The Song of the Ash Tree 03 - Already Comes Darkness

by T L Greylock

  “Cliff swallows, burrowing owls.”

  Raef thought of the black and white bird, its angular wings and short tail. “This was neither.”

  “A message from Asgard? Why?”

  It was a question Raef could not begin to answer.

  When Ailmaer tugged on the rope, he was hoisted up to the daylight once more. He blinked against the light, raising hands smeared with dark earth to shield his eyes, and as the shadow passed over his face Raef could see the sorrow in his eyes.

  “What did you find?”

  “See for yourself.” Ailmaer looked away and said nothing else.

  The walls of the shaft were narrow and grew narrower as Raef was lowered deeper and deeper into the earth. A man of Dvalarr’s build would not have fit. Using his hands and feet, Raef controlled his descent, not caring to risk everything to the hands that held the rope above him. At last his feet touched bottom and Raef stood in silence for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  A cavern took shape around him, its low ceiling within reach if Raef raised his arm, its earthen floor broken by sharp ridges of half-buried rocks scattered as though dropped from a great height. There was no tree, no sapling, root, or twig. The golden apples that would save Adalherr were nothing more than a dream.

  But the cavern was not empty. The more Raef looked, the more he saw, for the walls were covered in carvings that seemed to glimmer at the edge of his vision as though they were fluid, living things reacting to the hint of sunlight that had followed Raef into the depths. Raef pressed his fingertips against the grooves that outlined a raven in flight, wings spread wide, beak open in a call only the stones could hear, as his eyes took in the shape of a mighty tree. This was no slender fruit tree. The roots spanned the circle of the cavern, twining over the rock in a tangle, the trunk rose straight and strong to the ceiling, the branches arched over all, the limbs filled with delicate leaves. Yggdrasil hewn into the earth.

  How long Raef stared at the stone tree, his gaze running over every knot in the trunk, every whorl in the roots, he could not have said, but Siv’s faint voice pulled at him until he remembered where he was. He tugged on the rope to show he was ready to rise to the surface, but his eyes lingered on Yggdrasil’s likeness until it was out of sight.

  When he reached the surface, Raef found a second rope and asked the warriors to lower Siv down, then waited until she had reached the bottom before following.

  Raef took Siv’s hand and led her to the nearest wall, his fingers already reaching to feel Yggdrasil once more, but the rocks were empty under his touch, their surfaces free of carvings. Raef spun, searching, but the cavern had swallowed up the tree and the walls were just walls.

  “I saw it. I felt it.” Raef walked around the cavern, his uncertainty growing with every step.

  “Saw what?” Siv asked.

  “Yggdrasil.” Raef tried to describe what he had seen, the breadth of the world tree’s limbs, the twisted roots, the way the carvings had seemed to move when he looked away, but his words sounded hollow in his ears and he broke off. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was beautiful.”

  “Ailmaer made no mention of it.”

  Raef frowned. “Why would I alone see it?”

  Siv was silent for a moment, her face thoughtful. “When I was a girl, before my sister and I went to live with my uncle, I wandered into a cave at the outskirts of our farm. I dug in the dirt and found a piece of wood shaped into a swan and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I hurried out of the cave, intent on carrying it home to show my family, but the moment I stepped into the sun and the wind, a strange thing happened. It crumbled to dust in my palms. My father told me he had heard of such things, of ancient artifacts destroyed once removed from their hiding places, places that had kept them safe for countless years. The air, the warmth of the sun, these things are deadly.”

  Raef closed his eyes and pictured the carvings once more. “The discovery of this cavern was its destruction?”

  “I think you are fortunate to have seen it at all.” Siv came to stand by Raef. “Its fate was not unlike that which will befall the true Yggdrasil.” Raef put his arms around her and held her close, closing his eyes once more and feeling the beat of her heart against his chest.

  “What will we do?” Her voice was no more than a murmur.

  “What we can.” Raef put her face in his hands. “We will go on. We will laugh and fight and live until life is taken from us. And I will love you.”

  TWENTY

  The loss of the golden apples weighed heavily on Ailmaer and Raef could see from the stoop of the other man’s shoulders and the emptiness in his eyes that the mercenary had lost his conviction, his determination.

  “I was so sure.” Ailmaer had not abandoned the hilltop, choosing to stay near the shaft’s entrance even as the sun passed into the sea. Raef and Siv brought him a portion of dried meat and hard cheese and a skin of ale, but Wind-footed showed little interest in eating. “I will keep looking.”

  “What would Adalherr have you do?” Siv rested a hand on Ailmaer’s forearm as she spoke.

  “I cannot lose him.”

  Siv put her palm to Ailmaer’s cheek. “Do not let your grief blind you. Does Adalherr wish for eternal youth? Do you search for golden apples for him or to put an end to the sorrow and rage in your heart?”

  The pain that flowed over Ailmaer’s face made Raef look away.

  “He would have me let him die, let the disease run its course.” The words were choked out. “He is tired of living.”

  “Then you know what you must do.” Siv cradled Ailmaer’s face now and the tears flowed freely from his eyes.

  “I cannot go on without him. He made me what I am, gave me everything.”

  “And in your greed you would deprive him of peace.” Siv’s voice was gentle but firm. “Let him go, Ailmaer. Let the gods look after him.”

  Ailmaer closed his eyes, his head sinking to his chest. After a long silence, he got to his feet and walked away. Siv made to follow but Raef stopped her.

  “He sees the wisdom in your words,” Raef said. “Let him wrap his heart around it.”

  “The hill is yours, Skallagrim. I relinquish my claim on it.” Ailmaer Wind-footed mounted his horse on the beach, the wind tugging at his long hair. Behind him, his warriors were ready to travel.

  “Where will you go?” Raef asked.

  “Home. Such as it is. And there I will say goodbye.”

  Raef nodded. “Go with the good will of Vannheim.”

  Ailmaer returned the nod and then urged his horse forward as Raef stepped out of his path. The company of warriors thundered after him, the horses’ hooves spewing snow and sand as they raced by and leaving Raef and the Vannheim warriors alone with the gulls. Within moments, Raef led his men from the beach, taking a southerly course toward the Vestrhall.

  “I dreamed of the tree. I see it still when I close my eyes.” Raef rode at the head of the column as they passed into a notch between a pair of hills. The sea was far behind them, the sound of its waves long forgotten, but Raef could not keep the cavern from his mind. He looked at Siv, who rode beside him. “I cannot help but feel that it,” he paused, struggling to find the right word, “that it matters. The lightning, the bird, all of it.” He glanced down at the lynx keeping pace at his side. She wandered from the pack of riders when she wished, always finding her way back to them.

  Siv listened, but she was quiet, her thoughts tucked inside her own mind. She had said little since they had left the beach.

  “What is it?”

  “I am wondering if I should heed my own advice.” Siv shifted in the saddle to look at him. “I told Ailmaer to let Adalherr go, that holding onto him would only make the parting worse, the sorrow cut more deeply. And yet for years I have chased the shadow of my sister. Am I doing it for the sake of the vow I made or for her sake?”

  “Both, I think. We are children of Odin. It is in our na
ture to make vows.”

  Siv was quiet and they passed out of the steep-walled notch into a wider meadow. “I have shaped my life upon the events of that day. If I let it go, if I let her go, have I wasted myself?”

  Raef swung his horse in front of Siv’s forcing her mount to halt. The Vannheim warriors flowed around them. “Do not speak such things. Doubt sows only grief.” The words were worthless, he knew, a poor balm, and yet he was compelled to say them, to wipe the uncertainty from Siv’s face, to ease the burden she brought on herself. Siv gave him a small smile and Raef could see he had accomplished nothing.

  They rode on in silence until the stars came out and the night sky spread over the world. As Raef drifted into sleep, he saw shadows pass in front of the moon, shadows in the form of wolves. He dreamed of the wolf brothers Hati and Skoll, of the Einherjar preparing to battle the giants, of a black and white bird, and of Yggdrasil drenched in Black Surt’s fires.

  The Vestrhall lay a day to the south when a pair of riders came upon Raef’s company. The horses were lathered in sweat and blowing hard, their heads drooping with exhaustion, their legs trembling as they came to a halt on the opposite bank of the river Raef’s party was following.

  “Hold your fire,” Raef shouted, signaling to the three warriors who had nocked arrows to their bows. Vakre was already urging his horse across the water toward Raef, heedless of the threat aimed at him. Raef recognized Lochauld behind the son of Loki, the young warrior from Axsellund who had pledged his life to Vannheim. Raef’s horse danced sideways as Vakre urged his up the bank. “What, what is it?”

  “Fengar has been found.”

  “Where? Is the Vestrhall safe?”

  Vakre nodded. “Untouched. Word came from the southern stretch of Vannheim of fighting in Narvik and Silfravall. The reports were contradictory save for one thing. All agreed that Fengar has been discovered.” Vakre drew a tiny roll of parchment from a pouch at his belt. “This came yesterday. From Bryndis of Narvik.”

  Raef took the parchment from Vakre’s fingers and broke open the blot of honey-colored wax that sealed it. The paper unfurled quickly and Raef read with eager eyes.

  “She requests Vannheim’s aid. Fengar has reunited with Stefnir of Gornhald and the greater part of his dwindling force.”

  “Her intent?” Vakre asked.

  “To bring an end to the falsely chosen king. To call a new gathering.” Raef signaled for the riders to move on and they splashed across the river. He tucked Bryndis’s message into his sleeve and urged his horse forward. “Would that I knew the extent of Fengar’s strength, how many men still follow his banner, how many lords still cling to him. She does not say.”

  “How will you answer her?”

  “I do not know. Must more Vannheim blood be spilled? Have we not done our part in vanquishing the Hammerling?” Raef looked at Vakre. “And yet she speaks of a gathering, a chance to set right the wrongs done in the Great-Belly’s hall.” Vakre said nothing and Raef thought he knew the son of Loki’s mind. “You mean to go.”

  Vakre’s voice was calm and betrayed nothing. “My uncle will be there.”

  Raef hesitated. “I thought you did not wish to be Loki’s murderous son.”

  “But I am Loki’s son, Raef. It is time I accepted that. If I have learned one thing from my father’s gift, it is that I cannot escape him.” Vakre raised a hand and placed it on Raef’s shoulder. “I am a danger to you. To Siv. Let me be a danger to my uncle instead.”

  Raef swallowed the words that were forming on his tongue, words to counter Vakre’s, and instead said only, “Then I will not hold you back.”

  “And you?”

  Raef thought for a moment. “I will speak to the captains. Put the question to them.” They rode in silence for a long stretch and then Raef related the discovery of the cavern inside Old Troll, of the likeness of Yggdrasil and its strange disappearance, of Ailmaer’s grief. “Tell me, Vakre, what do you think has happened to Visna?” She had been on Raef’s mind much of late. “Eira has the sword and soon her transformation will be complete, if it is not already. What happens to a woman after she creates a Valkyrie?” It was a question neither could answer but Raef could see his dark thoughts mirrored in Vakre’s eyes.

  Vakre did not delay in his departure for Narvik. After their return to the Vestrhall, he slept for a few short hours before saddling a fresh horse and preparing for his journey. Raef walked with him to the gate, and then beyond into the open air. Siv lingered just behind, her goodbye already said. Raef could see that Vakre was eager to be away, but he did not pull himself into the saddle.

  “I will send word when I know more,” Vakre said, the horse’s reins limp in his hand. Raef nodded but still Vakre hesitated. “If we do not meet again, I am glad to have known you, Raef Skallagrim.”

  Raef’s chest constricted at the thought of never seeing Vakre again. “Save your words.” He tried to smile, but there was no truth behind it and no jest in Vakre’s eyes. The son of Loki swung up into the saddle, his gaze still on Raef as his horse tossed its head and stepped backward. Vakre turned the horse’s head and dug his heels in, releasing his gaze from Raef in that moment, and they were off, smooth strides carrying them over the snow. Raef watched, trying to swallow down the sorrow that swelled within him, wondering if he had sent away his last friend, and did not move long after Vakre had vanished from sight.

  “Your paths have diverged before.” Siv had come to stand at his side. Her cheeks were pink with cold and she blew on her hands to warm them.

  “So many have ridden away not to return. So many have died.”

  “Such is the nature of war.”

  “When will it be enough? When the seas rise and all of Midgard perishes at the end of all things?” He turned to Siv, consumed with the need to hold her, to feel her in his arms, and pulled her close. “Never leave,” he said, breathing into her hair.

  The eight captains of Vannheim gathered in the hall at dusk. Raef greeted each in turn with a cup of ale. Only two faces remained of those who had served his father. The rest had gone to Valhalla, Thorald, entrusted with much by Raef’s father, Finnolf, skilled beyond his years and a natural leader of men, Yorkell, reserved and independent but tireless and clever. The new faces were young, less experienced, chosen by Raef from the shield wall to fill the positions their dead comrades had vacated. Dvalarr, as Raef’s right hand in battle, was there as well, as was Siv, but the absence of Vakre seemed a gaping chasm to Raef.

  They ate well, feasting on pheasant smothered in garlic, fish baked in a crust of salt, mushrooms dripping with butter, dried apples dipped in honey, and steaming bread. Raef let the conversation wander where it wished, let the men laugh and boast. He spoke little, eager to let the good humor, the simple pleasures of food and drink and good company endure for as long as he could.

  But at last the platters were removed, the cups filled once more with ale, the conversation dying away as more and more eyes came to rest on Raef. He took a swig of ale and stood to address them.

  “We have a choice before us, and I urge you all to speak your minds, to speak what lies in your hearts.” Raef looked from face to face. “We have a chance to end this war. Bryndis of Narvik sends word that Fengar has been discovered and that she is in pursuit. She means to bring him to battle, a last battle, and she asks for our aid.” Raef let the words settle over each man before continuing. “I do not know Fengar’s strength, I do not know who will fight at his side, or who will ride to aid Bryndis. But I do know that Vannheim has bled much of late, that our warriors have been left on far flung battlefields, that our people have suffered the loss of home and kin. In this matter, I am not the king you have chosen, I am simply a warrior among warriors. And so I put the decision to you, to all of you. What is Vannheim to do?”

  It was Olund who spoke first and the others looked to him with respect, for Olund had served Einarr before Raef.

  “It seems to me, lord, that Vannheim has done enough. Let someone else deal with
Fengar.”

  “And if the lady Bryndis is defeated? Fengar must be overcome, his followers brought to heel.” A younger captain, Skuli, got to his feet, his face bright, his challenge to Olund direct.

  “Fengar will be destroyed with or without Vannheim’s help. His numbers weaken, his conviction whittles away to nothing. We need only wait.” This from Melkolf.

  “Wait and be named cowards.” Skuli’s glare turned to Melkolf now. “Would you have it be said that Vannheim sat out the last battle? That Vannheim was too afraid to see it through?”

  “I agree with Skuli,” Njall said. “We have named Skallagrim our king. If he defeats Fengar, none will question his right to rule.”

  Raef held up a hand. “The lady Bryndis has stated her intent to call another gathering. Either she does not know of my naming, or she does not care. And I am inclined to agree with her. Regardless, do not make this decision with any thought of that. Rather think only on what is best for Vannheim, for your sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, for the children you will one day have.” Raef tried not to think of another battle, one that would be upon them all too soon, one that would wipe out any thought of the future and see the destruction of the gods. Better to give these men something to live for.

  The voices around him went silent and he could see the confusion in the eyes of some, some who no doubt could not understand why he would support another gathering, when, with Fengar’s death, he would be the sole surviving named king.

  The silence lingered and Raef could see the split between the captains. Raef shared a glance with Siv before turning to look at Dvalarr. “Crow,” Raef said, “you are quiet.”

  Dvalarr shifted on the bench, arms crossed over his thick chest. His discomfort was plain. “I would not have it said that Vannheim is weak, lord, or her warriors gutless.” It was answer enough.

  “Think on this,” Raef said. “I expect to see each of you in the morning with your decision.”