The other woman was silent for a long moment, then said, “I look forward to hearing your story, Freya Born-in-Fire.”
“Then it is settled,” Bjorn said. “If you hurry, you’ll be able to reach my father’s warrior and the horses before they leave. Else you have a long walk ahead of you.”
Steinunn crossed her arms, meeting his stare. “You cross Snorri at every turn, Bjorn. There will come a day that you pay the price for that.”
“But not today.” Bjorn gestured to me. “Lead the way.”
Knowing my nerves would fail me if I delayed another second, I started toward the opening in the cliff wall, Bjorn following at my heels. Each rush of steam looked like breath on a cold day from a great sentient beast that consumed the wary and unwary alike. “What do we do for light?”
In answer, Bjorn’s fiery axe appeared in his hand, and together, we stepped inside.
I’d thought the tunnel would immediately rise in some form of staircase inside the cliff, but what greeted us instead was a passage that carved deeper into the mountain. Gouts of steam hissed from cracks in the floor, forcing us to time each step lest we be scalded. Bjorn’s axe cast a pool of light that reached only a half dozen feet, the darkness seeming to consume the brilliance of the god-fire.
“Do you really think she’s spying for Snorri?”
“Of course she is,” Bjorn answered. “She’s the perfect spy, for everyone answers her questions in the hope of a mention in one of her songs. Even if they didn’t, she’s always lurking in the corners, watching and listening. You’d do well to mind your words around her.”
On that, he might have a point, but…“I feel bad for her.”
“Why? She’s given everything.”
“There’s something sad about her. I…” I shook my head, unable to give justification to the feeling. Besides, Steinunn, and whether or not she was spying for Snorri, was hardly my foremost concern. “How did the draug come to be here?” I cast a backward glance toward the entrance, only to find the sunlight already gone, the tunnel having bent without my noticing. “Who were they?”
“It is forbidden to carry a weapon through the temple borders or to take a life not in sacrifice to the gods,” Bjorn answered. “As the story goes, a jarl coveted the wealth of Fjalltindr and sought to take it. He and his trusted warriors came for the ritual, and in the celebration that followed, they stole much of the gold and silver that had been left as offerings and fled with it down this path. One by one, they were struck down by divine force, made to bear the burden of their master’s curse and guard the tunnels until the end of days. Most believe that the treasure they stole still remains within the caverns, and many have attempted to steal it for themselves. None have ever returned, and it is said that any who touch the treasure of Fjalltindr are cursed to become draug themselves. So if you see anything valuable on the steps, best leave it alone.”
“Noted,” I muttered, stepping over a dead rabbit, its skin torn by what looked like claws. “What about your axe? Can you still call it within the temple’s borders?”
“I wouldn’t even attempt to do so.” Bjorn stopped at the base of a staircase leading up, each step only half a handspan deep, the rock slimy with moisture. At his feet, the hindquarters of a deer sat rotting. “It’s a weapon.”
“What about my shield?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You willing to risk finding out?”
Given what had happened to the jarl and his men, that was a definite no.
The steps rose up and up, and it wasn’t long until my calves screamed from the effort of keeping my balance on the slippery rock. I suspected it was worse for Bjorn, for he was tall enough to have to hunch over, but he never paused.
And with every step, the mountain pressed in.
There was no way to know how deep inside we were, or even how far off the ground we’d traveled, and the walls of the tunnel seemed to narrow even as the air grew hotter and more fetid. Strange sounds filled the cavern, and more than once I swore I heard the sound of feet. The whisper of strange voices. I sucked in breath after rapid breath, my heart beating chaotically in my chest as the walls moved ever closer.
It’s just your imagination, I told myself. There’s plenty of space.
Bjorn chose that moment to grumble, “This is the first time in my life I’ve wished I were smaller,” before turning sideways to squeeze between stone walls, moisture sizzling as it struck his axe. Then he stopped, turning his head to look back at me. “You all right, Born-in-Fire?”