Silly rabbit.


Seven

The Saga of Hromund Gripsson

Harry left Gryffindor Tower with the rising sun, alone but for his black wool cloak and his satchel full of pies.

Daisy had been too groggy and shivery to come with him, she said. Though Harry suspected that his sister could only bear to be near Eloise at night when the murk of the forest mixed with the fog off the lake and kept the creature in shadows. Daisy always stationed herself far away in the dark. Harry couldn't begrudge her this. He was certain that Eloise only let him come near her because one of her hairs was in his wand, and still she tried to kill him once in three visits.

From what he understood from Mr. Ollivander, the hair in Harry's wand was the only hair Eloise had ever given, and then not willingly. But Harry was connected to her by this, and he was intrigued by her behavior, and she wasn't so bad really once you got to know her, and so he brought her treats from time to time.

The Fat Lady was snoozing softly in her portrait when Harry exited the tower. The occupants of the other portraits that lined the corridors were still asleep, too, or just beginning to stir when Harry darted past them. They yawned and dabbed at their eyes with long frilly sleeves as he went by, just a blur in black robes.

Outside, a September chill had grasped all the air and crouched covetously with it, threatening frost, in the ivy-choked courtyards and down through the arcade. There was the cry of an owl in the sky, just returning from a night's hunt. Harry hung his satchel over his neck and pulled his cloak close. He flipped the hood up. The cold was beading on the ivy and stone alike, and the pale autumn sun hadn't burned it off yet.

Checking his wristwatch, Harry thought about dropping in on Hagrid—he wasn't frightened by Eloise, though he rarely came closer than Daisy would—but thought better of it. He would be caught up in plenty of conversation and chatter today; it would be nice to start the morning off with a measure of peace. Their talk with Professor Moody had left him with a new sense of direction and determination. He would figure out how the Goblet of Fire worked. He would enter the Triwizard Tournament. There would be no chance for Daisy to be involved in anything dangerous at all.

The sun peered through the tree branch frame of the Forbidden Forest as Harry made his way over a hillock and down to the shore of the Black Lake. It was quiet at this time, the surface was broken only by the nibbling mouths of hungry fish hunting at the edge for insects and algae. The giant squid must have been resting at the bottom.

Harry's trainers were soaked with dew from the walk through the lawn. He dried them with a flick of his wand, at the shoreline, then started his march to the far end of the lake, calling quietly as he went. "Eloise! Eloise!" He slipped the satchel through the seam in his cloak and opened the flap. "Eloise! I've brought you something."

Harry clambered up a rocky escarpment littered with shoots and patches of thin grass, then down again to the water's edge. He pulled one of the pies from his bag and waved his wand in a circle over the top, muttering, "Calefac." A dribble of steam curled up from a slit in the pie crust, carrying the savory scent of beef mixed with onion. Harry stuck his wand between his teeth and wafted the steam away over the lake.

The black water boiled a few meters out from the shoreline, all bubbles and froth. It surged towards Harry's position before vanishing altogether in the shoals. Then there was a ripple, and a snort, like a hog giving his sty a hearty sniff, and the muzzle of a horse emerged from the water. Then came her blue-black face, her ears, and her neck, with a mane that was a tangle of bulrushes and dark kelp.

Eloise canted her head and surveyed him with one dark, glassy eye. She swam forward, revealing her shoulders and withers. Her lips peeled back, showing him her set of sharp white shark's teeth laced in seaweed.

"Yes, it's for you, silly girl," said Harry, tucking his wand away.

The mare let out a thunderous neigh and galloped through the shallows to stand before him; her long tail slashed the water, throwing up waves. Harry wasn't quick enough to back away, and her wake slapped him over the head, drenching him. He stumbled forward, stepping into the water, and his heart came slamming up his throat and into the roof of his mouth.

Eloise was under him. He felt her soft, slick coat beneath his fingers, instinctively grabbing at her as she pulled off into the water.

"Stop that!" shouted Harry, pushing away and fighting to stay in the shallows. Birds squawked high in the forest at his cry and leaped from their perches in a crackling of branches and leaves. Harry dug his heels into the muddy bottom of the lake, but he was caught. "Eloise!"

He wouldn't last more than a minute stuck to the creature in the depths below. She would drown him. "Eloise, you'll ruin your pie!" And in truth it was already ruined, crushed against her side, smearing her ribs with beef and pastry. His hand was stuck fast to the kelpie's flank as she whinnied and pranced in the water. But she had stopped pulling.

"No," said Harry firmly. "You'll let me away."

The mare twisted her neck, unnaturally, up and back to look at him. Harry met her stare, insistently pushing against her ribs to be freed. Again the creature's lips drew back to reveal her sharp pointed teeth.

Harry used his free hand to yank his satchel from under his cloak. He held it up, bulging with pies and carrots. "Wouldn't you rather have all of these instead of me?" he asked the kelpie. "And who would you talk with and play with if you killed me?"

Eloise tossed her head, giving him a baleful look, but suddenly his hand was free, unstuck. He snapped it away before she could change her mind. The kelpie whinnied again and circled him, pushing her snout under his hand, her mouth going for his satchel.

"Hold on, now," said Harry. "One at a time, or you'll be sick." He patted her nose, gently pushing her away, and slogged through the water back to shore. The mare followed him closely, her head darting after the pies. "I said, hold. On."

He fished his wand out from his pocket and dried himself off. Eloise looked at him askance, as though she didn't understand why he wanted to be dry and warm and not covered in lake water and seaweed and shivering. Harry narrowed his eyes at her, but unslung his bag and started to remove the sodden pies.

"Look at what you've done," he said to the kelpie. "Daisy kept all of these for you, and you've turned them to mush."

Eloise snorted, pawing at the sand on the lakeshore, and showed her teeth again. She spun, her tail of rushes lashing out, spraying water, and dove into the lake to reemerge as an immense black highland cow sheeted in long strands of kelp. "Moo!" she bleated.

"Your hooves are the wrong way," said Harry, unimpressed.

Eloise curled her cow's lips back to grin at him. She shambled over and lowered her head to lift his empty satchel with one of her newfound horns. "Moo," she said, kneeling. She flopped onto her stomach and nestled herself into the beach. "Moo."

Harry sighed. He gathered the soggy pies, too far gone to save with drying charms, and set them down before Eloise's snout. "One at a time," he said seriously. He cleared away some twigs and rocks that had found their way into the sand and sat with his back against the kelpie. Despite being damp on the surface, the flesh underneath her hair and kelp was warm. Eloise shifted a little and threw her thick tail over his legs. She lowered her head to the pies and began to munch and slurp at them, mooing delightedly between bites.

Harry leaned his head back against the kelpie's broad flank and shut his eyes against the climbing sun. "Flying that Ford Anglia was rather mad," he said to her, "But you'll be hard-pressed to believe what's happening now."


Daisy sulkily thrust a scrap of moldy parchment at Harry and put her chin in her eggs. "Can you fix it?" she asked.

"I don't think I can," said Harry, glancing at the letter.

'Daisy,' it read, 'I am returning immediately. This business with your scar isn't the only sign I've come across. The Death Eaters are showing themselves. Dark things are stirring. If the headmaster has brought Alastor Moody out of retirement, it means that he's reading the signs, as well. Trust only them. Give Harry my best, and Ron and Hermione, as well. Sirius.' There was a little sketch of a black dog and a hippogriff across the top corner of the parchment, as though Sirius had been doodling when Daisy's message had arrived, and he'd used the same sheet to write his letter on and sent it back out in a rush.

"What if I tell him I was imagining it?" said Daisy. She shook her head, sending bits of egg and potato flying. "No, but I can't lie to him. He'd be devastated." She threw her hair back and grasped her head with both hands, growling.

"What's got you in a tizzy?" asked Ron, dropping his school bag onto the bench and grabbing an empty plate. His hair was still damp and clumpy from his morning wash. He piled his eggs and toast and sausages high and started in.

Harry passed the scrap of parchment. Ron's eyes went wide between bites of sausage. He looked across the table at Daisy and pulled his fork from his mouth. "You wrote to him?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" said Daisy. She lowered her voice. "He would have found out; it was all over the paper." She scooped the eggs from around her place and dumped them back onto her plate. "And now he'll be found."

"What does he mean dark things are, er, stirring?" asked Ron through a mouthful of eggs.

"It means dark things are stirring, I imagine," muttered Harry. "I don't know if you'll be able to dissuade him, Daisy. He's nearly as mad as Professor Moody. Now that Peter is away, we're all he's got to look after."

"It's not fair to call him mad," said Ron, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "He wasn't all that mad. He found Wormtail here all the way from Azkaban."

"Obsessed, then," said Harry. He resisted the urge to stare at Daisy's scar. He knew exactly how Sirius Black felt. Responsible. He was their godfather. He should have been able to care for them with their parents gone. The news of Daisy's scar pains might have been a convenient excuse for him to come back to Hogwarts and risk execution for his alleged crime. And Harry couldn't blame him.

"Why is everyone who cares about us mental?" said Daisy, leaning forward across the table to grasp Harry's hand. "I shouldn't lie to him, Harry, but what will I write?"

"Tell him you're glad he's worried about you," said Ron. "That's what I tell my mum. And tell him you'll look after Harry." The youngest Weasley winked at him and took a pull from his goblet of milk. "I tell her I look after Ginny, too. It makes her stop worrying about what we're getting up to." He reached for more eggs. "The next morning Ginny will get an owl from mum interrogating her about her studies, and asking whether or not she has enough clean underwear."

Daisy looked uncertain. "Maybe I'll ask Hermione, later."

"Speaking of," said Ron. "Where is she? We've got McGonagall this morning and she loves to make a show of how studious she's been over the summer."

"Library," said Daisy, waving her fork. "Something about her research." She pointed the fork at Harry. "You've riled her up by telling her you were joining her committee."

"I did what?" said Harry. "I haven't joined anything." He set his utensils on his plate and pushed them to the center of the table. They vanished. "I was just trying to calm her down. She would have run into the kitchens hauling a wardrobe otherwise."

"Well you've done the opposite, I think," said Daisy; she flared her nostrils. "You've made her more organized. She's got a list with your name on it that says, Secretary Potter."

"That, er, could be you, Daisy," said Harry. "Or have you forgotten we're both Potter?"

"I haven't got feathers for brains," snapped Daisy. She sucked at her lip. "I'm down as Treasurer Potter."

"And what am I?" said Ron.

Daisy grinned. "Mascot."

Hermione met them queued up outside Professor McGonagall's Fourth Year lecture hall. She was puffing from her long run from the library, and her bag had nearly burst its seams with the number of arcane tomes she now carried. Harry was glad for her distraction and made certain to sit on the opposite side of Ron, away from the girls. He made double sure to enunciate all of his incantations and didn't attempt any transfiguration until Hermione had already been preened by the Professor for her good work and temerity.

When they were turned loose and Harry said that he and Daisy had to head to the library themselves, for a short time, Hermione looked at her timetable as though it was written in blood.

"I've got Runes," she said. "I don't suppose you'd wait for me?"

"Can't," said Harry. "Take a look. We've got Hagrid in the afternoon and Sinistra in the evening. It'll be close regardless."

"What are you two looking for?" asked Hermione. "Don't tell me it's more about the Triwizard Tournament? You aren't trying to enter underage like Fred and George, are you?"

Harry fumbled for words.

"No, we aren't," said Daisy, coming to his rescue. "We're going to look for whatever Hagrid crossed to make the Skrewts. Otherwise, they might starve and wither away."

"You don't think he did anything illegal?" said Hermione. "Unsanctioned hybrids can be extraordinarily dangerous if they're not raised properly."

"Illegal?" drawled Daisy, rolling her eyes. "Never. Not Hagrid. How can you accuse him so."

Blushing furiously, Hermione touched Harry on the shoulder then sped off for class.

Ron walked with them as far as the staircase, but not having to go to the library was one of his secret pleasures, and he bid them farewell to have a nap in the common room before Care of Magical Creatures.

"When are you going to make Hermione an honest woman?" asked Daisy, as they strolled arm in arm into the library. "I don't think she can contain herself much longer, Harry. I reckon next you'll find her smoothing your hair as you wake one morning."

"She'd never let me alone," said Harry. "And I've got things to do. You saw Percy and Penelope last year. They were hardly ever apart. She can't be trailing after me as we..." He swept an arm at the expanse of bookshelves set before them.

"But don't you like her?" asked Daisy quietly. "You wouldn't want to be led along by someone you fancied just to be turned down."

"She hasn't said that—"

"Does she really have to?" Daisy cut in, her eyes crinkling dangerously.

Harry took his glasses off, looked at them, then slid them back onto his nose.

"I guess not."

"You don't like her," said Daisy, watching him carefully. "You like Eloise and she's tried to drown you, but you don't like Hermione."

"Daisy, I don't know!" said Harry, a touch too loudly.

From somewhere in the stacks, Madam Pince's hushed voice came screeching at them. "Mr. Potter! Quiet in the library!"

"Yes, marm," muttered Harry. "Sorry."

"Yes, marm," Daisy teased. "Oh come, you pillock."

They found Madam Pince sequestered in the poetry section, levitating returned books back into their places on the shelves.

"We'd like a book on runes, please," said Daisy. "Old ones that are straight like this. Nothing squiggly if you can manage it." She held out a scrap of parchment upon which she'd tried to recreate Professor Moody's drawing of the Goblet of Fire. To Harry, it looked like a floor lamp with an upturned shade, ringed with freckles.

Madam Pince looked as though she'd bitten into a rancid lemon at being presented with Daisy's drawing and request. "Old runes?" she said. "They're all old, Miss Potter. You'll have to be more specific."

"Erm, I don't think we can, marm," said Harry. "Is there a section on Ancient Runes we could look at? Professor Moody said there might be a book here that he needs."

"Did he, now?" said Madam Pince, looking sourer (a feat Harry thought impossible by this point). "And he can't bear to muffle the sound of that obnoxious leg of his for ten minutes to look for it himself, can he? Scratch, scratch, scratch. Thunk, thunk, thunk. All through the stacks." The librarian wrung her hands as though reliving a traumatic event.

Harry was caught between amusement and concern, but Madam Pince levitated the last book into its place with a fwap! and led them across the library to a section with small chest height tables arranged before the stacks.

"Here you are," she said. "Anything further would be in the Restricted Section, but I don't think Alastor Moody would be after any runes that have to do with dark rituals." She sniffed and floated off to her desk.

"Please don't let Hermione become a librarian," muttered Daisy, moving to run her thumb along the spine of a book that read, 'Basic Rune Translation: Most Mean Stop!'.

Harry glared at her half-heartedly.

They each took an end of the section, and a ladder, and climbed up to the top of the bookstack to search for anything that might be of use. Harry sorted the through books on hieroglyphs and Mesopotamian translations quickly, remembering what Professor Moody had said about the cup's script.

"Look for things about the north," he said to Daisy, rolling his ladder over to the next section. "Or the north and west. Germanic things."

"Proto," said Daisy with her nose against the spine of a wide volume. "Primitive." She wiggled the book out from its place and placed it on a stack on the top step of her ladder. "Harry, all of these look very old, but they aren't cave people drawings or anything. How am I to know what's primitive enough?" She grasped the end of the rail and pulled herself higher to peer at the title of another thick book.

"Why don't you have a look at what you've got on your pile first," said Harry, eyeing her precarious position atop the ladder. "Before you topple it all over and Madam Pince flogs us."

But after an hour of searching through anything vaguely European, they'd not found a thing. The closest runes they had come across were the Norse runes like Mad-Eye Moody had said, but even they seemed more complex than the ones on his sketch of the Goblet of Fire.

"And it's all so dry and dusty," groused Daisy with her arm propped and her cheek in her palm. She flipped rapidly through a translation dictionary, frustrated, and shot it over to him across their table. "Why can't it ever be a storybook we've got to read? Always with the lists and ingredients and stir this way, and write this down. Get this thing. Now that thing. It's never anything that grips you." She puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Nothing about adventure."

"We've gotten to do some exciting things because of dry and dusty books," said Harry, taking the dictionary and peering at the runes with their descriptions. "Or have you forgotten all the skulking about and lying in cupboards that we've done?"

"Ergh," said Daisy. "Perhaps we should nick some more boomslang skin, just for a treat." She reached across the table and turned his watch over on his wrist to check the time. "Right, pack it in, we've got Hagrid soon."

Daisy sprang from her seat and scooped up as many books as she could carry. She toddled over to the bookstack and scrunched her nose, trying to remember where they all had come from.

"That's why I said to go one at a time," said Harry. "Let me help." He took the top layer of tomes off her stack and slotted them in their places. "Wants to read about adventure," he muttered. "Can't even—" And it struck him across the eyes as though one of the dictionaries had fallen from the top shelf.

They didn't need to know exactly what the runes on the Goblet of Fire said. They just needed to know how the cup worked. Just enough so that Harry could get the correct result from entering his name. And it was as good a chance as any that something so ancient would be in a story.

"I could kiss you," said Harry to his sister. "But you've got dirt on your face again."

"What have I done?" said Daisy, brushing at her cheeks with a sleeve.

"Ask Madam Pince to find you old storybooks while I put these away."

The librarian pointed them to a rack just behind the dragon section.

Harry crouched at the corner and ran his eyes over the titles, stopping as he found some with a double printing in runes. "Here," he called to Daisy. "You take one, and I'll take one, and we'll read them tonight before Astronomy. If they're no good we'll come back and pick some more tomorrow."

"The Saga of Grettir the Strong," read Daisy, taking the stubby book from him. "Look it's got pictures—oh, he does seem strong. What have you got?"

Harry glanced down at his thinner volume: The Saga of Oter Haldingsson. It had a drawing of a small girl on the cover. She was wielding a tree branch in the face of a great beast.


The Slytherins were already at Hagrid's hut when Daisy and Harry arrived. Hermione and Parvati and Lavender were there as well, crowded near Fang as though the boarhound would save them from the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Get along, you lot," Hagrid called when he saw the twins come over the rise. "Pick out yer crate."

Ron came stumbling over the hill after them, his hair standing on end. His face was blotchy from running. "Nearly overslept," he said, stifling a yawn, as they reached the Skrewt crates. "Might work out later, though. I hear Sinistra will have us up late. Hannah had told Hermione earlier."

Harry stifled his own sympathetic yawn. He grabbed the handle of one of the Skrewt crates and pulled it aside as Hermione came to join them.

"Hello," she said. "Did you find anything out?"

"Pardon?" said Harry.

"About the Skrewts," said Hermione.

"Nothing at all, really," said Daisy, giving Harry a sharp look. "We'd thought to check what Fire Crabs are raised on, but they have mouths, not suckers. And they're pretty much turtles."

"Tortoises," said Harry, feeling extremely proud of his sister and her quick thinking. He shrugged at Hermione. "I'll reckon we'll look again tomorrow."

They settled around their crate of Skrewts and brought out their sketch pads. Hagrid wanted them to draw diagrams. Their goal for today was to identify the disparate body parts each Skrewt seemed to have and make notes on what their function might be. The only thing each creature seemed to have in common was too many legs and the hole from which they blasted off. Harry wrote that they used their legs to walk, and they used their holes to scoot.

Hermione was too close to him again and had put her sketch pad on his knee. She was shooting him furtive little glances when she thought he wasn't looking. Daisy, on his other side, was openly staring.

Across the paddock, Harry caught Malfoy staring at them as well. She stood over Crabbe and Goyle, who were leaning over their crate of Skrewts, tongues-between-teeth as they fumbled with their quills. Her pad was propped on Goyle's back. She was making small, swift marks, as she regarded the Skrewts with a curled lip. When he met her stare, she smirked, then mouthed, 'Besotted.'

Harry felt his neck go warm. He dropped his gaze and gently moved Hermione's sketch pad to the grass. He stood up, ignoring her protest, and went to lean over the crate as the Slytherins were doing. He remained there for the duration of the lesson.

When they had finished with dinner and returned to the common room, Harry pulled Daisy aside. "Come up to the boy's dormitory. We can have a look at the books while I get my telescope."

"What about mine?" said Daisy.

"Have Hermione put it together for you," said Harry.

"She wouldn't," said Daisy, furrowing her brow. "And she'd certainly wonder why I've gone to help with yours—that wasn't very nice what you did to her at Hagrid's."

"Maybe I'm not nice," said Harry, and instantly regretted it as Daisy's cheeks puffed with rage. He pinched her nose. "Sorry, sorry. Don't go mad. Malfoy was just looking at us, then, and she was smirking like a cat."

"More like a sow," said Daisy nasally. She swatted his hand from her nose. "Hurry and get your telescope. We can assemble them down here and read after."

Harry grunted, but dropped his bag at a table went to retrieve his telescope. After they had put them all together and folded them up again in preparation to be carried to the Astronomy Tower, Harry and Daisy settled at a table and brought out their storybooks.

Harry was genuinely curious about the picture on the cover of his book. He ran his fingers over the embossed figures, tracing the girl's wand and the beast's teeth. Daisy had her book open and was flipping through the preface, staring blankly at the print.

Harry snorted softly and began.


The Saga of Oter Haldingsson

Part One

A king reigned over Ravndal in the north and he was called Arnulf.

He was the son of Erland, who was a great man, and strong in body and spirit. Erland had come from without Ravndal with three strong bulls and a bloody iron sword and made the land his own, and rich.

When Erland passed, he bid his son Arnulf come near his deathbed and gave to him the secrets of his strength and more. 'There will be a time for you to return to the lands where I was born,' he said to his son. 'And you will know. You may take with you three strong men to the seer on the crag. They alone may follow you to what waits.'

King Arnulf had many strong men, though none stronger than his man called Halding.

Halding was broad as the spruce, and his wife was broad as well. She was named Runa, and her father had been Hemming and had been Jomsviking. They had seven sons, named Hrolf, Halvar, Hammond, Hjalmar, Knute, Olav, and Oter. Each was thicker and stronger than the last, but for Oter, who was thin.

Halding was getting on in his years, and Arnulf did not know for how long he must wait for the call to his father's homeland. The larders were growing thin. A king could not let his larders be thin. And so in spring, he went to see Halding and his children.

'Halding you will sail with me again' said the king. 'You will bring three of your boys. May we see many battles and hence they grow strong.'

Halding brought forth Hrolf who was broad and bearded, Knute who was tall and thick of limb, and finally, Oter who was young and small, but whose eyes were bright.

'We are to sail to the Hebrides,' said Arnulf, seeking not to injure his man. 'There will be blood shed.'

'He must sail,' said Halding, familiar with his king's mind. 'Now or next.'

'So he must,' said Arnulf.

They sailed west in the dragon ship, harrying as they went.

Arnulf saw that Oter was broad in a way he had not seen in the other sons of Halding. Oter had a broad voice and sang well and his mind held all the stories of the gods that men forgot when they came to the sea. The men were glad of his spirit.

They were met with fourteen battles in Norway and the islands.

Arnulf saw Hrolf was as his father, with power in his arm and without fear of blood. Knute was near to him and favored the club. Oter, too, went forward well, and no iron touched him, though before each battle he said, 'Live long, sire, I go to the halls of Odin.'

In the Hebrides, they took many cattle and wares and loaded their ships.

The call for Arnulf did not come in winter, or in spring, and again he went to Halding and asked him to bring three sons to sail to Gaul.

Halding brought with him Hrolf and Knute and Olav.

'What of Oter? Should not he sail with his king?' asked Arnulf. 'No blade has touched him, yet many fell by his hand, and he has the gift of song and story to keep men's spirits high.'

'It is Olav's year,' said Halding. 'Will you allow me a fourth son, sire?'

'I cannot,' said the king. 'Call Oter as our poet and not your son.'

The ships of King Arnulf sailed for Gaul.

Halding fell in battle, taken by many spears, and went to feast.

They found much gold and iron in Gaul, and again their ships were laden and they returned to Ravndal.

Winter brought a dream to King Arnulf. He watched the Draugr in the ice emerge from the barrow in the black north and set to killing. The lands of his father were in ruin, and the barrow grew full of riches.

The king called for Hrolf and Knute and Oter.

'We must travel north and to the seer,' said the king. 'As your father was my man, you will be my men.'

They went into the wood and up the mountain to where the seer lived on the crag. Her home was a cave in the rock face. The seer met them on the ledge with her staff of yew and her cup for blood.

'You are Erlandsson and these your men,' said the seer. 'I have seen it. You seek to go north into the ice and cold to meet the dark one who has slain your kin.'

The seer was not unkind to look upon, but Arnulf was aware of her nature and knew that she must have been late in years. The paint on her eyes was dark and purple and held her age from men. The bones of her sacrifice hung on her neck, obscuring her form. Now she brought forth her cup and drained the blood from it.

'Which man can drink to match me may go forth to my home and see what is there to arm himself against the cold.'

Oter came forward, but Knute rose ahead of him. He had been well taught to hold his ale and put a hand up for his brother to wait. 'I will drink with you, seer,' said Knute.

'The first. To pluck,' said the seer. And the cup was full to the brim with ale. Knute drank well and stood. The seer filled her cup once more and drained it with ease.

Knute again drank well and stood. The seer was smiling in her paint and ash. Again the cup was filled with ale and she drank.

Nineteen times they drank until Knute could not stand. He sat.

'Not only pluck,' said the seer, and Knute became a bull, horned and shaggy.

'Then I shall,' said Hrolf. He was not shaken. 'I shall drink and go forth to be armed.'

'The second. To determination,' said the seer, filling the cup.

Twenty-one times they drank the ale from the seer's cup. Then the ale became blood and the cup was filled and the seer drank with solemnity.

Hrolf drank seven times the blood and sat. 'Seer, I cannot,' said Hrolf. 'To see those things again.' And Hrolf became a bull.

There was King Arnulf and Oter and the two bulls who had been his brothers. Arnulf had become fond of Oter. He was fresh to manhood and his voice was broad and he could withstand many travels yet.

'You will not drink, Oter,' said the king. 'I shall take the seer's cup.'

'I cannot go after you,' said Oter. 'For the treasure in the north is yours and the Draugr will be forever reaving.' Oter grasped Arnulf's forearm and said, as before battle, 'Live well, sire, I go to the halls of Odin.'

The seer smiled through paint, ash, and blood.

'Upon my death, you will let my king be armed,' Oter said to the seer. 'For I will not stop until then.'

'So he will be,' said the seer. Again she filled the cup with ale and offered it to Oter. 'Third,' she said, 'For sacrifice.'

Oter took from her the cup. He read the runes on its lip and was familiar with regard for silent things and said, 'Vidar will see it done if you break your word.'

Twenty-one times he drank the ale from the cup as the seer matched him.

Twenty-one times he drank the blood from the cup and the seer matched him.

Oter was staggering but still, he stood. He saw all of the men he had slain in Valhalla, their heads split, their necks bloody, and he desired to join them, but knew that no Valkyrie would come for him here.

The seer raised the cup again and filled it with blue flame. She drained the fire and passed the cup to Oter.

Oter drank the fire, cutting and cold and burning all at once.

Oter wanted to die, but his king needed to be armed to face the Draugr. His need was lesser than that. He passed the cup back to the seer.

'Again?' said the seer. She leered at him but filled the cup anew.

'Until I am dead,' said Oter, swallowing flame.