by Terry Graves
Still, the sunrays were nice and, as he had been doing during the last two days, Kai leaned back and enjoyed them, trying to bring some warmth to his bones. There has to be a way out, he thought with his eyes closed, the soft cold wind caressing his hair. There is always a solution and I will find it.
Skaði had forbidden him to access the north wing of Himinbjörg. Every night, she climbed on top of the tallest tower to sing her song of winter, so it was fair to assume that the stone-heart would be there as well. That was how she cast her spell; she had told him that much. The stone-heart and the mirror shards were two different names for the same thing, so, if Kai managed to get to the heart, he would be able to use his magic, as he did when he was with Solfrid. But even if he wanted to get in, there was only one door, built in sturdy ice, and it was always closed. It had no lock for a key and Kai had no idea how he could get past it.
Skaði had also stated that her bedchambers were there and that she spent the daytimes in them, but Kai had not seen her or heard her, so she could be lying. Perhaps Skaði left the stronghold from time to time and Kai would not have known if she was away or not.
The only other place Kai was not allowed to go was Ásgarð, but the prospect had started to appeal to him more and more. He was convinced that the halls of the gods would be full of treasures, weapons, and even magical devices of all sorts, and some of them could help him to escape. The wall was a nuisance, but he had not examined it closely yet, and perhaps there were back doors or other entrances along the perimeter in areas he had not yet explored. If he was to get into the keep…
Kai sighed again. He wouldn’t do it today, in any case. He got up, wandered a bit to stretch his legs, said goodbye to the reindeer and paced back to Himinbjörg. He had been ruminating another idea, one less straightforward, but also less hazardous and perhaps more rewarding in the long term.
Know your enemy, he thought.
This had been a core principle for all kings and strategists since the dawn of time. If Skaði was no longer prone to talk with him, there were other ways to get into her head. After all, she had been leaving clues about herself everywhere around. She had literally covered the stronghold with them. Kai opened the door to one of the chambers randomly and examined the complex carvings on the wall. They were human figures, and animals, over a landscape of mountains, rivers, and hillocks.
There was a story in there, Kai was sure. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the figures intently, one after another, until he found one he recognized. It was a man with a thick beard, a hat, and a cape, a staff in his hand and only one eye. Óðin.
That was not a bad start, Kai decided. Now, who were the other men he was talking to? They were dressed like northerners and were offering him sealskins, so perhaps this was a tribute of some sort.
And that way, very slowly, he started to untangle the story.
The sun had left the sky when Kai took his seat in front of the long table in the hall and waited. The Snow Queen appeared soon afterwards, in a long cerulean dress of a fashion the boy had never seen, with many layers of muslin and the hair combed in braids. She sat, served herself a cup of water, and took a sip, absently. Then she picked up a winterberry and started eating. It was the first time Kai had seen her do it since he had arrived.
For a while, it looked like things were not going to be much different from the day before, a long silent dinner. Skaði stopped, peered at him for a long time, and said:
“Have you come to reason?”
Kai took a deep breath before facing her. Her skin was the color of bone, her lips so blanched and thin they were almost invisible. All of her seemed discolored, subdued. She looked fragile and sickly now, but Kai still had in his mind the image of her on top of the tower, when she had been tall and powerful and winter had yielded to her will. “If by that you mean have I decided to die willingly for you, then no. Reason has eluded me so far.”
“You’re being so difficult,” Skaði said with boredom, and dropped the fork and the knife on the table. “Why does it matter so much to you? Humans don’t live long. You’re not a god sacrificing eternity. I don’t even know how many years are left in you.” She squinted, as if she was making a mental calculation. “Thirty, I would say. Forty if you’re lucky. And you’re a human, which means no great feat is needed to put you to rest. A sharp knife is all it would take. Or a cold breeze. Or a clumsy fall.”
Kai tried to discern if she was joking with him, but it did not look like it. “Well, whatever number of years it may be,” he replied with contempt, “they’re all I have. Immortal as you are, maybe a hundred seasons don’t seem like much to you, buy they’re a whole life to me. And the less time one has, the more precious it becomes.”
“You’re wrong about one thing, I value time more than you can imagine. Your sacrifice would grant many good years to your people,” she said. Her voice had turned soft and sweet, but it did not suit her, so the effect was more disconcerting than appealing.
“You know nothing about my people.”
“You could save their lives,” she insisted. “The life of the girl who was with you.”
“Yes, but for how long? Not much time has passed since you took away the last child. I was born soon after Ivar disappeared. So, apparently, you will have to murder a whole lot of us to grant my friends a long, fulfilling life. And what about their children? The longer I think about this whole thing, the surer I am: this could not last forever.”
“Not forever, no, but still.”
“The Fimbulvetr killed my parents. It killed Gerda’s mother too. As you said, it did not take a great feat to end their lives; all it took was a cold breeze. They don’t care much about Ragnarök now, you see, and I don’t know why I should care either. In the new world there won’t be gods or giants or magic, and the old realms will be one and the same. Maybe that’s a good thing. There will be less darkness and more people will grow old. Many a child who would have died at birth, won’t. So tell me, lady: am I giving life with my sacrifice, or am I taking it away?”
No emotion came to Skaði’s face. She just stopped moving and stood blankly. Her eyes were lost in thought, with her eyelids naturally colored in subtle purple.
“I’m sorry about your parents. I did not create the humans. You were Æsir’s craftsmanship. If you had been my work, I would have make you as strong as the Jötnar race. I would have used the sturdiest branch of the tree and not the twigs.”
“Thank you,” Kai replied, although it was not much of an apology. And then, a stray thought came to his mind. “I think I understand now.”
“Understand what?”
“How things are. All this talk about time and life and eternity has opened my eyes a bit. You have stayed inside Himinbjörg, alone for a hundred years. You consider this a sacrifice, but who are you sacrificing yourself for? Definitely not the Jötnar. Fyrnir called you a traitor, and you’re using their magic against them. But not for the Æsir either, because the way you talk about them reveals that you despise them. And not for the humans, because you know nothing about us, so you could not care less about our wellbeing. Yes,” Kai concluded, “the answer is finally clear to me.”
“Is that so?”
“Undoubtedly. You’re doing this for yourself. That’s the only rational explanation. Because you’re afraid of dying, afraid of change. For mankind, death is what lies at the end, no matter what. That is what it means to be alive, every day is a struggle. And I think that, for an eternal being… the mere prospect of death must be simply unbearable.”
“You’re wrong. You know nothing about me.”
Kai had to agree with her last remark. After all, how different was this from the things he had imagined while he was still in Veraheim? He had thought the Queen was tender and loving, a totally different creature. He had fantasized about their first encounter many times.
“Why did you kiss me?” Kai insisted again. He knew this was the question that had sent Skaði away on the first night, but the answer m
eant the world to him. “Since that moment, everything has turned out wrong and complicated in my life. I’ve had this feeling… like I don’t belong. I want to know what you did to me and with what purpose.”
Silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. There was no answer. Skaði was still treating him with contempt.
“So you will not yield,” she insisted, “you will not accept your fate.”
Kai shook his head. “No.”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss.” Skaði sprang from her chair, stiffly.
“I want my fire! I demand kindling, my Queen!” Kai yelled at her, but she had already walked away.
BOOK 4
Vǫlva
TWENTY-TWO
The gyrfalcon was a silhouette against the sky, searching for doves and seagulls. Óttar ascended the hill on a gray mare and Wulfgar heard the clapping and turned around on his own mount. His entourage raised their spears and the bannerman held the green flag with the symbol of the gray wolf’s head higher. Óttar raised a hand to greet them. The chieftain had no sympathy for him, he knew this, so he was not surprised when he did not return the gesture.
It doesn’t matter, he thought. I despise you too.
“It is dangerous for us to be seen together, don’t you agree?” Wulfgar hissed when Óttar reached him. His stallion was so black, it shone blue under the sunlight. It snapped its teeth at the neck of Óttar’s mare and it would have bitten it if he had not pulled the reins in time.
“I may be King Fróði’s advisor, Lord, but I’m also a free man and I can go wherever I please.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“It won’t happen again,” Óttar replied, “but I bring news that you may find interesting.”
He looked to the warriors that surrounded Wulfgar’s horse and raised his eyebrows. There were ten, all members of his hird, and two young maidens as well, with green capes and silver armbands. Óttar had been dealing with the chieftain for over a year, but their conversations had always remained private. Both had much to lose if something that they discussed reached Fróði’s ears.
“These are my daughters, Astrið and Asnir,” said Wulfgar, fulfilling the necessary protocol. Both girls bowed her heads slightly. They resembled Valkyries and shared many of their features with their father, including the ash blonde hair and his stern expression. After his first son had died, Wulfgar’s wife and mistress had only borne daughters; so many that Óttar had lost count after the first half a dozen. In the absence of boys, he had trained them in the arts of fighting. “You are among friends. Speak freely.”
Óttar felt uncomfortable in front of such an audience, although the rest of the group paced away and only Wulfgar was paying him real attention. He lowered his voice.
“Word from the north has reached Heiðirsalr. A merchant has arrived this morning with a message. Hafgrim’s warriors have killed the creature, albeit with great losses, and have started their way back to the city. It remains to be proven if it was a Jötunn or not.”
“Was Hafgrim among the dead?”
“Oh, no, Lord. The gods won’t make us so fortunate.” Óttar smirked. “But his warband has been depleted and he is weakened.”
Wulfgar narrowed his eyes but did not say a word. Óttar kept speaking:
“I’m also happy to inform you that yesterday a herald came from Raudvidr. Baug has refused to send the seven longships for the summer campaign that King Fróði requested. He argued that no longer dared to cut trees in the vicinity of Ironwood, that trolls and vargs are now roaming on the outskirts of the forest and the task has become too daunting for his liking. Needless to say, Fróði was not pleased. The head of the messenger now adorns the door of Heiðirsalr’s great hall.”
“So we’re at war with Baug now too?” Wulfgar laughed. “First Vestar, then Storolf. Now Baug. That covers most of the eastern territories, and the shores of the Vond. If they were to join forces…”
“They won’t. I’m sure that Vestar and Storolf have discussed the matter at length, but they won’t manage to convince Baug. He is too loyal to the crown. All men want something, don’t they? Vestar craves power. Storolf desires riches, gold and silver and precious stones. And Baug wants peace above everything else. Besides, Fróði is not an idiot, the Vond is an essential trading route and he needs Baug’s timber because it’s the best. They call it Ironwood for a reason, after all. He will pardon him as soon as his mood changes. He will ask for two dozen otter pelts and everything will be forgotten, you’ll see.”
Wulfgar must have known he was right, because he remained pensive. After all, Óttar was a magnificent adviser. He could read people better than the Christian priests read their Bibles, and he knew that one could consider Baug prudent or a coward, but he was not going to jeopardize a long-lasting peace by allying with a pair of bloodthirsty warlords such as Vestar and Storolf. There was nothing to win and much to lose in that decision, so if the chieftain of Raudvidr had refused to provide the vessels for the summer campaign, he must have had a very good reason.
Óttar was sure that, without a strong leader, Vestar and Storolf would snap at each other and neutralize one another soon enough. Unless, somehow, Wulfgar could unite them under his banner and send them against Fróði.
“Now that Hafgrim’s forces are depleted, Fróði’s position is becoming vulnerable.” He let his last thought slip casually into the conversation. He wanted Wulfgar to reach the same conclusion by himself, so he thought that it was his idea. This is the manner in which Óttar gave advice to the king as well, as he had found out that it worked better that way.
“There may be a chance,” said Wulfgar, taking the bait, “if I knew for sure that Hafgrim’s hird is no longer a menace. Then I could send a messenger to Vestar. He’s the strongest one and we have family ties. We can sanction our alliance with a marriage. He will betroth one of my daughters, and their son will be king in Heiðirsalr. With Vestar on my side, Storolf wouldn’t have any option other than to join us, or we would crush him. The three of us together… that would make an impressive force to march against Fróði.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Lord.” Óttar smiled.
“But I won’t risk things for the word of a merchant.”
“That is sensible, Lord. And in normal circumstances I would concur with the idea of waiting until the hird has come back to Heiðirsalr, or whatever is left of it. But there may not be enough time to be cautious. Every day, new ships reach the docks, full of Vikings ready to go to war. Most of them are loyal to King Fróði and won’t support you or your claims. Soon enough, you won’t be able to take the city.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Óttar.”
“But Lord—”
“Enough!” he shouted. The warriors raised their spears again. One of Wulfgar’s daughters, the one named Asnir, threw Óttar a furious gaze. “You will not insist on this, or I will tell Fróði about your treasons.”
The advisor was used to Wulfgar’s frequent mood changes. He pressed his lips closed and lowered his head sheepishly. “The Lord knows better.”
“Damn right, I do.”
The gyr came back and landed on Wulfgar’s gloved hand. Like his master, the bird had yet to find a prey to sink its claws into.
He’s a coward. They’re all cowards. Wulfgar, Baug, Vestar, Storolf. But I can’t say this to this brute, or he will behead me on the spot. I have to flatter him until he bends. If I had a warband of my own I would seize the world by the strength of the sword. But I’m poor, and my only wealth is my tongue and my brain, and I don’t have a thousand peasants to give me silver every winter and crops every autumn. That’s fate, I guess.
“Some say that gyrs must be for the sole use of kings,” he said, gazing at the bird and trying a new strategy. It was still a blow to Wulfgar’s pride, but hopefully it would be better received. Gyrfalcons were the most precious species in falconry and so expensive that most chieftains could not afford one.
Wulfgar smiled and stroked the bird
’s back with a finger. This time, he saw through his intentions.
“And king I’ll be. In due time.” He scouted the sky. The morning was warm but there were no flocks of seagulls traveling to the nearby marshlands or sparrows gliding under the bright sun. “Don’t worry, my good Óttar. I will be crowned one way or another, and King Fróði will die by my axe, but only after he has suffered for a long time and has paid for the death of my son. And you will get your damn woman, Óttar, and the lands that you seek. Your son will be a chieftain and your services will be remembered. Meanwhile, you can keep bedding the Queen behind Fróði’s back.”
“Lord!” Óttar was livid.
“What? Do you think I didn’t know? All men want something, eh?” Wulfgar laughed as he repeated his very same words. “Me, I want Fróði to suffer. I want his children murdered in front of his eyes. And you… you want his wife all for yourself.”
“But how?” Óttar could not understand. He had been very careful. Every night, he waited until Fróði was sound asleep. Then he faked the sound of the nightingale’s chant under the Queen’s window and waited for her to come out. The guards had been paid off generously to turn a blind eye, and he trusted them. They were loyal to Óttar and wanted Fróði dead too.
“You forget that Ingríð, one of my daughters, is also one of the Queen’s personal maidens. She assists her every day.”
Nobody paid attention to servants. Óttar remembered the face of the maiden, the ash-blonde hair and her severe sunken eyes. Now it was obvious to him that she was one of Wulfgar’s offspring.