Chapter Eleven #2
“What if I told you that there was a way that you could save them both?” said the goddess.
Gunnar’s eyes widened. “Then that would be my choice.”
Freyja stood up, her feet still in the cold stream, and looked down at Gunnar.
He sat up with his legs underneath him. “Gunnar, here is what you may choose,” she said.
“Sif has marked you with the eihwaz rune. It is my rune, the love rune. If you keep your heart devoted to Sif, the rune on your hand will grow in power with each year.”
“But Sif loves Hakon, just as he loves her!”
“I did not say it would be easy, Gunnar,” replied Freyja gently, “nor did I say that she would return your love. She will not. You are correct; she loves your brother. However, there will come a time when Sif and Hakon are in terrible danger. If you have kept your heart true to Sif, year after year, that rune will have the power to save all of your lives.”
“But how will I know when that will be?” asked Gunnar, in mixed hope and despair.
“You will know, Gunnar,” said Freyja, with the kindest and most loving of smiles.
“Then I will wait,” swore Gunnar stubbornly. “I will save them.”
Freyja strode across the stream, bent down, and gave Gunnar a soft kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was lying in his bed. He opened his palm and looked at the rune in wonder.
“I will carry Sif in my heart but never say a word,” he murmured. “I will nurture the strength I need to save the people I love the most. I promise you both. When the time comes, I will be ready.”
***
Gotland
Present Day
Hakon’s mind wandered as he dreamed. He tried to remember what had brought him here.
There had been a battle, and he had prepared for his death as the cost of saving Sif.
His brother had been there at his side. Hakon had looked up at the red-stained head of the war hammer hanging above him, and…
something had happened. He was standing here, alone, in a mountain meadow, listening to the quiet rushing of a stream and the songs of birds.
“I was a moment away from welcoming you to Folkvangr, young Hakon, but it seems that you still have time to spend on Midgard,” came a silvery voice from behind him.
Hakon whirled and gasped as he beheld a woman of otherworldly beauty.
“Lady Freyja,” he murmured and dropped to one knee.
The goddess laughed. “The men of your family have such excellent manners,” she said, smiling.
Hakon frowned as he pondered the implications of this, but his mind quickly returned to more pressing matters.
“Lady,” he ventured, “how is it possible that I am still alive? That creature had my life in his hands.”
“Because of someone’s destiny, carried bravely for many years, brought to the right place at the right time,” she replied.
“Who—” Hakon began, confused, but Freyja shook her head. “It is not my story to tell, nor yours to know,” she said firmly.
Hakon blinked then shook his own head as if to clear it. “So is it over, my lady? The threat that you showed to my woman? I saw the ships of the Jomsburg sail up the river to meet our enemy. Surely the Skraelings are no more?”
“Almost, young warrior, almost,” said Freyja. She lifted a hand to forestall his questions. “The Skraelings have been defeated and lie dead upon the field of battle. You and your brother have defeated the enemy champion. But the source of all this mischief yet remains.”
Hakon had stopped listening at the mention of his brother. “Gunnar!” he cried, remembering the sight of his brother stepping between Hakon and the war hammer’s fall. “My brother! Is he alright? What happened?”
“Your brother is alive,” replied Freyja. “You will have to ask him about what happened, once you awaken.”
“When will I awaken, lady?” asked Hakon. He hastened to add, “I mean no disrespect to you and your company, goddess, but my woman, my brother, my family, are all in the waking world.”
Freyja laughed once more. “I do not take offence, young warrior.” Then her face grew serious. “But I need you to understand that the task you and Sif have taken up so bravely is not yet complete. As I said, the source of all this mischief yet remains.”
I am so tired, and all I want is my woman. Hakon did not allow the words he thought to cross his lips. Instead, he rose to his feet, looked at the goddess, and said, “Tell me what I must do.”
“All of this—the wolf in my meadow, the darkened skies that cut off the sun, the rise and attack of the Skraelings—all of this began with Surtr,” said Freyja.
“The terrible fire giant threatens us once again, just as he did with the Brennari. He is breaking through into Midgard, through the eruption of a fiery mountain far to the North where the Skraelings live. Every day that mountain pours fire onto the earth and belches smoke into the sky, Surtr is closer to breaking free of his realm and working his evil upon both human lands and those of the gods. The mountain’s rage must be cooled, or we all face a terrible ending in flame. ”
Hakon’s mind raced. How could Freyja possibly imagine that mere humans could cool the fire in the heart of a mountain? Not unless—
“No,” he said. “Not Sif.”
“She is the only one with the power,” said Freyja gently.
“You are a goddess!” protested Hakon.
“Hemmed in by the danger of Surtr’s dark wolf,” replied Freyja. “It is a cruel trick. As long as the sun is hidden, the wolf’s power is greater than mine. I cannot cool the mountain without first defeating the wolf, and I cannot defeat the wolf without first cooling the mountain.”
“The mountain must be weeks away.”
“She can travel there within her mind,” observed Freyja.
“I will not let her face this alone,” said Hakon stubbornly.
“You don’t have to. You can travel with her.”
“How is that possible?” demanded Hakon in disbelief.
“Ask the Elder witch, Baedi. The method is old, with deep roots, and very powerful. Now go, young warrior. You have great deeds still undone.”
Hakon opened his eyes and was back in the world. Above him, gazing down with tenderness and concern, was the woman he loved more than life itself.
“Oh, Sif,” he murmured. He pulled her close, and kissed her tenderly, losing himself in her soft lips and the feeling of her hair cascading down around him. Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss and held her face in his hands.
“My love,” he said, “I have much to tell you.”
***
Word that Hakon had awoken spread quickly, and many came to wish him well. To his great delight, his father was one of the first to do so.
“My boy!” shouted Brynn joyfully as he strode into the wide tent that been erected for Hakon. The huge warrior looked intent on plucking his son right out of the cot in which the young warrior lay, but thankfully Sif put her hands up in warning.
“Carefully, carefully,” she said, laughing. “Do not break your son. I for one would be most disappointed.”
Brynn snorted and leaned back, crossing his massive arms. “Our family does not break easily!” he said. “Look at Gunnar! Speaking of which, get in here, lad!”
Gunnar, grinning sheepishly, stepped into the tent. His one hand was thickly bandaged and held up by a sling. “Hello, Brother,” he said, smiling.
“Gunnar,” said Hakon, rising to a sitting position. “Oh, Gunnar. You saved my life.” Hakon’s emotions rose up and he felt tears at the corners of his eyes. Trying to lighten his reaction, he joked, “How will you ever let me forget it? You will be unbearable now!”
Everyone laughed then Hakon asked in concern, “How is your hand?”
“Well it doesn’t look pretty,” said Gunnar. “Depending on the next week or so, I may have to emulate Tyr and become the deadliest one-handed warrior the world has seen.”
Hakon looked curiously at his brother. Although some might have taken Gunnar’s manner for a kind of false bravado, Hakon knew him well enough to see that Gunnar was genuinely more at peace than Hakon had seen him for a very long time, possibly ever.
“Something has changed in you, Brother,” said Hakon, cocking his head.
Gunnar looked for a moment as if he was going to make a joke then paused, and simply said, “You’re right. Maybe I’ll tell about it sometime.” Hakon nodded.
“So,” said Hakon, taking a deep breath, “the fact that I am still alive tells me that we have had at least some good fortune. What happened after Gunnar blocked that creature’s blow? I thought I faced my death.”
Sif shuddered. “We all did. I was afraid you were doomed, but then Gunnar stepped between you and that terrible war hammer. He raised his hand and when the hammer struck it, there was a great blast of wind, a sound like the tolling of a deep bell, and a flash of light. When we could see again, you and Gunnar had been blown back to the near bank of the river, and that foul creature was gone.”
“All was not roses and honey just yet, mind you!” broke in Brynn.
“There were still a great many of those pestilent Skraelings. But Huw and I—and many of our companions, thank the gods—were flying down the river as fast as our ships could carry us. When we hit the shallow waters of the ford, we leapt down into the midst of those cowards and let our blades do the talking, until the Snoderan ran red with blood!”
“Is Uncle Huw here with you?” asked Hakon.
“He is. He waits outside, with your aunt Astrid,” replied Brynn.
“Aunt Astrid is here as well? Is Mother here?” asked Hakon.
“She is,” said Brynn, “although she is in some trouble with me! When she found out that Astrid was going and she was not, she was the soul of understanding. I should have been more suspicious then. It was not until we were mid-voyage that I discovered her stowed away.”
“Where is she? And why was Aunt Astrid supposed to come?” asked Hakon in confusion.
“She and your aunt are helping with the wounded,” said Brynn. He frowned. “I’ll told all this backside foremost. Sif, can you straighten the tale?”