The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  The giant’s corpse was a swollen mass of flesh and bone, so savaged it was nearly beyond recognition. The chest was caved in with a mighty blow, the splintered rib bones protruding from pulpy flesh. Half the head was gone, revealing grey brain matter and broken bits of skull all tangled together with strands of bloody, once-blonde hair. A single eye stared upward, rich brown in color. The giant’s legs were broken at the knees, the fingers torn from their sockets, dangling from limp skin.

  “Mjölnir,” Raef said, unable to take his eyes from the ruin that had been the giant’s chest, the foul smell forgotten in the presence of such brutal death. Thor’s hammer had done its work well.

  The giant had been tall, not so tall as the brute Mogthrasir, Raef reckoned, but taller than his fair-faced kin Hrodvelgr, and his weight had toppled more than one tree while several others leaned at dangerous angles, their trunks threatening to snap where the giant’s limbs rested.

  Raef looked up to the sky, but it was Visna, dressed now in borrowed clothes pieced together from among the men who had arrived with Rufnir, moving silently to stand beside him, who spoke the words in his mind.

  “This is wrong,” she said. “A giant slain in Jötunheim should remain in Jötunheim.”

  “This is the fourth,” came a new voice, young and high-pitched. Raef whirled, ready to fight, but the speaker was a boy draped in furs so thick and long that they dragged behind him and tripled the breadth of his shoulders. The boy stared straight ahead at the giant, his eyes bright but his expression blank. He paid Raef and his axe no mind as he walked close to the corpse and knelt beside the broken head. A slender hand reached out of the furs and closed the eyelid. When the eye popped open again and refused to stay shut, a small smile came to the boy’s face.

  “Who are you?” Visna said. The Valkyrie had not been idle, but had moved closer to the boy, and, though she spoke with a pleasant voice, Raef saw deadly intent in her face should the boy prove to be dangerous.

  “Some call me He Who Burned, others say I am Fire-Born, my father gave me the name Barek in the hopes that I would be mighty in battle, but the name I have chosen for myself is Anuleif, for I shall be the ancestor to those who inherit the world.” The boy fixed Raef with a calm gaze, those light blue eyes full of certainty, and Raef knew him for what he was.

  “You are the son of Gudrik of Karahull, the boy lord who would not grant the Hammerling Karahull’s spears and shields,” Raef said. The boy was changed from when Raef had seen him in the smoky hall of Karahull. Then he had sat, nearly naked, in his father’s massive chair, his shaven head glistening with sweat, the raging fires in the pits threatening to start the whole hall ablaze. Raef had thought him mad then and, though the boy had grown hair and layered himself with reindeer pelts, the madness was still there.

  “Yes,” the boy said, content to leave it at that, though Raef had expected him to lash out, for the Karahull warriors had made their own choice and followed the Hammerling to battle against his will. “But I am no longer the lord of Karahull. Let them fight this war as they see fit, let them choose one king or another. That is their right. I let them choose a lord from among the warriors and they are happier for it. And I have no need of a lord’s seat or a lord’s hall. I did not know it when I last saw you, Raef Skallagrim, but my fate moves beyond the circle of Karahull, beyond, even, the circle of this world.”

  “You said this was the fourth,” Vakre broke in, returning all thoughts to the giant’s corpse. The crows remained at bay, though why Raef could not have said.

  “I found the first in the far south of Karahull. The second lay on the border between my father’s lands and Silfravall. The third fell further west, half-submerged in a river. And the third led me here.”

  “Led you?” Vakre’s voice was full of suspicion.

  The boy who called himself Anuleif shrugged, though the thick pelts over his shoulders masked his movement. “I discovered the first by chance. Palest white and hairy that one was, the crudest example of their race.” The boy’s gaze flickered over to the crushed chest. “It smelled even more foul.” Those bright eyes lingered on the ruined form of life before returning to Vakre’s face. “The moment I saw it, I knew there would be more and I knew I had to find them.” The boy looked at Raef. “I think I was meant to find you.”

  “Why?”

  “The gods have not seen fit to tell me.”

  “You came all this way alone?” Raef asked.

  “I am a good walker.”

  Visna stirred and scowled at the boy, her derision plain. “You should walk home, boy. This is not your concern.”

  “A giant’s corpse falls from the sky and you would brush it off as you would a spider?” Anuleif’s voice, though still high and childlike, rang out with new strength. “Balder is dead. Ragnarök is upon us. It is very much my concern.”

  Raef saw the anger flush Visna’s cheeks and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “You know much, Anuleif, son of Gudrik. Tell me, then, how is it that these giants have fallen like rain upon Midgard? Has Thor sent them here?”

  “They fall because the boundaries between the nine realms are weakening. Races that have been kept apart since the dawn age will soon collide. Yggdrasil is old and tired and cannot withstand the war that is coming.” The words were grave and spoken in earnest, but Raef saw a gleam of something in Anuleif’s face that told of awe.

  “Once you told me you must protect your people from the frost giants. Now, you speak as though you look forward to seeing their triumph.”

  “Triumph? The giants will succumb to the same fate that follows us all, that haunts the Allfather. They are the instrument, but not the victor.” Anuleif smiled. “But you speak true. When last we met, Raef Skallagrim, I had much to learn.”

  “You are a boy. You have seen ten winters,” Visna said, her eyes narrowed by mistrust. “What could you know?”

  Anuleif continued to smile and did not allow Visna to provoke him. His strange eyes looked up at Raef, unwavering. “I dreamed of you. And here I am standing before you, summoned by the blood of giants.”

  The other warriors had ventured among the broken trees. Many touched the hammers of Thor that hung from their necks. All stared at the mutilated corpse. Raef saw the fear in them and, though he knew not what to make of the boy from Karahull, of one thing he was certain. That fear would spark like tinder if they heard what the boy had to say.

  “Come.” Raef reached out and put a hand on Anuleif’s shoulder. “Your journey has been long. You must be hungry. Let us go fishing, together. Just you and me.”

  The boy chewed on his lip for a moment. “What of him?” He indicated the giant’s corpse.

  Raef glanced at Vakre, who nodded in understanding, and asked Rufnir to lead the men back to the nest. Only when they were out of sight and Raef had begun to walk with Anuleif to the river, did Vakre, kneeling beside the giant’s ruined head, send a tendril of flame out to latch onto the matted hair. The flame flared and grew and spread, and soon engulfed the giant from head to toe.

  It was only after Raef had reached the river and begun to search the water for silver fish that he realized Vakre had not been wearing his father’s cloak.

  **

  “You had a sister,” Raef said as he watched Anuleif bound from one river-washed rock to the next, nimble and quick. Raef held a spear borrowed from Rufnir in one hand, poised to let fly should a fish dart near enough. “What became of her?”

  Anuleif paused, balancing on a rock that knifed up from the river bottom like a mountain ridge and fixed his gaze on Raef. “She died.” He smiled, then, and leapt to the next stone, this one nearly submerged. The boy watched the water rush around his feet and did not say more.

  “Do the warriors of Karahull still follow the Hammerling?”

  “Perhaps. They are no longer my concern.” Anuleif reached down and stuck his fingers in the cold river, letting the water drag against them.

  “You dreamed of me?”

  At this the boy stoo
d and stared hard at Raef, all traces of childishness gone. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he stripped the reindeer skins from his shoulders, one by one, until he was bare-chested and the skins dangled in the river. His chest was puckered with scars, white and shiny. Not scars from battle, not scars made by a knife or sword or axe. These were a tumbling patchwork that swirled up from his navel and over each shoulder. Anuleif turned, showing Raef his back. The scars were thickest there.

  A gust of wind blew across the river but the boy seemed not to notice.

  “Do you know what it feels like to have flames lick across your back? To watch your skin burn away? To be consumed by fire? My people called me Fire-Born, for I lived when I should have died.”

  Raef lowered the spear, the fish forgotten. “I heard you say once that you would cure the weakness in your skin. That you would never burn again.”

  Anuleif smiled. It was not a happy thing. “I was foolish. I thought to become stronger than a man so that I might not perish as my father did. But I burned, and then I dreamed. Of you and many things. I did not understand them at first. When I gave up my father’s hall, only then did I begin to see. I have not gone near a fire since. Fire is what will claim the world, Raef, and so I must distance myself from it.”

  **

  The warriors gave Anuleif a wide berth in the nest that night, and the boy himself kept well clear of the campfire. He ate only a single fish and did not ask for more, though he eagerly drank from Rufnir’s skin of mead when offered. Raef saw more than one guarded glance cast the boy’s way

  The mead skins were emptied, laughter was shared, and stories of battle and women and ruined crops were told. There was no talk of the giant’s corpse, as though giving voice to its presence would give strength to its meaning. Raef found his thoughts punctured repeatedly by Anuleif’s words burrowing into his mind, but, pushing the boy’s madness away, Raef stood and went to Rufnir, who was lamenting the empty state of the last skin of mead.

  “I am sending you to Axsellund, Ruf. Tomorrow. Choose two of these men to go with you.”

  Rufnir frowned. “What for?”

  “Torleif of Axsellund made a promise, one that I kept secret from most, though Isolf may have learned of it. You must go to him and determine the strength of that promise.”

  Rufnir shook his head. “My place is at your side.”

  Raef put a hand on Rufnir’s shoulder. “Who among these men can I trust to go in your stead? They have cheered my name and they sit around my fire, but when our hopes fade around us, when our enemies close in, when blood is spilled, will they stand firm? I need you. You can speak with my voice for you know me better than most. And I know you will honor your oath to me until your last breath.”

  Reluctance remained on Rufnir’s face, but he gave a slow nod. “I will go, if that is what you require of me.”

  “It is. When you see Torleif, give him a sprig of cedar. He will understand.”

  Rufnir nodded again. “I will take Fjolnir with me. He is quick with a blade.” Fair-haired and sharp-eyed Fjolnir was the youngest of the men who had followed Rufnir to the eagle’s nest.

  “And the other?”

  Rufnir’s gaze roamed over the warriors gathered around the fire. “Gullveig.” He was one of the farmers, a burly man with thick arms who spoke little.

  “You must leave at first light and travel with all speed.”

  Rufnir was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on an empty spot in the darkness over Raef’s shoulder. “Do you think we will ever take the sea road, Raef?” His voice was full of longing and Raef knew he thought of his brother, for Asbjork would never ride the waves again.

  He was looking for hope and Raef chose to shatter it. “No, Ruf. Balder is dead. The last battle will be upon us soon. We have time only for blood and vengeance. I will win back Vannheim before the floods and the fires come, but the sea road,” Raef paused, his heart heavy, “the sea road is beyond us, a dream we will take to our deaths.”

  Rufnir’s face filled with grim understanding, and there was new determination there. “Blood and vengeance, then.” He seemed to warm to the task Raef had given him. “I will return with the strength of Axsellund at my back, and we will descend upon the Vestrhall with swords and spears and your treacherous cousin will die screaming.”

  “And a son of Bjarne will bring me victory.” Raef grinned and planted a kiss on Rufnir’s forehead. “I mean to send out others into the valleys of Vannheim. We must gather more men to us. And I will wait for your return.”

  Rufnir, Fjolnir, and Gullveig descended from the nest in the grey light before dawn. The men who remained watched with solemn faces, their breath forming clouds of vapor that hung in the still air, until the three figures disappeared into the trees below. One by one, they turned away until only Raef and Anuleif lingered at the overlook.

  “Will the lord of Axsellund fulfill his promise?” Anuleif’s voice was small in the cold, grey morning, but the words rang in Raef’s ears as though the boy had shouted.

  Raef chose not to answer.

  “You are without a hall and you are hiding in your own wilderness. He may choose to turn his back.” Anuleif cocked his head. “But that would mean risking the wrath of Odin, for to turn his back on you would be to turn his back on his named king.”

  Raef flinched and turned to stare at the boy. “Why do you call me a named king?”

  “Because that is what you are.”

  “Not once have I been called king in your presence. How could you know this?”

  “I have told you. I have dreamed.”

  The rising sun saw more men depart the eagle’s nest, six sent out to delve into the deep valleys and high hills in search of warriors to bolster Raef’s strength.

  “Keep clear of the Vestrhall,” Raef told the men, “and speak only to those known to you. I will not have strangers brought back to the nest.” He looked each in the eyes, searching for signs of betrayal. If any deceit festered in those irises of brown and blue and green, it was well concealed. The six men left the nest as one. They would fill their skins with river water and then separate, carrying Raef’s hopes to the east, north, south, and west.

  The man left behind, called Tuli, planted himself on the overlook, spear in hand, as though he meant to keep watch, and he did not stray from the edge until the sun was past its highest point, and even then he only stepped away to relieve his bladder. Vakre muttered something about Tuli’s watchfulness putting him on edge and left the nest. Raef did not try to stop him. Visna separated herself from the others, climbing a short distance up the sides of the bowl to a ledge, her dislike of Anuleif apparent in her scowl and narrowed eyes.

  When the sun began to sink out of the sky, Raef went to Tuli and placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “You watch as well as Heimdall, Tuli. Come sit by the fire and warm yourself.” Tuli grinned at the praise, his wide face spreading to show uneven teeth, and did as Raef said. As he stoked the fire, Anuleif, who had spent much of the daylight carving bits of wood with a small knife, retreated to the back of the bowl, ducking into the mouth of one of the small caves. In the growing shadows, Raef soon lost sight of him.

  With the boy gone, Visna descended from her perch.

  “The boy is mad. Let me slit his throat so that we might be rid of him.”

  “No,” Raef said. He had been waiting for this. “He has done us no harm.”

  “Do you not see it in his eyes?” Visna stepped close to Raef.

  “I see it.” Raef refused to say more.

  Visna frowned, marring her blue eyes with anger. “Then send him away,” she said. “He will bring only misfortune and suffering.”

  “You show little sympathy for one who has much in common with Anuleif.” Raef let his voice grow sharp and was glad to see Visna felt the sting. She drew back and spit on the ground between them.

  “We share nothing.”

  “He is alone in this world, as you are. Do not be so quick to denounce him for that.”
r />   Visna’s eyes flared in recognition of this unwanted truth. “His delusions and dreams will poison the minds of others and you will regret not emptying his life blood into these stones.” She turned away and brushed past Vakre, who had returned with silent footfalls and heard all. Raef watched the Valkyrie stalk away, then turned to Vakre with a heavy sigh.

  “She will be at his throat soon enough,” Raef said. “I have gathered a pair of wolves into my nest. I must find a way to build a truce between them.”

  Vakre dropped an armful of wood by the fire. “You cannot tame her, Raef. She was born and bred for a single purpose, to kill that which she has condemned. If they both stay here, they will not survive each other.”

  “I will not choose between them. They are both drowning, though they do not know it.”

  “The choice may not be yours to make. But tell me, do you pity the boy, or do you hear some truth in his words?”

  Raef looked at Vakre but found he was unwilling to answer. Vakre did not seem surprised at the silence.

  “I hear what you hear, Raef. Though why Anuleif has come to us and what his purpose might be, I do not know.” Vakre held out a slender object wrapped in brown linen. “Here.”

  “What is it?” Raef asked.

  “I will let you see for yourself. I discovered it on Visna’s ship.”

  Raef unwrapped the cloth with careful hands and felt leather beneath. When the linen fell away, he was holding a scabbard of simple leather, unembellished and dark with age. The sword’s hilt was black and glossy, smooth as ice, and it felt warm to Raef’s touch as he wrapped the fingers of his left hand around it. He had revealed no more than a finger’s width of the blade when Visna was there, her hand grasping tight over the naked steel. When Raef looked up, her eyes were hard and fierce.