“Like how Alchemist rewarded you?” asked Frederick. “I see by your pained look, you do remember. You think your death was a reward?”
“It was a reward,” said the dryad stubbornly. “I am the tree; the tree is me. I will live forever.”
“Do you not realize how desirable the wood of a Heart Tree is? It can only be harvested once the tree has no blood upon which to feed. Then the tree is harvested. And if you are the tree, and the tree is you, then you too will be harvested, like you used to harvest vegetables in your garden.”
The dryad remembered harvesting vegetables and looked worried. Said: “I will not be harmed. I will be rewarded for my effort. I will have destroyed the Unbreakable Barrier. The elves will be merciful and will find me blood upon which to feed.”
Frederick scoffed and said: “The elves are not merciful. They are cruel and their cruelty knows no limitations. They will take pleasure in your suffering.”
“No, no, no. You lie! You lie like my master, Alchemist!”
And the roots released the were-beasts and attacked again Farling with renewed vigor.
Frederick murmured under his breath: “I was afraid it might come to this.” He grabbed the Master of the Hunt’s horn from his belt and sounded the horn.
The horn resonated through the air.
And, in the blink of an eye, instead of King Frederick, it was now the Master of the Hunt, his two hounds at this side. In one hand, he still held the spear.
Cormac bellowed: “Strike! Throw your spear at the Heart Tree, strike its heart!”
Without hesitation, the Master of the Hunt hurled the spear with all his strength. The tip of the spear struck the Heart Tree, and even though it was thrown by the Master of the Hunt, it pierced through the bark only far enough so that the spear hung suspended in mid-air.
Hope drained from Farling’s face. He had thought for a moment that the spear would have gone through the bark, through the wood, and cut the heart of the Heart Tree. Dumbfounded, everyone stood still for a moment.
Except Grum, who sped towards the tree. With all his strength given to him by the gloves and belt he struck the butt of the spear with his war hammer driving the spear through the trunk of the Heart Tree.
The dryad clutched his chest as if grabbing his heart. He groaned and fell to his knees.
“Did I strike the tree’s heart?” asked Grum looking around.
“I think you did,” said Farling as he watched the dryad over the lip of his shield.
The dryad whispered: “I am dying. I am the tree; the tree is me.”
And just at that moment, Pressan, Jagjord, Princess Margret, Stepon, Slofar, and Brascan arrived.
Margret looked around, softly whistled in surprise, and asked: “What did we miss?”
Pressan said: “A lot, as I see those were-beasts did get here before us.” He looked up at the Heart Tree and saw that the branches were already beginning to wilt. “And they have destroyed the Heart Tree. An impressive battle.”
Einar said: “We will tell you about it later. In the meantime, let us bind the were-beasts. Princess Margret, your father was struck hard in the chest. He may have some sprained or fractured ribs. Nas as well appears to still be unconscious.”
Farling, tying tight the last of the ropes around the were-beasts, called: “Princess Margret, once you are done with Nas, you may want to look at the bound were-beasts. I know they are our enemies, but it was cruel what the Heart Tree was doing to them.”
Margret nodded and began to heal everyone she could.
The Master of the Hunt removed his helmet and surveyed the scene. “Does this mean the Alfheim Gateway is closed?” he asked.
Arastead nodded as did Peg. “Once all the blood drains from the Heart Tree,” he began, “the Unbreakable Barrier will be strong once again. The elves will not be able to pass through the gateway ever again.”
An exhausted cheer rose from everyone.
“I was called,” said the Master of the Hunt. “Is my duty done?”
“Yes, Magnus,” replied Arastead. “It is most fortunate you were able to appear in King Frederick’s stead. While I know he is very strong, he would not have been able to throw the spear like you.”
Magnus nodded. “Any news of Freya?”
“We search still for the golden apples,” answered Pressan. “Would you know where they grow?”
“The tree that once grew the golden apples was destroyed when Asgard fell. But the seeds for that tree came from the golden apples that grow on Yggdrasil. You must find that tree if you are to save Freya.”
Before anyone could answer, he blew his horn. As before, in the blink-of-an-eye, King Frederick now stood in the same place.
Everyone quickly brought Frederick up to speed on the situation. “It appears I may lose my spear,” he said.
Grum walked around the tree. “I am sorry, Your Majesty,” he said, “as we will not be able to retrieve your spear anytime soon.”
Frederick grunted and said: “A shame as it was a fine spear. Still, it did its job, as did the Master of the Hunt.”
Farling watched as blood oozed from all the roots. The blood unerringly made its way back to the pond.
A relieved Jagjord sighed: “We are now safe from the elves.”
“We must have some sort of celebration!” said Stepon.
“We are not done yet,” reminded Melgund. “The thieves guild of Pitcairn was overthrown in a coup while I was gone. We must find the traitors and deal with them.”
“One battle at a time, one battle at a time,” said Cormac with a grin.
“What of the dryad?” asked Arastead looking at the poor creature huddled on the ground. “We cannot let it die such a slow death like the Heart Tree. That might take hours.”
“I will end its pitiful existence,” said Cormac. “My sword will sever the bonds of magic with the dryad. It will end its life or whatever it had in a swift and merciful manner.”
Cormac strode up to the dryad ready to sever its head. The dryad weakly looked up at Cormac and the bare sword in his hand.
In a soft voice, the dryad said: “There is one last thing I would do.”
Cormac said: “Make it quick, dryad, and say whatever prayers you have to whatever gods in which you believe.”
The dryad stretched his hand out. Roots from the Heart Tree shot out and plucked Farling, Grum, Arastead, and Margret off the ground and hurled them into the pond.
And before any of them could do anything, they were pulled under the pond’s surface and disappeared, even Arastead’s cat.
“No!” cried Cormac as he brought his sword down upon the dryad, cutting it deeply. Blood spewed from the dryad as the magical bonds that held it together were severed.
The dryad chuckled as he quickly died. Foam appeared on his lips. “They have made it through the gateway,” he said. “I control the barrier. I opened the gateway. They are now in Alfheim.”
And the dryad melted like ice on a hot day, his blood seeping back into the pond.
Cormac stood at the edge of the pond looking as if he would jump into the pond. “Nas!” he cried. “What of the gateway. Can I make it through?”
Airthear grabbed his king strongly by the arm. “Your Majesty, the Alfheim Gateway is closed with the dryad’s death. The Unbreakable Barrier is strong again and getting stronger. The dryad with his last gasping breath must have had the ability to still pass those four through.”
Cormac whispered: “Then we must find another way into Alfheim.”
And his eyes misted with tears.
CHAPTER 22
Sihr and the Norns
Sihr opened his eyes and stood, leaning heavily on Freya’s staff for support. The last thing he could remember was that he had been in the basement of the Paupers Temple. Now suddenly he was somewhere else. But where? Could it be Yggdrasil?
He looked around. Underneath his feet was a large rune design, circular in shape. And it was carved in wood. A good sign. He noticed that what at fir
st he thought was the ceiling and walls were in fact large leaves. Another promising sign.
Sounds like rats made in the Paupers Temple caught his attention. Leaves moved without any wind to push them.
Sihr asked: “Who is there?” He held his staff as menacingly as possible, knowing though that no one would be scared.
Leaves closest to the ground rustled. Sihr gripped the staff so hard his knuckles went white.
A large squirrel poked its head out from under a leaf. It sniffed the air.
Relief flooded Sihr as he started breathing again. “I am sorry, but I have no food for you,” said Sihr.
The squirrel moved around keeping its nose close to the ground, all the time sniffing. Sihr watched it with some amusement.
“You are one of the largest squirrels I have ever seen.”
The squirrel circled Sihr, sniffing the ground, coming closer. Eventually it came up to Sihr’s feet and sniffed deeply.
“Do I smell okay?”
The squirrel looked up at Sihr’s face, its whiskers twitching.
Sihr half-wondered if the squirrel was going to talk, but instead it sneezed.
“Looks like you are allergic to me.”
The squirrel shook its head, sneezed again, and ran away, running through a small opening in the leaves.
Now, what do I do?
He wondered if there was a way to return to the Paupers Temple. He looked around for anything that would indicate a way to open the portal again but after a few fruitless minutes he found nothing.
With nothing else to go on, he decided to follow the squirrel hoping it knew where the hallways and paths led. Using his staff, he pushed aside the leaves where the squirrel had run through. Seeing that there was solid ground underneath, he made his way under the leaves.
Once through the wall of leaves, he caught his breath in amazement. Instead of being in a large building or castle, he was standing on a branch of an unimaginably large tree. The tree and all its branches and leaves took up his entire view. He could see no horizon, as the branches looked as if they stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. Looking up, he could see no sky, except for the trunk of the tree stretching up as far as he could see, branches spreading out from the trunk. He walked as close as he dared to the side of the tree branch and looked over the edge. He could barely see the ground it was so far away.
It is the tree in my dreams.
His eyes went wide with wonder. He could now see runes carved into the trunk of the tree. And even though he could not see the floor so far below, he reasoned that it was the great Midgard Serpent chewing the roots of Yggdrasil and that its hide too was covered in runes.
Sihr realized the air smelled sweet, as sweet as anything he had ever noticed in his life. The light was a golden glow and even seemed to be gentle on his eyes. He felt magic surging through him without any effort on his part. Giddiness overcame him and he began to laugh out loud.
A voice behind him ended his laughter.
Turning, Sihr saw three crones staring at him.
He said: “I am sorry, old mothers, I did not hear what you said.”
He gasped again as now instead of looking at three crones, it was three of the most beautiful young women he had seen. Each had different colored hair: one the color of yellow straw, the second had strawberry-red color like an Aarlunder, and the third had hair black as a raven.
“Norns.” Sihr bent a knee, bowed his head.
As one, the Norns said: “Welcome, Sihr, and rise.”
And then the Norns took turns speaking: “We are not royalty; we do not expect you to bend knee before us.”
Sihr apologized and now stood, holding Freya’s staff tightly.
“We thought you were Freya,” said a Norn. “We recognized her staff at the portal in the Paupers Temple, combined with an amulet granting her entrance. Our squirrel however noticed you did not smell like one of the old Norse gods.”
“No, I am afraid I smell more like porridge and strong tea.” Sihr chuckled. “Perhaps that is what made the squirrel sneeze.”
Sihr continued: “I must ask for a request, a gift perhaps. Freya, whose staff was given to me by her during a moment of wakefulness, is dying. Two frost giants attacked her as she lay in her dormant state as a statue and one was able to cut her with a bewitched blade. This blade is as poison to her and so she dies slowly. My understanding is that the only thing that may let her live is a golden apple from Yggdrasil. I have heard that the Norse gods of old ate a golden apple every day and this is what gave them everlasting life.”
A Norn said: “The gods had their own tree that grew golden apples and they visited that tree every day and did eat of its golden fruit. And as you say, young priest, the fruit kept them young. For without it, their limbs would have withered, their joints would have ached, and their hair would have grayed and fallen out.”
Sihr nodded, encouraged, and said: “I was able to find Yggdrasil using Freya’s staff. My healing magic derives from Yggdrasil and Freya’s staff gives me greater abilities. I can now heal people better and faster than before. When I need to heal someone, using fire, water, earth, or air, or combinations of those, I reach out to the source and it is this tree, this very tree in which I now stand. Even now, standing within Yggdrasil, I feel magic surge through me. It is so strong I can practically taste it on my tongue and smell it on the air.”
A Norn said: “The tree heals. The tree is order. It provides rules and organizes the realms as it reaches into every realm. The magic you feel derives from the runes carved into it eons ago by the All Father, Odin. Different runes create different healing abilities. And as the tree grows, some new runes deepen while other runes fade, providing different levels of healing abilities.”
“What of wizards, then? Do wizards derive their magic from the runes on Yggdrasil?”
“Wizards are chaos,” said a Norn. “Their magic derives from the Midgard Serpent, the great serpent that gnaws the roots of Yggdrasil. And from the tree, the Midgard Serpent receives magic. It too is covered in runes put there by Odin. And like Yggdrasil, some runes deepen on the Midgard Serpent and become stronger while others fade, becoming weaker.”
Sihr asked: “Are you not afraid that the Midgard Serpent will destroy the tree?”
“The tree cannot grow unbounded,” said a Norn. “The Midgard Serpent keeps Yggdrasil under control. For Yggdrasil is order and the Midgard Serpent is chaos. One cannot grow more powerful than the other. For if there is too much order in the world, there are too many rules and restrictions and realms suffer and are stifled. And if the Midgard Serpent were to become too strong, then there is too much chaos in the land and lawlessness and anarchy rule. And so Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent live in harmony, each keeping the other in check.”
“So, the clerics and the wizards keep each other in check?”
“The wizards are the warriors; the clerics are the healers,” said a Norn. “A wizard’s magic derives from chaos, a cleric’s magic from order. And so they balance each other out. But wizards and clerics have never warred against each other.”
Sihr bowed his head. Said: “Your pardon, my question was rash. I know that Yggdrasil will live forever, but how does the Midgard Serpent?”
“It not only feeds on the roots of Yggdrasil but also eats of the golden apples,” said a Norn. “That is one of the squirrels’ responsibilities: ensuring the Midgard Serpent never gets old as it must keep Yggdrasil in check.”
“Which is why I have searched for Yggdrasil. May I take back a golden apple for Freya?”
All three Norns nodded, and said as one: “We were expecting you.” Then just one Norn said: “Or rather, we were expecting Freya. We knew what was to be asked of us.”
A squirrel ran up to Sihr, gave him a golden apple, then scampered away.
Sihr happily sighed, then said: “My thanks; O Norns, it has been wondrous to speak with you three. There is a part of me that wishes to stay here forever, but I know that cannot be.
My entire being sings with joy when I am in the presence of Yggdrasil. However, here, I make no difference as I am not needed. I am needed in Trondheim; and Freya, Goddess of Wisdom, she who gave me her staff, needs me. Or, rather, needs this golden apple.”
“Yggdrasil is no place for man, even for a priest with talents such as yours,” said a Norn. “You came to Yggdrasil with a strong desire to do good. The Tapestry recognizes your deeds and so your thread continues to be weaved. And now it is time you return to your realm.”
The Norns clapped their hands in unison.
Sihr found himself standing back on the large wooden rune carved into Yggdrasil.
The Norns clapped their hands in unison.
Sihr heard the familiar sound of traveling by portal. He opened his eyes, and found himself in the basement of the Paupers Temple.
And he was holding a golden apple.
***
Sihr rushed upstairs. Outside the Paupers Temple he could hear the city beginning to stir. The sky was lightening, moving from the inky black of night to the light blue of morning, though the sun had yet to break the horizon.
Sihr broke his fast quickly with some old bread and cold tea. He then woke Rickters and told him everything that had happened.
Rickters was astonished.
“By Odin’s beard,” said Rickters. “You have been given a gift by Freya and now have spoken with the Norns. I feel as if I should now start bending my knee to you, my master.”
“Rickters, please, that is not necessary. As the Norns said as well, there is no need to bend the knee to them, so there is no need for you to begin treating me as anything special. I just happen to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I think the Norns have chosen you, just as Freya marked you as a hero.”
“I think Freya was speaking more of Farling, Arastead, and Grum when she mentioned anything about heroes.”
“Well, my young Master, you are as a hero to me.”
“Rickters, please, that is not necessary, although I do appreciate the compliment. And we must stop this talk as we need to make haste. The golden apple I was given by the Norns will most likely rot just like any other fruit. We must give it to Freya as soon as we can, else it may not help her as much as it should.”
The Prophecy of Asgard Page 13
