Agony of mankind, disease of mankind, suffering of mankind,
Do not enter the house I enter, do not come near the house I come near, do not approach the house, the house I approach,
Be conjured and stay conjured by Anu and Antu, Enlil and Ninlil, Ea and Damkina, heaven and earth!
We sped through the dark forest as fast as our legs could carry us and as quickly as low-lying branches and similar obstacles allowed. I did notice that the wind and noise decreased the farther we moved away, though based on the ruckus, the two powerful demons were not finished with their magical battle.
Agony of mankind? Disease? Suffering? And people prayed to the ugliest demon in Mesopotamian mythology for succor? These thoughts accompanied me as we ran.
Now that I knew they were real, my perspective and attitude changed. Reading and learning about them in the classroom, the library, or in the quiet of your room were warp speeds away from encountering them in the demonic or ectoplasmic flesh.
I admit my reaction was a contradiction given what we had seen and encountered so far. The name Pazuzu was announced by that entity when they claimed the subdivision area. But hearing about something and seeing it were two entirely different experiences. How was I to know they were not mythical figures of adoration by their worshippers? That they would actually come down to our world? Though I could also have been in unconscious denial of their existence. Considering what I knew of the numerous demons who followed them—many also powerful in their own right—my mind probably shelved the acceptance of the fact of their existence.
We kept on fleeing even when we couldn’t hear the fight and its accompanying disturbances anymore. Jen wanted to stop as soon as the wind died down, but I asked her to go on. When she asked why, I weakly answered demons, big, bad, powerful demons and pointed back to the area we’d come from.
A confusing and visually sickening mix of purple and green had covered the area, clearly now seen as a large haze above the treetops. Flashes of blue and white were visible inside the thick fog. She didn’t say anything upon seeing the bizarre display, but instead continued on as I requested.
I looked at the sky above and saw dawn was nearly upon us. Unfortunately, right at that moment, Jen stumbled on something and I bumped into her at full speed. We tumbled to the ground and rolled forward, arms and legs akimbo, and then continued the painful and dizzy journey down a slope.
Our downward progress was suddenly arrested when we bumped into a fleshy obstacle rolled over by our momentum. Everything hurt. I couldn’t open my eyes; the world kept spinning when I tried it. Jen’s moans of hurt mixed with colorful language sounded in the background. I didn’t listen to the details of her cursing. I knew my name would be there somehow.
After several seconds, I slowly opened my eyes. As my vision focused, I began to see a long silvery object in front of me. When I could see clearly, the thing was actually a long sword pointed at my throat.
10
The House of Gimli
Staring at the business end of a very sharp sword close to nicking the skin of my throat was not a good way of regaining a view of my surroundings, especially when the person gripping it was armored, with a helm. Meanwhile, the other arm held a round shield to my lower body, pinning it to the ground. Any unwanted movement on my part and the blade would slice through my thorax.
So, what should I say in a moment like that?
“Hello,” I said, in the calmest voice I could manage. “I surrender.”
What else could I say? I couldn’t even turn my head to look at Jen. Aside from the possibility of being wrongly interpreted, the tip of the sword was almost touching my throat. Any movement ran the risk of doing myself a possibly lethal injury. The mail-clad warrior called out in a strange language, but never took his fierce blue eyes off me. Another came over, knelt beside me, and asked me what I guessed were questions. I did notice his right hand held a large and wicked double-headed axe, which looked like it had seen frequent use.
With my obvious ignorance of their speech, the kneeling one shook his head in resignation, stood up, and left. After a few minutes, he came back with a copper necklace with a stone pendant. I could see tiny characters on it. I didn’t know if the others noticed it, but for me, the object had a faint glow.
He placed it around my neck though the sword never strayed far. They allowed me to sit up and my original captor positioned himself at my back. The other one stayed in front, his weapon still ready to take my head off.
“You understand me now?” came the gruff query. I did follow what he was saying. It was an uncanny experience. I knew he spoke in his original speech but I heard it in English. I quickly nodded.
“Good! Now we’ll finally get some answers,” he exclaimed. “First, where are we?”
That was a strange question, if I could say so. Well, it was evident that the strangers were not of the current time period. The only issue was from when?
There were six of them, all wearing the same basic armor kit. Weapons varied from swords to spears, though everyone had a secondary arm in addition to daggers. Three also had bows strapped to their backs. Surprisingly, though the weapons varied, they all wore the same kind of cloak in a deep blue, lined with fur.
I stole a glance at Jen. She was sitting up, her arms bound behind her back. Another of the warriors was standing at the rear, armed with a spear. I didn't notice any broken bones, but I determined she was also hurting badly. Like me. My bruises had bruises. She glanced at me and I took the opportunity to give her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Thankfully, the warrior in front didn't take offense at my delayed answer and the chance I risked to look at Jen reassured him apparently. His tense face visibly relaxed.
“Somewhere in Montana, the United States,” I answered automatically when my attention went back to him. A stupid answer, now that I thought of it. But I didn't know what to say. The language was unfamiliar, and their gear could fit any medieval stereotype.
“I guess that's what this land is called, but what do you call this world, this material plane?” he continued.
“Earth?”
He shook his head and walked over to me. His hands took the pendant and showed it to me. Now that the talisman was close enough for my scrutiny, I saw that the small characters were runic.
“Do they look familiar?” he asked.
“They do. You're on Midgard. We call it Earth.” I wouldn't have graduated from my course if I didn't recognize the jagged lines of Nordic runes.
He let go of the pendant and told the others. Various exclamations arose. I took the opportunity to look over their campsite. Off to the side, neatly concealed by a clump of trees was a small fire on which a deer was roasted. Beside it were several bags grouped together.
Their travel packs, I concluded. Some spears were arranged in a vertical tepee-like position. One warrior was tending to the food.
As I took in the scene, to my shock, numerous small piles of ash around the area came to my attention as well as our makeshift spears. The improvised weapons were broken and now joined the pile of wood beside the fire. It was a miracle we didn't stab ourselves tumbling down the slope.
Then I noticed the rest of the company stood arranged in a guard formation around the campsite. No wonder nobody else came close to us. They were on alert mode. Suddenly, a seventh man approached from the forest to my back.
“It's clear, Haakon. Nobody there. These two were alone,” said the new arrival in a decidedly feminine voice. They had sent a scout to check the area we’d we come from. I really couldn't blame them. The familiar residue of the Mesopotamian beasts revealed these men had already their taste of what this world had become.
“Good,” answered Haakon. The warrior turned to me. “We'll loosen your bonds in a while, but do not try to leave. We will kill you if such an attempt is made. I need answers first. Your names?”
I gave out our names—Eirikr and Jen. Again, no sense giving out our real names. I doubted if Haakon was the actual name
of our interrogator. Individuals from such cultures usually had two names, a declared one and a true, hidden name.
“You know of Midgard, so you must also be aware of the other worlds. But how can we be on Midgard when Bifrost had long been broken? And your attire and speech are strange,” he continued.
“Those on Midgard had moved forward. The world you remember is in our past. As to your presence here, I don't know why. I have my suspicions but they are not proven. Merely conjectures,” I said.
“Enlighten me. There could be no stranger thing than for our kind to be suddenly standing on Midgard.”
“An experiment. A test gone wrong which opened rifts between other worlds and Midgard. You're not the first to arrive. Inhabitants of a dark underworld were the initial visitors. The force released by the test, or spell as you would call it, is drawing dimensions into this world, tearing random openings between planes in the process. Though those who came before you are building powerful structures to enlarge the openings.”
“That would explain why my magical spells trying to determine where Asgard is located won't work. I needed a clear opening between this world and our home,” he reflected. “And some creatures attacked us earlier. They turned to ash when killed. I doubted then if they were from Helheim. Never heard of a creature from that dark realm which turns to ash when dead.”
“You were able to kill them? With your weapons?” I was astounded. It was the first time I had heard of armaments able to dispatch the Mesopotamian beasts.
Haakon stared at me with disbelief. “Of course, we used our blades. What did you expect? Bare hands?”
I heard a chuckle from the one guarding Jen.
“Those of this world have tried fighting back. But iron, steel, and other metals rust to nothingness against those beasts. Even huge machines of war don't stand a chance. Well, there's fire, but one had to risk a lot trying to burn them,” I explained. Haakon looked at his battleaxe.
“There's nothing special about our weapons. They're ordinary Asgardian arms, though some are from Vanaheimr,” he replied, looking at me. His answer gave me an idea.
“Let me guess. Forged by magical implements of your smiths and imbued with some degree of magic,” I ventured.
“What else would we use? Magic is part of our daily life.”
“Weapons of Midgard are not magical,” I clarified.
“No wonder your warriors failed. It takes magic to fight magic. It's a fundamental rule wherever you go,” Haakon emphasized, his tone marked with some amazement.
“I guess Midgard was absent the day that lesson was given,” I answered.
***
Haakon and I sat by the fire. We had gained some degree of confidence with them, now that they knew we were of Midgard. You could say mortals, according to their definition of a being from Earth. Our bonds had been removed and Jen sat beside me.
We had shared breakfast with them, or as they called it, the davre. Being invited to partake of a meal, the communal salt-and-bread meal, was a significant matter not only in Norse culture, but also in many others. It meant those who invited guests to the meal couldn't raise arms against you, unless one did something idiotic.
I gathered their company was part of a caravan coming back from Vanaheimr when suddenly they had found themselves here. The seven formed part of the advance guard and were understandably upset. They thought it was a magical ambush by creatures from Helheim, the land of the dishonorable dead.
It was a suspicion bolstered by the attack by the pack of Mesopotamian dog-beasts, though as he mentioned, the transformation of the dead bodies to ash had mystified them. The party had five men and two women. Four were melee warriors, two rangers, and one, Haakon himself, a battle mage. All experienced individuals.
“So, you're einherji?” I asked, using the plural form of einherjar, Asgard's famed warriors preparing and gathered for Ragnarok, the Nordic version of the end of days.
“Oh, no. Why does everybody think only of those brilliant exponents of brute strength and violence when Asgard is mentioned? We're from the House of Gimli, the home of the righteous dead. We're more brains than brawns, I am afraid, contrary to your expectations. But we could raise havoc on the battlefield better than those brutes. It just happened we didn’t die fighting,” he sarcastically responded.
The House of Gimli. I had read about it during a course on Norse myths, though two predominant interpretations of its existence and mention in the Nordic Eddas, or epics, existed. One held it as a separate hall in Asgard for the righteous dead, while the other believed it referred to where the survivors of Ragnarok would stay. It looked like the former school of thought was the winner.
“You know, we have long dreamed of visiting Midgard again, but not like this, definitely not in the middle of a confused state of war between powerful groups. And you say more planes of reality could be drawn to this battleground of a world? It's worse than Ragnarok,” Haakon said grimly as he slightly shook his head. “Though these things,” he pointed to the ash piles, “didn't seem formidable.”
“Oh, there are bigger and more dangerous creatures out there. I've seen them. Monstrously huge. But from what I observed, they come from different factions, each waging war upon the others. But I think they're claiming and marking territory. I hope they're not getting stronger the more area they grab,” I cautioned. It wouldn’t do for this group to underestimate the enemy. We were a part of them now. Then I gave him an account of the bestiary we had seen so far.
He remained quiet for a while and then chuckled.
“Those hot-headed einherji would feel right at home. It sounds like our reality, worlds fighting each other, though at least the war between the Aesir and the Vanir has been long over and only skirmishes exist.”
“We did see flame creatures a while back, locked in a major battle with the dark creatures you have encountered. I believe it was over control of a ziggurat, or a temple, which creates stable rifts.”
“They sound like creatures from Muspellheimr. If it's a big battle, they must be here in force. I wonder how that happened?” the warrior mused.
“If I remember correctly, Muspellheimr is the most southerly of the nine worlds. It must have been the first to be significantly affected,” I theorized. “But the rest will eventually be drawn here. In the meantime, random rips and openings will bring creatures and inhabitants from the other worlds to Midgard.”
“Stable openings? That's possible?” he instantly inquired. The man's curiosity about things magical was evident.
“It's what I suspected. The creatures from Muspellheimr were trying to wrest control of one ziggurat. We didn't stay to see who won.”
Haakon sighed heavily. “I am but a battle mage. Dire portents and matters of such import are beyond my ken. But I wish I could tell the All-Father everything you have told me.”
“Here's more bad news. In the end, it wouldn't matter anyway. It might take millennia, but unless the opening on Midgard is closed, the affected dimensions will eventually be drawn through that enormous planar gate. I guess its size is growing, the more dimensional material is forced through it. I doubt if anybody has an idea where the opening leads. It did take time for the Nordic plane to be affected. I guess the farther away from Earth or Midgard a plane of reality is, the less chance of it being affected,” I volunteered that little bit of helpful information. Misery does love company.
11
The Coming Storm
“Rest, Eirikr. I have to confer with my companions,” advised Haakon. “What you have told me are weighty concerns indeed.”
“Thanks, Haakon,” I replied and moved to Jen.
“What was that all about?” she whispered.
“Tried to frighten the shit out of the new arrivals. Just joking. I told them what we have seen and encountered so far. It should have shaken up a person, but Haakon merely took it in stride. Concerned, yes, but not overly so. They all seemed so calm and collected. Stoic, in a sense. I got the feeling it wouldn’t mat
ter if goblin or a dragon were facing them, they’d just draw their weapons and charge into battle.”
“I wonder what they’ll decide,” said Jen. “Far from home and in a known but now dangerous world. Can they die?”
“Now that’s the question. Normally, I’d say no. Lore says they turn up alive at the end of the day. At least that’s how the einherji do it. I assume they’re also bound by the same rules. But on an Earth permeated with strange magic? There’s an increased likelihood of any death becoming permanent,” I replied. The question had indeed risen in my mind.
According to Norse myth, einherji on Asgard would fight to the death in practice matches, only to be revived at the end of the day, all in preparation for the coming of Ragnarok. But that was in Asgard where the magic of the Nordic pantheon was paramount. Nowhere was it written that the same rule applied if and when they fought and died on another plane or reality.
Gates Page 8