lost in a fit of coughing as his back locked up, his leg buckled, and he had to clutch the staff to avoid falling over.
The farmer stood and watched him from his steps.
“Well met,” Audun croaked at last.
“Where are you headed?” the man said.
“South,” Audun replied. “I seek shelter for the night.”
“I suppose you do,” the old man said. “I have little, but what’s mine is yours.” As Audun approached, the man added, “It looks like you might need it. Are you badly hurt?”
“No,” Audun lied. “A fire and some broth should set me right.”
“We can see to that,” the man said.
The house had not looked like much from afar, but it turned out to be well maintained. To Audun’s travel-weary eyes it was a palace. Three beds fitted snugly into the corners, two of them unused. Chisels and wood-carving knives were scattered across a small table by the only window, which faced toward the fields. Underneath the chair next to the table, a woven basket stored sticks of various sizes. A small fire gave warmth to the whole room; a bubbling pot sent off smells that made his stomach growl.
“Settle down, stranger. Settle down. Do you have a name?” The man led Audun to one of the unused beds and nudged him to sit. Then he reached into the pouch hanging off his belt and pulled out something wrapped in linen cloth, along with a small paring knife.
“Audun,” he mumbled, settling down with his back to the wall. Looking around, he noted the carvings on the walls. Most appeared to have something to do with battle. He tried to focus, but his head felt fuzzy.
“Audun.” The old man mouthed it, as if it was something he’d never heard before. “Audun. Welcome to my home, Audun. My name is Fjölnir.” He unraveled the linen cloth, revealing a joint of meat. The weary blacksmith’s mouth watered, and he swallowed.
Fjölnir saw it and smiled. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s goat, and a tough old one at that. What brings you to Setr Valley?” he asked.
Audun couldn’t think of any reason, so he remained silent.
The old man looked at him, smiled, nodded, and handed him a slice of meat. “Help yourself,” he said. Setting the joint down on the table next to Audun along with the paring knife, Fjölnir reached into the folds of his tunic, and another, bigger whittling blade appeared in his hand. He reached for a stick from the basket underneath his chair and started gently carving.
They sat like that for a while, listening to the soft crackling of the fire. Audun chewed on the meat, savoring every bite. The steady movement of Fjölnir’s hand was mesmerizing as it flicked away the bits of wood that weren’t supposed to be there, carving out what looked to be a head on broad shoulders. Despite the aches and pains, Audun felt the weight of the last two weeks slowly ease off his chest.
After a while, Fjölnir put down the knife, reached out, and stirred the embers with a poker. He glanced at Audun as he said, “Fire . . . It’s a strange thing. It’s almost like an animal. If you treat it well, it does you good. But feed it too much and it burns down your house; put it out and you’re cold and miserable. It’s a strange thing, fire.” He looked at Audun again. One of the old man’s eyes, the right one, didn’t appear to be working properly, but the left eye sparkled, and a faint smile played on his lips. He looked about to say something; then he checked himself and went back to the whittling.
Audun frowned, but he was too tired to think. Fire . . . He remembered the flames on the wall, the heat in the forge. A short while later, he fell asleep to the sound of Fjölnir humming parts of an old tune.
He woke to the sound of hammering. Shutters had been opened, admitting the feeble rays of the sun, and Audun could smell the mist on the morning air. Still half-asleep, he got out of bed and stood up, putting all his weight on the bad leg. His brain caught up with him and the shock of impending pain made him draw his breath—but there was none. He pulled the string on his worn, dirty pants very carefully and checked his hip. All that was left of yesterday’s fall was a fading yellow-and-purple bruise. The injury in his side already