Ship of the Dead (22 page)

Chapter 25
A Promise Kept

I
t was dusk, the sky a deep purple to the west, as Sleipnir and Mist's sky steed landed them back on Thor's Hill overlooking Voldarstad. It brought tears to Dane's eyes to once again see the rooftops of his village.

As they all climbed out of the sail, stretching and talking gleefully about how nice it was to be home and what an amazing ride it had been, Dane had other things on his mind. Lut could barely stand, and knowing his friend was weakening, Dane walked him over to the giant runestone the villagers had erected the past winter to honor him and his friends. Lut ran his bony hand along the face of the stone, patting it affectionately as if greeting an old friend.

“It is good to be here,” he said with finality. He suddenly tottered and nearly fell, but Dane caught his arm and righted him, insisting that he sit and rest awhile. Dane removed his cloak and laid it on the ground, and with nary a grumble, Lut lay down on it, the light in his eyes a bit fainter than before. Water was fetched and Dane held the goatskin up so Lut could drink.

Dane had lain beside his old friend during the entire trip home, watching him sleep and seeing to his safety, talking to him as if he were awake and could hear every word; Lut had long ago taught him that a man's mind is always working even when asleep. Dane too had slept for a time, and had awoken once to find Lut awake and gazing out at the great red sun dying on the horizon. A faint smile had returned to the old man's eyes, and there was a look of pure peace on his face. Though they spoke not a word, he knew the man so well he could read his thoughts by simply looking at his face. “You're going home,” he had said to Lut, and Lut had shut his eyes and nodded, beaming a smile. And now, gazing down upon his friend and feeling the weakness of his grip, Dane feared the end was nearer than he thought.

The various villagers began to arrive on the hill, hugging and kissing Dane, Astrid, and all the others, happy to see them home once again. Casks of ale were hauled out, and the villagers began to drink and toast the Rune Warriors in celebration. Others gathered round Sleipnir, marveling at the sight of his many legs and the glossiness of his hide, and Drott lifted children up onto the horse's back. Then a voice interrupted them.

“Uh, excuse us—”

“Yes, we don't want to be a bother, but . . .”

All heads turned to see it was the faces on the sail that were now speaking. The sail had been removed from Sleipnir and its ropes slung round the runestone, where it snapped and billowed up, filled by the wind off the bay. “Might you perchance give us assistance?” said Red Mustache.

“What is it now?” said Jarl.

“You're all home now, safe and sound,” said Red Mustache.

“Now it's our turn,” said Black Beard. “We want to be free, too.”

“Our spirits yearn to join our ancestors!” wailed Red Mustache.

Jarl and Dane looked at each other in puzzlement.

“What do you suggest we do?” Dane asked.

“Fire will free them,” Lut said. Dane was surprised to see him standing somewhat unsteadily beside him now. He pointed to a lighted torch in the hand of a villager. “The purifying power of fire will set them free.”

There was a pause as they considered Lut's words.

“Works for me,” Black Beard said.

“May our souls rise to the heavenly realm!” cried Red Mustache.

“I'm sure they will,” Dane said. He took the torch and lit the edge of the sail. It smoldered for a moment, then caught fire, the flame quickly tearing up the side of the cloth and spreading across it. One by one, as the faces were swallowed in flames, Dane saw large puffs of acrid black smoke issue forth, and then from out of the smoke arose the spirit bodies, transparent against the night sky. They floated there in the air with looks of joy on their faces, the joy of finally being free. Red Mustache and Black Beard and their sail-mates waved good-bye as they drifted slowly up and away until at last they were gone. Dane stood there a long moment, marveling at the magic of it all, until the silence was broken by the feeble voice of Lut the Bent.

“Dane . . .”

Seeing Lut collapsed on the ground, in an instant Dane was down on his knees beside him, rolling him onto his back and taking the old one's hand in his.

“Lut! Lut!” he said, looking into Lut's fading eyes. “Are you all right?”

Others crowded around, offering help, but Dane shushed them into silence.

“It is time, my son,” rasped Lut.

“No, it is
not
time,” said Dane, fighting back tears. “You've much life left to live!” Dane's heart nearly burst as Lut pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. “But we need you! You can't leave us now! No! No, you can't—” Dane was frantic now, for he knew there was nothing he could do to save his friend. This was the end, as painful as that might seem. Though it had always seemed that Lut the Bent might live forever, Dane had known that someday they would have to say their good-byes.

“I will take him,” Mist said solemnly.

Lut's eyes brightened for a moment. “I am to go to Valhalla?”

“You will sup with Odin tonight,” she gently assured him.

No longer able to hold back, Dane burst into tears of his own, hugging Lut tightly. “You—you were the best friend I ever had, Lut,” he said, choking back sobs. “And—and I'll miss you the rest of my life.”

Lut patted the young man's head and said, “But now you'll have Astrid to love and guide you. . . .” Dane looked up at Astrid, and his eyes met the warmth of her smile.

Laboring to form words, Lut whispered, “Remember, the blood of a Rune Warrior runs within you . . . but most of all remember this. . . .” Too weak to speak aloud, he gestured for Dane to draw nearer. Dane bent closer, putting his ear to Lut's lips, the old man's breath warming his cheek. The words Lut whispered he spoke only to him. When Lut had finished, Dane drew back and squeezed Lut's hand. Dane wiped the tears from his eyes and forced out a final good-bye to his friend. Others of the village then said their good-byes as well, murmuring, “We love you, Lut,” and “Good-bye, old friend,” and “May Odin look upon you with favor.”

“Farewell, my Sons of Thor . . . ,” said Lut ever so faintly, “till we meet again. . . .”

And as the words escaped the old man's lips, Dane saw his chest heave to a stop and his eyes fall shut. For the briefest instant, Dane sensed a powerful force surrounding him, as if he were being embraced by the moon or some other kind of magic, and the next thing Dane knew, the great Lut the Bent was dead. He had taken his last breath, and Dane felt as if the light had gone out of the world, for indeed it had.

And then Dane was lit by a new glow, and looking up through his tears, he saw it was Mist on Sleipnir rising toward the heavens. And behind her on the other celestial steed sat Lut. No longer old and feeble, he was young and vibrant and waving good-bye. And as the sky horses rose into the star-frosted sky, Dane's heart lifted, knowing that Lut's spirit was to dwell forever in Valhalla, enjoying the rewards of a life well lived.

Astrid's tears were streaming down her cheeks when there next came a blinding flash of light and a new presence was among them. It was Skuld, her crimson robe the color of blood in the torchlight.

“Well, isn't this a cozy little scene,” said Skuld, the screech of her voice like a knife that cut through the din of voices and quickly silenced the gathering. “It just warms my heart to see you all safely back home.”

“I didn't think you had a heart,” said Astrid lightly.

Skuld flicked her a cold look. “A common mistake among your kind. Thinking you know everything about us who look down upon your deeds.”

“You look down on our deeds? Well, maybe we look down on yours.”

“Rather an unkind remark for a girl your age,” Skuld said snidely. “But under the circumstances, I'll overlook it.”

Never having seen a real live goddess before, the as- sembled villagers had all fallen silent and prostrated themselves in a show of awe and respect. All save for Drott, that is, who stood with his eyes closed looking very preoccupied as he scratched at his rear end and grunted.

Skuld looked at him sharply. “You!” Drott's eyes shot open. “They call you Drott, do they not?”

“When they're being nice to me, yes,” said Drott.

“Pray tell
what
are you doing?”

A look of panic crossed his face, and then he said, “It's my warts.”

“Your warts,” said Skuld dryly.

“Yes, three big ugly ones, right on my butt,” he went on nervously. “My left buttock, actually, on the bottom part of the cheek. I just woke up one day and there they were. Three big warty warts. Have
no
idea how they got there. They say you can get warts from being kissed by a toad, but I swear I never let any toads kiss me on that particular part of my body. At least none that I know of, and even if I did—”

“
Spare
me the details!” hissed Skuld, waving the air dismissively.

“Goddess Skuld,” said Dane now, approaching the Norn sister and still stirred with emotion. “Thidrek is dead—
as
you requested.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I
know
, dear boy,” said Skuld, annoyed. “What do you think I'm here to do? Give you a back rub? Yes, you journeyed to the underworld, scuttled the Ship of the Dead, thwarted Hel's evil plan, and did away with that very unpleasant creature Thidrek the Terrifying. Although why he called himself that I'll never know. Wishful thinking, I suppose. He was no more ‘terrifying' than a hairy mole on the tip of my nose. Now, I've no time for idle banter. Shall we get to the business at hand?”

“The oath we swore was that she be freed,” said Dane, eyeing Astrid with ardor. Skuld gave him a long, imperious stare that could melt lead. “You are mistaken, young man. I did
not
say I would release Astrid from the sisterhood.”

Dane exploded. “What? I have witnesses! You, in fact,
did
say—”

“—I would
allow
her to leave the sisterhood. It's her
choice
.”

“Her choice?” Dane sighed in relief. “Well, if that's all there is to it, go on, Astrid, tell her.” But Astrid just stared at him, openmouthed, not knowing what to say. “Astrid?”

“She is
thinking
, young man,” Skuld said. “Of the golden perfection of her life in Asgard. The gods. The games. The feasts. The frolic. The thrill of crossing the heavens on her celestial steed. Age will never take her, nor will her beauty fade. . . . She shall forever be young and strong and worshipped by mortal men. And once a corpse maiden has tasted such a life, it is near impossible to turn away from it.” Skuld smiled in satisfaction. “The moment I free her from bondage, all those pleasures will be lost to her forever.
That's
why she's thinking, boy!”

Astrid stood frozen in silence, eyes shining with tears. It was true! All true! She had told him before, hadn't she? About how she liked being a Valkyrie and how she would never again be satisfied with a boring life in their village? But Dane had convinced himself she had said this only to spare him from harm, that deep down she still loved him.

He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. “I will let you go, Astrid . . . if you will say yes to this: Of all the wonders you know as a maiden . . . are they worth more to you than my love forever?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She paused, then said simply, “No.”

Dane embraced her and kissed her, and he knew he would never know a more joyous moment in his life than this.

“You're a fool, girl,” said Skuld. “When you are old and wrinkled, you will regret this.”

“I will not,” Astrid said. “As long as he is beside me—old and wrinkled too.” Then to Dane she said, “After all we've endured, did you really think I'd leave you again?”

Dane shrugged. “Women can be unpredictable.”

Then the indignant Jarl stepped forward. “All right, they got
their
happy ending. What of us? The Rune Warriors. What's
our
destiny to be? Am I to die a hero? Tell me.”

“Yes, yes,
fine
,” said Skuld, rolling her eyes, anxious to get on with things. “But I haven't the time to go into it all now. If you like, I'll send you each a glimpse of your future in a dream. That way, if you like what you see, you can take it as truth; if not, you can believe it to be merely a passing fancy. Now—if there are no more
interruptions
—I shall complete the ritual.”

She shot a sharp look at Astrid. “Our sister,” Skuld announced in authority, “has chosen to return to her kind. It is my solemn duty to grant her wish, however repugnant I may find her choice to be!” She gave Astrid a sour smile and then raised her bony hand on high, stretching her three middle fingers to the sky. “Let it be so from this moment forth that the one known as Astrid, Mistress of the Blade, hereby does relinquish all higher powers once bestowed. And in shunning the sisterhood, she too shall be shunned, nevermore to know or remember her golden time amid Odin's hallowed halls nor her heroic doings among us who live without pity. In the name of Odin and all his domain, I pronounce thee free and unfettered of all bonds to the
Valkyrja
sisterhood, emptied of the silver light and returned to life on the earthly plane. In Odin's name I command it! ”

To everyone's shock, a crackle of lightning shot forth from her fingertips and enveloped Astrid in a ragged white light, briefly illuminating the awed faces of all who looked on. Astrid felt her insides jump. Gone was the lightness of spirit she had felt while a Valkyrie, replaced by a flood of something even more wonderful—the love she felt for Dane and her people. And borne aloft by this wave of emotion, she turned to her beloved and kissed him again and again and held him in her arms so tightly, it felt as if they might be welded together as one piece of the same forged steel, never to be parted. And so busy were they receiving cries of congratulations from the gathered villagers that Skuld's departure went entirely unnoticed.