“AND SO WE could not afford to buy horses and tried to steal them instead.” Thorfinn was explaining how they came to be inside the slave cage.
“But it had been years since either of us had stolen anything, and our skills were not as they’d once been.” Valgerth shrugged.
“In short, we got caught.” Thorfinn grinned, taking another bite of dried meat, followed by a long pull on the wineskin. “But the captain knew we weren’t just horse thieves. He recognized Valgerth as an escaped slave. He’d often watched her fight in the arena, he said.”
“Just my luck, eh, Freyadis? The only soldier in Nastrond who watched my face as I fought.”
Bloodsong laughed.
“What do you mean, he watched your face?” Huld looked puzzled.
“They made us fight naked, Huld.” Bloodsong watched for the young woman’s reaction.
Huld blushed. “Oh!”
Bloodsong slapped her on the back and laughed. “I could teach you.”
“No thanks!”
Thorfinn went on. “And of course that cur who recognized Valgerth planned to be first to amuse himself with her. Thank Odin you came along when you did.”
“I doubt that Odin or any of his allies helped,” Bloodsong replied. “If any of the Gods helped us meet, it was probably kind Hel.”
“Kind?” Valgerth asked.
“She has some unusual ideas about Hel,” Huld remarked.
“Well,” Thorfinn shrugged, “you know Her better than we do, right?”
“Aye,” Bloodsong agreed, giving Thorfinn a wink. “Huld,” she looked at the young Witch, “you will especially love knowing that Hel claims to be more than just a Goddess of the Dead.”
Huld looked at Thorfinn. “Hel tells lies.”
Thorfinn nodded. “Every tale I have ever heard says She was born half dead and half alive, a monster from the start, the spawn of Loki the Trickster and the foul Giantess named Anguish Boding. She is the sister to both the Fenris Wolf and the Midgarth Serpent. Odin banished Hel to the Land of Mists when—”
“Yes, Thorfinn,” Bloodsong interrupted. “We’ve all heard those tales. But—”
“The old tales were written by Hel’s enemies,” Huld remarked, “according to what She told Bloodsong. But everyone knows that Hel always has the last laugh on those who trust Her—” Huld’s voice trailed away as Bloodsong’s expression darkened. “Freya’s Teats!” Huld swore. “I’m sorry, Bloodsong.” Her expression showed her anguish. “I didn’t mean Her promise to you about Guthrun. Of course Hel does keep promises, if they are made to Hel-warriors.”
“Yes” Bloodsong quietly said. “Of course.”
“And if She doesn’t, we’ll cursed well make Her!” Valgerth added.
Bloodsong smiled at her old friend. “Attack Helheim itself, eh?”
“I intend to meet your daughter, no matter what it takes!”
Bloodsong gripped Valgerth’s shoulder. “And so you shall.”
“But does Hel at least agree that Odin banished Her to Helheim?” Thorfinn asked.
“Only after Freya made him,” Huld said.
“Freya?” Thorfinn looked at Huld.
Huld hooked a thumb at Bloodsong. “That’s what I heard.”
Bloodsong nodded. “Yes. Hel claims it was Freya. And yes, Odin banished Her to Helheim, but She did not go willingly. There were years of fierce battles, Hel claims. She was a child at the time but had many supporters, because of Her mother.”
Thorfinn shook his head. “Anguish Boding had supporters?”
Bloodsong nodded. “Aye, for I was told that Anguish Boding was a name invented by enemies. Her mother was in fact an ancient and powerful Jotun Goddess of both life and death named Bertha, so when Hel was born, She showed both aspects of Bertha in Her appearance, and Her mother thought Her beautiful. It was not until Odin kidnapped Hel and imprisoned Her in Asgard that the reaction of the Aesir and Vanir made Hel think of Her half-alive, half-dead appearance as ugly.”
“Odin is the villain, see?” Huld commented. “And Freya.”
“But after Odin succeeded in confining the child Hel to Helheim, She either found or was given, or conjured from Elsewhere, She never said for certain which, a Deathgate, as She called it, because it appears to be a massive human skull made of crystal, known as—”
“Hel’s War Skull,” Huld finished. “Nidhug’s got it now, right, Bloodsong?”
“That thing he tortured us on?” Valgerth suppressed a shudder.
“You, too?” Huld asked.
“Most attractive women took their turn screaming on the Skull,” Bloodsong replied. “And in our younger days, we both qualified, eh, Val?”
Valgerth laughed.
“You both still do,” mentioned Thorfinn.
“But how can you laugh about such a thing?” Huld looked truly astonished. “Fighting naked is a joke? Being tortured on a giant skull is a joke?”
“No,” Valgerth answered. “They were horrors. That’s why they are so funny now!” She winked at Bloodsong and Bloodsong winked back.
Huld just shook her head.
“It’s because we survived them, Huld,” Bloodsong explained, patting the Witch’s shoulder.
“I guess it would be hard to laugh if you hadn’t.” Huld gave a shrug.
“That’s the idea!” Valgerth agreed. “But please, Freyadis, you were explaining about Hel’s getting the Skull?”
“Yes. The War Skull’s power allowed Hel, though the Caretaker of the Dead, to appear as a wholly living Goddess, stunningly beautiful, so that she could openly help birth the souls in Her care into new bodies. She had done that, as had Her mother, Bertha, all along, but few knew or remembered, once they had been reborn. Her great beauty, however, which consisted merely of extending Her beauteous living half to both sides, began attracting souls that would otherwise have gone to Odin, Freya, or some other of Odin’s allies, and that got Odin’s attention. He went to see Her, was attracted and tried to seduce Her, was rejected, and stole the War Skull. Hel reverted to Her half-living, half-dead appearance. Stories linking Her to fear and evil were invented to further turn souls away from Her.”
“But how did Nidhug get the Skull?” Thorfinn asked.
“He was a Hel-warrior who searched for the War Skull and found it. But instead of summoning Hel so that She could retrieve the Skull, Nidhug used it to teach himself sorcery, gain prolonged life, and to defeat other Hel-warriors the enraged Goddess sent against him. And now I am supposed to do what he did not.”
“Return the War Skull to Hel?” Valgerth asked.
Bloodsong nodded. “Yes.”
“Then, make that what we must do.” Valgerth frowned.
“And,” Thorfinn said, “all that stands in our way is Nidhug, his sorcery, and his, let’s see, what was it? Oh, yes, his army!”
“Aye.” Bloodsong looked up at the sky, then back at her companions. “That is all.”
They all fell silent at the thought, then Huld surprised everyone by laughing. They looked at her. She shrugged. “Why so grim? I’m not worried. I would have been, before, but not now. There are eight soldiers less than an hour ago. Right? And if you two strip naked before attacking Nastrond, the soldiers that are left will let you stroll right in.”
“I will drink to that!” Thorfinn took a long swig from the wineskin as everyone laughed.
“I always regretted not killing Nidhug before we escaped,” Valgerth noted, fingering the leather-wrapped hilt of her sword. “There are blood debts owing between him and me.”
“As there are for me,” Bloodsong agreed, “even more now, after what he did to my village, to Eirik, and to my son.”
“And to you,” Huld added, “and perhaps by now to my Norda. We all have good reason to see him destroyed, except perhaps for Thorfinn?”
Thorfinn sat the wineskin aside and held Huld’s gaze. “All who live under Nidhug’s thumb would like to cut it off.”
Huld nodded. “Then we all want the same, and to help Bloodsong.”
“Let’s ride for Nastrond!” said Valgerth. “Agreed?”
Bloodsong hesitated, thinking about the Hel-saddle and the lost stallion. But she couldn’t waste any more time looking for the beast. The horse had been headed south down the forest trail. So were they. She could only hope that they would find the steed as they rode southward, or at least be able to pick up the tracks again.
Bloodsong stood. “Yes. Let’s ride. The sorcerer has no doubt detected more of his soldiers dying. And he is certain to soon launch another attack.”