CHAPTER 2 – OLD GARN’S TUNNEL
Muus jumped after him. The hole was deeper than he had expected. A smooth tunnel of ice, which carried them diagonally down through the dark. Someone screamed and he wasn’t sure if it was Kjelle, or himself. After an endless time came a sharp left turn and then he plunged into nothingness. It was not deep, where he fell, six feet at most, and he ended up with Kjelle in a painful heap of arms and legs on a rocky surface.
‘Muus.’
‘Get your fingers out of my face, you cack-handed clod,’ Muus cried, and his voice echoed in the cave: lod... lod... lod...
‘I can’t see.’ Kjelle almost screamed. ‘We're dead.’
‘Shut up.’ Muus kicked in Kjelle’s direction. He felt his foot make contact and the wailing broke off. ‘Be still and let me think.’ He stood up and tried to orient himself. The darkness was oppressive in its intensity. Around him was the mountain. All that rock over his head, how could such a tunnel exist without collapsing? He heard something shifting somewhere and his heart began to pound.
Beside him, Kjelle’s sob broke the tension. The theynling’s fear stank of sweat. ‘Where is Sun?’
‘Huh?’ Muus looked in the direction of Kjelle’s voice, but in the absolute dark not even a silhouette was visible.
'In the polar night, she hides in the earth,’ the young lord said absently. ‘But where then is her light?’
Muus sniffed. ‘The earth is large. She could be anywhere.’ He thought a moment. ‘Besides, that chariot of hers wouldn’t fit into this tunnel. The svartalves will have built a beautiful hall for it somewhere.’
There was silence.
‘Muus, Godsdammer. You give light.’ Kjelle’s voice was high and breathless, as if he was only just skirting hysteria.
Yet he was right. Muus saw a faint blue glow grow around him. The stone on his chest felt warm, as warm as when he had picked it up on the pasture. He opened the pouch around his neck and squinted against the blue glow that radiated out. 'It’s not me. It is the stone.’
‘What!’ Kjelle’s voice echoed against the walls. ‘Have you brought that damned thing? Thor! That stone is the cause of everything. Throw it away.’
‘Nonsense,’ Muus said. ‘You didn’t have to touch it. The stone is mine. When I hold it, nothing happens.’
‘It’s dangerous.’
‘And it lights our way, so we can see where we’re walking. Well, shall we go or is there something you must do here?’
Kjelle brought his head close to that of Muus. In the stone’s light, his face contorted with rage. He waved white-knuckled fists under Muus' nose. ‘You ... you ...’
The young slave braced himself, but it wasn’t necessary. Kjelle’s facial muscles slacked, the fire in his eyes died and his shoulders slumped. He gave a dull nod. ‘We go.’
With a slight shiver, Muus walked on. The tunnel walls around them were smooth and dripping with moisture. The blue glow of the stone reflected in drops and puddles, so they seemed to move along the bottom of a river. Stone teeth grew up and down and everywhere was the sound of water.
‘Why?’ Kjelle said after a long silence. His voice was flat, emotionless.
Muus did not have to ask what he meant. ‘What do you think? Because you're the stupid son of a drunken duck, perhaps?’
Kjelle stopped and peered sideways at Muus. ‘How could I know that a small stone like that would cause an avalanche?’
Muus blew his nose in his fingers. ‘You couldn’t. You should’ve kept your greedy paws to yourself.’ He muttered a curse when a cold trickle landed between his eyes. ‘You Nords always want to have everything. Stinking thieves you are, every one of you.’ He thought of the round huts of his village. Murderers and abductors of children. A choking sound made him look aside. Kjelle’s face, deadly blue in the light of the stone, was twisted with fear and anger battling in him for dominance.
‘I’m your master. You should have obeyed.’
‘The stone didn’t think so. He rejected you, Nord.’
‘But why? Who sent that stone? The svartalves? They hate us, they’re deceitful creatures.’
Muus shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about svartalves.’
‘You look like them, slave.’ Kjelle’s voice was vicious. ‘Small, black haired and mean.’
‘I should’ve left you on the plateau, stupid Nord,’ Muus said unperturbed. He was amazed that Kjelle’s words didn’t touch him anymore. ‘Maybe your gods would’ve saved you.’ He looked at Kjelle. ‘Probably not. You're not man enough for them, Kjelle Almansen.’
After this insult, he moved his hand toward the grip of his sword, but it wasn’t necessary. Kjelle only shook his head, too deep in his misery to be angry.
‘Why did that stone come? To punish me? To... to test me? A test ... and I failed.’
‘By the Gods, man, do you really think a stone falls from the sky to test you? Are you that important? Don’t be daft. You wanted something that wasn’t meant for you. Because of your stupidity, many people died. That's your fault. What will you do now?’
The fear in Kjelle’s face was so great that Muus looked away. ‘Let's go. Talking won’t solve anything. The answer lies with the gods. Yours or mine.’
The loud sound around them was their breathing, pierced by the plink, plink of the droplets that escaped from the rock over their heads. The thin layer of water on the floor of the tunnel muffled their footsteps and otherwise there was silence.
‘Your gods?’ Kjelle said after a while. ‘Who are they?’
‘I ... do not know.’ Muus recalled the images he had so often dreamed about; the round huts on the riverbank and the faceless people. ‘My memories begin when I arrived at Eidungruve. Hagen brought me. He had a gray horse, and he talked to me. I couldn’t understand him, but his voice sounded ... not threatening. Funny, I remember all that so well. But who my parents were? No idea. Nor do I care, that’s all gone now. The hold was my home, even though I hated it.’
Again, there was silence.
‘I hated you from the moment you arrived,’ Kjelle said from the twilight. ‘Your pose, your pride; the way you looked at me. You, my own slave, laughed at me. Always you worked against me, made me look ridiculous. Me, the theynling. With your hypocritical politeness: yes, master; no, master, and you laughing behind my back. I should have beaten you to death.’
‘You've beaten me enough.’
‘Not enough,’ Kjelle said in a near-whisper. ‘You're still alive.’
Muus shook his head. ‘If you didn’t want me, why I had to accompany you everywhere?’
‘You had to. I ...’ Kjelle fell silent.
All at once, it dawned on Muus. ‘You needed me to feel brave.’
‘Shut up,’ Kjelle said in a tone that sent Muus for his sword. The sound of the blade along the sheath had them both step away. Without speaking, they went forward.
The dark path made Muus imagine rows of alves with pickaxes, tunneling through the rock. Skinny, black-haired creatures, ugly and crooked by their life underground. He shuddered. As in a bad dream, he walked on.
A ripping sound followed by a shrill scream shocked Muus out of his thoughts. He looked up just in time to see his companion disappear into the ground. Somehow, a crack had opened in the floor beneath his feet and swallowed him.
On his knees, Muus crawled towards the edge of the crevice. The screaming and sobbing told him Kjelle was still alive.
‘You’re all right?’
A stream of unintelligible words answered him. The young Nord was stuck some six feet below him. Wild-eyed, he looked up at Muus. ‘Get me out of here.’
‘Easy now, breathe deeply. Recount the names of all your ancestors.’
‘My ancestors? Kjelle, son of Alman, son of Hralf, son of Rognar... Argh, what’s that for?’
‘It helps you not to panic,’ Muus said calmly. ‘Can you stand?’
Kjelle shook his head. ‘Bottom’s too narrow.’
Muus lay flat on his
belly and reached down with Hagen’s sword.
‘Hang the rucksack on the cross-guard.’ Hand over hand he pulled the weapon back up, until he could swing the pack down beside him. ‘Well, at least we’ve got that.’
‘You’re not leaving me?’
Muus said nothing. A voice inside him whispered, This is your chance. Let him rot. He pulled off his coat, Hagen’s heavy snow wolf coat. From sleeve to sleeve, it would be just long enough.
‘Muus!’ Panic rang in Kjelle’s voice. ‘Are you there?’
‘Sure,’ Muus said curtly. ‘I wouldn’t kill you this way.’
A second sound of tearing rock rent the air and Kjelle screamed. ‘I can’t hold on!’
‘Here,’ Muus hung the coat over the edge and grabbed one of the sleeves with both hands, while he gripped a nearby dripstone with his legs. ‘Try to climb up; I can’t pull you out on my own. And make sure you don’t tear my coat or I will murder you.’
Gibbering with fear, Kjelle worked his way up. The rough wall of the crevasse scraped the skin from his hands and knees, while a sweating Muus pulled his coat up. At last, Kjelle managed to place his elbows on the edge. Muus grabbed the back of Kjelle’s waistband and with their combined strength the theynling heaved himself onto the floor of the tunnel.
Kjelle looked at Muus without speaking. His bloodied face mirrored a horror so intense it gave Muus goose bumps.
‘Let’s get away from here.’
Quivering all over, the theynling picked up the backpack.
They walked for a while, till Kjelle abruptly stopped.
‘I can’t go on,’ he said, with tears streaming down his face.
Muus sighed. He’d been working hard all day, logging trees. After that, he had to climb that bleeding mountain path and now this tunnel. He was tired, but he could’ve kept walking. He wanted to be free of this tunnel more than anything, but it was clear Kjelle was suffering from shock. ‘Let’s try to sleep,’ Muus said, nodding to one of the many nooks in the rock wall.
Moving like a draug, Kjelle stumbled to the small recess and dropped. Muus sat beside him, listening to the snores of his companion. Gods, I wanted to escape Eidungruve. But did it have to be this way? Then he curled up against Kjelle and, back to back, they slept.
When Muus woke, cold and hungry, Kjelle sat staring at him; his face a death mask and his movements stiff.
‘Ready to go?’ Muus asked.
Without a word, Kjelle rose and started walking. Time passed immeasurable in that tunnel. How long had they walked? Hours? A day? More?
Suddenly Kjelle spoke. ‘It is getting colder.’
Muus looked up. The moisture on the tunnel wall was frozen and icicles had taken the place of the stone dragon's teeth.
'Light!' In a feverish excitement, the theynling hurried forward. Far away was a narrow strip of what looked like daylight. He started to run.
‘Watch out,’ Muus said. ‘It’s ...’ but it was too late. A thin layer of ice had formed on the ground and Kjelle crashed down. ‘... slippery.’
Kjelle stared at him, livid. Then he rose and went on slowly to the beckoning light.
Here, the tunnel ended. The opening they had hoped for proved to be a fissure in the rock through which a pale glimmer shone.
‘O cursed Loki’s Trick; it’s frozen shut.’ Kjelle pounded his fist on the ice, through which the treacherous light from the outside world beckoned them. 'Rock solid,’ he said with tears in his eyes.
‘We have knives,’ Muus said. ‘We can hack a way out.’
Kjelle licked his bleeding lip and nodded. He crouched down at the fissure with his hunting knife and started on the ice. The layer was thick, the two young men tired and cold. They had to take turns working, so it was a long time before their bleeding hands had hacked away enough ice to wriggle through the opening. For once Muus was thankful for his small stature, as he slipped like a small, black-haired, fox through the hole. Kjelle’s massive form couldn’t follow, however much he squirmed and groaned.
‘Take off your clothes,’ Muus said. ‘They make you fat.’
Kjelle snarled something unintelligible, but he obeyed. Naked, he managed to squeeze himself through the opening. ‘Is this the other end of the tunnel?’ he said, as he put his shirt and his hairy coat back on over the bloody scratches on his body.
Muus looked around. ‘We’re in an ice cave,’ he said. ‘There won’t be any ice inside a mountain. This must be the glacier from Garn’s tales. Maybe he wasn’t such a fantast after all.’
‘Then we’re nearly out of here?’
Muus grimaced. ‘I hope so. At least there weren’t any monsters.’ He stepped forward. ‘There’s an opening.’ A narrow corridor led to a second, smaller space.
‘Wait,’ Kjelle said and his voice trembled. The second cave was littered with gnawed, frozen remains of animals. ‘Those dead rabbits are still fresh.’
Then they saw a triangular head with two wide-open eyes staring at them.
‘Snow wolf.’ Kjelle whispered.
‘Freya's Blood.’ Without hesitation, Muus drew his sword. He knew which end was up, that was about all.
Kjelle looked at him, deadly pale. 'What now?’ His lips quivered. At that moment the wolf sprang.
Muus yelled. The snow wolf hesitated in midair and that broke his pounce. Reflexively the young slave struck and he felt the sword slide deep under the animal’s ribs. Man and beast fell and a puddle of blood formed on the icy soil. The smell of wet dog filled Muus' nostrils. He pushed against the hairy corpse. ‘It didn’t touch me. Thank the gods.’ He stood up and pulled his sword from the body of the beast.
‘It's dead.’ Kjelle looked bewildered from the dead wolf to Muus. ‘It's really dead.’
‘They won’t come deader,’ Muus said with a grimace of pure relief. Then he stooped and cut off the wolf’s silver-white tail. For a moment, he stood with it in his hands, and then he pulled it through the belt around his waist. ‘My thanks to you, Fenrisson Snow Wolf, for your gift.’
On Kjelle’s face, disbelief and anger fought for supremacy. ‘I didn’t know you could handle a sword.’
Muus shrugged. ‘Let's go.’
‘We need food,’ Kjelle said.
‘Snow wolf?’ Muus' gaze went to the dead animal. It looked tough.
The theynling stared at him. ‘You're no hunter. Wolves are carnivores; their meat won't feed us. Deer, rabbit, everything that lives off plants and roots is edible.’
‘I'm not a hunter,’ Muus admitted. ‘Give a slave a bow and arrow? Your father wouldn’t dare.’ He walked to the exit of the cave. ‘Let's find a rabbit. It's your turn to kill a monster, theynling.’
Kjelle pulled a face, but said he nothing.
The exit crack in the ice was about ten yards long, but only snow wolf-wide, and Kjelle had to take off his clothes again. Wriggling and cursing mightily, he too came through and side by side, they stood in the familiar semi-darkness of the polar night.
Kjelle, oblivious to the snowflakes collecting on his bare body, looked around. Nearby, a dark river ran past, against a backdrop of woodlands.
‘The Jerna.’ His voice was full of disbelief. ‘We made it.’
Muus nodded. Freedom at last. He wanted to laugh, cry, but all at once he was too tired.
Hunger forced them into action. Moon’s cart drove across the sky, as it had the night of the avalanche, so at least one day and one night must have passed. Strangely, Muus wasn’t tired anymore, but his stomach growled like a barn full of slop-starved pigs. His mouth was dry and he let a small handful of fresh snow melt on his tongue. The path through the mountain had dripped of water, but that was almost liquid stone, undrinkable. With his thirst quenched, he looked around. Behind them rose a glittering wall, like a river of ice flowing down the mountain. Did we come through that? He whistled. A story for by the hearth. With a lot of fantasy for the details. He sighed. ‘Should we go to the left or to the right?’
Kjelle’s forehe
ad wrinkled. ‘To the right. Garn said that when he left the tunnel he followed Sun’s chariot.’ He nodded toward Moon above them. ‘Like he does.’
They walked on until they reached a bend in the river.
‘There is a ford,’ Kjelle said and he pointed with his head. A row of stones formed a natural way to the other side of the fast-flowing river.
On the last stone Muus froze. ‘Stand still.’ He sank to his knees and put his hand into the water. Carefully, his fingers approached the underside of the trout. The fish hung motionless in the water, resting from the upstream journey. Muus stroked its belly until it fell into a trance. Then he seized the trout with his hands and threw it onto the ground, to end its voyage with a fist-sized stone.
Open-mouthed Kjelle looked at him. ‘How did you do that?’ Then, with horror, ‘Magic?’
Muus bared his teeth. ‘It's an old fisherman's trick. Petting it makes the trout go to sleep and wham, you have it. Can you make a fire? ‘
‘Y-yes,’ Kjelle said. ‘But I'm not good at it.’
‘Then start practicing.’ Muus turned back to the water. ‘I'll need an hour at least.’ I learned trout tickling as a child. Why do I remember that now?
Kjelle’s campfire wasn’t much, and the fish was only half-cooked, but it was food and they were hungry. Then they dug a hole in the snow, curled up and slept.
That night Muus dreamt of burning lands, and a standing stone in a fiery cave. It was hot there, boiling hot. But when he woke up hours later, everything about him was cold and he had to piss. When he finished, he sought some dry wood and started a new fire.
It was quiet in the forest. Moon’s cart had already gone from the sky. Daybreak. Unexpected tears stung Muus' eyes. He should be feeding the pigs, he thought, while Siga and her women were preparing the morning meal. Siga... He froze. The wisewoman had told him her dream of ravens above Eidungruve. Odin's ravens were sacred; harbingers of battle. Their presence where they did not belong was a sign of war. She had seen him and Kjelle alone in a snowy forest. A true vision, for here they were, and there lay plenty of snow. Siga’s dream didn’t bode well for Eidungruve, if it had survived the avalanche.
Muus stood up and walked to the banks of the Jerna. He scooped up a handful of icy water and let it warm up in his mouth before he swallowed. Bending over, he scanned the surface for trout. Only half of his mind was on the fishes, the fate of Eidungruve and its people bothered him more than he cared to admit. This was his eleventh winter in the hold. He'd grown up here and despite everything, it had become his home; the only family he had. Without thinking he caught one trout after another, until six laid in a row on the bank. His mind wandered to the past. The faceless people from his dreams. Who were they? For the first time he felt a trace of curiosity. Where did he come from? Not from the Norden; not with hair as black as his, or a skin so pale. White as a snow mouse. Everyone called him Muus, but it wasn’t his name. He didn’t know his name.
Hurriedly, he gathered his six fish and went back to the fire. When he got there, he almost dropped his catch. An old man in a gray cloak sat by the fire, the flames staining his white beard red. Over his knees lay a long walking stick. Kjelle sat opposite him, his eyes wide and staring. When Muus approached, the old one turned his face in his direction. He was missing one eye.
‘Six trout,’ Muus said. ‘Do you eat with us, stranger?’
The old man laughed. ‘How courteous. But no, I must decline.’ He paused, cocking his head. ‘You won’t have any wine?’
Muus spread his hands. ‘We have what we can catch.’
‘I was afraid of that. Don’t give it a thought.’ His one eye twinkled. ‘Tell me, why are a young Nord and Bryt wandering through the frozen forests of Dalland? There must be a saga behind it, worthy of the best skalds.’
Muus thought for a moment and the old man’s smile grew. ‘Caution is wisdom, for all you know I am that rascal Loki in disguise.’
The young man nodded. ‘I don’t doubt your sincerity.’ He glanced sideways at Kjelle but the theynling stared wordlessly at their visitor. Muus sat down by the fire and rubbed his stiffened hands, while he spoke of the stone, the avalanche and their journey through the mountain.
The old man followed his story with rapt attention. When Muus finished, he smiled. ‘So you're the Shardheld. The skyshard makes a strange choice. May I see him?’
With care, Muus took the stone out of its pouch around his neck. The blue shard shone in the palm of his hand.
‘Avalanche Maker,’ the old man said as if greeting an acquaintance. Then he looked at Muus. ‘The skyshard bears many names and none of them flattering. This one is new. He is a merciless burden, Shardheld, while your strength is limited. Follow the river into the forest. One rest downriver you will find Belisheim, a house of study, wisdom and magic. Tell the völva your story. Say that Harbard sent you.’ He stood up and shook the folds of his cloak loose. ‘I must go.’
‘What is a skyshard?’ Muus asked.
The old man gave him a sharp look. ‘A piece of the sky.’ He bowed. ‘I wish you strength, Shardheld.’ And with a glance at the still staring Kjelle, ‘You as well, theynling of Eidungruve.’ Then he walked off into the woods, and disappeared amongst the trees.
‘You’re making an impression,’ Muus said, while he opened the first trout with a flourish. ‘You were staring at that old one as if you'd never seen a man before.’
‘That was Odin, witless Bryt. Odin, the All-Father. ‘
Muus put his knife down. ‘Odin? Why? Because he’d lost an eye? He said he was called Harbard.’
‘I knew it when I saw him. Harbard? That’s one of Odin's names.’
Muus shrugged and went back to his fish. He had more important things on his mind than Nordish superstition. ‘What’s a Bryt?’
Kjelle’s mouth fell open. ‘You don’t know? I never realized, but that's you, a wildman from Brytanna, where the barbarians live.’ Something like contempt entered his voice. ‘Small as children are the Bryts, with an ugly, dirty skin and they are bone thin. Like the svartalves.’ He ducked just in time to avoid a trout that Muus threw at his head. ‘That’s what the bards say!’
‘Clean your own fish, you blond half-troll,’ Muus growled. ‘Or let those bards do it for you. This wildman has worked enough for the morning.’
While Kjelle picked clumsily at the slippery entrails of his trout, Muus stared into the fire. Brytanna. Where the barbarians live.
‘Muus?’
‘What?’ His name recalled him from the labyrinth of his thoughts.
‘It's snowing.’ Kjelle threw the bones of the last trout in the bushes and sighed. ‘We’d better go.’
Muus nodded and began to pull the fire apart with a stick. Moments later, they walked away along the river, into the forest.