 
Font of All Lies

Jon Jacks

Other New Adult and Children's books by Jon Jacks

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest – The World Turns on A Card – Palace of Lace

The Wailing Ships – The Bad Samaritan – The 13th Month – The Silvered Mare – SpinDell

Swan Moon – The Unicorndoll – Lesser Nefertiti – My Shrieking Skin – Stone in Love

Text copyright© 2019 Jon Jacks

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Chapter 1

So _this_ was one of the 'great wyrms' terrorising the land?

Culldae laughed; it was tiny, and nowhere near the size described by the knights returning to court with tales of the maidens they'd rescued from the fearsome wyverns. Antimony, her horse, didn't even make the slightest effort to shy away from the creature.

It was a child, then; even, perhaps, a babe.

Culldae worriedly glanced skywards.

Where could the child's mother be? Or her father?

Did a great wyrm even have parents of any kind?

Now she came to think of it, not one of the many stories she had heard about the dragons had made any reference to mothers, or fathers.

Neither had she heard of any smaller, more child-like beasts.

Wasn't this the way, though, that all creatures came about?

Which of her father's knights would humiliate himself by admitting he'd merely killed a babe?

Surprisingly, despite the advantage being hers in size – the poor dragon being hardly bigger than a freshly born roebuck deer, and almost as delicately endearing – the bewildered creature made no effort to back away from Culldae. Rather he (or was it a _she_? How could you tell?) observed her with all the curiosity and wonder she herself was experiencing on coming across this magical creature while wandering through the woods.

Not that she, of course, could be anything near as startlingly beautiful as this brightly glittering little creature.

The scales were gem-like in their brilliance, changing from emeralds to rubies to amber in the blink of an eye as the sun's rays caught them at slightly differing angles. The wings were virtually transparent, far more like those of an insect as opposed to a bat or bird.

And her father had sent out his knights on a quest to kill them all!

This poor little mite had probably been orphaned, its parents lying dead or dying somewhere.

As she pityingly stared at the creature, it gave a sad little flutter of its membranous wings; whether it was a futile attempt to fly away, or a response similar to a stray dog recognising a potential helper, Culldae couldn't be sure.

She was sure, however, that it was a sign that the baby wyvern was weak – perhaps even dying.

*

Maybe, Culldae reasoned, she was duty bound to let the poor little thing wither away and die.

Maybe, even, she should announce her find to a local farmer, who would be more than capable of finishing it off without the aid of any man-at-arms.

After all, despite its present innocent appearance, it wouldn't need to grow much bigger before it became a menace, devouring sheep and cattle before it came to feasting on children and then men and women.

Once grown to full size, only a fully armoured and mounted knight would be able to deal with it.

Many of her father's best men had failed to return from their quests, presumably having perished in their attempts to quell the terror of the wyverns.

She had seen the damage inflicted by dragons, even if she had never – thankfully – seen a live one until now.

Naturally, she had seen a _dead_ one.

It had been laid painfully askew against the scorched and cracked walls of the castle it had almost successfully attacked. Although it hadn't long been killed when Culldae and her father arrived there after a hurried gallop through the night – he had insisted she should see what they were up against – it was already being steadily hacked to pieces, the local populace taking its glittering scales for armour, plates or jewellery, depending upon their size.

That particular wyvern had been predominantly emerald green rather than the ever fluctuating iridescent colouring of the immature dragon now standing before her.

It had died, too, wholly at the hands of others, whereas the death of this babe would undoubtedly be down to her if she notified anyone of its presence.

It hadn't done _her_ any harm, had it?

*

# Chapter 2

Once she had slipped down off Antimony's back, coaxing the wyvern into following her was far easier than she might have imagined it to be.

It was entirely similar, she supposed, to the way she had enticed foals or calves to come to her. The odd, calming murmur; a twitching of fingers out before her, as if holding some tasty titbit.

The baby dragon began to happily walk behind her.

She would keep to the less well used trails she'd come across the wyvern on. She didn't want to risk being seen helping a dragon. Neither did she want anyone to see the dragon itself, of course, as they would most definitely attempt to kill it or at least search out someone who could.

She would take it to the spring; wyverns were in some way connected with sources of water, she had been reliably informed, and it was rumoured they could even be sustained by them.

*

The wyvern licked ecstatically at the spring's bubbling waters.

Crystal clear, the uncountable droplets sparkled in the sun as if they were a fountain of diamonds spilling forth from the earth.

Those closest to the thirsty dragon took on its own glistening hues, glittering like so many emeralds, rubies and sapphires.

Culldae was entranced by the glorious beauty of the scene.

Is this where tales of serpents guarding hoards of jewels had emanated from?

Although Antimony was also undoubtedly thirsty, especially now she'd seen the enticingly sparkling waters, she cautiously stayed a little back. Culldae remained with her, not wishing to catch her reflection in the spring's pool.

Like so many girls, she'd been told the tale warning against admiring yourself in a spring's clear waters.

Was it an ancient tale, or was it a more recent one? No one seemed to know.

Naturally, the maiden of our tale is incredibly beautiful. And so, of course, besotted by her own beauty, she's incredibly vain too.

It's also in vain that her mother and grandmother warn her against combing her long flowing hair by a spring: for there was nothing she loved more than to while away her time admiring her beautiful reflection in the pool.

'You mustn't comb your hair by a spring,' her mother and gran would say admonishingly; for they were angered too, of course, that the girl was so busy living in her daydreams, she never helped to spin or weave, or knead or bake the bread. 'Haven't you heard of the tales? If a hair falls and ruffles the water's surface, the nymph who lives in the spring will make you hers.'

'Old wives tales,' the proud maiden would laugh. 'There are no sprites in the fountain! Besides, hair so soft and beautiful could _never_ ruffle the water!'

Sometimes, however, even the tales of old wives contain a glimmer of truth, and fate is best left untempted. For naturally the girl was wrong; a very powerful spirit, a nymph of the streams and mountains, had made her home in the pool.

Innocently unaware of the sprite's presence, the young maiden continued to comb her hair by the pool, spending the whole day there if needs be. And as long as she managed to avoid ruffling the pool's waters, there was nothing the sprite could do about it, despite her growing fury.

But the nymph was patient.

Her chance would come, she was sure.

Of course, Culldae reassured herself, as the girl in the story herself even says, it's nothing but 'an old wives tale'.

Besides, Culldae flattered herself that she wasn't in anyway vain; well, not like the tale's maiden.

And as long as she refrained from combing her hair, why, then how would she ruffle the surface and attract the attention of the water sprite?

What harm could there be in helping herself to a refreshing drink of the pool's glittering waters?

She stepped closer towards the wyvern, who obviously suffered no compunction about quenching his thirst.

'Stand back!'

Startled by the hollowly growling command, Culldae came to an abrupt, almost petrified halt.

She heard a clank of metal, the snort of a horse, coming from off to her side.

Turning about, she found herself confronted by a fully armoured and mounted knight, his visor down, his lance lowered in preparation for battle.

Culldae glanced back towards the doe-like wyvern, chuckling as she turned to face the knight once more.

'Surely you can see I'm not in need of rescuing!' she scoffed.

She realised she didn't recognise the unusual emblem adorning the knight's shield and silks. From a distance, it had seemed to be a coiling serpent, yet now she saw it was a curling horn, but with the head of a man as its screaming mouth.

He didn't appear to be a knight of her father's. There was nothing familiar about him that she could see, while his armour lacked the deliberately formed scales replicating a serpent's skin. Similarly, the helmet neither formed into the elongated snout and wide eyes of a dragon, nor rose up into the curling, overarching tail.

His horse was quite beautiful, with a mane that shone as if woven from gold.

'That may well be _your_ opinion, my lady,' the knight replied with no slackening of his pose. 'But the great wyrms _must_ be killed, no matter their size or age.'

Culldae refused to move away from the wyvern; if she continued to stand before it, the knight would hardly be likely to attack, would he?

'I don't recognise you as a knight of my father's,' she said, deciding it would be wise to let the knight know he shouldn't risk harming her. 'So perhaps you're unaware that you're travelling through my father's lands.'

At last the knight set his lance back in the supporting sockets running down the side of his high-backed saddle. He raised his freed hand in a salute before lifting the helmet's visor clear of his face.

He was a far younger knight than Culldae had expected him to be.

'Are dragons under the protection of this land's king?' he asked curiously.

'No, they're hunted here as much as anywhere else,' Culldae admitted. 'My father, King Halga, sends his knights out to hunt them down and kill then wherever they're found!'

The knight nodded, as if this at least made sound sense.

'Yet here _you_ are,' he said suspiciously, ' _helping_ this one.'

Culldae pulled aside a little, allowing the knight a better look at the creature still innocently lapping at the cool waters of the spring.

'As you can see, he's hardly a _terrible_ beast!'

'Not yet, surely,' the knight agreed. 'But when grown to the size of a house, he'll be a different creature altogether; would you be helping him then?'

In the corner of her eye, Culldae caught a glimpse of the young wyvern's reflection in the pool's waters.

She sighed resignedly.

She could hardly refute the young knight's argument.

The dragon would soon be every bit as large as the one she'd seen lying dead against the castle wall it had almost managed to breach through the power of its flames alone.

A tower had been smashed by a brutal blow from its fiercely beating wings. The horses in the stables had been roasted alive, the great wyrm simply flying over the ramparts and neatly landing in the courtyard. Men-at-arms had been devoured whole, or their bones entirely shattered with a curving flick of a claw.

And in what way would this presently harmless creature differ once it had reached maturity?

Naturally, it would probably be a wholly more common blue. It might even be one of the rarely seen reds.

Yet in every other way it would be a vicious and merciless killer, wreaking destruction wherever he went or wished.

Despite recognising this, it was nevertheless hard to visualise the innocently thirsty little creature as a harbinger of such chaos; perhaps because she was only seeing its reflection, sparkling in the waters as if it were really an angel.

It was the mirroring of the wyvern in the spring's pool that spawned an idea within her that she might yet be able to persuade the knight to spare the dragon's life.

'Why do you say "him"?' she demanded of the knight innocently. 'Surely even young boys are told the tale of the maiden who unintentionally ruffled the surface of the spring's waters?'

'Old wives tales, my lady,' the knight snorted contemptuously. 'There are neither spirits nor sprites in these pools!'

There it was again; the dismissal of the tale as if it were nothing but a foolishness that should be ignored by all sensible people.

'I think there might be _some_ element of truth behind it all,' Culldae lied.

Fortunately, she managed to hold back and hide her gasp of surprise.

For as she made this outrageous claim, she realised she believed it after all.

*

# Chapter 3

One day, as the beautiful maiden contentedly combed her golden hair, a single strand fluttered free, caught on a light breeze.

In vain, she snatched at the glittering thread as it briefly hung in the air, hoping to stop it falling towards the pool, realising too late that maybe she believed certain elements of those old wives tales after all.

Yet as if momentarily alive, the snaking hair eluded every panicked snatch of her fingers, as impossible to grasp as a ray from the sun.

It fell, then, towards the water's surface, the rippling it set in motion initially inconsequential, yet strengthening as it fanned out across the pool.

It seems at first to the poor girl that she is seeing only the horror etched into her own face as the reflection appears to shift, to rush up towards her. But then, rising up in her cloak of green water, her hair flowing about her like golden reeds, the nymph soars fully out of the pool.

'Your pride shall be its own punishment,' the sprite cries out triumphantly.

Suddenly, the maiden realises her own skin is turning green, that it is hardening, taking on fish-like scales.

And no, unlike the water nymph, it isn't just a finned tail she's sprouting, but now also wings, and powerful legs, and sharpened claws.

In an instant, her whole body is horribly transformed.

'From now on, this is how you'll be seen by anybody who sees you,' the nymph sneered. 'Until you meet a knight so pure of heart that he's neither afraid of you nor finds you entirely hideous!'

Naturally, the maiden hoped no one would _ever_ see her like this!

Weeping and howling in despair, she slunk off to a cave by the sea, far away from everyone.

Would a knight ever find her so beautiful that she might become a maiden once more?

Such a chance would never come, she was sure.

*

# Chapter 4

Which element of the tale did Culldae believe?

She couldn't be sure.

Just how ridiculous was that?

How could she possibly believe any of the tale might be true if she remained uncertain as to which parts were the lies?

'If you believe this, then I can't kill him – her – while you stand here,' the knight said graciously. 'Though I would say, my lady, that although many tales contain hidden truths, far more are nothing but lies, told by those who wish to keep us ignorant.'

With a nod, Culldae recognised the truth of the knight's observation.

'And may I ask what tales you will tell of what you saw here today?' she asked anxiously.

The knight paused as he considered this.

'I can't see that anyone should ever ask me what I witnessed here today; and so there would be no need for me to lie.'

Culldae nodded once again, this time in recognition of the knight's graciously considered response.

'If the tale of the poor maiden is true,' she said with a thankful smile, 'then I believe _you_ could be the knight she's seeking.'

*

Despite the anxiety she'd felt for the weakened wyvern as she'd led it towards the spring, the most worrying part of Culldae's journey was the short ride down through the rolling pastures of the valley.

If any of her father's subjects came to learn of her rescuing of the wyvern, would they ever forgive her?

The farmers especially had suffered, their livestock chased away or devoured. Fields once verdant with crops or grass for sheep and cattle to graze upon were parched, in many cases still bearing the sweeping black marks of scorching. Orchards were similarly, in parts, blackened, writhing stumps of charcoal. Barns and even the odd house lay in ruins.

Thankfully, the attacks of the dragons had recently tailed off, but the land had failed to recover, the many water courses it relied on for irrigation having unaccountably dried up.

And to think, she'd told the knight she felt secure enough in her father's lands when she'd refused his offer of a safe escort home.

Then again, although she'd felt sure that this particular knight was wholly trustworthy, Culldae was wise enough to recognise that not every knight was as honourable as they might wish to make out, especially where young maidens were concerned.

The valley was opening up now as it drew closer to the bay where it spilled out what little remained of its once abundant waters.

Out to sea, a large ship was swiftly drawing closer as its wide sail filled with a gusting wind.

It was a _drakkar_ , its whole prow proudly arching up into the fearsome head of a dragon, its hull serpentine in its curves and high soaring stern.

It could only be Olava, the Queen of Saxony, making her long threatened visit.

*

# Chapter 5

Culldae's father had never adequately explained why he feared Queen Olava's arrival at his court.

Naturally, Culldae had overheard the hungrily shared rumours; Olava knew the truth about the linage of Culldae's mother.

But what could she tell them they didn't already know? Her father readily admitted that Queen Yrsa wasn't of royal blood.

He had been swept away by her beauty and what could only be a naturally innate sense of regality, despite her lowly upbringing as the daughter of a fisherman and his wife. Worse still perhaps, she had originally been taken and held as a prisoner when Culldae's father, having already repelled a Swedish invasion, had swept on into the aggressor's own nation.

Some, however, more cruelly whispered that she obviously had Saxon roots, where Yrsa was a name you gave your dog.

In this version of her mother and father's meeting, Queen Olava herself had sent Yrsa out to meet him, fully aware that the young girl's beauty would entrance him.

No one could adequately explain why a queen as powerful as Olava would send out a fisherman's daughter to greet another country's king.

As other tales had it, a demon was involved, a bewitchment too.

This included one of the stories Culldae hated most of all.

For it surely claimed that Queen Yrsa wasn't her mother.

*

Halga was supposedly out hunting in Uppland, where Onela was king.

At the time, however, King Onela was involved in a ferocious conflict with King Eadgils of Sweden. Which means it's far more likely that Halga was there to try and assess which way the winds of war were blowing.

Which king should he ally himself with? Which kingdom was about to fall?

One night, there was a knock at the door where he and his men were lodging. On opening the door, they were confronted by a fearsome beast, but one who only sought shelter from the cold winds.

He asked if he might share their fire awhile.

As the beast appeared to neither mean nor present any danger to Halga or his men, the lord agreed that the beast could come in and warm itself by the fire awhile.

As the beast sat by the roaring fire, the ice encasing its heavy furs naturally began to melt, revealing that the fearsome creature was in fact a hideous elvin woman.

As the winds outside continued to harshly blow, the creature eventually pleaded that they grant it a further stay.

It asked if it might share their lodgings for the night.

Halga once again granted her request. However, fully away that elvin women were not to be trusted, when he retired to bed he tied a strand of rope between his toe and the handle to his bedroom.

It transpired that it was a wise move.

He was awoken by a tug on his foot as the door to his room silently opened.

It was not the terrifying elvin woman who entered, however, but a young and enchantingly beautiful girl.

She asked if she might share the pleasures of his bed for a long time to come.

By the morning, she was gone.

Halga soon forgot the whole incident.

But just under a year later, the elvin woman appeared before him once more, this time carrying their daughter in her arms.

*

# Chapter 6

As she galloped into the stables abutting her father's palace, Culldae leapt down from Antimony, charging the hands with taking care of her.

She needed to rid herself of her filthy riding clothes, replacing them with something more fitting for a meeting with a visiting queen.

Dashing upstairs to her room, she was surrounded by a sense of urgency, the courtiers and their servants everywhere in a fluster; for the queen's ship had docked, and a delegation was already surprisingly snaking its way up towards the main hall.

Culldae overheard the rushed whispers of rumours once again given new life. Rumours of an earlier meeting between her father Halga and Queen Olava.

He had wished to woe this warlike queen, traveling to Saxony with this sole purpose in mind. Yet she had shown no interest in him, humiliating him instead by sending him back to his ship with a shaved head and covered in tar.

Even so, it was also said, Halga had partially achieved his aim through consorting with demons.

That was the trouble with tales.

They changed, depending upon who was doing the telling.

*

Culldae's father had frequently raged at the many false tales that were being told throughout his kingdom.

How can anybody trust what they hear when there are so many lies to be heard?

Just as the freshest pools were spoiled by polluted waters, lies infected the wellbeing of his people, contaminated the spirit of his land, spreading an unfair sense of discontentment.

Was it any wonder that his kingdom was suffering drought and pestilence when such an infestation of distrust was questioning his right to rule?

And now, far worse, these lies were being set down forever by scribes, toiling over their manuscripts and books.

To order the killing of the serpents belabouring his lands was a relatively easy task to send his men out on.

To stem the promulgation of lies snaking their way into the minds of men was wholly more difficult.

*

By the time that Culldae had sprinted back to her rooms and more suitably changed into an elaborate, courtly dress, the delegation from the queen's ship had reached the palace's main hall.

The sense of urgency rushing about the court had intensified; the queen herself was amongst the party, demanding immediate audience with the king and queen.

As Culldae entered the hall with as much decorum as she could muster after her hurried preparation, the queen and her entourage were entering directly opposite through the large double doors.

Culldae's father cast a disgruntled look her way as she took her seat next to her mother, Queen Yrsa. Her brother was seated next to the king, and he grinned broadly, as if he found Culldae's late arrival amusing rather than disgraceful; but then, he was hardly more than six years old.

There was an air of expectancy in the hall, for no one could be sure why the Queen of Saxony had so abruptly decided to visit them with absolutely no forward notice of her arrival, as courtesy would usually demand.

The king frowned, pensive, as if fearing the worst.

*

# Chapter 7

'I'd heard tales of how you lived so happily together,' Queen Olava declared surprisingly brightly as she addressed the king and queen, 'and I'm so glad to see that this is indeed true!'

Out of the corner of her eye, Culldae caught her mother reaching for and taking King Halga's hand, for the queen was no doubt flattered and pleased by the praise of their happy marriage. Culldae's father smiled in acknowledgement, but only briefly, as the creases of anxiety immediately returned to his face.

'And such _beautiful_ children too!' Queen Olava continued graciously, rewarding each of them with a warm smile. 'That can only _add_ to the pleasure of my announcement!'

'Queen Olava, although you _please_ us with your tributes,' King Halga sighed impatiently, 'I must ask you to explain your presence here in my court, as you've granted us no notice of either your arrival or the news you – I presume – bring us.'

Queen Olava nodded, conceding this point.

'Why, I'm here to bring you _confirmation_ of your beautiful queen's lineage; what could be more important than _that_ , King Halga?'

The gasps that came from the court, Culldae noticed, were as much ones of gleeful anticipation as of mortification. Her mother nervously tightened her grip on her father's hand.

Queen Olava smiled, as if nothing at all could possibly be amiss.

'Despite it being said by all that she's the spawn of fisher folk, I've heard you claim she could only be of a royal line.'

King Halga furiously leapt to his feet, his face red and contorted with rage.

'How dare you come here with these insults to–'

Queen Olava calmly raised a hand to stay his anger.

'You're _right_ , King Halga! Queen Yrsa _is_ of royal blood; of _my_ blood!'

*

The gasps coming from the courtiers gathered about the hall were now a mix of exultation and joyful weeping. Many men were bowing their heads, the women even falling to their knees.

Their queen was of royal linage after all. More than that, she was a daughter of the warrior queen, Olava the Great.

Queen Yrsa herself appeared bewildered, hesitantly half rising from her seat as if she wasn't quite sure what was now expected of her.

Should she rush forward to greet her mother?

Should she remain imperiously aloof?

'But...why, then, was I raised as a fisherman's daughter?' she demanded a touch irately. 'Why did you never come forward with this "news" before?'

Alongside her, the king blanched, as if something awful had just dawned on him.

'Because I felt polluted,' Queen Olava unashamedly declared, 'as your birth came about by deceit! It was through the devilish work of a serpent that your father came to lie with me in the world of dreams!'

'Dreams? A _serpent_?'

Queen Yrsa clutched at her throat as if she'd been suddenly bitten there. She glared fearfully, even perhaps contemptuously, at her husband.

King Halga once again leapt angrily to his feet.

'What _nonsense_ is all this?' he spat. ' _Everyone_ knows serpents are not to be trusted!'

'And yet I've learnt at _last_ how it all came about, King Halga!' Queen Olava retorted. 'Following up on tales I'd heard, tales I'd found hard to believe. A green dragon, whom only asked for one of three rings as his payment; and in return, he let _you_ , Halga, satisfy your earthy lust for _me_!'

*

# Chapter 8

This palace was grander than that of her father's, Culldae had to admit.

And why would she want to live with him anyway, when he had told so, so many lies about her mother, Yrsa?

Not that her mother, of course, was pure of heart when it came to telling lies that benefited her.

Only her brother was wholly innocent in this matter, and even he had been tainted by things beyond his control.

As for herself, who knew what the truth was anymore?

She had been surprised when Eadgils, the King of Sweden, had eagerly welcomed them at his court when they had fled her father's lands. Even when King Halga had insisted that they be returned, Eadgils had refused his demands, save agreeing to send Krage back, ostensibly because he was heir and it was the only way to avoid all-out war; yet Culldae couldn't help but wonder if the real reason revolved around his parentage.

For according to the stories she heard circulating about her, she wasn't her 'father's' daughter after all.

That was just one more of the innumerable lies she'd been told during her upbringing.

*

The Swedes, it seemed, had their own tales of the beautiful Queen Yrsa.

In their version of the story, she remained the daughter of a fisherman and his wife. And yes, she was captured and taken prisoner during a pillaging expedition.

She was well-mannered and intelligent, and soon the king fell in love with her.

But now the king was Eadgils, not Halga.

And the shores being raided were those of Saxony – Queen Olava's lands – not Sweden.

By the time Halga appears in this tale, pillaging Sweden, Sculldae – as she was first called, for it means 'that which needs to occur' – is already born.

And King Halga steals Yrsa and Culldae for himself.

Yet again, however, a brother is left behind.

For Sculldae was born a twin.

*

# Chapter 9

'On leaving me, eat two raw onions,' the elvin woman confidently declared after casting her spells, 'and you'll have the children you desire!'

Yrsa was so overjoyed by the witch's promise that she rode back to the palace as fast as she could. She devoured the first onion without even bothering to peel it, swallowing its encircling golden layers and all. The second – having being repelled by the first's bitterness – she skinned before more patiently eating each silvery ring.

A while later, as prophesied by the elvin woman, she was carrying a child. A while after that, she was giving birth to twins.

The first child, however, caused the midwife to shriek in horror; for he had the scaly golden skin and coiling body of a lindorm, a snakelike dragon. Terrified, she cast the thrashing creature out of the window and into the castle's moat.

The twin, a girl, appeared perfectly normal; and yet fearing she would be killed, Yrsa fled the kingdom as soon as she was able, taking her daughter with her.

The lindorm left too, swimming away down the stream feeding the moat. It soon grew in size, to a point where it was terrorising the sounding lands. Maidens were regularly offered to him, it's said, to appease his anger, but the peace this brought was only ever short lived.

Deciding that the evil serpent laying waste to a county of his kingdom must be killed, King Eadgils himself set out on horseback, fully armoured and armed. Arriving in the area, he promised the nearby farms and villages that he would free them from their torment. What's more, he would accept no payment other than a young, golden haired girl who would attend to his needs throughout the night and prepare him for his battle in the morning.

Yet as King Eadgils drew close to where the dragon was said to lie, his horse shied and reared in fright as the great trunk of the serpent abruptly rose up to its full height before him, as if it were some rapidly growing tree sprouting up and up.

Sent sprawling across the ground as his alarmed mount rode off and abandoned him, King Eadgils could only believe that his days were numbered: yet as the great head abruptly curved down towards him, it suddenly halted mid-strike, its massive eye abruptly alive with curiosity and wonder.

'I see you're a king,' the serpent declared, having recognised the crowned helmet of the helplessly prone knight. 'Then maybe _you_ have the power to help me find a bride who will come _willingly_ to me, rather than in _fear_ of her life.'

Now as it happened, the king had heard tales of an elvin woman who could work magic. And so he promised that, if he were allowed to leave with his life, he would send the serpent his requested bride.

And so it was that when the golden-haired maiden approached the lindorm that evening, she had come prepared, having followed the advice of the witch.

She would come willingly to him, the maiden grandly announced, but only on the promise that each time she removed a layer of clothing, he must also shed a layer of skin.

Naturally, the dragon agreed.

To the surprise of the serpent, however, and thankfully for the maiden, she was wearing a great many garments. Even so, soon the maiden found that she was down to nothing but a simple, flimsy night gown.

It seemed that the elvin woman's promises that she would be safe had been nothing but a tissue of lies. For the girl had taken the old woman's word that great happiness and love awaited her.

Nervously, if not quite fearfully, then, she timidly turned about as she slipped off her final dress.

She stood before the great serpent.

Behind her, she sensed the lindorm approach her as he prepared to shed what would be his last layer.

She tensed, as any new bride might.

His touch would be cold, slimy, she realised.

But she was surprised; the touch was warm, soft – gentle.

Now she trembled, dreading – or was it desiring? – his embrace.

He would coil about her, an unbreakable entrapment.

Yet it wasn't so: he embraced her, tenderly caressed and enveloping her body.

She turned at last to face him.

A last thin, translucent layer of skin was folding back upon itself like the shedding of autumn's golden leaves.

She wasn't wrapped within serpentine coils after all.

She was with the man she would love forever.

*

It was a tale, Culldae recognised, that allowed the king and his countrymen to maintain their pride, rather than admitting another king had bettered them, and stolen their queen.

As for this twin of hers; perhaps it was just a figment of the story, perhaps there was some truth in it.

She heard stories of a prince who had died in one of Eadgils' many wars, his many raids.

It wasn't as if she could simply ask her mother if there was any truth to this salacious rumour.

Had Yrsa made a pact with a witch?

It was very unlikely.

Had she given birth to a serpent?

More unlikely still.

Even so, Culldae had to admit, there were things being said about Yrsa that no longer neatly fitted within her original idealised image of her mother.

*

# Chapter 10

King Halga had gathered together his battle fleet for an attack on Sweden.

His brother Roas warned him that it was a foolish venture, doomed to fail. They had already lost many good men in skirmishes undertaken for no other reason than to persuade Eadgils that the boy Krage should be returned.

Now, however, Halga wanted Eadgils to declare pledges of loyalty to him, to pay homage and tribute. And he was so sure that his venture would be a success that he'd brought along his son Krage, that he might be suitably bloodied in the later, easier stages of the battle, when it would have deteriorated into little more than an easy slaughter of exhausted, terrified men.

'In times of war, in whom do you place your trust?' Halga asked his brother.

'I put my trust in none but myself,' Roas replied bitterly, remembering the many times that so called allies had betrayed him and his brother, even in the very midst of battle.

'Well in times like these, brother, I find it's wise to put your trust in those wielding far greater power than ourselves.'

Roas shook his head miserably.

'They ask too much for their help. I don't put too much credence in the promises of those who demand a greater prize than the one they'll grant you.'

'Says the man who proudly wears the Sviagris ring!' Halga chuckled grimly.

'And didn't I pay richly for it?' Roas guffawed back, rubbing the magical ring. 'All the land our father Haldan left me – which, under oath, I'd promised to protect too!'

'Which _I_ felt was worth paying for,' Halga responded quickly, recalling the trade he'd made with his brother. 'So, you see, in any bargain, it works because each feels they come out better for it!'

'Or they have little choice in the matter,' Roas bluntly pointed out, recalling how Halga, having been left the sea and their father's ships, controlled all the trade.

'Then you agree with me?' Halga claimed a touch triumphantly, indicating the poor state of their fleet with a sharp nod of his head. 'I say we put all our trust in Geror Shinebright and her sister!'

*

Culldae's helmet was formed into the shape of a boar's head, complete with tusks that rose up before her face.

It was said to be a replica of the Hidisvin, the helmet named after the boar the goddess Freyja herself rode into battle, and worn by Onela of Uppland whenever he was fighting. And whenever he fought wearing this helmet, he took on the prowess – in some cases even the very nature – of a ferocious boar. He also wore Finnsleif, a mailcoat that no weapon could pierce, making him a formidable if not an entirely unbeatable opponent.

Not that Culldae was expecting her helmet and armour to grant her such magical protection in the coming battle with Halga's ships. Even so, she believed the advantage still lay with King Eadgils' hurriedly put together fleet, for it was manned with battle-hardened soldiers, all of them well-practised in fighting the apparently unassailable Onela.

Besides, although she couldn't be sure of it, she suspected that Eadgils wore a helmet every bit as powerful as Hidisvin; it was rumoured to be Hildigoltr, taking its name from the battle pig of Freyja's brother Freyr.

Eadgils felt so assured of success, he had given permission for Culldae to take part in the battle, as a warrior aboard his own ship. There were many other women also suitably attired for fighting, yet Culldae's mother Yrsa wasn't amongst them, despite her heartfelt pleas to accompany her daughter.

Despite, too, the presence of Horkos amongst Eadgils' men, a nephew of Halga's who'd sworn vengeance after being cheated of his own inheritance on King Haldan's death.

'You can't be _trusted_ ,' Eadgils had stormed when Yrsa had persisted that she had a right to take part in the impending battle. 'Especially where Halga's concerned!'

Culldae had thought this was an unfair slur against her mother, yet far from answering back Yrsa was as abruptly tight-lipped as if her mouth had been magically sealed.

Relenting his stern tone, Eadgils had tenderly taken her hands in his.

'It's not _you_ I blame,' he'd said consolingly. 'We both know now you were bewitched into betraying me; but how can we be sure it won't happen again?'

With a demure bow of her head, Yrsa conceded that he was right.

'Then be careful!' she'd whispered anxiously. 'Halga will use the power of demons to achieve whatever he wants!'

*

# Chapter 11

The island is called Primsigned, north of Hjórunga Bay.

Even as Halga's ship landed on its shores, he fell to his knees while looking northward towards the temple, praying to Geror.

As he rose to his feet, Roas observed him with a sceptical frown.

'What do you have in mind to offer for her help?' he asked.

'We're asking for her aid in taking a whole kingdom,' Halga replied. 'It has to be something entirely worthy of that.'

He looked towards the Sviagris ring worn by his brother.

'Return the ring to me, Roas,' he declared assuredly, 'and the lands you gave me and more will be yours!'

*

How easily he used this ring as a bargaining chip!

Sviagris; it meant suckling pig, or Swede's piglet, Halga had heard it said.

And yet neither he nor his brother had managed to work out why it had ever been deemed so powerful a totem.

Was it anything to do with a betrothal? Perhaps to Freyja, goddess of fertility?

Had he caused the suffering besetting his lands when he'd given the ring away to Roas?

But how could that be, when the lands had been perfectly fertile long before he'd managed to get his hands on the damned ring once more?

It had originally been his grandfather's, until the old fool had gifted it to one of his men when they feared their ship was about to sink in a storm. A fitting payment for the goddess Ran, he'd declared, should her nine giant daughters pull you down beneath their watery skirts.

Halga had been 'hunting' in Sweden when he'd first learned that King Eadgils now possessed the magical ring.

He still owed a ring, of course, to the green serpent, who'd helped him seduce Olava.

One of _three_ rings.

The serpent had never specified _which_ three rings he was referring to. Indeed, when Halga had pointed out he didn't own any especially famed rings, the wyvern had calmly replied that it didn't really concern him; he would take payment whenever the ring was made available.

And naturally that had suited Halga, for as long as he had no ring to give, he would escape without making any payment whatsoever.

Would it be wise, then, to trouble himself with obtaining a ring he might have to immediately give away?

It was a question that could only be answered by another dragon.

'You will have pay me for my help,' the blue dragon warned Halga. 'So are you _sure_ you want this question answering?'

'What kind of payment are we talking of?' Halga asked resignedly.

The serpent shrugged.

'One of the three rings.'

What _was_ it with dragons and these rings?

'It's hardly worth me promising such a thing,' Halga pointed out, 'for the answer to a question regarding _another_ ring I've promised!'

'But I will help you _obtain_ the Sviagris ring; and no, it is _not_ one of the three rings I desire!'

*

# Chapter 12

Halga was once again holding the ring that had been the cause of so many of his problems, so many of his glories.

The truth was, it was hardly the great prize the tales told of. His brother Roas must have felt cheated when he'd naively accepted it in payment for his lands.

Yet in seeking the Sviagris ring, Halga at least had received a far greater prize; the glittering jewel that was Yrsa.

That serpent Olava had brought about this animosity between them with her lies; he had _never_ lain with Olava. It had all been nothing but a dream, brought about by the evil powers of the serpents, who could make people believe whatever they wished.

His wish was that he could win Yrsa back.

And he would use whatever means were at his disposal.

A small path ran through the woods, eventually leading the two brothers to a stake fence. Beyond this there was a house decorated with elaborate carvings, each one of which was richly gilded in gold and silver.

Inside, glass windows in the ceiling sent light spilling everywhere about the room, illuminating the three carvings of the two goddesses and the god Thor. Even though Geror was seated, she soared higher than a full-grown man. Her sister and Thor were standing behind her, as if waiting in attendance.

Upon an extend arm, she supported a ring of gold as large as a girdle and glistening as brightly, as lively, as if formed from the sun-blessed, breeze-swept wheat of countless fields.

'Perhaps... the ring will not be enough,' Roas whispered anxiously to his equally nervous brother. 'I'd always presumed that it was originally _her_ ring, that it would bring me luck; but it seems I was _misinformed_.'

Halga had noticed that each of the three statues was holding a large golden ring.

_Three_ rings.

Could _these_ be the three rings he had previously unwittingly promised the serpents?

If he took them, if he gave them to the serpents as promised; would they then stop bringing draught and famine to his lands?

_Hah_!

And wouldn't _that_ bring Geror's wrath down on him, which could probably be even worse? As for her even darker sister, Irpa; well, only a fool would risk making her an enemy.

Thor was of little consequence, of course; he was far too fallible, having brought down upon himself as many self-inflicted problems as Halga himself had. He was a mere husk of the man he used to be, belittling himself in Halga's eyes by dressing as a bride to retrieve his flawed hammer, Mjollnir.

The presence of the rings presented another problem for Halga, however; why would Geror accept the Sviagris ring as a payment for his request when she had as little need of it as his brother Roas?

*

'Do you really believe Halga will call upon the demons to aid him in his battle against us?'

Culldae almost ended her question to King Eadgils with a 'father', but corrected herself at the last moment; she still found it hard to accept that he was her parent even though, curiously, she had willingly accepted that Halga couldn't be.

Eadgils nodded in grim reply.

'This war he inflicts upon the great wyrms is his way of avoiding the payments he promised them; yet he would willingly make yet another bargain with them if he thought it was to his advantage.'

Culldae wondered if he knew of Queen Olava's claim that it was serpentine charms that had conjured up her false dream of lying with Halga. Certainly, he seemed to know of some instance when Halga had asked for the help of either a demon or a witch, for what else could he mean when he'd spoken of her mother being bewitched?

Naturally, she didn't wish to draw Eadgils' attention to Olava's scurrilous claims. Yet she equally desperately wished to know why he seemed so sure that a serpent had been involved in her mother's earlier betrayal of him.

Was he only reassuring himself that this must have been the cause, perhaps refusing to accept the reality that it had all been nothing but a perfectly natural attraction that had formed between Yrsa and Halga?

'Why do you suspect he's made promises to the wyverns?' she asked next.

'Queen Olava,' he said, thankfully failing to realise that Culldae had gulped in horror at the mere mention of her name, 'came to me, assuring me that Halga could help me in my wars against Onela; he was residing reasonably nearby at the time, ostensibly hunting, yet quite obviously waiting to see whom he should forge an alliance with. Queen Olava suggested that I should send Yrsa to parlay with him, for her beauty would undoubtedly charm him.'

Once again, Culldae managed to hold back a gasp of surprise.

Queen Olava had deliberately set all these unbelievably horrendous events in motion!

She was snake of a woman, there was no doubt!

'But why would she do that?' Culldae warily asked, telling herself she already knew the answer, yet wondering why Eadgils had trusted her judgement. 'Why would she involve herself in _your_ affairs?'

'You asked about the role of the wyverns? Well, she told me a blue serpent had granted her a vision that this is what she must do, for the good of herself and all others.'

'A lie then; a lie that led to all this trouble for us all.'

'A great lie indeed.'

*

# Chapter 13

Halga lay upon the ground, where he'd thrown himself in fear as he'd drawn nearer to the great, seated goddess.

He could have sworn he'd glimpsed a glimmer of fury in the eyes that never left him. Yet it was impossible to say for sure, for her face was cast entirely in shadow by an overhanging wimple.

Now, with his face hard to the ground, he could see nothing but the dark shadows she threw over him.

He simpered as he spoke of his offerings, croaked hoarsely as he delivered his supplications.

Would she never respond to his entreaties?

At last, an illuminating glow of light began to spread about him as, reaching forward, Geror took the ring he was offering her in his raised hands.

Despite remaining prostrate upon the ground, Halga dared to briefly glance upwards, only for the bright glare of her own great, golden ring to almost blind him.

She was holding this ring in her other hand, and it was rapidly shrinking, becoming in an instant the size of a normal ring forged to be worn upon a man's finger. It was now little more than a dull seed of its former, lively glory, yet Geror held it loosely, as if preparing to offer it to him in return for his gift.

Or, perhaps, not in _return_. But, rather, as an _exchange_.

An _exchange_ of rings?

Would that it be it then?

A _betrothal_?

It would give him unbelievable, undreamt of power!

Yet as _what_ – man, or some form of _beast_?

Halga thought of Geror's darker half, Irpa, whom some said was Hel herself. (Although, of course, they _never_ dared refer to her by name.)

She came, of course, as part of such a bargain.

He would be king, but only, in reality, of a dark, terrible underworld.

'You are already _wedded_ , Sister!'

The soil-dark Irpa had leant forward, giving Geror counsel, a harsh, admonishing hiss.

'When Freyr wooed me with the Draupnir ring, it was a piffling thing to him; but surely a man offering the Sviagris ring is making the most assured commitment!' Geror pointed out.

Halga was startled, bewildered.

Every ninth night, the Draupnir ring dripped gold, the tears of Freyja herself, creating eight new rings. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Geror appeared to believe the useless Sviagris ring was the superior gift!

'Even so, you _need_ Freyr...'

'He threatened to leave me barren!' Geror snapped bitterly. 'What choice did I have but to marry him?

'The Sviagris ring remains _useless_ to you like this!' Irpa hissed, to Halga's further surprise. 'It only becomes of immeasurable benefit if wielded by a _worthy_ king!'

Her pronunciation of 'worthy' was full of scorn as she glared down at Halga.

'Then... _you_ shall determine the fee to be paid,' Geror announced sadly as she drew her wimple completely over her face.

With a triumphant grin, Irpa leant down towards Halga, naming her price for their help; and as Halga heard of the expected payment, he openly wept.

*

# Chapter 14

Either Eadgils didn't wish to elaborate further on Yrsa's betrayal or, as he claimed, and it was more than likely true, he had many things to deal with as the men prepared for the coming battle.

Yet men preparing for battle are also preparing for their deaths.

In which of the great halls awaiting them would they end up in?

Those who died at sea, it was said, were caught in the goddess Ran's net, and dragged down to her underwater realm. They would prefer to find themselves aboard Freyja's ship Sessrunmir in Fólkvangr, the field of warriors. Or, if they freely gave themselves to die truly heroically, Odin's Hall of the Fallen.

Men like this, not wishing to dwell too much on all the possibilities, like to have something else for their thoughts to focus on.

Like listening to – or better still, _telling_ – tales.

So Culldae had no problem finding someone willing to tell her the details of Yrsa's history that Eadgils had avoided.

*

As Queen Olava had predicted, Halga was entranced by Yrsa's remarkable beauty.

Eadgils had told her to offer Halga three prizes for his help in defeating Onela, including the helmet Hidisvin and Finn's coat of mail.

Halga was surprised that there was no mention of the Sviagris ring in Yrsa's offering. After all, he had solicited the help of the blue serpent in obtaining it.

As for the other supposed gifts, of what use were these to him when they weren't Eadgils' to offer, but were still worn by Onela himself.

Yet this hardly concerned Halga, for his mind was now set on obtaining another, far greater prize; Yrsa herself.

He would fight alongside Eadgils; and when Onela was dead, _he_ would decide what the third offering of the King of Sweden must be.

*

# Chapter 15

Roas was startled to see that his brother was weeping.

Then he saw that Halga was still clutching the Sviagris ring.

'She refused it?' he asked scornfully, his contempt directed at the ring rather than either his brother or the goddess.

Halga offered the ring to Roas.

'It's of no use to anyone, Halga!' Roas declared contemptuously, shunning the offer. 'Maybe I should keep the land; I never found what magic was in the ring, if it ever really existed at all!'

'Me neither,' Halga agreed with a bitter chuckle while continuing to press the ring upon his brother. 'Keep the land, but take it anyway; soon there'll be more land under our control than we'll know what to do with!'

'So, they _did_ make a bargain?' Roas asked in surprise as he slipped the ring back onto his finger.

Halga nodded, his face contorted into an anguished grimace.

'The sister; _she_ spelt out the price!'

Roas's mouth tightened grimly; if Irpa had become involved in discussing the trade off, it would be a hard bargain indeed.

Yet even he was shocked when Halga explained the fee that was to be paid.

_'I_ will do it,' Roas promised his brother. 'He trusts me; I will make it quick, so he feels no pain.'

*

# Chapter 16

Culldae had managed to add further particulars to the tale of her mother.

She had known of the Sviagris ring, having seen it proudly worn upon the finger of Roas; a man she had trusted implicitly, for she had been led to believe he was her uncle.

She hadn't known, however, that it wasn't the heirloom Roas had claimed it to be.

It was a magical ring, a great number of men had eagerly told her; though no one seemed to agree upon the powers its owner wielded, and she had certainly never seen Roas using it to any obvious advantage.

Onlea, of course, still owned Hidisvin and Finnsleif. So how had Roas come into owning the Sviagris ring?

And how had Halga managed to persuade Yrsa to flee Sweden with him?

*

Although Onela refused to be as easily defeated as King Eadgils had hoped, he nevertheless lost a good number of skirmishes. Yet Halga and his men – despite their own heavy losses in these battles – had still not received any of the promised payment from the King of Sweden.

Feeling cheated of their just rewards, Halga brought his ships to the river Fyris and, accompanied by twelve of his bravest berserkers, he rode directly to the Swedish King's hall at Uppsala.

Hearing of Halga's approach, Eadgils hoped to deter them with pit traps and attacks by hidden warriors; until Yrsa, weary of the betrayal and trickery of Eadgils, set out to meet Halga and his men on the road, and invited them to stay at the court.

Celebratory fires were prepared for them. They were given as much to drink as they could wish for. The banquet lasted for three days.

Then Eadgils suggested that Halga and his men should demonstrate their prowess by undergoing a test of endurance involving the intense heat of the fires. The berserkers readily agreed, but soon so much wood had been heaped upon the fires before them that the clothes started to burn away from their bodies.

It at last dawned on them that there was another reason for the unbearable heat – King Eadgils had had the whole hall set on fire. In a rage, Halga's berserkers threw the courtiers who were feeding the flames into the fires. But when they turned to take Eadgils himself, he disappeared through a hollow tree trunk that made up part of his hall.

Breaking out of the hall, Halga's men found they still had streets filled with armed warriors to deal with. They would have surely died if Yrsa hadn't appeared with the Swedish King's best horses, along with panniers (and some say even carriages) filled with gold.

As they fled with their prize, Eadgils and his men set out in pursuit and might even have caught up with the thieves as they rode over the Fyrisvellir; but to lessen their load, Halga and his berserkers began strewing the road behind them with all manner of treasure.

Thinking his precious Sviagris ring had be somewhere amongst all this gold, Eadgils stopped his pursuit, leaping from his horse to frantically search through a treasure hoard that was little more than gilded copper.

Avarice had triumphed over hate, and Halga laughed richly; he'd transformed the most powerful man in Sweden into nothing but a greedy pig.

*

# Chapter 17

Each man in Halga's fleet felt empowered by the knowledge that the goddesses Geror and her sister had been invoked by the king to aid him in the imminent battle.

As they ferociously rowed towards the approaching Swedish fleet, a demonically created vanguard spread out before them, warriors consisting of dark clouds with piercing weapons forged from the coldest winds.

This vanguard stuck the Swedes hard, buffeting the ships as if they were children's toys. The icy gales swept across the decks, bringing a freezing rain that left the wood dangerously slippery underfoot. The gusts themselves were strong enough to send an unbalanced, heavily armoured warrior bowling overboard.

Added to all this was an all pervading darkness that brought an early night down upon them, the only light coming from the fierce cracks of lightning, the accompanying rolling thunder drowning out the desperately hollered orders of commanders.

Culldae naively believed they were simply unfortunate to be engaging in a battle that would have to be fought in the midst of such a tremendous storm; yet surely, she consoled herself, Halga's unseen fleet must be similarly caught up within it?

Around her, the men were doing their best to create a defensive line of shields, in readiness for boarding an enemy ship, or repelling boarders. Amongst them there was a massive, furiously snorting boar, each of his tusks as long as a man's forearm.

How could they possibly lose with such a magical creature fighting alongside them?

Even as this thought occurred to Culldae, a man to her left fell to the deck with an agonised grunt, an arrow as large as a spear having completely pierced his body.

Another fell, then another, in quick succession, each struck with an oversized arrow. There was a sigh of relief as the accomplished archer's attack switched to another boat, the men there falling as swiftly as they'd dropped about Culldae.

Were the enemy already so close?

It was impossible to see with all vision hindered by the completely enveloping darkness, the veiling of the foaming spume rising up from the crashing waves.

Despite this, the men clustered about Culldae began to let their own arrows loose into the darkness, hoping there must be something out there for them to hit.

There was, but not the targets they'd presumed they would strike.

For their arrows, turned back by a fearsome wind, rushed back towards them, each projectile so well aimed it brought down in an instant the very man who'd let it go.

With their deaths, the wind abruptly dropped, the darkness already swiftly dispersing.

The enemy fleet was almost upon them, led through what little remained of the darkness by an illuminating glow as bright as the golden bristles of Freyr's boar Gullinbursti.

At the prow of the leading ship, emanating this golden glow, there stood a giantess. And she was releasing a deadly accurate hail of arrows at a rate that any man would find impossible to match.

'Geror!' the men standing by Culldae whispered fearfully. 'Geror has taken their side against us!'

*

'We're no longer fighting men alone!'

'Still, we'll do our best.'

Many recognised the goddess as being Geror, yet just as many fearfully insisted that she was an aspect of Freyja herself.

Culldae sensed the terror spreading through the ranks gathered about her. Yet there was also a sense that there was now no turning back, that this was now all a matter of fate and whatever was about to happen was therefore inevitable.

Ships that had been deliberately set on course to crash into each other were now unavoidably colliding, the men aboard offered no choice but to attack or defend.

In many cases, the decision was to attack. To stay on board your own ship was to leave yourself open to being struck down by one of Geror's innumerable arrows, while anyone involved in the chaos of battle presented a marginally more difficult target for her.

A ship had brutally barged into and locked itself against the hull of the boat Culldae was aboard. As the men about her surged forwards as one great mass, pouring over the sides in a smoothly flowing wave, she went with them.

Swords were curling down, splitting helmets, shattering shields. Huge axes were swung as if virtually weightless, yet came down with the thick, heavy thud of a massive tree falling. Spears were jabbed, thrown, clutched as they penetrated deeply into the soft flesh lying beneath the padded coats most warriors wore.

Not one of Culldae's sword strikes had hit home. She turned them aside at the last moment, even – in fact, _particularly_ – when she was assured of a kill.

She couldn't bring herself to inflict serious injury upon any of these people, for didn't they all hail from the land where she'd been raised?

The men rushing to attack her had no such compunction. Naturally, they had no idea who she was anyway.

To make matters worse, for some reason she had caught the glaring eye of Geror, who observed her with surprise as much as malice, as if the goddess had somehow become aware of Culldae's true identity.

Yet rather than letting loose one of her arrows towards Culldae, Geror deftly slipped free the great sword she wore upon her back; and with an abrupt wrench of her powerful arm, she sent the blade spinning Culldae's way.

*

# Chapter 18

Culldae ducked down and off to one side, even though she knew it wouldn't be enough to save her.

The expected blow, splitting her from head to toe, never came.

Similarly, the sword and spear strikes from the attacking men never plunged home either.

Glancing up in surprise, Culldae was astonished to see the warriors being forced back by a ferociously whirling sword anticipating and deflecting their every move.

It was Geror's sword, aggressively holding back the enemy as if it were in the hands of an invisible champion. It was protecting Culldae, expertly keeping anyone from drawing too close.

Culldae glanced Geror's way, wondering why the goddess had saved her. But Geror's interest in her had already waned, and she had returned to cutting down the Swedes as deftly as farmers harvest corn.

Only the massive boar was making any headway through Halga's ranks. It charged the hastily formed shield walls remorselessly, tossing men high as it shattered the line. It bounded across the decks, the ships' hulls thundering hollowly like beating drums beneath the heavy fall of hardened trotters. A sharp curl of a tusk was enough to carve through mail, wooden shields, muscle and bone.

However, as well as Geror, Halga had summoned another fearsomely demonic apparition to take up arms for him. This was another giant, but one made entirely of driftwood. Although crudely formed, it was alive, lively too, swinging an immense halberd as others might effortlessly wield a dagger.

It carved its way through men, unstoppable, terrifying.

The wooden man and the boar couldn't fail to eventually come up against each other.

They wasted no time warily facing each other off. They charged into each other, a clash that reverberated around the entwined fleets, rocking the very nearest boats, and sending ripples of shock throughout the farthest.

Gouging furiously, raising its great head to put all its power behind a tusk curling upwards, the boar tore away chunks of timber. It pushed, then, with all its weight against the wooden man, seeking to topple him, to trample him back into the driftwood he'd been created from.

The timber giant kept his feet, splaying his legs. Then he brought down in a sudden rush the blade of his halberd across the boar's arching back.

With a tortured shriek, the boar tried to pull back, to retreat.

But its tusks were caught amongst the driftwood.

There was no escape for it.

The silvered blade came down again and again across its back, a back no longer hunched, for its vertebrae was shattered, collapsing.

As the boar crumpled towards the deck, it began to transform, to become a man once more.

Culldae feared that she would see Eadgils lying dead there; but no, it was a troll, almost as large as the boar it had briefly become.

So Eadgils, too, had called on demonic forces to aid him.

Abruptly, as if caught up in other magical charms, Culldae found herself rising up off the deck.

Then she was suddenly flying, soaring though the air.

The wooden man had picked her up as if she were weightless.

And now he had thrown her up high, sending her uncontrollably spinning towards the ship with Geror proudly standing at its prow.

*

# Chapter 19

Geror had been joined by a darker aspect; her sister, Irpa.

Their long hair curled and writhed around them, the golden wheat of Geror's strands mingling in the furrowing, churning blackness of Irpa's; for they were working together this time to conjure up the squalls once again.

These were even worse than before, with fist-sized hailstones crashing down from the darkened skies. They cracked wood, skulls, shields. They tore sails, flesh, padded jackets.

They stuck only the Swedish ships. The killed only Swedish warriors.

There wasn't even a breeze of wind to deflect Culldae as she sailed through the air lying between the two ships. She landed amazingly softly amongst a pile of stacked sails.

Luck was on her side after all, then. For certainly, the wooden man wouldn't have bothered ensuring she had a safe landing.

Eadgils' men were urgently attempting to disentangle the wrecks of their ships from amongst Halga's triumphant fleet. As they pulled clear, many were taking on water, lying low in the waves, in some cases leaning sharply to one side.

They withdrew in disarray, the squalls pursuing them, still battering them mercilessly.

When Culldae heard laughter, she presumed it had to be one of Halga's men, chortling at the relative ease of their victory over Eadgils's powerful fleet.

But the laughter was directed at her.

'It seems a Swedish piglet has fallen our way!' Roas guffawed.

*

'Piglet?'

Culldae was incensed by Roas's rudeness; until she realised she was still wearing the boar's head helmet. She slipped it off.

'It's me! Culldae!' she snapped as she began to slide off the top of the piled up sails.

'Why, yes! So it is!' Roas guffawed richly, courteously offering her his hand to help her clamber down towards the deck.

It was the hand on which he wore the Sviagris ring

And as soon as Culldae's own hand grazed it, a surge of blood rapidly snaked through her veins.

*

# Chapter 20

Culldae's blood _hissed_.

As if suddenly effervescent.

As if abruptly _alive_.

It wasn't possible, naturally.

Yet that was the undoubted _sensation_ she experienced.

Her blood was coursing throughout her entire body at a phenomenal rate.

It rushed up and up, up towards her head, the inner depths of her skull.

'It _must_ be!'

*

# Chapter 21

The sudden, soaring rush of blood left Culldae momentarily light-headed.

'What's wrong?' Roas asked, noticing that she abruptly appeared unsteady on her feet.

It was an uncharacteristic act of concern for Roas.

It was also his undoing.

In her semi-delusional state, Culldae suffered complete confusion as one of Roas's men aggressively bundled towards them, his head down as if for attack despite his lack of weapon or shield.

Was he hoping to kill her, a last chance of glory?

She still wore the armour and signifiers of Eadgils'; had Roas's man taken her for an enemy yet to be beaten?

The man wore the distinctive dragon armour of Halga's men – and yet it was Roas he brutally barged into, not Culldae.

_Horkos_!

At last, Culldae recognised the man attacking Roas; it was his nephew, Horkos.

Utilising the tremendous force of the collision to push a stumbling Roas over to the ship's side, Horkos also drew on that same accumulated momentum to lift the briefly startled leader a good foot off the deck.

Then, suddenly, Roas had been cast overboard.

It was far too easy a catch for Ran's nine daughters – already drawn here by the battle, and yet far from sated – to ignore. They rushed as one towards the already floundering Roas, their fish-like tails whipping up the sea.

Roas was wearing heavy, cumbersome armour. He was also exhausted after taking part in what had been a ferociously fought battle. He struggled against the overpowering waves, but could only make a fleeting, fruitless attempt to save himself.

Then he sank beneath the relentless onslaught of the nine Mardolls.

Taking with him the Sviagris ring that had tried to speak to Culldae.

*

'It _must_ be!'

The Sviagris ring had _urgently_ whispered to Culldae.

She was _sure_ it had.

Yet hadn't she been told that her original name meant something similar: Sculldae – it ought to be, it shall be, and all things similar.

So, perhaps she'd simply recalled those earlier conversations, her dazed state caused by the way she'd been so brutally flung through the air.

Yes, yes – that _could_ be it!

_No_ – it _wasn't_!

Her blood had _surged_ through her whole body as if abruptly given a _life_ of its own!

It had _writhed_ within her; yes, _serpent_ -like!

Her veins had briefly seemed to her to be _the_ most important part of her whole being.

They _carried_ life.

They _shared_ life throughout her entire body.

Without it she would, naturally, be _lifeless_ – dead.

'It _must_ be!'

Yet there was something else missing in her understanding of the ring's message.

The _Sviagris_ ring; a suckling pig.

Such an odd name for what seemed after all to be a magical ring.

She needed to know more.

She needed the ring to speak to her once more.

But that was impossible; for now the Sviagris ring lay amongst so many other stolen treasures in Ran's bed!

*

# Chapter 22

Halga was distraught that his brother had died so unexpectedly, so unnecessarily.

It was a death, too, completely lacking in valour of any kind.

He had been thrown to the Mardolls, Ran's mermaid daughters, the greedy waves eagerly devouring him whole.

Geror and her sister had already left; he couldn't ask them for their help.

Besides, what would the payment be for such a task?

_'He'll_ pay dearly for this!' he swore, glowering at Horkos as he was led away in chains by the wooden man.

He whirled on Culldae.

'But at least _he_ believed he'd been cheated out of his birthright!' Halga snarled bitterly. 'But why were _you_ fighting for Eadgils rather than _me_ , your own _father_?'

_'Eadgils'_ my father; you _know_ that!' Culldae snapped back.

Halga guffawed grimly.

'Hah; so _that's_ what he told you, is it?' he sneered contemptuously.

He glanced out over the sea, looking towards Sweden.

_'He'd_ want to believe that; I can see that. Yet I'd hoped your _mother_ would have told you the _truth_!'

*

# Chapter 23

The red serpent was far more fearsome than either the blue or the green dragons Halga had already parlayed with.

Heat emanated from its body, as if a furnace endlessly burned beneath its rubied scales. It also soared far higher than either of its brothers, whilst its vast spread of wings would have made the finest sail to ever grace a ship.

Halga hesitated; was it wise, to draw any closer to such a terrifying beast? Even the place where it lived was terrifying, the earth itself made red and molten, frequently set aflame too, by an unbearable heat that poured upwards from somewhere deep within the earth.

Halga's heart pounded rapidly, uncontrollably.

The way, indeed, it had pounded on his first sighting of Yrsa.

She had been a bearer of a message from Eadgils that had been, in itself, of little interest to him, particularly as the proffered gifts for his help in defeating Onela failed to include the Sviagris ring.

And yet the way Yrsa spoke of offerings was, in itself, the most tempting of enchantments.

Halga drew closer towards the red wyvern and set out his plea.

Naturally, he knew what the price would be.

One of three rings.

And in return, Halga would receive _three_ dreams.

Three times for him to meet with his beloved Yrsa once more.

To lie with her.

To have three nights of the most fiery passion.

He feared, of course, that it might be the trickery of the demon; that he might be lying with nothing but an elvin woman who could transform into the woman you dearly wished to be with.

Yet when he met with Yrsa once again, when she came out to greet him as he made his way to demand payment from Eadgils, she was obviously already with child.

_His_ child.

For _her_ dreams had been _exactly_ the same as his.

*

Halga was her father after all.

Perhaps she should happily embrace him, weeping as she clutched her face hard against his shoulder.

Perhaps she should ridicule him for his use of trickery yet again to achieve his desired goal.

_'Another_ serpent?' Culldae declared scornfully. 'No wonder you've ordered their wiping out! You've promised them _two_ rings when you only ever owned _one_ – and _that_ you gave to Roas for his land!'

'No, no,' Halga almost petulantly declared, 'the Sviagris ring was _never_ one of the three rings!'

So you promised _two_ rings you didn't even own!' Culldae gasped in exasperation.

'Three.'

_'Three_?'

'I promised _three_ rings, not _two_. Which, I suppose, is _all_ three rings. If I was to come by _one_ of them, well, surely the _other_ two would also be there for the taking, yes?'

Culldae glowered irately back at him.

'Why on earth would you promise _three_ rings, when you didn't have _any_ idea _which_ rings were being asked for?'

Halga shrugged.

'Like all bargains being made, it seemed a _good_ idea at the time!'

'So it was a good idea to ask the serpents for their help? And then, just a while later, it was an equally _good_ idea to begin wiping them out?'

'You ask for help wherever you can get it. Besides, it was only _later_ that they became a problem; causing pestilence throughout the land.'

'Maybe because you wriggled out of your deals with them?'

'I _would've_ paid them; if only I'd figured out _which_ three rings they were referring to.'

He chuckled bitterly as he thought back to the three rings he'd seen in Geror's temple.

'Though I might have accidentally come across the answer,' he said.

'Then maybe you can still make amends; make a fresh bargain asking them to stop laying waste to the land.'

He laughed at her naivety.

'A solution that would only make things worse.'

'What could be worse than famine, dried up rivers?'

'I'm not sure,' Halga admitted, 'but you can be certain that Geror and her sister would delight in showing us.'

Culldae looked out across the now relatively stilled waves, recalling the squalls that had demolished an entire battle fleet.

'Maybe, then, you can _ask_ her for the rings,' she suggested.

Halga smirked; how had he managed to raise such a curiously innocent daughter?

'The terms of trade would be more than any man could afford to pay, believe me!'

He thought back to the earlier bargain he'd been forced into.

And yet...

He slyly took in Culldae out of the corner of his eye.

Why had Geror sent Freyr's magic sword to protect her?

Yes, he'd heard from his men how its whirling blade had created an impassable wall of steel.

Naturally, he hadn't asked Culldae why Geror might have taken such an interest in her. It could only give her ideas of her own importance; always a danger as far as royal children were concerned.

Surely, though, it meant he might have his bargaining chip after all?

'It's not too far to Geror's temple,' he said coolly to Culldae. 'Maybe you're right; maybe we should _ask_ her price.'

*

# Chapter 24

The wood of the ship had to be cleansed of the spilt blood, the shredded flesh.

Many of the men had been injured and were now sporting bandages of torn cloth tied tightly about heads, arms, legs, or the torso. Those who were more badly injured weren't expected to survive.

The dead were given a rousing farewell, their bodies set in place around a shattered ship that, once set adrift, was set aflame with fire arrows aimed at the pitch-soaked sail. Eadgils' dead were tipped overboard, with no ceremony.

The victory wasn't being celebrated by everyone. The deeper wounds suffered by some of the men would leave them unable to fight, perhaps even incapable of fending for themselves.

There would be little hope of them finding a wife.

What sort of homecoming would it be for them?

Culldae observed these sourly mournful men, caught in a middling world where there would never be any chance of either a wonderful life or a glorious death.

Perhaps their only chance of achieving either now was to set out on a quest to battle with one of the serpents plaguing her father's land.

The likelihood of victory would be remote, but at least it could be counted as a valiant if pointless sacrifice.

They may even receive a young maiden for a night from a petrified village grateful that a warrior was willing to face their persecuting dragon. Maybe, if he won, he might even take the gratefully rescued girl as his wife.

For everyone knew each wyvern had taken a beautiful young woman as his companion. And yet Culldae knew of no knight who had returned with a 'rescued' maiden.

In their tales of the great wyrms they had killed, energetically related on their return to court, many knights were far less enthusiastic in detailing the fate of the girls they had saved from the dragon's clutches.

Indeed, Culldae had listened to these tales carefully, finding flaws (yet, of course, failing to point this out, as it would have only caused uproar in her father's court) in the knights' insistence that these girls had required rescuing.

The girls had often wept over the dead wyvern.

'An enchantment; the beasts have magical abilities, making them all the harder to fight!' the knights would always claim.

Naturally, it was claimed these beautiful girls were prisoners of the serpents, having being offered as payment made by a local village to assuage the beast's vengeance. Yet no one ever seemed quite sure _which_ local village these maidens had originally come from.

Then there were the fish-tailed nymphs, who had to be killed before they could seduce the knights and suck them down into their watery abodes.

Once again, these young women were gorgeously, dangerously seductive.

Sometimes, they weren't mardolls, or mermaids, at all.

They had legs, they walked, like any other girl.

The tales being related by the knights, in other words, were never, ever consistent.

They were always confusedly unreliable when compared to supposedly similar tales.

Nymphs could abruptly transform into serpents.

Serpents might become beautiful girls in the blink of an eye.

Hence why the knights had to always be wary, for the maiden herself could unexpectedly transform into the temptress who would drag him to his death.

Better, it was said, to take no chances at all; and kill anything or anyone standing by a spring.

*

It was best, Halga said to Culldae, that just the two of them should approach the temple.

The wooden man should accompany them, however, 'in case there's any unforeseen trouble.'

The wooden man did as he was told, without question.

Culldae, however, was altogether more suspicious of anything proposed by her father.

'What sort of trouble could there be?' she asked. 'Aren't there just statues in the temple; just images, a focus for our thoughts and prayers?'

Halga shrugged, though Culldae couldn't tell if he was simply unsure his answer was the correct one, or if his apparent nonchalance was his way of keeping something from her.

'They've been there a long, long time, instilled with the beliefs and hopes of countless people. They're as much a way for the goddesses to enter our world as they serve as a means for us to approach them.'

Culldae glanced nervously towards the wooden man.

If piles of driftwood could be brought to life, then how much easier must it be for a representation of a goddess to become a living being?

*

# Chapter 25

The wooden man walked stiffly, if not completely unnaturally, as the three of them made their way along the path leading to the temple and its fenced enclosure.

Culldae couldn't determine if she felt reassured by his towering presence or intimidated by it.

Naturally, his demeanour was cold, emotionless. From what Culldae could make out, as she had studied his actions on board the ship, he appeared to be lacking in any of the usual human passions or sentiments.

He simply followed orders, it seemed to her, no matter how dangerous they would be to any normal man. He'd scaled the mast to singlehandedly unfurl a mangled sail in a storm; he'd tossed bodies overboard without a care, like he was casting away only useless detritus.

He'd tossed her from one ship to another, too, and she still couldn't work out if he'd intended her to have the soft landing she'd thankfully experienced.

Yet if he'd wanted to kill her, why not use the halberd he wielded so effortlessly?

Besides, how had he managed to get past the whirling wall of steel created by Freyr's sword?

He was undoubtedly strong, and yet Culldae was sure the sword could have immediately transformed him back into the shattered driftwood he'd been created from.

The swirling blade must have been stilled, allowing him to approach.

Geror, then, had _wanted_ her to be cast towards Halga's ship.

She had been _saved_ , then; or _captured_.

Her father must have told Geror to seek her out from amongst the battle, to watch out for her.

That could be the _only_ explanation.

*

'Fire!'

Farther along the earthen trail they were tracing, a thick plume of lazily curling smoke was creating its own dark track in the sky.

'A sacrifice, maybe?' Culldae replied uncertainly to her father's uncharacteristic cry of alarm.

Halga's eyes, too, were unusually full of anguish.

He broke into a run, the wooden man promptly taking up an easy lope as he joined in the rush towards the burning temple. Culldae followed up, gradually dropping behind the others as Halga refused to slacken his urgent sprint for even an instant.

Ahead of her, Culldae heard the violent crash of breaking bush stems, of the weaker tree branches. There was also a warning yell of Halga's, but it was wholly unintelligible.

Suddenly, the crack of shattering branches was even louder, if mostly drowned out now by the thunderous pounding of galloping hooves.

A mounted knight was abruptly charging down upon her; and then he swerved, glanced past her on the narrow track, and hurtled on, heading back the way she'd just come.

It had all happened too unexpectedly, and had all been too brief and hurried a passing, for Culldae to clearly make out any signifying devices carried by the warrior.

Yet the knight's horse was unmistakably recognisable.

It had a mane that glittered as if formed of spun gold.

*

# Chapter 26

The soaring golden flames twirled in and out of the rising smoke, as if it were a mingling of the essences of Geror and her darker sister.

It was an unquenchable fire, the wood of the building cracking, spitting, spluttering as it was tortuously devoured.

A motionless Halga impotently watched the temple's destruction as one might watch the inevitable evaporation of every hope and dream.

The wooden man was nowhere to be seen.

Surely, Culldae thought, Halga hasn't sent the timber-formed giant into the burning building?

'The mounted knight–'

'I know,' Halga distractedly interrupted. 'Llodram; Sir Gaivs.'

'You know him?'

When she'd first met the knight of the shrieking horn, she'd presumed he wasn't one of her father's warriors.

Thinking back to their brief meeting on the track leading here, she recalled that the nature of his armour had changed since that first meeting. He now wore a boar's helmet, and a distinctive mailcoat too.

'I know he's making sure he's headed for Niflhel,' Halga declared contemptuously, referring to the icy wastes where the damned were exiled to. 'He came upon me too quickly for me to recognise him; otherwise I'd have ordered Kr– told the wooden man to stop him!'

As if responding to Halga's mention of him, the wooden man appeared amongst the roaring flames of the temple's doorway. He was carrying a massive statue upon each shoulder, even though each sister was a giant in her own right.

Culldae glowered scornfully at the stilled statues as the wooden man leapt clear of the now rapidly collapsing edifice.

'Surely goddesses should be capable of saving themselves?'

Halga regarded her with a wry frown of surprise.

'They stand here for _our_ benefit, not _theirs_ ,' he admonishingly sneered. 'They're not really _here_ ; they're _everywhere_ , until you _wish_ them to appear.'

The wooden man let each goddesses slip to the floor as carefully as if they were living beings.

Perhaps, Culldae thought, he felt a certain, strange empathy with them, as he was also constructed of wood.

It was only once they were safely lying upon the ground that he at last seemed to notice and take care of the flames that had begun to lick hungrily at his back. He patted out the fires with his hands, apparently experiencing neither pain nor fear.

'The _third_ ring!' Halga gasped worriedly, looking back towards a temple that was now more flame than structure.

Without a word, the wooden man spun about, heading back towards the evilly crackling flames.

But it was too late.

With first a sigh, and then a triumphant roar of soaring flames, the temple completely caved in upon itself.

*

# Chapter 27

At first glance, it appeared to Culldae that one of the statues was charred beyond saving.

Certainly, its feet appeared to have been burnt away to nothing but what could now be a tail. Yet on closer observation it was obvious that the whole statue itself had been deliberately blackened by its creators, for the furrows of long dark hair were streaked with the red of fertilising blood.

This was Irpa, then, the dark soil to her wheat-haired sister.

Geror was not the beauty Culldae had expected her to be, however. Her wimple had fallen away from her face, revealing a pig's snout, a boar's beady eyes.

Yet she hadn't appeared like this in the sea battle; then she had been aglow, her beauty there for all to see.

Noting Culldae's bewilderment, Halga chuckled mockingly.

'Is it my fault or your mother's that you're so lacking in knowledge of life?' he sighed drolly. 'Pigs are fertile, and fatten quickly, just like we'd wish for our crops; why else do you think they're sacrificed? Why else would Freyja be called the sow?'

Yes, yes; Halga was right, Culldae had to silently admit. The sacrificial rituals were held every nine years to ensure rich harvests.

'Two are better than none, I suppose!' Halga announced with a satisfied grunt as he began to remove the golden ring from Geror's arm. 'Though I should have told him to save only the rings rathe–'

The statue's hand reached up to grab him firmly by his wrist.

'Geror!' he squealed, only just managing to withhold a terrified shriek.

'But am I really here,' Geror hissed furiously, 'or am I everywhere, until you _wish_ me to appear?'

*

Geror's tight grip was preventing Halga from slipping the ring any farther off her arm.

'Surely, as I saved you,' he protested lamely, his skin feeling as if it were burning beneath the firmly clasping palm, 'I deserve some rewar–'

'It was our _own_ creation who saved us, Halga!' Geror spat, glancing the way of the temporarily motionless wooden man.

'And mine, too, remember!' Halga snapped back with a degree of venom that shocked Culldae.

Had his blood been used to give the wooden man life? Certainly, the sisters had apparently used a portion of their own considerable powers to being this construct of unwanted wood into being.

Halga grimaced in pain for his insolence as Geror tightened her grip on his arm.

'But...I have something for _you_!' a squirming Halga croaked hoarsely, using a sly, sideways glance to draw Geror's attention towards Culldae.

Geror laughed bitterly.

'You always _did_ overestimate your bargaining acumen! You always lose, and yet you obviously walk away happy.'

'I _need_ the rings!' Halga persisted through gritted teeth. 'My whole _land_ suffers!'

He jumped in fright as Irpa abruptly came to life and grabbed him hard by his ankle, her icy grip unbreakable and agonising.

'We're _all_ weakening, you fool: can't you see that?' she hissed. 'How _else_ do you think that stupid boy got away with setting our earthly residence alight?'

The wooden man made no effort to help Halga. Neither did Culldae; she had seen her father's glance her away – had he been offering _her_ as a blood sacrifice?

'The Sviagris ring; all you had to do was offer it to my _sister_ rather than _me_!' Geror explained. 'Then you could have saved yourself _so_ much heartache!'

'It had _no_ powers!' Halga insisted, trembling as the icy grip of Irpa rose through his limbs to mingle with a satisfied hiss with the heat of her golden haired sister. 'Now if it had been the _Draupnir_ ring–'

'They're one and same!' Irpa grimly chuckled. 'Forged by the dwarves Brokkr and Sindri!'

'No, no! There were never _any_ new rings born of it! Not even every nine _years_ , let alone _days_ –'

'It _weeps_ rings _exactly_ like _itself_ ,' Geror growled. 'A suckling pig, in _lieu_ of sacrifice, for _each_ giantess, in _each_ of the other eight realms.'

Only Asgard lay above Midgard, the world of men; even Culldae, despite her disparaged education, was aware of that. Around them their lay the homes of elves, giants and the Vanir. Then below there came Hel, leading all the way down towards the night realm of Niflhel.

'Then why are my lands suffering if the ring was granting every realm its expected sacrifice?'

'Because you _exchanged_ it _for_ the land.'

'Because you had no idea of the _wondrous_ power you wielded!'

'Because you were supposed to _marry_ the _land_ ,' Irpa hissed irately. 'I'd be _replenished_ , by the streams leading from each realm, rather than sacrificial blood!'

'Rivers don't flow from _every_ world!' Halga desperately retorted. 'Besides, what use is gold to the giantesses?'

'So are you so ill-educated you believe the helmet Hidisvin is the real thing, rather than some ingenious construct of the dwarves marrying you to it? Even Freyja, it's said, was riding her lover!'

'But the _other_ rings; they have this _same_ power then?' Halga demanded hungrily, briefly forgetting the precariousness of his situation as his mind swam with images of gold.

'We don't need any further proof, Halga,' Geror snorted, turning to pityingly stare the wooden man's way, 'that your love for gold is greater than it is for love itself!'

Halga caught that unmistakable look, as did Culldae.

'Wouldn't the spilt blood of so many, _many_ men be the greater sacrifice?' an abruptly ashamed Halga protested defensively.

Culldae was only half listening to him.

She was studiously observing the wooden man, wondering how much blood it would take to bring such a construct to life.

She looked back the way they'd come, as if she could somehow see the ship docked by the shore.

'Where's Krage?' she asked.

She hadn't seen her brother aboard her father's ship.

She hadn't heard it mentioned, either, that he was sailing on one of the other ships.

He could be safe at home then, where he should be.

Yet Halga had bloodied her in a hunt when she was only seven.

He wouldn't miss a chance to bloody his son in a battle he expected to effortlessly win.

The unspoken accusation had temporarily drained the life out of her abashed father. He stood limp, motionless, between the pinioning goddesses.

'His...his _heart_ still beats...' he groaned in shame.

*

# Chapter 28

Even with Culldae sitting upon his shoulders, the wooden man – Krage – could run faster than any horse as they set off in pursuit of the young knight.

Is this what it must be like, Culldae wondered in awe, to ride upon the back of Freyr's magical boar Gullinbursti?

Sadly, her brother seemed to have retained even fewer emotions and sensibilities than Gullinbursti probably possessed. And yet, when she had drawn him close, when it had finally dawned upon her that Krage's heart beat within and gave life to the wooden man, he'd unsurely placed his arms about her.

Was it a recognition that they were linked by blood, that she was his sister?

Or was it little more than an innate reaction to a demonstration of love that he'd never experienced as the wooden man?

Whatever he was feeling, when she'd said to him, 'Let's leave here', he had obeyed her, casually lifting her up onto his back and setting off at an easy sprint back down the path leading away from the burnt out temple.

Originally, Culldae had simply wished to leave behind the dumbfounded Halga and his argumentative goddesses. But as the path they were following back to the ship offered another opportunity, splitting off into a trail leading farther in land, she steered Krage into taking this path.

It would take them away from Halga's ship.

For that very same reason, it had to be the track the knight of the serpentine horn had taken.

Sir Gaivs, her father had called him.

_Sviagris_ ; only reversed.

*

# Chapter 29

Her father had been too blinded by the thought of gold to listen to the goddesses' explanations regarding how the creations of the dwarves actually worked.

The ingenious constructs of the dwarves forged a connection with the real source of power; why, the helmet Hidisvin drew upon the strength of Freyja's boar, which was itself a link to the powers of her lover!

The Sviagris ring must work in a similar way, marrying its wearer to something real, something powerful in its own right.

And for some strange reason Culldae couldn't yet fathom, there seemed to be a connection with the young knight; _Sviagris_.

*

These were all summations Culldae was making, with no proof that any of her thinking might be correct.

And yet she needed to believe she was on the right track. For if she had any hope that she might restore her brother Krage to a closer semblance of real life, then she had placed _all_ of that hope in the Sviagris ring.

When she had merely touched it, she had sensed the surging of blood, of energies, coursing through her body.

Could it, then, grant Krage life, just as it could bring life to the lands, to Irpa?

Of course, Culldae was far from sure how this was achieved by the ring. It seemed that it served as a replacement for the sacrifices otherwise deemed necessary to ensure rich harvests. That it was the 'suckling pig' that satisfied the giantess of every realm, inducing them to willingly share their streams of energies.

Yet as her father had rightly asked, what need did they have for gold? Of what use was a copy of the ring that no longer had the original's powers to replicate?

Naturally, that original now lay amongst the treasures littering Ran's bed.

But if Culldae was right, why, then the _true_ original was now only a short distance ahead of her.

Krage interrupted her thoughts with a grunt.

Looking up, she saw that the undergrowth previously entirely enveloping their path was now opening up before them. Beyond the edges of the woodland, the land slowly rose, forming a hill.

There was a small building on this hill, one sporting a small bell tower.

It was a church of the new religion.

And a golden-maned horse had been tied up outside.

*

# Chapter 30

There was a strange tint of death about this place.

Perhaps, as Culldae had heard, it was true that these churches were always built on the old homes of green dragons.

A dragon that had to be killed or removed, being seen as a devilish apparition, before the church could be built.

The emerald serpents appeared at places that weren't always connected with springs. It could be a hilltop, or an area of bright greenery in the midst of a forest. Massive stones had sometimes been planted in these places too, by men long dead, long forgotten.

There was a sacred feel to such sections of the land, a sense of connection with other worlds, other sensibilities.

That sense still, thankfully, pervaded this area, yet it was weak, and failing.

*

The young knight had discarded his armour, leaving it neatly stacked in the church's porch.

Krage was too tall, too wide, to comfortable fit through the small door leading into the church, so he remained outside as Culldae silently entered.

At the farthest end of the small room, the boy was kneeling, his feet bared, his long, white silks falling loosely about him as if were some innocent maiden. His tumbling, brightly golden hair only added to this impression.

He wasn't praying to any statue that Culldae could see. Rather, he was subserviently bowed before nothing more than a small stone column that opened up at its top into a cupped shape holding stilled, stale water.

Culldae had no wish to disturb him. He was begging forgiveness, understanding.

He was speaking to his father; was it a way of conversing with his ancestors?

How could these lifeless waters forge a connection with the otherworlds?

He had unintentionally become a boar, the boy said, weeping in shame. He hadn't believed the helmet and mailcoat he had captured in battle had the powers to transform him from man into a beast.

At last, the boy curtailed his pleading, rose to his feet, and turned to leave the church; only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw Culldae standing there.

'You,' he said brightly, his smile a touch wry, a little puzzled. 'I recognise you from...'

He paused, as if his memory wasn't quite as infallible as he'd hoped.

'I was with the serpent...' Culldae said, hoping to help his faulty recollections come together.

'A serpent?' he repeated worriedly. 'Then you're a–'

'No, no,' Culldae interrupted him hastily, realising that he might confuse her for one of the maidens he'd rescued. 'It was a child – the serpent, I mean. You spared it.'

He frowned anxiously.

'Yes, yes; so I did. I was dazzled by your beauty – you made a fool of me.'

'It was a _child_ ,' Culldae persisted irately, unsure how else she should respond to his mingling of flattery and insult.

'It was a _serpent_ ,' the boy persisted as vehemently. 'These dragons are skilled at persuading you to believe the lord of lies.'

'Are you Sviagris?' Culldae asked suddenly, uncertainly, recognising that their conversation was souring.

'Lladmieh,' the boy confidently replied. 'I _believe_ that is what they call me now...'

'I'd heard you were called Llodram,' Culldae said, recalling another name her father had used.

The boy chuckled knowingly.

_'I'd_ heard that name too; though it's meant as a slur. A name of my mothers', only reversed.'

Culldae started.

It couldn't just be coincidence, surely, that here was another reversed name?

'Surely Freyja herself is not your mother?' Culldae said, recalling that Mardoll, 'one who makes the sea swell', was another name for the goddess.

Why were these names being reversed in this way? Was it because he'd turned to this new religion, becoming the opposite of what Freyja represented?

'I said _mothers_ , not _mother_ ,' the boy pointed out. 'As well as the glowing one – and the roaring, bloody-haired one – of the swelling waters, there's also Ulfrún Kólga, Járnsaxa Hrönn, Eyrgjafa Hefring, the billowing Imðr, Atla Uðr, the grasping Greip Dúfa, and the Angeyja Himinglæva of the narrow lands. Yet of my _father_ , I know _nothing_.'

'Yet I heard you asking him for forgiveness...'

The boy laughed again, but more wryly this time.

'I found my Father here, for he loves all those who seek him out.'

Now it was Culldae who sardonically chuckled.

What had Geror said of her own father?

'Your love for gold is greater than it is for love itself!'

He'd been clearly dismayed that the replicas of the Sviagris ring failed to retain the original's powers.

And yet...

Hadn't the goddesses stipulated that it was the power to _replicate_ that the duplicates had shed?

Which meant their powers to forge a connection with the _true_ Sviagris, with the boy, remained intact.

It _wasn't_ the gold that the giantesses sought.

It was love

Love for the boy; their son.

*

# Chapter 31

'I was blessed here at this font,' the boy continued to explain, turning to indicate to Culldae the cupped stone column, with its perfectly circular, undisturbed pool, 'to follow the way of the living water.'

Culldae failed to see how this false spring contained any powers of forgiveness.

This ring of water was divorced from the real world, a construct of man rather than a gift of nature. Droplets dripped from one of the stone plinth's edges, perhaps a sign that the boy had either placed a finger or a hand in the pooled waters; surely he hadn't drunk from them?

'Other children will also be created in his image, each one sent out into the world with copies of the word of truth, bringing down the lies of the old beliefs.'

'The beliefs of your _mothers_ ,' Culldae said forlornly, recognising that he'd probably unconsciously become the very opposite of what they'd hoped for him.

'I foresee things,' the boy claimed elatedly, 'and I saw that _this_ is how it will be!'

'How it _will_ be,' Culldae said, 'is not the same as _must_ be.'

She looked once again at this font with its ring of curiously stilled waters.

'These unnatural springs can be easily destroyed...' she mused.

The boy laughed.

'And every _child_?' he said. 'Would you destroy _them_ too?'

Culldae paused, knowing what her answer must be, yet wondering, hoping, that there was some other way of responding to the boy's question.

'No,' she admitted finally, her head sagging in despondent defeat. 'I didn't even have the heart to kill the child of a serpent, did I?'

*

'Could these living waters grant life to a...friend of mine?' Culldae hesitantly asked the boy.

'Are you saying he's already _dead_?' the boy asked suspiciously, obviously fearing trickery.

'His heart still beats; it's his body that's lacking–'

'Then we should try! Ask him to come here, before the font, and we will see what might be accomplished!' the boy announced happily, only to add more warily, 'Though I can't _promise_ you anything...'

Culldae glanced back towards the low, narrow door that had prevented Krage from entering with her.

'He...he can't fit through these _tiny_ doors...'

'This isn't _another_ serpent, is it?' the boy laughed.

'No, no; of course not. Please, I will have to explain outside...'

She unconsciously reached for his hand, leading him down the narrow pathway lying between the rows of seats; and suddenly, she felt that same uncontrollable surging of blood set in motion when she'd touched the Sviagris ring.

She smiled.

Maybe they wouldn't need the lifeless waters after all.

*

# Chapter 32

For once, the wooden man had decided to take a seat upon a fallen log rather than stand straight and stiff, waiting for his next command.

As Culldae ducked through the church's small door, Krage expectantly rose to his feet, an abruptly towering presence that startled the boy as his eyes fought to adjust to the bright daylight after his time in the darkened interior.

Instinctively reaching for his sword, his shield, both of which he'd trustingly left in the church's porch, the boy rushed towards a shocked Krage, the blade already aggressively whirling.

'He's an idol! An idol of wood, devilishly brought to life!' the boy yelled out as if in warning to a bewildered Culldae.

'No, no; he has my brother's heart...'

The boy couldn't hear Culldae's cries as they were drowned out by the ferocious hacking of his blade against the wooden giant. Krage defensively brought his arms up before him, stepping back and away from the frenzied attack, but the sword's steel was effortlessly carving deeply into the rotten driftwood.

Krage groaned in agony. Even so, he refused to retaliate, as if somehow aware that the boy was with Culldae, and therefore under her protection.

Realising this, Culldae rushed towards the fiercely attacking boy, grabbing him across the back of his shoulders and, with an urgent jerk, pulling him away.

Frustrated and furious, the boy whirled on her, pushing her aside so brutally that she was sent tumbling towards the ground.

'No, no!' he stormed irately. 'Your beauty's already fooled me into sparing one monster. I can't allow–'

His skull cracked sickeningly as Krage landed a blow from a hard fist across the top of his bared head. He crumpled limply, lifelessly, to the floor.

With a silent cry of horror, Culldae dropped to her knees alongside the fallen boy, hoping she might yet find some sign of life.

But no; he was dead.

She glanced up towards her innocently oblivious brother.

'Krage,' she whispered fearfully, 'we've just killed our only hope of giving you life!'

*

# Chapter 33

Culldae knew little if anything of the practices of this new religion.

They buried the boy, for she believed this is what he would have wanted.

His armour and sword were also interred with him, providing him with the protections he'd need in the new world he found himself in.

She untied his horse, for she would have to take him with them.

Though where they would head now, she was no longer sure.

It was strange, this new religion, she decided as she studied a large, stumpy stone cross, a great part of which was set against a circular representation of the world. Naturally, it was a world completely encircled by the serpent Jormungand, 'earth necklace', biting his own tale to safely contain everything. This cross, then, was the coming together of all the world's powers and energies.

This new religion held so many similarities to so many other beliefs. So why had the boy presumed it was all so different, so superior to the beliefs that had held them in good stead for so long?

She mounted the boy's horse – she would call him Gulltoppr, 'golden tuft', she decided – there being no reason now to ride upon Krage's shoulders.

Not that she thought Krage minded, or that it was in any way wearying for him. He appeared tireless. Even now the injuries he'd sustained in the boy's ferocious attack no longer seemed to bother him, for he had simply patched himself up by forcing wood wrenched from nearby trees into any gaps.

It had felt odd, though, riding on the shoulders of a giant she knew was really her much younger brother.

There _must_ be some _other_ way of granting him life!

*

As they travelled through the woods, it soon became obvious to Culldae that, rather than Krage's life, it was hers and that of the horse that was increasingly most in danger.

They needed water.

If they didn't find water – and soon, too – she and Gulltoppr would die.

Every time they came across what would at one time have been a freely flowing stream or brook, they found only a dried out ditch. Pools were entirely non-existent, as even the beds were now overgrown with grass or reeds.

An area that appeared to have been fields of crops only recently was parched and dry, the wind whipping up the dusty surface, the dead wheat as blackened as the soil would once have been when healthy and fertile.

Here even what might have been a small river could now be easily mistaken for a dirt road running almost parallel to the track they were tracing. Both trail and dried bed coursed their way through a tiny village lying ahead of them.

The only water in the village came from the eyes of the weeping girls and their equally tearful mothers.

*

# Chapter 34

There was a gathering on what would once have been the green, but was now little more than parched, dusty earth.

Most of the people from the village and the surrounding farms appeared to be there, going by the numbers involved and the relative scarcity of homes surrounding them. People of all ages were there, with most among them wailing uncontrollably or, as in the case of many of the men, taking their fury and frustration out on anything they could kick or otherwise batter without actually breaking it.

A group of young girls towards the centre were especially distraught as they embraced screeching mothers, impotently raging fathers, bewildered younger siblings.

Those towards the crowd's edges who heard the trotting hooves of Culldae's approach swung about, a brief expression of hope crossing their faces; and then, seeing it was nothing but a filthy girl rather than the heroic knight they'd prayed for, turned miserably aside, all hope abruptly relinquished.

Even the looming presence of Krage failed to excite them.

What use would a wooden man be against the flames of the dragon?

*

'What's happening here?' Culldae asked anxiously, directing her question at a man who seemed relatively calm, or at least quite stoic in his acceptance of the chaotically crazed gathering.

'The lots have been drawn; these are the girls who are to be sent to appease the dragon.'

'Hardly a _fair_ lottery,' a woman nearby sneered, drawing Culldae's attention to a number of girls mixing with the general crowd, some of whom were showing varying degrees of pregnancy. 'Some made sure they weren't as pure as the wyvern appears to demand...'

'Why on earth would a dragon insist on–'

'It was the spirit of the waters; the nymph,' the man explained. 'She said the waters of the spring were in increasingly short supply and needed to be fairly shared throughout the nearby villagers and farms.'

'Some girls are sent back with water in the jars they take with them,' the woman added, 'but others he takes a fancy to, well; they stay. We can only presume they're devoured, for they're never seen again.'

*

# Chapter 35

As well as jars, the girls were also carrying barley cakes, perhaps intended as offerings to the serpent in the hope he'd prefer their sweetness to that of human flesh.

Gradually, each of them was also being blindfolded. They were being tied together, too, with rope stringing between them from waist to waist.

They would have to be led, then, closer towards the serpent, Culldae assumed. At some point they must be left to make the rest of the journey on their own.

Naturally, it must all be quite terrifying for every girl chosen to approach the dragon. And he must indeed be even more terrifying to look at, for obviously no one wished to take the chance that the girls would at last try to run away on sighting him.

Yet everything she had recently heard implied that the serpents weren't responsible for the land's lack of fertility; it wasn't just the rivulets of water that had dried up, but also the energy streams flowing in from the other worlds.

Her father, Halga, and his false promises to the serpents, along with his subsequent murderous attacks upon them, had created the drying up of the waters. His misuse of the Sviagris ring had brought about the curtailing of all the currents that fed the land.

And now she had made things even worse, for she and Krage had killed the golden-haired boy.

She and her father bore the real responsibility for the suffering of these people, not the serpent.

Leaving Krage with Gulltoppr, Culldae determinedly strode towards where the group of weeping girls were still being firmly bound, the men tasked with this going about their business quite brutally, even to the extent of brutally pushing away any clinging parents.

'The girls can stay here,' Culldae announced loudly. 'I'll go in their place!'

Sighs and shrieks of relief rippled through both the girls and their distraught parents, yet there were also cries of fear and protest from elsewhere within the crowd.

'The dragon will punish us!'

'Anger the serpent and we'll all pay!'

'Who'll bring our water back?'

One of the men who'd been binding the sacrificial virgins was even more sceptical, eying Culldae's filthy and bedraggled state with a sneer.

'Just how "pure" are you then!' he guffawed scornfully.

With equal disdain, Culldae casually glanced Krage's way, raising a finger as if signalling him to approach. Seeing the giant of wood beginning to amble his way, the man abruptly relented opposing Culldae's efforts to replace the maidens as the offering being made to the dragon.

'You're free to go!' he declared bluntly. 'But the girls go too– you can lead them the rest of the way once we've taken you as far as we're paid to.'

*

'Keep on this track, following the sounds, and you can't go wrong.'

The man handed the end of the rope binding the girls to Culldae.

The sounds he referred to were already audible to everyone there; the low growling of the dragon, his fearsome snorts.

The girls were terrified, having stumbled a number of times on the way here despite the well-worn path offering no major obstacles.

A jar had been cracked, barley cakes had tumbled into the dust.

The girls were bruised and bloodied about their knees and arms.

The men hurriedly departed.

'Don't worry,' Culldae reassured the girls as soon as the men were out of earshot, 'there's a slight hollow in the path lying just ahead of us; I'm going to leave you there and carry on with Krage and my horse.'

'Can we take off our blindfolds?' one of the girls asked as they walked the last few feet to where Culldae intended to leave them.

"I want you to wait a few minutes until after I've left,' Culldae replied, realising the sight of Krage might frighten any girl who hadn't noticed him earlier. 'But you can begin untying yourselves,'she added helpfully, handing her dagger to the nearest girl.

'But we can't return; not without any water!' another girl said desperately.

'I'm hoping I can talk to the serpent–'

'Others have tried that,' a third spat irritably, 'yet he always insist _this_ is the _only_ way!'

*

# Chapter 36

'Just the _one_ girl?'

The dragon growled morosely as Culldae drew closer.

His scales glittered a rippling sapphire blue, such that he could have been formed from the most sparkling waters. His eyes were larger than lotus flowers, however, while his elongated maw was lined with teeth like the sharpest stones.

'You're not full of fear, like all the others, I see,' he added more thoughtfully, observing Culldae's confident approach with interest.

With an indication of a hand, Culldae ordered Krage to stay back, along with Gulltoppr.

'I've heard you prefer more innocent girls–'

'Their purity is essential–'

'So you might terrify them?'

'So no taint comes to the waters. Though in your case, I must forgive your lack of purity.'

'Lack of purity?' an affronted Culldae retorted.

'Oh, I've heard, you see; there's no hiding it from _me_!'

'Heard? Heard what?'

'I've heard from the Mardolls; you killed their son, Heimdall!'

*

# Chapter 37

'Heimdall?'

Culldae knew of no Heimdall. Yet, of course, she knew she and Krage had killed the boy, Sviagris.

'You mean Sviagris?'

'Hardly a term I would give to a boy whose real name denotes his importance as a connection to the flourishing of this world.'

'We didn't _mean_ to kill him!' Culldae replied ashamedly.

'Fortunately for you, the Mardoll realise this.'

'How?'

Naturally, Culldae was pleased that the Mardoll weren't holding her responsible for Heimdall's death. But how could they possibly know that she and Krage had neither intended nor wished to kill him?

How did they know, even, that he was dead, when the Sviagris ring had been lost?

How, come to that, did the dragon know?

'How would they know this?' Culldae asked bemusedly.

'He's in Hel,' the dragon nonchalantly replied. 'In the seat of the Norns; where he'll remain for nine days while each of his mothers take their turn to judge him for his failures.'

'He can't be held to blame,' Culldae insisted, recalling how her father had so badly abused the gift of the Sviagris ring. 'He lacked the guidance of his mothers. The ring is lost!'

The dragon's chuckle was like a grumbling, a rolling, of rocks.

'How can it be lost when the Mardoll are themselves the swelling sea, feeding the springs with tender tears sparkling with the sun's gold? It's someone worthy of wearing it who's hard to find.'

'If this man is found – will the springs return?'

The dragon shrugged uncomfortably.

'Maybe it's too late for us all. So much distrust has come between us. Why, I heard one of the weeping girls brought here telling some tale of how it used to be the goddess herself who was sent as a sacrifice to the demon; and as she gave herself to the monster, she took him unawares and at last destroyed him!'

'Yet you ask for these girls to attend on you; and many don't return.'

'That is _their_ choice,' the dragon replied calmly. 'They wish to experience worlds other than their own. And it's only in this way that the flow of our energies can become entwined with the streams of consciousness of man.'

'If it's _her_ choice, where _are_ they?' Culldae demanded distrustfully, looking about herself as she sought out any nearby area where the lost maidens might now be living. 'Can I talk to them?'

'Of course you can talk to them!' the dragon assured her brightly.

And then, suddenly whipping his great head forward, he swallowed Culldae whole.

*

# Chapter 38

Being eaten by a dragon wasn't anywhere near as bad an experience as Culldae had always feared.

It was far more like being freed to swim along vibrant currents of the clearest, most sparkling water. There was no dread of drowning, either, as she could breathe as if gloriously swooping through air rather than along these powerfully coursing streams.

The waters snaked through the earth, as her own veins ran throughout her own body, bringing replenishment and life to everything they touched. The earth throbbed with gratitude, with pleasure.

Then, abruptly, there was a sharp turn in the waters' coursing track; yet Culldae sensed that it meant nothing to her, that she needed to keep moving straight on.

Without even a moment's hesitation on her part, or resistance as regards the earth itself, Culldae found herself slipping into soil and rock that flexed as fluidly as any muscle, that seemed to dissolve in an instant, becoming as free flowing as any liquid.

And her body effortlessly slipped through it all in a now perfectly linear track.

*

Her own body now felt fluid in its remarkable ease of movement.

A simple flexing of her waist would see her propelled along the trail at surprising speed. Her journeying felt effortless, even soothingly graceful.

She briefly glanced over her shoulder, to look back over how far she had travelled.

It wasn't possible to tell; so much of her swiftly passing surroundings all looked the same.

One thing didn't look the same, however.

Her body.

She now had the tail of a mardoll.

She had become a mermaid.

*

# Chapter 39

She felt about her now a steady beat, as if it were coming from the pounding of her own heart.

There was also a rise in temperature, the rapidly increasing warmth enveloping her, as hungry flames might rush about the very thing they are about to devour

Yet Culldae sensed no fear.

She rushed on; and the liquid earth abruptly gave way to a blood-red, molten rock, the heat of which should have transformed her immediately into nothing but cinders.

The rivers of lava swam about her, as if the earth itself had been granted a life of its own.

Now she let herself rush upwards with its surging flow, giving herself over to its power, even though she was somehow aware it wasn't entirely irresistible, it wasn't a force she had to obey; it was her choice to let the energies dictate her movements, realising they were reaching up for the earth's surface, taking her along in their rapid ascent.

There was a sudden rush of spuming steam, of broiling waters; then Culldae was swirling once more along underground streams, a veil of sparkling bubbles abruptly enshrouding her in her swift ascent, each one shining like a diamond – for the end of her journey was near, the sun's light now streaming back along the increasingly swiftly flowing current to greet her.

It must be a spring, Culldae realised. The waters breaching the earth's crust, erupting back into the world of man.

The waters curled, swirled; and then spat Culldae out through a hole carved into the side of a rock face.

She landed with a soft splash in the glittering silver of a pool.

Yet it wasn't the naturally fountaining waters of a grotto, or the springing forth of the beginnings of a woodland stream; this was a manmade structure, the pool encased in stones carved into a perfect circle.

Around her, too, there was a courtyard, and beyond this the rising walls and towers of a grand palace.

Thankfully, the whole area appeared strangely deserted.

Then someone behind her spoke.

'I've been expecting you.'

Culldae whirled about in the pool's waters.

'Queen Olava!' she gasped in horror.

*

# Chapter 40

With a smile, Olava extended her hand towards Culldae, obviously offering to help the girl step out of the pool.

Culldae abruptly shied back from the proffered hand, glancing down into the waters swirling about her; yes, she saw with increasing anxiety, she _was_ still fish tailed!

'I'm...er, fine where I am, thank you!' she lied.

It hardly seemed right, talking to the queen – even if the queen was her grandmother – while wallowing in a fountain's pool of water.

What would anyone think if they came across them?

There was something else to consider too, it suddenly dawned on her.

What would Krage have thought when he saw the dragon swallow her whole?

He would have attacked the great serpent, seeking to rescue her.

He would die in the attempt.

'I have to get back; now!' Culldae forthrightly declared, only to immediately regret her outburst: what would Queen Olava make of such a nonsensical statement?

Get back _where_ , exactly?

Besides, wouldn't her grandmother be wanting to know why she was here, in her courtyard's pool?

But then...she'd claimed that she'd been expecting Culldae.

How could that _possibly_ be true?

'My brother...or a dragon; they might be killed!' she blurted out in the hope that this might explain her urgency to return to...

To _where_ , exactly?

She wasn't sure where _where_ was in relation to where she was now.

Why, too, would Queen Olava show any consideration for the life of a dragon, or even her brother for that matter?

The queen had shown her quite obvious disdain for Culldae's whole family when she'd come 'visiting' them.

'Your brother won't have even noticed you've gone,' the queen assured her with a surprisingly good-natured laugh, 'the currents work at their own pace, not that of man's.'

Culldae frowned in confusion; how would Olava know such a thing?

'Thank goodness, too,' the queen continued with an extra chortle, 'otherwise what would my people think if they caught me here talking to a water nymph?'

'I'm no water nymph!' Culldae protested irately; yet even as she protested, she also found herself consciously attempting to hide her tail beneath the rippling surface of the pool.

Olava offered Culldae her hand once more.

'Take it!' she insisted. ' _Trust_ me!'

Still fearful of revealing what she had unconsciously been transformed into, Culldae still held back from accepting Olava's proffered hand.

'You placed yourself in the hands of the wouivre, the flows of the body of the earth,' Olava declared bluntly, 'and they obviously brought you _here_ for a _reason_!'

At last relenting, Culldae took Olava's hand, allowing herself to be pulled up and out of the pool – and suddenly, her legs encased now in nothing more than the silvery sheen of the cascading waters, she was stepping completely clear, striding out onto the paved floor surrounding the fountain.

'I don't understand,' a mystified Culldae admitted, suddenly worrying that the various stories she'd heard about girls being transformed into dragons might be true after all, 'am I now a nymph, a serpent?'

'A girl doesn't become a serpent,' Olava explained. 'Serpents are the energies themselves; hence their slow extermination is killing the earth itself, just as if your own veins were damned. Yet just as your blood carries vital airs to where your body needs them, to serve man these energy conduits require a link to his needs and emotions – of which, I'm afraid, there are many – and so maidens such as myself are chosen to become as one with the fluxes.'

'You... _you're_ a water nymph?' Culldae stammered incredulously. 'But...but you said– wait, wait! Then _I_ have the _blood_ of a nymph...'

She was abruptly distraught, wishing there were some way in which she could declare that all this had to be nonsense; and yet, hadn't she sported a mermaid's tail only moments ago? Hadn't she swum effortlessly along underground water courses, even through supposedly solid earth and fiery, molten rock?

'But you _complained_ that father used the dragon to _trick_ you!' Culldae persisted.

'Even before Halga made a promise of payment he'd never really know how to honour, the role the serpents played had been forgotten, and faced extinction. Only the three rings could save us; and so your father was granted his magical seductions–'

'To make you carry his child, my _mother_?' Culldae raged, appalled by the thought. 'Why use the _same_ man _twice_?'

'Didn't I say they were _magical_ seductions? It wasn't a coming together in the _usual_ way of things – it was only man's own inherent energy flows that we required and took for our use! He was a man of few hardened beliefs, and to involve another would only complicate matters. As it was, his malign influence was all too persuasive; we _had_ to remove you from his circles!'

Here she spoke sorrowfully, even apologetically. Culldae realised she could only be referring to the day she'd appeared in their hall, making her monstrous accusations.

'Yet you _knew_ he _couldn't_ pay?' Culldae snapped accusingly.

'He provided the required dark, earthy nature, the passionate, fiery flow of rubied blood, along with his own special, vital silvery streams. I provided my own essential waters, your mother her nurturing womb – for it's only through _you_ that the rings would be brought together–'

_'I_ have to find the three rings...?'

Culldae grimaced as she contemplated the responsibility that had been placed upon her.

Olava, however, merely chuckled, as if she believed it would present no problem at all for the young girl.

'To see where you should seek your rings,' she said joyfully, placing a consoling hand upon the disturbed girl's shoulders and gently turning her about to look once more towards the fountaining waters, 'why, simply admire yourself in the pooling waters of the spring–'

In a bewildered daze, Culldae leant over the pooling waters, peering towards its silvery surface. Hadn't so many tales warned her against this very thing?

She even had the tumbling golden hair of the girl whose vanity had ensured she became a hideous and despised serpent, fated to while away the rest of her life in a secluded cave.

Caught in a light breeze, a single golden thread of her hair was plucked free.

She thought to reach out for it, to grab it before it fell towards and ruffled the watery surface.

But she didn't.

Yes, she realised, this is how it _must_ be.

*

# Chapter 41

The golden strand languidly fluttered down, its rooted end lower than the rest of it, touching the surface first, its gentle disturbance enough to set off a circular rippling extending out from this newly formed centre.

The rest of the wispy tress dreamily drifted towards the water, adhering to the unseen film of its surface, becoming caught up in the evenly spaced, perfectly formed undulations, such that it too became a perfect ring. Then as the ripples struck the pool's sides, rebounding, coming back in upon themselves, the circular band of gold similarly collapsed in upon itself, becoming smaller, ever smaller.

In a moment, it was the size of a signet ring, one formed of living, streaming gold.

The Sviagris ring; it looked so like the Sviagris ring – only curiously weightless, unnaturally floating upon the water – that Culldae felt she only had to reach out, to touch it, to place it upon her finger.

As she reached for it, however, she saw, seemingly lying beyond it, set deep with the waters, the ridiculously bright pink of her own face. She looked like a wailing babe, her mouth gawping as if she wished she could swallow the ring, her eyes quite bulbous in their eagerness.

Pig-like in its simplicity, its plainness, it was far from being a beautiful face.

And it was a face that was furiously rushing up towards her.

*

The feared nymph of the waters had arrived to punish her for her stupid pride.

The grimacing face hurtling towards Culldae erupted from the pool, throwing up everywhere about it fountains of brightly coruscating water. It shattered the ring formed by the thread of gold.

With an extra sharp snap of a fishy tail, it leapt fully out of the water.

Culldae fell back in surprise, stumbling, crumpling to the ground.

Curling in the air, the energy of its powerful thrust upwards at last exhausted, the leaping salmon curved after her, falling neatly into her lap.

It writhed there, wet and perfectly slithery, its eyes fearfully bulbous as it fought to return to the familiar waters, its mouth gawping as if wishing to urgently suck down air.

It heaved, it coughed; and retched up a gold ring.

No; not _a_ gold ring.

_The_ gold ring.

The _Sviagris_ ring.

*

# Chapter 42

'Well, _this_ isn't _quite_ what I'd expected!'

Olava appeared even more startled than Culldae that the leaping salmon had delivered the Sviagris ring to her.

An excited Culldae had neither noticed nor was really listening, for she was taking care not to hurt or damage the gasping, struggling salmon as she tenderly slipped it back into the waters.

'I begin to wonder if the Mardoll fear that an unpalatable truth divulged too early can be ignored as a lie,' Olava added with a delightfully resigned sigh. 'Sometimes, as with their own son, we can only come to accept the truth if we painfully arrive at it ourselves.'

Culldae was entranced by the incredible, swirling beauty of the ring. It wasn't a ring of solid gold after all, but something more like uncountable rings, all revolving endlessly together, as fields of golden wheat dance and play to the music of the wind.

It seemed alive; it _throbbed_ with life!

'I _must_ get back!' Culldae declared urgently, remembering that her brother Krage was in dire need of this ring.

She apprehensively glanced back towards the pool of water: how easy would it be to return?

Did she simply step back into the spring? Would the currents themselves lead her back to where she'd first come from?

How easy would it be to drown in the underground streams if, for some reason, she didn't briefly become a nymph once more?

Sensing her anxiety, Olava resignedly sighed one more, but this time with hints of frustration.

'Hah, it seems that you _are_ a creature of Halga after all, with your impatience!'

She took Culldae's hand, leading her back towards the pool, reassuring her that she should step into its water without any fear.

As the waters curled around Culldae, they gave her back her tail.

'Thank you,' Culldae said, keeping a tight grip on the ring as she prepared to swim away, yet wondering still how she could possibly leap up into and pass through the waters bubbling forth from the spring.

'I suppose I should say take care,' Olava said. 'But in your case, and in light of the importance of your task, I'm not sure that _is_ good advice.'

Culldae experienced a sense that she was somehow dissolving, becoming as much a part of the waters rather than simply being enveloped by them; and then the springing waters took on the form of a serpent's huge head, snapping forward snake-like in its swiftness – and once again, Culldae was swallowed whole.

*

# Chapter 43

Culldae was nervous.

She wasn't entirely sure that this was such a good idea after all.

But what other way could it be handled?

She had contacted Halga, letting him know she had the Sviagris ring, letting him know too that she knew how it worked; that it was indeed magical, and when worn by a king worthy of its powers, it restored life to the land.

Naturally, he had agreed to meet up with her. And it would be in one of his many secluded hunting lodges, and he would attend with no more than just a few key advisors.

It wasn't a perfect meeting place, but it wasn't as if Culldae had any places of her own that she could propose in its stead.

They crunched through the woodland heading towards the lodge, Culldae riding Gulltoppr, Krage confidently striding on ahead of her, alert for any signs of trickery from his father.

What would his father think of him when he saw him now, he wondered?

Surely he would welcome him as his heir?

He wasn't the young boy that Culldae had expected him to be when she had placed the Sviagris ring upon the wooden man's finger. Yes, life had surged through him once more, the wood and ropes he'd been formed from becoming flesh and muscle, his heart once again dictating a flow of blood about his body: yet he had retained the looming, powerful figure of the giant he'd briefly become.

As Culldae had ecstatically declared, he was a man worthy of the Sviagris ring.

_He_ was the rightful king of their father's lands!

_He_ would bring life back to the land.

_He_ would bring prosperity and health back to their people.

He would be readily accepted as their king.

But only, of course, if _Halga_ could be talked into surrendering his throne.

*

# Chapter 44

Halga had chosen as his advisors twelve of his finest warriors.

The hall was thick with smoke from a roaring fire that made the hall almost unbearably hot.

It reminded Culldae of a story she'd heard; a story relating her father's trickery when he'd stolen the Sviagris ring from King Eadgils of Sweden.

There was another unfortunate and unexpected concordance with that tale.

Krage was quite clearly delighting in the flattery of Halga's warriors, eager to show off his prowess when it came to swinging his halberd, to trials of strength or endurance, including seeing who could stand longest by the raging flames.

Culldae was treated with hardly any courtesy at all, yet Krage appeared unaware or uncaring of this.

She wasn't too worried by this, however, for it meant that the wine and ale was flowing, while no one noticed that she was drastically limiting her intake to ensure her head remained clear and sharp when the negations began in earnest.

'Father,' she said at last, deciding that if she didn't speak soon Halga would have drunk far too much to make any sense at all, 'you're aware, I know, that the land continues to suffer because you found you weren't capable of keeping your side of the bargain you made with the dragons.'

_'Precisely_ ,' Halga announced with a satisfied smirk, as if he hoped his easy agreement would take Culldae by surprise, 'and yet whose fault is that, dear daughter, when the serpents deviously tricked me into promising a payment I could never make!'

'Yet in fearing their revenge, attacking them at will, matters have only been made worse, for the serpents are the very energies we rely on to ensure the land flourishes!'

'Might I ask, Culldae, how you've become such an expert on these matters?'

He eyed her with a curious intensity, his smirk still dominating his face.

He had practised this conversation, Culldae realised. He had been expecting her to criticise him in this way.

'I've...I've _talked_ with...with the serpents,' Culldae hesitantly confessed, seeing no other way of explaining her newly acquired knowledge on the subject, adding urgently, 'To work out a way that life can be brought back to life!'

'And why does it not surprise me that you've been _conversing_ with serpents?' Halga chuckled mischievously.

There was an accompanying chorus of laughter from his twelve warriors. They had brought their horseplay with Krage to an end, and were now listening to the conversation with obvious interest.

'Father, please, you don't understand–'

'Oh, I understand far more than you realise, dear "daughter",' Halga growled scathingly. 'The serpents _tricked_ me; for my dreams of sleeping with your mother and Olava were nothing more than that – just _dreams_!'

*

Culldae gasped.

How much of the truth had he heard?

How much had he _believed_?

'You do well to look shocked, "daughter",' Halga said through fiercely gritted teeth. 'It isn't often, I suppose, that you hear me admitting I've been made a fool of. But no matter how unpalatable it is to me, I have to accept that I never really laid with my dream ladies, did I?'

'That's _not_ true father–'

'Father? But I'm _not_ your father, am I?'

'Of course you're my–'

'It wasn't _me_ lying with either Olava or you mother; but the devious demons themselves!'

Suddenly, he'd unsheathed his sword and, in the same, easy flowing movement, threateningly brought its sharp blade up tight to Culldae's throat.

'You're _not_ my daughter; you're the child of _serpents_!

*

# Chapter 45

'Father! She _restored_ my life...'

Krage appeared shocked, even appalled, by the revelations. Yet he'd stepped forward to protest that Halga should release Culldae.

Halga's men had apparently been expecting this. Two of the very largest amongst them were already by his side, grabbing him firmly by his arms, holding him fast.

'You're still nothing but a child, despite your great size,' Halga snarled scornfully, keeping his blade at Culldae's neck. 'As the wooden man I'd created, you might have given us problems; but as an overly large boy, you still have many lessons to learn before you're ready to be king!'

'If you remain king, the land will continue to suffer,' Culldae insisted.

Krage's vain efforts to break free of the restraining men abruptly came to an end.

'Father,' Krage announced, 'I will swear _allegiance_ to you; and _I_ know how to use the Sviagris ring to _restore_ life to the land!'

*

Halga smirked triumphantly as he saw all hope die in Culldae's eyes.

'So, a promise of kingship makes my _son_ see sense,' he jeered

He at last pulled his blade away from Culldae's throat, but only so that – with a whip-like wrench of an arm – he could send her whirling off into the even firmer embrace of one of his bulky warriors.

'Release the boy!' he ordered.

As soon as the two powerful men let him free, Krage stepped forward to subserviently kneel before Halga.

'I give you my oath–'

'It's your _sword_ , boy,' Halga said impatiently, 'you have to promise me your _sword_!'

'I have no sword; only my halberd,' Krage pointed out, looking longingly back towards the weapon he'd left near the open fire earlier.

Culldae struggled to break free of the man holding her, but he merely tightened his grip on her, placing a large hand about her mouth and preventing her from yelling out to Krage that he mustn't do this, that he didn't need his father.

'You can borrow my sword,' Halga said to the bowing Krage, deftly turning the blade about in his hands to offer his son the hilt.

With a grateful smile, Krage took the sword – and, leaping up, he thrust it deep into Halga's heart.

*

# Chapter 46

No matter what Halga had told his twelve berserkers to expect of the meeting, they obviously hadn't been prepared for this.

By the time they had overcome their shock, or their need to ensure that their king couldn't be helped in someway to recover, four of them were also dead or dying, while Culldae had managed to break free of her captor's grip.

Krage's skill with the sword his father had given him was admirable, but now he had recovered his halberd, his manner of dealing out death was even more astonishing. He swung it with a graceful ease, the balance of it perfectly matched to his great strength.

Around that great fire, men who had skilfully survived numerous battles died quickly, unable to get usefully close to this giant of a boy and his weapon of swiftly swirling steel.

Unfortunately, Culldae had neither her brother's great size nor his prowess with a weapon that could have been created for him.

She held only the dagger she had retrieved from the village maidens.

Up against her were Halga's finest warriors: they were undoubtedly the superior, more experienced fighters.

In all the stories involving feisty heroines that she had avidly listened to, the girls always managed to come through such encounters unscathed through a mix of cunning and a previously undiscovered talent for turning a knife into the deadliest of weapons.

Alas, they were tales, and nothing more.

A brutal blow from a sword to her arm sent the dagger flying across the room.

The strike was swiftly followed by a short step forward, a thrust with a long blade; and it was all over for her.

The sword pierced her heart.

Her last thought was a wry one; her father had died in _exactly_ the same way!

Then she crumpled to the floor.

Her foe was a highly experienced fighter.

He knew for sure that she was undoubtedly dead.

*

# Chapter 47

'No!'

Krage had seen his sister fall.

He knew, too, that no one could survive a blade so deeply inserted into the heart.

A moment ago, the shock of his father's death had given him an advantage over Halga's men.

Now the shock of the death of his sister placed him at an immediate disadvantage.

Only two of the berserkers were still alive. But making full use of Krage's distraction, the one standing nearest to the open fire suddenly gave it the most violent of kicks, sending the burning logs and coals rushing towards the boy in a searing rain of flames.

Batting away the worst of the flaming logs without a care for himself, Krage rushed over towards Culldae's side, launching an attack upon the warrior whose sword still dripped with her blood. Krage swung his halberd with an uncharacteristic wildness, yet it was still a smoothly curving blow that bit deeply into the man's arm.

The man was a veteran of the wars, however, and ignoring the pain of the wound, he threw himself into action against Krage.

The boy's cloak was afire now, set ablaze by the hot coals and logs that had been sent raining against him. Worse still, the man who'd kicked the fire up into the air joined in the attack upon him, coming at him from behind.

Krage's flaming, whirling cloak was a weapon in itself now, keeping the men fearfully at bay for longer than they might have wished. Yet when they drew close now, they were hacking brutally at Krage, scoring hits that he would have previously expertly avoided. In his rage, Krage had forfeited his skilful use of his blade, his litheness in ducking and weaving.

Halga's warriors were restricted too now, as the flames of the scattered fire rapidly took hold of wooden chairs, of draping curtains, of even the timber floor and the hall's supporting beams.

Krage brought down the wounded man with a fearsome blow that split both helmet and skull. Even as the man fell, the boy swung his blade about, bringing it back behind him in a circling motion that took the other warrior completely by surprise.

The steel carved into the man's waist, spilling his innards, his coursing blood.

Krage threw his halberd aside, threw himself down beside Culldae.

As he feared, though, he was too late.

There were no signs of life.

She was dead.

All he could do now was weep for her.

*

# Chapter 48

When Culldae finally came around, she was so dazed, so confused, she could have sworn that she must have suffered a truly terrible dream.

Then she realised she could smell smoke, feel the dreadful heat of a terrific fire, hear the crackling and triumphant roar of flames, the cracking of finally submissive timbers.

She spun around on the earthen ground.

Now she could also see the great hunting lodge being rapidly devoured by the flames.

Yet standing before all this horror was something far more dreadful.

Krage was a wooden man once more.

And he was burning so fiercely, there was nothing Culldae could do for him but weep.

*

Beneath the rolling thunder of falling timbers, there was another, more regular thunderous beat; the hurried galloping of horses.

More of Halga's men – who else could it be?

He'd set a trap for them after all then!

_Gulltoppr_!

She'd tied him to a post close to the hall's veranda!

She looked to where she'd left him, fearing the worse. But there was no sight of the horse.

Had the rope burnt through? Had he managed to escape before suffering any injury that–

From close by, there came an impatient neighing, a stamp of hooves.

Whirling about, Culldae saw that Gulltoppr had indeed managed to get safely clear, and now he was tied to one to the surrounding trees.

_Tied_?

She didn't have time to try and think all this through. Rushing towards Gulltoppr, swiftly freeing him, she swung up onto his back.

With a sharp press of her knees, she urged him into action.

There was only one path to take; the one leading in the opposite direction to one in which Halga's soldiers were quickly approaching.

*

# Chapter 49

She rode swiftly, without stopping, fearing what Halga's men would do to her once they realised their king was dead.

As far as they were concerned, she was no longer the king's daughter; she was the child of serpents.

How could she prove otherwise?

Wasn't it a half-truth anyway: although not in the way her father had apparently heard?

She rode on as night fell, stopping now only to let Gulltoppr slake his thirst now and again in the odd muddy puddle of water they came across.

Now and again, too, she heard far behind her what she thought might be her pursuers, picking up the low thunder of hooves pounding dirt trails. But then, fortunately, they must have fallen prey to an ambush by the many large bands of brigands who inhabited these parts, for she would hear horrified shrieks, the clash of arms – and then silence, the pursuers somehow thankfully vanquished and halted in their tracks.

By now, of course, she'd noticed that she wore the Sviagris ring.

Krage; it could only have been Krage's doing!

He must have slipped the ring from his hand to hers, gradually restoring her life.

A wooden giant once more, Krage would have easily lifted her.

It would not have been so easy for him to carry her through the burning and rapidly tumbling building.

At some point, he must have also caught fire.

Even so, instead of tending to himself, he'd made sure that he'd laid Culldae on the ground far enough away from the burning hall to be safe.

He'd also freed Gulltoppr, and retied him to a branch lying a good distance from the blaze.

Then, ridiculously considerate to the last, he'd stood close by her – but not _so_ close that she'd suffer any burns from his now fiercely crackling timbers – as he died, as he burnt away to nothing.

He, at least, _hadn't_ been a creature of her father's!

*

# Chapter 50

Unlike all the other villages she'd ridden through, all of which had begun to settle down for the night, the one lying on the road just ahead of her now was far from being dark and quiet.

Flaming torches had been set around the green, throwing their flickering bloody glow over a happy gathering of people. Someone was playing a coarse tune on a screeching stringed instrument, music that some danced to, while others guffawed at the singer's ribald lyrics.

The road leading to the village gently curled, rather than presenting a more direct course. In the mercurial light of a moon who was at last beginning to show herself, Culldae saw the many reasons for this; countless looming, dark giants, the immense rocks that the long-forgotten ancients had set within certain sacred landscapes.

Here the massive, brooding boulders formed curving lines on either side of the subtly snaking causeway Culldae was travelling along. At last, the flanking stones came to an end, only to fan out and away from her, doubtlessly forming some great circle that, for the moment, vanished into the darkness, yet appeared to completely surround the village, going by its vast size.

Glancing back at the village's encircling sentinels, Culldae saw that they were garbed on this side in the moon's silvery sheen, granting them what could be a protective, mystical armour. Perhaps that's why this village appeared to have no fear of the night; perhaps they felt these giant warriors would scare off anyone meaning them harm.

Then again, maybe the people living here were of a kind who cautiously revered the darkness.

*

The gathering on the green was celebratory in its nature.

There was an undoubted sense of merriment, of excitement and anticipation.

Apples were being roasted on a small fire and handed out in sheaths of protective bark to anyone who wanted to eat one as they walked about the gathering. Elsewhere, fermented apples had been turned into a heated, possibly alcoholic drink. Barley cakes were also much in evidence, as were other foods associated with the wish for a good harvest in the coming seasons: heated honey, berries that had been made into a hot jam, bread moulded into shapes of the Nine Mothers.

It was a Night of the Mothers then, Culldae realised.

She unhurriedly walked about the gathering, having left Gulltoppr tied up and feeding amongst other horses in a field that seemed to have been put aside for this very purpose.

Despite it being so late, children were also happily involved in the festivities, many of them wielding sticks they were happily twirling in their hands, causing a sun of yellow wool to swiftly circle an earth of green and blue wool. The earthen ball had been pinioned on the stick, while a single strand of yellow wool, rising from the earth's very top, acted as if it were a single ray emanating from the sun, and fixing the sun in its circling course.

Sometimes, of course, the golden strand came too low and close to the earth, the thread gradually winding about the globe of green and blue until the sun came tightly up against it, the two spheres now firmly enjoined.

Naturally, when this happened, the child simply began to spin his or her stick about the other way, and soon the sun was happily circling the earth once more.

Four women were busily engrossed in the making of these toys, gathering up and winding wool into the required balls. Earth began, strangely, with the yellow strand, around which the first woman wrapped a hard, tight core of red. The second woman added the dark green of the earth, a third the blue of the sea, each taking care to ensure the golden strand was left to emanate from the earth's very top. A fourth woman, working alone, quickly wound the golden globe that would be the sun around the other end of the yellow strand, then stuck the earth upon a stick she gathered up from a nearby pile.

She couldn't fail to notice that Culldae was a stranger, that she was taking an interest in the making of the toys.

'It's tradition around here,' she explained with a merry grin. 'Though the _very_ oldest ones placed the _sun_ on the stick; which makes absolutely _no_ sense at all, of course!'

'You're here for the play?' the woman creating the earth's mantle of blue said next. 'We get more and more people coming to see it!'

'Were you here in time to watch the circling of the stones?' the woman winding the darker earth together asked. 'Some had insisted it was held earlier, while it was lighter; they didn't wish to risk bringing any ill omens our way, not after the death of poor King Eadgils in his own ceremony!'

'King Eadgils?' a startled Culldae blurted out in surprise. 'He's dead?'

'On the last and ninth circling, too!' the woman creating the red heart of the earth answered. 'He was thrown when his horse Raven stumbled, splitting his skull upon a stone!'

Two kings dead; _three_ if you count Krage.

A heavy toll was being taken out on the land, and Culldae couldn't see a way out of this problem.

It was up to her now to find the three rings. And yet, like her father, she had no idea what they might be, let alone where she might find them.

An abrupt wail of horns erupted from the very centre of the green, where the high reaching and elegantly curling necks of a number of dragon trumpets soared above the heads of the gathered throng.

'The play's about to start!' the woman holding the sun declared excitedly.

'The narrator's already making her way towards the stage!' the woman in charge of the seas announced, briefly rising up on to her toes to get a better view.

'Hurry!' the third urged Culldae. 'There are boys and girls, dressed in their costumes, who'll enact her words as she speaks!'

'You don't want to miss this as well as the circling!' the fourth agreed.

*

# Chapter 51

A woman stepped out of the silvery mist surrounding the village, walking towards the village green.

As she walked, those who recognised her as the seeress followed her.

On the village green she came to a halt and made her prediction.

'It will come to be that your oracle, Delphyne, will come to be seen as one who gnaws on the roots of a flourishing world, and will come to be named Nidhogg, or "Curse-striker".'

'No, no, no, this _cannot_ be true,' the people gathered about the seeress wailed in disbelief.

'It will come to be that a boy shall come, promising to rid the world of this serpent.'

'No, no, this _has_ to be a lie!'

'And all this will come to be because you have come to the belief that substance and form is the real measure of qualities, whether emotional or spiritual.'

'No, we refuse to believe this!'

'Yet look; the boy is handsome, with tumbling golden hair! And he rides upon a pure white horse, whose mane is every bit as golden as that of his rider.'

'He can only mean well; we can dissuade him from his task!'

'The boy speaks of old wives tales, holding back the progress of the people of the village. He blames the serpent, saying only the foolish could believe such a devilish creature means you well!'

'Yes, we're reasonable people; we wish to know right from wrong.'

'He sets off towards the very centre of the circling stones, where the entrance to Delphyne's underground lair lies. And here he gathers together the hay of the last harvest, setting it ablaze, that he might kill the fearsome dragon through its own devilish means!'

'Yes, yes, we all fear the fires of the underworld!'

'The boy returns victorious! And after nine years of ritual servitude in a far-off, sacred retreat, he at last reaches the peak of purification!'

'Yes, yes, yes, we must follow in his steps!'

Then, her predication delivered, the seeress turned and walked back into the mist.

And it was the last time anyone saw her or Delphyne.

*

# Chapter 52

'So, was the serpent actually _killed_?' Culldae curiously asked a woman who'd been standing alongside her as they'd both watched the enactment. 'I mean, we saw the girl _playing_ the serpent supposedly die in the flames; and yet the real serpent may have been left unscathed, for the boy merely set fire to the cave's _entrance_!'

'Yet as you heard,' the woman pointed out with a puzzled grin, 'Delphyne was never seen again!'

'But she vanished _before_ the boy arrived, surely? When did he arrive here?'

'It must have been a long long time ago,' a man close by them offered, seeing that the woman was now entirely bemused by Culldae's need to ask such unnecessary questions.

'No one can say exactly when,' a woman accompanying the man agreed.

'And why does he leave to serve in a temple or monastery or whatever this sacred place is?' Culldae persisted. 'And why _nine_ years. Is it linked to the Nine Mothers?'

'It's just a _tale_!' the first woman chuckled bemusedly. 'A retelling of what we're told happened a long time ago now.'

'No one knows the actual _details_ ,' the man added with a nod of his head.

No one was taking her seriously, Culldae realised.

'You're taking it all too seriously!' the second woman laughed. 'It's a _play_ ; that's all!'

*

They're probably right, Culldae reassured herself.

It was a _play_ ; and _nothing_ more.

She'd seen connections, of course, that they were naturally unaware of.

Connections with the boy, Heimdall.

With Gulltoppr too, with his mane of gold.

But the play was obviously referring to a time long past, a time long before Heimdall had set off on his own mission killing the serpents.

It was strange, though, that there was that further link with the nine years in the sacred place; for hadn't the dragon informed her that Heimdall's nine mothers would be questioning him as he sat for nine days in the Norns' seat?

Did that mean, then, that the hero of the tale had _died_?

But if that was the case – that the hero had died, while the 'demon' had survived – well, what would be the point of such a tale?

*

As Culldae had attempted to make a little more sense of her admittedly highly confused thoughts, she'd drifted off and away from the crowd that had collected about the green.

Unconsciously then, she'd drifted closer to where she'd tethered Gulltoppr and – realising this at last – she thought she'd check that he'd been rested, that – after his strenuous ride – she'd made sure that he'd cooled down at the right rate when she'd covered him with the blankets she'd drawn from her saddle bags.

He seemed fine, and well fed, she saw with a sense of relief.

The ground lying between the village and the encircling stones was now veiled in a night-time mist rising up from a damp earth, a sheet of thick haze glowing a mercurial silver under the moon's gaze.

A woman stepped out of the mist.

For a moment, Culldae thought the woman must be momentarily lost, that she would start walking back towards the village green.

Instead, the woman stayed where she was.

And with a raising of a hand, a slight flexing of a finger, she was asking Culldae to walk out towards her.

*

# Chapter 53

Anybody watching Culldae at this moment would have later sworn that the girl seemed perfectly unaware that she was untying her golden maned horse, that – with a gentle slap to the horse's flank – she was urging the beautiful creature to go, to ride off into the darkness.

This very same observer would also have sworn that Culldae appeared to be in a dream state, for she walked out beyond the edges of the village, where there was nothing to see now but a mist of the finest, silvered droplets.

And yet, looking more closely at that thickly hovering mist, the more observant witness would have had to admit that someone else had also decided to walk out into that surrounding haze. But this woman, on even closer inspection, might be nothing more than the imaginings of an overactive mind; for she wasn't of any real substance, any real form. She could have been of a purely spiritual quality, for she was as one with the mist rather than standing amongst it.

Perhaps it was a false creation, then, of the moon's glow upon the wavering spray of the mist.

The eye, the mind, can be so easily fooled by apparent manifestations erroneously conjured up from nothing but dark, poorly focused shapes, seeing there fearfully shadowing men, even vile creatures.

What made it all the more obvious, in fact, that this was indeed some curious mirage, some remarkable reflection of reality upon a silvery curtain, was that this supposedly spectral woman was wholly familiar.

For this apparent wraith and this girl Culldae could have been twins.

They were completely and utterly alike.

*

'How can this be?' Culldae found herself asking this mirrored image.

'How can there be _two_ of us, you mean?' the other Culldae asked.

Culldae nodded; yes, that _was_ what she meant.

'How many worlds are there, do you think?' the other Culldae wanted to know.

'Nine, I believe,' the Culldae of this world answered confidently.

'So it's said; and yet I don't always believe everything I hear, do you?'

'We're _surrounded_ by lies, it seems to me.'

'The truth lies amongst the lies,' the girl said, somehow deftly plucking a glowingly transparent bead from amongst all the other uncountable tears enveloping her. 'We choose what we wish to believe.'

She squeezed the dew like globe; and it burst into an even finer spray.

'And _you_?' the girl asked Culldae, looking intently into her eyes. 'What becomes of _you_ when you're gone?'

'Gone?'

'Are you expecting to live forever?' the girl asked with a sceptical chuckle. 'How can you correct the lies of those who will come after you? For they will surely form you into something more suited to their own beliefs: Culldae, the elvin princess, who treacherously killed her own brother!'

'Why would I kill my own brother? Who'd believe such nonsense?'

'Why, because you envied his crown, of course? Because you sought it for your husband, King Hiartur of Öland!'

'I've _heard_ of him; but I was never _married_ to him!'

'So why did you both ply your brother and his twelve berserkers with wine, only to attempt to kill them as they slept? King Krage's champion Bödvar Bjarki fought in the shape of a spirit bear; and yet even he fell, like his comrades. Because you'd conjured up an army of demons and serpents – you'd even raised the dead, it will be said – who'd been treacherously lying in wait all along!'

_'None_ of this is true–'

'But the _details_ ...surely they're a sign of truth? Only one of your brother's men, a man called Wigg survived. Yet when your husband Hiartur asked him to pledge his sword to his new lord, Wigg thrust the blade deep into the king's heart!'

'This happened – but no, not like _that_!'

'This is the nature of lies, I'm afraid; that they take certain truths, and make them their own.'

'Is there nothing I can do to ensure only the truth is told?' Culldae asked anxiously.

The girl answered with a morose shake of her head.

'The worst of it is, you die quite horribly; tortured for all your supposed sins!'

'This is a premonition?' Culldae wondered more fearfully than ever.

The girl shook her head once more, but this time with a wry grin.

'It's just a tale,' she reassured Culldae. 'You take these tales far too seriously, you know?'

*

'Then...do you know how I _will_ die?'

Culldae wasn't sure that this was a wise question to ask.

'Are you the seeress?' she added quickly. 'Is that it? Do you appear as the person whose future you wish to tell?'

'At some point in everyone's life, why, our life _ends_ , doesn't it?'

The girl looked towards the swirling gold of the ring upon Culldae's finger.

'Few are graced with _two_ such points in their lives,' she added bluntly.

Culldae instinctively reached for the ring with her other hand.

It abruptly dawned on her that she no longer felt that hot surging of blood she'd experienced when she'd first merely brushed against the Sviagris ring.

Why was that?

Was it because, as she now wore it, the connection was fully forged?

Or was it because there was no longer any need for a longing, a lusting, for it?

Or was it because the boy was dead?

Or, was it something to do with whatever this girl, this remarkable copy of herself, seemed to be implying; that she _herself_ was dead?

*

# Chapter 54

She _had_ been killed, of course, in Halga's hall.

Yet the Sviagris ring had restored her life, hadn't it, the same way it had brought Krage back to life?

How long had her brother been dead before the ring so fully restored him to life?

For far longer than _she_ had lain dead.

Then again, _his_ heart had always remained beating.

Whereas her heart had been pinioned by the blade.

How long had she been dead for?

Moments at most, Culldae reasoned.

How long was that, though, in any other sphere of life?

Any sphere of _death_?

The boy was fated to sit nine days in the Norns' seat.

She couldn't remember experiencing that.

But was that because it had all been, in her case, so fleeting?

Had she also sat within that seat, if only for a while?

She could probably remain here either for ever or for the rest of her life trying to work out whether she was already dead or not.

What would be the point of that, when all she had to do was dare to ask this seeress?

'Am I...am I _already_ dead?' she asked worriedly.

'Of course you're not,' the girl laughed. 'But _I_ am.'

*

Reaching out, the girl took Culldae's hand.

Culldae's blood _hissed_. Granted a life of its own, it rapidly snaked through her entire body.

The girl was a connection with another world.

The world of death.

Where she had briefly sat in the seat of the Norns.

*

# Chapter 55

It was cold; no, it was _freezing_!

This was the coldest place Culldae had ever been in.

The mist had vanished, along with the moon, and even the night itself.

And the girl.

Where had _she_ gone?

The silvery glow remained, however, but now came from a landscape of sparkling ice.

The ground was of ice, as clear and radiant as diamonds. What passed here for trees were soaring stalagmites of frozen snow, branching out like colossal snowflakes. There were stalactites too, stretching down as if forming an inverted wood, for what should have been the sky sparkled as if made of millions of tightly packed stars, a thickly glistening frost covering what appeared to be the chaotically coiling roots of a tree of unimaginable size.

This was a world lying deep beneath the warmth of the earth's surface.

It was the cavern, Culldae realised, where Delphyne of the play had once lived.

A cavern lying below the extensively spreading stone circle.

It was the Ninth World of Niflhel. Of Freyja herself.

Everywhere, _everything_ , was ice.

Well, everything apart from a ferociously broiling spring, its waters hot, steaming, as they bubbled up from the ground.

This was the Roaring Cauldron, the Hvergelmir Well, from where – Culldae had heard it said – all life had originated.

It hissed now, as if it were itself alive.

The waters churned, the surface ruffling like so many stormy waves, the currents beneath writhing.

It heaved, it coughed; and retched up countless golden rings.

Culldae fell back in surprise, stumbling, crumpling to the ground.

Then she saw she'd been mistaken.

The waters hadn't thrown up golden rings, but a spume of golden curls.

It was _the_ Sviagris.

It was the boy.

*

# Chapter 56

Culldae offered the startled, spluttering boy her hand.

'Take it!' she insisted. ' _Trust_ me!'

The boy needed no further prodding.

Accepting her offer of help, he took Culldae's hand, rising up from the broiling pool and stepping completely clear.

Maybe it was because the hand she'd proffered him was the one on which she wore the Sviagris ring.

Maybe it was because she was cold, whereas he was rising up from warm waters.

Whatever the reason, there was that unmistakable surging of blood, effervescently coursing through every artery, every finest vein in her body.

Perhaps he felt it too, she realised, for he abruptly appeared startled, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and – it seemed, going by his broadening smile – pleasure.

They each trembled, too – but yes, surely _that_ was the effect of their differing temperatures?

*

'What are _you_ doing here?'

They both asked the same question of the other at exactly the same time.

They laughed together too.

Seeing that he was still dressed in his silk gown, that he was entirely drenched too, Culldae feared Heimdall would freeze to death in an instant; but then, she thought, how could that possibly be, when he must _already_ be dead?

Or had he been granted new life, born again in this silvery womb?

Whichever way it was, her fears were thankfully immaterial, for the boy was abruptly dry, his tumbling curls now as brightly golden as the sun as they caught the coruscating light reflecting back from the sparklingly ice.

His hair was so bright, Culldae saw, that the smoothly mirrored surfaces of the frozen landscape – once so slivered, so mercurial in their colouring – were rapidly taking on his blazing tints of gold.

She gasped in surprise, her breathing strangely heavy, even leisurely.

Her heart had slowed too, the pounding deeper, louder.

The rush of blood was now also entirely audible.

With relief, Culldae saw that Heimdall must have heard and sensed these changes as well, for he returned her puzzled glances.

Yet it wasn't their own heartbeats, their own surging of blood, that they heard.

It was the walls, the ceiling, of the cavern.

For the now wholly yellowed roots of the great tree were fully alive, shifting – uncoiling.

*

The unwinding coils, of course, weren't the roots of some colossal tree.

They were those of an unimaginably large yellow serpent.

Languidly slithering one over the other, loops were untangling from twists, twirls were pulling clear of circlets.

And as if it were formed from an ever-changing molten gold, drips would fall, solidify, briefly becoming a head, or a tail, as if it pleased itself wherever it would appear.

From it all, at last, a truly great head took shape.

It swung out from the rest of its uncountable coils.

It hovered in the air above Culldae and Heimdall.

'Is this the promise fulfilled; the three rings?' the serpent hissed tiredly, as if only recently awoken.

*

# Chapter 57

'I'm...I don't know where to _find_ the three rings,' Culldae admitted to the serpent ashamedly, adding quickly, 'I _know_ my father–'

'Ah, but did you _really_ know him?' the serpent guffawed, its massive eyes as iridescent as impossibly immense jewels.

'I know he made promises he was _unable_ to keep.'

'How can you be here?' Heimdall suddenly asked the great wyrm curiously, as if the identity of the creature had abruptly dawned on him.

'As it is above, so below; as men are all too fond of saying,' the serpent replied calmly. 'Yet in this case, they are surprisingly correct; there must be _some_ connection for me to take advantage of – and now, Heimdall, _you're_ the link that's been so sorely lacking for too long now.'

'Me?' Heimdall replied – yet, Culldae noted, his surprise wasn't anywhere near as complete as she might have expected.

If there was indeed some form of bonding between the boy and this vast, ever coiling serpent, then who was to say just how much knowledge and understanding he had abruptly gained?

What had the blue serpent said the boy's name meant?

That he was a connection to the flourishing of the world.

'Delphyne; the serpent, Delphyne – she was your original connection with the earth?' Culldae asked uncertainly.

The great head nodded sadly.

'When the belief of men fades, it unfortunately has consequences on the energies that sustain the earth.'

The dragon sighed before continuing.

'Consciousness is a far greater power than they realise, for – in determining the positioning of those most minute of energies from which everything is formed – it also determines what is, and what is not.'

'Yet _you_ surround – you _contain_ – everything,' Heimdall protested in disbelief.

The serpent that encircles _everything_!

At last, Culldae understood the importance of the great wyrm they were standing before.

'How can you contain the consciousness, the beliefs, of men, when they think far too highly of themselves?' the serpent declared with a hint of exhausted exasperation. 'And so for the good of all, we determined that we must assert some control over that consciousness, those beliefs.'

The great head swung to one side, swung down and closer to Culldae.

'Hence the necessity of the three rings.'

*

Before Culldae could once again apologise that she had no idea where the rings might be found, the great head had swung aside, and dropped even lower.

With its eyes oddly focused upwards on its own slinking coils, its vast maw opening wider and wider, it resembled now some magnificent bloom: an iris, lotus, or a tulip, perhaps. And as if that great bloom were now unfurling, its many petals turning and falling aside, the serpent began to rapidly shed skin, to take on another form.

The curves of a woman were taking shape from the head, the lower portions retaining scaly serpentine coils, such that they could have been a fishy tail.

It was a nymph, Culldae realised.

But which one?

*

# Chapter 58

The great golden serpent was no blue, green, or even red serpent; each of these was merely a copy, a connection, to the _true_ serpent irrigating the earth, nourishing the soil, or energising a molten rock.

Here, rather, was an _original_ serpent.

The nymph, it must also be assumed, would be one of the _original_ Mardolls.

One of the Nine Mothers.

And yet that must be one of the Nine Mothers who was prepared to die.

For everyone, _everything_ , most die at least once to find themselves in Niflhel.

*

When Culldae had found herself in the seat of the Norns – yes, she recalled it well now, for the part of her that had briefly died hadn't vanished after all, but had become as one with her once more – she'd faced Ulfrún of Asgard.

Irpa, of Midgard, the Home of Men, had only – so _frustratingly_ for Irpa! – briefly followed.

So, whoever it was unhurriedly taking shape before them, it was neither Ulfrún nor Irpa.

But then, Irpa, despite her darkness, her lust for blood, for the dead, could never be of the world of Niflhel.

She couldn't die; or, rather, she _mustn't_ die.

She was the dark soil of the earth.

_Other_ things died _within_ her, so that she might nurture them and grant them a new life.

And then, at last throwing off the very last of the serpent's glittering scales – such that they rose and cascaded about her like a veiling fountain of golden tears, of wildly scattered and sown seeds – the goddess elegantly stepped forward from what had sleekly become neat, wholly formed coils once more.

She glowed, brighter than any sun.

For she was the golden wheat.

The wheat that had to die and lie in the frozen earth so that it might be reborn, fresher and more vibrant than ever.

It was Geror.

*

# Chapter 59

'I'm so privileged,' Geror announced gaily, without any hint of cynicism, 'to witness this marriage of all things.'

'Marriage?' Culldae repeated anxiously, realising that she still held Heimdall's hand, that she wore _his_ ring. 'There was never, _ever_ any _promise_ of _marriage_!'

'Yet your proudly wear the Sviagris ring!' Geror pointed out with a good-natured smile.

'I can't be _married_!' Culldae insisted, adding, despite the sudden hurt she caught in Heimdall's eyes, 'I have to seek out the three rings; to fulfil my _father's_ promise!'

Geror's expression was wry, a touch surprised.

'Why,' she said, ' _here_ are the three rings!'

"What?'

Culldae was startled, befuddled, abruptly glancing everywhere about herself in the hope that she might finally see these three rings.

'Where?' she asked with an exasperated frown, seeing no sign of any rings.

Geror gently placed her hands upon Culldae's upper arms.

'You, Culldae,' she confidently declared. ' _You're_ the three rings!'

*

# Chapter 60

'Me?'

Unlike when Heimdall had said this only moments earlier, Culldae's surprise _was_ complete.

How could _she_ be the three rings?

But then – just as she suspected Heimdall must have so readily come to accept the nature of his earthly connection with the encircling serpent through a transference of those very same energies– she sensed her own bonding forces coming to her aid.

The red serpent encircled its own fiery sphere of influence, while the green ringed that of the earth, and the blue the sea.

She was a child of all three forces sustaining the earth itself.

More importantly, they had been firmly bound with the beliefs, the consciousness, of man; for nothing else could bring the three spheres together so securely, so permanently, if only because it was man's uncontrolled nature that threatened the conjoining of the rings.

Her father's promises of payment had been fulfilled.

Through her.

Through her very creation.

*

_'Me_?'

Her full understanding of her role didn't make it any easier to accept.

Hadn't she been _used_ , after all?

As she'd pointed at herself in surprise – her shock, her anger, increasing rather than diminishing – her previously firm grasp of Heimdall's hand loosened.

Now she quickly drew her hand away.

Heimdall's face fell, his expression one of distress, even dread.

For with the breaking of the link surging between them, something immediately quietened deep inside her.

And yet, something else _quickened_!

'No!' she stormed, slipping off the Sviagris ring and furiously casting it to the floor.

*

# Chapter 61

'But your father's _promise_!' Geror cried in horror.

_'I_ made no promise,' Culldae retorted irately, turning away, preparing to run.

To run _where_ , exactly?

She didn't know how to get out of here.

And if she did – well, what would happen to her as soon as she left Niflhel?

She had cast away the ring that had been keeping her alive.

She still felt as if she were still alive, of course; but what if that was simply because she was in Niflhel, the land of the dead?

If she stayed here, she was effectively dead.

If she managed to leave, why, then she'd die.

What sort of choice was that?

*

# Chapter 62

She ran anyway.

She ran away from Geror, from a still dumbfounded Heimdall.

She couldn't stay here. Not in this forced marriage that would be convenient for everyone but herself.

Selfishness?

Well, what do they expect of her, when they'd chosen Halga to be her father?

'Would you deny everyone the chance to farm a flourishing land, to eat well?'

Geror's calmly persuasive voce followed Culldae no matter where she ran. And wherever Geror spoke, the land Culldae was running across changed, suddenly sprouting into fields of high growing wheat that glowed as gold as the sun.

'This is for the good of _everyone_ , Culldae!'

'Is it?' Culldae shot back, speaking to no one in particular, just answering Geror's claim without slowing her pace as she struggled to wade through the thickly flourishing corn. 'To have our beliefs dictated?

'What need is there for other beliefs if you are well fed and well cared for?'

The land now gained pleasant rises, a gentle undulating rolling of hillocks and shallow depressions, a subtle curving of the land that left Culldae confused as to the original direction she'd been heading in.

'Is being told what to believe really caring for us?' she yelled back at Geror, even as she abruptly found herself running along an increasingly curving bank that was too steep for her to climb.

'But your emotions make you all too fallible, while also fooling you into having an unfounded confidence in your own abilities. Can't you see this can only ever lead to mistakes, to faulty decisions?'

It was becoming increasingly impossible for Culldae to find a way out of this apparently endless cavern. The land beneath her feet shifted endlessly, as if alive, as if formed of serpentine coils that fell and rose and turned under their own will.

'Didn't _you_ allow both Heimdall and me to _learn_ from our mistakes? Isn't that how a _child's_ raised, so they can become fully independent of their mothers, their fathers?

The long hillock she was running along the top of suddenly began to swiftly gain in height, to rise up and up, breaking free of the rest of the soil.

Yes, just as Culldae had feared, it was no longer the land but the immensely thick, effortlessly snaking body of the dragon.

She tried to run down the curling hoop she found herself on, to run down its sides, to run anywhere that would get her to point where she could leap down from it and land safely on a ground being rapidly left far below as the twirling coils continued to soar upwards. Yet Culldae's every attempt to get clear of the serpentine body was thwarted, for it merely turned to ensure she was still running across its top, or swiftly brought up another hooping section to catch her whenever she dared to at last leap out into the air.

In a series of remarkably quick flicks and twists, the serpent suddenly flipped up a completely looping coil that rose high above Culldae, such that she was forever running now along its ever shifting base, like some poor mouse caught within the inner rim of a rapidly turning cart wheel.

Worse still, this spinning wheel was hurtling upwards, its upper sections smashing through the rock of the cave's ceiling. Its ascent was unstoppable, for it shattered anything in its way, breaking boulders as easily it did hard packed soil.

Culldae had stopped running.

She was having to cling onto the serpentine body, the ascent so swift now that she feared she might fall, or might be caught in the tumbling rocks falling everywhere about her.

It wasn't as if she could run anywhere now anyway, as there was nothing but solid earth surrounding her.

She was confused.

Why was the serpent rising up towards the earth's surface so quickly like this, helping her break free of the cavern?

Helping her leave Niflhel behind!

And when she left Niflhel, of course – well, she would die.

*

# Chapter 63

Did Geror really want her dead?

Culldae couldn't see any reason why Geror would wish to kill her.

Geror wanted her to marry Heimdall: to bring all the spheres of influence together – not to die.

And yet, under the control of Geror's many winding coils, they were now undoubtedly rapidly leaving Niflhel behind.

They hurtled upwards through the dark soil.

They erupted though the surface, sending the earth itself fountaining upwards before it fell back as a black rain.

Above Culldae, the perfect loop of the serpent soared high into the early morning air, a glittering golden ring shining as brightly as the newly rising sun.

Culldae gasped.

She was still alive.

Had the return of the part of her that had died earlier restored her to a new life after all?

Or was she still alive for some other reason?

By her side, she felt a light shower of corn seeds brush gently against her shoulder. Looking up, following the direction from which they were slowly tumbling, she saw that higher up, they were a shower of tears of gold.

Higher still, the serpent coil appeared to be partially melting under the sun's growing heat, the scales dripping away as if made of molten gold.

'You _are_ a creature of your fathers!'

Geror was standing by her, taking form from the coming together of the languidly drifting seeds.

'And whose fault is that?' Culldae asked. 'Who chose the soil for _my_ nurturing?'

Geror smiled; and yet again became nothing but seeds caught on a cold breeze.

'You're right,' she breathed in her parting. 'We made a mistake.'

As she entirely vanished, the serpent coils slithered once more; but this time they rushed back into the earth, leaving Culldae standing there on her own.

*

# Chapter 64

The village appeared deserted.

The fires that had blazed so strongly the night before were now dying, a mix of black ash and sparkling red embers.

Everyone had left, or were now in bed, recovering from the celebrations.

When Culldae arrived at the field where she had left Gulltoppr, he too was standing there all alone.

She tenderly rubbed his forehead as she untied him, asking his forgiveness for deserting him for so long.

'Where should we go, do you think?' she asked him next, realising she had no clear idea what she intended to do.

She placed a foot in the stirrup, swung herself up into the saddle.

With a prodding of her knees, she urged him into a trot, and then a gallop, wanting to leave the village far behind.

She wanted to clear her head.

She saw no reason to choose where she wanted to end up.

She now believed only one thing; and for the moment, it was enough.

For better or worse, for right or wrong, our belief ultimately dictates the flow of the earth.

What will be will be

There is no _must_ be!

End

Although I usually attempt to accurately relate any histories when drawing upon past events, in this case I've made certain changes to the stories passed down to us.

Far from being sacrificed as a boy, Krage goes onto become the king who, with the help of his mother, Yrsa, steals the Sviagris Ring from the King of Sweden. However, it is true that his father Halga had previously owned this ring, using it to purchase land from his brother Roas.

The meeting within the story involving Krage, Culldae, and Halga is a rewritten version of a parley that took place between Krage, Sculldae, and her husband Hiartur, King of Öland.

Then again, it is in this telling of our tale that Sculldae is claimed to be half-elvin; and I'm pretty convinced that that _must_ be a lie, aren't you?

If you enjoyed reading this book, you might also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest – The World Turns on A Card – Palace of Lace

The Wailing Ships – The Bad Samaritan – The 13th Month – The Silvered Mare – SpinDell

Swan Moon – The Unicorndoll – Lesser Nefertiti – My Shrieking Skin – Stone in Love

