The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) Page 10

  Hrodvelgr beckoned for Raef and bade him sit. “Eat. Drink.”

  Raef did as he was told, though the table was far too tall for him to eat at. Instead, he climbed up and sat cross-legged at the end farthest from the giant. For a moment, there were no sounds but those made by chewing and swallowing as Raef and the giant gorged on the food before them. Only when Raef felt the hunger pains in his belly abate did he venture to speak. “Your land is barren and empty. How is it that you can build fires, drink sweet nectar, and feast on deer and fish?”

  “All that you see is given to us. The gods think to keep us,” the giant smiled a horrible smile, “content. They feed us meat and mead, gorge us on rich delicacies, and all the while, they sit in their golden halls and tremble out of fear of us.”

  “If you are so mighty and if they fear you so, why have you not already stormed the gates of Asgard, brought ruin to those halls and death to the gods?”

  The giant’s smile twisted. “Ours is an ancient race, the first to slink into being, the first to feel the light of the sun on our faces, possessors of bygone wisdom. The gods are children to me, bright things who live for youth and love and idle fancies. They are weak.”

  Raef persisted. “Tell me, great Hrodvelgr, if they are so weak, why do you not bring them to their knees?” Silence. The giant would not meet Raef’s eyes. “I will tell you why. Mjölnir.”

  Hrodvelgr cast his head back and roared as though the very mention of Thor’s hammer caused him pain. “Do not speak that name in my presence! The foe-smasher, the lightning-bringer. That is an ill, vile word.”

  “You fear it and you fear Thor who wields it. And you fear Odin, Allfather, Flashing Eye and Spear Shaker.”

  “Silence! Or I will put you over that fire.”

  Raef matched Hrodvelgr’s stare but knew not to provoke the giant further. He kept his tongue behind his teeth, waiting until Hrodvelgr had satisfied his enormous appetite. Raef sipped mead and watched the giant devour the entire feast and empty a full barrel of mead.

  “I wager you could not finish another barrel,” Raef said.

  Hrodvelgr laughed. “Done.” He grasped a barrel in his hands, raised it to his mouth, and did not bring it down until it was empty. Not even a trickle ran down his chin.

  “Another then?”

  Hrodvelgr’s face darkened. “You think to make me drunk? To rob me of my wits? You would regret that.” Nonetheless, Hrodvelgr helped himself to more, though this time dunking his cup in the new barrel instead.

  “What do you want?” Raef was tired of the giant’s game.

  Hrodvelgr did not answer right away, did not even acknowledge the question.

  “If you mean to kill me, at least have the honor to tell me.”

  “Honor. The gods would have you believe we have none.”

  “Then show me the gods are wrong.”

  Hrodvelgr hammered his fist on the table, sending shudders down to the end where Raef sat. “I could crush you, smash you, in an instant. Is that what you want?”

  “I asked that question first. Answer me.”

  Hrodvelgr sat back in his chair and studied Raef for a moment. “I want the world at my feet. I want my enemies slaughtered. I want to restore the rule of my race. Can you give me that?”

  “You know I cannot.”

  “Then I think I will find a use for you. Men make for good sport, you know.” Hrodvelgr rose, his eyes free of any humor.

  Raef drew back, scrambling for words that might slow the giant’s blood lust. “If you touch me, you will never know what I know.”

  “What could you, puny man, possibly know that would interest me?”

  “Promise me my freedom, my life, and a way home and I will tell you.”

  Hrodvelgr grunted and sat back down, his blue eyes dark and thoughtful. Raef could see the distrust there, see that Hrodvelgr wanted to turn his back. But he also saw greed.

  “You must give me some assurance that your knowledge is worth all that,” Hrodvelgr said, and Raef felt his heart leap for the giant had not denied knowing how Raef might return to Midgard.

  “I swear it. On the life of my father, the lives of my brothers, the life of my son,” Raef said, hoping Hrodvelgr could not see the lie he spoke. He had no father, no brothers, no son. The oath was meaningless.

  “You men and your vows. Words are but breath, breath but wind, and wind is nothing to me.”

  “Then what might I say to ease your suspicious mind?” Raef knew he was treading in deep water.

  “There is nothing you can say.” Hrodvelgr stood again and this time did not hesitate. In three strides, he crossed the length of the table and snatched Raef up in his mighty grip. “You are mine,” he said, grinning and squeezing just enough that Raef had to work to draw breath. Leaving Mogthrasir’s hall empty and his body at the door, Hrodvelgr took Raef into the night.

  Outside, a pack of monstrous, wolfish creatures bayed at the moon and lunged at each other, teeth snapping. Only the stiff harness that bound them together kept them from ripping each other apart. Attached to the beasts was a sled and Hrodvelgr tossed Raef among sacks of something that smelled rotten, then tied him by the wrists to the sled’s stout iron rail. Taking up the reins, Hrodvelgr bellowed a command and the sled lurched forward. The beasts, barking and snarling, were fleet of foot and Raef watched Mogthrasir’s hall disappear behind them as they hurtled through the broken landscape of Jötunheim.

  TEN

  Raef had thought Mogthrasir’s hall large; it was nothing when compared with the vast network of caverns that Hrodvelgr called home. The walls of each cavern were carved in intricate detail, spirals in one, sunbursts in another, a third covered in stars, and each was linked to the next by a tall, narrow arch. Hrodvelgr pulled Raef through these seemingly empty halls and the air grew thick and foul with every step until Raef found it hard to breath. Eyes watering, Raef stumbled along, his arm held in Hrodvelgr’s vice-like grip, until the giant flung him into a tiny cell and barred the way with an iron gate. Hrodvelgr’s footsteps faded away and Raef thought himself alone in the dark, his wrist burning where the giant’s fingers had burrowed into his skin. But his eyes were not the only things that adjusted to his new surroundings and it was not long before Raef began to hear the sounds of living things. Heavy, ragged breathing was the sound closest to him, but in the distance Raef could also hear whispers and something that might have been whimpering, though it sounded more animal than child. There was no light to see by, only the faintest of differences between black and blacker.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” The noises ceased at the sound of Raef’s voice and all was quiet. “I heard you. You need not fear me.” The breathing was the first to resume, though quieter and more restrained than before as though its owner was desperate to keep quiet, and Raef pressed himself close to the iron bars. “You are close. Will you not answer?” Raef waited and considered the possibility that whoever he spoke to could not answer, rather than would not.

  “My name is Raef,” he went on. “My home is green and bright. The trees grow tall and the mountains stretch to the sun. My waters are clear and cold and the sea beats upon my shore.” Silence. “It is winter there. The snow will cover the land, the trees will drip with icicles, the sun will hang heavy on the horizon, casting long blue shadows. My people will look to the stars and dream of a warm summer night.” Raef closed his eyes, his words bringing sadness to his own heart as he wondered if he would ever see his home again, or if the world would see another summer twilight. Lost now to his own mind, Raef grew quiet.

  How much time passed before the voice answered him, he could not say. It belonged to the ragged breathing, of that he was sure, and it was so faint, so whisper-thin, at first, that Raef had to strain to hear it.

  “Your words are like rain on the dry earth.” A violent, dry cough followed but when the voice continued it was stronger. “Long have I dwelt in this darkness, but I see it now, light and beauty untouched by shadow. Tell me more.”


  Raef wanted to ask questions, wanted to know so much, but he did not want to frighten his listener, so he complied, reaching deep for words only to find them ready and waiting at the tip of his tongue. “A swift, joyful river jumps with silver fish, the birds call to each other and to the sun, their voices carried on the breeze. Wolves roam my forests, strong and silent in the shadows, and the meadows bloom with color. High above, kings of mountain and sky, the eagles soar.” Raef trailed off, unsure how to continue.

  “I can see them. I can hear them. I can smell the good earth.” The voice was wistful and full of yearning, but there was gladness there, too. “Thank you for these words.”

  “Will you give me your name?”

  There was a pause and then, “Skarpi was the name I knew as a child, sharp-boned and skinny. Skjaldi when my shoulders grew broad and I became a man.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I should be Staeinn, for my limbs have turned to stone and my strength has left me.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Hullbern was my home.”

  “I have seen Hullbern,” Raef said. In truth, he had seen it empty and broken, its fortress ruined at the hands of Torrulf Palesword and his devastating army. Better not to say that. Raef asked the question that was most dear to him. “How long have you been here?”

  A longer pause this time. “At first I kept count as best I could. But I no longer know. Long enough to know I have grown old. I think he has forgotten me, or I would be dead.”

  “Forgotten you? What do you mean?”

  This silence was the longest and Raef began to fear the man would not answer. “Our keeper craves blood sport. That is why we are here. We fight, we kill, to survive. He plucks us up from our tombs, brings us to the great arena, and pits us against the captives of others. Some return, some do not.” Skjaldi heaved an unsteady breath, his voice growing weaker. “Long has it been since I was in the arena. I was young, then. If he chose me now, I would die.” Raef heard something akin to hope in the other man’s voice.

  “Have you ever tried to escape?”

  There was a sound Raef thought might be a feeble laugh. “Yes. Once. Everyone tries once.”

  “Why only once?”

  “The giants, they know things, they can learn who we are, where we came from.” A deep breath. “Who we care for.”

  Raef understood. “Hrodvelgr threatens our families.”

  “I could not risk my daughter’s life. She was so small. Such a tiny thing.”

  “But he can travel to Midgard.” Silence. “He must have a way. All the giants must. What do you know of it?”

  “Please. I am tired.”

  Raef bit his lip to keep from persisting. He was desperate to know more about how the giants journeyed to Midgard and how often. It had to be seldom, or men would know of it and tongues would carry the tale far and wide, but it meant there was a way. Raef waited and then called again to Skjaldi. There was no response. Sliding down against the wall of his cell, Raef slumped to the stone floor. There was one small thing to be glad of: it was not cold.

  Raef had no sense of time. The sun did not rise, did not cross the sky, did not set. There was only his growing hunger to measure time in the darkness. He had eaten well in Mogthrasir’s hall so when his belly came to life he knew much time had to have passed. Of his neighbors, he heard little. The occasional scuffle, a whisper here, a cough there. Of Skjaldi he heard nothing, though if he strained his ears he thought he could make out the man’s troubled breath. Raef stood, paced, sat, relieved himself in a corner of his cell, and slept.

  When the darkness fled before an oncoming torch, Raef had to shield his eyes from the fierce light but he sprang to his feet and clutched the bars of his cell.

  “Hrodvelgr!” Raef shouted. The footsteps and the torch came closer but it was not Hrodvelgr’s face that peered into Raef’s cell. Another giant, this one old and bent, scowled down at Raef.

  “Silence, scum. Hrodvelgr does not wish to hear from you.”

  “I want to speak with him,” Raef said, ignoring the giant’s words.

  “Get back,” the old giant said. “Get back or you will get nothing to eat.” He waggled an iron key and a platter stacked with wooden bowls in front of Raef.

  Raef wanted to defy the orders, but his stomach protested and he knew he needed to eat and keep his strength. It would do no good to grow weak and witless. Raef went to the far wall of his cell. The giant opened the door and shoved a bowl inside. Sprinting forward, Raef tried to rush the door but the distance was too great and the gate clanged shut again, beyond the reach of his outstretched arms. The giant chuckled, a wet, hacking sound, and spit a gob of phlegm that Raef had to duck to avoid.

  “Hrodvelgr cannot ignore me forever,” Raef said, but the giant paid no attention and turned his back. He and his torch moved from cell to cell, distributing bowls of food to the other prisoners, then the light disappeared.

  In the blackness, Raef used his hands to find the food. He sniffed it, was glad to discover it did not smell rotten, and then scooped it into his mouth with his fingers. The substance was pasty with pieces of something that tore between Raef’s teeth as meat would. He tried not to think about what it was and ate quickly until the bowl was empty. Swallowing the last, Raef would have given much for a drop of water.

  Clearing his throat, Raef called out into the darkness. “Do they bring water?” His voice rolled off the stone.

  “Sometimes.” The answer did not come from Skjaldi. The voice was farther away, but clear, and Raef found he was unsure if it was male or female.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am one of them.”

  “Why would they imprison one of their own?”

  “Why is anyone ever imprisoned?”

  “Will you give me your name? You heard mine already.”

  “Bara.”

  “A daughter of Aegir?” Raef could not keep the surprise from his voice.

  “One of nine, yes.”

  “And Jötunheim is your home.”

  Bara snorted in derision. “My home is the sea and the foam and storm.”

  “But you know Jötunheim.”

  “I do. And I know what you would ask of me.”

  Raef asked anyway. “Will you tell me the way to Midgard, the way home?”

  “Why?”

  There were so many reasons but Raef could think of only one that might appeal to the giantess.

  “I could tell you that I will kill Hrodvelgr and all those who put you here. I could make promises that I might not keep. But I will say only this instead and let you judge my worthiness.” Raef took a deep breath. “You will help me because the end of all worlds is at hand. Because this and all else will come crashing down. Because we will burn at the hands of fiery Surt and then the sea will rise and swallow us all.”

  Bara was silent.

  “Balder is dead and everything that follows has been set in motion.” Still she said nothing and Raef began to feel he had misjudged the giantess.

  When Bara spoke, her voice was strong. “If death nips at our heels, as Skoll does the sun and Hati the moon, what difference does it make if you die here or in your homeland?”

  “None,” Raef admitted, “and yet all. In all the nine worlds, I have one purpose left to me. I walk a path of vengeance and I would see it to the end before the fires come.” Raef had not intended to speak of his father for he had thought the giantess would care little. But it was the truth and it had come out.

  “I know something of vengeance. I will tell you what you need to know. But not now. Now they come for you. If you live, we will speak again.”

  Raef did not understand and he began to protest, but then he, too, heard the sounds of heavy footsteps on stone.

  Three giants burst into the cavern, torches blazing. Hrodvelgr led them. “Midgardian,” he roared. “It is time we knew the color of your blood.”

  The arena was vast, meant to confine much larger occupants with ease, and thun
dered with the voices of giants calling for blood. Raef stayed close to the stone walls that dwarfed him, gaze roving the arena for the first sign of attack. The light was feeble and four geysers that spit plumes of hazy, ash-filled clouds made visibility even worse. Raef shifted his grip on the sword that had been thrust upon him, his only weapon. It was bent and so brittle Raef feared it would break at the slightest touch, but it was sized for a man and there was some measure of sharpness left in the blade. He could kill with it, given the chance.

  The giants were deafening as they screamed for death. If Raef had cared to look, he would have seen great treasures and riches, gleaming gold and flashing gems, pawed over by grasping hands and lusted after by greedy eyes, and all wagered on his life. But he did not look. Instead he let the lump in his chest swell until it consumed him, and there, there he found the battle-joy. His every muscle tingled with anticipation, his vision narrowed, shutting out the bloodthirsty spectators, and his heart sang of victory.

  At last the gate at the far end of the arena opened and, through the smoky air, Raef saw his opponent.

  The figure was thin, small, shrunken. A man, Raef decided, though wilted from hard use and long years. He carried a sword, a blade as rough as Raef’s, but it hung low, as though he did not have the strength to wield it. His steps brought him closer to Raef but his gaze hugged the ground, his face hidden from Raef by a matted beard and long, tangled hair.

  When he came within five paces of Raef, he stopped and raised his head, his eyes listless but for a glimmer of pain, pain that had been long-endured and thrust into a bleak corner of the mind and body. Raef saw nothing in his opponent to give him pause. He was neither strong nor nimble, angry nor scared. He was there to die and he knew it.

  Their eyes met as the uproar around them reached a new frenzy and for a moment neither man moved, then the other man lifted his weapon, his arm shaking with the effort, and Raef knew it was time.