The following evening, Hedin and Arnor were admitted to the small back room at the Forge, where Grimnir, Halfdan, and Helgi were already waiting. The fire was burning brightly and benches had been drawn up around a small trestle table, which had already been spread because Halfdan wanted the meeting to be held in privacy. In spite of these welcoming touches, the atmosphere was tense with expectation. It lacked the informality of a normal family gathering. Halfdan introduced Grimnir to the new arrivals. Hedin bowed low with a flourish but cast a sidelong smirk at Helgi, which suggested the opposite of respect. He was clearly unimpressed by Grimnir’s scruffy and distinctly odd appearance. Grimnir nodded distantly but made no effort to initiate a conversation.
‘Have you travelled far?’ inquired Arnor pleasantly.
‘From Norway,’ said Grimnir in his dry, hoarse voice. ‘I came directly from the royal estate at Kinsarvik. And before that I was in the north, with Earl Hakon at Hladir,’
‘Well I never!’ said Arnor, eyebrows raised.
‘I trust I am among friends, so I will show you my token,’ rasped Grimnir. He slipped a hand inside his coat pocket and brought out a large and beautiful gold ring, which he gave to Arnor. On the outside it was intricately decorated with a pattern of interlaced beasts; inside it was inscribed with a circle of runes.
‘Hakon owns me,’ read Arnor, tilting and turning the ring between his fingers so the inscription caught the firelight. ‘So you are here on official business on the earl’s behalf.’
Grimnir discreetly pocketed the ring. ‘I must beg you not to mention this to anyone,’ he hissed. ‘My work is politically sensitive. If the purpose of my visit were to become widely known, my life would be in mortal danger.’
Arnor’s round blue eyes widened in amazement and he turned questioningly to Halfdan.
Halfdan took charge of the proceedings. ‘All will become clear, I promise, but first I must ask you to comply with Grimnir’s request and swear a solemn oath not to tell anyone about his involvement.’ They all murmured their agreement.
‘Let’s sit down,’ said Halfdan. Everyone found a place on a bench and Halfdan, seated at the head of the table, poured out generous measures of ale for everyone. Then he sat and looked at the company huddled around the table, hushed and expectant. Helgi knew his father was a forceful orator, who sometimes liked to tease his audience by making them wait. At length, Halfdan got to his feet and began to speak slowly, in a voice sonorous with emotion.
‘Friends and kinsmen, thank you all for coming here tonight. I am grateful for this and for so much more. I owe you all an immense debt for the help you have already given us. Arnor, it is my deepest shame that I have never properly thanked you for taking us in when we arrived in Iceland, storm-tossed and destitute. You offered us a haven in a time of darkest despair.’ He paused for a moment and looked at Arnor with obvious emotion. ‘I know I can never repay you for that. And I am glad that you will never have to suffer the oppression and indignity my household has suffered. Here, you are free. You have offered me a share in that freedom many times and I agree with you that staying in Iceland would be the safest option. However, I cannot—I can not—endure the thought of living in exile from my native land—even with the comfort of friends and family around me. I want justice, not charity!’
Halfdan’s face darkened with a fierce passion. He brought his fist down with a bang on the table and beer spilled from the drinking-horns.
‘We must reclaim what was stolen from us and what is rightfully ours! We must avenge the lives that were lost when Grjotgard burned our family home to the ground! If your liberty means anything to you, brother, then you will understand this. There can be no true freedom without justice!’
Arnor nodded gravely.
Halfdan continued: ‘I have struggled for months now to find a way … and at last, I think, circumstances look promising. But so much will depend on you, and whether you can find it in your hearts to help us one last time in the bold venture I am proposing. First, you should know what I have found out from Grimnir, our honoured guest. Grimnir has been working tirelessly to rally Earl Hakon’s friends in readiness for an expedition against Harald Greycloak. You have seen his token: proof that he has the earl’s trust. But Grimnir has taken more of a risk in coming here than you might suppose. This is because he is one of the King’s Spies.’
There was a gasp around the table. The King’s Spies were a secretive and much-feared organization dedicated to ensuring the security of the kingdom of Norway. It was their responsibility to roam the country looking for signs of rebellion and eliminating troublemakers.
‘Harald Greycloak believes that Grimnir is trying to infiltrate the resistance movement in the north and destroy it from within. But Grimnir is in fact a double agent. He has defected to our side and is now working secretly for Earl Hakon.’
‘Wait a moment,’ interrupted Arnor. ‘I’d like to know why Grimnir has changed sides now when he was content to serve the king before. What possible reason could he have for risking everything he has gained under Harald and Gunnhild? And why should we trust the word of a man who has built his career on treachery and deceit?’ he added sharply. ‘What if this is all a web of lies and Grimnir is still working for the king?’
Grimnir, who had been sitting aloof throughout Halfdan’s speech, fixed Arnor with a piercing black stare. Disconcerted, Arnor looked away and appealed to his brother. ‘I’m just afraid, Halfdan, that you’re only too willing to lap up his story because it’s what you want to hear. I don’t blame you for this—it’s only natural and in your position I’d probably feel the same—but I beg you to be careful.’
‘Arnor is understandably suspicious about my motives,’ said Grimnir quietly, ‘but he should hear me out before accusing me of treachery. I have been a close advisor to Queen Gunnhild for many years. Her father was a chieftain in Halogaland by the name of Ozur Toti, but when she was young, she was fostered by a king in northern Finnmark, who summoned me and put me in charge of her education. Later on, when she returned to Norway with Eric Bloodaxe, King Harald’s father, and was married to him, I remained in her service, attended her about the house, and accompanied her on journeys to ensure her personal safety. I have taken my duty seriously: everything I have ever done has been out of a deep regard for the queen and the promise I made her foster-father, King Mottul, to protect her. But recently I have had premonitions of disaster. Harald is not a popular king: he has taxed the chieftains too heavily for their liking and he acted unwisely when he replaced Sigurd with Grjotgard. There have been bad harvests this year. The king is foolishly attempting to starve the north of the country into submission. He has banned grain imports from the south and the result will be famine and rebellion. There is already a mood of discontent, and I fear for the queen’s safety. Earl Hakon enjoys popular support: he’s managed to hold Trondheim and gather a fleet and he’s been making raids on the king’s lands. The man is ambitious: he plans to depose the king and I’m beginning to think he might succeed. I’ve been trying to negotiate a peace deal between him and Gunnhild: Gunnhild has promised him the north if she can keep the districts in the south. Hakon has indicated that he is prepared to accept the deal, which would mean overlooking the death of his father, on condition that I help rally his supporters who are in exile. I’m simply trying to protect the queen—the person most dear to me—from a desperately bad situation. Call me a pragmatist if you like, but you will observe that my motives are true. Kings and great men may come and go, but I have always served my mistress faithfully and I always will.’
‘Are you convinced now, Arnor?’ asked Halfdan.
‘His explanation’s consistent, I suppose,’ said Arnor reluctantly, ‘but it sounds as though your alliance with Grimnir is one of mutual convenience rather than true friendship.’
‘Arnor, what choice do I have?’ cried Halfdan in exasperation. ‘We must act now; we must prepare the ship and recruit men if we’re to be back in Norway before the start of the raiding season. I need to be close to Hakon, to stand a chance of influencing his plans.
Grimnir has agreed to help us with the first stage of the operation; after that we will go our separate ways.’
‘So tell us what you want us to do,’ said Arnor.
Halfdan turned to Hedin. ‘Nephew, you may remember a little while ago that you said to me “If I can be of any service—”. I would now like to take up your offer. I would like you to come to Norway with me. You have made a distinguished name for yourself as a man of valour, and gained not only a large amount of booty on your raiding trips abroad, but also a number of influential friends. Your presence as a leader on the expedition will lend it credibility and make it much easier to recruit fighting men. I can’t do this without you, Hedin! Having you with us will make all the difference to our chances of success. You will not only be helping us in our war against tyranny and injustice, but also improving your own prospects. Hakon, like his father, is no less powerful than a king: I have heard that he is extremely generous to his men and lavishes money and honours on those who are of good family and noted for their prowess. You can expect substantial rewards and advancement from him, and while you are in his company, you’ll be able to enjoy the splendid hospitality his court has to offer.’
Hedin tapped his teeth, considering the proposition. ‘You said I would be a leader …’
‘Of course. I’ll be in overall charge of the operation, and you’ll be second-in-command. I’ll consult you before taking major strategic decisions. I need a skilled, experienced leader who can instill a small handpicked team of fighters with confidence, and you are the best man I can think of. If my strength should falter, you will be there to take over until I am well again.’
On hearing this, Hedin’s face brightened with interest and he asked eagerly, ‘How soon can we leave?’
Halfdan jumped up, strode round the table and embraced Hedin warmly, with tears of gratitude welling in his eyes. Releasing his nephew, he turned to Arnor and said ‘I hope you don’t object—’
‘Hedin’s old enough to make up his own mind,’ said Arnor. ‘I would never stand in the way of his advancement, though this expedition seems a risky undertaking to me. To be honest with you, Halfdan, I think it’s madness even to contemplate such a campaign! But then, you have always set yourself lofty goals. I can see you are firmly resolved to go, but I think it would be wise to leave Gerda and Malachi here with us, along with anyone else in your household that you consider unsuited to the harsh tasks ahead. They can join you later, of course, when the time is right …’
‘Yes, that’s an excellent suggestion,’ said Halfdan.
Helgi began to worry that because of his age he might be included among those deemed unfit to fight. He opened his mouth to plead his case, but before he could say anything, Halfdan spoke again, a little awkwardly. ‘I ought to tell you, brother, that Audun came to see me yesterday. He’s interested in joining the crew …’
‘That doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ replied Arnor, with a sigh. ‘He’s made no secret of the fact that he’s unhappy and wants to leave. I’ll miss his help on the farm, but I can’t blame an able young man for wanting to get on in life. You’ll need competent and dependable men for this expedition and I can’t think of anyone better than him.’
Helgi was almost beside himself with agitation as he listened to their talk. He sat bolt upright, his eyes rivetted on his father, desperate to attract his attention. He felt he might burst if he did not speak at once. ‘What about me, father?’ he cried, his voice shrill with excitement. ‘I’m old enough to be useful on the expedition!’
Halfdan smiled at him. ‘I know you are. But I’d like you to stay in Iceland for a while longer.’
Helgi was horrified.
‘Stay here? But I can’t—I can’t stay here! I’m going home with you! Hedin went raiding when he was my age—didn’t you Hedin? Hedin invited me to go abroad with him this summer—while we were at the games. He said we’d make a great team! And Audun thinks I’m coming with him! I want to go with my friends! You can’t leave me behind!’ Tears sprang to his eyes and he jumped to his feet, almost tipping over the bench in his panic.
Halfdan looked grave. ‘Helgi, this is a war expedition, not a stickball match. Don’t worry, you won’t be excluded from the team. I have a special job in mind for you. It will involve a journey north. You won’t be alone: Grimnir will accompany you. When you’ve carried out this mission, he will escort you safely to Norway where you’ll find the rest of us waiting.’
Very red in the face, with his hands resting on the table, Helgi stood and stared at his father in dismay. He became aware of a shift in Grimnir’s attention; he could feel Grimnir staring intently at him through a haze of pipe smoke. He felt the hairs rise upon the back of his neck.
‘What kind of job is it?’ he asked sulkily, without looking in Grimnir’s direction.
‘One that’s too sensitive to entrust to anyone else. I’ll tell you about it later. Come here.’
Helgi trailed reluctantly around to his father’s seat and allowed Halfdan to hug him in the same way he had thanked Hedin. His father whispered ‘Good lad!’ in his ear.
Helgi sat out the rest of the meeting in a resentful silence. He could have wept. The prospect of two long journeys with only Grimnir for company filled him with dread and he felt bitterly disappointed not to be joining Audun and the rest of the team on the voyage. He would be missing all the fun!
He wondered why his father hadn’t wanted to discuss the details in front of everyone else. His father had said it was a mission so delicate that only he could be relied on to undertake it. If Grimnir was involved, perhaps it had something to do with spywork … Now, that might be interesting, Helgi thought. The secrecy of the enterprise heightened its attraction for him. Gradually, he began to recover from his disappointment. He began to feel rather pleased to have been entrusted with what was clearly a special and important job. Striking out on his own adventure would earn him more credit than being bossed around as a junior shipmate.
‘Well, Halfdan, you’ve got what you wanted,’ said Arnor, clapping his brother on the back, ‘I’d like to be the first to congratulate you and wish you luck.’
‘I feel as if victory is within our grasp already!’ declared Halfdan.
Arnor laughed.
‘Well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration,’ Halfdan admitted. ‘There’s a lot to do before we can leave. We must overhaul the Swan, get our stolen weapons back from Eric …’
Arnor looked concerned when he heard this. ‘Now Halfdan,’ he said, ‘I don’t want any trouble. Not now.’
He glanced at Hedin, as if asking his permission to break some important news, and Hedin gave a little nod in reply. Then Arnor told the company that Hedin had expressed an interest in Solveig when he returned from the games and that he and Astrid were giving him their full support.
‘I can’t think of a better match for our son! Marriage to a chieftain’s daughter would improve Hedin’s prospects, and reinforce the friendship between our two families. A close alliance like this will help to keep Eric in check. It might even further my own political ambitions!’ he said. ‘This is very important for us. I’m prepared to pay a good sum for the bride—whatever her father thinks is proper—but it could be a tricky deal to negotiate. The last thing we need right now is for your quarrel with Eric to flare up again. If you go seeking redress, it could turn Solveig’s family against us and ruin our hopes, and I can’t allow that to happen!’
‘I see,’ said Halfdan. Turning to smile warmly at his nephew, he said, ‘Well, I wish Hedin every success with his proposal. I would say he has a very strong suit. His reputation is such that I’m sure he will be well received by both father and daughter. But I can’t leave without my weapons, Arnor. You must understand that.’
Arnor nodded and looked unhappy, but Halfdan quickly smoothed things over.
‘Let’s raise our cups high,’ he said, ‘and drink to Hedin’s future happiness and to the success of our expedition!’
Everyone grew very merry after that, though Helgi felt funny about having to toast Audun’s rival. Halfdan brought out the strongest ale in the storeroom, and the carousing carried on late into the night. Finally, a little after two in the morning, Arnor and Hedin said their goodbyes and weaved their way home, arm in arm, under a starry sky, singing a roistrous drinking song. Halfdan clung to the doorpost, waving a sentimental farewell, and then crashed out on his bed. Grimnir, who had barely touched his ale despite the numerous toasts being pledged, retired soberly and discreetly to his sleeping bench in the hall.
Helgi climbed up into his small loft bed under the eaves. He fidgeted about, searching in vain for a comfortable position that would block out the baritone snores that reverberated through the walls of his father’s bed closet. How could he possibly get to sleep with that racket going on?
Why not do it tonight? Draw the sword and see what he could make it do. There was little danger of waking his father. It was dark, of course, but a little starlight filtered in under the eaves. Helgi lay very quiet and still, listening, until the soft rhythmic breathing coming from the recumbent form on the bench told him that Grimnir was sound asleep. Then he wriggled under the covers so he was entirely hidden from view, gripped the sword-hilt and drew out the blade. The sword dragged insistently at his wrist. He took a deep breath, as if preparing to dive under water, and then slowly exhaled, relaxing as he did so, and let the sword pull him free without any resistance. He passed gently up through the blankets, leaving his body lying on the bed, still holding the sword, like a stone figure on a warrior’s tomb. He wasn’t quite touching the bed but suspended several inches above it. Looking down, he was satisfied to see that the lumpy shape of his body under the covers gave the impression that he was asleep in bed.
The sword’s ghostly double shimmered like a sliver of moonlight. Helgi looked closely at the form the blade had taken, and realized it was immaterial. When he turned it sideways, the edge was finer than a hair. It glimmered coldly in his hand, like a pale luminous ray, but its light did nothing to alleviate the darkness of the room. His hands, though, were surprisingly white in the darkness. They appeared to glow of themselves, with an inner light.
Helgi raised the sword and plunged it experimentally into the sheepskin that covered the straw on which he slept. Reaching out to touch the place where the sword had entered, he experienced a shock as his hand passed right through the surface of the bed. He repeated the action; his hand sunk up to the wrist. It was impossible to feel whether the sword had left a puncture. He peered closely at the bedcover; the shafts of starlight that streaked the bed revealed no signs of physical damage. Yet the sword had worked well enough on Skeggi … He would have try it out on something else, a living thing. Something small, like a spider or a moth.
Helgi looked down from his position near the roof. The objects in the room were softly outlined: the bed, benches, and clothes chests stood out more distinctly than before, as faintly silvered silhouettes. Looking up, he saw that the cavity above his head was speckled with pinpoints of light. It took him a moment to realize what they were. The rafters were thick with cobwebs and spiders hung there in abundance, their small fat bodies studded the roofspace like living stars. The lights were so vibrant that he could almost hear them singing out in the darkness.
He reached up and stabbed one; the spot of light went out, suddenly silenced, and a tiny crumpled body landed on the bed. He put out another light, and then another. It was rather fun, putting out spiders.
Soon the bed was littered with tiny black corpses. He’d snuffed out a dozen lives at least, but there were plenty left over—a whole canopy of gems above his bed, twinkling and shivering with a high glassy note.
His curiosity was really excited now and he wanted to get down to floor level and explore. He automatically grasped at the bedpost to pull himself off the bed, but his hand went clean through it. He aimed his hand at the bedpost again from a different angle, wondering whether a problem with his depth perception was causing him to misjudge distance, but every time he went for it, his fingers missed the post and closed on nothingness. Everything, it seemed, had the look of solidity, but the things he could reach offered no resistance. He could no longer feel any distinction between spaces and what were normally solid surfaces: everything yielded and dissolved under his touch, like air.
Oddly, whenever his hand passed through the bedpost he smelled or tasted the aroma of seasoned wood. Was it possible to taste with your hand? The experience had the quality of a very strange dream, but he could not recall ever having tasted something in a dream before.
He puzzled over how to get down. He had forgotten how difficult it was to move around in this state. It was like being submerged in deep water. The air seemed to have become a thick, resistant medium. Breathing did not present a difficulty but achieving any kind of mobility was an exhausting struggle, for although he was weightless the air itself seemed like an oppressive weight. He tried to swim, pushing with his arms and kicking with his legs, but found this got him nowhere. Then it occurred to him that moving around might require mental concentration. He remembered how intent he had been on getting back to his body when he had panicked in the mound. He focused very hard on where he wanted to be, and although he could get no purchase on the ground for walking, he found that by fiercely exerting his will, he could wade through the thick air in an ungainly fashion.
A highly polished shield, which doubled as a mirror, hung on the wall in the hall. Helgi held the sword up to the metal disc but no mirror image of the sword appeared, and he could see no reflection of his hand or arm either. His hands stood out brightly and appeared to have bodily form, but when he tried to touch one hand with the other, he could feel nothing with either hand.
Determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, Helgi made his way to the nearest inner doorway that led to a small annex. His hand automatically reached out to grasp the doorlatch, only to clutch at nothing at all. He pushed at the door and his whole arm plunged through it, as if the solid barrier were nothing more than a conjuror’s illusion. He gingerly stepped through the wooden panels, sampling the scent and flavour of the door as he did so. He could equally have walked through the wall, but the wall would have tasted a lot worse.
The passage beyond led to the storeroom and the room Embla shared with Gerda. A dim strip of light showed under their door. Embla must still be up because Gerda was unlikely to be awake at that time of night. Helgi had a sudden mischievous impulse. He would walk through the closed door and give Embla the fright of her life. He’d been meaning to tell her about the sword and what better way than to surprise her with a demonstration of its powers!
He stuck his head through the door panel. Shadows danced on the walls of the chamber which was feebly lit by a stone oil lamp that stood on a small trestle table at the far end of the room. Embla was sitting at the table with her head bent over a little slate tablet on which she was scratching marks with a knife. Her unbound hair spilled over her shoulders like molten gold, oddly bright in the dimness of the room. Helgi thought it strange that she should be bathed in such radiance when the flame of the lamp had burned so very low. Smoke was pouring off the wick, which needed trimming. The lamp shed only a dull light on her work, but her hands, which rested on the table were bright, so bright that they seemed self-luminous.
It struck Helgi as a funny thing to do—to sit up so late, writing. He wondered what Embla would do when she saw his disembodied head hanging in mid-air. Scream and swoon on the floor probably, he thought, grinning with delight. He withdrew his head, then took a long stride through the door, which carried his whole body into the room. Embla did not even look up. Helgi moved towards the table, stopped, and whispered her name. She peered closely at the tablet and blew some dust away. ‘Embla!’ he hissed more sharply. She crossed something out irritably, put down her knife, yawned, and sat back on her seat.
She raised her head and stared right through him. Then it was Helgi who felt his stomach dip and fall away in shock.
The girl at the table wasn’t Embla!
Helgi found himself in the presence of a complete stranger. She was a fully grown woman, at least four years older than the person he had been expecting to see. Her cheekbones were sharper and the line of her jaw more prominent, with no hint of childish softness; and she wore a stern, forbidding expression. Her face glowed like a lamp with a warm light and her hair, spread out over her shoulders, rippled and crackled like wavy, flickering tongues of fire.
Helgi stood before the apparition, utterly petrified, his eyes almost starting out of his head. Then he uttered a small cry, leapt backwards, and dived through the door.
Spurred on by his extreme terror, he blundered all the way down the passage before coming to a halt, exhausted and reeling in bewilderment. There was an intruder in their house—a strange woman! Not a normal woman, but some kind of faery creature. Sitting on their workbench, if you please, as though she had every right to be there! Had she seen him when she looked up? Would she come after him? And what of Embla and Gerda? They were still in the room—with her.
He watched the door at the end of the passage with anxious trepidation. When no one emerged, he took three long strides towards it, pausing for a space between each one, and listened outside. All was quiet within. Was she still there? He hovered by the door, uncertain whether to take another look. His initial shock had begun to pass off now, and though he was still afraid of what she might do to him, he was more anxious to know who she was, what she was up to, and whether Embla and Gerda were safe.
‘She must be a dis: a goddess or an ancestral spirit,’ he thought. Perhaps he should expect to meet strange things when using the sword. It was a magical sword, after all, and he had already encountered a mound-dweller—why not, then, a dis? Perhaps the sword was putting him to the test. If he was worthy of bearing the sword, he ought to be able to brave whatever was demanded of him. He peeped through the door panel: the dis was still there, sitting at the table, facing the door! But she gave no sign that she had seen him.
‘If she’s done any harm to the women, I’ll run her through, just like I did Skeggi,’ he murmured, gripping the hilt. He felt ready for anything now. He took a cautious stride into the chamber, then sidled to the right to check the sleeping benches, keeping a watchful eye on the dis in case she attacked.
A body lay swathed in a blanket in Gerda’s place, facing the wall, but when he came to Embla’s sleeping-bench, his heart turned sick and faint. The bed was empty!
The creature had done away with Embla and taken her place!
Helgi whirled round, sword in hand, and took two giant steps towards the dis, but all of a sudden something happened which made him stop before her, completely confounded. The woman stood up and stretched luxuriously, twining her bright arms high above her head, and the pearly brightness of her arms filled his ears with a shimmering sound. Helgi forgot his indignation, and stared at her with frightened rapturous eyes. The soft light that poured from her face hummed with a low warmth, like the droning purr of a cat.
As the woman moved out from behind the table, smoothing the folds of her dress, Helgi saw colours arising out of the dark, each of which sang out with a different tone; and as he listened to the sounds that were carried to him, he realized that she was robed in an extraordinary gown of rich blues and reds and gold. In some places, the colours were embroidered haphazardly in complex geometrical patterns, but mostly they merged and flowed freely into subtle and indefinable shades, which resonated like bowed strings: the blues low and full, the reds lively and vigorous. The colours seemed to fluctuate at random, but were never discordant: they harmonized in a strange, beguiling music that was beautiful to hear. He gazed at the fabric, mesmerized, watching the luminous colours surge and ebb in an irregular rhythm, as if they were alive, and listening to the song as it rose and fell. The fluid movement of colour and sound seemed to be a part of the woman herself, the living expression of her thoughts and feelings.
The radiant woman took several paces across the room, and as he watched her, Helgi had the peculiar feeling that he knew her face from somewhere, but he couldn’t think how or where they had met before, unless it had been in a dream. As she passed close by him, Helgi felt a vibration run up his arm from the hilt as if the sword had shuddered.
He very much wanted to touch her, out of curiosity more than anything.
He reached out his hand, but at the last moment withdrew it, suddenly afraid. He remembered the shocking pain he had experienced when he blasted through Thorgrim at the end of the stickball match. Touching another person when he was bodiless was something he ought to avoid.
Suddenly he recalled where he had seen her. It had been at the autumn games—that strange moment by the frozen lake when Embla had seemed to him transfigured with light. That was when he had seen her. It was the same woman—he recognized her now!
But this woman, so terrifyingly beautiful, could not possibly be Embla. She looked nothing like Embla at all! Yet he had seen her before, standing in Embla’s shoes, only for a moment, but it was definitely the same face.
That would explain why Embla’s bed was empty, and why this woman had been sitting in Embla’s place. She must be Embla, but not the everyday Embla he knew. She was the true Embla: Embla the Prophetess.
This realization sent a chill through his body. To think he had almost run her through with his sword!
Helgi could not understand it. Was Embla able to transform her appearance, or was it that his perception of her had changed? Why did she look so much older? And why was she all done up like a queen at this time of night—wearing those funny clothes instead of her nightshift? Where had she got them from? They were quite unlike any apparel he had ever seen.
Then it occurred to Helgi to take a proper look at himself. Looking down, he saw that he too had been transformed. His arms and shoulders looked stronger, more muscular, and he thought he might be several inches taller, though it was difficult to judge because his feet were not quite touching the ground. Perhaps he had aged a couple of years. He was wearing a loose, long-sleeved shirt made of thin woven cloth. It was shapeless, dark in shade, but randomly shot through with tiny irridescent threads, which flickered and glinted, and pulsed green, purple, and silver. He felt them tickle when he focused his attention on them. Below the shirt, he was wearing something dark—baggy leggings maybe—most bizarrely of all, a pair of stout boots made of brown leather and lined with what looked like reindeer fur. He could not tell by touch if he was wearing anything on his head.
‘Just as well Embla can’t see me,’ he thought, embarrassed to find himself in such a ridiculous outfit. Yet the costume suited him in a strange way. It seemed to be making a painfully honest statement about the kind of person he was. The indeterminate cut of the cloth and the unpredictable glistening of the dark weave were hinting at something. What was it? That much of himself was still forming, or hidden even from himself? Only the reindeer boots stood out, clownishly and incongruously.
Embla the Prophetess padded across to her sleeping bench and curled up on it, drawing the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes. Helgi decided it was time to leave. He wanted to explore outside and was curious to find out whether Kol looked any different.
He moved away, feeling as if he was pushing through heavy liquid. It was such an exhausting effort that he decided to take a shortcut through the external wall of the storeroom. This idea particularly appealed to him because the room where the food was stored was usually kept locked.
Although the storeroom was unlit and the door closed, he could see his way because the wooden boxes and barrels in the room gave off their own subdued light, but he chose a route that involved blundering through as many obstacles in the storeroom as he could find: a stack of boxes containing dried cod and smoked mutton, sheeps’ stomachs stuffed with rancid butter which hung from the ceiling, a barrel of whey, and finally a number of wall-shelves holding earthenware pots and jars. He waved his hand carelessly around, delighted to discover that instead of swiping everything off the shelves, he could taste or smell the contents of each pot. Seal oil, blood pudding, pickled fish, thyme, angelica, and—ugh, what was that? A acrid stench, like concentrated urine, blasted through his arm and invaded his entire body! Helgi pulled his hand sharply away, took a step back, and found himself waist high inside a beer barrel.
He dipped his hands in the barrel and felt the beery flavour steal into the tips of his fingers, spread slowly up his arms and into his chest, then rise up into his throat, until finally it bloomed in his mouth. Helgi grinned to himself. How many other people could say they had tasted beer through their hands?
He wondered what it looked like inside the barrel. His instinct was to take a deep breath before submerging his head, but he found he couldn’t do it. He had to steel himself before pushing his face through the lid. He bobbed up again almost at once, astonished by what he had seen. Then he immersed his head again to take another look.
Helgi had imagined it would be dark, but the ale lit up the inside of the barrel. It was a brilliant, zestful yellow, fizzing with tiny bubbles. There were bubbles moving all around him, above and below, hissing softly and trickling through his head in tiny streams.
Helgi could not understand how he was suddenly able to see colours in the dark and feel them as a tangible vibration. It was as if he was seeing in sound—something he had never been able to do before. Colours like these had never been visible to him before and he had been deaf to their music. It seemed to him he had a much longer range of perception. He knew some animals—like dogs—were able to hear sounds that were inaudible to humans, and now, like a sensitive animal, he could perceive things that lay far beyond the normal reach of human eyes and ears.
He turned his attention to the outside wall of the storeroom. The wall was so thick that he could stand inside it and be completely surrounded by soil. It was like being buried alive, and Helgi felt a slight panic, as though he expected to suffocate. This was not because he felt deprived of air—there was no need to breathe—but because he was enveloped in a peculiarly pungent smell of peat, mould, and roots. He examined the inside of the wall. It wasn’t uniformly dark as he had expected. He was able to distinguish small rocks, faintly silvered, and tiny, squiggly lights which appeared to be worms, gorging themselves on the compost. The stacked earth was a mesh of fine luminescent threads, stippled with specks of intense brilliance. Helgi watched these busy staccato dots come and go for some time before he realized they were burrowing insects.
Emerging outdoors, through the wall of the storeroom, he could feel no breeze, though he could see clouds scudding across the moon. He seemed to be insulated from ordinary sounds too: the bark of a dog, chained up on the other side of the house, sounded muffled as though his ears were full of water. Now that he thought about it, there was no difference in temperature. It was uniformly cool, both indoors and out.
Murky clouds drifted slowly across the dark sky and a half-moon peeped occasionally through the rifts. The faint and intermittent moonlight could not account for the peculiar resonant brightness of the scene. That was due to his super-sensitive, long-range vision. He had acquired an ability not just to see in the dark, but to see the world around him as a soundscape. The grass stood out louder and brighter than anything else. It was as if the song was coming from the grass itself. The turf walls of the buildings emitted a low burring sound, visible as a greenish glow, whereas the grassy roofs and slopes gave off a soft, high, tremolo note, like the sound made by a wet finger running around the rim of a glass. It gave him a feeling like goosebumps. Helgi had never thought much about grass before, except as good or bad grazing for horses, but now he listened entranced and marvelled at its mysterious beauty. Even the grass was singing out, but he had never been able to hear its voice before; how could he have been so unseeing?
He crossed the yard, enjoying the novelty of sometimes sinking knee-deep into the pavings, sometimes wading in mid-air. He stopped just outside the stable door, and decided to try an experiment. Summoning up all his powers of visualization, he concentrated very hard on being inside with Kol, and …
… Wham! His mental effort propelled him violently through the door. Before he had recovered from the surprise, something whizzed past his head and smacked into the door behind him with a muffled thud. Helgi automatically ducked. He was under attack! A heavy object—this time a milking stool—came hurtling towards him but passed harmlessly through his chest, rebounded off the door, and came to rest between his feet. Then a whole barrage of objects flew at him – a bucket of water, an old pitchfork, a broomstick, a small drinking trough, and several rotten apples.
It was worrying to find that someone could see him after all—and worse still to have met someone intent on attacking him. But once he’d established that the missiles couldn’t hurt him, Helgi stood his ground and peered into the murky depths of the building, trying to see who was throwing them. There was a faint scuffling at the far end of the stable. Helgi got the impression that his assailant was no bigger than himself, and probably just as frightened.
The sword was twitching excitedly in his hand, but Helgi kept a firm grip on it. He didn’t want a fight. It would be better to establish a truce, if possible.
Reluctant to venture any further into the darkness, he stood where he was and whispered, ‘Hello? Please don’t throw things at me—I’m sorry I startled you.’
There was silence. He tried again. ‘My name’s Helgi—who are you?’
‘Nobody! Now get out! Get out!’ came a fierce, gruff voice from behind the pile of boxes and sacks that were stacked against the farthest wall.
It was a relief to have established contact, even if it wasn’t a friendly reception. ‘I live at the Forge,’ Helgi said. ‘I’m a friend. I’ve come to see my horse, Kol.’
An angry retort came from the back of the stable. ‘If you’re a friend, why are you carrying that nasty thing? What do you mean by bursting through the door and scaring folk to death?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Helgi helplessly. ‘I didn’t think there would be anyone here, apart from the horses.’
‘Typical thoughtless ingratitude!’ the voice shrieked in vexation. Then a large head emerged, faintly luminous in the darkness, followed by a stout body of dwarfish stature. It belonged to a little old man, no bigger than a two-year-old child, with a shining face and a beard like spun silk, a flat nose, and small, sharp eyes that burned with a sombre light and regarded Helgi with mistrust. He was wearing a long shirt, crudely fashioned out of sacking which bristled with threads of light where it had not been patched with coins and scraps of iron. Below that, Helgi glimpsed sheepskin leggings and boots, A grey woollen hood covered his ears. Helgi was surprised that he’d never noticed this farmworker before, given his strange appearance and diminutive stature.
‘Are you one of Arnor’s servants?’ he asked.
The old man looked terribly affronted. ‘Servant? Certainly not! How dare you address me with such disrespect!’ he screeched. His face, which shone with a prickly white light, suddenly glowed a fiery red, and he waved his arms in a wild and furious gesture. The tower of boxes behind him suddenly detonated and pieces of splintered wood flew in all directions. Helgi was terrified that the disturbance would wake everyone in the house and frighten the horses, though it appeared that the horses were not in their stalls.
‘Please, please, oh dear—I didn’t mean to offend you …’ he pleaded, trying to hush the old man.
‘Look what you’ve done now—you’ve frightened the horses!’ the old man stormed.
Helgi was about to protest that the horses were not there but the old man glared at him so fiercely that the words died on his tongue. ‘I never get a minute’s peace these days!’ he ranted. ‘You’re even worse than the other one that goes prowling around the farm at night. Poking his nose in and rummaging through everything. Trespassers, that’s what you are, the pair of you!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ replied Helgi in a deferential tone, ‘it’s just I’ve never met you before and I didn’t know you worked here.’
The little old man drew himself up to his full height and said, ‘My name is Vettir. I happen to be the guardian of this hearth. It was I who cleared the land first and established this homestead—you ought to know that! Now clear off, and don’t let me catch you sneaking around here with that horrid thing again.’ He gestured at the sword with a mixture of fear and disgust. Helgi lowered the sword at once and hid it behind his back.
The little man glowered at him beneath his bushy brows, and grumbled, ‘What are you staring at? Be off with you! Coming in here and causing all this trouble and disorder. Look at all this mess you’ve made!’ He cracked an invisible whip and the bucket skittered across the floor and hit the far wall with a clang. Then he bunched his hands together, twisted them, and gave a hard tug. The apples that lay scattered around Helgi’s feet shot across the room towards him, and he deflected each one into the bucket with a flick of his wrist. Helgi gave a cry of admiration. The little man gritted his teeth, as if working up to perform a difficult manoeuvre. He swung his arm up behind his shoulder, slightly bent at the elbow, and then swung it forward in a swift smooth arc, as if casting a fishing line. The pitchfork and broomstick drew themselves upright and slammed into the wall behind them.
‘That’s amazing!’ Helgi exclaimed. ‘I wish I could tidy up my stuff like that.’ The homestead man smiled smugly and puffed out his chest.
‘Please, sir,’ said Helgi, ‘when I was small, Gerda, who looked after me, told me stories about the spirit-folk who protected our farm back in Norway. One of them looked after the reindeer herd. Are—are you a hearth-spirit?’
‘I’m no different from yourself, you numbskull,’ the little man retorted. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
Helgi wasn’t sure what he meant by that but decided to let it pass. The little old man gathered the air in his hands and yanked sharply and the pieces of splintered wood flew up and hovered in a confused jumble. Then, he started pulling in different directions, weaving, squashing and knotting the air, with some effort, until the shards had glued themselves back into boxes. Then, with a series of vigorous jerks, as if shaking out a mat, he sent the boxes flying one by one against the wall, where they dropped down into a stack. Helgi tried to applaud but found it impossible to clap his hands so he gave a cheer instead. He decided to risk another question.
‘Sir, you said someone else had been snooping around the farm at night. What did he look like?’
‘Questions, questions … I’ve got important work to do. Let me get on with it undisturbed, or it’ll be the worse for you and this farm.’
Helgi was determined not to leave without seeing Kol. ‘All right, I’m going, but first, what have you done with the horses?’
Vettir looked at him as if he had asked a stupid question and muttered, ‘Idiot,’ but when Helgi, moving like an underwater swimmer, advanced along the row of stalls, he did nothing to stop him. As the end stall came into view, Helgi stopped abruptly and stared.
There were five men standing at the back of the stall, very still and quiet, as if they did not want to be discovered. Helgi’s first thought was that they must be intruders. They did not look like any men he knew, though it was hard to discern their features because their faces were strangely shiny. They appeared to be wearing glossy skin coats tied at the back with long bright sashes. Their hair hung in long glowing waves down to their waists and round each man’s neck shone a string of gleaming white teeth. Four of them were visibly shaking with fright, but the fifth stood with his back to Helgi and seemed quite unperturbed. Though he was not tall, he held his head high, with the proud and lofty bearing of a warrior. As Helgi drew near, he shifted slightly, the muscles in his broad back rippling under his burnished coat, and Helgi felt a low humming heat rising off him. His body gleamed with purple, orange, and bronze lights. A flashing cascade of light fell from his tailbone to his ankles and long lustrous ribbons of flame hung down his back.
Helgi thought he knew who it was, though he could hardly believe it. Slowly, he reached out his hand, and a ringing metallic warmth thrilled through him. The man moved his head as if he had detected someone behind him, turning it to his left; Helgi saw him first in profile, and then he began to turn his whole body towards Helgi until he was looking at him. It was a much fiercer face than Helgi saw when they were both clothed in their bodies. He did not speak but his nostrils flared and his large shining eyes acknowledged Helgi with a mischievous glint. They stood like that for what seemed a long time. Then Helgi noticed that the hearth guardian was watching them, and dropped his hand to his side.
‘I never imagined …,’ Helgi began, and then faltered, lost for words.
Kol snorted as if he didn’t believe him. Then he touched Vettir reassuringly on the shoulder and said in a low husky voice, ‘It’s only Helgi.’
The old man said, ‘Well, he shouldn’t be here. Interrupting us so rudely when I was braiding your hair.’
‘You braid Kol’s hair?’ Helgi exclaimed. ‘I wondered why there were so many knots and tangles! I’ve been brushing them out, but I’ll know to leave them well alone now.’
The little old man grunted and seemed to relent a little. ‘If you must know, the stranger nosing about in here was rather like you—tall, dark, thin, and unpleasant. I told him to go to blazes. You’re worse than him though.’
Helgi knew at once whom he meant: but why did the hearth guardian consider him worse than Grimnir? Then he realized. ‘Oh, the sword! I need it to move around without my body.’ He lifted it experimentally. ‘I’m not sure I’m using it properly. I’ve been looking for a chance to try it out. I don’t suppose you—’
The little man shrieked and dived out of sight. Kol let out a soft nicker of amusement, but Helgi cursed, annoyed with himself for scaring him off.
‘I was only going to ask him what he knew about the sword! Not—you know.’ He sighed and asked Kol, ‘Do you think he’ll be back?’
Kol looked at him gravely and shook his head.
Helgi felt alarmed. ‘Do you think he’s gone for good?’
Kol muttered a husky ‘no’.
‘He’ll be back once I’ve gone, I suppose. Well, it was nice meeting him. You know, Kol, now we’ve both shed our outward clothing, we don’t look so very different. I’m glad you can see me and we’re able to talk.’
A wave of warm light radiated across Kol’s face. ‘So am I … but Vettir isn’t happy.’
‘Yeah, he doesn’t like me much but he’s been a good friend to you, so don’t get into a scrap with him for my sake. I’ll go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.’
Back outside, Helgi felt suddenly drained of strength. He noticed he was flagging—floating lower than before, with his knees almost below ground level. He was tired, barely able to concentrate, and had to fight off the desire to fall asleep. But weak though he was, he dragged himself across the yard, determined to make one final exploratory journey through the opposite end of the house.
He sank through the outside wall and found himself standing within an alcove lined with empty, soot-blackened shelves in the back room. Grimacing at the flavour of the dust, which tickled him and made him want to cough, he was about to step into the room when he realized, with a shock, that he was not alone. A gaunt, black figure was kneeling on the floor, with his back to him, rummaging through the wooden chest where Halfdan kept his personal belongings. Helgi backed into the shadows, so only his face was left peering through the wall. Grimnir slammed the lid of the box shut in frustration, and proceeded to prowl around the room, lifting mats, tapping the wall-panels, looking behind the few items of furniture. Suddenly, without warning, he whirled round and stared fixedly at the alcove; Helgi withdrew his head almost simultaneously and hovered in the yard outside, heart pounding with terror. He waited a little while, then moved sideways several paces, turned the corner, and followed the adjacent wall on the left. Then he sank through the ground, so his eyes were not much higher than floor level, and peered again into the room. Grimnir’s bony backside came into view, and two scrawny, bare ankles, protruding from his gown. He was kneeling beside the hearth, lifting the stones that lined it one by one and feeling underneath. At last, he got to his feet. His penetrating eyes swept all around the room. Then he pounced like a cat, with uncanny accuracy, on the spot near the floor where Helgi had been less than a moment before.
Outside again, Helgi struggled across the yard and concealed himself inside a low wall, which tasted unpleasantly of dirt and moss. What an idiot he had been to let Grimnir see him and almost catch him—twice! But Grimnir had let him get away. It was almost as if he’d been playing a game with him.
It wasn’t safe to continue with his experiment while Grimnir was around, and in any case he was too exhausted to carry on. His vision was flickering now and he had to fight to keep his eyes open, fearful of what might happen to him if he fell asleep. Helgi dropped the sword where he stood in the yard, and instantly snapped back into his body, which lay under the bedclothes where he had left it.
He lay there for a while, trying to collect his thoughts and resolve everything that had happened to him, but his head whirled dizzily and his thoughts kept wandering off at random or breaking up into unfocused flashing images. When he tried to sit up, he found he couldn’t. The room was spinning before his eyes, his head throbbed and his entire body ached, as if all his muscles were painfully contracted. He had never felt so ill in his life. His mind was wrung-out, like an old rag, and strangely dissociated from his body which felt like a stiff and dried-out husk.
This must be what it feels like to die, he thought, before slipping into unconsciousness.
The Adventures of Helgi the Viking 