The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  The deep voice said, “Cast off the spares, lord. They are of no use.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Perhaps. But better to wait and see.”

  Raef heard a shuffling of feet and a sigh that suggested impatience. “As you wish,” the deep voice replied.

  “The moment any of them wakes, bring them to me,” Fengar said.

  “Yes, lord,” the woman said. Boots crunched on snow and then all was silent. Raef, his head clearer now, twisted to his left side. A single figure stood not far from him. The woman. She turned and walked out of Raef’s sightline, leaving him to lie in the dark, trying to summon the will to overcome the poison in his limbs. He struggled into a sitting position, his movement hampered by the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Discerning a shape slumped against a thick spray of pine branch, Raef scooted over the ground until he could make out a face by starlight.

  A bruise covered Vakre’s left cheekbone, but there were no other visible injuries. The son of Loki’s breathing was steady and Raef prodded him with a toe, then his elbow, until Vakre stirred. Blinking, Vakre raised his head.

  “Raef?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you thinking?” Vakre grinned and then winced and touched the bruise on his cheek. “Had to get involved. Reckless.”

  Raef tried to smile, but it quickly slipped from his face. “I could not leave a daughter of Odin alone among them.”

  “No,” Vakre said, solemn now, “though I would like to know what inspired her foolish action.” Vakre leaned back and closed his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “I took a poisoned arrow. Bruised ribs. Little else.”

  Approaching footsteps silenced them and Raef looked over his shoulder to see the woman returning.

  “Awake, I see.” She stood over them, her face obscured by darkness and a hood. Raef said nothing. “Then it is time you were brought before the king.”

  The king was ensconced in a circle of warmth, shielded from the night air by thick skins. He was half-dressed, and the woman who Visna had risked all for was tugging her dress down over her shoulders, her face hidden by strands of dull brown hair. She did not react to the arrival of Raef and Vakre, but kept her head down.

  “The prisoners, lord,” the female archer said. A sharp finger in Raef’s shoulder, near the wound she had given him, prompted him to take a knee.

  “Now? I am busy.” Fengar plucked at his belt, loosening the buckle, his voice impatient, but little enthusiasm showing.

  “You said the moment either wakes, lord.”

  Fengar looked about to argue, to impose his will as king, but Raef could see his heart was not in it. “Very well. She smells of sheep.” The woman was ushered out, and Fengar gestured for the female archer to go as well, leaving Raef and Vakre to bear the full brunt of Fengar’s scrutiny.

  “So. Skallagrim. Once more you are at my mercy.” Fengar resettled his cloak on his shoulders and clasped it. He did not look Raef in the eye. “Stefnir wanted me to kill you last time. He would say so again if he were here.”

  “What do you say, lord? You are king, are you not?”

  At last Fengar met Raef’s gaze. “I am.” There was nothing fierce in his voice and Raef wondered how much conviction lingered in the lord of Solheim. “I let you live once. I am not inclined to do so again.”

  “Yet?” For Raef was certain there was more.

  “Yet you are likely to possess knowledge that would be valuable to me.” Fengar’s gaze slid to Vakre, who had remained silent. “And yet this one,” Fengar cocked his head, “this one I think is more trouble than he is worth. I have heard what you are, Vakre Flamecloak, heard about the battle at the burning lake. Your uncle has told me all.” Vakre stared hard at Fengar and the king looked away first. “As for that woman, the wild one, perhaps she will be more appealing than the sheep woman. Perhaps I will take her into my bed. What did she want with my prisoner?”

  “Griva does not have the answer for that? Your men hang upon his every word, Fengar. I do not think they would know how to find their own cocks if he did not tell them. I had thought to see him here.”

  Fengar scowled. “Griva has his uses but he does not command me.” He stepped close to Raef, his breath heavy with the scent of ale. “I ask again, what did the woman want with my prisoner?”

  “I do not know. You would have to ask her.”

  “You are free with your words, Skallagrim. A wiser man might make an effort to be humble. Your father was such a man.”

  Raef let the barb slide over him. “And yet I am wise enough to see you for what you are, a lost king, fleeing through the wilderness from a stronger foe, clinging to your last few warriors in hopes that their shields will stay strong.”

  With a roar, Fengar buried his fist in Raef’s ribs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Raef hunched but did not bow his head. Fengar’s shout drew the blonde sisters into the shelter, and they waited only for Fengar’s command, teeth bared and ready to strike. A hand raised by Fengar kept their weapons sheathed, though they strained like foxes trapped in a snare.

  “Get them out of my sight,” Fengar growled. The sisters gripped Raef and Vakre by the arms and pulled them from the shelter back into the biting embrace of the winter night.

  “You were three once,” Vakre said, eyeing the sister who led him. Her long braid hung down to the small of her back and she did not respond. “Daughters of Thor, they call you.” Vakre let the words whisper into the night. “Invincible,” he taunted. “Where has your sister gone, I wonder?” The sisters walked on, undeterred, but Vakre persisted. “Strange that only two should stand guard over Fengar now.”

  They had returned to the makeshift shelter and in silence the sisters bound them to each other. As one, the blonde women rose from their task and turned their backs on Raef and Vakre. Neither looked back as Vakre called out one last time.

  “I know her fate.” The slightest hitch in one’s stride brought a grin to Vakre’s face and he looked to Raef. “That one will be back before morning.”

  “You have your father’s sly tongue,” Raef said. Vakre’s grin grew wide and wolfish.

  **

  The daughter of Thor did not return before dawn as Vakre had predicted, but Visna was brought to share the same open-faced shelter, and bowls of hot broth came not long after. Raef and Vakre emptied their bowls quickly, but Visna’s remained untouched, the steam rising furiously at first, then in feeble bursts until the heat was gone. The Valkyrie sat unmoving, her face, once bright, now dull. A gash at her hairline was crusted with blood. Her lower lip was split and bruised. Her golden hair was matted and her blue eyes were grey. If not for the tiny pulse at her throat, she hardly seemed to live.

  Raef encouraged her to eat, to speak, but if she heard him she did not respond. She stared at the ground, hands clenched in her lap, and at last Raef left her to her silence.

  “Tuli will wonder at our absence,” Raef said. Though he knew the eagle’s nest was out of sight, masked by the tall trees, he yearned to look up, to seek out the steep slope leading to the bowl, the dark shadows hiding horses, a man, and one small boy. But he dared not risk even the briefest glance.

  Vakre nodded. “Let us hope he is not overcome with sudden bravery.”

  “Fengar has not asked why we have crossed paths in such a remote place.”

  Vakre scoffed. “Fengar is not clever enough to wonder about such things.”

  “He has asked me nothing about Vannheim, Vannheim’s warriors, about the Hammerling.”

  “He is lost, as you said. Without Stefnir of Gornhald to guide him, to pull a string of wit from his skull, he is nothing. He is riddled with uncertainty.”

  “Or he intends to ask us nothing at all.” Raef met Vakre’s eyes and saw his own thoughts mirrored there, despite the son of Loki’s words. “If he gives us to Griva’s knife, he will please his warriors.”

  Vakre’s eyes flashed with anger. “The sun will sink and the seas will rise before I let that old man gut m
e.”

  “Then let us hope the nest soon becomes home to a hundred warriors.”

  The day passed in slow agony, measured by the lengthening shadows. Those of Fengar’s men who ventured close enough eyed them with furtive glances, but most kept their distance and none spoke a word. Griva came to stand at the river’s edge once, lingering there while the sun started to slip behind the trees, and he carried the sword that Visna had threatened him with, not as a warrior would, but as a man studying something unknown. He let it rest across his palms, the dark steel stark against his pale skin, and examined the edge, holding it out over the rushing river, and once Raef caught him staring at Visna, but even he did not open his mouth to the prisoners.

  It was dark when a face in the moonlight stirred Raef out of his thoughts. Anuleif, his thick array of pelts pulled high over his ears so that only his narrow nose and blue eyes showed, was suddenly at the side of their shelter.

  “They will catch you,” Vakre muttered. Alert now, he and Raef had crawled forward to speak. Raef peered over Vakre’s bent head, gaze fixed on the closest group of warriors. The three men with tall spears stood over a small, flickering fire and their eyes were turned inward. For now.

  “Yes,” Anuleif said. There was no concern in his voice. “They are many and I am but one. But they are tired and their minds wander to the homes they have left behind and the ale skin they emptied two days ago. I have time to say what I have come to say.”

  Raef’s heartbeat quickened as Anuleif’s gaze shifted to him and he felt the stare of those uncanny eyes as surely as he felt the sun on a warm day. It beat into his bones, into his core, and for a moment, there was nothing but Anuleif’s face, no Vakre, no Visna, no ropes binding his arms.

  “Son of Skallagrim, I know now why I dreamed of you. You know what lies ahead, what hurtles toward us, unyielding. You know our fate. Balder is dead and even now the wolf has gained his freedom. Jötunheim is seething with fury and Jörmungand stirs in the watery depths he calls home. Alfheim is all darkness and despair. Midgard is breaking at the seams. It will not be long now before the cocks begin to crow.” Anuleif paused and a strange smile came to his mouth. There was color in his lips and cheeks where none had been before and Raef felt sure that if the boy were to strip naked, the scars that circled his skin would smolder and crack, revealing fire beneath the surface.

  “This is the end we have all come to know, to wait for. This is the end Odin fights against, knowing he fights in vain. But oblivion is not all that lies ahead, Raef. There is hope.”

  Raef’s heart was pounding, his blood hammering in his ears as he tried to take in Anuleif’s words. “What do you speak of?”

  “I am the ancestor. There can be life after the darkness, after the fires burn and the seas swallow. I am meant to survive.”

  “Impossible. You do not know what you are saying.”

  The blue eyes flared and for a moment no longer than it takes lightning to streak across the sky, Raef saw something other than a child in Anuleif’s face. “I do know what I am saying. The world can go on. Not without great sacrifice and trials beyond reckoning, but it can. You must believe this.”

  The shout of alarm broke the bond that had formed between Raef and Anuleif. The boy did not move, did not take his eyes from Raef, as a warrior rushed toward him, did not flinch as a spear point came to rest against his spine. And then others were there and a dozen voices were ringing in the darkness. Anuleif was pulled to his feet.

  “It can be done, Raef,” the boy said. “The swift knows the way.” A warrior’s strong arms dragged him backward through the snow and cast him at Fengar’s feet. Griva loomed behind the king, his lined face alive with the promise of blood.

  “A brave boy,” Fengar said. Anuleif trembled on his knees, the fear he had eluded now gripping him tight. “But foolish to attempt such a rescue. How old are you?” Anuleif’s teeth chattered as he opened his mouth to reply and nothing came out. The warriors roared with laughter. Fengar bent over and reached out a hand to brush snow from the boy’s hair. “Do with him as you will, Griva.”

  “No,” Raef shouted as Fengar straightened. The king’s shoulders rose and fell and Raef could hear the heavy breath escape from his lungs before Fengar turned to face Raef.

  “You are in no position to argue, Skallagrim.”

  “He is a child, Fengar.”

  “Boys grow into men who wield spears and shields.”

  “No, not him.”

  The king’s gaze narrowed and Raef halved the distance between them, the lie forming on his tongue. “He does not know where he is. His own name comes and goes from his mind like the rain in spring. He is no threat to you and never will be.” Raef spoke quietly and came within an arm’s length of Fengar. “The gods would find no pleasure in this child’s death.” Raef did not dare break eye contact for fear that Griva would slip into the gap he left behind. Fengar glanced down at the top of Anuleif’s head once more and when his gaze rose to Raef again, there was burning hatred there.

  “Then let him live his pitiful life,” Fengar said. He turned away into the darkness, leaving Anuleif surrounded by men who were looking for blood. Griva was but a step away and Raef wondered how quick the old man would be.

  Raef stared hard at Anuleif, who was getting to his feet. “Run.” The boy frowned and Raef could see the fear still gnawed at him, still clouded his mind. “Run.” The boy’s gaze darted left and right, and then he was gone, feet churning through the snow. One man reached out to snag him, but Anuleif was alert now and he slipped out of reach and into the trees. He would not get far if those loyal to Griva wished to hunt him down, but it was with satisfaction that Raef saw their blood-hungry eyes focus on him instead.

  Three came on him at once, fists flying. Raef ducked one and upended the second with his shoulder, but the third struck hard in his ribs and then a boot buckled his knee, sending Raef, unbalanced and unable to use his arms, face-first into the snow. He caught himself on his shoulder, rolled, but his knee, the same that had suffered damage in Jötunheim, would not take his weight and he could not get to his feet. The blows came hard and fast, raining down, and Raef took them gladly, for each one put more distance between Anuleif and Fengar’s warriors.

  When the frenzy of pain passed and Raef knew something other than the taste of blood in his mouth, he was on his back, the shelter blocking the light of the stars, and Vakre’s face hovered over him.

  “The boy is away,” Vakre said. “They have not gone after him.”

  Raef accepted this information by closing his eyes and trying to breathe without pain lancing through his chest. When he opened his eyes again, Vakre was still there, and Raef saw that the son of Loki was not untouched. His nose leaked blood and the bruise that spanned his cheekbone was now accompanied by a fresh one and a laceration along his jaw.

  “You too?” Even that sent spasms along Raef’s ribs and he winced.

  “Two have my boot print in their backs,” Vakre said. “They did not care for that.”

  “Visna?”

  Vakre’s face grew solemn. “I do not think she is here. Not really. She has not moved.”

  “She must eat. She must stay warm.”

  “You cannot make her want to live, Raef. But you must. Are your ribs broken?”

  Raef took as deep a breath as he dared and to his relief his ribcage felt better than he had expected. “I do not think so.” He prodded at the arrow wound on his shoulder. The stitches held. His hands sought the knee that had failed to hold his weight. It ached with dull fury.

  “How is it?”

  “Weakened as it was when I returned from Jötunheim. It will need time.”

  “The boy spoke strange words,” Vakre said.

  Raef met Vakre’s eyes, but he was hesitant to speak, to give voice to Anuleif’s beliefs.

  They fell into silence and Raef felt the weariness return. He slipped into a sleep spotted with dreams, fragments of images only. Siv, her red-gold hair tied in a neat braid
, laughing. His father, speaking to Raef despite the gaping hole in his belly. Griva, the crow feather glistening in his white hair, holding back a tide of water with nothing but his bare hands. A raven, pecking at Raef’s skin. Raef wanted to chase it away, to wave his arms and see it burst into the air, but his arms would not move and the raven’s beak began to draw blood. A voice called, the words muffled, and then Raef was awake and the voice was Visna’s and the raven’s sharp beak was her hand, light and tentative on his shoulder.

  “Help me,” the Valkyrie whispered.

  Raef struggled up onto one elbow, though it pained him. “Are you well?”

  “In body, yes, but in spirit, no.”

  Raef looked over his shoulder; Vakre slept curled on his side, hunched as though burdened even in sleep. “What troubles you?”

  Visna closed her eyes and for a moment Raef thought she might not speak. “I begin to forget who I am. More and more with every rising sun. One day, I will wake and be a woman, bound to the earth, to a husband, to death, knowing only the smell of the dirt I work with my hands, knowing only the feel of the wind when rain follows behind, knowing only that my life is fading. Visna, who flew to the stars, who watched the Norns work their carvings into the great ash tree, who knew the Allfather’s embrace, will be lost, forgotten, forever.” Visna opened her eyes and sought Raef’s. “Do not let me forget.”

  Never before had Raef heard such a desperate plea and it dug into his bones, heralded by the knowledge that he could not save her from this fate. “I will help you remember,” he said, though he knew not how.

  Visna shook her head. “My father has been cruel, but sometimes I think even he does not understand what he has done to me, what terrible future he has given me.”

  “To know the wind and the rain and the sun and the earth, is this so terrible?”

  Visna’s sorrow turned to pity. “Knowing those things is simple. Common. I am like a blind woman who remembers what it was like to see a sunrise.”

  The Valkyrie’s pride aggravated Raef. “I am a lord of men, descended from lords. I rule the lives of others. I can claim their sons for battle, I can condemn those who have committed grievous offenses, I can allow or forbid marriages as I see fit, and I can give land to those who please me and take it from those who do not. Power is mine and I wield it. And yet I take a thousand times and a thousand times again more pleasure in the warmth of the sun on my face, the smell of the salt breeze, the feel of good, green earth between my fingers.”