“That is my mother, Aska, the Froa of Oskutree,” a voice said, like the creaking of branches and rustle of leaves. Elvar and the others started, looking around and reaching for weapons.
Uspa saw her first.
The woman carved into the tree was moving. There was a cracking of bark, a splintering sound and she was stepping out from the trunk. She stood there a moment, stretching, a series of crackles through her limbs; she tilted her neck and there was another crack.
“I have been waiting for you a very long time,” she muttered. Then she was walking towards them. Her hair swirled about her shoulders like roots as she took careful steps through the ash. Elvar and the others just stared, wide-eyed. Sighvat hefted his bearded axe.
“And who are you?” Uspa asked.
“I am V?rn Askasdottir, Froa-spirit and newborn guardian of Oskutree,” the woman said. Now that she was closer to them Elvar saw that she was tall, taller even than Sighvat. Her skin was grey as an ash tree, dark grain running through her like veins. Bark rippled across her arms and legs; her torso was yellowed with lichen.
“And who are you, that has come to disturb my sleep?” she asked, pausing a dozen paces away and looking intently at them, head to one side, her gaze piercing. Her eyes touched Elvar and she took a step back; it felt like leaves and branches were brushing across her skin.
“The blood of the gods has faded in so short a time,” she said, taking a long, deep-shuddering breath. Her bare feet twisted in the earth, toes digging deep, like roots. “Though they live on, still, faint as a whisper in some of your veins. Hundur the hound, Snaka and Orna, and Rotta, too.”
Rotta? thought Elvar.
V?rn took another step closer to them, her face proud and strong. “Why are you here?” she said. There was a threat in her voice.
Agnar stepped forwards. “To gaze on Oskutree and the Battle-Plain,” he said. “In the new world the remnants of the gods are valued. Prized. We would take some of them.”
V?rn snorted, a twisted curl of her bark-covered lips.
“You are carrion-crows, then, come to pick the dead clean.” She nodded to herself, then waved her staff. “Disappointing. I had hoped for something… more. Never mind, just take what you will, but you cannot approach the dead tree. No hand may touch it, or foot tread upon it.”
Sighvat grunted and stepped forwards.
“We have crossed the Isbrún Bridge, fought a swarm of vaesen,” he said. “And now that we are here, I’ll not have some talking branch tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“Not another step,” V?rn said to him, raising a hand, one long, twig-like finger waving at him, like a mother scolding her bairn.
Sighvat raised his axe and swung at her. He was tall, broad-shouldered and fat-bellied, but he moved faster than any would think by looking at him. His axe was a blur, hissing towards V?rn’s head.
A whispered word, a blurred movement and Sighvat’s axe was crunching into her staff. It sank in a way, wedged, V?rn holding it two-handed, eyes flashing with green fire.
Sighvat yanked on the axe but it stuck fast.
A twist of her wrists and V?rn ripped the axe from Sighvat’s grip, struck him in the head with her staff and he fell like a poleaxed bull. He lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding. He shifted and tried to roll over.
“R?tur, sinum jarearinnar, vaxa og binda tennan feita mann,” V?rn breathed and the ground around Sighvat moved, rippling and twisting, as if a hundred serpents writhed and burrowed beneath him. Vines burst from the ash-covered soil, wrapping around Sighvat’s body, drawing tight like fetters until he was held firm.
“I do not like axes,” V?rn said. She glared down at Sighvat. “Or the fat men who wield them.”
The vines constricted and Sighvat groaned.
V?rn looked at Agnar and the others.
“Who else wishes to touch Oskutree’s sacred ground?” she whispered.
No one moved.
“Will you release him,” Agnar said, crouching beside Sighvat and resting a hand on his chest, “if I swear we shall not set foot on that tree?”
Sighvat groaned and looked wild-eyed at Agnar.
“I don’t like this, chief,” he grunted.
Agnar patted his vine-wrapped belly.
“When you are ready to leave, and you have kept your word,” V?rn said. “Then, I shall let this fat maggot go free.”
“Heya,” Agnar agreed, standing and stepping away. “We want nothing from the tree, anyway. What would we do with the remains of a dead tree?” He paused, looking back at V?rn. “Why do you still guard it? What is there left to guard except ash and cinder?”