The Winter Riddle Read online

  He sat back down upon his golden throne and assumed a commanding pose. Volgha guessed that it was hard for him to appear anything but godlike, especially upon a golden throne.

  “Many of them will die,” said Volgha.

  “The halls of Valhalla await,” he replied.

  Well, it seems he’s thought of everything. Nothing to do but ask for some anchovies and be on our way, right?

  Volgha stood there staring for a moment, but could not think of anything else that she could say that might convince him to intervene. What do you say to a father who would prefer that his children meet their ends as brave warriors than live by his good graces?

  Nothing. You talk to the children.

  You were very diplomatic with Odin, said Osgrey. You’ll make a fine Warden.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Volgha.

  I’ll do all of the bossing around, cawed Redcrow. You just talk to the spirits. We’re a team, right?

  Volgha didn’t know what to say to the Vikings, or how they would take it. At least the guards outside the hall of King Harald knew a witch when they saw one, and refrained from giving her any grief. She didn’t even have to threaten them with warts and boils. One of them offered to introduce her to the king, after seeing Redcrow on her shoulder.

  Ale and mead flowed freely in the king’s feast hall. Volgha thought that the Vikings truly must have been made in the image of their gods. While the food and drink could not have compared to the banquet she’d attended in Asgard, the customs were very much the same. The shouting was largely composed of one person toasting something—“glorious battle” was a common refrain—and everyone within earshot responding at the top of their lungs. Every table was a rollicking maelstrom of axes, shields, beards and furs, everyone toasting, fighting, and hailing gods, brave men and brave women alike.

  The warmth of the fires drove the chill from Volgha’s bones as she walked toward the high table where King Harald sat with his wife and daughters and sons. They were all smiling, laughing and toasting with the rest of the Vikings. She hated to ruin their revelry with bad tidings, but it was the right thing to do.

  “Your Majesty!” the guard shouted over the din. “I present Volgha, the Winter Witch, here to bear you some pressing news!”

  “Well met, witch,” he said. “Sit with me, and sup at my table!”

  “I fear that I may not be welcome after I’ve delivered my news, Your Majesty.”

  King Harald’s smile fell somewhat, and he raised his hands outward with his palms facing down. The guards beside the table thumbed the butts of their spears against the wooden floor, and the roar of the feasting Vikings faded to a rumbling murmur. King Harald stood up.

  “Hold your tongues and lend your ears,” he said. “We are visited by a witch, whose prognostication may prove dire! Speak, Volgha the Winter Witch! Let us hear the message that you bear.”

  Listen to King Fancypants, cawed Redcrow. Better make it good, they’re expecting a show.

  All eyes turned to Volgha. She felt herself blush, suddenly wishing that she’d prepared for this.

  “The … winds of … fate … blow hard and cold,” she said, hoping that sounded sufficiently ominous. “The frost giants, long ago banished from Midgard by Odin, will very soon make their return. This winter will be made even darker than most, for war comes to Midgard!” There, that should have been sufficiently theatrical, she thought.

  The entire hall was silent. She looked up at King Harald and saw his eyes go wide. Then he turned to look out over his people, and with a smile, shouted a single word.

  “War!”

  The room erupted in cheering. Flagons raised high, the Vikings shouted, “War!” back at their king. They drank, they cheered, they punched each other. A couple of Vikings rushed toward Volgha and lifted her up onto their shoulders. Redcrow flapped and rose up, finding himself a perch among the rafters.

  “This is joyous news!” shouted King Harald. “You really had me going, pretending it was something ominous!”

  “What?” shouted Volgha, incredulous. “You do understand what it means, don’t you?”

  “Of course! We’re going to war!”

  He’s a fan of war then, cawed Redcrow. All right, why not? Anchovies all around!

  “Yes, war!” shouted Volgha, as she scrambled down from the shoulders of the Vikings. “Against the frost giants! Many of your people will die!”

  “Aye,” shouted King Harald. “They’ll die in the glory of battle, and be carried by Valkyries up to Valhalla!”

  “Valhalla!” shouted the entire assembly, as a single voice.

  It sounds like they’re on the same page as Odin.

  Flagons went up, and they drank a toast to war, to King Harald, to Volgha, to Valhalla, and even once to the frost giants.

  Are they really so eager to die? asked Osgrey. I know their gods tell them that they must die in battle to reach Valhalla, but it’s not much nicer than Midgard, really.

  “You’ve been to Valhalla?” Volgha asked.

  Just the once, said Osgrey. A lot like this, really. Mostly Vikings drinking and punching each other.

  A place was made for Volgha beside King Harald, and hot food and warm wine were set down before her. She was hungry, so why not? Let the Vikings take the news as they liked while she tucked in.

  Share and share alike, cawed Redcrow. He flapped down to land in front of her and took a bit of mutton from her plate.

  “A magnificent raven,” said King Harald. “A friend of yours?”

  “My familiar,” replied Volgha, who’d given up on correcting the raven thing. “He has a penchant for anchovies if you have any handy.”

  “Some brined sardines,” King Harald instructed a servant.

  He ran off, returning momentarily with a plate of sardines for Redcrow.

  Not bad, he cawed. Not anchovies, but not bad.

  “A glorious omen,” said King Harald. “Odin sing your praises, you bring wondrous news!”

  “Most would not think so.”

  “Most fear death,” said King Harald. “Most will not reach Valhalla! I might fear death as well, if old age taking me in my sleep were the same as dying with my sword in my hand.”

  “Is it not the same?”

  “Of course not! Old men who die in their beds don’t reach Valhalla! You have to die in battle, everyone knows that!”

  “Fair enough,” responded Volgha. The food was very good, so she and Redcrow ate their fill.

  “Take a bed in my hall,” said King Harald after dinner. “This evening, or any evening! A bearer of such excellent tidings always has a place here.”

  “Thank you,” said Volgha. “What happens next?”

  “With the war? I will call my banners, rally the great houses. We will assemble on the anointed fields of battle, and await the giants there.”

  “You already know where they’re going to attack?”

  “It has long been known. Outside the city, down the road that leads from the great stone gate. We will set up our tents and await our foe.”

  Volgha nodded. “I have a friend. His name is Santa.”

  “Santa!” said the king with a smile. “A great and wise man. We have an alliance.”

  “He is readying his soldiers now.”

  “The Faesolde,” he said. “Marvelous! We will fight beside them against the darkness. He is ever welcome at my table!”

  With that, the king and his retinue left the hall. The drinking and revelry carried on into the evening. Volgha sat aside, sipping wine while Redcrow picked at his sardines.

  You know, said Osgrey, you and Santa may be the only ones who don’t want this war.

  “Who wants war?” she asked. “They’re all fools.”

  Perhaps. But if they’re all keen on charging at each other for a spot of bloodshed, you’d be the bigger fool for standing in the way.

  Volgha said nothing. She thought Osgrey might be right, and they shared thought space. No need to give him the satisfactio
n of acknowledging it aloud. She stared into the fire, thinking of her sister and the dark times to come.

  She slept very little, partially due to the impending war, and partially due to the profound snoring of the Vikings in King Harald’s hall. It was too loud and forceful to have been naturally occurring, it seemed. They must have taken lessons.

  She passed through the doors and into the brisk winter night. That was it, then. Not even a sliver of indigo remained on the horizon. The long dark of winter had finally settled over the North Pole, and unless they managed to defeat the frost giants, none of them might ever see the sun rise again.

  She mounted her broom and rose up into the air. Bracing herself against the chill, she aimed toward Santa’s Village, and prayed that time was still on her side as she rode off into the freezing night.

  22

  After everything that they’d been through together, Volgha was starting to count Santa among her friends. Still, she decided that it was probably best to knock on the gates of Santa’s Village rather than simply flying over them and landing in the square. She could plainly see that there were archers patrolling the walls, and something flying over the wall very quickly in the dark could easily be met with a very put-an-arrow-in-it-and-ask-who’s-there-please-afterward sort of welcome.

  She knocked, then stood in the light of the faerie lamps with Redcrow on her shoulder. The little portal in the gate slid open and shut again without so much as a word. The gate opened, and an elf waved her in.

  “Mistress Volgha,” he said with a smile, “you’re always welcome, no need to knock!”

  “Thanks,” she replied, sparing him the rationale. “Where’s Santa?”

  “He’s with the captains of the Faesolde in the armory,” answered the elf. “They’re not to be dist—”

  “In the armory,” she said, keeping a brisk stride. “Thanks.”

  “Yes, but they’re not to be—”

  “You’d be easier to understand if you weren’t interrupted so often!” Volgha was practically jogging now, the distance between them growing rapidly.

  “But it’s you who’ve been—”

  “See what I mean?”

  Volgha was sure that if she turned around, he’d have had a very crestfallen expression on his face. By not turning around, she saved him the embarrassment. That was nice of her.

  Those two look like they mean business, said Osgrey.

  There were two guards standing outside of the armory, all stiff and staring straight ahead, like it must say you’re supposed to do in every guarding manual ever written. Volgha decided to try something she’d seen done once and simply kept walking toward the door without slowing down. By walking at the door with enough purpose, she suggested to the guards that her walking through the door was the natural progression of events taking place, and that they’d be doing something very foolish by trying to impede them.

  Their spears crossed in front of her at the last second. It happened so quickly that she wasn’t sure if they were immune to the power of suggestion, or if she’d somehow hesitated at the last moment and the suggestion just fell apart. Oh well, she thought, on to plan B.

  She turned to peer down at the slightly shorter of the two guards. She was taller than both of them but reasoned that the greater the distance in height, the more likely she’d be able to intimidate him.

  She didn’t actually say anything, but her look said “did you know that your spear is blocking my way? It shouldn’t be.”

  The look was met by a deep and disciplined silence. It was the sort of silence that meant “you’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

  It’s a very intimidating look, cawed Redcrow. You should try telling him you’re the Warden.

  Not yet, she’s not! said Osgrey.

  It seemed that there was no fast-talking the Faesolde. She pounded on the door with her fist instead.

  “Klaus!” she yelled at the door. “This can’t wait!”

  The door was opened from the inside, and the guards outside uncrossed their spears. Striding past the armored elf who’d opened it, she saw Santa standing in the center of the room with four elves. He was wearing his great suit of red steel armor, his right hand holding a long-hafted warhammer that rested on the ground. His helmet was under his left arm.

  The elves were all wearing their armor as well. The five of them stood there silently in the center of the room, eyes on the floor as though they were praying.

  Fat load of good that’ll do, cawed Redcrow, unless they’re praying to the frost giants. Do you think they’d listen?

  Volgha stood quietly for a moment, thinking perhaps they’d finish up and acknowledge her. She looked around the room and saw that all of the armor stands were empty. That made sense. They were preparing for war.

  The five of them nodded to each other, then the elves turned and started walking toward the door.

  “What is it?” asked Santa, looking at Volgha.

  “Odin’s staying out of it,” she replied.

  “Why?”

  “Not fair to the Vikings, I guess, if they never get a chance to die in battle.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t!”

  “From their point of view.”

  “It’s still stupid.”

  Santa shrugged. “You won’t bring progressive ideas to Viking culture fast enough to make a difference before the frost giants arrive.”

  “Probably not,” said Volgha. “You’d think they’d be less interested in dying, though.”

  “What was it that couldn’t wait?”

  “Just that, and King Harald says he already knows where the battle will be fought.”

  “As do we,” said Santa. “He’s raising his banners then?”

  “Yes,” said Volgha. “How is it that everyone knows where this battle is going to happen but me?”

  “Probably because you’re not a Viking.”

  “And you are?”

  Santa paused. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it before any words made it out. Then he opened his mouth again and gave the words a sporting chance.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “If we live through this, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I look forward to it,” said Volgha.

  “We’re marching for Midgard right after breakfast. Will you join us?”

  “Gladly,” said Volgha. “I’m starving.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome to that of course,” said Santa. “But I meant will you join our war march?”

  “Oh.” Volgha giggled. It felt good to giggle. It had been a long time. Not very witch-like.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to raid your herbs, then make my way for Howling Hill. I think I’ll be a lot more helpful from behind the magical amplifiers.”

  “Take whatever you need.”

  Santa had very deep feelings about pre-war breakfast. It could be the last feast for some of his troops, so it should be a good one. His chefs had pulled out all of the stops. Honeyed ham, flapjacks, sausages, fruit, and more made the tables groan under their weight. Exotic delicacies from foreign lands, which Santa must have been saving for a special occasion, were mixed in with the rest. No anchovies, to Redcrow’s chagrin.

  Volgha was enchanted by the tingling sensation that this “coffee” gave her. She pocketed a fair quantity of the roasted beans for later, having convinced Santa that they’d surely improve the potency of her magic. Yes, that was why.

  Afterward, when they were all milling about the village square in their armor and belching their approval to the chefs, Volgha asked Santa about the stirrup affixed to the butt end of his warhammer. He gave her a big smile and motioned for her to follow him. Several rows of ice blocks stood in front of a barn. The ones that hadn’t been broken were about ten feet tall and six feet wide and thick.

  “I’m not fond of fighting,” said Santa, “but I’m proud of this design.
”

  He put his foot in the stirrup and pulled up on the hammer. There was a series of clicks, and when he was finished, the stirrup was hanging from the butt of the hammer by a two-foot-long steel chain. He swung the hammer at one of the ice blocks, and it practically exploded, sending a hail of ice shards raining down around them. The stirrup was flush with the butt of the hammer again.

  “Spring-loaded,” explained Santa. “So long as I have time to set it, it will incapacitate a frost giant in a single hit.”

  “Impressive,” said Volgha. “Too bad there’s only one of you.”

  “True,” said Santa, “but there are lots of them.”

  Volgha looked at the armored Faesolde troops. They were carrying long spears, and she noticed that they had stirrups built into the bottoms of them.

  “The same idea,” said Santa.

  “I hope it’s enough,” said Volgha.

  “They’ve got one apiece,” said Santa. “That’s all we need.”

  “I meant … never mind.”

  “We’re off then,” said Santa. “Is there anything you need from me before we go?”

  “Krespo,” Volgha replied. “Leave him with me.”

  “Krespo? He’s no warrior.”

  “It’s not a warrior that I need,” said Volgha. “It’s quick hands.”

  Santa nodded, and then strode off. He said something quietly to an elf who was passing by. The elf looked at Volgha, then went running off toward the main workshop.

  The Faesolde mounted up in two columns of horses, and Santa mounted one at the front. As the gates opened before them, the wolves ran out howling.

  “Ya!” Santa shouted, snapping his reins. The columns followed him into a gallop, and they were off into the night.

  A couple of minutes later, Volgha stood in the square. She sighed, her coffee-jittered brain running through the lists of things she’d need to prepare for the trials to come.