Svafa swung her legs out of bed and sat up. Her muscles would never ache with age, or suffer from stiffness with a lack of activity. Regardless of whether she slept or not, she would always feel like a new day had dawned and she had received the optimum amount of slumber. Still, she stretched, just like her father had. But, for her, it was because she liked the sensation of the muscles under her skin elongating.
“I am well, dear Father,” she replied as she strode across the room and kissed him tenderly on his wrinkled chin. His grey beard tickled her face. “What do you have planned for today?”
As a king, her father had plenty to fill his days with. There were always local disputes to deal with in the thingstead. In addition, he had his own household to oversee since he had no wife to do it for him.
“Today I get to listen to all the woes of my kingdom.” He chuckled as he poured a bladder of water into the cauldron atop the fire. Svafa reached over and broke some leaves off the dried herbs hanging to one side, their usual morning tea herbs. When she added the crinkled leaves, it filled the room with the earthy aroma of Angelica. As the herb softened, the woodier birch scent started to rise and add its own wintergreen odour that Svafa always associated with the comfort of their home and the warmth of fire against the cold chill sneaking in under their door. “And, what will you be doing?”
Svafa sighed. What would she be doing? There were no battles being waged, no wars brewing. Her day was her own. Yet, what did she want to do? How could she fill her time? Last night she had been so eager to be free of Valhalla. Now, she was lost as to what to do. “I don’t know, Father. Perhaps I will ask my sisters what there is to be done.”
Her father smiled at her, his face distinct now that the fire was raging. “Go outside, enjoy the day. It is cold now, but once the frost clears, it will be a splendid morning.”
He ladled some tea into a cup and handed it to her. His hand rested on her shoulder a moment as he looked down at her. Then, he turned, using her for support as he ambled back to his chair. Another huff of air as he sat down and his knees cracked with the effort.
Svafa sipped her tea and thought about the day ahead. She really could make anything of it, she realised. And, only last night she had been complaining about being in the great hall of Valhalla and under the instruction of the gods.
But what was a free life when there was no one to share it with? Another sigh. This one was deep and she closed her eyes against the anguish of it. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for love.
Her father loved her, and she adored him dearly in return. But that wasn’t the sort of affection she wanted. No, she wanted passion. Secret embraces in dark corners that made her pulse quicken. To be cherished by a man that saw no boundaries and never died. She wanted a love that went beyond human time, beyond the grave.
And that was something that was impossible to be granted. For human men died and the gods were not interested in the likes of her.
The wind picked up outside and blew against the house in a sudden gust, shaking the door in its frame and surprising Svafa with its intensity. A shiver erupted down her spine and she squeezed her cup tightly with both hands lest the contents spilled. She glanced quickly at the entrance and the hairs on her arms stood tall.
Were the gods here now, present as she made her wish? Svafa suspected so and wondered just what they had prepared for her fate.
Chapter 4: HELGI
The gentle breeze picked up as he walked the worn path leading up the hill. Looking ahead, he could see a small copse of trees at the top and aimed to reach that point. The view over the surrounding land was spectacular and he always welcomed its beauty.
Overhead, the clouds were gathering. Deep grey, the colour of his eyes, he had been told. But, to him, it meant that rain was coming. Deluging rain that would soak the land around him. It was a welcome prospect for the previous summer had been drier than usual and another year like that would make the lives hard for those reliant on the crops. In fact, difficult for everyone, in the long run.
The man puffed a little as the slope increased but it wasn’t because the ascent was difficult. Rather it was because the temperature was dropping and the chill in the air now froze his throat. Still, he climbed.
Reaching the top, he realised had been right in his assumption. With the clash of grey clouds and the sunlight, there was now a surreal quality to the landscape and the man breathed deeply with emotion.
Sitting down on a large boulder, he allowed himself to be overtaken by the view. The sun warmed his face even though the air was brisk around him and he finally allowed his eyes to close against the soothing rays.
It was peaceful on the mountain and he found himself slipping away as often as possible to enjoy the serenity. His life was otherwise filled with the bustle of village life and the expectations of his parents.
That was when he wasn’t being sent off to battle. And, for their kind, the lust of war was ever-present.
He thought of his parents now or, more particularly, his father. For while there had been battles recently, he wondered why his father had never avenged the recent burning of their lands. It seemed wrong that Hrodmarr, the man who saw the destruction of his precious town, was still able to breathe the same air as them, to arrogantly claim victory over what he had done to them.
The man shook his head. He wanted revenge for what Hrodmarr had done, yet, he was so sick of fighting. It seemed like an endless cycle for their people. Always getting offended by the acts of others, always feeling like they needed to reciprocate in the name of honour.
However, for this man, it wasn’t what he really wanted. Instead, he desired to find a place where he belonged. A quiet place where the brutalities of war never reached.
While he had been born to this village, it had never really felt like the place he was anchored to. Instead, there was a yearning inside of him. A constant ache he couldn’t describe, yet fuelled his desire to see the world and to find the one place he could feel a sense of belonging, of ownership. He guessed, for other men, the need to take over the land, to conquer, was a strong feeling. But, somehow, he knew it was different for him.
For this man couldn’t even claim a title as his own.
His mother had tried to name him. Several times, in fact. His father blustered in and named him as well. However, none of them had ever stuck to him. He felt no connection and, therefore, never responded. Instead, he simply ignored the false monikers and went on with his own life as if a lack of a name was ordinary, as if he were ordinary.
And he was in most regards. Ordinary, that was. He was raised by parents who were placed, while not among the highest in the lands, at a position where they could live comfortably. So, he had the luxury of wondering if there were more to life than simply living and raiding.
Often, he questioned what it was that he truly yearned for. Was it a place, or a person? He really didn’t know. Although, when he looked at people, during those cold winter nights when gatherings were common in the earl’s longhouse, he thought it might be a person that was missing from his life. When men and women coupled, brought together by the warmth of the event and fuelled by the effects of ale, he would see them embracing. It felt strange watching them like he was intruding on their personal moments. But, at the same time, he was aroused by their ardour and wondered if that was what was missing. Did he just need a good woman?
He had tested this, coupling with several of the local lasses. Yet, none helped to quell the fire inside of him that ached for something else.
The air around him got colder still and the man paused in his thoughts in order to pull his cloak around him more firmly, to seal in the edges where the breeze could reach under and caress his skin. He looked up at the clouds and noticed they were gathering quickly in an attempt to block out the small section of blue sky where the sun shone. It gave the world around him an ominous glow and a shiver ran up his spine.
A gentle rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance and the man considered head
ing back early. It hadn’t seemed like the clouds were ready to open just yet, but the thunder told him otherwise.
He searched the sky, deciding what to do. The clouds darkened further, roiling overhead like a brew about to overflow a horn drinking cup. It made him want to stay.
For the first time in the man’s life, he felt like he finally belonged somewhere.
Chapter 5: SVAFA
The air was crisp as they descended down through the clouds on the backs of their steeds. Svafa closed her eyes and revelled in the sensation.
The battleground, when she normally got to stand on Midgard after descending from Valhalla, was always a rabid mess of heat and confusion as men roared out battle cries and death throes with equal vigour. It always unsettled her a little, when she descended to Midgard and was not welcomed with the disruption and destruction of war. A chill blanketed her every time while her body adjusted to the lack of activity.
As the horses settled on the earth, the lands were quiet, peaceful, like they were around her father’s kingdom. Svafa embraced the sensation for all its glory.
“Look, there is a man!” Hrist exclaimed and Svafa was pulled from the moment in order to see what a human man looked like when he wasn’t battling for his own life. She might have spent time with her father, but she avoided going out and mingling with those in his village as the sight of her usually unsettled the warriors who assumed she was there for nefarious reasons. To see a young man at ease was always intriguing.
Svafa blinked in disbelief at the man sitting alone on the barrow. He was free of anger, and terror, and the pure rage that she had seen most men in her lifetime exhibit on the battlefield. His face was smooth, pale in comparison to the red of rage. Yet, it was not so pale as the death pallor to which she was also accustomed.
It was strange to be looking down on him, like she was invading his own time, or that the moment was somehow intimate.
Her heart fluttered a little as her horse approached. Svafa couldn’t work out why her palms were beginning to sweat and tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. She sniffed back the wave of emotion threatening.
As Svafa blinked rapidly, she saw the man look up, likely responding to the whoosh of their horses as the Valkyries approached. Svafa locked eyes with him and suddenly knew that what she felt had nothing to do with how calm he was or a lack of fear. No, what she felt here was akin to the feeling she got when she looked at Odin and Freya. It wasn’t empathy for their closeness, but a further inkling of how the gods felt towards each other.
Her chest heaved with the realisation and her eyes widened in surprise as the man below them came closer. Svafa had to hold the reins tight for fear that she might leap from her steed and rush at him.
She could see the finer features of the man now. His blonde hair was braided tightly. Eyes a deep blue like clouds ready to burst with snow. He was tall, with muscular arms readied for battle. Yet, she had never seen him on the battlefield.
“Hello!” he shouted as the Valkyries pulled their horses up. Puffs of dust rose from the animal’s hooves as they skidded to a halt.
Svafa felt shy as her sisters crowded forward. She stepped back, allowing them to gather in front of the strange man. Her sisters giggled and danced around him touching his cloak and asking him his name.
He shook his head.
“I have no name,” the man replied and Svafa felt herself step forward.
“How can a man have no name?” she asked boldly even though she still stood behind Hrist. Svafa watched as the man’s gaze settled on her. Those deep eyes penetrated her. It made her feel like she was unravelling under the gaze of him, giving herself up to him and showing a side of herself she had never bared to anyone before, all over the span of a few flustered heartbeats.
“Come forward,” the man said, his hand reaching out, palm upturned. His fingers curled, beckoning her forward. Svafa obliged. Even though she thought she would not step forward, her body took charge, being confident where her mind wasn’t. “What is your name?”
“This is Svafa,” Hrist replied with a laugh that sounded like the tinkle of bells and she wondered how she could ever compete with charm such as that.
“Like my homeland,” the man replied. “Yet, you are even more beautiful than my country.”
Svafa could feel heat welling in her cheeks and she tried to look away. “You must have a name,” she said, to distract the man from her growing discomfort. “You are an adult, what do people call you?”
“I am the son of King Hjorvardr and his queen, Sigrlinn, of Svafaland. People usually call me Hjorvardssonar or the son of Sigrlinn.”
Svafa shook her head, confused. “But surely your mother named you when you were a baby?”
“She tried, apparently,” the man replied. He smiled, but it had a distant quality about it like he was remembering his youth. “But a name never seemed to stick to me like they do with others. So, here I am, sitting on a hill with nine beautiful women and not a title to be had.”
Svafa stared at him and his eyes delved into her once more making it seem like he was whispering to her, telling secrets for her alone. She bit her lip as she tried to tear her gaze away. It was no use, though. Instead, she could feel the rising tides of Asgard enveloping her, the fog of knowledge knitting itself around her like a cloak and she trembled with the fear of it.
“Your name is Helgi,” she finally said and it flew from her mouth like the truest thing that had ever been said.
As she spoke, the sensation from the night before of the crushing boulder lifted, evaporated in an explosion of power, never to return.
Chapter 6: HELGI
Helgi.
Somehow, he knew that this was his name, that it had always been his name and no one had yet realised it. However, this woman, Svafa, she had known. How could she discover his name when his own mother seemed unable to find it?
He looked at Svafa once more. He had never seen a woman like her. From the fact she arrived with so many sisters, on flying steeds and with their hair pulled back so fiercely, he knew she was more than human. She was a Valkyrie, he was sure of it.
“Thank you,” he said, which seemed far too inadequate.
She nodded at him, her eyes always lowered like she was embarrassed to look at him. Helgi didn’t blame her. He was just a human, like one of the men she oversaw on the battlefield.
Perhaps, it wasn’t embarrassment, maybe it was disgust that kept her eyes downturned. Helgi hung his own head with that thought. He didn’t blame her for not being interested in him. Svafa had likely seen thousands of worthy men in her time. Each she had handpicked and taken back to Valhalla with her. Did she ever lay with the men she selected? Or was she prohibited from doing so? He wondered just what the rules were in that regard. He knew men ended up in Valhalla once chosen by the Valkyries. However, he never really thought much beyond that. Maybe the Valkyries only chose those they were attracted to.
Suddenly, Helgi felt unworthy.
“What about a naming gift?” It was one of the other women who said this, the one with fiery red hair that fell to her waist. Her cheeks were high, angular, and he wondered if the woman even knew how to smile.
“Of course, you’re right, Herja,” Svafa said. Helgi watched as she gazed past Herja and looked out across the very fields he had been admiring before their arrival. He wondered what she saw, or what she was thinking.
“I don’t need a gift,” Helgi said. “My name after all these years is gift enough.” And, it was true. Finally, it seemed like the vast hole of unknowing had started to stitch itself up. Svafa had done that. She had allowed him to feel like he belonged in the world. His name somehow gave him purpose.
Or, maybe she did.
Helgi observed Svafa. Her dark hair hung straight down over her spine, the colour so unique among his kind that it made her beauty even more intense. She had an angular face, much like Herja, except her wide-set eyes were filled with warmth and her lips made Helgi ached to kiss them.
Maybe she was the reason he felt suddenly whole, and with purpose. Is this what love was like? He wasn’t sure. But he was eager to find out and wondered if Svafa could love him in return.
“Of course, you need a gift,” Svafa replied. She turned to him, a smile gracing her plump lips. Helgi wanted to reach out and trace his fingers along her mouth, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his touch. More than that, he wanted to lean in and kiss her, to find out if the Valkyries felt as mortal women did under his embrace. “I have a wonderful gift in mind, Helgi.”
“Really?” Helgi hoped it had something to do with kissing him. “Please tell me what this name gift is and whether it somehow involves your fine self.” He felt a heat intensifying between them as her gaze snapped up to greet him. It was as if lightning was forming, ready to crackle between them. The hairs on his arms stood up and his hand reached out involuntarily, ready to clasp Svafa’s. She stepped back as if she knew what he was about to do. Her action wounded Helgi and he swallowed back his dismay.
“There is a very special sword I know of,” she replied. Her voice was small and she spoke hesitantly. However, as Helgi gazed at her, she stood taller, thrusting her shoulders back as she glanced across at her kin. “It is engraved with snakes and the magic runes for protection. I will tell you the location of this sword and you can consider it your very own battle talisman.” She swallowed hard, her eyes closed briefly as her brow furrowed. Finally, she looked at him once more, her resolve evident. “It is the best I can do to keep you safe.”
The Valkyries around her tittered, some elbowing Svafa as if teasing her.
“Why would you want to protect this man?” One of them asked. Her hair billowed out behind her, seeming to mingle with the clouds behind them. “We need all the men we can get in Valhalla, and this one is tall and appears strong. He would make an excellent member of our army.”
The Unnamed Warrior Page 3