Ódr Once upon a time, in the dark land of Norway where the lost spirits of the dead moan long into the night, a dreadful winter enveloped the village. Snow and hail clattered around the shadowy forms of frozen trees. The metallic moonlight bathed the snow in silhouettes and caught the snowflakes in their fall from heaven; watching as they twisted in the wind before dropping into the forest. The longhouse was nestled in the centre of the wattle and wood houses. Smoke dimmed and blurred the night air as it escaped through the thatch. The sound of a hungry moan came from the direction of the burial mounds before silence reestablished itself over the world. The walls of the longhouse where stacked with wolf and bear skins that protected against the icy breathe of the long Norwegian winter. Sigrid sat away from the fire weaving together bright red and green cloth, whilst Horid talked in low murmurs to the king about the raiding in England. Halem and Lanford ran on the hand packed floor in an attempt to tag each other until their mother told them off and gave them bowls of dinner. "The night seems suddenly quieter," said Sigurd without looking at the other women. "It is nothing but the silence before birth when the world shudders to a stop between #life and death," said an old woman with a wizen complex. "It's been hours. Do you think Aslaug has had the baby yet?" asked Astrid with her young face held tightly by muscles and worry. "No. We would know." "Do you think the ancestors and gods will accept the baby now that the father is dead," asked Astrid. "Fool, of course. He died in glory and resides in the shining halls of Valhalla. The gods will not forsake a hero's family," answered the old woman. "I just wondered because...' Astrid was silenced as the wooden door banged open on its leather hinges. One of the men from the village came came through the doorway and into the firelight. Ice clung to his hair and the fur that shrouded his shoulders. The visible huffing of his breath mixed with the smoke and silence of the room. The women shifted and stared at the newcomer. Horid looked at the king before standing up and walking over to the man, clasping his hand in his. "How goes the birth?" the Horid asked. "It is over," said the man as his voice broke out into a smile. "It is a boy." "Thank the gods, Frigg has truly blessed us all this night," replied the Horid. The men slapped each other on the back and the women smiled and brought them wine. The room filled with laughter as the people of the village heard the news and streamed into the longhouse to celebrate. Soon music broke out and the villagers danced on the earthen floor, spinning in feverish wonder in and out of the flickering firelight and shadows like the sjövættir that accompany a returning voyage and play in the waves of the ships. Wine spilled and splashed to the floor like blood and the laughter got louder and louder whilst the stars burned far overhead. The intoxicating wine loosened the cohesion of the groups and people left in twos to seek privacy in their homes. But for each person that left many more joined until the gathering swelled and the drums seemed to merge with the heartbeat of the people and to echo the bloody pulse of the world. "Who is that man?" Sigrid asked her husband, pointing to a tall man with a matted beard. "I have never seen him before." "I do not know," he answered, frowning. "Take this," he passed her a cup and moved off into the crowd. Sigrid' husband pushed his way through the people until he found the king. He leaned close to him and pointed at the stranger who stood by the fire. "Who is that man?" he asked. "Which man?" asked the king. "The tall one by the fire." The king turned his gaze to the middle of the room. "I do not know," he replied before walking away. The king wandered to the stranger as the people watched him with reverence and moved out of his path. "I have never seen you before. You are not one of my people. Are you a traveller or do you have some other trade with us?" the king asked the stranger. The stranger stood taller than the king and a bone hilt seemed to glow in the firelight. Long strands congealed into that of greasy hair which shone in the light and a fowl stench permeated from his mouth as he replied. "I am a stranger to this village, a traveller of sorts." "And what do you want from us?" asked the king. "Clothes, a roof over my head and food," answered the man. "What gives you the right to demand it of a king?" the king said as he laughed loudly and the people around him joined in. "You are just a homeless man without identity or value." "The rights of the gods demand it of you, the right of hospitality," said the stranger. The king paused and looked around at the people before slapping the shoulder of the stranger and leading him over to the thrones. The king sat down and adjusted his crown. "What if I say no? No to an old, useless man?" asked the king as he leant back. "The gods would punish you for your actions." "What would a king fear from a god? After all, a god has not been seen around this parts for...Oh, I don't know, forty? Fifty years? At least. They had their day but now man has his, and unlike the gods he will not be silent," the king said and the people shifted in the silence. The stranger turn slowly to look into the silent faces of the people before his gaze settled once again on the king. "You would forsake the gods? After all they blessed you with?" "It was not the gods who gave me glory, I was the one who fought and killed. Who built this village against the winds and storms that Thor sent. I prevailed despite them, that is all," replied the king. The stranger titled his head back and watched the snowflakes spiral through the gapping thatch. The sound of the flames breaking and collapsing the wood filled the smoky air, which was made thick by the press of bodies that soundlessly watched. The king clapped loudly and stood up. "Enough talking. You have interrupted the celebrations of human #life," said the king as he gestured to one of his men. The blonde man came over to the stranger with six other men and they dragged him towards the door. The people quickly parted. The stranger did not resist the men, instead he let himself to be taken away without expression. They disappeared outside the door and the sounds of the men shouting insults and cursing the stranger seemed to reverberated around the longhouse. "Let is go back to celebrating and out this matter out of our minds!" shouted the king with a smile. The drums started to beat again and the intoxicating rhythm caused the people to forget themselves and soon the night rung with the celebrations. After hours of revelry in the thick blackness of night and snow, a great cry came from deep in the village. A young girl who was barefoot, with feet blue from the cold and unbound, matted hair came rushing into the longhouse. Her chest heaved for breath and her eyes looks painfully red against her pale skin. She went up to the king and shakily dipped her head in respect. "It's the baby," the girl stammered. "It... some..." "What is wrong? Do not cry just tell us," said Sigrid coming up behind the girl and putting her hand on her arm. "It is okay, Hilde." "The baby. Aslaug was feeding it when it when still then started to tense and shake," the girl started to cry. "And then it went still and blue. It died." The room was silent and all the peoples' minds seemed to understand and cry out at once. "Is the gods' doing?," whispered someone from the crowd. "We have made them angry." "The stranger must have been a god." "Silence!" boomed the king. "I will have no more talk of gods. It is normal for babies to die, it was not named yet and the mother lives. It is unfortunate but we have seen worse." Some people gasped and muttered before falling silent under the gaze of the king. The howl of the wind screeched and tore at the walls and the snow fell heavy through the gaps in the roof. A wind threaded through the gathering and the fire swayed before suddenly dying into lightless chard wood. The shadows seemed to thicken and expand from the corners, filling the centre of the room. The people started to shout and scream. The sounds of fighting broke out as men and women fell into one another in the confusion and attacked the shapeless bodies of their friends and family, their nails and weapons getting wet with unseeable gore. Soon the shouts and groans of the injured and dying rung out in the chaos but their bodies only got trampled underfoot until silent. Metal thudded in the darkness and a feverish madness lit the minds of the people like an escapable fire that catches at a dry twig before devouring a forest in anger. The drums started to beat in the fray, pulsing through the night until the pale sunlight conquered the bone-white clouds and captured the scene. The cold corpses of familiar figures lay strewn on in the snow. Some lay half out of the door, struck down in their panic whilst more still bleed into the earth of the longhouse floor. The wide eyes and tear streaked faces of children appeared from the dark interior of the house to look upon the scene. Surviving family members clambered over the dead, desperately searching the cold faces of the corpses in fear of recognising loved ones. Herbs where collected and pressed into wounds that seeped and bled. The noise of mourning raised to the heavens as the living broke over bodies and wept for the departed souls. The stranger came out of the frozen forest and walked between the small houses; looking down upon the dead until he found the crumpled body of the king. He reached down and picked up the corpse before wandering back into the woods and out of this world