Freydis turned her head around, looking in all directions. She stood in a hall; next to her, a table laden with food and drink.

  “You are welcome to eat.”

  She whipped her head towards the voice. At the end of the hall sat Odin on his throne. Immediately, she grasped for any weapon while crouching to a combat-ready stance, though she found her belt empty; not even a knife.

  “You are in no danger here. Nothing can hurt you.”

  Her mind finally caught up. “This is a dream.”

  “Reasonably sharp. I can see why my dear blood-brother chose you.” Odin gestured towards the table. “Feel free to indulge. It will not nourish you, but you can experience the taste, at least.”

  “Take venom from a snake? I’ll pass.”

  “As said, you’re in no danger. It’s just a dream.”

  “Hardly, considering only fell magic could conjure up a nightmare like this for me.”

  Odin smiled. “A tongue as sharp as the wit. He must have liked you.”

  “Don’t speak of the dead,” came the cold response.

  “Uncomfortable topic for you? I suppose it must be, considering you betrayed him. Amusing, the great deceiver deceived.”

  “Is this some form of torture? Am I to be a prisoner in my own mind?”

  “You will wake soon enough.” Odin waved his hand about in a gesture to dismiss her concern. “But first, you will hear my offer.”

  “I have no desire to let you drip your venom into my ears.”

  “And yet you will.” He made no move, simply spoke in a measured tone of voice; seated on his throne in his hall, from where he could gaze upon all the nine realms, he was king of the gods, he who carved the worlds from Ymir’s corpse, and he would not be denied. “I will kill Halfdan if I must. If he leaves me no choice. But you can save him.”

  Freydis felt spellbound, though whether it was actual magic or simply the authority of the one-eyed god’s gaze upon her, she could not say. In fact, it was as if she could not say anything.

  Odin raised one hand, and between his fingers, he held a small jar. “Strong seier I have placed within. Let him drink this, and he will sleep, peacefully, without dreams. Once a year, he shall wake and spend a day in your company. To him, it will be as if he goes to sleep and wakes each morning in your company, never noticing the year in between.”

  Freydis’ disdain finally gave her the strength to reply. “I imagine he’ll notice when my hair is white and my face more aged than yours.”

  The Alfather extended his other hand, in which, a golden apple lay. “One bite from this, and your youth is restored. This apple will sustain you and the child both, should you desire it. You will be his guardian, Freydis, protecting him from harm. You will be together, always, and he will spend each day in your company.”

  “Why?” She scowled at him. “Why I would trust your promise or believe it sincere?”

  “I have no need to punish him nor desire for strife. I simply want to know he will not be a cause for concern. This mixture ensures that.” Odin shook the jar before closing his hand. When he opened it, it was empty; the other held a knife, all of a sudden. He cut himself across the palm. “May the roots of Yggdrasil wither if I have spoken in bad faith or made false promises.”

  Freydis blinked her eyes, and with a start, she woke. She was in the shelter she shared with Halfdan, back in the camp. A dream, sent by Odin, nothing more. Yet she suddenly became aware of something cold and hard against her hand. Looking down, she saw a small jar clenched between her fingers.

  *

  The cold and crisp air chased away any lingering weariness. Standing outside her shelter, Freydis glanced around until she saw Halfdan. While she had slept after the battle, he had carved runes to heal his people. Judging by the sun, she had rested for most of the day, though since it was winter, those were short. A long night awaited, and towards its end, approaching the hour between day and night, Halfdan would begin the ritual.

  But right now, he was playing hnefatafl with Sif. The board was simply squares scratched into the dirt, and the pieces consisted of pebbles and broken pieces of a twig. “I win,” the girl declared with a smile as she moved the king to the edge of the board.

  Halfdan narrowed his eyes. “You cheated.”

  “What? How?”

  “Magic or something,” he growled.

  “Your seier is stronger than mine. You’d know if I did anything,” Sif claimed.

  “Halfdan, do you have a moment to talk?” Freydis asked.

  “Of course,” he replied, looking up at her. As he took his eyes off the board, Sif deftly moved her hand across it, returning one of Halfdan’s pieces from her sleeve.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The berserker got up, and together, they walked through the camp. It was full, in a sense; a lot of dead J?tnar lay side by side. It would take hours to dig enough graves in the frozen ground; they knew this from experience after creating the ditch. Since the cold also preserved the bodies, and most of the survivors of the battle were also lying down, recovering from injuries, burying the dead was a delayed priority.

  Thus, in order to have a modicum of privacy, the pair walked to the ramparts. The occasional sentinel stood guard, though only a few; the truce held, and they barely had any among their forces able to forego rest and fulfil such a duty. In fact, most of those keeping watch now were new arrivals. Still, their numbers were dwarfed by the einherjar, who had camped in the distance, just within eyesight. Looking out, they served as a stark reminder of everything at stake.

  “What is it?” asked Halfdan as they reached the top of the rampart. His eyes drifted towards the camp in the distance, so clearly larger than its counterpart within the defences.

  “Not much time left. Are you nervous?”

  “Not in my nature.” In fact, despite the gravity of the present situation and that everything would be decided within the next hours, Halfdan felt a peace of mind and clarity of purpose. Soon, it would be over. It suited the berserker that the decisions were made, the path chosen; he simply had to walk it now.

  “It’s in mine.”

  Halfdan snorted, though looking at Freydis, he was not certain she had meant it in jest. “Worrying now won’t make a difference.”

  “I just don’t see…” She bit her lip. “Odin will never relent. He will never compromise. If he thinks you are a threat to everything he has created, he’ll strike. And he’s the strongest power in the nine realms – stronger than you.”

  “He won’t dare fight with Fenrir present. If he could defeat the wolf, his death by its jaws would not be foretold. Only thing greater than his power is his fear,” Halfdan claimed. “The prophecy is a millstone around his neck, dragging his every step. He will negotiate.”

  “To what end? You think he’ll simply agree to let you walk free?” Freydis’ voice grew thicker; in her hand, she clasped the small jar.

  “Come now, what is this?” Halfdan asked in a soothing voice. He placed both hands on her shoulders. “We’ve come this far, past obstacle after obstacle.”

  “And if the Vanir are right? Either Ragnar?k is unleashed, or you bow in surrender to Odin. What if those are the only possible outcomes?”

  Halfdan was reminded of his most recent lesson; some battles could not be won. He could think of no fresh words to dispel her old concerns; they had been through this argument before. “You have to trust that I can see this through.”

  She clenched the jar between her fingers. “I’m trying.” Neither could find further words to speak, and they remained on the ramparts in silence.

  *

  Halfdan became aware of another presence, loitering nearby. Not one of the sentinels on the rampart, but someone inside the camp, casting surreptitious glances in their direction. “What is it?” Looking at the fellow, he did not recognise him.

  “Forgive me the intrusion, my lord. I am Kark, your humble servant.” He touched the iron collar around his neck, marking him as a slave. “At least, I desire to be.”

  Halfdan frowned. “Why didn’t one of my priesthood remove that? Been a long journey from J?tunheim carrying that.”

  “Ah, I’m not of the J?tnar.” He cleared his throat, looking apprehensive. “I am – was a thrall in service to the Aesir.” He glanced at Freydis.

  “You’re the servant who helped us,” she remarked as recognition set in. “In Valh?ll, when we stole your hammer from Odin’s chamber,” she told Halfdan.

  “Indeed, my lady. I am honoured you remember.”

  “Then you are well met, Kark,” Halfdan greeted him, walking down the earthworks to approach him. “I owe my freedom, and the lives of my dearest companions, to your courage.”

  With a bashful expression, the thrall lowered his eyes. “I did very little, my lord. Your companions showed true courage.”

  “You defied the Aesir and risked terrible punishment to help strangers,” Freydis argued. “No need to diminish yourself.”

  Kark did not reply, but if pride could burst the ring around his neck, it would have shattered. However, the enspelled iron was stronger than that. “My lord, would you show me the honour of freeing me with your own touch? I should like to serve you as your priest.”

  Halfdan smiled and raised a hand. Yet before he could use [Breaker of Chains], a flurry of thoughts arrived. “How did you come to be here, Kark?”

  “Most of us thralls followed the army, my lord. Valh?ll is empty. I snuck away last night, during the battle. I came across others of your faithful,” he explained, gesturing further into the camp at the newly arrived J?tnar, “and went with them to join your ranks.”

  Halfdan frowned, an idea taking shape. “There are other thralls back in the camp of the Aesir?”

  “Many, my lord.”

  “Would you be noticed if you returned?”

  “I suppose under the cover of dark, it wouldn’t be difficult. The einherjar are celebrating and feasting, as they do each night. Even here and now, their habits do not change.”

  Freydis shot him a look. “What are you thinking?”

  A plan had formed in Halfdan’s mind. The only obstacle was that it required something impossible to find in this barren landscape on short notice. He would have to ask one of his J?tnar with the gift of changing shape. He placed one hand on the thrall’s shoulder. “Kark, I have a task for you.” He turned to look at Freydis. “I’ll need a volunteer. Someone with the utmost courage. And then, it’ll be time for rituals.”

  *

  A flurry of activity took place in the camp of the J?tnar. The day was replaced by night, and still, Halfdan’s people worked to carry out his instructions. They laboured through the hours of darkness, and as the twilight of morning began to arrive, Halfdan made his last preparations. He had spoken with Sif and Freydis, in case he did not get the chance again; they both knew his heart.

  In the centre of the circular fortress, space had been cleared. Into the hard earth, Halfdan had carved nine runes. One for each of the realms. Those watching, which was everyone, could not make sense of the system; the runes were scattered in a way that did not resemble any pattern. Some lay close to each other, clustered together, while a few lay far from the others. But all of them could be contained within a circle, and Halfdan stepped into what would have been the exact centre of such an imaginary circumference.

  “Nine runes I write. Nine spells I speak. Nine bones I break,” Halfdan-Loki muttered. He could not say why the words came to him, only that they demanded to be spoken. “And Ragnar?k comes.” Nobody else said anything or made the slightest sound. All understood the weight of the moment. It was time for the last ritual that ever needed to be done.