Steam swirled white over Hardgreip’s hand and the stick. The dark wood glistened. She gave it to Hadding. “Now,” she said, “put this beneath his tongue.”

He had thought himself fearless, but as far as he had already gone, he dared not now do anything but obey. Step by stiff step he went over to the deathling. The flesh was dank to touch as he unbound the jaw. He must pry it open. Hastily he shoved the runestave crosswise into the dry mouth between the teeth. At once he stepped back.

Hardgreip took his place by the bed. She raised her arms. “Waken, Skuli,” she shrilled. “By the might that was Ymir’s, I call you to come, I bid you read the morrow for me. No rest in the grave shall you elsewise have, but the fires of Surt shall burn you, the snakes of Hel shall nest where your heart was, and the eagle at the end of the world shall tear you until the ending of all the worlds. Rise and speak.”

The body stirred. Widow and children wailed in the cow-stall. It heard them not. Wrenching itself along inch by inch, bones grinding together, it sat up. The eyes opened. They were filmed and empty, but a red smoldering moved in them. The head jerked to and fro until it found Hardgreip. A voice grated around the runestave.

You drew me from the dead. Now doom shall fall on you

Who haled me out of hell. Ill hap and woe be yours.

From the mold that was mine has your magic most foul

And cruel now called me to come from the shades

That I answer your asking with all that I know

Of what shall fare whence and go whither for you.

My word is of woe that awaits you, and death.

Unwilling I wended here, witch, and must speak,

My tongue bearing tidings of terrible things.

Soon hence from my house you will hasten your steps

Away to a wilderness, wandering lost

Till horror shall have you, a hideous end.

You will wretchedly rue the wrong that you did

In dragging the dead from the darkness up

By trollcraft to travel the troublous road,

Bound to your bidding. Abide now the time

When fearsome foes take fell revenge.

You drew me from the dead. Now doom shall fall on you

Who haled me out of hell. Ill hap and woe be yours.

The head creaked around until the unblinking, tearless eyes caught Hadding. He stood his ground, helpless though he was, and heard.

Yet know that as the net of night pulls close about her,

The fishers thereon flensing her flesh down to the heart,

Clutching with their claws and cutting with their teeth,

Ripping, tearing, rending the reddened stumps and rags,

Unshaken shall your luck still shield you from them, Hadding,

Not hurling you to hell but holding you alive

To walk and do your work within this world a span.