They walked through the night. The raven still led them, though its black feathers disappeared in the dark; they followed it by virtue of its croaking alone. Lack of sleep and the physical exhaustion after already a long day placed Halfdan in a poor mood, and he once again questioned why this task had befallen him. The quest forced upon him bothered him even more than previously, now that he had to worry about this Utgarda-Loki and his men pursuing them. He was no longer only a hunter pursuing prey, but also being hunted himself. It gnawed at him, filling his mind with concern, and he could do nothing except continue the march.

  As morning light reached them, it seemed bleak and unable to dispel the gloom of night. Halfdan soon realised why, as he glimpsed his surroundings. Ahead lay rows and rows of barrows, occupied and protected by dead J?tnar. The berserker did not fear two or three of these enemies, but twenty or thirty was another matter – his companions were not made for war like him. Worse than that, he had no idea what exactly they searched for or where to start. He assumed – hoped – that they would simply recognise the gate on sight, whether it was another body of water or something else. But nothing within his sight struck him as a possibility, which suggested it lay within one of the burial mounds, and they looked to be a score in number, if not greater. If they had to search them one by one, each time fighting its defenders…

  The raven had disappeared, offering no help. Halfdan stared at the artificial hills that dotted the landscape and turned to his companions. “You know the land better than me. Where might this gate be found?”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Freydis admitted. “Centuries if not longer must have passed since it was hidden. And all these hills have been raised in the years since. Probably, it lies concealed in a deep chamber, perhaps far underground.”

  Halfdan looked at Sif. “Anything?”

  The girl gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

  The berserker turned his gaze back on the barrows, exhaling. “I guess we better begin.”

  *

  They searched the landscape first, ascending the tallest hill for its vantage point. Nothing as far as the eye could see except burial mounds, all of them overgrown with grass. After that, they walked among them, looking for any that might seem disturbed or had signs of recent entry. But the grass revealed no secrets, and the stony entrances to each barrow told them nothing.

  Without any better idea, Halfdan finally crouched down and entered one of them, bringing a torch. He had to get on his knees, awkwardly crawling through the narrow opening until he reached the chamber inside the hill. Freydis followed while Sif waited outside.

  As the torch illuminated the space, they looked around. It was nearly empty except for the very middle, where a low table stood. On it lay the bones of a dead J?tun. Any clothing or burial shroud had rotted away, but it held a sword in its grasp. More altar than coffin, it made the hairs on Halfdan’s neck stand up; especially as he knew it might not stay dead. Around the corpse, like offerings, stood a number of small jars.

  “Nothing here that could be a gate, nor an entrance to any deeper complex,” Freydis remarked.

  Her words were followed by a creaking sound. Expecting the worst, Halfdan gazed down at the old bones and saw how the spine slowly raised the skull, like a sleeping person looking up from slumber. “Who disturbs my sleep?”

  Taking a step back and hitting his head on the low ceiling, Halfdan’s free hand fumbled for his axe while the other held out the torch.

  “Forgive us,” Freydis spoke, having also moved back. “We mean no insult.”

  “We look for an ancient path,” Halfdan explained, hoping that a skull without ears would be amenable to listening. “We hunt Loki, the deceiver, to safeguard the realms against him. He came this way, taking the old roads we now seek.”

  The draugr turned its hollow eyes from one to the other. “You seek the very first barrow, built when Asgard became J?tnar’s foe to close the door between our realms.” Thankfully, the lack of a tongue proved no hindrance to speech. “It is not here. Go, and disturb me no more.”

  “Of course.” Unsure about etiquette, Halfdan bowed his head, only to hit it when he stood upright again. On the wooden slab, the skeleton lay down again, resuming eternal rest, and the two wanderers crawled out. Once outside, the berserker dusted himself off. “I have to say, for a draugr, he was quite reasonable.”

  “Did you find it?” Sif asked.

  “No, only a clue that won’t help us much.” Freydis let her gaze sweep over the surrounding hills. “We must find the oldest barrow, but how can we tell? We will have to check each of them all the same.”

  “I don’t suppose the skáld in our company can tell the difference from the outside,” Halfdan considered.

  Sif furrowed her forehead, an intense look of focus on her young face. “I guess this would be [Know the Realms]… or [Know the People]? I’ll try to increase the first one.”

  Freydis looked from the girl to the berserker. “What’s she talking about?”

  “I have unspent Seeds,” Sif explained, closing her eyes. “I’ll see if increasing [Know the Realms] help. I learned from Halfdan to keep some in reserve, should you need them.”

  Halfdan’s heart swelled with pride.

  “The J?tnar first buried their dead in bigger hills, often with room for more than one chamber. Later, they made the mounds perfectly round with only one chamber. Like the one you just visited,” Sif explained happily.

  “So we go for the biggest first,” the berserker decided.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Freydis shrugged. “Lead the way.”

  *

  They returned to the very hill they had climbed to gain a vantage point earlier; besides being tallest, it also lay central with the other mounds placed in expanding circles around it. “It makes sense this would be the oldest,” Halfdan considered. “Let’s find out.” Still with the torch in hand, he bent down to enter; unlike the previous, he could walk rather than crawl, albeit in crouched fashion.

  Despite what Sif had said, it contained only a single chamber. It was larger than one might think, as the path into the mound sloped downwards; Halfdan could stand upright without fear of hitting his head.

  As for contents, it likewise had bare walls, but its middle was different from the other. Rather than a grave or slab, a carved throne took the centre position. Upon it sat a dead J?tun of a strange character. His body was mostly intact, with flesh and muscles, covered by richly embroidered clothing. His hand clutched a massive rock shaped like a club. But notably, his head was gone. In addition, a hole had been carved into his chest, leaving it hollow.

  Halfdan brought the torch low, reading an inscription on the back of the seat, left visible due to the corpse lacking its head. “Here sits Rungnir, who lost his head, but not his heart.” Mumbling the words to himself, Halfdan wondered if this was some ill-mannered jest. Seeing him so focused, Freydis joined him and likewise read the carved words. “Mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head. “Never heard of him.” She glanced down at the jars that surrounded the throne. “Nothing here of interest, though. At least this one’s not moving or talking. It creeps me out.”

  “He’d have a tough time saying anything,” Halfdan mumbled.

  “Did you find anything?”

  The sudden appearance of a voice behind him sent a start through the berserker. “You were told to wait outside,” he scolded Sif.

  The girl shrugged. “That won’t get me new Seeds, will it? Oh, that’s so strange,” she added, staring at the headless J?tun. “That’s Rungnir?”

  Halfdan sighed. “Alright, let’s have it. Who is he?”

  “He was the strongest of all J?tnar,” Sif explained. “He had a head and heart of stone, it was said. He challenged Thor to a duel. Turns out, he wasn’t stronger than all the Aesir.” She pointed at where his head should have been. “Thor’s hammer went straight through, crushing it.”

  “Another slain by Thor’s hand. The Aesir are skilled at violence,” Freydis mumbled.

  Their discussion ended as the headless J?tun rose from his seat.

  *

  For obvious reasons, it would not be possible to discuss matters with this draugr; as Rungnir raised the stone club in his hand, scraping the ceiling, the undead J?tun’s intentions became clear.

  It landed a blow right where Halfdan stood, who had to leap away in the last moment. “How in Hel’s name can he see where to strike?” the berserker yelled, throwing the torch onto the empty throne in order to draw his axe. “Sif, out!”

  But the draugr had moved to stand in front of the exit, trapping them. A stone flew from the girl’s sling, accomplishing nothing. Freydis pushed Sif behind her and aimed her spear at their enemy. “Like the wolf!” she called out, and Halfdan understood. She would strike once he gave her the opening.

  With swift movements, he went close enough to swing his axe in a heavy blow, aiming to separate arm from shoulder. [Deeper the Cut] bit into undead flesh, but not enough to cleave it. It left a wound, but against an enemy who did not bleed nor feel pain, that availed nothing.

  Freydis attacked as well with the same result. To his terror, Halfdan realised their enemy had no vulnerability. He had killed the draugar by cutting them apart, crucially the head; this would not work here. The shapeshifted bear and wolf had both possessed weak points where steel could be driven through to damage internal organs; the gaping hole in Rungnir’s chest showed this strategy to be worthless.

  Nothing to do but hack away at the limbs, Halfdan thought. He dodged another blow from the strange rock weapon and struck with his axe. Again, it tore open the undead skin, but did little more. Halfdan swung again, hitting a third place, and he realised how long it would take, trying to strike at the same wound. All the while, each blow from the J?tun’s club threatened to crush his bones to powder.

  Freydis attacked as best she could, but her spear was not meant for foes of this kind. The weapon struck into the draugr, but the injury left behind caused no hardship for Rungnir, who continued his attacks unfettered.

  If I rage, inside this small chamber, I’ll kill the others, Halfdan told himself. That’s got to be the last option – and only if I can move him away from the entrance, so they can escape.

  Another blow fell against him, and again Halfdan had to leap away. The J?tun’s stone hit his own throne, shattering it and sending debris in every direction, smashing clay jars as well.

  Considering his rage a desperate measure, Halfdan opted for another strategy first, striking at the legs. They moved less than the arms, and he could reliably strike the same place each time. The draugr might not require a head to fight, but surely without one leg, he would fall to the ground and the berserker could chop him to pieces like a log.

  His new plan had one disadvantage; he needed to get closer to hit a leg rather than an arm. With a swing, Rungnir’s stone smashed Halfdan against his temple. The berserker was sent flying across the chamber, striking the wall. Groaning, he felt his consciousness trying to slip away. With blurry sight, he saw Sif hurry to the destroyed throne, surrounded by broken pottery. Dangerously close to the draugr. “Child, run,” Halfdan tried to shout while also attempting to summon his rage, but the words left his mouth in mumbled fashion, and he was in no state to command his powers.

  From a broken jar, Sif lifted up a strange rock. She threw it to Freydis, shouting something. Struggling to see, struggling to understand, Halfdan could barely focus his sight or his mind. He saw the headless draugr raise his rock for another strike, this time aimed at Freydis, who stood right in his path.

  Halfdan tried to call out, to warn her; already, he imagined her beautiful face bashed in, covered in blood, and finally, he felt his rage begin to boil inside of him. But he knew it would be too late.

  In the last blink of an eye, Freydis evaded, leaving behind the stone that Sif had tossed to her. Rungnir’s weapon, of the same material, struck and crushed the rock from the jar. Immediately, the draugr fell to the ground.

  An eerie calm settled over the chamber, the silence only broken by pained breathing. “Halfdan!” Sif shouted, running over to him. “Don’t be dead!” Tears lay in her voice, though she made an admirable effort to keep them from her face.

  Halfdan looked up at her with a smile on his blood-smeared face. “It’ll take more than that, girly.” He glanced at the fallen draugr. “What happened?”

  “His head and heart were made of stone,” Sif explained, sniffing. “In the story, Thor crushed his head, but it never mentioned his heart. Looking at his chest, it was missing. When the jars got destroyed, one of them had a rock inside. So I threw it to Freydis.”

  “And I allowed Rungnir to be his own downfall as he pulverised his own heart,” the priestess continued. “Not only that, he cleared the way for us.” She reached down and helped Halfdan to stand. In the flickering light of the torch, flung to the side, he saw what she meant. Where the throne once stood, a hole had been revealed. An entrance to the depths; the path forward lay open.