Völund waved them over, opened the chest, held its massive lid open with one hand. He was careful to hold it by the handle. Many an hour had he spent, in time stolen from sleep, welding on the edge to it, the sharpest edge he had ever made in his life. They were good children, and he did not wish them to feel pain.
“Come, see!” he said again. They peered over, squeaking like mice with excitement. Their necks were over the iron lip of the chest. Völund, cruel man that he was, averted his eyes as he prepared to slam down the lid…
I do not want to be in this body, thought Shef, fighting against the god’s fingers that held him firmly, forced him to watch. Whatever lesson I am being taught, I do not want to learn it.
As he began in some unknown way to squirm free he saw another sight, far below the forge, somewhere in the deep rocky bowels, not of Middle-earth, but of the walls that surround the Nine Worlds of men and gods and giants together. A great figure, with the savage unpredictable face of a god, chained with monstrous fetters to the foundations of the universe. A great serpent hissing and spitting venom in its face, the face contorted with pain and yet still aware, still thinking, still looking beyond the pain.
The figure was the chained god Loki, Shef realized, whom the Way-priests believed had been bound and tormented by his father Othin for the murder of his brother Balder. Yet who would break free and return to revenge himself on gods and men, with his monster-children on the Last Day itself. The enormous staple on one wrist-fetter had been pulled almost free from the wall, Shef saw. When it came loose Loki would have one hand free to throttle the tormenting serpent sent by his father Othin. Already he seemed free enough to beckon, to be signaling to his allies, the monster-broods in the forests and in the depths of the sea. For an instant his furious eyes seemed to look from his prison up towards Shef.
As he tore himself away again Shef felt one more trickle of the thoughts of Völund.
Do the deed, they ran. Do it now. And then, then to scoop out the skulls and carve them like walrus ivory, then to polish the teeth till they shine like pearls, then to take the glistening eyeballs from their orbits…
Back in his own body again, Shef felt a monstrous slam, saw for an instant a sharpened lid swinging down.
The slam was real. He could feel the tremors of it still shaking the bed. Shef kicked his feet free of the linen sheet and woolen blanket, leapt from the bed, lunged for tunic, breeches and shoes. Was this the queen’s husband come for him?
The door swung open and the boy Harald rushed in. “Mother! Mother!” He stopped as he saw only Shef sitting on his mother’s bed. Without a pause he pulled his little eating-knife from his belt and lunged at Shef’s throat.
Shef parried the blow, caught the thin wrist, twisted away the knife, ignored the furious kicks and punches from the free hand. “Easy, easy,” he said. “I was just waiting here. What is happening outside?”
“I don’t know. Men with a—with something that throws rocks. The wall is all smashed in.”
Shef let the boy go, darted through the door from the bedchamber to the queens’ parlor. As he did so a concerted charge smashed down the door from the main hall, and a wave of men poured in, knives drawn and crossbows pointed. Shef recognized Cwicca at the same moment that they recognized him, began to step forward waving his arms frantically for them to stop.
Karli sprang out of the ruck and came forward, shouting something inaudible in the din of voices.
“There’s no need for it!” Shef bellowed back. “I’m all right. Tell them all to stop.”
Karli laid a hand on his arm, trying to drag him towards the door. Furiously, Shef threw it off, realized at once that Karli meant to knock him unconscious once more. He dodged the left lead, got a hand up in time to block the right swing, ducked his head into Karli’s already-broken nose and grappled his arms, trying to prevent him getting in a clear blow. As they struggled, Shef felt other hands on him, arms and legs, men trying to pick him up bodily and carry him off like a sack. He heard a voice gasp in his ear, “Hit him with the sandbag, Cwicca, he won’t stop fighting.”