Ragnar rambled on and on, about how everything in Midgard suddenly made sense and the runes shone to him. ‘They shine, they shine, Hilda,’ he kept saying. ‘Odin’s runes are true. They tell the truth.’
Hilda could do nothing but force a smile and try to accept that he would die like that. He should have died in battle, but instead he would leave a stain on the family’s warrior reputation, like her mother had. She forgave him. How could she not? He was her father.
‘The raven. It’s here for me,’ Ragnar mumbled. ‘Like your mother’s snow fox. Hurry I have no time. I need to speak to them, speak once more. You’ll tell them what I said, ja, Hilda? You’ll tell them?’
‘I’ll tell them,’ she assured him. Though she didn’t know who she should tell and what she should tell them. The old man had drunk too much mead, eaten too many dream caps, and the sound of death had to be ringing in his head. He no longer made sense.
Ragnar smacked his lips and grinned in satisfaction. ‘The raven can take me now,’ he mumbled. ‘You can—Nej, I need to speak.’ He clawed at the thrall’s arms. ‘Take me to the ash.’
Hilda nodded to confirm her father’s words. If he wanted to tell the villagers one last story, she would make sure he did. She turned to Finn. Immediately, as though signalled, he rushed over and joined the thrall. Between them they lifted Ragnar’s chair. But they advanced slowly, too slowly for her father. ‘Faster!’ he yelled and lifted his arm above his head to order them to hurry. ‘Faster, thralls!’
Hilda noticed Finn glare up at Ragnar, but her father was old and dying, and to make it better Hilda laughed and laughed until Finn too would be able to see the fun in it all. ‘Come, Father, come,’ she told Ragnar, as she too rushed the two men further up the hilly road until they could see the crowd gathered in the circle.
The dim light from the Midsummer fire glistened against the planks on the road. The villagers’ stomps could be heard throughout Ash-hill. The song was strong, like it had been at the beginning of the celebrations. Her father mumbled along and tried to stomp in the rhythm of the song, though his feet only tapped the air.
‘Ragnar Erikson shall speak,’ Hilda called to the hundreds of villagers still gathered around the inner circle. ‘Our skald shall tell his last story!’
The ones who heard her repeated the shout, and it didn’t take more than half a verse before the song ended and the villagers parted for Ragnar to be carried up close to the remains of the Midsummer fire.
Finn and the thrall put the chair down while the villagers gathered around the embers, ready to warm themselves on Ragnar Erikson’s last tale.
To give him strength, Hilda sat down next to him.
Ragnar fiddled with the fabric of his own tunic, and gaped like a small child who couldn’t speak and didn’t know the world. The villagers watched him, and many chuckled at his ways. ‘Too much mead,’ a small girl giggled.
‘The old ash, Ratatusk’s home,’ Ragnar muttered.
‘We can’t hear you. Speak up, Father,’ Hilda whispered to him. His eyes lit up as she said it. At her reassuring smile, her father regained a little of his courage and focus.
A warm hand was placed on Hilda’s shoulder. She looked up. Einer was there, and he smiled to her. She smiled back, glad to have him with her through this.
‘Behold Yggdrasil’s kinsman,’ Ragnar yelled. The villagers turned to the great ash in the middle of the inner circle as her father talked about the beautiful tree. ‘Ratatusk’s home is how the gods communicate with us. It is written in the runes on the bark of the ash tree, and on its branches and leaves. We must take care of it, never let it become frail. We must always care for it, as if it were Yggdrasil itself. Every morning if it hasn’t rained, water needs to be poured on Nidhogg’s fodder so the roots can grow deep. And stories shall always be told, right here, under the great ash of Ash-hill.’
Ragnar had spoken about their ash-tree with much conviction, but then his focus simmered away once more. He stared at the air right in front of him, though there was nothing there to see. ‘The raven. The raven is here for me,’ he whispered ever so faintly, so only Hilda could hear. ‘The snow fox watches us. Your mother is here.’
He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead he wheezed and coughed and seemed to no longer be able to breathe. Hilda knew she should hold him, but she couldn’t make herself move. Just sat and watched as his eyes opened wide, though it didn’t appear as if he could see.
‘If Yggdrasil’s kinsman falls,’ he wheezed, his voice nothing but a whisper, though the silence was so complete that every being in Ash-hill could hear him. ‘If the ash falls, we’re doom—’ His cheeks reddened, tears rolled down his face and Ragnar gagged. For four entire heartbeats,
his eyes looked as though they were being pushed out of his skull, and then he dropped in over himself.
Hilda saw her hands reach out towards her father. She pushed his shoulders to make him sit up. She was not in control of her own body; she could only see it happen and feel the soft wool of his tunic under her fingers. His head hung as though his neck was broken and when she crouched down, she saw that his blue eyes were wide open though they weren’t looking. There was no life behind them. She felt a knot in her throat, removed her hand from her father’s shoulder. As soon as she let go, his upper body fell down again. Limp and lifeless.
Her heart felt as if it were being clenched tight in a fist. She had hoped she would never have to see him die like that. But there he was, in his rich red tunic instead of his armour, bending in over himself as though he were broken, or maybe listening to what the earth had to say.
Your journey will be long,
But do not fear, old friend.
The chanter’s voice cut through the night. Her sharp song seemed to make the knot in Hilda’s throat swell all the way down to her stomach. The villagers stomped their feet in rhythm. Einer’s hand was warm on her shoulder.
This is your beginning,
We’ll meet before the end.
Even the whispers in the wind were singing for her father.
Hilda heard the flap of wings. A raven sat on her father’s back. Its long claws were buried into his skin. Its feathers were greasy, its eyes blue, like her father’s, and on its black beak were runes; Odin’s runes.
‘The raven,’ Hilda whispered. The one her father had mentioned.
The bird blinked at her softly, like her father had used to do when she had been younger. She had never seen a raven with eyes like that before.
Glory you leave behind,
To last and ever shine.
The raven didn’t let go of her gaze and Hilda didn’t blink, afraid the bird would disappear if she did, and along with the few hundred villagers, she sang.
Greet the gods, greet our kin,
Someday we’ll meet again.
The raven cawed in answer before it took flight. And in front of Hilda’s eyes, it faded into darkness.
Chapter Three