Njála's Tale, Part 7

After their adventures in Varmalek, the Álvarhamrmaðr loaded the Stigandi with grain and once again affixed Or-Æfi's tiller. They were content to let it take them where it would, as the Gods saw fit. It took them through wintry seas, out of the Gritwater and into the angry Grimsjór. They approached Ferðuhvalurland, where they remained outlaws.

At length the deep seas grew calm and they were forced to row. It was in the very bosom of the ocean that they were attacked by ferocious and repugnant niðhoggi, those ancient tearers of corpses. The monsters were many, and they sought to throw hero and sailor alike into the freezing Grimsjór. Brigitta Glottisdottir, fast friend and captain, fell to the beasts. The niðhoggi snapped the Stigandi's keel like driftwood and punched great holes in her sides, but she was a fine and stout ship and did not fail the Álvarhamrmaðr. She was hopelessly damaged, but she did not rest until beached safely on Ferðu shores.

The broken ship came ashore in Mjórfirð, which is known as Narrow Strait , in the sturskorðasveit. To the north was Ulfhúsið, Wolf house district, where Álfþór Gnúpursson's people thrived. They had no love for the Álvarhamrmaðr. To the south was the Hrafnstraumursveit, Raven river district, where wise old Yrsa Selkasdottir was Goði.

There were many people in the Vollbrær settlement, which was near the secluded inlet where the Stigandi had come to rest. They needed timber to repair her, and set out at once to secure some.

On the way they had the curious good fortune to come upon Jon Helgesson, whose wife was known as Iða Helgesdottir, who long-dead Arnor and Mardis had masqueraded as in far-away Grænthorp. Jon was heartily glad to meet the slayer of Arnor, and promised whatever aid he could render, be they outlaws or no.

Helgesson gave them food and lodging and they recovered their strength. He told them of Leirbrimir, the Clay Giant, which had appeared recently and menaced local fishermen. They swore to destroy it, and with the help of the twins Geirtir Sædórsson, and Drífga Sædórsdottir, did exactly that. Bryndis lopped its great clay head off and the creature haunted the Mjórfirð no longer.

They killed Leirbrimir before the very eyes of a war party that had arrived to do just that – many men from the north, led by the Helvegrmaðr. They were advised by the child Medija Varma, who the Álvarhamrmaðr knew to be an evil changeling. They hailed the war-band and learned the news, after nine months in foreign lands.

Kolgrímur Ráðersson was dead, as was his excellent son Jokull, who fell to the Alvar. In their place is Konólfur Bjarnmarsson, war-leader of the Helvegrmar, now Goði and leader of the Mjolkvatn people. The Helvegrmar were not supposed to seek power, but these werw extraordinary times. He now had followers across the north and east and was popular as a man of courage. They had fought the Álvar across the island, and many places had been lost. The Hrimtindur and Sulturforstófa were in dark hands. The Grænthorp was barely won. Hveitifoss had been the scene of bloody battles. Old Sigrid was dead, and many the Álvarhamrmaðr knew and loved were missing or dead.

Having no wish to fight the Helvegrmaðr, the heroes purchased a sprightly fishing boat and left the Stigandi with her grieving crew. They took the tiller, as well as the many precious artifacts they had recovered, and sailed north. In Grey Bay , in darkness, they met with Njala Myrrisdottir, and gave her both the Hisæti and magnificent Ættartangi. Njala urged them not to falter in their quest, and they departed at once for Fjarvertey, where they hoped to enter Hel itself and recover the magical hammer they had foolishly given to their enemies. Æggur had been tormented by puzzling dreams that seemed to scorn them, and challenge them, and push them toward Far West island. They came in the form of a song from a long-dead comrade:

I've sixteen wounds,
a slit shirt of chain,
there's clouds before my eyes - can't see.
It entered my heart,
Angantyr's sword,
fell bloodspike,
forged in poison.

I had boon companions,
but that was never
enough for me.
Now I must lie,
of life deprived,
sword-maimed,
beneath grim Álvarstór

Men are all drinking
mead in the hall,
there's fine jewels
among the Goðingar;
much beer
makes the men sleepy,
but my sword-tracks lie
beneath Álvarstór in torment.

I left the pale
bed-valkyrie of ribbons
on Berghamar
to the ocean side;
all too true
what she told to me,
that never after
would I be back.

Long before I turned away
from womens' song,
fair-sounding notes -
I feared no joy;
slow with my Friðavigr
I sailed westward;
to war I fared,
I would not hurry,
from dear friends
one final time.

But from the west
flies the eagle,
after him a disloyal valhrafn
in its turn flies;
my flesh I offer
to the last valhrafn;
he leaves his branch
he will lap my blood.

Olgrimur, Bard,
Eyfrið, Skuli, Rurik,
under forest roots
I rouse you all,
with shield, with armor,
bright helm and harness,
a good sharp axe,
and gold-reddened spear.

So much for you
sons of Ferðu,
mean men
to the mould adding,
when Sigrid's boy
won't even talk
to me tonight
in Gritwater Bay .

Olgrimur, Bard,
Eyfrið, Skuli, Rurik,
may you all be racked
in your ribs rotten,
decay as though dwindling
deep in an anthill,
if you don't return

for the Hammer of Álvar;
it does not suit
dead men to grip
a good weapon.

Hellsgata gapes
and graves open
all is fire
on Fjarvertey island's rim;
it's grim outside
to gaze around,
shift yourself, once-noble Friðavigr,
if you can, to your ships.

All thought the song prophetic, and agreed to go to Fjarvertey in great haste.

“That place is overrun by draugr; it is a Helsgata” Bard said, “and I have sworn to cleanse it. We own property on that island, and neither Álvar or blood-stained ghost will keep us from what is ours.”

Here ends Njala's tale.