The sun had just begun to rise above the horizon, but poor Atli was already dragging his cart toward the market square. Dark circles lay under his eyes, and echoes of last night's drinking still pounded in his head. He would have gladly slept in until noon, but he had squandered his last coins at the tavern.

  His foul mood was fueled by every little thing he encountered along the way: the bumpy road, a striped cat that darted under his wheels from around the corner, the low-hanging sun blinding his swollen eyes… But the final straw was the massive tree blocking his path to the right row.

  Atli looked around, glancing at the still-closed stalls, sluggishly trying to figure out if he had taken the right way. The road was correct, his old cart hadn’t changed, and yet—somehow—this enormous tree had appeared where it had no place being.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them hard, desperately trying to recall how exactly he had passed through here before, reasonably thinking that trees didn’t just sprout overnight. But he was interrupted by a concerned child's voice:

  – Does it bother you? – someone asked, and to Atli, it seemed as though the voice came from above.

  The man squinted his swollen eyelids and stared intently into the golden canopy. There, perched on a branch in a colorful outfit, sat a fair-haired child with green eyes. His gaze was so expressive that it outshone the overly expensive attire.

  – What are you… – Atli hesitated, suspecting the boy’s high status.

  – What are you doing alone… at this hour… up in a tree?

  – I wanted to pick a place where there would be many people, – the child explained vaguely.

  – So, you got lost then? – the man guessed, finally letting go of his cart’s shafts.

  – No, I don’t think so, – the boy hesitated, pondering the question.

  He looked westward, as if verifying something, and then said:

  – Yes, look, there's Harold’s castle.

  Atli obediently glanced in the direction of the fortress, and his suspicions only grew stronger.

  – Ah, so you’re waiting for someone to come for you, my lord? – he swiftly changed his tone, making an effort to sound respectfully servile.

  – I wouldn’t say that, – Huld replied.

  – Then let me take you there, – Atli offered eagerly, already greedily anticipating the coins he’d be rewarded with for returning a noble child.

  – Where? – the boy asked.

  – To the castle, – the man clarified, his voice dripping with flattery.

  – Why? – Huld didn’t understand.

  – To return you to your family, of course, – Atli began losing patience.

  – I don’t think that’s within your power, – Huld noted reasonably, misinterpreting Atli’s words.

  The man was truly angered now—the sun was rising higher and higher, and with each passing minute, the risk grew that someone else might notice the noble child. In the best case, Atli would have to share his reward, and in the worst, he’d lose it entirely. But the drunkard had already caught the scent of easy money and wasn’t about to let some brat’s whims stand in his way. He pondered how best to get the little rascal down without earning the wrath of his noble parents.

  But while Atli was deep in thought—something that didn’t happen to him often—Huld repeated his initial question:

  – The tree… does it block your way?

  – Huh? Oh, to Hel* with it! – the man waved him off, glancing at his old cart.

  – I’d forgotten it was even there.

  – What I really need is a horse, so I don’t have to drag this junk myself… – Atli sighed wistfully, momentarily distracted from his scheme.

  He hadn’t even finished his thought when Huld reached up and plucked a golden leaf from above. Twisting it between his fingers, he wrapped a pale thread around its stem and then tossed it down at Atli’s feet.

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  – Here, take it, – Huld said.

  Atli almost decided then and there that the boy must be mad, but before he could scoff, the leaf trembled, twitched, and began to grow before his astonished eyes. Its shape twisted and expanded in an instant, and there, right in the middle of the marketplace, between him and the tree, a tall, stately palomino horse had grown—there was no other word for it.

  Atli, who once, in a drunken stupor, had mistaken a rat for a puppy, was completely dumbfounded. He stumbled backward from the marvel before him, lost his footing, and collapsed onto the edge of his cart, exhaling so loudly it was as if he had given up the ghost.

  — Are you happy? — the boy asked with a smile.

  — I granted your wish.

  — A wish? — Atli croaked hoarsely, barely able to tear his eyes away from the horse.

  — Uh-huh, — Huld confirmed from the tree, swinging his legs in the air like any carefree child.

  Something stirred unexpectedly in Atli’s fevered mind—once, long ago, when he was still a youth, he had witnessed a priest of Odin summon a divine messenger to earth, and it had appeared in the form of a fair-haired child.

  Atli swallowed hard, staring at Huld with reverent terror. In his miserable, long-derailed life, a bolt of lightning had suddenly struck, illuminating an entire world of unimaginable possibilities. And the sheer scale of them left him gasping for air.

  — I… I… — he stammered, like a spoiled child before a stall bursting with colorful trinkets.

  — I only grant one wish, — Huld cut him off, having understood all too well where this was going.

  — But… but this… — Atli’s excitement instantly faded as he glanced at the palomino marvel before him.

  — This isn’t it! — he protested with conviction.

  — Isn’t it? — Huld asked, surprised and visibly saddened by his mistake.

  — Then what is it that you truly want?

  Atli’s eyes darted frantically as he started reconsidering, now with far greater caution—he doubted the deity would let him make another mistake. His head quickly began to overheat from the frantic back-and-forth of his thoughts, though all traces of his drunken stupor had long since vanished.

  — Gold! — he finally declared, unable to fully articulate his vision of a luxurious life.

  — Yes, gold… and plenty of it—a whole cart full! — Atli nodded fervently.

  — Alright, — Huld readily agreed.

  The child plucked another golden leaf and tossed it onto the pile of firewood Atli had been hauling to the bakery. In an instant, every log transformed into gleaming gold. But before Atli could fully revel in his newfound fortune, the rotting planks of his cart groaned in protest. They creaked, bent under the weight, and with a harsh crack, gave way—dumping the entire load onto the ground.

  The noise roused sluggish movement from the drowsy shopfronts lining the street. Groggy shopkeepers began to emerge, drawn by the commotion, their gazes quickly sharpening as they took in the scene.

  — Mine! — Atli bellowed, his voice ringing through half the street in desperate fury. But who would listen to a ragged drunkard?

  ***

  The marketplace was in utter chaos, though not due to the usual bustle of trading hours. No one was buying or selling—on the contrary, finding a merchant at their own stall was nearly impossible. Small thieves scurried between the stands, quietly sneaking off with goods or, at times, brazenly snatching whatever they pleased. Yet even they were the exception rather than the rule.

  No, all life in the square now pulsed around the colossal tree, where the messenger of Odin himself—Huld—sat among the branches, patiently listening to the endless wishes of the townsfolk. He smiled warmly and silently fulfilled the countless, yet monotonous, greedy requests.

  But even those whose desires had already been granted showed no intention of leaving. Instead, they lingered, hoping to profit from the wishes of others—just as they had scavenged the golden logs of Atli, many of which had yet to be dragged into alleyways due to their sheer weight and the thickening crowd.

  The sight of such disorder deeply dismayed King Harald, who had rushed to the scene upon receiving word that a golden-haired child was granting the desires of commoners in the heart of his city.

  The ruler cast a calculating gaze over the mountains of treasure—plundered from their newfound owners by cunning cutthroats just out of Huld’s sight. And over the corpses of those who had refused to part with their riches peacefully.

  But as soon as he caught a few dark looks from his own retinue (unless paranoia had merely whispered it to him), he snapped out of his stupor and issued a commanding order to his guards—before they slipped beyond his control.

  - Kill everyone in the square!

  - The gold will be yours!

  - But anyone who dares speak to Huld will face immediate execution! - Harald thundered, his voice rising above the tumult of the crowd.

  Yet instead of obedience, he felt the sharp bite of a blade in his back.

  The king turned, but the riders had already spurred into motion, carrying out his final command. Among his own retinue, chaos erupted.

  - Who?! - he snarled low, feeling himself slide helplessly from the saddle.

  But even as his strength failed him, Harald’s furious gaze remained fixed on Huld.

  - Whose wish are you fulfilling?! - he exhaled, barely above a whisper, staring through dimming eyes at the bewildered face of the only god he had ever truly believed in.