The bird flies back to its branch and caws again. I have the strangest feeling it’s trying to tell me something.

‘Come on – let’s get inside before parts of me really do fall off!’ says Stig.

I pull my gaze away from the tree and trudge after him. As we walk, a black shape flies overhead, trailing us like an ominous shadow.

11

My cheeks and nose tingle from the warmth of the cabin as I collect the journals, then drop them on the table. I’m glad we went for a walk together first; it makes it easier to ask Stig for a favour.

‘So this is what you found in the chest last night?’ Stig nudges one of the books with his finger, as if afraid to touch it.

‘Uh-huh.’ I stand over him and arrange them in the order I want them to be translated: Mormor’s journal first, then Karina’s and the books of sketches.

He picks up a random roll of paper and pulls at the ribbon. ‘What are these? Legal documents or something?’

‘No, journals and drawings. Things passed down in the family.’

Stig unrolls the paper and flattens it out, ignoring the books, and I sigh with annoyance. The picture is the one of the tree with the man hanging upside down. Beneath his head is a pool of water, with lots of symbols drawn inside.

‘Hmm. Looks like Odin,’ says Stig.

‘Who?’

‘The All-Father, the highest of the gods. The one the Vikings believed in. They believed in Odin, and Thor and Loki, and other gods. In the Norse myth, Odin hung himself from the world tree in search of knowledge, and the runes appeared in the well.’

I bend over the picture. ‘Do you know what the symbols mean?’

Stig turns to me in surprise. ‘You don’t know? You’re wearing one of them.’

I grasp the silver charm around my neck and my breath catches. I don’t know why I fashioned the three interlocking triangles. The design just came to me.

‘That’s the valknut, Odin’s symbol,’ says Stig. My fingers squeeze the charm as Stig points at the other shapes on the drawing. ‘You use the runes to tell someone’s fate and for doing magic.’

Leaning over him, I grab another roll of paper and open it out. ‘What about this?’ It shows a giant figure wearing a hooded robe, seated on a throne.

‘Hel, maybe – ruler of the underworld.’ Stig sees my confused expression. ‘The Christians stole her name and gave it to their idea of ‘hell’. The Norse didn’t believe in the devil; there’s no fire or burning people.’

He frowns, then adds, ‘The dark mother goddess, to whose cold embrace we must all return. It’s said that when you die, Hel forces you to look at yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’