Sharp Axe walked into a chamber with grey stone walls and floors, in the centre of which was a large, grey stone bowl, set upon a narrow stand, made from similar stone. A faint, pale green mist hung, suspended in mid-air, around the bowl.
Encouraged by Hel, Sharp Axe took a few tentative steps into the chamber, until he was engulfed by the mist. This made him begin to feel a little light-headed but could now see that, within the bowl, there was a small casket, fashioned from dark, polished wood, beautifully inlaid and studded with exquisite gemstones. He gazed at this work of art in silence, transfixed by its beauty, until Hel spoke.
‘The authority which placed the casket where you see it is amongst the highest in all the Nine Worlds... and only one considered worthy, by that same authority, may open the casket and remove its contents,’ explained Hel, grandly. ‘Try to open the casket, Erik Sharp Axe.’
Sharp Axe did not fully understand all the implications of what Hel had just said, but he wanted neither to appear rude by asking for a more comprehensive explanation, nor to appear cowardly by declining the invitation to test his ‘worthiness’ to open the beautiful casket. He fully expected to be found unworthy and, therefore, unable to carry out the task as instructed by Hel but, when he took the lid of the casket in both hands and made to lift it, it swung upwards smoothly on its horizontal hinge with the minimum of effort. Slightly taken aback, he looked into the casket gingerly and saw what appeared to be a scroll of parchment, a little longer than the length of a man’s two fists placed side by side, rolled up inside an intricately-engraved ring of polished bone.
‘That is the list you seek, Erik Sharp Axe,’ said Hel, quietly. ‘Remove it from the casket.’
Sharp Axe did as Hel had bid him and noted, with considerable relief, that no lightning bolts, earthquakes or sudden floods resulted. With the scroll in his hand, Sharp Axe looked up at his hostess.
‘You are worthy, Erik Sharp Axe,’ pronounced Hel, with the makings of a smile on the right side of her face. ‘Replace the list in the casket and take it to Harald Fairhair. May it serve his purpose well.’
‘Er... thank you... ’ said Sharp Axe, awkwardly, unable to believe how easy obtaining the list had proved and thinking that, despite her abhorrent physical appearance, her reputation for being cold, ruthless and unforgiving, and the way she treated her staff, perhaps Hel was not such a bad Goddess of the Dead, after all.
‘Now,’ said Hel, as Sharp Axe replaced the precious list, closed the lid and lifted the casket out of the stone bowl, ‘let us see whether those useless servants of mine can manage to prepare some provisions for your journey back to Midgard.’
*
Outside Eljudnir, on top of one of Helheimr’s gates, a solitary, hooded crow cawed loudly, with what seemed to be considerable satisfaction. Then, it took off and flew southwards, towards Muspelheimr.
*
Somewhere, in a far-off frosty, dense wood, a hideous, piercing, triumphant laugh rang out.
*
In a higher world, where night had long since fallen, an elf maiden woke suddenly from another nightmare and sat up in her bed, head in hands, sobbing helplessly with despair.
*
In a neighbouring higher world, a stone-headed hammer was hurled in anger to the ground by its furious owner; his simultaneous cry of anguish was heard only in Asgard, but such was the force of the after-shock from the hammer blow, that it reverberated all the way down to Midgard, where the resulting loud, protracted rumble of thunder woke every one of that world’s sleeping inhabitants.
Chapter Ten
Freyr’s List
‘Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ muttered Fynn, to Sharp Axe and Aldaron, as the group of men followed Surtr through the Gates of Helheimr and out of the Realm of the Dead. Despite the relative ease with which the list had been acquired, it was a place none of them was sorry to leave.
‘It was... ’ began Sharp Axe, sounding a little distant, ‘... easier than I had... expected.’
‘Hmm... ’ replied Aldaron, ‘… a little too easy, if you ask me.’
‘Well, we didn’t ask you!’ snapped Fearless, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation. ‘Let’s just be grateful that I – er, I mean, that we have all managed get out of there, unharmed. Let’s get ourselves back to King Whatsisname and collect the cash!’
The group was rather weighed down with all the food and drink with which Hel’s servants had eventually provided them, with the exception of Surtr, who never seemed to eat or drink anything. Hel had even offered to send Ganglati and Ganglot with the men, to carry the provisions. Sharp Axe had declined the kind offer, however, fearing that the journey back would have taken several millennia to complete with them in tow and, in fact, he strongly suspected that Hel had made the offer only as a thinly-disguised ploy to rid herself of the unwanted couple’s services.
As they passed by Gnipa for a second time, the men all cast nervous glances towards the cave’s eerie, pitch-black (and now, thankfully, silent) opening. Through the cave’s darkness, they could just about make out a pair of red eyes, quite still and close to the ground, which suggested that Garmr was lying down and, in all probability, recovering from a rather unpleasant neck and back injury.
The Hound of Hel did not stir from his lying position, as the Fire Giant and his wards passed its home.
‘Sorry... ’ offered Fynn weakly, by way of apology, in the general direction of the red eyes, which then appeared to withdraw further back into the cave.
‘I think it’s frightened of you,’ snorted Fearless, which served only to make Fynn feel worse.
*
Once past Nastrondr, Yggdrasil and its serpentine occupants, progress through Niflheimr went smoothly with Surtr, once again, constructing a shelter from rocks for the men and allowing them a period of rest (though only one, this time), along the way.
The onward journey to Muspelheimr passed uneventfully; even Fearless remained in a relatively good mood, pre-occupied with thoughts of how best to spend his share of King Harald’s gratitude.
By the time the group had crossed Muspelheimr again and Surtr’s palace came into view, close to the border with Midgard, no-one had spoken for what seemed like hours, exhaustion from so much walking and Muspelheimr’s heat and sulphurous fumes having all taken their toll on the men’s bodies, minds and spirits. The sight of the enormous black marble building, however, had an immediate and positive effect on the travellers’ morale.
‘Finally,’ spluttered Fearless, wiping his moist brow, ’finally, we can get out of this… this place – ’ at which point, he remembered who was leading them through it, ‘ – which,’ he continued, ‘is wonderful... really it is... lovely scenery – completely unspoiled... and... architecture... and... things... but just a little warm for my own, personal taste.’
‘Most people hate it here,’ said Surtr indifferently, from the front, to which Fearless thought it best not to reply.
The Fire Giant led the men past his palace and, from there, directly to Muspelheimr’s border. The first servant whom the men had met on their previous visit had clearly been on watch for his master’s return, for he was waiting just inside the border with the men’s horses, none of which looked any the worse for wear, following their stay on the outskirts of Muspelheimr.
Surtr left the men with the horses and turned, with his servant, to walk to his palace, giving Sharp Axe and the others a single, brief, emotionless nod, by way of a goodbye.
‘We’d love to come in for a drink, thanks,’ muttered Fearless, quietly, once Surtr was out of ear-shot, ‘but we simply have to dash off!’
‘I thought you’d be glad to get out of here as fast as possible,’ said Sharp Axe, as he secured his remaining provisions to his horse and gave its neck a reassuring pat. ‘I wonder how long we’ve actually been away.’
‘Must be days... ’ grunted Alfgeir, gazing at the stars in the early evening Midgard sky, ‘... maybe more than a week.’
‘Hmm... ’ replied Sharp Axe,
seeing no point in trying to put Alfgeir Stargazer’s star-gazing skills to further test, ‘... let’s ride for a while to cool down before we set up camp. We could all use a good night’s sleep.’
*
Harald Fairhair had explained how to find the place to which the men should travel in order to meet him again, once they had returned to Midgard with Freyr’s list. Sharp Axe and Fynn, of course, discussed these instructions with the group’s navigator, Alfgeir and, of course, found him to be absolutely no help whatsoever. Eventually, they decided that the designated meeting-place was several days’ ride north of their present position, somewhere in the general vicinity of Jøtunheimr.
As the men sat around their campfire, having selected a place about an hour’s ride further on from Muspelheimr’s border, they started to reminisce about the visit they had once made to the Frost Giants’ home.
‘I wonder what happened to Rind... ’ mused Jormunrek, sentimentally, ‘... you know... after you jilted her, Sharp Axe.’
‘I’m sure she got over the heartache,’ sneered Fearless before his brother had had the opportunity to express an opinion.
‘Do you think you’ll ever be able to go back to sort things out,’ ventured Fynn, despite knowing this to be a touchy subject with his leader, ‘so that you and Mithrén can get married?’
Sharp Axe sighed and replied, ‘Perhaps... if I can find a way of avoiding the certain death it would entail.’
‘I really think you should try,’ suggested Fearless and, when he was met by half a dozen angry, frowned expressions, he qualified his suggestion with, ‘After all... Mithrén is worth the risk, isn’t she?’
‘Yes... ’ replied Sharp Axe, doubting seriously whether Fearless’s latter comment could have been meant sincerely and staring, misty-eyed, into the campfire’s flickering flames, ‘... I wonder what she’s doing, now.’
*
At that same moment, Mithrén was preparing for a journey of her own: a journey that she did not want to make alone, but the Elven Elders’ refusal to allow anyone to join her had left her with no choice.
Early the following morning, she would be setting off in the direction she believed Sharp Axe and Aldaron to be headed; she hoped she could meet them en route, then persuade them to turn back to Álfheimr with her. Mithrén had no idea whether she would be able to intercept them or, if even she did, whether they would listen to her. She did know, however, that if she did not try, she may never see either her brother or the man she loved again.
*
On the following night, after a ride lasting almost all the hours of light the day had had to offer (at the insistence of Fearless, who was becoming increasingly anxious to get his hands on the payment he had been promised) the men set up camp once again. Wood for a fire was quickly gathered and placed in a heap; Sharp Axe asked Fynn and Aldaron to go in search of food.
‘Hodbrodd... would you get the fire start – ? Oh... well done! That was... very quick.’
Something had been on Sharp Axe’s mind for a while and he decided that now was the time to broach the subject. He signalled to Hodbrodd to join him, away from the rest of the men, in a place where their conversation could not be overheard.
‘Yes, Sharp Axe?’ asked Hodbrodd, curious and a little concerned that he should have been singled out from the rest of the men in this way.
Sharp Axe gave him a mildly-amused look. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said, ‘there’s just something I wanted to ask you... the spells you said you could do by the power of thought?’
‘Ye – es?’ said Hodbrodd uncertainly, his concern deepening.
Sharp Axe looked around, to make sure that no-one else could hear them.
‘It’s you who’s being setting fire to Fearless, isn’t it?’ he said softly.
‘Er... ’ Hodbrodd looked panic-struck, ‘... well... y-yes... sorry – ’
‘No, no,’ protested Sharp Axe, with a brisk shake of his head, ‘don’t apologise! I think it’s marvellous!’
Hodbrodd brightened immediately.
‘No, look,’ continued Sharp Axe, ‘I was just wondering whether there were any other useful spells you could do, apart from igniting Fearless... oh – and campfires, obviously. I just thought they might be helpful to us, that’s all.’
‘Well... ’ began Hodbrodd, ‘I’ve been working on a spell which can raise objects off the ground and move them to another place, simply by using the power of thought!’
‘Really? That’s great!’ said Sharp Axe, excitedly. ‘Can you do it?’
‘No,’ said Hodbrodd, ‘not really... there is another, though, which stops things moving, again just by the power of thought. It’s very helpful to use it on, say, an enemy who is about to attack you, but... ’
‘But,’ ventured Sharp Axe, ‘you can’t get that one to work, either.’
‘No, that’s right,’ confirmed Hodbrodd, with a nod and a serious expression, ‘but I’m working on them. I’m much better with herbs, really.’
‘Oh, yes… ’ groaned Sharp Axe, recalling the various pouches containing herbs, given to him by Kolfinna, which he had had to carry around during the quest to find Mjøllnir, ‘… no doubt. What sorts of spell can you do with herbs?’
‘Well,’ replied Hodbrodd, his enthusiasm returning, ‘there are lots... one to heal wounds... one to put you to sleep... one to keep you awake... one to make you brave... one to make you forget – ’
‘Wait – wait – wait… ’ interrupted Sharp Axe, now with a keener interest in what Hodbrodd was telling him, ‘ a spell to make you... brave?’
‘Yes,’ replied Hodbrodd, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, ‘a courage spell. It took me a while to – ’
‘Let me just get this straight… you, Hodbrodd... can create a spell... which will actually make someone... brave?’ summarised Sharp Axe, doubtfully.
‘Well... yes... ’ said Hodbrodd, not seeing where the conversation was leading, or why Sharp Axe was apparently having so much difficulty grasping the concept, ‘... for a while, at least. Why?’
‘Do you have the right ingredients with you?’ asked Sharp Axe, eagerly.
‘No,’ replied Hodbrodd and Sharp Axe let out a quiet, but heartfelt, grunt of disappointment.
‘But,’ continued Hodbrodd, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘I’m pretty sure I can remember the... “recipe”... and I think I should be able to get everything I need along the way to... er... wherever it is we’re going.’
‘Perfect!’ sighed Sharp Axe. ‘Let me know as soon as you’ve collected everything you need.’
*
Mithrén had just lit herself a campfire. She was feeling cold, partly because the sky was cloudless and the evening air was already cool, but mainly because she was alone, a long way from the safety of her Álfheimr home and in the middle of nowhere – and, as an elf maiden, she was not comfortable with any of those situations. She promised herself that, if she ever returned to Álfheimr alive, she would make sure that she never repeated the experience.
Pulling a woollen blanket around her shivering body for warmth, Mithrén thought of the Elven Elders with disdain. Why had they forbidden her to find volunteers to accompany her? Could they not understand how difficult it would be for her, on her own? Did they not care about her safety?
Then again, Mithrén reasoned, would any others have come with her, even if she had asked them? It was not their fault that Sharp Axe and Aldaron had put themselves in danger; nor was it their problem. Sharp Axe and Aldaron had made that decision for themselves... except, of course, it was she, Mithrén, who had persuaded – ordered, more like – her brother to follow Sharp Axe. Aldaron’s plight, at least, was unquestionably Mithrén’s fault and, consequently, her responsibility, as far as she was concerned.
What if she failed to persuade them not to continue? What would she do then? She had to find them first, she told herself and that would certainly not be easy. If only Aldaron would let her know his whereabouts, by answering the thought-messages she was sending to h
im. So far, though, he had ignored every one of her desperate pleas.
Feeling worse than ever, Mithrén adjusted the blanket around herself, laid down and cried herself to sleep.
*
‘Sharp Axe,’ said Aldaron quietly to his leader, next to whom sat Fynn. It was the third night, following their return from Helheimr and the men had just finished their evening meal: an enormous stew, containing tender, succulent meat, selflessly donated by a dozen or so rabbits, all caught within five or six minutes by Fynn and cooked with love by Alfgeir.
‘Hmm?’ replied Sharp Axe, feeling rather full and very weary.
Aldaron looked all about him for any sign of undesirable, listening ears. ‘You remember our conversation about Harald Fairhair and how I wasn’t sure we could trust him?’
Sharp Axe screwed up his face and thought; it seemed like a long time since they had had that particular conversation.
‘Oh... yes?’ he replied warily, after a brief pause.
‘Well,’ continued Aldaron, ‘I think now might be a good time to take a look at that list.’
In truth, Sharp Axe had never forgotten the conversation but had been hoping that Aldaron would not remember it. The possibility that the King of Norway might, in some way, have been untrustworthy, perhaps even corrupt was, as far as Sharp Axe was concerned, unthinkable. Kings were leaders of people and leaders should, in Sharp Axe’s eyes, be above reproach.
That said, Sharp Axe was extremely curious about the list. What harm would it do, to have a look? It would serve at least two useful purposes: firstly, it would put Aldaron’s mind to rest and, secondly, it would satisfy Sharp Axe’s own curiosity.
‘All right,’ said Sharp Axe with a nod. Aldaron and Fynn looked at each other, a little surprised that their leader had not required more in the way of persuasion on the matter.
With a bit of an effort, the rabbit stew still weighing heavily on his stomach, Sharp Axe got to his feet and said quietly to his comrades, ‘I’ll go get it. I think the three of us should check it before anyone else sees it... just in case.’
Helheimr Page 11
