The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  “Then I will see you before the sun rises. Now, go.” Raef released Siv and felt her retreat from him. He heard her turn, heard her take the first steps into her chosen passage, and then, before he could regret sending her into the darkness alone, Raef felt out the left-most passage and went to meet whatever waited for him there.

  He counted his steps at first, to ease the burden of darkness and pass the time, but it was not long before the numbers turned to words, words spoken in Gudrik’s voice. The story was the same, the one that had always come to him as a boy when alone in the forest. It had stolen upon him then, creeping unaware into his young mind until the tracks of deer and the song of birds were forgotten, and it came upon him now in such a manner, slipping into the corners of his heart and seeping through the marrow of his bones. It was an old friend, the story of the beginning of all things, of the creation of the nine realms, but it was Gudrik’s voice as he had told the story all those nights ago that was the greatest comfort in the darkness. Raef might have wished to have the dead skald at his side, but it was enough to carry a spark of him.

  By the time the giant Ymir was being carved up to form the mountains and valleys of Midgard, Raef’s path began to climb and the ascent was so steep that Raef had to clamber forward on his hands and feet. In places, the tunnel had been worn smooth and round, as though rubbed away for countless years, and there Raef was forced to leap upwards, propelling himself onward with his toes as his fingers sought something to catch hold of. Before long, sweat dripped down his forehead and ran into his eyes, and the tips of his fingers grew numb as the skin wore away on each handhold. More than once, he felt a faint residue on the rocks, as though they had been dusted with honeycomb. When he raised his fingers to his lips, the taste was of rotten meat, and no matter how hard he tried to wash it free from his tongue with his saliva, it lingered, foul and resilient, and a sudden thirst came over Raef, incessant and as fierce as a storm in summer.

  It was only then that Raef became aware that his breaths were coming short and fast, that the blackness before him swam with flashes of light, that he was no longer sure where the sky lay and where the earth waited below, ready to swallow him. The urge to run washed over him but his limbs were as weak as wilting wildflowers and he could feel his fingers slipping from the narrow shelf of rock he clung to, could feel his heart pounding as the ocean does against cliffs. Fighting back the dizziness and the fear, Raef forced himself to swallow and he closed his eyes, as though he might chase away the darkness with the blackness inside his own lids.

  The swaying in his head dissipated, but he could not catch his breath, could not calm his heart. A sound came to him then, a sound full of terror, and then he realized it was his own breathing, his own great, gulping breaths, and it seemed to him that he heard his own death.

  His right arm gave way first, wrenching his left at the shoulder, and he slipped back down the slope. When the left could hold no longer, he felt himself drop, sliding, tumbling back down the tunnel. With a cry of pain, he crashed against a jutting shard of rock and landed, draped over it, his heartbeat reverberating through the heart of the mountain. And in that moment, he became aware of the handle of his knife gouging into his side from where it lay twisted in his belt.

  The sensation of this proved stronger than anything else. Gone was the weakness in his arms, gone was the pounding in his temples, the lights that danced in his eyes, even the thirst. Trembling, Raef reached for the knife and let it whisper out of its scabbard. The hilt was cool against his skin and he could not shake the thought that it was vital he know how sharp the blade was.

  The edge bit into his forearm and the first trickle of blood was hot against his skin. He could not see the crimson blood, and in his mind’s eye it was the color of molten gold, thick and viscous as it spilled forth. He pushed the blade deeper, drawing it across the flesh. There was no pain, only a sense of cold, as though the mountain was stealing into the spaces vacated by his blood. Raef lifted the knife and held his arm out, marveling in the curious sensation of blood seeping through that narrowest of slices. It rushed down his arm and seemed to pool just behind the cut. It was not enough. He would have to go deeper.

  The blade kissed his skin once more and then Raef heard the scream. Faint, muffled, consumed by the mountain, but filled with terror and pain. The sound of it sent a wave of nausea rolling up Raef’s throat and his fingers fell slack. The knife fell away, skittering down the tunnel, and only then did Raef understand what he had done, that his lifeblood was dripping away and he had been the cause.

  The knowledge that he had been a moment away from severing his veins, that he had wielded the knife without thought, awoke a fear that had slept in him since the labyrinth of Jötunheim had threatened to swallow him. For a moment he could do nothing but cling to the rock, the darkness crushing down on him, the fear gnawing at his heart, but then he realized the mountain had gone silent. The screaming had ceased and this was enough to stir him.

  “Siv!” His shout echoed back at him and, though he knew it was fruitless, he called again, hoping against hope that he might hear an answer. There was only silence.

  Reaching under his leather jerkin and woolen layer, Raef untucked the hem of his linen shirt and tore a wide strip away. Using his left hand and his teeth, he wrapped the self-inflicted wound and fashioned a knot. It throbbed under the pressure of the bandage, but Raef was glad of the pain, glad of the reminder of what the Dragon’s Jaw had cost him.

  Mustering the limbs that had betrayed him, Raef heaved himself off the cold, hard flesh of the mountain and began to climb once more. The way up seemed less steep, the walls of the tunnel less smooth, the handholds more frequent. Gone was the sticky residue and gone was the comfort of Gudrik’s voice. Raef could hear only the memory of the scream.

  When the tunnel leveled off into a flat chamber, Raef could smell fresh air and felt a slight draft on his cheeks. He knew he was close. The path turned left and narrowed again, so constricted that Raef had to turn sideways and even then the rocks pulled and scraped at him. His scabbard caught time and time again as he made agonizingly slow progress and more than once he caught his head on low-hanging rocks. Stooping, Raef was forced to creep forward, feeling his way forward with his hands and wondering if his path would continue to shrink until he had nowhere to go, no way to turn around.

  So intent was he on finding his way that at first Raef did not notice that something other than blackness was ahead of him, but when he did look up, he doubted at first the faint change in light and wondered if his eyes told the truth. But soon there was no doubt. There, ahead of him, was the night sky, full of stars, waiting for him.

  Raef traversed the last section of tunnel on his hands and knees, the stones pressing in on all sides, but at last he broke free, stepping out onto the shoulder of a mountain bathed in starlight. It was a treacherous place, slick with ice and snow, and the steep drop-off to Raef’s left promised a sudden fall and a broken body, but after the dark, blind confines of the mountain, Raef breathed in the night air with relish.

  But he was not alone. A figure crouching at the edge of the drop-off stirred, standing tall and catching Raef’s gaze. He reached for his axe, but his fingers only brushed the worn handle before he recognized Siv in the shadows.

  “You are well?” Raef went to her, and though she nodded and appeared unhurt, her eyes, solemn and unblinking, told him the mountain had taken a toll on her, too. He raised a hand to her face and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped her braids, but she caught his wrist with her hand, her gaze on his crude bandage stained with blood.

  “What happened?”

  Raef met her eyes. “The work of the mountain.” And he told her of the sticky residue, the thirst, the dizziness, and his strange need to test the knife’s blade. “I do not doubt that I would have cut again and again and watched my blood drip from my veins until I could watch no more if I had not heard the scream.” Siv’s gaze flickered back to the mountain behind Raef. “Yo
u heard it, too.”

  “Yes,” Siv said. “I fear for Skuli’s life.”

  “We will search for him. After we have what we came for.”

  Siv released Raef and walked to the edge. “There.”

  The ancient fortress was open to the sky, the roof long destroyed by wind and water and falling rocks. Among the remaining walls, broken as they were, two fires burned and men clustered to them, but far more men were left in the cold and the dark, shivering, for Fengar had only what wood he had carried with him. When he ran out, there would be no more warmth.

  “Difficult to count them,” Siv said, her voice no more than a murmur. She was right. The half walls and tumbled towers shielded much of the ruins from Raef’s view, but it was clear that Fengar still commanded enough men to wage a war, however brief it might be. “They have fresh water.” Raef nodded, for he had seen the spring-fed pool at the base of the cliffs that towered behind the fortress.

  “And the hostages?”

  Siv pointed, but kept her gaze on Raef, and as he looked in the direction she indicated, he understood her anxious expression.

  A small group of people was clustered in the half-light just outside the circle of the fire nearest Raef and Siv’s overlook. Their hands were bound and their feet tethered to each other so they might not escape. Men, women, children, just as Stefnir had promised. But it was the sight of one slight figure among them that caused Raef to suck in air.

  “Serpent’s balls,” Raef muttered. “Cilla.”

  There was no mistaking the little girl from Kelgard. She held herself apart from the other hostages, crouching as far from them as the rope lashed around her ankle would allow. She had shaved the sides of her head, leaving only the hair on top to grow long and this was tied in three braids knotted together. Her arms were still thin and Raef did not think she had grown much since he had seen her in Solheim, but she had proved to be stronger than she looked during her brief training with Siv and Eira, and Raef had no doubt she nursed deadly anger in her heart.

  “Eira said Cilla chose to stay in Solheim. How is it that she came to Narvik and fell into Fengar’s path?”

  Siv had no answer and Raef saw that she was watching the hostages with care, though her eyes seemed focused on something far away, something only she could see.

  “I should never have left Cilla. She was under my care and I let her drift into a world she should never have had to face alone.”

  Siv roused herself. “You are not at fault. Would you have taken her into the dangers of Hullbern and Ver? And the burning lake?”

  “No, that was no place for a child, however brave.” Raef turned and looked at Siv. “I will not leave Cilla up here to starve or die under Fengar’s knife.”

  “You know what Bryndis will choose. She is willing to see them all die.”

  Raef was quiet for a long moment, trying to fathom a means to thwart both Fengar and Bryndis. “There must be another way.” And yet he could not see it. “Even if we bring warriors through the Dragon’s Jaw, even if we gather up here,” Raef flung his arm above them, indicating the ledges and level places that made up the side of the mountain, “in numbers greater than Fengar’s, there is no way down. We might kill some with arrows, but then the rest will hide and wait and the hostages will die.”

  “And the fortress will never be breached from below.” Siv’s voice was calm, but Raef sensed an underlying sorrow that she was not yet willing to release to him.

  They stood in silence, each contemplating the ruins below, until Raef sighed and glanced at the stars and the moon above.

  “It is time we went back. The night is no longer young,” Raef said.

  Siv nodded but her gaze lingered on the hostages until Raef had ducked back into the tunnel from which he had emerged. Then she frowned and followed, though she stopped and hesitated where the starlight still fell upon her.

  “You came this way?” Siv asked.

  “Yes.”

  “As did I.”

  “Something is at work here well beyond us.” Raef was quiet, stalled on hands and knees in the passage. “I have seen its like before, though I had hoped never to know it again.”

  “The labyrinth of Jötunheim?”

  “Yes.” Raef crept forward and heard Siv enter the tunnel behind him. “In Vannheim, we are told that mighty Ymir’s heart is buried in the deep waters of the fjord. I wonder if it lies here instead, and if that heart burns still with rage over what the Allfather did to him.”

  Twenty-Five

  They emerged at the base of the Dragon’s Jaw to the sound of weeping. The sobs were soft and weak, and at first Raef could not see their source. Eiger’s bulk was hunched over, but his broad back did not shudder and when he stood and turned to face Raef and Siv as they emerged from the Jaw, his fleshy face, free of tears, was twisted with revulsion.

  At Eiger’s feet, Skuli shivered on his knees. Spittle hung from the young warrior’s open mouth. His cheeks were streaked with tears and blood. And his eyes were nothing more than mangled, pulpy orbs, all crimson gore where once they had been pale blue.

  “What happened?” Raef went to Skuli and dropped to his knees in front of the younger man, but his words were for Eiger, who had retreated into the glow of the lantern. Raef placed a hand on Skuli’s shoulder, his own fingers trembling almost as much as Skuli’s body, but the slight touch sent a shudder through Skuli and he jerked back and began to scream.

  It was the scream Raef had heard in the mountain and now he was desperate to silence it for no doubt the whole valley could hear Skuli’s terror. But his words, his pleas, went unnoticed and Raef, grimacing to himself, placed one hand over Skuli’s mouth and then wrapped his arm around the warrior’s neck and pressed Skuli against his chest, muffling the blood-curdling cries. Skuli fought him at first, fought for air, fought against Raef’s restraining arms, but Raef held him there until the will to resist fled from Skuli’s limbs, leaving him limp in Raef’s arms, his breaths reduced to wretched, mewling gasps. Skuli’s head hung back and the ruined eyes stared up at Raef.

  “What happened?” Raef asked once more.

  “He came out like that.” Eiger’s voice was flat and free of compassion, but there was something else picking away at the edges of his words, something like fear that might unravel any moment.

  Siv nudged something with the toe of her boot and Raef saw it was a knife, long and lean in the moonlight, but the blade was stained with blood, as were Skuli’s fingers, and Raef thought of his own knife, lost now to the Dragon’s Jaw, and his own blood that lined the edge.

  Raef stood and hoisted Skuli onto his shoulder, draping the young warrior as he would a deer downed in the hunt. To his relief, Skuli whimpered but made no other sound.

  “What are you doing?” Eiger stared at Raef, the lantern highlighting his disbelief. “Better to end his misery.”

  Raef glared and gave no answer, but turned and headed back the way they had come.

  Bryndis waited, wrapped in a woven robe dyed a deep blue and trimmed with white fox fur. A single candle lit the tent and a bowl of soup that no longer steamed was discarded on a stool. She was sitting when Raef pulled aside the tent flap, but he could guess that the ground had been well-worn by the tread of her impatient feet. The black ink that lined her eyes had been wiped away, leaving her looking vulnerable and young.

  Bryndis began to speak as Raef entered, but she stopped short when she caught sight of Skuli hanging from Raef’s shoulders.

  “Is he?” She let the rest of her question linger unspoken on her lips.

  “Alive,” Raef said. With Siv’s help, Raef unloaded Skuli and propped him on a pile of furs. The warrior was quiet now, his distress visible only in his tightly clenched fists. The blood on his face had turned to a crust but his ruined eyes still leaked fluid and Bryndis stared in dread and horror.

  “Odin has abandoned us, lady.” Eiger had followed Raef into the tent and now he loomed at Bryndis’s shoulder, his bulk separating her from the candle
light.

  “The Allfather had nothing to do with this.” Raef snarled, advancing on Eiger, who held his ground.

  “And you know the Allfather’s mind, Skallagrim?”

  Raef bit back the words he might have spoken and turned his attention to Bryndis.

  “Stefnir spoke the truth.”

  Bryndis closed her eyes for a moment, though whether to blot out the sight of Skuli’s disfigurement or the thought of the innocent life that would be ended in the light of the rising sun, Raef could not be sure. She went to the tent flap and called for aid for Skuli. When she turned and looked at Raef, her resolve was visible in every line of her face.

  “You know where I stand.”

  “I do,” Raef said, “and were they all of Narvik, I would defer to your right to decide. But there is a girl among them. She was in my care once. I do not intend to abandon her.” A woman came with fresh water and a clean strip of linen. She set to work dabbing the cloth to Skuli’s face.

  “Would that we could save them all,” Bryndis said, “but I do not see how it can be done, not without letting Fengar go free, and this I will not do.”

  “Send word that we will retreat, that the hostages must be released, that Fengar may leave Narvik unmolested. We can ambush him when he leaves the safety of the fortress.”

  “You would make me a liar?”

  Raef tried to hide his frustration. “I do not think you can be honest and victorious, Bryndis. Not this time.” The lady of Narvik looked unmoved. “Are you so fond of this harsh world you have known that you would see no other option? Are you so eager to show your resilience that you would send children to their deaths?”

  Bryndis recoiled from Raef, the tendons in her neck straining against the skin, her eyes sharp with anger. “You think I do this for myself? I do this so that we might be free of Fengar, so that we might have a new king, one chosen by the voices of the warriors, not the voices of a few.”

  Raef shook his head and spread his hands. “There are other ways, lady.”