“Did he ever give anything to Frith?”

Fonn gave her barking laugh. “No human in his right mind would go near Frith.”

“Do you know how she lost her hair?”

Fonn didn’t. When Jack told her about the sorry events that led up to his trip to Jotunheim, she laughed and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh! Oh! I wish I’d been there to see it! Frith is obsessed with hair. She nagged Mother until she got a full head of it.”

“The queen gaveher that hair?”

“Through magic. Frith is a shape-shifter, but when she took human form, her hair was exactly like mine. Mother gave her human hair, which also made it possible for her to keep her human shape more easily. When she lost it, she reverted to being halfway between the worlds. Did she go into a snit?”

“I’ll say,” said Jack. “Northmen were climbing the walls.”

“What a treat! Frith’s snits were famous even here.”

All in all it was a pleasant day. Jack had grown to like the gentle troll-maiden and her silent and melancholy sister. He visited the harem and was made welcome by Bolthorn, Fonn and Forath’s father. He had been Glamdis’ first love, and she still treated him with respect.

Jack couldn’t imagine being part of a harem, but Bolthorn clearly thought himself honored. “She dragged me right off the ice and threw me into her cave,” the ancient Jotun rumbled, fondly remembering their courtship. “I had scratches all over my browridge!” Jack looked away, embarrassed, without exactly knowing why.

He found the louts good company, but their personal hygiene left a lot to be desired. They considered it manly—or whatever the troll equivalent was—to be filthy and to never clean their nails or teeth. Perhaps that’s what attracted Thorgil, and they certainly admired her.

She had turned from a sullen, miserable brat into someone quite likeable. Maybe, Jack thought as he saw her playing Dodge the Spear with a pair of young louts, this was the first time she’d ever been the center of attention. She was tolerated, but not liked, by Olaf’s wives and children. No one was glad to see her except Slasher, Wolf Bane, Hel Hag, and Shreddie, the dogs with whom she’d been raised. This was the first time she’d ever made friends.

“You are not to speak,” said Fonn, settling Jack and Thorgil in a corner. A long table sat in the middle of the hall. Torches burned on metal stands around the walls, and their light flickered on a set of golden chess pieces. Jack recognized the queen piece as the safe-conduct Frith had given him.

“Is the queen—I mean Mother—going to play chess with the Norns?”

“She hostsa game,” Fonn said with emphasis. “No one plays chess with the Norns. They play each other.”

“Doesn’t sound like fun, just watching someone else,” said Thorgil.

“This is deadly serious,” the troll-maiden said. “You’re here so the Norns can see you, but you’re not to speak unless they ask you something. I’ve left you snacks. If you think you’re going to be afraid, now is the time to leave.”

“We’re not afraid,” Thorgil said stoutly. “I am Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter and this is my thrall.”

“Ex-thrall,” said Jack.

“Everyone’s afraid of the Norns,” Fonn said. “You can’t help it. Just don’t knock anything over or bolt from the room.”

What could possibly be so terrible about something that looked like a woman? Jack wondered. He and Thorgil had already faced a troll-bear and a dragon. He watched nervously as Fonn left. They were alone in the hall. Bowls of fruit and bread sat on the table, so the Norns presumably ate.

Thorgil selected a honey cake from their own little table. She appeared calm, but her hand trembled. “I think we can talk until they come,” she said.

“What have you heard about Norns?” said Jack.

“Rune says they decide when Ragnarok happens.”

“What’s that?”

“The final battle between the gods and the frost giants. It’s when everyone dies and everything is destroyed.”

“That’s a bleak view of the future,” murmured Jack.

“Odin selects the bravest warriors for this final war. They train each day until it’s time to die.”

“But they come back to life,” said Jack, remembering something Olaf had said about warriors getting killed and rising to feast all night in Valhalla.

“Not after Ragnarok. Darkness falls over everything.”

“Even the godsdie?”

“When the Norns say so, yes.” Thorgil watched the door at the far end of the room. Her hand kept straying to the knife on her leg, but that was merely habit.

“What could be more powerful than a god?” Jack asked. He, too, watched the door. The torches blazed and wind beat uselessly against the heavy white curtains covering the windows.

“Time,” said Thorgil. “Rune says the Norns are Time itself. He doesn’t quite understand it and neither do I. Shh!”

Jack saw the door move and froze. But it was only the Mountain Queen coming to take her seat on the throne. She didn’t look at them, and they knew better than to speak to her. Then all three of them sat and waited.

Gradually—Jack couldn’t tell exactly when—a presence gathered at the far end of the hall. It was a crowd of people, or perhaps it was only a few. It was hard to tell. The curtains stirred and the torches dimmed. Voices came from a great distance, voices that sent alarm through Jack’s body. They were like something he’d heard in a terrible dream. They murmured of every fear he’d ever experienced—of falling down a cliff or of losing his parents or of being in a dark place where he could weep forever and never be found.

Thorgil put her hand on his arm. Jack realized he’d been about to do the very thing he’d been warned against: flee the room. Thorgil looked pale. No doubt her own private terrors were being revealed.

It was a world of loss far more terrible than the songs of vanished Utgard. It was more devastating than the destruction of Gizur Thumb-Crusher’s village. It was Everything Gone. The voices of the Norns whispered about the passing of all that was bright and brave and beautiful. You could only watch it die. You could only go down to defeat and darkness.

Jack heard a slight noise. He turned and saw Thorgil holding her knife before her. Her message was clear. She would go down bravely, and if fame truly did die, she would still run to meet her fate.

Jack clutched the rune. A Norn looked up. She was young and fair. She stood at the beginning of the vast procession that shuffled through the hall. Round the table they went. One put her hand out over a bowl of fruit, and it withered. They sat down, and now Jack saw there were only three, though the air shifted and whispered behind them. They arranged the chess set.

One watched and the other two played. The game went on for a long time. Jack blinked. It seemed as though the chess pieces moved by themselves. They were no longer on a table in a darkened room, but standing in front of houses or tilling fields or shearing sheep. They went about their lives, unaware of the silent Norns watching them, and now and then a hand reached down and took them away.

The game went on until only a few pieces were left on either side. A Norn with a cavernous mouth and hollow eyes made the final move. Checkmate,she soundlessly murmured.

The other player, the young and beautiful Norn, bowed her acceptance. The third Norn was far more difficult to see.

She kept flickering and shifting, like a shadow under a windswept tree.

Then all three looked up and beckoned to Jack.

He couldn’t move. His legs had lost their strength, and his mouth had turned bone-dry. Thorgil nudged him. He couldn’t obey. She stood, took his hand, and drew him forth. In her other hand she held the knife. Her face was almost white in the dim light. Merciful heavens, was she going to try to stab a Norn?