The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  The light became brighter and brighter until Farling’s eyes ached. He felt the familiar jolt to his stomach, so he knew he was moving from one place to another. He waited for the pain in his stomach to subside and when it finally did, he slowly opened his eyes.

  He coughed suddenly, and heard others cough as well.

  Due to the brightness, he shielded his eyes with one hand, and looked out over the landscape.

  “There are no trees, only sand,” said Farling now understanding why he had coughed. The air was dry, a dryness to which his lungs were not accustomed. He bent over and scooped sand up in his hand. He spread his fingers and watched as the sand poured through. “What is this place?”

  “Some call it a desert,” said Freya. “But I have always called it the ocean of sand, for where else could you see these types of waves, except for in an ocean?”

  Farling nodded as he could see how the waves of sand could almost be mistaken for waves of water.

  “So where is this ocean of sand?” asked Margret. “Is this Turkistan, Opistan, Salgaria, or Lanksha?”

  “You could guess what country we are in until you are blue in the face,” said Jakobus. “Oh, how Odin had a sense of humor. He knew we would never suspect him to force his son to stand as a statue here, here of all places.”

  “So what country are we in?” asked Grum.

  “Not a country, but a realm,” said Jakobus.

  “Fine,” said Farling. “What realm are we in?”

  “I thought this realm was destroyed and I see it was,” said Jakobus. “Do you not recognize anything?”

  “We have never been to this realm,” said Farling, his voice tinged with frustration. “So how could I recognize it?”

  “I recognize it,” said Margret.

  “But you have never been here,” said Farling.

  “No,” began Margret, “but Freya has, and my circlet used to be worn by her. Sihr, do you not notice anything special about this realm?”

  Sihr’s forehead crinkled slightly in thought. “I feel something familiar, as if I am somehow home,” he said.

  “You carry Freya’s staff,” said Margret, “you are probably feeling what she would normally feel through the staff.”

  “You are both driving me crazy,” said Grum. “And I do not see any food around. I am hungry, and the heat of this desert is making me incredibly thirsty. Tell me, where are we and where can I get some food!”

  “Asgard,” said Freya. “I am home.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Alchemist Makes a Bargain

  Yorli asked of her brothers: “What of Nidavellir?”

  Her brothers pushed angrily by her leaving just Thrymr alone with his daughter and several servants.

  She looked at her father, but his face was inscrutable.

  “Bring Alchemist here and those other Midgardians,” was all he said to one of the servants.

  While they waited for the servant to return, Thrymr described to his daughter how his visit to Nidavellir had at first gone well, but that because it had run long, Midgardians had appeared as the gateways to Jotunheim and Midgard were close together.

  “It was an insult I could not let pass,” said Thrymr.

  Yorli was silent, knowing her father needed no prompting at times like this.

  “Your brothers recognized them across the way as the same who had battled them at Freya’s temple in Midgard. Your one brother still smarts from the cut inflicted by Flamebringer. It was an opportunity for redemption for your brothers.”

  Yorli merely crossed her arms and remained silent. She was mildly surprised at how long she had to wait for her father to continue as he seemed lost in thought.

  “They never came to blows with the Midgardians,” he finally said. “These Midgardians are favored by the few Norse gods who still live. They carry those weapons that are the bane of our people: Flamebringer, and a war hammer wielded by a warrior who wears the Gloves and Belt of Strength. One also carries Freya’s staff, another wears Freya’s circlet, and the last, a wizard, has a familiar that strengthens his magical abilities.”

  “It seems the Norse gods knew we would return and so have strengthened the Midgardians,” said Yorli.

  “It is right that the Norse gods feared our return. Odin feared us, so his weak Midgardians should fear us as well.”

  “From what you tell me, father, these Midgardians no longer fear us.”

  “No,” said an obviously displeased Thrymr. “And they must fear us. We must strike fear deep in their hearts else they may think themselves above us.”

  By now, Alchemist, Old Monk, and Lanson were led into the hall.

  “Hail, King Thrymr,” said Alchemist as Old Monk and Lanson bowed politely.

  Thrymr merely grumbled as a response.

  “Tell us,” said Yorli, “what will it take to make these Midgardians fear us?”

  Alchemist said: “I take it something happened recently that gives you pause about these uppity Midgardians.”

  “It appears Freya favors a select few,” said Yorli, “but this few appear to be very powerful. As you know, they battled my brothers months ago and they just stared my brothers down again in Nidavellir.”

  “In front of the dwarves, you showed weakness,” said Alchemist.

  With his fist, Thrymr struck the arm of his throne so hard it shattered.

  Yorli ignored her father and said: “Blood must not be spilled during these diplomatic meetings.”

  “But your brothers obviously wanted to vanquish the Midgardians they had fought before,” said Alchemist. “So, in front of the dwarves, your great brothers, the fiercest fighters in all Jotunheim, fled the field of battle, once again. My, how the return of the frost giants has struck fear in Midgard.”

  Alchemist’s sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

  “Tell me,” began Yorli, “do you enjoy your time outside in the fierce cold chopping wood? Next time, I could have you do it in your bare skin.”

  “That will not be necessary, princess,” replied Alchemist. “I have an idea that should help the frost giants regain their level of respect you so fiercely desire.”

  “Tell us of your plans,” said Yorli.

  “I require something in return.”

  Yorli stifled a yawn. “Your life,” she said plainly.

  “Ah, the usual. Well, I suspect that will have to be good enough. This blacksmith, Lanson, has many skills. Together, he and I built a golem at my stronghold in the northern reaches of Aarlund. We are prepared to build you enough golems who could then sow terror in the Midgardians so that they will never think again of ever disrespecting you.”

  Yorli shook her head. Said: “These Midgardians with their magical weapons, they would make short work of any of your golems.”

  “Perhaps,” said Alchemist. “Or, like Odin, you could enlist the elves to do your dirty work.”

  Thrymr stirred in his broken throne and said: “They have lived for centuries as free elves, no longer tasked with fighting other realms as dictated to them by Odin. They will not listen to me.”

  “They may not fight for you as they once did for Odin, but perhaps if you were able to entice them, they will help you,” said Alchemist.

  “Know this, Midgardian,” started Thrymr, “I will never allow an army of elves to pass through my realm onto the Jotunheim Gateway to Midgard.”

  “You fear the elves,” said Alchemist plainly.

  Thrymr ground his teeth and chose his words carefully. “The elves were the tip of the spear for Odin; they were his Chosen. I do not fear the elves, but I will not needlessly sacrifice my frost giants on some unnecessary battle with the elves. Both of our realms would bleed good warriors, warriors that cannot be replaced.”

  “So, you do not trust the elves?” said Alchemist.

  Yorli interrupted. Said: “This conversation is pointless. Alchemist, you thought you had us under your thumb, the great frost giants at your beck and call. You were the elves’ foot soldier in the realm of Midgard.
You say we do not trust the elves. Why should we when they obviously expected to rule us. Us, the frost giants, who are as old as the realms themselves. You thought you could tell us what to do, that the elves would rule us. Never. And now you think we will meekly allow those same elves to traverse our realm with their large army. Never. The elves have proven themselves to be bumbling idiots. We have heard word that they failed to open the Alfheim Gateway, that it is now sealed forever. That is why they wish to cross Jotunheim, because of their incompetence.”

  Thrymr stood and walked towards Alchemist. He towered above him.

  “We have also heard word a Sorceress will be born soon,” said Thrymr. “I suspect you thought we would not know of this. The elves wished to raise this Sorceress, to rule the realms—including Jotunheim—through her, and to possibly even challenge the Norns. They have failed to kidnap her. I see by your expression you did not know this. The elves have now failed spectacularly—twice. I suspect that is why Odin kept them on such a short leash; without any guidance or help from Odin, these elves are bumbling idiots.”

  Thrymr continued: “I will have you build us enough of these golems that you can make. Then we will decide what realm we will make an example because as of right now, I am none too happy with Alfheim, Midgard, or even Nidavellir. I have even heard word that Asgard stands empty. We may even decide to live there. And rule all the realms from there as well.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The Return of the Trickster

  “Your Highness,” said Farling to Freya, “which way should we go to find your brother?”

  “He is nearby,” she said. “He has not moved far from this portal rune.”

  “Is he buried underneath the sand?” asked Grum. “I am sure the waves of sand have shifted over the centuries.”

  “My hounds will find him,” said Magnus and with a whistle, his hounds set off, their paws throwing the sand behind them as they ran across the desert.

  After a few minutes, the hounds howled at the sky.

  Hidden behind a wave of sand, on a stone pedestal, was Loki, frozen as a statue. It was not quite how Farling would have imagined. Instead of having the Trickster standing for several centuries, Odin had decided his son’s punishment would be better served if he would be on his knees, each wrist locked by a chain pulling his arms wide, his head bowed so that no one could see Loki’s eyes.

  “That looks painful,” said Sihr. “I wonder once we release him from his punishment if we will need to heal him.”

  “We will just need to wait and see,” said Margret.

  “I doubt you need to heal a god,” said Grum.

  Jakobus looked at Freya, who nodded. He unwrapped the box he had brought and unveiled the crown he and his dwarves had made in their forges in Nidavellir. He held it aloft. Farling had to once again cover his eyes as the light from the sun caused the gems and jewels in the crown to sparkle with an intensity that hurt his eyes.

  Because Loki was bent over, and the sand was raised so that it was practically level with the statue’s pedestal, it looked like it would be relatively easy for Jakobus to place the crown on Loki’s head.

  As he brought the crown down upon Loki’s head, before he could place it, the sound of wings flapping caused him to stop.

  Two massive ravens had appeared and gently landed on the ground.

  “Welcome Hugin and Munin,” said Freya, curtsying ever so slightly to the ravens.

  The ravens bowed in return.

  “We knew we should be…”

  “…here to witness such…”

  “…an important event.”

  “You are most welcome,” she said. “Tell me, what of your master?”

  The ravens looked at each before speaking.

  “You may ask him…”

  “…yourself.”

  Behind them stood a frail old blind man. His long white hair was tied in a braid that reached down to the small of his back while his snow-white beard covered his entire front. Deep creases crisscrossed his face and his parchment-like skin pulled tight over his cheekbones. When he opened his eyes, his deep milky white eyes registered nothing. Blind as a newborn kitten he stood there silently. He balanced himself with the use of a thin quarterstaff.

  “Galdr,” said Freya as a smile grew on her face.

  Arastead could only whisper: “Norse god of witches and wizards.”

  Peg, Arastead’s cat and familiar jumped off his shoulders and crossed the ground to jump on the old man’s shoulders.

  “Well, hello,” said Galdr, petting the cat. Peg purred loudly, obviously very happy.

  “Was it you who sent the familiar to me?” asked Arastead.

  Galdr nodded and said: “There are many different types of wizard familiars. Cats always were my favorites. And yes, Arastead, I may have sent out a group of familiars to find you. I see this cat found you first. That is good, as she is very powerful.”

  Galdr nodded towards Arastead and Peg jumped off his shoulders onto the ground then leapt onto Arastead’s shoulders.

  “Why could I not sense you, brother?” asked Freya. “Or more importantly, why did you not make yourself known?”

  “I did not want you to be distracted by my actions,” said Galdr. “I did not wish to interfere too heavily in the day-to-day adventures. I did not want to draw attention to myself until the time was right. Hugin and Munin brought me news. I have been kept up to date. Congratulations I understand are in order for the destruction of the Heart Tree.”

  Farling and his friends thanked him for the compliment.

  Galdr continued: “Only I have not slumbered as a statue like my sister and brother, and the wait has taken its toll.”

  “You will be fine, brother,” said Freya. “Asgard will once again rise from the ashes. We will be strong and we will make you strong.”

  “A pity,” said Galdr, “as I am used to being blind. I have done well without my sight; my other senses and imagination have compensated. It is not as if I wield a war hammer or a sword. Now, I thought a crown was to be placed on my brother’s head. Why, is he supposed to now be our king?”

  Freya chuckled. “I do not think our father had that much of a sense of humor,” she said.

  “Now,” began Galdr, “some silence please as this occasion requires solemnity. King Jakobus, if you will.”

  Jakobus nodded and once again held the crown high. This time there were no interruptions as he placed the crown on Loki’s head.

  “I think it worked,” said Galdr. “I feel a surge of magic, the type of magic needed to remove a curse created by Odin.”

  Sure enough, as had happened when the necklace had been placed around Freya’s neck, Farling covered his eyes as light enveloped Loki.

  The light grew bright then brighter and it seemed so bright that even though Farling covered his eyes with his arm, the light seemed to even penetrate that so that his mind felt on fire.

  And then, without warning, the brightness faded and Farling removed his arm. “I still cannot see,” he said. “My eyes are not yet working.”

  “A shame,” said a voice Farling did not recognize so assumed it belonged to Loki, “as I do so enjoy attention.”

  “Welcome back, brother,” said Freya. “I trust you enjoyed your time as a statue.”

  Loki grunted: “I do feel a little stiff in the neck. Well, well, well, if it isn’t a dwarf king. I see the forges in Nidavellir must be in full swing if you’ve made me a crown. It is rather fancy, perhaps a little garish, but if that is the fashion of today, then so be it. I was always a slave to the latest fashion trends.”

  Jakobus cleared his throat. “My duty then is done,” he said. “I return to Nidavellir.”

  “What is the rush?” said Loki. “I thought everyone would be happy to see me. Where are the smiles? And more importantly, where is some drink and food? I have been without food and wine for centuries. I appreciate the crown, but really, would it have hurt anyone to have brought me a picnic basket?”

  Far
ling kept blinking, his eyes watering, as everyone slowly came into focus. Farling could barely make out Grum nodding in agreement with Loki’s comments about food.

  “Dwarf, you do not seem pleased to see me,” said Loki.

  Jakobus was tightlipped: “I did not realize I would have to talk with you, Trickster,” he said.

  “Ah, there’s a name I have not heard in a while,” said Loki. “Speaking of tricks, how is the princess? When she awoke, did she still remember my kiss?”

  “Do not test me, Trickster, else you will regret it,” grunted Jakobus.

  “She was pretty as I recall,” continued Loki obliviously, “though it has been many years. I see the kings of dwarves may have changed over the years, but the princess has been frozen in time. That means she has not changed a bit. So, she is as beautiful as I remember. I can tell by how red your face is turning, Jakobus.”

  In one fell move, Jakobus ripped the axe off his back and chopped Loki across the neck so harshly that his head fell one way and his body the other.

  “That sound,” said Galdr, “that sounded vaguely like Loki’s head being separated from his shoulders.”

  “Galdr,” said Freya, her voice steely. “Would you kindly help Jakobus to Nidavellir?”

  Galdr nodded. “Ah, of course, it would be my honor. Jakobus, a pleasure to have met you,” he said.

  Galdr drew an imaginary portal rune using his quarterstaff where Jakobus stood and in a flash of light, Jakobus disappeared.

  “Well, that sounded like Jakobus is gone,” said Galdr. “Now, could someone please help Loki’s body find his head? I can hear his hands groping around.”

  “I can help,” said Grum as he picked up Loki’s detached head and put it into Loki’s outstretched hands.

  Loki’s fingers delicately touched the nose and eyes. Then, once the profile was determined, his hands placed his head back onto his shoulders.

  Before, Loki’s eyes had been wide open and unseeing, and his tongue had lolled outside of his mouth. In a few moments, he blinked and closed his mouth. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.