Jarnvidr

by Fynn F Gunnarson

  Harald Fairhair let out a delighted and, in Sharp Axe’s opinion, an unnecessarily lengthy laugh.

  ‘Well,’ he exclaimed, eventually, ‘it is not just your axe that is sharp!’ He laughed again, apparently well satisfied with his own observation. ‘Truly... oh, truly I made the right choice... noble and brave... but bright enough to work it out only when it was too late!’

  ‘Who are you?’ persisted Sharp Axe, ignoring the insult.

  Harald Fairhair stopped laughing, albeit with some reluctance and took a good look at his inquisitor.

  ‘Who do you think I am?’

  Sharp Axe thought this a peculiar question to be asked, given the circumstances.

  ‘Aren’t you King Harald Fairhair?’ ventured Hodbrodd, just ahead of several of the others who, just like him, were still in denial.

  Harald Fairhair burst out laughing again, this time holding his sides, in what appeared to be an attempt to avoid serious injury.

  ‘Oh... magnificent!’ exclaimed Fairhair, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘Sharp Axe... veritably, you are twice the man I thought you were... to have found the hammer of Thor with these... these... ’ but the rest was lost in another uncontrollable fit of raucous laughter.

  Sharp Axe, whose considerable embarrassment and irritation was, with every passing second, being replaced by rising anger, took a deep breath and considered the facts. Whoever this ‘Harald Fairhair’ was, he had had the means to create a rather elaborate façade and he was clearly on more than simply nodding-terms with the Fire Giant, Surtr and Hel, Goddess of the Dead, both of whom must have been in on the deception.

  The anger which had been rising in Sharp Axe now suddenly evaporated, to be replaced by cold fear. The man standing before him was clearly extremely influential, with friends in very low places. For all Sharp Axe knew, Harald Fairhair, or whatever this individual’s name actually was, might easily have had a small army of followers hiding in the trees behind him, ready to attack on the command of their leader.

  ‘Who are you?’ repeated Sharp Axe, cautiously, hoping against hope that the answer might not be as bad he feared it would be.

  ‘Who… would you like me to be?’ replied Fairhair.

  Now that, Sharp Axe decided, was an absolutely bizarre question!

  ‘Perhaps... ’ Fairhair continued and, at that moment, the most incredible thing happened: it caused Aldaron to fall to his knees in disbelief; it forced Alfgeir, Randver, Ulric and Jormunrek to stagger backwards in shock; it encouraged Fearless to take up a position of relative safety behind Hedin and Hamdir; Sharp Axe and Fynn simply looked at each other in disbelief.

  ‘Isn’t that...?’ began Fynn and Sharp Axe nodded, with a frown and a slightly open mouth.

  The king’s appearance had gradually changed, before the men’s very eyes. He was no longer the handsome, regally-dressed figure with fair hair and neatly-braided beard who had recently been standing before them. Now, before the men stood an old man with wild, grey hair, dressed in filthy rags: the same old man with wild, grey hair, dressed in filthy rags, in fact, who had come to visit Sharp Axe in Álfheimr.

  No-one spoke; everyone merely stared at the old man in silence.

  ‘Or... ’ said the old man, ‘... how about... ?’ and, once again, his appearance changed, until he became a much younger man, clean-shaven, fresh-faced and blond.

  ‘That’s... that’s... ’ began Alfgeir.

  ‘The man who told you about Harald Fairhair?’ suggested Sharp Axe but, before Alfgeir could reply, the young man had changed his appearance, as well. Now, a woman stood before the men.

  ‘That’s... that’s... ’ spluttered Randver.

  ‘The woman who told you about Harald Fairhair?’ suggested Sharp Axe.

  Again, a gradual transformation took place and, now, a dwarf stood before the men.

  ‘That’s... that’s... my dwarf!’ shouted Jormunrek, indignantly. ‘I told you I’d been visited by a dwarf and no-one believed me!’

  [Protests from the men to the contrary, none of which were, in any way whatsoever, truthful.]

  Several more changes in appearance ensued including at one point, rather bizarrely and for the most fleeting of moments, a hooded crow, until each of the men had claimed to see the mysterious visitor who had invited him to take part in the mission.

  ‘Who... are you?’ asked Sharp Axe again, this time addressing a rather overweight, ginger-haired, long-bearded Viking-warrior type who, it transpired, had recruited the services of Hamdir.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ taunted the ginger warrior, mockingly, with a malevolent glint in his otherwise dull green eyes.

  ‘No!’ retorted Fearless, from behind what he hoped was the impenetrable human shields of Hedin and Hamdir. ‘Obviously not! Now, thank you for the impersonations – most entertaining little act you’ve got there – but time’s moving on and – ’

  ‘I think,’ interrupted the ginger warrior, ‘that Sharp Axe knows... don’t you?’

  All eyes turned to Sharp Axe, who hesitated before responding.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he eventually replied, rather curtly and with a terse shake of the head, his patience now wearing very thin.

  [Disappointed groans from the men.]

  ‘Oh,’ said the ginger warrior, also sounding disappointed, ‘well... how about a little clue, then?’

  Another transformation took place but, this time, it resulted in a figure who was familiar to all but one of the men: the ginger hair faded to something closer to blond, though a slight trace of red remained; the long beard retracted to something much shorter and neater; the warrior’s helmet grew wings and he, himself, grew in height; a large, dangerous-looking, short-handled hammer appeared in his right hand.

  [Gasps from the men.]

  ‘It’s Mr Thor!’ declared Hodbrodd, who started to wave at the latest incarnation of Harald Fairhair. ‘Hello, Mr Thor!’

  Sharp Axe looked at Hodbrodd and, once again, sighed. ‘Hodbrodd,’ he said, quietly, ‘it isn’t Thor.’

  ‘You’re right!’ boomed Thor, in the manner of a Thunder God and laughed in a similar fashion.

  Sharp Axe did not like the direction in which things had been moving up to this point, but a sudden, chilling and, if it were possible, even worse thought now occurred to him: was this the same ‘Thor’ he had met in Grimstad? Had he and his men already met this individual, whoever he might be, when Mjøllnir had been retrieved from the Wolf Wrestler family home? Had Sharp Axe been cruelly misled about the true fate of his grandfather, Knut Cold Killer? Worse still, had he unwittingly put Mjøllnir in the wrong hands?

  Why, though, Sharp Axe asked himself, would anyone want to impersonate Thor? More to the point, how could someone change his shape – his very appearance – in this way, so that he could take on the form of a god? It was impossible... unless...

  The realisation of who was, in all probability, standing in front of him and his men, made Sharp Axe suddenly feel weak. Why had he not seen it before? How could he have been so stupid? More importantly, how was he going to get his men and himself out of their current, extremely serious predicament?

  Before Sharp Axe could even begin to consider his options, however, his attention was diverted to the dense collection of trees behind the mighty figure of Thor; they shook suddenly, as if something rather large were making its way through them.

  ‘Ah!’ said Thor. ‘At last!’ and, at that moment, out of the trees emerged what looked like a woman: an exceptionally tall woman, with silky, waist-length, iron-grey hair, cold, dark eyes and a face which might, in a previous century, have been very attractive, but not any longer. The woman – if, indeed, this were a woman – was clothed in a black woollen dress, beneath a long, black woollen cloak. Her legs and feet were bare and she stood taller even than Thor, as she looked down at the men with a sneering, contemptuous expression.

  ‘So... ’ hissed the woman, her eyes narrowing, ‘... the fools… have returned!’

  ‘Indeed they have, my belo
ved,’ replied Thor, smiling pleasantly at the woman. ‘Time, I think, for some formal introductions.’

  Thor turned back to look at Sharp Axe and the men.

  ‘This vision of supreme beauty,’ announced Thor mistakenly, with his left arm extended towards the veritable giantess at his side, ‘is the love of my life and undisputed queen of this forest... gentlemen, I give you… Angrboda!’ at which point, Angrboda bared her yellowing teeth at the visitors, menacingly, unattractively and rather inhospitably.

  Sharp Axe’s heart sank even further. From somewhere in the back of his mind, where the distant memory of his grandfather’s stories now resided, he recalled the name. His worst fears had not only just been confirmed: they had been surpassed.

  Still looking rather pleased with himself, Thor now began to transform for what Sharp Axe assumed would be the final time. He gradually became a slightly taller figure, much leaner, with a handsome, though laughter-lined, beardless face and clear, emerald-green eyes, which seemed to twinkle malevolently in what little light Jarnvidr had to offer. Thor’s winged helmet disappeared to reveal a head of long, dark-auburn hair, swept back neatly, away from his face. The rest of his attire transformed from that of a warrior god to a dark green suit of fine wool, leather gloves and knee-length leather boots.

  ‘Loki,’ said Sharp Axe, in the least affectionate tone imaginable.

  ‘At your service,’ replied Loki, with a low, sweeping, exaggerated, theatrical and, most of all, ironic bow.

  The horses, whose discomfort and agitation levels had peaked at the moment Loki had revealed his true form, chose this particular moment to depart the scene. They turned, almost in unison, terrified and fled, leaving their bewildered riders to their collective fate.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Loki and Angrboda

  ‘Just who are you two, exactly?’ demanded Fearless, still firmly entrenched behind the protective wall provided by the diminutive but formidable pairing of Hedin and Hamdir.

  Loki and Angrboda looked at each other.

  ‘Ladies first,’ suggested Loki, but Angrboda would not hear of it.

  ‘No, no, my love!’ she protested. ‘Age before beauty,’ which Loki seemed to find amusing... although, on the evidence presented so far, he seemed to find almost everything amusing.

  ‘I am Loki… the Shape-shifter,’ said Loki, eventually, ‘son of the Frost Giants, Laufey and Farbauti… blood brother to Odin… God of Mischief, Trickery, Fire, Chaos and Deceit... and oh, yes… I also have certain... responsibilities, shall we say, where evil, lies and death are concerned.’

  [Worried mutterings from the men.]

  ‘Anyway, enough about me! ’ continued Loki, brightly. ‘Now, my dearest one,’ he said, turning to address Angrboda, ‘please, do tell these esteemed gentlemen all about yourself.’

  ‘I am Angrboda,’ snarled Angrboda, whose delivery was altogether different from Loki’s. She looked around at what was now, for the most part, a group of terrified men, her dark eyes flashing angrily. ‘Yes, Angrboda... the Great Hagia of the Iron Wood! The Chief Jarnvidja and Chieftess of the Jarnvidjur! Mistress to Loki! Mother to his children: mother to Fenrir, the great wolf, of whom the Aesir were so afraid, they imprisoned him deep beneath the ground, by means of both Gleipnir, the enchanted silken bond constructed from six ingredients known only to the Dark Elves of Svartálfheimr who made it, and of the magical chain, Gelgja, which are secured beneath two enormous stones, Gjøll and Thviti; mother to Hel, Goddess of the Dead, whom the Aesir installed in Helheimr, at the very end of the Nine Worlds; mother to Jørmungandr, the mighty serpent, whom the Aesir threw into the sea and who grew so large, he encircles the world and bites his own tail – ’

  ‘Well, you sound like a very close-knit family,’ chipped in Fearless, ‘you really do! We must try to do lunch sometime, but – ’

  ‘All my children were torn from me!’ screamed Angrboda, fixing Fearless with a stare which petrified him and instantly made him regret reminding her of what was clearly a set of rather painful maternal memories. ‘But I tend to Fenrir’s offspring, the Varns: Hati, Skøll and Managarmr... ’

  Angrboda now looked around at the rest of the men, with a wild, almost crazed expression.

  ‘… and,’ she continued, leaning forward a little, ‘feed them marrow from the bones of Jarnvidr’s visitors!’

  [Louder, more worried mutterings from the men.]

  ‘She’s a wonderful mother,’ contributed Loki, with a slow, admiring shake of the head and a loving glance towards his mistress, ‘and grandmother... though she doesn’t look old enough, does she?’

  [Immediate responses from the men, such as, ‘Not at all!’, ‘Hardly more than a girl!’ and ‘She spoils them, she really does!’]

  ‘The Aesir think they have removed the danger my children posed by banishing them!’ ranted Angrboda, not content to let the matter lie. ‘But they are fools!’

  ‘Sorry,’ interjected Hodbrodd, ‘but, just to be absolutely clear on this… is it the Aesir who are fools… or is it your children?’

  ‘The Aesir!’ screamed Angrboda at Hodbrodd so loudly that the trees around her shook and Hodbrodd was knocked clean off his feet.

  ‘Right… ’ said Hodbrodd weakly, as he struggled to regain a standing position, ‘… that’s… pretty clear, now... thank you.’

  ‘My children will rise up, when it is their time and destroy the Aesir!’ continued the Great Hagia, with a dramatic, skyward wave of her arms. ‘And that time,’ she added more quietly, her voice suddenly sounding colder, calmer and even more dangerous, ‘is almost… here.’

  Loki now gave Angrboda an enigmatic look of fond respect but said nothing and there followed a rather awkward silence.

  ‘So,’ said Sharp Axe, taking his chance to speak and to buy himself some time, ‘Harald Fairhair and all the messengers who came to see us were, in fact, you in disguise?’

  Loki raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, in an apparent display of modesty.

  ‘Shape-shifting is an art very few have ever mastered... it’s a gift, really... basically something you are either born with or you aren’t,’ replied Loki haughtily, wildly overestimating Sharp Axe’s interest in the subject.

  ‘But the two guards you had with you when you were Harald Fairhair... ?’ continued Sharp Axe, eager to ascertain whether Loki and Angrboda might have more, as-yet unseen support lurking in Jarnvidr.

  ‘Ah... the guards!’ smiled Loki distantly, as if he had forgotten all about them. ‘Two wild boars who happened to cross my path at a most convenient time... rather nice addition to the whole illusion, don’t you think? Credit there must go to my beloved Angrboda and her magic!’’

  ‘So what exactly is it,’ pressed Sharp Axe, ‘that we have retrieved from Helheimr for you?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ exclaimed Loki, clapping his hands together and widening his eyes. ‘You know, I’d almost forgotten! Yes, yes… your little journey to Helheimr... how is Surtr, by the way? He was like a father to me... raised me in Muspelheimr, as if I had been his own!’

  Several small pieces of the very large jigsaw puzzle were now beginning to fit into place for Sharp Axe: why Surtr had been so helpful; why Hel had received Sharp Axe and his men in Eljudnir, permitted him to remove the list and allowed them all to leave Helheimr, unscathed; why Garmr had been so conveniently and securely tethered.

  ‘As to what you have retrieved... ’ continued Loki.

  ‘Yes?’ breathed Sharp Axe and several of the men, eagerly.

  ‘Regrettably... that must remain a mystery,’ said Loki, in a tone which implied he really would have liked to share the information, if only to demonstrate how clever he thought he had been.

  [Disappointed groans from Sharp Axe and the men.]

  ‘All right,’ said Sharp Axe evenly, ‘but answer this for me... ’

  Loki regarded him curiously, with his head set slightly to one side.

  ‘... why,’ went on Sharp Axe, ‘couldn’t you have remov
ed the list from Helheimr yourself, or asked Hel or Surtr to remove it for you?’

  [Muttered comments from the men, such as, ‘Good point!’, ‘I was going to ask the same question!’ and ‘Just plain lazy, probably!’]

  ‘Hmmm... ’ said Loki with an appreciative nod towards Sharp Axe, ‘... good question. Well... let’s just say we... knew too much... and leave it at that.’

  [Puzzled noises from the men, including Sharp Axe.]

  ‘So... ’ resumed Loki, with one raised eyebrow, ‘... which one of you imbeciles said he had the list, just now?’

  [Silence.]

  The smile faded from Loki’s face, as he looked at each of the men in turn.

  ‘Who... has it?’ insisted Loki, his cheeks starting to take on a little more colour.

  Angrboda, too, was showing signs of becoming rather agitated, her eyes darting here and there as she shifted her weight anxiously from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching her fists, whilst her breathing became more erratic.

  ‘Where is it?’ she gasped, almost breathlessly, furiously scanning the men standing before her.

  ‘What is it?’ pressed Sharp Axe, in a further attempt to buy some time, as he tried desperately to think of a way out of the current, potentially-fatal predicament.

  Angrboda snapped her head round to look directly at Sharp Axe. He looked into her eyes and saw they were starting to glow red: a dazzling, painfully-bright red. He felt a force hit him in the face and chest; it caused him to take several staggering paces backwards before he fell, heavily, to the hard, frozen ground of Jarnvidr.

  Panting noisily now, Angrboda lurched left and right with rising anger, as she looked increasingly urgently from face to face, trying to decide on her next target; meanwhile, her previous target rose slowly to his feet, shaking his head, groggily.

  ‘Now, look,’ said Fearless, suddenly, which served only as an invitation to Angrboda to whip around to face him. Fearing the same treatment as his brother had received, he threw his hands into the air defensively and appealed to Loki. ‘Question! Question!’ he pleaded.