The Iron Hammer

by J. M. Briggs

  There were more coming out of the darkness. Thor couldn’t see far into the village that followed the cliff. He stayed his hand whenever he caught a flash of frightened purple eyes and struck whenever the sickly dark skin appeared. Grabbing a Dark Elf around the neck and holding it in place, Thor’s eyes widened as he took in the creature’s appearance. The blackness that had been seeping into their skin was all but solid now with a shimmering black having changed their entire complexion.

  Pulling on his magic, Thor grimaced as the sparks swarmed around the creature and burned wildly against his own skin in reaction to his uncontrolled emotions. He shoved the creature away and spared it only one last glance before swinging Mjǫllnir at the next Dark Elf to rush him. Silver and green magic flared in the corner of his eye and he caught a glimpse of Odin slamming a glowing staff into another Dark Elf. With a grunt, he hit one more Dark Elf with Mjǫllnir and straightened up sharply to find only the empty burning village around him.

  “Thor!” Odin’s voice called from behind him. “Are you alright? Do you see any more?”

  Holding up Mjǫllnir, Thor turned around quickly and searched the area. There were no more Dark Elves to be seen, but his heart was still pounding. Then slowly he lowered his hammer and exhaled as the cold air settled on his sweaty skin.

  “No,” he called back. “I think that’s all of them.” He began to look around more closely at the houses that were still standing. “But be careful.”

  At his words, the Sídhe began to come creeping out of their hiding places. They looked around carefully and he watched them in silence as they gathered their children close to them. The last remains of the woven wood wall separating the village from the open air collapsed onto the rocks and released a hiss of steam as the flames were doused by the snow. Morgana’s light orbs remained in place but illuminated a sad scene. Several small houses built half of stone and half of wood were still smoldering. Members of the village were moving around them with dazed and sorrowful eyes as they sought out each other and picked through the remains of the houses. Other buildings were still intact and more Sídhe crowded around them.

  Turning to look at the others, Thor noted that even Morgana was staying silent as she looked around. Her face was devoid of any harsh satisfaction and instead, there was a pained look of familiarity on her features. He almost sighed in relief at the silent reassurance that she wasn’t going to say anything cruel, at least not today.

  “There may be more Dark Elves nearby,” Merlin announced as he withdrew to the opening in the rocks and began to look around. Morgana followed him out a moment later.

  Thor watched them go and was silent as Odin, Sif, and Baldr lingered out in the night air. Sif bent down to speak with some of the children in a low voice and after a long moment, Thor forced himself to start moving again. He pushed some more magic into Mjǫllnir and smiled when it began to glow softly, illuminating his way.

  The village was built tightly against the cliff side, huddling underneath the rocky ledges which kept it in the shade with one narrow road separating the inner and outer buildings. None of the residents were paying him any mind beyond a quick glance. With his bleached hair and pale skin, he couldn’t be mistaken for a Dark Elf, not even in the darkness.

  “We need to get the fires out,” a familiar voice ordered up ahead to an unseen person. “And post guards!”

  Speeding up, Thor followed the voice around another small house and sighed in relief. Frea was leaning heavily against the stone cliff face with an exhausted expression on her face. Silver blood marked a wound on her left arm and a long scrape on her right cheek. Another one of her people was in front of her and gave Frea a deep nod before rushing off. Frea groaned and stumbled to the side before half collapsing.

  “Frea,” Thor greeted carefully, He took in the female Sídhe seated on what remained of a burned out pile of wood. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied in a low voice. “Just a flesh wound.”

  Thor shifted uncertainty as he took her in. Without her hood and cloak, she looked so very small with her long and slight limbs. Her long pale hair was a tangled mess with ash and dirt streaked through it. Vacant violet eyes looked around the remains of the village and Thor frowned in sympathy for her and all her people.

  “I’m so sorry this happened,” Thor told her gently as he moved in front of her. Kneeling down in the dirt and ash, he took her hand and gave it what he hoped as a reassuring squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Frea.”

  “We don’t belong here,” Frea murmured. “Shouldn’t you be grateful?” The words were weak and lacked spite so Thor didn’t take them personally. “They did the job for you.”

  “I’ve never planned on harming any of you,” Thor promised her softly. “You can’t help what you were born as or that you were born here.”

  A soft pained laugh escaped Frea, but she also nodded at his words. For a moment they didn’t speak and Thor looked around as more of those who had fled began to return. They joined the others in starting the cleanup and gathering of supplies. Thor watched them, wondering if he should join in and help or if that would be going one step too far.

  “Where did they come from, Frea?” Thor finally asked. “The sun was still up so they couldn’t have-”

  “They came…” She hesitated for a moment and frowned. Instantly she became more alert and jumped to her feet.

  Frea was already disappearing into the shadows when Thor climbed to his own feet. Hurrying after her, he barely noticed the houses and Sídhe who backed away from them. He had to push more magic into Mjǫllnir to brighten its glow as the darkness swept in around him. Then he froze as up ahead a crack appeared in the cliff face. It wasn’t large, but small stones were still falling away from it.

  “They swept in,” Frea gasped in front of him. “They tunneled through the rock and attacked us at our back!” She suddenly screamed in rage, her voice echoing off the cliff. Behind them there was panicked shouted at Frea’s outburst and he heard others approaching.

  “Thor!” Morgana’s voice called.

  “I’m alright,” he assured her without turning around as he moved up next to Frea. “What is the point of all of this?” Thor asked as he gazed into the dark tunnel before them. “Why do all of this? What are they hoping to achieve?”

  “They took some of my people prisoner,” Frea informed him with sad eyes. “I saw some when the attack first started being bound… I started to fight, but there were so many.”

  “And dragged them into underground tunnels,” Morgana muttered darkly behind him. Her words sent a chill down his spine that made him frightened to even turn around.

  “Thor?” Merlin’s voice pressed with worry which finally made him turn to face them both.

  “But why?” Thor repeated urgently as he looked to Merlin. “What use do the captive have? More slaves or are they hoping to make them Dark Elves as well?”

  Frea made a sound of alarm and Morgana’s eyes widened dangerously. He could feel the mood shift from one of confusion and sorrow to near panic. Gently, he laid a hand on Frea’s arm to keep her from running into the tunnel.

  “Could they do that?” Frea demanded, looking at Merlin with frantic eyes.

  “Perhaps…” Merlin started uneasily before pausing and grimacing as the others looked to him. “Perhaps they are able to make a way back to Sídhean because they are still connected. While the tunnel may be gone if they did create a hole in Arto’s defense then until that hole is closed something may still be lingering.”

  “So they might still be being corrupted,” Thor remarked thoughtfully only to tense as all three turned to look at him. He stuttered for a moment before recovering his train of thought. “Maybe that’s the key here. That connection has to be broken before the Dark Elves can be stopped. They seem to be getting worse. They started out with only small parts of black on their skin, but it's been spreading.”

  “They might be seeking to corrupt my people,” Frea realized in horror. “If the
y’ve managed to rebuild some sort of connection then they might use my people to increase their army.”

  “A good observation.” Merlin straightened up and looking up out towards the sky in thought. “Then we need to look at breaking that connection. If the Dark Elves are gaining enough power to reconnect to Sídhean and Thor is right that it’s getting strong then we need to stop them quickly.”

  “Not just quickly,” Morgana said, nodding towards the tunnel. “We haven’t time to lose. It’s a solid theory, Merlin.”

  “We should go now!” Thor gestured to the tunnel with his hammer.

  “I understand your worry Thor,” Odin cut in as he and Sif came down the small path. “I have sent Baldr to rally more of my people and our family. If we are reentering their domain we should do so with force.”

  Thor glanced towards Frea, noting the torn expression on her face. Her violet eyes turned towards the tunnel and then moved among the injured around them, clearly weighing the multiple concerns.

  “We cannot afford to lose or withdraw once again,” she finally conceded. Thor tightened his grip on Mjǫllnir to hide his frustration. “We should wait for more forces,” Frea agreed.

  Odin nodded and Sif offered him a small reassuring smile before she shifted over to Frea. Thor backed away as the Old One began to gently tend to the wound on Frea’s arm. Merlin and Morgana moved closer to the tunnel each summoning magic in their hands. Silver sparks burst forth first and spun into the air. They settled like a wall made of fog over the small tunnel entrance. A moment later a layer of green was added, casting a soft light through the village as the pair of mages settled themselves on either side of the tunnel.

  Thor stayed close to Frea and pretended not to notice the slight tremor in her shoulders as she began to turn her attention to the wounded. The new opening in the rock loomed behind them ominously. It was still and silent for the moment, but Thor could feel a shudder in the air around them. The air carried a hint of something foul and he knew in his gut that a storm was building around them.

  22

  The Ahnenerbe

  Shivering slightly, Alex closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Around her, the noise of Paris was distracting with honking and chattering floating through the park. She could still feel the warm weight of Bran’s hands around hers. Yet despite her relative discomfort, Alex felt a little better, more than a little to be honest. It was like she’d been standing too close to a sudden drop and had suddenly been able to take a step back.

  “You sure you want to try again?” Aiden asked at her side. “You don’t have to Alex.”

  “Yes I do,” Alex said with a slight smile as she opened her eyes. Everyone was looking at her and she visibly relaxed. “Really guys this isn’t so bad. Gottfried wasn’t a bad person, not like…” Alex trailed off and shook her head. “Anyway, I’ll be fine.”

  “Gottfried may not have been a willing Nazi,” Nicki told her. “But he probably saw a lot of stuff that you won’t like Alex.”

  It was a quiet, but powerful reminder. Alex’s stomach turned as she thought back to some of the photos in her old history textbooks. “Fair point.” She caught Jenny giving Nicki a dark look. “But we need to find the Hammer. I’ll try to focus on it this time,” she promised. “Hopefully that will be everything we need.”

  Nicki didn’t look convinced, but Jenny offered her a supportive smile while Lance nodded. Alex returned her focus to Bran and he gave her a tiny nod of agreement. He breathed out and closed his eyes. Yellow magic flared around their joined hands and Alex focused on the slight tickle of it against her skin. Reaching out with own magic, she focused on Bran’s magic and watched for a moment as the soft yellow began to darken. Alex’s fingers twitched with the desire to touch the ground and she carefully detached one of her hands. Bran’s eyes opened in surprise, but he shifted his hand down to the ground as well.

  Gripping the grass, Alex closed her eyes. There was a burst of energy up her hand and arm, sending a shiver across her skin. She repeated the words: Iron Hammer over and over again. Straining her memory, Alex tried to remember if it had a name like the sword, but nothing came forth. Magic was trickling over her arms like water running upwards and her back straightened of its own accord. Alex shuddered slightly as the magic rolled over the back of her neck and breathed out slowly. A sense of dizziness washed over her. Alex’s body began to sway. Someone gripped her shoulder as her awareness slipped away.

  They rolled their shoulders as the door closed behind them with a soft thump, leaving them alone in a small conference room that had pale yellowing walls. A framed black and white photo of Hitler hung on the wall between a pair of Nazi flags in stands. As the wooden door opened they jumped to their feet. Two officers in dark charcoal uniforms of the SS strode in, their hats tucked protectively under their arms. The one in the lead was a Colonel with a Major two steps behind him. A pair of civilians or at least ununiformed Nazis entered after them.

  The Colonel was a tall man with neatly combed dark, almost coal black hair and pale blue eyes. Deep lines surrounded his eyes which were sharp as they swept the room and took them in. The Major was a shorter with brown hair and dark brown eyes that had a hardness to them. Something about him was a touch frightening.

  “Heil Hitler,” they greeted quickly, their back straight and thrusting their arm forward with the palm open. The gesture was forced and uncomfortable as always, but their neutral expression remained intact.

  The Colonel and Major returned their salute quickly though the Major's was more energetic than the Colonel’s. They waited for instructions and resisted the urge to fidget. The collar of their own SS uniform was stiff around their neck like a plaster, but then thankfully the Colonel sat at the table.

  “Be seated gentlemen,” the Colonel told them all imperviously. He gestured to the waiting empty seats.

  They glanced towards the ununiformed men distinctly, trying to understand who they were. The Major went to a small cabinet in the corner of the room and returned with several glasses and an old looking bottle. They fought to keep a neutral expression as alcohol was poured and passed around.

  “Thank you,” one of the other men said carefully. “My apologies, but I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “He is Major Berger and I am Colonel Voigt,” the Colonel informed the men in an even polite tone before gesturing towards them. “This is Captain Eckstein of the SS.” He took a sip of his drink with a slight smile. “Gentlemen you have been selected for an important task, one that will allow our glorious Reich to demonstrate our superiority and place in history to the world.”

  The men glanced towards them in curiosity and they tightened their grip on the glass nervously. One of them looked far more comfortable than the other, almost excited in contrast to the worry churning in their own gut. He was tall with blond hair they suspected might not be completely natural and beginning to bald with sharp brown eyes. The second man was shorter with gray hair framing a large bald spot. His frame was a bit pudgy and he had a pleasant looking face with obvious nervousness written on his features.

  “Good to see you, Colonel Voigt,” the first man said. “Please tell us why we’re here. I’ve heard some rumors about a new expedition.”

  “Indeed Professor Weber,” the Colonel said. “Captain Eckstein is an expert in history and languages,” Colonel Voigt explained. “He’s been busy teaching our men in Paris French, but this is a better use of his talents. You, Professor Dietrich, are an expert in mythology,” he added gesturing towards the man who’d asked their names. “And Professor Weber is one of Ahnenerbe’s resident archeologists.”

  “Ahnenerbe?” Professor Dietrich repeated incredulously as he looked around the bare room. “I didn’t realize that this was their office.”

  “It isn’t,” Major Berger corrected with an oily smirk. “This is an SS office.”

  “This mission will be something of a secret I’m afraid,” Colonel Voigt informed those gathered. “It is a mission of perso
nal importance to Himmler.”

  “What area is the focus this time?” Weber asked eagerly. “Africa? Asia?”

  “No, you’ll be focusing in Europe,” Voigt said as he looked down at his drink. “In Norway to be precise.”

  “Norway?” Dietrich repeated. He adjusted his glasses and frowned. Weber looked confused and a bit disappointed.

  “Himmler is convinced that Thor’s Hammer is in Norway,” Voigt answered the unspoken question almost dismissively. “So you’ll be going and tracking it down.”

  “Thor’s Hammer?” they repeated doubtfully as their eyes jumped between the officers. “You can’t be-” They cut themselves off and coughed. “Surely it is just a story. Thor is a myth after all.”