Gry was blessed by the gods, Halvar had no doubt. He'd faced many horrors of the mist. Merfolk, draugr, trolls, the Jarl had seen so much but the Muspel kin had shaken him more than any other born from the other worlds.

It moved in a blur, hit like a troll, and holding the thing off had turned his shield to bits of slag and ashes. Halvar was no craven, but he’d have run if he could. Any man would, but not Gry.

Like the madness of the mist had taken her, she charged in with naught but a dagger. A fine one with swirling blues and grays beaten onto the metal, but still just a dagger where Halvar's spear only angered the vaettir.

But the Völva had done it, dodging a tendril of flame moving so fast Halvar thought he was seeing things. Gry bounded into the burning corpse and the Jarl smelled how she burned as she plunged her dagger down.

Days later, he watched her as she slept, still holding the knife now touched by Muspelheim. Girl probably didn't know how special she was, how fearless. A god’s child she might truly be. Odin was known to walk Midgard disguised as a weary traveler. Best never turn any man away looking for sucker or the god’s spear would find all your fortunes turned to ash.

Men said Halvar was such a man, born with the strength of an Aesir. Sometimes he believed it too. Could have carried the bear he killed on his back all the way back to Dalir if not for the blizzard. But Halvar could be his father’s twin if the man still lived and he'd taken his mother's life at birth.

Halvar hadn't known Gry's father, but others did. A decent man, raider by summer and farmer when home like many Hasting men. Lived his life that way until the mist took him so the story went. His wife too, went missing on a hunt and found walking as a draugr moons later.

So maybe the Hastingy’s next Völva didn't have Aesir blood, but she had something. Maybe Logi had been amused and offered the dagger as a boon. Odin’s fucking beard, It was all Völva nonsense and he Halvar no mind to think on it. But someone loved her and the Hastingy through her. Couldn't help wishing she wasn't a Völva though.

Halvar stared the girl up and down, she was so beautiful. Wanted to tear off her furs and thrust away, Aslaug be damned. But Gry was a Völva and he wouldn't end up bewitched or half mad.

The power in a Völva's trench was a terrible thing. Took three men's raving to know what Gry was about. One man killed his wife as he saw his sons were of another man. Another wouldn’t leave the fire of his home for days. Said he saw things in the mist, horrors men should not ever look upon.

The last had been the worst, one of Halvar's own Thanes and a great warrior. Man followed Gry like a child on his mother's skirt. Would kill any man she wanted and serve her like a slave. Time and distance would save him, but what a shame it had been.

If Gry hadn't been a Völva Halvar would have already had her. Not as a wife of course, but she'd be perfect for a third son or one of his bastards. What a waste indeed. Girl wouldn't think to refuse him either, unmarried shield maidens almost never did, but the gods couldn't give the Hastingy everything he supposed.

Halvar woke the women some hours later. The sun was only moments away from rising but the blizzard had broken. Filmbulwinter’s ire had moved on, hopefully boring down on the Vargr Tribe.

The Jarl handed his shield and spear to Gry. With the blizzard gone the snow bear wouldn't slow him down and a beast of its size would feed far too many to be left as a meal for whatever Vaettir stumbled upon it.

Animal on his back, its blood already frozen by the cold, Halvar made his way for the exit.

“It's not morning,” Gry said, her face flushed.

She’d been burning herself again. Halvar couldn't blame her. He wanted a taste of the dagger as well but it was hers and the gods only knew what horrible fate awaited him if he claimed their favor for his own.

“We won’t wait for the sun,” he said. “No time to spare.”

Gry shrugged. “As long as Fimblwinter isn't pissing on our heads.”

The wood almost seemed warm without the wind, almost. Twice Aslaug changed their path warning of trolls. Halvar had seen one from on top of a ridge, his eyes piercing the darkness just enough to see its gray stone-like skin and fel eyes glowing red.

Halvar gave such vaettir a wide berth. Still better than facing Muspel kin or more so, Svartalfar.

Just thinking of Svartalfar had the Jarl shuddering. Like a draugr or Muspel kin but a vaettir of earth and shadow. Alway tunneling, keeping far from the sun and hating fire like men hated the mist, while strangling men with their own shadows.

Fuck!

These were thoughts for Völva. They'd loosen his grip on his spear when the time came for battle.

Halvar came to a stop. There had been a footfall. The crunching of snow had been behind him. He looked to Gry staring back at him with worry but not nearly enough. Probably thought he needed to rest with most of a snow bear on his back. What he needed was his fucking spear.

Halvar threw the bear off his back and freed a hatchet from his waist. “My spear!”

There was confusion in the Völva's eyes until a howl echoed through the wood.

Gry tossed his spear and Halvar did the same trading weapons. He opened his mouth, about to urge her to flee, but hesitated.

Halvar might have need of her and that dagger. Like he'd feared, Nyarn hadn't waited out the blizzard making his way as a wolf and sending his shifters on the hunt. Probably lost a good number to the Fimbulwinter because the Jarl could now hear only four charging after them.

He couldn't depend on Aslaug. Woman could turn a man's fate to shit but only after he'd cut her down, such were the ways of most Völva, but not Gry.

“One killing blow from us both,” Halvar said, taking his fighting stance. “Two on one and we'll be torn apart!”

Holding the dagger in a backhanded grip and the hatchet raised, Gry growled and Halvar with her. If they fell, the Valkyries would have a fine telling for Odin. The world tree would probably spit him back out again as a Jarl with the glory he'd rain down on these wolves.

Halvar saw their eyes first glinting from the firelight. He could throw his spear but Vargr wolves were fast and nimble. He'd wait.

Twice the size a wolf ought to be, the first leaped at him, another trailing behind and two more heading for Gry. Halvar smashed his shield into the first, knocking it aside. As if in one movement, his spear thrust forward, taking the other in the chest, but the vargr wolf kept coming, crashing into him like a boulder.

Halvar's spear snapped in his hand as he fell, sinking into the snow like an ocean of white. He kicked and shoved trying to regain his feet, but the wolf pressed down on him. Soon it shrank, becoming a man once more as the spirit fled to whatever world bore it, freeing the Jarl to raise.

As soon as he did, a toothy maw bit down on his right arm. A scream escaped him, truer than he'd ever made. Blood splashed his face, his own blood. Gods damn, the burning pain of it. He was going to die.

“No!” Halvar roared, sounding more like a beast than the vargr wolf savaging his arm, but only one. He had another.

The Jarl’s free hand came crashing into the wolf's head. The strike sent Halvar's vision swooning, but he struck again, and again, and again.

The pain became someone else's. His body moved on its own. Time melted away until he felt the crunch of bone.

Eyes focusing, Halvar found a naked man with his skull bashed in on top of him. He flung him off and stood. Arm was bleeding something furious. Was most like to lose it. Was most like to die actually.

That would be fine. A Valkyrie would carry him off stuffing his soul back in the world-tree to be spat back out. He had glory enough for his next life to be a fine one. The Hastingy had his son to lead them and they still had Gry.

A gasp stole Halvar's attention. He turned, finding Gry, two naked vargr wolves laying dead at her feet, and the Völva holding her throat with blood-soaked hands. She opened her mouth trying to speak and fell over.