“None. And no sign of the cliff that should surround this place.”
“That shadow-sphere may have transported us somewhere else,” Guthrun speculated as she got unsteadily to her feet. Bloodsong also stood up.
“You saved us from capture, Guthrun. You faced the darkness within you and won, and this time you did it alone, without Huld’s guidance and help.” She pulled Guthrun into her arms and held her tightly. “I’m proud of you, Daughter, very proud.”
“I just hope I don’t have to do it again for a while,” Guthrun replied, shuddering as she remembered the coiling inner horrors she had fought.
Mother and daughter went to Ulfhild and Huld. As they unstrapped Huld, the Berserker began to awaken.
Huld was breathing easier, and the corpse-gray skin that had covered half of her face had receded until it now only stretched from her chin to her shoulder. “She’s responding to the Freya-power here,” Guthrun said with relief. “She’s winning the fight!”
* * *
Shortly after sunset, with the brightest stars already twinkling overhead, Huld awoke. The corpse-gray patch of skin had receded until it only surrounded the scratch on her throat, and that, too, was now rapidly fading away.
She looked up at the three women frowning down at her. Bloodsong had dressed in the extra clothing Guthrun had brought. Her scabbarded sword was strapped across her back. Ulfhild, spurning even the fur-lined cloak in the summer-like warmth of Freya’s Wood, remained unclothed, but she held her battle-ax in her hand.
Huld attempted a smile, but the movement of her recently inflamed facial muscles caused her such pain that the attempt became a grimace instead. She groaned and started to sit up.
Guthrun reached out and helped her.
“I hurt everywhere,” Huld said, gasping, “but especially my face and neck.”
“Be grateful that you can still feel pain,” Bloodsong told her.
“Aye,” Ulfhild agreed.
“You nearly died, Huld,” Guthrun added. “That Death Rider’s sword scratched your neck.”
“That explains the nightmares I’ve been fighting, horrors of every description clawing at me, trying to turn me into one of them.” Huld looked around her. The forest surrounding the hilltop was still dimly visible beneath the crimson-and-purple twilight sky. “I assume,” she said, “that this is the Wood of Freya’s Woe?”
“Aye,” Bloodsong replied. “Guthrun says you have the Freya-Magic here to thank for still being alive.”
“I guided them here,” Guthrun said quickly. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but after you fell unconscious it was necessary for me to probe your thoughts.”
“I dreamed of you at one point,” Huld said, remembering. “It was a comfort to feel your presence during my struggles. There is nothing to forgive. Under the circumstances, I certainly would have given my permission. But how did you acquire the power to do so? Did you go into your darkness? Alone?”
“That she did,” Ulfhild answered, “and from the way it caused her to struggle, it was a worthy battle she fought and won.”
“A battle such as you could not even imagine,” Huld replied with concern, reaching out and grasping Guthrun’s hand. “Are you all right, Guthrun? I mean, really all right?”
“Yes,” Guthrun answered, giving Huld’s hand a squeeze. “I’m fine. And you? The scratch is gone now,” she added, looking at Huld’s throat.
Huld felt her throat. “The pain is less already,” she said, working her jaw experimentally, “but I sense—” She frowned, half closing her eyes. “I sense Lokith’s presence.”
The other three tensed. Ulfhild lifted her ax.
“We were certain that he had not followed,” Bloodsong said.
“We were certain that he could not follow,” Guthrun added.
Huld nodded. “Put down your ax, Ulfhild. What I sensed was not Lokith, himself, but a thin veil of his magic surrounding Freya’s Wood. It’s probably an energy barrier of some kind, which he left to warn him if we leave. We are safe from him here.”
“But we can’t fight him from here,” Bloodsong responded. “We’ll have to leave and confront him, eventually. For now, though, let’s have something to eat and then try to get some sleep. My beastform didn’t feel fatigued by ail that running, but now that I’m back in human form, I’m feeling disturbingly tired.”
“And it seems we’re stuck with our human forms here,” Ulfhild complained. “I tried to shift a little while ago and could not. Evidently, Odin’s magic doesn’t work here.”
“Nor does Hel’s,” Guthrun added. “When it started to get dark, I tried to invoke my night-vision spell and could not.”
“But wait till you see how well my magic works here.” Huld laughed.
“Even though there seems to be no danger,” Bloodsong said, “we will each take a watch tonight. I’ll stand watch first.”
“I’m more used to the rigors of using my beastform,” Ulfhild responded. “Let me stand first watch, Runethroat. You need sleep right away. I can see you swaying on your feet.”
“Ulfhild’s right, Mother,” Guthrun said, taking Bloodsong’s arm. “Let her take the first watch.”
“Very well,” Bloodsong replied after a slight hesitation, “but I want to be wakened for the second watch, Ulfhild. Agreed?”
“Of course, but first, you mentioned food?”
When they had eaten some of the meager fare that had been stored in the hidden cache, all save Ulfhild stretched out on the ground to sleep.
“We’ll fight and defeat him somehow, Mother,” Guthrun assured Bloodsong, reaching over in the dark to squeeze her mother’s hand, “and free our friends in the encampment.”
“Aye,” Bloodsong agreed, “except for Grimnir.” Tears stung her eyes.
“Odin grant he’s feasting in Valhalla,” Guthrun said, touching her mother’s arm.
“If ever a warrior deserved it,” Ulfhild responded, “it is Grimnir. I salute and honor his memory.”
“Thank you, both,” Bloodsong replied, “but he died from Hel-magic, and I’m worried that his soul may have been dragged to Helheim.”
“He died with sword in hand, Mother,” Guthrun quickly said, “and remember that he died because he would not stop resisting Lokith’s Hel-magic, to save us. I pity Hel if She tries to hold him!”
“I agree,” Huld quietly said. “He’s with Odin.”
Guthrun said, “I’ll miss him. He was like—” Her voice caught.
“Like a father?” Bloodsong suggested, fighting to keep her own voice steady. “Like the father you never knew?”
Guthrun smiled. “He was the father I knew.”
“We’ll avenge him, Daughter. This I vow. If for no other reason than Grimnir’s death, Lokith is doomed.”
Bloodsong tried for a moment then to force her weary mind to think about ways Lokith might tie destroyed, but her exhaustion foiled each attempt, and so, holding Guthrun’s hand, she gave herself to sleep.
My thanks, Freya, Huld thought, looking up at the stars twinkling like gemstones overhead, for this place of refuge, and for my life. All praise be to You, Lady of the Vanir, she added, then quieted her thoughts and let sleep enfold her.
NIGHT HAD FALLEN in the encampment. The fire in the hut had died to crackling embers that glowed and smoked. The prisoners had not replenished it. New smoke might be noticed outside. As a result, the temperature within the hut had cooled. All but Thora, whose turn it was to watch the yard of the encampment through the window crack, were huddled near the hearth, shivering, their breath frosty.
“It’s dark enough outside now,” Tyrulf said. “If someone doesn’t come soon, we’re going to have to risk luring the guard inside. Odin help us, we’ll freeze if we—”
“Someone’s coming,” Thora whispered.
“That was fast, Odin.” Tyrulf remarked.
“Positions!” Valgerth hissed. She quickly stretched out on her side on the cold earthen floor, facing the door, and arranged her arms and legs behind her as if still bound. All the others did the same, except for Thorfinn, who pressed himself flat against the wall near the door and waited with the upraised poker.
“A bit chilly tonight,” they heard a man say outside.
“A bit?” a different voice responded. “I’m frozen to this spot. Have I done something to anger Torg? I thought he’d forgotten me.”
“He did.”
“Curse him!”
“But I remembered.”
“My thanks!”
“In Torg’s defense, he has been preoccupied with two reluctant wenches from amongst the prisoners.”
“Two?”
“His and yours.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Have you checked on the prisoners recently?”
“Why should I? They’re naked and chained.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“Especially at the women?”
“Arrange for someone to relieve me around midnight.”
“Gladly.”
From inside, waiting with the poker, Thorfinn heard boots crunching snow as one guard left. The door was unlocked. It opened.
Thorfinn swung the poker at the startled guard’s neck beneath his chin to avoid a clang against his metal battle helm. The poked crushed the soldier’s windpipe before he could make a sound. As the Hel-warrior went down, the spear he’d been holding dropped from his hand. Thorfinn grabbed it as it fell.
“Well struck,” Valgerth said as she scrambled to her feet.
“And nice catch,” Tyrulf added as he stood. He turned to help Jalna but was too late.
Thorfinn tossed the poker to Valgerth.
The fallen guard fought to breathe through his ruined windpipe but a moment more, than stopped trying, dead.
Through the open door came distant male laughter mingled with a woman’s sobs.
“Curse them all,” Jalna growled.
Thorfinn closed the door.
Valgerth and Jalna hurried to remove the dead guard’s clothing for Thorfinn to wear.
Thorfinn began dressing in the guard’s clothes. “Still warm,” he commented.
“I wish I was,” Tyrulf responded.
Thorfinn buckled the Hel-warrior’s weapon belt around his waist. He gave Valgerth the guard’s sword and Jalna the dead man’s dagger.
Valgerth tossed the poker aside, now that she had a sword, and handed Thorfinn the guard’s cloak, but he shook his head.
“I don’t need it to fool other guards,” he said. “Take it yourself, or cut it up for the children.”
“For the children, then,” Valgerth responded.
“Give it here,” Jalna said. “I’ll use this dagger.”
“There’s no time!” Thora complained. “Don’t treat us like babies!”
“Right,” Yngvar agreed. “You wear it, Mother, please?”
Valgerth gripped Yngvar’s shoulder. “Thanks, son.”
He smiled as he watched his mother slip on the cloak.
“We’ll follow the plan and try to reach our home first,” Valgerth said, “and get everyone clothes from our hidden cache.”
Tyrulf grabbed the poker off the floor where Valgerth had tossed it.
Thorfinn, holding the guard’s spear, asked, “Is everyone ready?”
“Yes,” Tyrulf said, “to acquire some clothes.”
Jalna shook her head. “Whiner.”
“I want them for you!”
“Liar.”
“Can I help it if I am tired of seeing you naked?”
She laughed softly. “By the way, everyone, if we encounter the man who pawed me, I claim the right to kill him. Bloodsong and freedom.” She kissed the blade of her dagger.
“Bloodsong and freedom,” Valgerth echoed, kissing the blade of her sword.
“Bloodsong and freedom,” said Tyrulf, “but I’m not kissing this cursed cold poker.”
“Skadi grant we see Freyadis and Guthrun and free them,” Valgerth said. She knew they might already be dead, but she also knew that if there had been a way to escape, Bloodsong would have found it.
Thorfinn opened the door, carefully studied the immediate area, saw no Hel-warriors nearby, stepped outside, waited a moment, checked all around, then motioned for the others to follow.
Valgerth was the last outside. She closed the door behind her and hurried after the others, the guard’s sword in her hand and his cloak over her shoulders.
They reached Valgerth’s and Thorfinn’s log-walled, thatch-roofed dwelling, not far from the main longhouse. The door stood open. The dwelling was dark and silent.
“Probably looted,” Thorfinn said, “curse them.”
“But our cache is well hidden,” Valgerth promised.
When everyone was inside, Thorfinn closed the door halfway then stood watch just within the entrance.
Valgerth hurried through the darkness to the loose floorboards that concealed their cache, found with relief that it had not been disturbed, and by feel began hurriedly handing out spare weapons and clothing. She wished for light but knew it could not be risked. “Where is that cursed rope?” she whispered, searching the corners of the now emptied, hollowed-out depression beneath the floorboards. “Thora. Yngvar. Have you been playing with our rope again?”
There was silence for a moment, then Thora said, “Yes, Mother. I know you said not to, but—”
“And you obviously didn’t put it back where it belonged,” Valgerth fumed. “Where is it?”
“I think,” Yngvar said hesitantly, “that we had it in the longhouse this morning.”
Valgerth sighed. “We’ll just have to do without it, then. We can cut up a cloak and tied the pieces together to get out of a watchtower and over the side.”
“I’ll do it,” Jalna said. “I’m already dressed.”
“She dresses fast,” Tyrulf said, “but undresses slower than any woman I’ve ever—”
“Silence!” Jalna hissed, and began cutting up a cloak.
* * *
When everyone was dressed and ready, Thorfinn concealed the make-shift rope Jalna had made from the cloak under his own cloak, and slipped outside. Dressed in the Hel-warrior’s clothing, he walked to the nearest watchtower, climbed its wooden ladder, and disappeared inside.
The shadows in the tower were too dark for those who watched to see what was happening there, but within a few moments they saw a man start to climb down, stop, and climb back into the shadows.
“That’s the signal,” Valgerth said. “One at a time now. You first, Yngvar, then Thora. Keep to the shadows from dwelling to dwelling as best you can, then walk, don’t run, the final distance to the tower.”
She quickly embraced her son, then motioned for him to go.
Holding an unsheathed dagger beneath his cloak, Yngvar stepped outside and hurried from shadow to shadow toward the tower.
The greatest danger of one of the guards in the other towers seeing him was during the final walk to the tower and the climb up the ladder, but Yngvar made it and Valgerth breathed a sigh of relief. Then she embraced Thora and sent her out to try it too. Beneath her cloak Thora held a dagger of her own.
Thora also reached the safety of the tower without incident. “You’re next, Jalna,” Valgerth whispered.
“I never agreed to that,” Jalna replied. “Go next, Valgerth. Our luck may not hold for three more trips, and I want you to be with your family. Gods willing, Tyrulf and I won’t be far behind.”
Valgerth started to argue, then gripped Jalna’s hand in thanks and hurried into the night. She still had the stolen sword but now also a longbow and a quiver of arrows.
“Jalna,” Tyrulf whis
pered urgently. “Look there.” He pointed. Three Hel-warriors had emerged from the longhouse.
Unable to see them from her position behind a dwelling, Valgerth continued on toward the tower.
Jalna and Tyrulf watched tensely, worrying that Valgerth was going to be seen, but while the three Hel-warriors concentrated upon relieving their bladders against the side of the longhouse, Valgerth made it across the final distance, up the ladder, and into the tower.
“Aren’t they ever going back inside?” Tyrulf whispered, watching the three Hel-warriors.
Jalna didn’t reply, tensely gripping a sword Valgerth had given her from the cache. In Tyrulf’s hands was an ax. There had not been enough cloaks for them both. Tyrulf insisted that Jalna take the last one.
The three warriors finally began walking back toward the entrance to the longhouse. But then one casually glanced toward the hut from which the prisoners had escaped, raised one hand, and started to wave a greeting.
JaIna cursed as she saw two of the warriors start walking toward the hut while the third slipped back into the longhouse. “Someone must have noticed no one was standing guard outside the hut.”
“If we make a run for the tower now and are seen,” Tyrulf whispered, “it will alert them to where the others have gone.”
“Aye,” Jalna agreed. “We’d best stay put for now and give Valgerth’s family a good head start.”
“Torg will launch a thorough search,” Tyrulf told her. “They’re bound to look in here sooner or later.”
“Then perhaps we should go elsewhere now. With the long winter night and shadows as our ally, we can lead them a good chase, even here within the compound, killing one whenever possible.”
“Aye. The longer we keep them busy, the farther Valgerth and her brood can get before they are pursued.” Tyrulf gripped Jalna’s arm. “This might be fun.”
Jalna kissed him. “If it comes to it, Tyrulf, there’s no one, other than Bloodsong, I’d rather die fighting back-to-back with than you.”
“I love you, too.”
“But I’ve no intention of dying. If we create enough confusion, we might find a way to escape. Maybe use the tunnel beneath the longhouse, if they have not discovered it.”
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