Prologue

PROLOGUE

The trading town of Skálavík

June, 962AD

Approaching the cave, his skin prickled. The ivy hung thick, almost concealing the entrance on the far side of the forest glade. Nigh two years had passed since he'd sought the seer's wisdom, and Eldberg wondered if she was still alive.

The grass had grown tall, and there was no sign of her slow-blinking owl. None of the hearth smoke or cooking either—only damp and a lingering muskiness, the scent of decay.

He drew aside the foliage, peering through the gloom. The place was inhospitable even with a fire lit; impossible that the crone was there. Not even she could endure this deathly cold.

He was about to turn away when there came a shuffling sound from farther back than he could see.

"You have come." Her voice rasped, as if it had been some time since she'd last spoken.

"Hildr?" He stepped forward, and the vines fell back behind him, rendering all dark.

As a flame sprung to life, he discerned her form huddled against the wall. The face she turned up was sunken, sinew over bone, older than any face should be.

"I've been waiting for you." Her clouded eyes fixed upon him. "Sit. The runes are ready." She held out the lamp. It was for him, of course. Hildr required no light to see.

Lowering himself to the floor, he looked upon the twigs and stone, the feather, beak and claws, and the bones carved and smooth.

Her hand, frail and trembling, came to rest on his, drawing it over the sacred pieces. "Tell your wish to the dark ones."

He scooped the fragments and shook them between his palms. There was only one question in his mind—one obsession. He cast them upon the earth.

As ever, Eldberg saw no pattern, but the crone's excitement was palpable, her fingers quivering over the broken pieces of bone. Bending close, she sniffed the air above the scattered pieces, then sought for where each had landed.

"Tell me." Eldberg was too impatient to play games.

"The touching claws show conflict, while the upward beak speaks of danger. The bones are isolated. There will be pain and grief. Death. Not yours, though you may wish for it."

The cold of the cave enfolded him. Eldberg did not fear making his end on the point of a sword nor the anguish of injury. His scars bore witness to that. But grief he'd endured more than any man should bear. Considering the desire that burned in his heart, the answer filled him with despair.

"Is that all?"

Hildr gave a leering grin. "Not all, but you must prove yourself worthy to win the prize."

As ever, the old woman spoke in riddles. He'd thought, this time, she might guide him or share something of value. Like the gods themselves, she delighted in tormenting him, and he was weary of tying himself in knots.

"I told you before, there are many paths. The greatest treasure is within your grasp if you make the necessary sacrifice."

"A horse or a bull?" Eldberg made regular libations to Odin and Thor, to Tyr and Loki, too. He'd prospered, for sure, and had lived through what would have killed most men, but what he yearned for still eluded him. The gods were yet to think him deserving of that gift. Or, rather, it had been bestowed upon him—in the form of his beautiful bride, Bretta—only to be cruelly snatched away.

"Neither." The crone grinned, revealing her gums. "You'll know what must be forfeited when the time comes."

Eldberg sighed. He'd better things to do with his time than make himself the subject of Hildr's amusement.

However, as he stood, she grasped his leg.

"A journey! You will not return as you were—if you return at all."

Far to the north, from her position high above the shore, a young woman sat alone, stirring the embers of her fire. Though dusk was falling, the birds were unusually quiet and the air still, as if the island was waiting—as she herself waited.

Staring into the flames, she asked the question which burned most fiercely in her mind. In response, they flickered brightly, and her heart leapt with them.

A good sign!

A shower of sparks answered her query, the flames licking with unnatural ferocity before dropping low once more.

She shrank back. Something wonderful might be coming, but also something frightening and soon. The flames did not lie. Fueled by the gods' whispers, they breathed their answers.

They'd warned her before, but she'd been powerless to prevent what had happened. Would it be the same this time?

She sat until the sun dipped low over the horizon, and the embers of her fire matched its amber glow, dying at last.