FOUR

By rights, thought Astrid, she should have slept for days after her encounter with the wolves – an adventure wholly overshadowed by Leif’s story, and the sword. She felt dog-tired in all her slender limbs. But she had not slept. Wolves, dwarfs and brown-faced boys with bare-faced tales ran round and round her head.

How much of what he’d said was true? But then, hadn’t he rescued her, back there at the river? Hadn’t that earned him her trust? And exactly what had happened, when the black wolf sprung?

A quiet scurrying broke in on her thoughts. That would be Nisse, the hall-spirit who lived above her own room. She shared it during the winter with three older girls: Guma, Bekkhild, and Hyndla. The four of them slept in one of two side-chambers off the head-end of the hall. Knut and Haralt had the other, and her parents’ room was behind the throne itself. As far as she knew, Nisse was the only male spirit; those above the main hall were all female. Astrid always left milk out for the strange, unseen little creature. In return, he chased away rats, patched up holes in the roof, and – she was fairly sure of this – spied on the girls when they were getting undressed. The feast must have made him restless, and now his noise was threatening to wake the others.

‘Astrid?’ moaned Guma, still three-quarters asleep.

The three girls were technically her handmaidens, daughters of some of Gorm’s jarls, over-wintering at Jelling. The jarls were the foremost men in the kingdom, so the girls were more like sisters than servants.

But more like witches than either, thought Astrid. None of the others left Nisse anything, and in revenge he sometimes dropped acorns on their heads to keep them awake. Astrid encouraged this. The girls were the bane of her life, and could do with a sleepless night now and then.

But right now, that was the last thing Astrid wanted, and she glared up into the rafters. She herself had given up all thoughts of dropping off – she had to put her head straight. But to lie awake, in that musty room, hemmed in by snores? Never! She had to get outside, where there was room to breathe. And if Guma woke up, she’d be sure to stop her.

Softly, Astrid rose to her feet, tiptoed to the far wall and tugged on her supple goatskin boots. Her overdress – blue-dyed wool lined with black sable – was slung across a chest, and now she pulled it on over her linen shift, wincing at the clinking of the brooches.

The only door led to the main hall: a man was posted there to guard the girls at night. But behind the chest, hidden by a heavy tapestry of tangled serpent-beasts, was a loose plank in the oaken outer wall. Astrid had long since worked at it with her knife, till she was sure of swinging it aside when escape was called for. One quick squeak of wood and nail, a rush of icy air, and she was free. Now, she could think about –

‘Astrid?’

This time, she was sure, it was Leif who called – she’d heard enough of his voice that evening to know it by now. He was somewhere ahead of her, to the east, in the darkness. He must be by the stones.

Of course, he would be. No one new to Jelling could resist their pull.

‘Can you feel them, Astrid?’ he called.

She padded forward through the pale snow, gulping at the crisp night air. By the snow’s light, reflecting that of the wan moon above, she caught sight of his slight, shadowy form, closer than she’d thought. Maybe now she’d have some answers.

‘Hello, Leif,’ she said.

He seemed to accept their presence out there, in the dead of night, without question.

She didn’t. ‘What are you doing up?’

Instead of answering her, he pointed at the three silent shapes, looming before them. ‘Tell me about the stones,’ he said.

‘Not until I’m satisfied,’ she said. ‘Was all that true, what you said earlier? Were you really raised by dwarfs?’

‘Your father took me at my word,’ he said, still not turning to look at her. ‘I’d hope that would be good enough for you.’

‘And your vision – the river, the two paths, all that?’

‘In truth I cannot really remember. It was more than a dream. But more than that … I cannot say. I have never had such a trance before.’

‘Next question then. The sword you brought my father, from the dwarfs: is that the only reason you came to Jelling?’

‘Are you questioning my motives, Astrid?’

‘Not really. I’m just curious. Still, if you don’t want to talk openly, I’m sure you can find someone else to tell you about the stones …’ She made as if to leave.

‘No, Astrid, wait!’ He caught her arm. But it was his dark eyes that held her at his side.

‘I had my own reasons, I admit it,’ he said. ‘It’s a chance to make my name in the world. Gorm is the richest and most powerful king in all the North, and the skald who sings his praises might do very well for himself, as well as for his king. But I’m not just out for an easy life. They say Egil Skallagrimsson, the greatest skald in all the North, has sailed for Iceland for the last time. That means there’s a chance for younger poets to win fame for themselves, and where better to try than at Jelling?’

She nodded. ‘That’s why I’d be here, if I were you,’ she said. ‘And besides, you had that vision, whatever it was about. Maybe the gods sent you as a warning of some sort.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘I don’t much care for being sent to do another’s will. I’d far rather forget that trance, and simply be myself.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ she said. ‘All right, one last question, then I’ll tell you what you want to know. So: of course you know my brothers’ names. The swaggering sons of the King of the Danes, everyone’s heard of them. But no one outside Jelling knows who I am. How did you find out my name?’

‘I guessed,’ he said. ‘Astrid means “god’s beauty”. It seemed likely.’ Well. She hadn’t been expecting that.

‘They’re … they’re the Yelling Stones,’ she said, to cover her embarrassment. ‘They’ve been here forever, or near enough, since before the first kings anyway, and they’re meant to be three troll-women, caught by the sun in the middle of a spell. That big-boned one at the east of their circle was a queen, I think, and the short one nearer us, and the tall one to the right, her sisters. They were shouting words of power – immense power – when they froze, and Jelling’s been a source of power ever since.’

Without even looking, Astrid felt Leif’s eyes upon her. He was paying very close attention … She flushed, and hurried on. ‘That’s why father built his hall here: people have always been attracted to their magic. See that mound, off to the left? The land’s earliest rulers lie buried there. Hundreds of years ago, chieftains made Jelling their home. Now we’ve come here, and Father’s made himself king: it’s no coincidence. All this wealth – the hall, stables, baths and farms – you think it came from nowhere? My grandfather used to sleep with his pigs to keep warm before we came to Jelling.’

Astrid was gesturing around them as she spoke. ‘And then there’s this broken arc of rocks – see there, and there, under the snow?’

She pointed to a toothy string of stones, smaller than the three before them, but ancient nonetheless. ‘The giants built a stone ship here, in the old days, to sail over Bifrost Bridge and see the gods. Or something like that – I had all this off old Bragi Bragisson. He was the last skald here, before you, but he died some years back; that’s why you’ve got the job …’

She broke off, and blushed, suddenly aware of how long she had spoken, and how poor it must have sounded to the poet at her side.

She snuck a look. Leif was glowing with excitement.

‘Strange things happen at Jelling,’ she went on, encouraged. ‘We get more than our fair share of elves and witches round here: they can’t resist the lure of the stones. And Bragi – the poet who died – had this one story of an old king, buried in the mound. At every full moon, he said, the light catches the stones just so, and the whole place becomes so awash in magic that the old king’s corpse – his draugur – gets up and hammers on the mound to be let out! I half believed him at the time.’

She half believed it even now. A long-dead king, black and massive, stirring from his rest inside the earth – it was deliciously horrible.

‘I’ve never seen a dwarf, though,’ she said. ‘What are they like?’

‘I can feel the stones, Astrid!’ He must have not heard her question. ‘Is the magic still strong, then?’ he asked.

‘Hah!’ She couldn’t help but shudder. ‘Just ask old Bragi Bragisson!’

‘I thought you just said he was dead?’ said Leif, frowning.

‘But can you guess how he died?’ Astrid was starting to enjoy herself. ‘Of course, I was just a little girl, but I’ll never forget it.’

‘So tell me.’

‘It’s always been said that the strength of the stones is there for the taking. That one day, someone strong enough to stand between the stones and brave the yell will come to Jelling and make himself their master. The one who harnessed that power would have the whole of the North at his feet.’

‘To stand between the stones? But that’s easy,’ said Leif, and stepped forward.

The weird grey shapes were monstrous in the moonlight, and their dark embrace was a step away from Leif when Astrid leapt on him.

‘Stop!’ she cried, hauling him back from the silent circle.

‘What’s wrong?’ He looked angry, she thought, angry enough that he might hit her, and there was hunger in his expression.

‘That’s just what Bragi tried to do,’ she explained. ‘He spent his whole life here, learning all there was to know about the Yelling Stones, making up poems … some say he even spoke to them. And they spoke back, I mean. At last, he thought he was ready. He thought he could withstand the stones. All he did was stop up his ears with beeswax. I’ll never forget that day.’

Astrid’s eyes were bright at the memory. She lowered her voice. ‘It was at midsummer, seven years ago. In front of all the court, Bragi walked between the stones.’

‘So what happened, Astrid?’

She smiled in spite of herself. Never had anyone hung on her words like this before – let alone a proven poet. But then the memory rose before her again, and the smile sagged. She had been standing just where she was now … Back then, of course, she’d been only seven …

‘Bragi strode into the middle of the circle. The sun was shining; he was dressed in red; the whole court was happy, because the old skald had pledged any power he might win to Father, before he started. For an instant he stood there at his ease; it seemed like nothing could go wrong.’

She sighed. ‘But he couldn’t do it. For all his years of work, Bragi couldn’t master the stones. First, he frowned. And then he clapped his hands to his ears …’

It was odd. She was almost enjoying this. But it had been one of the worst moments of her life. For weeks afterwards she’d had hot, sweaty nightmares and run to her mother. And now here she was, spinning the tale to the strange boy.

‘… And then he clapped his hands to his ears. I could see his face crumple and crack like dry wood in a fire. He sank to his knees, writhing, eyes popping from his head. He looked as lost, as ugly, as a bawling baby left on a hillside.’

‘Didn’t anybody try to help him?’

‘What, and hear whatever he was hearing? Not likely! Anyway, in a few moments it was all over. First his skin went red as his cloak. Then it blistered. And then he was on fire, no longer a man but a flaming torch of flesh. I was forced back inside with the other children. But later, I saw what they dragged out from the circle – and I mean dragged; they used boar-spears to reach in and hook it out – and it was a charred and blackened lump, twisted as a tree root, no bigger than a year-old lamb. That’s the power of the Yelling Stones: the power, and the danger.’

Astrid blinked as she finished, surprised to see how much lighter the night had become. It was nearly dawn.

For a moment, neither spoke, but Leif’s eyes never left her own. His jaw had dropped open.

So, she thought. That’s what it’s like to be really listened to. To be a skald.

At last, Leif pulled himself together. ‘One day,’ he said, thrusting out his narrow chest, ‘I’ll step between those stones.’

She smiled, and turned to go.

‘I will,’ he said. ‘I mean it!’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ she said, walking back to the hall.

‘I will though.’

‘Sure.’

‘No, really! Really, I will …’