by T L Greylock
“The earth is full of sand here,” Raef said, his voice carried to Ailmaer on the wind. “And the wind would eat away at a house.” He did not think Ailmaer intended to build a home and farm the land, but he hoped his words might open a leak in the other man’s stubborn tongue.
Ailmaer looked at Raef, said nothing, and put his heels into his horse, urging the beast to climb the hill. Raef grimaced and did the same, his cloak dragging behind him as the wind grew fiercer.
“A fine view, no?” Ailmaer’s voice was laced with humor and the mercenary took in a deep breath of salt air as he gestured at their surroundings. From above, the site was even bleaker, the thick grey clouds pressing in, the sea a roiling mass of steel-colored water.
“What do you mean to find here, Ailmaer?”
To Raef’s relief, Ailmaer did not ignore the question. The humor left his face and he confronted Raef with hard eyes. “I swore an oath to hold my tongue.”
“An oath? Who holds your leash? Do you mean to hand over this piece of Vannheim to another lord?”
“Not that kind of oath. I will bring no harm to Vannheim, Skallagrim. But I will not say.” Ailmaer must have caught Raef’s glance to the beach below where the rest of the warriors waited, Ailmaer’s and Raef’s. “Nor will they,” he added, not unkindly.
“I could make them talk.”
“They will not say because they do not know. But I will not listen to you threaten them.”
Raef sighed. “What would you do in my place? Would you ask no questions when a man you have known for a matter of days lays claim to a piece of land that has belonged to your family for generations?”
“No.” Ailmaer turned his horse and began to descend from Old Troll’s head and Raef was forced to follow. “I would do as you are doing, Skallagrim. And you would do as I do,” Ailmaer called back, his words catching on the gusts of air that churned up the slope.
It was then, halfway between Old Troll’s wrinkled temple and cracked ear, that Raef caught sight of a lean grey shape crouched alongside a downed tree a spear’s throw from the base of the hill. He pulled up his horse, which had caught an unwelcome scent and stepped nervously under Raef’s firm hold, but the moment Raef’s feet touched the ground, the grey shape raced away, no more than a blur amid the drifts of snow, and Raef blinked, shaking his head at what was surely his imagination.
They shared one fire that night, finding a measure of shelter behind a crumbling shelf of rock, but there was little camaraderie to be had. Ailmaer’s men were as Raef had first met them, vigilant and little given to talk, while those of Vannheim were uneasy around the strangers. They would part ways in the morning, Raef leading his men south again, Ailmaer remaining to seek whatever had drawn him to this remote piece of Vannheim. It did not sit well with Raef, but he had given his word and Ailmaer’s mounted warriors had been invaluable in the defense of the Vestrhall.
It was Siv who spotted the glimmering eyes in the dark. They reflected the firelight, but they were far too low to the ground and far too wide and round to be those of a man. Raef took a branch from the fire and brandished the burning end before him as he ventured into the dark, his hand on the haft of his axe where it hung from his belt. Siv stalked forward as well, a knife in hand, but the eyes remained fixed on Raef as they drew closer.
A low growl caused Raef to halt and then something was hurtling out of the darkness toward him. The creature was around his legs in an instant, quick feet dancing between his, tufted ears rubbing against his shins. Raef dropped his burning branch and began to laugh.
He knelt down and stroked the lynx’s sleek fur. “A brave little girl, you are, and a survivor.” The lynx cub had grown since Raef had watched Vakre lead her away into the hills that stood watch over the Vestrhall’s walls, enticed into the trees by the carcass of a freshly slaughtered deer. Raef looked around, searching for any sign of the female cub’s younger brother. She butted her head against his knee. “All alone, then?”
Raef’s laughter had drawn the attention of the closest men, who watched him now with curious faces and murmured to each other. Ailmaer pushed his way through from the other side of the fire, his brow furrowed with concern until he saw the lynx, content under Raef’s hands, and then his eyes went wide and he froze where he stood.
“Do you toy with me Skallagrim?” Ailmaer’s voice was sharp and full of apprehension.
Raef stood, his joy at seeing the lynx alive and well overshadowed by Ailmaer’s sudden show of emotion. “I do not know what you speak of.”
With effort, Ailmaer steadied himself and his face grew smooth and stern once more. “You encourage a wild animal to come near.”
“She is an old friend,” Raef said.
“Take care that she does not grow too fond of your scent.” Ailmaer retreated through the crowd of warriors, but Raef was not blind to the two men who followed hard on his heels, the same two who had conversed with Ailmaer at the summer farm, and how they huddled close and conferred with each other in urgent whispers.
At length the warriors ceased to stare at Raef and the lynx, and many sought sleep in the warmth of woolen blankets and thick furs. Not Ailmaer. He sat across the fire, hunched over, hood drawn so far forward that Raef could not see his face, but he was sure the mercenary was watching.
It was dawn, though, before Ailmaer approached Raef, who had slept fitfully with the lynx draped over his chest. Ailmaer’s boots scuffed against the pebbles strewn across the beach, drawing Raef out of a dream. Wind-footed stood over Raef, his face impassive. The lynx stirred and drew back her lips at the intruder, but Raef lifted her from his torso and set her to the side.
“Come with me,” Ailmaer said, his voice masked by the steady murmur of the sea.
Raef turned to Siv, who slept still, and lifted the edge of her fur to cover her exposed neck, then got to his feet and followed Ailmaer as he skirted the edge of the campsite and headed toward the base of Old Troll. The lynx padded after on silent feet, her nose twitching with the smells of the ocean.
Ailmaer followed the curve of the hill, his eyes tracing the uneven surface as though searching for something. More than once, Raef saw his gaze flicker back at the lynx, who would stop mid-stride every time Ailmaer looked at her. Only when they had gone the length of the base of Old Troll did Ailmaer come to a stop, halting where the hill’s shoulder joined with the rest of the ridge overlooking the sea.
“How did you come to know her?” Ailmaer said, gesturing to the lynx.
“I killed her mother.” Raef tried to hide his impatience, not understanding what Ailmaer wanted.
Wind-footed frowned. “And then?”
Raef sighed. “She followed me to the Vestrhall. Until last night, I had not seen her since.”
“And yet she came all this way, drawn by your scent.”
Raef threw up his hands. “What do you want?”
Ailmaer ignored him and his gaze swept over the lynx. “She is small for this time of year. A late cub. And yet she survives. Freyja has been kind to her.”
“And the goddess has led her here, is that what you mean?”
“Her presence here is no accident.” Still Ailmaer had eyes only for the lynx.
“Or she hungered after the deer your men took down in sight of the Vestrhall and followed us in search of a meal. I would have you speak plainly, Ailmaer. Enough of these secrets.”
The calm face that had betrayed so little to Raef in the first days of their meeting was now awash with desperation and hesitation as Ailmaer warred within himself. He turned from Raef, clenched fist raised as though he would strike the bare rock, but he pulled up and instead let out a great shout of frustration that ricocheted out to sea where it was swallowed. Raef waited.
“Did your mother ever tell you the story of the quarrel between Freyja and Idunn?” Ailmaer’s voice was soft and commanding once more.
“My mother died giving birth to me.”
Ailmaer seized upon this with eager eyes. “Is there nothing you would not do to change her
fate?”
“My mother is no concern of yours. Tell me of Freyja and Idunn.”
Ailmaer took a deep breath. “Idunn keeps the golden apples and grants the gods eternal youth, as you know. Freyja, for all her beauty and power, has always been jealous of Idunn. She schemed for a means of depriving Idunn of her apples. She begged Odin, she threatened Bragi, Idunn’s husband, and at last she donned her eagle skin and flew to Idunn’s garden. There she dove from the sky and came to battle against the flock of thrushes that guards the apple tree. Despite her size and greater strength, the thrushes tore at Freyja’s feathers and threatened to peck out her eyes, and Freyja was forced to flee. But not before she broke a twig from the tree and stowed it in her tail feathers.” Ailmaer stepped close and grasped Raef’s shoulder. “And on that twig was a tiny apple.” Ailmaer released Raef and began to pace. “When she discovered the broken branch, Idunn suspected it was Freyja who had committed this act of deceit and treachery, but she had no proof, for an eagle is just an eagle in the eyes of the faithful thrush. Freyja, for her part, could not keep her prize in Asgard for fear of discovery and Odin’s wrath, so she carried the tiny apple far from her hall to a place only she might know. There she plucked a seed from the apple’s core and planted it, nurtured it, watched it grow until it was a strong sapling, until it, too, sprouted golden apples.”
“And you think she chose this place?” Raef thought of the times he had visited the Old Troll as a boy, had clambered over these very rocks. The notion that Freyja harbored a secret apple tree there seemed beyond belief. “You have been deceived.”
“Doubt me if you like, Skallagrim. You do not know the lengths I have gone to in search of this place.”
“And all to quench your own greed? To defy death and place yourself among the gods?” Raef backed away from Wind-footed, his gut clenched with revulsion.
“No,” Ailmaer said, shaking his head, tears filling his eyes, “not for me. Never for me.” The proud mercenary dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands.
Raef hesitated, uncertain, then stepped forward and knelt in front of Ailmaer. He put a hand to Ailmaer’s arm and slowly drew the other man’s hands away from his face. Only when Ailmaer lifted his eyes did Raef speak.
“Tell me.”
Ailmaer swallowed hard and fought to control his tears. “To save a life other than my own, this is why I seek Freyja’s tree.” Ailmaer sank back on his heels and then sat in the snow. “The Norns are cruel, Skallagrim. Always they take that which we can least bear to part with.” He ran a weathered hand down the length of his face, his fingers pulling at the skin around his eyes, the lines around his mouth. “The man who encouraged me to take the name Wind-footed, he is called Adalherr and I owe him everything. He was father when I had none, friend when I needed one, teacher always.” Ailmaer cast Raef a bitter glance. “I have survived this long because of him, and yet for four years I have watched him waste away, watched the illness spread from limb to limb. First, he could not grip a sword, now he cannot drink from a cup without spilling. He can hardly feed himself, he loses control of his bladder more often than not. At times he grows angry, afraid, but then a moment later he will laugh and things will seem to be as they were before.” The tears welled once more. “But things will never be as they were and my heart breaks to see what has become of him.” Ailmaer blinked and his face grew hard. “Idunn’s apples will forever be out of my reach, but now you must see, Skallagrim, why I must find Freyja’s.”
“An old man’s time will come, illness or no,” Raef said.
“Is forty and one so old? Should I relinquish myself to death in three years time when I am that age?”
“I am sorry,” Raef said, realizing Ailmaer was younger than the grey streaks of hair suggested. “I will help you if I can, though I do not know how.” Raef felt a tremor of apprehension in his chest as he spoke the words, for to help Ailmaer succeed would mean unleashing eternal youth into the realm of men. Gladly would men go to war over such a gift. And yet even eternal youth would not spare Midgard from the final battle.
“Freyja holds the lynx dear to her heart and no doubt she has smiled on this one, who lives when she should have died. Perhaps she is the key.” Ailmaer got to his feet with new vigor.
“Do you expect her to sniff it out as a dog would?”
“She may see with the goddess’s eyes.”
It was a strange thought, and yet Raef did not doubt that Freyja was capable of such a skill, and so he walked to the top of Old Troll once more, the lynx trotting behind, and together they traversed the hill from side to side, in search of something unknowable. But not once did she show interest in the snow or the dead grasses that poked through in places. She wandered after Raef readily enough, but the only thing of note she did was urinate against a boulder. Even so, Raef examined it, tried to shove it away from where it was lodged in the earth, hoping to find some hidden passage, some sign of Freyja’s presence, but all to no avail.
Through all this, Ailmaer watched from a distance, his arms crossed, his eyes hungry. When at last Raef returned to him, Siv had joined the mercenary, her former leader, and Raef had seen them exchange enough words to know that Siv was aware of their purpose. The three of them turned their attention to the base of the hill and again the lynx followed Raef here and there, sniffing, but it was not long before she found a patch of sunshine warming a rock and curled up there to sleep. Ailmaer despaired and left Raef and Siv, stalking across the beach until the waves lapped at his boots.
“Do you know this Adalherr?” Raef asked.
Siv nodded. “Only a little. But enough to know that Ailmaer would do anything for him.”
“And if we find what he seeks? How many will die for a taste of these golden apples meant for the gods?” Raef took Siv’s hand between his and kissed her palm. Neither had an answer to his question.
The sky grew dark as the day waned and Raef watched as the sea frothed and clouds rolled in from the west. If they headed inland now, they might escape the storm and return to the Vestrhall with speed, but, though he felt the pull of the Vestrhall, Raef was reluctant to leave Ailmaer. And so he waited, all the while wondering if he would regret the delay.
When the storm hit, Ailmaer was nowhere to be found. The men clustered in the rocky shelter, cloaks and furs pulled tight. The fire fought valiantly against the wind that whipped around the barriers, but it was a brief battle and soon it was nothing but smoke swept up in the blowing snow. Raef wished for Vakre and the flames he could give them, then peered out from the shelter in search of Ailmaer, but he could see only a few hulking boulders here and there. Beside him, Siv’s face was creased with worry.
“He will kill himself out there.”
The lynx, her fur dusted with snow, stood between them.
“I must find him.” Siv stepped forward and Raef made to stop her, then thought better of it. Instead Raef pulled his hood down and together they plunged into the storm, the lynx darting ahead.
They shouted Ailmaer’s name, their voices ripped away by the wind, and walked the length of the beach, finding nothing. Out at sea, lighting flashed, knifing from black clouds to the swelling waves below, and the lynx burst ahead of Raef and out of sight, vanishing into the thick snow.
Raef gripped Siv’s gloved hand tighter and pointed up in the direction of Old Troll’s summit. Siv nodded and together they fought the wind back to the base of the hill, then began the climb.
At the summit, Raef caught sight of a dark shape and began to make his way toward Ailmaer. But he had gone only a few paces when a blinding flash threw him back, sending him sprawling in the snow as thunder cracked above them. Blinking, Raef got to his knees, his legs unsteady, but another bolt of lightning plunged to earth, striking the ground just in front of him. In the wake of the flash, Raef fell backward, but not before he saw a black and white bird rise from the charred ground. The bird flapped its wings and passed so close to Raef that he felt feathers brush his face, and then the lynx
was leaping after it, claws outstretched, teeth barred in a silent snarl. The bird twisted out of reach and was gone.
His heart thundering in his chest, Raef got to his feet as Siv rushed to his side. He clutched at her, his vision streaked with violent white light, and sank to the ground once more.
“Are you hurt?” Siv brushed hair from Raef’s face as she cradled him on her lap. Raef fought to draw breath, his heart moving too fast for his lungs to catch up, and struggled to speak. He closed his eyes as Siv’s hands searched him for injury and his breathing slowed, though he could not have said how much time passed before he felt himself again.
When he did sit up, Raef saw the black scar in the earth where the lightning had struck, saw that a hole had opened up, saw Ailmaer on hands and knees peering into its depths. Around them, the sky had cleared, the dark clouds vanishing, the snow faltering so that only a few flakes fell. Out at sea, shafts of sunlight pierced the cloud cover and illuminated the grey waters below. Raef found his feet, reassuring Siv that he was unhurt, though he did not let go of her hand as he walked to where Ailmaer knelt.
Between them, a tunnel had opened in the rock, burrowing deep into Old Troll’s skull, a nearly vertical descent. Already Ailmaer was removing his fur cloak to prepare for the plunge but Siv convinced him to wait until rope might be found and he could enter the tunnel more securely. Ailmaer paced across the hilltop while rope was fetched.
“This is wrong,” Raef said to Siv as he watched Ailmaer fasten the rope around him and hand the loose end to three of his warriors, who would control his descent. “Not for Freyja are the dark places deep beneath the earth.” Siv squeezed his hand and said nothing, her unease written plainly on her face. They watched as Ailmaer disappeared into the shaft and then there was nothing to do but wait.
“Where did the bird come from?” Raef asked, more to himself or whatever gods might be listening than to Siv. He walked a circled around the hole in the ground, giving a wide berth to the three men holding the rope. “No nest, nothing,” he said, speaking aloud what was already known. “What bird lives underground?”