“
I remember that day. There was a struggle, just out of my sight. She who gave me birth faced down those who would harm us. But she failed.”
“
What were you aware of? Did you understand even then what happened?”
“
It was not understanding as you might call it. There was an awareness that was part of my being. I saw from my own eyes, but also sensed presences and feelings from those around me. There was fear, fear of what we might grow to become.”
“
Yes, they feared you would be the harbinger of Ragnarok, along with your brothers.” He paused, the question still on his tongue. “How is it that you could be my daughter and also ruler of Niflheim since before I existed?”
She stood and walked towards him, passing by closely, the black fabric of her gown brushing up against him. There was a smell, dank and unpleasant, that emanated briefly from her as she passed. She walked to the window and stared out at the dark misty plains beyond. “I am no longer your daughter. You hold no thrall over me. You are here to serve my whims, not the other way around. Do not deceive yourself into thinking otherwise.”
He knitted his brow. He sensed her power, and there was no denying that she could destroy him if she wished it. Still, he was here because she had summoned him. “I beg forgiveness, mistress. What do you bid of me?”
He smirked inwardly at how easily he had fallen back into his old role as sycophant. Would this be like it was on Asgard? Would he perform endless duties for her benefit only to be cast out? No, this would not end that way. He was not here to serve her, no matter what she may think. He was here for only one purpose: to raise an army.
There was a soft noise as the door to the chamber opened. Loki turned to see a dark figure walk behind the throne where a curtain hung, separating the room and keeping part of it hidden. Someone was there, waiting.
“
I know what you seek, and my goals are not opposite from yours,” she said.
He sensed in his daughter a duplicity; there was an air about her that indicated that there was more to what she said. Their goals coincided, but something was held back.
“
Is this why you sent me a vision?”
She did not respond, other than to glance at him from over her shoulder. She finally turned her head back and looked once again out over the plain. “There is a place on the edges of the Nine Worlds, one of fire and flame . . .”
“
Muspelheim,” he said, more to himself.
“
In that realm is a being whose power dwarfs all. You have heard of him.”
Loki nodded. “Yes. Although it has been said that he is a myth.” All knew of the legendary existence of Black Surt, the giant who embodied that fiery realm. Loki knew none who had been there or even confirmed its existence. From what he had heard, none
could
exist there; it was nothing but fire and flame, and instant death to any but Surt himself. Odin had spoken about both on rare occasions, but always vaguely. For all Loki knew, One Eye had made up the stories of the creature who wielded a fiery sword and was death to all living things.
“
He exists, although not in the same way as we of the Nine Worlds.” She turned to face him. “We contain a force of the universe within ourselves, and are able to wield it to our whims. Black Surt
is
a force of the universe. With him, the Aesir will not be able to stop you.”
“
How do we convince one such as he to help us?”
She smiled. “There will be no convincing Black Surt.”
“
Then what will we do to enlist him?”
She did not answer, but instead walked over to him. “What are you willing to sacrifice to gain vengeance on Asgard, father?”
He did not hesitate. “There is nothing I would not do to see them pay for their crimes.”
“
That is good, because in order to use Surt, you will need to give up that which is most precious to you.”
“
What do you mean?”
As if in response, her flesh rippled and turned black. Her skin sunk in upon itself and he could see the contours of her skull. Her eyes liquefied and oozed down her face as her lips withdrew, revealing her white teeth. Her hair stayed on her head, disturbingly, even while the skin fell off in pieces. She raised a clawed, skeletal hand and offered it to him.
“
Come, father. I will show you the way to the Land of Muspel.”
With only the barest hint of reluctance, Loki took her boned claw and allowed himself to be led out of the chamber.
Ragnarok
The sun will fade and the world will be enveloped in darkness. Earthquakes will wrack the lands, and monsters will be set loose from their bonds. Worst of all, the wolf Fenrir will be set free, and he will roam the land devouring whatever he sees. He will yearn for the final conflict, when he and the other forces of chaos will face the gods.
His terrible brother, the Midgard Serpent, will rise up from the depths of the ocean and carve a swath of destruction wherever he goes. He will level mountains with a swipe of his tail, and will yearn to take revenge on the gods for throwing him in the ocean all those years ago.
Loki will not be idle at this time. His vile sons, Fenrir and Jormungand, will so shake the earth with their destruction that he will be loosed from his bonds. He will gather an army of the dead from Niflheim and gather them on a ship made of dead men’s nails. His daughter, Hel, the ruler of Niflheim, will be at his side, and she will be horrible to behold. Half of her body is beautiful and desirable, while the other is decayed and dying. She will wish nothing but death on the gods for banishing her to Niflheim.
Loki and Hel will converge upon Asgard with Fenrir and Jormungand. Together, they will bring the combined might of all of Jotunheim, marching steadily upward on Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, along with the legion upon legion of the dead, eager to escape their fate in the underworld. Heimdall will sound his horn, Gjall, the signal that Ragnarok has begun.
The gods will meet the forces of chaos, and the sound of their clashing will shake the Nine Worlds. There will be vicious fighting and terrible battles, and age-old enemies will meet, steel against steel, tooth and claw upon axe and shield.
Odin’s spear will stab out the eyes and brains of many a giant, and he will leave the battlefield strewn with the massive corpses of his enemies. He will turn and face Fenrir, eager for revenge, and the two will engage. The Allfather will not be able to match the ferocity of the wolf, and will find himself stuck between his two slavering jaws. Fenrir will choke Odin down his gullet, and that will be the end of the Allfather.
Thor will see his father swallowed by the Fenris Wolf and will fly to his aid, but a terrible shadow will fall upon him. He will look up only to find himself bound in the jaws of Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent, and the snake will whisk him up and away from the battle. The two will struggle mightily, and in the end the Thunderer will smash the skull of the snake, who will fall to the ground with a thunderous crash that will knock all Asgard to their knees. Thor will rise, weakened, and will stagger nine steps before he is drowned in the lake of venom spewed out by the dying snake.
One-handed Tyr will search the battlefield long for Fenrir, eager to avenge the loss of his hand to that ravenous beast. His sword will swing in a mighty arc, cutting off the heads and limbs of any giant he meets. When he finally spies Fenrir, bloody and engorged from swallowing the Allfather, he will move swiftly to bring his steel to bear against him. But he will not move swiftly enough. His way will be barred by a cousin to the wolf: the hound, Garm, who will long to close his jaws around the throat of the fierce god. The two will launch themselves at each other and battle long and hard, each inflicting massive wounds on the other. In the end, they will both lie dead from their wounds.
Frey will also bring ruin to the sons of Jotunheim. His path of destruction will lead him to the foot of Black Surt, brandishing his flaming sword overhead. Frey will battle the fire giant valiantly, but in the end will be overcome and crushed under his flaming heel.
Heimdall will meet Loki, and the two age-old enemies will engage. Though Loki will be outmatched by Heimdall’s strength and battle prowess, he will still have his wits and wiles about him, and will prove the match of the Guardian of Bifrost. They will trade blows, meeting steel for steel. In the end, they will slay each other, Heimdall’s blade cleaving skull while Loki slides his sword up under Heimdall’s ribcage and into his heart. Their corpses will be trampled down into the dirt by further fighting between the Einherjar and the sons of Jotunheim, and their bodies will be lost forever under the soil of Asgard’s bloody plain.
Odin’s brave son, Vidar, will watch in horror as his father is swallowed by Fenrir. He will stride forward to attack him. Fenrir will gape wide to swallow the son, as well, but Vidar will be ready for him. He will put his hands on Fenrir’s upper jaw while his boot trods on the lower. This boot will protect his foot as he stomps down hard and, with his hands, pries apart Fenrir’s jaws and rips the beast wide open. Fenrir’s bleeding corpse will not even be fit for the carrion birds who flock to feed on the bloody battle grounds. Thus will Odin be avenged.
In a fury, Black Surt will whirl his flaming sword and cast fire throughout the Nine Worlds. All those gathered will burn, both living and dead. Asgard’s spires will burn. Midgard will erupt in flames. The whole of creation will be set afire, and all those living and dead will die. Thus will the entirety of creation be sundered to ash and smoking coals. Only Yggdrasil, the tree that always was and always will be, will survive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Odin dismounted Sleipnir. One hand on his mane, he communicated his wishes to his steed without saying a word. The massive horse stepped backwards and disappeared, leaving Odin alone in Midgard. The Allfather did not look back, but in his mind’s eye he could see the horse fade into the space between the Nine Worlds, becoming more and more insubstantial with every passing second. Odin pulled the hood of his gray cloak over his head and walked toward the village in the distance.
Gungnir was with him, but it was only visible as a long and gnarled walking staff. It would not do to walk into a strange village armed with a weapon that could slay the entire populace. The spear had an effect on those who viewed it; sometimes spurring them senselessly towards it, usually to be impaled on its tip. The mortals in the village would still have some fear of him, but Odin wanted to avoid unnecessary slaughter for the moment.
As he reached the outer edge, some of those outside took notice of him. Two men were skinning a sheep that had been slaughtered and strung up on a wooden crossbeam, four young children—three boys and one girl—were wrestling on a trampled patch of thick grass, several older boys were hauling wood in armloads with axes slung over their shoulders. All paused when the gray-cloaked old man wandered towards them, his long gray beard poking out from the shadows of his hood.
They ceased their activities as he walked past them. There was something strangely captivating about this wizened old man who so blithely traipsed into their village as if he belonged there. The old man radiated an aura that inspired awe and fear. They did not know why they were afraid, for all could see that the thin old man was no threat, but a dread existed, nonetheless, one that kept them all fixed where they stood.
He reached the center of the village and sat on the large tree stump that served as the seat of power. That action unfroze most of those watching, and they first looked to each other with perplexed stares before slowly walking towards the stump where Odin sat. A few ducked into longhouses to alert their elders and the others, and it was not long before Olvir, the brawny, blond-haired chief of the village, came out of the largest longhouse, a thick piece of cured meat in his hand and a large chunk of it in his mouth.
Chewing slowly, he approached Odin, flanked by three of the village warriors, none of whom were armed. Having seen many battles and formidable foes, these four were not awed by Odin’s presence as the others had been. Some wondered if the chief would be incensed by this old man’s presumptive actions, but as Olvir approached, he looked more amused than anything.
“
Old goat, what do you think you’re doing?” he said to Odin as he reached within axe distance. There was nervous and scattered laughter, but most watched in silence.
The remainder of the village began to drift over to see the scene of the old man confronting Olvir in the middle of the village. Like many chiefs, Olvir was not unduly loved or hated. His prowess and strength were admired, and his ability to make quick decisions was prized, even if many of his decisions were not favored by the rest of the village. Still, they had been safe and mostly prosperous under him, and these two qualities trumped affection for a leader quite easily.
Odin reached up and pulled his hood down, exposing his craggy, weathered face. He stared up at Olvir with his one good eye and said nothing. Gungnir lay innocently across his lap.
The chief’s eyes went slightly wide at the sight of the Allfather’s gnarled face. He swallowed the chunk of meat he had been chewing and then laughed mockingly. Taking the cue, his warriors did likewise.