Path of Gods

by Snorri Kristjansson

  ‘What?’

  ‘. . . blood . . .’

  His forehead and cheek throbbed with the effort of lifting him. ‘Yes. I know. The beast bit off half my face. Should’ve asked it to take a bite out of your arse instead. Might’ve made it easier to get you to your feet.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ A rattling cough shook the blacksmith as he got one knee under himself.

  Ulfar frowned. ‘Are you . . . laughing?’

  ‘. . . you promised her you’d marry her?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Ulfar said, smiling.

  Another cough, followed by a smirk as Audun rose, clutching his stomach with his left hand. ‘Ugh,’ he managed.

  ‘Is it that bad?’ Ulfar managed.

  ‘The belt rips my insides,’ Audun muttered. ‘I can lift a mountain with it, but the bloody thing kills me.’

  ‘Right. If you could just look mean for a little while longer, maybe pretend that you’re not dying, that would be very good for our immediate health and future,’ Ulfar said under his breath. ‘We’ve got visitors.’

  Audun looked up and across the frozen river to the force now advancing on them. He closed his eyes, then looked again. ‘It’s . . . Helga,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ Ulfar hissed.

  He mumbled, ‘The woman I stayed with? On the farm? She’s there.’

  Ulfar took a deep breath, pushed all his questions aside and looked once more at the warriors approaching the men of Stenvik. There was no doubt who was in charge – the man in the middle carried an axe Ulfar doubted he’d even be able to lift, let alone swing. On his right was a short, wiry woman with spiky hair, lean and mean. On his left was a boy of maybe thirteen years who wore a nobleman’s sword and had an unmistakeable family resemblance to the leader. Behind them was a woman, clad in travellers’ clothes but moving gracefully, with the confidence born of certainty and the bearing of a queen. The weak light caught on strands of silver interwoven in her braid of smooth dark hair. Behind and around her was a group of the hardest bastards Ulfar could remember seeing.

  ‘I hope you mean the tall one,’ Ulfar said.

  Audun elbowed him just as Sigurd and Sven stepped out in front of the men of Stenvik. In comparison with this group, Sigurd Aegisson’s men looked like what they were: old, and grey, and tired.

  ‘Well met, Skadvald, son of Skargrim,’ Sigurd said.

  ‘Well met, Sigurd Aegisson,’ the big man replied.

  ‘You’ve saved our lives,’ Sigurd said.

  Skadvald looked around. ‘This is true,’ he said.

  ‘And you are no doubt aware that I am responsible for the death of your father,’ Sigurd said.

  Ulfar looked up in horror. Sigurd had just dropped it in there, like he’d been asking for an extra chicken at market to go with the three he’d bought already. All around him old hands drifted slowly in the direction of blades, preparing to defend to the last, hoping to maybe take one or two with them to Valhalla.

  ‘My father should have left raiding to younger men,’ Skadvald said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘And listened to better advice,’ the woman next to him snarled. ‘There was no dishonour in it, Sigurd Aegisson. But if I ever get my hands on that bitch—’

  ‘The woman in the boat?’ Ulfar’s stomach dropped as he realised the voice behind the words had actually been his own. He felt the eyes of both groups on him and wished that just for once he could have refrained from speaking, just for a moment.

  The short woman looked as if she’d happily spend a long time killing him. ‘Yes. Do you know her?’

  ‘We killed her,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘Really?’ The short woman’s face lit up in genuine joy.

  ‘We had to,’ Ulfar said, ignoring the heat of Sven’s glare. ‘She was wielding the powers of Loki.’ The smile disappeared off the short woman’s face as quickly as it had come, and her mouth clammed shut.

  ‘This is why we need to talk,’ Skadvald said. ‘I am told that the dark powers walk here. We will need to work together.’

  ‘How?’ Sigurd said. ‘We can’t give them half the fight that you just did.’

  The teenager standing next to the big man smirked. He was almost vibrating with energy.

  ‘I believe you will,’ the big man said. ‘But first, let’s bind our wounds and clean our blades.’

  ‘Start a fire,’ Sven said to the men next to him.

  ‘No!’ the big man said quickly. ‘No fire.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Ulfar caught the tall, dark-haired woman hiding a smile.

  *

  Skadvald’s men helped drag the corpses of the hacked-up trolls to one side. The trolls had taken nearly a quarter of Sigurd’s men; the fallen needed to be properly laid out and sent off.

  Oskarl stood beside Ulfar, watching as Sven knelt by the bodies. The old man moved slowly, stopping by each one, then he leaned over and muttered a few quiet words, things that needed to be kept and carried to Valhalla.

  ‘It’s a bad business,’ the Eastman said.

  ‘That it is,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘I reckon there’ll be more of this before we’re done.’

  ‘Probably.’

  They stood in silence for a while, until Oskarl spoke again. ‘How’s your friend?’

  ‘His health improved rather quickly when our visitors arrived,’ Ulfar said, unable to hide the smirk.

  ‘Good. He’s a hard one.’

  Ulfar chortled.

  ‘What? We’ll need him to hammer our enemies.’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Ulfar said, grinning as much as his bandage would allow. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

  The ceremonies ended and a group of men set to breaking the frozen earth for graves. Sven motioned for Ulfar, Audun and Oskarl to come over.

  ‘Right. Sigurd’s over there’ – he motioned to where the chieftain sat on a fallen log – ‘and we’re going over and we’re going to listen to what Skadvald and his lot have to say. What do you do?’

  ‘Stand in the back and look dangerous?’ Audun offered.

  ‘That’s exactly right,’ Sven said. ‘I’ll make men of you puppies yet. Come on!’

  Shuffling over, Ulfar took a good look at Sigurd Aegisson. The old man looked like there was nothing left of him but skin, bone and stubbornness. His axe lay across his legs and he was deep in thought. Sven approached and sat down at his right-hand side without a word. Audun, Ulfar and Oskarl crossed the log and took up position behind the two old men.

  Skadvald did not wait long; he walked towards the log with a party of three and sat down in the snow, apparently untroubled by the wet and the cold.

  ‘This is Thora,’ he said, looking at the short-haired woman. ‘She sailed with my father.’ Sigurd and Sven gave her a warrior’s salute and she sneered in return. Not showing teeth is probably as close as she gets to politeness, Ulfar thought.

  ‘My son, Ognvald,’ Skadvald said.

  Ognvald looked at the men on the log and smiled, and Ulfar made a mental note to stay either behind or far away from the young man next time there was killing to be done.

  ‘And this is Helga,’ Skadvald finished.

  The tall woman bowed her head. Ulfar caught the slightest glance at Audun when she looked up and he couldn’t help but smirk. The blacksmith looked less like a fearsome warrior and more like a nervous boy.

  ‘I am afraid I can confirm what you may feel you know,’ she said. ‘Valgard is here, and he is not alone.’

  ‘What does he plan to do?’

  ‘He’s going after Bifrost.’

  ‘What—?’ Sigurd’s jaw dropped, and Sven looked equally lost. ‘He’s—’

  ‘—looking for the bridge to Valhalla. That’s right,’ Helga said. ‘What’s worse, I think he’ll find it.’

  ‘How?’ Sven said.

 
‘Loki will show him the way,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘But he’s not a god!’ Sigurd protested. ‘Only the gods can call down the Rainbow Bridge.’

  ‘I’m afraid he will find a way,’ Helga said. ‘He will force the gods to come and fight him, and you know what happens when the gods spill blood on Earth. In the East, Jormungandr will rise. In the West, Fenrir will walk the earth.’

  ‘Ragnarok,’ Sven muttered. ‘The end of the world as we know it.’

  ‘How do we stop him?’ Audun was hoarse, but determined.

  ‘Glad you asked,’ Thora said. Her smile was anything but reassuring.

  Skadvald pulled up the sleeve of his tunic. A row of runes had been carved into his forearm, neatly and with precision. They were too small for Ulfar to read at a distance, but he could feel the power radiating off the symbols. ‘Helga will carve you with runes that draw out your inner strength,’ the big Viking said. ‘She’s done all of us.’

  ‘It’s filthy magic,’ Thora said, ‘but it works. And I figure—’

  ‘—they’re cheating, so why shouldn’t we?’ Sven said.

  Thora smirked at him. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Then that is what must happen,’ Sigurd said after a couple of moments. ‘How are you for supplies?’

  ‘We’ve got enough,’ Thora said.

  ‘Good.’ Sigurd turned to Helga. ‘How long will it take to carve runes on my saggy old goats?’

  ‘Depends. Longer if they kick,’ she said.

  Slowly, smiles were spreading around their little circle. ‘We’ll make sure we don’t send you two cranky ones in a row,’ Sigurd said. He turned to Skadvald. ‘Rest, runes, move?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ the big Viking said.

  *

  The smell of burning flesh was hard to shake. Helga sat, straight-backed, on the log where Sigurd and Sven had held their council earlier. The Stenvik warrior sitting opposite held his arm out, clutching a spear with the other. When the tip of Helga’s red-hot knife touched his skin he breathed hard and clutched the shaft in his other hand, but he did not cry out. Thjodolf was one of their oldest walking brothers; he was wiry and bent, and he looked determined to sit through the trial in silence.

  Ulfar, standing next in line, tried hard not to think about what it would feel like. By now he could deal with pain in battle, but waiting to be slowly burned? Not the easiest thing to do.

  ‘There. That’s it,’ Helga said. Thjodolf looked at her, blinking away the tears of pain and wiping his eyes with a wizened hand.

  ‘But I don’t feel any different,’ he said.

  Helga smiled at him. ‘Just . . . wait.’

  ‘What do you mean wait? My arm hurts like hell because you burned it and I’m not going to just sit here and—’ The words abruptly stopped as Thjodolf’s jaw dropped. ‘Aah . . .’ He sighed. Then, as if discovering it for the first time, he stretched out his left arm and rolled his neck, waiting for the aches and pains of an old body to tell him to stop.

  They didn’t.

  A radiant smile took over the old man’s face. He looked at Helga, then at his arm, then back at her. A twinkle appeared in his eye and lifted his eyebrow.

  Helga laughed. ‘Go on, old-timer, off with you. Go and cause some trouble.’

  Thjodolf grinned and rose gracefully from the log, saluting Helga as he left.

  ‘Next,’ she said.

  Ulfar walked towards the log, feeling the tension build in his chest. He sat down opposite Helga, watching as she cleaned her knife and put it down next to her small fire; the most Skadvald had allowed them, and only on the condition that Helga stay by it at all times. Ulfar watched as her hands worked, every movement assured and confident. Her and Audun? Yes, he could see that – but his friend had done well there. He was so distracted by her that when she looked up she caught him staring.

  Despite the cold, Ulfar’s cheeks flushed. ‘Um . . . hello,’ he stammered.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’

  ‘I think most people are,’ he said. ‘Well, most men. Women are her, obviously.’

  Helga smiled. ‘You’re Ulfar.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘In which case,’ she said, putting her knife back onto the fire to heat, ‘I can’t help you.’ Ulfar frowned, but she just looked at him levelly. ‘Yours is a different path.’

  ‘What? So – you’re not going to . . .’ Ulfar searched for the words, but they wouldn’t come.

  ‘No,’ Helga said.

  ‘Uh, well – goodbye?’ Ulfar said.

  ‘Goodbye for now, Ulfar Thormodsson,’ Helga said.

  ‘Did I—? Did Audun tell you my name?’ Ulfar said, but Helga’s attention had turned back to the fire and the set of her shoulders suggested that there would be no more conversation on this subject.

  Ulfar rose awkwardly, feeling the twinge in his wound, and left. Over his shoulder he could hear Helga’s soft voice.

  ‘Next.’

  *

  Thora was bent over a travel pack tightening straps when Sven approached. ‘What do you want?’ she snapped without looking at him.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sven said.

  ‘That’s good,’ Thora said, twisting the rope brutally.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Sven said.

  ‘Because nothing’s what you’re getting,’ Thora said.

  Sven chuckled. ‘If you fight half as well as you talk we’ll’ – his left arm shot down and their daggers met with a soft clink, inches away from the big vein in Sven’s groin – ‘be just fine.’

  A soft flick of the wrist and the slim woman’s dagger disappeared up the sleeve of her tunic. ‘I like you, Hairy,’ Thora said as she rose and hefted the travel pack.

  ‘And why is that?’ Sven said, grinning.

  ‘Because you’re a cheeky old git and you’re not even half as friendly as you pretend to be.’

  Sven was openly smiling now. ‘You’re a cranky bitch yourself and you’re too fast by half.’

  Thora grinned at him. ‘Don’t you forget it. Now fuck off out of my way. We’ve got some things to kill.’ With that she marched off, leaving Sven grinning and scratching his head.

  ‘Cheeky old git. Well – I suppose that’s not too far off,’ he said as he walked towards the group of Stenvik men, rubbing the freshly carved runes on his forearm.

  *

  ‘She says she won’t give me runes,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘Really?’ Audun said, turning the blade over in his hand and working the other side of the edge. ‘Any reason?’

  ‘Says she can’t help me. My path is different.’ Audun’s sharpening strokes slowed down for a moment, but he remained silent. ‘How much did you tell her about what happened to us?’

  ‘I . . . can’t remember,’ Audun said.

  ‘Oh come on,’ Ulfar said. ‘You can’t have been boning her all the time?’

  Audun looked up from his blade and Ulfar took an involuntary half-step back. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean it,’ he said quickly.

  Audun forced himself to breathe. He unclenched his jaw and looked away from Ulfar. At last he said, ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘Really?’ Ulfar said.

  ‘Yes,’ Audun said.

  ‘Not once?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Man. You should have—’ Audun looked up again. ‘Fine. Good. Not my business. I get it. But—’ Ulfar made a frustrated sound. ‘I don’t understand. You go and talk to her!’

  Audun stopped sharpening the sword, took a deep breath and got to his feet. He shot a final glance at Ulfar. ‘I will, but on one condition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you try to shut your mouth from time to time.’

  Ulfar smiled and clapped the blacksmith on the shoulder. ‘Forgive me, my friend. But it has to be said – you
know that’s not going to happen. Besides, you make a fine target.’

  ‘Maybe so, but you’ll get what you give,’ Audun said as he walked off. When he got to where Helga was sitting, there were three men standing in front of him. Audun got a chance to stand and just watch her for a moment.

  The pain of losing their time together hit him so hard that he had to close his eyes and clench his fists to find calm. He had to remind himself that he’d been forced to leave – it had been the only decision. But he’d decided that he’d never see her again – so how could she be here?

  ‘Next.’

  When he opened his eyes he thought he could see her quickly looking away and his heartbeat quickened as the colour rose in his cheeks. Snow, he thought. Cold, wet and unpleasant snow. Slush. Shards of ice. Nothing warm or inviting. Oh, Fenrir take it all.

  ‘Next.’

  Audun swallowed. He tried to find peace in watching the rune-knife gliding smoothly over the exposed forearm but his gaze kept going to her hand, then up to her shoulder and the nape of her neck, a sliver of white skin exposed under raven-black hair . . .

  Stop it! He almost punched himself out of frustration.

  ‘Next.’

  The man ahead of him moved away and suddenly there was only distance between them. The warrior, a burly greybeard named Askell, sat down and pulled up his sleeve, exposing a meaty forearm that had slightly gone to fat. Helga smiled and handed him a wrist-thick branch to hold on to with his other hand. They exchanged a few words and then she removed her knife from the fire again. Askell did not flinch when the hot metal touched his skin and Audun watched, spellbound, as the sizzling point of the knife did its dance. When it lifted, the air between the point and Askell’s forearm shimmered. The old man sat stock-still for a moment. Then he closed his eyes gently and pulverised the branch in his grip.

  ‘Oh my,’ Helga said. ‘You must have been quite a handful in your younger days.’

  Askell opened his eyes. ‘Still am,’ he rumbled. ‘Thank you,’ he added quietly before rising.

  ‘Next.’

  Audun drew a deep breath and sat down in front of her.

  Helga looked at him and for a moment there were only the two of them in the world.

  ‘Well met,’ she said.