The shapeshifters on the wall whistled and howled. Why me?
“Thanks, show-off,” I told him. “Let me see the hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“The hand, Curran.”
He held it out. Blisters covered his right palm. Frostbite, probably second-degree. It had to hurt like hell. Lyc-V would fix it in a day or so, but meanwhile he’d have to grit his teeth.
“I said don’t touch the axe.”
He leaned over and kissed me. The shapeshifters on the walls cheered.
Dagfinn finally managed to remember how to breathe and swore.
I leaned over him. “He won. You’re going to read my runes now.”
“Fine,” Dagfinn growled. “Give me a minute. I think something’s broken.”
According to Doolittle, nothing was actually broken. Dagfinn treated the diagnosis with open suspicion, but given the circumstances, he decided to deal with it. Curran, on the other hand, got a plastic bag with some sort of healing solution tied around his hand. He liked it about as much as I expected.
“This is ridiculous.”
“With the bag, the hand will be usable in two hours,” Doolittle informed him. “Without the bag, it may be usable by tomorrow. It’s your choice, my lord.”
Curran growled a little, but kept the bag on.
I put Julie’s drawing in front of Dagfinn.
He squinted at it. “Whoa. Was this on a weapon?”
“No, it’s on a gold necklace that’s killing a child. Looks like Elder Futhark, but not exactly. Is this a spell?” I asked.
“This isn’t Elder Futhark.”
“What is it?”
“It’s dvergr.”
I sat down into the nearest chair. “Are you sure?”
Dagfinn pulled back the sleeve of his tunic, displaying his tattoos. “Look here.”
The last two characters on his shoulder matched the last two characters on Julie’s paper. Dagfinn drew his fingers along the tattoo. “This says, ‘Wielder of Axe Aslaug, born from the blood of Earth shaped by the hands of Ivar.’” He tapped the paper. “This says, ‘Apprentice of Ivar.’ Yeah, I’m sure.”
“What is dvergr?” Curran asked me.
“Dwarf,” I told him. “Old Norse dwarf: magic, powerful, skilled with metalwork. Makers of weapons for the gods. They’re often portrayed as embodiments of greed—they lust after power, women, and most of all gold.”
“Hey now!” Dagfinn raised his hand. “Most experts believe this to be a later development. The dwarf myths probably take their root in nature spirits…”
“Dwarves like in Tolkien?” Curran asked.
I wish. I dragged my hand over my face. “One time, four dwarf brothers, the sons of Ivaldi, created some magical gifts for the gods. Two other dwarf brothers, Brokk and Eiti, became jealous of all the praise and bet Loki, the trickster, that they could make better gifts. He wagered his head. The dwarves won and then wanted to murder Loki. The gods wouldn’t let them do it, so Brokk sewed Loki’s lips shut with wire. These are not the jolly, drink-beer-and-go-on-an-adventure type of dwarves.”
“The one I met was a good guy,” Dagfinn said.
“You think the Ivar whose apprentice wore this necklace is the same Ivar who made your axe?” Curran asked.
Dagfinn nodded. “I was about fourteen or fifteen. I was wild back then, not like now.”
Curran and I looked at each other.
“So my uncle Didrik, he was a Viking, took me to the mountains to this valley. We met a smith there and my uncle talked to him and then left me there for the summer. It didn’t go well at first, but Ivar and me got along finally. I liked it there. When Didrik came to get me, Ivar made me this axe and put the runes on me. Right arm”—he slapped his right biceps— “controls the axe. Left arm is my oath. I can’t ever kill a defenseless person or force myself on anyone, or the axe will turn on me.”
“I heard you broke into the monastery looking for Asian ladies,” Curran said.
“Asian ale,” Dagfinn said. “I wasn’t looking to rape anybody. I was looking for the beer. None of them would talk to me, so I kept trying to grab them to make them hold still so I could ask where the beer was. I had a bit to drink that evening.”
The light dawned on me. “Dagfinn, they are Buddhists. They don’t brew beer. You needed the Augustine Brothers two miles to the south. You went to the wrong monastery, you dimwit.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dagfinn growled. “Anyway, can I see this collar?”
We took him in to see the boy. Roderick shrank a little. “Don’t be scared,” Dagfinn said. He examined the collar for a little while and we returned to the other room. Dagfinn sat down in his chair, while Curran leaned against the wall, watching him and emanating menace.
“Could be Ivar’s work,” Dagfinn said. “I just don’t understand why. The dwarf I knew wouldn’t hurt a child.”
“What about his apprentice,” I asked. “What do you know about him?”
“Never met him, but it looks like this collar must have belonged to him or at least his apprentice. Maybe Ivar will know more, if we can locate him.”
“Can you find the valley again?” I asked.
He shook his head. “There is a trick to it somehow. I’d meant to ask Didrik about it, but he died. I’ve tried to find him on my own. I’ve been all over the Smoky Mountains and nothing.”
He was holding something back, I could feel it. “What are you not telling me, Dagfinn?”
He hesitated.
“It’s going to kill the kid,” Curran said.
“He might know,” Dagfinn said.
“He who?”
“You know. He.”
My heart took a dive. This was getting better and better.
“He who?” Curran demanded.
I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice. “The Vikings know of a creature. He’s been trapped on their land for a very long time. They don’t like to say his name, because he might hear and kill them at night.”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it,” Dagfinn said.
I spread my arms. “I’m out of ideas.”
“Kate, please tell me you haven’t been to see him before, right? Right?” Dagfinn asked.
“No. This will be my first time.”
“Why?” Curran asked.
“He catches your scent when you go to see him,” Dagfinn said. “It takes him a while, but once he learns the scent, he never forgets it. People who go to see him twice don’t come back. Their bones stay on that hill.”
“We’re going to need backup,” I said, thinking aloud.
“Don’t look at me,” Dagfinn said. “I like you and all, but I’ve been once. I ran like a little girl and barely got out. I can’t go again.”