The Song of the Ash Tree 03 - Already Comes Darkness

by T L Greylock

  Somewhere amidst that tumble of words, Raef had drawn his sword and he held it now against Hauk’s neck. His hands no longer trembled.

  “When you see my father in Valhalla, tell him who sent you, and then tell him I am sorry I will not join him,” Raef said. He stared at Hauk for a moment, wondering if the other man comprehended what he was saying. Hauk was very still and seemed without fear. Behind those dark eyes, Raef was sure Hauk’s mind was at work, for this was a man always thinking, always planning, even as death touched him.

  But then Hauk’s eyes shifted away from Raef, focusing instead on something over Raef’s shoulder. His face betrayed something at last, though whether it was fear or triumph, Raef could not have said. He did not turn, did not have to, and he kept his blade pressed against Hauk’s neck.

  “Did you know she would come?”

  Hauk shook his head.

  “Why, though? What brings her back to save you?”

  “You would have to ask her that.”

  Raef turned at last and the chaos that heaved within him vanished. This was the steel song, then, nothing more.

  Eira had changed since last Raef beheld her. She was taller, her skin more pale than ever. The blood that had stained her throat when she had swept Hauk away from the walls of the Vestrhall was washed clean, leaving no trace of the wound Siv’s arrow had given her. Her eyes promised depths and knowledge Raef could not grasp and yet there was still the same wildness about her, as though she could not shake the part of her that had watched her mother kill her younger siblings, as though she were still fighting for survival, even now, when she had been made a Valkyrie. She remembered Raef, he could see, unlike the last time when her confusion had likely spared his life.

  Around them, the ring of watchers had gone silent with fear. Though only Siv, Vakre, and Hauk knew what Eira was, the others could sense it, and many reached for weapons. More reached for hammers that hung from their necks.

  “Is this how it is to be, then?” Raef asked.

  When she spoke at last, her voice was as he remembered Visna’s to be when all nine Valkyries had descended on the burning lake.

  “There is only this, Skallagrim. And then you will be finished.” Her voice was the grinding of rocks, the rush of a waterfall taking flight, and the scream of an eagle. Among the pines, few could withstand its pain and the fear it spread. Warriors, tall and proud, dropped to their knees. Others stared in horror. Cilla’s face showed only fascination.

  “Why, Eira? Why come for him?” Raef asked. Siv and Vakre had started forward, but Raef motioned for them to stay clear.

  “You would question me? You are but a man, far beneath me. I am of Asgard now and my name is Roskva.”

  “If I am but a man,” Raef said, feeling a strange laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest, “then so, too, is he.” Raef pointed at Hauk, who had come to his feet. “And yet you are like a dog on a chain. You cannot leave him to his fate because you, a Valkyrie, are still bound by an oath you made when you were merely mortal. How that must burn your proud heart.” He snarled the last and Eira answered by drawing her sword. Raef did laugh, then, though he hardly knew it. The blade was still dark, with none of the sunlight it had flashed with when Visna wielded it before her exile from Asgard. It was sharp and deadly in a Valkyrie’s hands, but it was still just a sword.

  She came for him, the dark blade arcing with such swiftness that Raef was forced to throw himself clear, but he came up on nimble feet and his sword shivered against hers as they met at last. The clash reverberated through every bone in Raef’s body, and he was sure the earth beneath his feet and the tall pines standing watch shuddered with the force of it. Her strength pushed him down and nearly sent him to one knee, but Raef, baring his teeth at her, stood tall once more and drew his axe with his right hand. Eira saw it coming and she drew back, avoiding his swing. Raef pressed on, lashing out with both hands, but Eira deflected and dodged with breathtaking skill until she was no longer on the defensive and it was Raef who had to work to keep his footing. Soon every movement was one of desperation. He knew he could not win. The edges of his vision darkened, leaving only Eira’s blade of death and the feel of his own weapons in his hands. He moved on instinct, but it would not be enough in the end and his mind, empty of all else, reached out for the fate he knew would come soon, the fate that would not send him to Valhalla.

  He brought the axe up late, catching only enough of Eira’s sword to keep it from taking his arm, but her blade bit into the flesh of his right shoulder and then it was gone. The axe fell from Raef’s hand and he saw her sword come again, this time meant for his right side. She would carve into his torso, drag the sword up into his ribs. The leather would not stop her. He would fall and he would feel the blade as it ripped out of him, taking flesh and bone with it.

  But the blow never came. Eira’s swing slowed, the sword hovering, waiting, hungry for Raef’s blood, and Raef had time to bring his sword across his body and knock her blade away. She did not resist. She did nothing but twist her torso, an awkward movement that reminded Raef of a deer caught in a trap. And then she opened her mouth as though to scream, but there was no sound.

  Only then, in that strange moment that should have seen Raef’s heart beat slow and then cease, did Raef see Cilla.

  The girl’s arm was soaked in blood, but not her own, and she still held the knife that was buried in Eira’s back at the base of her spine. The Valkyrie twisted again, wild gaze roving in search of what had done her such harm, but then Cilla withdrew the knife and Eira collapsed, her legs useless.

  The shadow that came for her was cold and darker than midnight and the air ripped from Raef’s lungs as it swept over him, but then it was gone and there was no trace of Eira but for the blood in the snow and the dark sword that had dropped from her hand.

  Raef sucked in a breath and fell to his knees, drained by something other than Eira’s speed and fury or the wound in his shoulder, but as his head cleared, he saw that Cilla was unmoved, untouched by the darkness that had come for Eira. The girl reached down and, with a gentle hand, set the small knife in the snow, then walked to where the dark sword lay, the blade streaked with Raef’s blood, and bent over it. Raef watched as her small fingers touched the hilt, then curled around it. When she lifted it, a sunrise spread through the dark, cold metal until it was blazing with all the brilliance of day, a ray of sunlight in her hand.

  Cilla met Raef’s gaze, and already he could see her eyes were changing, deepening, growing, filling with strength and power, but there was nothing of Eira’s rage.

  Without a word, Cilla stepped close to where Raef knelt in the snow and picked up the axe that had fallen from his hand when Eira wounded him. She contemplated the sharp edge, the smooth handle, as though it were important that she know its shape, weight, and balance. She held out the handle and Raef put out his hand, palm up. She settled it there against the spatter of his own blood and did not let go until Raef had clasped it tight in his grasp. Then she turned and looked to the sky, expectant.

  The horse came from above, pale and luminous like the moon, just as Raef remembered when the nine Valkyries descended on the burning lake. It landed at Cilla’s side, towering over her, and bumped its nose against her chest. She put a hand on the smooth, broad space between its eyes and then the horse kneeled, bending its front legs until its back was within reach. Cilla, still holding the radiant sword, wrapped the fingers of her free hand in the horse’s silky mane and pulled herself up until she could settle herself on its back. When the creature straightened to its full height, Cilla’s legs dangled and she seemed so small, so insignificant, and yet Raef could not doubt that she belonged.

  If the horse ran or flew, Raef could not say, but it was gone in an instant, leaving no trace of Cilla or the sword of sunlight. Only the small, blood-drenched knife in the snow gave testament to what had happened and those who had watched it all amid the trees began to speak in frightened whispers.

  In a daze, Raef glance
d down at his axe and then walked to where Hauk of Ruderk stood. Their eyes met and then Hauk sank to his knees. For a moment Raef thought he might beg for his life, but Eira’s sudden presence and unexpected death and Cilla’s ascension had brought a great stillness amongst the pines and Hauk, it seemed, had no words. Raef planted his sword in the snow and switched the axe to his left hand, but as he drew back and aimed for the side of Hauk’s neck, a rustle of wings drew his gaze to the sky.

  The swift was true to its name, passing over Raef’s head with the speed of an arrow loosed from a bow, and yet the world seemed to slow and Raef saw the flashing white belly and the darting black wings clearly. He followed its flight, craning his neck to catch sight of it as it disappeared over his shoulder and into the trees.

  Raef looked once more at Hauk, who seemed not to have noticed the swift pass over. He glanced at Siv and Vakre, then back to the man whose blood he had vowed to spill.

  “Forgive me, father,” Raef said, his words a whisper. He turned his back on Hauk, pulled his sword from the snow, and walked away, sheathing his weapons as he went.

  Warriors moved aside to let him pass, their faces riddled with fear and uncertainty, unable to comprehend what they had witnessed. Raef had eyes only for the path ahead of him, though he knew not where it would take him.

  He had left the ring of warriors behind when the land began to rise beneath his feet and he climbed, scrabbling his way over rough, steep ground, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder where Eira had made him. When he came to the top, the hills were spread out around him and there was no sign of the swift. There was only wind and sky and clouds.

  Raef closed his eyes, felt the wind on his face, felt the earth beneath his feet, then opened his eyes and kicked away the snow with one boot until he had exposed the bare, frozen ground. He placed his hand on the dirt and the brown grass, trying to make sense of all he had done, of what had led him there.

  “The swift knows the way.”

  The words had never been far from his thoughts since his dreams the night before, and he spoke them now, first quietly, tasting them, then with more certainty, more resolve.

  A gust of wind crested on Raef’s small summit and then the air seemed to sigh, and in that moment the sky grew dark with wings.

  Countless birds took to the air as one, rising from every tree, every valley and hill Raef could see. The roar of their flapping wings and the sound of their voices was deafening and the horizon grew dark in every direction as they blotted out the grey swaths of clouds, rising higher and higher. Raef could see tiny sparrows and soaring hawks, glossy black crows and even a white, sharp-eyed owl, but together, heaving across the sky as one pulsing beast, the great flock turned west. On and on they came, flying over Raef in droves, and then at last there was silence and the sky emptied, leaving Raef alone on his hill.

  It took only a moment for Raef to make his decision, and even then he knew his choice had always lain in his heart, slumbering, waiting. He left the barren hill and hurried back down the slope, weaving through the trees, nearly tumbling over in his haste as he took the shortest path back to the riverside camp.

  The warriors of Vannheim called out to him when he came within sight of their shelters, but he paid them no heed, hurrying on until he came to the boulders he had slept between. His pack was as he had left it, damp now after the sleet of the morning. Raef stuffed the last of his belongings in it, rose, and turned, swaying slightly at the rush of blood from his head. He looked down at the wound Eira had given him, studying the damage for the first time.

  “Let me bind that for you.” Siv had come. Vakre and Dvalarr stood behind her.

  Raef nodded. Siv spread open the slashed cloth with her fingers and poured river water across the wound, washing away the sticky blood. Then she took a strip of clean linen from her pack and wrapped it around Raef’s arm, pulling tight as she cinched the knot.

  When she finished, Raef, calmer now though no less determined, went to Dvalarr.

  “Lead them home, Crow,” Raef said, gesturing to the camp of Vannheim warriors. He might have said more, he should have said more, but the solemn nod the Crow gave him stopped the words in his throat. Raef held out his hand and the two men clasped forearms.

  And then he was alone with Siv and Vakre.

  “Come,” Raef said. He led them to where they had tied their horses and began to saddle his, the tall, fleet-footed grey mare. “Fate has come for me. I do not know what lies ahead. I only know that I am as certain that I must do this as I am certain of the love I bear both of you. Perhaps I am wrong to ask this, but I would regret it if I did not. Will you follow me, one last time?”

  Siv reached out and took Raef’s hand, stopping him as he strapped his pack behind the saddle. It was answer enough.

  Vakre was quiet, his face marred by dark circles under his eyes, and Raef saw a weariness there that was deeper than a lack of sleep. It worried him to see Vakre that way and for a moment Raef thought the son of Loki would refuse, would draw his sword and demand Raef fulfill the promise given. The smile that curved Vakre’s mouth was small and sad and full of lost things.

  “You know my answer.”

  Raef nodded at Vakre and kissed Siv’s forehead. “We must go, at once.”

  They did not go alone. After crossing the river and heading into the charred trees on the western side, Raef caught sight of a small party pursuing them. Bryndis led them, her white fox fur cloak pure and bright amid the blackened remains of the forest.

  “Skallagrim!” The lady of Narvik shouted after him, but Raef did not slow until he saw she would not give up the chase. They slowed and circled as Bryndis caught up. Eiger was there, his face flushed with the exertion.

  “What are you running from?” Bryndis lined her voice with a touch of disdain, as though she might shame Raef, but he could see that her heart was not in it, that what she had seen and heard among the tall pines had upset her. Only Raef had seen the great flock of birds, but the rest could not have missed the terrible cacophony.

  “I run from nothing,” Raef said.

  Eiger had regained his breath, but he looked from Raef to Siv to Vakre as though he suspected them of some conspiracy. “That is no answer, Skallagrim.”

  Raef bit back his anger, but Bryndis spoke again. “What of the gathering? Your voice will sway many.”

  “Call your gathering, Bryndis. There is no place for me there.” Raef turned his horse’s head and made to continue, but he could see the lady of Narvik did not understand. “I will ask the gods to grant the warriors wisdom.”

  The words were a mistake, he knew, and he wished he could call them back to curl under his tongue once more, but it was too late and Eiger’s eyes narrowed.

  “Betrayer!” The Great-Belly’s son brought his horse next to Raef’s leaving him no choice but to draw his sword to keep Eiger’s fury at bay. “You would leave me behind, I who first gave you the dream of Asgard, who wanted only to take the path together that we might kneel before the Allfather as one. False heart, I name you, full of black greed.”

  “Be careful of your words, Eiger. You know not what you say.”

  Eiger spat and drew his own sword, bringing it level with Raef’s blade. “You deny that you have found the bridge to Asgard? That you meant to steal away and gain the glorious gates alone?”

  “That dream is yours, Eiger. I do not aspire to such lofty heights.” Raef kept his voice low and calm, though he was desperate to get away.

  Bryndis was frowning at the exchange. “What is this you speak of, Eiger?”

  But Eiger was too unsettled and he rounded on her, unleashing all the anger he felt toward Raef. “You are not fit to hear of it, sword-whore! You are filth, less than a dog.” He swiped at her, his movement hampered by his protruding belly and his horse’s neck, but Bryndis’s stallion reared up, lashing out with his hooves at the sudden threat. The lady of Narvik clung to the saddle at first, but as her mount’s hooves struck the other horse, she was jarred loose and
fell in a heap. Her warriors leaped to the ground and one darted in and pulled her away from the stallion’s feet, but then the stallion screamed, his neck nicked by Eiger’s blade, and the Great-Belly’s son was dismounting, his sword reaching for Bryndis.

  Eiger came up short, dropping his sword as he howled in pain at the same moment that Raef seized him by the hair. Eiger clutched at his hand and fell to his knees, his palm seared and bloody, the flesh blistered and torn. The hilt of his sword hissed where it lay in the snow, steam rising as it cooled. Raef’s gaze flickered to Vakre and saw grim satisfaction there.

  Bryndis was on her feet, recovering faster than her warriors, and she gazed down at Eiger, whose cheeks were wet with tears, contempt blazing from her coal-lined eyes. Raef kept his grip on Eiger’s hair and brought the tip of his sword to rest next to Eiger’s spine.

  “Too long have I indulged you, Eiger, son of Thorgrim.” Bryndis’s voice was sharp with wrath long-contained. “And now at last you show me the true shade of your spirit. I was warned, and I should have heeded those warnings long ago and cast you from me as a dog scratches away a flea. You think a woman beneath you? You think me weak because I have breasts and nothing dangling between my legs?” Bryndis leaned over Eiger, her face twisted in a dreadful smile. “There I have the advantage, you see, because no one can do this to me.”