticed anything like that.”

  Not the certain denial that Halfdan had hoped for, but better than the opposite. They continued on.

  *

  The cry of a gull reminded them of their predicament, should they forget the presence of the entire sea to the left. It served a purpose all the same; as the bird flew onto land, Sif brought it down with a well-aimed shot from her sling. “We need to eat.”

  The thought of halting to clean the bird and cook it, not to mention building a fire that would send up smoke, gave Halfdan pause. But looking at his companions, he realised he could not push them further. They were not immortal or possessive of abilities like [Hardier Than Them]. Glancing around, he saw no sign of others. “Alright. But not out here.” The beach was too open, and they would need firewood regardless. “We move inland. Find some trees.” The others made no reply; given how thirst plagued them, speech was fast becoming a luxury. They simply followed Halfdan as he turned away from the coast, moving towards what looked like a cluster of trees in the distance.

  *

  Leaving the shoreline, they found more than firewood; they came across the first and only signs of habitation so far. A longhouse, as derelict as the gate tower, stood among overgrown bushes and other vegetation. The roof had fallen in, and the walls collapsed, leaving only debris. They could identify the courtyard only because the wellhouse, made from stone, still remained. No bucket or rope for hauling water, however.

  Disappointment was palpable until Freydis pointed out a half-rotten trough for watering horses, filled with rainwater. Sif ran over and stuck her whole face in; the adults in their company joined her with more dignity to slake their thirst.

  Finished, the girl stood upright again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Who lived here, do you think?”

  “Impossible to say.” Halfdan shrugged. The place has been abandoned so long ago, he doubted that it mattered. “But someone important.” He moved carefully into the ruins; little more than the foundation remained. “This is big enough to be the mead hall of a jarl.”

  Freydis followed him, but stopped in front of the entrance. She bent down to pick up a piece of wood with writing on it. “What does this say?”

  Sif joined her. “In the home of Hlér dwells happiness.” She scrunched her face. “Hlér. He is a J?tun. A friend to the gods.”

  Halfdan turned around to look at him. “So we’re not in Midgard?”

  “We are,” Freydis interjected. “This must be Hlésey. His island home. Once upon a time, anyway.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Sif frowned. “How do you know that? Knowing things is my area.”

  “Hlésey?” Halfdan asked, relief filling him. He knew of it. That was off the coast of Danm?rk. Too far for some to swim, he presumed, but not an impossible distance for a raft to cross. He hoped.

  “This is where it all began. The strife between gods and everyone else.” Freydis stared at the wooden sign in her hands, and her voice had grown strange.

  “What?” Sif looked up at her with confusion. “When I use my abilities, nothing comes to mind like that. I don’t know any stories about Hlér.”

  “Your knowledge comes from the gods, and this is not a story they want shared. But Loki told me.”

  “That trustworthy fellow known as the deceiver?” Halfdan could not help but interject.

  “A name given to him by the gods. You find them more trustworthy?”

  Freydis’ retort left Halfdan silent while encouraging Sif. “Tell us the story!”

  The priestess nodded. “A last service to my former liege, I suppose. Once, Hlér held a great feast, inviting the gods. This was in the old days when Aesir and J?tnar still befriended each other. But Hlér did not invite Loki.” Sif whistled, her eyes wide. “Not one to be spurned, Loki showed up regardless. He made strife with all those present, mocking them for their faults and hypocrisy, exposing their secrets, infidelity, and more. The gods, naturally, took offence to this, and Thor drove him off.”

  “What happened then?” Sif asked.

  “Odin grew distrustful of Loki. With all the secrets of Asgard known to him, he could do great harm. So the one-eyed god sought out the dead seeress as he had before and demanded to know if Loki would ever betray him. And he was told far, far more than he desired to know.”

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  “Ragnar?k,” Sif breathed.

  “Yes. And so he took action. A wall was built around Asgard, and the gods retreated behind it. The J?tnar, would-be rebels against the rule of the Aesir, were declared enemies. And when Odin had no further use for Loki, he was hunted down and chained up. And here we are, a thousand years later.”

  “Quite a story,” Halfdan admitted.

  “Who knows? It may even be true.” Freydis’ expression cracked a little into a slight smile.

  “Well, does the story say if this Hlér had a boat?”

  Her smile grew as it turned apologetic. “Afraid not.”

  Halfdan sighed and thought about the hammer strapped to his back. For once, he dearly missed his axe. He was not sure how to build a raft without any tools or rope. He could probably tear a tree up by the roots just using his strength. They could sit on that as it floated. Some of the branches with lots of leaves might serve as primitive oars.

  “Are we going to get some firewood and cook this thing?” Sif raised the gull she held by its feet.

  “Right. I forgot,” Halfdan admitted.

  “Wish I could forget how hungry I am,” the girl mumbled.

  “Fine. Collect some wood, and I’ll get a fire started meanwhile,” he told her.

  “I’ll clean our meal,” Freydis added, and they all set to their task.

  *

  Seagull tasted like three day old fish. Halfdan was not a picky eater, but his hunger was not sufficient to make this a satisfying meal. He ate for practical reasons, knowing that he needed the sustenance. The bird had little meat on it regardless, and he made sure his companions got the most of it, so he only had to suffer a few bites. Judging by Freydis’ expression as she struggled through her meal, she shared his opinion. Sif seemed the least troubled by the taste, or perhaps she was the hungriest; she tore through her chunks, finishing before the others. Well, they say the best flavour is the meat you’ve hunted yourself, Halfdan thought with a quiet chuckle.

  “Alright. I’ll look for a suitable tree to use as a raft.” Halfdan got up after wiping the juice of seagull meat from his hands on the grass. “Sif, climb the nearest tree. You’re our lookout.” Although everything seemed calm, they were not far from the gate, and the warriors of Asgard could appear at any moment.

  “Don’t tear down the tree I’m sitting in,” Sif warned him with a wagging finger, to which he rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll look for something we can use to draw water from the well,” Freydis suggested. “I don’t know how far it is to the mainland, but best we drink our fill before the journey.”

  As before, they all set to their individual tasks. Sif went up a tree, and Halfdan could not resist grabbing its trunk and shaking it, giving her a fright. Her curses followed him while he continued onwards, laughing to himself. As he did, he felt his burdens weigh on him a little less. Their situation was dire in almost every way, and the challenges ahead could feel insurmountable, but they were together, all three of them, and in this brief moment, no obvious threat or danger stalked their vicinity. This might all change in the blink of an eye, so Halfdan did his best to enjoy the feeling.

  It did only take a brief while before his tranquillity was interrupted. “Halfdan?” came Sif’s voice.

  At once, he was alert, grabbing the hammer from his back. “What is it?”

  “Rather than us staking our survival on your abilities as a shipwright, wouldn’t it be better if we asked the people on that boat to take us to the mainland?” The girl pointed west, towards the sea.

  He sent a look in her direction where she sat, hidden by foliage. “Yes, Sif, that would be better.”

  *

  Halfdan narrowed his eyes. Too big to be a fishing boat, and it had a crew of at least seven or eight. Too small to be a longship, especially crewed by so few, unless they had been to battle already and lost many of their number. Regardless, it was by far their best option, and should they have ill intentions, Halfdan trusted his hammer against their numbers. For now, it rested on his back, as brandishing a weapon seemed a poor way to gain their attention and ask for help.

  Instead, he waved his hands above his head, shouting himself hoarse. Next to him, Sif did the same. Freydis stood quietly, perhaps judging their efforts to be sufficient. She was proven right in that case; the ship changed course and approached them.

  Once closer, Halfdan could confirm his initial count of seven crew members. The vessel halted several hundred yards out, its sail pulled down to remain stationary at a cautious distance between them. One man, presumably the captain, stood up and hailed them. “Are you shipwrecked?”

  “I can’t read his gift at this distance,” Sif admitted with a mumble.

  “Of sorts,” Halfdan shouted back. “We find ourselves stranded here. We’d be indebted to you if you could sail us to the mainland.”

  “Indebted indeed. What would it be worth to you?”

  Halfdan cursed to himself. He had long since lost any silver on his person on their journey. “My companion is a skáld, and for as long as we voyage with you, she’ll entertain your crew with song and story.” He gave Sif a slap on the back, who looked surprised, either by his offer or hand motion.

  The captain laughed. “I suppose you can’t squeeze water from a rock. Fine, that’ll do. Do I have your word you mean no harm to me and my crew?”

  “I swear on my honour,” Halfdan assured him. “I’ll cause no strife with those who keep peace with me.”

  “Alright, then.” The captain turned his head and gave an order, inaudible to those on the shore, and oars began moving the ship closer. Getting a better look, Halfdan judged it to be a trading vessel. A karvi rather than a knarr, given its size, meant for coastal sailing rather than crossing open sea.

  “His gift is that of a trader,” Sif muttered, once they were close. “The others are sailors. All ordinary folk.” She looked up at Halfdan. “Did you really have to promise them I’d sing?”

  “You’re a skáld. I’ve yet to hear you sing once to entertain. About time you start earning your keep, eh?”

  She scowled. “Unlike all the times I’ve saved your skin.”

  “But you are a skáld,” Halfdan repeated. “You must expect that people will want to hear you sing.”

  “I guess. I’m just feeling shy,” she mumbled.

  He slapped her on the back again. “Better get over it fast.” With a smile, Halfdan waded into the water to board the ship.