The Einhjorn (The Relics of Asgard)

In the morning, the prince returned. Disa, having never been fully asleep in the first place, quickly covered herself with her blanket.

  “Co—come in?”

  But he only stuck his head through the door and smiled down at her. “Good morning.”

  She squeezed her knees together and took a steadying breath before responding. “Good morning.”

  “I was hoping to show you something.”

  “Show me something?” Her hair was mussed and her eyes puffy and gritty from lack of sleep. “Are we leaving? Should I get dressed?”

  “Aye, dress warm. I’m taking you for a walk.”

  “A walk? Why a walk? Where are we walking?” Despite all her flustered questions, it was not hard for her to guess the true nature of his invitation. Last night he had come to her when the others could hear. This morning, he would take her somewhere more secluded and finish what he had started.

  Her stomach knotted, and his smile dimmed as he guessed at her thoughts. “Just a walk, my dear. Just a walk. There is something I must show you.”

  He looked older in the harsh rays of sunrise. His skin was dry and his brown hair sprouted from his ears. He appeared older, yes, but also more vulnerable and less like the red-headed phantom from her memories. His hair was growing in, she observed, as she noticed the brown roots. He had been more handsome at Hladir, but the dark circles under his eyes lent his person a humanity she hadn’t perceived before.

  “I will dress quickly, then.”

  He left her and she did as she promised, throwing on the dirty gown and musty jacket from the night before. She shook out her damp, chilled joints, and pulled her hair into a serviceable braid. She chafed her cheeks and rubbed her eyes and hoped that would help their puffiness.

  Her foot crunched into fresh snow as she stepped free of her tent. The frozen morning air greeted her, and she wished now more than ever for that quilted jacket her father had never had the chance to buy her. Her current coat was stitched from a fine, felted wool, but even it could do little to prevent the arctic breeze that slipped down her collar and up her sleeves.

  “It’s cold. Is that all you have?”

  The prince approached from behind, where he had been waiting beside the tent. It was then that she noticed the huge axe slung over his shoulder.

  “Isn’t that Rorik’s, my lord?”

  “Aye, it is, but it’s not too heavy for me.”

  She glanced down at his waist, and sure enough there was his sword, still sheathed in its wood and leather scabbard and dragging in the snow.

  “What is the axe for, my lord?”

  He adjusted it on his shoulder, and though he claimed it was not heavy, he made a face from the effort required to lift it. The blade was twice the thickness and breadth of a lumber axe, and its four-foot shaft was carved from a single piece of solid oak. It must have been incredibly heavy.

  “Protection.”

  “Is your sword not protection enough, my lord?”

  “My sword needs to stay in its sheath. Rorik’s axe will do well enough.”

  But Disa remembered how Giant Rorik had carried it and patted it and cleaned his ragged fingernails along its dull edge. “Won’t he miss it?”

  “Only if he notices it’s missing,” the prince said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll return it soon enough, once we’ve gone for our walk and I’ve found some fresh firewood.”

  “My father says you should never chop wood with a battle axe. It coats the blade in—”

  “I know well enough without you telling me. Now come, we’ve wasted enough time, and I would rather not wake the others.”

  “The others?”

  Only then did she notice the abandoned campfire, its dying coals melting pockets into the freshly fallen snow. The horses were up and pawing for grass beneath the trees, but the men were still asleep within the sloppy tents clustered together beneath the low-hanging boughs.

  She looked up to gauge the hour, but Prince Eric grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward before she could tell for sure. A little past dawn?

  “Let’s not waste time,” he said again, steering her across the clearing and away from the overgrown road.

  She had to skip through the snow to keep up, but as they plunged into the tree line it was easier to match his long stride.

  “Why must we hurry?”

  “Timing is everything,” he said, huffing both from the pace he struggled to maintain and the huge axe weighing him down.

  They headed west to a steep bank that dropped down into the valley below. One of the rivers that fed the fjord collected into a lake at the valley’s center. She caught glimpses of it between the fir and birch branches. The surface hadn’t frozen yet, but the snow had formed a glistening coating of slush. The lake looked like the northern seas in spring. In these mountains, with the snow melt dripping down her collar and cold air whipping across her cheeks, it was hard to remember that it was only Heyannir. Hardly autumn.

  “It’s so cold,” Disa muttered as they wormed their way back and forth down the steep descent. She glanced back towards the camp and at the mountains and evergreen forests looming above her. She already dreaded the climb up. In her gown and jacket, it might take her upwards of an hour, and she would be caked in sweat for the rest of the day.

  Prince Eric’s cheeks were pink and his breath formed a white fog when he said, “It’s warmer in the valley.”

  He did not look at her; he was concerned solely by the task at hand. His abrupt and disappointing visit from the night before seemed not to bother him at all.

  “And this thing you want to show me, it’s in the valley?”

  He halted mid-stride and tore his gaze at last from the leaf-strewn path. His eyes locked upon the young maid panting for breath beside him.

  “Do you remember what I said yesterday? When I said my time was coming?”

  He was not smiling, and Disa’s insides squirmed. “We were talking about love. Isn’t that right, my lord?”

  “No—yes.” Prince Eric wrenched his eyes away and pulled her back into a trot.

  A spark of uncertainty lit within her. Her feet and hands perspired as her heart froze to ice. She peeked again over her shoulder as the prince led her deeper into the valley. The camp, the men, and the horses were now over an hour’s hike away.

  Then the prince spoke again, “Nothing is so important to me as keeping my father from breaking up my kingdom. You remember that, don’t you?”

  She remembered him saying that it was her love, not his kingdom, that would lead him to the greatest glory, but she did not say that. She said only, “Yes.”

  “And what if I told you the means to that happiness was here, in this very valley?”

  The intent of this early-morning adventure was swiftly becoming clear. With a sinking feeling Disa asked, “What are we looking for?”

  “That doesn’t matter.” He stopped again, this time squeezing her elbow with such force that it drew all her attention away from the quiet forest. She looked up into those dark blue eyes, blue like the sea at twilight. “I need to know, Lady Saldis, what you would be willing to do to help me.”

  “I don’t understand. What can I do?” She thought of Rorik and the giant and Trogils and the wights. They had weapons and muscles and fearlessness on their side.

  Impatient, he shook her by the elbow. “Would you do it? As my bride, would you do it?”

  “Ye—yes, of course. It is my responsibility to support you in all your endeavors.”

  He released Disa’s elbow and cupped her cheek instead. The last time they had been so close they had been locked in a confusing embrace. She could still hear the sound of Frode’s laughter.

  “Beautiful Saldis, beautiful, beautiful Saldis. My little virgin. You’re my little virgin, aren’t you?”

  She had been teased before, but never so plainly and never so inappropriately. Disa, her wind-chapped cheeks flushing, thought it strange that such embarrassing words should be accompanied by such a sweet tone.
Offensive, really. She shied from his touch and looked down at her feet, buried in the snow.

  “With your help, the alicorn shall be mine.”

  “Alicorn?” she asked, coming to attention once more.

  “The single horn that sprouts from the forehead of the wildest, purest of all creatures. Born by Sleipnir and raised by the elves, the creature was abandoned on Midgard when they failed to tame it. It’s here. Here, now. Just down there.

  “The Saxons say that the man who possesses the horn will live forever. The Byzantines say that a man who drinks from the horn will possess a strength to rival the All Father’s.”

  “What is a Byzantine?” She couldn’t keep up, but he didn’t seem to care.

  “And there is only one way to capture something so pure.” He held up a single finger. “There is only one bait that will draw it close enough.”

  “Me,” Disa answered. She knew by the way he was looking at her. “I’m your bait.”

  He grabbed her elbow once more. “Come, my dear, before we lose its trail.”

  He pulled, but Disa resisted, pulled back. A surge of heat rushed from her chest into her limbs as she dug her heels into the ground. She swiveled on her heels, prepared to turn back.

  Everything was wrong. This man was not the charming prince from their first meeting. There was no softness in his gaze nor tenderness in his touch. He didn’t care that she was beautiful and stupid. He cared only for the integrity of her maidenhood.

  Isn’t that why he had come to her in the night? Isn’t that why he had pressed her to the ground and tested the honesty of her father’s claims?

  She started to run. Her foot was lifting off the ground when the prince sensed her resistance and yanked her back. He spun her in a circle and she toppled to her knees with a yowl.

  “Don’t do this,” he said, still thinking he could maintain her obedience. “Just help me. You can do that much, can’t you?”

  “Let me go!” she wailed, and she didn’t care that she was screaming. She could only hope that his men, however far away, would come for her.

  “I am your prince! Contain yourself!”

  “Please!” she continued. “Let me go! I’m scared! Scared!” She could not tell which frightened her more, the prospect of meeting the creature in the valley or her groom’s icy stare.

  But then… was he her groom?

  With the axe slung over one of his shoulders, it was difficult for Prince Eric to subdue her. Disa was regaining the upper hand, twisting and pushing herself back to her feet, when he called, “Sigtrygg! Help me!”

  She had thought him asleep with the others, but the wiry old man was bounding out from behind the birch trees within seconds of his summoning.. He was not empty handed; he charged forward brandishing a hemp cord. Snapping it taut, he leapt upon her.

  Disa crashed backwards into the snow as Sigtrygg threw his rope around her left hand.

  Panic froze the scream in her throat. Unable to flee, she took to fighting. She threw up her hands to keep the cords from binding her. She bashed the toothless Sigtrygg with her small fists as he fought to keep her pressed to the snowy ground.

  They could only capture her when Prince Eric dropped beside them and took a bruising hold of her flailing hands. Sigtrygg wound the cord around her wrists, binding them with a series of knots only an experienced sailor could execute so quickly.

  Sigtrygg pinned her between his knees. Prince Eric once more took her by the elbow, but neither man paid her much attention now that she was bound.

  “Are we too late?” Prince Eric demanded, his voice as sharp as it had been the night he had caught Hakon embracing Disa.

  “No, no. It’s still out there. I’ve given it distance. No reason to scare it off now.”

  “Good lad. Let’s get her up.”

  Sigtrygg climbed off the prince’s bride, and it was then that he saw the tears streaming down her face.

  “Don’t cry,” the prince ordered. “You’ll scare it away.”

  She thought of Hakon, her foolish brother. “Is—is this all I am?” she bawled as she raised her bound hands. “Bait?”

  “Stop crying. You have legs, use them.”

  “Were you ever going to marry me?”

  “Go, Sigtrygg, I’ll handle her from here.”

  “Are you sure?” The old man cast the young maid a skeptical glance, but how could he think her dangerous? Resting on her knees, her hands tied, and weeping like a babe, she was no more threatening to him than a fly.

  “Yes. Now go, I need you to keep an eye on the others.”

  “But Rorik’s axe—”

  “He’s still alive, but keep an eye on him. Olav, too.”

  “And will the girl be accompanying you back?”

  The question stole her breath, and her sobbing stalled as she waited for the prince’s answer. Her soggy eyes met his just as he said, “No.”

  Sigtrygg turned to sprint back up the hill, but Disa did not watch the old man leave. Her vision swam, and she could make out only the smudged shape of the prince standing beside her.

  “You’re not—not taking me back.” She covered her face, and wept fresh tears into the hemp bindings.

  “No.”

  “You’re not marrying me.”

  “No, and be glad of it.”

  He was leading her back down the hill, like a calf being led to slaughter. Her knees knocked, her nose ran, and her muffled cries sounded more like pitiful lowing.

  “Did you ever love me?”

  He sighed. “See, that’s what I don’t understand. How did you ever delude yourself into thinking that was even possible?” His tone was kind, but his words were poison. “I hardly know you. Are you really so vain as to think I could love you for your face alone?”

  “I tho—thought you might have admired my other—”

  “Your other what? What are you besides pretty, Lady Saldis? You’re young and obliging, but you also can’t speak two words without stuttering. You can’t read. You have no knowledge of the world. You are the sheltered daughter of a lesser jarl. The wife to a king needs to be something more. Clever, cunning, even a little shrewd.”

  “Please, let me go.”

  “Beg all you’d like, my lady, it won’t help.”

  It was only because he held her up that she was able to follow him.

  Her mother would be unsurprised to learn of Disa’s humiliation, and her father would never accept her back. Not when he couldn’t be sure she was still a maid. If only she could have married the prince. She could have divorced him. If her father had given her a dowry, it would have been hers. It would have cushioned her fall, but not now. Prince Eric had turned down her dowry when it had been offered.

  “You never loved me.” Saying it aloud was the only way to convince herself of this horrible truth.

  “You are pleasant to look at. Take comfort in that.”

  What comfort was that? It only meant that when this alicorn monster killed her, the only part of her that he would miss was her beautiful face. Her beautiful, cursed face.

  “Tread softly, my dear. The shore is close now.”

  The lake was just through the trees. She could make out the chunks of ice-blue slush skating across its surface. The sun was higher now, and from the branches above sloughed small clumps of snow. One tree, a huge oak, stood apart from the maples, birches, and young firs. Generations old, its trunk was thrice as thick as Prince Eric and cloaked in the shadows cast by the canopy of thick, naked branches above.

  “We’ll wait here.”

  “You will tie me there?” She examined the tree, from its peeling bark to the roots pushing up from beneath the snow.

  “Yes indeed. Will you cooperate?”

  With the huge axe slung over his shoulder and the long sword still strapped to his left hip, how could she do anything else but drop down beside the trunk and submit?

  In this wilderness, who could possibly help her? His men? Rorik was a dim-witted brute, Olav was a fat cook,
and Frode and Trogils were lechers. Sigtrygg was… Well, Sigtrygg had already proven his allegiance.

  Prince Eric had snuck away to bring her here, but she still doubted any of his men would come to her rescue. They probably hadn’t even noticed her absence yet.

  “Will it hurt me?”

  “No.” He dropped to his knees beside her and rested his axe against the trunk of the tree. He would not look her in the eyes as he swung her rope around the trunk and tied his knot.

  Once the rope was secure, he pushed himself to his feet and made to turn away.

  Disa jerked against the bindings when she realized he was leaving her. “Don’t go!” She regretted her outburst and bit the inside of her cheek. Was she really so cowardly that she would beg for the protection of the man who had betrayed her?

  “I’ll only be on the other side. We can’t have the creature seeing me.”

  True to his word, the prince disappeared around the back of the tree. The leaves rustled as he took his seat between the gnarled oak roots, and the axe clanged against his belt buckle as he laid it across his thighs. With the tree now separating them, Disa tried to turn her tear-filled eyes upon the distant lake, but the sunlight striking the surface cast a sharp glare. A breeze sent up a spray of snowflakes, and, far off, a bough dumped its load of melting snow.

  She was not alone, not with the prince seated just behind her, but staring into the empty wilderness elicited a powerful sensation of loneliness. She turned into the oak’s trunk and closed her eyes. She didn’t mind that the rough bark rubbed and scratched her skin.

  “Do you see him, Lady Saldis?” murmured the prince.

  Her face was buried into the coils of her rope. She couldn’t see anything but she still answered, “No.”

  “He’ll come,” Prince Eric replied, more for his own sake than hers.

  The alicorn hardly mattered anymore.

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “I don’t care. Home, I imagine.”

  “Home?” she said with a rattling sob. “How am I supposed to go home? Everyone will assume the worst.”

  “No more whimpering. You’ll scare the creature away,” he hissed.

  A rustling in the undergrowth made her jump, but when her eyes swept across the clearing, they did not find the monster. She could not decide which was worse, the dread of the creature’s arrival or the uncertainty of what it would do to her when it found her.

  “Why me?” she whimpered, sounding every bit as weak as she felt.

  Disa had not expected an answer, but he answered all the same. In a voice so quiet she barely heard him, he said, “Because you’re the daughter of a jarl.”

  A snap of fury burned through the chill freezing her joints. Her predicament, the forest, the ropes, the monster coming for her… None of these things had anything to do with her father. “And a fisherman’s daughter wouldn’t do? The scullery maid? A thrall?”

  “Now is not the time to be raising your voice, Lady Saldis,” Prince Eric snarled. “You are the daughter of a jarl. Your father could protect your maidenhood better than any old fisherman.”

  So it had to be her. Unlike the scullery maids and the thralls, Jarl Sigurd was honor-bound to keep her chaste until her wedding day. She was only a virgin because her father had both the wealth and the power to protect her from her admirers.

  “You bought my chastity,” she realized, her voice echoing hollowly in her own ears. “You paid my father for my maidenhood.”

  “And count yourself lucky that I’m letting you keep it. Now, that’s enough. No more talking.”

  She sagged against the trunk and fell quiet, not because he demanded it, but because the weight of her situation silenced her. He had bought her chastity—bought her—but he would not make her his bride. Did this make her a whore? She had seen such women down by the docks, where the seafaring men were lonely and rich with plunder. They did not wear brooches and gowns and quilted jackets. They slept on the floor and serviced their clients on a flea-ridden bed of straw.

  Her mother said such women were little better than lice, jumping ship to ship and feeding upon the purses of flesh-starved sailors.

  This is how her mother would see her now. The prince had bought Disa, and soon he would abandon her to the woods, without a horse, without a tent, without a single coin to her name.

  Prince Eric had taken advantage of Disa’s affections—he had even encouraged them—and she had been foolish enough to trust him. It was she who had never questioned his eagerness to depart. If Hakon had not kissed her and if Prince Eric had not been given an excuse to take her away, would the prince have been forced to marry her? If so, could she have divorced him with her integrity intact, or would he have simply killed her to avoid the dishonor?

  Something cold stroked her shoulder, and for a second she thought it was him, reaching around the trunk to pat her arm. Then she looked up and, with a shriek, discovered the truth.

  The creature was a mass of brown, wet fur. Its long face was like a horse’s, and its pointed and drooping muzzle resembled a goat’s. The snarled gruff dangling from its chin was coated in sap. It was bigger than any cow, and yet very similar in shape and smell. Its teeth were flat and brown, and its breath stank of bile as it wheezed above her.

  Her cry surprised the creature as much as it had surprised her. Frightened, it snorted and danced backwards. Its pupils shrank to pinpoints and its great, feathered hooves struck the earth.

  Only when it had drawn back could she see the alicorn jutting from its forehead. It was not straight or symmetrical, but sprouted from its shaggy fur as thick as the oak roots she sat upon. The horn was gnarled and huge, and the neck required to lift it was massive to suit. The bulging shoulders and thin face gave the creature the appearance of having no neck at all.

  It stomped the earth, and its tail—ending with a tuft of hair—swished in agitation. It trumpeted like an elk and dropped its head as if to charge like a bull.

  How had a creature of its size snuck up on her? There was no time to process it or the thick, hideous horn about to gut her, when the prince rushed out from behind the tree.

  Disa yanked against her bonds as he leapt over her. His sword was gone, but he held Rorik’s axe over his head in one white-knuckled hand. With his free hand, he took hold of the swinging horn.

  The creature screamed when the prince touched it. It lifted off its hind quarters to rear, and then Prince Eric struck. He swung the axe down upon the back of the creature’s stocky neck.

  . The axe sank deeper and severed an artery. The creature dropped like a pile of stones. Rorik’s axe was heavy enough to carry the blade through to its spine, but it did not decapitate the monster completely

  Disa had never seen so much blood in her life. Warm, she thought as it trickled down her chin, it’s still warm.

  The prince wrenched the axe free to swing it again. The monster’s muscles were so thick that he had to strike it again and again to sever the head entirely from the body. By the time he had finished, the spray of blood had transformed him. His skin was apple red and the whites of his eyes—sunk beneath his slick eyebrows—shone like polished pearls in his drenched face.

  The creature’s head was even heavier than the axe, and it was with great effort that he dragged it away from the convulsing body. Wheezing, Prince Eric collapsed upon the forest floor.

  Between them, the headless body twitched and shuddered as the last of its life poured from the fleshy stump.

  Disa closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand the sight of the creature’s dead eyes and lolling tongue or the bloody axe resting against the prince’s knee. Her nostrils filled with the stench of wet fur and salty blood. Her lips tasted like iron and sea water.

  Prince Eric did not untie her, nor did he offer her anything to wipe away the sticky redness from her cheeks. He didn’t even bother washing the mess from his own face. He collected his breath, heaved himself to his feet, and found all his belongings: the axe he had stolen from Ror
ik, the sword he had never unsheathed, and the gnarled alicorn still attached to the decapitated head. He was panting as he lifted his burden, but he spared not a breath for her. Not a word, not even a look.

  He turned back to the east, back towards his camp and his men, and Disa was almost happy that he had forgotten about her. She didn’t even mind that he hadn’t bothered to untie her rope. In the end, she did not want him or that bloody axe near her. She didn’t want his pitying goodbyes.

  Disa watched as the creature’s body stiffened. She watched as the sun rose high above the treeline and the flies arrived in droves to feast upon the carcass and the dried blood on her cheeks.

  Eventually, she would need to free herself, but not now. She sat instead and considered all the things the prince had taken from her. And here she was, powerless to seek revenge.

  He had ripped away her chance for a happy future with sweet lies and sweeter smiles. And while he left to make his dreams a reality, she was forced to stay and grieve the shattered pieces of her own, humbler hopes.

  Chapter Ten