Shardfall, The Shardheld Saga, #1

CHAPTER 2 - OLD GARN'S TUNNEL (Part 2)

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 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 cut off by a giant saw. 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 forehead 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 fjord,' said Kjelle 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 that he saw. The fish hung motionless in the water against the tide, resting from the upstream journey. Muus stroked the belly of the fish 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,' said Kjelle. '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 now 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.

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. On his knees, he had 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. Do you eat with us, stranger?' said Muus.

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 Holderling 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,' said the old man 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 down river 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?' asked Muus.

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, Holderling of Eidungruve.' Then he walked off into the woods, and disappeared amongst the trees.

'You're making an impression,' said Muus, 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 that 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 had thrown. 'That's what the bards say.'

'Clean your own fish, you blond half-troll,' growled Muus. '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.

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