Hear our voices,
Hear our song,
Though your journey
Will be long.
Hilda sang as loud as them all, and on top of the stacked wood, the thrall muttered the words along with them. He had heard them many times before. They all had.
You will not be
All alone,
We will guide you
To Hel’s home.
The burning torch touched the wood. Hilda let it drop and took a step back. Carl sang loudest of all. Einer began to tap his shield with more force, and when the song continued, they all did their best to sing so loud that the thrall’s voice would be drowned by theirs.
Now take a step,
And take two.
We will help you,
To pass through.
The fire caught and the wood began to smoke as the flames rose. Carlman shook and coughed, though no one heard.
Walk all nine worlds,
Through them all.
The last will be
Helheim’s hall.
Carl screamed so loud that the stomp of their feet and the taps on their shields could not drown his squeal. He coughed and spat and shook, but did not attempt to run and did not jump down from the pyre, knowing, as well as all, that he would be thrown on it again if he tried. It was better to die with pride.
Knock on the gate,
Call Hel’s name.
Many others have
Done the same.
Carl wriggled like a worm. His instincts urged him to get away. The strongest of warriors too would have done the same. The smoke surrounded him. Flames began to lick Ragnar’s feet.
With open arms,
Hel will hum:
“Welcome Ragnar
Erikson.”
Barely visible through the smoke, Carl collapsed face down, halfway on top of his master.
Now your journey
Shall begin.
Greet the gods and
Greet our kin.
They swung their shields around to hang on their backs again. Einer looked longingly at Ragnar as he stamped in rhythm with the others.
‘Goodbye Ragnar, skald of Ash-hill, son of Erik Ivarson,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll never have to go to Hel,’ wishing from his entire being that Ragnar would be allowed into Valhalla, where he belonged, instead, and as he watched the pyre burn, Einer felt a deep sense of calm as if the gods had listened to him and his wish had been granted.
In death.
In death, we shall meet.
The fire felt as though it burned Einer’s face and chest. His chest hurt.
In death.
In death, we shall see.
His flesh burned where the gold bracteate his mother had given him touched his skin. Einer clasped his teeth together, and tried to suppress the roar of pain. The song drowned his pained moan, like it had drowned Carl’s squeals.
To death.
To death we shall leave.
Einer tore the gold ring from his neck.
The gold was cool, as though he had left the bracteate outside on a winter night.
Through closed teeth Einer breathed deeply. He looked at the flat gold coin that had burned him in disbelief. He did not understand how he could hold it in his hand. He knew how hot it had been.
His mother put a hand on his shoulder, knowing, as she always did, that something was amiss.
‘Something is wrong with it,’ he told her.
‘You used it,’ she answered in a distant tone.
Einer glanced up at her and saw that she was not looking him in the eyes, but instead she stared at his chest. He gazed down.
The flesh above the neck of his tunic smoked. His flesh was blood-red, marked with the image of his bracteate. The tree of life was burnt into his chest.
DEATH, PAIN, AND fear.
Ragnar opened his heavy eye-lids to the afterlife with a longing smile on his lips. Complete darkness surrounded him. The distant echo of a song called him towards a tall light ahead; a veiled entrance to the afterlife.
Finally, he would see his wife again. Finally, he would see his son. His mind was clear from the influence of mead and dream caps from his life, his body felt healed from ills, and Ragnar was ready to start his long-awaited afterlife in Helheim.
He sat on a horse, scarcely outlined by the light from the veiled exit. He smiled at the sight. The villagers must have sacrificed the horse for him. Eager to pass on into the next life, Ragnar grabbed hold of the reins and made the horse move. His tunic felt expensive.
He wore his finest clothes, the yellow coat lined with gold that he wore for special ceremonies. His arms were heavy with rings, and his neck too. He could not remember what he had been wearing when he had passed on from Midgard, but this had not been it. He smiled. No freeman passed on and went to see the gods in drab clothes.
Someone walked at his side. ‘Ragnar?’ said the familiar voice of his thrall.
‘Carlman,’ he responded in a welcoming tone, and the honour of it all made him swell with pride. His thrall had chosen to serve him in the afterlife too.
The villagers had given him a worthy burial.
Ragnar kicked the horse to make it move towards the slit of light while the distant voices of those alive were singing and guiding the way for him to the afterlife.
Now your journey
Shall begin,
Their voices guided him forward. He heard his daughter sing for him, accompanied by the voices of villagers that he knew well. The sound of them made him miss his life, already, but in Helheim his wife and son would be waiting, and he missed them most of all.
Greet the gods and
Greet our kin.
The blessed afterlife of Helheim was finally within sight. The veiled opening was so near. Ragnar’s heart sped up at the thought of seeing his wife again. The closer he came, the more clearly the light fell on him, and the horse, and his servant. Carlman was smiling as he walked at Ragnar’s side, and the horse’s ears flicked forward with interest. Ragnar kicked it into trot, eager to pass on into Helheim and see his family.
The slit of light disappeared.
With no warning, it vanished.
The voices faded and their last word echoed around the cold Darkness. Kin, kin, kin…
The song had not yet come to an end; there was one more verse, but their voices had stopped.
Ragnar glanced around to see if the slit of light had appeared elsewhere, but saw nothing. Everything was pitch black, and the silence was complete.
He blinked and concentrated to see something, but there was no light at all, and he heard nothing, and felt nothing.
The horse whickered.
‘Where did it go?’ Ragnar asked his thrall.
An axe hacked into Ragnar’s shoulder. Blood splattered out over his arm and up his neck. The horse reared. Ragnar was cast off its back, too shocked and breathless to scream. His head bumped to the floor. His neck snapped.