The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

Siv listened, but she was quiet, her thoughts tucked inside her own mind. She had said little since they had left the beach.

  “What is it?”

  “I am wondering if I should heed my own advice.” Siv shifted in the saddle to look at him. “I told Ailmaer to let Adalherr go, that holding onto him would only make the parting worse, the sorrow cut more deeply. And yet for years I have chased the shadow of my sister. Am I doing it for the sake of the vow I made or for her sake?”

  “Both, I think. We are children of Odin. It is in our nature to make vows.”

  Siv was quiet and they passed out of the steep-walled notch into a wider meadow. “I have shaped my life upon the events of that day. If I let it go, if I let her go, have I wasted myself?”

  Raef swung his horse in front of Siv’s forcing her mount to halt. The Vannheim warriors flowed around them. “Do not speak such things. Doubt sows only grief.” The words were worthless, he knew, a poor balm, and yet he was compelled to say them, to wipe the uncertainty from Siv’s face, to ease the burden she brought on herself. Siv gave him a small smile and Raef could see he had accomplished nothing.

  They rode on in silence until the stars came out and the night sky spread over the world. As Raef drifted into sleep, he saw shadows pass in front of the moon, shadows in the form of wolves. He dreamed of the wolf brothers Hati and Skoll, of the Einherjar preparing to battle the giants, of a black and white bird, and of Yggdrasil drenched in Black Surt’s fires.

  **

  The Vestrhall lay a day to the south when a pair of riders came upon Raef’s company. The horses were lathered in sweat and blowing hard, their heads drooping with exhaustion, their legs trembling as they came to a halt on the opposite bank of the river Raef’s party was following.

  “Hold your fire,” Raef shouted, signaling to the three warriors who had nocked arrows to their bows. Vakre was already urging his horse across the water toward Raef, heedless of the threat aimed at him. Raef recognized Lochauld behind the son of Loki, the young warrior from Axsellund who had pledged his life to Vannheim. Raef’s horse danced sideways as Vakre urged his up the bank. “What, what is it?”

  “Fengar has been found.”

  “Where? Is the Vestrhall safe?”

  Vakre nodded. “Untouched. Word came from the southern stretch of Vannheim of fighting in Narvik and Silfravall. The reports were contradictory save for one thing. All agreed that Fengar has been discovered.” Vakre drew a tiny roll of parchment from a pouch at his belt. “This came yesterday. From Bryndis of Narvik.”

  Raef took the parchment from Vakre’s fingers and broke open the blot of honey-colored wax that sealed it. The paper unfurled quickly and Raef read with eager eyes.

  “She requests Vannheim’s aid. Fengar has reunited with Stefnir of Gornhald and the greater part of his dwindling force.”

  “Her intent?” Vakre asked.

  “To bring an end to the falsely chosen king. To call a new gathering.” Raef signaled for the riders to move on and they splashed across the river. He tucked Bryndis’s message into his sleeve and urged his horse forward. “Would that I knew the extent of Fengar’s strength, how many men still follow his banner, how many lords still cling to him. She does not say.”

  “How will you answer her?”

  “I do not know. Must more Vannheim blood be spilled? Have we not done our part in vanquishing the Hammerling?” Raef looked at Vakre. “And yet she speaks of a gathering, a chance to set right the wrongs done in the Great-Belly’s hall.” Vakre said nothing and Raef thought he knew the son of Loki’s mind. “You mean to go.”

  Vakre’s voice was calm and betrayed nothing. “My uncle will be there.”

  Raef hesitated. “I thought you did not wish to be Loki’s murderous son.”

  “But I am Loki’s son, Raef. It is time I accepted that. If I have learned one thing from my father’s gift, it is that I cannot escape him.” Vakre raised a hand and placed it on Raef’s shoulder. “I am a danger to you. To Siv. Let me be a danger to my uncle instead.”

  Raef swallowed the words that were forming on his tongue, words to counter Vakre’s, and instead said only, “Then I will not hold you back.”

  “And you?”

  Raef thought for a moment. “I will speak to the captains. Put the question to them.” They rode in silence for a long stretch and then Raef related the discovery of the cavern inside Old Troll, of the likeness of Yggdrasil and its strange disappearance, of Ailmaer’s grief. “Tell me, Vakre, what do you think has happened to Visna?” She had been on Raef’s mind much of late. “Eira has the sword and soon her transformation will be complete, if it is not already. What happens to a woman after she creates a Valkyrie?” It was a question neither could answer but Raef could see his dark thoughts mirrored in Vakre’s eyes.

  **

  Vakre did not delay in his departure for Narvik. After their return to the Vestrhall, he slept for a few short hours before saddling a fresh horse and preparing for his journey. Raef walked with him to the gate, and then beyond into the open air. Siv lingered just behind, her goodbye already said. Raef could see that Vakre was eager to be away, but he did not pull himself into the saddle.

  “I will send word when I know more,” Vakre said, the horse’s reins limp in his hand. Raef nodded but still Vakre hesitated. “If we do not meet again, I am glad to have known you, Raef Skallagrim.”

  Raef’s chest constricted at the thought of never seeing Vakre again. “Save your words.” He tried to smile, but there was no truth behind it and no jest in Vakre’s eyes. The son of Loki swung up into the saddle, his gaze still on Raef as his horse tossed its head and stepped backward. Vakre turned the horse’s head and dug his heels in, releasing his gaze from Raef in that moment, and they were off, smooth strides carrying them over the snow. Raef watched, trying to swallow down the sorrow that swelled within him, wondering if he had sent away his last friend, and did not move long after Vakre had vanished from sight.

  “Your paths have diverged before.” Siv had come to stand at his side. Her cheeks were pink with cold and she blew on her hands to warm them.

  “So many have ridden away not to return. So many have died.”

  “Such is the nature of war.”

  “When will it be enough? When the seas rise and all of Midgard perishes at the end of all things?” He turned to Siv, consumed with the need to hold her, to feel her in his arms, and pulled her close. “Never leave,” he said, breathing into her hair.

  **

  The eight captains of Vannheim gathered in the hall at dusk. Raef greeted each in turn with a cup of ale. Only two faces remained of those who had served his father. The rest had gone to Valhalla: Thorald, entrusted with much by Raef’s father, Finnolf, skilled beyond his years and a natural leader of men, Yorkell, reserved and independent but tireless and clever. The new faces were young, less experienced, chosen by Raef from the shield wall to fill the positions their dead comrades had vacated. Dvalarr, as Raef’s right hand in battle, was there as well, as was Siv, but the absence of Vakre seemed a gaping chasm to Raef.

  They ate well, feasting on pheasant smothered in garlic, fish baked in a crust of salt, mushrooms dripping with butter, dried apples dipped in honey, and steaming bread. Raef let the conversation wander where it wished, let the men laugh and boast. He spoke little, eager to let the good humor, the simple pleasures of food and drink and good company endure for as long as he could.

  But at last the platters were removed, the cups filled once more with ale, the conversation dying away as more and more eyes came to rest on Raef. He took a swig of ale and stood to address them.

  “We have a choice before us, and I urge you all to speak your minds, to speak what lies in your hearts.” Raef looked from face to face. “We have a chance to end this war. Bryndis of Narvik sends word that Fengar has been discovered and that she is in pursuit. She means to bring him to battle, a last battle, and she asks for our aid.” Raef let the words settle over each man before continuing. “I do not kno
w Fengar’s strength, I do not know who will fight at his side, or who will ride to aid Bryndis. But I do know that Vannheim has bled much of late, that our warriors have been left on far flung battlefields, that our people have suffered the loss of home and kin. In this matter, I am not the king you have chosen, I am simply a warrior among warriors. And so I put the decision to you, to all of you. What is Vannheim to do?”

  It was Olund who spoke first and the others looked to him with respect, for Olund had served Einarr before Raef.

  “It seems to me, lord, that Vannheim has done enough. Let someone else deal with Fengar.”

  “And if the lady Bryndis is defeated? Fengar must be overcome, his followers brought to heel.” A younger captain, Skuli, got to his feet, his face bright, his challenge to Olund direct.

  “Fengar will be destroyed with or without Vannheim’s help. His numbers weaken, his conviction whittles away to nothing. We need only wait.” This from Melkolf.

  “Wait and be named cowards.” Skuli’s glare turned to Melkolf now. “Would you have it be said that Vannheim sat out the last battle? That Vannheim was too afraid to see it through?”

  “I agree with Skuli,” Njall said. “We have named Skallagrim our king. If he defeats Fengar, none will question his right to rule.”

  Raef held up a hand. “The lady Bryndis has stated her intent to call another gathering. Either she does not know of my naming, or she does not care. And I am inclined to agree with her. Regardless, do not make this decision with any thought of that. Rather think only on what is best for Vannheim, for your sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, for the children you will one day have.” Raef tried not to think of another battle, one that would be upon them all too soon, one that would wipe out any thought of the future and see the destruction of the gods. Better to give these men something to live for.

  The voices around him went silent and he could see the confusion in the eyes of some, some who no doubt could not understand why he would support another gathering, when, with Fengar’s death, he would be the sole surviving named king.

  The silence lingered and Raef could see the split between the captains. Raef shared a glance with Siv before turning to look at Dvalarr. “Crow,” Raef said, “you are quiet.”

  Dvalarr shifted on the bench, arms crossed over his thick chest. His discomfort was plain. “I would not have it said that Vannheim is weak, lord, or her warriors gutless.” It was answer enough.

  “Think on this,” Raef said. “I expect to see each of you in the morning with your decision.”

  The hall emptied as the captains took their leave. Dvalarr lingered until Raef nodded for him to go, leaving only Siv. Raef sank into a chair and rested his head in his hands.

  “There will be no consensus,” he muttered. “Olund is too stubborn, Skuli too eager to prove himself. The others will flock to one or the other.” He lifted his head. “Was it too much to ask? Should I have forced my decision upon them?”

  “Do you know your own mind?” Siv asked.

  Raef groaned. “No.” He drained the last of his ale. “I would not drag reluctant warriors into a battle they do not crave. But nor would I leave Bryndis unaided. The Hammerling was right, Siv. It is time this war was ended.” Raef took Siv’s hand and pulled her into his lap. “But Fengar is not all that is on my mind.” He kissed her earlobe and wrapped his arms around her, his gaze transfixed by her green eyes. “Siv. The darkness is coming for all of us. I would swear myself to you before it comes, in sight of all the gods. Will you have me?”

  Siv traced two fingers along his jaw. “Yes.”

  Twenty-One

  There was no priest to conduct the ceremony. Of Josurr, the young priest of Odin, there had been no sign since Raef had reclaimed the Vestrhall from Isolf. The sacred cave was abandoned, though whether Josurr had fled in fear of Isolf or seen an opportunity to lift the yoke of obedience Raef had shouldered him with, Raef could not be sure. He had given little thought to the priest’s absence, but now it chafed at him, so impatient was he to bind his life to Siv’s. Without the priest, they would have to wait, and so Raef was in a sour mood when he roused himself with the sun to hear each captain’s decision. But before he could hear the captains, Raef had a visit to make.

  Eirik of Kolhaugen had sustained a leg wound in the battle outside the Vestrhall’s walls. The lord of Kolhaugen had intended to leave with the remainder of the Hammerling’s men, whose lives Raef had spared, but Raef would not let him limp away into the wild with the surviving warriors of Kolhaugen. The wound was healing well, though it was still wrapped in heavy bandages and caused Eirik pain when he moved in haste.

  “I will grow fat on this fish your kitchen woman keeps feeding me,” Eirik said after Raef found him seated across from the warm kitchen hearth and under a string of dried herbs. The scent of baking bread filled Raef’s nose.

  Raef grinned. “She does make good fish.” He gestured to the knife in Eirik’s hand and the basket of trout at his feet. A small pile of silver scales gleamed on the dark wood of the long table. “Found a way to make yourself useful?”

  Eirik shrugged. “A fish is only a fish. But a fish cleaned to perfection, now that is something to behold.”

  “I bet young Gurin could clean ten in the time it takes you to do one.”

  Eirik waved the little knife at Raef. “But does young Gurin know how to peel back the skin without damaging the flesh?”

  “He learned from the best,” Raef said, grinning.

  Eirik laughed, a good strong laugh that Raef was glad to hear. A comfortable silence fell over them and Raef went to the hearth, where a broth simmered, waiting, no doubt, for the fish and the root vegetables Darri was peeling just outside the kitchen door.

  “How is your leg?”

  “Mending. I will be fit to travel by the time the moon is full.”

  “And then?”

  Silence for a moment. “And then home for me, Skallagrim.” Another pause and Raef turned away from the hearth. Eirik sighed. “I have been away a long time.”

  “And you return alone.”

  “Yes.” Eirik’s gaze went to the knife. He flicked a scale from its edge and then plucked a fish from the basket. “Yes.” He ran the knife across the striped body once, twice. “It will be a strange thing to set foot in Kolhaugen knowing that my brother is dead.”

  “Strange, but better for your people, no?”

  “Better for them, yes.” Still Eirik did not look up from the trout in his hand. Raef waited. The knife came to a halt and Eirik laid it with precision on the table, then looked at Raef. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go back. Back to the way things were, I mean.”

  “Before Alvar was dead?”

  “Not just that. Before the Palesword raised an army of warriors that could not be killed. Before this war ravaged over the lands of so many. Before Fengar was named king. Before your father died. Things might be different.”

  “Perhaps,” Raef said. “But Fenrir has the Allfather’s scent and the drops of poison that will bring Thor to his knees hang already from Jörmungand’s teeth. Things might be different, but all that would be very much the same.”

  Eirik was quiet. “You are right,” he said at last. He smiled to himself, then the grin grew. “And so I shall go home to Kolhaugen and clean fish and drink mead until the twilight of the gods comes.” He grew serious once more. “And then I shall stand with the Einherjar until the end.”

  Raef nodded.

  “I will look for you there, Skallagrim.”

  Raef nodded again, but he could not bring himself to speak the lie, to say that he would stand beside Eirik. There was no place for him in the last great host of warriors, in the army of the slain that would succumb with the gods to Surt’s flaming sword. He let the shadow of Eirik’s words diffuse with the scent of hot bread.

  “I will not be here when you are well enough to travel,” Raef said.

  “Fengar?”

  “Is within reach. If only we have the
strength to grasp him.”

  “I would aid you if I could.”

  Raef shook his head. “Go home. And may the gods give you peace before the end.”

  **

  The captains came to him one by one, Olund first and unwavering, Skuli last and bold. In the end, four wished to spare Vannheim from further bloodshed and four sought victory over Fengar. But no longer was Raef’s own mind mired in doubt and so the split voices of his captains troubled him less than he had expected. Raef followed Skuli from the hall into the early morning light, where the rest waited.

  “My mind is clear,” Raef told the captains. “I will not leave Bryndis to face Fengar alone. But neither will I condemn he who wishes to keep his blade sheathed.” The captains cast sideways glances at each other. “I ride to Narvik. Any warrior or shieldmaiden who wishes to follow is welcome. Those who would stay will not face judgment.”

  “Except from the gods.” Skuli’s accusation bit into the chill of the morning air and Olund flushed red with anger. The older man lunged for Skuli, teeth bared, restrained only by Melkolf’s strong arm.

  “Would you threaten me?” Olund bellowed. “Say that again when my axe rests between your balls.”

  Raef descended from the stone steps and stood between snarling Olund and Skuli, whose lips curled up with disdain.

  “Brothers, enough. Ill words between us will only sow discontent, and that I will not have. The warriors who remain in the village must be given the choice. Riders must be sent to inform others. See to it.” Raef waited until the captains walked away, Olund striding stiff-legged with Melkolf at his shoulder, young Njall casting quick glances at Raef and Skuli, who was last to step away. Raef reached out and grabbed the edge of Skuli’s cloak, yanking to turn the captain around.

  “Insult them again and I will strip you of all that I have given you.” Raef’s gaze strayed to the pair of arm rings decorating Skuli’s forearm to make his meaning clear. “My father’s captains knew when to speak and when to keep silent. Think on this and save your nerve and your slurs for Fengar.” Raef held Skuli’s stare and only released him when the other man forced out a stiff nod. Raef watched him go and wished again that Finnolf and Thorald and Yorkell lived yet to stand beside him.