“Shef is like the bird in the old story,” Thorvin said. “The one the Christians tell of how the English in the North became Christian. They say that when the king Edwin called a council to debate whether he and his kingdom should leave the faith of their fathers and take a new one, a priest of the Aesir had said they might as well, for following the old gods had brought him no profit. But then another councillor said, and this is a truer tale, that to him the world seemed like a king’s hall on a winter evening—warm and brightly lit inside, but outside dark and cold, and a world no one could see. ‘And into that hall,’ said the councillor, ‘flies a bird, and for a moment it is in the light and the warm, and then flies out into the dark and cold again. If the Christ-god can tell us more surely about what happens before man’s life and after man’s life,’ said the councillor, ‘we should seek to learn more of his teaching.’”

“A good story, with some truth,” Ingulf said. “I see why you think Shef could be like that bird.”

“He could—or he could be something else. When Farman saw him in his vision, in Asgarth, he says he had taken the place of the smith of the gods, Völund. You do not know that story, Hund. Völund was caught and enslaved by the wicked king Nithhad, and hamstrung so that he could work, but not run away. But Völund enticed the king’s sons to his forge, killed them, made brooches of their eyeballs and necklaces of their teeth, gave them to their father, his master. Enticed the king’s daughter to his forge, stupefied her with beer, raped her.”

“Why would he do that if he was still a prisoner?” asked Hund. “If he was too lame to run away?”

“He was the master-smith,” said Thorvin. “When the king’s daughter awoke, and ran to her father and told him the tale, and he came to kill the slave-smith with torments—then Völund put on the wings he had made secretly in his forge. And flew away, laughing at those who thought him crippled.”

“So why is Shef like Völund?”

“He can see up and down. In a direction other men cannot see. It is a great gift, but I fear it is the gift of Othin. Othin Allfather. Othin Bölverk, Othin Bale-worker. Your potion will make him dream, Ingulf. But what will be in those dreams?”