The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  The fog had gentled the winter morning and softened the air, and it hung in thick shrouds around Raef as he emerged from the trees at the bank of the swift, rock-strewn river. Raef stepped from stone to stone until he was in the middle of the rushing water, then dipped the water skins into the tumult and filled them until they bulged. Then, the skins reattached to his belt, Raef worked his way upriver, his feet sure on the slippery stones, until he reached a rock large enough to sit on. There he waited, spear at the ready, eyes searching for nimble silver fish in the pale blue, glacier-fed water.

  He had never mastered spearfishing, preferring instead to work with hooks and line, and his first four throws were poor. The fifth found its mark, though, and Raef clambered over the rocks to retrieve the good-sized trout pierced on the spear’s point. It wriggled still, caught only by its tail, and Raef slapped it against a stone to kill it, then returned to his boulder. Patience and persistence rewarded Raef with four more fish, all speckled brown trout, and he retraced his steps up to the bowl, emerging above the fog to find a brilliant blue sky, unblemished by clouds, spreading over the mountain peaks.

  Raef deposited his catch on the ground and began to revive the fire, then used his slender, small knife to gut and clean the trout. Vakre, curled away from the fire, did not stir, but Raef, as he pulled the guts from inside the largest of his fish, felt eyes on him. Slowly, Raef got to his feet and turned, knife and hands slick with fish.

  The raven was perched above him, clinging with sharp talons to a spire of rock on the side of the bowl. It was alone, its brother in some far corner of the world, no doubt. The black eyes bored into him, wreaking havoc in Raef’s mind as surely as his knife had torn up the trout’s small organs. Long had it been since he had seen a raven, and he knew not whether to be glad of it.

  “I survive, still, Allfather,” Raef said, his voice small against the great bowl around him and the fathomless sky above. “My fate has not yet caught up with me.” The raven made a quiet sound deep in its throat. “Do you laugh at me? You see me now, bereft of everything, I who stood before you and refused a place in a distant, star-strewn hall, all for the hope of a home I have now lost. But I endure, Allfather, with or without your eye upon me, no matter the runes that have been carved next to my name in Yggdrasil’s bark.” The raven cocked its head and flapped its wings once. “You are listening? Then hear me now. I will reclaim Vannheim and I will bring the blood eagle to the oath-breaker, Isolf. This I will do, even when the stars have gone black, even when Jörmungand rises from the sea, and even while Surt’s fires blaze across the nine realms. Even in your darkest hour, when the jaws of Fenrir slaver before your face, I will split open my cousin’s back and draw forth his ribs and then his lungs and loose his screams to the world.”

  For a moment, Raef’s words hung in the air and the raven was still, then its massive wings spread wide and it took to the sky, riding the low clouds that yet covered the valley before disappearing to the east. Raef turned back to the fire and saw that Vakre was watching him now, and though his face was pale and thin and the shadows in his eyes were deep and dark, there was something of his old self there, too, and he grinned as Raef sat down to finish cleaning the last fish.

  “Good words. The gods love a man who challenges fate,” Vakre said. He helped Raef spit the fish on sticks and held two over the flames.

  “Your father most of all?”

  Vakre looked thoughtful. “No more than Odin, I think. Does not the Allfather defy fate with each rising sun? Loki may be cunning and full of hate, and he seeks to bring doom to the gods, but that fate will come, with or without Loki. It is Odin who works against what is known and what will be.”

  “Futile labor. It does not matter how many men he plucks from the battlefields of Midgard, or what knowledge he gains from Mimir’s well, or how tall he builds the walls of Asgard, the fires will come and the world will break and Yggdrasil will burn.”

  “Odin fights because he must, and his spirit lives within us. We go on because we must.”

  And Raef nodded at this because those very words were in his own heart.

  They waited until the fish were charred black, their skins crispy, before tearing into the white flesh with eager teeth. Raef ate with abandon, but Vakre’s appetite did not last long, and he did not finish his first trout. Raef gave him a questioning glance but Vakre’s only response was that he was tired. He turned away, wrapped tight in a fur, eyes closed to the vast sky, and seemed to sleep.

  Leaving the warmth of the fire, Raef explored the bowl from end to end. There was little enough to see, a pile of cracked rocks where they had come to rest after tumbling down the cliff above, a shallow dip in the ground that had collected rain water now frozen to ice. The caves offered up only a pair of empty, rotting barrels, stashed there long ago, but Raef had not expected to find anything useful, for the nest had never been stocked with weapons or food stores or anything of value. Such preparations would require constant attention and a vigilant guard, which meant spilling the secret to more and more ears. And so the nest was sparse and Raef had known this and sought it still, for his father had told him once that the nest could not provide, but it could protect, and in the most desperate of times, that was enough.

  His exploration complete, Raef settled down on the edge of the bowl, his legs dangling over the sharp drop, and slid a silver arm ring from its place on his wrist. His fingers ran across the familiar twists in the metal and along the beaks of the twin raven heads, but his eyes remained fixed on the clouds below as the valley and the fjord began to take shape. He would have given much for a bow to hunt with, and more for one hundred men to stand at his back with bright swords and strong shields, but he had none of these things. The nest might keep him safe, but it would not bring him Isolf’s head.

  By the time the clouds burned away, the sun was high and Raef’s stomach was rumbling, the early morning fish long forgotten, but no sooner had Raef stood than the ship appeared, rounding the final bend in the fjord’s long journey, slipping through the last of the fog.

  Raef, rooted to the spot, his heartbeat quickening, could only stare. The ship was small, manned by only four or five men if necessary, and the beast on its prow had been removed, as was customary in friendly waters. And yet its presence in this isolated, uninhabited piece of water was unnerving, no matter how few warriors it could hold. Seldom, even in summer, did ships venture so far up the fjord.

  Up in the nest, the air was still, but Raef could see by the patterns on the surface of the fjord that the winds were brisk, and the ship’s grey sail was full. It would not be long before she made landing. Returning to the fire, Raef gathered every weapon he could carry and then hurried down into the valley, intent on reaching the shore before the ship.

  He chose to wait and watch on a small point of land that arced out into the fjord. Should the ship aim for the shallow waters and safe beach at the mouth of the river, his position would give him a good look at the crew. Crouching between boulders, Raef watched a sea eagle cut across the sky and waited, the sharp wind numbing his cheeks.

  The ship drew close, its prow pointed toward the river mouth, and Raef peered out at it, expecting to see men working the sail, to see the oars splashing into the water to guide her to land, to see a helmsman at the rudder, but he saw nothing. The sail rippled, the thick wool snapping in a gust of wind, but her deck was empty and the oars were stowed or missing. She was abandoned.

  Raef, wondering if perhaps the crew had jumped ship, frightened or forced overboard, but suspecting that something more cunning was at work, stayed hidden. The sheer strake was unburdened by shields, but high enough to conceal a crouching man. The rudder might be fixed in place with ropes, the sail left in the care of the wind, all for the sake of stealth and surprise. Isolf had shown cunning in his capture of Vannheim; such an ambush would appeal to him. And so Raef waited.

  The ship, with a groan and a shudder that made Raef wince, slid up against the rocky beach. The sinking tide wou
ld leave her stranded before nightfall, her hull riding slick, kelp-covered rocks instead of salty waves. But no orders were shouted and no men leaped over the side, splashing to shore with spears in hand. All was silence and still Raef waited.

  Clouds filtered in from the west, high ones this time, streaking the sky with orange and pink as the sun sought the horizon. The winds that had battered the fjord by day vanished, leaving calm waters to lap against the shore. The fish would be stirring, searching out insects that walked the water, and the birds would be watching for telltale signs of silver scales in the blue fjord.

  As the light died, so did Raef’s suspicions, and at last he allowed himself to rise and, rounding the curved shore to the beach, approach the strange ship, axe at the ready. No arrows were launched to pierce him, no spears were hurled to savage him, and Raef hauled himself over the sheer strake and landed with light feet on the smooth deck.

  The ship was not deserted. A funeral pyre had been built at the stern. The wood was unburnt and freshly cut, rich with the scent of pine. A nest of kindling, ready to spark, sprouted from the sturdy logs. The body was richly dressed in a thick fabric of shimmering gold, the cloth threaded through with delicate strands of silver and copper, and for a moment Raef could not bring himself to look upon the woman’s face, for in his mind he saw Siv’s green eyes and red-gold hair.

  But it was not Siv. She was a stranger to Raef and yet the sight of her caused Raef’s heart to leap, for surely she was golden-haired Freyja herself. Raef took a deep breath and looked closer. She was adorned with gems. A thick rope of gold hung from her neck, the bright metal cradling stones of icy blue. Her hair was free and loose save for a single small braid that caressed her temple. There, entwined with her golden locks, was a strand of silver. She bore a pair of rings, one crusted with glittering black gems, the other small and plain and yet made from the finest copper. And yet despite all those riches, a strange thing caught his eye. A single golden arm ring encircled her upper arm, lost against the rich cloth, its serpent head chasing after the tail. A fitting prize for a warrior or shieldmaiden, but this woman did not have the look of battle about her. Her shoulders were slender, her hands smooth, her skin unscarred. Raef bent closer, drawn in by the well-worked gold, for he had never seen finer craft, when he saw something that took the breath from him.

  There, at her throat, a pulse.

  **

  She was alive. Raef touched the Thor hammer that hung around his neck and took a step back, his eyes fixed on the faint, drumming muscle beneath the pale skin of her neck. It flickered unevenly, a candle threatened by even the slightest hint of air, and Raef reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder.

  She sucked in a gasp of air, her eyelids fluttering open violently, the cords of her neck straining as she raised her head. Raef released his hold on her shoulder but before he could retreat, she was clawing at his arm, her fingers latching to his sleeve, and then she was twisting and falling from the top of the pyre and Raef thrust his arms around her and caught her as together they went to their knees.

  It was her eyes that Raef could not look away from. They were black and full of stars, and that dark gaze gripped Raef’s heart. And then he blinked and her eyes were a calm sunlit sea, blue and vivid. She seemed unaware of the change, but as those blue eyes focused on his face, she pushed him away and staggered to her feet.

  “You dare to touch me?” Her voice was rich and deep, but hoarse, and her beautiful features were distorted by a snarl Raef would have looked for on a wolf. “Bold. But fatal.” The snarl remained, but there was something new there, some wild pleasure, and she reached to her hip as a warrior would for a sword, but her fingers grasped only air. As her hands came up empty, the snarl turned to horror. Raef could see her fight to take in a breath and her hands began to shake as she raised them to her face. Before Raef could reach her, she crumpled to the deck.

  She did not sob, she did not scream. Her eyes were dry and she drew even breaths. And yet those blue eyes flashed with stars once more and Raef could see a tide of burning rage and crushing grief, so sharp he felt it in his own heart, and the sun and the waves and the birds all seemed to vanish.

  The sky was deep blue by the time Raef ventured to speak. He did not stir from his place beside the sheer strake, but let his voice cross the vast distance that seemed to swell between them.

  “Lady, who are you?”

  “Many names have I had, Spear-Breaker, Axe-Wielder, Crushing-Wind. But now I am nothing. I am no one.”

  “Surely there are some who would rejoice to know you live?”

  She frowned. “What do you speak of?”

  Raef gestured to the ship around them. “You were set upon the pyre, but it was unburnt. Your ship drifted here. Was it an illness that made them think you dead?”

  Her eyes took in the mast and sail, the smooth timbers beneath her, the funeral pyre. “I died, but am not dead,” she said. “No one will be looking for me.”

  “Perhaps you have judged them harshly. A woman like you is not easily forgotten.”

  She laughed then, a bitter sound. “Why? Because I am beautiful? Because men will wish to have me spread my legs? Yes, my father has seen to that. It is all he has left me.”

  “Your father?”

  For a moment, the stars returned to her eyes and her voice grew stronger. “He who sits on Hlidskjalf, he who wields Gungnir, he who rides Sleipnir and sends his ravens forth into the nine realms.” She fixed a piercing stare on Raef, daring him to question her, but she had said enough and Raef knew why her changing eyes sent shards of icy fear burrowing into him. She had nearly killed him with her sword of sunlight. Her voice had made bold warriors tremble and lose control of their bladders. She and her sisters had descended on the burning lake, carrying chaos on their shields.

  “The Allfather has cast you out?”

  The Valkyrie nodded.

  “Why?”

  “My sisters and I, we are loosed upon the field of battle, free to choose among the slain as we will. We bring the best to Valhalla, to line Odin’s long tables and await the last battle. But the Allfather has his say and he is not to be denied. I dared to disobey, choosing a man marked for the cold embrace of Hel. And for that I am banished to the world of men, to live out numbered days, I, who rode fleet-footed death and lived among the stars.” She fell silent but got to her feet and went to stand at the stern of the ship, her gaze searching for something in the dark fjord. “I can no longer see the shining hall, the shields that line the walls, the faces of those who were chosen.” She turned and faced Raef and even in the darkness, he could see the anger flashing in her eyes. “I am not meant to live among men. I have drunk mead at Odin’s table, I have tasted the wind that beats from Hraesvelg’s wings at the end of the world, I have slain frost giants and smelled the breath of Fenrir. Am I to spend my days serving a man? Am I to die without a name that men will speak to the end of days?” The anger was not enough to mask her fear.

  “I will speak your name.” Raef crossed the deck and came to stand at her side. “A name of your choosing.”

  “Why?”

  “You may not be a shieldmaiden of Asgard anymore, but I will not forget it. We have met before.”

  “Have we?”

  “I have seen you in the thick of slaughter, I have heard you promise death, and I have looked into your eyes and seen my death there. I will shout your name to the world of men and they shall hear it and tremble.” As he spoke, the eyes of starlight returned and the Valkyrie was as he remembered her at the burning lake, a storm of terrifying beauty, a wild, blazing thing, as though his words had somehow summoned the pieces of her she had lost. But then she was golden-haired and blue-eyed once more and Raef, though he could see pride and valor and strength yet in her face, knew in his heart the stars would not return, knew the last skin of the Valkyrie had been shed.

  “Then you shall have the name my father gave me. I am Visna.”

  “Well, Visna. I have nothing to offer you bu
t a fire, and fish, and a heart full of vengeance, but I will share it all with you.”

  “What would you have of me?” Visna’s voice was tinged with suspicion.

  Raef shrugged. “I would have you live. Live a bold and brilliant life, so that your sisters yet in Asgard will look down and know envy.”

  This seemed to please her. “I will need a sword.”

  “You shall have it.”

  “And clothing. My father has seen fit to send me into the world of men dressed as Freyja.” She smiled then, and it was pure and true and a vestige of the light of those who dwelt in Asgard.

  Raef laughed. “I am rich only in birch bark and pinecones.”

  He led the way through the now dark forest, past the rushing river, and up the steep slope to the eagle’s nest. Visna followed easily, despite the long gown, but she drew up as they neared the edge of the bowl, her eyes on Vakre, who stood at the overlook, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Raef?” Vakre called to them and Raef heard a sharp intake of breath from Visna beside him.

  “Here, we are here,” Raef answered. He stepped into the circle of firelight.

  “You were gone a long time.” Vakre was pale, but he seemed stronger. His gaze flickered between Raef and Visna, who stood still in the shadows.

  “I know, forgive me.”

  “The ship?”

  “Bore only her.” Raef gestured and Visna stepped forward.

  “You did not say you knew a half god,” Visna said. Her voice was quiet but tense and Raef could see her shoulders were stiff.

  “How could you know that?” Vakre’s eyes were wary.

  “I know the blood of Asgard when I see it.”