Sharp Axe and Fynn, having conceded (with some reluctance) that the fire on Fearless had been extinguished, put away their blankets. As they did so, something caught Sharp Axe’s eye and he turned to address Jormunrek.
‘What did you throw, just then?’ asked Sharp Axe.
‘A piece of bread,’ replied Jormunrek, turning to face the direction in which he had thrown it. ‘For this hooded crow, behind... oh... where did it go?’
The rest of the men turned to look at the same empty spot as the one at which Jormunrek was now looking.
‘It was standing there, a moment ago,’ he explained, with a frown and a puzzled shrug of his shoulders.
*
Only a few of the men had managed to get any sleep at all, during the period of rest, before Surtr had indicated that they should continue onwards, towards Niflheimr. It was with a definite lack of enthusiasm on the part of everyone, then, with the possible exception of the Fire Giant, that the journey resumed.
Before long, an eerie semi-darkness established itself; there was snow on the ground and the icy wind of Niflheimr, which had been just audible from the no man’s land between the two worlds, now howled unremittingly, cruelly stinging the men’s’ unprotected faces and hands. Sharp Axe suggested they all remove their blankets and skins from where they had been packed and wrap them around themselves, as best they could, to try to keep warm. This they did, then walked on into the near-darkness, leaning into the strength-sapping blizzard of fine, dry snow which was blowing directly at them, as they followed Surtr.
The Fire Giant seemed to notice neither the cold nor the force of the wind as he strode on, relentlessly. What could be seen of Surtr’s bright red under-layer of skin appeared to glow more brightly through its much darker surface in Niflheimr’s poor light. Owing, in all probability, to Surtr’s sheer physical size and the heat his body was emitting, Sharp Axe could see that there were no particles of ice or snow immediately behind the giant for, perhaps, four or five human paces: it was as if they were trying to avoid him, after having been blown around his bulk by the cruel wind.
‘If we can get much closer to the Fire Giant,’ he shouted to his men, over the noise of the wind, ‘it might keep us a little warmer.’
The prospect of getting “much closer” to Surtr appealed to absolutely no-one. The alternative, however, appeared to be gradual death by exposure to Niflheimr’s elements, so the men settled for the lesser of two evils. They all increased the pace of their walking, to catch up with the giant, then walked as close to him as they dared, taking it in short, frequent turns to position themselves immediately behind him. Those walking closest to the Fire Giant could feel the heat he gave out and, although it made none of them actually feel warm, it went some way to reducing the debilitating and demoralising effect on them that Niflheimr’s bitter elements were having.
‘Better?’ shouted Sharp Axe after each man had taken a turn walking directly behind Surtr; he received largely positive responses from most of them.
‘Not really!’ complained Fearless, flatly, ‘I’m still freezing and if I don’t get warm soon, then – aaargh!’
Fearless was, again, alight, with flames rising, this time, from his back. Sharp Axe and Fynn quickly weighed up the attraction of inflicting additional pain and suffering on the group’s least popular member against the disadvantage of having to unwrap their comfortable, warm blankets from around themselves and lose their respective places in line behind the ever-glowing Surtr, in order to save Fearless from the flames. Independently, they each arrived at the same conclusion: they were better off retaining their current positions, with the consequence that Fearless was left to roll around on the rocky ground covered with its thin layer of powdery snow, desperately trying to put out the fire himself. The rest of the group seemed hardly to have noticed anything might be amiss and continued to follow the Fire Giant into the very heart of Niflheimr.
[Quiet chuckling in the background.]
*
‘So,’ shouted Sharp Axe above the wind, having decided that a conversation might divert his own attention from the intense cold, eerie near-darkness and all-round bleakness of the miserable surroundings, ‘what have you all been up to, since our last adventure?’
‘I’ve been in Álfheimr, with you, Sharp Axe,’ replied Fynn, to start the ball rolling and for the benefit of those who did not know.
‘I’ve been in Álfheimr, with both of you,’ offered Aldaron, for the same reasons.
‘I’ve been working really hard on the family farm,’ said Ulric the Unwilling, which was rather doubtful.
‘We’ve been killing Danes and Swedes on raiding-missions,’ said Hedin Dogbiter, with a hefty slap on the nodding Hamdir’s back.
[Single ‘Hurrah!’ from one of the men, most likely Randver.]
‘So have I,’ lied Jormunrek the Exaggerator.
‘I’ve been learning magic,’ said Hodbrodd.
‘Oh, yes!’ shouted Sharp Axe suddenly, relieved finally to have heard an interesting answer. ‘How is that going? And how is my good friend, Kolfinna?’
‘It’s going fine,’ nodded Hodbrodd. ‘I don’t see much of Kolfinna – she’s very in demand, you know.’
‘I’m absolutely sure she is!’ shouted Sharp Axe, recalling the transformation in Kolfinna he and his men had helped to bring about, from disgusting old crone to beautiful young woman. ‘So... what have you learned?’
‘Well,’ considered Hodbrodd, as he squinted against the driving snow of the blizzard, ‘Kolfinna did teach me quite a lot about herbal magic – ’
‘Ah... ’ cried the recently-extinguished Fearless, looking skywards and pretending to reminisce fondly, ‘... the herbs... who could forget the herbs?’
‘ – and,’ went on Hodbrodd, unfazed, ‘she’s helped me to perfect the odd potion or two – ’
‘Shame she didn’t teach you to make that one of hers to counteract extreme ugliness!’ snorted Fearless.
‘ – and,’ continued Hodbrodd, regardless, ‘I’m getting better at silent spells... where magic is created just by the power of thought.’
‘Really?’ shouted Sharp Axe, intrigued. ‘That could be useful. What kind of spells can you cast just by thought, then?’
‘Er... ’ Hodbrodd glanced a little nervously in all directions, ‘… I’ll... tell you later,’ he said, sheepishly.
‘Of course you will!’ scoffed a sceptical Fearless, with a shake of his head and a curl of his upper lip. ‘I can’t wait for a demonstration of that!’
*
Despite the warmth generated by the Fire Giant, the men still found crossing the barren, flat, desolate plains of Niflheimr very hard going.
After a lengthy period of walking, the actual duration of which no-one could have begun to estimate (for, as Surtr had pointed out, there was no night or day in the Lower Worlds), Sharp Axe decided the men could go on no longer without another long rest. He told Surtr as much.
‘And,’ he added, ‘we need some kind of shelter... otherwise, when we stop, we’ll just freeze to death in this place.’
It occurred to Sharp Axe that Surtr was probably tempted to tell him to keep walking in order to avoid freezing to death but, instead, the giant stopped and looked around. In the distance, there was what appeared to be a scattering of rather large, snow-covered rocks and it was towards these that Surtr now strode purposefully.
The men watched, shivering in a huddled group, as Surtr manhandled and piled the rocks, some of which were bigger than a man, into a wide, vertical structure which, when completed, came roughly up to his own chest in height.
Without speaking and with an expressionless face, Surtr held out a huge arm, to indicate the shelter to the men, then slowly walked away from it and stood, twenty or so paces away looking off, into the distance through the blizzard, his face every bit as expressionless as before. After no more than a few seconds, the light dusting of snow on the ground immediately surrounding Surtr began to melt from his body heat, exposing
the grey rock beneath.
Sharp Axe moved promptly towards the shelter; the men followed him and threw themselves, completely exhausted, to the ground, once they were close enough to benefit from the protection the shelter provided against the wind.
‘Uhhhh... ’ sighed Fynn, lying back on his animal skin and wrapping himself inside his blanket, ‘... it seems like we’ve been walking for days... or, at least, we would have been, if this place had any days.’
‘Doesn’t he feel the cold?’ muttered Aldaron to Sharp Axe and Fynn, referring to Surtr, whom he believed and hoped to be out of ear-shot. ‘Doesn’t he get tired?’
‘Probably... not... very… ’ muttered Sharp Axe and promptly fell asleep.
*
When Sharp Axe was awoken, he thought he had just been released from a terrible dream, in which he had been travelling firstly across an arid, smoky, fire-infested, rocky desert, then across a frozen, poorly-lit, wind-swept wasteland, on the way to a place which was more unwelcoming than the other two put together. He groaned, as consciousness gradually brought with it the realisation that he had not, in fact, been dreaming at all: this was very much up-to-the-minute reality.
It was Surtr’s presence, standing over him, which had woken Sharp Axe.
‘Is it time to move on?’ he asked the giant, hoping that Surtr might, against all expectations, allow them more time to rest. Surtr merely nodded silently.
The few men who were already awake stirred their sleeping companions, most of whom groaned dejectedly, as their leader had done, on regaining consciousness. They dragged themselves reluctantly to their feet, however and prepared themselves, as best they could, for the continuation of their journey.
‘I just want to sleep!’ grumbled Ulric, in Sharp Axe’s direction. ‘Can’t you ask him if we can have a bit longer rest?’
‘Sorry, Ulric; Surtr’s our guide and if he says we need to move on, then it’s time to move on,’ sighed Sharp Axe, without looking at Ulric.
‘Wonder if there’s any food to be had around here,’ mused Randver as he folded his blanket, the remainder of Muspelheimr’s bread and cheese clearly having failed to excite his taste buds. ‘Don’t suppose Kolfinna taught you how to do that, did she, Hodbrodd – summon up food from nowhere?’
[Interested noises from the men, as they eagerly awaited Hodbrodd’s answer.]
‘Er, no… sorry,’ answered Hodbrodd, apologetically.
[Disappointed groans from the men.]
‘Not surprised... can’t imagine your being able to learn anything useful,’ grumbled Fearless, whose foot then suddenly and every bit as unexpectedly as on the previous occasion, given the total absence of anything resembling a spark in Niflheimr, caught fire.
To the disappointment of Sharp Axe and Fynn, Fearless had managed to extinguish the small blaze and cover his foot with powdery snow to stop it from smoking, before either of them had had the opportunity take up their blankets and recommence hostilities.
‘Why does that keep happening?’ demanded Fearless of no-one in particular.
[Quiet chuckling in the background.]
*
Far away, in a Higher World, a figure sat on a magnificently-carved wooden throne, at one end of a great hall, which was otherwise deserted. He was leaning forward, head in both hands, silent.
At that moment, the enormous, heavy oak doors at the other end of the hall were pushed open. A second figure, tall with fair hair tinged with a trace of red, handsome, powerfully-built and rather younger-looking than the first, entered the hall and approached the throne boldly, yet with a hint of cautious respect for its occupant.
The throne’s occupier, hearing that he was no longer alone, raised his head wearily from his hands, smoothed his long, chestnut-brown beard, flecked here and there with grey and white, carefully adjusted the leather patch covering the place where an eye used to be and inhaled deeply, to try to calm himself.
‘What news, father?’ asked the younger figure, in a deep, confident, though rather anxious, voice.
The father sighed, apparently in no hurry to answer, then said, ‘It is in motion... he has... found a way.’
‘You are sure?’ asked the son, with a quizzical expression on his face, which implied either that he did not believe the response or that, perhaps, he desperately hoped it was not true.
‘No,’ said the father, ‘not completely sure, but... ’
‘Yes?’ asked the son, eagerly.
‘... as sure as I can be,’ sighed the father, then brought his hands up to cover his face and rubbed it soothingly. ‘In any case,’ he continued, having lowered his hands to reveal an expression even more weary than before, ‘it is inevitable.’
‘But we can fight!’ protested the son, raising a powerful, clenched fist. ‘We can resist!’
The elder figure sighed again and nodded. ‘Yes... we can fight... we can resist... but, in the end, we can merely delay proceedings. We cannot prevent it. I have fought to delay it for so long now, that sometimes I think we would do better just to get it over with... ’
‘No!’ bellowed the son. ‘We must find a way to stop him!’ then he unfastened a large, stone-headed hammer with a short wooden handle from his wide leather belt and waved it high in the air, in a gesture of wild, angry, almost childlike defiance.
*
‘I think,’ said Sharp Axe, looking around himself with sudden interest, ‘that the wind is dying down... it seems to be, at least.’
‘Yes... ’ agreed Fynn, ‘I think you might be right... it doesn’t feel as strong as it did before.’
They had, again, been walking for a very long time since their rest behind the shelter Surtr had made for them; the realisation that the blizzard was apparently subsiding heartened Sharp Axe although, at the same time, it unnerved him. Their ultimate destination was Helheimr and no-one could be a willing visitor to the Realm of the Dead.
Surtr, too, had perceived the change in the weather, for he turned his head to his left and looked down at Sharp Axe, walking a little way behind him.
‘We are approaching Nastrondr,’ he said dully.
[Some confused mutterings amongst the men.]
‘It is a region within Niflheimr,’ explained Surtr.
[More confused mutterings amongst the men.]
‘There are dangers between here and Helheimr. Do not leave my side.’
[Silence.]
*
A little way behind the bedraggled, weather-beaten travellers, a solitary hooded crow settled on the stony, snow-dusted ground, watching the progress of those ahead, with apparent interest and satisfaction.
Chapter Seven
Yggdrasil
The morning sunlight filtered through the verdant, leafy trees and crept into a small wooden dwelling beneath them. The occupier of the dwelling stirred in her bed, just as the new day announced itself in the room in which she had been sleeping, and the dream she had been having came to a sudden, unpleasant and premature end.
It had begun as a pleasant enough dream, in which she and the man she hoped one day to marry walked together, through the forest which was her home. Things had then changed, however, rather abruptly and very much for the worse.
For no apparent reason, her intended had informed her that he needed to go on a journey; he could not say where, nor could he say why. This, she had noted, was most out of character for him and it had immediately made her feel anxious and suspicious. They had had no secrets, as far as she was aware, during the time they had spent together in Álfheimr; why, then, the secrecy now?
The elf maiden, Mithrén, sat up in bed, still trembling, but was more concerned with trying to remember the dream’s later stages, just before she had woken, than with her present physical state. Something she had dreamt had disturbed her deeply; what had it been? She distinctly remembered seeing Sharp Axe, Fynn (whom she knew to have accompanied Sharp Axe when he had left Álfheimr) and her brother, Aldaron (whom she had persuaded to go with them). Had Aldaron sent her the dream
? She thought not. It had been too vague, too indistinct. If the dream had come from Aldaron, Mithrén reasoned, it would certainly have been much clearer, far richer in detail, wouldn’t it?
As she gathered her thoughts, Mithrén recalled that she had received nothing from Aldaron in the way of useful information since he had left Álfheimr to catch up with Sharp Axe and Fynn. Is Aldaron all right? she wondered, a sense of dread beginning to rise in her. Yes, of course Aldaron is fine, she reasoned more calmly, as she successfully suppressed the urge to worry unduly; he had, after all, been all right in the dream.
Mithrén leaned forward, head in hands, desperately trying to remember what she had seen in her sleep. Gradually, infuriatingly slowly, some details started to come back to her.
There had been a group of, perhaps, a dozen men... one of them had had a wooden leg – Sharp Axe must have reformed his band of warriors! What could he be up to? she wondered, but forced this distracting question out of her mind and concentrated again on what she had dreamt.
Slowly, the rest of the dream returned to her. The men had undertaken a long journey, which had begun by their walking through some kind of desert terrain... hot, fiery and full of choking fumes (could she recall coughing herself awake, at one point?)... then, the surroundings had changed and they were walking through a blizzard (she remembered feeling cold, herself)... the men were being led by someone – or something – huge and dark-skinned yet which, somehow, seemed to glow, to a place that mortals did not or, rather, could not normally travel (she started to feel uneasy again)... she had somehow sensed in the dream that, after visiting the forbidden place, they would have to travel somewhere else… to a frozen forest, thick with trees covered by snow the whole year round. All this was strange and disturbing enough, but there was something else... something which had made her feel fear and panic at the time (perhaps that was what had caused her to wake up)… she racked her brains, pushing her face hard into her hands and rocking to and fro in frustration, trying desperately to remember what it was.
Then, with a start, Mithrén recalled what had frightened her, as a new terror gripped her whole body: the men were being followed along their entire journey by a solitary bird… a hooded crow. Why should that have frightened me so much during the dream and still be frightening me now? she wondered.
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