The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (13 page)

Raef touched the hammer at his neck. Odin, Allfather. He should pray. He should beg. But the words would not come. Raef closed his eyes and wondered if he would become part of the wind. He saw himself get swept away, piece by human piece, until the world was grey and quiet and he knew it was over.

And yet there was life still in Raef. Somewhere. His heart beat on, low and steady, and it seemed to grow in strength, refusing to let Raef float away, until he could ignore it no longer and opened his eyes.

At first, all was white, bright, shining, vibrant white, and Raef blinked away the darkness of the labyrinth. He was standing, though he did not remember getting to his feet, a wooden floor stretching out beneath him. The boards were wide and smooth, streaked with golden hues, and Raef followed their lines until his eyes took in pillars, strong, straight, and flawless, worked from wood and metal. Of walls he saw none, and where the roof should have been, there was only a sky burning a more brilliant shade of blue than he had ever witnessed.

He stared up at the vast expanse of the sky, lulled into its beauty and unable to tear his eyes away. If this was death, it was beautiful, but it was not Valhalla. Unless Heimdall had already sounded his horn and the great hall of dead warriors had emptied out to fill the plain of battle, this was some other place. Raef raised a hand to shield his eyes from the fierce light of the sun and saw that his skin was clean, saw that the slash on his arm was gone as if it had never been. Raef looked down at his body, searching first for the slice on his upper arm earned in the battle in Alfheim, then for the burned scar Vakre had given him to heal the wound in his side. They, too, had disappeared, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin, and Raef did not need to look further to know every scar on his body had vanished.

Raef turned, aware now of being watched. He thought the eyes on him were not malicious but he could not discern a figure among the pillars.

“Who is there?” His own voice was bright and sharp. It sounded foreign to his ears, but strong. “Show yourself.”

“Here, Skallagrim, I am here.”

The speaker’s voice was fluid and unhurried, full of quiet strength, and Raef felt his heart miss a beat. He hesitated, though he could not have said why, before turning to confront the voice. What he saw took all breath from him.

“This is a dream. This is inside my head,” Raef said when his voice belonged to him again.

“It is.”

“Then you are not here and this is not real.”

“Do not be so sure.”

“Allfather.” The name whispered across Raef’s exhaled breath.

The god studied Raef, his single eye unblinking, hands resting on his mighty spear. “You do not fear me.”

“I am beyond fear, Allfather. Death is seeking me and soon I shall be found. Fear will change nothing.”

Odin’s expression remained stern. “And what of those you love? Do you still feel fear for them, for their lives?”

Raef’s heart leaped in his chest. “What do you know of them?”

“You are bold. Seldom do men make demands of me.” Odin was motionless and yet the unblinking eye grew dread and fierce and Raef felt the urge to flee from the Terrible One. He stood his ground and let the wave of terror abate. At last Odin blinked and the fire shrank to a spark. “We have met before, you and I.” The Allfather’s gaze drifted past Raef. “In the snows of Darfallow. Do you remember?”

Raef frowned. “It was Loki I met in the mountains.”

“Yes, him you know. But there was another. One you built a funeral pyre for.”

“Tormund,” Raef said, his mind revisiting the empty halls of Darfallow. Odin nodded and to Raef he seemed sad. “Why?”

“I knew you sought the Deepminded. And so did I know you would find only the illusions of Loki. I shrouded the true Darfallow and its lord and replaced it with my own, meaning to keep you from him, to turn you back. But I did not know you then, as I do now. I did not know the strength of your resolve.” Odin’s single eye stared hard at Raef. “Perhaps even you did not.” The Allfather came closer to Raef. “You are strong of will, Raef Skallagrim. It has served you well. I can end your suffering.” When Raef did not speak, Odin began to pace and he seemed to circle the world with every step.

“Hear me well, young Skallagrim. There is no place for you in Valhalla. I have touched the runes the Norns carve for you and, though your fate is shadowed, there is no doubt in my mind. You are not meant to walk the field of Folkvangr and the heroes of old will not welcome you with thundering cheers and precious mead. You must follow another path, one I cannot see, and though I would wish to have you among the Einherjar, it was not for me to decide. It never is.”

Odin’s words seeped into Raef like a morning chill that no warmth could draw out. To know that he would be denied a place beside his father and the other Einherjar and that even Odin was powerless to change this fate was worse than any death Raef had imagined for himself, worse than the labyrinth.

“I have an offer for you, one befitting a man who has battled Loki and survived to tell of it, and one that thwarts the runes the Norns have made in Yggdrasil. All this,” Odin waved his hand and the white hall vanished, leaving Raef once more in the grey world of the labyrinth, “all this shall pass. You have suffered enough. Let me give you a new home.”

The windstorm was no less violent and yet Raef felt as though it passed over him, kept at bay by a hidden barrier. “What home do you speak of?”

“The farthest stars play host to a hall of unsurpassed beauty, a green, fair realm free of pain and free of the fate that awaits us all in these nine worlds. Neither giants nor gods made it and neither race can set foot there. Yggdrasil, for all the world ash tree’s mighty reach, cannot touch it.”

“How?” Raef asked.

“How can I give such a gift? At a cost, of course.” The Allfather removed one hand from his spear and brought it to the patch over his missing eye. His good eye stared past Raef.

“What cost?”

Odin was quiet for a long moment and when he did speak, his voice was soft and weary. “One you need not burden yourself with.”

Raef stared into the Allfather’s good eye, but it revealed nothing.

“You would find peace.”

The peace Odin spoke of reached Raef on a breath of warm, fresh air, a gentle breeze on an unending summer’s eve. Raef closed his eyes and inhaled, and though he could see in his mind’s eye this flawless realm with its golden twilight, its pure, sprightly streams, its nimble shadows and bright stars, he had his answer ready.

“You speak of a home any man might wish for, Allfather. You honor me and I should find joy in this. But in my heart I smell the salt shores of Vannheim, I hear the waves pounding against cliffs I climbed as a boy, I hear the birds in the forests I know as well as my own hands, and I see the sun sparkling off the deep fjords that taught me to swim. That is my home, Allfather, and I do not want another. And though you will not speak of the cost, I know enough to know it would be great indeed. I will not ask such a sacrifice of you.”

Odin was silent for a long moment and Raef felt the wind begin to rip through the barrier.

“You reject what I can give you, what is surely a better fate than any that awaits you?” Odin’s voice revealed wonder rather than anger. Raef nodded. “You understand what I have told you, that you will not ride with the others to the last battle? That Valhalla’s gates will never open for you?”

“I understand. And though this gives me endless sorrow, I still choose Vannheim in the hopes that I might see it again and take up my father’s seat in his hall.” The chill ate at him still, threatening unspeakable doom, but Raef meant every word.

“I do not promise that you will.”

Raef nodded. “I know. Do you think me foolish?”

Odin’s eye burned bright once more, though this time not with wrath but with life. He stepped closer to Raef. “I hung myself on Yggdrasil for nine days to sate my lust for knowledge. That was foolish beyond measure. And yet I knew no other course. My blood demanded it and my bones sang of it. We gain nothing without risk and sometimes we must risk all. I will see that they sing of your courage, Skallagrim, no matter the fate that befalls you.”

Raef bowed his head, expecting the Allfather to end the conversation, but Odin seemed to be waiting. “May I ask a question?” Raef said.

“You may ask.” Odin’s eye flashed and Raef thought he saw a touch of laughter in the blue iris.

“Did you send me here? Did Freyja? Frigg? Loki? Did you send me to Alfheim?”

The hint of laughter faded. “No god has had a hand in your journey, Skallagrim.”

“But you will not say more.”

“No.”

“Then answer this. Jötunheim is barren, a wasteland, and yet the giants feast on endless stores of food and drink mead sweeter and stronger than any hall in Midgard can offer. Why do you give them such bounty and treat them as kings?

Odin’s face had grown still and suddenly Raef could see the cares worn into the Allfather’s skin. “What would you do with a creature that does not know its own strength?”

The hair on Raef’s arms stood up and a chill crept down his spine. “Has your grip over them become so tenuous?”

Now Odin did laugh, a deep, dreadful sound that shook Raef’s bones. “It was always tenuous, Skallagrim.” The Allfather held Raef’s gaze, that single eye so dark and ominous and brimming over with terrible knowledge. “You know what comes. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Then it is true?” Raef felt a knot of apprehension build in his stomach. A small part of him had clung to hope that the Allfather would deny him. “The end of all things has begun?”

“It has.” Simple words, yet devastating in their finality. “It is time we both left this place.” Odin stepped back and a shadow seemed to swallow him into its depths, leaving Raef alone in the wind.

In time, the web of dreamsleep fell away and Raef let the fog ebb from his mind until he was aware that he still lay pressed against the stones but the storm had shrunk to a whisper. If he had truly conversed with Odin, if the Allfather had offered him a place in a secret, hidden realm, if such a place even existed, Raef could not say. He only knew he was alive and that was enough.

Finding his feet, Raef looked to the dark sky, searching for a path he might follow. The stars were strange and unfamiliar, but a bright one hung over the horizon to Raef’s right, twinkling with red and gold, and he did not take his eyes from it as he began to walk.

The landscape dragged on, unceasingly flat, until Raef caught a glimpse of something that broke the surface, a stone pillar growing taller with every step Raef took. When he reached its base, it reared up so high and straight that Raef could not see the peak and it stretched just wider than an eagle’s wingspan.

Raef walked around the pillar and ran his hand across the rough, pebbled stone until his fingers found an indentation. To his surprise, he could make out the shape of a hand stamped into the stone. Placing his own palm into the smooth stone one, Raef found that it fit his hand and, as his heart beat faster in anticipation, he pressed hard, letting the stone fill each line and crevice of his skin. Nothing happened. Raef exhaled his disappointment, though he knew not what he thought should have happened, only that this pillar was surely the answer to something.

Raef slumped to the ground, his back against the cold stone, and closed his eyes to think. Drawing his knees up to his chin and crossing his arms over his shins, as though to ward off cold and retain his own ebbing strength, Raef felt a sharp prick on his hip bone. Unfolding the waist of his pants, Raef retrieved the forgotten shard of pottery, the one he had threatened Hrodvelgr with, and held it up to the stars. It gleamed like a black river at night and though it had not drawn blood, it was sharp enough to do so.

Getting to his feet, Raef held the shard between his fingers. Without thinking, he drew the sharpest point across the palm of his right hand, the movement slow, unhurried, the cut long and straight. He let the blood well and then pressed his hand once more into the stone.

For a moment, the pain of the self-inflicted wound was nothing beyond the ordinary. It stung, as it should, and blood seeped out from underneath Raef’s hand until it dripped down the stone. But the stain had not spread far when Raef’s palm began to burn and searing pain spread to each fingertip. Gritting his teeth, Raef kept his hand in place though every instinct told him to tear it away and end the agony.

Just as he reached his breaking point, a deafening crack shook the pillar and the stone began to tremble under Raef’s touch. The vibrations shook Raef’s arm and spread through each limb but he leaned into the pillar with all his strength, certain that his skin, his blood, must stay connected. Three more cracks sounded from deep within the stone and the fourth broke to the surface, sending fissures racing in all directions. And then all was still and Raef was left leaning against a broken pillar stained with his blood, nothing more.

Raef lingered, unwilling to break with the ancient power he had witnessed, unwilling to admit the pillar was yet another false hope. He could feel his blood, still warm, wet between his hand and the stone but whatever it had awakened had returned to slumber. Raef removed his hand and clenched his fist to stem the flow, then sank to the ground once more.