Chapter 1
Fearing the fall Erik clung to the cliff. The thought of the consequence of his fingers slipping, the misjudgement of a foothold and the certain death that would follow paralysed his body. Stood on the boulders jutting out of the sea, he had thought climbing the cliff would be a trivial challenge, it certainly hadn't looked that high, but now clinging to a narrow ledge halfway up his perspective had changed. The boys watching below appeared small enough to put in his pocket. He pressed his face against the cold rock unable to climb higher or even to climb down if he wished.
'You're not scared are you?' taunted a voice from above.
He risked glancing up to where Harald clung to the cliff several feet above his head. Harald's face was a gloating expression of triumph. It had been Harald that had challenged Erik to climb the cliff. Driven by the constant urge to prove himself, Erik had accepted without hesitation. A decision he now wished he had thought longer about.
'No,' Erik lied feebly. Nausea churned in his stomach. His fingers ached and his hands were so sweaty it felt as if butter smeared his palms. Yet he was not going to give Harald the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. With false bravado, he yelled back up the cliff, 'If you're scared, we can climb back down.'
'I'm scared! You're the one clinging to that rock like it's your mother's apron,' Harald mocked. To prove his point he let go of the rock with his left hand and dangled by just one arm. Terrified of the thought Erik pressed his body tighter against the rock. Harald laughed. 'I always knew you were a coward. Do you want me to climb down and rescue you?'
'I don't need any help. I'm just taking a break to enjoy the view.'
'What view? All you can see is the rock an inch from your face,' Harald jeered. He yelled down to the boys below. 'Erik's a coward. He's too scared to climb any higher.'
'Am not!' Erik protested. 'Just catching my breath.'
Under the scrutiny from the boys below Erik had to climb on. The fear of a potential death was nothing compared to the shame of being branded a coward. It was not just his own pride at stake, but that of his father. To climb back down, or worse to be rescued, would be an embarrassment he would never be allowed to forget.
The first move was always the hardest. He took a deep breath and with a trembling hand reached upwards for a handhold. Pressing his fingertips against the rock, he wedged his foot into a crevice, and hoisted himself upwards. Now all he had to do was take his time and just keep moving. Concentrating on nothing else but the next ledge for his feet or a crack for his hands, he inched upwards. His right hand brushed against the long strands of brown grass that clung to the cliff's edge. He risked looking up. The top of the cliff was only a few feet away. Harald had already disappeared over the edge. Forgetting his caution he scrambled up the remaining few feet and heaved himself on to the firm ground.
For a few moments, all he could do was lay panting beside the cliff edge as he tried to steady his racing heart. The sickness in his stomach and the trembling in his limbs vanished as quickly as they had appeared. He heard applauding from below and peered over the edge. Safe on the cliff top, his perspective had changed again. The boulders where the boys stood cheering did not appear that far at all.
'Anyone would think we just climbed a mountain,' Harald grunted. Even though he belittled their achievement, he still waved and smiled to the boys like a triumphant hero. He stepped away from the cliff's edge and looked at Erik. 'I supposed if it was any higher you would have wet yourself and cried like a baby.'
'I climbed the cliff.'
'You were terrified.' He lifted his hands and mimed being stuck against the rock face.
'I was just resting for a moment.'
'Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe that?'
'Yes,' Erik said.
Harald grabbed his shoulder. 'Did you call me stupid?'
'You heard me,' Erik said brushing away Harald's hand. Harald was a head taller yet Erik refused to be bullied by the older boy. He met Harald's gaze. Harald scowled but it was all impotent rage. Neither boy would risk the punishment for fighting.
'Next time we're in the training yard you're dead.' Harald snapped. He pushed past Erik and stormed off down the trail running along the cliff top at the fjord's edge.
Not wanting to catch Harald up, Erik paused at the cliff's edge and looked out to sea. Harald was becoming a problem. Fifteen, and a year older, Harald's parents had a small farm in the hills beyond the mouth of the fjord. Being the middle son and having little chance of inheriting the farm Harald and his younger brother Ulf had been sent to the coast to join Erik and the other boys training in the art of war. Competitive and determined to prove he was the best, Harald constantly tried to outdo the other boys. The majority of the boys either allowed him to bully them or ignored his boisterous challenges. Erik did not have that luxury. No matter how tempting it was, he could not just ignore Harald. Believing he had to prove himself worthy of being his father's son, Erik accepted any challenge without hesitation. It was his burden of being son to the region's chief Rurik the Rogue. As Rurik's only son and heir, he would one day inherit his father's position and reign over the region and any weakness he showed now would never be forgotten.
He was about to head back to the settlement when a glimmer of red caught his eye. Squinting he could see a pair of longships with red sails skimming across the water toward the mouth of the fjord. All summer the ships had been a harbinger of terror to those that saw them off their coast. But for Erik they were a sight he had been waiting for since their departure in the spring. Then he had watched the ships from the beach wishing he could go with the men on their summer expedition to find a new trading route to Miklagard. This year he had begged his father to allow him to join them. His father had laughed and said the journey was for men not boys. Therefore, he had spent another summer with the women and the old men tending to the flocks and farming the land.
As the ships drew level, he waved and called out to them. The ships were too far out to be certain, but he was sure that a few of the men returned his greeting. He waited until the ships disappeared into the mouth of the fjord before scurrying after them. He judged each step with care. A slip on a lose stone could result in a twisted ankle or worse a broken bone. He had heard tales of hunters being stranded after breaking limbs and by the time, they were discovered it was too late. They had become meals for wolves, bears or the terrifying creatures that only emerged at night.
The trail twisted away from the cliff edge heading down the steep banks into the pastureland at the water's edge. Pastureland stretched in a thin narrow band between the fjord and the conifer forest covering the steep surrounding hills. Dotted amongst the fields were small farms comprising of longhouses and barns with turf roofs. At the edge of the fjord was a pebbled beach surrounded by the small town of Fistaud. The town itself was a collection of longhouses gathered around a large feasting hall. Amongst the houses were workshops and forges making everything from metal tools to jewellery.
Erik was nearly at Fistaud when he spotted Ulf running towards him. Ulf, Harald's younger brother, was Erik's best friend and usually the two of there were inseparable. Ulf had been one of the boys watching him climb the cliff. Like Erik, he had long fair hair and blue eyes. Unlike Erik, his face was long and angular and his gangly frame a contrast to Erik's small stocky body.
'Erik your father's ship is back!' Ulf cried waving him on.
'I saw them from the cliff,' Erik said. 'If we're quick we can get to the beach before they land.'
They ran wildly along the trail startling a flock of sheep. A farmer yelled angrily after them before sending his thralls out to round up the animals. Erik and Ulf did not stop. The famer would complain to his father or Alvis and he would end up punished. Erik did not care. He just wanted to get down to the beach and see his father for the first time since the spring. During the previous winter, his mother had died in childbirth delivering his younger brother Igor. Igor had only survived a few hours longer before passing away. He rarely grieved for his mother, she had gone to a better place, but with his father away, he had found the summer long and lonely.
Alvis the Honourable stood at the front of the crowd gathered on the beach to greet the returning men. He had once been a powerful warrior, but since losing his left arm at the elbow his muscular body had turned to fat. No longer able to accompany the summer expeditions his role had changed into Erik's guardian and temporary ruler during his father's absence. Erik had mixed emotions for the man. His father clearly held Alvis in high regard to trust him to reign in his absence, yet Erik failed to understand his father's view. He found Alvis a strict and an over protective tutor that constantly lectured him and harshly disciplined him if he stepped out of line.
Alvis scrutinised Erik for any indication that he had been up to trouble. Erik met his gaze having learnt that whether he had done anything or not, if he looked away Alvis would read the gesture as a sign of guilt. Satisfied Alvis gave a sharp nod of his head in greeting. Erik smiled politely back and turned to the ships.
The sails were furled and the men had taken to the oars to row the ships in. Erik looked at the lead ship expecting to see his father at the prow. Erik's stomach jolted. Something was wrong. Occupying his father's place was the bull like Snorri, his father's second in command.
With the sound of pebbles scrapping along the hulls, the ships rose up on to the beach. Snorri jumped from the prow into the ankle deep water. The other men followed and under his instruction pulled the ships further up onto the beach. Only when both ships were free from the surf did the crowd surge forward to greet the men. Erik remained behind, frozen by an overwhelming sense of dread.
Snorri pushed through the crowd searching him out. The beast of a man crouched down so that they were at eye level. Erik looked past the platted blond beard, the broken nose bent to the left, and into his cold blue eyes.
'Where is my father?' he whispered. His voice quivered with each word. Aware that all the eyes on the beach had turned to him he swallowed and tried again. 'Where is my father?'
Snorri placed a calloused hand on his shoulder. 'Erik, my lad, I have grave news. We were heading upriver and we stopped at a town for supplies. I tried to persuade your father to attack the town and take what we need rather than bartering with the locals. Your father would not listen. He approached the town and one of the locals cowardly fired an arrow. It struck Rurik in the throat. It was an impossible shot, one that Odin himself would struggle to make.'
'Is he....dead?' Erik said flatly.
Snorri nodded slowly. 'Your father was a great man and like a brother to us all. Yet we should not grieve for him. For he is Valhalla with the glorious dead. Every day he will battle and fight to his soul's content. At night he will feast on meat and drink mead by the barrel. So try not to shed a tear for him.'
'I will not,' Erik said brushing his eyes with the back of his hands. With his father's death, the people would turn to him for leadership. His father had taught him never to show weakness in front of others, and though it was a struggle to fight the devastation he felt, he was determined to do so with his head held high. Snorri lifted the hand from his shoulder and rose to leave.
'When did he die?' Erik asked.
'Five months back.'
'Why did you not return then?' Erik demanded his grief turning to anger.
'I decided it would be a waste of a season to return so soon. We had little to show and I did not want to return empty handed.'
'But what about my father?'
'We burnt him on a pyre.'
'You should have brought him back here so we could perform nábjargir, the ceremony for the dead.'
'We saw to his needs in the next life. Tonight we will feast in his honour and celebrate a successful season.' Snorri turned away to oversee the unloading of the ships. Erik remained on the spot as people came to him and expressed their sympathies for his loss. He heard none of their words just the soft mummers of their tongues.
Chapter 2
While the majority of the town were celebrating Rurik's life in the feast hall Snorri ambled along the beach, his mind a whirlwind of activity. He had found the heat in the hall stifling. Needing fresh air and a chance to think he had excused himself and ventured out into the night.
The beach was deserted. Lying just beyond the reach of the water the longship were dark hulking shadows. Their serpentine figureheads made them look like monstrous creatures that had clambered up from the depths to lay their eggs on the shore. Out in the fjord the moon cast patches of silver across the rippling water. On the opposite bank the dark forests reached up the sides of the mountains. Away from the coast, the land was a dark and dangerous place where creatures that hungered for the flesh of men lurked. Snorri shivered at the thought. He had heard countless tales of warriors falling victim to monsters and other foul fiends. He had never seen any of the creatures told in storytellers' tales, but on nights like this, it was too easy to imagine monsters stalking closer and closer as they prepared to pounce.
He laughed the idea away. The mead was playing tricks with his mind. Yet a real danger was approaching. He could feel it in the air. Winter would soon be wrapping its frozen cloak over the land bringing long nights and short days. In the freezing conditions, there was no place for the weak, only the strongest survived.
Not so long ago Snorri had found life that simple. He had followed Rurik's leadership without hesitation. He used to pride himself in his loyalty, knowing Rurik trusted no other man more. Then the arrow had pierced Rurik's throat and the world had changed. On Rurik's death, his first thought had been to return home, but seeing his friend's body vengeance filled his heart. His vengeance had been bloody and swift. He had not left a man alive and burned the town to the ground. Not only had it sated his thirst for vengeance it had also turned out to be a profitable decision. The captured women and children fetched a good price to slave traders on the Normandy coast.
Buoyed by his success and seeing the potential in raiding settlements he turned away from Rurik's plan to find a new trade route to Miklagard. Instead, he began a campaign of pillaging along the Anglo-Saxon coast. Successful raid followed successful raid earning him the loyalty of the men. Where they had once looked to Rurik to lead them they now turned to him. Then the season had ended and they had returned home. It was only as the ships pulled up onto the beach he had thought for the first time beyond a summer of raiding.
The people saw Erik as Rurik's natural successor. They expected him to step aside for the boy. But why should he? He had led the men during a summer of successful campaigns. He had proven himself worthy to reign as chief. What had the boy done? Nothing! Erik had never experienced battle. He had never killed a man. How could he be expected to lead them? The people needed a strong leader not one barley into his teens.
With a belly full of mead he wanted to strike out and break something. He clenched his fists digging his nails into his palms. He looked up into the moon hoping to find a sense of calmness in its tranquil face. The dark shadow of a bird passed across its face and instead of peace, he found inspiration.
Snorri suddenly knew what he had to do. This was a hard land where only the strongest survived. He was strong. Erik was weak. With every passing day, the boy's strength would grow. He needed to act fast and cut him down before he could grow into a serious rival. With the problem solved in his mind, Snorri returned to the feast. Tonight was to celebrate a successful season and the memory of his greatest friend. Tomorrow would be a day of blood.
* * *
Erik woke with a pulsing head. He knew he would not be the only one. The return of the men had been celebrated with a night of feasting and storytelling. Mead and ale had been drunk by the barrel. Finding drink numbed his grief Erik had drunk too much trying to escape.
Angry with himself he staggered to his feet. He needed a clear head for the day ahead. With the death of his father, the people would turn to him for leadership. He knew he was not ready, he was only fourteen, but he would do the best he could. Alvis had already promised to help as much as possible. For the first time he saw the value of his father's trust in the man and he felt a twinge of guilt for the bad words he had said about him in the past.
Hoping fresh air would clear his mind he left the longhouse. He inhaled and exhaled deeply breathing in the cool northerly breeze as he surveyed the town. He had never seen it so quiet. To his left a pair of ducks waddled along a muddy path between two houses; he could hear a dog barking in the distance and a pig snorting from a nearby sty. The only sign of human activity was tendrils of smoke rising from the nearby longhouses.
Erik walked around to the stables. One of the thralls had left a bucket full of water beside the door. On impulse, he dunked his head into the bucket. He shivered as the cold water prickled his skin. Feeling marginally better, he pulled his wet hair back behind his ears and straightened up.
'Erik.' He turned to see Snorri walking towards him. 'I have come to see how you are.'
'I'm good,' Erik said. His reflection in the bucket looked far from well.
'There is no need to lie to me. I know what it feels like to lose a father. Mine died in battle and it leaves a wound as deep as any weapon.'
'As you said my father is in Valhalla.' Erik felt uneasy in front of the man. He could not place the source of his apprehension. Perhaps it had something to do with Snorri resting his hand near the hilt of his sword.
'But he has left us behind to grieve for our loss. You may not want to admit it to another man, but I know you loved your father. There is nothing wrong with that. It is only natural you will be feeling pain and grief at losing him.'
'You haven't come here to tell me this,' Erik said. Snorri was the last man he wanted to confide in about his grief.
'You're as astute as your father,' Snorri chuckled. 'Don't misjudge me. I meant every word of what I just said. But you're right I have come here for another reason. I want to offer some advice. When my father died, I found the times I sat in thought painful. I kept dwelling on the opportunities we had missed, the words I wished to say and most of all the fact I would never see him proud of the man I would grow into. Then your father found me wallowing in self-pity. He got me up and kept me occupied. With my mind turned to other things, I found I didn't dwell on my grief. I suggest you do the same.'
'I have more than enough to keep me busy. I have my people to look after.'
Snorri's brow creased into furrows. 'Of course you do. But don't you think it is bit soon to take up so much responsibility with grief so fresh in your heart? Your duties can wait until tomorrow. Why don't you spend the day out hunting? I have heard rumours of a fine buck nearby.'
'I don't know. I think Alvis...'
Snorri interrupted waving his hand dismissively. 'Don't worry about Alvis. I've already explained it to him and he thinks it is a great idea. He even suggested that if you are successful in the hunt it will be seen as a sign that you are ready to lead us.'
'And if I'm not?'
'Then no one else has to know about it. It will be our little secret.'
Erik bit his lip indecisively. He knew he should be filling his father's boots, but he had no idea where to begin. With his head aching, perhaps it would be a good idea to leave it until the next day. 'Maybe you're right,' he conceded.
'Of course I am,' Snorri said smiling. The broadness of his grin alarmed Erik. He seemed almost too pleased. 'I will send some men to accompany you.'
'And scare away the deer. I will go with just Ulf.'
'Very well I wish you a successful hunt.'
* * *
While Erik fetched his bow, Snorri left the small town. He quickly checked to make sure no one was watching before taking the trail along the coast. After a short distance, he reached a narrow cove. Two men emerged from the heather. He had chosen them carefully and hoped their loyalty was as much as he assumed. Even so, it had taken a promise of land and gold for their assistance.
'The boy has taken the bait. Follow him until he is deep in the woods. Then kill him and any witnesses.'
Chapter 3
The red deer lifted his head into the air and with nostrils flared bellowed a deep call that echoed through the forest. Not intimidated the rival buck answered with a call of his own. Close by four hinds mulled around showing little interest in the contest.
Downwind Erik and Ulf crawled cautiously toward the deer. Although the bucks were their targets, they were more worried about alerting the hinds. The males with their impressive antlers were absorbed in each other and did not scan the forest for danger like the females. If one of the hinds detected them, they would flee alerting the bucks, and the hunt would be over before it began.
Erik gestured for Ulf to stop. Sixty feet from the bucks, they crouched amongst the ferns to watch the contest. They would wait for a victor and then strike when the bucks were tired. Both were large deer, each brandishing an impressive set of antlers. Erik would not admit it, but he had nerves in the pit of his stomach. He had never hunted a fully-grown buck before.
The two bucks began walking parallel to each other, each deer sizing up his rival. If one of the bucks did not retreat in submission, their contest would become physical. Erik watched in fascination. He hoped it would come down to a battle of strength. He had never seen the spectacle of two bucks locking antlers. It would also tire his quarry and make the kill easier.
Suddenly the head of one of the hinds snapped around in their direction. Erik instinctively froze not even daring to breath. He sensed Ulf freeze beside him. Then without warning, the hinds turned and took flight into the forest. Noticing the fleeing females the bucks glanced in the boy's direction before fleeing after them.
'What happened?' Ulf said climbing to his feet as the last of the deer vanished amongst the trees. 'They couldn't have smelt us. We're downwind.'
'They must have sensed us somehow,' Erik said. He sighed with disappointment. They had spent the whole day tracking the deer and before he could even notch an arrow to his bow, the deer had fled. 'We had better head back. It will be getting dark soon.'
There was a light thud behind them. Both boys jumped in surprise.
'Did you hear that?' Ulf asked.
'It's coming this way,' Erik said fitting an arrow to his sting. Ulf followed suit and both boys stood with bows drawn waiting.
'What do you think it is?'
'Could be a bear or a wolf?'
'Whatever it is it's not trying to hide from us,' Ulf replied. His arm shook slightly making his bow wave in his hand. 'You don't think it is a troll?'
'Trolls can't come out in daylight or they turn to stone,' Erik said. He could feel his own fear growing inside him and with it shame. His father had never shown fear. How could he lead the others when a few noises in the woods terrified him? He summoned his courage and called out. 'Whose there?'
There was a moment of silence that the forest seem to adhere to and then came a man's voice in reply.
'Is that you Erik?'
'Who goes there?' Erik said. He kept his bow drawn as two men appeared from behind a tree. Erik recognised them from his father's raiders but he could not recall their names. Both men had the look of seasoned warriors. The first man was red haired the second dark haired.
'It is I Ketil son of Grettir,' the red haired man said coming forward his hands held open. 'And this is Svein the Savage. Will you lower your bow?'
Erik noticed the swords around the men's waists. It seemed strange for them to be carrying weapons out into the forests. His father had taught him to always trust his instincts and for some unknown reason he felt suspicious.
'Lower your bows, we mean you no harm,' Ketil said stepping closer.
'Why are you here?' Erik asked.
'Snorri has sent us to follow you.'
'Why would he do that?'
'You're our new leader and he worries something may happen to you.'
'I don't need to be watched like a child. I am quite capable of looking after myself,' Erik snapped. 'Your heavy feet have made us lose the deer we were stalking.'
'We had no idea you were hunting,' Svein said. He looked up at a hole in the canopy. Erik followed his gaze. The sky was beginning to darken. 'I suggest we return to home. Night is not far away. We would not want to be in the forest after dark.'
'You're right, but we will make our own way back.'' Erik said lowering his bow.
Suddenly Svein had his sword in his hand. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward swinging the blade into Ulf's neck. Ulf's eyes bulged in shock. His fingers went up to the wound to be doused in a torrent of blood. He tried to speak before toppling over backwards.
In the same instance, Ketil drew his sword. Instinctively Erik raised his bow and stepped backward as the man swung at him. The sword sliced through the bow missing his body by a hairs length. Before Ketil could swing again, Erik flung the remains of his bow at him and ran.
Erik did not think. He could not think. He just ran. He weaved in out of the trees. He leapt over obstacles without thought of what was on the other side. He could hear the men in pursuit and he pushed himself harder. His heart pounded in his chest and his lungs gasped for air. Exhaustion began to set in. He no longer avoided the bushes and low branches. He charged through them, not feeling the way they clawed at his skin drawing blood in long thin scratches.
Ahead the forest opened up. The sound of roaring water filled the air. He slid to a halt at the edge of a narrow canyon. Twenty feet below the river pounded against the rocks. He stole a glimpse behind him and could see the men coming closer, red faced and panting for breath. He looked back at the canyon. It was ten feet across. Certainly too far to jump.
Something thumped him hard in the lower back. A searing pain surged through him. He blinked in confused shock before stumbling over the rocky edge and into the river below.
* * *
Ketil lowered the bow he had taken from the hands of the dead boy. He would have rather had used a sword than a bow, but had grown tired of the chase and seeing the boy was prepared to jump had taken the shot. The arrow had struck the boy cleanly in the back a bit higher than the kidney he had aimed for. With sword in hand, he looked into the river below.
'I don't see him,' Svein said sheaving his sword.
'The river must have swept him away.'
'We had better look for the body,' Svein said.
'There is no need. He's as good as dead. If the arrow didn't kill him then the river will. Failing that he won't survive a night out in the forest.'
Chapter 4
'Caw.'
The call of the raven woke Erik from darkness. Eyes closed he lay motionless listening to the bird cry for a second time. He tried to make sense of what had happen. His memory was haunted with Ulf's death. The expression on his face and the way his body slumped to the floor repeated itself in his mind. It took an almost physical effort to push the ghastly image aside and focus on what had happened next. He remembered running until he had reached a canyon with a river running at the bottom. He had considered trying to jump across. Then there had been a sudden pain in his back and he had fallen forward. He must have landed in the river and been swept downstream. Perhaps he now lay washed up on a bank awaiting death.
Another raven called and he knew it to be so. The birds had gathered thinking he was carrion. He screwed his eyes shut. They went for the eyes first. He had seen sheep with their eyes pecked out by ravens and crows, sometimes while the animals were still alive. The thought of their beaks tearing his flesh made him shudder. He would not go down without a fight. He screwed his hands into a fist and clenched a handful of soft wool. Puzzled he opened his eyes and the last thing he had been expecting greeted him.
He was not washed up on a riverbank or even in the forest. He lay on a pile of sheepskins in a small hut. An open fire in the middle of the hut bathed the stonewalls in an orange glow. A pot suspended above the fire bubbled with a broth that occasionally boiled over into the flames with a hiss. On a perch by the door, a pair of ravens preened their feathers stopping occasionally to croak. Beside the fire, two wolves lay on their sides warming their bellies, their paws twitching as they made faint growls in their sleep. Amongst all this sat a man wearing a wide brimmed hat. His head rested against his chest hiding all but his beard from view.
'Father?' Erik muttered sitting upright. The moment he said it he knew it could not be. The man was far too old. He looked ancient, yet his body appeared strong and tough like a tree root.
'Father,' the man chuckled. 'I am a father to many, boy.'
The man raised his face to the light. Erik's mouth fell open and a gasp escaped his lips. He had never seen the man before, but instantly knew who he was. He should have realised seeing the wolves and the ravens, but even then, the idea had seemed so absurd he had not considered it. He was looking at no other than Odin, the king of the gods!
Odin met his gaze with his one fiery eye. His left eye was a narrow slit, the skin around it swollen and bruised. Erik dropped his gaze to the god's hands. On his right hand, a huge gold ring glowed in the fire light. His left hand rested on his spear, Gungnir a magical weapon, only second to Thor's hammer.
'From the gormless look I see that you recognise me, boy,' Odin said. 'Do you want to eat?'
Erik could not find his voice. He stared at the flames rather than make eye contact and offend the god.
'It is prudent to answer a god when he speaks to you boy,' Odin roared. The whole hut vibrated with his voice. The ravens stirred flapping their wings in great beats while the wolves raised their heads and whimpered.
'Y-y- yes please,' Erik stammered. He felt terrified and in awe at the same time. He looked up for a second to take the offered plate before dropping his gaze. Slowly he ate the boar stew dreading the moment when he would have to put the plate down and address the god. While he ate, Odin threw pieces of meat for the ravens and wolves. Erik put the last morsel in his mouth and Odin leaned over and took his plate. The god dropped it to the floor for the wolves to lick clean.
'Look at me boy,' Odin commanded. Erik could not disobey. It felt like a pair of invisible hands grasped him under the chin and forced his head up. 'You must have questions to ask?'
Erik found his tongue had loosened. 'Did my father make it to Valhalla?'
'Ah Rurik the Rogue,' Odin said with a fondness that made Erik proud. 'A cunning and devious warrior, that used his brain as well as brawn, even if he did use them to avoid fighting most of the time. He makes a fine addition to my army gathering at Valhalla. Do not worry about him. You should be more concerned with yourself.'
'What about Ulf?'
Odin shook his head. 'He was yet to prove himself on the battlefield and has entered Hel's domain.'
'Can't you do anything for him?'
'If I had any power over Hel I would get her to release my own son not some scrawny whelp,' Odin snapped. Noticing Erik flinch Odin gave an exasperated sigh. 'It has been a long time since I last spoke to a mortal and I have forgotten the patience needed. You have nothing to fear from me. I will not harm you Erik. If I wanted too, you would be dead by now.'
'So I'm not dead?'
'No, I pulled you from the river. I removed the arrow from your back and healed the wound.'
'You saved me? Why?'
'We will get to that in a moment,' Odin said with a sly smile. 'First you should know that Snorri is telling everyone you are dead. He sent two men to kill you. Unknown to them they have failed to do so. With you out of the way he will take your place and rule your people.'
'I will go home,' Erik said. 'When the people see that I have returned his reign will end. I will have him banished or perhaps even killed.'
'You think you have it in you to take the life of another?'
'I... I don't know,' Erik admitted. 'But I can't let him take what it rightfully mine.'
'Rightfully yours? Nothing is rightfully yours until you earn it. If you think Snorri will welcome you back with open arms you are a fool. He will order the men loyal to him to kill you on sight. Snorri has tasted the power of command and those with power rarely relinquish it under their own freewill. If you want your people back, you will have to fight him for them.'
'Then I will challenge him to a duel.'
'Brave words boy, but do you believe them? Just look at you. You are just a boy. Do you think that you could defeat a man like Snorri in combat?'
Erik shook his head knowing the god was right. 'Then why did you save me?'
'The matters of men are of little interest to me and normally I wouldn't interfere. However, I need something to be done and you're going to do it for me.'
'Me?'
'Yes,' Odin said. 'And in return I will help you regain the collection of shacks you call a kingdom from Snorri.'
'But you're a god and I'm... well I'm just me. How can I possibly do anything for you?'
'You can help delay the end of the world.'
Chapter 5
'You know of Ragnarok?' Odin asked poking the fire with the tip of his spear.
Erik opened his mouth to reply, but the words became caught in his throat. The fire had begun to throb with rhythmic pulsations that looked as if it was breathing. The flames grew brighter and brighter transforming from an orange glow to a white light. In the heart of the fire, the image of a snowy wasteland began to form. A sea kept from freezing by the movement of its waves lapped against one side of the polar desert. With the exception of the icebergs, bobbing on the waves, it was a still lifeless world.
Then a ship with a sail the colour of dried blood appeared on the horizon. The ship was enormous. It made the icebergs look like ice cubes as it pushed them aside. As it drew closer, Erik noticed that instead of timber making up the hull the ship was constructed from millions of nail clippings. The ship did not slow as it approached the plain. It surged out of the water beaching the full hull of the ship.
Immense figures clambered down from the ship. They were humanoid in shape yet from the sheer scale of them they could be none other than the frost giants, the fearsome enemies of the gods. They were elemental in appearance looking as if they had been carved from ice and rock by the wind and rain through years of erosion. A lone man stood amongst this fearsome hoard. He did not share the giant's size but he radiated a powerful darkness that seemed to eclipse the giants. His face was twisted and warped by his own all-consuming hate. He was Loki once friend and companion to the gods now the architect of the Apocalypse.
The hoard stared out to sea as if waiting for something. Suddenly the sea began to bubble and froth. The water bulged upwards into a dome that dwarfed the figures on the beach. Then it burst hurling icebergs into the sky as a colossal serpent's head emerged from the depths. Its eyes were larger than the ship, each tooth in its fanged jaw larger than the tallest giant. The serpent slithered up on to the plain. It was so vast that the majority of its body remained beneath the waves. Jormungand the first of Loki's monstrous offspring had arrived.
A howl roared through the air. Where the coast met the horizon, a pack of monstrous wolves had appeared. Leading the pack was wolf larger and more terrifying than the creatures it ran with. When it opened its jaws to howl its mouth was large enough to swallow the sun. This was Fenrir, the second of Loki's offspring.
The sea had calmed since the turmoil caused by Jormungand's arrival allowing another ship to sail towards the coast. The ship beached itself next to Loki's ship and more giants climbed down from it. These giants looked as if they had been forged from great furnaces deep within the earth. Their skin glowed like heated metal and molten rock sweated from their brows. In their midst stood Surt with his flaming sword brighter than the sun. Around him, the snow and ice evaporated in great plumes of steam.
The earth shook as a massive crack opened in the ground. Out of this fissure, an army of decomposing corpses crawled out. They were the unworthy death, the bodies of warriors that had died in sickness and old age. Hel, Loki's third and final monstrous child, rode in a chariot. She was dressed as a warrior queen. Yet even dressed in armour it did not hide her ghastly appearance. From the waist up she was a woman with a cold hard face, beneath the waist she was a rotting corpse. With her arrival, the forces of evil had amassed and under Loki's command, they marched forward away from the coast.
The sound of Hemidall's horn echoed across the plain. It would be the last sound of hope. Even when confronted by the armies of darkness Erik found a sense of happiness and safety in its notes. The horn blew again summoning the forces of good to the final battle.
Another army appeared on the horizon opposite the forces of evil. At the centre of this army marched the gods dressed for war. In their centre dressed in a gold helmet and gold chainmail was Odin. He led the army forward carrying his spear over his shoulder. Beside him was Thor, the god of thunder and champion of the gods, in his hand he clutched his mighty hammer. On either flank of the gods marched the glorious dead. These warriors had died in battle, the heroes of man picked by Odin for the final battle. Circling in the sky above the army of good were women riding giant birds of prey. Each women possessed heart-stealing beauty. They were dressed for war and were the Valkyries, Odin's shield maidens.
The armies lined up their ranks stretching as far as the eye could see into the distance. The gods chose their opponents as fate had dictated, Odin against Fenrir, Thor against Jormungand and Hemidall against Loki. Then with the sound of Hemidall's horn, the greatest battle of all time began.
Odin charged forward his spear held in front of him determined to slay Fenrir. The giant wolf opened its mouth and lurched forward. Before Odin could strike, Fenrir clamped his jaws around the god. Fenrir bit hard before flinging back his head and swallowing the god. Thor fared little better in his battle against the serpent. He sidestepped the serpent's snapping jaws and brought his hammer down. Under the force of the blow, Jormungand's head split like an egg. Venom gushed from the wound drenching Thor. He staggered nine paces away from the fallen serpent and collapsed. His body shuddered once and he moved no more. Loki and Hemidall battled to the death. There was no victor; they both succumbed to the other's weapons.
Elsewhere the outnumbered glorious dead and the surviving gods surged deep into the ranks of evil. They fought valiantly and may have won the day if Surt and his flaming sword did not enter the fray.
The fire giant swung his blade sending flames into the ranks of the glorious dead incinerating gods and heroes alike. Buoyed by his success Surt swung his blade repeatedly. Now not only were the forces of good falling victim to his flames, but so were his fellow giants and creatures of evil. He tried to stop but he could not. The fire he had generated had developed a life of its own. The flames burnt hotter and hotter consuming everything on the plain even Surt himself. The flames reached the sea turning it to steam. The ocean bed melted under the heat and the flames burned on until nothing of the earth remained.
* * *
The fire shrank down. Erik stared at the flames in shock. His skin was covered in a film of cold sweat. He had just seen the end of the world. He looked up at the god and for a second Odin looked frail and weak.
'Knowing your own death and the end of everything is high price to pay for infinite knowledge,' Odin reflected. 'The day of the final battle is approaching. As we speak Loki is tied to a rock waiting his chance to escape and lead the forces of evil against us. I cannot stop Ragnarok from happening no one can. To control fate is beyond even my powers. Instead I am reduced to preparing for the inevitable.'
'I will fight with you at Ragnarok,' Erik said. It was not much but it was all he could offer.
'You are yet to prove yourself worthy,' Odin said. Erik crestfallen sigh made the god smile. 'Do not get down heartened boy. I have yet to tell you of what I need you to do.'
'And that is?'
'I want you to help me delay Ragnarok'
'Me? Why me? Why not Thor? He is the greatest warrior and hero of the gods.'
'There is a truce between the gods and the giants. This truce must be obeyed to prevent Ragnarok. If I send Thor the truce will be shattered and the consequences will be disastrous for us all. If you go the giants can only hold you responsible.'
'What can I do? I'm not a great warrior. I'm just a boy like you said.'
'You will not be alone. When you leave here head south until you reach the coast. Follow the coast until you reach the city of Kongstún. There you will find the greatest gathering of human heroes. You will be asked to perform a task. If you are successful, you must ask for a ship and a crew to man her as your reward. I suggest you also try and recruit some of the other heroes to accompany you.'
'Accompany me where?'
'On the quest I have in mind for you. Do not worry about that for now. Just make sure you get to Kongstún and complete what is required of you there. When you have gained your crew I will send you further instructions.'
Erik didn't know what to say. Odin was treating him like a pawn in a game and the thought made him nervous. He didn't want to go but he didn't have any choice. You could not refuse the will of a god especially one that had saved your life.
'Good everything is settled,' Odin said. 'You look tired. It's time you slept.'
Odin clapped his hands together. Erik's eyes slammed shut and he slumped to the floor with visions of a great battle raging through his head.