CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ÆGIR'S ROCK
The moment they had seen the flames take hold, Gunnar and the main party of men had plunged into the dark forest, the great roar of the blaze and the last unearthly, hollow moans of its victims echoing after them. Finding the farm had been a strange twist of fortune - one that had allowed them to destroy a whole host of the creatures at a stroke. Yet Gunnar knew that among those horrible sounds carried on the night air were the final cries of men they had failed to save. Having to leave before daylight had been a wrench, but all knew they were safer in the trees; the blaze, now visible from all around, would only draw more of the flesh-hungry fiends, and in the forest they could at least hear them coming.
What proved far harder was holding the party together in the chaotic gloom that reigned there. Gunnar's party had entered first, through a parting in the forest's edge - perhaps once an old path. Soon after came Frodi and his men, followed, some way along, by Bjólf and Halldís. But their hopes of mustering once in the forest were soon dashed. Just a short way into the trees, the woodland once again began to thicken, the boles and roots become more massive, the tangle of foliage more impenetrable. Some blundered into death-walkers and became separated from the rest. Unable to rely on fire, they soon found themselves staggering in an inky blackness with only their ears to guide them, uncertain what might lay behind the footfalls close by, unwilling to call out for fear of attracting the attentions of the wandering dead.
For what seemed an eternity, Bjólf and Halldís, their hands never relinquishing their grip, crept forward through the dark, listening intently. Early on, they had often heard the crack and swish of movement off to their left, where they believed the others to be. Sometimes, it could clearly be distinguished from the slow, shuffling motion of the death-walkers. At other times, the distinction was not so clear. When he could, Bjólf had altered their path towards it, or at least tried to keep it close while navigating his way by the brief, bright glimpses of the sky. But, despite his efforts, the sounds only became increasingly distant, or sometimes baffled his senses entirely, seeming to come from all directions but that which his rational mind told him should be right. Finally, he abandoned his dependence upon them altogether and pressed forward according to his instincts, all the time fighting against the thought of becoming like the lost, directionless death-walkers, doomed to wander this place for eternity, and hoping against hope that the shore of the fjord lay before them.
Though almost blind, he could sense that Halldís, resilient as she was, was close to exhaustion - something he also knew she would never admit. His mind was racing, weighing the possibilities, trying to calculate how much longer they could reasonably continue, when, with no warning, a great expanse of clear sky suddenly opened up before them. They staggered to a halt, staring up. The wind had risen during the evening, clearing the cloud, and the whole dizzying night sky that arced above them was dusted with countless stars. Amidst the needle points of light hung the huge orb of the moon, its ghostly light illuminating a small open glade before them, casting their cold shadows upon the grass. Just ahead, filling nearly half of the tiny clearing, was a grey, flat outcrop of rock, rising towards the far end and falling sharply away where the forest once again took over. Bjólf crept slowly towards it as if in a dream, suddenly feeling his own exhaustion wash over him. "We can rest here," he said: "Death-walkers cannot climb."
She did not argue the point. He helped her up onto the rock, then heaved himself up, threw off his helm and the shield from his back and slumped beside where she lay, her body limp, already possessed by sleep. His hand found hers and closed around it. For a moment, he lay with his eyes wide open, his back to the mossy rock, listening to her quiet breathing and staring up at the impossible abundance of stars - too tired now to make sense of whatever they might once have told him. For a moment he had a vivid memory from his childhood, of lying on his back looking up at the night sky, feeling as if the whole universe spun around that one spot. He thought, fleetingly, that he should stay awake, and on watch until morning. Then he let his eyelids close, and a deep sleep took him.
He awoke suddenly to bright sunlight, his head pounding. Only gradually, as he blinked in the sun's unkind glare did he realise that Halldís was no longer at his side. He gripped his sword and whirled around in panic. But it was certain; he was alone on the rock. Cursing his weakness, staggering to his feet, every bone and muscle aching, he climbed to the highest point and looked about desperately. Nothing but the tall trees of the forest greeted his eyes.
"Hey!" The voice made him start - so much so, he almost toppled from his lofty vantage point. When he looked around, the smiling face of Halldís had appeared above the side of the outcrop.
"What in Hel's name are you doing sneaking around like that?" said Bjólf.
"Come on," she said, extending her hand. "I have something to show you."
Grabbing his gear and scrambling down into the grassy glade, he was led into the trees on its far side where, he could see, the vegetation had already been freshly beaten down. They followed the path, and within moments the trees had dwindled once again, the unmistakable smell of open water met his nostrils, and ahead, to their left, rising above a mountainous tangle of briar and elder, was a great dome of grey-brown stone.
Halldís pointed. "Ægir's rock," she said. Bjólf grabbed her and spun her around - weapons, armour and all - laughing triumphantly.
She beamed as her feet came back to earth. "They say the sea-giant Ægir settled down to sleep one night and was disturbed by a pebble under his back - so he picked it up and threw it inland. And here it came to rest!"
With another shout of delight he grabbed her hand and ran forward, both of them almost tumbling down the steep, tangled bank to the foot of the huge boulder. Within minutes, panting with the exertion of the climb, hauling her after him, they had found their way up onto its great curved brow. As they walked forward to its highest point - the great, dark forest that had so tested them to their left, the great expanse of the fjord and its far shore stretching away to the right - a most welcome sight was slowly revealed before them, one that made them shout again with joy: down below was the small bay they sought; there, still tethered, a little way along, was Grimmsson's ship; and milling about on the shore were Gunnar, Frodi, and the crew.
"What kept you?" called Gunnar, waving.