Illugi, part 2
Jul. 9th, 2006 09:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdEast they sailed, into the rising sun each morning, chasing their shadow each afternoon, ever east. When they reached the shore, they beached the light craft and made camp.
"From here, I go on foot," Luke announced.
"It's a thousand miles or more to the Phoenix, Luke. You'll never make it."
"All I have to reach is the Troll." Luke stared into the fire a while. "We rest in the shadows of his mountains. He will help us reach the Phoenix."
"Wait, wait, what's this 'we'? You hired me to sail you here, not to die in the mountains."
Luke looked up, his eyes gleaming in the firelight, "Come with me, my friend?"
Han wanted nothing more than to go, to spend a few more weeks in the company of this man. He wanted to see if his feelings were real, and if Luke felt the same. But practicality won out, and he protested, "Luke, I can't. I have a ship to captain."
"We will return within a month. Surely Ubadah can wait that long? If we do not return by the next full moon, it will not matter. I have six weeks to finish my quest, and we need some of that to return to Miklagard."
The Moor spoke solidly and firmly to Han for several minutes, until the Dane threw his hands up. "All right! Ubadah claims it is the will of Allah that I go, that the fates have decreed it and he has seen it written in the stars for months. He will wait two full moons, and then claim the Valr as his own." Han sighed. "I can't win against both of you. I'll go."
Ubadah embraced him, saying "You are a good man."
Luke seeing a chance, followed suit. As his arms went around Han, he knew this was right, regardless of what the sagas said. He did not linger as he wished but stepped away from the Dane. He would feel out the situation as they traveled, away from the sharp eyes of the Moor.
That night, he placed his blanket on the same side of the fire as Han's.
The next morning, they filled simple pouches with food and each slung a waterskin over his shoulder. Han stroked the Valr's bow one last time before turning away from her to where Luke waited, his fair face sad and his eyes shuttered. His dreams had been troubled, and the farewell turned something inside him. It felt too permanent; he only hoped they would both live to see the trim little ship again.
They spent that day and the next toiling through the mountain passes. Luke ran up the almost hidden trails lightly as a goat, beckoning Han to follow. The magic sang in his blood, drawing him ever on to where he could feel the Troll awaited him.
On the third day in the mountains, they were startled when a small rock unfolded itself. The little being was gnarled and withered with huge ears. Han sprang backward, unsheathing his sword, but Luke laughed.
"Han, this is the Troll Under the Mountain." Luke bowed. "Wise one, I come to you at the behest of Ani Owanson. Long ago you healed him. Now he begs your help in obtaining his heart's desire."
"Know you I do, Illugi Anason. Long and far have I watched and waited for your coming. Now, follow." He gestured at Han, who still held his sword ready to attack. "And hot-tempered friend too, follow."
The Troll led them a long and winding path down into the mountain. Deep in the hill, tons of rock pressing down, Han felt the weight of the entire mountain pressing on him. Luke seemed imperturbable. Even though the Troll's cavern was barely large enough for them to sit upright, he remained calm.
"Sing us the Saga, Wise One. Open the word-hoarde for us," Luke--no, Han realized, the young man beside him was not Luke, but Illugi the Windmaster, now--asked of the Troll.
"Eh-heh! Soon. But first we eat. Even mighty wizards need their food, Young Illugi. A time for all things and each thing in its time." The Troll ladled steaming food from a cauldron that boiled over a cold hearth on which no fire burned.
Han took a single bite, and did not let his disgust show on his face. He didn't want to know what the foul concoction was. Illugi ate, neatly, rapidly, and awaited the Troll's pleasure.
The Troll, despite his diminutive stature, ate three bowls before speaking. When he spoke, blue fire flared to life on the hearthstone and formed images in time to the lulling wheeze of his voice. He related the Saga of Ani Owanson, Captain of the Varangians. Captured by Saracens, tortured, left for dead, found only by the will of the Magic itself.
"Healed him as much as I could, but completely I could not. That is for you, Illugi Anason. Only one who loves him can save him."
"Tell me how, Wise One." Illugi’s words were slow, almost unheard.
The flames took shape, telling the tale of the Phoenix, which lives a thousand years in a nest of cinnamon where the sun rises. Each morning, it flies toward the rising sun, unharmed, until the last day of its life, when it flies into the sun and catches fire. From the ashes of the old Phoenix rises the new one. The nest itself had rejuvenating properties.
Illugi shook himself free of the Troll’s spell and nudged Han, who came awake with a start. The Troll Under the Hill laughed in a wheezing croak. "Seek the Phoenix you must. Find him you cannot. Not as you are."
"Can you help us, Wise One?" Illugi entreated.
"Help you. Yes. Your goal is worthy. And you help me as well. Old I am, and needing cinnamon to make me young." The Troll chuckled again, and Han, still stretching, vanished. A peregrine falcon glided down and made an awkward landing on a nearby perch, letting out an angry screech. "New shapes to meet the Phoenix. And love to end the curse, and the shapes as well."
The world around Luke grew taller and lost its color. He was more comfortable on all fours, and waited there, sniffing, until the peregrine landed on his shoulder. Han was still getting the feel of his wings and talons, and came very near scratching his friend.
In the falcon's screech, he heard Han's voice saying sharply, "Thank him for his wonderful help and let's go."
Luke was amused to hear his thanks come out sounding like a barking howl. He saw something from the corner of his eye, and made a leap for it.
"Whoa! Careful! That's your own tail," Han informed him, fighting not to dig his claws into Luke's shoulder to keep his balance. The wolf's hunting instincts has been accurate, and Luke flashed blue eyes at him around a mouthful of his tail.
"East," the troll gasped between laughs. "Ever east. The nest is of cinnamon. You will smell it a hundred miles away with your new nose, Illugi Anason. The feather for your father, and one piece of the cinnamon for me, do not forget."
"We shall remember, Wise One."
The wolf and falcon left the cave and made the trip down the mountainside more quickly than the men would have.
"East." Luke turned his back on the setting sun and began to run. Han launched himself and soared far out of sight. It had been late afternoon when they had encountered the Troll, but he could have sworn they spent more time than that underground.
A faint scream floated back, carrying the message "I'll scout ahead."
Dusk began to fall, and Han's eyes were becoming useless. He landed on a branch and waited for Luke to catch up. The moon rose before sunset. Luke sat down, and stared at it. He let out a long howl of puzzlement.
"What, kid?" Han swooped down and waited for an answer.
"We left Ubadah the night of the full moon, am I right? It is now the night before the full moon. Time flows differently in the under-realm than here. I cannot tell if we have been given an extra day, or lost all our time."
"The Troll wouldn't send us on a hopeless errand. He's at the end of his time too. He needs the cinnamon. Believe an extra day."
“I believe. I must believe.”
“And I believe we’ll get back to ourselves. Ubadah will take care of the Valr until we return," Han said. "If we return. Keep believing, Luke. I don’t want to be a bird forever."
They traveled for days, always east, until one day Luke caught the faint scent of cinnamon from far to the southeast. He turned them that direction. The journey passed in sameness, in the feel of earth under paws, wind under wings. They slept only half of the night, Luke curled under the tree, and Han on a low branch, or in the shelter of caves, before rising to travel under stars and waning moon.
The cinnamon wind grew ever stronger, and the sun rose hotter each morning. On the last day of the journey, they came to the foot of a mountain of black glass. The sides rose sheer and slick. Luke circled it, looking for an entrance. Han soared toward the top, but returned, to perch on Luke's shoulder, before launching himself again, trying for as much altitude as he could.
As the fruitless afternoon grew purple with evening, Luke sat down. Han, his wings aching, perched, exhausted on a branch nearby. "We aren't going to do any good like this. Let's sleep on it, and puzzle this," Luke barked.
They hunted out a family of rabbits at the foot of a pine tree, and Luke curled up on the warm sandbank to sleep. Han picked over the last carcass a while before taking his place on a low branch.
A howl awoke him. Luke had found an entrance in the side of the mountain, illuminated by starlight. Han flew to join him, and they stepped into the dark passage.
The darkness closed in on them, all sounds muffled. Han perched on Luke's shoulder, not wanting to fly into anything in the dark. Luke let his nose lead him. It warned him away from bad air, told him of dead ends, and drew him ever upward to the cinnamon. They spoke little, finding their animal voices set up bizarre echoes that haunted them for minutes afterward and confused Luke's sensitive ears.
It might have been hours or minutes, or a full day that they climbed the smooth paths in the heart of the Phoenix's mountain, always upward. The silence and darkness bore down on them, oppressing their spirits. The weight of the mountain settled around them.
"Luke," Han cooed, as softly as the harsh bird voice would allow, "Let's rest a while."
Luke paused on the ledge, sniffing the air. "It's getting colder," he growled softly. "We must be getting to the top. No time to rest."
"By my count, we have sixteen days left."
They pressed onward, paws aching on the stone, darkness dazzling their eyes with phantom imaginings.
Slowly, so subtly they barely noticed, light began to filter back into their world. Then a breeze of fresh air, thick with cinnamon, caught Illugi's nose. He looked to see Han, a dim grey shape on his shoulder instead of the disembodied claws that had been his only reminder.
"Luke, I can see you."
"And the echo is much less. We're near the top!" This doubled Luke's pace. Soon, they saw sunlight sliding through a cleft in the rock. They left the mountain warily, knowing they would be exposed on the sheer cliffs.
Fifty feet up was the nest: an impossibly regular stack of cinnamon radiating tremendous heat. The cliff was sheer as glass. As they watched, an enormous bird, larger than a man, all scarlet, orange and gold, began to ascend from the nest.
Han, without thinking, launched himself after the Phoenix. After coming all this way, to lose the creature would be intolerable. Although no larger than one of its feathers himself, he nearly matched the bird's pace before falling back. Putting a last burst of effort, he sped up and caught the edge of the last tailfeather in his beak. The Phoenix towed him as it flew higher toward the sun.
Han sculled backward, trying to use his negligible weight to dislodge the feather. He only slipped farther down, almost losing it. He held on, and managed to get a better grip. Thinking, he moved side to side, loosening the feather until it came out.
By now, he was above the highest mountain, seeing the tops of the clouds. The air was thin and he breathed hard from the effort of plucking the feather. The Phoenix continued on, seeking the gap in the sphere of living crystal by which the moon orbits the earth, so that it might reach the sun.
Han, caught in a downdraft, tumbled wings over tailfeathers toward the ground, the precious feather caught in his beak. He righted himself and soared slowly toward the mountain where Luke awaited him.
He dropped the feather at the wolf's feet, and collapsed into a hard-breathing pile of feathers. Luke nudged him with his muzzle.
"Han?" he barked. "Han, say something."
"'Mall right. Let me rest." The screech was faint and tired.
"Don't you die on me, Han Hansen. The Lone One does not die on a mountain cliff as a bundle of feathers and bones!"
"Just winded. Air's thin up there."
Worriedly, Luke sat over his friend until Han managed to gain his feet again. They were both hungry, thirsty and exhausted, but Han had much the worse of it. Once the falcon had recovered enough to stretch his wings on a very brief test flight, Luke quit worrying a little.
"Han, stay here. We need the cinnamon yet."
"Can you get it?"
"I found a path. I can get it."
Luke picked his way up the hidden crevasses, sure-footed and careful, to the nest. Prying loose a stick was harder than he had expected, but the sharp claws and teeth worried at one until it began to budge. It was growing warmer.
"Luke! Hurry!" The anxious screech made him look skyward.
A ball of fire plummeted toward the nest, growing larger every second. Luke dug at the recalcitrant stick. The heat was nearly unbearable. It came loose, sending him backward into the middle of the target. He grasped it in his jaws and leapt, feeling the heat of the Phoenix beginning to singe his fur, and raced down the path, giving little thought to safety. Han, still waiting on the ledge, had begun walking toward the cave opening, still too sore to fly.
The blast of heat as the Phoenix impacted the nest sent a rush of fire down the mountain. Luke reached the ledge and seized Han in his jaws as carefully as carrying a pup then ducked back into the cleft of the rock.
They lay on the ledge, just inside the cave entrance. Luke, panting, took stock. They had the feather and the cinnamon, and sixteen days to make it back to Miklagard. They could spare an hour for rest.
"Han, are you all right?"
"Fine, Luke. Don't ask me to do that again. You?"
"Scorched my tail, but I'll live. I can carry you down if you carry the feather and cinnamon."
"Can do."
Han perched on Luke's shoulder, the cinnamon under one claw, the feather under the other. They made better time down the mountain than they had going up. The darkness lay upon them like a welcome friend after the bright fire of the Phoenix's demise.
They reached the cave at the bottom, and took shelter under the same fir tree. The first order of business was water, and then food. He went hunting. Han awoke to the smell of a fresh kill. Luke had dropped a rock-coney under his tree before settling down to eat his own. By the time Han fluttered down, his wings still aching from the day before, Luke was cracking the bones.
They ran all that day, westward, chasing their shadow by morning, into the setting sun by evening. Han, still too weak to fly, rode, clutching the hard-won magic. The next, and the next went by the same way. On the third day, Han tried to fly. He managed to keep up most of the morning, but the cinnamon felt like a log in his claws. Luke insisted he ride that afternoon, and persisted in hunting for him.
By the time they reached the mountains, Han was strong enough to fly all day. The troll did not greet them as expected. Luke climbed the troll's mountain, Han gliding overhead.
"Come back...have you...Illugi Anason? Almost... too late... you are." The rock unfolded itself, but the Troll did not seem so spry as he had a fortnight before.
"We have your magic, Wise One," said Illugi. "Now return us to ourselves." Han dropped the magic in front of the little being and perched nearby.
The Troll took the cinnamon, and seemed to revive. "Take the feather to your father, you must, Illugi. Your own shape...I give you."
The wolf straightened and became a youth, bedraggled and haggard. "My thanks, Wise One. Now Han."
"No more have I. Not until I renew with the Moon. Stay your friend may until then. Or go and let love end it."
"Riddles!" Illugi spat before the Troll, then stood and held up his arm. Han perched lightly on it. "You cannot change him? After all we endured you cannot give him that which you took?" His voice was nearly a shout.
"As with your father, young Illugi, only love."
Han, enraged, swooped off of Luke’s arm and dived at the Troll, giving his hunting cry. The Troll vanished into the mountain, leaving Han to pull up short before he hit the rock. He fluttered back to Luke’s arm.
Luke stroked Han’s feathers. "Han, I'm so sorry. We'll find a way."
The falcon preened its feathers and gave a screech. Illugi realized he could no longer understand the animal speech. But, by his father's sword, he would find a way to restore Han. What nonsense the Troll had spouted, about love.
Illugi Anason, carrying both precious feather, and more precious peregrine, made his way down the mountain to where the Valr lay beached. Ubadah sang out when he saw the Norseman, but his pleasure turned to dismay and he turned querulous.
"Han is right here. The Troll cannot change him back out of falcon form. Haste, to Miklagard. Mayhap my father can make some sense of the Troll's maunderings and restore him."
Ubadah tied the sail solidly and took the tiller. Illugi stood at the stern and sang the greatest wind the little boat could take. They made Miklagard, running against the tide, in half the time it had taken them to sail east. The men at the docks saw the bizarre ship, sail full with a wind that only blew for her, barreling into the harbor while other ships were sailing out. They dropped their bundles and ran from the ghost ship. The word "Naglfar" ran along the shore followed by the sign of the Evil Eye, as did "Sorcery" marked with the sign of the Cross.
No one stopped the young man who disembarked, a falcon on his wrist and a Varangian sword across his back, eyes burning like fairy fire in his face. He strode to the palace like a conqueror, a wave of his hand tossing aside the guards, and into the audience chamber, where the Black One sat, the Empress at his side.
"Father, I have returned." The doors banged shut as Illugi held up the feather. The Black One came to him and took it. The heat of magic radiated off the youth, leaving him ethereal and nearly transparent. The fire that he danced in would consume him if left unchecked.
"You have done well, my son." The Black One took the feather, and touched his son to anchor the boy to reality. He had seen wizards in such states before.
"I ask for your help in return. The Troll Under The Mountain altered my companion. It is to him you owe your magic. Will you help him become human again? My powers are over wind, not animals." The blue eyes had begun to lose their glow, becoming human again.
The Black One nodded, relieved that it appeared Illugi would not be consumed. "Let me heal myself, and I will use all at my disposal to aid your friend." He caught his son as Illugi fell. The youth had fainted. Days and nights of endless magic, worked for the sake of his father and friend had drawn all his vitality. Han flapped to a safe perch on a column, and watched as they carried Luke away.
The Black One closeted himself to work his spells, as the Empress's maids tended to Illugi. Han stood watch from the head of the bed, and screeched at any girl who lingered a bit too long over the fair-haired man. The youth came around slowly, his exhaustion acute. He slept for long stretches, but when he was awake, he talked to Han.
"He speaks to the bird as if it understands him," whispered one girl as she put a fresh pitcher of water beside the bed where he was sleeping. Han watched them, brown eyes unblinking.
The other cast a wary eye on the falcon. "He's a wizard, mayhap it does." She set down her tray of food and wine. "He's driven out the Black One, they say. Who knows but he's more dangerous still? But so beautiful.” She slipped light fingers over his hair splayed on the pillow only to find them trapped beneath the claws of the falcon. The bird screeched and then winged back to his perch. She picked up the empty pitcher and aimed it at the falcon. Her friend’s hand on her arm held her back.
“Don’t. If you harm the bird, who knows what will happen? And the Empress said to treat them both well. Come now. You’re lucky to have all your fingers.” The girl took the empty pitcher and made to go. “Coals look like jewels in the heart of the fire, too, but you get burned when you reach for them.”
Finally, the day came when Luke got out of bed. He had just gone to the chest to get his clothes when a tall man came in.
"Illugi. Dear son, are you well?" Ani Owanson embraced his son.
"Well enough, Father. You are healed." He touched the handsome face of the man. The Black One was gone. Here was his father, in every detail his grandfather had told him, down to the twinkle in his blue eyes. He stayed in the great arms as long as Ani wanted him to, knowing it was his father, the legend, the man he had dreamed of honoring all his life. His father lived and was hale, and he had done it. His heart felt full to bursting.
"Aye, healed. But not Captain of the Guard." Illugi looked at his father, horrified. Ani laughed. "I am the Emperor of Miklagard. Leaina has married me and claimed her throne. Everyone is so pleased I escaped the Saracens and returned. I am grieved you were too ill to attend the wedding."
He turned grave and held up his arm. Han flew to him, after a nod from Illugi. "And I owe it to you, my son, and your friend." He stroked the feathers of Han's back. "You are a powerful wizard, Illugi, but even you have limits. As do I. I shall do my utmost for your friend."
They stayed in Miklagard for months. Han remained in falcon form regardless of what Ani and Illugi tried.
One cool autumn day, Luke took Han down to Valr. Ubadah kept her well, and there was always enough money for him to live. He preferred to wait for his captain's return, rather than strike out for himself.
Luke liked talking to Ubadah. The Moor understood his language, even if he didn't speak it. "Love to end the curse and the shapes as well," he mumbled as he had so often in the past months. "Any notion what that means?"
The Moor shook his head in negation.
"Love. Is there a," Luke hesitated, "a woman? Where can I find her?" He smoothed the feathers of the peregrine on his glove.
Ubadah shook his head again. A muzzien called the faithful to prayer, and Ubadah dashed to get his rug. Knowing he would get nothing more, Luke sat on the gunwale of the Valr and let Han preen. He scratched on the back of the head, where Han's beak and talons couldn't reach.
"No wife, no woman," he mumbled to the hawk as he thought. Han had taken him on as a wizard, mainly because Ubadah wanted one. Yet, he had undertaken the quest, and nearly died of exhaustion and fire. What sort of man did that for a mere friend?
The answer burst upon him, like a saga given by Bragi himself. He held out his glove. Han perched on his hand. Carefully, Illugi Anason, Luke, lifted the bird to his face. "Love to end the curse," he whispered, and touched his lips to the sharp beak.
The next instant, he was kissing warm lips that felt as if they belonged on his. Strong arms wrapped around him and he relaxed into their hold. He opened his eyes to see Han smiling back at him.
"Some wizard. Took you how many months to figure that one out?" The smile negated the complaint, and Han, throwing caution to the winds, claimed Luke's mouth again.
Coming up for air, Luke smiled back. "It took me too long. I do love you, whether its disgraceful or no."
"Not disgraceful, Luke. Not if we're both men about it." He kissed Luke once more.
Ubadah came up from midday prayers and found two men sitting together where he had left a man and a bird. He hugged his captain hard, and sang for joy in his own melodious tongue.
"Nice to be back, Ubadah."
Suddenly, Luke's face clouded over and he looked at the city. "This means you'll be leaving, right? Back to the sea?"
"That's right. I can sail again! Flying was great, but sailing is my life's-blood." A look at the man beside him, in the fine silk and damask of a prince of Miklagard, brought him back. The Sea called him, the Song of Thalassa matching his pulse, but his heart sat here beside him. Torn in two, he stared, memorizing the face of the man beside him.
"And I stay here, Illugi Anason, Captain of the Varangians, the Emperor's son. Marry a princess, have many sons and become emperor in my turn." He looked back at the Dane. "And forget about you. About your kisses. About the way you gleam in the moonlight. About how you almost died for me." He looked back at the city. "Stay here one night. I shall return before the next high tide."
"As you say, Luke. I am yours to command, my prince." The last came out too mocking and Han bit his tongue after it was out of his mouth.
Luke vaulted onto the dock and vanished.
At sunrise the next morning, a pounding awakened Han and Ubadah. On the dock, rapping at the Valr's carved bow, stood Luke. His clothes were simple, practical for travel. A plain sword hung from his hip. He carried a large bag, which he tossed under the shelter in the stern.
"I am ready. Where do we sail now, Captain?"
"Illugi," Han began, using his true name for the first time since Sicily. He was not worth a kingdom, he knew. He would have said this but the youth stopped him, knowing what he was about to say before he could begin.
"Luke. I am Luke. Windmage and loremaster, attached to the ship Valr."
Han took in the clothing, general and anonymous. No loving embroidery or runes of protection. The Valrbladir was gone as well. All traces of the Norse youth who had sought him out in the tavern were gone. This was Luke, a wizard, and a rover.
Han hoisted the sail and cast off. "Steer us straight, Ubadah! Luke, sing us up a wind! We're off!"
They caught the tide and ran with it.
Owan Jenson finished the story. Lars had dozed off over his carving, and Bera was humming to herself as she made the shuttle fly. Illugi stared up at him, rapt, the arrows forgotten in his lap.
"And as the story ends, so the day ends. To bed with you, boy." He pressed the small ship, trim as an elm leaf into the boy's hand and motioned to his loft. Illugi kissed his grandfather's cheek, seeing the pleasure he had taken in telling the tale, and climbed the ladder. The old man watched, his own blue eyes as unfathomable as the Skagarak. If seitheskratti was the boy’s wyrd, not even the Norns could change it. But he, Owan Jenson, would never shame the boy for it, and he knew his story had told Illugi as much.
Illugi lay a long time, staring at the stars, wondering if they were the same ones over Denmark and Miklagard. The moon made a slow course, and if he looked, he could almost see the wolf that chased him. The wolf in pursuit of the eternal flier. Wolves and falcons, and a dark-eyed Dane haunting his thoughts, he looked down at the ship in his hand, tracing her clean lines and single mast.
"The adventure you are ready for is the adventure that will come to you," rang in his ears.
"I will be ready for it, Grandfather," he whispered, focusing on the brightest star in the east, the model of the Valr clutched in his hand.
Young and alone on a long road,
Once I lost my way:
Rich I felt when I found another;
Man rejoices in man.
--The Havamal of Odin
"From here, I go on foot," Luke announced.
"It's a thousand miles or more to the Phoenix, Luke. You'll never make it."
"All I have to reach is the Troll." Luke stared into the fire a while. "We rest in the shadows of his mountains. He will help us reach the Phoenix."
"Wait, wait, what's this 'we'? You hired me to sail you here, not to die in the mountains."
Luke looked up, his eyes gleaming in the firelight, "Come with me, my friend?"
Han wanted nothing more than to go, to spend a few more weeks in the company of this man. He wanted to see if his feelings were real, and if Luke felt the same. But practicality won out, and he protested, "Luke, I can't. I have a ship to captain."
"We will return within a month. Surely Ubadah can wait that long? If we do not return by the next full moon, it will not matter. I have six weeks to finish my quest, and we need some of that to return to Miklagard."
The Moor spoke solidly and firmly to Han for several minutes, until the Dane threw his hands up. "All right! Ubadah claims it is the will of Allah that I go, that the fates have decreed it and he has seen it written in the stars for months. He will wait two full moons, and then claim the Valr as his own." Han sighed. "I can't win against both of you. I'll go."
Ubadah embraced him, saying "You are a good man."
Luke seeing a chance, followed suit. As his arms went around Han, he knew this was right, regardless of what the sagas said. He did not linger as he wished but stepped away from the Dane. He would feel out the situation as they traveled, away from the sharp eyes of the Moor.
That night, he placed his blanket on the same side of the fire as Han's.
The next morning, they filled simple pouches with food and each slung a waterskin over his shoulder. Han stroked the Valr's bow one last time before turning away from her to where Luke waited, his fair face sad and his eyes shuttered. His dreams had been troubled, and the farewell turned something inside him. It felt too permanent; he only hoped they would both live to see the trim little ship again.
They spent that day and the next toiling through the mountain passes. Luke ran up the almost hidden trails lightly as a goat, beckoning Han to follow. The magic sang in his blood, drawing him ever on to where he could feel the Troll awaited him.
On the third day in the mountains, they were startled when a small rock unfolded itself. The little being was gnarled and withered with huge ears. Han sprang backward, unsheathing his sword, but Luke laughed.
"Han, this is the Troll Under the Mountain." Luke bowed. "Wise one, I come to you at the behest of Ani Owanson. Long ago you healed him. Now he begs your help in obtaining his heart's desire."
"Know you I do, Illugi Anason. Long and far have I watched and waited for your coming. Now, follow." He gestured at Han, who still held his sword ready to attack. "And hot-tempered friend too, follow."
The Troll led them a long and winding path down into the mountain. Deep in the hill, tons of rock pressing down, Han felt the weight of the entire mountain pressing on him. Luke seemed imperturbable. Even though the Troll's cavern was barely large enough for them to sit upright, he remained calm.
"Sing us the Saga, Wise One. Open the word-hoarde for us," Luke--no, Han realized, the young man beside him was not Luke, but Illugi the Windmaster, now--asked of the Troll.
"Eh-heh! Soon. But first we eat. Even mighty wizards need their food, Young Illugi. A time for all things and each thing in its time." The Troll ladled steaming food from a cauldron that boiled over a cold hearth on which no fire burned.
Han took a single bite, and did not let his disgust show on his face. He didn't want to know what the foul concoction was. Illugi ate, neatly, rapidly, and awaited the Troll's pleasure.
The Troll, despite his diminutive stature, ate three bowls before speaking. When he spoke, blue fire flared to life on the hearthstone and formed images in time to the lulling wheeze of his voice. He related the Saga of Ani Owanson, Captain of the Varangians. Captured by Saracens, tortured, left for dead, found only by the will of the Magic itself.
"Healed him as much as I could, but completely I could not. That is for you, Illugi Anason. Only one who loves him can save him."
"Tell me how, Wise One." Illugi’s words were slow, almost unheard.
The flames took shape, telling the tale of the Phoenix, which lives a thousand years in a nest of cinnamon where the sun rises. Each morning, it flies toward the rising sun, unharmed, until the last day of its life, when it flies into the sun and catches fire. From the ashes of the old Phoenix rises the new one. The nest itself had rejuvenating properties.
Illugi shook himself free of the Troll’s spell and nudged Han, who came awake with a start. The Troll Under the Hill laughed in a wheezing croak. "Seek the Phoenix you must. Find him you cannot. Not as you are."
"Can you help us, Wise One?" Illugi entreated.
"Help you. Yes. Your goal is worthy. And you help me as well. Old I am, and needing cinnamon to make me young." The Troll chuckled again, and Han, still stretching, vanished. A peregrine falcon glided down and made an awkward landing on a nearby perch, letting out an angry screech. "New shapes to meet the Phoenix. And love to end the curse, and the shapes as well."
The world around Luke grew taller and lost its color. He was more comfortable on all fours, and waited there, sniffing, until the peregrine landed on his shoulder. Han was still getting the feel of his wings and talons, and came very near scratching his friend.
In the falcon's screech, he heard Han's voice saying sharply, "Thank him for his wonderful help and let's go."
Luke was amused to hear his thanks come out sounding like a barking howl. He saw something from the corner of his eye, and made a leap for it.
"Whoa! Careful! That's your own tail," Han informed him, fighting not to dig his claws into Luke's shoulder to keep his balance. The wolf's hunting instincts has been accurate, and Luke flashed blue eyes at him around a mouthful of his tail.
"East," the troll gasped between laughs. "Ever east. The nest is of cinnamon. You will smell it a hundred miles away with your new nose, Illugi Anason. The feather for your father, and one piece of the cinnamon for me, do not forget."
"We shall remember, Wise One."
The wolf and falcon left the cave and made the trip down the mountainside more quickly than the men would have.
"East." Luke turned his back on the setting sun and began to run. Han launched himself and soared far out of sight. It had been late afternoon when they had encountered the Troll, but he could have sworn they spent more time than that underground.
A faint scream floated back, carrying the message "I'll scout ahead."
Dusk began to fall, and Han's eyes were becoming useless. He landed on a branch and waited for Luke to catch up. The moon rose before sunset. Luke sat down, and stared at it. He let out a long howl of puzzlement.
"What, kid?" Han swooped down and waited for an answer.
"We left Ubadah the night of the full moon, am I right? It is now the night before the full moon. Time flows differently in the under-realm than here. I cannot tell if we have been given an extra day, or lost all our time."
"The Troll wouldn't send us on a hopeless errand. He's at the end of his time too. He needs the cinnamon. Believe an extra day."
“I believe. I must believe.”
“And I believe we’ll get back to ourselves. Ubadah will take care of the Valr until we return," Han said. "If we return. Keep believing, Luke. I don’t want to be a bird forever."
They traveled for days, always east, until one day Luke caught the faint scent of cinnamon from far to the southeast. He turned them that direction. The journey passed in sameness, in the feel of earth under paws, wind under wings. They slept only half of the night, Luke curled under the tree, and Han on a low branch, or in the shelter of caves, before rising to travel under stars and waning moon.
The cinnamon wind grew ever stronger, and the sun rose hotter each morning. On the last day of the journey, they came to the foot of a mountain of black glass. The sides rose sheer and slick. Luke circled it, looking for an entrance. Han soared toward the top, but returned, to perch on Luke's shoulder, before launching himself again, trying for as much altitude as he could.
As the fruitless afternoon grew purple with evening, Luke sat down. Han, his wings aching, perched, exhausted on a branch nearby. "We aren't going to do any good like this. Let's sleep on it, and puzzle this," Luke barked.
They hunted out a family of rabbits at the foot of a pine tree, and Luke curled up on the warm sandbank to sleep. Han picked over the last carcass a while before taking his place on a low branch.
A howl awoke him. Luke had found an entrance in the side of the mountain, illuminated by starlight. Han flew to join him, and they stepped into the dark passage.
The darkness closed in on them, all sounds muffled. Han perched on Luke's shoulder, not wanting to fly into anything in the dark. Luke let his nose lead him. It warned him away from bad air, told him of dead ends, and drew him ever upward to the cinnamon. They spoke little, finding their animal voices set up bizarre echoes that haunted them for minutes afterward and confused Luke's sensitive ears.
It might have been hours or minutes, or a full day that they climbed the smooth paths in the heart of the Phoenix's mountain, always upward. The silence and darkness bore down on them, oppressing their spirits. The weight of the mountain settled around them.
"Luke," Han cooed, as softly as the harsh bird voice would allow, "Let's rest a while."
Luke paused on the ledge, sniffing the air. "It's getting colder," he growled softly. "We must be getting to the top. No time to rest."
"By my count, we have sixteen days left."
They pressed onward, paws aching on the stone, darkness dazzling their eyes with phantom imaginings.
Slowly, so subtly they barely noticed, light began to filter back into their world. Then a breeze of fresh air, thick with cinnamon, caught Illugi's nose. He looked to see Han, a dim grey shape on his shoulder instead of the disembodied claws that had been his only reminder.
"Luke, I can see you."
"And the echo is much less. We're near the top!" This doubled Luke's pace. Soon, they saw sunlight sliding through a cleft in the rock. They left the mountain warily, knowing they would be exposed on the sheer cliffs.
Fifty feet up was the nest: an impossibly regular stack of cinnamon radiating tremendous heat. The cliff was sheer as glass. As they watched, an enormous bird, larger than a man, all scarlet, orange and gold, began to ascend from the nest.
Han, without thinking, launched himself after the Phoenix. After coming all this way, to lose the creature would be intolerable. Although no larger than one of its feathers himself, he nearly matched the bird's pace before falling back. Putting a last burst of effort, he sped up and caught the edge of the last tailfeather in his beak. The Phoenix towed him as it flew higher toward the sun.
Han sculled backward, trying to use his negligible weight to dislodge the feather. He only slipped farther down, almost losing it. He held on, and managed to get a better grip. Thinking, he moved side to side, loosening the feather until it came out.
By now, he was above the highest mountain, seeing the tops of the clouds. The air was thin and he breathed hard from the effort of plucking the feather. The Phoenix continued on, seeking the gap in the sphere of living crystal by which the moon orbits the earth, so that it might reach the sun.
Han, caught in a downdraft, tumbled wings over tailfeathers toward the ground, the precious feather caught in his beak. He righted himself and soared slowly toward the mountain where Luke awaited him.
He dropped the feather at the wolf's feet, and collapsed into a hard-breathing pile of feathers. Luke nudged him with his muzzle.
"Han?" he barked. "Han, say something."
"'Mall right. Let me rest." The screech was faint and tired.
"Don't you die on me, Han Hansen. The Lone One does not die on a mountain cliff as a bundle of feathers and bones!"
"Just winded. Air's thin up there."
Worriedly, Luke sat over his friend until Han managed to gain his feet again. They were both hungry, thirsty and exhausted, but Han had much the worse of it. Once the falcon had recovered enough to stretch his wings on a very brief test flight, Luke quit worrying a little.
"Han, stay here. We need the cinnamon yet."
"Can you get it?"
"I found a path. I can get it."
Luke picked his way up the hidden crevasses, sure-footed and careful, to the nest. Prying loose a stick was harder than he had expected, but the sharp claws and teeth worried at one until it began to budge. It was growing warmer.
"Luke! Hurry!" The anxious screech made him look skyward.
A ball of fire plummeted toward the nest, growing larger every second. Luke dug at the recalcitrant stick. The heat was nearly unbearable. It came loose, sending him backward into the middle of the target. He grasped it in his jaws and leapt, feeling the heat of the Phoenix beginning to singe his fur, and raced down the path, giving little thought to safety. Han, still waiting on the ledge, had begun walking toward the cave opening, still too sore to fly.
The blast of heat as the Phoenix impacted the nest sent a rush of fire down the mountain. Luke reached the ledge and seized Han in his jaws as carefully as carrying a pup then ducked back into the cleft of the rock.
They lay on the ledge, just inside the cave entrance. Luke, panting, took stock. They had the feather and the cinnamon, and sixteen days to make it back to Miklagard. They could spare an hour for rest.
"Han, are you all right?"
"Fine, Luke. Don't ask me to do that again. You?"
"Scorched my tail, but I'll live. I can carry you down if you carry the feather and cinnamon."
"Can do."
Han perched on Luke's shoulder, the cinnamon under one claw, the feather under the other. They made better time down the mountain than they had going up. The darkness lay upon them like a welcome friend after the bright fire of the Phoenix's demise.
They reached the cave at the bottom, and took shelter under the same fir tree. The first order of business was water, and then food. He went hunting. Han awoke to the smell of a fresh kill. Luke had dropped a rock-coney under his tree before settling down to eat his own. By the time Han fluttered down, his wings still aching from the day before, Luke was cracking the bones.
They ran all that day, westward, chasing their shadow by morning, into the setting sun by evening. Han, still too weak to fly, rode, clutching the hard-won magic. The next, and the next went by the same way. On the third day, Han tried to fly. He managed to keep up most of the morning, but the cinnamon felt like a log in his claws. Luke insisted he ride that afternoon, and persisted in hunting for him.
By the time they reached the mountains, Han was strong enough to fly all day. The troll did not greet them as expected. Luke climbed the troll's mountain, Han gliding overhead.
"Come back...have you...Illugi Anason? Almost... too late... you are." The rock unfolded itself, but the Troll did not seem so spry as he had a fortnight before.
"We have your magic, Wise One," said Illugi. "Now return us to ourselves." Han dropped the magic in front of the little being and perched nearby.
The Troll took the cinnamon, and seemed to revive. "Take the feather to your father, you must, Illugi. Your own shape...I give you."
The wolf straightened and became a youth, bedraggled and haggard. "My thanks, Wise One. Now Han."
"No more have I. Not until I renew with the Moon. Stay your friend may until then. Or go and let love end it."
"Riddles!" Illugi spat before the Troll, then stood and held up his arm. Han perched lightly on it. "You cannot change him? After all we endured you cannot give him that which you took?" His voice was nearly a shout.
"As with your father, young Illugi, only love."
Han, enraged, swooped off of Luke’s arm and dived at the Troll, giving his hunting cry. The Troll vanished into the mountain, leaving Han to pull up short before he hit the rock. He fluttered back to Luke’s arm.
Luke stroked Han’s feathers. "Han, I'm so sorry. We'll find a way."
The falcon preened its feathers and gave a screech. Illugi realized he could no longer understand the animal speech. But, by his father's sword, he would find a way to restore Han. What nonsense the Troll had spouted, about love.
Illugi Anason, carrying both precious feather, and more precious peregrine, made his way down the mountain to where the Valr lay beached. Ubadah sang out when he saw the Norseman, but his pleasure turned to dismay and he turned querulous.
"Han is right here. The Troll cannot change him back out of falcon form. Haste, to Miklagard. Mayhap my father can make some sense of the Troll's maunderings and restore him."
Ubadah tied the sail solidly and took the tiller. Illugi stood at the stern and sang the greatest wind the little boat could take. They made Miklagard, running against the tide, in half the time it had taken them to sail east. The men at the docks saw the bizarre ship, sail full with a wind that only blew for her, barreling into the harbor while other ships were sailing out. They dropped their bundles and ran from the ghost ship. The word "Naglfar" ran along the shore followed by the sign of the Evil Eye, as did "Sorcery" marked with the sign of the Cross.
No one stopped the young man who disembarked, a falcon on his wrist and a Varangian sword across his back, eyes burning like fairy fire in his face. He strode to the palace like a conqueror, a wave of his hand tossing aside the guards, and into the audience chamber, where the Black One sat, the Empress at his side.
"Father, I have returned." The doors banged shut as Illugi held up the feather. The Black One came to him and took it. The heat of magic radiated off the youth, leaving him ethereal and nearly transparent. The fire that he danced in would consume him if left unchecked.
"You have done well, my son." The Black One took the feather, and touched his son to anchor the boy to reality. He had seen wizards in such states before.
"I ask for your help in return. The Troll Under The Mountain altered my companion. It is to him you owe your magic. Will you help him become human again? My powers are over wind, not animals." The blue eyes had begun to lose their glow, becoming human again.
The Black One nodded, relieved that it appeared Illugi would not be consumed. "Let me heal myself, and I will use all at my disposal to aid your friend." He caught his son as Illugi fell. The youth had fainted. Days and nights of endless magic, worked for the sake of his father and friend had drawn all his vitality. Han flapped to a safe perch on a column, and watched as they carried Luke away.
The Black One closeted himself to work his spells, as the Empress's maids tended to Illugi. Han stood watch from the head of the bed, and screeched at any girl who lingered a bit too long over the fair-haired man. The youth came around slowly, his exhaustion acute. He slept for long stretches, but when he was awake, he talked to Han.
"He speaks to the bird as if it understands him," whispered one girl as she put a fresh pitcher of water beside the bed where he was sleeping. Han watched them, brown eyes unblinking.
The other cast a wary eye on the falcon. "He's a wizard, mayhap it does." She set down her tray of food and wine. "He's driven out the Black One, they say. Who knows but he's more dangerous still? But so beautiful.” She slipped light fingers over his hair splayed on the pillow only to find them trapped beneath the claws of the falcon. The bird screeched and then winged back to his perch. She picked up the empty pitcher and aimed it at the falcon. Her friend’s hand on her arm held her back.
“Don’t. If you harm the bird, who knows what will happen? And the Empress said to treat them both well. Come now. You’re lucky to have all your fingers.” The girl took the empty pitcher and made to go. “Coals look like jewels in the heart of the fire, too, but you get burned when you reach for them.”
Finally, the day came when Luke got out of bed. He had just gone to the chest to get his clothes when a tall man came in.
"Illugi. Dear son, are you well?" Ani Owanson embraced his son.
"Well enough, Father. You are healed." He touched the handsome face of the man. The Black One was gone. Here was his father, in every detail his grandfather had told him, down to the twinkle in his blue eyes. He stayed in the great arms as long as Ani wanted him to, knowing it was his father, the legend, the man he had dreamed of honoring all his life. His father lived and was hale, and he had done it. His heart felt full to bursting.
"Aye, healed. But not Captain of the Guard." Illugi looked at his father, horrified. Ani laughed. "I am the Emperor of Miklagard. Leaina has married me and claimed her throne. Everyone is so pleased I escaped the Saracens and returned. I am grieved you were too ill to attend the wedding."
He turned grave and held up his arm. Han flew to him, after a nod from Illugi. "And I owe it to you, my son, and your friend." He stroked the feathers of Han's back. "You are a powerful wizard, Illugi, but even you have limits. As do I. I shall do my utmost for your friend."
They stayed in Miklagard for months. Han remained in falcon form regardless of what Ani and Illugi tried.
One cool autumn day, Luke took Han down to Valr. Ubadah kept her well, and there was always enough money for him to live. He preferred to wait for his captain's return, rather than strike out for himself.
Luke liked talking to Ubadah. The Moor understood his language, even if he didn't speak it. "Love to end the curse and the shapes as well," he mumbled as he had so often in the past months. "Any notion what that means?"
The Moor shook his head in negation.
"Love. Is there a," Luke hesitated, "a woman? Where can I find her?" He smoothed the feathers of the peregrine on his glove.
Ubadah shook his head again. A muzzien called the faithful to prayer, and Ubadah dashed to get his rug. Knowing he would get nothing more, Luke sat on the gunwale of the Valr and let Han preen. He scratched on the back of the head, where Han's beak and talons couldn't reach.
"No wife, no woman," he mumbled to the hawk as he thought. Han had taken him on as a wizard, mainly because Ubadah wanted one. Yet, he had undertaken the quest, and nearly died of exhaustion and fire. What sort of man did that for a mere friend?
The answer burst upon him, like a saga given by Bragi himself. He held out his glove. Han perched on his hand. Carefully, Illugi Anason, Luke, lifted the bird to his face. "Love to end the curse," he whispered, and touched his lips to the sharp beak.
The next instant, he was kissing warm lips that felt as if they belonged on his. Strong arms wrapped around him and he relaxed into their hold. He opened his eyes to see Han smiling back at him.
"Some wizard. Took you how many months to figure that one out?" The smile negated the complaint, and Han, throwing caution to the winds, claimed Luke's mouth again.
Coming up for air, Luke smiled back. "It took me too long. I do love you, whether its disgraceful or no."
"Not disgraceful, Luke. Not if we're both men about it." He kissed Luke once more.
Ubadah came up from midday prayers and found two men sitting together where he had left a man and a bird. He hugged his captain hard, and sang for joy in his own melodious tongue.
"Nice to be back, Ubadah."
Suddenly, Luke's face clouded over and he looked at the city. "This means you'll be leaving, right? Back to the sea?"
"That's right. I can sail again! Flying was great, but sailing is my life's-blood." A look at the man beside him, in the fine silk and damask of a prince of Miklagard, brought him back. The Sea called him, the Song of Thalassa matching his pulse, but his heart sat here beside him. Torn in two, he stared, memorizing the face of the man beside him.
"And I stay here, Illugi Anason, Captain of the Varangians, the Emperor's son. Marry a princess, have many sons and become emperor in my turn." He looked back at the Dane. "And forget about you. About your kisses. About the way you gleam in the moonlight. About how you almost died for me." He looked back at the city. "Stay here one night. I shall return before the next high tide."
"As you say, Luke. I am yours to command, my prince." The last came out too mocking and Han bit his tongue after it was out of his mouth.
Luke vaulted onto the dock and vanished.
At sunrise the next morning, a pounding awakened Han and Ubadah. On the dock, rapping at the Valr's carved bow, stood Luke. His clothes were simple, practical for travel. A plain sword hung from his hip. He carried a large bag, which he tossed under the shelter in the stern.
"I am ready. Where do we sail now, Captain?"
"Illugi," Han began, using his true name for the first time since Sicily. He was not worth a kingdom, he knew. He would have said this but the youth stopped him, knowing what he was about to say before he could begin.
"Luke. I am Luke. Windmage and loremaster, attached to the ship Valr."
Han took in the clothing, general and anonymous. No loving embroidery or runes of protection. The Valrbladir was gone as well. All traces of the Norse youth who had sought him out in the tavern were gone. This was Luke, a wizard, and a rover.
Han hoisted the sail and cast off. "Steer us straight, Ubadah! Luke, sing us up a wind! We're off!"
They caught the tide and ran with it.
Owan Jenson finished the story. Lars had dozed off over his carving, and Bera was humming to herself as she made the shuttle fly. Illugi stared up at him, rapt, the arrows forgotten in his lap.
"And as the story ends, so the day ends. To bed with you, boy." He pressed the small ship, trim as an elm leaf into the boy's hand and motioned to his loft. Illugi kissed his grandfather's cheek, seeing the pleasure he had taken in telling the tale, and climbed the ladder. The old man watched, his own blue eyes as unfathomable as the Skagarak. If seitheskratti was the boy’s wyrd, not even the Norns could change it. But he, Owan Jenson, would never shame the boy for it, and he knew his story had told Illugi as much.
Illugi lay a long time, staring at the stars, wondering if they were the same ones over Denmark and Miklagard. The moon made a slow course, and if he looked, he could almost see the wolf that chased him. The wolf in pursuit of the eternal flier. Wolves and falcons, and a dark-eyed Dane haunting his thoughts, he looked down at the ship in his hand, tracing her clean lines and single mast.
"The adventure you are ready for is the adventure that will come to you," rang in his ears.
"I will be ready for it, Grandfather," he whispered, focusing on the brightest star in the east, the model of the Valr clutched in his hand.
Young and alone on a long road,
Once I lost my way:
Rich I felt when I found another;
Man rejoices in man.
--The Havamal of Odin
