Nord2 PDF

NORD
The Great Winter
Aya Neia
Copyright © 2021 Aya Neia
All rights reserved.

We live in Borre. It’s a tiny village in the North, near the ancient
forest. Winters here last for long months, and summer passes quickly.
Every year, on Yule, we honor gods and spirits and celebrate the coming of
the good Lord – the Sun King, who gives us the harvest, protects the flock
from frost, and hunters from wolves.
The longest night passed, and summer came. But Wiseman noticed
that the summers are getting colder, and the nights are getting longer. Now
it is dangerous to hunt in the depths of the forest, as the monsters appeared
there. That's because the balance between good and evil, between darkness
and light, has been disturbed. In the North, where the Great Tree grows, a
new king has appeared. He killed the Sun King and seized his spells, so our
world is doomed...
Covers and maps Oli Gnats

Illustrations and runes Tatia Koviz
Editors Марічка Бабій, Halyna Mamchuk, Avee Delmonico
Translation Avee Delmonico
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments i
1 Chapter 1. The Longest Night 1
2 Chapter 2. Yule 14
3 Chapter 3. Turoń 50
4 Chapter 4. Yuleskreia 81
5 Chapter 5. The Wild Hunt 99
6 Chapter 6. Vegvisir 125
About Book 154

A baby born on the 12th Yule night will save Miðgarðr or
destroy all life.
CHAPTER 1. THE LONGEST NIGHT
Sif places a spruce cone on the altar. She did it carefully, precisely between
the three painted pebbles. She smiled and took a step back to see what would
happen.
The other girls stood in a circle because Kaya said to do so. Friends
whispered, giggled, teased, almost jumped impatiently.
Everyone liked the new foretell. It’s Fast, fun, and reasonably accurate
(according to Kaya). The days before Yule 1are the best days for foretelling.
“What's next?” Sif clenched her fists. “Should I just stand?”
That's creepy; waiting for a response from spirits and gods is rather odd.
Her mom never foresaw when Sif asked.
“Don't get used to foretelling, Sif. Learn to listen to yourself and trust
your instincts.”
Her heart was pounding in the chest. Her breath caught in excitement.
Suddenly, the body was engulfed in heat, as if she were playing snowballs
with her friends again.
“We must wait,” Mia whispered.
“Well, what's there? I see nothing!” Kala stood on tiptoe, almost breaking
a circle.
“Wait, I told you!”
The girls giggled again, returned to their positions. Everyone waited,
keeping their eyes on the altar.
Sif was the last person Kaya agreed to divination. She predicted Iliv would
finally marry, and to Mia, she promised a powerful groom, an unexpected
journey was waiting for Kala, and Haley would find a treasure in the new
year.
The older girls got bored watching that foretell and talked in a low voice.
1 Yule, Yuletide, Yulefest – celebration of the longest night. Originaly it was a celebration of
the Wild Hunt. Modraniht – Mothers’ Night.
1
NORD The Great Winter
“Did you hear? He came to Tau. The Knecht himself! Can you imagine?”
The girl barely whispered the name, her voice was trembling. “He showed up
near the woods and picked up two girls. Beautiful, already engaged.”
“Aren't these fairy tales to scare children?” the other girl answered, but
her voice was also trembling with excitement.
“Inga said that she heard a flute in our forest at night. Can you imagine?”
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“Inga lied, of course!” The girl chuckled and giggled in her palm. “The
spirit of Winter played her the flute as if she is the most beautiful in Borre!”
The girls kept whispering, but Sif didn't listen. She was barely breathing
and waiting.
The cone was lying between the stones, and nothing happened. The fire
hissed lightly, lazily licking another tray. Maybe it's too wet? It fell into the
snow several times during the game.
“Looks like a calm, peaceful year awaits you,” Kaya commented.
She stood a little away from the girl's circle and read the signs only she
understood when they appeared.
Sif sighed. Another boring year – that's how it should be said. The other
girls rejoiced at their foresight, and Sif was disappointed. Kaya promised so
much to others – travel, treasures, adventures...
Didn't the spirits find anything special just for her? But what about that
dream, then? Doesn't it mean anything? That strange black beast from the
forest, and the terrible blizzard that fell on their settlement, and those green
eyes that shone like gems from a fairy tale.
“It's just a dream.” Iliv waved her off. “You're acting like a child, Sif. You
have no ancestral gift.”
Her heart ached in the chest. She remembered the morning argument
with her older sister. Iliv's hurtful words stuck in her head.
“That you were born red-haired make you neither a fortune-teller, not a
völva2. When will you grow up, Sif?”
Maybe her sister was right? Sif's heart became heavy. Frosty air burned
her throat, and her eyes pinched a little.
Suddenly, the altar rattled. The fire flared, swallowing a cone, like a red
mouth. The flames jumped up almost to the height of their father. Tiny stars
fell at her feet.
The girls jumped back in fear, almost breaking the circle for the second
time.
The fire did not subside, as if Sif had thrown a whole festive scarecrow
on the altar, not an ordinary cone from the forest. The red runes on the
stones flared and shone.
“What's going on? What does it mean?”
Kaya stepped forward, stood in front of the altar. Her gray eyes were
staring into the fire. The girl's pale face froze with tension. Her whole figure
stretched out, frosted motionless, as if it had turned to stone.
The fire jumped for the second time, and the girls couldn't stand it. With
shouts, they drew back from the altar. Several sparks hit Kala, and the fur at
her waistcoat smoked. Mia went to blow the lights off.
When the flames finally died down and the fire extinguished, silence fell
2 Völva or seeress – woman who can foretell future and cast a spell.
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over the altar. It was so deep she could hear the north wind whistling between
the tops of black pines and the distant voices of adults, ghostly children's
laughter, jokes, the squeak of snow. The settlers were preparing for the
holiday.
Sif stood motionless. She could barely breathe the sweet, frosty air, but
did not dare to look away from the altar.
“What does it mean?” Sif whispered faintly.
She looked up. Kaya gazed at her, a mystery lurking in her cold, ice-gray
eyes. It feels like Vala the seer was looking at Sif through these eyes!
“Kaya?” Sif raised her voice. “What was that? What awaits me?”
Mia approached, stood next to her friend.
“Indeed, Kaya. What does that mean? For us, everything was different.
Even for Iliv. The fire seemed to come to life and go wild!”
“Crazy wild!” cried Kala, staying as far away as possible.
Kaya sighed, averting tired gray eyes. She sat down at the altar, fixed the
stones she painted with a stick.
“Everyone has their own way, so foretell is always different.”
She stood up, shaking her hands from the snow. The other girls whispered
anxiously behind them.
“So what is waiting for Sif?”
“Kaya, explain, please.”
The girl pursed her lips in a line. She did not want to read .
“I'm sorry, Sif, I can't comfort you. The spirits are preparing a test for
you. You will have to make a choice on which the fate of many will depend.”
She shook her head, shrugged and was silent for a moment. “Maybe my
prediction is wrong. I will understand when I do it again.”
“Another foretell?” Sif felt how the snow-covered earth rolled hard under
her feet like a sea wave.
“Yes.” Kaya shook her head. “The new foretell can explain everything.
But it needs a new sacrifice.”
“Another cone?”
“You can use a cone.”
Kaya turned away, quickly went to the other girls.
Sif looked at the altar. Only the ash remained from the spruce cone. Even
the smoke was gone; the north wind blew everything away.
“Don't worry, Sif. It's just a game,” said Mia.
“A game, yes.”
Sif quickly passed the girls, who mocked their prophecies.
“Hey, where are you running to?” Iliv cried as her sister flew past their
circle. “Sif, come back immediately! Little cark!”
Iliv shouted something else, but Sif did not listen. Her heart was pounding
in the chest so hard she couldn't even hear her thoughts.
She flew past the tall pines into the dark forest. She wiped away the tears
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with her sleeve.

What nonsense, it's just a child's divination. Just a stupid children's game.
Why was she upset? What can Kaya know? The girl is not much older than
she is. Why did everyone suddenly start listening to her? Is it because Kaya
has a talent for conjecture? Is it because she has a wealthy groom?
Wandering, Sif did not notice that she was moving further and further
away from the trodden path. Ancient pines were getting taller and blacker,
and the crowns of ash, oak, and other trees got tightly woven overhead,
stealing the evening sun.
Sif kept walking, looking at the snow as white as milk. It blinked, as if

covered with dust from gems.
Why are there no traces anywhere? No traces of animals, no birds, no
people. Nothing. Solid virgin whiteness. Did she go that far from the
settlement?
It was getting dark. The day faded too quickly.
Faster than usual. As if that wicked wolf from the legend was biting the
sun a little. She wasn't the only one to notice.
Sif heard the adults whispering the terrible rumours to each other. Winter
is getting longer, and summer is getting shorter every year. The Longest Night
is coming, so sunlight no longer warms the earth as before. In the north, the
grain does not sprout. So people need to leave their homes and look for the
shelter where it is warmer.
Recently, Sif and her brother overheard Mom talking to a seeress from
Thun. She was an ancient woman. Old as nine worlds. Pale, thin, as if all
dried up from the long years. Her skin became lighter and almost transparent.
Thick, wavy wrinkles covered her face and hands. Long hair turned gray and
silver.
Seeress sat in a chair with her hands folded on her knees, the part of her
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long dark dress gathered in waves at her feet like a black mist.
“Troubled in Niflheim3,” She whispered. “Something sharpens the roots
of the world, drinks the power of the Big Tree. It takes life from the air, from
the earth and water, from us. Something is destroying this universe.”
Her voice was low but louder than hearth. It whispered in Sif's head as if
it sounded from the very walls. Even if Sif wanted to, she could not help but
hear the words of the seer.
“Ilivruk's daughter must know what is happening to her people“ the
silver, almost transparent eyes of the old seeress suddenly shone.
Sif had never seen human eyes shine so brightly. But is she a human at
all? Maybe Vala herself visited them.
“I have renounced my people.”
Mother jumped to her feet and went to the window.
“You are the only one who knows the truth...”
“Yes, yes. I remember. I remember well that young girl with silky and
golden hair, like the summer sun, who came to my hutch at night. Hungry,
cold, almost killed.” The corners of her thin lips crawled up; sly lights shone
in white eyes.
“I remember, of course, that scared girl. I kept wondering many times
what had happened to her? Why was she shaking in her sleep? Why was she
crying? What scared her? Who was harassing her?”
Mother sniffed, all shuddered as if someone had hit her.
“Please, do not recall those times! It's all over. And there are children in
the house. They might hear you and will ask questions. They don't need to
know that.”
“As you say, dear daughter.”
Bo whispered in Sif's ear, “Did she say, daughter? Did you hear that too,
Sif?”
“I did, of course. Shut up!” Sif pressed a finger to her lips.
They listened, hid like little mice, but the strange guest told nothing more.
The women then started talking about farming, grass, and forest. Ah, boring.
Sif did not dare to ask mom why this seeress called her daughter. Was it
just such an appeal, or maybe...
A long, sad howl swept over the head. Immediately, on all sides, it played
with a melancholy echo. Sif stood still. Shaking, but not from the cold.
“Wolves?”
Sif looked around and didn't notice any movement. The dark forest
seemed frozen and expecting something important, or perhaps just asleep.
No sound, even an echo of howling, instantly subsided in the white mist.
“Good evening.”
3 Niflheim – Niflheimr “World of Mist.” One of the Nine worlds.
6
A pleasant male voice greeted, melodic, even warm. Sif shuddered,

jumped, spun so fast that she almost fell into the snow.
Where a moment ago there was the mutest emptiness, the young man
appeared.
He was sitting on a vast black stump, his back straight, stretched like a
string of cittern, strong shoulders straightened, head held high.
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He sat proudly on a feigned black throne, like a king from mom's stories.
Not only that, but he was completely dressed in black. Black fur jacket, black
pants, black boots, black mittens. Black fur cloak was lying in the snow.
He seemed to have black hair behind his back, but not that did scare Sif.
But the skull that the young man had instead of the head…
Sif swallowed noisily. A white cloud of breath hung in the frosty air before
her eyes.
A bony snout slowly turned toward her. Whimsical, however beautiful,
stretched forward, like a skull of a sheep, or a dog, or a fox. It is difficult to
determine what kind of animal it belongs to. Probably a bull. The horns were
long but slightly twisted like a sheep horn, bigger than a goat's horn. Bright
green moss-colored lights shone through the large white crevices.
He might be a seiðmenn. Sif's heart became bitter with fear.
“Are you lost, Asfried?”
She must run as far as she could, race away while she still had the strength,
but her legs just stuck to the snow. She could not move, could not raise her
hands.
“How is it you know my name?”
The young man, if, of course, it was a young man, tilted his enormous
head to the side.
“I watched you while you were playing with friends.”
He seemed to smile; of course, that was not visible, but his voice sounded
warmer.
“Kaya predicted us.”
“I see. She must be a little völva then .”
Suddenly, a flute appeared in his hands , not a wooden one, but carved
from the white bone – long, thin, incredibly skillful work. The flute's shape
resembled a dragon folding its wings, and an actual head and a gaping mouth
were little below.
“What a beauty,” Sif whispered, staring fascinated at the flute.
“Do you like it?” The green lights in the slits of the skull started to shine
brighter; did it seem so? After all, there is definitely a human head under this
savage helmet, or a mask. “Do you want it?”
The black velvet gloves grabbed the flute more comfortably and reached
for Sif.
Why is he all in black? What does he hide under this helmet, ugliness or
beauty?.. Or maybe he is not a human after all? And what if he is a jötunn?
Sif shuddered as if she fell into the icy water. All the bizarre fairy tales she
heard from her father and uncles by the fire strike her mind at once. As they
came from hunting or returned from swimming, they told her amazing and
scary stories about foreign lands' adventures.
“Then it's yours.”
“Oh, no. It's probably a precious thing.” Sif bit her lower lip. She wanted
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this wonderful flute. “It looks costly.”

The young man shrugged.
“So what? If I give it to you, it will be yours. Do you know how to play?”
“My brother taught me a little,” Sif admitted, with a guilty smile on her
lips. “But I can't play as well as he plays.
“Is your brother skald?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So he probably knows the history of these lands. Knows the secrets that
hide deep under the snow?”
“He's just studying, sir.” Sif sighed, a silver cloud of breath hung in the
air again.
It was getting colder. The fur cloak couldn’t save from the wind, that grew
stronger every minute.
“Are you cold, Sif? Then come closer. Fear not. I will not offend you.
You have my word,” the young man offered her a hand.
Sif looked around. A clear path from tracks was behind her. Until the
blizzard begins, she will easily find her way home.
Should she run away from the stranger, or maybe stay?
There was something in him... Some incomprehensible, mysterious force
attracted Sif. She suddenly wanted to be around.
Maybe he is a seiðmenn4 and wants to enchant her? And what if he is
some kind of spirit – a seducer? What if he lures children and leaves them
to death in the woods? Or maybe he is one of the álfar5?
One day, she heard Kaya warning her sister not to go into the woods
unaccompanied. She said that the álfafólk6 were wandering here, that they
were seducing mortals, forcing them to dance in their circle until dawn, or
taking them to Alfheim7. Although the same stories the girls told about
Knecht...
Sif's heart jumped in a chest. The very thought of Knecht made her so
frightened that she could barely breathe.
Rauch Knecht. The one who comes at night. He sneaks into the shadows.
Lives in the dark. Or maybe he is the darkness itself.
He kidnaps children, eats babies. And yet, he has power over human
souls. He can easily enchant and seduce. Knecht especially likes beautiful
blue-eyed girls.
He calls beautiful women to him in the woods, like some álf. The poor
things dance around the fire all night. In the morning, between the spruces,
hunters find their hardened bodies. Or they don't find anyone, only traces of
human feet, hooves and the remains of a fire.
4 Seiðmenn – here a sorcerer, evil one.

5 Alf – elf, álfar.
6 Alfafólk – elves.
7 Alfheim – elves world. One of the Nine worlds.
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Knecht. The Spirit of Winter. The very embodiment of the element

against which there are neither spells nor prayers! No, he is the Winter itself!
The epitome of cold and darkness. That's why he drinks human blood. In
this way, he quenches the thirst for life, takes away someone else's warmth
and strength.
But doesn't he come only for evil people? What horror did she have to
do for Knecht to come after her?
Sif shuddered as if someone had slapped her. The guesses, one worse than
the other, rolled over her like ice waves. His holiday was coming soon. And
weren't girls whispering about the flute playing from the forest?
“Why don't you come to me, Sif? Are you afraid? Are you scared of my
outfit? Don't be afraid. It's just a tradition. I'm sorry, I can't take off my
mask.”
Suddenly, she felt relieve. Mask! After all, this strange skull of sheep, goat,
dog, or calf was just a mask!
“Are you a traveller?” Sif suggested, and her hand reached for the talisman
her mother had put on her neck a very long time ago.
“Yes, I came from afar,” the young man said, lowering his black-gloved
hand.
Is he exhausted from calling her? Or did his spells not work? Then he's a
bad Seidman.
“You're cold“ The green lights in the slits shrank. “Come to me, warm
up. Do you see? Fire. Don't be afraid of me.”
In fact, a fire was burning around the edge of the black fur cloak. Why
hadn't she noticed it before?
The red flame splashed merrily on the black earth, wet from melted snow,
hitting three painted stones. Just like the ones Kaya did.
Sif sighed and moved forward. Although no. Her feet carried her to the
light. With each step, it became warmer, and the north wind seemed to
subside. The darkness dissipated, and she was safe, as if behind the walls of
the house.
Sif reached for the fire. She closed her eyes, ready at any moment to run
away.
However, nothing happened. A strange young man was sitting on his
throne and gazing through the cracks in the skull of an unknown beast.
“So, where did you come from?”
When she couldn’t bear the silence, Sif looked at the young man. Now, in
the warm light of the fire, he did not seem so threatening and strange. And
the skull, which frightened her so much, turned out to cover only the upper
part of his head, leaving his mouth and chin free. Why hadn't she noticed
before? The skull itself was not so giant and bizarre. Now she could see that
a human face was hiding beneath it.
“From afar. There the snow is not white, but yellow, and not cold, but
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hot. There is the burning wind from the North. Crimson, as if drunk with
the blood of enemies. There are no such black forests and no icy rivers. There
is no winter, but the only summer. Eternal summer.
Sif listened as if fascinated, opening her mouth in surprise.
“So, where is it? Yellow, hot snow... I never heard of such lands!
“Do you want to see those lands?”
“I really want to,” Sif whispered.
She didn’t notice how she has taken another step toward the mysterious
stranger. She stood right next to him.
He smiled, the corners of his mouth, red as cranberries, stretched upward.
It wasn't a grim smile. It looks like the stranger did not have any evil
intentions. So why was she so scared at first?
“All right, then someday I'll take you there, and for now, let me give you
this,” he pointed to the white flute.
Sif did not notice how she held out her hand to him, and the young man
put a white miracle in her hands.
The flute was terrific, smooth, and warm, as if alive! And the dragon's
head at the end shapes like this skull, worn by the young man. He trapped
her hands in black leather gloves. What long beautiful fingers he has, like a
musician. Ling has the same, the skalds – brother's teacher. However, he
teaches to play the cittern8.
“Remember, Sif. When you need help, just call me, blow into the flute,
and I will hear those sounds. I will come to you, protect and save.”
The pleasant baritone sounded soft, like his cloak's black fur, like precious
velvet from distant warm lands.
“Thank you, sir.” Sif choked, and the colour spread on her cheeks,
cheekbones, and temples. “But I have nothing to exchange. And this is such
a valuable gift.”
He laughed. It was a sound of a pleasant crystal bell that sometimes
appears in an ice cave.
“Exchange with me? Dear, I need nothing! This is a gift. I give you my
mercy from a pure heart.”
Sif was utterly embarrassed. As if enchanted, she looked into the green
eyes, which shone a little in the hearth's light–magic green lights.
“Thanks.”
She pressed the beautiful flute to her chest.
“You must be a scald9, sir? You really don't need it?”
“Don't worry, Sif. I don't need it any more. But it will soon be useful to
you.” He smiled mysteriously and squinted again. “I heard about a grand
celebration of the Night of the Spirits in Borre. Is that true?”
8 Cittern or cithren – is a stringed instrument.

9 Skald – a singer.
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“Oh yes, sir! There will be games, music, performances, wonderful stuffed
animals, and sweet apples! And many lights! Every year we celebrate all
together. It's a lot of fun, and it's pretty safe.” Sif giggled softly, remembering
last year's drunken bustle. “Do you want to stay to see? You can live in our
house. This is the one on edge, at the foot of a round hill. Mom is always
happy to receive guests, especially travellers like you.”
“Let's see, darling,” he smiled. “So far, I have a lot of work in the woods.
I will visit you for a holiday. Promise me a dance, Sif.”
“Of course,” Sif sighed, the colour floated on her cheeks again, her heart
was pounding anxiously in her chest.
A strange but pleasant excitement captivated her. She couldn't take her
gaze off the green light in his eyes.
“All right,” he smiled and suddenly grew up.
No, he did not get up like an ordinary person but grew up in front of her,
overhung with a black shadow. Tall, slender, but strong as a warrior. So who
is he?
It enveloped her in warmth and a strange sweet smell, probably the smell
of hot yellow snow in that distant, fantastic land.
“We'll meet again, Sif,” the young man promised, leaning lower.
“In the meantime, give me a lock of your beautiful hair. It is as red as a
flame, like spruce honey.”
He lightly picked up a few strands with the very tips of his fingers. He
leaned lower.
“It will be a reminder of our meeting on the night of Yule.”
Sif swallowed nervously. The spell seemed to disappear, and fear return
to the heart, covering like a high wave. She could barely move her lips. The
world tilted a little, stains floated in her eyes.
A wild, primal horror gripped her heart. There was no more charm of
the seducer; there was the power. Mighty, otherworldly, rampant power, like
the element itself, like Winter itself.
“So, Sif? Do I ask you too much for my mercy, kindness, and help? And
you'll need my help, Sif. Soon. The age of the wolf, the age of the wind, is
coming.”
Sif could barely stand on her feet; she was shaking harder than from the
cold before. The tongue stung in her mouth. Her entire body became alien,
disobedient.
The age of the wolf, the age of the wind? What terrible words he says!
Can he be evil-minded?”
“Sif?” He ran his fingertips through her hair, touched her cheekbones,
and grabbed her chin.
“Mom“ Sif choked, coughed softly. “Mommy says that hair can not be
given. By no means. Never!”
“Your mother tells the truth. But I'm not a sorcerer or an enemy to you.”
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“Are you? But who are you then? I don't even know your name.”
“I'm your friend, Sif. Your most devoted, most faithful friend. You can
call me Nordan.”
“Nordan.” Sif repeated incredulously.
Why doesn't he say his actual name? Or is it his real name?
“I have many names.” Nordan smiled. “Human imagination and fear
made a lot of them for me. There are dark and even evil among them. And
those from which mortal's blood becomes cold. But my friends don't call me
by those names. And you are my friend, Sif.”
“Nordan.”
Sif swallowed a tight lump that suddenly stuck in her throat. The young
man shook his head and smiled.
“Now, go home, Sif. Because it is already dark, the night will soon come.
The longest night of the year. My night.”
13
CHAPTER 2. YULE
Axe-time, sword-time, | shields are sundered,
Wind-time, wolf-time, | ere the world falls;
Nor ever shall men | each other spare.
Völuspá
“Sif, Sif! Can you hear me?” The brother's voice came to her from the
silver mist. “Come to your senses, Asta! I beg you, sister! Come on!”
Someone shook her, clutching her shoulders tightly, as if she were an
apple tree, and the golden apples were hidden somewhere in her crown.
Who is this? What does he want from her? Sif did not understand, did not
know what was happening, and did not care.
It feels like a cloud from breath hung before her eyes and did not melt.
“Asfried!”
The slap rang in her ears. Sif shook her head. Mother's voice sounded
like thunder, instantly dispelling a strange silver cloud.
“What?”
Sif swayed on her tired legs, almost falling. The warm hands of her mother
and brother quickly picked her up.
“Carefully, slowly,“ said mother, leading her to a chair.
Bo was sniffing, and he was still crying. The blue eyes turned red and were
a little swollen. Why is he crying?
“Did something happen? Or someone offended you? Ah, my head is
buzzing. Why did you beat me? I didn't do any harm.”
“It's all right, Sif. All right, daughter. You are safe.”
“Safe?”
The world flickered a little, like a distant fire. Altar, flame, forest, cold,
and then. It all burst in her head. Sif curled up in the chair.
What happened? Why does mom look so worried? Why did Bo cry? And
why did she feel so sick, as if she hadn't kept a dewdrop in her mouth for
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three days.
“Drink it.” Dahlia put a wooden bowl in her hands.
The fragrant aroma instantly eased the onset of hunger. Sif took three big
sips.
Some herbs. Her mother knows them well, from time to time gathers in
the woods, dries or boils . The fragrant scent of the summer always hung
here, in the house . Probably the old völva taught her.
Mom taught that wisdom to Iliv, but the older sister was not interested in
anything else except divination and runes. Sif also inherited a little from her
mom, but she doesn’t know much . To become truly wise, you need to train
for many years.
“Are you feeling any better, dear?”
Dahlia ran her hand through the tangled copper hair. The strands stuck
out in all directions. She carefully threw a tight braid over her daughter's
shoulder.
Sif was still trembling. Not as strong as before , but still.
“Tell me, dear, what do you remember? Do you remember how you came
back from the forest?”
“Am I back from the forest?” Sif looked at her mother in surprise, her
red eyebrows crawled over her tall high forehead. “Did I go somewhere?
No, I don't remember. Everything is like in the fog.”
“So you don't? You stood on the threshold like a ghost. Lleu made noises.
She sniffed and beat her wings. So I accidentally saw you through the
window. You were all white from the snow and looked so funny. Some
icicles hung from the nose.” Bo giggled. “And you trembled so hard that
teeth in your mouth chattered.”
“I don't remember any of that.”
Bo moved closer, hanging over her shoulder.
“Hey, Sif! What happened with your hair?” Bo grabbed the long strands.
“Oh! Bo, be careful. What did you see there?”
“It's like someone cut it off here. Am I right, mom? It's like they chopped
it with a knife or an axe.”
Dahlia also looked at the place that the younger son noticed.
“Who would chop my braids with an axe?” Sif smiled, but her voice was
ringing with the tension. “Mirror, give it to me. I want to see what's there.”
“Don't worry, Sif. It's okay. It didn't spoil your beauty,“ Dahlia smiled
gently, stroked her daughter's arm. She was still trembling.
What happened there, in the woods?
“Bo said Kaya was prophesying to you. Didn't she ask you for hair?”
“No, she did not. We used cones.”
“Cones?” Dahlia's golden eyebrow twitched. “What a strange way.”
Sif shrugged.
“She made it up. She said it was safe. The girls liked it.” Sif started
15
speaking softly. “I only remember looking for a spruce cone. I was

searching for a long time.”
The thought of the cut hair was spinning the wheel of her mind. Mom
and Bo were staring as if someone had shaved her bald.
“Then there is nothing to worry about.”
“I remember what you said. I cannot give hair.”
Dahlia turned away, stared at her daughter.
“Yes. You can never, Sif. To nobody.” Dahlia pursed her lips.
Never.
The memory gradually returned, covering Sif like a sea wave. Each
subsequent one is higher than the previous one.
Cone. Altar. Black forest. The young man in black. Whimsical skull. Magic
flute.
Her hand slid to her pocket. There was something there. Smooth and
warm, as if alive. Gift?
Did he let her go alive? And did not leave to himself, did not eat, did not
take to the Land of the Worlds.
Sif guessed who she had met before the blizzard. The heart jumped in
her chest. There was a lump in her throat.
Suddenly she was gripped by icy terror and the despair she had never felt
in her life. Mother's herbs no longer helped.
That was Him, no doubt.
That was KNECHT!
And tonight. The night before Yule. He will come for her.
“Mom-“
Sif looked up at Dahlia, terrified and aware of her own mistake.
“What have I done-“ Sif hid her face in the hands.
Hands were trembling. Sif was shaking as if she was standing at the door
in the cold again. There were tears on her cheeks.
“Don't cry, dear.” Dahlia looked at Bo. He was still staring at his sister's
hair. “Come on, love, come in a barn, feed the cattle. I need to talk to Sif.
That's women's talks.”
Brother got a bit upset and angry, but finally gave up. He stumbled to the
door, muttering something under his breath. Put on parents' jacket and cap.
“Hey, Sköll10, let's go!” he whistled and jumped out into the yard.
The dog, as big as that mythical Vargr11, happily wagging his tail. Was it
necessary to name the pet after the birth of Fenrir12? Although some
10 Sköll (Skøll) – is a wolf that chases the Sun (personified as a goddess, Sól). Hati
Hróðvitnisson chases the Moon (personified, see Máni).
11 Vargr (warg) is a wolf, especially the wolf Fenrir and the wolves that chase the sun and
moon Sköll and Hati.
12 Fenrir (Old Norse: “fen-dweller“) or Fenrisúlfr, also referred to as Hróðvitnir (“fame-wolf“)
16
similarities with the legendary wolf are genuinely present. And the neighbours
are still horrified when seeing a hairy giant.
“Well, now tell me, dear. What happened in the forest?”
The warm embrace of mother's tender hands soothed the pain inside her.
Dahlia's charming voice instantly comforted Sif. Fear and despair melted
from a gentle smile, like snow under the rays of the spring sun.
“Don't be afraid, dear. Tell me everything.”
Sif swallowed a bitter chunk that sat deep in her throat and prevented her
from speaking.
“I saw someone there in the woods, Mom.” Sif sighed, clenching her fists.
“Not a man. He had a skull instead of a head. However, it turned out that it
was a mask. But he said strange things, and he seemed to speak a foreign
language, but I understood everything.”
Sif rubbed her temple and squinted. And indeed, the bizarre young man
addressed her with strange words. However, she understood everything. She
heard and seemed to translate those words in her head instantly.
That language was melodic, jingling like crystal and playing with a long
echo under the black crowns.
“I'm your friend, Sif. Your most loyal, most faithful friend.”
“He said that this is his holiday. His holiday! Mom, he will come for me.
Forgive me. I didn't mean to harm our family. Instead, I call disaster upon
our home.”
Silence fell in the room. A little farther from the table and the wide
benches, a dinner hissed and gurgled. The fire splashed, crackled, spat with
sparks. Dahlia silently approached the hearth. She placed the firewood and
removed the bowl from the hook. She sighed heavily, looked away, not at Sif.
The fire did not subside, as if someone was fanning a crimson flame.
It slapped the stones in the same way as when Kaya conjectured.
Sif held her breath and waited for her mother's words.
“I should have told you the truth a long time ago. But I didn't dare,“
Dahlia pursed her lips and looked at the fire. She stretched out her white
hand to the hearth, and the flames fell as if an obedient dog lays at the
mistress's feet.
“Yes, it's probably time. Come on, dear, I have something to show and
explain to you.”
Dahlia grabbed the hood from the bench and headed for the door. A large
bundle of keys rattled softly on the hostess's belt.
Sif rose to her feet, swaying a little.
and Vánagandr (“monster of the [River] Ván“), or Vanargand, is a giant wolf in Norse
mythology.
17
“We don't have enough time, so ask nothing.”

Dahlia handed Sif clothes, and she hurried outside. It was already dark,
the beginning of the longest night. Distantly, neighbours lit a large fire. Sif
could hear chaotic music. Soon, the villagers will warm up, drink beer and
ale, get drunk without waiting for the jarl's13 speech, and start a proper
celebration that will last three nights in a row . They will take out a straw goat
and burn it for everyone's joy with singing hymns and blessing trees. Soon
the Yule tree will be decorated. And then the children will go from house to
house with baskets to collect gifts.
Usually, they all together go to the big hearth to make a sacrifice, watch a
play, listen to Ling's singing. Today, father with hunters were late, and Sif was
not up to the celebration. Bo, of course, will be upset if they do not go to
collect apples. He was ringing with his plans for Yule. He wanted to join the
clads. But what to do if his older sister drowned out such a frill. If only he
would punish only her for the mistake. Let Knecht take her, carry wherever
he wants, even to Niflheim! And leave her family alone. So thought Sif, sadly
strolling after Dahlia, staring at her feet.
Mother crossed the large yard with a light gait and went outside the fence.
She walked softly and inaudibly, as if floating over the snow. The clouds
parted, the moonlight was spilling silver over Borre. The treating smell of
cooked meat came from somewhere. The meals were already being prepared.
Dahlia kept going through the snowdrifts, leading Sif with her to the black
hills. There was no more music, only the mournful howl of wolves from the
13 Jarl, and meant “chieftain“, particularly a chieftain set to rule a territory in a king's stead.
18
black forest. Norn's14 dogs start the hunt. And they didn't take any weapon,
left Skol to guard the house. Sif shrank coldly.
“Where are we going, Mommy?”
Large wings fluttered above her head. Lleu did “hoo-hah“ and sat down
on the hostess's shoulder, clinging her claws to the wool of a brand-new
holiday coat. Sif, as usual, caressed the soft feathers of the pet.
“To the old hof15.”
Sif stood up, exhaled loudly. For a moment, the ground beneath her feet
swayed to the side. She stared at her mother's back. Dahlia moved away very
quickly.
“To the temple?”
The owl sighed unhappily, fluttering its mighty wings.
“I'm sorry, Lleu.”
Sif took a step forward, stepped into the mound, got a little stuck, and
almost lost her mother at dusk.
“Wait! Mom, isn't that a forbidden place?” Sif stabbed. She barely caught
up with Dahlia. “It's dangerous there. Everyone says so.”
“Not for us, Sif.”
Dahlia answered without slowing down or turning around.
“Not for us.”
The black mound was approaching from the darkness: a terrible, huge
wave that has the power to bury the entire world in the abyss. Mia once said
that an ancient king was buried there, forgotten, betrayed by his people. He
did not seem to die, but fell asleep for centuries.
The boys asserted that his treasures were burned with the king. Every year
there was a daredevil to check this fable. However, when he almost reached
the mound, he suddenly stopped, knelt for a moment, and quickly turned
back along the path he had come from. The brave man could not explain
why he did not go further.
Some neighbours claimed the mound had an entrance to the forbidden
kingdom, so secret people protected it. They said that this hof is older than
the land which it stands on and older than humans. Maybe so. Sif didn't
know.
Mum also told them that the mound was the dwelling place of power and
spirits. That's why she forbade them to play so far from home and strictly
ordered them not to enter the temple.
Sif exhaled a crystal haze. It was getting colder. Well, at least the moon
shone from the sky and paved the way for them to the forbidden place with
14 Norn, plural: nornir – are deities in Norse mythology responsible for shaping the course of
human destinies.
15 A heathen hof or Germanic pagan temple was a temple building of Germanic religion; a
few have also been built for use in modern heathenry. The term hof is taken from Old
Norse.
19
silver. A long shadow from the mound quickly covered them with a black
hood. It was so dark that Sif could barely see her own feet.
“Faster, daughter! Sigurd will soon return with the hunters.”
“Mother, aren't we going to get lost in this darkness?”
When she said it, the entrance to hof appeared before them. As if
emerging from the icy darkness. Sif shuddered from coldness. The view of
the mound gave her a chill.
“Is this some kind of magic?”
Dahlia boldly pushed the immense carved door. Strange runes were
painted on the heavy sash. It seemed to be a warning. Sif did not have time
to stop her mother or enjoy the skilful work of ancient carpenters.
Dahlia slid inside, inaudible, like a white spirit or a ghost. Sif hesitated,
looked at Lleu: the pet's golden eyes shone like the moon in the sky.
“We have to go, I know.”
Sif sighed and dived into the void after mother. Darkness enveloped them
in an icy blanket. It was colder inside the temple and dark, as if before the
birth of Aurgelmir16 and Auðumbla17. When the door behind Sif closed by
itself, the world froze.
“Mother?”
No sound, no movement. There is only the icy emptiness around. Was
she left alone, alone in complete darkness? Sif was horrified.
“Mom!” She shouted in fear.
A flame erupted somewhere ahead, instantly illuminating the darkness. Sif
squinted. Shadows were floating along the stone walls: bizarre, long, fierce.
They pulled their claws at the uninvited guests, whispered something
unfriendly and hostile.
Sif shuddered at the careful touch. It seems that someone touched her
and slowly pulled the braid. Lleu sighed on her shoulder, flapping large wings.
The feeling of presence disappeared. There was no one behind. Only the
doors that were securely closed.
Did people make them? Did they cut them out Yggdrasil18 itself? How
did mother manage to open them so quickly? It seemed that even a group of
soldiers would not move these terrible sashes. Sif looked around
watchfully. The idols of the gods were around her: aces and vans. There
wasn’t a living soul, except them, of course. Who whispered to her? Who
touched her?
Suddenly, Sif was anxious to leave. Turn around and run. She must run as
quickly as she could, as far as she will be able to breathe. She must run, not
16 Ymir, Aurgelmir (Ymir Aurgelmir, Brimir, or Bláinn) – is the ancestor of all jötnar. From his
body, the world was created.

17 Auðumbla –is an ancient cow that raised Ymir.
18 Yggdrasil (from Old Norse Yggdrasill /ˈyɡɡˌdrɑsell/), in Norse cosmology, is an immense
and central sacred tree. Around it exists all else, including the Nine Worlds.
20
to become the same shadow.

“Mom!”
Dahlia stood on a hill in the circle of moonlight. Straight as a string of a
cisterna, thin and delicate. Somewhere under the high ceiling, a round hole
opened, and silver poured onto a large altar. Dahlia stood under the cold rays,
stretched her arms to the ceiling, and slowly took off her hood.
Hair, usually neatly braided at the nape or tucked under a handkerchief,
fell on her fragile shoulders like a golden waterfall. Dahlia turned slowly and
looked at her daughter. Sif held her breath.
Mom was majestic and very beautiful, even unearthly. Silver-saffron hair
enveloped her slender figure and poured like thick honey down to the
floor. Golden eyes shone mysteriously. How good that she inherited this
magical colour. But the hair colour passed from her father, though over time,
it became less fiery.
In their family, only Iliv's hair was dark, almost black, although, with time,
her sister turned into a rare beauty. “A bad sign“, people whispered. It always
made Iliv angry. Only after Kaya was called a soothsayer, her sister finally
calmed down. After all, Kaya's hair is much darker, the colour of these sinister
shadows that tangle in the corners.
The light shone as if the altar and the walls absorbed all the power of
the Moon King. Dahlia's white skin burned bright like mother-of-pearl. She
reached forward, rolled up the wide sleeves of her linen dress. A faint, strange
tattoo shone like blue silver on the delicate skin. Sif suddenly realized that the
eyes which were looking at her right now, were not human. There were not
the wise eyes of a seeress, but the eyes of a goddess!
“My name is Asa. Asa from Ljosalfheimr19. I am the daughter of the High
King of álfar20.”
The fire under the cauldron crackled, pulling Sif out of her trance. She
shuddered and finally noticed her brother hissing unhappily over her
shoulder.
“Sif, you're frozen again!”
He grabbed her, began to shake, and her head shook from side to side.
“Bo, stop it!”
“Father is back! And you know what? Something interesting happened on
the hunt. I saw hunters leading the wounded man to the healer's house. They
dragged him, and behind them, a bloody trail stretched across the snow!
Imagine, sis?”
Of course, what else does the boy need? A horror story by the fire, a
19 Alfheim (Old Norse: Álfheimr, “Land Of The Elves“ or “Elfland“), also

called “Ljosalfheimr“ (Ljósálf[a]heimr, “home of the light-elves“), is home of the Light Elves.
20 In Norse mythology, Dökkálfar (“Dark Elves“) and Ljósálfar (“Light Elves“) are two
contrasting types of elves; the dark elves dwell within the earth and have a dark
complexion, while the light elves live in Álfheimr, and are “fairer than the sun to look at.”
21
shining sword at his waist, and a wounded hunter. Sif sighed; she needed to
be alone for a while. To remember, to think. Or rather, to forget this night
like a nightmare. But how can she forget? The holiday is just ahead; she must
survive so many days. Sif felt that this was just the beginning of her ordeal.
“Let's go, let's look at him!” Bo insisted.
Sif looked frightened into the gray-blue eyes, their father's eyes.
“Bo, I don't think it's a good idea….”
“Oh, stop it. Don't be boring like Iliv! Let's go!” Bo pulled her by the
sleeve of the shirt, the strap of the bag, and finally the braid. “What will
happen to us? We are jarl's children!”
“And what if the father forbid us to go on the celebration?”
Bo grinned, rolled his eyes.
“Okay, just stop pulling the braid! It hurts.”
Bo shone with joy like a red star. He smiled broadly. Sif got up from the
bench. She really did not want to leave the warmth and comfort of the hearth.
Lleu sighed disapprovingly from her seat and began to peck at the long
feathers. Warns, of course, if the pet overheard their conversation.
Lleu was wiser than ordinary birds. Even when Sif just brought her, a
weak slaughtered owl from the forest, she behaved strangely. Lleu never
made a fuss, only to warn of danger. She listened to Sif or Dahlia when they
forbade brawling. And yet, she seemed to feel people. Lleu knew for sure
which of the neighbours was evil and insincere, and drove them away.
“So, where is the father now?”
“He and mother are whispering in the barn. They've been whispering for
a long time. Probably something important happened, if they don't go to the
house. Come on, until they come!
“Why can't you just stay at home?” Sif sighed, putting on her holiday coat
again.
It was customary for Youl to wear new clothes, but this year she broke
with tradition. So probably the Youl cat will come for her at the same time
as Knecht. Sif giggled in her palm.
“What are you laughing at?”
“That's nothing. I remembered a funny story.”
“ Then, tell it to me, if it’s funny .”
Bo grabbed his sister's wrist, pulled her to the door.
“Come on, faster!”
Brother pulled her out through the hay and then to the neighbour's log
house along the trodden path. The moon hung over the black spikes of the
forest. Cheerful music and laughter were being heard from afar. It was already
noisy outside, but they did not meet the neighbours. I wonder if this night
will ever end?
“What happened there?”
“I don't know. I just saw how the hunters came back. One was taken off
22
his horse and led by the arms. Mother went to meet Dad, when I overheard
their conversation. They said something about giant wolves in the forest and
the curse of the elves.”
Sif shuddered, almost tripping over the roots of neighbour's apple tree,
but Bo didn't pay attention. Not the alvefolk21 again! again! Today she heard
enough about them. Today she has seen enough!
“Look, the lights. Maybe there are still hunters inside!”
Brother hastened. Sif didn't understand why Bo was so happy? She felt
pity for the wounded man.
As they approached the house with the sloping roof, they heard men's
voices: two or three. The heavy door was open. The wind swayed it lightly,
the door creaked softly on the old hinges. Yellow greasy stains from lamps
and candles slid through new clumps due to a few hours of blizzards.
Bo pressed the finger to his lips, squealed, and jumped on the stairs,
looking into the hole. Almost immediately, he looked at his sister in surprise.
“ It seems that there is no one there, only the wounded.”
Sif got up, stood around her brother, leaning against the wall.
“Who was he talking to, then?”
“With himself?” Bo shrugged.
“I hear you!” the wounded man's voice broke into a cough. “Do not stand
in the door. Come inside. I thought I was thrown to die.”
Sif didn't manage to grab the brother. Bo pushed the door and entered
the house bravely.
“Oh, damn.”
What to do now? Sif jumped after him. The first thing she sniffed was a
strange smell. It tickled the nose, made her sneeze as if from spices. Quite a
strong and unpleasant odour.
The small room looked cozy with a hearth on the stones, not like a proper
innhus, but rather a miniature copy of the room. Fur was scattered on the
floor near the fire, and a pale man lay on the mat. He was wrapped in coat
up to his ears, his face barely peeked out from under the fur. His wet eyes
shone, and his gaze was fixed on her and her brother.
“Didn't expect the children to come to me. I don't have any sweets or
presents for you, kids.”
Sif hardly recognized this warrior. That was Hafdan, their father's friend.
He taught them how to ride horses and shoot a bow. Immense as a bull, a
strong man, that loves joking. Can a person change so fast in one night?
Hafdan was thin, his dark face was pale. The man seemed to be barely
breathing. Something was constantly gurgling and whistling in his chest.
“We didn't come to sing, sir.” Bo said, shaking his head. “Just passed by.”
“The holiday hasn't started yet.” Sif interjected. “No sacrifice was made,
21 Alvefolk – Álfar, scandinavian elves.
23
and father didn't pronounce a speech.”

“Well, if you passed by, then why are you still standing in the doorway?
Don't be shy. It must be cold outside.” The man choked on a wet cough.
“Yule night is the darkest and icy, as the night in Niflheim.
Bo looked around, looking for the men they had heard. However, there
were only three of them in the house. It seems that the whole large York
family went to the celebration. Did the healer leave the wounded unattended?
“And what happened to you?”
“Hunting, boy. Monsters rummage in the woods. It is dangerous to go
there now. Stay in Borre, with the people.”
The warrior snorted, choked on a wet cough; his throat seemed to be
constricted.
“Are you Sigurd's boy? Do you want to see how that creature cut me?”
Bo stepped on the mat, but Sif managed to grab her brother by the
shoulder.
“It would be better if the healer examines you. Where did he go?”
The warrior stepped out from under the fur, a smile appeared on his white
lips: prickly, unpleasant, almost evil. How pale he was, like a forest toadstool.
Small spots and red swellings were visible on the neck.
“To gather the herbs, he said. As if herbs can cure the plague of alfar,“
Hafdan laughed so loudly that the room started s to rumble. “This dick just
ran away.”
“The plague? I do not understand. Didn't the beast in the forest scratch
you?”
The warrior shrank, his gaze was sharp and contemptuous. Sif, guided by
warning, hid her brother behind her back. Something terrible was about to
happen.
“Haven't you heard about alfashot, brat? A shot of the elves? That's a
dream-sending disease. Alfar made poisonous arrows to curse the villains.
That tinder can kill the flesh and cause a person to rot alive.”
He suddenly dropped the fur, exposing his body up to the waist. Bo cried
and clung to her shoulder. The younger brother was hit by what he saw. Sif
barely restrained herself from screaming. Below the neck, the hunter's pale
body was covered with terrible ulcers, as if he weren't really alive.
“Draugar22…“ whispered Bo, clung to her even tighter, pressed to the
back.
“What, aren't you glad that you just passed by?” Hafdan muttered. “Do
not be afraid, kids. I won't touch you. I am still a man. Although, I don’t have
much time left to be one.”
He snored, began to spit in his fist.
“Run, Bo.” Sif whispered, then unhooked her brother's arms, turned to
22 Draugar – is an undead creature from the Scandinavian saga literature and folktale.
24
him, and shouted. “Run!”

Sif pushed Bo outside with all her might, he fell into a heap, and she
leaned her whole body against the door. Her legs were bending, and her knees
were shaking. She didn't have the strength to run, but she could give Bo some
time.
“Why didn't you jump after your brother, kid?”
There was a bustle behind her. Hafdan tried to get out of the fur. What
to do? If he actually turns into a draugar, it is dangerous to keep him alive.
Of course, yesterday, she did not believe in fairy tales about the living
dead. But that was yesterday when the stories about beautiful elves were just
words, and Knecht was the embodiment of Winter, a distant ghost.
She must calm down, must call mother and father. However, the legs did
not obey, the tongue in the mouth choked with fear.
Sif suddenly remembered about the flute and put her hand in the pocket
of her bag. Her fingers were wrapped by the smooth warmth. Uncertain
footsteps approached her, as if someone stomped on puddles. She felt a raspy
breath on her neck.
Sif snatched the flute and turned to the warrior. She held out her hand as
if holding a sword and was about to chop the attacker.
The sufferer approached, but when he saw the flute, he stopped. The
smile on his pale face was replaced by a grimace of pain and disgust. He
hissed, then whistled, and coughed on the floor. The bone flute shone faintly
with a blue light. What is it made of?
“I won't touch you, girl! Take it away immediately!” the warrior begged,
staring at her, frowning. “You don't need such spells.”
Sif looked at the flute in surprise. The tiny eyes on the dragon's head
shone brighter. Is this a sign that Hafdan has really become a living dead?
Her heart was beating so hard that it almost jumped out of the chest.
“I won't! Tell me, who are you? What creature are you turning to?”
Hafdan laughed unhappily, crunching like a tree. Evil lights shone in his
dark eyes.
“Better tell me, who are you? What do you think you are? A völva?” he
snorted, crawled to the rug, laying down on the fur.
Hafdan moved slowly, like some elder.
“I know your flock. I know well.” The warrior snorted, keeping his evil
eye on her. “You are alfar breed! Aren't you, sweetheart?” he spat on the
floor.
Sif shuddered from heel to toe. How does he know? Just this night,
Mother swore that their origin is a big secret! She even took a promise from
Sif to tell no one and never.
“Yultide23 starts soon, sweetheart.” In the light of the hearthstone,
23 Yultide – here same as Yule.
25
Hafdan's eyes shone like those of a predator, his face sharpened. “The crow's
feast is about to begin, and he will come for you. He will come for you. Do
you hear me, bitch? He will come and take you!”
Sif backed to the door. At last, her legs obeyed, but the body still seemed
to be strange, frail. The fright was too intense. She groped for the bracket
and pulled the door open. Sif tripped over a step and rolled out of the house,
painfully slamming into the snow.
Hafdan shouted after her.
“Can you hear me, alfar slob? He will come for you!”
Sif jumped to her feet and stumbled into the night. For a long time, she
heard wicked, hoarse laughter flying from the healer's hut.
She didn't realize when she had reached the house and flitted along the
snow-covered yard. On the porch, under a canopy, parents were standing
and arguing quietly about something.
“Mommy!” Sif rushed to them with all her might. “Dad!”
Dahlia and Sigurd fell silent and looked back at their daughter.
“Sif, what happened?” Dahlia threw herself to the girl and grabbed her by
the shoulders at the very stairs. “Honey?”
Sif nestled close to her mother. Her teeth were chattering because of a
strong shiver.
“Hafdan,“ she stammered. “Hafdan, he-“
Sif was gulping the freezing air. Her throat was already burning, but she
still couldn't slow her breath.
“He’s there, in the hut“ she was nearly choking. “The whole body is
ulcerated.”
“Odin the Allfather! What were you doing in the healer's hut?” Sigurd put
his hands on hips. “Why did you go in search of Hafdan?”
Under her father's attentive gaze, Sif got embarrassed. How could she
explain what she had seen? And not to expose mom's secret. Sif gripped the
magic reed pipe in her fist. It didn’t shine any more , only warmed her fingers
a little.
“And what about Bo? Where is he? Is your brother in the house?”
Sif freed herself from the mother's embrace. The heart fluttered heavily
in her chest. How could she forget about Bo for even a moment?! What kind
of sister is she after that?
“Mom, and Bo?”
“He told us everything,“ Sigurd stroked the daughter's shoulder. “Don't
worry, dear, Hafdan was just scaring you.”
“Just scaring?”
She looked into her father's silver-blue eyes. A kind smile from under a
red beard should have calmed her down, but Sif only winced. What is going
on here? No-no, her dad doesn't understand that something really terrible
happened to the hunter. Something dark has possessed Borre!
26
On the night before Yule, horrible miracles happen all the time, as if the
forbidden netherworld united with Midgard24. Did the walls of the Æsir fall?
And isn't the rest of the world about to merge? Is the time of Ragnarök
already approaching us, and soon everything will be as it was at the beginning
of creation?
“Don't worry about it, honey.” Sigurd bent over her, kissed the top of her
head and stroked the hair .
“Behave yourself! York is taking care of Hafdan, and it's time for us to
get ready for the holiday,“ Sigurd clapped his hands loudly. “Hurry up! Put
on some new clothes and let's go.”
“But, daddy-“
“Enough! Today is the holiday! You see, your mother has already drawn
protective signs on doors, chests, barrels and what is more on the foreheads
of the cattle. Under the stable door, near the well, iron is waiting. No evil will
be able to enter the house. We'll make a sacrifice to Harbard⁠25 and the rest of
the æsirs, so they will certainly protect us from disaster. Let's have fun, sing
and feast!”
Sif wanted to object, but, having caught her mother's anxious sight, she
pursed her lips.
“Well, that's good. Those are not afraid of grief, who are silent,“ her father
laughed, having tousled his daughter's hair. “Now go inside. See if your
siblings got ready.
“Tyr⁠26 knows, Iliv is preparing as if for a wedding! Tell her to hurry.”
Sif didn't know what to say, so she wandered to the door. When she was
on the threshold, she turned around. Mother and father were whispering
again. Sigurd was gently holding Dahlia by her waist with his eyes full of
warmth. She felt relief, and it seemed like an enormous burden had been
lifted off her shoulders. At once the sinister creature in the healer's hut was
forgotten.
She enjoyed watching her parents. It's hard to believe that this love
couldn't have been, if mother had lacked the courage to disobey the king, if
she hadn’t gone against her own people. Sif was wondering if her father
knew whose bride his wife had been to become? Did he even guess about
her noble origin?
Sif slid to the hall, shook off the snow from her boots and coat, and went
into the spacious room. She was instantly enveloped in the warmth, light and
sweet smell of Yule potion. The house was already decorated with holly,
mistletoe, ivy, spruce twigs and juniper. A Yule log laid near the hearth,
24 Midgard – the world of people which was created by æsirs and separated from the rest of
the worlds.
25 Harbard – one of Odin's names.
26 Tyr – the Norse god of war and harbinger of victory.
27
wrapped in grass and sprinkled with flour. The meaf was gurgling in the
cauldron. A tower candlestick with carved runes on it stood on the table, as
well as a basket of fruit and sweets for the holiday. She swallowed, having
remembered that she hadn't eaten since dinner. Hardly had she moved to the
basket, Iliv grabbed her arm. Sif practically jumped out of her skin, her sister
seemed to appear out of the blue.
“Finally,“ Iliv dug her sharp fingernails into the cold skin. “Tell me, what
did you and Bo get into this time? Parents were so scared that they were
almost looking for you! Is it so difficult to behave like the children of the
earl?
Iliv hissed, her gray eyes were gleaming like thin ice on a forest lake.
“Let me go!”
Sif whisked her sister's hand and took a step back. Ilive's white face turned
gray either in worry or anger. Rather in anger, as her eyes were nearly burning.
“Tell me everything! What the hell did you get into?”
Her head was fettered, as if with a shawl, the world suddenly swayed
under her feet. Sif barely had time to cling to the bench. She looked at her
sister in fright. Had Ilive really cast a spell on her? The sister was staring at
her with unshakable eyes.
“Stop doing this!” Sif waved her right palm in front of sister's face.
Ilive yelped and was blown to the edge of the bench, as if with a strong
squall. The girl fell, having almost thrown the basket of sweets over.
Breathing hard, she was leering at her younger sister. With her mouth opened,
she quickly turned pale. Ilive's red lips were trembling, she cringed in fear.
The spell was broken instantly, and Sif looked at the motionless Ilive in
surprise. Then she turned her gaze to the reedpipe which was still in her hand.
It flared with a blue light, but now in a sluggish way, unlike when it was in
the healer's hut, then it quickly faded away.
“There you are!”
Bo flew into the room. Smiling, clean, combed, all smart and well-dressed.
Lying on the bench Ilive brought him to a standstill. A brand new white shawl
slipped slightly from her left shoulder, and a large copper brooch, which had
been holding the skirts, unbuttoned.
“Oh, what happened here?” Bo was moving his confused eyes from the
older sister to the younger one.
“Nothing,“ Ilive got up slowly, carefully pushed a large shawl into place,
buttoned up the brooch, shook up her apron and skirt. “We just talked. Right,
Sif?”
Sif nodded aggrievedly and quickly put the reedpipe in her bag, which was
tucking sideways. She wondered what it just was. Again magic?
“Of course,“ Bo said doubtfully, looking at Sif again. “And you? Are you
going to wear this? Won't you wear a dress or an apron? Look on Ilive, she
smartened herself up for half a day!”
28
He giggled and his eyes flared up with joy. It seemed that the brother
didn't remember what had happened in the hut. Did he really believe his
father's words so easily? He saw what happened to the hunter with his own
eyes including those strange ulcers on his skin.
“I always dress like that,“ Sif shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
“That's the problem,“ Ilive sighed, having shaked the stitched apron
again. “You never care about your appearance. You pace like a goat in your
pants and play with snowballs. You spend all the time galloping on horses or
crossing your sword with Bo's one. It's time to grow up, Sif,“ how many times
has she repeated this! “You are a woman, Sif. And you are the future wife
and housewife. How old are you at last? And you still have never been
engaged.”
Sage-green eyes stared at the younger sister.
“I can become a seeress,“ Sif whispered.
Ilive measured her with fierce eyes and her teeth ground at once.
“Enough of this nonsense! You know as well as I do that seeress are not
made; they are born. And you are an ordinary red-haired girl. And besides
disobedient and sloppy…“
“Stop bickering, ladies!” Bo barged in.
He jumped up, stood between Ilive and Sif, as if preparing to defend. Of
course, the fight wouldn't have taken place. They often squabbled like this
with Ilive. In most cases, Ilive scolded her, but she just responded somehow
and then became silent. Her sister liked to preach her, and Bo often got beans
too. However, today she has surpassed herself. Sif's heart was fettered by
ache and grievance, her eyes were burning and she was on the verge of crying.
The door suddenly opened. Dad entered the house, pounding his boots
heavily, and mother slid silently after him. The space in the room seemed to
shrink at once. Father was a stout warrior: tall and strong as a rock. He could
easily hug Dahlia, Sif and Ilive with his arms, and there still would be a place
for Bo.
Outwardly, his sturdy build looked quite natural, but as soon as Sigurd
appeared among the four walls, he instantly attracted general attention. Sif
has always thought that her father came from the giants.
“Are my birdies ready to celebrate?”
“Yes, dad,“ said Bo for everyone.
“Well, if so, let's go then! Neighbors are already waiting for a blót27 and
treats. You know, they won't start without oblation and speech.
Sigurd was holding Dahlia with his right hand, and with the left one he
grabbed smiling Bo, having pushed him to the door in the hall. After that he
carried him out into the yard. Sif silently extinguished the flame that was still
27 Blót – the rite of blood sacrifice.
29
smoldering under the cauldron. The embers in the pit near the hearth were
no longer crackling.
Ug and Reed, who helped with the household, went to get ready for the
holiday feast with the rest of the villagers, so no one remained to look after
the fire. Last thing they needed was the burnt house.
Sif followed her father, jumped back at once, having given way to her
older sister, but still received a disapproving, icy gaze. Ilive was still angry, her
beautiful face became greyed and petrified. She sniffed and stepped out into
the hall, her long skirt and apron were rustling softly with each step.
Sif quickly examined herself: a snow-damp fur coat, woolen trousers,
leather boots and socks, laced almost to the knee. Not that it was a festive
look, but at least a warm and comfortable one. There was no time to change
clothes. Anyway it was useless to compete with the beauty of Ilive. Every
year the attention of the male part of Borre, from father's hunters to
shepherds and ordinary lads, belongs to Ilive, Inzy and sometimes Mia.
Except Knecht will call her to dance...
“Let it be so,“ Sif decided. Having buttoned up her coat, she pulled on
the hood and merged into the holiday night.
In the Mead Hall28, where father and counselors held things29 and feasts,
all the Borrians, from the youngest to the oldest, gathered together. Elegant,
neat, combed. The men, already happy with the ale they had drunk, combed
their thick beards and plaited their braids. Women wore their best dressings
and accessories. Some had amber necklaces reaching their waists, and their
heads seemed about to fall off under their heavy hairdos.
28 Mead Hall (old scand. Mjöð-rann) – a longhouse, place for assemblies, the residence of
the rulers, also a large hall of the king.

29 Thing – a governing assembly, made up of the free people of the community, where the
chief was chosen.
30
Everyone watched intently as Dahlia, Gudrun and Ilive slowly walked

around the statues of the æsirs, anointing their feet with the sacrificial blood
as well as the walls outside and inside the temple. Glautbolli30, a sacrificial
cup of blood, was carried by Ilive this year, and Dahlia with Gudrun read
prayers aloud.
An iron-covered stone altar glistened coldly in front of the statues of the
gods, where a sacred fire has been blazing all year round. Next to it was an
altar on a stone platform, where a large copper bowl for sacrificial blood and
a special rod for sprinkling were kept.
A tall fire was burning in the middle of the hall, and a cauldron was boiling
over it. It was so huge that five children could sit there easily. Festive meat
simmered in it and smelled all over the hall. The Borrians again and again
peeked in the cauldron with hungry eyes.
Dahlia and Gudrun finished singing the last prayer, and Ilive began to
walk around the hearth. Father, as it is expected of him as the Ataman, had
already blessed the sacrificial blood and cooked meat for the feast, the only
thing to be done was to sprinkle the blood on all the men present.
Sif was sincerely glad she didn't see this year's sacrifice. It was painful to
watch her father and the other hunters kill a sonargöltr31, a horse or a bull.
And the way they poured blood in the Glautbolli.
The new hof32 hasn't been completed yet, so the Mead Hall⁠ Gjort has
been a sanctuary for years, and father – hofgothi33. Although people gossiped
that father was going to appoint Gorm to be in charge of the new temple and
give him land for his own godord34 and assistants, in order for him to
convene an annual meeting in spring and a lay in autumn, as was customary
in Thun.
“Cheers to Odin!” Sigurd shouted, and the Borrians clattered in response
so that an echo splashed under the high ceiling.
Everyone saluted with what he had in his hands: a stein of beer, a mug of
spicy cider, a pitcher of moonshine or a horn with mead, which was passed
around.
“Til árs ok friðar,“ proclaimed an earl. “Here's to the great year and the
first peace.”
A crowd rumbling resounded again. The fragrant, fire-warmed air
trembled. Finally, father raised Glautbolli for the third time.
“To the King of the Oak, who gives us life and a rich harvest!”
The Borrians applauded all together and embraced mugs. Mead,
30 Glautbolli – a large copper bowl or a cup for sacrificial blood.

31 Sonargöltr – was the boar sacrificed as part of the celebration of Yule.
32 Hof – the Norse heathen temple.
33 Hofgothi – the priest.
34 Godord – religious district.
31
moonshine, sahti35, ale flowed with warm streams down the necks, splattered
on the long table and the washed-up floor. Red streams of blood were
flowing down Sigurd's ginger beard. He took a deep breath, handed the
empty vessel to Ilive and wiped his beard away with his sleeve.
Eric, the parents' new assistant, came forward. Less than half a year before
he had arrived in Borre and had already become the earl's favourite. The
dream of all girls. Eric was the best at everything: hunting, struggling, using
a sword and archering in the most deft way, even his poems were no worse
than skald's ones. Sif once heard Ling competing with Eric in composing
rhymes. The father's hunter won then. And in the previous week, having seen
her archering at old bags, Eric offered to teach her to superpose two arrows
at once.
The lad stood next to the earl, put his foot on the bench and hand – on
the bristle of the sonargöltr, then touched the silver plate on the earl's sleeve.
“I sit on the blót and swear to serve faithfully to Sigurd the Earl from now
until his death!” he said solemnly.
The Borrians vociferated approvingly, having raised foamy mugs. Several
other lads took the Heitstrenja oath, repeating the rite after Eric. Finally,
father threw up his arms and announced, “Let's feast, as if Sæhrímnir36 itself
was in our chamber, and on the roof there was a Heidrun37 goat! Skol38!”
The Borrians roared wildly, “God Jól!”
“Let the bonfires in the fields flame brightly and give us a rich harvest!
Let all kinds of trees bloom profusely in the spring!”
The feast has begun. The great hall was flooded with merry music,
drunken laughter, loud blessings and congratulations. Dishes rattled, wooden
boards creaked under heavy boots.
“God Jól, my daughter,“ Dahlia kissed Sif's cheeks softly.
She leaned over Bo and repeated her greetings. Brother only blushed and
resisted mother's hugs.
“Mom, come on! I'm not small anymore. The boys will laugh at me.”
“That's right, you dummy. It's a blessing,“ sniffed Ilive.
She returned the sacrificial cup and rod to the altar and was already
holding a mug of mead. Bo flinched under his sister's stern gaze.
“It's all right, darling.”
Sigurd hugged and then kissed his wife, after that he doubled over and
kissed his upset son on the ruddy cheeks.
35 Sahti – a type of farmhouse ale made from malted and unmalted grains including barley
and rye, hop and juniper.

36 Sæhrímnir – is the boar killed and eaten every day by the Æsir and einherjar. Each time
Segrimnir comes to life and becomes a treat again. Each time Segrimnir comes to life and
becomes a treat again.
37 Heidrun – a goat in Norse mythology, who consumes the foliage of the tree Læraðr and
produces mead for the einherjar.

38 Skol (skål) – a call to drink and celebrate.
32
“God Jól, my pretty boy!”

Ilive also got kisses and then finally Sif, as she was the farthest. The voices
were ringing in her ears. The villagers shouted greetings and wishes. The
loudest was the toast for the mini – deceased relatives. They drank to a good
harvest and the safety of the flock, to peace and quiet, to successful future
campaigns and great prey.
“Let me greet and kiss you as well!” Said the chubby man, who was rapidly
approaching from the door. His beard was as red as the father's one, and his
rufous hair curled down to his shoulders.
“Við hamri Þórs! Cried father in reply. “Thor's hammer!”
“Uncle Grimnir!” Bo rejoiced and jumped out to meet the newcomer.
“Just got off the sledge. How fiercely your wolves howl! They ran after us
all the way to the gate, I thought they would finally catch us, but, bone in
their throats, no blood of the Skilfingars!” The man spread his arms for hugs,
picked up the boy and easily raised him up. “God Jól, little nephew!”
He kissed Bo on both cheeks, then let him down.
“Ha-ha the cub has grown a little after all! Good job! If you grow up just
as quickly, I'll turn you up for vikings next spring.”
Bo nearly blossomed with joy.
“Seriously?”
Grimnir nodded and ruffled his chevelure.
“Grimnir, you've arrived!” Father stood in front of his brother. Laughing
and slapping each other on the shoulders and backs, they hugged tightly.
“How could I not see my dear nieces and sister-in-law? Odin's beard! Are
they really Sif and Ilive? What lovely girls! Beauties, such adults. It seems that
yesterday I sat you on my knees and told tales. How quickly time passes. Sif's
ready to become a bride.
“I guess it's too early to think about that, Grimnir.”
Mother stepped forward and greeted the guest with a gentle smile.
“Dahlia, sunshiny enchantress. Every year your beauty just becomes
stronger and stronger!” Grimnir held her hand and pressed his lips to her
palm. “God Jól!”
“God Jól, Grimnir. Thank you for coming. You haven't pampered us with
your visits for a long time. I hope you will linger here for a while.”
“For the whole Yule I will be with you. I’ll sleep in Linga, since I've already
promised. Sorry, sissy, I had so many worries in the fjord, so there was no
time to visit you.”
“Is everything all right at home? How is Olgert? I haven't heard from
Thun in a while.”
Grimnir sighed heavily, slouched his broad shoulders and a deep shadow
fell on his face.
“I have no good news, brother. The harvest was bad this year, and winter
came too early. Seers say there will be famine…“
33
“Really?” Sigurd scratched his beard thoughtfully. “If it weren't for the
timely stocks that my wife advised us to make, we would be worried about
what to treat our guests to.”
“Wise she is and you are a clever earl as well. We shall talk further, but
now it's a feast time, let's not be gloomy thoughts,“ Grimnir stopped his
younger brother, having patted him on the shoulder. Then stepped forward
to the table. “Let's be glad with what Odin has sent!”
He started singing with basso profundo, and an echo tuned up under the
high ceiling of the Mead Hall.
“Runes will be ignited, to the holy altar
Hoar-headed völva silently will put
Piece of meat and potful with a flavored nectar.
Let each person follow a successful route.⁠“39
The Borrians quickly took up the motif and, clapping their hands, chanted
all together. Then they sang all together “Norns Were Called to a Long
Journey“ and “The Path to Valhalla.” Sif didn't notice when the feast
suddenly ended and the Borrians piled out. A festive bonfire was already
waiting outside. It was so large that ten men could dance circles ⁠around it,
holding their hands.
Accompanied by the chaotic sounds of tagelharpas40, zithers, flutes,
horns, drums and male voices, several boys wheeled out a sleigh with a straw
goatling.
“Well, it looks much better than last year's one,“ Bo said, clapping so
loudly that Sif closed her ears.
Indeed, the goatling was well stranded. Decorated with herbs and ribbons,
it had lovely horns and a white tail. The mad noise has arisen. With the lament
of drunken and well-fed Borrians, the goat was pushed into the fire. The
flames jumped to the human's height and burnt up even brighter. Everyone
was rejoicing, laughing and greeting each other, when Sif was constantly
playing back the Halfdan's wicked warning in her head: “He will come for
you! Will come for you!”
Then it seemed that the world suddenly flared. And not only the goatling,
but the whole Borre was engulfed in flames...
“Why are you sad, sunshine? Why are your little eyes grieving? Don't you
like the celebration, or maybe someone's offended you?”
Sif shuddered in surprise, having looked around. Skald Ling stood beside
her and smiled kindly at her. His shirt was opened, his blond hair was
disheveled, and his eyes were glowing with excitement. Skald held the zither
in his hands and cuddled it tightly to his chest, as if he was afraid that it would
get lost.
39 The poem «Nordic» by Jan Braz.

40 Tagelharpas – four-stringed bowed lyre. A traditional stringed instrument.
34
“It's all right. I was just having my head in the clouds for a while.”
“There's no good for a girl to have dark thoughts during the holiday!
Look, your parents celebrate, your uncle celebrates, your sister and brother
celebrate. Enjoy the time with them, dance, sing...” He rubbed his chin and
short shaggy beard with his hand and said softly, “You must be dreaming of
adventures, right? Oh, I know you pretty well. Watch out, sunshine, for today
is the night of spirits! They are free to walk among mortals, to go down to
Verland41. And then they can hear the innermost human desires. The power
of the winter's spirits knows no limits. Knecht himself can hide somewhere
in the woods, hunting for the defenseless souls.”
“Is there any interest for a powerful spirit to play with people and scare
children?”
“Who knows those díses and æsirs,“ he grazed the strings, playing the
melody of a new song by ear. “If they like a person, they can take one away.
It is dangerous to deal with spirits. However I have once heard that whoever
is signated by them, won't be touched even by death.”
Sif bit her lower lip, hesitated for a moment, but finally dared to ask:
“Tell me if Knecht is really the spirit of Winter.” The words were ripping
out of her chest with a cloud of breath and disappearing into a noisy crowd,
but skald heard them. “Is he really as evil as people think?”
“Who can answer that?” Ling shrugged his shoulders. “It is said that he
refused to serve Odin and was expelled from Asgard42, being cursed to
become the King of the North. He is believed to abduct sunshine divas from
their parents' homes and take them to Niflheim and to like eating small
children. Many of them disappear in the woods in winter. But all those are
just rumors. You should not blindly trust everything you hear from people.
In winter, when the famine comes, the parents themselves take their children
to the forest and leave there.”
“So he refused to serve the Allfather,“ Sif repeated thoughtfully, having
enjoyed her new conjecture. “Knecht must be a god then!”
“Whoever he is: a god, or a troll, or someone else – we can't know this
for sure. You'd rather ask the seeress about spirits, but, obviously, she is not
on the celebration. Only a few guests have gathered this year: it is dangerous
to travel nowadays. Everyone who had come was telling horror stories.”
“Horror stories?”
Ling shook his head in agreement, then said ominously.
“People say that wolves, which are bigger than bears, inhabit the woods.
They steal the cattle from farms. At night they bite the heads off and howl
so shrilly that Fenrir himself could envy them! But get this out of your mind,
41Verland – “The Land of Humans“, i.e. the world of people – Midgard.

42Asgard – the world of the gods, or the heavenly city where the æsirs live. A sanctuary
with twelve thrones for the gods and an altar for Odin was built there. It was made of pure
gold and called Hliðskjálf (the Hall of Joy).
35
earl's daughter. All those are just rumors. And people like nothing better than
gossiping.”
Skald finally chose the right melody and sang with a clear voice, “His
name is whispered by the wind, when that blows from the wild-wild North...”
Ling joined the rest of the musicians, who were playing merry tunes.
The dancing began. At first there was a big circle around the fire and then
the boys and girls were divided into pairs. Eric was standing in front of Ilive
and extending a hand to her. The sister's just waved him off, said something
derisive, but the hunter continued to stand his ground until Ilive agreed to
dance with him.
Sif was standing near her mother, as she did every year, because she was
rarely invited to dance, more often she was circling with girls and playing with
children. Frost pinched her cheeks and nose, but her face shone with the
sweet warmth of burnt hay and grass. Laughing, Mia ran away from her
clumsy partner and approached them. Just in time, because Sif was already
bored.
“Look!”
Mia shone like a hot coal and like the most glowing star: rosy cheeked,
happy faced, with big eyes coloured like a violet stone, which was shining
brighter than the holiday lights, a white shawl came down from her shoulder,
beautiful braids were slightly tousled. She took Sif's hand, nodded her head
to the musicians, marching and chanting merry songs.
“It looks like we have guests.”
Near to Ling stood a young lad in a white fur cloak. His skin was smooth,
without any wrinkles or scars, his silver hair shimmered in the light of the
fire. Amber eyes with blobs of the first spring greenery seemed bottomless
oceans. Too shining to be real. Sif shuddered with the bizarre thought.
“So handsome, isn't he?”
The lad's features were really graceful, like those of temple æsirs: sharp
slightly pointed cheekbones, straight nose and extremely sensual lips, like
those of a girl. His noble and cold beauty enchanted. The beauty that took
the breath away. Does it really belong to a human? Sif instantly remembered
a similar mysterious beauty, and her heart skipped one beat.
“I've never seen him.”
“Right! Nobody's seen!” Kala interrupted the conversation. “Perhaps he's
a traveler. Your uncle, the earl Grimnir, brought him. He said, this boy had
jumped out of the wood, scared the horses. He was begging to take him in a
sleigh, as the wolves were running after him. Your uncle is kind, so he saved
him and even invited to the party.”
She hopped suddenly, grabbed Mia by the shoulders. The girl dashed aside
at first, but then laughed. So ruddy that even her nose was red. Brown braids
dangled behind her shoulders. It seemed that Kala had overdrunk a little.
“Oh, how much I wish to waltz with him!” She spread her arms and spun
36
around.
“And he sings as wonderfully as our skald. The voice of him is sweeter than
honey, purer than the silver of his flute! Do you hear that?”
The lad really played the silver flute, a true curiosity for Borre. And when
he removed the instrument, his voice was heard clearly and loudly among the
chaotic choir, ringing like a limpid mountain stream.
37
“What a strange pipe he has...”

Sif patted her coat. The leather bag was still hanging on her waist and a
magic gift was hiding in her pocket.
“Only a pipe?” Kala giggled, the girl's round cheeks became even rosier.
“I swear to my braids, everything is strange about him.”
Mia lightly thrust her friend with the elbow.
“Quiet, Kala, or someone will hear us.”
“Oh, who is interested in our chatters? Look around – people are
celebrating, dancing. Let's go and dance too!” Kala grabbed Mia's wrist and
flung to the fire.
“Let's go to all,“ Mia pulled Sif's hand, and the girl had no power to resist.
The three girls were at the heart of the fun. The Borrians sang and danced
in roundelays, throwing their hands up, as if they were calling a wave at sea.
Very soon Sif felt dizzy. When the chain of arms was suddenly broken and
her neighbors began to dance in pairs, she almost found herself in the fire.
The flame licked her cheek lightly, and Sif slammed her hands in the air in a
fright, looking for support. She was intercepted in time, and, being barely
able to stand on her feet, the girl hung over the very edge of the fire. Heat
nearly scorched her face.
“Tha-thank you,“ she murmured timidly.
Sif felt a soft touch of smooth skin, then looked around abruptly and
lowered her gaze. A black leather glove held her hand tightly.
The earth has swung beneath her feet again, but this time not because of
whirling. She's gone all cold. The heart shrank painfully in her chest and then
beat faster, and faster, and faster. The blood throbbed in her temples. She no
longer heard music, and singing, and laughter, and screaming. Sif was afraid
to look up to see who was holding her over the fire.
“What if he lets go of my hand now?” A crazy thought flashed in her
mind.
Her breath became harder. The flames were scorching with the wild heat,
strewing the black damp ground with sparks. But instead strong hands put
her on her feet, flung off the ash of her coat. Familiar sweet flavor enveloped
Sif with warmth. Black fur blotted out the whole world. He grabbed her left
arm and lightly tugged it, taking a wide, determined step. In a moment, Sif
was trapped with wild dancing.
Staring at the ground, she could barely keep up with her partner's quick
steps. He didn't say anything, he didn't even sing, he was just leading her
further and further away from the joyful crowd, from her friends and family,
from the savage and inebriated Borrians. Sif felt herself smiling. Circling and
overjoying like a small child. Blood mixed with hop rushed to her head, a
wave of unceasing happiness suddenly covered her.
38
It was so blissful and so easy to feel herself in his strong arms. She felt no
cold and the fatigue suddenly disappeared. So did the earth, they were kind
of tossing in soft clouds. The wood, the bonfire, the colorful crowd – all
merged into one colorful whirlwind.
Sif closed her eyes and put her face under the warm, fragrant breeze. Then
laughed with pleasure. She had never been so happy, and it became
impossible to stop. Now they will be picked up by a magical wind and carried
away to fairy-tale lands. Instead, the music stopped, as well as the dance.
Again she felt the ground underfoot, and a colorful whirlwind dissolved in
the winter twilight. Sif was respiring for some time, then lifted her head,
opened her eyes in order to see who she was dancing with.
But ahead of her was just an empty space. The flame was shining brightly
beyond, getting lost behind the backs of boys and girls each second. Sif froze.
She was standing with her arms outstretched and wrapped around the air.
“Sif, are you okay?”
Mia and Kala broke away from the roundelay and ran over to her.
“Who's just been here?” Sif looked around, as if nothing had happened.
“Who was I dancing with?”
Hailey joined the girls, holding a mug of mead in her right hand. A wreath
of fir branches was barely holding on her head.
“Oh, Sif, did someone invite you? Or did you invite somebody yourself?
Maybe Eric? He often looks at you.”
“He does, but he looks at Ilive,“ Sif sighed, then lowered her hands and
clenched her fists. “No, I was dancing with a stranger.”
Didn't she just dream all this up?
“Sorry, Sif. We didn't notice anyone.”
Mia and Kala looked at each other in confusion.
“It seems we have only one guest today. That white handsome. But he
didn't leave his place. I swear to my braids!”
Bo suddenly emerged from the crowd and quickly approached his friends.
“Let's go, sissy. Mom told us to return home,“ he whispered, catching his
breath.
“Why so early? We didn't have enough time to have fun!” Kala
whimpered, having stamped her foot.
39
“Bo wants to disport with the wassailers,“ Sif forced herself to smile,
though she wasn't happy at that very moment: her heart was gnawed by ice-
cold fear. “We need to get everything ready. And furthermore there's no one
to keep an eye on the log, you know that it should burn all the time.”
“Come on, let's have fun all together. Let's give away baked apples and
then collect sweets,“ suggested Bo, looking hopefully at Mia. “And when the
wassailers come, we'll ask to sing with them.”
Each time Bo stopped his eyes on the girl, even for a short moment, his
cheeks became rosy at once. It seemed that beauteous Mia had captured the
brother's heart.
“That's a great idea!” Kala clapped her hands and looked at Hailey. “Are
you with us?”
“I'm always with you,“ the girl replied, sipping from the mug, the mead
guttered down her cheeks and red lips.
“Let's go then!” Bo grabbed his sister's palm.
Sif shuddered, the touch of real skin removed the last illusory sensations
of that smooth one. She glanced abruptly at the fire. The people of Borre
were having fun, dancing Wiki Waki43, singing, kissing under the mistletoes
and meeting the first night of the twelve upcoming. No hint of the spirits'
presence and no magic.
Musicians were playing aside, and a young man in white was still standing
next to Ling. He continued playing his silver flute. For a moment their eyes
met. It seemed to Sif that the lad was smiling at her, nodding his head in
greeting. His watchful, focused gaze was all in on her, as if he recognised her.
Of course it only seemed. So did the dance with Knecht.
They returned home all together: Sif, Bo, Mia, Kala and Hailey. Sigurd
and Dahlia stayed on the holiday. Ilive promised to catch up with them. Skoll,
having jumped into the hall after the girls, shook off the snow from the thick
fur, sniffed each guest intently, then barked approvingly and began to fawn
on everyone in turn. As soon as Sif crossed the threshold, she rushed to the
hearth. She had to light a holiday log as soon as possible. She has already
broken enough ancient customs and traditions for one holiday. Having
hastily removed the ashes from the stones, she put the brushwoods, took a
flint, lit a fire and finally set up the Yule log in the fire. It was heavy, well
greased with flour, generously wrapped in herbs and irrigated with mead.
Father, as usually, chose the best ash to please spirits and ancestors. Festive
odors quickly spread throughout the house.
“Oh, I haven't been here for so long!” Kala looked around, went to the
bench and sat down comfortably. “It seems that nothing has changed. The
same spacious, warm and airy room.”
43 Wiki Waki – roundelay.
40
Mia stopped near Sif, helped with the fire a little and then lit all the candles
and lamps. As the fire shone from every corner of the innhus44, Lleu awoke
on her perch, sighed unhappily and turned her big head.
“Sorry, bunting, we have guests,“ Sif said, gently patting her pet's wing.
Lleu slowly examined everyone with her attentive black eyes and finally
nodded approvingly.
“Oh, and what's that?”
Bo glided past just like a little kid. He left a path of dirty footprints on
clean floorboards.
“Bo you wiped off your feet badly,“ Sif moaned. Naturally, she will have
to clean up after her brother.
But Bo ignored, stretched out his hand, pointing to the corner.
“What did you see there?”
Near a large distaff between the poles stood a straw goatling, huddling up
to mother's tapestries.
“Oh, my gosh!” Kala jumped off the bench and flung her arms up.
“Looks like someone decided to make fun of you. Or perhaps there were
your friends, who wove a goat for you?”
She hugged Bo by the shoulders and hung on to him. Bo flinched
nervously.
“Strange jokes with the earl's family.” Hailey snickered and came closer,
joining the others.
“One can lose his head for this, right?” Kala added, but then, having
caught the surprised looks of her friends, she flung her hands up. “I'm just
kidding, just kidding! Certainly, our earl is too merciful for such
punishments.”
“It's basely to punish children for frolics.” Mia shook her head, then
walked over to Lleu and began to palm her long red feathers with black dots
as well as the white brisket.
Lleu loved Mia more than other Sif's friends. She was happy to sit on her
shoulder when the girls went for berries and mushrooms or to the pond to
take on water. Sif rarely did that, there were helpmates in their house, but
Mia, Kala and Hailey together with their siblings had to do all the housework
on their own.
Sif usually went with her mother to gather curative herbs. Sometimes she
ran to the forest by herself and witchcrafted there. Although, she couldn't
create real magic. She only dreamt to rule spirits and elements. When she was
wandering around woodland, she imagined herself traveling to foreign lands.
Then she seized a stick, jumped on the brushwood and enacted herself
defending the house from the attack of the jötnars45. Sometimes she was
44 Innhus – the main building.

45 Jötnars – giants of the Hrímthurs family; mountain trolls.
41
reeling on the lawn and dreaming of dancing with the great lord of the
álfars46.
Sif shuddered. Álfars, elfshot, the curse of ancient blood. What, for the
Allfather, has she gotten herself into? Maybe Ilive was right, it's time for her
to grow up, forget her obsessive dreams about magic and travels, learn to
manage a household, like other girls? What kind of völva is she? She still
remembers that draug47 in the healer's house... She'll have to ask Hailey about
Halfdan. What did her father say about the hunter's strange wounds?
Then the loud knock was heard. Sif shivered and bounced in surprise. Her
friends together with Bo looked around abruptly.
“Hey, hosts! Meet the guests, we came to sing for you and to beg mercy
from the spirits for you!” A cheerful male voice was heard.
There was another knock on the door, but this time louder and more
demanding. Outside sounded the laughter, chaotically hummed shepherds'
pipes, jingled little bells.
“God! The wassailers have already come! Do we have anything to treat
them?” Kala twirled in search of gifts.
She was frightened, as if it was her house and the wassailers came to her.
Bo jumped to the table and grabbed a heavy basket. He could barely hold it
in his hands. Kala sprang up, grabbed the other side of the basket, and they
stomped to the door.
“Hey, hosts! Is there anyone in this house?”
“We are already opening!” Hailey shouted, while Sif was staring out the
window perplexedly.
Torchlight was coming through the widelip orchids, and tall black figures
wandering the porch and yard were barely visible. The magic reedpipe in her
pocket twirled sluggishly, reminding about itself. Then it became more
persistent, like a fish that had just been pulled out of a lake. Who is waiting
in front of the door?
“Don't open them!” Sif shouted, having run to her brother and caught
them in the hall.
Bo and Kala looked at each other in surprise. Bo's head hardly peered out
the tall basket.
“Wait, the hosts should open. I'm in charge now, so I'll open.”
Sif smiled wearily and stood in front of her brother. She pretended to be
calm, but inside she was totally trembling. She put her hand on the bag to put
out the reed quickly if something goes wrong. But then it just became crazy,
anticipating something. What if another one dead is somewhere nearby?
“What do you warn me of, strange creation? Who is rushing to our
house?”
46 Álfars – also known as elves, in Norse mythology, spirits of nature.

47 Draug – a walking dead.
42
Sif held her breath and opened the door violently. A young man stood on
the doorstep: stocky, dressed in oddish duds, his eyes were shining through
the apertures of a wolf mask. Behind him, the rest of wassailers laughed,
danced and played snowballs. Some of them held torches, some bags with
treats.
“Under the tree of light and life I'm blessing you on this Feast of Yule!
Well, tell me little hostess if you have anything to treat your guests with? And
we'll sing to you, right, guys? If you guess one of us, we'll go, and if not – in
that case we'll take someone from your house!”
Are they just ordinary Borrians? Playing with their neighbors while their
parents are drinking on the celebration? Sif sighed with relief, having inhaled
the frosty air. Her eyes became wet because of the cold. The skin tingled
painfully.
“We have some gifts for you, guys,“ said Ilive.
The sister appeared in front of the wassailers like out of nowhere. Or
perhaps she was hiding in the shade of the porch? Sif gasped in surprise.
Behind the wassailers, Skoll began to bark, then he slipped through their legs
and jumped straight into the fresh snowdrift. Having jumped out of there a
moment after, he shook the snow and ran back to lads.
“Sing, at first, the best song you know, my sister will treat all of you.”
They sang in a jumbled merry chorus. Some had strong sonorous voices,
others could hardly quaver out the sophisticated melody. The “bear“ snorted
in a low chest bass and the “fox“ in an almost girlish voice. Some people
were barely audible, some were so loud that the buzzing was heard in ears.
But the main thing was that with this seemingly chaotic song the
wassailers were blessing Sif's house and family, calling on the spirits to be
gentle and gracious, to give a rich harvest and generous prey.
“Well, cutie, now treat guests and guess. If you guess someone, we'll leave
you peace.” The “wolf“ extended his broad, calloused palm. “And if not, we
will take you away.”
Sif put her hand in the basket, snatched honey apples and gave them to
wassailers.
“Thank you, little hostess. Treat my friends as well.”
Youth in furs and animal masks all crowded together on the porch. Kala
and Ilive began to hand out treats. The guests didn't hesitate to take treats
twice and thrice, grimacing, singing out of tune and fooling. Ilive and Kala
tried to guess who was asking for a treat, Sif silently handed out apples, dried
pears and nuts.
A hand in a black leather glove emerged from the darkness. Sif almost
took an apple from the basket to give to the next guest, but when she saw
the glove, she suddenly froze. The reedpipe in her pocket went completely
wild, it almost jumped out of the bag, beating her on the hip. Did it feel its
owner?
43
Sif looked up. Jólnir48 stood on the threshold. It was a young man with a
skull on his head, dressed in shiny black fur. The bizarre horns of an
unknown animal glistened in the light of torches. Green eyes played with
cheerful lights and glowed in the twilight. He didn't take his eyes off Sif. The
rest of the wassailers moved over, having given him a place at the door. The
sudden silence hung over them. Even the north wind stopped hissing over
the roof.
“Rau...rah,“ Sif gulped the cold air, but didn't dare pronounce that name.
“Eric, is that you?” standing behind Sif, Ilive laughed at Kala's joke, and
without even looking at the strange guest, handed him dried apples and
plums.
“No,“ he smiled, folded his palm and stepped back into the dark.
“Wait!”
Sif followed him, having jumped out onto the porch. The lads started
their festive canons again, chanting off key: “The festive goat is jumping...”
“Has the hostess got tired?” Asked the “wolf“, who appeared at the
doorway again, when Jólnir had gone.
Sif inspected all the wassailers: there was really no “goat“ among them.
However, she knew it should have been. Necessarily! As on Yule the goat is
the most important animal. Today it is the master of the holiday!
“Son of Ulf!” Ilive pointed her finger at the wolf.
Sif was near to say that the wolf was Eric, she guessed the hunter's voice
straight away, but she had no power to do this. A shiver went down her back,
her teeth chattered.
“No, cutie, you're wrong. Choose who will go with us.”
“I will,“ said Ilive. She shook up her hands, went out on the porch and
then in the yard.
“Then you will be our queenie.”
The “wolf“ enwrapped Ilive's shoulders with a white fur cloak.
“Take me with you as well!” Bo burnt up, then put down an almost empty
basket and jumped out to the wassailers. “I want to go with you!”
“You're too young,“ Ilive looked at him, her cheerful voice became severe
at once. “You'd better go home and help your sister. I'll be back soon
together with our parents, don't worry.”
The wassailers bawled and squalled, they surrounded the newly
proclaimed “queen“ and marched away. Ilive floated like a white cloud away
from the yard and soon disappeared around the corner.
“Not much to enjoy now.”
Kala stood next to the boy, patting his shoulder.
“It's no big deal, Bo, do not be upset. We will quickly prepare and have
48 Jólnir – the name of the main character at the celebration of Yule; possible name of the
Scandinavian god Odin.
44
fun, won't we, Sif? Sif? What are you doing there?”
Sif stood on the porch, gazing after the noisy crowd, she couldn't take her
eyes off the tall black silhouette with the whimsical horns walking among the
“wolves“, “bears“, “foxes“ and “owls.”
Ilive returned with parents, as she had promised. It was the longest
midnight of the year. The girls already went to sleep, after they had walked
all their neighbors, handed out the rest of honey apples and picked up
presents.
Bo calmed down a bit, but didn't forgive Ilive. How defiantly his sister
took his place. Since she knew that this year he dreamt of caroling.
“She always does what she wants,“ he complained.
Mia and Kala comforted the boy as best they could. At the end of their
triumphant match on the neighboring houses with a basket full of sweets, Bo
was finally amused. The longest night was successful. And at home the
holiday log was already waiting. Hailey stayed in the house to watch the fire
and the splinters, as well as a mead in the cauldron and a treat prepared by
mother. Pork ribs with cabbage, lutefisk – dried cod soaked in birchen ash
and cold water, almond potatoes and buttered carrots, flavored with thyme.
They had dinner together, then drank mead, thanked the King of Oak –
the Sun King – for the bountiful harvest, cracked nuts, ate dried fruits and
barley shortbreads with honey. They left treats for invisible guests – deceased
relatives – as well and made their bed in the corner, as was customary.
Together they burnt holiday wreaths, joked about the wicker kid. Bo
jumped off the bench and began dancing gangar49⁠ with the goat, while Mia
and Kala were clapping their hands and singing loudly: “Oh, whose goat is
walking on the mound?”
After dinner, the girls went home. Bo received generous kisses from each
of Sif's friends. When Mia leant against his cheek, he blossomed, as lilac
blossoms in spring, and all trembled. The little brawler fell in love.
As they stayed with Skoll and Lleu, there was enough time for cleanup
and going to bed. On the table were left some gifts for the Yule cat, if it
decides to come. The fire and oil lamps were left alighted. Yule logs should
have burnt for the whole First night of spirits and then smoldered all twelve
days.
“We need to put the goat to the neighbors,“ he muttered softly.
Sif was barely on her feet. She put her brother to bed, covered with a
sackcloth and topped with fur.
“Don't worry, we'll come up with something in the morning. As long as
it stands, it protects us from evil spirits. Is it soft enough for you? Maybe let's
49 Gangar⁠ – traditional Norse pair dance.
45
remove the steatites50?”

Bo stirred under the furs, then yawned sweetly.
“No, it's all right.”
“Close your eyes then. Ilive and our parents will probably return soon.”
Bo mumbled something in response, having buried his face in the pillow,
then whispered quietly, obscurely, as if with someone else's voice:
“Leave Skoll in the hall, let him protect us from the draugs. It'll be a long-
long night. The longest one…“
Sif froze after these words, became motionless, only crossed her hands in
a protective gesture. She could hardly breathe, but Bo said nothing more. Sif
looked around, her brother was snoring softly in his warm bed.
Again dream? She sighed and went to her corner. Once, at her request,
her father made a special bed for her with columns, where her mother hung
her linen cloths with simple embroidery and gunny so that a small canopy
came out.
Finally, she took off her festive coat, pants and tunic, unrolled her woolen
strips and untied her boot straps, took off her shoes and socks. Now she was
sitting only in the shirt, which fell freely to her knees. After that unwove her
wild plaits. Red waves covered her back and shoulders, fell on her buttocks
and knees. An amulet made of black amber hung on her chest over the shirt.
Sif sat down on her furs and crossed legs. She dumped out the contents
of a leather bag on her knees. A spruce cone (when did she manage to pick
it up?), a mistletoe flower, a small bear figurine – the gift from Bo, a thin
amber necklace given by her mother, which she forgot to wear, thin and
white, as snow, lace from Mia and a new silver fibula from father.
From all the treasures she chose the reedpipe. She fumbled it in her hands,
examining carefully. Still warm, but no longer luminous and, more than ever,
calm. It looks like a dragon cut from a bone has fallen asleep. What does it
mean? The danger has passed, and Knecht went in peace? So he was among
the wassailers, no doubt. But if he came, why didn't he take her? Halfdan, the
devil, yelled that someone would come to her. Didn't he mean Knecht?
“But why did I decide that it was Knecht in the wood? Isn't it too much
of an honor for me that the spirit of Winter comes to greet me personally?”
Sif smiled, put the reedpipe under a sackcloth, quickly plaited long hair in
order for it not to interfere. Interestingly, only in Borre the hair was plaited
in such a way. Young girls and ladies from Thun braided their long hair in a
knot at the back of their heads and decorated it with ribbons.
The door opened loudly. A low father's voice was heard from the hall:
“There's no need to worry, Dahlia. Our kids are sleeping. We could walk
even a little bit longer. When was the last time we had so much fun together?”
Mother sniffed softly. The fuss was heard outdoors.
50 Steatite – a soapstone, retains heat well.
46
“Have you decided to have one more son?”

Sigurd laughed into his beard.
“Well, it would be a great gift for me.”
He gave his wife a good smack and then soft footsteps were heard. Sif
quickly dived under the sheepskin, pretending to be asleep.
“Ilive, honey, heat the water, please.
“For the tub?” Ilive asked quietly.
Sif wondered where and who the sister was walking for so long with?
“Sigurd, haven't you thought of washing, right?”
“No, I only need to wash my beard. Look, how much blood.”
“And what about traditional supper and the bath?” Ilive was surprised.
“We have to meal all together and then take a bath.”
“Sif and Bo are already sleeping,“ Dahlia whispered. “Bring some straw
from the barn, if you please. Put it somewhere in the room.”
Then there was a bustling, whisper, laughter. Later, parents sent Ilive to
bed and went to their corner to a large bed behind partitions and dense fabric
canopies.
Sif was lying quietly, like a mousekin, and listening. Lleu was hooting
under the roof from time to time, Skoll was turning in the hay in the hall, the
logs were crackling in the hearth. Somewhere high above the flue a north
wind was calling to a blizzard.
“What's the matter, Dahlia?” The father's voice finally went off. He spoke
so gently that Lleu couldn't hear his words from her nest. Sif held her breath.
Is she lucky to have such keen ears?
“Elfshot51, Sigurd. It really was caused by spirits,“ mother sighed bitterly.
“I can't believe they found Borre.”
“Álfars are friends of æsirs, so they know all the innermost secrets,“ father
reminded her. “I'm worried about something else. Can you heal Halfdan?”
The silence muffled them. Sif felt her heart beating much faster in the
chest, then she heard Bo turning in the opposite corner, muttering something
to himself and fluttering of Lleu's wings. Soon she will fly hunting in the
woods, as she does each night. She usually escapes from the nest and flies
through the flue, because the windows as well as the doors are closed for the
night. Although, maybe she won't fly today because of the snowstorm.
“No.”
Sif almost gasped in fear.
“Are you really can't handle it?”
“I examined Halfdan. But… it's too late, Sigurd. No herb can cure elfshot.
It was indeed a poisonous arrow.”
“And what about magic? Charms? Spells? Didn't the old seeress teach you
51 Elfshot – literally – álfar's arrow, shot of álfar.
47
galdrar?”
Mother sighed again.
“Sigurd, I can't conjure. This is very dangerous.”
“We've been together for seventeen winters,“ his father sighed. “You've
been hiding for all seventeen winters, but you've never said what from.”
An oppressive silence reigned in the room again. Sif was near to thinking
that her parents fell asleep, when Sigurd suddenly whispered. His voice rang
with tension:
“The king got sick.”
Sif groaned, she had got a lump in her throat, it became difficult to
breathe, but not because of smoke. She shivered under the blanket.
“Are you kidding?” Dahlia spoke louder, unable to keep her surprise.
“We received news when we were on the hunt. The Storm had come. It
seems that he has the same trouble: that elfshot… The body was covered
with ulcers. The king is said to be not the only one who fell ill, all his soldiers
caught that infection. We were waiting for danger from the sea, we thought
that our enemies would come from Folda, but instead they came from the
woods.”
Silence arose again.
“What does this all mean, Dahlia? Are there really álfars?”
Sif heard her mother breathing deeply before saying:
“And this is just the beginning, Sigurd,“ then she added briefly, with a
whispering voice, “The beginning of Ragnarök52.”
Silence finally filled the house. Parents, Ilive, Bo – all fell asleep. Only Sif
didn't. After hearing the conversation, she was tossed and turned, stared
fearfully into the darkness, then gripped the reedpipe in her hand. Her skin
crawled, the hair on her back stood on end, and the heart was jumping out
of chest.
She felt something was coming. Something great and powerful stepped
into the yard. The wild force splashed far away, like spatters of the holiday
fire. Like a black wave, it covered the house. Huge, invincible primordial
power. Skoll howled sadly, Lleu clapped her big wings. Sif squeezed the
reedpipe hard. No one from her family woke up except her. Sif jumped out
of bed, ran to Ilive, grabbed her by shoulders.
“Wake up, Ilive. Get up! I heard something outside. It's approaching us.”
The sister didn't even move. No matter how hard Sif shook her shoulders,
Ilive didn't answer. Then she ran to Bo. Her brother slept soundly as well.
Reed, that remained to watch the fire, huddled up and snorted at the table on
the bench. Ug, her husband, was nowhere to be seen.
Sif was terrified, so she returned to her canopy. Could someone cast a
sleeping spell on her family? Lleu flew down from her nest and perched on a
52 Ragnarök – time before the Fimbulwinter.
48
pillar.
“I should check,“ Sif quickly put on her shoes and pulled the coat over
her shirt. “Some sort of magic, Lleu.”
She ran past the fire, which was no longer burning, but only smoldering.
That magician was so powerful that even extinguished the Yule log. The girl
rushed into the hall. Having seen her, Skoll jumped up and growled at the
door.
There's someone in there. Do you feel it too?
Lleu flew to her and sat on the shoulder, hooting, warning of danger.
“I know, sweetheart, I know… So he came for me.”
She pressed the reedpipe to her breast. It came alive again, whirling in her
fingers, almost jumping out. Was it happy with its owner? Sif shut her eyes
tight. Something was calling to her from outside. It was unbearable to stand
behind the closed door. Her hands were itching. The heat of the reedpipe
was burning her fingers.
“Be that as it may!” Sif whispered, looking vigorously at the door, then
removed the latch and pushed.
The door creaked and finally opened. The hissing north wind flew into
the hall, fanned her long hair, turned it over her shoulders like a precious
tapestry. A flock of snowflakes swirled around the girl. A high shadow
approached the porch, breaking through the howl of blizzard, silently walking
down the path.
The snowflake got into her eye, Sif blinked. Tears fell down her cheeks.
When she finally opened her eyes, she looked into the darkness – he was
already there. He was standing on the threshold in all his glory and waiting
dumbly for the little hostess to come to her senses. Finally Knecht came for
her.
49
CHAPTER 3. TUROŃ
All door-ways,
before going forward,
should be looked to;
for difficult it is to know
where foes may sit
within a dwelling.
The Words of the High One
They froze and stared at each other, perhaps for a minute. The flute was
nearly dancing in Sif's fingers, Lleu was hooting over her ear and Skoll was
howling at her feet. The guest suddenly reeled. He crouched heavily to the
pole, holding it tightly with his hand. A white cloud of breath swirled over
the skull-mask.
“What's the matter with you?” Having forgotten the hesitation and fear,
Sif ran up to him and grabbed his free arm. “Are you sick?”
Her voice was still trembling, but no more because of horror, rather
because of the cold. The great and mighty man in black fur lost his usual icy
grandeur and became vulnerable in front of it.
Isn't he immortal? What is it? Blood?
Sif peered into his hands, his fingers and palms were bleeding, black
leather gloves and fur were abundantly covered with damp stains.
“The cursed vargrs have injured me a little,” the guest sighed, speaking a
strange language. “But no big deal, child. Don't worry. I just need to rest
somewhere.”
A long, mournfully hungry howl came from the forest, and then
something heavy rumbled, the shadows beneath Sif's feet ominously
whispered, the north wind groaned sadly.
“Certainly, certainly. Wait a second, I'll just call my mother. We will light
the fire, heat the water…”
“There's no need to bother anyone,” Nordan interrupted. “Just take me
to the barn.”
“To the barn?” Sif got spooked. “But you should be examined by my
mother, or better yet, by a healer.”
“It's all right,” he raised his hand in a preventive gesture, and Sif had to
swallow up her disagreement. “These wounds are not really serious. I'm sure
you can deal with them.”
She didn't argue. Just allowed the guest to lean on her shoulder and led
him through the hall to the barn where the cattle slept. Horses, cows with
50
calves, sheep woke up, but didn't make noise, instead they stood quietly in
their stalls and watched intently.
Sif led the guest to an empty stall that was quite clean and dry, the ground
was covered with straw and canes, and a large haystack was mounded nearby.
Here the calf that was slaughtered for the holiday was kept. She was still sick
over that.
51
“I hope you're comfortable,” Sif sat the guest down, leant him against the
hay, and squatted beside.
It was much warmer in the barn than outside. The walls, filled with moss
and hay, smeared with brown clay, kept warmth quite well, but it was still a
little cold there. A snowstorm was raging outside, the wind was blowing
strongly, and wolves were whining with him.
“I'll bring a lamp,” she jumped to her feet. Lleu whooped displeasedly and
flew to the roof. “Now, wait a minute.”
She ran through the hall to the house, having stopped for a moment to
close the door. Everyone was sleeping in the room, but Sif still tried not to
make sudden noises. She tiptoed to the table, lit a lamp from the rushlight,
and crept back into the barn. She put a lamp over the stall, and the guest's
silhouette occurred at once enlighted by its beams.
The fanciful white horns gleamed softly, as if they were covered with
nacre, and the black fur flickered with colored glares. Wasn't his attire made
from the starry sky? It really was him, Nordan. Still majestic and whimsical,
despite serious wounds.
“We should clean the wound.”
Sif ran to the barn in search of everything she needed. It was great luck
that the trough was full of clean water, and all kinds of rags were scattered
nearby.
“Don't worry so much, Sif,” Nordan smiled, having bent one knee,
extended another one and reclined his head on the hay. “I am comfortable
and feel warm. Everything will pass.”
He kept the hand on his forearm. He must have been in a lot of pain.
“Let me see. My mother teaches me how to look after the sick and heal
simple wounds.”
He glared at her with green eyes, bright as colorful crystals in mountains,
like fabulous gems of dvergars. Sif caught her breath. She clutched a wet rag
in her hand.
“All right, if you want to,” he said, nodding with his skull-mask slowly,
and then began to undress.
He finally took off his strange helmet and put it next to him. It was indeed
just a mask. Sif sighed with relief, and was about to nigh, but again he brought
her to a standstill. Black hair fell down on his strong shoulders, sparkling like
a starry night. The skin was white as hoarfrost. It was shining just like snow
shines under the dim moonlight. Strict and precise facial lines, lush black
eyelashes, dark eyebrows, hooped like a bird's wing. The corners of the red
lips were slightly raised in a sly smile.
Nordan looked up and scanned Sif with his virid eyes. Holding her breath,
she was staring at him with her mouth open. How glorious he is. It doesn't
matter that his hair was nothing like the black coal and he had no beard: in
combination with the snow-white skin and green eyes, his beauty was cold
52
and alluring at the same time. A little wild, but noble. He turned out to be
older than she had first imagined. Perhaps the same age as Eric or a few years
older than Ulfson, but much younger than Ling.
Nordan drew off his black fur coat. Under it there was a black tunic with
silver embroidery, as lovely and elegant as the king's one. Silver threads were
formed into tracery, just like that one, frosty, on the father's shield. He began
to pull the tunic over his head, but each time the smooth movements were
interrupted and Nordan shuddered in pain. Sif finally came to her senses,
turned away and sat down next to him.
“Let me help you.”
She carefully took off his black clothes and froze. The white body was
covered with terrible bloody wounds. The right side was gnawed and almost
torn to pieces. Deep and long cuts spread along his ribs, sternum, affected
his forearm and arm, and extended to his long neck and chin. The wounds
were terrible, but the blood barely trickled, in some places it turned black and
covered his gashes with a crust. The cuts were healing up quickly.
“Don't be afraid, child,” he said in a gentle voice.
Sif began to wipe off the ichor and sponge up the scratches. Nordan was
watching with interest.
“Who mauled you? I can't believe they were wolves!” She stuttered.
Is it respectful to talk to the spirit like this, to touch its flesh? But is he
indeed a spirit? How could an immortal higher being have such bloody
wounds? Oh no, naturally he's not a spirit, not Knecht, just an ordinary young
wanderer. Strangely dressed and with oddish traditions. Maybe a little
magician. That put her mind to rest.
“No, wolves are my friends. But wargs are not.”
“You mean you weren't kidding?” Sif narrowed her eyes, met a watchful
lad's look, pursed her lips, then whispered, “but how did these monsters
appear in our forest?”
“They came because they were called,” Nordan sighed, leaned back on
the stack, and looked at the wall. “I see, your nisses are doing well.”
“Nisses?”
He pointed to a corner. Sif followed his finger, but saw nothing.
“You have a knack for magic, but some kind of nebula on your eyes stops
you," Nordan said thoughtfully. He looked in her eyes intently. “My chosen
one shouldn't be blind. I will remove this nebula, in gratitude for your help,
and give you the true vision, our vision.”
He bent down suddenly, the familiar cozy scent enveloped Sif. Green eyes
flashed brighter. With a smile on his face he grabbed her forearms, holding
her close. Sif shuddered, departed, almost fell on the straw. Nordan quickly
touched her forehead with his lips, stayed on for a moment and then returned
to the haystack.
“That's it. It should get better. Try it, look in that corner.”
53
Sif flushed like a star, clutched her cheeks in fright and followed Nordan's
nod. She quickly rubbed her eyes. They hurt a little, as if the sand had fallen
on the eyelids. She got a closer look. In a corner, near a small bundle of hay,
there really was a small man in a coat made of ash leaves, in a pointed hat
with sharp ears sticking out from under the brims. And he had mirror-black
eyes, like Lleu. The man was even lower than Sif's knee.
“Tomtenisse53,” Sif whispered, staring at the curiosity. “Brownie?”
“Oh, no! Did she… did she see me? Oh, I see how she's blinking with
her eyes. Li'l hostess. 'ev I hidden badly?” Nisse clapped his hands, bustled,
showed his too sharp teeth and quickly dived into the hay.
“They are shy and secretive folk,” Nordan smiled. “Don't forget to leave
him porridge and a piece of butter for a good job. If you forget, he can bite
animals.”
“Did I upset him?” Sif got scared. “Was he offended?”
“Oh, no, he was just surprised. You see, for human eyes, they, like any
other creatures, are usually invisible. They appear only when the hosts
desperately need their help,” Nord's green eyes flared up with a mysterious
flame. “But they can't hide from álfars' sight.”
Sif jumped to her feet, having put her cold hand over mouth.
“Don't worry so much, Sif,” Nordan squinted, held out his hand and said
softly, “Yes, I know your origin. I felt your blood when I first saw you. You
are an álfar. But not an ordinary one, since you come from the royal line.
After all, you are the daughter of Asa the Brave? Am I right? Look at her,
turned pale at once… So that's true.”
Nordan sighed, grabbed his injured arm, and staggered back to the
pretending bedding. He no longer looked at her, his gaze was falling upon
the corner where the toothy nisse had just bustled.
“Do you like fairy tales, Sif, the daughter of Asa the Brave?”
Sif swallowed a lump in her throat and said hoarsely:
“I do.”
“Come here, I'll tell you one rather old fairy tale.”
His melodic voice seemed enchanting. Sif didn't notice how she returned
to the stall, sat down next to the midnight guest. He lifted his black cloak and
slipped it on her shoulders with an airy move. The soft fur enveloped her in
a cozy warmth therewithal, the fragrant smell evoked memories of something
pleasant, dear and forgotten at the same time. Sif buried her nose in the
fragrant fur.
“But listen carefully and don't interrupt, okay?”
Sif shook her head intently and looked at the guest. Terrible wounds,
washed-up by water, no longer looked as frightening as before, small
53 Tomtenisse – or tonttu is a mythological creature from Nordic folklore today typically
associated with the winter solstice and the Christmas season.
54
scratches almost healed. It is impossible to hurt the spirit, but can a human
be healed so quickly?
“Far, far away, in the North, beyond the mountains and the Icy Sea,
beyond the Dark Forests and bottomless cliffs, where the Yggdrasil Tree
grows, there is a kingdom hidden from human view. Fabulous, majestic and
powerful. Álfars, jötnars and different magical creatures are living there.
From very ancient times the king ruled in those lands. For his good nature
and generosity, people called him the King of the Oak, the King of the Moon,
the King of the Sun, Karnan the Horned, or simply said, “He who gives life.”
He came to the North from the far southern lands, where there were no
winters, but the sun and eternal summer reigned. For centuries, he uselessly
endowed all the inhabitants of his new kingdom with his knowledge and
wisdom, protected and taught them. For a long time, the King of the Moon
ruled alone, but finally it happened that the Eternals heard his prayers. One
quiet night, a Star fell from the sky. Right in the Ancient Forest, beyond the
walls. She was a charming young maiden, dressed in a feather shawl, with
long golden hair. And her heart was big and loving, kind and gentle, sincere
and merciful. The Star got lost and couldn't find her way home, so the North
became a refuge for her, and the King Moon became her faithful friend and
protector. As the months passed, the Star finally reciprocated to the King
and agreed to become his wife. Since then they have reigned together.
Mortals loved the beauteous Star, they called her Milana because she was
gentle and became the bright Aušrinė for them. She was believed to be of
divine origin, so she was revered throughout Midgard as an ásynja. She was
said to be a harbinger of Spring and Dawn, so people thanked her when the
snow melted in the fields and the bright summer sun rose high above the
horizon. The Star was powerful, but her brother was more powerful than her.
He descended from the starry skies into our world to find the Star. And when
he found her, he became terribly furious. How could she fall in love with
someone not from the Star Tribe? The Star's brother, who was rather cold
and jealous, strong but evil, which for he was nicknamed the Furious Snær,
craved revenge. One night, when the King sailed to visit the neighbors, he
lured his sister to the city walls. He grabbed her, abducted her, took to the
Underground Gate and condemned her to an icy dream. When the King
returned, he immediately began to seek out for his Star, but no one knew
where the evil stranger took her. He was searching for a long, long time,
asking the Sun and the Moon, the Sisters Stars, the Icy Sea and the giants, he
even asked the North Wind. He was the only one who told the King where
he should look for Aušrinė. He blew into the sails of the magic boat and led
the King to that very cliff where his beloved slept. The king found her
motionless and breathless on the crystal bed. She slept deeply and eternally
under an ice dome. Whatever he did, whatever spells he put on her, the Star
didn't wake up. All in all, he made the very last attempt, having put together
55
all his powers and breathed life into the icy body, bestowing her the strength
from his strength, life from his life.”
Sif listened silently and attentively, as she used to listen to her mother's
tales or father's stories. She didn't notice how she had laid down next to the
charming guest and put her head on his chest. No longer were his lips
wreathed with pain. He was holding her black fur cocoon firmly and rocked
her like a baby.
She could hardly keep her eyes open, the eyelids became heavy, as if
someone had poured a sleeping potion on her. Sif was getting really sleepy
because of the sweet aromas and warmth.
“What happened next?” she muttered, barely feeling her own body.
Legs and arms became sluggish, flittered hard in her head, just like rare
birds.
“Well, listen. The king returned home exhausted. But he was met not by
his faithful subjects, but by the evil brother of the Star. He managed to turn
all the advisers and earls, all the heads of the great álfars families and their
soldiers against the King.”
Sif shuddered, she tried to get scared, but almost forgot the taste of fear.
She felt too warmly and sweetly in his strong arms, too powerful were his
sleeping charms.
“So what happened to that King?”
“Some say that the Star's brother killed him... Killed, and took control of
the magical lands. Others – that he turned him into a monster. He cursed
him to wander the world in an ugly image. And there are still those who
believe, that the King neither died nor disappeared, but simply fell asleep for
a while to restore his power, to find a special child among the mortals. A half-
blooded child, an unexpected treasure.”
“What for?” Sif muttered, she was slurring the words. “And what about
the Star? What happened to her?”
“This is a fairy tale for the next night. And now sleep well, darling, don't
be afraid, the vargrs won't come tonight. They hate the taste of my blood.”
Nordan smiled with one corner of his lips.
He leaned slowly toward Sif, moving gracefully and trippingly, as if he had
no weight and bones, and touched her forehead with his lips. The sweet
colorful wave ran high rapidly and washed her away into a dreamlike
nothingness, where she danced with the prince of the álfars and defended the
family from the invasion of icy giants.
56
Sif was woken up by Lleu's hooting over her ear. Long feathers tickled
her nose and eyebrows. The small beak tugged her tresses lightly.
“Stop it! I'm getting up, stop it, Lleu.”
She flicked her pet off, as if she was a chicken. But in vain. Lleu was really
intrusive when she wanted to. Sif sat down slowly, stretched herself sweetly,
rubbed her eyes with fists. Somewhere in the corner, Burka lowed, father's
Burenig neighed to her in response, sheep bleated and an old boar grunted.
Sif looked around in confusion. The beams of sunlight barely made their
way through the tiny windows, but that was enough to see all the animals. It
turned out that she had slept in the barn. Burka lowed again, she was asking
for a piece of food. Skoll yapped, leapt, and started jumping wildly around
the barn, kicking up a swirl of straw into the air.
“Skoll, stop doing this,” Sif coughed, weaving her hands. “Haven't you
conspired with Lleu to make me hiccup?”
Something soft rustled beside her. She looked around abruptly. In the
shade of the stack a bulky fur mass was slowly rolling over. Sif jumped to her
feet and backed away. The black creature finally squared his body, stretched
out paws, straightened the back, raised the head and looked at her.
“Oh God…”
Is it a goat, a calf, or a big shaggy dog? Perhaps a sheep or a deer from
the forest? Who knows. The wondrous creature had small parts from all
animals. The black soft fur shone as if it was oiled. It looked like a wolf's, but
a little bit shorter. A large elongated head, like a goat's or a sheep's one, was
crowned with eccentric horns, but they were already familiar to Sif. The beast
had strong and slender paws, like a deer has, as well as a mane and a fluffy
long tail.
“Hi, dear guest!” Sif slowly approached the creature, sat on tiptoe and
looked into the big green eyes that were shining like two little oblong stars.
“Who are you?”
Maybe it just seemed to her that the creature's eyes were really as
intelligent as humans'?.. She didn't know that.
“How pretty you are,” Sif sighed, examining the beast.
Noble and majestic as a deer, and strong as a moose. He seemed wild,
even predatory, but his gentle gaze reassured Sif. She dared to touch him.
57
The fur was really soft and fluffy like that one, which a polar fox has. The
brisket was overgrown with a thick, gorgeous mane. Some blotches of white
fur were shown off on his head. And it seemed that someone painted small
white spots around his eyes, on his forehead and cheekbones.
He snorted, growled, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.
Sif tensed since the long fangs gleamed among the straight teeth rows. It
looked like her new friend was indeed a predator, she should have been more
careful. A white waif of steam flew out of his mouth.
“Do you have a name? I should call you somehow.”
Sif gently touched the black fur, having dipped her hand in it. With the
tips of her fingers she felt the strong muscles shrinking under his skin, the
wild force flowing in his powerful body. If he wanted to, he could easily stab
her with sharp horns, tear with long wolf-like fangs or trample with sturdy
hooves. Sif put her hand out.
“How about Urur?”
The unknown beast roared softly and hoarsely, but that sound sent chills
down her spine. The roar of a bear, the hum of sea waves, the rattle of
thunder and the snort of a deer – these all have combined in it.
“Okay, if you like, I'll call you Urur. I think this name will suit you
perfectly!”
He stuck out a bear-long tongue and slowly licked her wrist. Sif
shuddered, her cheeks suddenly reddened. She hid her diminished head, the
heart skipped a beat in her chest. Urur craned his long neck and laid his head
on her knees. It was so big that she could barely fit in her arms, Sif was
pinched between his outlandish horns. Doesn't he want to stab her right
now?
However, the beast only extended his paw and put it aside. Then tugged
with the deer's ears. Sif's head filled up with heat. Urur was flaming with life
and strength so powerfully that he could easily replace the whole bonfire.
Sif's shirt got wet instantly and stuck to her back. In addition the creature
smelled like sweet and fragrant spices. Sif began to caress his long neck, then
lightly touched the white shiny horns that seemed to be waxed.
“Where did you come from, cutie? Or has someone brought you?”
She felt as if something was wrong, something important had been
forgotten by her. Why did she sleep in the barn? The memory returned
suddenly. Sif grabbed her head, freed herself from Urur's “hugs”, and jumped
to her feet.
Definitely! Oh definitely, Knecht came to her last night, no, no, it's more
accurate to say Nordan. Bloodstained. Tired. He asked for shelter. She let
him into the barn, and then… What was then?
“Nordan!” She cried, looking around the corners. “Where are you?”
She ran from stall to stall, as Skoll did. In vain. There was no sign of a
stranger. The cattle, not too much worried by her shouts, rested in the stalls.
58
There was no trace of the charming guest.

“Where could you have gone?”
Sif shrank, wrapped her arms around herself and froze at once (but on
the other hand she had only the shirt on her back). Did he really leave them?
Wounded, hungry and to make things worse on the Yule days... What a nasty
sign for their household. All guests should be welcomed and honored,
especially on holidays.
Urur got to his paws, shook off the straw, approached her quietly and
stood beside. He moved gracefully, loftily and was not as tall as it seemed at
first. Sif looked at her new friend. Her pupils dilated. Suddenly her mind was
torn by the guess, wild, crazy, horrible.
“Urur. Oh, Urur. Aren't you…”
Isn't he a werewolf? Or a seiðmað54 after all?..
Sif remembered from her mother's stories that gods and trolls knew how
to turn into animals. Suddenly she became so timid that couldn't say a single
word. Lleu whooped disapprovingly under the roof, circling over the girl's
head. Skoll was whining in the shadow, scraping at the door.
“Sorry, I'll let you out in a moment.”
Sif ran to the barn entrance, pushed the door, and held it for Lleu and
Skoll. Then she went out into the hall and opened the hall-door, that was for
hosts. The dog dived into the snow with a joyful woof, and the owl streaked
overhead, having picked up the icy breeze with her large wings, then she
slowly gained altitude and flew into the woods.
Sif watched her dreamily. How wonderful to have wings and the power
over the winds! You can break free at any moment and fly, fly, wherever the
heart calls, fly to the end of the world. The morning breeze blew, it became
wintrily. Naturally! She remembered that she was standing only in a thin shirt.
“Goodness! How good that the yard is empty.”
She closed the door instantly. Then rubbed her palms, stamped on one
place, wrapped her arms around herself, but the shivers continued going up
and down her spine. Urur drew near to her quietly, bowed his big head,
snuffled the frosty air, sniffed, spat and flashed his green eyes.
“What if they're still asleep?”
She stood near the squeaky door to the living room, then harked. Sif
remembered how she couldn't wake her relatives up yesterday. Have those
sleeping spells already gone?
“Mommy? Daddy?”
Sif peeked frightenedly into the room. The morning chaos reigned in the
house. After the holiday everyone was sleepy and anxious. Mom was cooking
breakfast, father was carving something on wood, Ilive was bustling around
54In Old Norse, seiðr (sometimes anglicized as seidhr, seidh, seidr, seithr, seith, or seid)
was a type of magic which was practised in Norse society during the Late Scandinavian
Iron Age.
59
the fire and coals, Bo was playing with a straw goatling.

“It is said that the barley was found in the festive straw,” father burbled
into his beard. “The year is supposed to be corny!”
“Sif, there you are, darling,” Dahlia exclaimed, greeting her with a gentle
smile. “Oh dear, why are you walking undressed? Quickly, get dressed,
lovebirdie, otherwise you can catch a cold.”
Sif stepped over the threshold and looked around distractedly. Urur
obediently walked behind her, tapping his hooves.
“By the way, I need to introduce someone to you,” she stumbled, looking
at her parents.
The sudden silence appeared in the room. The family members left
everything they did. Then the beast proudly went inside, stood in front of Sif,
craned his neck up.
“This is Urur.”
Ilive dropped the panhandle from her hands and made a high long
whimper. Bo opened his mouth and rolled his eyes. Even father was gawping
at the beast in astonishment for a while, then he got up from the bench and
shook the sawdust from his hands.
“What a surprise,” he said, approaching Urur with heavy strides. “What
kind of beast are you? I've never seen anything like you.”
Sigurd inspected the guest carefully, then scratched his beard.
“What a crossbreed?” Ilive groaned. “Sif, what the hell did you bring to
our house again?”
“Oh, is that a moose? Or maybe a huge goat? Or a small bull?” Bo clapped
so loudly that Ilive has jumped out. “What a wonder!”
Dahlia was staring at Urur.
“Turo…” she wiped her hands on the apron, came closer brashly and put
her hands on hips. “I can't believe my eyes. That's a real auroch55!”
She clapped her hands softly, noddled, and a smile finally blossomed on
her lips.
“Au… Who?” Bo stammered and scratched the nape.
“Aurochs, they are such animals, kid. They are extremely rare. The
wassailers dress up like aurochs during the traditional supper. They were
considered to be the embodiment of the deity. Where have you found him,
dear?”
“He found me himself, mommy,” Sif responded.
“So, is this how the festive goat looks like?”
Bo jumped towards his mother, grabbed her wide sleeve and began to pull
it.
“Such a chimera, isn't he? I didn't know that such an animal existed.”
55 The aurochs (Bos primigenius) is an extinct cattle species, considered to be the wild
ancestor of modern domestic cattle.
60
Bo extended his left hand to Urur's head, but hardly had he touched him,
the beast clomped to the door.
“Mommy, can we leave him, can't we? Please, please!” Bo began whining.
“I think there's no way out. There's no good in leaving a noble guest in
such a freezing cold,” Sigurd laughed. “Let him stay. He'll overwinter with
us, and in spring we'll decide whether to let him go to the forest or not.”
“Are you crazy? Mom, dad, you can't leave such a monster in our house!
What will the neighbors say about us?” Ilive was about to fling to the family,
when the watchful green eyes brought her to a standstill.
“Of course he'll stay with us,” Dahlia said in a calm voice, having gently
touched his furry cheek, Urur let her do this. “It doesn't matter what the
neighbors will say. We should learn to ignore other people's chitchat when
doing a good deed, Ilive.”
The sister blushed, shuffled to the cauldron, took a spoon and began to
stir the porridge silently.
“It's a good thing you brought him to us,” Dahlia smiled softly at Sif.
“This is a good omen. Aurochs appear only to chosen people. They bring
luck, daughter.”
“Thank you,” Sif beamed. At once she felt so relieved, as if the stone had
been lifted off her shoulders.
She suddenly looked at her sister and froze. Around the hearth the nisse
was jumping in a pointed hat. The same one who huddled in the barn last
night. She rubbed her eyes, but the man didn't disappear. Nisse was flailing
his stalky hands, murmuring a song. Strange, but Ilive didn't notice the
magical assistant. Is she also having a nebula on her eyes? That's impossible!
Ilive was preparing to become a völva. In a year she would have to go to
Thun to study.
“Did something happen?” Dahlia touched Sif's forehead, then put the
warm hand on her poll. “You're pale, darling.”
She followed her daughter's gaze, pursed lips. Then shook her head softly
and a little cautiously. Sif blinked her eyes in confusion. “Nothing, I'm fine,
mom. I'm going to dress,” she muttered, having cracked a forced smile, and
ran to her room.
Her hands were trembling, her legs were like jelly, and sweat was trickling
down her back. She didn't freeze, but was frightened instead. Did the tiny
nisse scare her? No, not the appearance of a man, but the fact that no one in
the family, except her, and perhaps her mother, couldn't see him. Sif quickly
pulled on her pants, then her tunic and stockings. The house was heated, so
she left her outer clothes on the bed.
“Let's have breakfast at last,” father growled.
Together with Dahlia they cleaned the table, Ilive brought and set bowls
and jugs. Meanwhile Bo was chasing after Urur all over the room. But in vain.
At the very last moments, the auroch deftly broke away from the child's
61
hands and somehow appeared with lightning speed at a safe distance. Nisse
was still doing his business near the cauldron, muttering to himself.
“Oh my gadfly! Da ca'le aren' fed, da milk isn' juiced, da fox broke in'o da
'enhouse. Da girly is starin' a' me. Nah she's a seah. Proper seah, you see.”
Sif couldn't help smiling, she giggled into her fist. So funny was nisse-the-
mutterer, that she could barely hold herself back. It will be so difficult to
pretend that she doesn't hear the manikin. When everyone was already sitting
at the big table and eating within the family, Urur came to the empty seat on
the benches.
“Daughter, treat our honored guest.”
“Mommy, are you inviting him to eat together with us?” Ilive looked at
the auroch in fright.
“Of course, and to sleep as well. We are going to make a bed for him,”
Dahlia said, pretending not to hear the irritation in her eldest daughter's
voice.
“Really? Please don't say that in the house…”
“I'll make a bed for him next to me.”
Sif got up from the table, went to the shelves, took a large clean bowl,
generously put there porridge with cream, and set it on the bench in front of
the auroch. The smell of oatmeal with herring made his mouth water.
“Urur, would you like to have some milk? Aren't you thirsty?”
She lightly touched his neck, he didn't run off from her hand.
“I want some milk!” Bo said, waving an empty jug. “Or better
buttermilk!”
“I'll pour you, wait.”
Ilive gritted her teeth, squeezing the handle of the knife. She was looking
at Urur again and again, then sighed or shook her head, saying quietly,
“Bosh.”
Although the auroch ate from a bowl, he managed not to scatter even a
grain of boiled pearl barley, and when he was lapping the fresh milk, not a
drop was splashed.
“Wow, how smart he is,” Bo whispered enthusiastically.
“You have something to learn,” Dahlia smiled, wiping her son's sloven
face with a towel.
Then the loud knock was heard. At first it was quite soft, and then
rumbled demandingly. Sif jumped off from the bench and ran into the hall.
Mia and Kala were waiting at the door. Spruce, combed, elegant, in brand
new kerchiefs and fur coats.
“We came for you! Let's go, Sif, the auction has already started, folks are
gathering, they might trade things more profitably!” Kala grabbed Sif by her
sleeve and tugged. “Come on, Inga, Elsa and other girls are already there!”
“Well, if parents allow me.” Sif looked into the room.
“Provided that you take your brother with you,” Dahlia agreed.
62
Father just clucked into his beard and waved either in greeting or in
agreement. Sif put on her shoes, pulled on her coat, hastily combed her
braids, and ran to the girls.
“Sif, wait! Asta!” Bo was already jumping out with one boot on his foot,
the other one he was tying on the move.
“You tightened belts thinly.” Sif sat down next to brother and pulled on
his socks properly, straightened his bands, tucked his tunic in. “Well, now it
should be warmer. Let's go.”
She stretched out her hand to him, but Bo only glanced at it and ran to
the door. Of course, Mia could see. Sif had rushed into the hall, but suddenly
was lightly bunted in the back and pulled by the coat. She looked around: of
course, it was Urur. He stood next to her and looked at her intently.
“Excuse me, if you wish, we'll go all together.”
Sif gently touched him. The auroch nodded approvingly and stamped
ahead. He jumped out into the yard and stopped in front of the girls.
“Holy moly, what is it?” Kala flung her hands up, backing away cautiously.
Mia also retreated, looking at the majestic beast in astonishment.
“Who is he? Deer or goat? Or maybe an overseas steed?”
“Is it a present from your uncle?” Kala snorted mockingly.
Sif stood beside him, put her hand on the shiny black mane, and smiled
at her friends.
“That's auroch.”
“Who? What?”
“Auroch!” Bo repeated loudly. “These are rare beasts that herald
happiness. Our parents let us leave him for the winter,” he added proudly,
smiling from ear to ear.
“He's a lovely boy, isn't he!”
“He's really pretty one.” Mia was the first to approach the strange animal.
“I've yet to see such a great majesty.”
Urur let her touch his neck.
“And these horns!.. Look at his horns! Not mutton's, not deer's ones, and
sparkle just like silver!”
“Will he go with us?”
Sif shrugged her shoulders, threw on her fur hood, pulled on her gloves.
“He would like to.”
“He would like to?” Kala grinned. “Did he tell you this himself?”
“No, unfortunately he can't talk,” Sif sighed, stroking the auroch's glossy
mane, but this time a little more confidently. “What a pity that he can't, I'd
love to understand him. His eyes are so wise.”
“Oh, it looks like you fell in love with this goat!” Kala snorted and giggled.
“Indeed! Even the cheeks blushed at once! No matter how bizarre this
auroch is, remember that he is just an animal! I doubt that he's smart enough
to think of anything.”
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Kala tapped her temple. Sif and Mia together with Bo didn't have time to
object, the girl continued cracking, this time even louder, “All right, enough
chitchat! I'm tired of being stuck here in your yard. Let's go at last, or I'll leave
you and go there alone. And you'll be playing with your goat to the bone.”
She wheeled around and trailed along the path. Mia looked at Sif first,
then ran after her. “Wait for us!”
After her Bo, of course. Who else would the brother hold by the hand so
gladly? Sif sighed, looked at Urur, who didn't look as if he was offended.
“I'm so sorry, Urur. Don't be angry with Kala, she is just a child, that's
why she doesn't understand…”
One would think Sif's an adult... She's a child as well. Sif shook her head.
“Never mind, Urur. Come on. Let's go and have fun, while there's time!”
Sif ran out onto the beaten path that connected the neighboring houses
with the forest and the river. Urur was hopping around her gracefully. He
was running like a wolf, then began jumping like a deer. Having quickly
outstriped Sif, he stopped and looked around, patiently waiting for her to
catch up.
The sale had impressive sizes this year. Two or even three times bigger
than the previous ones: great, bright, and noisy. Even if only a few guests
came to the blót, there were so many people to trade today. Sleepy Borrians,
neat men and elegant women, pushed through the dense rows of market
stalls, and their children were skirring between them. As fancy dressed as
their parents. White-faced boys and girls wore boots and brand new fur coats.
Almost everyone was holding a large animal figure, baked from dough with
honey syrup.
“Sweetie, sweetie!” The red-haired girl was rejoicing, waving a half-eaten
candy horse over her head.
That was Sofinka, the youngest neighbor's daughter. She was jumping
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around the big tents, but when she saw Urur, she immediately forgot about
her candy horse.
“Goatling, goatling!” The girl squeaked, ran to the auroch and gripped the
black mane with her small sticky fingers.
“Beware!”
Sif dashed off to the girl in fear, but Urur was indulgent. He just lowered
his powerful neck, having allowed Sofinka to touch his horns as well as his
black nose and jaw.
“Lovee goatling. Lovee!” Repeated Sofinka, caressing the auroch
incessantly.
As if having heard that joyful chatter, the children from all over began to
flock to Urur. They clung him even tighter than stalls with toys, poking in his
face baked animals, dried pears and honey apples. Girls were braiding his
black mane, weaving their colorful ribbons into his fur, and the boys were
jumping on his strong back and stroking his horns as if they were magical
and had the power to fulfill their dreams. Urur stood still and waited for the
children to play to their hearts.
“What a charming beast!”
“Won't he bite?”
“Won't he gore?”
“No, he's kind,” Bo reassured them.
Brother threw up his head as if the auroch was his own. The children
crowded so tightly that the entrance to the auction was almost blocked.
“Wow, what a wonderful mane he has!”
“And look at eyelets! They seem to be painted!”
“If he is a goat, where's his beard?”
“And what strange horns he has!”
“Is he a deer?”
The boys examined Urur delightfully, jumping one by one on his strong
back. Someone bound small bells to his horns and wore a fragrant wreath
around his neck, woven from spikelets, dried herbs and flowers. Now the
auroch has become a real Yule Goat56.
Mia and Kala ran away, disappeared in the hustle and bustle, having
promised to shout when they would find something interesting that could be
traded. However Sif was afraid to leave Bo and Urur.
“Sofinko? Sofinko, where did you go, little shuffler?” Sif heard a strange
voice and shuddered at once. Her throat and jaw nearly cramped up with
bitterness. Of course, it was the neighboring Gelka in person. And together
with her is another one beauty Inga and a few stout red-haired girls. Kaia was
walking slowly behind them. It was difficult to hide behind the crowd of
56The Yule goat is a Scandinavian and Northern European Yule and Christmas symbol and
tradition. Its origin may be Germanic pagan and has existed in many variants during
Scandinavian history.
65
children, that's why Gelka's cold gaze found Sif immediately.

“It seems that we are going to have some troubles now,” she sighed and
put her hand on brother's shoulder.
It was too late for running away, Gelka was dashing to them headlong so
that a wide dress and apron were flying apart. Her cheeks were flushed and
heated, and gray eyes shone with icy disregard. She pushed the children apart.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here, Sif Sigurddóttir, and little Bo,”
Gelka glared at them with her foul eyes. “What's going on here?”
Having seen Urur, Gelka yawped, then sniffed and made a wry face.
“What the devil is this?”
Inga with her friends had already approached the crowd, however they
stood aside. When Inga was in the company, Gelka behaved more politely.
“So was it you, who brought this crossbreed to the village? Where did you
find such a monster?”
Sif clenched her fists, mentally remembering the waves smashing into the
cliffs, as her mother had taught her, then slowly counted, and in a moment
there was no sign of anger anymore.
“No wonder, a good partner for you,” Gelka snapped her white gloves.
“Finally, there will be someone to dance with you.”
The girl guffawed, and that disgusting sound was caught by her faithful
companions. Only Inga and Kaia didn't laugh.
“Or have you found a new sacrifice, Sif?” Kaia asked in a low voice, not
taking her pensive eyes off Urur. “If you wish, I'll tell you fortunes tonight.”
For some reason, these words made Sif's heart skip a beat in her chest.
She immediately remembered the forest, the night, the fire, and Nordan.
Gelka hummed and grimaced as if she had put a red cloudberry in her mouth.
For a moment, only for a moment, it seemed to Sif that an ugly troll from
her mom's fairy tales was looking at her through the beauty's face.
“Tell fortunes to this ninny? Are you kidding, Kaia? I'm not going to
invite her to the party!”
“She is the earl's daughter,” Kaia stopped the girl's insulting words with
her imperative look. “Be respectful!”
Gelka gnashed her teeth, but said nothing to the soothsayer. Everyone
respects power, everyone is afraid of magic. How wonderful it is to be a
völva! Sif sighed softly and forced herself to smile.
“Thank you, Kaia. There's no need anymore.”
The girl measured her with an attentive look and slowly, reluctantly,
nodded in agreement.
“As you wish, daughter of Sigurd.”
Gelka finally found her younger sister, grabbed the tiny hand, and
twitched with such force that the poor kid began to whimper.
“I' hurts, i' hurts... Le' me go, sissy-snaky! Snaky-gecky!”
“Shut up, Sofinka. Don't you dare scoot away again! I'll cut your braids!
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And I'm not kidding.”

Gelka pulled her sister away from the crowd. The children watched all
that in shock, and then slowly began to disperse. Sif sighed heavily. Thanks
to Odin, that shrew left her in peace. Galka was the last person in the world
Sif wanted to have something in common with. The girl and her friends gave
no peace to her. From the earliest years, whenever she sees Sif or one of her
friends, she begins to tease and grimace, pulling their braids, or what's worse,
setting her dogs on girls.
Gelka once tarred Miya for dancing with Ulfson. And in the summer
several years ago she cut off Kala's braid. The girl was broken into pieces, she
was sitting in the house for a whole week, ashamed to show herself in public.
What is more, the neighbor spread awful rumors about each person who
didn't want to become her friend. She denigrated older girls of having lovers,
and frightened children with nonsense. Surprisingly, Borrians still believed
her. The only one refuge was Gelka's grandmother, who often invited her to
the village. That's why winter holidays have always passed quietly and airily.
“I thought she was in Thun,” Bo whispered. “Her grandmother seemed
to call her grandchildren over there.”
“Looks like she's back,” Sif said, following five girls and Sofinka with her
anxious eyes.
Gelka scolded her younger sister so fiercely that even adults looked at her
in perplexity.
“Well, we better get going. Mia and Kala are far ahead, we should catch
up with them.”
Sif looked at Urur, barely restraining herself from laughing. The decorated
auroch looked really amusing, like a straw goat for burning: bells were
hanging on his horns, a wreath was entwining around his neck, braids with
colorful ribbons were adorning his mane and tail. The kids even managed to
attach him a beautiful brisket-length beard. When Urur stepped, the bells
rang merrily.
“Oh, how pretty you are,” Sif was trying not to break a rib, laughing at
him. “All right, let's go to the girls. Then I take all this stuff off.”
Sif and Bo were scampering between market stalls, looking at the goods.
The annual auction gathered people from Thun, Skara and the nearby villages
of Nordmannia. Although there were not as many of them as in previous
years, the goods were brought in abundance. Trucks with fish, seafood, large
shells and corals, as well as huge white tusks were brought from Thun, which
stretches closer to the North Sea. And the weapon, fabrics together with
bracelets made of multi-colored clay beads and toys, such as straw dolls in
aprons, wooden horses and swords were from Skara. Indeed the best
blacksmiths and weavers lived in Skara.
Everything they saw could be exchanged for grain, meat, hides, furs and
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cattle. Among ordinary goods there were a few really wonderful things like
booties from the sea voyages: spices, amazing smooth fabrics, odd curved
knives, thin swords and iron mails, that seemed to be braided, a necklace of
red pearls, silver caskets, as well as round inlaid ones, and miniature combs.
Among these treasures were foreign musical instruments. Sif suddenly
remembered about the reedpipe she had kept in her bag all along. She patted
her pocket, then looked inside, but found nothing. There was no pipe there.
Sif stopped dead in his tracks. She held her breath fearfully, then looked
in her bag, and again, and again, checked her pocket, despite knowing that
her reedpipe wasn't there. But it for sure was in the bag yesterday... Yesterday,
when she went to meet Nordan, the flute was in her hands. But where did
she put it then?
Urur and Bo were pulling away from her more and more, until they finally
disappeared in the crowd.
“Is something wrong, my charming lady?” a soft, sweet voice echoed over
her shoulder.
Sif looked around frantically. Left of her stood a silver-haired stranger.
That one who sang with musicians yesterday. His sparkling eyes were staring
at her intently, and a friendly smile was shining on his lips.
“Good afternoon…”
Sif faltered, having quickly taken her hands out of pockets.
“Have you lost anything, lady? You have a rather worried look.”
In broad daylight at close range he was much more handsome than
seemed to her yesterday. Elegant white fur coat embroidered with silver
patterns. A large gold brooch under the collar, enchased with small stones,
that were glittering with blue, red and green colors and flickering with each
his movement. Long silver hair fell down like a graceful wave on his
shoulders. He didn't have a beard as well, a smooth chin was proudly lifted
up. Skin was so white, that it seemed to never feel the summer sunlight. No
spots, no specks or wrinkles. He looked like an ordinary lad, but his eyes were
striking with the icy depths.
“Oh, no, never mind, it's all right.”
Sif sighed, having finally turned her gaze away from those eyes. How
handsome he is! And besides, he was not like the usual Borrians, rather a
noble foreign gentleman.
“Excuse me, I haven't called myself yet,” he said a little shyly. “Alevanr
Alverfolk, I'm at your service, my lady.”
The stranger put his hand to his heart and bowed gracefully. Every
movement was measured, slow, as if he was swimming underwater.
“Astfried Skilfingar,” Sif said, having confusedly repeated his bow.
“Lady Astfried, what a wonderful name! Perhaps my lady will be
interested in something from this stall?
The stranger stepped aside, and in front of Sif appeared a large chest with
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a heavy carved lid, decorated with silver ornaments.

Sif soughed unwittingly. There were silk dresses embroidered with
colored threads, and from top to bottom spangled with gold and silver
buttons, next to them gold and silver necklaces and collars were lying,
together with white chains and bracelets, shawls, that were as light as the
zephyr, long cloaks made of aglint fabric and trimmed with short fur, and
also wonderful little shoes embroidered with silk. It was not just a stall, some
kind of the sea-king's treasures were sold there. Dressings for a real queen.
Where did an ordinary vendor get such goods?
“Would my lady like something to acquire?”
Alevanr snatched one of the most beautiful dresses, decorated with
buckles and gems, and straightened it up in the air. The wide sleeves touched
the ground, and the lush trim shimmered.
“Perhaps lady Astfried would like to see something warmer?”
After those words Alevanr got out an iridescent shawl made of scarlet
silk, its hemlines together with warps were richly welted with golden threads.
“What a marvelous thing!”
Sif unconsciously reached out for the silk fabric, which was so smooth
that it was slipping between her fingers. Red, like a summer dawn. Red like
the sacred flame on the altar. If only she had such a shawl, then she would
be the most beautiful girl in Borre! Sif recoiled distractedly, removed her
hand, pursed her lips, and shook her head.
“What's wrong? Is my stall not to the liking of my lady?”
“Oh no... It is wonderful, but...” Sif blushed and looked down, “but, I
have nothing to exchange it for.”
“Sif, here you are!”
Mia and Kala were running to them from the big tents. Kala was smiling
happily and waving her hand unceasingly, as if chasing snow flies.
“What are you doing here?” having grabbed Sif by the shoulders, she
hopped.
A sincere blush was flushing on her round cheeks. The girl smelled like
herbs and honey.
“We sang together with Mia and got shortcakes with currants and nuts,
and a mug of honey,” reported Kala.
Having noticed who Sif was talking to, the girl faltered, gasped, jumped
behind Mia's back, and her face flushed even more.
“I offered this silk shawl to lady Astfried as a gift.”
Alevanr spread a scarlet shawl in front of Mia and Kala. It played with
glittering wavelets in the sun. The girls sighed at once and stretched their
hands out to the amazing fabric.
“It looks like it was made of the dawning light,” Mia whispered, impressed
with the beauty of the headdress.
“Do you want to give it away to me?” Sif blinked in confusion, how hard
69
it was to look away from those colorful waves all along the shawl. “However,
this is a trade. We have to exchange goods. That's the way it is,” it seemed
that she had already said it recently.
“Of course it's a trade! And we will exchange!”
Kala and Mia put on their listening ears.
“I'll exchange it for your smile, young lady,” Alevanr smiled so warmly
that his white face seemed to glow in the winter sun.
An extraordinary generosity of the stranger made a strong impression on
the girls. Sif didn't know what to say. Finally, Kala got over it and began to
push Sif's ribs with her elbow.
“Come on! Take it finally! Why did you stop dead?”
Alevanr didn't wait. He came closer slowly, then put a beautiful shawl
over Sif's shoulders.
“A great honor for me,” he said softly, fastening a shiny fibula on her
right shoulder, then moved away, admiring Sif's appearance.
She rouged, frightenedly touched the silk fabric. Her cheeks were glowing
brighter than a shawl.
“Thank you,” Sif smiled sheepishly.
Alevanr pressed his hand to the chest and bowed gracefully to the girls,
having dragged his right foot back and a little sideways. It looked really nice.
But the girls couldn't repeat his bow. Kala almost tumbled, but Mia caught
her before she fell under the feet of the charming stranger.
“It suits you very well,” she confirmed.
The girls was standing in front of Alevanr for a while in embarrassment.
Kala eventually grabbed Sif by the shoulders and began to push her to the
pass.
“We were glad to meet you, but it's time for us to go.”
Just as the stranger's stall was lost behind the big tents, Kala released her
grip and laughed at Sif. Even Mia giggled softly in her palm.
“How generous he is!” Kala was praising.
“And handsome,” Mia sighed, looking back at the empty stalls. The
stranger was no longer visible.
“I should have stayed, maybe he would have given me something if I had
sung to him?”
Kala laughed, having thrown her head back.
“Sister!”
Bo came around the corner. He ran so fast that he didn't have enough
time to stop and ran into Sif, having almost knocked her down. She faltered,
but, after all, kept her balance thanks to Urur, who pressed with his horns
against her back.
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“What happened? What is burning?” Kala smiled. “Oh, Bo, Bo, you almost
killed our dear Sif.”
“Don't call me like that!”
The boy turned nasty and knitted his red brows.
“All right, I won't anymore, Boie.”
“Kala!” Bo stomped indignantly and grimaced as if he had bitten an
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onion.
The girl laughed, grabbed Bo by the collar, tilted him, ran her fingers
through his red mane, and disheveled it strongly. He barely escaped from her
strong arms, then jumped into a snowdrift, grabbed a great amount of snow
with his gloves, and tossed it into Kala's ruddy cheeks.
“Hey, you, small brawler! Just wait, I'll catch up with you and then will
tickle you!”
Kala and Bo flicked from bush to bush, throwing snowballs with the
precision of a drunk hunter, a little later Mia gladly joined this snowfight.
Soon the snow completely covered them from boots to hats.
Sif watched the battle between Bo and her best friends, laughing quietly.
With her right hand she stroked a precious gift again and again. She'd be sorry
to splotch such beauty with snow and dirt.
“Give it back,” a strict voice ordered loudly, as if it was right in her ears.
“Excuse me?..” Sif shuddered and looked around.
But behind her was only Urur. Winded Mia, Kala and Bo were running in
circles and throwing snowballs.
“Were that you?” Sif asked. “That voice…”
Mia paused for a moment, having dodged Kala's snowball skillfully.
“No,” she muttered, trying to recover her wind.
“Don't you see? We are fighting!”
Kala could barely breathe, she became even brighter than the astonishing
shawl. Sif looked around, but no lads except Bo were seen. On the edge of
the auction there were almost no people.
“Give the shawl back,” repeated the man's voice, undoubtedly it was the
man's one, and besides, very familiar.
It was coming out of nowhere and humming powerfully in Sif's head. It
felt as if someone had suddenly mastered her thoughts. Kala, Mia and Bo
were playing carelessly, just like children. Doesn't anyone, except her, hear
that voice?
“Who is it? Where are you?” Sif looked around displeasedly in search of
the magician.
Only Urur towered behind her with his head proudly raised. Sif looked at
the auroch in bewilderment. He was staring at her with his shiny green eyes
in response, letting steam off through his nostrils, but didn't open his mouth.
“Was that you?.. Few moments ago.”
“Sif, return the shawl by yourself. Now. Otherwise I will take it off and
trample,” a male voice warned.
“What are you talking about? Can you really speak, Urur?”
Sif blinked in fright, then put her hands down helplessly. Suddenly she
caught her breath, trembling from head to foot.
“Why are you so surprised? You wanted to understand my thoughts, don't
you?” Urur's green eyes lit up with cheerful lights.
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Sif moved back from the auroch, caught on a stone and flopped in the
snow. Once she opened her eyes, Urur was already next to her, with his
horned head bowed to her. Big eyes flickered with verdant sparks. He slowly
picked the shawl. The fibula unbuttoned and bounced into the snowdrift. In
a moment, the red cloth was already hanging on the horns, just like tatters,
and then Urur threw the shawl into the snow.
“Hey, what's going on?”
Kala stopped, picked up a shawl, flicked away the snow, and looked at Sif
in confusion. Mia looked around as well, only Bo was laughing and fighting
in the snow. Time to take him home, otherwise he'll catch a cold.
“Why did you throw it away? And why are you sitting in the snow?”
Kala drew upon Sif, handed her a shawl, but Urur blocked her way. White
horns glistened menacingly, and thoughtful eyes stared through her warily.
Kala's passion suddenly subsided. She was standing, pressing the shawl to her
chest and horrified by the auroch.
“Hey, what's wrong with your goat? Why is he staring at me? Whoo,
horny, look, how harsh he is!” Kala tried to force him back, however her
voice was trembling and lip twitching fearfully.
“What an angry look… Odin's beard! No, you're not a goat, you're a real
wolf!”
Sif grabbed Mia's arm and got to her feet, having shaken the snow off her
pants.
“Don't worry, Kala, he won't offend me. The shawl is just not to his
taste.”
Kala looked at the precious gift in surprise and snorted quietly.
“Not to his taste? But he doesn't seem to be a bull to rush at red.”
“However he rushes,” Sif shook her gloves.
The snow clung to the wool profusely and quickly soaked into the wool,
the heat of her hands turned it water at all. The cold gently touched her wet
skin and began to prick it with icy needles. It seemed that the fingers would
freeze soon. Time to search for a warm place.
“I might've known that there's nothing good in gifts from strangers. I'll
have to return the shawl to Alevanr,” Sif sighed doomedly.
“So that's his name,” Mia smiled dreamily, and her cheeks became even
redder.
“If I return the shawl, will you calm down, Urur?”
Auroch looked back at Sif and nodded slowly. Kala cried out in surprise,
having pointed at him.
“Did you see that, Mia? What the hell is going on? Does he understand
human language?”
The girl's jaw dropped. She stared at Auroch, having forgotten about the
red shawl. Mia, however, wasn't confused at all. It seemed that she didn't
even notice what had surprised her friend so much. She came closer, took
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the shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and carefully fastened the silver
brooch.
“I'll take it to him,” Mia promised, having lowered her eyes and blushed.
“Of course, you will,” Kala chuckled scornfully. “Well, no more
nonsense, I'm getting cold. Let's go to my place and warm up. My parents
haven't yet returned from the bash, there's no one to disturb us.”
Kala waved her hand and followed the path to her house, bypassing Urur
the tenth way. Sif smiled slightly.
“I'll take Bo home first,” she approached her brother and examined him
quickly. “You must be cold?”
“No, I'm not!” Bo muttered.
He looked anxiously at Mia and frowned. She didn't pay attention to him,
stroking the silk shawl te and again and dreamily smiling to herself.
“You are all in goosebumps because of the cold. We need to change your
clothes, since you sweat.” Sif shook her head and grabbed her brother by the
sleeve. “If you catch a cold, mother will be angry with me. Come on!”
“Oh yeah, for sure, Boie should change his clothes first, and then I'll be
waiting for you two in my house! Brothers and sisters are having fun with
their friends. So we will organise our own Yule party.
“Will we call Hailey?”
A smile faded from Kala's ruddy face. The eyes became worried.
“No need. I heard that her younger sister fell ill, so she is taking care of
her. We will visit her some other time, maybe we'll go skiing together.”
“Let's go home, Bo, we still need to dress up for supper.”
“Who invented this stupid custom?” Bo wiped away his nose with the
sleeve.
Hardly had Sif opened his mouth to respond, Kala chirped.
“In winter on Yule, everyone wears new woolen clothes to appease the
Yule cat, who comes down from the mountains each year. Just to put on new
clothes, to finish spinning, to clean the house, to fire up a log – usually he is
satisfied with these activities. But if you behave badly – no matter whether
you are an adult or a child – another spirit of winter will come to visit you.”
She got out her index fingers and put them to her forehead, pretending to be
horned. “A goat will come to check if you behaved well, if your yarn is ready,
if your log is burning. And if you were a bad boy, he would take you out of
the warm bed, strangle you with his long tongue, and then take you outside,
throw you in a sled and take you to Helheim!
The girl laughed, pleased with her trick, Bo instead turned pale and hung
down his head.
“Stop it, Kala! Don't frighten him, otherwise he will sleep badly. It's just
a stupid fable, don't listen to her, darling. The Spirits of Winter don't harm
people, all adults just blow upon them to justify their own evil.”
Bo sniffed.
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“But last winter Knecht took Glive. Everyone said so…”

Sif sighed. She didn't want to remind her brother about that terrible day,
but there was nothing to do. He must know the truth.
“She fell into the water, froze and fell ill... That day children played
“Vikings” on the shore. It was very cold on the eve of Winter Nights.
Someone pushed Glive into the Fold, she almost drowned. And when the
older boys pulled her out, it was too late.” Sif sighed and shook her head,
Kala finally stopped laughing and held her breath. “She was lying for a
month, Yord wasn't able to do anything. She was coughing and fevering. And
then one morning she just didn't wake up… There weren't the Spirits of
Winter, but just silly children's games. That's why mother forbids us to go to
Fold in winter.”
For a moment, everyone fell silent and stared at the snow beneath their
feet, remembering last year's cold winter and friends who hadn't outlived it.
Then Sif finally breathed and said, “Okay, we'll be quick.”
Sif pulled Bo out towards her, but brother resisted and behaved nasty, so
the girl had to drag him forcefully.
“Leave me in peace. Sif, leave me! I'll go with Mia.”
Sif couldn't hold her smile back and turned around. My friends are already
far away. She let go of her brother's hand and spoke to him in a low but
rather cheerful voice.
“Bo she's grown up for you. When will you realize that?”
Bo jaded, turned red, hid his diminished head, stared at his feet, and
clenched his fists.
“Last year she was asked for a hand by several older guys. Even the son
of the earl of Raumar came to arrange a match for her. He arrived to us from
such a distance, with gifts, a retinue, and promised to make her wealthy.
However, Mia's parents are kind, they didn't want to marry their daughter off
for the unloved.
“I know she is holding out because of her parents.” He sniffed and looked
at Sif with red eyes. “But I'm also the earl's son! I will make her wealthy as
well! I will invade with our father to the Kingdom of Saxony and will return
rich and respected, I will gift her with gold and gems.”
Bo rubbed his nose with the sleeve and sniffed.
“If only she waited for me a while. I will grow up quickly.”
Sif was barely suppressing her laughter. Her brother looked so funny,
although she knew she shouldn't make fun of him. The first love is a painful
ordeal. Nobody knows more about that than she. Urur approached quietly
and stood beside her. He looked up at her. Sif shuddered in a scary guess.
“If I hear his thoughts, does that mean that he can hear mine as well?”
Urur was silent, only stared at her intently. Strange horns flickered,
resembling a snow under his hooves. Sif sighed softly, looked at her brother.
“Don't be sad, Bo."
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It didn't help. Of course, can all the people's words help a wounded heart?
Only Mia could heal him. It was scary to imagine how a friend would respond
to Bo's matchmaking. Oh, and how Kala would laugh at such a story. Sif
shook her head, leaned over her brother, and kissed his cold forehead.
“Well, let's go to Kala together. Mia will be there, so you'll talk to her, play
with her.”
Bo's eyes shone with joy. He smiled broadly and it seemed like he
suddenly became alive.
“Really?”
“Yes, dear. Let's go home, you're absolutely frozen.”
Bo grabbed her hand and pulled her through the rows of stalls sprightly.
He was babbling incessantly, ignoring the toys and other children. Sif
cheerfully answered something, rolling most of her brother's words off her
back. Only once she allowed herself to look back, as they passed a place
where a mysterious stranger had been trading the treasures. There was no
sign of Alevanr together with his big chest anymore.
Sif jumped into the hall after her brother. Bo was so happy that he shone
with this happiness. Of course he did – until dusk he was doing the talkings
with his beloved Mia, chewing the girl's ears off. There were no elders from
Kala's family, and they were having a good time in the four-people company.
Bo was playing the zither, and they were dancing and singing as loud as they
could. Then they played hnefatafl,57 rolled the dice. Almost every time Kala
won. She always came up with complex and tricky strategies in board games,
so she beat almost every borrian who knew how to hold figures in hands.
Later they had supper. And then decided all together to make fun of
Gelka, and at the same time take revenge for themselves and Sofinka. Kala
found a tar somewhere and plucked chicken feathers. Together they ran to
Gelka's big house. It was noisy inside, as always. Gelka and her friends either
were spinning, or drinking mead, or jawing at each other – it was hard to
understand.
People were endlessly twinkling in the small windows. For a moment, it
even seemed to Sif that she recognized her sister there, and then Kaia. So
they five crept quietly through the large yard to the porch. After that built a
snowman near the stairs, pulled clobbers on it, tarred it generously, covered
with feathers, and wrote with large runes: “Gelka – snaky” so that they could
57 Tafl games, also known as hnefatafl games) are a family of
ancient Nordic and Celtic strategy board games played on a checkered or latticed
gameboard with two armies of uneven numbers.
76
be clearly seen from the house.

Next they left some traces to make it seem as if a herd had passed here.
They scurried through the wicket to the path, ran to Kala so cheerful and
proud of their trick. The day passed quickly with playing, singing and dancing.
“If your fingers are frozen, put them into a large barrel in the chicken
coop. The water is warm there, they will defrost quickly,” Sif advised, then
quickly shook off her brother's coat and hat, and swept the snow off her
boots and socks. “It's a pity that you didn't want to try yourself in telling
fortune. You know, Mia cut those runes herself and painted them herself.
That was her blood. It is clear that the priestess's daughter is still more skilled
than Kaia.”
Bo frowned and looked at her from under his brows:
“Am I a girl to place the runes? Telling fortune is a woman's business.
Beating the tambourines and summoning the spirits are not for boys – let the
völvas do that. A real man would never take a magic stick in his hands!”
“You talk just like your father.” Sif smiled and gently disheveled her
brother's hair.
A quarrel was heard from the room. Sif and Bo froze at once and put on
their listening ears. Even Urur seemed to stand still, having craned his long
neck, and turned the head to the open door.
“Didn't you hear what Kaia had said? Sif had already blurted it out to
everyone, spread it all over the village, blabbermouth,” cried Ilive, having
stomped her foot, so that the straw rustled in the hall.
Bo looked at Sif, but she just shrugged her shoulders and whispered, “No
ideas.” Then moved closer to the open door.
“Your sister didn't tell anyone,” said her mother in a calm, even cold
voice. “Asta knows how to keep secrets, especially someone else's ones.”
“You're always on her side!” Ilive burst up. She yelled at mother so loud
that her caustic voice echoed under the straw roof.
“I'm not on her side, or your side, or Bo's... You are all my children. All
three.”
“All three,” mocked Ilive. “But some are closer to you, mom? You always
protect your favorites. Whatever Sif does you forgive her. She took this
crossbreed into our house, and you together with father allowed her to leave
him. Do you know that your darling daughter runs with evil spirits? I saw
that strange thing that she is carrying with her everywhere, waving it like a
magic wand and imagining herself a völva, little worm.
“Ilive Skilfingar, one more word and you will sleep in the hall,” mother
warned in an icy voice.
Even Bo shuddered at her tone. Somewhere beside Skoll howled. They
had no strength left to stand on the threshold, so Sif pushed the door and
entered the room. Having seen her, Dahlia and Ilive calmed down
immediately. Bo was stomping behind, looking around the house carefully.
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“Look what the cats dragged in. Finally,” snorted Ilive, having turned her
back and shuffled toward the hearth. Her festive dress was so long that it
swept the floor like a broom. “Get out of my face, little talker,” sister hissed
quitely, but Sif, of course, heard.
“What happened?”
She looked at her mother nervously.
“It's all right, dear,” Dahlia said with a gentle smile. “Come here, get
warm. It's cold outside.”
Sif and Bo came closer, and the boy jumped into his mother's arms
immediately.
“And where is the father?”
“He went to check on Halfdan,” Dahlia said, cuddling her son to the
chest.
Ilive glared at Sif angrily and gnashed her teeth.
“Why are you so gloomy, sister?”
“Why am I so gloomy? Oh, I'll tell you why!” She had already opened her
mouth, but, having caught mother's angry look, she simply blurted out,
“Where have you been? It's night already! Mother and I spent the whole day
doing housework, watching the wounded. And you were having fun with
friends. I wish you came earlier and helped us.”
“The wounded?” Sif shuddered and looked at her mother watchfully.
“Hunters?”
“Exactly! Hunters! The Hafdan's disease seemed to have infected the rest
people.”
Sif became pale at once, straightened her back, and listened in fright to
her sister. Like a ghost, a draug appeared in front of her eyes. She
remembered how brightly shone the magic flute when Halfdan was around.
Where did she lose it? She should check the barn as well.
And what if mom's wardings don't work? Even considering that they are
drawn with chalk and blood. Will chalk and blood save us from the walking
deads? Is the holly branch able to protect the family from the álfars' disease?
The heart sank in her chest, having slowly become a heavy stone,
oppressive and freezing cold. Urur, as if sensing her fear, stood beside her,
leaned against her with his hot side, touched her hand with his white horns.
Sif looked at the auroch gratefully, wrapped her arm around his long neck.
Why is he again silent? From that “conversation” in Kala's house, Urur hasn't
made a sound. Or was he just offended? Hardly had she remembered how
she sat next to the auroch near the fire, her cheeks reddened at the same
moment.
Kala, Mia and Bo were playing hnefatafl for the last holiday donut. Urur
was lying peacefully, like a foal, with his knees bent, and watching the flames
dance on the stones. She brought him milk in a bowl, then looked long and
hard at her new friend, but nothing happened.
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“What are you waiting for, Sif? Why are you looking at me so surprised?”
auroch finally spoke to her: she heard his voice in her mind.
“Why don't you turn into a human, Urur?” Sif whispered so that neither
the girls nor her brother could hear this. “The sun has already set. Aren't you
Nordan?” she groaned. “I thought that some magic or evil curse prevents
you from being a human. But you still remain an animal. I don’t understand
anything.”
Urur didn't answer, just snorted softly and began to sip the milk like a
kitten.
“We're in trouble, and you're amusing, you're having fun!” Shouted Ilive.
“Well, Sif, how was your time in the straw together with your friends and
boys?”
“In the straw?” Sif winked in confusion.
For sure she was too tired after all the entertainments, because her
thoughts were crawling in her mind sleepily. She didn't understand why Ilive
was so angry. What kind of straw was she talking about? The only holiday
straw that she saw today was in their house. Kala didn't even lie it in her
house, despite that this was the custom.
“Well, look at yourself, Ilive! Didn't you kiss a guy?” Bo interjected. “I
saw everything!”
He got out of his mother's embrace and pointed the finger at his sister.
Ilive stared at him with dark evil eyes.
“They were hiding behind the barn, mommy,” Bo muttered, feeling his
victory. “I saw everything. That was Ulf's son!”
“Just you wait, little bastard!” Ilive jumped to her brother, wanting to claw
him, but Bo slid out of her arms.
Ilive was chasing after her brother like mad, screaming, calling him, but
being unable to catch him. Bo giggled, and then jumped on the Sif's back,
having hidden behind her just like behind a tree. Quite a weak one.
“Ilive, is that true?”
Mother's voice stopped the brawl instantly. Ilive, Bo, even Sif froze like
icy figures. Sister lowered her eyes, her white cheeks speckled with red spots.
She was breathing anxiously.
“Didn't Gelka lie? Yesterday night you went with the wassailers,” Dahlia
spoke softly but menacingly. “Did you go to Ulfson to meet Yule together?
Is that true?”
Ilive was red as a shawl. She looked at her brother from beneath her brows
furiously, like a wolf.
“May Knecht take you!” She hissed with hate.
“Ilive!” Dahlia was horrified, she covered her lips with fingers.
Bo looked at his older sister in surprise and fear at the same time, his blue
eyes filled with tears. He took a brief glance at mother, then at Sif, turned
around and ran into the hay.
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“I hate you! I hate you, Ilive! Vicious hag!”

The first door slammed after him, then they heard the rumble of the front
door. Bo didn't even put on his coat, he flew out in what he wore. After that
ran into the night, into the cold.
“What have you done, sister? What have you done?”
Sif looked at Ilive in horror. But she just stared at the door in confusion,
having put her hand over the mouth, and seemed to be breathless. Sif didn't
wait for an answer, lashed after Bo, caught on the threshold, almost fell into
the straw and reeds, then jumped outside. Skoll was barking loudly, jumping
around the open wicket. Bo was moving away quickly, getting lost in the
winter twilight.
“Brother, wait for me!” Sif shouted.
She ran with all her strength, trying to catch up with her brother, but he
has always been faster than her, in fact the fastest in their family. Skoll was
jumping side by side, having stuck out his tongue, being out of his breath,
and blowing out thick clouds of steam.
“Don't run to the wood, Bo!”
It was too late. A small figure in a short overcoat disappeared among the
tall black pines. Bo was swallowed by the night.
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CHAPTER 4. YULESKREIA
High over thorns

a noble deer stands,
covered with dews,
rising in pride
over the games
and reaches with horns
the heavens of grace.
«The Ancient Song of Völsungs»
Sif didn't notice when the path ended up. Her legs were knee-deep in a
snowdrift. She no longer ran, but simply followed her brother's footsteps. If
the snow wasn't glistening in the cold moonlight, she probably couldn't see
even them.
It was hard to move. The forest was thickening. It was getting darker and
colder. She forgot to wear gloves, and her hands were cold and blue because
of frost. Sif was rubbing them and blowing on her palms. She could hardly
feel her feet in shoes. Her stride was heavy, she walked, wading through the
bare undergrowth.
“Oh Bo… Why are you so sensitive? And sister... How did her mouth let
her say that? What vile words as for a völva! Perhaps, now mother is scolding
her a lot.”
And she herself? Is she any better? She ran deep into the woods following
her brother… She could at least take a lamp from the house. No light, no
warm clothes, no weapons. And what if, Odin forbid, she'll be attacked by
wolves?
“Bo!” Sif croaked, coughing up in pain. Her throat was terribly burning
because of frequent breathing. It seemed that someone had torn it with
clutches.
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“Everything will pass, definitely. Brother knows the forest well, he won't
get lost…”
From time to time Skoll appeared among the bushes, then suddenly got
lost between the trees, sniffing the rope of small trails. Brother disappeared,
as if the deep snow swallowed him up, that really could have happened as a
result. She almost drowned in the silver snow waves. You have to go, you
have to... You can't stop! To stop means to die. She won't even recognize
when she will fall asleep, leaning against the black trunk of a fir or a spruce.
Cold is an eternal dream.
However, she had to stop. Sif had no strength to go on. It was as if stones
were tied to her feet, and fatigue darkened her mind. She heard a loud whoop
above her head. An owl flew down from the black sky, having spread her
large wings wide. She clawed at Sif's coat and sat down on her shoulder.
“Lleu, good girl, you found me!” Lleu hooted approvingly, pulled her curl
lightly, and Sif nestled against her pet's cheek. Warm, alive.
“Thank you, darling. Thank you. See what trouble Bo and I got into? I
wish everything was well with him. Oh, where have you gone, Bo?”
Trails ended up, and then there was only darkness. “Hear, Lleu? Wolves
are howling. Still far away, but what if they smell us out?..”
Sif wrapped her arms around herself. She can't keep her teeth from
chattering, and her sweaty back was getting cool quickly. How long will she
be able to wander in the dark?
“Oh, dear! Do you hear that, Lleu? It sounds like someone's crying,” Sif
closed her eyes and listened carefully. Indeed, somewhere nearby in the
bushes, someone was whining quitely. The strange voice was not as much
crying as whimpering, sighing heavily and whispering something vaguely. Sif
began to follow that sound, making her way through the snow and thickets,
but with each her step the voice just moved away and hushed.
“Bo!” She shouted, backing down. She slowly removed the sharp, dry
branches and stopped in astonishment. Ahead, on a tiny round lawn, sat a
young lad. Having doubled up, he wrapped his arms around his knees, hiding
his head. Dressed strangely, in everything he happened to find, as if he put
on the half of what he had found on auction: two shirts of different lengths,
two pants, two coats. But all his clothes were shabby and worn and hardly
protected him from the cold. The boy, having felt her approaching him,
stopped whining and froze. It seemed that he wasn't even breathing.
“Hey, what happened? Did you get lost?”
The lad turned around slowly, straightened up and looked at Sif. She
gasped and backed away from the stranger, suddenly tripped over a knotted
root, and tumbled into the snow. Lleu managed to fly into the darkness at
the last moment.
It wasn't a human being, but rather a beast, a crossbreed. Some kind of
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monster: either a kind dís58 or an evil mare59. Pale, bluish-white skin. The eyes
are as big as owl's ones: the scleras are black as night, and the irises are golden.
His face was covered with strange black drawings: either with protection
signs or with unknown runes. The hair was blue like the winter twilight, it
bristled like a messy mane. A tall wreath made of dry branches adorned his
head.
Sif jumped to her feet, gripped the twisted root with her hands, and pulled
herself out of the snowdrift. The boy was already standing and watching
intently, goggling at her with yellow eyes. He looked older than Bo, perhaps
he was her age. Tall, gaunt and skinny.
“Do you, mortal girl, see me? What a surprise!”
Sif nodded silently: she didn't have enough strength to speak. She took a
deep breath and muttered.
“And you? Who are you?”
The young man smiled from ear to ear (how hasn't his white face cracked
yet?).
“Laborer gave birth to child,
Unexpected and unloved.
Ugly bastard,
Naughty lad,
Real dastard,
Beggar, tramp…
No place to go,
No place to sleep.
Mom gave me a shirt,
And led to thick,
And left me there
Alone and weak,” the boy laughed, but there was no sign of happiness in
his laugh. It was gloomy and full of pain instead.
“Utburd60,” Sif whispered, almost choking on her own breath. “Really?
Are you really utburd?”
“And you? Are you really a human being?” he raised his head up and
smelled round like Skoll. “I feel the álfar's spirit in you.”
He sneezed, rubbed his nose with his long sleeve, and blinked with his
golden eyes. Thin lips spread again in the edge-to-edge horrible smile.
“You are not a human, but a crossbreed. That means, you are half-human
and half-álf. I shall not harm you, álfar lady. I don't want to have troubles
with your brothers. They have been wandering in the woods for days.”
58 Vættir – supernatural being, spirit of Scandinavian mythology. Dísir – guardian spirits in

Scandinavian mythology (sometimes younger godlike beings or heavenly divas are called
so).
59 Mares – monsters of Scandinavian mythology.
60 Utburd (also myling) – an abandoned, unburied child, who turns into a dead.
83
The utburd returned to his place, took a five-pipe syrinx from his pocket,
and began to play softly. And played as if the north wind was blowing
somewhere under the black leafage.
“Wait, what have you just said?” hardly had Sif caught her breath when a
terrible guess hit her mind. “Are álfar here, in our forest?”
“Oh, how strange people are!” the utburd removed his pipe and glanced
at Sif with sly eyes. “How can you understand whether something is yours or
not yours? Your forest, your river, your plains and fields, your cattle. Perhaps
all these are not yours? Perhaps Jörð's 61treasures don't belong to you at all?”
Sif became confused. What was she supposed to respond to such a
strange question?
“You give everyone a name, as if there were no language or names before
you,” the utburd pshawed and continued playing his syrinx.
Each time he blew his pipe, the wind became stronger, threw snowflakes
at Sif, proded her with branches.
“I'm begging you, utburd, I really need your help now!”
The boy took the pipe away from his lips once again and, having raised
his eyebrows, he looked at her in surprise.
“Are you asking for help? But what will I get out of this, half-blood?”
Sif gasped for cold air, nearly choking. It was as if her brother's salvation
was about to slip out of her hands.
“What do you expect to get? If… if I can, I'll give it to you. My brother,
he's lost,” Sif licked her lips with a rough tongue, her throat was burning.
“Please help me find him!”
Utburd smiled broadly, “So that's how it is? Don't you know, half-blood,
that we are not glad to help people? You see, I'm not a tufte and not a
huldra62! I'm an utburd63, neither buried, nor burned. Aren't you, half-blood,
afraid of deads?”
Sif bit her lip. Lleu, who managed to get back on the girl's shoulder,
hooted disapprovingly, fluttering her wings.
“Well, well, well. If you really want this, give me the magic reed that
Knecht gave to you.”
“How do you?..” Sif stumbled over words. “But, unfortunately, I've lost
it.”
“You've lost such a valuable thing?” the utburd froze stunned, stared at
Sif, and grinned. “But on the other hand what else to expect from a half-
blood?”
61 Jörð – the goddess of Earth, mother of Thor.

62 A hulder (or huldra) is a seductive forest creature. Her name derives from a root meaning
"covered" or "secret".
63 Utburd or the mylingar were the incarnations of the souls of children that had been forced
to roam the earth until they could persuade someone (or otherwise cause enough of a
ruckus to make their wishes known) to bury them properly.
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The utburd shrugged his shoulders, turned sideways, and wiped the syrinx
on his pants. Sif was ready to cry, hardly any blandishments would help. The
boy smiled and froze. Plangent whistle filled the cold twilight, hummed over
the black tops, that even the snow fell down from the branches.
“Do you hear the sounds of surma-horns? Get ready, half-blood child,
tonight the mortals will be hunted,” the utburd guffawed with a low, hollow
laugh.
“If your brother is that half-blood snotty boy, he's a little further,” the lad
pointed with a pipe into the thicket of trees. “Go north. You won't miss him.
He woke up the whole forest with his cries and wails, stupid kid. Did he run
away because of a quarrel? Didn't he think to play hide and seek with me?
Winter forest is like a hungry beast. If it bites with its icy fangs, he will bite
to death.”
Sif looked at the utburd. Skoll barked and ran forward. Having tilted his
big head to the ground, he almost immediately disappeared behind the
branches.
“But hurry up, half-blood! It looks like your brother feels really bad.”
Sif didn't even thank him. She ran through the thickets, her legs were as
weak as water, the body was trembling because of fatigue. She didn't notice
the branches that were scratching her hands and face till the blood. She was
rushing through the forest with all her might. Did she make the right decision,
having believed that spirit, or is she running right into the trap?
Another hum shook up the sleepy forest, the fierce wolf's howl was heard
nearby. Sif gripped the black trunk with her fingers: he was there. Bo was
sitting in the snow, whining, holding on his leg. Dark-red with blood wool
pants clung to his skin.
“Bo!” Sif rushed to her brother, fell to her knees in front of him. Brother's
leg got stuck in an old oak snag, it looked like he fell down straight on the
prickly stump. Blood was seeping through the damp cloth, dripping on the
snow and leaving red spots.
Bo sobbed and hung on her neck. His body was shivering because of the
fear, cold, and pain, he was whining quitely.
“Sister, sister, I'm so sorry,” said Bo, tears were streaming down his pale
face.
“It's all right, Bo. We'll figure something out. Can you go? Does it hurt
much? We should get out of here while we can.”
She gently put out her brother's leg. Bo cried out and weeped louder.
“Hang in there, Bo. Let's go, hold on to me. Come on, dear. Come on,
let's get out of the forest.”
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A plangent howl interrupted her… Somewhere very close to them – and

suddenly quietened down. Even the wind calmed down. The dry
undergrowth rustled, the fresh, still not downtrodden snow creaked, thick
branches faltered, and a giant wolf came out to them, treading hard.
Sif held her breath. It's too late to run. She pressed her brother to the
breast. The wolf was really huge, probably as heigh as the father's horse, his
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strong paws left deep traces in the snow, and four eyes shone on his face with
hunger.
“Odin, have mercy! It's Garmr64 himself!” Sif hid her brother behind her
back.
It's impossible! He can't be real! But on the other hand Yule is the time
of wonders? The wolf opened his jaws widely then breathed out a white
cloud, “Mortal children…”
His hollow voice rang painfully in Sif's head. Bo shouted, covering his
ears with hands.
“No. Not mortal… But half-blood. I feel the sweet blood of the álfar.
Red álfar… Damn kids.”
The wolf wheezeed. Strange, unnatural sounds were flowing from his
black throat.
“Sister, I'm scared… sister, what kind of monster is this?”
“No, Bo. He is worse than a monster, much, much worse.”
Sif froze, unable to move. She didn't know what to do. To run away? But
it's unlikely that Bo could move the injured leg. And besides, the wolf would
easily catch them. It's a pity that she didn't know any spells. At least simple
ones. And that she lost her magic reed…
“Nordan… Where are you now, when I need you? Save us, I'm begging
you!”
Skoll jumped out of the darkness, stopped in front of them, growled,
grinned. But compared to the giant beast, he looked like a shaggy puppy. The
wolf opened his mouth again and laughed just like a human. Because of that
sound not only blood but also the heart became cold. Sif was so horrified
that she could barely breathe. Bo even stopped trembling and whining. Was
that the end?
The wolf approached slowly. Wherever he stepped, the snow began to
sizzle and vaporize under his feet. Sharp fangs gleamed in the cold moonlight.
The soft heat touched Sif's face.
“Damn álfar…” The wolf hung over them like a black cloud. But they
seemed to be frozen. When his jaws were already above their heads, Sif
screwed up her eyes and began to pray mentally to the æsir and ancestors.
She prayed, waited, but nothing happened. The monster just stopped. When
Sif opened her eyes, she saw the wolf staring intently at the forest behind
them. All four of his eyes were on fire. He suddenly backed away and stopped
in the distance.
64Garmr is a four-eyed dog in Norse mythology. Garm guards Helheim, the world of the
dead, and lives in the cave of Gnipahellir. Garm is the best of all dogs and the biggest. Dog
of frost giants (cold-blooded trolls). In some myths, his image was combined with the image
of the wolf Fenrir, and then Garm became the son of the giant Angrboda and the god Loki.
His howling will be one of the signs of the beginning of Ragnarok.
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A huge beast flew out of the darkness. Black, tall, almost like the wolf.
His big horns shone whiter than the snow. He threw himself in front of Sif
and Bo, and blocked the road, having hit the bloody ground menacingly with
his hooves.
“Urur!” Cried Sif, almost bursting into tears in relief. “Urur! It's you!”
The auroch tilted his head and looked at the children. Green eyes flickered
brighter than the moon. Steam was escaping from his wide nostrils. He grew
up, didn't he? Maybe it just seemed to her, but now Urur was the size of a
calf, much taller than Skoll.
“Go!” A strict voice commanded in her head.
“What about you?” Sif shook her head, having clutched at her brother's
shoulders. Bo was trembling in her arms and crying hard. Urur turned his
long neck, his green eyes flashed brighter. “Go!”
Sif grabbed Bo under his arms and pulled him to the spruce trees for dear
life. A furious and hungry roar hastened them. The ground was trembling
beneath their feet. The frosty air was roaring.
The brother almost immediately fell into the snow, Sif swooped him up,
carried in her arms. Something terrible was happening behind. She was afraid
to look around. She heard the clicking of teeth, roaring, growling, throaty
breathing, the fatal fight of mighty beasts. They were fleeing at random
through the dark thickets. Sif didn't realize, when they were on the edge of a
cliff above the shore of a forest lake. It was surrounded with gentle slopes on
all sides, which protected it from fierce winds.
Children used to run there long ago to skate and ride boards in winter,
and to swim or fish graylings and ciscos in summer. But after little Torvi,
Ulf's daughter, was torn to pieces by wolves in broad daylight, adults forbade
their kids to go that far into the woods.
Holding Bo by the arms, she came down the hill and stopped on the very
edge of the skating rink. The ice became much stouter than before and as
smooth as a mirror. The perfect place for skating. Bo got on his side,
breathing loudly. Sif could barely feel her hands, she got to her feet with
difficulty, and laid her brother in a more comfortable posture. Bo was
quivering as if he had a fever. The terrible wound on his leg was still bleeding,
leaving red stains on the snow.
“It needs to be cleaned and bandaged,” Sif looked around, but there was
only crystal ice all around.
Breathing heavily, Skoll ran down the slope. Lleu followed him, having
flown out of the thickets, then circled over the lake, and came down on Sif's
shoulder.
“If I put you on Skoll's back, he'll bring you home,” Sif whispered to Bo.
Now, when the horror of meeting Garmr has gone, she felt that terrible
tiredness gripped her body, filled every muscle with numbness, and the cold
crept under her coat. She tore off her shirttail and put it on Bo's leg instead
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of a bandage.
“Will you send me alone?” Bo sniffed, his eyes were red, eyelids were
swollen with tears. “I don't want to go alone! I'm scared, sister.”
Sif froze, feeling someone approaching her, as if the breath of the North
Wind had touched her head. Then she heard quiet footsteps. Out of the
forest came the utburd. He was shimmering in the twilight, sailing in the air
like a ghost, barely touching the snow. The long tatters were creeping after
him.
“Oh, I see you've found your brother,” the utburd said, smiling from ear
to ear. “You see, he's even alive. Rejoice, kid. Your sister was willing to give
up everything to save you.”
“It's you… You found us. Then that monster will also find…”
“Sif, who are you talking to?” Bo was turning his head in all directions in
confusion.
“What a miracle! The álfar child doesn't see me!”
“Utburd, help, please!” Sif grabbed him by the wide sleeve, gripped him
with her numb fingers so that he wouldn't run away.
“Excuse me? Again?” the creature became stunned for the second time
because of such an effrontery. “Haven't you understood?
I'm a dead guy.
Good is not mine.
I'll betray you.
Truth's not valued.
I will trick you.
Woods will meet you.”
“I'm begging you, he's bleeding,” Sif was on her knees, as if she hadn't
heard a rhyming refusal. “Otherwise he'll die before we get home.”
The lad threw his head back and sighed loudly, his pale face grimaced
oddly, the animal grin appeared on his face.
“All right, all right, just get off me, half-blood,” he shook Sif's hand off.
“Consider me your saviour for today. You're incredibly lucky.”
The utburd bent over Bo, grabbed his bandaged leg with long, thin
fingers. Brother screamed either in pain or surprise.
“Take it like a man, bear with it, guy,” the utburd smiled unpleasantly,
closed his golden eyes, and began to mumble something softly under his
breath. Strange images on his face flashed with blue light, flickered and
seemed to slide on his skin. Tiny sparks poured out of his long fingers.
Sif held her breath, pressed her hands to the chest. Here they are, real
charms. Here it is, real trollskap65. Only spirits and gods know how to do
magic this way. No völva has such a power over the world like Ymir's
firstborns have. However Sif didn't feel envy, only admiration.
65 Trollskap – spells, magic.
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“Done! He'll stay alive!” the utburd removed his hand, smiling sinisterly.
Bo, being frozen because of fright, was sitting with his mouth open.
“How do you feel, Bo?” Sif fell to her knees, grabbed her brother's leg,
and quickly unwrapped the bandage. She lifted his pant leg, wiped the blood-
stained skin. No wound was seen. It disappeared, healed so well that there
was even no scar left.
“Thank you, utburd. Thank you so much! She bowed her head to the
creature. “What can I do for you?”
“To begin with, stop calling me “utburd”. It sounds nastily: “utburd” and
“utburd”.
Mother had given me a decent name,
For me among creatures to have a good fame,” he chuckled and moved
a little further.
“What… what's this?” Bo muttered, not looking away from the spirit.
“Where did it come from?”
“Oh, you have received your real sight, kid, haven't you? So my
congratulations. And I'm Einar.
That is how I had been called,
Until the forest took my soul.”
“Thank you so much, Einar!” Sif bowed her head even lower, her hands
were trembling, having gripped brother's injured leg tightly. “Thank you for
saving Bo. I wouldn't know what to do without you!”
Sif slowly got to her feet, looking at the snow-covered slope. Suddenly
she remembered something important, very important, which she forgot
because of fear.
“I have to go back, I have to… We left Urur there,” she mumbled to
herself, but Bo and Einar heard that.
“Are you crazy, sister?” Bo jumped to his feet, reeled, but held up. “Don't
you dare do that! That monster will bite you to death!”
Bo's face sweat.
“And you should go home, Bo. Einar will escort you, all right?”
It seemed that Sif didn't hear her brother, despite him shouting so loudly
that Lleu began hooting fearfully.
“Hey! Don't make the decision for me, half-blood!” Einar's black and gold
eyes widened. “Why do you give me orders? You see, hardly had I done a
good deed for you, you immediately climbed on my back.”
The dry undergrowth creaked on the left, Sif and Bo turned to the sound.
The bushes moved apart slowly, and Urur reached the lake. He walked hard.
His beautiful black body was badly torn and wet because of blood.
“Oh no, æsir66 almighty! Urur!” Sif rushed to the auroch, put her arms
around his neck, buried her face into the warm fur. His usual sweet scent
66 Æsir are the gods of the principal pantheon in Norse religion
90
mingled with the metallic taste of blood.

“How are you? Did the Garmr bite you hard?”
Sif quickly examined the auroch: his sides were shredded with sharp claws
almost to the bones. Blood was dripping from deep wounds. He was gasping,
and something was croaking in his throat.
“My lord, don't punish me,” Einar shouted. “Have mercy on me, my
lord!”
Urur snorted, freed himself from her arms, slowly laid down on the snow,
stuck out his long tongue and began to lick his wounds just like Skoll.
“It's all right,” Urur's voice said in her mind.
“But your wounds… They are terrible,” Sif sat down in the snow next to
the auroch and extended her trembling hands to the terrible furrows on his
skin. “Does it hurt much?”
“It will pass soon,” Urur flashed with his green eyes and licked his paws
with his dark red tongue.
“Can you hear him, sister?” Bo muttered, watching the auroch attentively.
“It's as if you understand his mooing...”
Sif was keeping silent for a moment, looking at her brother. Bo was sitting
in the snow and no longer trembling.
“Please, don't tell Ilive and mom about this, I don't want to disturb them.
And not a word to father as well,” Sif added quickly, anticipating brother's
next question. “Don't tell anyone about this.”
Bo tilted his head, staring first at the utburd, and then at the auroch.
“All right. But do you really understand him? What did he say?”
“He said that it's time for us to come home, it's too dangerous here.”
Urur snorted and shook his head slightly. “I haven't said that. But anyway,
you are thinking the right way. It will be better for both of you to escape from
here while you are safe and alive. We'll have a talk later, Einar,” he raised his
head, looking intently at the utburd. The lad flinched, having sweat even
more, if it might be said so.
“So how will we get back? That monster is still hanging around
somewhere over there.” Bo looked at the black slopes in horror. “Perhaps
it's better to spend the night here?”
Sif shook her head. “Bad idea, Bo. Parents will be worried. We have no
tools for making a fire, and without that we will freeze to death.”
“But… but we can gather polypores, and make a fire right here, under the
trees,” Bo jumped to his feet, looking for a tree with mushrooms.
“It doesn't work like that, Bo. To light a fire, you must first prepare
polypores, boil them, and dry. I don't have the polypore powder with me.
And collecting firewood can be dangerous here, let alone the presence of
hungry wolves in the forest.
“Urur and Skoll will protect us!”
Urur snorted again, but softly. Having heard his name, the dog jumped to
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his paws, barked loudly, and began circling around Bo.

“Am I right, boy? Will you protect us?”
Skoll barked, jumped on Bo, having knocked him off his feet. Bo together
with the dog began to play in the snow loudly, just like children. Garmr
seemed to have been forgotten.
“Easy, Bo, slow down! Heaven forbid, that monster will hear us.” Sif
waved her arms desperately as if she was a savage windmill.
She took a brief glance at the black silhouette of the forest, which was
almost touching the overhung black skies. The moon slowly disappeared
behind the clouds, the darkness was becoming more and more threatening.
The frost was growing stronger.
Sif felt something evil sneaking in on them through the thickets. It was
bending low over the ground in order to pick up their trail, find them, catch
them. Will Urur withstand a new fight? An inner foreboding was calling on
her to flee, to escape from the forest trap as quickly as possible.
Was it really Garmr, the dog of Hel and forerunner of the Fimbulwinter,
or just some kind of monster? It didn't matter. Evil lurked in the forest. The
evil presence was felt everywhere now. If only they had a fire, at least a few
coals. No, there was complete darkness all around, only Urur's eyes were
shining like two moons.
“Hurry up,” said Sif. Her voice suddenly changed. “Hurry up, Bo!”
Fear made her tremble. She looked at her brother, who was playing
carelessly, having forgotten about his terrible adventure. How good that his
leg no longer hurt.
“Get on Skoll, he'll hold you.”
Bo straightened up, pricked up his ears, a shadow slid across his ruddy
face.
“What about you?”
“I will follow you together with Urur.”
Bo shook his head desperately.
“There's no time for disputes,” Sif jumped to her brother, grabbed him
in one swoop, and put on Skoll's broad back. The dog didn't resist, having
stuck out his tongue and barked softly.
Sif took off her coat and put it around her brother's shoulders, having
knit it up tightly with a belt.
“We need to run away. Something, that's wandering around the forest,
will find a lake soon. And then we are dead.”
Bo twined his arms around Skoll's neck and looked fearfully at the dark
thickets.
“Don't you think that it was Knecht?”
“Of course I don't. He had nothing to do with it.”
Sif glanced at Urur. One more secret to keep. Or is there no need? Bo
rubbed his nose with his sleeve.
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“But Ilive cursed me, didn't she?” he whispered. His eyes were red, and
cheeks pale.
Sif smiled with the corner of her mouth. Then put her hand on brother's
head.
“Never mind, Bo. Ilive didn't want to hurt you, I'm sure. She's not bad at
all,” Sif sighed, “she's just in love and due to this too sensitive.”
“But what's it got to do with me?” Bo blinked with wet eyes.
How should she explain to her brother that Ilive is just scared? Now she
seems to stand at a crossroads and doesn't know which way to choose. She
was preparing to become a völva for all her life. She knew that once the
fateful day would come. The day when she would have to leave home and go
to Thun. She was waiting for that day, hating it with all her heart. And now,
when she is truly in love, naturally she doesn't want to go. Most of her friends
are already married and taking care of their first children or at least engaged.
However, this is not about Ilive.
Sif wondered why Ulfson didn't ask her to marry him? And why didn't
the matchmakers come? After all, she is beautiful, even uncommonly
beautiful. White as milk, black as night. When Sif asked her mother about
this, she only replied: “Ilive is different, dear."
Different. Sif always thought this meant that her sister would become a
völva, that she had inherited the power of her ancestors and galdrar of her
mother. She probably just didn't understand the word “different” properly.
“Forget about that, Bo, okay?”
She leaned over the shaggy head and whispered in Skoll's ear, “Take him
home.”
Skoll barked, pulled away in a hurry, and jumped just like a foal. He knew
the road well, because he often accompanied Bo on fishing, when it was still
safe. Lleu was circling around Sif's head for a while and then followed Skoll.
Sif looked at Urur. He looked at her questioningly. It seemed that a smile
suddenly appeared on his black and white face.
“Just ask me.”
Sif imagined herself sitting on his black back, holding on the white horns,
but immediately became confused. She shook her head and followed her
brother. She had almost no power, but still it was enough for the way home.
She stopped almost instantly, looking at the lake again. Urur was already
standing nearby, his wounds weren't bleeding anymore, and he looked
perfectly healthy.
“I could carry you and your brother. Not a problem for me.”
“It's all right, Skoll can handle it as well… Einar, are you with us?” asked
Sif, but there was no one behind her. The utburd disappeared. There was no
sign of the creature.
“Don't worry, he'll be okay.”
“But it's too dangerous in the forest. He said that it was full of álfar…
93
Álfar, Urur! Can you imagine?” she sighed. An old memory surfaced in her
head: the mound, the black temple, mom in the moonlight. Was it really
Garmr, this four-eyed creature? Did the dog of Hel indeed get to Midgard?
How could this happen? Midgard was protected by the æsir from monsters
and separated from the rest of the world…
Urur was silent. Of course, he never opened his mouth when he spoke,
but now he was silent in his mind as well.
“Urur?”
Sif climbed the snowy slope, getting her breath back, leaned over and
looked down at the auroch. He jumped up quickly, having made a few
graceful leaps, and stood beside him. A long howl shook up the black forest.
Because of that sinister, pitiful sound Sif's hair stood on end and the blood
ran cold in her veins.
She held her breath, stared into the frosty darkness. She saw only two
colors: black and white. The world turned to snow and shadows. And this
feeling, the feeling of something fierce, ancient, and evil among the shadows
made her tremble. Isn't that Garmr howling and calling for the Fimbulwinter
and for people's death?..
“Hey, human girl!” Einar's voice got Sif out of her stupor. “It seems that
your little brother got into trouble again!”
A wicked smile distorted utburd's white face, “Unless you hurry, then he's
done!”
“Where is he? Where is Bo?” Sif asked with her heart beating hard.
Terrible night. Dark. Moonless. Goddamn night.
“Over there, just a little further,” the utburd waved his hand to the place
they had just run away from, where they met a four-eyed wolf.
Sif silently rushed to the ebony trees. She didn't feel the ground beneath
her feet. Where did the powers for running appear from?
“Wait, Sif!” Urur began to beg, but she didn't hear him.
Oh, what a fidget Bo is! Sif was on my way to her brother's aid, having
forgotten about common sense and caution. The branches scratched her
cheek, having left a bloody streak, but she felt no pain either.
“Skoll?”
A white furry cloud appeared ahead. Sif tripped on a root and fell into the
snow. Small but strong hands dragged her by the shoulders and helped her
to stand on the elbows. Bo began to whish, having pressed his finger to the
pale lips.
“Hush! Be quiet, sister,” the boy pointed his finger in front of him.
“Look!”
Sif leaned on her hands: they went almost to the elbow in the snow. She
swallowed all her indignation and, breathing hard, peered to the bushes. A
forest glade could be seen through the macrame of the branches. There, in a
small cavity, two froze: a man in white, and a giant black bear opposite him.
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Together they looked like the embodiment of night and snow, black and
white. But the worst thing was that she immediately recognized the white
figure. Some fragments of their conversation were wafted to her by the
breeze.
.”..such relations will give birth to strong offsprings,” the low-chested
baritone roared. The bear wheezed, letting off the waif of steam from his
mouth. “Won't you break your word, Alevanr?”
“Count on me, Mogr. Álfar don't have a habit of lying,” the handsome
waved off the bear's steam and hemmed. “The girl will interfere with my
plans. It is better to get rid of her, but that's up to you, as she is your promised
bride. And I'm here exclusively for my sister,” he smirked. “I didn't expect
that she would give birth to three crossbreeds,” the disgust and contempt
were heard in his melodic voice. “For so many years she was hiding from us,
damn scoundrel. Now I understand why the best trackers couldn't find my
sister. Strong spells protected this village, but not sister's ones. They're much
stronger and ancient. However it doesn't matter,” Alevanr waved his hand,
and said mockingly, “I dispelled them when that earl of Skara invited me to
celebrate Yule with him. What a fool! How could he call a stranger inside the
gate? And the wolves fled quickly when the vargrs came.”
“So the girl will be in red?”
“Yeah, I gave her a special gift. She seemed to like me as well as the rest
of her friends. She'll never take off that shawl.”
Sif sighed, feeling a huge lump in her throat.
“Do you see that?” Bo whispered in her ear, his hot breath was burning
her frozen skin. “Talking bear. And that's that very skald who played during
the celebration. Am I right? What are they talking about, Sif?”
“Let's go while they don't hear us.”
“So where is your army? Why don't I see anyone?”
“Be patient, Mogr. All in good time,” Alevanr's evil tone was heard in
every word.
Trees and bushes swayed, the sleepy forest suddenly came to life. Tall,
slender people in strange armours came to the glade. And behind them
trailed, swaying from side to side, wheezing and hissing…
“Draugar!” Bo whispered in horror. “They're dead! Look, sister, how
many of them there are.”
Sif pursed her lips, leaned on one arm, and put another one around Bo's
shoulders. She felt that soon will come the time for running away as fast as
possible.
“They are converts!” the bear growled unhappily.
“Here's my army,” Alevanr said, holding up his head and making a wide
gesture with his hand. “I hope your army is ready too, Mogr?”
“Let's go,” Sif whispered, clutching her brother's shoulder and drawing
him back.
95
The giant bear shook his head, breathing the frosty air loudly, then stood
on its hind legs and roared, “Strangers are among us!”
This mad roar stirred up the tops of the pines, made the ground hum
beneath their feet. Hardly had Sif and Bo jumped to their feet when they
immediately fell into the snow. Their ears were ringing. A blizzard arose
around them, snow was getting in their faces, flogging their skin. The high
white wave rolled through the forest, overturning stones, uprooting old
stumps, breaking up young alders.
Sif jerked up, picked up Bo, and dragged him through the blizzard.
Somewhere nearby, Skoll barked, and Lleu hooted in fright.
“Is that magic?” Bo shouted, but she could barely hear him through the
howl of the wind or, perhaps, howl of the four-eyed wolves.
“Odin the Allfather, save and protect us,” Sif prayed, covering her face
with the free hand from the frosty wind. It beat her with all his might,
scratched her skin with its claws, pulled out her hair. Girl's feet barely
stepped, poached in the deep snow like in mud. Those creatures might have
caught up with them and captured them just within minutes. Then they would
naturally kill them.
“Sister. He came to pick up his sister. His sister! We should warn
everyone!”
The black shadow appeared ahead, it was Urur. He stopped in front of
them, fell to his knees and bowed his horned head.
“Ge on my back. Quickly! I'll take you home.”
“Bo, hurry up!” Sif grabbed her brother, threw him up, gasping heavily.
Bo grabbed the black fur, put his hands around the auroch's strong neck.
He was whining and shivering with all his body, scratched and hurt. Probably,
she looked equally unpleasant. Barely had Sif managed to swing her leg over
the auroch's broad back when the branches crackled behind her and the roar
of a huge black bear rang out. Urur jumped to his feet. She could hardly hold
on his back.
“Hold tight!” she said to Bo, gripping his belt. “Take him by the horns!”
cried out, and hugged Bo even tighter.
Urur was jumping through the snow and blizzard, through the howling
wind and the icy claws of winter. Then it seemed that there was no creation
faster and smarter than the auroch in the whole white world!
He wasn't just running, he was simply dashing through the thickets.
Bushes and trees didn't beat them anymore, they seemed to move aside,
seemed to bow low in front of Urur, as if he was their master. And then they
drifted together behind him, becoming a black living wall.
“What a speed!” Bo shouted. “I'm nearly deafened. By the way, how did
he become so huge?”
Sif wiped away her tears and looked down at the snowy ground. Indeed,
their feet didn't touch the ground, they swamped in soft fur instead. Sif
96
looked round in bewilderment. Urur suddenly became as huge as father's

drakkar67. Just like the ship cuts the sea waves, he cut the white waves of
bushes. He grabbed Skoll with his strong jaws and carried him over the snow,
and Lleu appeared on the girl's shoulder.
“What's going on?”
They were sitting on the back of the auroch, but there would be enough
space for a dozen of children. His mane became as long as a sail, and horns
seemed to scratch the sky, knocking off the silver stars.
The world was flashing before their eyes, turning into a gray and blue
whirlwind. In a moment they saw Borre's lights, which were approaching
rapidly. Another second, and the auroch was already in their yard. The forest
with its draugar, Garmr and the huge bear was left behind. Urur stopped and
shrunk instantly to his usual size, having become just a little bigger than Skoll.
Sif didn't feel her feet touch the solid ground, she and her brother were
already standing and holding on to each other. Shocked, excited, and scared.
Skoll was barking at their feet, Lleu was circling overhead. Sif was the first to
come to her senses.
“Urur?”
Just a moment later the auroch was standing nearby and looking at the
forest, but now he has suddenly disappeared, as if dissolved in the twilight.
“Where did he go?” Bo looked around in perplexity.
“We'll find him later,” she said, taking her brother's hand and leading him
into the house. “Come on! We should warn everyone!”
“I'm too tired – let's rest for a while.”
Sif flew into the room, not waiting for Bo, and shouted from the doorway,
“Mom, dad!”
In the center of the room, in front of the fire, stood Ilive and Ulfson. The
sister was smiling, clean, combed, in her best apron and red dress, her cheeks
were burning with pleasure and her gray eyes were shining just like the sun.
Having seen Sif, she perspired, her eyes rounded out with astonishment, thin
eyebrows raised.
“Sif? Good heavens, you look like you were bitten by wolves!” Ilive ran
up to her. “What happened? And where is Bo? Did you find him?”
Ulfson smiled awkwardly, standing by the fire as before.
“Later, Ilive. I'll explain later,” Sif waved her sister's hands away. “Where
are mom and dad?”
She looked around the house hoping to see relatives.
“They went to the Mead Hall to gather people and go in search of Bo,”
Ilive shrugged her shoulders as if nothing had happened, as if people had to
look for Bo not because of her. “Tell me finally what happened! You ran into
67Drakkar⁠ — Viking ships were marine vessels of unique structure, used in Scandinavia
from the Viking Age throughout the Middle Ages.Viking ships were marine vessels of
unique structure, used in Scandinavia from the Viking Age throughout the Middle Ages.
97
the forest, right? Oh, Sif. What for? You've frightened us to death!”
Ilive stuttered and quickly turned to the wall. Sif, just like her sister, felt a
huge black wave approaching their house. The ground shook under their feet.
The black skies were shaken up by thunder. It was so loud that even their
house swayed as if in pain. The three of them squirmed at the same time,
covering their ears with hands. But there was no rescue from that terrible
rumble and howl. The surma-horns played thrice from the outside.
“Too late,” Sif breathed, looking out the window, “they've already come.”
98
CHAPTER 5. THE WILD HUNT
Nothing is real and nothing lives,
until it is separated from the branches of the Tree of Life.
Norman proverb
When the Gjallarhorn's68 roar calmed down, Ilive and Ulfson exchanged
a glance quickly. But no one had time to say a word.
The house was jolted so much that turf poured down from the roof.
Someone struck the front door and it was knocked out immediately. With a
terrible “Bang!” it smashed into the wall. The north wind broke in the hall,
and then in the room. The snow covered the floor densely. It was as if the
blizzard that had suddenly begun in the woods had reached Borre. Maybe it
indeed had? Maybe it was summoned by that black bear?
In a moment, the ugly disgusting creatures appeared on the doorstep.
They had long arms and short legs, terrible snouts that hardly resembled
human faces, being covered with long wrinkles and warts. Long yellow fangs
protruded over sagging lips just like the boar's ones. Their noses resembled
flattened old bulbs. Dirty bristles, tightly twisted into plaits, were dangling on
big heads like ropes.
Monsters were rattling with their black armours, clenching the curved
swords made of dark metal in their claws. Thudding their armours heavily,
they went a little further, came to a standstill, muttering something under
their noses. Ugly bodies stank like rotten eggs. Ilive covered her nose with
her hand and backed to the window. Sif was near to bringing up.
Who could they be? Broad-shouldered, like jötnar from stories, strong,
tall, with their tops almost breaking the door frame down… and that was
despite the fact that everything in the house was designed for the height of
her father. They couldn't be trolls, could they?
68 Gjallarhorn's – a golden horn which precedes Ragnarok.
99
The monsters were roaring with their bass in a foreign language with their
low and harsh voices. Red pupils, barely visible under the folds of fat, stared
through the narrow slits, eagerly inspecting the room until they finally
stopped at Ilive. The monsters muttered something and moved forward.
Ulfson was the first to come to his senses. He ran to the wall, took off
the first old ax he managed to find. Then he hid behind the large shield up
to his waist, and began to whirl his ax in front of him just like a mill with
blades.
“Come on, brainless creatures, come closer! You'll get enough clips and
cuffs!
The monsters roared something mockingly, as if they understood the boy,
and moved forward, stamping their heavy shoes. Ilive gasped, ran to the fire,
grabbed the poker and put it in front of her. Sif remained standing by the
window, but quickly looked around the room. It would be difficult to fight
such guests with household utensils, they have to take up arms.
The room was filled with the clang and rattling of metal, throaty cries,
Ulfson's curses. There was no time for hesitation. The boy won't overcome
these monsters alone, whoever they are: trolls, mares, or deads.
Sif ran to the benches, jumped up, grabbed her father's seax69, which was
hanging over the table above his head. The handle made of bone was
comfortable for holding, the long blade was glistening in the light of the fire,
ready to swallow the blood of enemies. How nice of her father to always keep
his weapon sharp.
She jumped off the bench and turned to the door in hesitation. Dreadful
monsters seemed gigantic, like black mounds. What could she do about
them? Just a weak, puny girl. Somehow she was trained by her father, since
she asked him to bring her up like a real warrior. She wanted to be a skjaldmær
70and be as brave as the fairy-tale Valkyries of Odin. And here was her chance
to show everything she had learned.

She just had to dare. The heart was pounding wildly in her chest and blood
was hissing in ears. Just to dare. It's difficult only to take the first step, because
then the body will remember the father's science on its own. However, it's
one thing to dream of adventures and fight with straw scarecrows in the
garden, and quite another – a real fight with monsters.
A small figure in a hat came out from behind the cauldron. Nisse blinked
timidly, staring at Sif.
“Wha' di' the lil hostess think of? Will she figh' with fiends alone?”
The monsters were strewing Ulfson with continuous blows of curved
swords. They quickly pinned the boy against the wall, Ulfson barely had time
69 Seax – a long knife.

70 Skjaldmær – a maiden of the shield, a woman warrior in the sagas of the Normans.
100
to defend himself. Who knows how long he will hold on? Something needs
to be done. Having gritted her teeth, Sif jumped to the nearest monster,
swung her sword high, and slashed the troll's unprotected back with all her
might.
The creature roared, threw its head back on the thick neck, staggered
back. The first blood. But one blow was not enough to kill such a creature.
She would hardly have the strength to stab it, or at least weaken it enough.
Muscles were shown from under its skin, huge monster's hands could wring
her neck easily, as well as Ilive's, or Ulfson's ones…
The troll turned awkwardly to her, stared furiously, red eyes rolled
bloodshot. It hissed like a snake, growled like an old boar, and brandished a
heavy sword. Sif blocked the blow, as her father had taught her. And then
again and again.
The creature was pounding with all its might, the black sword was flying
over Sif's head like a whip. Blow after blow, the blade whished, sparks were
struck, Sif could barely stand on her feet. With each kick she shook with her
whole body and gradually backed up to the door. The father's sword was
about to crack. And then the troll will cut her in halfs. And yet, a real fight is
not the battle with her brother on wooden swords.
“Urur, where are you now? Where are you, when we need you so much?
Why did you leave us?”
“Hey you, ugly troll! Come on, look over here!” cried a thin nisse's voice
behind it, and in a moment a goat jumped on the monster and bunted the
black armour with its horns. Sif cried out in surprise. It was that very wicker
kid which her brother liked so much. However, it moved like a real one,
jumping and leaping in front of the troll and shaking its head menacingly. On
his straw back stood a nisse and waved a self-made torch.
All this bustle diverted Sif from the enemy, but the troll didn't attack her
either. All the monster's attention was focused on the straw goat and its
combative rider. The creature grunted in disgust, rolled his red eyes, and then
a reverberating gurgling guffaw shook the room. The sound was as if a
rockfall had begun somewhere in the mountains.
Nisse spurred the goat, stretched his body forward and poked a torch into
the gap between the armour and the troll's body. The troll roared, jumped
away from the kid and began to hover over the room as if it was scalded.
Sif froze with her mouth open. The giant slowly turned into a fiery
rooster. Probably, the thick skin of the troll was abundantly covered with
hair, because a fire burnt up under the black armour. The troll was growling
and wheezing, roaring and groaning. Eventually, it got all in flames: from
dirty black shoes to ugly top. Then it slumped to the floor so heavily, that
even the ground shook under their feet, red flames jumped to the walls,
covered the couches and chests and quickly crawled to the roof. The red sea
broke out above their heads. Sparks rained down from the hot sky.
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But Ulfson and his enemy ignored that. They were fighting to the death.
The troll growled furiously, the sound was as if mountain boulders were
rubbing together.
“We're on fire!” Sif shouted, protecting her head with hands from the
fiery rain. “Ulfson, Ilive, we need to get out of here!”
Nobody listened to her. Ilive was still standing cringed near the fire,
staring at the live troll, her eyes were spinning so wildly that her irises were
glistening, her lips were whispering something incessantly. Did she finally
come to her senses and begin to cast spells?
It was getting smokier and smokier in the house, black clouds covered the
room, Ulfson and his opponent were no longer visible – only fire and smoke
everywhere. The flaming sea was splashing almost at their feet, when Sif
finally reached Ilive and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Let's go!” Sif was trying to shout down the roar of the fire and the hiss
of the blizzard. “Now!”
Sif pulled her sister to the door. Ilive seemed to be taken aback. When
they were already in the hall, sister suddenly twitched back and threw up her
hand.
“Ulf will die,” she shouted, and ran back to the room.
“Wait! Ilive, wait! You'll burn there out!”
Sif looked around in search of her younger brother. Bo? Where did he
go? Smoke was burning her eyes, scratching her throat, hurting her lungs.
“Bo?” Sif took a deep breath but had a fit of coughing because of the
stench of burning, the only thing that was helping – the fresh air from the
yard. “Bo, where are you?”
The animals in the barn were startled, they began to knock out the locked
doors, in order to break free, to escape from the fire. The cows were mooing,
the pigs were grunting, the sheep were bleating, and through all these stress
and noise she could barely hear her hoarse voice.
“Bo!”
The shutter was jumping as if it was alive, heavy hinges were creaking.
Crazy animals were about to pull the doors out by the root.
Siff ran to the barn, but hardly had she touched the door (not that bad
though, otherwise the cattle would have stomped her), when a tall, pale man
entered the house slowly. He looked around the hall indifferently, glanced at
Sig, and then his eyes slipped into the smoke-filled room. He extended his
hand and said something melodiously. In an instant, a blue glow enveloped
him from head to toe, a bright ray flew from his long fingers and pierced the
red fiery sea.
Sif screwed up her eyes, the blue glow was burning them painfully. When
she dared to open them again, the red sea disappeared and the fire went out.
Twilight reigned in the room again. Even the animals quieted down and no
longer were thrashing behind the door, having felt a new danger.
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The pale man lowered his hand. Now he was staring at her, studying her
with the depth of his black eyes. His skin was so pale that it even had an
ashen hue, and looked as smooth as ice. The shiny ashy hair was pulled into
a ponytail at the back of his head. Thin and sharp features reminded Sif of
the handsome Alevanr. The stranger exuded the similar charm and the similar
icy power.
For a moment, Sif thought she was being examined by a lifeless glacier:
incredibly old and deadly sharp. She pressed her back against the door. Finally
the stranger took his black eyes off the girl.
She took a deep breath. The cold air, soaked with snow and smoke, was
the only thing that reminded her of the recent fire. She met the wizard again,
perhaps he was another one álf, though he looked indeed like Alevanr, just a
little bit taller and much paler.
“Wargs are waiting outside, if you run away, they will bite you to death.
They were ordered to kill everyone,” the man warned in a calm, colorless
voice.
He leaned gracefully and entered the room. Sif froze, holding her breath.
She didn't have any strength to move: it seemed that some evil spells chained
her to the closed door. Invisible fetters bound her arms and legs, holding her
tight. Sif twitched, but useless. What should she do?
She concentrated, plucked all her courage up and turned it into one desire.
Her head was full of tension, a trickle of sweat ran down her forehead.
Eventually, colored lights blazed in the darkness, like sharp distant stars in
the sky. Sif gritted her teeth and staggered forward, her body finally became
obedient.
Slowly, as if she was breaking out of the swamp. It seemed something
sticky was following the girl's arms and legs, returning her to the door. A jerk,
one more – and she was free. The strange spell cracked and tore like an old
sackcloth. Sif rushed to the living room, wrapped her fingers around the grip
of the long seax.
She jumped inside the room and froze on the doorstep. Ilive was sitting
in the middle of the burnt room, rocking Ulfson in her arms. Her black hair
was gray with ashes, and tears froze on her white cheeks. The lad didn't move,
as if he was sleeping on sister's lap.
“Ilive,” Sif whispered, looking closely and noticing a bloody puddle which
was reddening on the floor under her sister's knees.
Tears filled her eyes, a scream burst from his chest. Did Ulfson die? It is
impossible, it cannot be true! No, he is resting, just resting from the fight.
Right? Where is that troll?
Large flakes of ash mixed with the remains of turf, straw and snow were
pouring from the roof. The smoke was emanating from the stout body of the
first troll in the opposite corner, and the second one stretched out on the
floor. The grip of an ax protruded from his broad chest. Did Ulfson win?
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Ilive was still caressing her groom, ignoring her sister and the ashen
stranger, who was circling around the room like a white eagle, examining the
burnt walls. Finally he stopped near the surviving chests.
He snapped his white fingers, and the carved lid of the largest chest
opened. The man looked inside, his beautiful face was instantly distorted by
disgust.
The stranger snapped again. Click! The second chest opened as if an
invisible hand had lifted the heavy lid, and a colorful cloth rolled out to his
feet.
“Huh! She doesn't seem so stupid to hide it at home,” he said in a low
voice, smirked, and only then turned to Ilive. “Listen up, girl, get out of here.
Now.”
Ilive was silent, being completely absorbed by her grief. But the stranger
didn't back down, he approached and stood behind her instead. Sister sobbed
softly, with her chest rising and falling with a hiss and wheezing.
The ashen man leaned over Ilive, the edge of his long fur cloak touched
her narrow back.
“Get out of here, girly, help yourself. Can you hear me? There will be
bloodshed tonight, the blood will be pouring out everywhere. The mortals of
this settlement are doomed, but you are not. You still can leave if you want.”
He put his white-gloved hand on her black hair. Ilive shuddered, cried
out, bent down, and pulled over to Ulfson as if the groom could protect her.
The man sighed, removed his hand and straightened up.
“He's dead and you're still alive,” do not make his sacrifice vain.
The man looked at Sif, who froze in the doorway, clutching a long knife
with all her might. He raised a silver eyebrow in surprise.
“I see you've broken my spell. How interesting,” he said in an indifferent
voice. “Did your mother teach you about our mare?”
“Mare?” Sif blinked, tilted her head to the side, as Lleu often did that.
The word was unfamiliar, but it seemed clear. Undoubtedly it meant some
kind of magic.
“Mortals seem to call it “trollskap”, but it doesn't matter,” the man waved
his hand, looked at Ilive again, and then quickly, almost instantly approached
Sif, having grabbed her by the shoulder. “You are going with me.”
“What are you doing? Let me go!”
Having finally managed to get out of his hands, Sif pulled her father's seax
on him. The blade whistled in front of his pale hand and cut through the
empty air. Where the stranger had just stood was then just an empty space.
Sif turned quickly, waved her knife. The ashen man seemed to blink and
appeared behind her the next moment.
“Shut up, mongrel,” he hissed, having leaned low over Sif.
He grabbed her by the braid, wrapped it around his wrist, jerked her
angrily, and pulled outside. Sif dropped the knife and grabbed her hair. Tears
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welled out her eyes because of pain.

"Get off me, brute!”
But the ashen man only pulled harder. If he wanted to, he would probably
wrest her braid. Sif was forced to lean over his arm and follow him.
They went out into the night, and almost immediately the ashen man
stopped. Bright red flashes tore the darkness and snow. Sif raised her head
as high as she could and gasped softly. A dozen of chunky creatures in black
armours, similar to those that had broken into the house, lined up in the yard.
They were holding burning torches in strong arms. A few more were sitting
on huge wolves. And behind them all the pale horse was standing.
Never in her life had Sif seen an animal of such a size. A fishlike comb
protruded from his gray mane, and his large head was adorned with sharp
straight horns. He was crumbling the ice under his legs with strong hooves,
shaking his head. He growled hollowly, having exhaled several clouds of
steam from his mouth, it seemed that that bizarre and deep sound was
coming from the very belly. A real death-stallion. Isn't it Svaðilfari71 himself,
the horse thanks to whom the ice giant had built the walls of Asgard in
exchange for Freyja, the Sun and the Moon?
“Let's go,” the man pulled her red braid.
Sif cried out, having shut her eyes in pain. But scarcely had the ashen man
taken a few steps, when he stopped for a second time, having raised his head.
Lleu swooped down on him from the black sky with a speed of lightning. She
whooped angrily, having put up her sharp-clawed paws, aimed at his pale
face, and didn't even have a chance to scratch it. The stranger waved his hand,
the blue sparkles enveloped long fingers instantly. A heavy snow torrent
escaped from their tips with the sinister hiss, and Lleu was thrown to the
fence. The poor bird fluttered her wings, spun out, she could barely withstand
the onslaught of the magic wind.
“Stop it!” Sif punched the ashen man's side. “She's in pain!”
Skoll was growling somewhere aside, but didn't dare to attack the stranger.
He slowly lowered his hand, looked coldly at Sif, sniffed and pulled her braid
harder. He strode toward the trolls, who were roaring merrily in a foreign
language, presumably approving of the man's actions.
He was a few steps away from the ugly pale horse when Urur suddenly
jumped out of the twilight and knocked the three trolls at once, having
blocked the path to the ashen man.
“Leave her in peace, Ingvar!”
The white horns of the auroch were brighter than the silver moon that
was appearing from the ragged black clouds time after time. They were
71Svaðilfari – is a stallion that fathered the eight-legged horse Sleipnir with Loki. Svaðilfari
was owned by the giant who built the walls of Asgard. The giant-builder offered to build a
fortification wall for three half-years, which would keep out mountain and frost giants, in
exchange for the goddess Freyja, the sun, and the moon.
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gleaming with a dangerous blue light. The ashen man froze motionless, with
not a muscle winced on his pale face. He looked indifferently at the auroch
without even the smallest sign of pity, fear or irritation.
“Let her go,” Urur's green eyes were blazing fiercely.
The trolls became silent, even the pale horse calmed down, contemplating
what would happen next peacefully.
“All right,” Ingvar said simply, then unclenched his fingers.
Sif staggered back and nearly fell into a snowbank.
“Satisfied?”
Ingvar slowly went past Urur, looking askance at Sif.
“Take this breed away, if you wish. She's disgusting... I hate even looking
at her,” he wiped the glove which he had just held the red braid with on his
cloak
Then he approached the monstrous horse, quickly jumped into the saddle.
No, he didn't even jump up, he seemed to fly up into the air for a moment.
He got off the ground as easily as a bird, the fur cloak flapped behind him
like white wings.
“Follow me!” Ingvar commanded, spurring his horse.
The trolls wheezed, hissed, roared, and only then turned to their leader
and trampled away. The ground was shaking with the stamping of large feet.
The sky was trembling with the roar of horns. And the snow was so thick
that the top of the low fence could barely be seen.
The blizzard over Borre intensified. Somewhere nearby wolves were
howling furiously, hunting horns were roaring, the shouts of people were
heard. Have all these monsters already reached the village?
Sif straightened up looking at Urur in confusion.
“What's going on? I don't understand,” she covered her ears with palms
so as not to hear that hateful howl.
“The Wild Hunt72,” Urur approached her and stood beside.
It seemed to Sif that the ground had disappeared below her. How many
times had she already fallen to her knees in the snow tonight? At first – an
unknown disease that struck the hunters, then a four-eyed wolf and álfar in
the woods, along with the horde of the deads, the attack of trolls and the
72 The Wild Hunt – is a group of hunters (elves, monsters, evil spirits, ghosts,
sometimes fairies or valkyries) led by the Wild Hunter, which appears in the middle of
winter during blizzards and kidnaps unfortunate people who did not manage to hide. It is
believed that the Wild Hunt is a harbinger of disaster, war or plague. People caught by wild
hunters can be taken in the underworld or in the fairy kingdom. The leader of the Wild
Hunts, the Wild Hunter, is compared to Odin, who rushes across the sky at the head of an
army of the deads. The name of the owner of the Wild Hunts – Helleken. In Norway, in
addition to Odin, the leader of the hunt is Lucia, sometimes called Adam's first wife, and
Guro Rysserova – a supernatural female creature with a mysterious companion.
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death of Ulfson.
“Hey, pull yourself together. Borre has a long night ahead, and you have
to live through it!”
Urur stood over her, his green eyes were blazing brightly like frying pans
in the fire. He touched her shoulder, and Sif felt a strong hand in black glove.
She shuddered and looked at the auroch in fright. Oh no, Urur remained
himself – a bizarre cross of everything she could imagine. Didn't it just seem
to her?
“What should I do, Urur? How to survive? If that is really the Wild Hunt,
then we are all doomed, each of us!”
“Pull yourself together!” he repeated louder. She felt his touch again, as if
someone had squeezed her shoulder. “Go to the village, find your parents.
Don't worry, you'll handle it, and I'll be there!”
He foresaw her question. Sif sighed, slowly got on her feet. Lleu sat down
on her shoulder instantly and began to rub against her cheek like a kitten.
Skoll was already circling, barking and howling.
“You're right. And Bo! I need to find my brother!”
Sif looked around. The snow was spangled with numerous traces of the
giant troll's feet. He definitely can't be in the barn, otherwise how would he
close the bolt? He wasn't in the room, nor in the hall, and the yard was empty
as well. Isn't he hiding in the chicken coop? Poor boy, at first – monsters,
then – those ugly trolls…
“Focus up, Sif!” Urur whipped out and butted her lightly with white
horns. “Now you have to find only Sigurd and Dahlia!”
“Álfar came for my mother. As far as I remember.”
She rushed to the wicket, which was hovering low above the ground, and
jumped out onto the road. When suddenly Borre flared up. Abruptly and
intensely. The black-and-white blizzard sea, human cries, the stamping of
monsters, and the rattling of weapons seethed with bright red colors at once.
It was as if a giant rooster had covered the village with colorful wings.
Twilight was torn with the glow.
“Fire in the village!”
Sif quickened her pace. Instead of fleeing to the forest, which then was
quiet, as if dead, and hiding there from the horrors, she rushed headlong to
the embodiment of Muspelheim73.
73 Muspelheim – one of the nine worlds, the realm of fire.
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Borre was swallowed up by despair. Sobs, screams, cries for help were
breaking the silence. Hunting horns did not calm down even for a moment.
The earth and the sky were trembling with their humming. The rattle of metal
and the whistling of arrows fulfilled the all-encompassing mess. Terrible
smoke turned to the ashen sea.
Terrified Borrians were running out of burning houses, falling into the
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grip of death. The villagers were tossing along the dusty streets from the
burning houses to the houses that were already smoldering, pulling those who
were still alive from under the rubble.
Arrows were whistling overhead, hitting Borrians one by one. A little
farther on, the trade was burning so brightly, that it seemed to be a great
holiday bonfire. That's how Yule turned out.
Women and children were fleeing from riders on giant horses, some
sought for shelter from monsters. But in vain. Most of the Borrians were
fighting with trolls and the deads.
Those were horrible monsters that surpassed all the terrible stories of Sif's
father. They looked like old corpses that had been dug out of the pit, gnawed
by the time, and bitten by the damp earth. The draugar were even more
frightening than the trolls. Potent, tall and broad-shouldered, like two or even
three people, gathered together in one ugly body.
If she had her magic flute now, it would probably shine brighter than the
sun. Sif wondered if Halfdan and the rest of the hunters were among the
deads? Or maybe all draugar, which they saw with Bo in the woods, were just
the sick Borrians?..
Sif slowed her pace, covered her hand over the nose. Finally she came to
her senses, having seen all the mess. Her legs refused to move forward,
having firmly grown into the ground just like roots.
The snow ahead was wet and red. Five steps away, a hacked man in a
bloody shirt was lying with his face down. Sif wanted to get closer, to see
who it was, but she didn't get a chance. An arrow whistled from the black
smoke, having hit right between her shoes. Long feathers fluttered ominously
on it. It was an unusual one.
Sif was horrified. She almost tripped over Urur, who was stomping
behind. Big horns easily kept her on her feet.
What shall she do? Where should she look for dad and mom? Why did
she listen to Urur at all? Why didn't she hide in the chicken coop, waiting out
this disaster?
Another one arrow flew out of the smoke, whistling high above her head,
and struck far behind her back. Sif didn't even get scared.
An angry roar was heard on the right. The smoky air filled with the hollow
rattle of large hooves. A horse jumped out of the fog. It was no less terrifying
than one of that ashen man. On its hunched back sat a pale rider, whose long
silver hair was blowing in the wind. The rider drew a bowstring, shot, only
then shouted something and spurred the horse. The horse jumped up,
cleaned the smoke, trampled the snow, mixed with blood and mud, having
almost knocked Sif down, and jumped to the burned village. Soot clouds
shook with the roar of enemy horns. If only she could cover her ears and
hear nothing.
“Watch out!” Urur's voice suddenly boomed in her head, but it was too
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late. A black horde appeared from the smolder and pushed them to the
ground. Sif aahed, stretched out in the mud, but quickly got to her elbows.
Above her a black giant was rising: square-built as a bear, and a head taller
than her father.
His skin was pale, almost gray, with deep wrinkles and ulcers. In some
places it hung like a dirty sackcloth. His bloodshot eyes were burned with
rage and hate. And the worst thing was that through that mask of ugliness
and death, Sif recognized him.
“Halfdan,” she muttered, coughing as if the hunter's name was stuck in
her throat.
The giant stopped, stood over Sif, like a black forbidden hof. His old fur
coat was soaked with red stains, and his white shirt was torn and covered
with muck. Halfdan glared at her, then frantically circled with his eyes. No
doubts. The hunter turned into a draugr.
“Not a human, not a human anymore,” he said, gritting his yellow fangs.
A crumpled, wrinkled face was distorted at once. Child of the álfar… See,
what holiday have your blood brothers, your lords organised? Hel 74herself
will be laughing with pleasure!”
He spoke slowly in a low voice, as if the words of human language were
extremely difficult for him. Sif tried to get to her feet, but she was trembling
so hard that she could barely crawl as far as she could into the stinking smoke.
A wrinkled, half-rotten corpse was approaching, and a crooked knife
appeared out of nowhere in the blistered hand.
“No.. Halfdan, no, you can't…”
Sif fumbled in the mud in search of some weapon. She just wanted to
shout, calling for help, begging Urur to intervene (why is he waiting aside,
where is he at all?), or finally calling Knecht, but fear gripped her throat and
made it difficult to breathe.
“Smelly crossbreed, damn blood,” Halfdan muttered, brandishing his
knife.
As draugr leaned lower, Sif punched him hard in the stomach. Halfdan
didn't even reeled, only giggled nastily, the sound was coming right from his
barrel-sized belly.
“Oh, girl, I don't feel pain anymore,” said Halfdan. “I can't feel...
anything…”
“He slapped his chest, where his heart was supposed to be. Then threw
his big shaggy head back and laughed. Oily hair clung to the ulcers on his
ugly face.
Weapon, she needed any weapon. Sif bit her lip and looked round crazily.
On the right she noticed a pitchfork buried in the mud. Now she just had to
74 Hel – the goddess of death, the mistress of Helheim, the underworld realm. Daughter of
Loki and the giantess Angrboða, sister of Fenrir and Jörmungandr.
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reach out for it and grab; grab and beat. She had to kill that monster before
he killed her!
Sif gritted her teeth. When Halfdan bent over her for a second time,
having wiped at her to strike, she quickly rolled over on her side, grabbed the
dirty rake, fell on her back, and put it in front of her. Crooked prongs gleamed
dimly reflecting the flashes of fire.
Halfdan fell on the old rake with all his weight. Something crunched in
the ugly and bloated body. Breathing hard, the draugr quacked heavily and
croaked savagely. Streams of black blood flowed down the rake.
Sif pulled herself together and rolled out from under the monster, then
got to her feet sharply. Coughing hard, almost suffocating, she looked
around. Draugr was stuck a few cubits from the ground. Still not dead, he
was trembling desperately, trying to free himself. He was touching the bloody
rake with his thick fingers. Then he snored, growled, and the dark blood
flowed from his open mouth.
Halfdan looked at Sif, gritted his yellow fangs, and, clutching the rake's
grip alternately with his left and right hands, began to unbend slowly. A little
more and he would be free, and then would definitely attack her again.
Unexpectedly Urur jumped out of the smoke and bunted the draugr with
his big horns. He knocked him to the side and began to beat with his hooves.
Sif turned away in horror, sat down, put her arms around her shoulders. The
air full of screams filled at once with terrible crunches and munching, as if an
old pumpkin was being squeezed. Sif covered her ears with her dirty palms
so as not to hear that. She didn't notice when the mess finally stopped.
Having felt warmth with her cheek, Sif shuddered and opened her eyes.
Urur leaned over her shoulder, his big eyes were twinkling like green stars,
not a drop of blood was on his white horns. And the black fur seemed clean
and shiny, as if the traces of a fight with a draugr had been washed away by
rain. As if nothing had happened. However, Muspelheim was still burning
behind them, the air was buzzing and whistling because of strikes of sword,
axes and arrows. Somewhere nearby a woman was shouting and a child was
crying. And Halfdan's body turned into a terrible bloody medley.
“Take it,” Urur pushed a long black sword to her.
“Wh-what's this?” Sif whispered, stumbling. Then peered into the
weapon.
The sword was narrow, arm length, and the smooth black blade shone
like a starry sky on a clear night. Its hilt resembled tightly woven rods,
between which glistened blue runes. Its shape recalled Nordan's skull and a
lost reedpipe.
Sif raised a sword and put it in front of her. It turned out to be light, like
a birch twig, and the runes on the mirror-black blade flared and then faded
alternately. Having held her breath, Sif was staring at her pale, stained face in
the black blade. A thin red trickle of blood was running down her cheek, and
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her disheveled red braids were lying disorderly on her shoulders.
“Take it and defend yourself,” Urur said strictly.

Sif gulped a lump in her throat, then felt the taste of salt and iron on her
tongue. She looked at the auroch in fright. His large eyes with white spots
shone even brighter.
“Take it and fight, Sif Skilfingar, daughter of Asa the Brave!” He stamped
his big hooves, bowed his horned head, and exhaled the white cloud from
his nostrils. “Get up, Astfried Skilfingar, Sigurd's daughter, and don't be
afraid of anything. Today my power is your power and my weapon is in your
hands. Today the æsir are in favour of your victory! I will help you to
overcome this plague, but you should stand up and fight together with me.”
Sif sighed in fright, hesitated, looked again at her reflection. Only for a
moment, for the briefest of moments, it seemed to her that she saw there not
a clumsy and frightened girl with her head in the clouds and dreams of distant
lands and brave adventures, but a real mighty völva endowed with power
over life and death.
Just for a little moment, but that was enough. Sif got to her feet, gripped
the comfortable handle tighter, felt the warmth of the sword flowing from
her fingers to her hand, and a wave of fire spreading to her heart. She felt
how the incomprehensible, incessant, strong power filled her body, how cold
and fatigue disappeared, and how fear fled into the night.
The blue light enveloped the sword. It was becoming brighter and
brighter, and there was so much power in it that it seemed as if the wings
were about to spread behind Sif and she would fly like a valkyrie. Sif looked
at the black clouds that hovered over Borre, the beloved village of hers, after
that gripped the hilt of her magic sword, and strode vigorously toward her
enemies.
Thick smoke was stinging her eyes, tears were streaming down her cheeks,
Sif almost completely lost her orientation. Where should she look for her
parents? She was rushing from path to path. From the right and from the
left, Borrians with axes or disgusting monsters were jumping out of the
smoke. Twice she nearly fell under the hooves of álfar's death-stallions.
Urur didn't help at all – only jumped nearby and froze behind Sif, when
she stopped from time to time. Skoll occasionally showed up from the thick
smoke, and Lleu disappeared somewhere. Three times Sif ran across the
draugar, slammed in the monsters's broad backs, and, without waiting for
them to come to their senses, stabbed them with a sword.
The black blade ripped into the flesh of deads with an awful ease. The
draugar fell at Sif's feet like hewed trees. Although she didn't put much effort
in the blow and missed sometimes because of her fear, the magic sword
found the enemies in two shakes. It was as if someone else was controlling
her hand and directing the blow. Black arrows, that were constantly whistling
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above her, passed her each time, and stuck in the mud next to her boots.
Some of them jumped off, as if an invisible shield protected her.
When she turned the corner of the burning house, she almost got into the
heart of a big fight. The man, who was covered in blood from his head to
foot, fought against four monsters at once. His shirt was torn with claws, his
arms were dissected, and an arrow with black feathers protruded from his
shoulder. Sif was plunged into shock when she recognized her uncle Grimnir.
He was tired. Severely wounded. And still, despite everything, he bravely
repulsed the enemies. He would fight with them to the last breath…
Sif swung, and the sword cut off the head of the nearest dead. Again, it
was as if she didn't possess a magic weapon, but a sword itself guided her
hand and shred the enemies. When the last draugr fell near the uncle's feet,
the sword stopped. Her hand fell to her hips and hung like a rope. She looked
around: to the right and to the left were the mutilated stalls of the trade, and
all the variety of goods was lying in the mud right under the feet. Trade. It
meant that the Mead Hall was very close.
“Odin's beard! Is that you, poppet?” he inhaled heavily the fumy air,
staring at Sif with one eye. “What are you doing here? Why did you get into
this hell?”
“Where… Where are the parents?” Sif muttered, her voice was trembling
and she was slurring her speech. “Where's mom?”
Uncle lowered his ax and rubbed black and red blood with his sleeve.
Then blinked his survived eye.
“I don't know, poppet. I don't know anything anymore. You had to hide
in the house! You are too small to fight with evil spirits.
He hadn't finished talking, when the mournful trumpeting of the horns
announced the arrival of new enemies. From the black clouds limped
distorted enchanted dead hunters.
“Go! I'll manage!”
Grimnir roared, threw up his bloodied ax, and went against the monsters.
Urur intervened, having gently horned her in the back and pushed her away
from her uncle.
“Faster, Sif!” Auroch insisted, pushing her away from the scene of a new
battle. “Your uncle will not die today. I promise you.”
She obeyed and reluctantly ran along the smoky, narrow rows of gutted
burnt-out stalls.
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Finally, a tall, smoldering house appeared ahead. The Mead Hall, where her
father was giving a speech last night. The walls leaned. The roof was almost
destroyed. The mutilated house, the tallest in their village, the pride of Borre,
was covered with black soot. From the ground to the top, the blackness
wriggled along the wall just like scratch marks.
In front of the building the fiercest battles were taking place. Dozens of
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trolls, deads, and pale horsemen crowded the yard, and the surviving Borrians
were holding the fort bravely. Among all that crowd stood her father's
powerful figure. His heavy hammer flickered faster than lightning and hit the
target each time. It was as if he was holding Mjölnir75 Þōrr in his hands, but
not an ordinary weapon. Mother huddled with her back to father. A thin
shiny sword was flickering in her white hand. Golden hair was glistening,
reflecting the flashes of fire.
She was killing her enemies furiously, no matter who got in the way of
her blade: a draugr, a troll, or a pale rider. An unbuttoned fur robe to the
ankles and a white shirt were richly covered with red spots. If only it was not
her blood.
Sif froze, watching the horde of the Wild Hunt, which advanced and
retreated in the fire like a dark wave. The trolls were slowly pushing some of
the defenders to the fire. The numbers of pale riders and draugar tripled. It
was clear that the fight would not last long.
“We need to help them,” Sif looked at Urur pleadingly.
Auroch twitched his ears, but didn't make a single movement to help the
girl. The look of his big emerald eyes left no hope.
“You have a weapon. Fight!”
“But why? Why should I do this?”
Sif's knees were trembling, and an icy cold covered her chest. Never had
she been so frightened in her life. All that determination and strength
disappeared without a trace. A push in her back brought her to her senses.
Tears welled up in her eyes at once. At the last moment, barely holding on
her feet, she thrust her sword in the trampled ground.
Then she looked around and froze, having seen eyes full of hate and
hunger just in front of her face. Another one giant – a troll – towered over
her. A wave of disgusting stench that was coming from the fat was even
stronger than the smell of fire. Something shrinked in her stomach. She
wondered if the trolls had already seen the font.
Hardly had Sif managed to put her sword out from the mud and raise it
high above her head, when the troll swayed heavily and slapped with all his
black body near her feet. The mud splashed like a small fountain, splotched
her face, clothes and hair. The hilt of a thin sword protruded from the
monster's green neck.
“Sif!”
Dahlia rushed to her daughter, and wrapped her arms around the girl.
“Mom…”
Sif lowered her black sword.
“Thank goodness, you're alive,” Dahlia hugged her tighter, then stepped
75Mjölnir – the hammer of the thunder god Thor, the eldest son of Odin. Mjölnir was forged
by the dvergar. If being thrown, it always returns to the hands of its owner, and always
strikes the enemy.
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back, took her daughter's head, and looked into the eyes. “And Bo? Where is
your brother? Is he with you?”
Sif shook her head, muttered, barely understanding what she was talking
about.
“I brought him home from the forest. But he disappeared somewhere…
Mommy, there were trolls and… Ulfson. He died. And then the pale man…
Sif clutched at the torn sleeves of her shirt, tears were streaming down
her pale cheeks.
“Darling, darling, look at me,” mother wiped Sif's tears with her gentle
hand. “Everything will be fine!”
“Mommy, but álfar…” Sif whispered, her voice was trembling, as well as
her hands and body, she didn't feel her legs, they were soft and she was ready
to fall down at any time. “Álfar came to take you!”
The black sword in the hand became twice or even thrice heavier due to
fatigue. How much longer will she be able to fight with it? And how many
álfar, trolls and draugar have invaded Borre? Elsewhere the bear was
definitely causing the blizzard. An unpleasant sensation fettered her chest.
She forgot something highly important. With all the haste, fights, monsters…
What did Alevanr say to the bear about the handkerchief?..
“There you are, betrayer!”
A sweet voice came out of the smoke. A pale horse jumped into the Mead
Hall. Alevanr was sitting on its crooked back with a smile on his face and a
flame burning in his eyes.
“Didn't you expect to see me? Oh, you probably have forgotten your
older brother's face, haven't you?”
Alevanr was riding ahead, accompanied by two pale riders, followed by
three even uglier horses, that were pulling large carved sleigh, richly covered
with gold and silver patterns.
Now when Sif saw Alevanr in contrast with the other riders, she realized
that the handsome man did not look like them at all! Whoever the pale riders
were, one thing was clear: not all of them were of álfar race. It was another
tribe which invaded Borre on the Yule Night and destroyed their home
village.
Alevanr stopped his death-stallion and ordered his escort to stand up with
the imperative gesture. The monsters, which were pulling the big sleigh,
roared in displeasure, shot out their jaws full of fangs, exhaled white clouds
of steam into the sooty air, but nonetheless obeyed.
A lady of such dazzling beauty was sitting in the sleigh that it took Sif's
breath away. The white skin radiated a soft pearly glow, as if the moonlight
shone through the thin ice. High cheekbones, dark eyes, thin neck, decorated
with pearls, slender waist, wrapped in elegant furs of unknown animals. Shiny
as snow in the sunny weather, long, smooth hair was pulled back in a tight,
lush braid adorned with silver ribbons. A tiara made of blue gems glistened
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on his head. The cold, domineering, but at the same time noble and seductive
beauty of the lady hurt Sif's heart and at the same time enchanted her. Pure
as the embodiment of Winter, she looked very young, perhaps a little older
than Ilive.
The girl put her chin up and glared around at all the people with her
haughty gaze, pursed her full rosy lips. Odin the Allfather, is this Golda in
the sleigh? Or, perhaps, Freyja herself? It is said that the goddess Freyja leads
the Wild Hunt. Accompanied by álfar-hunters, she travels across the sky and
punishes sinners. Or maybe the Moon Queen came to them? Is that the Star
of Niflheim?.. The beauty caught Sif's eye, and an icy white smile appeared
on her face.
“Is that her, Alevanr?” The beauty asked. Her clear voice was ringing like
a crystal, and was quite audible even despite the loud sounds of battle. “How
funny she is. A funny little half-blood. Shall we take her with us? She can
serve me in my Crystal Chambers.”
Dahlia pushed Sif behind her back, then straightened up, squared her
shoulders proudly. Without even looking at the little queen, she said to
Alevanr:
“You know, I won't go with you, brother. I don't want to return to
Álfheimr. You brought this filth with you in vain. Here is my home, here is
my family, and I'll stay with them.”
“Oh no, I didn't come to ask you, Asa,” Alevanr replied, having looked
askance at Sif, disgust distorted his handsome face. “You no longer have the
power to make decisions. Alfruk's crown passed to a worthy heir.
Dahlia shuddered, took a deep breath, trying to hide her surprise.
“That means our father…”
Alevanr did not let her finish the sentence, instead he snorted loudly, his
death-stallion neighed and bared its teeth.
“That's right, betrayer, King Alfruk rested in peace. Now Álfheimr has a
new ruler,” he said loudly, defiantly, and glanced quickly at the white queen
in the sleigh. “And here is the new queen! A queen who doesn't betray her
people. She doesn't disgrace her family by crossing her blood with vile
mortals. Neither does she disgrace her honor or name by fleeing in the most
inglorious way! Yes, Asa, my treacherous sister, you no longer decide
anything in Álfheimr, your voice is not worth remembering, and none of the
álfar will hear you.”
Dahlia listened to Alevanr in silence. She didn't argue or get angry, neither
did she apologize, she just whispered to her daughter: “You have to flee!”
She squeezed the girl's cold hand and didn't give an opportunity to object.
“When I give a command, run to the forest.”
“But, mum…” hummed Sif, having shifted her horrified gaze from her
mother to the white queen.
But barely had Sif said that, when the ground beneath his feet shook. The
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sky roared even louder than the savage horns of the Wild Hunt. A long and
fierce echo shook the village, having distracted people's and monsters'
attention from the fight.
Out of the black smoke the giant was coming out slowly, stepping over
the ruined houses.
Borrians came to a standstill with weapons in their hands, as if they were
petrified. Trolls and draugar moved sluggishly to the side, shouting
something to each other. Even the álfar, or whoever the pale riders were,
seemed to be stunned.
For a few moments they were staring at the marching greatness, then
grabbed the horns that were attached to their belts, and played with all their
might, having gestured to their soldiers to get out of the giant's way.
He was like a white rock. It was as if a part of the mountain had broken
off and rolled through the night with a roar. He obstructed a pale moon,
which was shining through the sooty columns of smoke, with the back of his
head. He resembled ugly troll, increased by many times, but with pale, ashy
álfar skin. The huge bald head was crowned with sharp horns. A real Jötunn
from legends. The giant didn't look where he was going, so he trampled
everyone who got in his way: people and monsters, horses and deads. Waving
with his long hands, he was destroying everything that survived after the fire.
Sif cried out deafly, having clutched her mother's arm tightly.
“Go,” Dahlia whispered. Then she inhaled deeply and shouted in her
daughter's ear: “Go, Sif!”
Sif was pushed off the path with all mother's might. She choked, faltered,
and fell down in the mud. A weak hand let go of the black sword, and it fell
aside.
Lying on her stomach, Sif felt the ground trembling beneath her. The
tramp of heavy footsteps was approaching her, moving headily along the
empty streets, rumbling like thunder overhead, exploding somewhere deep
in her chest. Sif groped the sword with a trembling hand, gripped the handle
with slippery fingers. She tried to get on her knees, but ran out of energy.
“Mom…”
Urur rushed to the girl, pushed her with his horns and helped her get to
her feet.”
“Get up, Sif! Quickly!”
She could barely stand. The girl clamped around the auroch's strong neck,
leaving specks of dirt on his shiny black fur.
“Get on!” auroh pushed her under her knees, and threw Sif on his back.
He doubled in size, having become almost as huge as he was in the woods.
He abruptly took off and jumped on the roof of the surviving house. The
roar of the giant was felt even there. Each time the roof bounced and
showered with straw rain on the melting snow.
Fierce, heavy snoring was heard through the shouts, curses, buzzing of
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horns, and dins of arms. It was as if giant blacksmith's bellows were inflated
overhead. Sif couldn't move, her fear turned the body into a hardened log.
She slid off Urur's broad back and fell onto the straw roof. Then she began
to sip thick and smelly air heavily. Thousands of lights were flickering in front
of her eyes. Finally, leaning on the sword like on a crutch, she rose to her
feet.
“Focus, Sif focus,” she muttered to herself.
The giant was passing their house, swinging his long arms like oars, he hit
the wall, and a huge dent appeared. The roof almost jumped up, and straw
poured down from the roof like a waterfall, Sif barely managed to grab Urur's
neck to keep from falling to the ground.
Jötunn stood in front of the remnants of Gjort, where the surviving
Borrians crowded. He bent down, examining them like ants scurrying
beneath his feet. Even her father could barely reach the monster's knees.
“Urur, what should we do? He will squash them!”
Borrians, by her father's order, set themselves in the shape of a crescent
moon in front of the giant. Trolls, draugar and other monsters have gone
somewhere. The big sleigh and the white queen also disappeared. The álfar
riders were staying aside, but didn't run away. On the contrary, everyone was
focused on the Jötunn, expecting a bloody spectacle. However, Sif didn't see
Alevanr among them. A terrible foreboding fettered her chest.
The giant threw his head back and roared so furiously, so madly, that even
thunder rolled over Borre. Then he stomped so intensively that the walls of
the surviving houses swayed dangerously.
“What should I do?” Sif looked beseechingly at the auroch.
She was still holding a black sword in her hand, but it had lost its
significance.
“Just imagine that you are holding a bow.”
“What?”
Sif looked at the auroch in bewilderment. Urur's ears twitched sharply, he
was staring right into her eyes.
“To imagine?”
The giant was about to attack the hunters, there was no time to ask again.
Sif screwed up her eyes, diligently trying to imagine the bow she was learning
to shoot from on her porch. Each time she defeated her brother in friendly
competitions. And dad always laughed contentedly, praising her for perfect
skills.
“You have the eyes of Odin's crow, dear, and the talent of a hunter and a
warrior!”
Tears welled up in her eyes because of those memories, streams leaked
out down her pale cheeks. And what if the giant destroys Borre? And what if
the plague does not stop? And if álfar kill her relatives? Sif's heart was
pounding in her chest. The sword became no heavier than air. Her hand no
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longer hurt and was holding it with all the determination.

Sif opened her eyes and looked down. Fingers were gripping a large black
bow. She turned the bizarre weapon over in her hand. A smooth handle was
covered with a row of shining runes. The black bowstring was trembling like
the strings of Ling's zither.
The giant roared, pounded the black earth with his fists, and the nearest
hunters were taken down. Sif's father stood up, shouting something, and
swung his ax. Sif dropped to one knee, put a bow in front of her, took aim,
and pulled a black bowstring back. Only then did she realize that there was
nothing to shoot.
“And where are the arrows?” she looked excitedly at the auroh.
Long arrows with black feathers protruded from Urur's white horns,
similar to those, which álfar was killing her neighbors with. Sif took aim again
and released the bowstring. The arrow hit the giant in his thick neck, and got
stuck in the skin. But Jötunn didn't seem to notice it. All his anger was
focused on Sif's father and the hunters, who were trying to get closer to the
monster, but in vain.
“We need to get to his head,” Sif muttered, looking down.
Straw was raining down on the black earth. She could jump down and
run. However by the time she gets off the roof, the giant will kill everyone
there!
“Get on!” ordered the auroch, who was already standing nearby, bending
his horned head over in a bow.
Without arguing, Sif jumped on his broad black back, wrapped his strong
sides with her legs, her left hand held on to his white horns. Urur gracefully
jumped into the air, hovered above the ground as if there was an invisible
bridge beneath him, and ran to the giant's head. Sif wrapped the black sides
tighter, put the bow in front of her, pulled the bowstring again, then took
aim.
The giant felt their approach, looked around, blinking in confusion with
his red eyes, which were the size of bulky pumpkins. Without hesitation, Sif
shot exactly at his pupil. Jötunn roared in pain, staggered, and clutched at his
face. The hunters barely managed to get out from under his feet. Urur dodged
the huge hand neatly and jumped on the surviving part of the burned roof of
Gjort.
Sif gripped one of his horns with her hand so as not to fall off the auroch's
back. The giant flailed his long white hand in the air, trying to find his
offenders, and with the other one he covered his face: from under his icy
fingers a trickle of black blood was streaming down his face.
“Did I strike him, didn't I?” Sif was nearly gasping because of the
excitement, and when Urur stopped, she aimed again.
As soon as the giant removed his palm and looked at them with one single
eye, having stopped the furious gaze at Sif, she shot a second arrow. And hit
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him again!
The giant swayed. Heaven and earth were trembling due to his frantic
roar. Jötunn was punching the air with his fists, breaking everything he could
reach. Fingers gripped the roof of the Mead Hall. The giant was howling and
roaring, while his foot was shattering the strong walls. Urur bounced to a safe
distance so fast that Sif almost fell off his black back for a second time.
“Hold on!” the auroch said, then appeared swiftly right under Jötunn's
arms and flew into the smoke.
Sif looked around. Although she took the giant's eyes, he was continuing
to smash houses, randomly wagging his hands, stomping his feet and
jumping, trying to trample the hunters. They were falling to the ground and
rolling out from under the giant's hairy legs at the last moment. The blinded
icy monster went wild in pain.
“How can I kill him? Urur, how to kill him?”
Breathing hard, Sif was grabbing the horns of the auroch. The world
shivered refracted through her tears, the giant turned into a white rock that
obscured the sky.
“I'm begging you, say something! My dad is there… that monster will…
he will crush him in a moment.”
“Imagine a sword in your hand. Great. Hold on tight!”
Urur jumped into the sky, flew over the giant, and hovered in front of a
huge head. Jötunn turned. Two gouged out eyes, with arrows still sticking out
in them, stared at them. Blood was trickling down his big white face. The
giant exhaled a white cloud from his wide nostrils.
“Chop him!” ordered the auroch.
Sif did not notice how it all happened. She clutched a star-iron sword in
her hand, raised on the back of the auroch, swung, and slashed as hard as she
could on the giant's massive, like the trunk of an old oak, neck. The sword
cut easily, as if she was cutting not fur, bones and flesh, but a smooth butter.
The sword softly pierced his throat.
Black blood sprayed to all sides. A few drops fell on the auroch's horns
and fur, hissed, steamed like boiled water in a cauldron, burning out tiny
wounds.
“Be careful, his blood is poisonous!”
Urur jumped away from the giant. But Sif didn't have time to unlink her
fingers, she slipped off her broad back and hung in the air, holding on to the
black handle sticking out from Jötunn's neck. Wet fingers slid on the iron,
feet were swinging chaotically, in search of some prop. In a moment she
would probably fall down to earth. Sif unwittingly looked down. She would
definitely crash, if she fell from such a height.
“Sif!”
Urur returned quickly, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt with his fangs,
and jumped off the giant. The monster was wheezing and roaring heavily,
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pressing his hand to the deadly wound. Then he staggered, fell to his knees
like a hewed tree, and crashed to the ground so heavily that even the houses
jumped up.
“He's dead!”
Hunters approached the Jötunn and encircled him. Father was all maroon
and muddy, his red beard was covered with blood spots, and his face was
scarred. He gripped the ax in his bloodied hand and chopped the horned
head of the monster several times for reliability. But when the poisonous
blood got on his skin, he stopped doing that.
Urur descended into the circle of survivors, opened his jaws, letting Sif
go. Swaying on her weak legs, she rushed to her father.
“My Sif, you're alive!” Sigurd hugged her tightly, pressed her to his torn,
dissected chest, then patted her comfortingly on the back.
Sif shut her eyes, she was trembling with all her body. She was waiting in
horror for something fatal to happen. But in vain. No one attacked the tired
and mutilated warriors, and they were talking louder and louder over the body
of the giant, hopefully staring into the night. Is that all?
The riders on their death-stallions went somewhere, trolls and draugar
disappeared from the smoky streets. The buzzing of trumpets was heard only
from the forest. The Wild Hunt receded.
“Is that all?” Sigurd croaked uncertainly.
Frightened Borrians walked out of the ruins. Lurching, they hurried to the
defenders, rejoicing that they were alive, and congratulating the victors. The
women were crying and hugging the men, washing them with tears,
whispering something absolutely mad: “They took our son…”, “They broke
into our house… Our daughters were there… they took them away by the
sleigh… all three. Oh, what could I do?”
“What are you talking about, woman?” exclaimed one of the hunters in a
hoarse voice. “Which sleigh? Have you gone crazy?”
An old gray-haired mother approached them, pattad the mutilated hand
of her son, as if soothing him.
“Oswald, they took the children,” she whispered in a mournful, low voice.
Sif shuddered, turned away from her father, and looked back at the
Borrians.
“Children? Dad, what are they talking about? And mom… Where is my
mom?”
Sif looked around, searching with her gaze for the golden-haired slender
woman. She noticed Gudrun and Horn in the crowd. The woman was
weeping bitterly, and the priest was gently comforting her. Then she noted
her uncle Grimnir, who was limping to the giant, leaning heavily on Eric's
shoulder. However, Dahlia was nowhere to be seen. Next to them stood
Ling, all black because of soot, his beautiful face was uglified with deep cuts,
and white shirt was covered with red spots. Having caught her eye, the young
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man shuddered, and quickly lowered his eyes. A bad feeling tightened her
chest harder, ailed her heart.
“Where is the mom, daddy?”
Sigurd didn't answer, his gaze was fixed on the sinister black figure, which
was slowly approaching them through the soot and ruins. A long black cloak
played in the wind with heavy folds, and her gray hair shone brighter than
snow. The woman was limping, leaning on a black smooth stick. Where she
stepped, the flames subsided and sank low to the ground, and clouds of
smoke were blown away by the wind.
“Ulfhild,” Sigurd whispered, releasing his daughter from his arms. “Við
hamri Þórs!”
When the black woman stopped in front of the dead giant, the surviving
Borrians fell silent, the wives stopped crying, the husbands – to calm them
down, and the wounded – to moan. Everyone's eyes were fixed on völva.
Slender and powerful, she was making people obey her only with her
presence.
“The wrath of the æsir has fallen on Midgard today!” völva declared in a
sonorous, but calm voice. No emotions were seen on her noble white face,
and her large eyes shone like a crow's ones. “Nine worlds have been disturbed
in the north, which was born in the bosom of Nifelheim and moved the
protective walls. The great Jörmungandr came to life and swallowed his own
tail. Midgard's serpent left his post, and now our world is defenseless!
She struck the ground with a black stick, and the remains of the flames,
that were smoldering elsewhere, went out at once. The north wind whirled
over the ruins, and snow started falling from the sky.
“The epoch of the wind has come! The epoch of the wolf is reigning now!
Völva's voice flew far beyond the quiet Borre, on the wings of the Nord it
flew to the black forest, where the horns of the Wild Hunt had already died
down. “You all have heard my warning.”
She looked around at the silent peasants, having stopped for a moment at
Sif, who was huddling against the earl's back. Her big eyes flashed, but the
white face remained calm.
“Take solace, people, as your children are alive! Enslaved by the rulers of
Álfheimr, but alive.
The relieved whispering splashed overhead. Sif's father pursed his lips, his
fingers were gripping the hilt of the ax tightly.
“For Týr's sake! Oh wisewoman, no time for your parting words now! If
it is true, we must catch up with the villains and take away our children. Come
on, folks, bring your horses! Everyone who can stay in the saddle will go with
me,” he ordered.
The enchanted crowd suddenly fussed, the Borrians ran to the surviving
houses, the soldiers surrounded Sigurd, being ready for a new battle. Völva
was silent, she only pursed her lips in a thin line and watched the Borrians.
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Sigurd looked at the dead giant, at the sword sticking out from his neck,
grabbed the black handle and pulled it out with one movement. Black iron
was hissing, poisonous blood was dripping on the damp earth, blue runes
were glimmering faintly on the smooth blade and then fading quickly. Were
they fading because Sif didn't hold the handle?
“Is it the sword of Fenrir? Where did you get it?”
Her father glared at her severely, but Sif didn't know what to say. She
couldn't speak at all. She was still looking around to see either her mother or
brother. Did the elves take them too? It seemed that her heart was made of
ice, it was painful to breathe, her head was buzzing with fearful thoughts.
The last powers left Sif, she closed her eyes, swayed back and fell on the
back of the auroch, who jumped up to her in time. A weak hand gripped his
strong neck. Sif was drowning in his black fur, still hearing and seeing through
the haze of fatigue how Ling and two other young men dragged six horses.
They were snorting and resisting nervously, beating their hooves, trying to
break free. Without hesitation, father thrust the black sword into the ground
next to Jötunn's head.
“Get on your horses!” he said hoarsely, having got on his strong stallion.
“When you see the fiends, hack them all! Leave that slut in the sleigh and her
skald for me.”
Sif was observing silently her father and hunters disappearing in the
twilight. Borrians were thronging around the giant for a few more minutes,
examining him and the völva, and then finally broke up. Some went in search
of their families, some were looking for the bodies of dead relatives in the
ashes, some were extinguishing the remains of their houses.
The Wild Hunt was over, and Borre had turned into total ruins. That fatal
night was filled with women's cries, that were louder than the groans of the
wounded. The álfar kidnaped almost all children of Borrians.
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CHAPTER 6. VEGVISIR
'Twas night in the dwelling,
and Norns there came,
Who shaped the life
of the lofty one;
And there the golden
threads they wove,
And in the moon's hall
fast they made them.
“The Poetic Edda”
The big fire was lit up for them, though Borre was burning like a massive
bonfire at night. But the roar subsided slowly, and the mute sorrow engulfed
the village.
Everyone who died that night of The Wild Hunt deserved the respectful
seeing-off, own ships where they will be laid to rest until the Valkyries take
them away. They were worthy of the mournful cry and gifts, put in their
graves and sent to the world of Gods. Nevertheless, men, women, and even
children were lying, tied with ropes. Nails stuck out from their legs. They had
their fingernails cut and burnt separately.
People were afraid that fallen warriors would come back to life and that
they would retaliate against their survived relatives. Inhabitants of Borre
whispered about the living dead, the curse, the death of worlds, and The
Great Winter. But these whispers were so loud for the first time in a long
time. That Longest Night, all fairy tales and fables, which scared children,
came true. Clearly, people treated fallen fellow villagers and guests with
caution.
Sif stood still in front of Ulfson. He was washed, combed, and looked
peaceful and handsome in his new shirt with elegant embroidery as if he had
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been tired of work and had just fallen asleep. He will become an einheri76 and
join Odin in the palace in Valhalla77 at the top of The World Tree. He’ll join
and will celebrate with All-father up to that day when the forces of evil began
to destroy the worlds. Then Ulfson will finally die with the other einherjar-
light warriors.
The shoeing nails, used to shoe horses, stuck out of Ulfson’s legs. Did his
own father shoe him?
Her eyes filled with tears. She longed unbearably to grab the black sword
and run to the forest. To run as long as she had the strength and to holler.
To catch the alfars and monsters up, which did that with Ulfson, and to kill
everyone she can, everyone if she has time. But the sword disappeared with
the body of the giant. Lost in her grief, Sif didn’t immediately hear the
whispers behind her back.
“Look, Iliv’s groom is lying here.”
“Frigg Great Mother78, have mercy on us! Ylv’s son also died?”
The girls were whispering.
“I can’t imagine how difficult it is for Iliv. Mother disappeared, younger
brother disappeared, and her father, our jarl, has been out of his mind since
he returned from the forest. People say he shut himself up in his chambers
and drinks ale. He doesn’t let anyone come in and doesn’t convene the thing.
The man is mad with grief.”
“I heard Iliv and Ylfson gave vows to each other near the kurgan. In
autumn. They did it secretly because her family didn’t want her to marry.”
“Why?”
“It’s clear why: they prepared her to become a völva.”
“So that’s it!”
“They swore near the Forbidden Hof?” The third voice intervened.
“Yes! And they took an oath of internal love before Æsir. So, such
trouble.”
Sif didn’t look back to see who was gossiping. She guessed the voice of
Aldis, Helca’s friend, and the voices of Hailey’s little sisters – Fastniya and
Ingleyfa.
Some children ran away to the black hof. They were hiding there until
alfars left Borre, so those children weren’t captured. They returned to the
conflagration, led by Kaya at down. Older children carried the younger ones,
who whined loudly. Only ten of them returned, but Bo wasn’t among them.
Sif was running to her neighbours, calling, looking for him, but she didn’t
find her brother. Damn alfars took with them every one: Mia, Kala, Hailey,
76 In Norse mythology, the einherjar (singular einheri) literally "army of one", "those who
fight alone") are those who have died in battle and are brought to Valhalla by valkyries.
77 In Norse mythology, Valhalla from Old Norse: Valhǫll "hall of the slain") is a majestic,
enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the god Odin.

78 Frigg is a goddess, one of the Æsir, in Germanic mythology.
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Inga, and Helca with her little sister.

Father and the other hunters returned when the sun was high up in the
sky. They came gloomy and tired and didn’t say anything. Jarl didn’t convene
the meeting. He just announced that they hadn’t caught the enemies up. The
Army of the Wild Hunt didn’t leave even a trace, as if it dissolved in the
forest.
Everyone went to their home, and father locked himself up and ordered
Rida not to let anyone come in. Worried and scared residents of Borre sought
solace in jarl. They gathered in their yard, waiting and waiting, calling. They
dispersed when they finally realised that Sigurd wouldn’t come to them.
“It’s scary to see,” Ling whispered.
Sif shuddered and looked at the skald with fear because she didn’t notice
when he had crept. The young man’s right arm had a bandage up to his
shoulder and hung motionlessly. His face was scarred, pale and almost as
ashy as the face colour of riders of The Wild Hunt. Ling smiled sadly with
one corner of his mouth.
“Children mustn’t die. Didn’t you find out something about your
brother?” Tiny hope flickered in his empty grey eyes.
Sif pursed her lips and wiped the streams of tears with the dirty sleeve.
“No, sir,” she concentrated on Ylfson again. But her heart was prickling
as if overgrown with blackthorn.
“I see,” Ling sighed. They stood together silently for some time, peering
at the Ulfson’s crippled body.
Sif barely restrained herself from bursting into tears in front of everyone.
You can’t cry. You can’t. Not now. She has to be strong. And without this,
people are disheartened and frightened. The guests that arrived at Borre for
the auction were even more scared. They appeared among the ruins from
time to time: dirty, tired and hungry. They were looking for some shelter or
horses to get as far as possible. However, some of them got to work with
residents of Borre, repaired houses and helped the wounded.
“I feel sorry for the little one. You know, he was my best student.”
Sif clenched her fist and turned to skald abruptly.
“Don’t talk about him like that!” She hissed and barely restrained herself
from slapping the young man. “Don’t talk like he–he is dead!”
Scuffing and limping with his injured leg, Gorm came to them with a
torch.
“Gudrun feels very ill,” murmured the priest with a low and tired voice.
“Come to her, skald, and comfort her.”
Mournful words got stuck in the throat of the older man. His long hair
lay on his shoulders erratically: it turned grey significantly overnight; his grey
eyes were as empty as Ling’s ones.
“Do you think songs can help her grief? She lost her only daughter. I
heard York-healer telling Eric that he had seen Mia on the back of a giant
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black bear! That monster pulled out the girl from the house, grabbing her for
a scarf. It had forced her to sit on it as if it was a horse. Then it had run to
the forest before that jötunn appeared.”
Having heard this, Sif shuddered. Was it that scarf that Alevanr had given
her? Didn’t Mia hand it back? Did she take it to herself?
“It’s my fault. It’s my–’
The sense of guilt constricted her chest and covered her heart with ice.
“You can’t help her with songs, but it’s possible to do with a talk.”
Eric joined them inaudibly. His clothes were torn and abundantly covered
with his own, someone else’s, human and monster’s blood. Claws and fangs
of draugrs tore his brown shirt. The mud splattered his woollen trousers. A
scary wound on the young’s man long neck. How many injuries were hidden
from the eyes? He slightly limped with his right leg.
Firstly, the young hunter approached Ylfson to bid farewell to a friend in
a whisper. He touched his lips and forehand with three fingers with an
unknown gesture and then stood on Sif’s right.
“My condolences, jarl’s daughter. It was a hard night. Hard for all of
us.”Eric put his hand on her shoulder and patted tenderly and quietly. “How
is your sister? Is she injured?”
“No-no, I don’t know. I haven’t seen Iliv– haven’t seen today.”Sif
muttered, stammering. “Maybe, she is witchcrafting with völva somewhere.”
No one else dared to approach. Soft woman’s sobs and prayers could be
heard from behind. Gorm sighed hard and lowered the torch to light Ulfson’s
bed. His arm trembled as if the priest had overdrunk ale. Straw inflamed with
a weak red light at the third attempt. Tiny stars rained down on the black
ground; fire crackled with the reed flooring and quickly covered the crippled
legs of the young man.
Sif didn’t withstand the spectacle. She turned back and ran away. Skald’s
voice flew after her, but she didn’t want to hear anything. And even more,
she didn’t want to see fire absorbing Ulfson.
She was running away where the eyes look, racing along empty streets
through half-dead Borre. She fell in the snow a few times but got back on
her feet and continued to run. Sif didn’t notice the black kurgan hung over
her.
The old hof cast a long and wide shadow on the virgin snow. If only Sif
had never known you, last shelter of a fairy-tale king, and your treasures. If
only mother hadn’t taken her here, hadn’t revealed who she was, who they
were. Perhaps, nothing would have happened. Perhaps, the Wild Hunt, led
by a king of alfars, wouldn’t have come to Borre to punish people and to steal
their children. Maybe, this is only her fault? Maybe, the old hof felt her wish
in some way? And it made her most cherished dream come true. Or did the
awakened force call the alfars? Why did she fortune-tell with cones?
“Sif,” Urur’s voice interrupted her scary thoughts. “What are you doing
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here, Sif?”
The auroch stood nearby; his green eyes were glowing; the white horns
were shining in the sun brighter than the snow; his black fur was clean again
as if there wasn’t that horrible fight that night.
“Better go home. Your sister is waiting for you.”
“Mommy took me here,” Sif sighed as if she hadn’t heard auroch’s words.
She looked carefully at the black hof, hesitated and then decisively went to
the temple. “Ordinary people couldn’t go inside, she said. But we can. We
can because we’re not humans. Do you understand me, Urur? Of course, you
do. You’re not a human, too.”
A winding path of children's tracks led to the mound, ending at a heavy
door. A strange sense of presence covered Sif with an icy wave. She barely
overcame her fear and pushed high door leaves.
A cold wind blew from the temple; dusk and silence reigned inside. A
winter breeze blew from the gap, throwing red locks over her shoulder. Sif
shuddered as if someone had touched her cheek with icy fingers. She took
the uncertain step, releasing the door leaves. As soon as she was inside, the
heavy door shut behind her with a screeching. Sif looked around, but there
was no one behind except for Urur. The confident look of the auroch calmed
her down and gave her determination. It was not as scary as at night inside
the temple now.
The shadows that had reached out for her with their transparent fingers
last time didn’t appear from the walls now. Sif didn’t hear fanciful whispers.
Stone statues of gods seemed to be indifferent and dead. Soft sunlight was
pouring out from the hole in the round ceiling. No mystery, no magic.
Sif crossed the big hall's dead silence and slowly climbed the stone steps
to the altar where Mother had stood. Sif saw the ancient chest hidden in the
hole. It was large and sturdy, made of mahogany, painted brightly and
decorated with gold. The lid, covered with skilful carving, was opened. Sif
wondered if Ingivir was looking for it. Perhaps, alfars came for those things
which were inside?
Sif squatted down, bent over the chest and threw back the lid. A soft silver
glow hit her eyes. Everything she saw took her breath away once again. All
treasures that her mother had hidden in the old hof were waiting there. Sif
pulled out a fluffy white mantle with trembling fingers and unfolded it on her
knees. It was radiating light. It looked as if she held in her arms the fanciful
wings made of silver, fur and lacy feathers of some unknown bird. Sweet
fragrance engulfed Sif. It seemed to her that she hovered above the floor for
a moment.
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A ring jingled from the feathery mantle on the stone altar. It circled near
Sif’s boots and finally fell with the inscription up. Sif picked it up slowly and
held it between her fingers. It was a ring made of red gold in the shape of the
snake that swallowed her own tail. It was hot to touch as if just taken from
the blacksmith’s bellows. The ring was rough as if covered with scales and
seemed massive. But it wasn’t heavier than the feather mantle on her knees.
Sif heard her Mother’s voice as if it was in reality, “It’s the ring that was
made for the engagement to virgin Svangvit. And this,” Dahlia ran her hand
over the fabulous clothes. “It’s her mantle and dresses. Indeed, there were
clothes of incredible beauty in the chest. They were embroidered with gold
and silver, made of brocade, silk, and some fabric she had never seen before.
It was the dowry of the princess of alfars. But Sif wasn’t interested in dresses
and jewellery. She lifted the ring to the hole in the round ceiling and looked
through it to see engraved on the red gold runes, as she had done that night.
“Wayland,” Sif read. “But it is– ’
“The king of alfars. Yes, Wayland the Wise ruled Ljósálfheimr in ancient
times. That is what I took when I escaped from the palace. Let it be yours.”
Sif squeezed the ring between her fingers; her arms were trembling; tears
were burning her eyes.
“Only children of the family of alfars can have this ring, can wear it and
master its power.”
“If only I had put it on at once. If only I admitted my blood, perhaps, my
mother– my mother– ’
Sif stammered. She was out of breath; hoarse sobbing gushed out from
her chest. Then she gritted her teeth and put the ring on her finger.”
Nothing happened. Sif felt nothing. It’s for nothing that she became
scared when her mother asked her to put the ring on. Sif stretched out her
arm and looked carefully at the jewellery. No magic. Only skin was pricking
a bit. Unusual warmth burnt her palms. Sif wondered what powers her
mother told about.
“The ring of alfars?” Urur bowed his head over her trembling arm; his
green eyes shone unusually threateningly. “No one had seen for a long time.
That’s what princess Asa took from her home world.”
“Oh, Urur,” Sif quickly wiped tears with her sleeve and pressed the ring
to her cheek. “I became afraid for nothing that time. I refused to take my
mother’s treasures and refused to wear this ring. I know the fairy tale about
the best blacksmith among those that ever lived in the world, about the
powerful and wise King Wayland. He was in love with the dís–the winged
maiden Svanhvit. He married her and then was captured by the evil
konungr.”Sif bit her lip and lowered her voice. “He killed the sons of that
konungr, disgraced his daughter, made wings for himself and flew to his
kingdom in Ljósálfheimr. I was always afraid of those fairy tales because
they’re ominous.
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“This is only make-believe, Sif. People always create when they don’t
understand something. They create monsters they will fear and hate but
justify the real monsters from their tribe and honour them. Or just don’t
notice their villainies until it’s too late.”
“But fairy tales aren’t always make-believes,” Sif shook her head. “You
told me the fairy tale. Do you remember it, Urur? The sad fairy tale about
The King and Star?”
Auroch looked closely at her with his emerald eyes.
“Was it you? Right? Are you Nordan?”
Urur was silent. She asked him for the second time if he was that magician
from the forest, who everyone believed to be Knecht. But for the second
time, auroch didn’t answer. Sif wondered what may happen if she questions
for the third time.
The big hall fell oppressively silent. They could hear the north wind
howling from the hole in the ceiling and iron door leaves creaking. Sif didn’t
stand it, glanced at the magic ring and lifted it.
“My mother told me who she was and why she had left the world of
alfars.”
Urur approached and stood nearby without looking away from Sif.
“What did she tell you?”
Sif sighed. The first night of Yule revived in her memory. Dahlia,
irradiated by moonlight, is standing near the altar, spreading her arms. She
says she’s Asa from Ljósálfheimr. And Sif was staring at her mother with her
mouth agape for a minute.
“Ljósálfheimr79?” she mumbled finally. “The kingdom of Light Elves?”
Dahlia nodded; a thin smile appeared on her lips. It’s hard to believe.
“But it’s impossible,” Sif objected and clenched her fists. “Impossible.”
Lley made an anxious hoot and flew off her shoulder to the statue of a
powerful Áss. It seemed to be Thor.
Sif strained her memory. What did her mother use to tell her and Bo near
the hearth? She invented fairy tales about princes, distant lands full of
wonders and fascinating adventures in the long winter evenings. If those
weren’t fairy tales? Did she tell them about her past? Ljósálfars are Light
Elves, White, Majestic or High. They live in Álfheimr, also known as
Alfheim–the second world under Asgard, the world of immortals. Alfars are
closest to the Æsir-gods, powerful and wise. And they also can use magic,
real magic; that’s why they are considered to be the best magicians and
soothsayers. They seem friendly to the people of Midgard, but there is
another tale to tell. Mother used to tell it in a whisper on the night before
Yule. The Tale of the Wild Hunt.
79In Norse cosmology, Álfheimr, "Land of the Elves" or "Elfland"; anglicized as Alfheim),
also called "Ljósálfheimr", "home of the Light Elves"), is home of the Light Elves.
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“You’re not children of mortals, Sif. You have the blood of the alfars, the
blood of the immortal white race.”
Dahlia seemed to read Sif’s thoughts and pressed her hand to her chest.
“How– how did it happen?”
The smile touched Dahlia’s lips. Of course, Sif was no longer a child, and
she understood what happened between adults and why. But she asked about
something else; her mother felt this.
“Once upon a time, when I was no older than Iliv, I left my home. I
escaped from “Ljósálfheimr. I thought I was doing everything right and
couldn’t even imagine that my escape would change the world of alfars so
much. You see, at that time, I, daughter of the prince Alvruk, had to marry
the chosen one from the line of Vanir80. I had to atone for the ancient sin
committed by my family. My father-king decided so. On Yultide, the chosen
bridegroom was going to come for me from the depths of the kingdom of
Svartálfaheimr81 where the svarts rule⁠. He had to take me away from my
home, family, and everything I loved so much.”
“Dark alfars,” Sif whispered. She was scared and struck in her heart once
again that crazy night.
All fables she has heard from her childhood are coming alive now. Rauch
Knecht is real; alfars exist; her mommy had to be the wife of Vanr!
“I was prepared to go to the other world to an unknown man. However,
our marriage didn’t happen. Jötnars came to Ljósálfheimr instead of my
groom.”
“Demons?” Sif was terrified and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Giant’s descendants?”
Giants. Oh, it was Bo’s favourite topic. He could list all princes of Jötnars
and Jötunns and knew all their nicknames by heart. Brother could tell for
hours how the ice giants, the thurses, fought with the Æsir, the gods of
Asgard, and how the fire giants of Muspelheim built the Black Ship Naglfar
82to destroy all worlds. How happy he would be now, hearing that those
powerful monsters exist and that their mother met the true descendant of the
Jötunn.
“They overcame the border that defended our world from invaders for
centuries. The border was established for us by Æsir, led by Odin! Jötnars,
like a dark wave, spread death and destruction. My father despaired. The best
warriors couldn’t stop that pestilence. The army of Jötnars destroyed
80 In Norse mythology, the Vanir are a group of gods associated with fertility, wisdom, and
the ability to see the future.

81 Svartálfar, also called myrkálfar ("dark elves", "dusky elves", "murky elves",
sing. myrkálfr), are beings who dwell in Svartalfheim (Svartálf[a]heimr, "home of the black-
elves").
82 In Norse mythology, Naglfar or Naglfari (Old Norse "nail farer") is a boat made entirely
from the fingernails and toenails of the dead.
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Ljósálfheimr for long months, ravaging our lands and besieging our cities.
No one of our allies came to help. My father was frustrated. If you can’t stop
an enemy, try becoming a relative to it. The Lord of Alfars decided so, and I
was offered to the leader of Jötnars, Ergelmir.
Sif froze.
“The bride of alfars race, true white blood. Ergelmir liked such an offer
and gladly accepted our union. Our children would have ruled Jotungheim⁠
and Alvheim jointly. They would have united two worlds divided by gods and
got unprecedented power from their parents. How splendid were those
planes, but the price was also sweet,” Dahlia paused for a minute and then
added with her quiet and full of determination voice, “but I didn’t want this.
When the offensive stopped, I left Ljósálfheimr, my home and my family,
crossed the prohibited border and came here, in Midgard, the world that was
given to mortals by gods.
“You broke the promise?” Sif whispered. She couldn’t believe it. “You
went against your father’s will?”
Mother is a model of decency, honesty, and responsibility. How could it
happen that she all of a sudden decided to take to her heels from her
wedding?
Dahlia sighed.
“It’s hard to explain, Sif. Alfars have other rules, not like humans ones.
When I came here to Midgard, everything seemed strange and alien to me. I
didn’t know what to do and where to look for shelter. I got lost in the dark
forest, walked in circles, tired and scared, and waited every minute for the
soldiers of my groom coming for me to take me back to Ljósálfheimr. I was
ready to return home, but then I met him.”
Dahlia wasn’t looking at her daughter. Her amber eyes focused on the
moonlight, flickering in the icy air of the stone hall, on the dance of
snowflakes, swirling around them.
“He came from afar. Said that there was war in his kingdom, wherever it
was. He knew that I got into trouble and warned me about the danger, about
giants that were coming for me. He offered to stay with him and assured me
that no Jötnar would dare attack as long as I was under his protection. And I
agreed. I don’t know how long I had been sitting near his magical hearth. It
seems I told him my story of life among alfars, and he just listened carefully
and was silent. And then– I don’t know why I did it, why I decided that he
had the powers to save my world. I promised him to fulfil his desire if he
would help my people. And he suddenly agreed. He just agreed. He stood up
and sent me to the völva’s thatch-house that was here, in the forest. And then
he disappeared. It happened that the Wild Hunt started that night. But I
learnt about it much later when I had a different name and began to study
galdr. During that hunt, unknown riders crossed the whole Ljósálfheimr,
killing only invaders. Jötnars had to run away to Jotunheimr, leaving my home
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world in peace.”
Dahlia paused; the stone hall fell oppressively silent. Something elusive
and wrong was in this silence. The words that were left unsaid hung in the
icy air between them. The terrible guess stuck into her heart. And it, poor
thing, beat so often in the chest like a caught bird.
Sif couldn’t stand the silence, “Who it was, mother? Who helped you?”
Dahlia was silent for a moment, pursed her lips, squinted and then said in
a quiet voice, 'Alfars call him Horned Karnon. Or Melan because he always
wears black clothes. He’s a king-exile, ancient like Jötunns, ancient like gods.
My father called him Ingvi-magician but forbade even mentioning his
existence. He said that as long as he, the descendent of Wayland, is alive and
conscious, Ingvi would never return to Ljósálfheimr. It seems he returned
that year and freed my people from the yoke of Jötnars.”
“So he kept his promise?”
Dahlia nodded, put out her hand to her daughter and helped her to climb
to the altar.
“But it’s a secret, daughter. And it should remain the secret, right? I hid
all my life; I was afraid my brothers would find me and return home. I’m not
ready to come back to Ljósálfheimr.”
There were so many questions that puzzled Sif, but only one disturbed
her most of all,
“Mother, will alfars punish you for escaping?”
“Maybe,” Dahlia hesitated. “But I have no regrets.”
She smiled, put her hand on her daughter’s honey-coloured hair and
tousled it gently. “Here I met your father and fell in love. And you were born
here, Sif. My wonderful daughter. You were born with the spirit’s mark. You
inherited the power of our race. But don’t forget one thing: you’re still a
human, though the blood of alfars flows in your veins.”
“The spirit’s mark?”
Dahlia became pale; a gentle smile disappeared from her beautiful face.
The light diminished in the temple. The moon hid behind the clouds. Black
shadows whispered behind her, touched her shoulders and grabbed her hair.
“You’re consecrated, Sif.”
“Consecrated?”
“Marked by spirits. You see, the völva Ylfchild,” Dahlia hesitated and
added more quietly, “your grandmother took you away when you were born.
I was sleeping at that moment when she carried you to the hof and performed
a rite. I didn’t have time to stop her. And when I woke up and understood
everything, it was too late. She gave you to the spirits.”
Sif was listening to Dahlia, barely breathing. What does it mean that her
grandmother gave her to the spirits?
“Don’t worry, daughter, it isn’t something evil. Ylfchild wanted you to
become my successor and to learn our craft.”
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“I had to become a völva?”

Dahlia slowly nodded. Something broke inside Sif; something cracked like
a string of a cittern. She pressed her hands to her chest. So, it’s she who had
to become the völva. However, her mother was teaching Iliv. Sif’s heart
would break with sudden pain. And that pain returned her from her
memories.
Sif was sitting on the stone plates near the chest; Urur bowed his big head
and looked carefully. The silver mantle glittered on her knees. The ring tightly
wrapped around her thumb like a glove, as if it was forged for her.
Sif tried taking it off. She pulled it with her sticky with dirt and damp with
sweat fingers. The ring left on the finger. As if it became a part of her skin,
and she didn’t feel it. Sif put out her hand, horrified. The runes flickered, and
she saw them more precise on the red gold.
That’s how magic is. Sif looked in horror at the red runes which burned
brightly on the magic ring. She always dreamt about being the völva. She
dreamt about witchcrafting. And now? Sif stood up, shook her hand and
started to tug the ring, desperately trying to take it off the finger. The silver
mantle fell on the floor, flowing under the chest as if it wasn’t the fabric but
water.
“I don’t want this!” Sif screamed. The echo of her voice thundered under
the round ceiling so loudly that the snow fell on her head. “I don’t want!”
She fought the ring for a few minutes, almost breaking the finger.
“Sif, stop this!” the powerful voice ordered, and she finally stood still. She
stood as if frozen, whimpering quietly. Her cheeks burnt brighter than the
runes on the ring; she swayed, fell to her knees and tightly hugged the chest.
Sif was crying and crying and calling her mother, Bo, and friends until her
voice became hoarse. Urur didn’t stop her; he just approached and put his
head on her back which shuddered from time to time. The warmth of the
black fur engulfed her exhausted body, and Sif calmed down.
“Don’t mourn so much, Sif. Your mother is alive. And your brother, and
the other children from Borre. Alfars took them away not to kill them or eat
them.”The gentle voice assured her.
Urur as if covered her with the tight embrace, though it was hard to
imagine how the auroch could do it without arms. The pain left her gradually.
“They’re all alive.”
“Do you promise?” Sif sobbed and looked at his emerald eyes,
surrounded by white spots.
The auroch nodded; his eyes became so warm and friendly that Sif
couldn’t cry. She wiped her tears, removed her hand from the wooden lid
and suddenly noticed the thing she hadn’t seen at first. She blinked and took
a closer look.
There was a sign in a shape of a skull with bizarre horns on the lid among
the carving where she had laid her palm. Sif ran her finger over it. The skull
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had the same shape as the reed pipe, and the surrounding patterns resembled
the ornament on a black sword.
Rauch Knecht? The skull of a dragon or an auroch?
Sif freed herself from the embrace of Urur and slowly looked around the
hall. Why hadn’t she noticed it earlier?
“It isn’t the temple! It’s a grave!”
The statues on the corners stood not to glorify the gods but to protect
the deceased who rested in a stone bowl. A fire was probably lit on the altar
to honour the memory, not for the blót. Sif finally noticed it and saw it among
the shadows that gathered under the high stone columns. A coffin. A real
stone bed. The ancient kings were laid to rest in such coffins.
“So, it is true.”
Sif jumped off the platform and ran to the columns, forgetting about her
fear and grief. She stood in front of the stone coffin. It was high, almost
reaching her shoulders, and covered with a bulging lid. Sif swept away the
snow that had been adhering to the coffin for years. Exactly the same sign as
that one she saw on the chest appeared on the grey canvas–the skull with the
horns and runes-patterns. Sif tried reading the dedication, but those runes
were strange. They resembled men and animals as children sometimes drew.
Sif squinted and bent down. When she touched the carving with her hand,
the meaning of the unknown words became clear to her.
“The Moon King. The Sun King will rest in peace. Here lies the Black
King; the power of his is eternity.”
At first glance, the lid seemed heavy, but it obediently slid aside. A strange
smell of snow and dampness, mixed with the aroma of incense, blew from
the blackness. Sif stood on tiptoe and peered inside.
It was hard to understand if a woman or a man was lying at the bottom
of the coffin. It was too dark in the shade of the stone columns. At first, the
body seemed to her to be so dry, wrinkled and shrunken that it barely
resembled a human. But when Sif took a closer look, the illusion, inspired by
the memories of the draug, disappeared.
She saw a young man with handsome and noble features. He had sharp
fine lines, high cheekbones, a straight nose, a white forehand and a long neck.
His pale skin seemed thin and almost transparent; his eyes were tightly closed;
his soft lips were pursed; long black hair flickered on his shoulders down to
his waist. He hadn’t a palm and fingers of his right hand; only white bones
lay on the chest of a deceased, tightly holding a long black sword by his only
hand left. The young man was lying on the gold burlap and fur as if he was
not dead but asleep. He had got lost in a heavy and long sleep.
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He was well-dressed in long black clothes of a complex cut, embroidered

with silver and fur. A genuine crown with green jewels dimly flickered on his
head.
Sif felt she was doing something sinful, something disrespectful to the
deceased, no matter who he was. But curiosity made her lean over the edge
of the coffin and touch the cold skin of the dead king.
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“What happened to you?”

A long and deep sigh swept over Sif’s head and made a swirl of
snowflakes. The deceased moved on his soft bed and turned his head to her.
It seemed that he was about to open his eyes.
Sif screamed and swayed back, but she had no strength to release the
coffin. Her fingers froze to the stone sides.
“No, no, it’s impossible, impossible!”
She was waiting for the dead king sitting in the coffin, gripping her with
his hand without fingers. She bated breath, but nothing happened. The body
rested on the gold burlap completely immovably. When Sif finally calmed
down, she forced herself to bend over the body again and gripped the hilt of
the sword, pulling it out of the coffin very slowly.
Any doubt. It was the same sword she had used to stab the Jötunn. The
hilt was in the shape of a bizarre skull, and the long blade had stains of black
blood.
“How? How did he get here?”
Sif stood still as if waiting for an answer from a deceased. Without waiting,
she looked into the stone grave once again. It was empty inside. The dead
king disappeared.
This time, she screamed so loudly that the echo rang out under the high
ceiling, and the snow fell from the round hole. The fingers released the coffin,
and Sif jumped back, ran to the altar with all her might, tipped over the step,
fell and scratched her hands. She stood up and quickly looked around,
expecting to see the sad or angry dead king.
Of course, the hof was empty. Unchangeably calm and peaceful. Sif didn’t
understand what she was doing, but she bent over the chest and grabbed
everything her cold fingers could reach. She pressed the silver mantle of the
winged maiden to her chest, then ran with this armful to the exit, hit the
carved leaves with her shoulder and rolled out of the temple into the snow.
The doors closed slowly, reluctantly, with a hoarse rumble. Sif got to her
feet with difficulty and looked at the heavy doors. Her heart ached in her
chest. She suddenly realised that she saw these doors, perhaps, for the last
time in her life. Urur stood nearby. He picked the mantle up with his white
horns and gracefully threw it on his back.
“It wasn’t necessary to take everything at once,” the auroch sighed and
stood up straight.
As soon as Sif looked away, the splendid clothes disappeared, and all the
gowns and the mantle of white feathers vanished unnoticed. She held the lost
pipe instead of the sword.
“You didn’t think to carry all those things home, did you? How would
you explain it to your sister? And please, don’t leave my gifts unattended, will
you? Your sister wanted to get rid of the pipe and took it to the hof.”
“Urur,” Sif got to her feet, looked at the auroch and then at the doors.
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“Did you see that? Urur, did you see him? It was the king, wasn’t it? The
Moon King, The Sun King.”
“Go home, Sif. They’re waiting for you.”Without answering, the auroch
ordered.
Sif shuddered to the top of her head and looked once again at her right
hand with the ring which held the wondrous pipe. The pipe didn’t shine. It
only flickered dimly under the pink rays of the sunset.
Sif sighed, put the gift in the pocket of her bag, obeyed the watchful gaze
of Urur’s emerald eyes, turned away from the tomb and wandered along the
path of children's footprints.
The evening came to them quickly, as if someone had dropped black tents
on the ruined village. But people didn’t disperse and didn’t prepare to go to
sleep. Gathering on the streets, sprinkled with fresh snow, the residents of
Borre were endlessly talking about The Wild Hunt, mourning the dead and
cursing the jarl who shut himself up in the house. The evening was humming
with people’s noise; people escorted Sif with indignant looks when she was
running home, bypassing the neighbours.
When she crossed the threshold of her house, Iliv, who had been sitting
near the brace, stood up and quickly approached her. Sif didn’t have time to
open her mouth when her sister’s hand flew from the skirt and slapped her
cheek with such force that her head turned to the side.
“Where were you, little trouble?” Iliv yelled. Her white face reddened with
anger. There were flashes of lightning in her eyes, red from tears. “Answer
me, where the hell were you?”
Iliv was snuffling hard through her lips pursed. Her chest rose so often
like the cock’s before a fight. She was agitated, and her not well-tended black
hair stuck out like a messy mane.
“Mistress, what are you doing?” Rid left the hearth and ran to them,
rustling her long skirts. “Don’t insult your sister!”
Iliv didn’t even pay attention to her. Rage twisted her pretty face, and the
nostrils of the thin nose fluttered with anger. Sif’s sister grabbed her
shoulders and shook her with such force that Sif’s head almost detached from
her neck.
“Stop this immediately!”
Rid seized Iliv’s shoulders. The girl suddenly released her younger sister
and backed away from the door in shock. Urur appeared between them,
stood in front of Sif and menacingly tilted his big head with a crown of
horns.
“This monster is here again,” Iliv grimaced. “Auroch. It doesn’t seem to
me that they bring happiness.”
Iliv snorted but stepped back a little. She opened her mouth to blurt
something out but didn’t have time to do so.
“Leave us.”A female voice–low and cold like a stone–ordered her from
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the depth of the room.

Raising her eyes, Sif noticed a black figure curled up in her father’s chair
in front of the hearth. The völva was sitting leaning on a stick with a green
stone at the top. She was black and sinister as during the last night. Her long
cloak, tied tightly with straps and decorated with little silver stones to the very
hem, descended to the floor. Big glass necklaces flickered on her neck. The
black hood cast a bizarre shadow on her grey face.
“Leave us.”The völva repeated, looking at the sisters.
“The Wise, but–”Iliv protested but swallowed the words, meeting the
cold glance of the transparent eyes of the völva.
“Leave us. I have to talk to Sif without witnesses.”
Iliv gritted her teeth, cast an angry look at Sif, clenched her fists and
obeyed. She flew into the entryway with her head down, pushing Sif to the
wall as if in passing.
“Mistress! Where are you going? Wait for me!” Rid ran after her.
The door creaked and slammed loudly, and straw fell from the big hole
in the ceiling. Sif sighed and rubbed her bruised shoulder, feeling a focused
and attentive look. The völva didn’t take her eyes off Sif. Then she sat straight
in the chair of Sif’s father, as if on a throne, thoughtfully crossing her arms
in her lap.
“Come to me, daughter, don’t be shy,” the woman beckoned to Sif with
her long thin fingers. Rings with gems flickered on each of them.
Sif’s legs carried her to the völva. She lost control over her body for a
moment. But when she came to her senses, she was already standing by the
hearth. The flame burnt her back, and the pale-faced woman bent over her,
staring at her with her transparent eyes. Steppe herbs and expensive overseas
fragrances wafted from the völva. An invisible but tangible power enveloped
the old body so tightly like this black cloth. And although the woman’s face
was covered with wrinkles, her hair was grey, her strong-willed chin
sharpened, and her transparent eyes were deep-sat in her skull, it seemed to
Sif that it was only a mask. It’s only an illusion behind which a completely
different person is hidden. Actually, a young girl of charming beauty and
incredible strength looks at her.
“Ha, little hussey finally appeared! Yay, what a calamity at home! The
hussy disappeared, and the little scamp disappeared. Trolls have taken them
into captivity. The Cursed Northward took them away. Didn’t protect me!
Didn’t save my lordling!”
The nisse was fiddling around near the völva’s legs. His nose swelled and
became red, and his eyes were wet with tears. Perhaps, the nisse had deep
grief. He clutched the black mantle with his tiny hands and whimpered even
more loudly.
“Don’t pay attention, child. Different guardian spirits have a hard time
coping with the loss of a family member.”
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Sif looked up at the völva in surprise, “Wise, do you see him, too?”
“Of course, I see, child. I use galdr. Let me see you properly.”The völva
stretched out her wrinkled arms to Sif and started palpating her chin and
temples with the long fingers. “We should have talked earlier, but Asa, your
mother, didn’t want it. She never obeyed me, stubborn girl. She always stayed
with her own opinion and let no one into her heart.”
Sif took a deep breath and swallowed some air. Words stuck in her throat.
The transparent eyes of the völva seemed to look through her and peep into
the innermost corners of Sif’s soul. The woman’s thin lips twisted into a
capricious smile.
“But never mind. Finally, I can explain everything to you.”
“Explain?” Sif squeezed this word out of herself and almost coughed as
if someone held gripped her throat.
“Yes, you have a lot of questions for me. Am I right, child?” Her cold
voice became warmer, and the face of the woman became softer. “I have
something to tell you. About your mother, your family, your birth.”
“My birth?”
Sif felt dizzy, but the veined hands of the völva held her shoulders.
“Sit down, Sif. Sit down near me. I have to tell you what my adopted
daughter had been hiding from you for years.
Sif’s body obeyed again, and she sat down on the bench without wanting
it. The hands of völva grabbed her palms and gripped tightly. The watery eyes
focused again on Sif’s face.
“I feel your heart aching. You worry about your mother, worry about your
brother and your kidnapped friends.”
“I don’t understand what has happened. I don’t understand! Why was
Borre attacked? Where did those monsters come from? Was that really The
Wild Hunt?” Sif poured the words out like a stream. No one could stop her,
and big tears rolled down her cheeks. “Is it my fault? I beg you, The Wise,
tell me if it’s my fault? Where did alfars take my mother and Bo? What should
I do?!”
Sif bowed her head, unable to hold back her tears. The transparent
streams rolled down like silver streaks and dripped from her chin to the chest.
Urur approached, stood near the hearth, lay down next to them and put his
head on the knees of Sif. He snorted loudly like a horse and twitched his long
and sheep-like ears.
“It’s not your fault, child. Of course, it’s not yours. Everything had to
happen exactly as it did. Your mother and I always knew that this day would
inevitably come. Alfars had to find their princess, no matter how many years
it would take. That’s why don’t blame yourself, child. It’s not your fault. But
you should know that you have the power to save everyone who was taken
away by alfars. Your family, the other residents of Borre and, perhaps, the
whole Midgard.”
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Sif stared in disbelief into the transparent eyes of the völva, “But how–’
“You're, child, a seed of spirits that has finally sprouted.”
The völva uttered these words solemnly and in such an exalted and high
voice as if they had to explain everything. The flame jumped in the hearth
with disturbance.
“Listen, daughter. I’ll tell you a story, your story. You, perhaps, have heard
from Dahlia how she had met your father in Tun. How powerfully built
Sigurd madly fell in love with my student. How he bumbled around near my
thatch-house, waiting for Dahlia every day. He wooed her three times. And
I, her adoptive mother, refused him three times. However, the young jarl
managed to persuade me in the end. They didn’t have children for a long time
after their wedding. And Dahlia finally conceived.”
The völva stopped to take a breath and continued in a much warmer
voice.
“You were supposed to be born in winter. That was the fierce and dark
winter. The darkest winter in my memory.”
The völva leaned on a stick, bowed her head, put her chin on her fingers,
gazed thoughtfully at the fire, plunging into her memories as if in dark
seawater. Her voice became soft and gentle.
“Your mother had to give birth to you at my home because she needed
some help. She was worried about losing the baby because you weren’t of
Alfars race. That night. On the twelfth night of Yule, Sigurd drove her to me
through Trollskog, the forest of trolls, by the shortest route. Your father told
me that a hungry and fierce howl accompanied them all the time. Wolves ran
after the sleigh, hearing the unborn life, and scared the horses. And then a
terrible blizzard started, and the road through the forest was covered with
snow. They couldn’t breathe because of the snow; it stuck in their throats.
The moon, stars and, as it seemed, all dísir hid in the dark heaven. Dahlia
started to give birth. She had to do it there, in the sleigh. They still hoped to
reach my home, but the huge tree fell on the path in front of the sleigh. The
wolves heard the smell of blood and became mad. When the horses stopped,
the pack attacked Sigurd. They could have died,” the völva took a deep breath
of smoky air with a hoarse whistle, “but they didn’t die.”
She moved the embers with her stick and froze immovable as if she fell
asleep, but her transparent watery eyes shone like smouldering embers in the
bonfire.
“Your father managed to defeat the wolves, but the pack tore him
significantly. And his wife was about to give birth prematurely in the sleigh.
You could have died in her womb. But you didn’t die. It so happened that
when the horses, bitten by the wolves, fled, Sigurd took Dahlia in his arms
and carried her through the thicket, looking for help. He thought my thatch-
house was nearby and recalled that he had seen plumes of smoke in the sky
as if a village or farm was around here. He kept walking through the storm
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and darkness and, suddenly, an inviting thatch-house appeared where there

was a black forest. But it wasn’t an ordinary one but in the hollow of an
enormous ash tree. Elegant as the mansion of Konungr. Thick light poured
from the windows as if someone was celebrating inside. Sigurd swore he had
heard the incredible sounds of the pipe that accompanied that light. There
was even people’s noise.
He carried Dahlia to that hut, standing on the ground from the last efforts.
When he barely fell, a man appeared on the wide carved stairs. He wore black
clothes as night; either an unusual helmet or a mask made of a large bone of
an unknown animal was on his head.”
“A skull,” Sif mumbled and glanced down. Urur moved his ears and kept
pretending he was sleeping on her knees.
“That man greeted the guests with a beautiful voice, but when he saw the
pack creeping after them from the forest, he stood up and shouted at the
wolves, “Don’t wait for the treat because they’re my guests. Go where you
went!” He ordered, and the wolves obeyed him like puppies and ran away
into the thicket. Then the man opened the tall doors for Sigurd and invited
him to the room. He said to Sigurd, “Your wife can die with the baby that
wants to come out of her, but that won’t happen. You found me, so I’ll save
their lives.”
When he opened the door, your father saw that everything seemed ready
for childbirth inside. The room was heated, clean and comfortable.
“Thank you, forest sir. But aren’t you a galdr? What will I have to pay for
your help?” Sigurd asked because he had heard a lot of fables about spirits,
and he was worried about his wife.
“I’m neither a galdr nor a seiðmenn,” the young man replied in a friendly
voice, “but I’m a gracious host. And a baby which is to be born today must
live. Great things await her. I can’t just see how you three are dying.”
When they came into the hut, the host gave Sigurd and Dahlia to drink
water. When your father was telling me everything, he recalled that he had
seen tiny men everywhere in the room. They were doing different things and
obeyed the young host in everything. The large table that crossed the entire
living room seemed set for a banquet, but there were only five chairs: one for
the host and four more for the guests. The gentleman invited your father to
the table to eat.
“Aren’t we your only guests?” Sigurd asked. “I’m waiting for three ladies.
You know them, Sigurd. You saw them in the dream. Today is the last night
of spirits; the time when our words are connected; the time when they can
visit me freely. Have a rest, jarl, and don’t worry: I’ll take care of your wife
and daughter.”
“Daughter?” Sigurd wondered. “But, my good man, where do you know
from who will be born?”
The gentleman didn’t answer, only ordered something in an unknown
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language to his little assistants that gathered around his feet. After drinking
the magical brew, Dahlia stopped moaning and bleeding.
“Make yourself at home, Sigurd. Let me take care of everything.”

“At home, you say. You see, I have already taken off my helmet, and I
have taken off my axe and my coat. Why are you still wearing your helmet
and furs? It’s so hot in the house that it’s easy to sweat.”
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“I’m sorry, Sigurd, I remain masked not because of contempt for you. I
have to hide my face from prying eyes. But never mind it, drink, eat, ask for
everything you want, and it will appear on the table. My dear guests will join
you soon. Remember, you can only ask them three times. When you say the
fourth question, they will go away. Now excuse me, I have to take care of
your wife because she won't give birth without my help.”
Those tiny men that wore hoods picked Dahlia up and took her to
another room. The host followed them, leaving Sigurd to feast at the table
alone. There was no one in the room, but he heard pleasant music. The mug
remained filled to the brim, no matter how much he drank. The plate was
never empty, no matter how much he ate.
Sigurd didn’t tell me everything; he forgot many things from that night
because he felt like it all was in a dream. However, he remembered that when
he had reached out for a glass to quench his thirst, someone had knocked
softly at the high door of the house. No one opened the door, but three
young ladies entered the room silently. Their clothes were thin, not winter,
and they shone like morning stars.
The young ladies greeted him and sat down at the table. They were similar,
like sisters: the first sister was already a respected woman, the second was a
young woman, and the third was a girl with golden hair. They were tall and
slender, three stunningly gorgeous maidens. They started talking and
laughing, and those strange men served them. Then the youngest finally paid
attention to Sigurd.
“So, Sigurd, son of the jarl, when you have a daughter, what name will
you give her?”
“My daughter, dear young lady? Where do you know from that I have the
girl? The host of this house said the same.”
“We know everything about everyone, Sigurd Mighty. That’s our destiny,”
she laughed as if golden honey poured over the table. “We have already rested
well, sisters. Now we have to get to work! He called us for this.” The young
woman said. They seemed to take a spinning wheel, golden wool and the
other accessories from the air and started weaving a thread long and shiny as
a sunbeam.
“We’ll weave the best thread for her and make the best pattern”. The
grey-haired woman sang.
The other two picked up her melody and sang together. Sigurd had never
heard a more beautiful song. He did not have the strength to say anything,
did not dare to interfere in the conversation and completely forgot about the
host’s warning.
“You’re weaving for my daughter, aren’t you?”
The golden-haired beauty laughed again without stopping her work. Thin
fingers separated the fleece easily and wound the yarn on the spindle. Then
the young woman put the thread into the spinning wheel and wove skilfully
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and quickly.
“The child born on the twelfth night must make the choice which the
future of the nine words depends on.”
When the noise of the wheel died down, the oldest woman took off the
yarn, checked the gold thread and cut it.
“You’ll call your daughter the seed that has ripened. She will belong to
the spirits, Æsir and Vættir; she has the blood of seven races. Name her
Astfrid because she’ll shine among mortals like the Star, lost for the worlds.
She’ll have a good disposition and great strength. With her life, she will atone
for the great evil people have done in the past. With her death, she will stop
The Great Winter which is already coming. Listen to us carefully, Sigurd
Skilfingar, listen and remember everything we tell you. The day will come
when someone will come for her. Astfrid will leave her home. Don’t restrict
her, don’t stop her. Don’t dare do this! You must let her go because a long
way to the North waits for her with great trials that she has to overcome for
the sake of all.”
Then the young woman started talking; her eyes shone with the soft light
and looked as if through time.
“She’ll possess great magic from birth, gain knowledge of Æsir and dísir,
talk to the spirits and make friends with Jötnars. She’ll restore the balance of
the worlds when the scales of Forsetti are shifted. However, heavy losses
precede that strength and wisdom. The Time of Wolf is approaching. And
The Great Winter will cover Midgard and other worlds very soon.”
The golden-haired girl stood up from the bench and looked watchfully at
Sigurd. She didn’t smile and seemed to Sigurd even older than her grey-haired
sister.
“She’ll travel a lot, cross all nine worlds and reach the Great Tree. When
she descends to Niflheim, she will be forced to choose whose side to take,
whose truth to defend: give her life to the roots of The Mother of the Worlds,
or stay and rule with the new king. Although our lord won’t be happy about
it, we leave Asta the right to decide!”
Sigurd was amazed and frightened by such a prophecy. He didn’t know
what to answer the maidens. But he already guessed that they weren’t people.
“You see, Sigurd Mighty, what a long and interesting thread your daughter
has. We knitted it from the fleece left from the previous one. We wove into
it everything that we had promised. But even such a thread we had to cut to
weave one more thread instead. That one will be longer and more beautiful.
And we won’t cut it. Tell it to the host if he asks what we had decided.
The golden-haired girl approached and handed him a golden thread but
didn’t give it to him.
“What a terrible fate you’ve prophesied to my daughter? How could it be
that The Time of Wolf is soon? Are you joking with the jarl? Aren’t you The
Maidens from the Niflheim?”
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When he said this, the three sisters smiled, and at the same moment, a
bright light engulfed their slender bodies like a flame. When that light went
out, the sisters disappeared from the room as the host had warned him.
Dahlia gave birth that night, the twelfth night of Yule. When the master
of the house took you to Sigurd to let your father greet you, he took you in
his arms and remembered the sister’s words. Although you’ve just been born,
the strands of smooth hair beautified your head. It was golden like Dahlia’s.
It was golden like Thor’s wife’s, goddess Siv.
“Astfrid–Asta, Sif83. The one that shines brightly like a Star.”
“I see, you’ve talked to my guests,” the master still wore the mask and
black fur coat. Sigurd understood that he was not a human, too. “What
they’ve prophesied?”
Sigurd didn’t answer, pressed you to his chest and cried. The master
wasn’t surprised as if he had known everything from the very beginning.
“How’s my wife?”
“Dahlia is healthy and has a rest now. Sif should also rest. And you, jarl
of Borre, get some sleep and don’t be upset. I won’t let your daughter
overcome all those trials alone. She’ll always have a faithful friend and reliable
companion nearby.”
When the master of the house took you from Sigurd’s hands, his eyes got
heavy. He let the tiny men which were jumping around his feet take him to
the big bed on the flooring.
“Why are you so worried about her destiny? Who are you? What are
you?”
“You already know who I am, jarl Sigurd. Today’s the last night of my
holiday.”
“Rauch Knecht?” Shocked, Sif whispered, interrupting the story of the
völva for the first time. “Wise, was it–”
She looked at her knees, horrified. Urur woke up and raised his head; his
green eyes watchfully followed her every move. Sif’s cheeks burnt brightly.
The völva didn’t notice those looks and moved the coal with the tip of the
stick.
“The Spirit of The Winter? I don’t know, child. He said his name neither
to Sigurd nor to Dahlia. My daughter remembers little from the night you
were born. She remembered only a large house where light burnt without a
lamp and a pleasant melody, played without a musician.”
“He just let them go? Let them go in peace?” Sif was surprised; her heart
jumped in her chest with the watchful Urur’s gaze.
“Sigurd woke up in the sleigh in the morning. Dahlia was sleeping
peacefully behind, wrapped in fur, and you, well swaddled, rested on your
83Sif – in Norse mythology, Sif (Old Norse: [siv]) is a golden-haired goddess associated
with earth.
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mother’s chest. The path was cleaned, and the black horses waited in the
harness as if nothing occurred that night. You were at my home by lunch.
When my adopted daughter fell asleep, Sigurd told me everything he
remembered.”
The room fell silent for a long time as if someone put a spell of silence
on them. Sif couldn’t get her thoughts together, and the völva enjoyed the
light of the blaze. Did the Norns prophesy all this? Her destiny and her way
were determined before her birth. And these words of the völva that “they
didn’t have children for a long time” stuck in her head. The feeling of the
loss made her heart break, but she didn’t dare to ask.
“I have to go,” Sif finally uttered; her voice trembled; there were tears in
her eyes. The völva slowly nodded. Her grey hair was scattered all over her
black shoulders. “Only I can rescue them.”Sif wiped the tears with her sleeve.
The terrible truth cut her heart. She understood not everything from Ulfhild’s
story. But telling the truth, she didn’t get half of it. She just felt that she had
to overtake alfars.
“A long way to the North awaits for you,” the völva said in a low voice.
“But don’t be sad, child. You won’t go alone.”
She pointed with her hooked finger at Urur, who ruffled his ears. Lley
flew in through the hole in the ceiling, hooted and sat on the shoulder of Sif.
The pat had been sleeping on her seat for the whole day, recovering after the
fight with Ingvir; she wrapped her wings around Sif's neck, rubbed against
her cheek like a pussycat and tugged her red hair with her beak. Skoll howled
from the entryway.
“Yes, you’re right,” Sif smiled in tears. “My faithful friends will always be
nearby.”
“Then, get ready quickly before the jarl comes to his senses, and your
sister thinks to stop you. Here, take it.”
The völva took off one of the amulets on a long chain from her neck and
put it in Sif’s palms. That was a circle carved from a white bone; eight lines
were moving from the empty centre, each with a strange sign drawn on it. Sif
lifted her questioning look and met the transparent eyes of the völva.
“It’s vegvísir–the guide of our people, an ancient and reliable amulet for
travellers. It will show you the right path in a time of trouble. It’s made of a
particular stone. Look through it at the sky, and you’ll always know where
the sun is.”
“Thank you, Wise,” Sif pressed the guardian to her chest, then put it on
her neck and hid under her shirt.
“Wise and Wise, call me your grandma, child,” The völva stretchered her
arms, and Sif didn’t notice when she got into her embrace. She felt the
warmth and strength that filled this amazing woman enveloping her. She
didn’t know when she started crying on her dry shoulder like a small child.
Ulfhild didn’t rush her, didn’t restrain her, and Sif cried and cried, and the
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völva stroked her back and dishevelled her hair. Sorrow and horror poured
from Sif with her tears. When she finally calmed down, she felt much better.
“Thank you,” Sif whispered and smiled.
“You’ll do it, Sif, I know it,” the völva tightly squeezed her hands. “But
you have to hurry up. The effect of the sleeping potion I gave your father
will wear off soon. Everything you’ll need on your way will be in this bag.
The völva unfastened the embroidered bag from her mantle and handed
it to her. It was a little bigger than the bag Sif used to wear on the belt.
“Use it wisely. It took powerful spells to weave it.”
“Thanks.”
Sif fastened the bag and looked around the house. Then she ran to her
corner, gathered the rest of her treasures that survived the fire, looked at her
brother’s crumpled bed, sighed heavily and returned to the völva.
“If you’re ready, go outside, Sif. There’s very little time left.”
“But where should I go? Where did the alfars take everyone?”
“To the North, child,” the völva sighed quietly and carefully touched Sif’s
forehand. “To Niflheim.”
Amazing pictures flashed before Sif’s eyes: dead white lands covered with
ice and snow. No plants, no grass around. Bare rocks stuck in the grey sky
like the fangs of a hungry giant. The kingdom of winter and cold. Strange
creatures that seemed more terrifying than trolls and dwergers, massive as
these rocks, roamed around. A palace, made of crystal, rose among the
boundless snow and the sea of ice.
“To the Heart of The Nine Words, where Lærad–The Tree of The
Border–has taken root.”
When the völva took her hand away, the strange visions disappeared. Sif
blinked in confusion.
“The alfars will take the residents of Borre here.”
“Okay, grandma,” Sif wanted to say goodbye to the Wise but didn’t know
how. Her heart ached in her chest that it hurt to breathe. And she was also
afraid that if she hesitated, her determination would betray her, and she
would not be able to leave the house. “I’ll go.”
“And me, little hussey! Take me with you!” The nisse squealed, jumping
from behind the father’s chair and bounding towards Sif. “I’ll go with you.
I’ll come in handy and protect the little hussey!”
Sif nodded to him in agreement and ran through the entryway to the yard,
only looking back to see Ulfhild smiling at her. When she jumped out into
the yard, Skoll followed her, barking happily. He started jumping around in
circles. Maybe, he felt that the mistress gathered for a walk. Oh, how long
can this walk be! Where is she going? Why? What for? Her father didn’t
manage to catch the alfars, so why did she decide that she had the strength
to do it?
“You need a good sleigh and reindeer to run through the winter forest,”
149
Urur suddenly intervened. “Blow the pipe, Sif.”

Urur was near for all this time, listening and watching. The auroch tapped
his right hoof on the rock, and the wind rose from nowhere, howled, roared
and covered them with snow.
“Dain, Dvalar, Dunair, Durathror!” Urur called, roaring loudly like that
wizard bear.
Four reindeer with horns twisted like roots ran to the house from the
black forest. They pulled up a long red sleigh covered with golden patterns
and stood before Urur as if on command. They snorted, blowing thick steam
from their noses. Black eyes glistened in the twilight. Skoll barked happily
and ran around the deer, annoying the animals. Nisse sped up and jumped so
high that he flew into the sleigh in one fell swoop.
“Get in,” Urur ordered and stood at the head of the sleigh. “Hurry up, no
time left.”
“But I can’t ride the reindeer.”
Of course, they made the sledges with other children, harnessed different
animals and organised sledging, but real sleighs are another matter. The
sleighs had wide silver runners with ends neatly curved upwards. The wooden
sides faintly glistened with a thick dark red, and the golden runic lettering
curled along the edge of the box. Sif grabbed the smooth handrail, stood at
the runner, stepped on the red step, climbed into the sleigh and almost
drowned. The box was deep and as tall as she was. Fluffy white fur covered
two long benches. If she had sat on the bench, she would have dived into the
fur because there was enough space for seven soldiers inside. Perhaps, giants
from Jotunheimr rode on this sleigh.
“Just tell them where to go. They will obey any of your orders.”
Sif grabbed the black and sturdy reins that lied on the bench and pulled
them. The reindeer nervously snorted, stomped and waved their horns.
She needs to order something. It’s time to go. It’s time to leave Borre.
Travels, witchcraft, adventures, and enemies are her destiny. After all, she
had been dreaming about it her whole life. About it?
“Where are you going?!”
Sif looked back in horror. Iliv ran to her from the house. Her face was
burning with anger; her grey eyes radiated icy fury.
“I’m going to Hiflheim to rescue our mother, Bo, and my friends!”
“Niflheim?” Iliv screamed, grabbing the handrails of the sleigh. “Are you
out of your mind? These are only fairy tales, Sif. Niflheim doesn’t exist, but
frost and the death from starvation in a foreign land exist!” Sister shouted
like mad. “Did you listen to the old völva? Sif, come on, it’s the North, wild
lands! You’ll die here! You’ll die, little trouble!
Iliv jumped onto the step, grabbed Sif’s shoulder, yanked her hair and
dragged her to the ground. Lleu flapped its wings and flew to the bench. Skoll
howled under the sleigh, and the reindeer snorted nervously.
150
“Let me go! Let me, sister! I must rescue them!”

Sif removed her sister’s cold fingers from her wrists and pushed Iliv as
hard as she could. Sister swayed, looking for support with her hands, cried
out and fell to the ground. She quickly got back to her feet and looked at Sif
in surprise.
“Go home, Iliv. Comfort our father. Tell him I will return with our family
151
in spring. I will definitely return; do you hear me?” Sif gripped the reins in
her hand tighter and looked at the forest that was separating Borre from the
rest of the world like a black wall. “There’s only one way for me. It’s my way,
Iliv. I must go to Niflheim.”
Sif didn’t wait for an answer, waved the reins and shouted into the frosty
night in a hoarse voice, “Carry me to the North!”
The reindeer snorted, roared and started running to the black forest,
leaving bewildered Iliv, the house of the jarl and dilapidated Borre far behind.
Sif almost fell from the sleigh. She gripped the benches with her legs at the
last moment, managing to stay inside. The reins painfully hit the skin of Sif’s
hands, leaving bruises and scratches on the wrists.
Urur grabbed Skoll by his neck and jumped onto the bench with him. The
auroch caught the reins and wound them on his white horns with a single
movement. Sif fell on the furs and looked back to see her home village,
probably, for the last time.
“Haven’t you changed your mind yet? It’s dangerous there, where Ufhild
has sent you. Very dangerous.”
Sif wiped the tears that appeared in her eyes and looked at the auroch. His
green eyes flickered with the ghostly glow. Somehow, he managed to ride the
sleigh without looking at the rode.
“No, I haven’t. I must rescue my mother and brother. Mia, Kala, Hayley–
everyone who was taken away by alfars. I’ll return them home!”
She fell on the bench, feeling neither cold nor fear. Even the wind didn’t
touch her skin as if an invisible roof was over her head. It was warm and cosy
in the sleigh, like in Urur's arms. Everything was permeated with the familiar
fragrant aroma of golden sand and incense. It was clear that the golden sleigh
was magic. She wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that the black reindeer
belonged to that mysterious dís who saved her father and mother.
Sif knelt and looked back again. The lights of the fires weren’t seen. The
outlines of the survived houses got lost in the darkness. The big sleigh cut
through the snow and frozen ground at breakneck speed. They went as easily
as if they were flying through the night. And trees and bushes, as it was last
night, meekly bowed and parted, opening a wide path for them that stretched
through Midgard to the North.
Skoll squirmed near Sif’s foot, and Lley began to look for a better place
on the bench to fall asleep. Sif reached for her pets, hugged the dog and
pressed him to her chest. Skoll, Lley and tiny Nisse were all that remained of
her home. And the uncertainty, the icy North, the strange and prohibited
kingdom of the eternal Winter waited ahead.
152
To create a mood, I suggest the following Tracklist:
1. Kalandra – Skaldespille
2. Eileen — Мати казала
3. Heilung – Traust
4. Dzivia – Voryva
5. Virkelighetens Etterklang – Kalandra
6. Valhalla Calling – Miracle of Sound
7. Trevor Morris – Battle for Kattegat
8. Tember Blanche — Як день посуне ніч
9. Айвер Полсдоттір – Trøllabundin
10. Wardruna – NaudiR
11. The Witcher – Gerald of Rivia
12. Lyfjaberg – Wardruna
13. Wolf Blood – Адріан фон Ціглер
14. Song of the North – BrunuhVille
15. Berserkir – Danheim
16. Karliene – Becoming the Beast
17. Aurora – Running with the Wolves
18. Lilac & Violet (feat. Karliene) – Miracle of Sound
153
ABOUT BOOK
Dear reader, I welcome you to the NORD: miracles, wonders and

mysteries, magic, love and adventures, bizarre monsters and mythical
creatures, gods and giants reign here!
Nord is sort of ranobe, LN! So inside numerous illustrations from
Ukrainian artists awaits.
You can find my recent stories and indie short stories on the Patreon
resource.
https://www.patreon.com/aya_neia
I will be grateful for your support! And I will mention the patrons in this
book!
Sincere thanks to breakingbelt for help in posted here on Google. Thanks
to the patrons: skelewir for faith in Nord!
***
I am Aya Neia, a Ukrainian author of indie short stories, a collector who
collects wonders and fairy tales, mystical stories that happened to me and my
friends.
Thank you for your attention to my work. I rejoice every reader. Please
note that most of my works are available exclusively in Ukrainian. We are
currently planning to translate my other popular short stories.
To contact me, please:
Search on Instagram @aya.neia
Write also: ayamineya@gmail.com
Leave comments and wishes. Remember, it is you, my dear readers, who
inspire me most! I am always happy to welcome guests and new friends.
Read about project here.
154

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NORD

The Great Winter

All rights reserved.

Covers and maps Oli Gnats

1 Chapter 1. The Longest Night 1

5 Chapter 5. The Wild Hunt 99

6 Chapter 6. Vegvisir 125

About Book 154

with her sleeve.

Sif kept walking, looking at the snow as white as milk. It blinked, as if

3 Niflheim – Niflheimr “World of Mist.” One of the Nine worlds.

A pleasant male voice greeted, melodic, even warm. Sif shuddered,

this wonderful flute. “It looks costly.”

4 Seiðmenn – here a sorcerer, evil one.

Knecht. The Spirit of Winter. The very embodiment of the element

8 Cittern or cithren – is a stringed instrument.

speaking softly. “I only remember looking for a spruce cone. I was

moon Sköll and Hati.

12 Fenrir (Old Norse: “fen-dweller“) or Fenrisúlfr, also referred to as Hróðvitnir (“fame-wolf“)

“We don't have enough time, so ask nothing.”

body, the world was created.

18 Yggdrasil (from Old Norse Yggdrasill /ˈyɡɡˌdrɑsell/), in Norse cosmology, is an immense

to become the same shadow.

19 Alfheim (Old Norse: Álfheimr, “Land Of The Elves“ or “Elfland“), also

21 Alvefolk – Álfar, scandinavian elves.

and father didn't pronounce a speech.”

him, and shouted. “Run!”

23 Yultide – here same as Yule.

27 Blót – the rite of blood sacrifice.

the rulers, also a large hall of the king.

chief was chosen.

Everyone watched intently as Dahlia, Gudrun and Ilive slowly walked

30 Glautbolli – a large copper bowl or a cup for sacrificial blood.

and rye, hop and juniper.

produces mead for the einherjar.

“God Jól, my pretty boy!”

39 The poem «Nordic» by Jan Braz.

41Verland – “The Land of Humans“, i.e. the world of people – Midgard.

“What a strange pipe he has...”

43 Wiki Waki – roundelay.

44 Innhus – the main building.

46 Álfars – also known as elves, in Norse mythology, spirits of nature.

Scandinavian god Odin.

49 Gangar⁠ – traditional Norse pair dance.

remove the steatites50?”

50 Steatite – a soapstone, retains heat well.

“Have you decided to have one more son?”

51 Elfshot – literally – álfar's arrow, shot of álfar.

52 Ragnarök – time before the Fimbulwinter.

53 Tomtenisse – or tonttu is a mythological creature from Nordic folklore today typically

associated with the winter solstice and the Christmas season.

There was no trace of the charming guest.

the fire and coals, Bo was playing with a straw goatling.

ancestor of modern domestic cattle.

children, that's why Gelka's cold gaze found Sif immediately.

And I'm not kidding.”

a heavy carved lid, decorated with silver ornaments.

“But last winter Knecht took Glive. Everyone said so…”