In the Company of Stones

Chapter 2: The Upturned Ship, part 2.1

The thunder of Thor’s hammer grumbled in the distance, a low rolling mutter that battered its way from horizon to horizon. Wind was rising from the Bay of Serpents.  A hard blow was coming;  Halfdan could feel it in the badly set bones of his shield-hand, feel it in the uneasy prickle of gooseflesh on his forearms.  He clenched his fist, touching forehead, breastbone, right and left breast.  

Hail, Thor, Red of Beard and Strong of Heart,

I call upon thee who speaks plainly, to hallow this hall.

Lord of the Storm/hallow this hall.

The moon lay hidden in thick clouds.  Halfdan wove his way between the logs buttressing the roof by touch, chanting as he paced.  He knew the shape of his long-hall, so like a giant’s upturned ship--the long arcs of oaken planking, the thatched roof of tight bound reeds--as well as he knew his children’s faces.  Arching above, the crossed trusses ending in carved horses heads, mouths agape to frighten away any ill-luck.

Inside, his folk were waking for the nightwatch.  This time between the first and second sleeps was the sweet time for lovers, the time to add water to the next day’s pease hanging over the fire, the time for stories of bold deeds and fell consequences. It was a time to feed the spirit, the company of others a flame to light the long winter’s night.  So comforted, his folk could then sleep safely until the Great Wheel of the Sun returned at daybreak.

Halfdan missed the feel of his wife’s body pressed against his.  But warm as it was inside, the nightwatch was also the time to ward off things that stalked the darkness.  It was a Gothi’s task to keep his folk safe through prayer.  Tonight, especially, when even his dreams filled with sky-sparks, Halfdan would walk the bounds outside Hedeby’s long-hall as he’d done a thousand times. He would keep the hall weather-tight, this ship that carried his folk through the darkness.

Thor, who wields Mjolnir, Hallow this Hall,

Father of Freedom, Hallow this Hall,

Thor, Jotunn's bane, Hallow this Hall,

Halfdan could hear wood crackling inside in the central stone fire-pit. He heard the sharp sizzle of fat striking the fire.  The low rumble of men’s voices.  Children giggling.  A sharp ‘shush!’

Tonight, the sounds of the long-hall had spoken only of peace.  

Yet through the sigh of wind in the trees, Halfdan heard the shink-a shink-a shink, the sound of ring-mail slapping against leg armor. Half seen through misty rain, metal glinted. A dim streak of steel bobbed up and down at the speed of a man’s pace.  The hair at Halfdan’s nape prickled.

These were no god-sent visions.  These were men, their faces taking shape in the mists.  Behind them bulked a darker shadow.  Halfdan sped his prayers, braced himself against the stout planks of the wall and fumbled for his belt-knife.

Warrior, hasten to help us, and Hallow this Hall,

Defender of Asgard, Hallow this Hall,

Thor, Halfdan calls you to Hallow this Hall.

A lit torch approached up the Ox Road from the outpost at Sliasthorp.  It cast an orange glow onto the man who held it.  Light sparked against a conical helmet, the hair poking out below it shining red.

Thor’s blessing, it was his own man Ketil, his easy grin lighting up the night almost as much as the torch he held.  Two more men-in-arms joined with him athwart the road, talking; Ketil gestured to the shadow staining the night.  A man rode out of the mists, grey-haired, gaunt, clad in flapping robes.  Unlike the warriors, this man drooped with exhaustion.  At Ketil’s gesture, he dismounted.  Ketil gave the older man his arm, and turned to lead him toward the long-hall.