Dvalin stops chewing and looks at her. “She was my father’s third wife.”
“Oh.” She frowns. She starts to speak, then hesitates.
“What is it?”
“Your father has been dead some years, and Gerd is closer to your age than his. Surely he would not begrudge a union now.”
“Fulla,” he says with a sigh. “I have no intention of marrying Gerd.”
“I was only thinking of your happiness. It seems unfair that you have remained alone all these years.”
“The choice was mine,” he says.
She raises an eyebrow. “You choose to be alone?”
He shrugs. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Perhaps it is a coward’s way.”
“I’ve never regarded you as a coward.”
“Then perhaps I’ve fooled you.” He smiles at her. “Now eat.” He indicates the food with a nod. “We’ve a long ride ahead.”
VILI
They build an enormous pyre, but do not light it. Neither do they move the body. After the second day, Helga closes the chamber door and locks it. There is little else for them to do but wait. Vili sleeps badly. At night, he dreams of valkyries, hideous women with long, dark hair and masks of death who ride screaming through the air on horseback. Each morning when he wakes, the same thought strikes like a coiled snake inside him. Had he acted differently, both men might still be alive.
Helga busies herself preparing food that no one eats. Her fleshy face has taken on the pallor of a turnip, and her eyes are permanently red from weeping. On the evening of the third day, they sit together by the fire, exhausted by grief. Helga has brewed a bitter-smelling tea from kitchen herbs, a recipe she claims is traditional, but one he suspects has been devised to mask the stench of death that has begun to seep from Hogni’s bedchamber.They sit lost in thought, each hoping for Dvalin’s return. The funeral pyre stands silently outside the house, waiting to claim Hogni’s body. It took a band of men three days to scavenge enough wood for the pyre, a luxury in a country where few trees grow.
“We shall have to burn the body soon,” says Vili, poking at the fire with an iron. Helga nods. She clutches a dirty rag tightly in one hand, he suspects without realising, for it has been there all evening.
“Perhaps tomorrow they will come,” she offers. Vili prods at the square of turf with the iron, splitting it in two. The insides burst into flame. He has almost given up hope that Fulla will be found, and has begun to think that the man Hogni entrusted with her life is himself lying dead somewhere in a ditch.
Just then, a farmhand bursts through the door. Vili and Helga turn their heads in unison. “Three riders,” says the man eagerly. “Coming from the south!”
Vili dashes to the door. He can just make out the riders on the skyline. He runs to the stables and quickly saddles a horse, intending to ride out to meet them. It is only when he leads the horse out into the yard that he realises he does not know what he will say. The thought halts him. He stands uncertainly, holding the horse’s rein. If it is Fulla, does he wish to be the bearer of bad news?
As if reading his mind, Helga walks slowly out into the yard, twisting the rag in her hand. She links her arm in his, and together they wait. He feels a wave of gratitude towards this woman he has known barely a week. After a minute, they recognise Dvalin and Fulla.The third rider is a small boy they do not know. “It is them,” she whispers hoarsely, digging her nails into his arm. His heart flails inside his chest like a trapped animal.
The pyre speaks for them. As the riders draw near, Vili sees Dvalin’s face crease with concern. The older man’s eyes are riveted to the pile of wood. Only Hogni is of sufficient stature to merit such a tribute.Vili looks at Fulla. She too understands, for her own face has gone deathly pale. Beside them, the young boy looks bewildered. Dvalin pulls his horse to a halt and slides quickly to the ground. He turns to Helga. “Hogni?” he asks anxiously. Helga nods her head wordlessly.
“Grandfather!” wails Fulla, her worst fears confirmed.The older woman rushes to her side, helping her down off the horse and wrapping her tightly in an embrace.
Dvalin turns to Vili. “What happened?”
“Thorstein came,” says Vili. “There was an argument.” Dvalin’s eyes glaze with anger. He takes a deep breath, then suddenly turns on his heel and starts for the horse. Vili rushes forward and grabs his arm.
“He’s dead, Dvalin.”
Dvalin turns around. “Thorstein?”
Vili nods. “I killed him,” he says. “There is nothing more to do but grieve.”
Dvalin stares at him for a long moment. “It is like the poets said,” he murmurs. “‘Brothers will do battle to the death, and sons of sisters will fight their own kin.’”
Vili shakes his head mournfully. “Come,” he says, taking Dvalin’s arm. “You must pay your respects to the dead.”
Once inside, he has little chance to speak to Fulla. She views the body briefly, then shuts herself in her room with Helga for almost two hours.Vili and Dvalin sit silently by the fire, drinking horn after horn of mead, until the embers swim before their eyes. Dvalin is the first to sleep, while Vili remains awake, staring at the remnants of a family he has helped to ruin.
FREYA
This morning when I wake, the air is deathly still. I dress and go outside, climbing the hill behind the house. The dawn sun straddles the horizon, shrouded in a sickly yellow haze.The sky above me is a translucent shade of green. No birds sing. No insects worry me as I walk. I pause when I reach the top of the hill.The silence in Asgard is complete, as if every living thing has ceased to be. My skin has taken on an odd hue in the morning light; my arms look like the underbelly of a fish. I turn towards Hekla. She is eerily quiet, although the bulge in her flank looks more pronounced than ever.
I look down and see a tiny grey field mouse appear on the path in front of me. It emerges from behind a small bush and takes a few steps, then stops, panting heavily. I move my foot slightly, but the mouse does not retreat. It stands watching me for a long moment, turns and walks several steps, before halting once again and turning back on itself, as if dazed. I search the sky for predators; surely this mouse will not survive long in such a state.The sky is empty.When I look down, the mouse stands immobile on the path, as if it no longer has the will to live. I reach down and scoop it up in my hand. It does not squirm as it should, but sits impassively. I place it gently in the pocket of my cloak, where it lies quietly.
I turn and walk back towards the house, feeling uneasy. When I am almost there, I see two horses approach in the distance. Amazed, I realise that the first carries Odin, the second, Sky. The feather form is flung across the saddle in front of Odin. I walk out to meet them. As they draw near, I see that Sky’s wrists are bound in front of him.
“Odin,” I say when the horses come to a halt, “what has happened? Why is he bound?”
Odin raises an eyebrow. “I thought it prudent.”
I move at once to Sky’s horse and reach for his wrists to unbind them. He holds them out for me glumly. “Where did you find him?” I ask Odin over my shoulder.
“I didn’t. He found me.” Odin climbs down off his horse. “He told me he had come to retrieve the necklace. He said that you were its rightful owner.”
I stop short. Sky slowly raises his gaze to meet mine. “He told you?” I say, staring him in the eye.
“Yes.”
“Is there something I should know?” I ask Sky quietly.
He hesitates. “I’m sorry,” he replies.
“For which offence are you apologising? Lying or thievery?”
Sky looks at me, mortified.
“Sky,” I say more gently. “What were you doing?”
“I thought that if I found the necklace I could put things right,” he says slowly. “Between you and Dvalin.”
“Me and Dvalin?” I ask, incredulous.
He shrugs.
“But I failed,” he says m
iserably.
I glance at Odin. “I no longer have the necklace,” he explains. “Loki took it. For safekeeping, he said.” Odin looks surprised.
“Sky, go inside.” Sky climbs off his horse and walks towards the house. Odin too dismounts.
“The girl is gone,” he says, once Sky has disappeared.
I nod. “Yesterday.”
He sighs. “I suspected as much.”
“Her ties to her kin are very strong.”
“Yes,” he answers. “I knew this.”
“Odin, she is not your daughter. Not in any way that is meaningful.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he says sullenly.
We turn and follow Sky inside, where I pour Odin a cup of ale. “Here.”
He stares down into the cup for a moment, then looks back at me. “We were close once, you and I.”
I smile at him. “Mountains have been born since then.”
“We could be still.”
I shake my head. “That time is past.” I am no longer smiling. Just then, the air is rent by three short sharp cracks, and the ground beneath us shifts violently.We stagger outside and gaze at Hekla. A tall column of billowing dark smoke shoots from her cone like an enormous fountain reaching up into the heavens. “What is happening?” I ask anxiously. He scrutinises the mountain.
“It’s the beginning,” he says.
“You knew this was coming?”
“I did not think it would be this soon.”
“That’s why you wanted to meet Fulla.”
“Yes.”
“There is still time.”
He frowns. “Perhaps. Perhaps it is too late.”
I hesitate, my mind running in different directions. “Where is the necklace?” I ask suddenly.
“Hidden in the sea at Singastein.”
“Singastein?” I cry, aghast, for he speaks of an island, far away on the coast.
“It was Loki’s idea. It is he who covets the necklace, not I. The man is like a cancer. I cannot rid myself of him.”
“Where is he now?”
“On his way here, I suspect. He is never far away,” Odin says.
“Singastein,” I murmur.
“In a cave, by the sea.” Odin turns to me, his voice now urgent. “You must go now. Before it is too late.”
“To Singastein?” I ask.
He nods. “You must go and find the necklace now!”
“But . . . what of the boy?” Sky has just emerged from the house.
Odin shakes his head. “He’ll be safer on horseback,” he says. “I’ll show him the way out of Asgard. If we leave now, there is still time.” I glance at Sky uncertainly. “Freya, you must trust me,” Odin says emphatically. “I’ll see the boy to safety.”
All at once, the prospect of the Brisingamen is too much for me. “Very well,” I reply quickly, turning to Sky. “Do you understand? You must leave at once,” I tell him. “Odin will help you.” Sky nods, his eyes full of alarm. I cross over to Odin’s horse and grab the falcon cloak slung across the saddle, hurriedly throwing it over my shoulders. I turn back to Odin.
“Go swiftly,” he says intently.
Only then do I understand his meaning, for Hekla will not wait.
Once in the air, I fly towards the sea, my eyes burning from the smoke. When I reach the coast, I fly south, until I arrive at the tiny island known as Singastein. By now the sky has grown even darker, the sun obscured by ash pouring from the volcano.The ocean itself is clearly disturbed by Hekla’s activity, its surface a frantic chop of waves running in all directions like a crazed hen. I glide down close to the water, peering inside the caves that run beneath the island. Most have openings too small for me to enter, but one of them is larger than the rest. I fly inside and leave the frothing sea behind me.
Inside, the cave is eerily calm and dark. I perch upon a rocky ledge to rest. Beneath me, the water runs many metres deep. It is a brilliant cobalt blue, as if lit from below. Down through the water, I see rainbow stripes of algae along the rock walls, wonderful hues of green and yellow and orange. In one corner of the cave, light filters in from a spattering of tiny holes in the rock face, dappling the water like a handful of glowing pebbles thrown at its surface. When I look more closely, I see something glinting a few metres beneath the water. I crawl forward as far as I am able. And there I see the Brisingamen, nestled like a golden serpent in a crack along the cave wall.
The icy cold of the water squeezes my lungs, but I do not mind once the Brisingamen is safely in my hand. I swim towards the side of the cave and drag myself out upon the only ledge wide enough to hold me.The shock of the water’s temperature has left me light-headed, and I pause to catch my breath, lying flat upon the cold wet rock. And then I hear an enormous blast, as Hekla finally loses all control. Even muffled by the cave, the explosion is deafening, unlike any I have ever heard before. It rumbles on and on, during which time I close my eyes and clutch the Brisingamen to my chest. When I open my eyes, the water in the cave has begun to roil, as if it too is terrified. Brilliant sparks dance beneath its surface. The entire cave begins to tremble then, jostled by a hidden hand. I stare down at the Brisingamen, wondering whether it will save me or lead me to my death. After what seems like an eternity, the earth’s movement slowly ceases. The water halts its furious churning, though it still sways uneasily. I lie back upon the rock and close my eyes, afraid to discover what has happened to the world outside the cave.
My world: the world of the gods. The one doomed to fail.
FULLA
She sleeps badly, and wakes numb with grief.The morning sky is a strange shade of grey, a mirror of her own emotions. She blames herself for Hogni’s death. She should never have run away to Asgard. Her place was here, by her grandfather’s side.
But what of Vili? Last night, Helga told her that Vili had made peace with Hogni before he died, and had even avenged his death by killing Thorstein. What greater proof of loyalty could she ask for? She wishes she could know what Hogni thought of him in those final hours. Most of all, she wishes she could have secured his blessing.
She rises and dresses, choosing a sober-coloured gown that lies folded in the heavy wooden chest beside her bed. A moth flies free when she shakes out the cloth, and flutters aimlessly about the bedchamber.When she emerges from her room, she sees at once that Vili and Dvalin lie sleeping on pallets by the fire. She could hardly bring herself to look at Vili last night, overcome as she was with grief and guilt. Now she approaches his sleeping form cautiously. She kneels down beside him, studying his features openly for the first time. She notes a tiny scar beside one eye, a small mole on the side of his neck, and a hint of pale stubble on his chin. Otherwise, his face is smooth and bronzed from the sun, his skin like caramel. His long auburn hair lies in a tangled mass. She suppresses a desire to touch it. Her eyes drift down to his chest, to the small triangle of skin exposed by the opening in his shirt.This is where I would put my lips, she thinks, if I dared.
A noise startles her from behind. She turns to see Helga in the doorway, struggling with a large iron pot of water. Fulla jumps to her feet awkwardly, as Helga carries the pot over to the fire. The older woman exhales as she sets the pot down on the coals, then turns to Fulla with an expectant look. Fulla raises a finger to her lips, and the two women retreat to the pantry at the back of the hall. They duck beneath the small doorframe. Fulla sees at once that Helga has been awake for hours.The small space is full of chopped vegetables and half-made dishes, as if the older woman had thrown herself into preparations for a banquet. Helga raises a fleshy hand to move a wisp of hair from Fulla’s eyes. Once this is done, she grasps Fulla’s chin firmly in her hand and looks her straight in the eye. “Be brave. We’ll light the pyre today. It’s time to send him on.” Fulla nods, fighting back tears. Helga sniffs and wipes her hands upon her apron, before turning back to the food. “You can help me with the bread,” she adds, handing Fulla an earthen bowl full of freshly made dough.
Fulla stares d
own at the bowl. “Helga,” she says slowly.The older woman stops and looks at her. “What will become of us?” she whispers.
Helga shakes her head. “I do not know,” she says.
As soon as everyone has woken, they assemble outside. Dvalin makes a short speech and, taking a torch from the fire, touches it to the ring of dead grass surrounding the pyre. The grass lights instantly, and they all watch as the flames gather and spread, leaping from one branch to the next. Hogni’s body lies atop a tall platform at the centre, his hands folded across his chest. When the flame begins to lick the bottom of the platform, Fulla turns and retches on the ground. She buries her face in Helga’s shoulder, unable to watch the fire’s progress.
When it is over, she climbs the hill behind the house.The sky remains a curious shade of grey, the sun hidden behind a thick yellow haze.The sharply acrid smell of the pyre is still strong in the air, though thankfully the wind has shifted away from the house.As she settles herself upon the grass, she hears three sharp cracks far off in the distance, like lightning. She studies the horizon, and thinks about her future. She has never met the man to whom she is betrothed and has never been to the country where he resides. Everything and everyone she has ever known and loved is here, on this small plot of land beneath her. She sees Vili come out of the house and watches as he walks towards the stables. She has barely said two words to him and could not bring herself to meet his gaze this morning. As he peers inside the stables, then turns and surveys the yard, she realises with a start that he is looking for her, and her heart begins to race. As if on cue, he raises his eyes to the hillside where she sits.
She watches as he climbs the short slope and drops down in the grass next to her. “Fulla, we must talk,” he says abruptly. She opens her mouth to speak, but he raises a hand to silence her. “Hear me out,” he says urgently, as if the words themselves will not wait. “All that has happened here is my fault and mine alone. I should never have sought refuge with Hogni, though he was generous to take me in. In the days before his death we spent much time together. And I believe he grew fond of me by the end. But I have done him, and you, an enormous injury by fleeing my kin. And for that I will never forgive myself.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, staring down at the house beneath him. “Fulla, I swore an oath to your grandfather as he lay dying that I would deliver you safely to Norway. And I intend to keep it.” He breaks off abruptly, and for the first time, turns to meet her gaze.
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