The captain named himself Arnulf, and they sailed with mostly furs and other goods for trade towards Aros. Not far from where Halfdan had lived most of his life, and they could find their way to Odinsvi from there easily.

  As promised, Sif shared her gift to while away the time. She sang songs that Halfdan dimly recalled hearing from the townspeople when they worked the fields or on nights of festivity, as he passed them by. Not that he had ever joined in or would be welcome to do so.

  It was the first time he witnessed Sif use this part of her gift, solely to entertain rather than for magic. As her voice calmed him, he wondered why; feeling shy could not be the only reason, especially considering the girl was hardly reserved in other matters.

  Thinking on their journey, Halfdan had to admit that the situation had rarely been right for it. Ever since she received her gift, they had travelled foreign realms, often on a forced march where food was scarce and rest absent. Even their arrival to those other worlds had been unhappy. In J?tunheim, they had been attacked on sight, and the same for Sif when she went to Asgard. Myrkheim, they had been separated, Halfdan assaulted again and Sif arriving as a prisoner of Loki. Hel, hardly a place that encouraged song.

  In contrast, nothing had threatened them in Midgard, and their only encounter with others had been touched by kindness and help. Halfdan knew that Midgard had its dangers and monsters, and their good fortune could not last, but it was a marked difference to the other realms.

  “A fine lass you have there, Master Halfdan,” Arnulf remarked, taking place on the seat next to Halfdan. The wind filled their sail, allowing them to relax and enjoy the singing instead of rowing. “A blessing to be given the skáld’s gift. Your child?”

  Halfdan looked at the girl with a smile. “Aye. Sif Halfdansdóttir, she is.”

  “Well, you’re the strangest goods this ship has transported anywhere,” the trader laughed. “But I shouldn’t be surprised when picking up passengers from Hlésey. A strange place, they say, touched by powers beyond the ken of ordinary folk.”

  “If you say so.” Halfdan shrugged. “It seemed an ordinary island to me.”

  “Well, many things are bright during day and dark at night.” Arnulf regarded him with a scrutinising look. “You don’t strike me as having the gift of a farmer. Nor smith, as that hammer’s a weapon, not a tool.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Halfdan smiled, and it surprised him how easy it happened. “I’m a warrior, yes. But I am sworn to no jarl, and I make war on no man. I travel with my family, that’s all.”

  Arnulf nodded to himself. “No harm in that.”

  “Where have you traded? Aros is a small town, as I recall. I’m surprised that’s where you make port,” Halfdan said, changing the subject.

  “You know it? Aye, it’s small, but it’s home.” The captain grinned. “Though you’re right, not enough people to make the voyage worth it. We’ve been north, buying furs and amber, mostly. We’ll stop at Aros for some days, see our families, and once ready, we sail to Suevegr to trade. Our last trip before harvest season is upon us.”

  “You’ve done this trip many times, I take it.”

  “Aye, certainly, and in ordinary times, I’d have time for one more before winter.”

  “What’s not ordinary about it?”

  Arnulf gave him another look. “You must have come from afar. This has been the coldest summer in memory, and winter’s bound to be harsher. Haven’t you noticed the gale that fills our sail? Stronger winds than ever are blowing. Only the foolhardy would make long travels once harvest passes.”

  Halfdan had not paid heed to the warmth or lack thereof. The sun shone, making for a pleasant day in his mind, and the strong wind at their back simply made the journey faster. It had not occurred to him that for a summer’s day, the light of Sól seemed feeble and devoid. Same as hunger and thirst affected him less, he paid little attention to feeling heat or cold.

  “Well, that’s certainly not us,” he mumbled. The captain moved away, leaving room for Sif, for whom Halfdan gestured to join him. “The weather,” he said as she sat down. “When we left Randaros, Odin’s priest made some claims about omens. I thought little of it. Is there more to it?”

  She nodded. “It’s the fimbulvetr. Three winters shall follow each other with no summer in between. It heralds Ragnar?k.”

  “But we haven’t done anything. All that you mentioned I must do, speaking spells and breaking bones, I’ve done none of that.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be much of an omen if it only happened after the fact.”

  Halfdan tried to wrap his head around it. Of everything he had experienced and seen in the different realms, this was harder than most to grasp. Perhaps because weather and winter was so distant, so intangible, but also the scale. He could understand magic, inheriting powers, artefacts, and gates that allowed travel between worlds. But that the sun itself, shining across most of those worlds, would anticipate his desire and begin to weaken in response… Perhaps it was not the right way to describe it, maybe it was other effects at work, but regardless, the thought that across the realms, the weather was turning cold due to his intentions, it unnerved Halfdan. No single being should have such power.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But since someone did, maybe he should be glad it was him. After all, he could trust himself not to go through with it, to stop at the brink and pull back, to refrain from unleashing Ragnar?k. Can’t I?

  A question nobody else could answer for him, and Halfdan had no wish to delve deeper into his own mind. “Sif, we promised these sailors entertainment until landfall. Sing another song, please.”

  “Fine, but it’ll be one you already heard. I’m only good with a few.”

  “Better than none!” shouted a sailor, and Sif complied, singing of harvest and fields in bloom. Inevitably, this led Halfdan’s thoughts back to the fimbulvetr and winters allowing no grain to grow, and his mood did not improve.

  *

  The crew had shared their provisions with the three stranded passengers, and once they reached Aros, Arnulf brought them home for the evening meal. Although he captained a small vessel, he was a prosperous trader, living in a longhouse big enough for plenty of guests, and his table was set with plates of tin rather than wood, on which the guests found meat and honey cakes.

  Halfdan felt guilty he could not repay their kindness with silver or other fitting payment, so he ended up splitting enough firewood to last them the winter. Or three winters, for that matter. Sif performed her songs after they had eaten, and Freydis entertained the children of the village with her sleight of hand; the unexpected travellers, arriving in Arnulf’s boat along with the expected trade goods, had drawn a crowd. When the meal was at an end and conversation done, furs on the floor provided a soft bed for them all. For the first time in however long, weeks or months, Halfdan slept without being on edge.

  They left in the morning with a waterskin and enough provisions to last them the day. Sif carved a rune-stave with wealth and other good fortune, imbuing it with what power she had. She could not say whether it would work, having never used runes in this manner before, but given the welcome they had received, it seemed the least they could do.

  Once they had left the vicinity of the village, they ventured into the surrounding woods rather than stay on the road. The trees still had their leaves, albeit in red rather than green colours, helping to hide them from any winged spies. All the same, they could not be certain their march remained hidden. Every now and then, Halfdan believed he saw black feathers flying about, though whether he saw a blackbird, crow, or raven, he could not say. Regardless, as the sun waned on the horizon, he made a decision.

  “We’ll keep walking through the night,” he told the others, “and then will rest when there’s daylight. Tell me when you’re tired, and I’ll carry you,” he added to Sif.

  “I’ll be fine,” she claimed, and they continued on.

  *

  When dawn was an hour away, heralded by twilight, Halfdan called a halt to their march, lifting Sif off his shoulders and placing her on the ground to continue her sleep. He and Freydis rested as well, the berserker reverting to his usual manner of light sleep in an upright position. The arrival of day’s light and the various sounds of the forest woke him repeatedly, but even during his mortal life, this would not have bothered him much thanks to [Hardier Than Them]; now, he found that even small amounts of rest invigorated him.

  They had to spend some of the day foraging for food; while it did expose them to being espied by enemies, they needed nourishment. Coming across a stream that also provided fresh water, Halfdan drew upon his inner bear and waded into the water, fishing with his bare hands. He dared not make a cooking fire during the day, so he saved the fish for now, and instead, they broke their fast on nuts and the few fruits that blossomed in harvest season. And once night fell, they resumed their march south.

  *

  Eventually, they reached an obstacle that could not be traversed in secrecy. Odinsvi lay on an island, and they were on the mainland. They needed to cross the sea once more. Reaching a small village, they found a fisherman willing to take them across the belt. Halfdan sensed that it was his imposing stature that convinced the poor man to do them this favour, since they had nothing to offer as payment; as before, Sif carved a rune-stave in view with wealth and good fortune, just to take the sting out of their demands.

  But the crossing had to happen during the day; rugged coastline and reefs made the crossing too dangerous at night. And as they sat in the fishing boat in the middle of the sea, exposed and unable to hide, they heard the beating of wings and looked to see them black. Sif grabbed a rock and her sling, but too late; the raven flew up against the sun, blinding her, and then it was gone.

  They kept quiet, due to the presence of the fishermen; if he had been alarmed by Sif’s actions, he did not speak of them either. He simply continued to steer the boat east until they could make landfall. He mumbled inaudible replies to their expressions of gratitude, and the moment they had leapt overboard, he began turning his boat around. Halfdan gave it a good push, the simplest favour he could do in return, and soon, both vessel and helmsman were away.

  “Any chance that was not a raven?” Freydis asked, though her tone of voice suggested she knew the answer. “Any chance they won’t guess our destination?”

  “I doubt we’d have such luck. Our enemy is arrogant, but not an imbecile.” Halfdan frowned. “Question is, what will they do in response? There’s no Dwarven gates near Odinsvi, I assume. No scores of einherjar waiting for us.” He looked at Sif for confirmation.

  The skáld shrugged. “Presumably there’s just the one gate in each realm, but we’ve seen that Odin is not limited by such restrictions. I wouldn’t assume anything.”

  “There’s only one way to find out if they’ve prepared a trap for us,” the berserker considered.

  “Walking straight into it?” his priestess guessed.

  Halfdan found it unnecessary to answer. “Let’s find some place to rest, and we’ll continue our approach at night as before.” That decided, they began the final leg of their journey towards Odinsvi and a path to the nornir dwelling beyond the nine realms.