The anticipation among the crowd of waiting children and their companions continued to rise until the room simmered. Finally, a goei led an ox into the main chamber of the temple. The beast had white markings made from dust, whose meaning were only known to the priests. Wielding a stone knife, one of them cut the throat of the ox. With a groan, the animal sank to the ground while its blood was captured in a bowl.
One by one, the children approached the young goei holding the blood. While mumbling inaudibly, he dipped his finger into the red liquid and made a mark on their brow, which quickly faded.
Shaking with either trepidation or anticipation, perhaps both, Sif waited her turn. As the blood touched her skin, she blinked and looked around; already, the priest had moved on to the next.
She returned to the crowd and the skáld. “I don’t feel different.” The girl frowned. “This seems underwhelming. Did it even work?”
The bard smiled. “It did. You have a gift now. I read it clear as day – a skill that all skálds possess, which you will also now possess.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean I got it?”
He laughed and nodded. “Welcome to our small number of merry minstrels. Yes, child, you have [Gift of the Skáld].”
“How does it work? I don’t feel different,” she reiterated.
“Close your eyes. Think of your gift. It will appear before your inner eye as a tree.”
Sif did as told. “I see it! So weird! When I look at it, it’s as if… it’s telling me something. [Words and Wit]?”
“Our foundational skill. Everything else depends on that. Your other skills can only grow as strong as that one,” the bard instructed her.
“How does that happen?”
“As you live the life of a skáld, your tree will grow from Seeds of Power granted to you. And how are they granted?” he asked, predicting her next question. “For each gift, it is different. But for us, it’s curiosity. The more you learn, the more you see of the world.”
“The roots are glowing,” Sif said, her eyes still closed.
“Well, you have been a curious otter. Already, your gift rewards you with Seeds.”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Master Egil, for explaining. I’m glad I don’t have to figure this out on my own!”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement, wearing a little smile. “It’s my responsibility to teach you, after all.”
“Oh, there’s Halfdan!” From within the complex, the berserker emerged, walking behind a giant of a man and one of the older priests. “I should tell him it worked!” Without waiting, Sif wove through the crowd. “Halfdan, Halfdan!”
The warrior stopped, looking down at Sif with a strange expression. “What is it, child?”
“I got the gift! I’m going to be a skáld!”
“Well done.” In contrast to her excitement, Halfdan appeared muted, almost dour. He looked at Egil, the skáld. “You will look after her? You swear this?”
The other man nodded. “I will fulfil all my responsibilities as her master. I swear by Bragi.”
“Hurry up!” came the roar from Starkad, standing by the entrance, and the entire crowd looked towards him. Seeing the giant berserker, they all pointedly looked away again. “You can say your farewells when you’re dead!” He followed his statement up with coarse laughter.
Ignoring him, Halfdan removed the silver cord wound around his arm and placed it in Sif’s hands. “Payment to your master. Make sure he buys you some good boots.” With a final glance at the girl, the berserker walked away, following the old priest and the giant warrior out of the temple.
“So odd. What’s going on?” Sif asked, watching them disappear.
“Two warriors leave, one in sombre mood, with only a priest as witness. Unless my flair for the dramatic fails me, I think a fight is underway.”
“What? Why?”
Egil shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But it bodes ill for your man.”
“Why’s that? He’s really strong!”
The skáld blew out his breath. “Not compared to the other fellow. His gift glowed stronger, and not only that… he’s J?tun-blooded.”
“What does that mean?” Sif asked with frightened eyes.
“It means he’s going to kill your fellow.”
“We have to warn him!” The girl looked ready to bolt, but she stopped herself to look at the bard. “Can we? Where did they go, do you know?”
“I suppose if a fight between berserkers is to be had, I have some curiosity to witness it. Follow me,” Egil told her. “For holmganga, you need a holm. I think I know where the priest is taking them.”
*
It felt eerie to march through a city in the grips of revelry, everyone living life to the fullest, while knowing his own might soon end. Halfdan knew that the strength of someone’s gift could not be measured by their appearance, but Starkad’s size and physicality had to count for something.
Feeling that he marched to his death gave Halfdan the opportunity to judge himself. He had seen plenty of men crying when faced with their own demise, begging for mercy – in vain when directed at a berserker. To his satisfaction, Halfdan felt calm at the prospect. If he died in battle, especially given the circumstances that led to this fight, Odin would have to bring him to Valh?ll.
He did leave the town undefended, but when had they ever done anything for him? Halfdan gave a mental shrug as he stepped over a man lying unconscious in the street, felled either by drink or robbers. As for Sif, while he had accepted responsibility for her, he had ensured her future, ensuring her wish. Yes, Halfdan went to his death with a calm mind.
The priest led them out of the city, as could be expected. Given what happened when a berserker flew into a rage, they could not have their duel with all these people around. A river flowed nearby, providing the settlement with freshwater; they followed it east until it grew wider. Ahead, under the moonlight, Halfdan saw a spit of land that lay as a tiny island in the river. The typical place for a duel, and undoubtedly, the holm had seen many other warriors arrive for that same purpose.
Already, Starkad had waded into the water. Halfdan knew that as soon as they both set foot on the island, the fight was on, and only one might return to the shore. “Better keep your distance, old man,” he told the priest.
“I am not defenceless.”
“On your own head be it.” Releasing his axe from its straps, Halfdan took a deep breath and the first step into the river.
“Halfdan!”
The cry of a young girl made him halt and turn around. “What are you doing here?”
“You can’t fight him! He’s J?tun-blooded!” Sif exclaimed. “Whatever that means…”
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It meant that he had powers a normal berserker did not possess, such as even greater strength and other advantages. It meant that in a straight fight, axe against axe, Halfdan was doomed. “You know this? You’re certain?”
Next to her, Egil nodded. “I saw it myself. A skáld has the skill to know gifts, and I see it clear as day when I look at him,” the bard confirmed. “His [Unbridled Fury] is powerful, much more powerful than yours.”
“No more delays, skr?ling!” Starkad roared. “Come out and face me!” Already, he paced back and forth, axe in hand, snorting and scraping like a bull ready to charge.
Or a boar, so eager to gore, it misses the spear aimed at its throat, Halfdan thought. To be expected from someone who is in thrall to his [Unbridled Fury]. “Keep her away,” he told Egil, who gave a nod and pulled Sif back. Entering the water with slow steps, Halfdan closed his eyes and summoned his tree. He had two Seeds of Power available, and he placed them both in [Swifter Than Them], upgrading it as far as it currently could be. Third rank would have to suffice. Taking one step onto land, Halfdan prayed that he had correctly judged his enemy.
*
The holm was small. Halfdan had moved to the other end, putting as much distance between him and Starkad as possible, which was still not a lot. Twenty paces separated them, and the moment that Halfdan’s boot touched ground, the J?tun-blooded berserker charged.
Axe raised above his head, Starkad released an unintelligible battle cry as he ran forward. His own weapon in hand, Halfdan awaited him without moving. The distance between them quickly evaporated. Within moments, Starkad’s axe came swinging with enough force to split a man in twain.
Using all his speed and agility, aided by [Swifter Than Them], Halfdan evaded the blow and threw himself to the side. With an awkward movement, he held out his haft to where he had been standing; right in front of Starkad’s path. Caught by the momentum of his own charge, the giant berserker could not halt in time, and his legs got caught in the haft.
All his strength could not help him maintain his balance; the J?tun-blooded berserker fell flat on his face.
Now, both the combatants lay on the ground, but Halfdan had landed on his back, not his stomach, and he had known to expect this; much swifter than his enemy, he rolled back on his feet and did not hesitate. As Starkad tried to push himself off the ground, Halfdan’s axe found purchase. While not as strong as his enemy, Halfdan was strong enough; the weapon clove through Starkad’s neck, severing his head.
Gasping for air, unaware that he had held his breath throughout the fight, Halfdan untensed his shoulders as he felt a rush of power. In the distance, a raven released a hoarse cry.
*
Once the emotions of battle had subsided, Halfdan looked down at his fallen foe. He tasted the blood on his axe, just out of curiosity.
[J?tun-blooded Berserker. Unbridled Fury, Strength of J?tunheim]
That was all he could learn from [Taste Your Foe] at first rank; Halfdan surmised that these had to be Starkad’s strongest skills, those he had increased. All brawn and nothing else.
Halfdan looked at the dead man’s axe, similar to his own. The temper and mind of an owner, especially those strong of will, could fill the weapons they wielded. Given Starkad’s temperament, nothing good would come from this, Halfdan imagined; he broke the haft under his boot and threw the axe head into the river.
The dead berserker had arm rings of silver; Halfdan took those for himself. Other than that, he saw nothing worth plundering. In any case, Halfdan had already taken what he wanted most in the moment that he killed Starkad. Closing his eyes, he summoned his tree.
As expected, a new Seed of Power lay glowing at the roots. And another, in fact – he had never before experienced gaining two at the same time. Yet Halfdan immediately noticed something odd. He had seen the tree showing his gift countless times. He knew every vein, every leaf. All the same, a new branch had grown, out of nowhere. As Halfdan inspected it, its purpose came to him.
[Gift of the One-Eyed]
What is the meaning of this?
Halfdan’s inner eye looked over his entire tree until he saw that it had changed in more ways, subtle at first, but now apparent to him.
[Gift of Odin-blessed Berserker]
What in Hel’s name is that?
As if not enough, Halfdan’s surprise grew to unprecedented heights, as a message appeared in the stars that glowed above his tree.
[Task: Travel to Urd’s Well]
What?
*
On the shore of the shallow river, three spectators had watched the fight, brief as it was. Seeing Halfdan swiftly decapitate his enemy, they reacted in different ways. The bard looked stunned, the child slapped her hands together in joyful surprise, and the priest simply smiled.
As the berserker strode through the water towards them with an angry look, two of them pulled back; the goei remained where he was.
“What is the meaning of this?” Halfdan spat once he stood before the priest of Odin.
“Perhaps if you lower your weapon, we can speak like civilised men,” came the dry response.
Halfdan looked to see his axe held with both hands; growling, he stepped onto dry land and let the haft slide down until its end touched the ground, no longer poised to strike. “Explain.”
“You have received a task, I imagine,” the priest replied.
“And a blessing,” the skáld chimed in.
“You won!” Sif exclaimed.
“I don’t want this,” Halfdan declared. “Tell your god to find someone else. He should have gone with that fellow.” He threw his head in the direction of the holm. “He wanted it.”
“You think the high god prizes brute strength?” the priest asked rhetorically. “No, he favours guile. Congratulations, berserker. You are Odin’s champion.”
“I refuse to do his bidding,” Halfdan sneered. Performing errands for mortals felt tiresome enough; he had no desire to do the same for an immortal being.
“That is your choice. But blessing can turn curse in a moment,” the goei warned him, and his voice became malevolent in tone. “Your mind will shrink, and the bear will take over until instinct rule you. An animal you shall became, hunted down and remembered only as a cautionary tale.”
Halfdan gritted his teeth in frustration; always they held this over his head, threatening to turn his gift into illness and poison the wellspring of his powers.
“There is honour in service, and duty,” the priest continued, his voice turned soothing. “The Alfather has need of you. The omens that brought you to Odinsvi are real. You are needed, berserker, by gods and mortals alike.”
“Imagine the songs they’ll write about you,” interjected Egil, the skáld.
“I’ll sing them!” Sif declared.
“Imagine the glory that awaits you in Valh?ll, seated by Odin’s right hand for your service,” the goei added.
Halfdan released his breath, abandoning his attempts to demur. If he had to serve, the king of gods might prove a more rewarding taskmaster than the priest back home in Randaros. “Where is Urd’s Well?”
The priest smiled. “I’ll show you the way. Come. We must return to the temple.” He set into motion, followed closely by a disgruntled berserker.
Sif opened her mouth to speak, but Egil slapped a hand on her shoulder before he leaned down. “A lesson for you,” he said quietly. “In situations like this, don’t draw attention to yourself. Be like a bird, watching from afar.” He added with a smile, “Quiet birds don’t get kicked out of the room.” With soft footfall, the skáld went after the others, staying a few paces behind.
*
Festivities had not subsided back in the city. They would continue until dawn; considering how early the sun rose, probably past that hour as well. The entire journey, although short, felt eerie for Halfdan. He had walked this exact path not long ago, convinced he was moving to his death. Now, he still had his life, but it had been upended. While the task given to him seemed simple enough, Halfdan knew far more lay behind; else there would be no need for a berserker to carry it out. The gods had plenty of servants; men and women devoted to them and granted their gifts in return. Odin choosing a warrior instead of his own priests could mean one of two things: dangers lay ahead that required an axe to handle… or someone disposable rather than a favoured servant was preferred for the task. Neither prospect filled Halfdan with confidence at what lay ahead.
Unlike the rest of Odinsvi, the temple lay quiet. The ceremony of awakening had ended. A young acolyte was scrubbing the floor clean of blood; he raised his head seeing his high priest, a berserker, a skáld, and a girl enter, but did not ask questions.
The high goei led them to the yard within the temple, where the berserkers had originally gathered. “Urd’s Well lies beyond the realms,” he explained. “There’s only one way to reach it. You must pass through where the barrier is thin. The water that rests on land.” He extended his hand towards the pond.
Halfdan frowned. “What do you mean? The water?” The berserker trusted in his gift and good steel; this sounded like magic beyond his ken, which he was not in favour of.
The priest gestured again with an expression of mild annoyance. “Just step into the pond.”
A sneer ran across Halfdan’s face, but he did as instructed. Once both his boots were surrounded by water, the goei mumbled words while holding a rune-inscribed stone, and the liquid began to shine with a silvery colour.
Halfdan turned away from the others, his heart suddenly beating faster at the thought of the unknown that awaited him; in the last moment before he disappeared, he felt a shape behind him suddenly jumping forward, landing on his back.
