Modern fiction based on the Eddas and Sagas
Svanhild urged Hrolf and Thordis, her youngest children, deep into the trees behind the long house. Weeping and terrified they obeyed without question, and Svanhild ran back to defend the holding with her husband and eldest son.
Twenty men climbed up from the beach towards Hall's isolated farmstead, their wolf headed ship barely visible through the mist on the shingle below. The Hall's fishing boat and the meadow hayrick were already burning from their passing. The family's stand was hopeless, but pride refused to allow the pirates to destroy the farm and goods which ensured their survival over the long winter. Svanhild grabbed her heavy washing beater from the threshold and stood beside the menfolk. The pirate leader advanced, he wore a cloak of wolf pelts fastened with gold, his clothes were fine but soiled and crumpled from a long voyage at sea. He measured the defenders with obvious contempt, and raised his battle axe to sweep them away.
The fight lasted moments, young and unskilled in battled, Erik fell to the raiders with barely a blow exchanged. Hall fought like a bear and took many wounds before falling, but was overwhelmed by the raider's numbers. Svanhild screamed in tortured anguish, tears blurring her vision, and lashed out with her beater. A raider raised his sword to block her wild swing, jarring her arm, the blade had bitten deeply into the wood and she struggled to free it. She took a blow to the back of her head from the flat of a raider's sword. She fell forward half stunned. The raiders rolled her over and hands rough from sailing and weapon-work pinned her down. The wolf pelted leader stood over her, grinning as he hauled up her shift. Svanhild screamed again in pain and rage as he entered her, 'Thor curse you.' she gasped.
The leader spat at her as he pulled away, 'I don't think so.' He grinned as he revealed a silver hammer amulet hidden beneath his cloak. 'I have nothing to fear from Thor.'
Svanhild stared at him through the haze of her injuries. 'My family have counted Thor as a friend for countless generations, our ancestors will insist our plight is heard, and justice found. He will hear me.'
The man frowned, drew his sword and set the point against her chest. 'He won't hear you now.' he said as he pushed against the blade.
……………..
The woman sobbed, her hands clenched in anguish and pain of her loss. Gradually she became aware that she was no longer lying in her own blood at the farm, she was in a large hall lit by torches. Confused, her vision blurred by running tears, she lifted her hands into sight, they shimmered before her, as insubstantial as moonlight.
'I'm dead.' she whispered.
'Yes.' a voice replied.
Svanhild looked up at the speaker, she stood below a massive high seat with towering pillars the thickness of the largest tree trunks. A noble looking lord and lady sat above her, the lady's face beautiful and framed by gleaming golden hair. The man who had spoken regarded her with obvious concern, his long red hair cast a fiery glow in the dimly lit hall. She smiled in understanding 'Thor.'
The god nodded. 'You have suffered much, too much to enjoy the peaceful existence of your family's hall in Hela's realm. We both felt,' he thunderer gestured towards his wife 'that you would be eager to avenge your loss and protect you children. That is why you are here.'
Svanhild thought of her children alone at the isolated farm and fresh tears flowed 'Please, I would like that very much.'
'As you are, as a spirit, you could achieve little on Middle Earth. I can give you the strength to bring justice for your family, but there is a price. Once your task is complete your spirit will be bound to mine, you will be distant from your family both living and dead.'
The woman considered. 'Did the raiders discover Hrolf and Thordis?'
'No.'
'Then I must return, they will not survive with what the raiders would have left them.'
Thor smiled encouragement, 'Very well. I will give you my strength and knowledge to speed your task. I give you three days, return here when all is done. I will not interfere unless you misuse the power I am lending you.' He beckoned indicating that she should sit beside him on the high seat, she did so, feeling most uncomfortable, for she barely felt the gold inlaid oak of the high seat where it touched her shimmering form. The god grasped her shoulder 'Good luck.' he said.
…………
Svanhild stood on the beach below Hall's farm, gentle waves washed against her feet, slowly flattening the scar the raiders ship had left in the shingle. She stood watching the sea with new understanding. Now she knew it's depths and felt the forces that caused the tide to rise.
Her smile faded as rising anger and force of purpose distracted her musing and she turned to face her devastated home. A vision of tumbled walls and smouldering rafters was blurred by fresh tears. She ran up the rough sea grass above the shingle, startling ravens into the air, the bloody remains of her husband and son lay abandoned beside her own corpse. Several hours had passed since the raiders had left and the wargod's birds had feed well. More distressing than the ruined forms of her family was the realisation that young Hrolf and Thordis had clearly come to investigate the carnage the raiders had left. There was no sign of them now, but the blood stained ground bore the clear prints of Thordis's tiny feet and the white gown of Svanhild's corpse had been clenched by small hands wet with blood.
With an aching heart Svanhild followed the tracks the children had left. A good half mile from the farm, Svanhild saw them, Hrolf sat with his head bowed and his back turned to the ruin of his home, Thordis lay sobbing in his arms. Although eager to comfort them, Svanhild wondered at the wisdom of appearing before them, Hrolf and Thordis were coming to terms with the death of their family, and showing herself to them would only force a second parting when the three days had passed. Her most pressing task was to secure the childrens' future, find them a new home and guardian. They could not remain at this ruined farm. A new life would require silver if they were not to be given a life of servitude. Svanhild had a little, hidden deep beneath the hearth in the farmstead, but not enough.
The sun blazed down from its zenith, reminding Svanhild that her children had not eaten all day, and however filled with grief they would soon feel hungry. Spurred to action she ran back to the smouldering farmstead. The raiders had needed supplies, all the food stores had been taken, down to the last swine and the last salted fish. Heaving heavy broken beams away from the hearth she dug into the packed soil and retrieved her leather bag of silver and poured out the contents into her lap, a few silver coins from England and strange eastern lands glittered among fragments of arm rings and harness mounts. Svanhild needed a market to get her children's food, the nearest town of any size was a hundred miles away. She considered possibilities, Thor's knowledge came to her easily. She grinned indulgently, closed her eyes and concentrated hard.
The thick smell of city life told her of the magic's success before she opened her eyes. Birka! she smiled in wonder I always wanted to come here. She stepped out of the alley into one of the main streets. The city bustled with people of all kinds, from the slaves to the wealthy merchants and warlords. Almost dreamily Svanhild followed the crowd along a row of traders houses and booths all displaying wares of every description. Being used to the quiet life of an isolated farm the noise overwhelmed her, oxen bellowed from market pens, a blacksmith laboured nearby and traders shouted to draw attention to their wares. A merchant selling ships supplies drew her attention, she exchanged half an ounce of her silver for dried meat, fish, fruit, hard bread and travellers cakes rich with fat and honey. Her purchase attracted unwelcome attention, a rough looking farmhand grabbed her arm, his breath stunk of ale 'Can I help you missy?'.
'No, thank you.' Svanhild replied, she realised that she must look quite a sight, bare foot in her shift, her hair still lose about her shoulders with a pouch full of silver.
'Where's yer man?' his hand was still clamped about her arm. 'My husband is dead, now please let me go.'
'Awl, come with me I'll look after you.' His left hand snaked around her grasping her breast. Svanhild dropped her food sack, spun round and kneed the man in the groin, the man was thrown across the street and crashed into an animal pen landing in several weeks worth of dung and straw. Svanhild hurried away as passers-by jeered and laughed at the drunkard's plight as her groaned and struggled to escape the grime.
Svanhild bought blankets of thick wool and a tent of the kind a warrior chief would take on a land campaign, it was large but supported by two poles and ground stakes rather than the bulky frame of the ship tents. She hugged her purchases and turned into a narrow alleyway between two of the long traders houses. She concentrated on a well hidden glade she knew well near the farm and willed herself there. Svanhild admired the peaceful settling with its gurgling stream of fresh water and set up the tent in a spot sheltered from the prevailing wind. She stowed the blankets and food inside, then considered how to bring the two children to the glade without raising their hopes that she still lived. Svanhild remembered her bronze brooch which little Thordis had always admired, and remembered her promise that her daughter could have it for a wedding gift when she was older. The brooch was lost, taken by the raiders. Angrily Svanhild chanted a spell, cupping her hands before her, metal dust filled her palms drawn from the earth beneath her, the metal flared white hot and cooled into a perfect replica of the lost trinket. She tossed the brooch high it the air and leapt after it, as she did so taking on the form of her namesake, the swan. She caught the brooch in her beak and searched for the children in the landscape below.
Hrolf had led his sister to the river and had persuaded her to drink, concern for Thordis made him try to put his grief aside. He knew that they needed shelter and food before evening, the thought of the shattered farmstead, with all the comforts it once offered either stolen or destroyed brought fresh tears to his eyes. They were alone, even his father's fishing boat was burned, Hrolf knew all too well the chances of them surviving the coming winter. Lost in misery he scarcely noticed the swan landing in the river with powerful wings beating the water, but when the bird glided straight towards them her pulled his sister out of its path. The swan dropped a shining object from its beak on the bank where they had been sitting and pushed away into the river. Thordis broke free from her brothers grasp and picked it up, 'Hrolf! Its mother's brooch, its mothers brooch!' The swan laboured back into the air and circled around them calling.
'I think its mother's spirit,' said Hrolf in a whispered voice 'I think we should follow her.' Thordis clung tightly to his hand clutching the brooch to her chest. The swan continued to circle calling occasionally to indicate the path. The children walked slowly across the pasture land while the swan patiently lead them to the hidden glade. Hrolf saw the tent and led Thordis carefully across the stones of the stream, the little valley was familiar from happier days when they had played while their mother had collected wild plants for cooking. The swan called again and flew out of sight.
Svanhild returned to the ruins of the farmhouse and spent several hours digging and piling earth for a burial mound for her family. She had chosen the top of the headland by the sea, beside the cairn where the family had left their offerings. She pressed the bag of silver into her husband's cold dead fingers and heaped the soil high. Wearied from the day's traumas, Svanhild slept that night beside the mound.
……………
A new day brought new vigour to Svanhild. Satisfied of her children's safety she turned her attention to the raiders, now that she could concentrate on revenge another's anger joined her own. Surprised Svanhild delved into her new memories for the source of the sense of outrage. Only a few months ago a boy scarcely older than Hrolf had died at the hands of the raider who had taken her elder son's life. The boy had been captured in Dublin and taken to the raiders' village as a slave. His owner had been brutal and the lad had died from his master's blows. The boy, like her, was a spirit held by Thor.
Svanhild drew on the boy's recollections of the raider's home and the layout of the chief's hall. Thor's knowledge placed the village in the labyrinth of the Northland fjords. Now she had names for her enemies, the chieftain was Ketil and her son's slayer was Brand. We'll get Brand first she reassured the boys spirit, and a warmth in her mind acknowledged her decision.
The now familiar spell took Svanhild to the steep wooded cliffs overlooking the fjord and Ketil's settlement. Brand's modest house perched on a narrow ledge nearby beside a stream which tumbled down the near vertical slopes to the water below. Two ships were moored at the wharf, a small warship and a deeper bellied trading vessel, the wolf ship was not yet moored. Svanhild smiled, she had crossed the ocean three times while Ketil struggled back to his harbour. She looked up the valley and saw his ship approaching in the distance, people shouted below to announce the chief's homecoming. Judging that she had at least an hour before Ketil and his men returned, Svanhild walked towards Brand's house. The stream dropped noisily to a circular pool beside the house, a young dishevelled slave girl was busy beating clothes on a flat stone. Svanhild wandered over to speak to her, the girl's hair had been hacked mercilessly short and a riveted iron collar hung heavy on her neck. Where her skin showed it was grey with old bruises and scars. When Svanhild greeted her she leapt up in terror.
Svanhild spoke to the girl but she was unresponsive and locked in her own world of fear and pain. Svanhild offered to help her with the washing but the child pushed the older woman's hands away and shook her head. 'Please' she whispered 'He hurts me when I have no work.' Filled with concern but unable to comfort the child Svanhild sat aside in the trees beside the waterfall, keeping watch for Brand's return.
The sun goddess was high in the sky, spilling light even to the lower pastures beside the fjord. Brand trudged up the steep path, his spear and shield slung on his back. He was heavily built with a short beard and long flaxen hair held down with a grimy braid, his clothing was mired and crumpled from the long sea journey. He threw his weapons down at his threshold and finding the house empty scowled and stamped around to the stream 'Bitch!' he shouted 'Where are you?' The girl scampered towards him. Brand gave her an evil smile 'Been days at sea little bitch, show me what you have got for me. Quickly bitch or I'll hang you first, hang you 'til you piss yourself.' To Svanhild's horror the girl raised the front of her grubby gown. The girl was shaking in fear. The boy's anger exploded in her mind. Sickened, Svanhild realised that the boy had suffered a similar fate. What did he mean by' hang' Svanhild thought to her unseen companion. The boys memories flashed passed and Svanhild saw through the eyes of a terrified child. Brand held her feet and dragged her over the rough stones to the cliff edge, the cliff where she had watched the harbour below, which she knew was a sheer drop of several hundred feet to the shingled shore. Brand grasped her right ankle in both hands and dangled her helplessly, if he released her she would die, laughing Brand shook her, mocking her plight.
Svanhild stepped from the trees, 'Let her be Brand, I have business with you.'
Brand spun angrily 'Go away!' He stared at the Svanhild, although still dressed in her shift she was clearly no slave, as her long hair and confident manner attested. He did not recognise her as any women of the Ketil's village.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'You and your fellows raided my farm yesterday and killed my family as you killed me. Have you forgotten already.'
'You are no dead woman. Stop playing games, who are you?'
'I called Thor's curse down on Ketil, remember? It frightened him. He killed me so I couldn't make any more offerings. Do you remember now?'
Brand paled, backing away from her. Svanhild followed him 'You killed my son, and now you are going to pay his bloodprice, with you own worthless life.'
Svanhild dragged the struggling Brand along the cliff path, she grasped his grimy shirt below the armpits and swung him over the edge. Brand screamed in terror and mouthed obscenities. 'Patience, patience.' Svandis scolded, holding the heavily built man easily at arms length, 'You haven't even pissed yourself yet.'
'Put me down!' Brand shrieked 'You, you…. filthy whore!'
Svanhild lowered him suddenly and hauled him level again. Brand shrieked and sobbed, liquid darkened his britches as he lost control. She glared at him 'Can you give me any reason why I shouldn't kill you?' Brand responded with a stream of abuse and Svanhild let go.
She felt the presence of the boy in her mind glow in warm satisfaction and fade away. She tried to direct her thoughts to him again but he was gone. She realised that she had only felt him when she had been thinking of Brand, and now the child's spirit was at peace.
Svanhild turned her attention to the slave girl who was staring at her in awe and some trepidation. She beckoned the girl to her, grasped her slave collar and broke it away. Leading the girl to the spring Svanhild stripped her of her tattered gown and scrubbed her with the lye water the girl had been using for her washing. Dried and clothed in one of Brands best clean shirts with her stubby hair combed, the girl had started to lose her terrified shyness. 'Has he gone?' she whispered.
'Yes'. Svanhild replied 'He has gone.' The girl grabbed a broom and brushed the floor, every inch of it, and sent the modest dust out the door with vigorous sweeps. Svanhild laughed 'And now even his footprints are gone'. She asked the child about where she had come from. Slowly her story tumbled out. The girls name was Asgerd, her father was a Viking turned farmer who had taken land in England. The child had no idea where her home had been.
Svanhild also asked the girl about Ketil. Asgerd had had little contact with the chief, but knew that he had a wife and four children. 'He's a good man, not like master.' She stated with childish simplicity. Svanhild sighed, hurt by the child's approval of her enemy. She had no wish to destroy another household, however much Ketil had harmed her. However he seemed to have enough wealth to pay a generous sum to her children, if she could persuade him to part with it.
By now Svanhild had a hearty appetite and she shared Brand's food stores with the child. After their feast Asgerd smiled at her and the woman was delighted at the girl's higher spirits. Svanhild beamed back, 'I need to work a magic spell.' she explained. 'Will you stay with me and make sure no one disturbs me?' Wide eyed the girl nodded. Svanhild sat upright on the bed, closed her eyes and searched for Ketil. Remembering the shabby finery of the chief Svanhild was surprised to discover the man now freshly bathed and immaculately dressed. He was in a comfortable private room, behind his ale hall, bouncing a boy of about four summers on his knee. Behind him a flaxen haired woman with gold thread flashing in her headress looked on fondly with a younger child in her own arms. One by one, Svanhild searched the thoughts of each of the family, seeking for some sign of the violence that Ketil had shown at her farm. Frustrated at this picture of a loving and generous father she touched the minds of the warriors and servants going about their tasks, the women fetching water and grinding flour in the yard outside and the fishermen mending nets at the wharfside. After three hours of digging through the villagers' memories Svandis began to feel the strain of her endeavour, she opened her eyes to Brand's house with a mild headache. She realised that the best time to speak to Ketil would be at night, when she could be sure of speaking to him alone. Before then she must rest, for she would need all her wits about her to deal with the raider chief. Svanhild spoke briefly to Asgerd to reassure the child, and lay down on Brand's sleeping bench to the welcome relief of sleep on her weary mind. The child sat at the bed end alert and watchful, loyal to her new found mistress.
…..
In the silence of the night, four hours before dawn, Svanhild stole into Ketil's hall. She wove a spell around the retainers sleeping on the benches and beside the warm embers of the hearth fires, to ensure they would not wake. Walking carefully to the door defining the chief's private quarters, she extended the charm to Ketil's family, leaving only Ketil himself unaffected. She opened the door with no attempt at silence, a further fire glowed within with a pile of fresh timber on the hearth stones, she threw on the fresh fuel and stirred the embers into life. Flames licked upwards illuminating the room, Ketil woke at the noise and sudden brightness. He stared, 'What are you doing here woman.'
Svanhild ignored him and stepping closer to the chief's carved bed, his wife slept beside him and a gently snoring child lay at their feet. A candle bracket was hammered into the wall above the bed, Svanhild held her hand cupped around the wick and it burst into flame. Ketil watched her silently, she waited while the candle flame grew brighter, then turned to face him. 'Do you remember me?' she asked.
'I remember the woman you look like.' he answered 'What witchery is this?'
'Hardly witchery, Thor heard me as I said he would, he allowed me to return.' Ketil regarded her in silence so she continued 'I want to know why you destroyed my family and my home.'
'Because I had the strength to do it. You had food my men needed, I took it.'
'So your strength gave you the right?'
'Yes.'
Svanhild smiled dangerously 'But what if Thor gave me the power to kill you? Would that mean I was entitled to take your life?'
'That is hardly relevant.' he scoffed 'A farmer's wife is not much of a threat to a skilled warrior, living or dead.'
Still smiling Svanhild removed an amulet that she wore hidden beneath her shift, like Ketil's silver pendant it was a miniature Thor's hammer, but hers was made of iron. She tossed it idly from hand to hand. 'You shouldn't underestimate a woman who can come back from the dead. And my question is very relevant, I have the strength to snap you like a twig.'
'Hah,' Ketil laughed 'you are all words woman. Prove it.'
'Then catch.' Svanhild threw her amulet towards him. Ketil reached out a hand to catch it and yelled in surprise as his arm thudded to the bed covers. Using both hands, and with some difficulty he managed to raise the amulet to his chest and stared at it, why would such a tiny pendant weigh more than twenty pounds, and what kind of woman could wear it with so little concern? The answer dawned slowly and it terrified him. He passed it back carefully and looked into the woman's eyes, there was a fire within them which confirmed his fears.
'Your own ethics allow me to take your life, as you know I can.' Svanhild stated.
'Yes.' Ketil whispered.
'But that is not my way. You may deserve death but your wife and family would suffer the loss greatly. I require a different price.'
'Anything.'
'You must have a new figure head carved for your ship, the head of a swan. My name on Middle Earth was Svanhild, let this serve to remind you of our meeting. Once your ship is refitted you will return to my farm.' Olaf gasped as images of Hrolf and Thordis filled his mind. 'Your raid left two children as orphans, they fear the wolf ship but the symbol of the swan they will trust. You must bring them here and raise them as if they were your own children. Thor will look on your family with favour if you treat them well.'
'I will do as you ask, I swear it.'
'Would you do something further for me?'
'Of course.'
'Your man Brand incurred my wrath and no longer has need of a mistress, can you find a place for young Asgerd in your household, as a free woman and not a slave.' Ketil frowned, through repugnant in his personal habits, Brand had been a brave warrior. But he was hardly surprised that Svanhild had not taken to the rogue. He nodded agreement. Svanhild met his eyes 'Thor will hold you to your promise.'
'Tell him I will keep it.'
…….
Svanhild willed herself back to Thor's hall. Sif, the golden goddess sat alone on the high seat, her eyes had been closed in contemplation but she opened then and smiled to acknowledge Svanhild's appearance. 'Greetings lady,' said Svanhild 'I have done what was needed on Middle Earth. But I am anxious to see my husband and son safe to Hela's realm. I wondered if Thor would mind if I used his Hlidskialf, is he here?'
Sif laughed, shaking her head in mirth 'Thor is with you, part of you, as you are part of him. That is how you are able to travel in Middle Earth as a living being and not the spirit that you were. If you do anything against his wishes he will be quick to let you know.' Sif stepped down from the high seat, grasped Svanhild by the hand and led her up to the oak platform with its four massive pillars.
Svanhild frowned, considering 'Do you mind if I seek out my husband?' the implications suddenly became clear 'Would Thor mind?'
Sif squeezed her hand. 'Don't worry about that. For today you are Svanhild. Go to the halls of the dead and find your husband. Remember Thor's warning, tomorrow you will be distant from your family, make the most of the time you have.'
Svanhild settled back onto the soft furs of the high seat, reaching out a hand to the darkest of the four pillars, a timber from the underworld. Her spirit traced a path through Middle Earth and down below through the living rock to the cavern of the dragon Corpse Devourer. Here a long road lead to death goddess's kingdom, a bridge of shining gold marked the boundary to Hela's world. Svanhild's spirit travelled fast over the miles and soon the underworld lay spread out before her, a great plain of grass and trees glowed beneath a bright sky with no sun, and stirred by a breeze that was not of heaven or Middle Earth. Turfed halls were scattered all around, mirroring both the halls and the grave mounds in the land of men above. In the distance Hela's tower dominated the plain.
Svanhild decided to greet the goddess and ask her assistance in locating Hall. Her spirit sped over the emerald lawns and she soon located Hela, Loki's daughter leant over a stone balcony watching her subjects playing in the gardens below. The goddess was naked and the strange light of her realm enhanced her wild beauty. Svanhild hailed her.
'Greetings uncle.' Hela replied.
'No lady, I am Svanhild. I hoped you could help me find my husband.'
'Really?' Hela's thoughts were filled with amusement 'Then show yourself, I would see this miraculous transformation.'
Svanhild appeared on the balcony, the timber floor smooth beneath her bare feet. Hela observed her with interest, 'Yes I can see Svanhild, but farmers wives walk the long road from Middle Earth, very few in all the nine worlds enter my tower so brazenly without invitation. When you spoke to me from your Hlidskialf I knew who you really were, Noisy One.'
'Yes.' Svanhild sighed, 'It is Thor's power that enables me to speak to you and travel from Asgard to your realm. But it is Svanhild the farmer's wife that seeks her husband. Will you help me?'
'My apologies' Hela relented 'It is in my nature to tease, as your friend knows well. I will take you to your husband.' The queen howled loudly, and a large grey wolf paced into the chamber, it was the size of a small horse. 'Come Svanhild.' She said leaping astride the beast. Svanhild climbed up behind Loki's daughter and linked her arms around the goddess's waist. The wolf leapt over the balcony and down to the gardens below with an effortless grace. On the wolf's back they travelled quickly through the trees, meadows and halls of the underworld. The strange dwellings were large, resembling small hills with carved wooden gables and doors. The spirits of the dead walked and played in the gardens and meadows. Many were as naked as their goddess.
Hela guided the wolf to the mound they were seeking. 'You will find your husband within.' Svanhild thanked the goddess, dismounted and walked between the pillars of the doorway, she smiled noting that they were carved and painted with swans. A hundred folk were scattered around the benches, but its size made it appear almost empty. She spotted Hall cradling an ale horn and hurried over to join him. Her son Erik tumbled on the floor with a half dressed girl, he recognised his mother and stared in surprise. Hall lowered his horn in shock, slowly recovered his wits and ran forward to embrace his wife.
Through tears of joy and frustration Svanhild told her loved ones how she had returned to care for Hrolf and Thordis, and her experience in Ketil's village. She held her husband tightly 'I have so little time with you.'
Hall grinned 'Then let's make the most of this day.'
……………
After the sun goddesses had chased the night away, Thor sat on his Hlidskjalf, with Sif in his arms. They watched the oceans of Middle Earth. The warship cut its way through the waves, a brisk wind blew straight along Ketil's chosen course and he smiled at a sky that blessed the voyage so clearly. His recently blistered hands held the steering oar as the chief searched for landmarks in the blue - grey haze of approaching land. Ketil's own handiwork, a rearing swan's head with a hammer amulet carved among the daggered feathers of its neck, surged towards the ruins of Hall's farmstead. The thundergod smiled, the swan maiden had done well.,
This story explores two areas of Northern Mythology. Firstly the variety of afterlife recorded in the sagas. The idea of sharing the halls of the gods after death (e.g. Valhall) is well known but the underground family hall (hall and hell being the same root word) is less familiar. The Icelandic Sagas record this existence as joyous and pleasurable, clearly not the mouldy underworld met in the later myths of Balder with its strong Christian overtones. Many readers may be surprised by a benevolent Hela, but if the underworld can be pleasant so can its queen. Her character is developed from my reworking of the tale of Loki's children (Daughters of Svarang) and fits well with recent suggestions that there is a connection between Hela and the protective goddess of German folklore, Holda. Swanhild herself becomes a protective ancestral spirit, known in the sagas as 'disir', a goddess protecting her young family. The possibilty of the merging of mortal and god is not recorded in the historical literature but I think the huge halls of Asgard may have been used as a metopher for such a merging of spirit.
The second element covered by the tale is the difference in ethics between our time and those of the Dark Age period. Ketil's character must have been a common one, honourable to his dependants and kin but ruthless with folk considered strangers. This fictional story gives Thor the headache of trying to reconcile the varied folk who look to him for protection.