Sky intrigues her. He is taller than her by two heads, and three years younger, though she treats him as an equal. She plies him with questions: about the bird, about Jotunheim, about his size. He answers as best as he is able, through a combination of gesture and mime. At times, her boldness shocks him. Yesterday, when we were eating, she looked at him and said: “Have you always been mute, or did it come upon you suddenly?” Sky nearly choked on his food, and there was a long awkward silence while she awaited his response. His eyes darted briefly to me, then back to her, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Finally, he nodded. I think she realised she had erred then. “It is ill luck,” she said gently, “though you wear your silence bravely.” Sky flushed, embarrassed by her comments.
She accompanies him each morning on his rambles. The first day, he seemed uneasy when she suggested it, but this morning he waited patiently while she readied herself. She has already overcome his natural shyness. I see her chatting amiably to him as they climb the slope behind the house. It is good for him, for the boy lives too much inside himself, and it is impossible to do so in her presence.
I’ve not yet spoken to her of Odin. In truth, I am uncertain what to say. I did not expect to grow so fond of her. She reminds me of a younger version of myself, before I was flung out in the world to experience all its failings. We were both raised without mothers, and thus without a model of the women we should be. And she is blessed and hampered by her beauty, just as I was. But her spirit is pure, like a bone bleached white by the sun.
Perhaps because of this, I realise now that I must tell her the truth. Odin may arrive at any time. I do not want his sudden appearance to alarm her, nor jeopardise the bond that she and I have formed. But the prospect makes me uneasy. Since our return, I have tried not to dwell on the Brisingamen, and have endeavoured to separate the necklace and the girl in my mind. But I feel its absence acutely, like a lost limb. And I hope that the chain of events I have set in motion has a purpose. Otherwise, I could not justify my deceit to this girl. Most of all, I remain anxious over Hekla. Since our return, she continues to smoulder, occasionally belching forth great clouds of smoke and dust.
When Sky and Fulla finally return, they are ruddy-faced and mud-splattered. Fulla leads the way energetically, while Sky trails several paces behind in his absent way. The hawk wheels high overhead. “Sky took me to a waterfall,” she says a little breathlessly. “It was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. There were giant ferns growing out of the top, and great clouds of steam billowing up from the bottom.”
Sky stands in the doorway, the hawk perched upon his arm. I glance at him and he nods briefly. “Come in and warm yourselves,” I say. “I’ve made some soup.” We eat in silence and afterwards, Sky excuses himself, for he seems to understand that his presence is suddenly a burden. I am beginning to realise how extraordinary his perceptions are, as if his muteness heightens his other senses.
I turn to her once he is gone. “I have a story to tell you,” I begin tentatively. She looks at me with interest, and I feel a clench of apprehension deep inside. “Some time ago, there lived a great leader. He was a man of many abilities: he had infinite knowledge of all things past and perfect powers of persuasion.The man travelled widely, and he was trusted and admired everywhere he went. The people did his bidding, and on the whole, they benefited. But he was not without his failings. Like many men, he was governed by his passions, so although he was married, he was often unfaithful. One day, he met a young woman with whom he became infatuated. He wooed her incessantly, and in the end, she submitted to his claims. They had a passionate affair. Not long after, she fell pregnant. As she was already married, she banished him for ever and resolved never to disclose her child’s true paternity to her husband.
“Sadly, she died giving birth to a daughter. The child was raised by her father and cherished as his own. But tragedy struck again, for he too was killed when the girl was only young. She was taken in by his family and, despite her misfortune, she flourished and grew into a beautiful young woman.” I pause.
Fulla is no longer smiling. She listens intently, her head at an angle, her dark eyes unreadable. I take a deep breath. “Until the day her real father decided they should meet. He sent someone to fetch her and take her to a secret place, where he ordered them to await his arrival. This they did with little trouble, for the girl was of a trusting nature and easily misled. But after a brief time, her captor began to regret her actions, for she’d grown fond of the girl and no longer had the heart to deceive her. So she told her the truth, and bade her make a choice.”
My voice trails off. Fulla sits before me, immobile, though I can see the rise and fall of her chest.The silence in the room swells, threatening to consume us both.
“Is this a joke?” she asks finally, her voice barely more than a whisper.
I shake my head. “No.”
She swallows. “How can you be certain?”
“Your father is many things, but he is not a liar.”
“Who is he?”
I hesitate. “I would rather let him tell you.”
She frowns. “And the choice you spoke of?”
“To stay here with me and wait for him. Or return to your home.” She looks at me, weighing up her answer.
“I chose to come here,” she says pointedly. “Of my own accord.”
“I know this,” I reply. “I also have an idea why.”
She regards me uncertainly.
“Your grandfather intends to send you abroad.”
“Yes.”
“And you do not wish to go.”
She takes a deep breath and exhales, her nostrils flaring slightly. “No,” she says. I wait to see if she will tell me more. “May I ask you something?” she says finally.
“Of course.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
The question startles me. I look at her and see the tangled rod of emotion that runs through her, can feel the hot radiance of her youth. I realise that I am no longer capable of such feelings. I am as strong and pale and cool as the moon.
“No,” I answer.
It is only the tiniest of lies.
Afterwards, she retires to her bedchamber, and does not emerge for the rest of the day. Once again, I feel a deep sense of loss. Any connection between the girl and me now seems severed. Evening falls, and Sky and I take our meal together in the hall, as is our custom. More than once, he glances towards Fulla’s room with a questioning look, but I offer no explanation. Finally, when he has gone to bed, I venture towards her door. I knock softly, then ease the door open. The room is dark. She sits upon the edge of her bed, like a prisoner awaiting a sentence.
“Fulla?” I speak softly.
She turns to me.
“I thought you were sleeping.” She shakes her head. I take a few steps towards her. “Are you hungry?” She looks away, does not even glance in my direction.With a sigh, I move to the bed and sit down beside her. “I am sorry if I deceived you.”
“Your deceit is the least of my concerns.” Her voice is flat.
“You have two fathers, not one. Is that such a bad thing?”
She looks at me with a frown. “And my mother?” she asks.
“Your mother gave you life. And sacrificed her own.”
“He loved her, until the day he died. He never loved anyone but her.”
“He loved you.”
She considers this for a moment. “But I was not even his.”
“You think that mattered to him. Then or now?”
Her lower lip trembles slightly. “I don’t know.” She looks around the room. “I am no longer certain of anything.”
“Love is not an offering that we choose to bestow, Fulla.” The words surprise me, once they have been uttered.
“I don’t know what love is,” she says bitterly. “Did my mother love my father?”
I shrug. “She may have. Constancy and love do not always walk together.”
“They ought
to,” she replies hotly. Then she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I thought I loved someone once,” she says. “Now I do not know.” Her voice trails off.
“Then stay and meet Odin. Afterwards, you can decide your future.”
Too late, I realise my mistake. She looks at me with surprise. “Odin?”
I pause before replying. “He is a man like any other, Fulla. No more, no less.”
“When will he come?”
“Soon.” I hesitate. “Will you be here?” “Soon.” I hesitate. “Will you be here?”
She looks me in the eye. “Yes.”
DVALIN
Before he died, his father had told him how to find Asgard. He was an old man by then, and his breath came in short bursts. His voice had deepened and was gravelly with age. “There is a pass through the mountains,” he confided. The old man paused briefly to clear the stones from his throat. “Its entrance is concealed by water,” he continued, raising his hand high up in the air, then letting it swoop gently down like an eagle. “The water falls from a great height, and it cleaves neatly into three rivers at the bottom. Each one takes a different direction.”With the same hand, he cut cleanly through the air as if he was chopping wood: one, two, three. “That is how you will find it. Look for the join of three rivers.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Dvalin had asked.
His father frowned. “I thought that you might want to find her,” he replied.
Dvalin pursed his lips. He had no desire to see his mother. “You were wrong.”
“Do not banish her from your heart, Dvalin. She loved you, as best as she was able.” He looked into his father’s eyes, now watery with age, and wondered how he knew this to be true.
They did not discuss it again. But since that day, Dvalin’s dreams have been disturbed by the confluence of rivers. Already he can see them in his mind. And when he finally sets out to find them, he knows they will be there. It takes him most of a day to reach the mountains. He camps beside a small stream just as dark is falling, and is so tired that sleep takes him instantly. When he wakes in the morning, the sun has nearly crested the horizon. He packs his things and heads north along the range, but does not hurry. He knows that Fulla is safe. And Asgard will wait for him, just as it has always done. By noon, he is riding beside a river, and before long, he spies a second stream of water running parallel to the first, at a distance of several hundred paces.
The river winds through a small forest of fir trees, the interior cool and deathly still.When he emerges, he sees the third river in the distance, a long shimmering silver snake. Beyond it, he spies the source of all three, an enormous cascade of water falling out of the mountain. He stops short.The sight unnerves him. The cataract is taller than any he has ever seen, reaching high up to the crags, the top obscured from view.The water plummets in a thick, furious froth, and as he draws near, the sound of it blots out all others. When he is twenty paces away, he climbs off his horse and leads it forward by hand.The horse shies, and he covers its head with a blanket to muffle the sound and erase the view. The plunge pool at the bottom is deep and treacherous, and is surrounded by a ring of massive boulders. He peers closely at the flow of water, but can see no opening behind. Only when he leads the horse right up to its edge, so that they are both quickly soaked in spray, does he see the mouth of darkness concealed there. He realises with a sinking feeling that they must cross through the edge of the flow to gain access to the opening. He climbs upon the horse and bends low over its neck, speaking quietly but firmly into its ear. The horse sidesteps nervously when he urges it forward, so he allows it to turn away and retreat a safe distance.
He spends nearly an hour contemplating what must be done. All the time he reassures the horse, speaking to it calmly and continuously, lulling it into obedience with his voice. Finally, when the horse has adjusted to the sight and sound of the water, he kicks it swiftly into a gallop and heads for the edge of the cascade. At the last moment, he fears the horse will falter. He can feel its muscles tense beneath him, can almost hear the silent scream of its nerves. He urges it forward, and in the next instant, time stops. He is moving weightless, through the air, the great bulk of the horse beneath him, the water a vast wall of white ahead. He feels himself nearly lose his seat, and then there is the hard slap of water, followed by the sudden jolt of landing. The horse stops at once, breathing hard in the darkness. Dvalin slips from its side and hangs his arms around its neck, speaking to it reassuringly. The cave is cold and clammy, the thundering curtain of water now behind them. A foul stench emanates from the walls, which are bearded by a shaggy coat of moss. Here and there, water runs in tiny streams down the sides and along the floor. He takes a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness.When he can see the path ahead, he leads the horse slowly forward. The cave twists and turns, and at one point narrows so much that he fears they will not be able to pass, but then it widens out and he sees daylight ahead. Both he and the horse move quickly towards it.
They reach the opening with relief. He sees that they are half way up the mountain, a wide green valley spread beneath them.The massive, snow-clad cone of Hekla towers in the distance, ringed by a lesser range of craggy peaks. He surveys the land laid out before him. It is lush, green and wild. Magnificently untouched by the hands of men. The way things ought to be, he thinks ruefully. Perhaps heaven is a place defined by man’s absence. He descends the slope and heads across the valley following a southeast trajectory. Freya told him once that Sessruminger lay south and east of Hekla, and that her farm occupied one of the highest elevations in Asgard. She spoke only sparingly of her home, but each word she offered is burnt into his mind. For the rest of the afternoon, he follows the southern contour of the range that skirts the glacier.
It is dusk when he catches sight of it: a high stone wall clinging dangerously to the side of the mountain in front of him. He can just make out the line of a carved wooden roof behind it. His insides tighten, for he knows with certainty that she is there. He scans the side of the mountain. A thin trail zigzags up the slope and circles back out of sight behind the wall. He begins the ascent, just as the sun erupts in a hot sphere of colour behind him. As he climbs, he feels increasingly exposed, as if he is being watched from above. Freya once told him that Sessruminger was impregnable to outsiders. Now he understands why. Because it is impossible to approach without being detected from above.
When he reaches the top, he follows the line of the wall until he locates the opening. He passes inside without pausing. The house sits in front of him, with two smaller buildings flanking it. Between the gate and the house is a courtyard planted with flowers and paved with grey stone. At its centre is a small circular pool, fed by a spring. He dismounts and leads the horse over to the pool to drink, then stoops down himself to cup water from the spring. He rises when he is finished. Freya stands motionless in the doorway wearing a pale green pleated dress secured by two silver brooches on each shoulder. Her face is deathly white, as if the blood has just been drained from it. He looks for the necklace, but cannot see it. “Dvalin,” she says, her surprise plainly evident. She takes a step forward.
He does not speak, for he finds that all the words of anger he rehearsed have flown like starlings from his mind. He had forgotten quite how beautiful she was. More beautiful than any woman ought to be, he thinks now. The sort of beauty that clouds one’s purpose.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. Her face is a changing landscape of emotion. He watches each one blow past: surprise, confusion, disbelief.
“I have come for Fulla,” he says.
“Fulla?” Her expression turns to one of complete bewilderment.
“She is the daughter of my oldest friend. Did she not tell you?”
Freya shakes her head. “How did you find us?” she asks.
He walks slowly towards her. “You forget I am my father’s son,” he says, regaining his purpose. “We dwarves understand all manner of things. The sound a cat makes whe
n it moves. The breath of a fish. The roots of a mountain.” He pauses just a few feet from her. His words have silenced her. She regards him uncertainly.
“You knew she was with me,” she says.
He reaches inside the pocket of his cloak. “I found this at the baths.” He holds up the feather. Freya’s eyes fix on it. “Where is she?”
“She is well cared for.”
“Her family is anxious for her return.”
“Perhaps she does not wish to go.”
“Is that her talking? Or you?”
“You can ask her yourself.”
“I intend to.” He takes a deep breath and regards her for a moment. “Am I to believe that you befriended her and brought her here of her own bidding?”
“It was not that simple,” she says evasively.
“Nothing ever is.”
She hesitates. “What if I told you that Odin is her real father?”
“I would say that you were wrong.”
“Are you certain?” she asks.
“Her father was my oldest friend,” he replies.
“And her mother?” Freya raises an eyebrow.
Dvalin pauses. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “That is a different story,” he says finally.
“Then perhaps you should start there.”
Dvalin frowns at the memory. “She did not love him,” he says slowly.
“Yet you doubt me now?”
He thinks of Jarl’s wife: elegant, proud, imperious. When it suited her, she was capable of great charm. But her coldness had unsettled him. And she brought Jarl only a small measure of happiness during their life together. “The marriage was a troubled one,” he says. “She was unhappy at Laxardal and often journeyed home to her father’s estate. She forbade Jarl to accompany her, and took only her maidservant and a farmhand as an escort.” His voice trails off.
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