Hakon's Saga

Chapter 6

Alrekstad Estate, Aarstad, Norway. May, AD 933

Alrekstad Estate, Aarstad, Norway. May, AD 933Gunnhild awoke in a panic, sweat dripping from her raven-black bangs despite the chill in the room. Her frenzied thoughts struggled for a few wretched moments to dispel the sleep that clung like pitch to her mind. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the hearth-lit room and focused on the heaving mass of Erik"s chest. She frowned jealously. The man could sleep through Ragnarok.

She sat up slowly and ran her long fingers through her tangled hair, allowing her eyes to adjust to the shapes that filled the sleeping chamber. Beside her, on a small table, sat a glass goblet of water. She drank thirstily.

“Did the Night Mare visit you again?” Her husband"s voice came as a groggy whisper. He had not moved, and spoke with his eyes shut.

“Aye, husband. That makes thrice that she has come to steal my sleep since the new moon. Something is amiss.”

“It was the same dream, then?”

“Aye. It was.”

Erik rolled over. “Will you tell me this time what you dreamed?”

Gunnhild studied his face in the half-light of the room. At moments like this, it was hard to believe that this man was the same ruthless warrior who had stolen her from her home so long ago or the man to which Harald Fairhair had entrusted the North three winters before. “Bloodaxe,” they called him, though with his mess of fiery red hair and his worried eyes, the byname did not fit. She almost pitied him, for though strong and capable, he had never understood the dreams and magic that were such a large part of her life.

She stroked his cheek with a long, graceful finger and began to describe the visions that had been plaguing her mind. “I dream always of a clearing surrounded by trees. In that clearing stands an oak, tall and wide. When I look for its branches, I cannot see them, for they are lost in the clouds. It is always dusk and the sun is disappearing in the west, across an expanse of water. A mild wind is blowing and things seem peaceful enough. But suddenly, I see flames in the trees that surround the clearing. Off in the direction of the setting sun. And suddenly I can hear the baying of hounds in the distance.

“It seems like a few hounds,” she continued, “but I fear that there are more. And the more I fret, the more hounds I hear. It is as if my fear is spawning more and more of those frightful creatures.”

Her voice had quickened unintentionally and Erik laid a clammy paw on her arm to settle her. She exhaled deeply and continued.

“The baying is closer now and as it approaches, so too do the flames in the trees. The fire is following the dogs. Through the trees I see them coming toward the clearing, yellow fangs dripping with poison, their eyes the color of blue ice. Dogs from the frozen wastes of Hel"s kingdom.”

Erik"s eyes had opened wide beneath his heavy red brows, his large forehead lined with concern. “A large oak, you say?”

“Aye. Does that mean something to you, husband?”

He pursed his lips. “I have heard our family line being called thus, though I am sure there is no relevance to your dream. A coincidence,” he mumbled, though his eyes told a different tale. “Is that all, Gunnhild?”

“There is more, but you are troubled. I think it better that I hold my tongue.”

He snorted softly. “Your dream paints a hideous picture, but it does not compare to the things I have seen.”

His was the realm of battle, she knew. Frightful and blood-soaked. Hers, the realm of sorcery and the subconscious. Inexplicable and dark. She knew he would never understand her world, but she smiled patiently at his brave words nonetheless. Then she continued. “At the head of the formation of hounds is a golden boar, his tusks longer than any I have ever seen. Together they charge into the clearing, headed straight for me and the great oak. I try to run but my feet are rooted to the soil. The animals come closer, leaving a trail of burned earth where they tread.

“When they reach me, they stop and surround both the tree and me. Then the golden boar lowers his head and rams the oak. The mighty tree shudders but remains rooted. Again the boar rams it, then again. All I can do is witness the grievous display. There are tears on my cheek, though I do not know if they are tears of sorrow or tears of fright. Eventually the great oak succumbs to its foe and crashes to the earth beside me. When it falls, it groans and the earth begins to bleed where the roots have rent the earth. The animals are suddenly gone, but I am up to my ankles in blood. I begin to scream and that is when I awaken.”

Erik sat for a long moment, as if attempting to find reason in the images that roamed in his mind. “You have given thought to this dream of yours?”

“Aye husband, but for all my powers, it is beyond my understanding. The Finns taught me well, but I was only their pupil for three winters before you came and stole me away. My powers do not reach that far into the world of the unknown. I can only speculate and that does us no great good.”

Erik grunted in agreement. “On the morrow you shall visit Arnkell the Wise and see if you can discover its meaning.” He rubbed the soft ivory skin of her arm with a calloused hand. “In the meantime, try to rest.”

Gunnhild slid back down under the thick skins that lay upon the bed, knowing well that rest had long slipped from her grasp.