The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  And so Farling and his friends walked through the Nidavellir Gateway and found themselves in the realm of the dwarves.

  An Unexpected Meeting

  “Funny,” said Farling, “but travel by gateways I find is easier than travel by portal runes.”

  “Gateways are established and old, basically as old as Yggdrasil,” said Arastead. “Portal runes are less established and more open to fluctuations. It is the fluctuations that can make you feel dizzy.”

  “Things have changed,” said Sihr looking around, “since I was here last.”

  Before, when Sihr and Jakobus had come through the Nidavellir Gateway, the wide shelf had been empty. Now, it was filled with dwarves, in full armor, their beards clean, eyes sharp.

  A small contingency of dwarves greeted Farling and his friends. Introductions were made, although the dwarf in charge seemed to already know everyone.

  “King Jakobus is expecting you,” he began, “but unfortunately, you have arrived a bit earlier than expected. If you could please wait here, he will not be much longer.”

  Farling’s eyes finally adjusted to the brightness as the light of sun reflected off all the white snow. He looked out over the rows of dwarves in their shiny armor, but what caught his eye were the three giants over in one corner near another gateway.

  Farling whispered to his friends: “Frost giants, here!”

  “This is not the time or the place,” whispered Margret following Farling’s gaze. “We will not cause a scene. We are here for diplomatic reasons, not to fight.”

  “If they start something,” said Grum, “we will finish it.” He put on his Gloves of Strength in preparation.

  Above the din, Farling could hear the voice of Jakobus, booming as always. He wondered if the frost giants too found his voice too loud at times.

  “They have seen us,” said Grum as his eyes were the best. “Do you not recognize the two who stand at the back? It is the two frost giant brothers we bested at Freya’s temple ruins. We could exact revenge now.” He began to move towards the frost giants.

  Margret laid a hand on Grum’s shoulder stopping him.

  And she said: “This is not the time or the place, Grum. We will meet the frost giants another day. We will battle them then.”

  Grum grunted, obviously not pleased, but listened to Margret. Instead, he simply crossed his arms and stared angrily at the frost giants.

  Farling could see that the frost giant brothers had recognized them as he saw them whisper in their father’s ear.

  “Should we go back to our realm?” asked Arastead. Peg, his cat and wizard familiar, stood on his shoulders, agitated.

  “No,” said Margret, “as that would show fear. We are not afraid of the frost giants. We have fought them before. We will fight them again, just not today.”

  “Agreed,” said everyone.

  “Hey!” snapped Grum, “the frost giants are coming this way. Everyone get ready.”

  And in a few moments, they faced the frost giants, with just one dwarf in-between, who said: “I am secretary to King Jakobus. I have the honor of introducing Thrymr, king of the frost giants, lord of Jotunheim. These are his sons.”

  Margret curtsied, while Farling, Grum, Arastead, and Sihr all bowed.

  “A pleasure to meet you, King Thrymr,” she said her gaze unflinching.

  The secretary continued: “And I have the honor of introducing Princess Margret, daughter of King Cormac of Aarlund. And this is Farling, a blacksmith, Grum, a blacksmith, and Arastead, also a blacksmith. As well, this is Sihr, priest of the Paupers Temple.”

  “Blacksmiths!” exclaimed Thrymr. He looked at his sons and said through gritted teeth: “You lost a battle to blacksmiths!”

  He cuffed both his sons soundly on their ears, then said: “And when we return to Jotunheim, you will get more of a thrashing there.”

  “But they had items of magic,” protested one son. “He,” and he pointed at Farling, “carries Flamebringer.”

  “And he,” said the other son who pointed at Grum, “wields a war hammer with the strength of 10 frost giants.”

  Thrymr returned his gaze upon Farling and his friends.

  Grum blurted: “Is it not your pleasure to meet Princess Margret? Is that not what civilized people do?”

  “Silence, blacksmith,” snapped Thrymr. “I am king of the frost giants. I am as old as ice and snow. My people have lived in Jotunheim the same as the gods lived in Asgard. And where is Asgard now? Fallen. Your princess is just one of many princesses in many countries in Midgard. Princess, princes, kings, and queens in Midgard are like fleas on a mangy cur, there are so many. There is only one king in Jotunheim, a realm larger and greater than Midgard. You should all bend your knee to me, grateful I let you keep your heads.”

  But no one kneeled.

  By now, Jakobus had arrived, and said in a calm voice: “King Thrymr, Princess Margret, there will be no bloodshed in my realm at this time.”

  Behind him, the sound of armored dwarves moving caught everyone’s attention as the dwarves brandished their weapons.

  Jakobus continued: “King Thrymr, while I enjoyed your visit, I think it would be best if you were to return to Jotunheim.”

  But Thrymr did not move and only roared: “Not without retribution! They attacked my sons!”

  And Margret shouted: “Your sons were trying to kill Freya!”

  “Boys!” yelled Thrymr, “have at them!”

  Instantly, Farling unsheathed Flamebringer and slide his shield onto his arm; Grum swung his war hammer over one shoulder ready to strike; Arastead and Sihr stepped behind the protection of Farling’s shield, their staffs ready to deal magic; and Margret held her short knives in both hands, the pearl in her circlet glowing a fierce red.

  The frost giant brothers stopped.

  Thrymr grunted. “So it is true.” His voice was now a low roar. “A blacksmith carries Flamebringer, bane of the frost giants. And that shield, I recognize it from battles of old. And that war hammer, it can fell trees and mountains. That circlet, Freya’s circlet, and that staff, Freya’s staff. And a wizard with a familiar, a cat. I have never sensed this much magic in a long time. Come boys, we return to Jotunheim.”

  “I thought we were going to fight,” protested one of the sons.

  Thrymr cuffed him hard on the ear. “It is as King Jakobus said, no blood will be spilt here today in Nidavellir.”

  “Then why did you—” started the son and Thrymr boxed him again this time on his other ear.

  The dwarves parted before the frost giants allowing them passage and when the frost giants reached the Jotunheim Gateway, one of Thrymr’s sons touched it with his amulet. A door materialized, covered in ice, which the other son pushed opened. The frost giants stepped through the gateway and closed it once they were through.

  Everyone sheathed their weapons.

  “I was hoping for a rematch,” said Grum, taking off his gloves of strength and tying them to his belt.

  “Thrymr recognized that they would have been no match for us,” said Margret, “especially in these confined quarters, and them weaponless.”

  Jakobus narrowed his eyes. “I have never felt such a concentration of magic,” he said. “Arastead, you were never this powerful a wizard. Margret, you were never this powerful a druid. And Sihr, you were never this powerful a cleric. Something has changed.”

  Margret said: “Perhaps it might be best if we talk as we visit Freya back in Midgard.”

  “But before we leave,” said Grum, “we did bring a present.”

  “I am impressed,” said Jakobus.

  “Well then,” said Grum, “here it is. We even tied it with a bow.”

  Jakobus motioned to his secretary who opened the present. “A bag of forge coal,” he said.

  Everyone held their breath, wondering if Jakobus would like the gift or not.

  “I am impressed,” said Jakobus as everyone sighed silently in relief. “Some may think we would want gold or fine gems as a
present. But good forge coal, really good forge coal is often harder to find than gold. My thanks, Midgardians, a fine gift.”

  “You are welcome,” said Margret. “Next time we visit, we would like to see more of Nidavellir.”

  The king’s secretary nodded and said: “I will make sure it is arranged.”

  “Now, for the crown,” said Jakobus. “We will bring it to Freya, she will let us know where her brother, Loki, sleeps, cursed as a statue.”

  “I suppose we cannot have a sneak peek?” ventured Grum.

  “You will all see it when I show it to Freya,” replied Jakobus. “Now, keep everything running as it should,” he instructed to his secretary, who nodded in agreement. His secretary handed him a box.

  “Let us be off,” said Jakobus, carrying the gift. “Open the Midgard Gateway.”

  His secretary pressed his amulet to the wall behind Farling revealing a door, which he opened.

  “Now, let us make this quick,” said Jakobus. “I do not like being away from Nidavellir for long.”

  CHAPTER 37

  A Dwarf Crown for Loki

  “Let us go through the Paupers Temple,” advised Sihr. “I think it best if we try to avoid as many eyes as possible.”

  “An excellent idea,” agreed Margret. “There still might be elf spies about. I am sure they would love to know what we are up to.”

  They made their way down the main boulevard. Jakobus of course had returned to his non-dwarf appearance.

  At the Paupers Temple, Rickters met them, wondering if anyone wanted tea.

  “A short break might be in order,” said Jakobus. “I am quite fond of Trondheim tea, something I miss in Nidavellir.”

  “Perhaps that should be our next gift,” said Margret.

  “I would like that,” agreed Jakobus, placing the box on the table.

  After a short break of tea and cookies, they made their way into the basement of the Paupers Temple.

  Jakobus asked: “So, tell me, priest, where is the gateway to Yggdrasil, the one with the golden apples?”

  “Right underneath this floor,” said Sihr, “as you thought. But I cannot open it anymore. The Norns now know it is me and not Freya. They recognized Sihr’s staff, and thought it was with Freya. But, instead, it was me. A beautiful place, Yggdrasil. The Midgard Serpent is terrifying to behold. And the funniest part of it are the squirrels, as they bring golden apples from Yggdrasil down to the Midgard Serpent to keep it alive. For Yggdrasil needs the Midgard Serpent as it gnaws as its roots, preventing it from growing too large. Yggdrasil is order and the Midgard Serpent is chaos. Both are needed to ensure that the realms are properly balanced.”

  “Fine, let us now visit Freya, get this over with,” said Jakobus.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Farling. He walked over to the hidden door, found the latch that opened the door, and pulled. The door swung open on well-oiled runners.

  “Let us grab some torches,” said Margret. Soon, everyone held a torch that sputtered and burned, throwing a greasy light across the ceiling and walls of the tunnel.

  Sihr was the last to enter the tunnel and closed the door behind him.

  “So, who built this tunnel?” asked Jakobus. “It was not done by dwarves as the brickwork is not our style.”

  “I understand that the Master of the Hunt was one of the builders,” said Margret. “I think they must have foreseen the need for a tunnel from where Freya sits to the gateway that leads to the golden apples.”

  Jakobus only grunted in reply then was quiet.

  The group walked on in silence, and after a short while, walked up the stairs at the other end of the tunnel. At the top of the stairs at the landing, Sihr found the latch that opened the door, and fresh air and light poured in.

  “This way, King Jakobus,” said Sihr as he started walking along a path.

  “If you do not mind, priest,” said Jakobus, “in Midgard, it is probably best you do not use my title.”

  “My apologies,” said Sihr, his face turning a light shade of pink.

  Once they reached the ruins of the temple, Farling described how they had fought the two frost giants here months before.

  “It would appear they still harbor a grudge,” said Jakobus.

  Farling chuckled: “I would not doubt that the scar Flamebringer gave the one brother still bothers him,” he said.

  Jakobus nodded. “The frost giants always did despise the magical weapons we dwarves devised to fight them.”

  “And yet still, they visit you to pay homage,” said Margret.

  “The frost giants, while rude and often obnoxious, know the importance of the reawakening of a realm,” said Jakobus. “I will soon be visiting Jotunheim as I must too pay king Thrymr a visit in his reawakened realm.”

  A howl rent the air.

  Grum clutched at his chest in a pretend manner, knowing it was the Master of the Hunt’s hounds.

  “I will never get used to their cries,” he said patting his chest as if to restart his heart. “It will always scare me, just like the first time we meet them out at the Paupers Cemetery.”

  “It is supposed to scare you,” said the Master of the Hunt as he seemed to magically appear out of nowhere.

  Everyone bowed, even Jakobus.

  “There is no need to bow before me,” said the Master of the Hunt, “for though I still own my hounds, I no longer carry my horn. I am no longer cursed, and so you may simply call me by my old name, Magnus.”

  “That is good news, Magnus,” agreed Margret. “And if I may ask, how is Freya?”

  “You may ask her yourself,” he replied, indicating with his head that they should all turn around.

  Behind them by a few paces stood Freya, who now stood only as tall as a regular woman from Midgard. Resplendent in a long dress, her hair as bright as fine-spun gold, she smiled radiantly at the group.

  “It is good to see my heroes safe and sound,” she said. Margret curtsied, while all the men bowed, even Jakobus.

  “And King Jakobus, it is good to see you as well,” she added.

  And without a hint of irony in his voice, Jakobus said: “Lady Freya, the pleasure is all mine.”

  “I take it that inside the box is a crown for my brother,” began Freya, “one made only from the finest materials and the brightest gems.”

  “My dwarves mined the ground for the best of the best,” replied Jakobus. “We smelted the gold till it was pure as pure can be. The gems were polished and split so that when the light hits them, they radiate and sparkle as no gem has ever done before.”

  “I am glad to hear that my instructions were carried out,” said Freya.

  “To the best of our abilities,” said Jakobus but this time, a hint of tension tinged his voice.

  “We will see, will we not, dwarf,” replied Freya.

  Jakobus ground his teeth lightly as he held the box in one hand, while with the other, he pulled on one end of the bow. The knot in the bow unraveled easily and the walls of the box fell away as the top of the box slide to one side.

  Rays of light from the sun filtered the tree branches. And as those rays of light touched the gems in the crown, the gems sparkled with a brilliance never seen before.

  Everybody’s eyes went wide in appreciation.

  “A fine crown, King Jakobus,” said Freya.

  Jakobus allowed himself a rare small smile. “I believe even Loki, your brother, will appreciate his crown,” he said.

  “Made by the dwarves in the forges of Nidavellir, Odin All Father did devise of an odd way to end my brother’s curse. Then again, my curse needed my necklace returned to me.”

  “I recognize your necklace, Lady Freya,” said Jakobus. “It too was made in our forges.”

  “It is a beautiful work of art as well,” said Freya. “Now, my brother has waited long enough.”

  Margret asked: “How are we to visit Loki?”

  “There is a portal rune near my brother,” said Freya. “I will draw the needed portal rune
design that will connect the portal runes.”

  A piece of charcoal appeared in her hand as she drew a portal rune on the ground large enough for everyone.

  “There,” she said, “I think that will work.” She brushed her hands together and the charcoal disappeared from her hands.

  “So, you will place the crown upon Loki’s head,” said Margret, “and that is all that is needed to free him of his curse?”

  Freya shook her head. “No, it must be King Jakobus who places the crown upon Loki’s head, and it must be placed there without malice or anger,” she said. “Our father, Odin, knew it was wrong that Loki broke the heart of your princess. Our father was furious at Loki’s actions as he always wanted harmony between the Norse gods and the dwarves. It was an important relationship, one that required my father to remove Loki as far away as possible so that he would not bring any more disrepute to the gods from any more realms.”

  “What of Jotunheim and the frost king’s daughter?” asked Jakobus.

  “Tread lightly, King Jakobus,” said Freya, her voice regaining an edge of haughtiness. “I do not appreciate our actions being questioned in such an easy manner. I know Loki has done harm to more than one realm, but the idea was for him to stand as a statue as punishment for his actions. I can only hope that he has acquired some humility but even I doubt that. Still, my brother is needed if we are to protect Midgard and the other realms from the elves.”

  “My apologies, My Lady,” said Jakobus. “But my princess is still weak from a heart broken by Loki. I would let you know that you should beware the frost giants as I can only assume that the frost giant princess’s heart has been hurt as well, and that Thrymr will seek revenge.”

  “My brother always was more trouble than he is worth,” said Freya, “but he is still my brother. I will look out for him.”

  “Then I wish you luck,” said Jakobus.

  Freya frowned in acknowledgement. She then snapped her fingers, and the portal rune glowed.

  “Magnus and his hounds will accompany you,” she said. “As will I.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement as they walked into the center of the portal rune.