Time to Remember

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 13

  It was a dangerous time. As Sirgud’s influence decreased, Bodvarr’s grew stronger. Næmr found herself being shunned more and more by the people of Sleggvik.

  “Why? Why do they treat me so?”

  Yalda was unable to provide any answers. She had no words of comfort for the frightened young woman with her child. Næmr also knew now how cruel people could become and without a husband to protect her, Næmr’s status had become worse than any slave. She could also sense that Yalda’s strength was weaker for the harsh conditions had begun to take their toll on her health. Næmr noticed that Yalda did not make time to mix her healing herbs or visit those to ease their pain. If she could not help, then perhaps Heggar could for Yalda had taught the girl well

  Murmurs within the village grew like a vicious monster, reaching its tentacles into every corner of the village. It was Bodvarr and his followers who stirred the soup of discontent. He knew how to play upon their fears and reminded the villagers of the bright sword in the sky that had come as a warning of death and despair.

  “Think of those who have died! Your families! Your friends! You know in your hearts that evil light brought illness and death. It brought frost and famine to this village of ours.”

  Bodvarr often stood in the Great Hall, his wild and crazed armed warriors as a protective shield around him. He was their hero and many were only too willing to follow him.

  This day, many had entered the hall: men and women had brought along children and dogs so that the villagers had to squeeze tightly against each other on the side benches or find themselves a place on the straw floor. A large fire burnt brightly in the hearth and the rich tapestry cloths shone orange in the light of its flickering flames.

  Bodvarr bellowed and ranted. He knew how to stir up discontent. He knew how to alienate any who dared to disagree. He knew exactly what to say.

  “What kind of thing shows no fear when the light of death shines in their eyes? Only wolves pray to such nightly lights! She is like Fafnir, a creature of the night. I have heard her howling to the moon!”

  Sirgud could take no more. He pulled himself to his feet using his walking staff and faced Bodvarr with all the remaining dignity he could muster. His body had been made frail by the harshness of winter and the sorrow over the death of his son had left him weak. Never-the-less, he made one last desperate effort to speak.

  “She’s no she-wolf. She’s the wife of Halldorr, the son of mine you were proud to call warrior and leader of men.”

  A woman near the fire stood up and smoothed her crumpled skirt.

  “I agree. I lost my man two raids ago but I know he was most willing to offer his life for such a jarl!”

  “My youngest was just as proud!”

  “Then! This is now!” Bodvarr said. He drew his eyes together and focused on Sirgud. “Old man, your sun has set and from now your eternal winter descends! Why, are you not satisfied that the son of your flesh has earned the right to sit at Odin’s table and drink mead?”

  Bodvarr’s steel cold eyes showed no emotion, gave no hint of the treachery that he had done.

  “I ask for my rights. Were you not the one who ended my son’s life?”

  Bodvarr flung back his head and laughed mockingly at the old man. Those nearby thought it better to follow their leader’s actions and within a very short time everyone had joined in with loud, farcical laughter. Bodvarr roared.

  “Now this old fool is confused between Saxon and me!”

  Laughter erupted again, accompanied with whistles and calls. Sirgud summoned all his strength. If it was the last thing he did, he would defend his family; all of them.

  “I know the difference between Saxon and Viking!”

  “But you don’t know the difference between Viking and slave!”

  Bodvarr pointed across the Great Hall to where Næmr was standing. Sirgud ignored the insult.

  “Halldorr. My son,” he said addressing the throng, “was slain before his time! And Bodvarr knows how!”

  Bodvarr pulled at the side of his fine fur robe and wrapped it defiantly around himself

  “Old man, darkness descended upon your house as soon as your son took that dark skinned sorceress to his bed! A curse has been upon your family ever since. Now, you’ve got to take the punishment you deserve! I will not let such evil increase like the creeping fungus that smothers and kills a great and noble tree in the forest. Only I can save the village. Only I can lead the warriors on glorious and profitable raids across the western sea!”

  A thunderous applause rang out. Bodvarr’s words had given them hope along with the strength to go raiding again. Sirgud could not fight against the hysteria Bodvarr had created.

  Næmr was angry that these people who had once shown such loyalty to her father-in-law should be so willing to blindly follow a man like Bodvarr. Something deep within her made her want to fight. She could feel the spirit of the warrior awaken within her veins. She lifted her head and soke up loud.

  “How easy to blame what you don’t understand!” Silence sliced through the gasps and cut each voice down. “Is ignorance to be your guiding force?”

  “What force? Remember, she knew of the force the circle of stones would have upon us! She cast a blanket over the free minds of men and took away their reason.”

  “I did not!” Næmr protested. “It’s Bodvarr who covers you with the cloak of winter and turns your minds to ice. None of you know the ways of the gods, least of all, this man. Jealousy and hate has made Bodvarr dangerous! Can you not see that?”

  A hushed whisper crept like a slinking wolf into every corner. There was the hint of hesitation. Bodvarr’s hand clasped the sword hilt, the same weapon that had killed Sirgud’s son.

  “This woman!” Bodvarr spat out the words with hate and contempt. “She came to me from the cold and frozen world of Hel. Death is her servant and death shall be her master! Death will stop the spell she has put upon us! Death, only death!”

  Bodvarr’s staunch followers jumped to their feet. They began chanting and shouting at the top of their lungs.

  “Death! Death! Death! Death!”

  It was as if Thor was in the hall. Thunderous sounds shook the timbers as a hundred voices exploded with a roar. Bodvarr had aroused them. Nothing on this earth was going to stop them, now. Sirgud shook his head.

  “Come, Næmr. It’s better that we leave.”

  He took her by the arm and led her out through the large doors of the Great Hall.

  Bodvarr shouted, “Look how Sirgud slinks like a fox out of the hall! What good is your goddess now, old man? Ha! They both know the truth of my words!”

  Outside, in the gathering crowd, someone threw something. It was a spear. It missed his shoulder and twanged into the ground close to his feet. A group of young boys rushed at them from behind and when Sirgud turned, they taunting him and called him names.

  “I’ve known these boys all their lives. Their fathers were good men and have made the village proud.”

  “It’s Bodvarr’s doing,” Næmr said.

  The uproar inside continued. Bodvarr had aroused the people and the young men would be looking for blood to quench their bloated appetites.

  “Death! Death! Death!”

  Sirgud leaned heavily on his stick as he walked. He had slowed down a lot over the past months and Næmr could see that his spirit had been broken.

  Næmr hung tightly on to Sirgud’s arm. They hurried between the scattered houses and surrounding yards of the freemen’s homes. She thought it would be better to take themselves to Yalda’s house for Sirgud’s house would be the place a mob would most likely attack.

  They could still hear shouting and this time it seemed to be coming from outside. Luckily, the sound had not moved away from the Great Hall so it was likely that no one had noticed the direction they had taken.

  In the distance, Bodvarr’s booming voice rose above the din.

  “Who’ll join in the hunt? Follow, my brave warriors! Find the da
rk one and her monstrous bairn! Destroy her before she destroys us all!”

  “Bring her to Jotenfjell. Take her to the sacred stone!” called the voices.

  “No-one will pass that place again!” warned Bodvarr. “Nothing will cross the edge of Bilfrost in to Sleggvik again! Let the marks be a warning! From now ‘til the end of time!”

  Winter came early. It was harsh and cruel. Sirgud lost the will to live and his body was buried on the lower slopes of Jotenfjell. It was too hard to dig through the compacted snow so they placed his body on the frozen surface and covered it with cold stones.

  A few weeks later there were howling gales that whipped up a snow storm. With Sigurd gone, nothing was in the way for Bodvarr to take over Sirgud’s remaining lands and thralls. Flames burnt down the small thrall dwellings that had clustered around his house until only black ashes remained. Someone whispered to Yalda that Bodvarr was the one responsible but they were too afraid to speak out. Now all that was left was for him to find the dark one together with her child.

  Sirgud’s large house had been left empty after the old jarl left it. When Bodvarr and his followers arrived, it stood tomb-like with only an occasional drip from a rafter icicle to break its silence. Sirgud’s household slaves had gone like their homes, dissolved like bubbles into the air.

  Næmr had been taken to one of Yalda’s relatives who had a small-holding on the edge of the village. As word reached them that Boddvar and his men were searching the village, Næmr, her baby and Heggar were moved to one of the outhouses where thrall Lief and his wife Snorri lived together with their master’s animals. Yalda knew no one would think to look there and they would be left safe, at least until spring when Lief would take the animals to the fields.

  A small alcove was provided for the fugitives. Næmr sat in darkness, only Heggar and her baby for company. The dark was extremely dark, far darker than either of them had ever known; and the cold was extremely cold, far colder than they had ever suffered. Heggar scouted the farm for scraps of food to fill their aching bellies, for without nourishment, Næmr would not be able to feed her child. Much of Lief’s stored firewood had already been burned. Now the fire only smouldered and smoked and the cold from outside began to seep through every crack and opening it could find until it hung its frosty fingers from the internal walls.

  Yalda’s thralls had managed to fetch the large wooden chest that held Næmr’s possessions from Sirgud’s house. They had brought it to Lief’s on a sled. But now, as the need for warmth grew stronger, the chest was under threat.

  “Lief asks if you will allow us to break your box for fuel, Næmr.”

  Heggar handed Næmr a small woollen shawl to wrap around the baby.

  “Oh no!”

  Lief knelt down and tried to rouse the sleeping fire.

  “If we can’t keep you warm, you’re bairn will die.”

  “The chest’s all I’ve got left. Halldorr had it made specially for me. When it’s gone, what will I have left?”

  “Bodvarr’s getting closer every day. His scouts are out as much as the weather will allow. We’ll have to move you earlier than we thought and you can’t take a heavy chest like that when you leave.”

  “Please, please let Lief use it,” implored Heggar.

  The baby whimpered. Næmr hugged it closer towards her breast, hoping her own warmth would help keep it warm.

  “We need the fuel or we’ll die,” Lief said.

  Suddenly, a noise was heard outside. It moved along the outer wall, slowly making its way towards the door. The animals became restless and one of the sheep coughed, then bleated. Alarm registered on Heggar’s face and she gripped Næmr’s arm and squeezed. Lief immediately went to his wife.

  “Quiet,” Lief warned. “Don’t make a sound.”

  “I hope it’s not wolves or worse, Bodvarr, himself,” whispered Heggar as she clutched Næmr and buried her face in baby Halldorr’s blanket.

  “Heggar, shush! Keep your thoughts to yourself!”

  “Shhh!”

  Lief tiptoed over to the doorway at the far end of the hut and put his ear against the timber door. They all sat, straining to pick up any movement from outside. Næmr could not believe that wolves would dare to come this close to the building. But one never could be sure. She cuddled her baby closer and prayed it would not cry.

  The noise came closer. The door groaned as something pushed against it. It creaked open. Snowflakes blew inside. A cloaked figure eased its way around the door edge.

  “Lief! Lief! You here?”

  Heggar was the first to recognised Yalda’s voice.

  “It’s all right. It’s my mistress, Yalda!”

  She jumped up and ran towards the door, squealing with relief and delight as yet another dark figure entered the hut.

  Lief pulled door closed. Yalda’s burning torch lit up the small room. She had brought Theijn, another of her thralls, with her. As Yalda entered the small house and byre, she shook her thick woollen shawl and it showered the straw with droplets of melting snow. She handed it to Theijn who remained just inside the doorway.

  Yalda brought them the latest news of the village and how Bodvarr’s men were taking charge. She told them how they had secretly made their way across the village in the semi-darkness, avoiding Bodvarr’s spies as best they could.

  “Come, you two!,” she said. “There’s no time to lose! Bodvarr’s intent to find you. He’s promised to throw first your bairn and then you and out into the wilderness for wolves to devour.”

  Heggar was the one who showed the most alarm.

  “But your bairn’s healthy, Næmr! Only damaged bairns are taken to the slab!”

  “It’s not going to happen, Heggar!” Yalda snapped at the girl but at the same time Næmr noticed how weary and worn-out Yalda had become. Even her scolding of Heggar didn’t sound as strong and her body, that less than two years ago looked straight and strong, was now bent over and frail like that of an old woman.

  “Yalda, you shouldn’t have come. You don’t look well.”

  “Don’t worry about me! You and the bairn must be saved. Take Heggar with you. I give her her freedom. Now, there are two sleds waiting to take you over the pass and into the next valley where help’s at hand. You’ll be safe there. Well out of Bodvarr’s reach. Some of your husband’s friends have already made the journey and they’re

  expecting you. Come Spring, the boats will be ready and families will be leaving these shores for good. Get everything you can carry. Quickly. Skjalf and his sled are waiting outside.”

  “Will you be coming?”

  Næmr rocked the baby in her arms. The older woman shook her head.

  “No. I can’t make such a trip. My bones are tired. My times nearly come. You younger ones have your whole life ahead. You and Heggar must go! That’s what Halldorr would have wanted. Go! Leave this place. It’s not the village I was happy to live in. Take my advice and go!”

  Yalda’s words brought back a flash of memory. Næmr had heard those words before.

  “That’s why I came here in the first place!”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Yalda.

  “To find my northern roots.”

  “In a drakkar,” Heggar added. “With a fierce dragon head.”

  “No, Heggar.”

  Heggar was about to ask a question but a look from Yalda made her shut her mouth so that her lips remained tight and squeezed together.

  Næmr began swaddling the baby in several layers of warm woollen blankets and finally cacooning him up in a warm fur so that he looked like a very fat caterpillar.

  Skjalf and his two teams of yapping dogs were impatient to get going. He wanted to be sure the sleds made it safely to the next village before the darkness of the night descended upon them. He was used to such a journey for throughout the winter months he and his dogs followed hungry elk and deer as they moved from one feeding place to the next. The wilderness of the mountains was his second home. He, alone, would
be able to guide them across the intertwining tracks that criss-crossed each other over the mountains.

  The sleds were piled high with blankets, furs and food. With the dogs, good progress could be made even when the snow was soft and deep. Skjalf told Næmr to climb on the back of the sled and huddle under the thick, warm furs. She wrapped the furs around her own body and hugged the baby parcel as best she could. She noticed he had already fallen asleep.

  Theijn held the flaming torch while Yalda spoke first with Skjalf and then with Næmr and Heggar.

  “Goodbye. Time to leave. I’ll miss you both.” Heggar looked at Yalda with surprise. An uncomprehending look crossed her youthful face as Yalda helped the girl onto the back of the sled that Theijn would drive. “Yes, Heggar, I really am giving you your freedom. Næmr needs your company more than me. And, now you really must go. Snow’s starting to fall.”

  “That’s good,” Theijn remarked. “It’ll hide our tracks.”

  Tears moistened Heggar’s face. She was deeply saddened to leave Yalda behind. Yalda, her mistress, who had been more like a mother to her. No amount of pleading or crying could make the older woman change her mind.

  “Make a new life for yourself, Heggar. It’s too dangerous even for you to stay.”

  Yalda hugged Heggar as though she were her own. Then, she pulled herself away from the girl and turned away. Alone, Yalda began to walk back down the track in the direction of the village. Næmr watched her until Yalda’s small bent frame was swallowed up by the whiteness of the falling snow.

  Immediately, the dogs strained into their harnesses. Skjalf and his team led the way, racing along the outskirts of the village until they turned and headed due south. After they had travelled for several hours they came across a small number of remotely scattered stone huts not far from the southern foot of Jotenfjell. On the far side of the track a dense forest stretched far back into the distance. The branches of the outer firs drooped low with thick snow and looked more like tall, sad giants than large forest trees. To their left was the small hut where they could rest for a few days until Næmr had gained enough strength to endure the strenuous journey that would take them across the mountains and into the neighbouring valley. Skjalf knew there was the possibility of one more certain stop. He hoped the second hut still stood but he could not be sure.

  Skjalf unharnessed the dogs and threw them their meat. Along one side of a wall a tidy pile of firewood had been gathered and stacked for use. Skjalf picked up an armful and took it inside. He soon had a blazing fire going in the round central hearth. Theijn unloaded the sleds and carried the blankets inside. The small stone hut soon gained warmth and although it lacked the things in a home, it felt inviting after the freezing cold they’d endured throughout the day. Slowly, their numbed fingers regained feeling and the tingling and burning that made them so sore, came to an end. Sklajf returned to the cold and came back shortly with a pot full of soft virgin snow. He got Heggar to heated it up over the fire and when the water was almost on the boil, dried lentils and meat were thrown in to make a thick broth. The hot liquid relaxed them and made their tired bodies wish for rest. Næmr fed the baby and as soon as she had settled him, Sklajf suggested they sleep. In a few days, they had to be on the move again.

  The following morning, when Næmr went to collect some more firewood. She noticed the snow clouds had lifted and the top of Jotenfjell could be seen. There was something disagreeable about the mountain, for the more she thought about it, the more foreboding it became. It was as if it knew something about her she did not yet understand. She shuddered. An overwhelming desire now was to get as far away from the mountain as she could.

  “How long do we have to stay?”

  Næmr watched Sklajf as he sat on the bench trying to pull on his thick fur-lined boots.

  “Another day or two,” he replied. “With a lift in the weather I should be able to find us some fresh meat. It’ll be much better for us. It’ll put strength in your body and help you cope with the journey. Theijn will stay with you. He’ll look after you. I’ll be back as soon as I can but it might take many hours before I catch something.”

  “How will you?”

  “I’ll use the dogs. They’ll sniff it out.”

  Heggar’s face had turned quite pale.

  “Aren’t you afraid of the bears and wolves?” She carried a deep fear of wolves since she’d come face to face with a pack several years ago. The way they circled around, eyes fixed and bodies taut, watching for the opportunity to make their strike sent cold shivers down her spine. She knew what it was like to feel their prey. For Heggar had been lucky that day. The men had turned up in the nick of time.

  “Wolves don’t like dogs,” Sklajf replied in a matter-of-fact way.

  He tied on his snow-shoes firmly, picked up his weapons and strode off into the snow.

  The first day Sklajf did not catch much other than a snow hare. He grumbled that his prey was so small. The next day he took all but one dog with him to find food.

  “We can’t leave here until I’ve caught something large enough to sustain us for at least a few days.” He tied the remaining dog on a longer lead so that it could better guard the doorway. “Where we’re going, game will be harder to find. The dogs will need a rest after pulling the sleds over the pass.”

  After Skjalf had left, Theijn busied himself with the chores. He collected fresh snow for the pot and brought in enough wood for the fire to last for most of the day. Heggar did most of the cooking and when she was not busy, she’d pick up the baby and play with him. It was wonderful to hear the happy gurgles and chuckles of the young child when Heggar played peek-a-boo or dangled threaded tree cones just beyond his reach. The relaxed mood of family life made the little hut seem like home. But Theijn sensed Sklajf’s concern about staying in the hut longer than desired.

  That evening, after another unfruitful day, Sklajf and Theijn discussed the events of the past two days. Heggar was already asleep, curled up with her back nestled into Næmr’s waist. Næmr lay dozing between sleep and awareness, her ears hardly registering the conversation beside the fire. The two men were speaking in low, muted voices between sips of a hot liquid soup that had been brewing over the fire.

  “Had trouble today?” asked Theijn.

  “Yes,” the other replied. “The dogs had the scent of some large animal. I followed its trail . . . to bring it down, the youngest dog . . . excited . . . disappeared. The trail was fresh and well used so I’ve set a trap. . . I’ll get something tomorrow.”

  “Let me come with you . . . two . . . the carcase . . . together . . .”

  “Might work.”

  Næmr wandered off into dreamland but only for a few minutes. Then, the voices returned.

  “How long can we afford to hold out here?”

  “Maybe another few days, who knows. We’ve sufficient supplies. It’s not that. The longer we stay put, the greater the possibility Bodvarr and his group may turn up.”

  “I”d have thought we’d be fairly safe up here. Not many from the village know this hut even exists,” Theijn commented.

  She heard him suck the last of the liquid from his mug. Then, all went quiet again. The flames casting patterns across the walls making the shadows of the two men strange and grotesque.

  She stirred again and looked over towards the fire. The men had their backs to her now, leaning on their knees with their heads bent low over the hearth.

  “There are some I can think of who’d may know the way but whether they’d be willing to show Bodvarr, I don’t know.”

  “Maybe,”said Sklajf’s voice. “He’d either force them or pay them. He’s plenty to offer now that he’s rich.”

  Sklajf leaned forward and added another log.

  “You’re right. Then, my dear fellow, I have no option but to take up your offer. The longer we stay, the more dangerous it is. The women must remain inside and bolt the door. I’ll leave two of the dogs behind. They can be tied close to the hut. They’ll
make a noise if anyone strange comes.”

  “Then, it’s agreed.”

  Theijn collected his knives and placed them next to the door ready for tomorrow.

  As soon as the dim light of daylight made its presence known the next day, the men left the hut.

  A vague wisp of thin smoke at the edge of the tree line was the only indication that the stone hut was there. That is, if someone knew exactly where to look.

  Heggar chatted most of the time telling Næmr how wonderful things would be once they were settled into the new land. In a small leather bag tucked safely within her dress she had a few silver coins and a ring that Yalda had pressed into her hand as they were leaving. She’d decided to tell Næmr as soon as they were safe in the next valley. They may need it to buy safety at some later date.

  “Do you miss my mistress, Næmr?”

  “Yes, I do. She was a good friend.”

  “I wish she’d come with us.”

  “I think the journey would be too demanding for her, Heggar. Older people don’t have the stamina or willpower to make long journeys.”

  “Do you think she’ll be safe enough?”

  “I’m sure she will. It’s where she was born and she still has plenty of family and friends. It’s different for us. We’re not of the village. We’ve got no blood ties to hold us back.”

  “Do you think a lot about your family?”

  Before Næmr could answer, her baby stirred. Heggar was the one who walked over to the bed and lifted the infant from his bundle of thick wool blankets. She brought him over for Næmr to feed.

  She smiled at her baby and he responded to her attention. He was a healthy, contented child who had two adults who cooed and smiled at him and who were willing to drop everything to attend to his immediate needs.

  “Oh dear Heggar,” sighed Næmr as she began to loosen her bodice. “My family don’t know I’ve a child!”

  Ideas began to tumble about in her mind and make her restless. She unclasped her white bone pendant and refastened it around her baby’s neck.

  “I know he’ll be kept safe with this. I know he will. It has served me well. Now let it be the protector of my child.”

  She began to let the baby feed. As her milk began to flow the baby’s contented sucking made her relax more yet she could hear a voice surface from deep within her mind. It was a familiar voice and it was becoming clearer and clearer. It was Koro’s voice. It was an image in the reflective part of her mind and she knew she had to follow its calling.

  “Here, take little Halldorr. I’ve got to go out.”

  Heggar protested.

  “But . . . Sklajf said . . . ”

  But it did no good. The call of the voice was much stronger.

  She handed over her baby and immediately began pulling on her boots.

  “Won’t be long. Don’t worry. I’ve got something I have to do and I’ll not go far.”

  She smiled and stroked her baby on his cheek. He laughed and reached out towards his mother with one of his tiny hands.

  “Please, don’t go!”

  Heggar began rocking him as she often did but her eyes pleaded with Næmr to stay.

  “Don’t worry, Heggar. Back in a jiff!”

  “Næmr! Don’t go! Please, don’t go!”

  Heggar hugged little Halldorr to herself. The bone pendant swayed to and fro and then disappeared from view the moment Heggar’s arms enveloped him. She started to whimper just like she did sometimes when Yalda had scolded her.

  “Oh Heggar, stop snivelling. I’ve said I’ll be back very soon. And I will.”

  “But if someone should come.”

  “The dogs are here. They’ll bark if anyone comes near.”

  Næmr unbolted the door but Heggar still was not happy.

  “What about the wolves?”

  She knew Heggar was afraid of wolves and that they scared her even more than Bodvarr’s men.

  “They’re in the woods. They won’t come near. Not with the dogs.”

  With those final words, Næmr shut the door and was gone. She could hear the dogs barking for a while and then all was quiet.

  Næmr clambered and struggled through deep snow drifts near to the hut. It was so peaceful, hushed and still. It was like the first time she had walked up the slopes of Jotenfjell. That seemed such a long time ago. So much had happened to her since then. She was still muttering to herself when something moved the lower branches of a tree. She hesitated as the snow avalanched downwards and passed.

  Two figures appeared out of the foliage. At first she thought they must be Sklajf and Theijn returning from the hunt but as the dogs were beginning to bark and pull at their leads, she realised that her first thoughts had been terribly wrong. She hurriedly tried to retrace her steps but without snow-shoes, her legs sank deep into the soft snow and she floundered about like a flapping fish. The men advanced on her, rapidly.

  “Look what we’ve got!,” sneered the taller one. He grabbed her roughly by her shoulder. “Bodvarr will be pleased!”

  Næmr tried frantically to wriggle free but she was no match for two strong men, who with skis and sticks stayed on the surface of the snow.

  “Let me go! Let me go!”

  The grip that pinned her arms grew stronger the more she tried to get free.

  “Fights like a wild cat!”

  “What do you want of me?” she asked as all resistance had weakened both body and mind.

  The men laughed, rough and mockingly. At a distance of two longboats away the dogs continued to bark and tug at their leads.

  “Bodvarr wants you. Alive!”

  The tallest of the two, a huge, solidly built warrior in his late thirties pinned her arms more tightly against her body so that she could not move at all. As she opened her mouth, he smothered the beginning of her scream with a gag. Helpless, she could do nothing to stop his companion binding her up. Then, like the body of a slain deer, he slung her across his broad shoulders.

  The two dogs tied up at the hut had now picked up the new smells of sweat. Næmr could hear them bark and thought of Heggar and how afraid she must be. But there was nothing Næmr could do either to help Heggar or save herself.

  As the man began to pick up speed on his skis, the frantic barking of the dogs become fainter and fainter. The little stone hut dissolved into the whiteness of the air and all Næmr could hear was the constant swish of the men’s skis as they carried her back down the mountain side to the small village at the end of the fjord.

  They dragged her into the Great Hall where Bodvarr was waiting for them to return.

  “Leader, we have brought you a gift!”

  The tall man sat on Sirgud’s carved chair chewing flesh off a large cow bone. At his feet, two thin dogs watched him intently, drooling copious amounts of saliva on to the floor as only dogs can when food was around. Every now and then Bodvarr would spit or pull gristle from his teeth, laugh with amusement as the dogs bounded forwards, their noses frantically searching for the minute morsel from Bodvarr’s large meal.

  Næmr could see the immediate interest in his eyes as her captives forced her closer towards him. He laughed ominously and threw his well-chewed bone into the straw. The dogs snarled and snapped at each other until the victor grabbed the bone and disappeared somewhere under the table.

  Bodvarr stood. He wiped his greasy palms down the length of his deep red tunic.

  “Where’s the bairn?” he asked knitting his bushy brows tightly together.

  “Bairn?” The man appeared perplexed. He turned to his companion for support but the other shrugged and said nothing. “No one said anything of a bairn. Only this woman. We saw no one else.”

  Neither of the men said anything about the yapping dogs nor about the small stone hut with its whisp of curling smoke that drifted upwards into the cold air. Næmr began to wonder whether they had even noticed the hut at all or maybe they had thought they might have been outnumbered had they engaged its occupants in a fight. Maybe they h
ad decided to capture only her.

  The second man finally found his voice.

  “Maybe the bairn never made it. Yes, it must have died from the cold.”

  He watched intently for his leader’s reaction. The air was charged with anticipation.

  “Let’s give sacrifice to Thor!” shouted a voice from the rear of the room.

  “Take her to Jotenfjell!” shouted another.

  “What?” Bodvarr’s loud booming voice overpowered everything in the hall. “Throw her back into the mist and snow?”

  He looked intently at his followers, then smirked. He anticipated their answer, for he had taught them well.

  “Jotenfjell, you say!”

  “Yes, Bodvarr. End the curse!”

  The reply came back in unison. Bodvarr’s most loyal supporters took up the challenge.

  “Give her to Jotenfjell! Return her! Jotenfjell! Jotenfjell!”

  Bodvarr was now full of excitement. He jumped on to the top of the heavy wooden table and stood there like the war god himself, full of defiance and ardour. His loud roaring voice split through the shouting and silenced every man as if each one had been throttled.

  “Jotenfjell shall have its victim!” He pointed to Næmr who had been flung like a rag upon the floor. “I brought her here! I shall take her away! Jotenfjell! We will be avenged! I will be avenged! Bodvarr, your leader, promises you that!”