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Alvin is standing on the beach where he washed ashore. To the east, the first rays of dawn are fanning out from between the black peaks surrounding the island.
A waterskin is strapped around Alvin’s chest. The letters “SOS” are singed into the leather. He takes a piece of cloth out of his front pocket and examines it in the pale sunlight. It’s a back pocket ripped off his jeans.
Block letters are stained onto the light blue denim: STRANDED ON ISLAND EN ROUTE ICELAND TO NY. SEND RESCUE! ALVIN ELLIOTT.
Alvin rolls up the piece of denim, slides it into the waterskin, blows air into it, and corks it up tightly.
Alvin closes his eyes and says a silent prayer, clutching the waterskin to his chest. He opens his eyes and heaves the waterskin into the water with all his strength. It bobs on the waves as the ebbing tide carries it out to sea.
***
Solveig is sitting in the Jarl’s house wearing a white dress, the silver mirror on the table in front of her.
The door opens and Alvin enters.
> Solveig: You’re up and about early! Could you try on your wedding shirt? It’s on the bed.
Solveig looks back at her reflection in the mirror, and settles a garland of flowers on her head.
Alvin goes to change his shirt, then comes up behind Solveig, wearing a new linen shirt that flaps around him voluminously. She turns to look at him and grimaces. They laugh.
> Solveig: Freya forgive me. It’s as big as a horse blanket. I guess you’re taller than you are wide. I’m sorry.
>
> Alvin: It’s fine. I can wear a belt.
Alvin’s expression grows somber.
> Alvin: Solveig.
>
> Solveig: Don’t, Al. Not again.
>
> Alvin: Just once more, and then I’ll forever hold my peace. Are you sure you want to go through with this?
Solveig nods her head so emphatically that a few petals come loose from her garland and float to the floor.
> Solveig: I told you. Marrying you is the only way I can escape Sten. You’re the only one he fears.
Alvin scoffs.
> Alvin: Sten? Afraid of me? The guy was probably strangling snakes in his cradle.
>
> Solveig: Did you not kill his father the moment you met him?
>
> Alvin: Only by mistake. And I get the feeling Sten doesn’t fear death.
>
> Solveig: Perhaps not as such, but he fears a foolish death. A rival who renders all his strength meaningless. Like you.
>
> Alvin: Anyway, about you and me, I…I might not be here forever. I might have to go back to the Other Worlds.
>
> Solveig: I don’t see how, unless you can coax the volcano into sucking you back up. Are saying you don’t want to marry me?
>
> Alvin: I’m thinking of you, Solveig. You don’t love me. You don’t know me.
>
> Solveig: I know you’re a good man. Or whatever you are. I feel safe with you.
A knock at the door.
> Solveig: Come in!
Erik enters, carrying a long wooden chest whose lid is carved with pine boughs and cones. He walks over to them.
> Erik: Felicitations on your wedding day.
>
> Solveig: Thank you. I was just telling Al I can’t wait to marry him.
>
> Alvin: Me neither. I mean, me too. Can’t wait!
>
> Erik: I brought you an early wedding gift.
Erik sets the chest on the table.
> Erik: Open it. You’ll see why it had to be now.
Alvin opens the chest. Inside is a delicate circlet made of overlapping silver leaves, and two carved wooden swords. In each hilt a plain iron ring is nestled in a circular groove.
> Solveig: They’re beautiful!
>
> Erik: The circlet was my mother’s. I made the swords myself. Since neither of you has a family here…
Alvin looks puzzled.
> Alvin: Thanks, Erik, they’re amazing. But what…?
>
> Solveig: Viking brides and grooms exchange swords as a gesture of unity between their families. They’re usually heirlooms.
>
> Erik: They should be iron. Wood was the best I could do.
Erik picks up the silver circlet.
> Erik: May I?
Solveig removes her flower garland. Erik places the circlet on her head and ties its leather laces. He notices the intricate braid pattern in Solveig’s hair.
> Erik: Fish-scale weave? Six strands! I can never manage more than four. You did this yourself?
>
> Solveig: Yes. You’ve a good eye for detail.
Alvin eyes Erik curiously.
> Alvin: Erik, won’t you need the crown for your own daughter someday?
>
> Erik: I’ll worry about that when the time comes.
***
The clan is gathered on the ceremonial hilltop at night. Flaming torches encircle a clearing, where Alvin and Solveig are standing facing each other, Solveig in her bridal dress and crown. Gorm is standing before them. Erik is off to one side, holding the wooden chest.
Sten is at the front of the crowd of guests, looking like he just bit into a rotten apple.
> Gorm: Jarl Al and his chosen bride Solveig. Please take up your swords.
Erik opens the chest. Alvin and Solveig each take out a sword.
Sten scoffs and mutters to his closest neighbors.
> Sten: Fake swords. Ridiculous!
Gorm nods at Solveig.
> Solveig: Al, I will be your wife and serve you through snow, through fire and through time. I will till your fields and nurse your children. I will gird you for battle and bathe your feet upon your return. I pledge my faith only to you.
Gorm nods at Alvin.
> Alvin: Solveig, I will be your husband and protect you from storms, from wild beasts and from enemies. I will clothe your children. I will…bring home meat for your table.
Alvin gaze darts to Erik, then back to Solveig.
> Alvin: I pledge my faith only to you.
>
> Gorm: You may exchange swords and rings.
Alvin and Solveig exchange their swords. They each take a ring from their sword’s hilt and place it on their finger. They return the swords to the chest.
Gorm fumbles in a leather pouch tied to his belt and draws out two silver necklaces with pendants in the shape of Thor’s hammer. He whispers to Alvin and Solveig.
> Gorm: I will need these back later.
Gorm puts the necklaces around Alvin’s and Solveig’s necks.
> Gorm: We unite this pair on the day of Freya, goddess of love and fertility. May Freya in her benevolence ripen the bride’s womb. And may the groom’s ‘hammer’ be as strong as Thor’s, with seed as plentiful as sparks struck from an anvil.
Gorm smiles mischievously and the crowd laughs.
Alvin is mortified; Sten is disgusted.
> Gorm: Well, then, Jarl Al, will you not kiss your bride?
Alvin gingerly kisses Solveig on the cheek and the crowd cheers.
***
Solveig is circling among the wedding guests, greeting them, urging them to eat and topping up their cups from a jug of ale.
Three Viking matrons – Gertrud, Astrid and Helga - are standing with their backs to Solveig, warming themselves at the firepit where meats are roasting. Solveig approaches the firepit.
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> Gertrud: I never liked her.
>
> Astrid: Nor I. That hair. Just…shamelessly red!
Solveig freezes.
> Helga: Perhaps she’s deranged. She spurns Sten, the man among men, to marry the demon of death.
>
> Astrid: I’ll wager Sten is sorry now he didn’t make her a slave.
>
> Gertrud: Supposedly she hates him because he killed her brother. What a child! I’ve lost two brothers and a husband to war. You move on. Sten didn’t know he was her brother. It was nothing personal.
>
> Helga: If you ask me, Sten had a narrow escape. The mouth on that girl! She has an opinion about everything.
>
> Astrid: And did you see the demon’s wedding shirt? It looks like she modeled it on a bear.
>
> Gertrud: I hope this cures Sten of his foolish infatuation. There’s certainly no shortage of good South Shore girls lining up to warm his bed.
>
> Helga: I think I’ll give my Ella a little push in Sten’s direction. Or maybe Ingrid.
>
> Solveig: More ale, ladies?
Astrid, Helga and Gertrud all spin around, gaping. Helga is the first to recover.
> Helga: Solveig, my dear! My warmest congratulations. You finally married the Jarl. Not quite the Jarl we expected, but still! My girls are so jealous.
>
> Solveig: You’re too kind. Now remind me, is Ingrid the cross-eyed one, or the one with the mustache? And which one looks more like you?
***
Alvin is standing alone, fingering the hammer-shaped pendant on his necklace and drinking ale. People walk by, congratulate him nervously and hurry on their way.
Gorm comes up to him, his staff in one hand and a horn of ale in the other.
> Gorm: Best wishes on your marriage, Jarl Al! You certainly have acquired a challenging young wife. I have something for you.
Gorm puts his hand into the pouch at his belt and pulls out a small wooden board, which he gives to Alvin.
Alvin examines the board. Nine hollows are carved into the wood in a three-by-three pattern.
> Alvin: Uh, thanks. Is it tic-tac-toe?
>
> Gorm: What’s pickle dough?
Alvin murmurs “What is it with you and pickles?”, then leans closer and yells.
> Alvin: Is it some kind of game?
>
> Gorm: Far from it! It represents the Nine Tasks of Manhood. Each time you complete a task, you receive a stone token to put in the board. A merit badge, as you call it.
>
> Alvin: Right, the tasks. It may be a bit late to ask, but can you give me a quick rundown on what they are?
>
> Gorm: Certainly. No need to worry. I’m sure you’ve accomplished most of them already. For instance, surely you’ve grown a crop from seed?
>
> Alvin: No.
>
> Gorm: Hunted a boar, wolf or elk?
>
> Alvin: No.
>
> Gorm: Ridden a horse for nine Vei?
>
> Alvin: Don’t know what a ‘Vei’ is, but I’m gonna say no.
>
> Gorm: I suppose there’s no chance you’ve stolen something from another clan?
>
> Alvin: You suppose right.
>
> Gorm: Hmm.
Gorm looks momentarily crestfallen, but then brightens.
> Gorm: Al, I must confess something to you. Although I have been given the gift of Hearing, it may surprise you to learn that sometimes I can be just the slightest bit Hard of Hearing. For instance, just now I fancied I heard you say you have never performed any of the four Tasks I mentioned.
Alvin leans towards Gorm’s ear and bellows.
> Alvin: That’s correct!
>
> Gorm: Well, then. This may be a bit harder than I thought.
They both sip their ale thoughtfully.
> Alvin: Hey, one of the Tasks is just drinking ale, right?
>
> Gorm: Indeed! My personal favorite. Although the quantities involved can be challenging to the uninitiated. And at the same time, you must make your drinking mates laugh. However, that becomes easier the more ale is consumed.
>
> Alvin: Cool. I think I can handle that. What’s another easy one?
>
> Gorm: Now you mention it, one is usually completed at birth!
>
> Alvin: Getting a name?
>
> Gorm: Close. Discovering your fylgja – your spirit animal. Do you happen to know which animal ate your mother’s afterbirth?
Alvin chokes on his ale.
> Alvin: Uh, nope, can’t say that I do.
>
> Gorm: Well, then. We shall have to give that one some thought. At the other extreme we have killing.
>
> Alvin: Oh. Well, at least I’ve got that one out of the way.
>
> Gorm: No, you don’t.
>
> Alvin: Uh, I’m not proud of it, but…doesn’t Ulf count?
>
> Gorm: He does, although I would say it’s frowned upon to begin by killing the Jarl. However, the task requires you to kill three men. So we can only count that as one third complete.
>
> Alvin: Great. Hey, what about marriage? I’ve definitely done that one, and in record time. Hand over the merit badge, Gorm.
>
> Gorm: So I shall. Tomorrow morning.
>
> Alvin: Wait, I only counted eight tasks. What’s missing?
>
> Gorm: Which did I forget? Let’s see…
Gorm closes his eyes and counts on his fingers, wiggling the ninth finger pensively. His eyes pop open.
> Gorm: Ah! The ninth task is to become a father.
Alvin and Gorm stare at each other, Alvin with horror, Gorm frowning as if trying to capture an elusive memory.
> Gorm: There may be a problem with that.
>
> Alvin: Yes. No! What? Why?
>
> Gorm: We’ve only given you nine weeks. I knew there was a reason I suggested nine months!
>
> Alvin: So we’ll just forget about that one, shall we?
>
> Gorm: Hmm. That is not The Way. However, we shall count a pregnancy as good enough.
***
Arne is gnawing on a huge haunch of venison, when Sten comes up to him, carrying a jug of ale and a drinking horn.
> Sten: Arne, I have a mission for you.
Arne puts down his meat.
> Arne: At your service. What is it?
>
> Sten: This.
Sten thrusts the jug and horn into Arne’s hands.
> Sten: You must make sure the demon drinks the whole thing.
>
> Arne: Me? Why me?
>
> Sten: Is there a problem?
>
> Arne: No, no. No, no, no. No problem. But why me?
>
> Sten: I’d do it myself, but he’ll be less on his guard with you.
>
> Arne sniffs at the jug.
>
> Arne: Poison?
>
> Sten: Just ale.
>
> Arne: What’s it for, then?
>
> Sten: Three things. One, he may spill some secret about who he really is. Two, I have plans for him tomorrow and I want him suffering from a worse morning head than Gorm after Midsummer’s Eve. Now go on. He’s alone, over there by the big pine.
>
> Arne: What’s three?
>
> Sten: Three is…three is that I want him incapable of…performing tonight.
>
> Arne: Tonight? Ohhh…tonight. Got it.
***
Alvin has just polished off another cup of ale when Arne comes up, carrying the jug and drinking horn. He stops a cautious six feet away from Alvin and eyes him anxiously.
> Arne: Uh, fine evening, Jarl Al.
Alvin squints at Arne.
> Alvin: You’re Sten’s friends. Friend.
>
> Arne: Yeees.
Arne takes a step backward. Alvin points to his jug.
> Alvin: Izzat ale?
>
> Arne: It is!
Alvin waves him over. Encouraged, Arne steps up to Alvin and fills his cup.
> Arne: Skol!
Alvin raises the cup to his lips, then suddenly lowers it and looks at Arne suspiciously.
> Alvin: You firs’.
Arne smiles congenially, fills his horn and drains half its contents. Alvin sips warily at his own cup.
> Arne: So! Congratulations on your wedding. Have you always wanted to marry a woman?
Alvin frowns.
> Alvin: Why you ask?
>
> Arne: The lore is full of tales of giants tricking women into marriage. I just wondered why that is. Are there no women where you come from?
>
> Alvin: Plenny. Plenny o’ women. I mean fire demons. Fire womens.
>
> Arne: Are they as beautiful as ours?
>
> Alvin: They’re hot. Smokin’ hot.
>
> Arne: But you never wanted to marry one?
>
> Alvin: Nah.
Oskar comes up, smiles at Alvin, thrusts a full plate into his free hand, and scuttles off. Alvin examines the plate with distaste. It’s full of oozing, odd-shaped lumps.
Arne is suddenly alert.
> Alvin: Whazzis?
>
> Arne: Give me that.
Arne snatches the plate from Alvin.
> Arne: It’s the wedding plate. Wolf’s heart, boar’s liver and elk’s testicles.
>
> Alvin: Ugh. Really? Whaffor?
>
> Arne: It enhances a man’s prowess. Oops!
Arne drops the plate and its contents roll in the dirt.
> Arne: I’m so sorry!
>
> Alvin: Don’ be. No prollem. No prollem at all. Don’ need it.
>
> Arne: You don’t?!
>
> Alvin: Nah.
>
> Arne: I see. More ale?
>
> Alvin: Sure.
Alvin holds out his cup and Arne fills it.
> Arne: Now, Al – may I call you ‘Al’? You must tell me all about your childhood.
***
Arne walks back to Sten with the empty jug.
> Sten: Well?
>
> Arne: He drank it all. He needed no encouragement.
>
> Sten: Excellent. What did you learn?
>
> Arne: Hardly anything. He was already so drunk, I couldn’t get much sense out of him. His father was very tall – a giant, perhaps?
>
> Sten: Loki’s father was a giant.
>
> Arne: So are most giants’ fathers, I suppose. There was one thing of slight concern.
>
> Sten: What?
>
> Arne: I dropped the wedding plate in the dirt before he could eat it.
>
> Sten: Good work!
>
> Arne: But he’s apparently so potent, he doesn’t need it.
Sten’s brows slant fiercely downwards.
***
Alvin and Solveig enter the Jarl’s house, Alvin dragging his feet and leaning on Solveig. The house is dark except for the coals glowing faintly in the firepit.
Solveig seats Alvin at the table. He groans and drops his head in his hands.
> Solveig: Keep this up and we’ll have to call you ‘Jarl Ale.’ I hope I haven’t married a drunkard.
>
> Alvin: Nah. Not yoozhly.
>
> Solveig: It’s cold in here. I’ll build up the fire. And I’ll make you some redleaf brew.
***
Alvin sips the last of his brew.
Solveig calls to him from the bed.
> Solveig: Better?
>
> Alvin: Much better, thanks. You must be exhausted. I’ll just take a couple of furs and sleep on the floor.
Alvin walks over to the bed and is disconcerted to find Solveig with her hair flowing in waves over her bare shoulders, furs pulled up to her chest.
> Solveig: What do you mean by ‘floor’? Come join me.