If only I could figure out what it meant.
Chapter Four
Muspelhiem
“Before all else, be armed.”
- Niccolo Machiavelli
I slipped out of bed long before the alarm was set to wake me. I didn’t bother to wake Karen up. I wasn’t planning on eating breakfast this morning and she needed the rest. I dressed quietly and slipped out of our quarters, which was an old office block turned into a small apartment. Even the boys were still asleep.
Odin and Thor, my beloved dogs, sat up to follow me but settled back down when I whispered for them to stay. I knelt down and scratched their ears before heading out. I shouldered my bag and grabbed my weapons and gear, then headed across the Facility to the small apartment that had been set up by Johnny Bowman.
Bowman wasn’t just a weaponsmith when it came to guns. He was also our resident expert on working with steel. He’d been making knives and swords for us out of pieces of rebar by heating them in a forge and hammering them out on an anvil. Our set-up was crude, but effective. That was why I’d wanted to grab the farrier’s equipment so badly. That forge was much better than ours.
When I knocked on the door to Bowman’s apartment I was surprised when Jade, the Marine Fighter Pilot, answered the door wrapped in a sheet. Her face turned as red as her hair when she saw that it was me at the door.
“Uh, Wylie,” she stammered. “What…”
“Hi, Jade,” I said, grinning. “Is Johnny awake?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I’ll go get him.”
Moments later, Bowman arrived at the door still buttoning his pants and without a shirt on.
“Did I call at a bad time?” I asked, chuckling.
“Goddamn it, Wylie,” he said, shaking his head. “Give a guy a little warning, next time.”
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” I replied.
“Not yet,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “We just woke up.”
“I can come back later,” I said.
Bowman seemed to consider it for a few moments.
“What’s up?” he asked, sighing.
“I need to borrow your forge and your metal skills,” I said. “I have a project in mind and I want to get it done right away.”
“Can you give me half an hour?”
“I’ll meet you at the forge,” I said, smiling. “I’ll bring the coffee.”
Forty-five minutes later, Bowman came strolling up to the forge. I handed him a cup of coffee without a word, but the smile on his face said it all. We sipped our coffee while he lit the forge and started stoking the fire with coal we’d scavenged from a power plant near Springfield.
Then he fired up the improvised bellows he had constructed. It was a modified industrial fan hooked to a foot operated pulley system. It generated quite a bit of airflow and had the fire glowing red-hot in no time. Soon, the coals were glowing with an intensity that reminded me of the land of Muspelhiem, the molten land of the Fire Giants of Norse legend. Today, I was going to brave the fires to build my weapon.
We walked over to the work bench and I lay the blade from my Gladius on it. I had saved it ever since the day when Bergelmir had broken it, the first time we fought. I always knew that I would find a use for it. Now I knew what I wanted to make with it. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil, I began sketching out what I wanted. Bowman watched intently as I drew out the rough lines of the blade and then started changing the broken end. When I finished, he looked at me with a smile and nodded.
“Basically,” he said, “you want a spear with a heavy steel shaft.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” I replied.
“I think I can do that,” said Bowman, studying the blade. “The real question is how heavy do you want it? I mean, if it’s too heavy you won’t be able to use it for very long. You damned sure won't be able to throw it.”
“It has to be heavy to bash those damned Frostbiters,” I replied. “I’ll just have to adjust to the weight.”
“Your call,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best.”
We started out by making marks on the broken end of the blade, then using a cutting torch to remove the jagged pieces. That left about twenty-two inches of blade. Then we cut out a six foot length of 32mm diameter rebar. One end of the rebar went into the forge to start heating up.
With the rebar heating in the fire, we put the freshly cut end of the blade into the coals. Once the rebar end was red-hot, Bowman removed it with tongs and sat it on the forge. I took the blade out of the fire and sat it next to the glowing steel, with the heated ends touching. Bowman lined it up and began striking it with a heavy hammer. The ring-ping of the hammer falling on the steel and then on the anvil became our entire world.
When the glow began to diminish, I thrust the now single piece of steel back into the fire. We had made the first connection, but it needed to be molded into a seamless piece of steel. After four trips from the anvil to the fire, we had our first step completed. While the pieces heated, we stepped back to cool off and get a drink. We were shocked to discover four hours had passed.
We were both now stripped to the waist and streaked with grime. The smell of sweat, soot, and heated steel permeated the air of the entire cavern. We had a large wooden barrel filled with water to temper the steel in, but we had yet to use it. We were still a long way from that. Since the water was still clean, I walked over and stuck my head in it. I felt like I had shoved needles into every inch of my scalp. The water was ice cold.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, shaking water from my head. “That’s freezing.”
“I could have told you that,” said Bowman, chuckling.
Returning to the forge, we removed the piece and sat the straight edge against the anvil. Then we began the process all over again; heat, beat, repeat. It took five trips into the fire to complete the process. Once it was hammered into place, we used an industrial welder to attach the two smaller pieces of rebar to the side of the main bar, just where the blade joined it.
When the weld was finished, the entire thing went back into the coals until the head was glowing orange. Bowman used the anvil to flatten out the tips and sides of the small pieces until they were almost sharp. We heated it again, and then thrust it into the ice cold water. An enormous cloud of steam hissed into the air as the glowing steel met frigid water.
When it had cooled and the tempering had set, Bowman began working on the edge of the now smaller blades with the grinder. When he had reached the desired edge, he switched to a file to hone it down to a fine edge. He finished it off with a buffing wheel on the grinder, smoothing the edge down to almost a razor’s sharpness.
The finishing touches were to round the corners and smooth the edges off of the seams. It had taken us all day, but I now held a war spear worthy of the name. It was heavy and the keen blade would slice through the dead and anything else that got in its way. It was heavy, but not as bad as I had expected. The main blade was nearly two feet of razor sharp steel with two smaller blades on either side. The three blades together would skewer and hold whatever it was thrust into with brutal savagery.
All it needed was a name.
Chapter Five
Fimbul Winter
“Cold be heart and hand and bone. Cold be travelers far from home.
They do not see what lies ahead, when sun has failed and moon is dead.”
- Gollum
- The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
I began bundling up my heavy cold-weather gear and slipping on my insulated boots. Across from me, Spec-4 was doing the same. On the surface, the snow-storm was raging with violent intensity rarely seen in this world. We were going top-side for the first time in days to have a look around. Something in my gut told me that we needed to, and I had learned to trust those feelings. So far, they had been very accurate.
Reaching for my Thor's Hammer that was hanging on the door to my locker, I hefted it and held it in my hand. Caressing i
t with my thumb, I closed my eye and muttered a brief prayer. Nothing fancy, just for strength and luck in battle. This was not my old hammer. This one had been handmade for me by Bergelmir. He had crafted it from a single ingot of brass, shaping it with the head of a ram on the end and carving both knot-work and the image of twin ravens into the handle. It was beautifully crafted and had become one of my most valued possessions.
Slipping it over my head and under my coat, I looked up into the ice-blue eyes of Spec-4. She was watching me intently as I had repeated what had become a ritual for me before going into danger. Adjusting my eye-patch, I stood and stretched against the layers of clothing that would keep me warm in the cold above. Spec-4's gaze followed me as I reached for my sword. It was cold enough on the surface to freeze most firearms almost immediately, but the sword would not fail me. Ulfrbrandr had never let me down.
Slipping the scabbard over my shoulder with the hilt in easy reach, I grabbed the heavy cloth shemagh that I would wrap around my face to protect it from the icy wind. By the time I had finished, only the gleam of my good eye could be seen beneath the folds. I was ready to face the sub-arctic temperatures that awaited me at the top of the stairs.
Spec-4 continued to sit and watch me, the look on her face becoming more pensive by the moment. I noticed that she still hadn't put the remainder of her gear on or reached for her own weapon. I could tell that something was bothering her, but I wasn't sure if she would tell me. Our relationship had been different since I had returned with her parents. Maybe it was because I came back without my eye. I don't know if the way I looked bothered her or if it was something deeper. So far, she hadn't told me either way.
“Ready?” I asked, eloquently avoiding the unspoken question.
“Almost,” she replied, still not reaching for her gear.
I could already feel myself growing hot inside my clothing, since the temperature in the locker room was steady despite the winter storm above. The ground was thick enough to insulate us from the killing cold that came with the Fimbul Winter. If we didn't head up soon, I was going to have to remove some of my gear or I'd begin to sweat. That would be bad, since it could freeze once we reached the surface.
“Wylie,” she began, hesitantly. “I…”
She paused and looked away from me, struggling with whatever it was she was trying to say.
“Whatever it is,” I said gently, my voice slightly muffled through the shemagh, “you can say it.”
I reached up and pulled the shemagh down, revealing my nose, mouth and chin. The white of my beard stood out in stark contrast to the dark colored cloth of the shemagh.
“I…,” she stammered, “I need to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything,” I said, kneeling beside her.
“I just…,” she began.
Before she could finish her sentence, Marko burst into the locker room. His own cold weather gear was already covered in snow and he had hastily pulled down his face wrap. The bewildered look on his face said more than his words.
“Wylie!” he blurted. “We need you topside, now! Bergelmir says you might want to hurry.”
“We'll have to talk later,” I said, patting Spec-4 on the cheek.
She looked almost relieved for the interruption and began rapidly pulling her gear on as I pulled my shemagh back into place and reached for my other weapon. Bowman and I had taken the blade from my broken Gladius and forged it into a long bladed spear with two smaller blades next to the main, and a steel shaft made from thick rebar. My wife had wrapped the shaft in leather and braided the straps to make it a beautiful, yet deadly addition to my arsenal. It felt good in my hands.
As I headed for the stairs with Marko leading the way, I heard Spec-4 padding up behind me. She had her own sword on her hip, fashioned by Bowman from an old leaf spring that we had scavenged off of a wrecked car. It was heavy in the blade, but short enough that she had no problems wielding it. In fact, she had gotten damned good with the thing over the last couple of months of practice.
Swinging open the steel door that led to the stairs, I nodded to Winston and Sanders as I headed out. They were posted beside the door to defend it against intruders or to secure it in case we were unable to return. It was a protocol we had put in place since it had become painfully obvious that we couldn't rely on the radios in this weather. We needed actual eyes on the door to watch for returning groups and any sign of anything that didn't belong.
As I reached the top of the stairs, the air temperature had already dropped considerably. I wasn't sweating beneath the clothing any longer. In fact, I could feel the cold trying to creep into my bones. As cold as it was in this hallway, I knew that once the door opened it was going to be far colder outside. I steadied myself as best I could for the chill, but still shuddered when the reality struck me like a physical blow.
Despite being inside a small building, the outside temperature had leeched the heat from the walls and left the interior as cold as the grave. Frost had formed on the interior walls, windows and doors, leaving a white crystalline pattern along the surfaces. The only thing the walls were doing was blocking out the wind. I knew it would feel infinitely colder outside the door, with the wind slicing through you like a knife.
With a steadying breath, I tapped the shaft of the spear on the tiled floor and cracked it into a spider web that radiated out from the point of impact. I hadn't intended to break it, nor had I struck it that hard. The extreme cold had rendered the tiles as brittle as thin ice.
“Watch out,” cautioned Marko. “The wind out there is killer.”
With a grim nod, I reached for the door handle and unleashed the full fury of the wind into the building. Instantly, my vision was gone and we all had to shield our eyes against the raging ferocity of the wind-driven snow that drove against us with shocking force. I took a steadying step back and braced myself against the gale-force airstream. Part of me just wanted to shut the door and go back inside, but I knew Bergelmir wouldn't have requested me for nothing. Whatever it was, I wanted nothing more than to get it taken care of and get back inside the Facility.
I could feel the cold already seeping through my clothes and into my body, making my joints ache and causing a burning sensation in my fingers. We could only remain out in this for a short period of time, even with our cold weather gear. Without it, you would freeze to death in minutes. Even with it on, you couldn't expect a person to survive for long without some kind of shelter.
As I stepped out of the building, my vision cleared somewhat and revealed a scene straight out of Antarctica. Snow blew around in heavy drifts and sheets of it flew through the air. The surrounding buildings were all but invisible, despite the fact that they were less than fifty yards away. Without the local landmarks to use as a frame of reference, it would be easy to get lost in this storm and never find your way back to the entrance. We couldn’t afford to wander far.
“We have a rope tied to the back of the building that leads to the main gate by the bridge,” said Marko. “Follow me.”
He was shouting just to be heard over the banshee wailing of the driving wind. Despite the multiple layers of clothing and the heavy parka that I wore, the wind drove into my skin like tiny needles all over my body. I could feel my body temperature already taking a hit from the extreme cold. Whatever we were here to see, I wanted to see it and get back below ground quickly.
Marko headed around to the back of the building, moving slowly to keep his footing on the icy concrete. I motioned for Spec-4 to follow behind him and I brought up the rear. When we reached the guide rope, I held onto it with one hand and kept my spear firmly in the other. The icy bite of the wind was already beginning to sap my strength. I was beginning to wish I had added a few more layers of clothing.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as we made our way along the guide rope to the gate that I knew was less than fifty yards from the building. Despite the short distance, it took several agonizingly long minutes to reach the other end of the rope. I
was so intently focused on the cold that I almost missed the faint sound carried on the wind.
Although the fury of the storm howled around us like an angry spirit, there was another almost imperceptible sound. I heard it once, but failed to identify it. Straining my ears, I waited to hear it again, but it didn't repeat. Suddenly my concentration was broken when a wall loomed out of the driving snow. We had arrived at the gate.
As more and more details emerged, I could see the ice encrusted stairway that led to the guard post atop the gate. When I looked up, I saw a sight which caused me to temporarily forget about the pain I felt from the cold and the strange noise. What I saw defied my senses and made me question what I was seeing. There, standing atop the gate, was Bergelmir. His long black hair was fluttering behind him like an ebony comet's tail and he was not wearing a coat. He stood there in defiance of the wind, the cold and the snow.
“He's up there waiting for you,” shouted Marko, jerking his thumb towards the stairs.
“Wait here,” I replied, motioning to both him and Spec-4.
Spec-4 huddled against the gate, blocking out the worst of the wind and drew her arms tight against her chest. Marko ducked into the small guard shack and pulled Spec-4 in behind him. That was good, since it would get them out of the wind and allow them to keep an eye on us at the same time. Besides, there wasn't enough room for us all on the platform.
Mounting the treacherous stairs, I held onto the railing and began my ascent. I used the spear shaft like a walking stick and made sure of my footing on each step. If I fell out here, the others might not be able to help me back to the facility. It took everything we all had, just to keep moving in this storm.
When I reached the top, I stood as close to Bergelmir as I could so he could hear me speaking. Standing as immobile as a statue, he didn't turn to acknowledge that I was there. I was starting to wonder if he had frozen like that, but then he spoke.
Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga Page 6
