Story: "Ravens Hold Grudges"

When I finally caught up with Brandr, he was having a horn in the darkest, dirtiest mead-hall in the seediest part of Kaupang. Brandr's kind of place. The less light the better, with his scarred-up face and missing nose.

But the golden-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked woman next to him, she looked good in the flickering torchlight. She'd look good in the brightest sunlight. She'd look good by the hearth in my longhouse — if I had a longhouse.

So, what in Odin's name was she doing in a place like this — with a monster like Brandr?

Brandr saw me at the doorway, waved me over.

"Trygve," he said, his deep, raspy voice carrying over the mead-hall din of laughter, drinking songs, and curse-laden arguments, "come meet Eldrid, fairest shield-maiden in Noregr. Have a horn on me, old friend."

Old friend.

I approached from his backside, my hand closing around the hilt of the knife at my waist.

This could be the day.

Finally.

It was dark enough for bloody work. One quick stroke into his broad back — my 'old friend' bleeding out — and I would be on my way out the door.

If she tried to interfere, I might have to knife the fair shield-maiden as well. That would be a shame, but ... the company you keep.

When I was within knifing distance, Brandr suddenly turned in his seat and I saw the knife in his hand, at the ready, wide grin, more teeth missing than last I saw him, wild look in his eyes, a reek of rotten meat coming from his mouth as he laughed.

"Come for me, little man," he said. "We shall see, once and for all."

"The two of you," the woman said. "Like Yngvi and Alf."

"Who?" Brandr said. "Kin of yours, Eldrid?"

"If you knew your runes," I said, "or listened to the skalds around the fire instead of drinking and fighting and whoring, you'd know the tale of Yngvi and Alf, the brother-kings who killed each other." Then for good measure, I quoted from the Ynglingatal:

"How wretched Alf with bloody knife
Gored Yngvi's heart, and Yngvi's blade
Alf on the bloody threshold laid.
Can men resist Fate's iron laws?
They slew each other without cause."

"Put down your blades," Eldrid said. "Maim or kill each other another day. Listen to me today. It would be to your benefit — if you like gold, that is, more than Fate's iron laws."

"Gold?" Brandr and I spoke in unison.

"A fortune in gold," she said. "If you are interested. If not, go ahead, keep on cutting each other to pieces and I will find two other men in Kaupang who prefer fortune to death."

She stood up, walked around Brandr's wide back, and stood between us, hands out.

"The knives," she said. "Now."

She did not raise her voice, but there was a quiet, soft-spoken command in her tone that was hard to —

She suddenly had my knife in her left hand, Brandr's in her right. How?

"Gold," she said, walking back to her seat, both knives tucked into her belt. "The Jarl's gold."

"Oh, the Jarl's gold, is that all." I took my seat, next to Eldrid, keeping her between me and Brandr. "All we have to do is get past Jarl Havard's guards, pick the lock to his treasury, and not wake the ferocious hounds that guard his strongbox."

"Oh no, the gold is not in his treasury strongbox," Eldrid said. "The gold is in his bed-chamber."

"Even better. How would we get in there?"

"I know how, that is my part of this bargain," she said. "That, and the fact that I know where the gold is hidden. And before I say more, are you both willing to swear blood oath that you will share the treasure with me?"

"You don't know where the gold is," I challenged. "You are a liar, setting a trap for me."

She threw her head back and laughed, and it was like pearls and the rush of waters with the red torchlight tinting her golden hair, then suddenly her face was close to mine and her eyes turned from blue to black.

"Bold Trygve, foolish and unwise. Little you know, and less you understand." Her voice was deeper than before, harsh with an unfamiliar accent.

Then she sat back up straight, her eyes once again bright blue, her voice high and sweet and soft as before.

"I will tell you. For it will do you no good without my help. In his bed-chamber, Jarl Havard has his shrine to Odin, a large wooden likeness of the god that reaches all the way to the ceiling beams. Havard had the greater part of his gold melted down and crafted into Odin's two ravens, Hugin and Munin, dyed black so they appear to be made from wood or base metal. There they sit, the two ravens one at each of Odin's broad shoulders, high up and out of the tallest man's reach. There is the gold, hidden in plain sight. He killed the metalsmith after the task was completed, so no one knows."

"Except you."

"Except me."

"And how is it that you know?"

"On that, I will keep my counsel for the moment. Swear the blood oath that you will work together and that you will share the treasure with me, then I will tell you what you need to know."

"Why do you want us to work together?"

"The golden ravens are large, heavy with gold. This is work for two strong men."

"Yes, but why him?" I pointed at Brandr who grinned back at me with his near-toothless mouth under his missing nose, swung his horn in a toast, drained it. "If it is strong men you want, I can find you a dozen. Stronger. And more trustworthy than this wreckage of a man."

"I have my reasons," Eldrid said. "And my reasons are my own."

"I will swear your blood oath," Brandr said.

I gave it a long thought. I could see a way to take that blood oath and yet, in the end, I would have both golden ravens, Hugin as well as Munin, and I would have Brandr dead, all without breaking my oath.

"I will also swear," I said.

"Good. Then the golden ravens are yours to split, Hugin for one, Munin for the other."

"And what do you want for your troubles?"

"Odin's Eye," she said. "Not the one that is carved into the statue's head, but the large, blue gemstone that is submerged in the deep bowl of water by Odin's feet. I want that and a favor."

"A favor?"

"I want the Jarl ... dead."

***

In Skiringssal, Kaupang's great hall, the Jarl's private quarters are down a long, torchlit hallway, guarded, of course, but guards get sleepy, especially when a fair maiden brings them each a horn of mead laced with a special potion.

Brandr was in front of me, broad back nearly filling the narrow hallway, making a tempting target, and it was all I could do not to draw my knife and satisfy my long-standing grudge once and for all. But — blood-oath. I would have to wait until our oath to Eldrid was fulfilled.

At the doorway to the Jarl's chamber, Brandr fumbled for the key Eldrid had provided. But before he could get to it, the door opened.

The Jarl, a tall, thin man with long gray hair and a scraggly beard covering a weak chin, emerged from his bed-chamber, and, seeing us, immediately cried out: "Guards!"

"Stop." A familiar voice from within the bed-chamber. Eldrid stepped out from behind the Jarl. "These are my kinfolk. Trygve and Brandr, what are you doing here?"

"We, uh," Brandr stuttered. "Uh, we —"

"Got lost," I said.

"Got lost?" The Jarl looked at us, then back at Eldrid. "Your kinfolk?"

"Mountain folk," she said. "Not used to anything larger than a one-room cottage. And lately, they have been left homeless, sleeping under open sky. I invited them."

"I do not scorn a guest. I do not drive him away from my gates. I treat the homeless well." The Jarl smiled. "But even the wisdom of Hávamál does not extend hospitality to my bed-chamber. Come, kinfolk of my wife, let us share a horn in the great hall."

We mumbled our apologies as the Jarl led us back down the hallway.

***

"Wife?" I said to Eldrid when she stopped by our table later in the evening.

"Yes, I am Fru Eldrid of Skiringssal, the Jarl's wife."

"And yet you want the Jarl, your husband, dead?"

"Keep your voice down. Before I was the Jarl's wife, I was the wife of a metalsmith, the same man who made the golden ravens, the same good man who was killed by the Jarl."

"So that is how you knew about the ravens."

"Ravens." The Jarl suddenly stood by his wife's side. How much had he heard? "What is this talk of ravens?"

"Did you know, dear husband," Eldrid said, "that ravens hold grudges? That is what we were speaking of just now. Ravens have long memories and they recognize those that have done them wrong and will shy away from them or seek to harm them."

"Is this more of your mountain wisdom, wife?"

"Yes, it is well known where I come from. I tease these cousins of mine that they are like two ravens who hold long grudges, one against the other."

"Is that so," the Jarl said and turned to me. "What is the source of your grudges?"

I looked at Brandr, and the hatred welled back up again. I saw my feeling mirrored in his frightful grimace.

"Speak up," said the Jarl. "What cause do you have against your kinsman?"

I was tongue-tied. There were so many reasons for my grudge towards Brandr. So many that they all blurred together into a stew of resentments, hot with hate. Where to even begin. So, I stayed silent.

The Jarl gave me a squint-eyed look, then turned and walked away.

"Tonight," Eldrid said, "I will give him a sleeping draft. Come, finish the job then."

***

"You took your time," Eldrid whispered.

"It was the giant red-bearded guard," Brandr complained in a low grumble. "Seven horns full. How could a man swallow so much svefnurt potion before going to sleep?"

"We are here now," I said.

"Get to work."

"You are sure the Jarl is sleeping?"

"Yes."

It was a difficult task, getting the ravens down, Brandr and I working together, me sitting on his broad shoulders to reach, each of the bird-statues weighing more than a vætt — that is more than eighty pounds apiece — pure gold, an unfathomable treasure in each raven.

We had brought rucksacks made from furry bearskin with thick leather straps to carry the heavy weights out on our backs. We got the birds into the bearskin satchels, while Eldrid fished the gem, Odin's Eye, out of the deep water bowl by Odin's feet and dropped it into a leather pouch that she tucked in her belt.

"Now, for the last part of the bargain," she said and pointed to the sleeping Jarl. "Which of you will do the deed?"

"I will." I bared my blade.

"Wait," Eldrid said. "Let me get back out into the great hall so that I am not here when the deed is done. Count to three hundred before you do it."

"Then give me the gem," I said.

"What?"

"Don't fret. We have sworn the blood oath. I just want to make certain that we are all together in this until I am ... until Brandr and I are safely out of Kaupang. We will hide the gem with the ravens and then join you in the great hall. Later, we will get the ravens and the gem from the hiding place. Together. Fair?"

"Fair." She handed me the pouch with the gem, then left.

I counted to three hundred.

The old man was sleeping, but I had killed sleeping men before. Sleeping or wake, death comes to us all. I leaned over him, clamping one hand over his mouth, my knife in the other.

The Jarl's hand shot up, grabbing my wrist. His eyes were swimming, the man just coming back into consciousness, but his grip was strong. I am not strong. I work with wits, not muscles. He was twisting my hand around so that the tip of my blade was now facing my own throat.

The Jarl was fully conscious now and trying to work himself free from my hand clamped over his mouth so that he could call for help, while relentlessly pressing the knife towards my throat.

"Brandr," I wheezed. "I need help."

"Oh, now you need help. You spoke so boldly to the fair Eldrid before. 'Who will do the deed?' she asked, and bold Trygve said 'I will, sweet Eldrid.'"

"Brandr!"

Brandr laughed, then his large hand joined my weakening grip around the knife, and together we twisted the Jarl's desperate hand, turned the tip of the blade back down towards the Jarl's neck.

One push from our joint hands. The Jarl's eyes widened as blood spurted from his throat, drenching me in red.

Again Brandr laughed.

***

"There they are," Eldrid pointed at us as we entered the great hall. "They're the ones. They killed the Jarl!"

A dozen men surrounded us, swords drawn.

Eldrid stepped close, pulled my knife from my belt, whispering: "Trust me, Trygve, this is part of my plan. I will get you out."

She held my knife high: "See, Jarl Havard's blood is still on this blade! Take them away."

I had wiped the blood from the blade.

But sometimes, people see what they are told is there.

Such is the power of words.

***

She came to us late that night, where Brandr and I were held captive in the wooden-barred cage, the one where thralls were kept before being sold at market, out in the open under the star-strewn night sky.

"Tell me where you hid the treasure," she said, "and I will see to it that you are released."

I laughed. "Tell me another story, liar."

"You can trust me. I took the blood oath as well,"

"Maybe," I said. "But it seems equally possible to me, based on the ease with which you took your treacherous action, that where you come from, the gods do not consider your oath binding. So, why should I trust you?"

She leaned closer, and once again went through that transformation, eyes turning black, her voice deeper and with that harsh, unfamiliar accent: "Oh, Trygve, how close you are to understanding. And yet so far. So very far."

She straightened, her eyes once again pale blue in the moonlight shining down on the wooden bars of our cage, her voice again fair and sweet. "This pains me. But if you do not trust me, then the headsman will have his way with you when the sun rises."

"Then," I said, "neither will you find your treasure."

"He is right," Brandr added. "Where we hid it, you will never know."

"I will take my chances," she said, walking away. "After your eyes are empty holes in your bleached skulls, I will have a long to time look for it."

Brandr rose, grabbed two wooden cage-bars in his skillet-sized hands, and I could tell that he was about to call after her, give up our treasure.

"Brandr, hold," I said, my hand on his shoulder.

He whirled, the cage so small that he knocked into me, throwing me back.

"You put me in this cage!" His voice was the deep growl of a wolf. "And you did this to me." He pointed to his missing nose, the many scars on his face, his missing teeth.

"And you," I spat. "This scar." The one running down my face from forehead to my split lip. "And this." My missing left ear.

"This!" He bared his chest, showing the long scar crossing from his left shoulder to his missing right nipple.

And so we went on, both spitting venom, reminding each other how much we had hurt each other, how much we hated each other.

"Fine," I said, all emotion exhausted. "You want to kill me. I want to kill you. But if we don't work together, the headsman will take care of that task for both us."

"What do you propose?"

"Lift me up. That bar up there seems loose, but neither of us can reach it."

"Then you will escape and leave me here to die in the morning."

"No. I want both ravens and I cannot move them both by myself. Once we get the golden ravens out of this place, away from Kaupang, away from these people who want to kill us both, then let us fight to the death of one of us, and the winner keeps the whole treasure."

He bowed down and let me climb onto his broad shoulders again.

***

Eldrid followed us. Of course she did.

She had probably seen to it that the bar in the ceiling of the cage was loose, knowing that we would go directly to the treasure's hiding place once we were free.

"There," she said, stepping out from the shadows. "I told you this was all part of my plan. Keep the ravens, as we agreed." She snatched the leather pouch with Odin's Eye. "And I will keep this, as we agreed."

"You came alone," I said. "Was that not a foolish thing to do?"

"You swore," she said, "a blood oath."

"I swore that I would work with him." I pointed to Brandr. "We both swore to steal the golden ravens and to kill the Jarl. This we have done."

"You also swore to share the treasure with me."

"You betrayed me."

"And me," Brandr added.

"I suppose I could say your betrayal cancels the blood oath," I continued. "But I am not one to test Fate's iron law. I am not an oath-breaker. Brandr and I, we fulfilled our oath. We shared the treasure with you. That is done. The oath is fulfilled. Now, as penalty for your betrayal, I will take either blood spurting from your pretty throat or else this gem as wergild payment for your life. It is your choice, though not much of a choice. For, in truth, were I to kill you, I would take Odin's Eye from the limp hand of your lifeless corpse."

She sighed, held out her closed fist, turned it over, then opened her hand, Odin's Eye on her outstretched palm, glittering blue in the moonlight.

"Then which one of you shall have it?" Her eyes narrowed, cunning. "It cannot be split, even with the sharpest tool. It is — and always will be — one. By sacrificing his eye, ripping it out, and dropping it into Mimir's Well at the roots of Yggdrasil, the world-tree, Odin became the all-seer, able to witness all things, everywhere, through all times, past, present, and future. This gemstone is entangled with Odin's living eye at the bottom of Mimir's Well. Through it, the owner of the stone can see all that Odin sees, which is — everything."

"Everything?" Brandr moved closer, eyes like greedy gaping maws in his ruined face.

"Everything," Eldrid said. "Though in truth, the future is glimpsed only in shards and fractured reflections. What Odin's Eye shows you of the future are the many possible futures, always in motion until the present moment comes. No, the future is difficult to see. But think about witnessing any place in the past and the present. Think about being able to see the past where a king of old hid his treasure — long since forgotten. Think about being able to know what any of your enemies are doing — right at this moment. Think about all the things you could do, the riches you could gather with this knowledge. So, who will it be? Which one of you will take this priceless treasure from my hand?"

Brandr's hand grasped the gem at the same moment I did. As we grappled, snarling at each other, Odin's Eye was pressed between our joined hands, touching both our palms, his and mine at the same time, its sharp edges cutting into our skin, drawing blood, but neither of us willing to let go in spite of the pain.

"Mimir — do you know what the name means?" Eldrid spoke as Brandr and I continued to struggle for the gemstone. "Mimir means 'The Rememberer'. So, now, once more, after all this time, again ... remember."

She spoke an incantation, her voice suddenly deeper and with that unfamiliar harsh accent:

"Augórr Odin,
vel ór Mimir,
munu Busiris
nú!"

***

The bright rays of Ra reflect off the gold-covered capstones — the pyramidons — on the great pyramids in the necropolis, miles away in the distance.

Here in the temple of Paruw Wasjirit —The House of Osiris — the stranger stands before me, eyes fastened on me, head unbowed. His long curly hair and beard are blowing in the hot desert wind, powerful muscles straining against the heavy iron chains binding him to the two central limestone columns of the temple, arms outstretched, drawing him into the shape of an ankh.

Rising from my throne, lifting my scepter towards Ra — the great god who is the life-giving sun in our sky — I say the words:

"Oh, shining Ra, I bring you again this sacrifice, the blood of the stranger, spilled for you."

I motion to the priests and they approach the stranger, their sharp blades at the ready.

The stranger lets out a howl, pulling on the chains, and ...

The chains snap —

Like twigs, like papyrus reeds, the chains snap, and the heavy iron falls down, clanking onto the limestone floor.

Freed from the shackles, he rushes at the priests — like a bull, like a lion — tearing the arm from the socket of the first of them, then using that priest's blade first to stab him in the heart, then in one sweeping swipe, slashing from right to left, the stranger disembowels the next two priests. He grabs his mighty club which the priests had left leaning against one of the columns.

Two tremendous leaps forward and upwards onto the dais, and the stranger is at my throne, blade in one hand, club in the other, stabbing one of my guards cleanly through the eye, bashing the other guard on the head with the club.

"Stop!"

The woman — who has suddenly appeared next to my throne — is very tall, slim, pale-skinned, with long straight black hair, black eyes, dressed in black, neck to toe, one hand held out, palm towards the stranger.

The stranger freezes.

Everybody freezes.

I see my guards in full-forward motion to protect me — frozen in place. One of them has both feet off the ground as he is leaping toward the stranger, and is now suspended in the air, mid-leap.

"Not the smartest thing, Busiris," the woman says, "selecting Heracles, not just a very strong man, but a demigod, for your annual sacrifice of a stranger to Ra, that ball of hot gas. Why not pick a weakling? Ra doesn't give a shit."

She smiles, revealing long fangs.

I can't move.

"Speak up." She waves one hand. "There, I've loosened your lips and tongue and vocal cords."

I clear my throat, feeling my tongue again.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want from me?"

"The answers, in the order of your questions: my name is Morana, I am here to save your worthless life, and what I want is your repentance."

"Moh-rrrrah-nah," the unfamiliar syllables of the strange name tangle my tongue.

"That's right, Morana, goddess of icy winter, of which you know nothing in this hot kiln of a country, and goddess of death, of which you know far too much."

"Very well, oh, goddess of death, who is here to save my life," I say, "of what should I repent?"

"Pharaoh Busiris, since you are the offspring of Poseidon, god of the sea, and Anippe, daughter of Nilus, one of the many gods of the River Nile, we who watch over you humans have too long turned our eyes from the great sin you continue to commit. You break the sacred law of hospitality. You kill guests."

"I kill strangers."

"Strangers who you have received as honored guests, and then you betray them, kill them."

"This is the will of Ra."

"Ra, Bah, please! That oversized campfire isn't even a real god. Enough!"

"Blasphemy! Ra will strike you down."

"It is in fact uncomfortably hot in this glaring sunshine, especially for a goddess of icy winter. Let's cut to the chase. Pharaoh Busiris, do you refuse to repent of your sin?"

"I have nothing to repent."

"Very well, then I sentence you to ..." she looks around, eyes focusing on the two dead guards between me and frozen-in-mid-leap-Heracles (club raised menacingly.) "... I sentence you to, uh, let's see, yes, that should be interesting. I sentence you to live your life eternally separated into two beings that hate each other without reason, holding long-forgotten grudges, constantly betraying each other, and constantly harming each other, which means you are constantly harming yourself, only having no memory of who you really are, and that the other whom you hate is really yourself."

***

In a flash, we were back in dark, cold Kaupang, Brandr and I wrestling. The gem, Odin's Eye, was still caught in our grasping palms, between us — in our joint hands, now growing together, becoming one fused hand.

I drew Brandr closer, reaching for my knife, but where our shoulders touched, we began to fuse there as well.

"What is happening," Brandr groaned. "And what was that vision?"

"You saw it too?" Our foreheads touched, and ... fused.

"You did start working together, that is more than you've done in thousands of years," Eldrid said.

It was difficult to see her clearly as my cheek smashed into Brandr's and the fusing continued, so that our eyes were now melding together, my vision blurring.

Hadn't she grown taller, thinner, her hair now long and black, her skin a white shade of pale, like that of a dead woman's, her eyes black.

She smiled, showing long fangs.

"Morana," I said, and my own voice was unfamiliar, as Brandr's mouth and mine began to fuse. "What is happening?"

"I am giving you a choice," she said. "After all this time. Right at this moment, you can choose to separate again, go on like this for thousands of years, until I again give you the choice."

"A choice? Can you lift the curse? Can we... Can I become one, a whole man again?"

"No. It is not that easy. Your choice is: become two again, hate and hurt the other without knowing that it is yourself you hate and hurt. Or ... "

"Or?"

"Oblivion."

"Oblivion? You mean —? Nothing?"

"Yes. Nothing. You will cease to exist."

I remembered everything and felt all the self-inflicted pain of thousands of years. The memories were unbearable. It was even more unbearable to imagine thousands of years ahead of me — ahead of us — doing this to each other, to myself.

"Make it stop," I said. "I choose ... oblivion."

Morana touched my forehead. There was pity ... and ... sadness ... and ... love ... in her eyes.

And then, there was —

— The End —

If you want to know more about how I developed this story, here is a link to a blog post that describes the writing process.