by J. A. Snow
Leaving their wives and children behind was not Dagstorp’s only worry; he had always been afraid of horses and the prospect of riding one over the mountain pass had him terrified. Now, the herd of furry monsters, as he called them, spread out as far as the Great Sea, grazing on the last of the summer grass while Grim’s yard buzzed and hummed with the sounds of spears and battle-axes being honed, of shields and siege weapons being built; the caustic smell of burning iron from the Grim’s forges lingered in the air.
“Will all these weapons be necessary if your brother agrees to yield?” Dagstorp asked, unfamiliar with siege tactics. “Isn’t marching into Kvenland with an army a little premature?”
Logi’s eyes shifted from the troll’s stare. “We must be prepared,” he replied. “Kari has probably rallied the village to his cause by now. I think we should expect some resistance.”
With sudden clarity, Dagstorp realized that Logi had lied to him. “You never even had an agreement with your brother, did you?” he asked. His eyes were riveted on Logi like daggers. When Logi did not answer, the troll reached out and shook his arm. “It is time for the truth, Logi! You ask me to risk my life and leave my family; I deserve an honest answer, at least!”
Logi felt like a little boy being questioned by Fornjot; once again he struggled to find an appropriate story to tell. “Well,” he said after an awkward pause. “He was not as agreeable as I let you believe. I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“Hogswallow!” stormed Dagstorp. “You lied to me because you knew I would not agree to your plan!” The troll began pacing up and down, twisting his hands and shaking his head. “I am nei soldier, Logi,” he said. “Why do you need me? Wouldn’t I serve a better purpose if I stayed here to protect the women and children?”
Logi laughed. “Protect them from what? Seagulls and whitefish? This is the safest place to be in the winter. Nei one will bother them here and they have an army of women to stand guard over them.” He leaned in and whispered “Besides, I can’t leave you here with Grim’s daughters! They are like reindeer in the rutting season! They will ravage you for sure!”
He laughed again as Dagstorp stormed off to the longhouse, swearing and mumbling under his mustache. He knew he would have his way; Logi always had his way.
In the morning, as dawn was breaking to the east, the army moved out to start their journey through the mountains. Towing crude wooden catapults and armed with heavy cross-bows to wage an attack on Kari and his followers, they rode on their huge horses through the Namdalen Valley, resting overnight with Dagstorp’s friends before they ventured up the mountain. On their way again at dawn, Logi rode ahead with Valdar while Dagstorp fumbled along behind, gripping the pommel of his saddle tightly, terrified the beast between his legs would bolt and throw him to the hard ground. The mountain pass narrowed with only enough room to ride single-file and he closed his eyes to keep from seeing the craggy, barren cliffs below, envisioning his head smashed upon them. They rode through the pass without stopping, sleeping in their saddles; getting safely through the mountains was the most crucial part of their journey. When they finally reached the summit, called the keel, Valdar signaled for the men to stop before they began their descent into Kvenland. Dagstorp was delighted to get off his horse; the troll’s skin looked even greener than it had before but it certainly looked as if the worst part of the journey was over.
But, Logi was impatient. “We should wait to camp until we are on the flat land again,” he told the commander. “Why are we stopping here?”
“We have pushed them long and hard. The horses are getting troublesome,” replied Valdar. “And the men are hungry and tired too. Do not worry, Logi. Kvenland isn’t going anywhere tonight. It will be there tomorrow.”
Logi fretted and paced. He wanted to get on with it. He wanted to take Kvenland back without delay. How could he sleep with so much on his mind? But, for once, he had to bend to the wishes of another; Valdar could not be swayed. Logi’s anger festered; his arrogant nature wanted to put the commander in his place, to remind him that Logi was a jarl, not one of his subordinates. But, he kept his mouth shut and made his own plans in his head.
They spread out on a small wedge between the mountains, where there was a still a patch of summer grass for the horses to graze upon. Dagstorp watched from across the camp as Logi and Valdar, huddled together, discussed their strategy; the faithful troll had all but been forgotten in the flurry of activity. Logi was a soldier now, or at least he thought he was, and he couldn’t bother himself with a complaining troll; he was too busy with battle plans.
Finding a place under a huge rock, Dagstorp bedded down for the night, weary and sore from the ride, wondering to himself why he had ever let himself be convinced to make this miserable journey. He heard Logi laugh, an evil, cold laugh, and his blood ran cold. His poor brothers, he thought, don’t even know he is coming to kill them. The sky was vast and full of stars above him when he finally closed his eyes for sleep. Then, in the middle of a pleasant dream about his wife and baby, Dagstorp was suddenly awakened by the wind blowing underneath his blanket. He shivered and pulled it around himself without even opening his eyes. With another gust, he finally looked up; the sky had clouded over, the stars were gone and the wind had begun to howl down from the north. Across the camp, the soldiers had awakened too, and began battening down their belongings and calming the nervous horses. He sat up and felt the first snowflakes begin to sting his face.
Weather could be unpredictable in the north.
Chapter Thirty-Six “Frosti”
They waited. For Kari and Aegir, the weeks seemed to pass by very slowly; as eager as they were to have the battle over and done with, secretly they were both terrified of what their brother would do to them should he defeat them, knowing no means of torture was too cruel for Logi. Every villager was armed and ready; the plan was to gather behind the palisade walls at the first sign of a threat.
“If he doesn’t appear before the snow,” Kari told his little brother, “it is highly unlikely he will risk travelling the mountains in the wintertime. We should be safe until the spring.”
“But, how do we know he even returned to the Trondelag?” Aegir asked, mortified at the thought of battle. “What if he is somewhere in Kvenland right now, planning his attack?”
“We are ready for him, are we not?” said Kari. “We have made our palisade impenetrable and it is well-guarded. The villagers are all armed and ready. We have the gods of Asgard on our side, surely, and we will prevail! Stay strong, Brother! We will run him back to the Trondelag and rid ourselves of Logi once and for all!”
When the snow made it impossible to work on the new thingstead any longer, they abandoned it and moved inside to begin construction of another boat with Snapp and the others; staying busy helped to keep their mind off the inevitable confrontation. Kari was gentler than ever with Dansa; inside his heart was breaking to know she had gone through so much pain and humiliation at the hands of his brother. He put aside his carnal desires and comforted her, waiting for her to invite his advances. His daily promises to protect her and little Frosti slowly encouraged her and she began to feel more confident as the time passed, hopeful that Logi had gone away for good.
Little Frosti continued to be the family’s delight. From the very beginning, Dansa would bring him into the boathouse to watch the men as they worked. He was growing larger; his dark locks grew long and silky and his cheeks were always rosy from the arctic air. As he got a little older, and could finally sit without falling over, his uncle Aegir made him some tiny wooden boats to play with and he would amuse himself for hours in the boathouse, sitting in the sawdust at his father’s feet, until Dansa would come to fetch him for his mealtime.
“He will be a great sailor one day,” Aegir told the others, with as much pride as Kari was feeling.
At night, when the air became brittle and the winds blew outside the longhouse walls, the three of them, Kari, Dansa and little Frosti, would cuddle toge
ther under a thick robe of animal skins and watch the fire burning in the pit. In the flames, sometimes Kari would see his brother’s face; a young boy’s face, a face of innocence, before Logi had grown so vile and cruel. Could Logi’s near-drowning have left him unstable? he wondered. Would he even recognize the boy who had grown into a man during their separation? Then, he would look upon the face of his beloved Dansa, and the rage would come back in his heart. He knew he had to cut himself off from the brother who had taken something precious from him that could never be replaced or forgotten. Logi would pay for his unforgivable sins! It was a sentiment that his brother, Aegir, and everyone in the village shared.
“You don’t have to go to war for me,” Dansa told him one night. She did not reveal how much she feared the coming battle. She knew first-hand how vicious her brother-in-law was and she knew he would kill Kari without blinking an eye.
“I am doing this for the good of everyone in the village,” Kari whispered and kissed her gently. “Logi must be stopped before he does any more damage.”
He held her then, stroking her hair, with baby Frosti sound asleep between them. The fire flickered in the pit. Across the room his mother and brother slept peacefully. Everyone he loved was in this room and he was determined to keep them safe from harm.
But weeks went by and Logi made no appearance; soon the snow was too deep for travel. The Gandvik froze over solid and villagers moved indoors to work. The boat-building continued, uninterrupted, and life in Kvenland went on without any sighting of Logi.
For once, an early winter was a blessing. But, an early winter could also mean an early spring and the ominous prospect of Logi’s return.
Chapter Thirty-Seven “Odin’s Return”
The freakish, heavy snowstorm lasted for three days, covering the mountain in a thick blanket of white. Valdar had rousted the men at the first onslaught of flakes and wind and they had saddled their horses to press on; better to fight the blinding snow than be trapped there until spring! But their forward momentum was quickly thwarted; the snow came down relentlessly and the pass was soon blocked in both directions. The horses were having great difficulty making headway through the deep drifts. They had two choices, Logi told the commander: they could abandon the horses and siege weapons and try to make it down off the mountain on foot or stay and freeze to death on the keel.
“I’ll not leave my horses to die on this mountain!” said Valdar vehemently. “They are fine animals, the finest in the north!”
“It is impossible,” said Logi. “The horses are exhausted and there is nothing to feed them. They will die soon anyway. We have nei choice but to make the descent on foot.”
“Horses are stronger than men,” said Valdar. “If we can make it then they can too!”
Dagstorp listened from across the camp, knowing the poor commander would most likely be convinced to see things Logi’s way. Logi always had his way, he thought miserably. But, as it turned out, the weather trumped even Logi’s determination. The horses could not make it through the deep snow but neither could the men. It looked as if the army might be trapped on the mountain-top and they would all face freezing and starving to death. Logi was furious with Valdar.
“You are risking all our lives to save a few stupid horses!” he raved, finally unable to keep his temper in check. The closer they got to Kvenland and the grand coronation Logi imagined in his head, the bolder and brasher be became. “Leave them behind, I say. Carve them up and let the men gain their strength before it is too late for all of us!”
Valdar refused to be intimidated by Logi. He watched as the insolent would-be jarl stomped away, pouting like a spoiled child.
As night fell, Logi built a huge bonfire in the center of the camp, wasting half the wood Valdar had been using only sparingly, in an effort to make the fuel last. The men huddled close to the raging flames, warming themselves with short-lived comfort. The food rations were running low, for their journey was taking twice as long as expected, and firewood was becoming scarce for they were still far above the timberline. As a last resort, Logi finally came and sought out Dagstorp’s wisdom. “What do you suggest?” he asked.
Dagstorp had spent days and nights being ignored by his giant friend and his feelings were hurt. He rolled over in his blanket and tried to ignore Logi now.
“I say, Dagstorp!” Logi persisted. “Wake up, Man. I need your advice! How do we get out of this mess?”
Dagstorp sat up finally and stared at Logi with dull eyes. “You don’t listen to me, Logi,” he replied curtly. “You never have. Why would you start listening to me now?”
“Because, Valdar thinks we should try to make it down the mountain on horseback. I say leave the beasts and fend for ourselves! What do you think?” Logi asked.
“I think it is probably unlikely any of us will make it out of here alive,” said Dagstorp sadly. “This was a foolish mission from the beginning. It is a sin to kill your own brothers and the gods are punishing us all for your evil plan.”
Logi looked forlorn. His shoulders slumped with defeat. “Kvenland is mine,” he mumbled. “Odin lied to me. I never should have left my home for the Trondelag! I would be jarl by now!”
“It’s a little late for remorse,” said Dagstorp. “Go to sleep, Logi. Maybe in the morning things will not look so bleak.”
Logi bedded down beside his faithful troll, just as he had on the many nights when they travelled through Kvenland together. He could hear Dagstorp’s snores and see his breath rising against the frigid air. Logi hadn’t felt this cold since diving into the frozen lake back home and he was numb from the stinging pain of it. He closed his eyes and was encouraged by Dagstorp’s words. Things will look better in the morning. He had to sleep. Sleep, he told himself. Sleep!
“Wake up Logi!” The voice was insistent. “Wake up!”
Annoyed, Logi stirred and looked up to see Odin standing over him.
“Have you come to gloat over my frozen corpse?” Logi asked sourly. “Sorry to disappoint you but I am not dead just yet.”
Odin was wrapped in luxurious, white ermine from head to toe and he blended in with the snow around them except for the shimmering blue rings adorning his long beard. He sat down beside Logi. “You have certainly made a mess of things,” he said, shaking his head. “Why did you not stay in the Trondelag like I told you? Why do you insist on going back to Kvenland?”
Logi sat up. “And let my brothers have it? Never!” he fumed. “And, the Trondelag? You failed to mention that I would have competition for the throne! Nothing was as you promised!”
“Stupid boy,” muttered Odin. “You have nei patience. You are always in such a hurry to get what you want. I never told you there would not be complications.”
“You told me you would make me a god!” said Logi. “You said I could be whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want! You lied to me!”
Odin laughed then, rolling his one good eye and then shaking his finger in Logi’s face. Just like Papi, thought Logi. He is just like Papi! “You are a spoiled boy” said Odin, “and, I am beginning to think you do not have the makings of a jarl.”
Pausing a moment to absorb the words, Logi breathed in deeply, as if fanning the fire within him. He stood up and reached for Odin, grasping the old god around the throat and shaking him violently from side to side like a mad dog. He squeezed with his hands so forcefully he could feel the veins in Odin’s neck popping under his fingers. Tears of rage ran down his face. Die old man! Die! I hate you! I hate you! he kept repeating until he could feel the life escape from the god’s body in a long, hideous moan. He let go and collapsed back on his blanket. The cold mountain air rippled his flesh and he shivered. “You will never lie to me again, old man,” he said flatly, without emotion, and turned to look one more time at the dead god’s grotesque, one-eyed face. With surprise, he focused on the body beside him and, with a great gasp, realized what he had done.
It was not Odin but Dagstorp’s lifeless body that lay beside him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight “A Giant’s Strength”
“He was an old man,” Logi tried to explain Dagstorp’s sudden death in the night to Valdar the next morning. “Maybe the cold was too much for him.”
“We should give him a proper burial,” Valdar said, feeling bad that he had quarreled with Logi the night before. “Poor old bugger. I am sorry about your friend, Logi.”
“I’ll do it,” Logi replied. “You all go on ahead so we won’t lose time. I’ll catch up.”
The army broke camp and moved on without him. Logi remained behind to bury the troll’s body in the snow, for the ground was frozen solid. He was anxious to lose sight of the corpse’s lifeless eyes and cold, green skin, a reminder of what he had done, but he also had another secret motive, much more sinister.
By the time he joined them again, the army was attempting to forge ahead in the deep snow, making slow progress. The horses were growing weak by then, after days without enough food and Valdar finally ordered his men to dismount and walk alongside them to save the beasts’ strength. Using their axes and shields as makeshift shovels, they inched along slowly, clearing a path down the mountainside, barely gaining a mile a day. They spent the next several weeks in the freezing darkness that turned the men’s noses and fingers blue, for what was left of their fuel was used up; they had broken up the catapult for firewood already, hoping the wood would last them down the mountain. The men were growing cantankerous and short with each other. When the food was finally gone, they fought over branches and twigs as if they were fighting over savory morsels of meat. When a bit of meat finally did appear, in the form of a mangy, brown field mouse scurrying through the camp, one man trapped it and tore it apart, devouring it raw, bones and all, and then puked it out onto the pristine snow. Some of the men cut up their saddles into pieces and boiled them over the fire, making a brown, leather soup that tasted bitter and smelled awful but, at least, filled their stomachs with warm liquid. The situation was bleak and growing bleaker. Never had the soldiers been so desperately hungry. Strangely, Logi seemed to be faring better than the other men; he seemed to have retained his strength while the others were fading quickly.