The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

“Grum dealt many a mighty blow against the frost giants. And Farling’s sword was as the hottest forge as it caused great pain to one of the giants.”

  Jakobus sighed, obviously jealous that he had missed the battle. Then said: “When you visit her, does Freya speak?”

  “No, she speaks not, but I do hear whispers from her, almost thoughts as if I can read her mind.”

  “What does she whisper?”

  “Golden apple is what I hear. I understand the gods of old ate of the golden fruit to stave off old age and stay immortal.”

  Jakobus grunted, and said: “The gods, for all their strength, did have that one weakness. They had to eat the flesh of a golden apple to prevent their limbs from weakening, their backs from bending, their joints from aching, their eyes from blurring. All their enemies knew of the gods’ weakness and tried again and again to destroy the tree that grew the golden apples, but all failed.”

  “Where is the golden tree now?”

  “None know. It is said to have perished along with all the Norse gods. Which I find hard to believe.”

  Rickters, having listened to the conversation, now interrupted, and asked: “Pardon me, Master Jakobus, but how then is Freya still living? She has not eaten of any golden apple, not that I have heard of, since she has been awoken from the stone sleep.”

  Jakobus nodded and said: “She was cursed, and the funny thing about curses is they have a way of circumventing the natural order of things. It is the curse that has kept her alive, not the apples.”

  “But the curse has been lifted,” stated Rickters.

  “To a degree,” began Jakobus, “but it is a not a full life she now lives, and so she does not burn brightly enough to warrant the need of a golden apple.”

  “Wise, Master Jakobus, you are a wise man,” said Rickters and returned to his chores.

  Jakobus smiled wryly and said: “A wisdom passed down from father to son over many generations. I too one day hope to pass it on to my own son, but that day is not yet here.”

  “The same with Loki, he too has been cursed and so still lives,” said Sihr.

  The smile disappeared from Jakobus’s face. Said: “Loki, prince of thieves, maker of mischief, weaver of lies, creator of deception: A god not to be trusted. He is fortunate his father, Odin, banished him beyond the reach of the dwarves before we meted out our punishment.”

  “Do you not think he has been punished enough?”

  “Perhaps, but he would still need to make amends to the dwarves. He may have returned the dwarf king’s crown, but he never apologized.”

  Sihr grunted. “The crown was returned.”

  “Yes.” Jakobus eyed Sihr warily.

  Sihr locked his eyes on Jakobus, then said: “Freya was brought back with a jeweled belt.”

  “Necklace,” said Jakobus, correcting Sihr.

  “Of course, necklace, I always get it confused. What if Loki, who stands like a statue somewhere his beloved frost giant princess cannot go, needs something returned to him? Odin’s curses are like a puzzle, they need to be solved. Freya was cursed for her love of Magnus, the Master of the Hunt, as he was not a god. Loki was cursed for almost starting a war with the frost giants over his abduction of Thrymr’s daughter. What if it is the dwarf king’s crown that will return Loki, end his lonely watch as a statue, as it would represent forgiveness on the part of the dwarves, and end their enmity towards Loki?”

  Jakobus stared into his mug of tea.

  “Has he not been punished enough?” asked Sihr again.

  “He was punished for his wicked deeds against the frost giants, not for his wicked deeds against the dwarves,” said Jakobus.

  “One punishment that has lasted for several hundreds of years cannot include both?”

  Jakobus chuckled, then said: “He has suffered a long time. Still, he would need to apologize.”

  “I can say with some confidence that he has been working on his apology to the dwarves for many years. I am sure he has been working on his apologies to many people while he has stood as a statue.”

  “You do not know Loki. He is not one to apologize.”

  “I know it is only the gods who can request the great forges of the dwarves be fired up once again. And unless we find a golden apple soon, Freya cannot.”

  “What a strange irony. The dwarves depend on the one god they despise the most.”

  “The Norns weave their Tapestry and often bring together bitter foes for lessons to be learned.”

  “If it is not the gods who rain down misery on my people, then it is also the Norns.”

  Sihr bit his tongue, anxious to mention to Jakobus he had met a Norn, but knew that admission would not help in this discussion. Sihr decided it best to change the subject, as he said: “Our conversation has ranged far and wide. You initially asked if I had heard word from the group that visited Pitcairn, and I have not. If you hear word before me, I would be grateful for the news.”

  Jakobus nodded. “I wondered if those massive ravens, the ones that used to belong to Odin, would return with news,” he said.

  “I wondered if they were to visit as well, but I have not seen them.”

  “The Heart Tree must be destroyed,” said Jakobus, his eyes now fierce. “We may dislike Loki, we may hate the frost giants, we may fear the Norns, but our loathing for the elves is beyond measure. They must not leave Alfheim.”

  “There is little we may do. It is dependent on the warriors who left to destroy the Heart Tree and seal the Alfheim Gateway for all eternity. I may only merely wait, tend to my services of the Paupers Temple, and hope for the best.”

  “There is one thing we may do,” replied Jakobus.

  Sihr raised an eyebrow in response.

  Jakobus said: “We must search for the tree that grows the golden apples.”

  “How do you know this tree still exists?” asked Sihr.

  “If it had been destroyed, all of our lands and realms would have been destroyed as well. There is only one tree left.”

  “Yggdrasil?”

  “It is not that far-fetched. I am not saying that Yggdrasil grows golden apples, but that is the only tree I know of that still exists, somewhere, somehow. It is also whispered that the Norns make Yggdrasil their home.”

  “It is also whispered that a very large serpent makes Yggdrasil his home as well as he gnaws forever at the tree’s roots.”

  “And that is his curse. Do not worry, young Sihr. How may the Midgard Serpent gnaw us if he is always gnawing the roots of the tree?”

  Sihr chuckled. “I am sure he may make room for us as he gnaws at the roots. Others have searched for Yggdrasil, what advantage have we over them?” he asked.

  As an answer, Jakobus pointed at the staff Freya had given Sihr.

  “That staff,” began Jakobus, “I wonder if it is like a drowsing rod, which some people use to discover water deep underground and show farmers where to sink their wells. It is Freya’s staff; it channels magic, makes you stronger. You must use it then to discover the well of magic.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “Since Freya returned, and under the tutelage of that druid, you have become a powerful healer, a true cleric. You have opened yourself to the source of magic, you let it flow through you to help others, to heal, to fix, to cleanse. You just have never asked yourself where the source of your magic resides.”

  “What if it is dangerous?”

  “I do not know if the Alfheim Gateway will be closed forever. We must plan for the worse. And we must save Freya. And if we save Freya, she may grant a boon to the dwarves and allow us to blow the dust off our great forges, sweep away the cobwebs, and cause such a din with hammers on anvils as to make the loudest lullaby ever heard in the realm.”

  “And if we save Freya, then we do not need to save Loki.”

  At that, Jakobus lightly touched the side of his nose and winked.

  “As I said before, you are full of wisdom,” Jakobus said.

  CHAPTER 14

&n
bsp; The Frost Giant’s Daughter

  Yorli, princess of the frost giants, daughter of Thrymr, watched as Alchemist held Aesirslayer aloft.

  She stood far away from the ceremonial opening of the Jotunheim Gateway and so could not see Freya’s blood on the blade, but Yorli knew that was the only way to open the gateway. Once the gateway was open, the frost giants could use their old ways of opening it from either Jotunheim or Midgard. It was because it had been sealed hundreds of years ago by Odin, the betrayer, who had also imprisoned Thrymr, his sons, and his daughter in an icy prison, that the blood of his children was the only way to open the gateway.

  Yorli wondered how much she would remember Jotunheim and wondered how much she did remember still stood. Would her father’s castle still stand? Or would it have succumbed ages ago to the ravages of wind and snow?

  The sound of Alchemist’s voice brought her out of her reverie.

  “Daughter,” began Thrymr in a surprisingly soft voice, “once we return to Jotunheim, we will need to discuss the order of succession.”

  Yorli looked sharply at her father, then said: “I have brothers who are older than me, who will inherit your crown.”

  Thrymr grumbled and his face darkened. “Ever since those two bumbling idiot brothers of yours returned from the south, barely alive, and just successful, I have reconsidered their eligibility,” he said.

  “To be fair to my half-wit brothers, according to their stories, they were attacked by men wielding weapons of magic crafted in the forges of the dwarves.”

  “They were attacked by boys.”

  Yorli looked both surprised and amused.

  “Still,” began Yorli, “weapons of magic were used against them that were used against the frost giants in battles long ago. My brothers have not fought for years, frozen as they were, so were ill-prepared.”

  “You are too kind to your idiot brothers. To them, Jotunheim is a return to the days of drinking mead, hunting the great caribou, wrestling the massive polar bears, and maybe even testing their skills against the feared snow dragons. Your brothers only think of the present day, and perhaps what tomorrow brings, if they can even think that far ahead. They do not realize Jotunheim is threatened.”

  “You fear the bargain struck with Alchemist?”

  “I fear nothing.” Thrymr’s voice rumbled loudly, but only Yorli noticed his anger as all others stared at Alchemist. Thrymr sighed loudly and his voice became soft once again.

  He said: “I may fear nothing, but this accord with Alchemist weakens us and weakens Jotunheim. Once we open the Alfheim gateway in Jotunheim, armies of elves will march through our land, and through this door.”

  “You worry the elves will not be pleased with only destroying Midgard?”

  “Remember child, the elves were the Chosen of the Norse gods, of Odin. The elves were the tip of the spear in his wars. Whatever Odin fancied, the elves would fetch. And no, Midgard is only part of their conquest plans.”

  “So, the elves were Odin’s dogs?”

  “Careful with your tongue, child, else I rethink your ability to sit my throne. If they were dogs, they soon rivaled the gods in power and strength and were not dogs anymore. That is why they were banished, they became too powerful.”

  “Has their years of banishment weakened them?”

  “Unlike us, they have not been frozen in time. They have had years to polish their skills, polish their hate, and polish their plans of conquest.”

  “There is word a Sorceress has been found.”

  “Which is what I fear most. If the elves align themselves with the Sorceress, the Norns themselves will not be able to weave their Tapestry and control our fates. The Sorceress will rip apart the fabric of the Tapestry and Jotunheim too will be destroyed.”

  “I thought you feared nothing, father.”

  “I fear the return of a Sorceress.” Thrymr fixed his pale blue eyes on his daughter. “And you should too.”

  Despite her love of the cold, Yorli felt a shiver go down her spine.

  High above in the sky, two ravens glided on winds beyond what the eye could see.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Better Archer

  Farling’s eyes opened.

  He did not have to even look to know Grum and Arastead still slept. He rose sleepily to his feet and jostled Grum awake first. Grum grumbled something about being saddle sore. As Farling went to wake Arastead, Peg merely stared at Farling. Arastead awoke with a start.

  “Arastead, your cat now wakes you without even touching you?” said Farling. “That is quite the connection you two have.”

  Arastead opened his bleary eyes. “It comes in handy, especially when you do not want to be kicked awake,” he said.

  “I was not planning on kicking you awake. Just some strong shoving, that is all.”

  “What is for breakfast?” asked Grum.

  “Whatever is in your saddlebag, so some sort of dried meat and dried something else.”

  Everyone else now was awake.

  Airthear, the eldest of the Aarlund brothers, barked orders: “Cruithni, gather up your bow, and see if you can rustle up any meat: rabbit, deer, it makes no difference to me. As long as there is enough for everyone to eat. And take that Dennlander lad with you, the one who is handy with a bow.”

  Grum smiled, grabbed his bow and quiver full of arrows and walked off into the forest with Cruithni.

  Grum asked: “Does your brother always tell you what to do?”

  “You get used to it after a while,” answered Cruithni. “Now, young Grum, let his see who can bag more for breakfast: an Aarlunder or a Dennlander.”

  “Ah, you are in trouble Cruithni, as I am a gambling man.”

  And they went off into different directions in the forest melting into the foliage.

  Back at camp, Airthear barked more orders: “Tuathail, tend to the fire, make some strong tea. Eithlenn, Conall, look to the horses.”

  “We can help out,” said Farling to Eithlenn as he and Arastead began rubbing down the horses and preparing them for the day.

  After a while, Tuathail had made strong tea for everyone. The horses had been fed and were ready for travel, but not yet saddled. Grum and Cruithni returned with some rabbits and pheasants, laughing and jostling each other, bragging one way or another about their catches.

  Grum said: “Cruithni, you may have caught more rabbits than I, but my pheasants will be much tastier.”

  Cruithni roared with laughter. “Dennlander,” he began, “surely you jest. These rabbits are the most succulent I have ever seen.”

  “Just because you sang a pretty song making the rabbits dance and then shot them while they were distracted, does not make you a better shot. Tis easy to hit a slow rabbit, try and hit a pheasant as it flies through the air.”

  “I give in Dennlander, you win. Now, let us skin these, and have a small feast.”

  Soon, the smell of crackling flesh filled the air.

  Grum, rubbed his stomach and said: “I do not think I will be eating any dried meat. The strong tea has whetted my appetite, now for a small feast before we destroy the Heart Tree.”

  King Cormac and King Frederick were the first to eat and finish. As everyone else finished their breakfast, Cormac said: “Melgund, it looks as if your guild was able to capture and hold those were-beasts.”

  Melgund nodded and said: “It appears so, Your Majesty. The nets made in Pitcairn are strong. As those were-beasts have not yet caught up to us, I am confident my guild has caught them and they are being held in our cells. We will deal with them later, after we destroy the Heart Tree.”

  “That is good news,” Cormac said. “I did not want those were-beasts attacking us before we destroyed the Heart Tree.”

  “Now, Nas,” continued Cormac, “I know we have discussed how best to destroy the Heart Tree, but now it is time we include everyone.”

  Nas cleared his throat. Said: “The druids of Aarlund heard the whispers, knew the Alfheim Gateway might be opened and that
the Heart Tree had to be destroyed before it drained the Unbreakable Barrier of the wizards’ blood. Now, since no one here, including myself, has ever tried to destroy a Heart Tree, it will not be easy, that I can guarantee.”

  “But it is just a tree,” interjected Grum. “How difficult is it to chop down a tree.”

  “I agree with the hunter of pheasants,” said Cruithni. “We chop down trees like they are weeds in Aarlund. What is so different about this tree, except for the fancy name?”

  Nas shook his head, then said: “Heart Trees are immune to fire, resist all the cold the most bitter of winters throw at it, and not even the sharpest axe may bite it.”

  “I do not wield an axe, I wield a war hammer,” said Grum. “And when I wear the belt and don the gloves, I fell frost giants with one blow.”

  “Granted, Grum, you brought that frost giant to one knee, but you surprised him from behind,” said Nas.

  “It is not as if we need to sneak up on this tree,” complained Grum. “It is a tree. What part do I not understand?”

  “Something else is at play,” replied Nas. “It is no ordinary Heart Tree. Stories reached the ears of the Aarlund druids, stories of animal bones strewn around the Heart Tree.”

  Eithlenn shrugged and said: “So, some large predator, a bear, or wolf, likes to attack its prey near the Heart Tree. Perhaps when the deer goes to drink from the pond, it is attacked.”

  Nas shook his head. “No animals drink from the pond,” he said. “They may be attracted to it, but would never drink from it.”

  Now Farling asked: “You are saying that the Heart Tree has a guardian? Did Alchemist leave someone or something behind to protect the tree?”

  “The Heart Tree does not need protection from ordinary axes and blades,” answered Nas. “It would, however, need protection from us as we do not have ordinary weapons. King Cormac, with his Almuric Sword, may slice through the bonds of magic. His blade would sever the Heart Tree from the pond. And with the roots removed, the wizards’ blood would gush back into the Unbreakable Barrier, creating a stronger, more resilient obstruction for the elves, looking to return to this land.”