This time, it was the wife’s turn to breathe a sigh of relief.
‘But,’ continued the husband, now adopting a cautionary tone, ‘that is not to say that Loki will give up.’
There followed an uneasy silence between the two, as each contemplated the inevitable consequences for everyone if Loki were ever successful in his attempts to get his hands on, or to learn the contents of, the list.
It was the wife who eventually broke the silence.
‘But, Odin… ’ she began, shaking her head in apparent disbelief, ‘… how did he get so close? How could he have penetrated the protective magic?’
‘Frygga,’ replied Odin, wearily, ‘it was an alliance of evil: Loki, Angrboda… Hel, of course… and Surtr.’
At the mention of the last name, Frygga could not prevent herself from releasing a quiet gasp.
‘They each had a part to play,’ continued the father-god. ‘For their parts, Angrboda and Hel will be punished and restrained… Loki too – if we can ever find him… but Surtr… well… I think we shall have to hope that his good nature prevents him from becoming involved again, in the future.’ Odin punctuated his last comment with an ironic snort, which contained no trace whatsoever of humour. He knew that, where Surtr was concerned, there was no “good nature” to be found and the gods of Asgard were largely powerless against him and it was because of this that the Fire Giant’s involvement in proceedings was, perhaps, Odin’s greatest concern.
*
‘Odin wants to what?’ asked Sharp Axe, incredulously. He and Thor had moved outside of the Wolf Wrestler family home, in order to ensure a little more privacy. The door to the house was ajar, however and Aldaron was standing directly behind it, straining his sensitive ears in an attempt to overhear the conversation outside, then passing on snippets of information to the rest of the people in the house.
‘Odin wants to thank Sharp Axe, personally,’ whispered Aldaron (who, unlike Sharp Axe, required no repetition from the God of Thunder). This particular snippet of information was met by several rather excited faces.
‘To thank you… personally,’ repeated Thor to the no-less incredulous Sharp Axe.
‘Well, I’m flattered... naturally,’ began Sharp Axe, ‘but it was Mithrén who sent Loki away with the wrong parchment… she deserves more credit than I do.’
Thor raised his eyebrows slightly and shrugged nonchalantly, which Sharp Axe took to mean either that Thor didn’t care or that, even if he did, it would make no difference to the outcome of the errand he was running for his father in Asgard.
‘Could she at least come with me?’ suggested Sharp Axe.
‘Not unless she can run as fast as these two pulling that thing,’ replied Thor, dismissively, whilst pointing backwards over his shoulder with a thumb to indicate Tanngnjóstr and Tanngrisnir, who were tethered to Thor’s chariot, some thirty or so paces behind him. ‘The only reason I’m taking you in the chariot is because Odin decreed it should be so… normally – ’
‘Yes, I know,’ interrupted Sharp Axe wearily, recalling one of many rather less-than-fond memories of his visit to the Iron Wood, ‘Gods only – I remember.’
‘There’ll barely be enough room for you,’ continued Thor, apparently feeling further justification was necessary.
‘I’m sure we could manage,’ protested Sharp Axe. ‘Mithrén deserves Odin’s thanks, if anyone does.’
Thor was showing signs of impatience again. Odin had given him an express command to bring Sharp Axe to him, without delay. There had already been delays. Odin had not actually said that no-one should accompany Sharp Axe. As Thor saw it, he had two options: either to abduct Sharp Axe forcibly, alone and against his will, or to try to squeeze the additional – and, now he thought about it, rather slender – body of Mithrén into the chariot built for one. Either would work for him; Odin, on the other hand, would probably be pleased by neither. After no more than a moment’s consideration, however, Thor decided that the latter option would probably be the lesser of the two available evils.
‘Go and get her,’ he said simply to Sharp Axe.
‘You’re going with them, to see Odin,’ announced Aldaron to Mithrén, not very quietly. ‘Sharp Axe is coming to get you.’
Mithrén had said her goodbyes and was through the door before Sharp Axe had even reached it. A long, uncomfortable ride to another world in an under-sized chariot, pulled by two miserable giant goats, in the company of a grumpy Thunder God sounded to her like paradise, compared with spending another minute under the same roof as her future parents-in-law and their wolf-slaying son.
*
Loki was being very careful with the parchment he had carried all the way from Jarnvidr. He was in Muspelheimr now – and Muspelheimr, with its fire, smoke and smouldering rocks was not the ideal place to examine a delicate, unique and irreplaceable scroll of parchment.
Surtr knelt beside Loki, with his elbow on one thigh, as the Trickster God, now no longer in the guise of a hooded crow, carefully and with trembling hands, unrolled the parchment. Loki did not dare allow Surtr too close to the precious item, for fear that the Fire Giant’s intense body heat might ignite it.
The two of them focused on the elaborate, ancient handwriting and began to read.
It was not long before each reader was wearing a similar, confused and concerned frown. They looked at Loki’s feet, to which the instructions on the parchment appeared, for some reason, to be referring. They looked at each other. They read on. Surtr eventually spoke in his deep, booming voice.
‘This isn’t right,’ he said simply though, by this point, quite unnecessarily.
Loki knew Surtr was correct but did not want to believe it was possible. How could it be the wrong parchment? He had read, in Sharp Axe’s mind, that the elf maiden had it in her possession. She had had the parchment; of that, he was convinced. He had taken it from her.
But… no, Loki told himself, I didn’t take it from her… she gave it to me.
Suddenly, all became clear to Loki. The elf maiden had deliberately given him the wrong scroll of parchment. He had not checked it at the time, nor had he considered it strange that the parchment was so light for one which should have contained so much information; he had been so convinced that he had finally found the key to initiating Ragnarøkkr and so keen to escape Jarnvidr and fly with the parchment to Surtr in Muspelheimr, that no other thought had entered his head.
This discovery, Loki finally had to concede, was very bad news. By now, it was almost certain that the real document had been returned to its author and a new enchantment placed upon it, to protect it from the likes of Loki; an enchantment probably ten times more cunning and more difficult to circumvent than the original one.
Loki hung his head and made to fling the parchment into one of Muspelheimr’s many fires, a few paces away from where he stood.
‘No – wait!’ said Surtr, suddenly.
Loki turned to face his adoptive father with a look of urgent and unexpected hope; a look, in fact, of near-desperation, which enquired whether Surtr, despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation, might somehow have thought of a way to use this seemingly-useless piece of paper to their advantage.
‘Yes?’ breathed Loki, urgently.
‘I could make use of that,’ replied Surtr, matter-of-factly.
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Loki, sighing loudly and now gazing at the Fire Giant with an expression consisting equally of relief and admiration. ‘How?’
Surtr shrugged, a little self-consciously. ‘By following the instructions and treating my ingrowing-toenail,’ he said.
*
‘How… much… further?’ yelled Mithrén, above the sound of thundering, stone wheels, as she clung on for dear life to Sharp Axe, in the painfully-cramped conditions of Thor’s chariot, which was bouncing its way precariously along the interminably-long, inconsiderately-rough road to Asgard. In front of her, Tanngnjóstr and Tanngrisnir were running for all they were worth, in a doomed attempt to evade
the cruel lashes of the leather reins across their hind-quarters. Beside her, the Thunder God was using those reins to lash the goats with almost reckless abandon and shouting words of encouragement to his goats (although, it has to be said, mainly in the form of threats to their lives).
‘Not far!’ called Thor, unhelpfully, above the din.
Mithrén looked up at Sharp Axe tightening, as she did so, her already vice-like grip around his torso.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered quietly, ‘that’s a relief!’ On reflection, Mithrén thought to herself, perhaps Sharp Axe’s family isn’t so bad after all. The thought of being back in the house witnessing, with unbearable embarrassment, Harald’s long-desired name being adopted by his own, slightly-less-favoured son, was suddenly preferable to being thrown around in this death-trap of a vehicle, whilst being deafened by thunder and, all the time, running the risk of being accidentally struck by some part of the crazed God of Thunder’s left elbow, as he attempted to make mincemeat of his long-suffering goats’ rear ends. She found herself thinking almost fondly of Harald and Fearless. I’m losing my mind, she thought, with a miserable shake of her head.
‘Look ahead!’ cried Thor suddenly and so loudly that, despite all the other noises and distractions currently in operation, the instruction made Sharp Axe and Mithrén jump.
In the distance, the entwined couple could make out a beautiful, wide, vividly-coloured rainbow.
‘Bifrost!’ Thor informed them at maximum noise level again, as he began to pull the chariot around in a wide arc, following the road which curved first one way, then the other, in order to join the rainbow lengthways-on. ‘The rainbow bridge!’ he continued, ‘Gateway to Asgard!’
‘Very nice,’ called Mithrén, with a nod and half a smile, though she did not feel much like handing out compliments.
As the chariot approached the rainbow bridge at breakneck speed, Thor suddenly decided a safety announcement might be in order.
‘Hold on tight!’ he bellowed. ‘This usually gets a bit bumpy!’
‘Hold on to what!?’ screamed Mithrén, looking around wildly, in vain and, in any case, too late to make the slightest difference to her own health and safety.
The goats and chariot met the rainbow bridge and immediately began to climb it steeply, though without any apparent sign of deceleration. Mithrén and Sharp Axe looked at each other, horrified.
‘Wh-wh-what happens,’ stuttered Mithrén, panic now well and truly settling in, ‘when we reach the top?’
Sharp Axe did not have time even to consider the question, let alone to begin to construct a response, before Mithrén’s curiosity was satisfied in a most comprehensive way.
Once the highest point of the rainbow’s arc had been crossed, the bridge fell away sharply, in a steep curve. The chariot, however, appeared to have no intention of following the bridge; the two parted company and the chariot, its occupants and the goats who were tethered to it, all flew majestically into Asgard, to the accompanying maniacal whoops of the Thunder God chariot-master.
Sadly, the word majestic could hardly be used to describe the landing. Mithrén and Sharp Axe, who remained in the chariot as it flew through the air only because they were so tightly jammed into it, watched in horror, both completely powerless, as the ground approached them alarmingly quickly. At the point of terrible impact, the chariot bounced high into the air once more. Sharp Axe and Mithrén immediately lost contact, both with the chariot and with each other and were thrown upwards, outwards and, ultimately, roughly to the ground; this, fortunately, comprised only soft, luscious grass at the side of the track where they had landed and had cushioned their fall rather effectively.
Thor who had, seemingly without difficulty, retained his place in his preferred mode of transport, rode on for some distance before even noticing that he was missing a couple of passengers. Eventually, he slowed, turned and drove the goats back along the track to where Sharp Axe and Mithrén were picking themselves up off the grass.
‘Always seems to be a rough landing,’ shouted Thor cheerfully, above the noise of the chariot’s wheels, which were being brought to a screeching halt, ‘whenever I return home to Asgard.’
‘Why,’ shouted Mithrén, now on her feet again, and rubbing the upper arm which had just helped to break her fall, ‘don’t you… just… slow… down?’
‘You know… ’ reflected the God of Thunder, pensively, ‘… that thought had never occurred to me!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Odin
Somewhere, in the vast, hostile, scorched wasteland of Muspelheimr, Loki stared up into the burning, blazing red eyes of Surtr. The Fire Giant returned the stare, unblinkingly, impassively.
Loki was experiencing a mixture of emotions: disappointment, bewilderment and, last but not least, fury. It was this last emotion that he was having the most difficulty in disguising. In truth, he was not actually trying all that hard: he clenched his fists and grunted rhythmically, with each breath he exhaled.
Surtr had been around almost since the creation of the Nine Worlds. In that time, he had seen just about everything it was possible to see and the time he had spent in Muspelheimr, one of the most inhospitable places in any of those Nine Worlds, had bestowed upon him at least one very useful virtue: that of patience. Surtr knew that Ragnarøkkr, the twilight of the gods, was inevitable; whether it began that day, the following week, or in a hundred years’ time, however, mattered little to him. He knew he had his part to play in Ragnarøkkr and he would be more than ready to play it, whenever that might be.
Loki was altogether different: patience was not high on Loki’s list of personal qualities and he did not like the idea one little bit that his painstakingly-constructed plan to instigate the Aesir’s downfall had gone horribly and, perhaps, irretrievably wrong.
‘So,’ growled Loki, as he summoned the willpower to summarise the situation, ‘other than to alleviate the symptoms of your ingrowing-toenail – unpleasant though I’m sure it is – this piece of parchment is utterly useless to us, as far as Ragnarøkkr is concerned.’
Surtr was silent for a moment, whilst he considered Loki’s statement. The longer Surtr hesitated, the more Loki found himself believing that, despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary, Surtr might, after all, be able to suggest a way of salvaging the situation.
‘Yes,’ said Surtr eventually and, with this single word, Loki’s hopes on the subject were finally dashed, once and for all and completely.
‘Oh, well… ’ sighed Loki, resigning himself, at last, to the unavoidable, ‘no harm done... really… ’ Then, he placed his face in his hands and dissolved into a pitiful and uncontrollable fit of sobbing.
*
Sharp Axe and Mithrén had decided to walk the rest of the way to Odin’s place of residence, behind Thor and his stone-wheeled chariot. This had not pleased Thor, who was already behind what he considered to be a pretty tight schedule: a schedule he had largely imposed on himself, to bring the human, Sharp Axe, to his father, Odin. Along the way, he had been roughed up by a human maiden – admittedly the largest, most fearsome one he had ever encountered – and he hoped, desperately, that word of this would never reach Asgard and, especially, Jøtunheimr, where he enjoyed a fearsome and hard-won reputation as a fighter. He had also acquired an elf maiden (surplus to requirements, as far as he was concerned, but her presence seemed to put the human at ease); he had had to double back, moments after arriving in Asgard, because he had shed his cargo and, to top it all, that same cargo was now dragging its four feet behind him and his chariot, at an excruciatingly-slow pace.
Odin had not given Thor licence to carry out the errand at his own leisure and would, in all probability, not be best pleased with the length of time it was taking his son to complete it. Worse than this, however, as Thor saw it, was the fact that every minute spent delivering the human and his elf maiden to his father was a minute not being spent drinking, pursuing attractive women, fighting Frost Giants or, ideally, doing all three a
t the same time.
‘I’ve... been here, before,’ announced Mithrén quietly, distantly and rather enigmatically, as she looked at her surroundings with interest. She delivered this piece of news rather matter-of-factly, with no trace of surprise in her voice.
‘Really?’ replied Sharp Axe, with more than a trace of surprise in his. ‘When?’
‘In… a dream,’ sighed Mithrén distantly, gazing over at a pond on which swam two swans, watched over by three maidens, all dressed in white.
‘Ah, yes… right... ’ said Sharp Axe vaguely, almost all of his attention now having been diverted towards the three maidens ‘… it’s… nice… here.’
‘No, I mean… well… it was a kind of a dream… ’ persisted Mithrén, not quite sure of the best way to make Sharp Axe understand the risk she had taken to save Aldaron and him, by visiting this place the first time around, ‘… but it was... real.’
‘Hmm… yes… ’ muttered Sharp Axe, returning the friendly wave of one of the maidens standing by the pond, ‘… I get those… dreams… sometimes… very realistic, some dreams are.’
‘No, no,’ groaned Mithrén, as she pulled Sharp Axe’s waving hand down to his side, ‘I mean I was here… but not in body, exactly… are you listening to me?’
‘Hmmm?’ went Sharp Axe, who was now waving to the maiden with his other, free hand.
‘Never mind,’ sighed Mithrén, as the memory of her last visit’s circumstances brought her close to tears.
‘Hmmm… ’ smiled Sharp Axe, as he and Mithrén passed the pond. Mithrén shot an exaggerated, ice-cold stare at the unnecessarily-hospitable, white-robed pond maiden and the latter stopped waving abruptly.
‘Odin’s residence… ’ shouted Thor over his shoulder suddenly, above the noise of the chariot’s trundling stone wheels; Sharp Axe and Mithrén shifted their attention to their guide, ‘… well… ’ continued Thor, ‘… one of them, at least.’
Up ahead of the three of them was the most incredible sight: a huge building, vast in its height and breadth which, now Sharp Axe and Mithrén looked at it, seemed to shine like the sun itself.
Asgard Page 3