Ragnarok n'Roll (sample)

by Jessica Chambers

  Chapter 2

  Loki sat miserably in Hel's hall.

  “I can't believe it!” he snapped.

  “Neither can I.” Hel sighed, in as bored a manner as possible.

  She had sat through this at least seven times. It was getting old.

  “She can't have done this to me!”

  “Well, it looks like she did, Dad.” she sighed again.

  In his head, the scene kept replaying itself.

  Him, Lottie, the park. It came flooding back yet again.

  “I'm sorry, Loki. But this is just too weird for me.”

  She patted his hand, got up from the bench, and walked away.

  He could still hear her footsteps fade away. It stabbed him in the heart like a thousand fiery knives.

  He buried his head in his hands.

  “How could she?” he groaned.

  Hel began to bite her nails.

  “Well, you know, not all chicks are into this 'divinity' thing. Too big a step, too much to handle, you know? Maybe gender or even species never stood in your way, but you're hardly an example.”

  He sat up sharply.

  “I've done it, though!” he proclaimed.

  Done what? thought Hel. Tricked a god or two into harming Lottie? Finally washed those clothes you've been wearing since she broke up with you?

  “I've called Ragnarok!” he cried.

  Hel guffawed.

  “You didn't? You can't have! I know you're upset, but you just have to work through it...” she pleaded.

  She, or anyone else for that matter, was not ready for this.

  “I did. I have. Maybe I'll earn a little respect around here. Be a little more important...”

  “Be a little more dead you mean.” she snapped, “You know what Ragnarok entails! You end up dead, most of Asgard and Midgard and Jötunheim and Muspelheim end up dead!”

  She began to pace nervously.

  “Do you even know what you're getting us into?” she cried, “This is probably the most selfish thing you've ever done, and there's some tough competition!”

  Loki sat staring at her with an irritating, impish smile plastered on his face.

  “Oh well, too late now. Time to face the music.” he oozed.

  With that, he got up, strode across the hall and out of Hel. Hel sank down on her chair, stunned.

  It was the end of the world. Because Loki got dumped.

  Thor entered the main hall again.

  Odin was still fat and balding in his chair, but had clearly finished his horn of mead, as he was holding it upside-down. He stared grimly into the middle distance.

  “It's in the wind, son.” he said, not moving his gaze.

  “Father, we've been through this before. It's not Ragnarok.” Thor said, firmly.

  They should have sent him to that home when the dwarves had offered.

  “Look down on Midgard. You'll see it's not right. It's still winter.”

  Thor was baffled. It was June. Not to mention he was often in a really good mood these days.

  “Really?”

  “Look.”

  Odin held up a bowl of water that he used to look in on Midgard. Thor peeped into it, and saw it.

  Snow.

  Piles and piles of snow.

  In June.

  Thor made himself as happy as possible, focused on nothing but warmth and sunlight. On Midgard the sun briefly peeped through, but had no effect on the snow. It soon disappeared again. His eyes popped out of his head (not literally.. It's a figure of speech).

  “No,” he breathed, “the Fimbul-winter!”

  “You see, son? Your powers are already fading. As are Höđr's. He's not the one controlling this winter, Hel and Loki are, I'm damned sure of it.”

  Thor began shaking in his shoes, which he had never done before.

  Gods never needed to fear death, being immortal and all. But now they did. Now they were as mortal as every other lowly human being trying to make something of themselves in an infinitely big universe.

  Thor swallowed and stood upright.

  “When do you think...? When will the battle..?” he fumbled.

  “Could be any time.” he spat.

  Thor's stomach lurched.

  “I see. I'll be off then.”

  Thor gestured towards the door. Odin didn't react, he just continued to stare at the fixed point in the middle distance.

  Watching the wind.

  Freyja sat on the bed, not knowing what to do. She didn't know where Thor had gone, and she didn't know her way around Valaskjalf. Out of the window, the same orange light flooded the valley.

  This reminded her that she should probably go and visit her parents sometime. It had been almost a month since she had seen them, but being in Asgard made her lose track of time.

  The door flew open, and Thor walked in.

  Freyja knew something was up.

  “What happened?” she squeaked.

  Thor turned to face her. Never had she seen those blue eyes look so frightened. It made him look strange.

  “I think he's serious.”

  “He's just a doddery old man, he doesn't know what he's saying.”

  Thor walked over to the bed and sat down next to Freyja.

  “My powers, on Midgard, they don't work properly. It's winter down there, even though it 's June...”

  “Six consecutive winters....” Freyja breathed.

  She felt a sort of fear in the pit of her stomach. Not for herself, but for Thor. And for her parents.

  Thor put an arm around her, and they sat that way, in a state of shock and disbelief, as the sun crept behind the Asgardian hills.

  “Shall we go home?” he asked, softly.

  Freyja, unable to speak, nodded, and let him help her to her feet.

  By home, Thor meant Thrudheim. Despite the fact that Freyja owned all of Fólkvang, she felt just as at home in Thor's realm. It had been tricky to decide in which one they should take up permanent residence, but after Thor pointed out that he had more rooms than any other realm, and Freyja had only a bedroom, bathroom and entrance hall, the choice was made.

  Freyja still went to Fólkvang quite often to see her friends, Olaf and Erik.

  It hadn't been easy settling in, Thrudheim had been quite a bachelor pad, and only about 3 of the 540 floors were ever used.

  Freyja helped the dwarves clean and tidy the unused rooms, and made Thrudheim into a home.

  They stepped over the threshold, into Thrudheim. Mjollnir sat miserably by the door, like a three-year-old that has just had a temper-tantrum and refuses to say sorry.

  Thor spat some more Old Norse at it and it spun around shamefully. Freyja let go of Thor's hand as he walked in, and crouched down next to the hammer.

  “Listen,” she said to it. “I know you can understand me. I want to ask you if we could try again. I mean, we didn't really get off on the right foot, and I would really like to get along with you. I know it would make Thor happy.”

  She attempted to tug at the hammer's heart-strings... If it had any.

  “What do you say? Can we make a fresh start?” she asked.

  The hammer up and flew over the edge of Thrudvang before Freyja knew what happened..

  “Fine.” she said to the horizon. “Have it your way then.”

  She walked haughtily into the entrance hall, where Thor had already sat down by the fire and had begun to polish his boots.

  “Your hammer's gone.” she said, sitting down.

  Thor didn't look up from his polishing.

  “It'll be back. Let it cool off for a while, it'll be fine.”

  Freyja stared at the flames; they left flickering shadows on her eyes as she looked away. A long, crackle-infused silence passed.

  “Is it Ragnarok?” she asked.

  Thor didn't say anything, but abruptly stopped his polishing to look up at her. His blue eyes were full of worry.

  “Maybe.” he said, quietly.

  “If it was, what would happe
n to you?”

  Thor stood up, carrying his boots.

  “Nothing you need to know about.”

  He put the boots down by the door. Freyja stood up and looked at him squarely.

  “Frigg told me that you'd die.”

  Thor's gaze trailed along the floor as he walked back towards Freyja. He avoided her gaze for as long as possible.

  “She was right.”

  He looked up at Freyja's face, which reflected the worry in his own eyes. She swallowed awkwardly.

  This wouldn't be the nice kind of death where nothing happens, and you were already in the afterlife, so it didn't matter. This was going to be one of those permanent deaths. The ones you can't go back on, that can't be helped.

  “I've always known this day would come... But I didn't want it to come now.” he added. “Not so soon... I want more time with you.”

  He stroked her cheek with his fingers, and she swallowed another sob. Thor noticed this, and wrapped her up in a hug.

  “Don't cry, Freyja. It'll be all right.” he whispered.

  She merely continued to cry quietly on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. His cape was soft and warm, and Freyja never wanted to leave go.

  The fire crackled in the corner, and the wind blew from each direction, shaking Thrudheim.

  “Was that you?” Freyja mumbled into his shoulder.

  “Was what me?”

  “The wind.”

  “No.”

  His voice sounded small. This feeling of loss of power was not one he liked or wanted to get used to.

  He tried to take his mind off it, and began playing with Freyja's hair. He loved the way it always curled back to it's original place, no matter how much he'd disturb it. He wrapped a curl around his finger, trying to counteract it's natural shape, with little success.

  They eventually withdrew.

  “We'll find a way around this. We always do.” Thor reassured her.

  Freyja smiled despite her tear-stained face.

  What would Asgard be like without him? Without any of the other gods she knew and loved? Or at least tolerated? How would people get up and down Bifröst without Heimdall? How would the weather be controlled?

  Her mind filled with a thousand questions; but she knew it was better if she kept them to herself. She would find the answer to them herself, in any case.

  “Did you say something about seeing your parents? As in, you probably should?” Thor said as he walked towards the door.

  Freyja nodded.

  “However,” she added, “I don't think we should tell them that the end is nigh. It puts a bit of a downer on the conversation.”

  They both laughed as they made their way back to Bifröst, hand in hand.

  Heimdall stood leaning on his sword, his eyes open and alert this time.

  He walked over to them.

  “Hello. I'm sorry about last time. See, there was the series finale of one of my favourite shows, and I couldn't bear to miss it.” he explained, embarrassedly.

  “Don't worry about it. Can we get down to Midgard?” Freyja asked.

  Heimdall looked very awkward.

  “Are you sure?” he mumbled.

  Freyja felt extremely nervous, and shot a quick glance at Thor.

  “Why?” Thor asked.

  Heimdall shrugged and fiddled with his sword.

  “Ragnarok It's a mess down there.”

  “We'll be fine. I just want to see my parents.” Freyja piped up.

  Heimdall shook his head solemnly, and gestured below. He opened a section of the Bifröst.

  Midgard had never looked so desolate. The house's roofs could barely be made out under the snow, and it continued to fall in constant drifts. Snow swirled around, but not in it's usual pleasant way. This snow seemed to be malevolent in everything it did, unlike Thor or Höđr's snow that fell gently an quietly. Never had Freyja seen such noisy snow. It felt as if it was blowing around her, whistling through her head, and was bitterly cold.

  “How are we going to find my house?” Freyja shouted over the wind..

  “Let's forget about it!”

  “But what about my parents?” Freyja asked, beginning to panic.

  If two gods could barely survive in this frozen wasteland, how could two humans?

  “I'm sure they're fine. They're inside a house, we're not. They probably have heating.” he shouted.

  All Freyja made out was “fine, “house” and “heating”, but this was enough to reassure her. She nodded and Thor commanded the Bifröst again.

  They collapsed at Heimdall's feet as it closed abruptly.

  “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

  They shook the snow off themselves.

  “Heimdall,” Freyja began, “I need a favour.”

  She hobbled towards him.

  “Of course.”

  “Please look down on Midgard, and see if my parents are all right.” she pleaded.

  Heimdall looked down at her and took her hand.

  “They're not in Midgard. They were going to be sent to Hel, but as they have contacts, I sent them to Fólkvang instead.”

  Freyja took a moment to process this information, before crying again.

  “My parents are dead?!” she cried.

  “Well, yes. But not quite. They're in the afterlife, and quite well. But they're far from the only casualties. Almost the whole human race will be wiped out.”

  Freyja wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She dropped Heimdall's hand and ran through the gate to Fólkvang, with Thor following her.

  She burst through the door to Sessrúmnir, to find her parents sat chatting convivially with Olaf.

  “Mum! Dad!”

  Freyja felt more tears spring to her eyes. She ran over to them and hugged them.

  They soon explained how they had shuffled off the mortal coil, after the house was submerged in snow, the food supplies ran low and the water pipes froze. The rest is, as they say, history.

  Freyja found herself shaking as they filled her in.

  This was the sort of death she preferred, and had become used to. Temporary death, more of a displacement than a death. The people weren't actually gone, just elsewhere; you could still go and see them.

  Unlike-...

  She cut her thoughts off where they were. She was not going to let herself think about that.

  “So, has much been going on in Asgard?” her mother asked.

  Thor and Freyja couldn't help themselves, and burst out laughing. All the stress and worry of Ragnarok needed an outlet, and even if this wasn't the best time, it would have to do.

  Her parents, however, just stared at them. Thor eventually composed himself.

  “It's the end of the world. Not just your world, but ours too, to an extent.” he explained.

  “What do you mean?”

  Freyja stepped forward.

  “There is going to be a great battle, and Asgard will lose it's finest men.”

  She looked down at the floor, letting what she said slip off her, refusing to let it sink in to her own brain.

  These were just words.

  Separate words by themselves don't mean anything, they're simple jumbles of letters.

  Who decides on a word's meaning? Surely the user.

  Therefore, if the user doesn't want them to mean what everyone else thinks they mean, then they don't.

  In such a case, Freyja's sentence of: “Asgard will lose it's finest men” actually meant: “I think there is cat climbing my dress.” (which was in fact true; one of the cats that pulled Freyja's chariot had wandered in and was hoping that visitors meant treats).

  The other participants in the conversation, however, understood from the sentence: “Asgard will lose it's finest men” that Asgard was going to lose it's finest men.

  They turned their uneasy eyes towards Thor, who was doing his best to stand tall, but was weighed down by fear and his cape. The guests decided to turn away again, and visibly began searching for another conve
rsation subject.

  A light breeze ruffled the curtains, and the embroidery weaved in the half-light. The ground outside appeared to shake, and the trees waved their leaves like flags at a football match.

  Out the window, a speck appeared on the horizon, and began growing rapidly. Freyja walked towards the window, trying to make out a shape.

  Flames flicked from behind the speck.

  Freyja squinted into the distance. The hazy afternoon sky made everything seem wavy.

  Thor joined her at the window, and the panes shook.

  In one of his unnervingly fast moves, he threw Freyja to the floor, and was hoisted to the back of the room as fast as a thunderbolt. The whole pantomime was followed by a crash.

  Freyja sat on the floor, bemused, taking a moment before realising that the speck had been Mjollnir, and Thor had been hoisted to the back of the room by the hammer.

  He hung awkwardly for a moment before dropping, with Mjollnir. He cursed the hammer in Old Norse, leaving Olaf with an expression that seemed to say: “not in front of the guests!”. This didn't make much difference as most of the guests were relatively unacquainted with this ancient language.

  Freyja's father clapped his hands in the typically English “I need an excuse to get out of here” way.

  “Well, this Olaf fellow was kind enough to show us where are rooms are for all eternity, maybe we should go and settle in?” he hinted heavily to his wife.

  She nodded and left the room with a quick smile in Freyja's direction, following her husband.

  Olaf left Thor to curse his hammer alone, and scurried back towards a feast-hall.

  “Why did it come back?” Freyja asked.

  She found herself shaking from the experience. She swallowed and composed herself.

  “It always comes back eventually. It just needed to cool down.”

  He held the hammer gently, as if it was a small child. Freyja stared slightly jealously at the spoiled hunk of stone. The hammer sat in Thor's arms smugly.

  This hammer was the worst cow Freyja had ever met, and she'd met a few. She strode over to Thor.

  “How long did Odin say we had before the Battle?” she asked.

  “Any time now.”

  “What do you plan to do with your last days alive?” she whispered, meeting his gaze and placing her hand on his.

  “I guess... I suppose I always planned to spend my last moments with those I love the most.”

  Wordlessly, Freyja took his hand, and he let the hammer fall to the floor as she lead him upstairs.