Jarnvidr

by Fynn F Gunnarson

  Loki sighed. ‘Yes?’ he said wearily and pointed towards Fearless. ‘Coward at the back, there.’

  ‘You asked us to go to Helheimr and to bring back the list compiled by Freyr,’ recapped Fearless, ignoring the sleight.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ confirmed Loki, with a curt nod and a slightly puzzled look on his face.

  ‘And you said that you would pay us for our trouble,’ continued Fearless.

  ‘Well... yes... ’ agreed Loki, starting to become intrigued as to where Fearless might be taking his line of questioning, ‘… I did actually say that… yes.’

  ‘So... ’ continued Fearless, with one eye on Angrboda and positioning himself a little more directly behind Hamdir’s body for added protection, ‘... my question is… do we still get paid?’

  For the briefest of moments, Loki stared at Fearless with open mouth and furrowed brow. He looked at Angrboda, then back at Fearless. He scratched his head. He looked at Angrboda again then, once more, at Fearless.

  ‘Do... you... still... ?’ murmured Loki, re-absorbing the question; then, he threw back his head and let out a bark of a laugh, stopped laughing, looked at Angrboda, silently mouthed the words, ‘get paid,’ and burst out laughing again.

  Angrboda was not far behind her loved one. Her laugh, however, was much more shrill; more, in fact, of a shriek than a laugh.

  ‘I’ll... er... take that as a “no”, then, shall I?’ muttered Fearless, with obvious disappointment, which served only to fuel Loki’s laughter. The Trickster God held his sides, bent forward and continued to laugh until the tears fell from his eyes, looking up occasionally at Angrboda, who was having similar problems controlling herself. Sharp Axe and the men looked at one another, failing miserably to get the joke.

  ‘Oh, my love!’ declared Angrboda eventually, gasping for breath and wiping her eyes. ‘You told me they were stupid… but I never dreamt they would be this stupid!’

  Loki, by now, had collapsed to the ground and was lying on his back, kicking his legs in the air, giggling childishly. Seeing this, Angrboda fell to her knees, her face in her hands, her body shaking helplessly.

  Sharp Axe decided that the time was right to take charge of the situation, which required initiative, direction and firm leadership. Glancing at the men, he took the only action which he felt was open to him, under the present, rather unusual circumstances.

  ‘Run!’ he whispered, as loudly as he dared, for fear of alerting Loki and Angrboda.

  His order was met, for the most part, with a series of blank, vacant looks from his men. Evidently, Sharp Axe told himself, a clearer command was required.

  ‘Run... away!’ he whispered slightly more loudly, at which point, ten men, himself included, rapidly departed the scene, in a random set of directions.

  Having heard the second command and the result it brought, Loki stopped laughing abruptly. He sat up, looked over to where Sharp Axe and his men had been standing a moment before and saw a single figure – Hodbrodd – rooted to the spot, looking very confused, either by the command he had received or, possibly, by the choices of direction open to him.

  The sight of Hodbrodd’s dilemma set off Loki once more and he fell back to the ground, screaming with laughter and banging his fists on the frozen ground. Angrboda had not, up to this point, actually stopped laughing.

  ‘Hodbrodd!’ hissed a voice, from behind a tree. ‘Hodbrodd!’ It was Sharp Axe. ‘Over here!’

  Hodbrodd spun around to face the direction from which the familiar voice had come and saw Sharp Axe, edging away from the safety of the tree, beckoning him urgently. Hodbrodd quickly glanced again at the hysterical pair in front of him and took off towards his leader, as fast as he could run.

  On the other side of the tree with Sharp Axe were Fynn and Aldaron, both wide-eyed with terror.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ panted Hodbrodd in a not-very-quiet whisper, his breath coming out in white clouds, causing Sharp Axe concern that it would give away their position to Loki and Angrboda if the pair should ever stop laughing.

  ‘We mustn’t panic,’ replied Sharp Axe in a much quieter whisper than Hodbrodd’s.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Aldaron and Sharp Axe could not immediately think of a good reason.

  ‘Because... er... ’ he began, ‘... we... need to stay calm, so that we can think straight.’

  ‘But they’re going to kill us!’ pointed out Aldaron, unnecessarily. ‘They won’t let us get away!’

  ‘They can’t kill us,’ replied Sharp Axe almost silently, ‘at least, not until they’ve retrieved the list from us – it’s too valuable to them, whatever it is... er… where is it, by the way?’

  The four of them looked at one another, remembered, winced, then whispered, simultaneously:

  ‘Fearless!’

  ‘We’re dead,’ observed Fynn, miserably. ‘Fearless will probably trade all our lives to save his own, in return for the list. We might as well give ourselves up now and let Loki kill us before we get too cold.’

  Sharp Axe ignored Fynn’s suggestion which he suspected, in any case, had not been a terribly serious one.

  ‘We need to find the others,’ said Sharp Axe, calmly. ‘There’s safety in numbers and I’d feel a lot safer if I had the list in my sight. I think the others probably ran off in that direction… ’ he went on, pointing into the wood, ‘… or that way, perhaps.’

  Either way, Sharp Axe and the other three would have to move from the trees, behind which they were currently hiding, across the line of vision of Loki and Angrboda, in order to join Fearless and the rest of the men. This did not present a very attractive proposition at all.

  ‘If they see us,’ warned Fynn, ‘we’re as good as dead. But... ’ he continued, carefully taking a peek around the tree, ‘... they’re actually still helpless with laughter so, if we move now, we’re in with a chance.’

  With Sharp Axe leading the way, Fynn, Aldaron and Hodbrodd crept as quietly as they could, into the open and in the direction in which Sharp Axe thought at least some of the other men had probably escaped.

  It did not take long to find the first group. Sharp Axe spotted several clouds of frozen breath, billowing outwards, from the side of a wide-girthed tree.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he hissed at the tree and the clouds immediately stopped billowing. ‘This is Sharp Axe,’ announced Sharp Axe, trying desperately not to do so too loudly and the give-away breathing recommenced.

  Three faces appeared from behind the tree; they belonged to Fearless, Hedin and Hamdir.

  ‘Where did the others go?’ asked the leader. He received three indifferent shrugs, by way of response.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Sharp Axe, softly. ‘Stay close and listen out, in case the laughter stops – if it does, they’ll be coming after us.’

  The laughter, however, did not stop; it could still be heard, ringing out in the wood, as Sharp Axe led the men, breathlessly, through the trees, in a desperate search for the four missing comrades, taking them further and further away from the lightly-worn track which had originally led them to Loki and Angrboda.

  ‘Sharp Axe,’ said Fynn, wearing a concerned expression, ‘it will be dark soon and the path was hardly visible in the day... if we can’t find it again, we might not get out of this wood tonight.’

  Sharp Axe stopped abruptly in his tracks.

  ‘You’re right, Fynn… ’ replied Sharp Axe, adopting a concerned look similar to Fynn’s, ‘... but we have to find them – ’

  ‘Ohhh,’ interrupted Fearless, with a groan, ‘can’t we just get out of this place and write off the others to – what’s it called, now – collateral damage?’

  ‘No, we can’t!’ retorted Sharp Axe irritated, though not surprised, by his brother’s lack of concern for his comrades. ‘And, in any case... ’ continued Sharp Axe, ‘... the laughter’s stopped!’

  These final words had an instant and dramatic effect on the group: everyone immediately set off, at full speed, in the opposite direction to Loki’s
and Angrboda’s present location. Unfortunately, this took them further into Jarnvidr’s thick array of trees.

  ‘Hodbrodd!’ hissed a voice, a few seconds later, as Hodbrodd charged past the tree behind which the voice’s owner was hiding. Hodbrodd recognised the voice as belonging to Jormunrek, but decided against stopping to exchange pleasantries opting, instead, merely to turn his head slightly and shout, ‘Run!’

  From behind the tree, there emerged four frantic figures, three of them running at full speed, the other hobbling as quickly as his false lower limb would allow.

  ‘Where are we going?’ panted Ulric, as he endeavoured to catch up with the leading group of terrified runners ahead of him, having to dodge oncoming trees which, in the failing early-evening light, was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

  ‘Anywhere!’ came back the terrified voice of Fearless, a split second before a low branch, which Fynn had just pushed out of the way, swung back and struck him in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling to the ground.

  ‘Sorry!’ lied Fynn, over his shoulder, without slowing down in the slightest.

  ‘Where’s “anywhere”, exactly?’ cried Ulric, confused and hurdling deftly over Fearless’s largely-motionless body as it lay, curled up and groaning, between the trees. Fearless did not reply although he did, eventually, manage to pick himself up and set off again in pursuit of the others, albeit rather less swiftly than he had previously been able to do.

  Some minutes later, Sharp Axe came to a stop and the men quickly gathered around him.

  ‘Shhh!’ he said. ‘Listen... are we being followed? Stop breathing a minute – I can’t hear.’

  Each man held his breath. There was silence in the wood: complete, peaceful and very welcome silence.

  Fynn let out a long, quiet breath. ‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ he panted. ‘Perhaps they’ve given up.’

  [Optimistic noises from the rest of the men.]

  ‘I doubt it… but let’s wait here, at least for a while,’ suggested Sharp Axe, ‘so that we can take stock of the situation.’

  *

  A short distance across the Iron Wood, Loki and Angrboda had, by now, stopped laughing and had recovered their composure.

  ‘Hide and seek!’ smiled Angrboda, with wild, excited eyes. ‘I do love a game of hide and seek!’

  ‘I think... ’ began Loki, ‘... that this might be a job for your Jarnvidjur... what do you think, my precious?’

  Angrboda considered the prospect for practically no time at all.

  ‘Yes!’ she hissed, enthusiastically, the eyes now even more wild and excited. ‘My Jarnvidjur will soon track them down... you know what they are like when there is fresh meat on offer.’

  ‘Hmmm... ’ replied Loki, ‘…summon them. Tell them dinner is almost ready.’

  *

  On the edge of a large wood, full of snow-covered trees, Mithrén looked up at the darkening, evening sky. Do I really want to ride into this forest, just as it’s getting dark? she asked herself. It was certainly not a prospect she was relishing.

  The elf maiden dismounted, looked around for a suitable spot to sleep for the night and tied her horse to a lone tree, well away from the track along which they had been riding. Settling herself into the most comfortable sitting position she could manage, she decided to try once again, to make contact with her brother.

  As darkness started to fall, Mithrén leaned forward, head in hands and called out, silently, to Aldaron.

  *

  ‘What is it, Aldaron?’ frowned Sharp Axe, having just seen a dramatic transformation in the Light Elf’s expression: his eyes were bulging, his mouth was hanging open and he had placed a forefinger on each of his temples. He also appeared to have stopped breathing.

  ‘I... I... ’ he whispered, uncomfortably, ‘... I think it’s Mithrén.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Sharp Axe. ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Aldaron, the frustration on his face clear for all to see, ‘but I don’t think she’s very far away... she sounds very clear.’

  ‘Well, if she’s anywhere near this wood, tell her not to come in, for goodness’ sake!’ urged Sharp Axe, frantically. ‘It’s too dangerous! Aldaron... tell her!’

  Aldaron looked at Sharp Axe.

  ‘She knows I’ve heard her,’ he replied uneasily. ‘She knows we’re in the wood. I think it might be too late.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Jarnvidjur

  In his cherished role as grandfather, the old warrior, Knut Cod Killer, had told his two grandsons many stories based on Old Norse myths. Those grandsons, Erik and Erik (now Sharp Axe and Fearless), had therefore grown up on tales of heroes, gods, giants and monsters. As a result, one of them, at least, had become quite well acquainted with the vast and varied subject of Norse mythology.

  Whilst Knut had passed on to his grandsons more or less everything he knew of the Old Norse myths, there had been some fairly wide gaps in his knowledge. For instance, Knut had been aware that Loki had a witch-giantess mistress, who bore him three monstrous children. He also knew that each of the children would have a part to play, come Ragnarøkkr, the Twilight of the Gods.

  Knut did not, however, know of the existence of Jarnvidr, the Iron Wood nor, consequently, did he know that Loki’s mistress, Angrboda, lived and ruled there, that her subjects included hideous old witches (known as the Jarnvidjur) and ferocious wolves or that, for the most part, Jarnvidr was a place best avoided at all times.

  If only Knut had known anything at all about Jarnvidr and its occupants and passed this information on to his young grandsons, then Sharp Axe would, in all probability, never have ventured into the Iron Wood and would, therefore, not have found himself in the rather tricky situation he now shared with his companions from the campaign to retrieve Mjøllnir and a Light Elf whom Sharp Axe hoped, one day, would be his brother-in-law.

  Circumstances had dictated, however, that Knut had never spoken of Jarnvidr, Sharp Axe now found himself in the middle of it, the situation looked about as tricky as it could possibly look and his chances of surviving the ordeal, to make an honest elf maiden of Aldaron’s sister, were looking less likely with every passing minute.

  Sharp Axe was also blissfully unaware of what he and his men were about to face which, all in all, was probably for the best.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ whispered Jormunrek, as a faint, distant and, all things considered, unwelcome sound reached the men’s ears.

  ‘It sounds like… ’ began Alfgeir, straining his elderly ears, ‘… shrieking... or screaming... I wonder what it could be.’

  ‘It sounds to me… ’ replied Hodbrodd, looking pensive, ‘… as though it might be a group of hideous, evil, old flesh-eating witches, who go prowling around the forest at night, looking for poor, unsuspecting visitors to devour... ’

  The men looked at Hodbrodd, then at one another and, finally, at the one amongst them with the keenest sense of hearing who had, until that moment, remained silent on the subject: Aldaron. Rather self-consciously, the Light Elf looked from one staring face to the next before speaking, apparently with some reluctance.

  ‘Could be,’ he said with a shrug.

  [Panic.]

  ‘Calm down! Calm down!’ cried Sharp Axe, raising his hands into the air, in an attempt to restore order.

  ‘But we’re all going to get eaten alive!’ insisted Ulric, terror-stricken.

  ‘Look,’ tutted Sharp Axe, ‘there’s probably a rational explanation for the shrieks and screams... which, now I come to think of it, do seem to be getting nearer… but, just at the moment... I... can’t actually think of one.’

  [Renewed panic.]

  ‘We have to stay calm!’ persisted Sharp Axe. ‘Quiet...!’

  [Silence.]

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sharp Axe, finally. ‘Now... if you’ll just remain calm for a moment, I need a quick word with Hodbrodd... Hodbrodd... a quick word, please.’

  Sharp Axe moved slight
ly away from the group and Hodbrodd followed dutifully.

  ‘Did you,’ whispered Sharp Axe, so that no-one else could overhear, ‘manage to get those ingredients together, like we discussed?’

  Hodbrodd looked rather pained. ‘Well,’ he began, grimacing, ‘I did... ’

  ‘But… ?’ asked Sharp Axe, fearing that Hodbrodd was about to deliver some disappointing news.

  ‘But... the quantities of all the different ingredients might not be exactly as they should be,’ explained Hodbrodd, apologetically. ‘I think I’ve probably got too much of some and not enough of others… but, unfortunately, I can’t remember the exact “recipe”.’

  ‘And... if the quantities were wrong… what would that actually mean?’ probed Sharp Axe, slightly deflated.

  ‘Er... ’ said Hodbrodd, looking his leader in the eye, ‘... I... don’t actually know.’

  ‘Oh… right,’ sighed Sharp Axe. ‘Never mind... er, one more thing... you don’t happen to have enough ingredients for all of us, do you?’

  ‘No, sorry... ’ replied Hodbrodd, with a slow, remorseful shake of his head.

  ‘So… ’ persisted Sharp Axe, feeling that it had been rather easier to remove the tooth of a dragon than it was to extract information from Hodbrodd on this subject, ‘... for how many of us do you have enough ingredients?’

  There was a pause, whilst Hodbrodd appeared to make a lengthy mental calculation, looking to the skies, moving his head from side to side and muttering to himself before, at long last, giving Sharp Axe his answer...

  ‘One.’

  *

  Through the Iron Wood swept a shrieking, screaming wave of hideous, evil, old flesh-eating witches, each of whom had only one thing on her mind: fresh meat. It was a treat they rarely enjoyed and, according to what their beloved mistress, the Great Hagia, had just told them, there was a veritable feast on offer.

  Frantically, the wild, frenzied Jarnvidjur ran nimbly in and out of the dark trees, their savage, terrible cries ringing out into the still night air. Angrboda had indicated to them the general direction their intended victims had taken and this was the route they were now following, at least until they picked up the scent of their prey. Experience told them not to doubt that they would soon pick up the scent: the smell of fear was always strong.