Excerpt

"A classic fantasy grounded in real-world history and myth"

aThe blood of a giant stained the snow at Einer's feet. Red, it dripped from the tip of his Ulfberht sword. This time, Einer had not been lost to the rage. This time, he knew exactly where he was, and what had happened.

The giant pressed a palm to his left ribs where Einer had cut him with the Ulfberht blade, and then took a step forward. The jotun's feet crunched over the thick snow, and in a moment, the storm covered his shoes. Red blood dripped from his wound down over his legs and onto the fresh white coat of snow.

'Stay away,' Einer warned. Despite the howl of the northern wind, the giant's blood still dripped hot from his sword.

This was not the first time Einer had fought off a giant, and he knew that it would not be the last either, for Ragnarok was coming, and soon he would fight and die on Ida's plain.

'On whose side will you fight at Ragnarok?' asked the bleeding giant. His voice was comforting like that of a storyteller or a chanter, and he forced a snicker to cover for his obvious pain. Despite his wound, he had not defended himself, or even drawn a weapon, as Einer had. Whoever this giant was, he was not like the others who had come searching.

During the three long winters since his trial, many had come to kill Einer, and his body carried the scars of their encounters. This jotun was not lost to the rage of the forefathers as the others had been, and he was not consumed in anger, or stumbling through the snow. He was calm, and composed, and Einer knew at once that it had been a mistake to strike first.

An insolent smile spread across the giant's chapped lips. 'So…' said he. 'When the final battle comes, will you fight for your gods or for your kinsmen?'

The northern wind pushed at his back for an answer, but Einer had none. He knew that his father would stand on the battleground with one of Valhalla's golden shields in hand, protecting the gods. All Einer's friends would fight under the same colours, and Einer had always thought that he, too, would fight for his gods, but the choice was no longer as easy as it had been.

He knew now that his mother was a giant, although she had always shunned her lineage, and Einer did not know where his mother would have stood on the eve of the final battle, had she been alive. And he did not know where he ought to stand himself.

'Your grandparents assume that you will fight with them,' said the giant, and he was right. Einer's grandparents had sheltered him for three long, harsh winters. They had taught him the way of Jotunheim, and they had taught him about his lineage, and yet the more they taught him, the less Einer knew where he belonged in the final battle.

'When you stand on Ida's plain again, you will know,' said the bleeding jotun, who could not possibly have known that Einer had already fought on Ida's plain once and killed in Odin's name.

'Who are you?' asked Einer. His breath came out white as the falling snow. He clenched his father's sword, feeling the grip through his thick wool gloves, and readied his stance. His heart was beating fast in confusion and warning, as it hadn't done in years.

'You know who I am,' said the giant. 'You know my name, as I know yours, Einer Vigmerson.'

Einer gaped at the jotun. It had been years since anyone had said his father's name. He doubted his grandparents even knew who his father had been. It was a name that belonged in Midgard, not here, among giants.

The jotun removed his hand from the wound Einer had inflicted and stroked the snow and ice out of his beard with bloodied fingers. The heat of runes within him melted the snow right off. His thin coat flapped open and revealed the light summer colours he wore beneath. Einer had never before seen one so powerful, and he had met many giants. This was the third of the last three winters before Ragnarok. So deep into winter it took strength and attention to keep warm with runes.

'You dress like a valley jotun,' said the giant, as if it surprised him. 'Wrapped in wool and furs. I don't know how you keep warm.' His tone was light, but Einer recognised it as a threat.

He swallowed the spit that had accumulated in his mouth. Once more, he cursed himself for having struck first.

His grandparents had tried to teach him to stay warm, but Einer had no skill with the runes. All they had been able to teach him was how to steer his thoughts away from getting him into trouble and to not think as loudly as he had used to do.

'This isn't loud?' mocked the giant, combing his bloody hand through his long hair. His hair had no tangles, although the northern wind had played with it and braided white snowflakes into the red and black strands. He had the appearance of a god. Although his size was not much larger than that of Einer, he was clearly a giant. His grasp on runes came with a jotun's gentle touch, and his protruding chin and sharp jaw marked his lineage at first glance, although his closely trimmed beard tried to shield his giant build.

'Who are you?' asked Einer again.

'You know,' answered the jotun, although they had never met. 'I am Ragnarok itself, and I call upon you, Einer Vigmerson.'

The superior smile of the giant widened, and no matter how Einer thought of it, in all the nine worlds, he knew the name of only one giant who was known to have such a wicked and stable smile.

'Why have you come for me?'

'Despite how you look, I knew you weren't a stupid valley giant,' praised Loki, giant among gods, and blood-brother of the Alfather himself.

'Why have you come?' asked Einer again, although he knew. Ragnarok was close, and that was why Loki was here, standing in front of Einer. He was on his way to Helheim to rally the short-lived to fight for him in the final battle, and after the long winter all the beings of the nine worlds had suffered through, it would not be a difficult task.

'You have a pendant,' said Loki, quite simply, and it was not the answer Einer had expected. 'A gold coin neck-ring. You know the one.'

'A pendant?' asked Einer, desperate not to think about the gold bracteate his mother had given him or what had happened to it.

'What happened to it?' Loki asked, knowing exactly how to steer Einer's thoughts where they were not supposed to go.

'Nothing,' said Einer, repeating the word loud in his mind, over and over again, as his grandparents had taught him to do to keep his thoughts hidden.

'We both know that isn't true,' said Loki.

They also both knew that the famed giant could force the truth out of Einer in an instant with his runes, yet he did not.

'I suppose my blood-brother would have done exactly that,' said Loki. 'He would have skipped past all of the fun and made you give up the truth, and then been on his way again.'

The northern wind howled between them, making Einer shiver under his bear skin and nine-layered wools.

Another wicked smile flared across Loki's lips. 'But unlike my blood-brother, I would much rather have you choose to tell me where the pendant is and what happened to it. For someday… you will want to help me.'

Einer doubted that was true. He could not imagine ever helping Loki, especially not giving up what he knew of the bracteate and willingly putting his friend in danger, but Loki's certainty made Einer doubt himself. Even the gods were frequently tricked by the cunning giant.

Loki crouched into the thick snow. He lowered his bloody hands to the ice at their feet, melting it, and washed his hands clean of blood in the water. He stared down at his wound.

'It would seem that you owe me. So, I shall gladly accept your hospitality,' Loki said, although Einer had offered nothing at all. 'A warm meal and slumber in a warm jotun house will do me good.'

With those words he rose and began to walk. Before Einer could even think to stop him, Loki had already taken a good ten steps into the thick snowstorm.

Einer hurried to follow, and somehow, despite the thick snow that made it impossible to see ahead, and only allowed those more than familiar with these lands to navigate through them, Loki headed straight towards the home of Einer's grandparents.

'So,' said the famed giant, as they trampled through the snowstorm, leaving a fine trail of red blood behind. 'Tell me, Einer, when Skoll swallows the sun and Thor's thunder rumbles over Ida's plain, will you fight with me, or do you still blindly trust your gods?'