Jarnvidr
Page 15
Loki continued to stare at Sharp Axe, but the look of bewilderment was no longer there. ‘Oh… ’ said Loki, having recovered his composure, ‘… but I can have both… I can have this… and my freedom!’ and, with that, the Trickster God let go of the parchment and changed his form into that of a bird – the familiar hooded crow – which skilfully snatched up the falling parchment in its claws just before it reached the frozen forest floor and took off into the night, its wings beating powerfully, cutting through the cold, early-morning air. In an instant, the bird was out of sight. With it had disappeared, Sharp Axe realised with sinking heart and hopes, any chance of preventing the onset of Ragnarøkkr.
Despite everything Sharp Axe had successfully endured – the battles with the Jarnvidjur, the Varns and their lupine companions, his encounter with his possessed brother and his cronies, the final confrontation with Loki himself – despite his having survived all of that, Loki had still won. It had all been for nothing.
‘No!’ bellowed Sharp Axe to no-one in particular, but his despairing cry of defeat was all but drowned out by the noise of Thor’s approaching chariot. As Thor drew his team of goats to a halt, within a few paces of where the despondent Sharp Axe was lying, an exquisite silence finally fell on Jarnvidr; the sense of relief for the vast majority of the Iron Wood’s remaining occupants was enormous.
‘Where is he?’ demanded Thor furiously, as he stepped down from his chariot.
‘You’re too late: Loki’s gone,’ groaned Sharp Axe, having succeeded in hauling himself back onto his knees. ‘It was my fault,’ he added quickly, before Thor had even had time to notice Mithrén. ‘He took the list with him.’
Enraged by this news, Thor drew Mjøllnir from his belt, raised it theatrically high into the air and struck the frozen earth with such force that the shock wave sent Sharp Axe sprawling, from his knees, flat onto his face. Thor then spun on his heel, stepped into his chariot, took up the reins and lashed the long-suffering goats across the hindquarters with such force, Sharp Axe could not prevent himself from wincing in sympathy. The Thunder God skilfully manoeuvred his vehicle sharply to the right and, without another word, furiously departed the scene through Jarnvidr’s trees, every bit as abruptly and noisily as he had arrived, a few moments earlier.
‘No... he didn’t,’ croaked Mithrén eventually, rubbing her throat in the lying position she had recently adopted courtesy of Mjøllnir, once the shock wave had subsided and the noise of Thor’s chariot’s wheels had receded to a level above which she estimated she could make herself heard without too much additional pain.
‘What?’ gasped Sharp Axe, struggling back up to a kneeling position and turning to face Mithrén.
‘Loki didn’t leave with the list,’ explained Mithrén, flinching at the discomfort of talking.
‘But… I saw him… ’ protested Sharp Axe, shaking his head and wondering, not for the first time during the past few days, whether he was going mad or, best-case scenario, merely hallucinating, ‘…he flew off with it in his claws.’
Mithrén reached carefully into her tunic and slowly removed a roll of parchment. ‘No... this is the list… what you saw Loki fly off with was… an ancient Elven remedy.’
‘Remedy?’ whispered Sharp Axe, almost afraid to pursue the point, in case Mithrén should change her mind and admit she had given the precious list to Loki after all.
‘Yes... ’ confirmed Mithrén, once more rubbing her throat, ‘… to cure an ingrowing toenail.’
Sharp Axe collapsed sideways from his knees and rolled onto his back, from where he looked up into the clear, early-dawn sky of Midgard and released a heavy and prolonged sigh of relief... followed by a wicked and joyful chuckle.
And that, said Sharp Axe to himself, contentedly, is why I love this elf maiden!
To be continued in…
Book Three: Asgard