by Terry Graves
“Ingolf here says he can behead all of them, one single cut each,” said the warrior who had looked at her with disgust. The comment made Runa feel sick in her stomach. “Anyone want to bet against him?”
Many did. Some were warriors, but some were people she knew. Torgeir was one, that weasel of a trapper. But Alarr’s father wagered his best hammer, and many others put some coins and other things that may have seemed small, but were important and precious to them. The man named Ingolf did not say a word, just waited with a half-smile. He was bald and looked fierce enough. Old rune tattoos crawled up his neck.
Runa could not avoid looking at the people kneeling. She could not see their faces anymore, and that helped a bit.
“I hope he fails,” said a woman next to her. “I hope they suffer.”
They should, thought Runa, as her father had suffered at the unskilled hands of a little girl, wound after wound in his neck; slaughtered like a pig, murdered without honor. They should, she tried to convince herself in vain. Because she did not experience joy, and felt that there was no justice at play in that square. She had dreamt of this moment for many years, imagining she was the one who held the axe above them. She had pictured them tortured, in ways much worse than what was about to happen to them. But now, with the real thing in front of her and the blood of the mountain wolf still on her hands, she found that even revenge was meaningless.
“I feel nothing,” she said. “No hate, no happiness. Nothing.”
Alarr put a hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. It is not a question of hate, but of fairness. And of need. They will die so our wounds may heal and we can live.”
But my wounds will never heal, no matter how many die, thought Runa. The marks on her face, the deep wrinkles where each fang had pierced her, the flesh rough and torn — those things were only on the surface. The scars, however, she wore inside. The only person who could die so that her pain was completely gone was Runa herself. She knew it quite well because she had tried many times.
She did not want to see this, and it was about to start. The warrior who had spoken first had collected the bets. The one named Ingolf took out his axe, which seemed very small in his big hands. He raised it in the air and the crowd cheered.
“Wait!” shouted someone. It was Sveinn, who had returned to the square. “What’s the hurry?” He strolled until he reached the center of the circle, leaned on one of the wooden barrels from the daily market, and scrutinized each prisoner. His eyes lingered longer over the young girl with the blonde hair, and he frowned, as if he was ruminating something in his mind. “I believe they all need a fair trial before we get rid of the scum, isn’t it right? Better wait until morning.”
Runa let out a loud sigh that she did not know she had been holding. There were some protests, but soon the people lost interest and began to dissolve. They did not want to face Sveinn, especially after he had been drinking, and the presence of the king’s men frightened them. If they had to wait till tomorrow, then they could wait. “Besides,” said a man to his friends, “if that Ingolf drinks like the average Viking, we will have a better chance to win our bet in the morning.”
They all laughed and kept on with their chores. Sveinn and some of his men forced the prisoners to get up and carried them away, probably to one of the barns where they would guard them for the night. They left the stumps in the middle of the square, as if insinuating that the outcome of any trial they would face had been decided beforehand.
By then, the sun was almost set, and the square was dark and cold.
“Now the place to be is the great hall,” said Alarr. “They will drink and sing songs and tell stories about their feats. But perhaps I should go look after Gerda first, see if she’s alright.”
“Yes, perhaps you should,” Runa replied with an unkind tone, “and I should be going. I want nothing to do with these men. If I was you I would go home, bolt the doors and bar the windows.”
Alarr snorted. “You’re exaggerating.”
She did not bother to answer. There were lights behind the great hall, and laughter. Mead was getting poured in great quantities, no doubt. For some reason, Runa tried to find the wounded woman among the last warriors that were leaving the place, but she had vanished.
NINE
Gerda noticed Kai following her and hastened her pace. There was no time for distractions. She had not expected the warriors’ hird to arrive so soon and now she had only that night to release Fyrnir. The morning after, the warriors would march to the lake, with their swords and their spears, and the opportunity would be lost forever. But the streets were deserted, because everybody wanted to take a look at the outsiders, so after a while it became impossible to keep ignoring him. Gerda stopped and waited for Kai to catch up.
“You’re going home too?” she asked. He nodded and, for a while, they walked together.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?” Kai finally said. “Are you angry with Alarr, or is the quarrel with me?”
It was time to lie again, or maybe not so much. She was indeed angry with Alarr, because he had told her he would do whatever she required of him, and then he had abandoned her as soon as the warriors came, hypnotized by the shine of their chain mail and helmets. So Alarr was not one to trust, apparently, which was a statement she would not have dared to utter before. And she was not too happy with Kai either, but there were deeper reasons for that. Kai knew her a lot better than any other, so he was harder to trick. Perhaps it was time for that conversation with him, the one she had held to herself for so long. But she did not want to rush it. Kai was too important to her.
“I just want to be alone,” she replied, in the hope he would leave it there. “I don’t feel in the mood for talking. Another time, perhaps.”
“Nonsense. I was almost killed today. I’ve practically heard the beautiful voices of the Valkyries calling my name. Life is short and precious, you see, so it’s better not to leave anything of worth unsaid.” Kai looked deadly serious, but he was joking. Gerda could see the corners of his lips twitching.
“It was a sick wolf, Kai. I wonder what you would have done with the whole pack.” The words lingered in the air. That was no longer a joke. “I was scared for you.”
“It is just a scratch.” He raised his wounded forearm carelessly to prove to her that it had already healed, and tried to hide the expression of pain that came to his face with a smile.
“I know.”
She raised her eyes to the overcast, miserable sky. Thank the gods Runa was there to make the kill.
“You fancy Alarr,” said Kai, out of the blue.
She stopped mid-step.
“You seem very sure of it. That was not even a question.”
“It’s alright if you do,” Kai kept going. “I like Alarr, despite how it may seem. I think he is a good man. I was just a bit surprised, that’s all, and it would have been nice if you had told me before.”
Those words infuriated her. Kai and her had definitely grown apart.
So you’re giving up, is that it?
Kai claimed to have an ability to read people, but he hadn’t a clue about what was going on under the surface. For example, with the whole giant problem: Gerda would have loved to have had him on her side, but he was too self-righteous for that. She had surprised herself hoping that Kai was a bit more like Alarr, supporting her, fighting for her even though she was not always right.
“I don’t care a pig’s ass about what you think,” she said and sped up, but Kai grabbed her wrist from behind and forced her to turn back.
“That was not what I meant.”
Gerda pushed him to break free, and hit him on the forearm accidentally. The wound opened and it started leaking blood again. “Kai, I’m so sorry…”
She leaned closer and, at that moment, Kai pulled her against him and kissed her. It was an innocent kiss, soft; merely a brush. His lips were dry but warm.
Their foreheads rested one against the other. They just sta
red, not knowing what to say, where to go from there. It was a moment so delicate, so precious, that she did not want to do anything to spoil it. She said nothing, but got closer to him, until their lips were touching again. She opened her mouth.
It felt right. So she decided to go with that.
It was dark already, but the pigs were still out, rooting in the mud inside the fence. Gerda glanced at them, annoyed. Father had neglected his duties on the farm again. There was no smoke coming from the hut, no light behind the windows. He was not around. Perhaps he had not been there all day. One day, she thought, their pigs would get stolen or devoured by wolves, or would die from a cold snap, and they would be poor and Gerda would have to sell herself as a thrall.
The interior was dead cold. She would have to light a fire, but first, she had to deal with the cattle. She picked up the rod that hung next to the door and went outside to lead the pigs to the stall. When she was a little girl, she had named them all. She had thought of them as pets, especially the piglets, and had told them stories. That had been going on for a while, until the first slaughter day she remembered. The naming, the cuddling, and everything else had ended then, with the smell of blood and the shrieking. But Gerda still felt sorry for them and tried to treat them nicely. They were trapped in those horrible lands and forced to serve a nasty patron, just like her.
She finally walked back inside and started the fire. She hit the firesteel with the flint several times, but the sparks refused to ignite the touchwood. She gave up after a while, frustrated. Kai would be in the opposite hut, all alone, and she could not stop thinking about it. Perhaps it would be better to stroll over there. It would be easier to warm up together in front of Kai’s hearth and forget about gods and giants.
But she could not fail Fyrnir.
During the last couple of weeks, she had been traveling to the lake, alone, to share her thoughts with him. She had spoken about the dullness of Veraheim, the unfairness of her life, and how poverty-stricken girls like her usually had lives that weren’t worth living. And the giant had listened. For once, she was the one telling the stories, not her father. And her stories were perhaps boring, but they were true. With the passing of days she had become convinced that she and the giant were two of a kind, two beings trapped under the ice, far from home — true home, at least.
Every time she came back from the lake, the kindness of the giant’s voice soothed her and drove her to sleep. Then she dreamt about faraway lands where trees seemed to be made of glass and there were cities carved in the heart of the mountains and palaces built on solid ice. She traveled in the giant’s hands, watching it all from above, as if she was a cloud or an eagle. And when she awoke, she was never sure whether it had been a dream or a vision, if her mind had in fact traveled across the tangled roots of Yggdrasil to another realm, as Kai and that horrid bear-woman claimed to do while in a trance.
Gerda also dreamt of the crown. The giant used two fingers to put it on her head, with a delicacy unsuited to his size. In her dreams the crown had shrunk and fitted Gerda perfectly, and she was declared Queen of Jötunheim, to rule over the giants that still roamed the earth, but also over the stupid Sveinn and Solfrid, her good-for-nothing father and the king of Heiðirsalr. But she suspected that last dream was just of her own fabrication.
And now there was Kai to take into account as well, and his gentle kisses; something old but also something new. She had craved this for a long time without even realizing it. But it scared her, because it struck her as the right thing to do. It seemed too comfortable, too convenient. Since they were little, everyone had expected this to happen, as if Gerda’s life had been exposed by the norns in the market square for everyone to see.
To settle with Kai was to no longer pursue her dreams, perhaps to never leave Veraheim. In her heart, Gerda knew that Kai was not one for adventures. He was content with what he was and the place the world had picked for him. So perhaps to go looking for his lips again would mean to die, a certain kind of death.
A part of her seemed to want it. It was childish to dream of the mountain peaks. There was nothing there but coldness and wind and more snow. The sea was treacherous and hard to cross, and many men had died without the solace of having solid land under their feet. And to become a shield-maiden would mean doing what the forest-people did to Runa, but in foreign territories. To plunder, to slay, to rape and to murder. And no matter what the skalds sang, there was nothing heroic in that.
Perhaps after that night everything would be over, she thought, or perhaps not. But she would free the giant anyway. She owed him that.
Gerda placed the flowers in a bag and picked up the firesteel, the flint, and the touchwood, in the hope she could make better use of them later at the lake. She still needed the shards of the mirror, and her only chance was to get them from Solfrid, so she prayed for her to be in Kai’s house, and to be sound asleep.
The flowers and the shards were all that Fyrnir required from her, and it seemed too little, but that was not for Gerda to decide. She picked up the sword as well. It had no sheath, and was too heavy for her and slowed her down, but she hadn’t had the courage to tell Alarr this. She wondered if the weapon would have a dissuasive effect if someone was guarding the lake, which seemed doubtful. But she felt more confident with it, as if the sword made a warrior out of her.
She went outside and drew the shawl close about her, fighting against the bitter wind. She took a look at Kai’s hut, warm and inviting, and hoped he would be able to forget her for what she was about to do. Nonchalantly, Gerda walked straight into the hut and peeked through the sliver of the open door. It was warm on the inside, but the room was silent. She scanned it once again and went in.
Kai used to keep his place tidy and spotless. Utensils and tools hung from one wall and a loom — that had not been used in a long time — leaned against the opposite one. Everything was in place except for Solfrid’s belongings, which were out of her bag and scattered everywhere. Gerda wrinkled her nose. She had left Kai at home not so long ago, and she was probably not far, perhaps gathering some extra firewood.
She kneeled and started looking around at the mess when she heard a sigh, like a low grunt at her back. With her heart in her throat, Gerda turned around.
Solfrid was seated against the wall with her legs crossed. She had missed her somehow, as her bear’s fur was of the same color as the timber walls. The sorcerer had the cowl over her face, so Gerda could only see the holes the creature had for eyes, and its sharp teeth.
“Oh… “ Gerda started, “I was looking for Kai.”
Solfrid did not reply or move. Her breathing was regular and her hands lay on her knees. After a slight hesitation, Gerda approached her and crouched down to see her face. Solfrid’s eyes were open, but her irises seemed faded, as if behind a veil of mist. Her chest moved up and down.
She was sleeping, or in a trance, or drunk. The two small sacks with the sand hung around her neck.
Gerda bit her lower lip. She knew that if she started to think about it, she would never do it. So she just extended her arm, grabbed one of the sacks, and lifted it into the air. But Solfrid had her head leaned against the wall, and it got stuck.
Gerda held her breath.
Very slowly, she pressed two fingers of her free hand over the bear’s cowl and pushed. The woman’s head moved an inch away and Gerda managed to take it out. She pressed it against her chest before sliding it into her bag.
She looked at the second one. It had got tangled with the other pendants, the runes, the raven’s foot, the talismans, the feathers. She thought about cutting it free with her knife, but Solfrid moved, moaned and grunted, as if she was about to wake up.
Gerda did not want to risk it. A mirror shard had to suffice. It was that or nothing. She rose from the floor and paced slowly back toward the door. When she got outside, she stopped and breathed again.
The gods, wherever they were, seemed to be on her side.
Gerda traveled swiftly through
the forest to avoid suspicion. She knew the way, even in darkness: where the roots came out from the ground, and where there were holes hidden under the snow and the fallen leaves. At last, the trees disappeared and the surface of the lake appeared in front of her under the sliver of a new moon, one of an unnatural orange color, as if there was dust in the sky. The ice was a black mirror shining with a silver brilliance. The giant’s hand was still there, immobile, still with one finger missing. She waited for a while, hidden on the shore, but saw no one, so she decided to start walking.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I see.”
Under her, the giant’s eyes opened. They glimmered with a soft refulgence, like lapis lazuli gemstones. A circle of bluish light projected from the ice. Under its shine, Gerda saw the whole shadow of the giant for the first time, its mountainous shape, the extent of his body trapped in the depths of the lake. She also saw the smaller silhouettes of frozen fish and water-snakes as debris floating around him. She shivered.
“I’ve got what you asked. But I only managed to get one of the two shards. What should I do now?”
“You know what,” said the giant. “Don’t be afraid.”
He had explained it to her already. With great care, Gerda took out the flowers and placed them in a circle on the ice over Fyrnir’s forehead. She put the sack with the mirror shard in the center and used the firesteel and the flint over them. She hit them only twice before a spark flew and ignited, producing a plume of smoke. Fire soon followed. Gerda thought that the flower circle would burn and disappear, but she found to her surprise that the flames were becoming more and more intense.
A foul smell filled the air, and the fire grew like serpents slithering across one another. The flames flickered and rose high, so tall that it seemed they were going to devour the sky. They radiated an unbearable, unnatural heat. Gerda covered her face with her shawl and stood up. She looked for an escape route, but the flames were all around her and fire was all she could see.