“Do not kill the blacksmith!” cried Thrymr as the frost giants continued their slaughter. The once pristine white snow was now stained bright red. Steam rose from the corpses into the air as the bodies slowly froze.
Only Alchemist, Old Monk, and Lanson remained standing.
Alchemist and Old Monk were two old battle-worn fighters and had not lost their wits at the beginning of the slaughter. And unlike the initiates, both had worn weapons under their clothing with which they defended themselves. They stood back-to-back and clashed with the frost giants, trading blows, not giving an inch. Alchemist and Old Monk had even been able to sip from a potion of strength, giving them each the ability to not wither under the strength of the giants’ blows. For when a giant struck, it was like being hit by the biggest tree branch.
When all the initiates lay dead or dying, the fighting stopped. Alchemist and Old Monk leaned on their swords as they gulped for breath.
The wall of frost giants parted making way for Thrymr.
“I should have known,” said Alchemist. “I should have known not to trust you.”
Thrymr scoffed and said: “O man, we frost giants are as old as time. We were forged from the bones of the great ox whose ribs formed all the Norse realms and hold the sky up above us. We fought the gods, fought Odin All Father, battled his sons and daughters. You thought you were the equal of the gods that you could fight us?”
Alchemist sheathed his sword and said: “You may not fear me but you should fear the elves.”
Thrymr laughed and his laughter boomed and echoed off the mountain walls. “I fear the elves even less than I fear you and your dead initiates,” he boasted but Yorli knew her father lied. “The elves are a distraction, a means to an end.”
In a confident voice, Alchemist said: “The elves will end you and your realm.”
“Foolish words from a foolish man. I have seen more in a day than you will see in a lifetime: the great Yggdrasil, the fearsome Midgard Serpent that gnaws its roots, the Tapestry of life the Norns weave. It is quite breathtaking to see the Norns take the measure of a man and use their scissors to stop his life in the Tapestry. But another will take his place and so the Tapestry continues. I am sure the Norns have even measured you and somehow you still manage to have them stay their scissors.”
“And so you felt it necessary to slaughter all my men.”
“You are an arrogant young man, a boy really. You thought you could order the great frost giants around, tell my sons to fetch Freya’s blood for you. Treat my sons as mere chattel when they returned, injured. You should have begged to have audience with a frost giant and yet you somehow thought we were beneath you. You needed to be taught a lesson.”
“Yet you let me and Old Monk live? And my blacksmith?”
“Dead men do not deliver messages.”
“You wish my blacksmith to deliver a message.”
Thrymr chuckled and said: “Your blacksmith is underused. You underestimate his abilities. So, we will relieve you of his servitude. Consider his payment to you complete.”
“I will require gold for payment.”
One of Thrymr’s sons started forward, but his father held him at bay.
“Gold you shall have,” said Thrymr. “But beware, for your greed shall be your undoing. You must carry it across the vastness of Jotunheim until you reach the Alfheim Gateway. And you will give me Aesirslayer.”
“Something else for which I require payment.”
This time Thrymr did not stop his son, who walked up to Old Monk and put the point of his sword underneath his chin, lifting his head.
The frost giant said: “Payment is the life of your favorite warrior, Alchemist. Old Monk I believe you name him.”
Old Monk stared blankly at Thrymr. “I am not afraid to die,” he said.
“A brave man,” said Thrymr, “good, then consider—”
“Stop!” cried Alchemist. “I accept his life as payment.”
The frost giant sheathed his sword and Old Monk merely bowed his head in relief.
Thrymr called to his frost giants: “Load a sled full of gold, let Alchemist and his friend pull it.” Thrymr then looked slyly at Alchemist. “Or would you rather your sled be loaded with food, a tent, and supplies?”
Alchemist spat on the snow and Thrymr had his answer.
***
And after many hours, a group of frost giants and two men dragging a sled walked through the Jotunheim Gateway.
Once everyone had passed through, Thrymr said to Yorli: “Seal the gateway behind us. I will not have anything from Jotunheim walking through it without my direct knowledge. Nothing should alarm the people of Midgard. And, I do not want anyone accidentally walking from Midgard into Jotunheim either.”
And the two ravens circling high above in the sky practically out of view, now flew away in a different direction, away from the gateway.
CHAPTER 20
A Happy Accident
Sihr woke with a start.
He sat up in bed and looked around. No sound reached his ears, even the outside was quiet as it was that time of night after the pubs had closed and before the bakers rose to make their wares.
He had dreamed—a vision perhaps—of Yggdrasil. The tree was radiant, glowing with a yellow light. Or was it a golden light? And he thought he had seen fruit on the tree, but were they apples? He could not tell. Small animals ran amongst the tree’s branches. Were they squirrels? They looked harmless to him in this dream.
And there were markings on the great tree, deep scars that looked to never heal. They did not seem to affect the tree as it looked healthy. They had appeared as ancient runes written in the old language, the language used first by the gods and then by others.
But what had awoken him was when he looked down and there saw a great wyrm, the Midgard Serpent, gnawing at the tree’s roots. The Midgard Serpent writhed and undulated so that the ground around the tree moved. Even in his dream, Sihr had realized that the ground was not dirt, but the body of the Midgard Serpent. It too had been covered in markings and runes, but those runes had been different. Still written in the old language, no rune from the Midgard Serpent matched a rune on the tree. Except for one.
How Sihr had seen all this, even he could not tell. But the clarity and realness of it, he knew it was no dream, but as if he had physically been there. Someone wanted him to see Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. But who? And if he was to visit, how?
Then the amulet that gave him access to the thieves guild of Trondheim shocked him as if with static electricity. He removed the necklace from around his neck, as he wore it always, worried as he was that it would go missing. He held the amulet and stared into the stone.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
The amulet did not respond nor did it give him another electrical shock.
He continued talking aloud as he found that helped him to solve puzzles: “This amulet opens hidden doors. The thieves guild of Trondheim exists in another realm, or another part of this realm far away. For when it is sunny here in Trondheim, inside the guild, it can be raining. And when it is night here, it is daytime there. Who is to say that Yggdrasil is indeed underneath the Paupers Temple? And that to reach the tree, it is not just opening a hidden door, like the one that leads to Freya’s ancient temple. This time it is a portal, like the one I walk through when I enter the thieves guild. Perhaps it was a mistake for Jakobus and me to search for a hidden door. We had to search for a portal.”
He felt foolish talking aloud, but knew this was the only way for him to solve this problem, and so continued: “What if there is a door in the basement that only opens when I touch it with my amulet, just like I do when I enter the thieves guild? It is worth trying.”
Sihr lit a candle and dressed. He went to wake Rickters, but could see the old caretaker was fast asleep.
“You have been busy of late, old friend. I will not bother you with my ideas.”
He remembered how he wished he had brought Rickte
rs with him when he had visited Freya’s temple. But when he went to waken Rickters, he saw that Rickters was in a deep sleep and would be close to impossible to wake.
“I do nothing which I believe I will need you,” whispered Sihr as he left Rickters room and walked downstairs.
All the torches were extinguished so the only light by which he could see was his candle. Holding the amulet in one hand, the lit candle in the other, he walked around the basement, touching the wall with the amulet.
But nothing happened.
Frustrated and tired, he lay down on the ground in the middle of the floor on his back.
“How will I ever find the tree and the golden apples?” he asked to no one.
He lay there for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, wondering where else to search. Perhaps the stained-glass windows held some clues. He would have to wait for a sunny day though.
Sihr reckoned he still had a few hours left of sleep if he crawled back into his bed right now. As he rolled to one side to get onto his hands and knees, his amulet slipped from his hand and touched the floor.
He heard a sound not unlike the sound he heard when he walked through the thieves guild portal.
He disappeared.
CHAPTER 21
The Battle of the Heart Tree
Farling saw the Heart Tree in the distance. Even from where he was, riding towards the tree at a furious speed, he could easily see that the tree was unusual. Although his eyes were not as strong as Grum’s, the morning light dappled and dazzled off the white leaves. In stark contrast, the trunk of the tree looked to be as black as night, a strange and ominous contrast.
Everyone was bent forward, urging their horses to greater and even greater speed. For while they had not heard the were-beasts, they were certain they were not far behind.
As they reached the tree, all dismounted their horses as one.
“Let the horses be!” cried Frederick. “We will fetch them once we are done. Now, Nas, what of the tree?”
Nas nodded. “King Cormac with his sword is best to start,” he said. “The bark of a Heart Tree is as stone to all weapons, save the Almuric Sword. Its ability to cut the bonds of magic and defend its user against magic will serve him well. Sever the roots that lead into the pond that drain the blood. Once done, the tree should be weakened. Then you will need to cut through the bark and deep into the trunk. We will need to find the heart of the Heart Tree, and King Frederick will stab it with his spear.”
Grum looked incredulous as he said: “I realize it is called a Heart Tree, but it has a heart? A human heart?”
“No, blacksmith,” replied Nas. “But it is like any animal heart, and if we need to destroy this tree, we need to not only cut it down, we need to destroy the heart. Like any tree, cutting it down, often the roots will nourish new growth. We must sever all the roots so that it receives no fresh nourishment and then we must destroy the tree’s heart.”
“Well, I had best put on my gloves and don my belt,” said Grum, “as I believe the party is about to begin.”
Farling maneuvered his shield onto his left arm. He was now quite accustomed to wearing it in battle. He had worn it against the Draugr when they had fought in the basement of the Trondheim thieves guild. The Draugr, a demon that drained the essence of people using one hand, was after the Graydon suit of armor: the armor that the wizard hunters, the Gray Death, wore when they fought wizards. For it protected the hunters and weakened the wizards. That had been Farling’s first fight using the shield, and it had proven wondrous, as the Draugr had the strength of many men and had fought the entire Trondheim thieves guild. But when he struck Farling’s shield, Farling was protected and relinquished no ground. He had also worn the shield when they had fought the two frost giants. And, as in his battle against the demon, when a frost giant struck Farling’s shield, Farling was uninjured and unmoved. He unsheathed his sword, Flamebringer, and tested the edge of sword’s blade with his thumb. Barely putting any pressure, a small nick appeared on his thumb, proof of the sword’s sharpness. The sword was magic, but it’s only real power was against frost giants. And as the Norn had foreseen, the frost giants once again roamed the land. But no frost giants were here: simply a tree. Still, his sword was ever so sharp, and he knew that still had its uses.
Grum flexed his arms. He had donned his gloves and belt of strength and held his war hammer in just one hand. He winked at Farling.
“Just in case,” said Grum. “Those were-beasts will show up sooner or later and I mean to do them harm.”
Arastead stood straight like the quarterstaff he held in one hand. Peg stood comfortably on his shoulders looking at everything, constantly sniffing the air. Arastead and his cat seemed to be having a private conversation that only they could understand.
“Hold!” cried Arastead. “Something is not right Peg has an ill feeling about this. There is more to this tree than meets the eye.”
Everyone took note of Arastead’s comment as they stood at the periphery of the Heart Tree. Where they stood, the grass was long and lush. But Farling could easily see that there was a wide circle around the Heart Tree. And inside that circle no grass grew, only skeletons.
Grum spoke up and said: “What is with all the bones? And the grass stops growing at a certain point? Is the ground too rocky? Is the pond poison?”
“All good questions, young blacksmith,” said Frederick as he walked into the circle. Everyone followed. The sound of bones crunching under everyone’s feet was louder than anyone liked.
“Nas, what do you think of this?” asked Cormac.
Nas hissed: “Everyone stop!”
“What is it?” said Cormac, his voice low.
Nas bent over and picked up some bones, inspecting them. Said: “There are bones here of many different types of animals: rabbits, wolves, bears, deer, moose.”
“Did they drink from the pond and die?” asked Cormac.
Nas shook his head: “They would never drink from the pond in the first place,” he said. “All animals shun the pond. No, something else brings the animals here then slays them.”
Farling looked at the bones. Some animal skeletons were in relatively good condition. Others were old and very weathered, bleached by sun and wind. And yet he could also see some dead animals that still had their skin on their bones. The skin was pulled taut and dry as if something had drained the animal of everything inside.
Farling said: “Growing up in Jordheim, I have done my fair share of hunting. I have hunted deer, rabbit. But these animal carcasses we see have not been killed by hunters. There are no arrows lying about the bones, there are no bones cracked by sword or spear. Someone or something looks to have lured animals here and killed them. But how?”
Arastead drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then said: “Peg senses something malevolent near. And it is not the Heart Tree.”
“Nas,” said Cormac, “is there something you are not telling us?”
Nas shrugged and said: “Stories have emerged about there being a guardian that lives with the Heart Tree. Now, whether this being guards the Heart Tree or is merely a pariah, using the Heart Tree as protection, that I do not know.”
“Does it live in the branches?” asked Cruithni, notching an arrow. “I am confident I could bring it down from here.”
“I do not know,” said Nas.
Cormac, holding the Almuric Sword aloft, said: “Well, we have purpose here, and time is of the essence. Cruithni, Tuathail, Eithlenn, Airthear, watch my back. I will sever the roots of the Heart Tree. King Frederick will pierce the tree’s heart, and then we can depart this wicked place, before those were-beasts appear.”
Up close, Farling noticed that the black bark of the Heart Tree shined in the sun like polished obsidian, pure white wide leaves sparkled brightly like untouched snow.
As Cormac and the Aarlund brothers approached the Heart Tree, Farling realized that the tree towered over the king and the brothers, easily six times as tall as Airthear, the tallest of t
he group. The root system did not delve into the rocky earth. Instead, its gnarly, knotted roots snaked over the ground and into the black pond. And the root system did not hold the tree in place. Instead, its roots had curled around upon themselves, creating a wide and heavy base that supported the tree.
Eithlenn suggested: “Your Majesty, cut the largest root. The other roots should then be easier to sever.”
“An excellent idea,” and Cormac gripped the handle of his sword with two hands and then he brought it down upon the root.
The sword cut cleanly through and Cormac’s sword clanged against the rock underneath jarring his arms and shoulders.
A cheer sounded from everyone.
“Well done, Your Majesty,” said Airthear. “Maybe next time, less—”
The sound from the Heart Tree startled everyone and all went quiet. Cormac and the Aarlund brothers slowly backed away from the tree.
As Farling watched, the large branches of the Heart Tree began to sway and writhe as if the tree were in pain. And a sound, like a high keening, could easily now be heard.
Grum asked: “That is the tree making that sound, yes?”
“Yes,” said Arastead as both he and Peg nodded their heads. “It appears there is more to destroying this Heart Tree than we expected.”
Blood, thick as black tar, at first had gushed from the severed root, but now only seeped, then stopped. All the blood that left the Heart Tree slowly inched towards the pond as the magic of the pond compelled it. Even the blood that dripped off Cormac’s sword oozed back to the pond.
“It appears it is working,” said Cormac. “I just did not expect the tree to act in such a manner.”
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