The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  “It is the only place I have to begin.”

  “Do you think the golden apple tree is there? The one Ailmaer sought?”

  “I think Ailmaer chased a legend. But something lies beneath that hill.”

  Raef returned to the fire and settled down on a fallen log. Siv sat next to him and began to braid a small portion of hair at the base of his neck.

  Vakre stretched out beside the flames and settled his hands behind his head. “Why did you let Hauk live?” he asked.

  Raef was quiet for a long moment, trying to find words to express what he had felt in his heart the moment the swift flew overhead while Hauk was under his axe. “This is the wolf-age, the sword-age. Hauk said it. We are warriors and we consume violence as the gods do mead. We revel in it, and in this time before the darkness, we will get drunk on it. You know the stories as well as I. Brother will turn on brother. We will descend into depths we cannot emerge from. I had a choice, but it was no choice at all. Take my revenge and become death just as my father was for his brother, just as Ulflaug and Kell-thor were for each other, just as I was for Isolf. Or choose,” Raef paused, struggling to make himself understood, “choose something I cannot yet name but that speaks to me. And though it shames me to say it, this voice is stronger than my father’s pleas for justice.”

  “You think if you had taken Hauk’s life, you would not be able to follow the swift, wherever it leads?” Vakre’s voice was soft.

  “No,” Raef said. “I think I would not have wanted to. I think I would have craved the end, longed for it.” Siv tucked her hand into his.

  “And now?” Vakre’s voice slipped out of the darkness.

  “Now, I will defy the Norns and everything they have carved in Yggdrasil’s bark.”

  Silence across the fire.

  “All for a bird.” Raef could hear the grin in Vakre’s voice and it lifted his heart.

  “All for a bird.”

  **

  The first wolf came before the dawn. The horses grew nervous from the threat they could not see but whose scent came to them. Raef stirred at the sound of their snorts and stamped hooves, but he could see nothing in the grey half-light. Clouds had come in the night, slinking through the valleys, and had settled into the low places to await the sun, reducing Raef’s world to mist and the half-seen shapes of trees. Rising, Raef went to the horses, calming them with quiet words and gentle hands. He listened, straining to catch wind of what had made them anxious, but he heard nothing.

  The chill had set into his bones as he slept and Raef longed to rekindle the fire, but warmth was a comfort they had to forgo, as was lingering over a meal. They would eat in the saddle. Raef leaned down over Siv’s sleeping form and was about to wake her when he caught sight of the four-legged shape stealing into the edge of his vision. Raef froze, his hand hovering over Siv’s shoulder. His sword was within reach and the wolf, a grey and white child of winter, was not close. The yellow eyes rested on Raef, steady, unafraid, and for a long moment man and wolf stared at each other. Then at last the wolf turned and trotted away into the shroud of the morning.

  Raef exhaled the breath he had been holding and shook Siv on the shoulder. She woke slowly, her eyes searching Raef’s face as her senses were restored to her from the clutches of sleep.

  “Come,” Raef said. “We must move on.”

  They were mounted and headed north in a matter of moments, and Raef said nothing of the wolf as they ate in the saddle, sharing the dried plums, cold meat, and day-old bread from Bryndis’s hall. As the sun rose and light began to filter through the thick cloud cover, once or twice he caught a glimpse of something loping through the trees, first to their left, and then, not long after, to the right. Whether the lean, grey shape was the same wolf or whether there was more than one, Raef could not say with certainty.

  By midday, the sun had burned away the clouds, leaving them exposed to the cold winds, but it was the sound of a wolf’s howl, unnatural under the blue sky and bright sun, that made Raef shiver. He exchanged a look with Siv and Vakre and together they increased their pace, taking advantage of an open stretch of land. The wolf went unanswered, but Raef found no comfort in that. They set a watch that night, each taking a turn before the small fire, but the pack did not show itself under the watchfulness of the moon.

  **

  “The land is quiet,” Vakre said, as they rode within sight of a small village the next morning. By Raef’s judgment, they were well within the lands of Silfravall, but they had crossed paths with no one and the village seemed deserted. Raef broke off from Siv and Vakre and brought his horse closer to the thatched roofs. He could see a well and a set of hides strung out to dry, but there was not even a boy fetching water or a hen pecking for food in the snow.

  He was about to turn his horse away when movement caught his eye. A door creaked open and at first Raef thought the wind had done it, but then he saw a face in the crack. The face jerked out of sight, but then Raef heard a brief scuffle and anxious whispers. He waited, not wanting to make sudden movements in case an unseen foe had an arrow trained on him. He glanced to his left and saw that Siv and Vakre had angled around the tiny village and come to a stop on the northern edge.

  The whispers grew louder and then at last a boy came bursting out of the door, stumbling forward as though he had been shoved. He caught his balance and faced Raef, defiance in his eyes, an axe in hand. But the boldness went no further and the boy could not find the courage to speak and challenge Raef.

  “Where is your father, boy?” Raef called.

  “Gone.” The boy swallowed. He was tall, but young. “Gone with the rest to hunt the wolves.”

  “How long have they been gone?”

  “This is the third day.”

  It was too long and Raef could see the boy knew it.

  “Tell your brother to come out of hiding.”

  “I am alone.” The boy’s face flushed at the lie. Raef could see his knuckles were white from gripping the axe with all his strength.

  “I am not going to hurt you.”

  Still the boy did nothing. He was biting his lip against his fear.

  “What of your mother? The other families?”

  “Sick.” His gaze shifted from Raef to the small house closest to his own. “Maybe dead.”

  “What ails them?”

  The boy hesitated. “Fever.”

  “When did it begin?”

  “After the birds flew off.”

  Raef’s heart constricted in his chest. “And the wolves came then, too?”

  The boy nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “Eddri, son of Ragnarr.” There was pride in the boy’s voice.

  “I knew a man named Ragnarr, once.” Raef thought of Ragnarr Silenthand, the half god, the son of Heimdall. He had killed Ragnarr at the burning lake. “If your father is half the man he was, you are fortunate.”

  Raef’s words seemed to please Eddri and the edge of his fear grew dull. Raef dismounted and walked closer.

  “Do you have grain?” Raef drew an arm ring over his wrist and held it up so the boy could see it glint in the sun. “This is good silver and my horse is hungry.” Bryndis’s steward had given them enough grain for the horses for three days. They would need more to reach the Old Troll.

  “We have grain.”

  Raef smiled, trying to distill the last of the boy’s trepidation. “Perhaps your brother will help you carry it.”

  After a moment, a grin split Eddri’s face. From the shadows of the doorway, another boy appeared. This one was small, his face streaked with dirt, and he glared at his older brother for giving him away.

  “What is your name?”

  The small boy turned his glare to Raef but his lips remained sealed

  “He is called Tjorvi. He does not speak. Not to strangers, at least,” Eddri said. “He fell on his head as a baby,” he added.

  “Well, perhaps he is not strong enough to carry the grain, then,” Raef said, trying not t
o laugh. It felt good to smile.

  The younger boy flared up, his dark eyes growing fierce, and darted off around the corner of the house. When he reappeared a moment later, he was dragging two sacks of grain behind him and trying desperately to make it look easy. Raef drew his axe and set the arm ring on the ground as Eddri fetched two more bags. Taking careful aim, Raef chopped off four slender circles of silver. It was far more than the grain was worth and Eddri stared, speechless, as Raef dropped the payment into his palm.

  “Thank you, sons of Ragnarr. Have you tried yellowhorn for your mother’s fever?”

  Eddri shook his head.

  “Look for it near water, dig up the roots, and boil them until you can no longer stand the smell.” Raef wanted to say more, wanted to give them something other than silver that would be of no use to them, wanted to shelter them from the storm that was coming to Midgard, but he could do nothing but signal for Vakre and Siv. Together, they strapped the grain to their packs, then, with a final wave to the watching brothers, rode off.

  “The fever came with the flight of the birds,” Raef told Siv and Vakre once the houses were out of sight. “And the wolves followed that night. Their father left to hunt the beasts with the other men. They have not returned.” Raef glanced at Siv. “I fear this is what we will find everywhere. Already Midgard is in the grip of death and ruin.”

  Shadows the wolves had been, sensed yet never seen, but as the light failed and the sky darkened, those shadows grew bold, weaving their way between the trees to either side of Raef, Siv, and Vakre, staying just clear of the well-traveled path worn through the snow. Raef counted twelve. A large pack. They looked strong, as though they had prospered during the long days of winter. As they stalked the three riders with more aggression, Raef resisted the urge to increase his horse’s pace, though she strained under his hold on the reins, her instincts telling her to run. He did not need to tell Siv and Vakre that they would not be stopping for the night, but they could not risk overtiring the animals.

  Siv unslung her bow from where it rested on her back and, balancing the long, slender yew across her lap, guided the horse with one hand and reached with the other into the pouch at her belt where she kept her strings. Gritting her teeth in concentration, Siv attached the string at one end of the bow, then released her hold on the reins. Raef watched, ready to intervene if her horse bolted, but Siv was quick, bending the yew bow under one knee with precision and speed and fastening the string in place. She nocked an arrow on the string, drew, aimed, and loosed. It was an awkward shot, made difficult by the length of the bow. It was a weapon made for hunting on foot, not for firing from horseback. The arrow flew long, sailing over the shoulders of the nearest wolf.

  Undeterred, Siv chose another arrow, but her horse, eyes rolling with fear at the smell of the predators, lurched to the right, driving into the hindquarters of Vakre’s horse. Siv grabbed the reins in time but the impact caused Vakre’s horse to stumble and Siv’s horse reeled, half-rearing. The bow, catching on a tree branch, was ripped from her hands.

  The commotion and the scent of fear set the wolves off and the twilight came alive with the sound of snarls and hungry whines. Raef circled his horse, intent on retrieving Siv’s bow from the snare, but found his path blocked by four wolves, feet planted, hackles raised, teeth bared in silent growls. Raef’s horse reared up, screaming, front hooves flailing in terror. Raef felt her lose her balance, felt her begin to topple backward and threw himself from the saddle.

  He landed hard, so hard his shoulder went numb, but he staggered to his feet, sword already loose, the naked steel eager to drink wolf blood. The horse had come to her feet, too, her fear now laced with pain. The smear of blood trickling down her left hind leg registered in Raef’s mind, but he had no time to assess the damage. The wolves were ready to spring.

  But the attack never came.

  The wolf closest to Raef, a tall black thing with yellow eyes, whimpered and flattened its ears back, then dropped to its stomach. The others imitated it and Raef spun in search of the source of their sudden fear. One by one the wolves began to slink away, bellies brushing the snow, but as the last one vanished from Raef’s sight, an animal scream blazed out of the twilight. Raef heard bones breaking and flesh ripping and then all was quiet and he knew one of the wolves had not escaped.

  “Raef, get in the saddle.” Vakre’s words were quiet and full of dread. Siv was there, tugging her bow free, and Vakre was reaching for Raef’s horse, who still snorted and tossed her head after her encounter with the wolves. Raef did not hesitate, his own fear hammering in his chest, and put his foot in one stirrup. Grimacing against the painful tingling in his shoulder, Raef pulled himself into the saddle and as three they raced away. He did not dare hope they had gone unnoticed by whatever had hunted the wolves.

  Thirty-Two

  It stalked them through the night.

  Raef was sure of it, though he never caught sight of anything. Instinct told him the creature was just out of sight and keeping pace with ease. The horses knew it, too. Whether the wolf-killer toyed with them or was judging them, Raef could not say. He could only hope the light of day might bring a measure of safety.

  They halted when the horses were at the brink of exhaustion. Dawn was not far off and the trees had given way to open land and a pair of narrow lakes between high hills. Vakre spotted an abandoned summer farm and they took refuge there, leading the horses within the three walls that remained to one small building and removing the heavy saddles. Their backs steamed in the air and they were too tired to eat the grain that Raef offered.

  The other building they took for themselves and Siv began to work on a fire. Raef did not want to stop for long, but he knew the value of rest, knew he could not arrive, wherever he was going, drained and without wit or strength. As smoke wafted through the one-room house, Raef stepped outside to empty his bladder, his gaze on the horizon. There was no sign of pursuit, but to Raef the air that should have been clear and bright and cold seemed tainted with a vile scent, so faint he could not be certain, but the feeling persisted and Raef was uneasy as he returned to the warmth and closed the door.

  “We should watch the horses,” Raef said. “Something is coming. We cannot lose them.” He rummaged in his pack for some morsels of food, careful to take only what he needed to sustain him. It would not do to exhaust their supplies. With dried meat and a scrap of hard cheese in hand, Raef went to the door once more, but Vakre stopped him.

  “I will do it.”

  Raef began to protest, but Vakre was already out the door.

  Raef found him hunched under the rotten remains of the roof of the second building. Two horses slept; one munched on the grain Raef had left.

  “Are you angry?”

  Vakre’s shoulders rose as he inhaled and he untucked his arms from where they had wrapped around his torso.

  “I am,” Vakre paused, “tired.” It was not sleep that Vakre spoke of.

  “I have not forgotten my promise.”

  Vakre acknowledged this by meeting Raef’s gaze. His face softened. “I know.” Vakre rubbed a hand down the side of his face. “I am well enough, Raef. Sleep. While you can.”

  Raef hesitated, but he was suddenly weary and did not resist. He left Vakre with the horses, wondering if the heat he could feel radiating from the son of Loki was a warmth Vakre welcomed or dreaded. Siv was asleep already, curled before the fire, her face burnished by the low orange hues. She stirred but did not wake as Raef kissed her cheek. It was only a moment before he followed her into slumber.

  When Raef awoke, the small fire had burned only a little and by the light streaming under the door he knew he had not slept for long. But it was the smell that consumed him as he pushed aside the blanket, choking on the thick, foul odor, like the smell of spoiled meat and a battlefield under the heat of the sun. Fighting back a gag, eyes watering, Raef woke Siv and reached for his weapons. He stumbled from the house, retching, but the high meadow was quiet and empty. Raef ran
to the broken-down building and saw that the horses were safe and well. They showed no fear and the foul smell seemed to fade and shrink until Raef was left wondering if he had imagined it.

  Siv came up behind him and the troubled look on her face told him she had caught the scent as well. There was no sign of Vakre or a struggle.

  “He would not want us to worry,” Siv said, voicing Raef’s uneasy thoughts. Vakre would not have wandered off without a purpose and Raef was sure whatever foul creature brought the odor was responsible for Vakre’s absence.

  They waited. The sun climbed higher in the sky. They saddled the horses and prepared to ride but still Vakre did not appear across the meadow or on the snowfield that stretched up into the higher places behind the summer farm.

  When he could wait no longer, when the shadow of the countless birds rising to the sky darkened his mind, when he began to wonder if he would hear Heimdall blow the Gjallerhorn to call the forces of Asgard to the last battle, Raef swung into the saddle.

  He did not look back at the summer farm as he and Siv followed the narrowing meadow to where it vanished between two hills, but the gap in the hills was still far away when Raef heard Siv’s sharp inhale at his side. He followed her gaze to the snowfield and saw a figure running, fleeing. Vakre.

  For a moment, Vakre was alone and his silent, distant flight seemed like something from a dream. But then fear clutched at Raef’s gut as the hunter emerged, sweeping up over a hidden rise in the white-washed terrain on dark wings that skimmed the snow.

  The creature was massive, its wings stretching wide, its long serpent neck thrust forward as it narrowed the gap between itself and its prey. Vakre ran on without looking back, but then, perhaps catching sight of Raef and Siv and seeing they were on their way to safety, Vakre stopped running. He turned to face the winged death.

  Raef buried his heels into his horse and she charged forward, reaching full gallop in a few strides. As he drew closer, the sheer size of the creature became more apparent as it settled in front of Vakre, landing in the snow with all the lightness of a sparrow. Its wings remained spread, each longer than the tallest giants Raef had seen in Jötunheim, and from the tip of its lashing tail to the end of its snorting nostrils it exceeded the length of his father’s hall.