The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  With Dvalarr’s help, the oars were carried to the nest and set before the fire, alongside the sail, thick now with cold fat.

  “She will hold ten oars,” Dvalarr said, brushing the wood dust from his hands. “Should we not make more?”

  “Four more oars would go to waste, as would the time spent to make them.”

  Dvalarr nodded, accepting this, but there was confusion on his face for Raef had shared his plan only with Vakre. The Crow moved away, his shaven head bristling with new hair, and Raef looked across the nest, through the mire of smoke and sparks, and found Visna.

  The Valkyrie was watching him, arms wrapped around her knees, the sword that was no longer hers set by her feet. The blade was unsheathed, and though the day was bright, the metal was dull and dim, as though a darkness was buried deep within it.

  Raef approached Visna and held out his hand, but did not offer any words until she, with hesitation in her eyes, took it and came to her feet.

  “Will you come with me?”

  “Where?”

  “To my home by the sea under the setting sun.”

  Visna frowned and Raef led her to the edge of the nest.

  “She floats.” Raef pointed down at the fjord. The small ship was anchored just off shore, motionless on the smooth surface of the water

  “You cannot think to make her into a warship. She will not hold even this many men.”

  “I do not intend to make war with her. And she need carry only six.”

  Visna’s frown deepened, her blue eyes dark and her brows drawn close. “You mean to sail to your home, to your cousin, and then what? Throw yourself on his mercy?”

  “I mean to make an offering.”

  “Of peace?”

  Raef felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. “I will explain, but you must promise to listen to all I have to say before giving me your answer.” Visna nodded, though her face was now shadowed with suspicion, and so Raef unraveled the knot of his plan to her.

  She listened in silence as he had asked, but her face grew tempestuous with each word, and when he had finished speaking, she was rigid with fury.

  “No.” Visna spat out the word with contempt. “I will not.” She turned on her heel, but Raef reached out and pulled her back. She lashed out as though to strike him, but Raef caught her wrist and forced her arm down. Visna snarled but went still. “You would dishonor me and complete my father’s punishment. I should never have trusted you.” She twisted away and this time Raef let her go, but not without calling after her.

  “Dishonor, no. I would give you fame. I promised you the world of men would know your name, that the skalds would sing of you. Take this chance and live forever, or cower and die unremembered.” Raef’s words went unanswered. She did not turn, did not slow her step, but Raef had not expected her pride to give way in that moment. That would come later, if it came at all, and only after she went to war with herself.

  And so Raef waited. Outwardly, he was patient. He ate a meal with the men. He helped fill water skins from the river. He sharpened his sword. But on the inside Raef was a knot of tension and he could think of nothing but Visna and whether the words he had chosen might sway her.

  She came to him at last with the rising of the moon. A low, sad song rose up from one of the voices around the fire, a song that spoke of a lonely death far from home. The voice was joined by two more and the song swirled with the smoke as Visna approached. Raef was seated at the edge of the firelight and she was nothing more than a whisper of boots on stone. Raef stood to face her, questions threatening to flood from his mouth, but he held his tongue and waited.

  “You will need to carry these for me.” Visna held out the sword of dark steel, waited until Raef grasped the hilt, and then plucked a knife from her belt and rested that in Raef’s other palm. Then she was gone as quickly and quietly as she had come.

  Fourteen

  Raef closed his eyes and listened to the beating of his heart in the dark. The five men were silent except for their breathing and the cramped space had grown warm with the heat of their bodies and the smell of their sweat. Raef shifted his shoulder, trying to maneuver away from Vakre’s knee, which dug into his ribs, but doing so pressed his face up against Dvalarr’s boot, so Raef shifted back again and focused on the sound of the water around him.

  As a child, more than once that sound had lulled him to sleep after a long day on the waves and under the sun, but there would be no sleeping now.

  Above Raef, a foot tapped once, twice, and then the faint glow of firelight trickled down to cast the faces around Raef in shadow in place of darkness. Though he could see none of it, Raef knew well enough what the scene above looked like.

  The torch at the prow had been lit, sending light jumping over the small waves of the dark fjord. Ahead of them, the shore would be growing closer, though it would be hard to see where the water ended and the land began. But someone, somewhere on that land, would be watching and be first to witness something astonishing.

  The eyes on land would see a small boat gliding across the deep waters, they would see the torch, a fearless beacon calling to the shore, blazing at the prow, but most of all, they would see a figure standing by the mast.

  She would be small at first, but golden, and then, as the ship drew ever closer, the firelight would pale and grow dim in the shadow of her radiance, for Visna the Valkyrie had come to the Vestrhall.

  Grim-faced and hard-eyed, Visna had donned the golden gown in a cove out of sight of the walls of the Vestrhall just as the sun slipped below the horizon. She had shivered a little, bereft of furs and cloak, but she had refused the woolen blanket that Raef had offered her, instead throwing back her shoulders and raising her chin in rebellion against the cold. She had raked her fingers through her hair, then swiftly plaited a few tresses and pulled them back from her face. Last of all, she slipped the rings on her fingers and settled the heavy necklace over her slender collarbones. The arm ring she had worn since her arrival aboard the funeral ship now came off over her wrist and she had handed it to Raef with reluctance. He had not asked her to remove it and he could see the sorrow it caused her, but she had insisted.

  A close inspection would reveal dirt at the hem of the dress and a slight tear in one of the sleeves, but in darkness and lit by fire, Visna would be a vision to slacken jaws.

  “I do not need to tell you what you look like,” Raef had said.

  “Must I smile shyly and look down at my feet?” The scorn had been plain in Visna’s voice.

  “No,” Raef had said. “You must be extraordinary and irresistible and unlike anything he has ever seen. Be fierce and proud and they will believe you have been sent from the gods.”

  Doubt crept into Visna’s face. “Will your cousin believe?”

  “He will want to believe it, and he will want you, and in the end that is all that matters. Consume him with desire so that he does not think twice about a small boat left behind in the dark.”

  And so they drifted to the shore, their small ship bringing an offering, a bride sent from Asgard for Isolf Valbrand.

  The first voice rang out across the water to challenge the boat’s sudden and strange appearance, and Raef, tucked into the corner of the ballast hold along with Vakre, Dvalarr, Rufnir, and Eyvind, felt that challenge in his bones. There was no turning back now.

  “Name yourself, stranger.”

  Above them, all was silent on deck for a moment and Raef held his breath as he listened for Visna’s answer.

  “Where is Isolf Valbrand?” Her voice was clear and strong and Raef could hear the defiance in it. “Where is he who shall have my heart?”

  The silence that followed this was even longer and Raef could imagine the confusion among Isolf’s men.

  When an answer did come, it was a new voice, deep and commanding, but not without hesitation.

  “Again we say, name yourself.”

  “I am Light-Bringer, I am Sun-Singer, I am Storm-Rider. I have seen Valhalla and
the heart of Yggdrasil, and I come from Odin, Allfather.”

  By this time, Raef could hear commotion on the pair of docks that jutted out into the fjord between the walls of the water entrance.

  “Do you come in peace, lady?” The deep voice was perplexed now.

  “I come leashed to fate and with purpose that shall not be denied. Bring me Isolf Valbrand.”

  “Will you not come ashore, lady?” The warrior’s voice was full of genuine doubt and deference.

  “I will wait and you will not touch me.” Visna let a snarl taint the edge of her smooth voice and Raef could imagine the men on the docks with readied ropes to capture the ship. A moment later, her foot tapped once more against the deck, a signal Raef took to mean that Isolf was being fetched from the top of the hill.

  In his mind’s eye, Raef took the path up the hill with the messenger, passing the blacksmith’s forge, the small market hung with drying skins and the ever present smell of smoked fish, up and up to the stone steps that led to the door of his father’s hall. His hall. It seemed an interminable wait before at last he heard the voice he had been waiting for, the voice that had taunted him in the darkness as his village burned and his men died, and then taunted him in his dreams ever since.

  “Lady, will you not come in from the cold?” Raef could hear the smile in Isolf’s voice. His cousin was pleased with what he saw.

  “Are you Isolf Valbrand, the great war leader?”

  “I am.” The smile was growing wider.

  “Then I bring you greetings from the Allfather.”

  “And what does the Allfather say?”

  “He says the lord of Vannheim has earned more than a wooden chair and the company of savage warriors. He says the lord of Vannheim must rise above the rest and have a woman worthy of him.”

  “The Allfather is generous. Let me welcome you to Vannheim.”

  The boat shifted slightly and Raef heard Visna walk to the sheer strake. Then came the sounds of rope securing the small ship in place. He heard her climb over and land gently on the dock.

  “Will you not give me your name?” No doubt Isolf had taken Visna’s hand in his.

  “I am Visna and I am your fate.”

  The dock thrummed with footsteps and the voices of those who had gathered at the shore began to fade away. The light that filtered down between the boards of the deck jumped, then grew faint as the torch was removed from the prow, leaving the five men in darkness once more. But not alone. A gentle tread of feet told Raef that at least one guard remained to watch the water. He was pacing, no doubt trying to ward off the night’s chill, which meant there was no fire lit on the shore to warm hands and feet. When it came time to creep from their hiding place, whoever was out there would not be night blind.

  Raef waited, trying to measure time, but his mind would not release the image of Isolf slaughtering Finnolf Horsebreaker and Uhtred of Garhold, of fire and smoke rising above the walls of the Vestrhall as Raef’s people died and he did nothing to save them, and so all sense of how long they had been waiting was lost. He raised his head from where it was nestled among the limbs of the others and straightened his shoulders and neck as best he could, though he had to hunch to avoid smacking his skull on the boards above. Raef closed his eyes and listened. The guard had slowed his walk. His movements to the end of the dock had become less frequent, but the tread of boots now came to Raef and he nudged Vakre, then fumbled in the dark for the edge of the board that marked the hatch to the ballast chamber. The boots paused at the end of the dock while Raef waited in agonizing silence for the man to turn his back once more.

  Vakre, crouched now next to Raef, tapped him on the shoulder to signal he was ready, and when the telltale shuffle began, Raef raised the hatch and climbed from the hold with deft, quiet movements. Not looking to see if Vakre was following, Raef sprang forward and launched himself off the prow just as Vakre’s knife whirled past him. The blade imbedded itself in the warrior’s back at the same moment that Raef landed and caught hold of the man’s shoulders. The warrior tried to suck in air, staggered, and Raef lowered him to the dock without a sound. Crouching next to the dead man, Raef’s gaze darted around and only when he was sure that the docks and shore were deserted did he get to his feet and signal for the others to follow. Vakre, perched on the sheer strake, a second knife in hand, grinned, his teeth catching the moonlight, and Raef felt a shiver of anticipation race across his skin, as though the wolf inked on his shoulder was stirring and preparing for battle.

  Dark and fluid like a swarm of creatures from the deep, Dvalarr, Eyvind, and Rufnir crawled out of the ballast chamber and over the side of the boat. Vakre fetched his knife from the dead man’s back, and together they paced the length of the dock until their feet crunched on the pebbly shore.

  The village lay before them in darkness. Some homes were charred and empty, remnants of the night of Isolf’s betrayal. Others were whole and smoke drifted from their roofs, but Raef heard nothing, no music, no laughter, and he wondered if his people shuttered themselves against Isolf and his men out of fear or spite.

  The Vestrhall was out of sight, up the hill and around the bend, but Raef could not resist staring up at where it lay for a moment, then with a nod at his companions, he headed west along the curving wooden wall.

  The small western gate was no more than a door carved out of the timbers that formed the wall. Beyond it, the hills rose in earnest, dwarfing the mound the Vestrhall held dominion over. The gate was little used, being too narrow to allow passage of goods and animals and, since it led only to the hills and the sea beyond, it was impractical for those who wished to travel to the rest of Vannheim.

  But for Raef it was a gateway for a boy eager to explore, to test his aim and his new bow, to roam in search of hidden places only he might know. The hills between the Vestrhall and the sea had been Raef’s first retreat. And so it had been simple to sketch a crude map of the area for the rest of the men, to show those who had not come by boat the easiest path that would skirt around the walls and take them to the thick pines that waited thirty paces from the small gate.

  Raef slowed his steps as he approached the gate and signaled for the others to halt, then he crept forward until he could see the door and the horizontal timber that barred it. Two men stood there, illuminated by a single torch in a bracket by the door. One, lean and sharp-nosed, picked at his teeth with a splinter of wood. The other was large, his neck nearly as thick as Raef’s thigh, but less alert than his companion. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his belly, his chin resting on his chest. Each man was armed with an axe and Raef guessed more than one sharp knife he could not see. Neither was known to Raef, but he had not expected his cousin to trust Vannheim warriors to guard the gates, if any even lived yet behind the walls. The men on watch would no doubt be those who had followed Isolf to Vannheim or the men from Silfravall who had made false promises of friendship to Raef.

  Raef retreated to the others and held up two fingers, then gestured to Vakre, who understood and hefted a knife once more from his belt. Creeping forward, he let the blade fly at the lean warrior, but the man shifted his stance and the knife lodged in the wall a finger’s breadth from his throat. Startled, the warrior lurched sideways, fumbling for his axe, a shout stuck on his lips, as Raef and the others attacked at full speed.

  The big man was slow to move, but his eyes widened at the sight of Dvalarr bearing down on him and he managed to get the haft of his axe free in time to take the worst of Dvalarr’s swinging blow. But his evasion knocked him squarely into the smaller warrior, who was retreating from Raef’s sword. The lean man buckled against the unexpected jolt, his neck snapping back with violent force. He pitched over into the snow and tried to crawl away from death, but Eyvind’s swinging axe caught him in the neck and he jerked once, then lay still.

  The brute was fully awake now, and grunting as he swung at Dvalarr. From behind, Vakre hacked into the man’s upper arm, nearly severing it, just as Raef slashed into hi
s ribs, and the axe fell from the warrior’s hand. His momentum carried him forward, a growl of rage etched on his face, but he collapsed at Dvalarr’s feet. His muscle and fat kept him alive, though, and he writhed on the ground until Dvalarr swung the larger of his two axes and took off his head.

  Raef was already at the gate and lifting the timber from the iron cradle it rested in. Throwing the log away, he pulled the door open until it stuck in the drift of snow that had blown up against the wall. Raef whistled sharply and the pines came alive as the men waiting there brushed through the branches. The greeting was silent and grim as they clustered inside the wall in the light of the single torch. Eyvind and Vakre hauled the dead men out of sight into the forest and Raef looked from face to face of the warriors gathered around him.

  “Any men yet loyal to me within these walls will not stand against you. Strike down any who wield a blade and resist. Except my cousin. The man with the red hair is mine.”

  They moved up the hill as quickly as they dared, keeping clear of the main gate. It irked Raef to leave Isolf’s men at the gate alive, for they might present a threat from behind once the fight at the top of the hill broke out. But he dared not waste the lives around him in a drawn out, bloody skirmish at the gate, a skirmish that would draw men down the hill and leave Isolf out of reach. They had to concentrate their strength on the hall.

  The first person they encountered was a drunken warrior pounding on the door of a small house. He turned at the sound of so many feet, but his bleary, bloodshot eyes did not seem to comprehend what he saw, for he began to ask if anyone had a skin of ale, a question cut short by a blade drawn across his throat. Leaving the body where it fell, they moved on.

  They had reached the midway point of the climb when Raef stopped in his tracks and ducked behind a skin stretched out to dry. Lights bobbed ahead of him, revealing ten figures striding down the hill. Others around Raef followed his lead and sought hiding places, but Raef knew it was futile, for they were too many and the dark shadows too few. No doubt the warriors were headed to the gate to change the watch and there was little chance they would not stumble upon Raef’s men.