The Old Gods: A gripping historical fantasy viking saga by Brunsdon John

Author:Brunsdon, John [Brunsdon, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tewhit Books
Published: 2022-06-19T00:00:00+00:00

17

Galdr

W as there magic in the old skald’s words? The man’s tongue might have been plucked straight from the mouth of Jörmungandr by the Father of Lies, but it had a way of conjuring up exactly what that old bastard wanted.

For a moment I was almost taken in by his talk of twin destiny and the tangling of life-threads. But my father taught me, when we traded salt-fish along the flat Jæren shore, that to know the true meaning of a man’s words you must always consider what he stands to gain from saying them.

Eilífr tries to play us all here – he calls on Odin and Christ in the same breath; he draws crosses and staves with the same stroke; he praises or curses in equal measure, always sure which will draw the reaction that most benefits him.

He talks to me with dewy eyes of the old ways that are passing, yet I have never met a man better suited to the world that rises now. No doubt in conversation with Kjell he speaks of a bright future of churches and kingdoms and a brotherhood of Christian men.

It suits him well that I believe his life and mine are tied. He gains my axe and spear against the demons in the woods and, more than that, he puts me in front of him when those who he tangles in his tongue-traps find him out for the lie-smith he is and seek to smash the forge of his deceit.

But then what is magic but a means to shape your destiny with words? And I will give the cunning old sod this much: he is damn good at that.

‘You are sure of this?’ Halvar paced the sand floor of the tent, looking round at the confusion of faces that lined the woolen walls, before sitting down heavily in the crude chair Rútr had fashioned for him from scattered parts of Fjardgammr . Kjell sat beside him on an upturned log stump, softened with a curl of hide-rope. I imagined he saw this tent as a hall, and his rightful place beside its lord.

‘I am sure, and the boy has seen the way with his own eyes. Is this not true, my son?’

I closed my eyes, enough to hold my face back from showing what thoughts lay behind it. ‘Indeed, skald,’ I said. ‘But perhaps the story would be better coming from you. I may not do it justice.’

Eilífr nodded with heavy sincerity. ‘I shall do my best, my young friend.’ He turned his head around the gathered men, taking care to look each in turn straight in the eyes, then addressed his speech directly to Kjell on his log-wood throne.

‘It was not chance that saved this young warrior when the demons took Leikr. No. It was providence. The will of God!’

I understood now why Eilífr had arranged this audience. Apart from Stígulf, all the Christian men were here. The others – Asbjørn, Geirr, Trond, Toke, Rútr – they all attended to Heitha, whose head Eilífr had bound in sea-weed, fat, and herbs as she recovered her strength.

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