Sword of Doom

by James Jennewein

  What did he feel for this girl? She was silly and spoiled, it was true. But she was of uncommon beauty and a princess. Whoever won her might very well gain a kingdom and all its riches. Dane had assured Astrid that he still loved her; but now, with Kára in their midst, Astrid feared the brat would be tempted to use her enticements to try to turn Dane’s head.

  Astrid pushed it all from her mind, telling herself that it would work out. That they would save Dane’s mother and get back safe and sound, and return Kára to Skrellborg where she belonged. But when at last she was just starting to drift off to sleep, she heard something. Footsteps? She peeked outside the tent, past the dying embers of the fire. Nothing. No one. All seemed quiet. But just as she was about to turn away, she saw a figure that looked to be a female approaching Dane’s tent.

  Astrid sat up in disbelief. Had Dane lied to her? Or was Kára acting on her own to force a rendezvous? Astrid got to her feet and threw back the flap of her tent. Upon hearing this, the figure froze. In an instant she turned and was fleeing toward the river. Astrid had her boots on in a wink and was out of the tent, determined to set this girl straight, princess or not.

  Reaching the ridge that ran along the river, Astrid crept behind a tree and peered down at the water. What she saw took her breath away. The most magnificent horse she had ever laid eyes on: Monumentally tall and as white as pearls, he was most definitely not one of their mounts. Astrid now saw that the figure moving toward the horse wore a white-feathered cloak, and on her head a helmet of some kind.

  Who on earth was this? A spy?

  Wasting no time, Astrid was down the bank in a flash, and as the figure was climbing onto her horse, Astrid grabbed her from behind. The cloak came away in Astrid’s hand. The girl gave a cry and tumbled backward into the wet grass. Astrid put a foot down onto her chest, which she saw was covered in gleaming armor. This was no girl, but a woman, with big green eyes and a fine bloom of jet black hair spilling out from under her winged helmet.

  “Who are you?” Astrid demanded.

  “No concern of yours!”

  “I’ll decide that. Why were you in our camp?”

  Before Astrid could react, the woman grabbed her foot and flung her backward onto the grass with amazing power. In an instant Astrid was on her feet again—but the woman was gone! “Give me my cloak!” Astrid looked up, alarmed to see the woman was now seated on the horse—floating in midair over her head, well out of reach. The floating woman sighed with irritation. “No, I’m not real. You’re asleep and dreaming.”

  “You’re…you’re a Valkyrie,” Astrid gasped.

  “I am but a phantasm of your imagination. The cloak! Give it up and I’ll disappear.”

  Astrid looked down and saw she still held the feathered garment and sensed she might have bargaining power. “I think I’ll keep it.”

  “You have no idea who you are dealing with!” the Valkyrie shrieked. “I shall rain down grief and agony upon you if you do not obey!”

  “Still keeping it.”

  Realizing Astrid would not be so easily fooled, the rider changed her tone. “All right, fine. The truth in return for the cloak?” Astrid nodded.

  “My name is Mist. And yes, I am a Valkyrja.”

  So Dane had been telling her the truth! He had seen a Valkyrie! All her life she had heard tales of how Odin’s Shield Maidens would descend upon the field of battle and take the spirit-bodies of the fallen war dead up to Valhalla. As a girl she had even dreamed of joining the sisterhood. But her father had quickly disabused her of this notion, saying it was highly unlikely she would live to be a goddess. Those of lowly birth like her could never reach the godly realms, although her mother might have come close.

  But now, standing beside the river, gazing up at the vision of the warrior-maiden, a Chooser of the Slain, another, more troubling thought occurred to Astrid: Someone was to die—or perhaps already had.

  “If you’re a Valkyrie,” she said, “that must mean someone is to die. Who are you here…to take?”

  Mist was silent for a moment. “The red-haired one. The one they all look up to.”

  Astrid felt something break inside her. Suddenly light-headed, she had to seat herself on a nearby rock. As she waited for the weakness to pass, the horse floated to earth and the Valkyrie dismounted and stood before her. Mist stretched out her hand for the cloak, but Astrid clutched it tighter. “When will he die?”

  “I must take him now.”

  “No!” Astrid stood. “I won’t let you!”

  “His time is already past. He was fated to die twice already, but when the Nornir learned he was still alive after the fall into the crevasse, they ordered me to remedy the situation.”

  Hearing her speak of the Nornir, Astrid felt the awful finality of it all. The Norns, Astrid knew, were the Goddesses of Time, caretakers of the Past, Present, and Future, the godly forces who fixed men’s fates.

  So it was done; her beloved was to die. She felt a weight pressing down upon her, the weight of an inescapable sadness. Memories of their times together flashed through her mind, the pain unbearable. She saw Mist’s hand reach for the white-feathered cloak—when a thought suddenly rose from the depths of her memory.

  “Wait! I know why you need your cloak!” Astrid said, jumping away from Mist. “The legend says that if a human steals a Valkyrie’s feathered cloak, she must grant a wish to have it returned.”

  “That legend has been repealed,” Mist spat. “Give it to me!”

  Again Astrid jumped back, eluding her grasp. “My wish is you let Dane live.”

  “Impossible. Only the Norns can grant that wish.”

  “Well…take me to the Norns.”

  Mist’s eyes went wide with fear, and Astrid knew that she indeed had the leverage to have her wish granted. “Are you mad? The Norns—they live in another realm and accept no visitors. It’s quite out of the question; no one gets to—”

  “I have your cloak and you owe me a wish,” Astrid said, holding her ground. “And my wish is to see the Norns.”

  In desperation the Valkyrie began to whimper. “Don’t you see? The Norns are already angry at me for delaying Dane’s fate. If I go against their decree one more time—”

  “So it was your mistake! Why did you spare him?”

  Mist looked off. “Can you blame me? He was so youthful and handsome and full of promise. I just couldn’t bear to see—”

  “So you love him, too.”

  Mist reluctantly nodded. “A Valkyrie must have no feelings. Dead men should be nothing more than stones to be gathered.” Astrid saw tears of frustration in her eyes. “I am trying to be callous! I really am!”

  “Will you take me?”

  Mist sighed in resignation. “I can’t imagine the Norns will even see you…but, yes, I’ll do it.” Mist closed her eyes and drew her palms upward. Astrid felt a sudden sleepiness overtake her, and looking around, she saw that a vapor had suddenly descended upon them, enshrouding them both, and the thicker the strange fog grew, the sleepier Astrid got, until she felt a hand upon her arm and all went dark….

  When next she opened her eyes, Astrid found herself moving through thick clouds, showing blue and silver in the moonlight. She had the sensation of flying, and her heart raced in excitement. Was she dreaming? Moments later, she broke through the billowing mists to find a night sky aglitter with stars, countless sparkles of light, each beckoning for her to come and dance with them. Glancing downward, she was further thrilled to see the pearly disk of the moon reflected in a river as she was passing over it. Over it? Yes, she was flying! Several leagues high in the sky, she was, seated behind Mist on the back of the Valkyrie’s horse. Oh, how they flew! What sweet euphoria as she soared over a mountainside forest of spruce and below her saw the silver-tipped trees in the moonlight! The feeling was indescribable. Such freedom and wonder. And just as quickly, the night sky disappeared as they plunged again into misty cloud fluff. Soon a white flaming light appeared, the glow growing brighter as they
flew toward it. Astrid was filled with sudden warmth as the celestial steed sailed ever nearer into the heart of the light.

  13

  A SPIRITED DEBATE WITH THE FATES

  Before Astrid could even see, she heard it: the frothing burble and bubble of falling water, the sound soothing to her ears. Then the thick veils of vapor parted to reveal a kind of paradise such as she’d never seen. She stood in what could only be a garden of the gods.

  Before her there was a moss-hung grotto surrounded by dazzling lilacs and lilies and other blooming plants. From a ledge above, water cascaded down over large smooth stones, emptying into a series of pools, each alive with flashing shapes of silvery fish and leaping toads. There was birdsong and crocuses and the faint croaking of frogs, and around the pool a bright green apron of plush dewy grass that felt soft as velvet underfoot. And arching over it all, a shimmering rainbow—just like ones she had often seen after a spring rain, only this one was bigger and brighter and ever so much nicer. A tiny blue bird alighted on her shoulder for a moment. Tweep-tweep, it said, and just as quickly flew off to flit and play in the rising spray of the waterfall. Mist and her steed were nowhere to be seen amid the thick curtains of vapor that surrounded her.

  On the pond swam the loveliest pair of snow-white swans. And as the mists slowly receded, Astrid was further awed to see, rooted in the ground and rising up like a kingly tower, an ash tree of unspeakable size, its gray-brown, moss-covered trunk looking as wide as the length of fifty men. Gazing upward, Astrid saw that the tree was of such monumental height, it disappeared up into the mists, its uppermost limbs not even visible. Astrid felt the hairs on her arms rise. Could this be it? The storied Tree of Life? Yggdrasil? The center of time itself? How utterly thrilling, she thought, to be in the sacred place where all phases of time—past, present, and future—came together.

  Astrid stood a moment, calmed by the lulling sound of the waterfall and the swans that swam upon the water, marveling at the sight of the pink and blue butterflies that flitted from lily pad to lily pad on the fringes of the pond. Such peace she felt. And such a sense of wonder. And then a new sound: the murmur of voices, low and indistinct. Drawing closer, she saw dim shapes appear. Just across the pool, at the base of the giant ash tree, was a trio of seated figures.

  Three women, Astrid could now make out, sat side by side, each garbed in a flowing robe of remarkable color and beauty, each with her hair wrapped in a headdress of a different color. The woman on the left, wearing a pale yellow headdress, was bent over a loom of sorts, working to weave a silken fabric the color of gold. The lady on the right wore a hair covering as blue as the sky and was feeding the swans with food she drew from a bag at her feet. The woman in the center, scarfed in bright red, was bent over what looked to be a large book, its pages flapping back and forth in the breeze. Each absorbed in her task, the women gave off a relaxed but regal air. They had not yet noticed her at all, Astrid realized; it was as if she were not really there; as if she were merely visiting them in a dream. Was she? But it all felt so real. She crept closer.

  And then from out of nowhere Mist appeared at her elbow, explaining in hushed and reverent tones that these were indeed the storied Norns, the Goddesses of Time, the Fates. The one on the left, she said, was Urdr, her name meaning “That Which Is Past.” The one on the right feeding the swans was Verdandi; her name meant “That Which Is Now.” And the red-headdressed lady in the middle, the one with the dark and penetrating eyes, she was Skuld, so named for “That Which Shall Be.”

  “Aren’t they also called the Wyrd Sisters?” Astrid asked.

  “Don’t ever call them that,” Mist said, cringing. “They hate it. Oh, look at their dresses. Aren’t they just dreamy? I wonder who makes them. I could use some new summerwear.” She gestured to the pond. “This is known as the Well of Future Reflections. Fate is revealed there and recorded in the Big Book of Life.” Mist nodded toward Skuld, who held the book in her lap. Astrid was about to ask another question, but it was then the Norns made themselves heard.

  “Hallo! Who speaks?”

  “Pray thee make yourself known!”

  “Who dares invade the sanctity of our realm?”

  The prickly edge in their voices gave Astrid pause. She anxiously watched Mist move forward to the rim of the pond to greet them. What would they do? What powerful magic would they wield?

  “Mist? Is that you?” Urdr said, recognizing her. “Have you done as we ordered? Has the red-haired one been ferried to Valhalla?”

  Sputtering apologies and begging their godly pardons, the flustered Mist bowed in deference and tried to explain. “Well, that’s just it—I was about to fulfill your decree, I really was, but…” Mist turned and gestured to Astrid. “But she stole my cloak and fouled the plan.”

  The Norns turned their penetrating gaze upon Astrid, who stood there, terrified.

  “H-h-hello,” she stammered. “I am Astrid, Mistress of the Blade. I have come to beg for—”

  “Silence!” thundered Urdr.

  Astrid trembled. She had never been so frightened. She saw the Norns whispering to each other, and Verdandi looked at her and said, “Come forward.”

  Astrid did.

  “Why do you dare to trespass in our world?”

  “Well, I—”

  “What could possibly be worth our precious time? We are the Fates. We and we alone wed men to their futures—”

  “Let her speak!” This from Skuld, whose voice had the ring of ultimate authority.

  Astrid took a moment to calm herself, then began, her voice still shaky. “I’m here to ask a favor. Actually, it’s rather big, so I’m kind of afraid to ask—you being goddesses and all, and me just a lowly mortal of modest birth….”

  “Go ahead, child,” Skuld said in a voice more soothing than the waterfall. “Ask it. That which is in your heart must be heard.”

  “It’s about the red-haired one, the one who was ordained to die. I want you to change your minds. I want him to live.”

  A sudden choking cough was heard from Urdr, but Skuld shushed her and, smiling at Astrid, motioned for her to continue.

  “He is the love of my life and is too good to die so young. Why, even your Valkyrie,” Astrid said, motioning to Mist, “thought him too ripe with potential to suffer death.”

  Mist muttered from the side of her mouth, “Leave me out of this—you’re on your own.”

  Astrid continued. “But it’s not just I who will feel his loss. He’s beloved by so many others. He is a hero to his people. Fated to become a Rune Warrior. A man who brings hope and strength to all who know him. Just last spring he returned Thor’s Hammer to Thor himself! And if you have any feeling for humankind, you’ll see the error of your ways—the very slight error—and grant this humble girl before you this one simple wish. Please, I beg of you. Let him live.”

  Astrid then bowed her head in respect, and when she raised her gaze again to the Norns, she saw looks of deep concern on their faces. A quiver of hope leaped in her heart. They understood! Then the Norns erupted in laughter, high shrieks of raucous gaiety. So amused were they that for several moments the Norns did nothing but roll about on the ground, holding their sides, convulsed in whooping peals of derisive laughter.

  “Change our minds?” Skuld cackled when she finally regained her powers of speech.

  “Never in all my days!” crowed Urdr.

  “And did you see the look on her face?” Verdandi cried, collapsing into more laughter. “So earnest and heartfelt!”

  “‘He’s too good to die so young,’” Skuld said, mocking the plaintive tone in Astrid’s voice. “Now that’s priceless!”

  “‘He’s the love of my life,’” mimicked Verdandi, exploding in giggles. “So pathetic!”

  Astrid felt a cold fire rising in her belly. Something inside her snapped, and she advanced on the Norns in fury.

  “You are the ones who are pathetic—who should be laughed at and scorned! You hold such power over so many lives,
yet you understand nothing. Human pain and suffering? Joy? Beauty? Love? What do you know of these things? Nothing! And because you care nothing, you’re less than we mortals! You truly are the Wyrd Sisters!”

  “How DARE you!” Skuld roared.

  Mist covered her mouth in shock, fearing Astrid had gone too far.

  “How dare I what? Disagree? Talk back? Tell the truth?”

  “We’ve heard enough!” Urdr spat, eyes ablaze. “I command thy tongue to silence!”

  Mist tried to pull Astrid away, urging, “We should be going now—”

  Astrid was having none of it. There was no stopping the venom pouring out of her now. “You haven’t even heard the beginning!” she cried. “That which is in my heart must be heard, right? Isn’t that what you said? Well, my heart is screaming that you’re wrong—wrong! Dane the Defiant can NOT die! He’s too hungry to live!” Astrid shot a look at Mist, hoping she’d jump in here, but the Valkyrie waved her off, wanting no part in this insurrection.

  Astrid saw Skuld furiously flipping pages in her Big Book. “You want to punish me now for my outrageous sin of honesty, go ahead. Punish me. I don’t care anymore—”

  At that moment she saw Skuld slam her finger down onto a page of her book—and suddenly Astrid couldn’t speak. Her jaw wouldn’t move. In fact, her whole body, she was alarmed to realize, had frozen still as a statue. All but her eyes had been rendered immobile. Scowling, Skuld stood over the Book, the long bony finger of her right hand pinned to the page, a look of utter ferocity and victory on her face. And in a flash, Urdr disappeared from her seat across the pond and in the next instant was standing right beside Astrid.