The Abomination of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  “This way,” said Sihr as he led the group along a thin unused path which led to the rubble surrounding the temple of Freya. At the far end was the statue of the goddess.

  Einar gazed about the ruins in wonderment, said: “I used to play out here with my friends. We named her King’s Widow as she sat alone. The temple floor was the perfect place for us to practice our sword skills. I had no idea she was a statue of Freya.”

  “I do not see the Master of the Hunt,” whispered Farling.

  “I do not hear his hounds,” said Grum.

  “They will be here,” said Sihr. “They will be attracted to the necklace like a cat to a mouse.”

  “If they are the cats, that makes me the mouse,” said Grum.

  “Squeak, squeak,” said Arastead.

  The group climbed over the rubble and walked across the floor of the temple. Before them was the statue of Freya. The statue was larger than a person. Farling remembered how they had thought the necklace was a belt and could now see that on a statue that size, it would easily be a necklace.

  “So, where’s the Master of the Hunt?” said Farling looking around. Then his eyes went wide. Everyone followed his stunned gaze.

  Behind the group stood the Master of the Hunt and his two massive hounds. No one had heard a sound.

  The Master of the Hunt’s voice was deep and resonated. “You are early,” he said.

  “We have the Necklace of Freya,” said Einar.

  “I know,” said the Master of the Hunt. “It belongs to Freya. Place it about her neck.”

  Arastead handed his torch to Grum. “I will need that back,” he said.

  “I have no plans to keep your torch,” said Grum.

  Arastead sighed at Grum’s use of humor at a time like this. Then Arastead gathered his courage, climbed on to the lap of the statue. From there, he stood and slide the necklace over the head of the statue. He arranged it around her neck like he had seen in the stained-glass window at the Paupers Temple, then jumped to the ground.

  “Well?” said Farling to the Master of the Hunt. “We have fulfilled what you demanded of us. This started with the black ship and ends with the return of the necklace.”

  As an answer, the Master of the Hunt removed his helmet and held it on his hip. No one had ever gazed on the face of the Master of the Hunt before. Some had guessed that it was a skull, an animated skeleton. Others thought it was the father of the Norse gods, Odin. But now they saw that his hair was flaming red, cut square across his forehead and shoulders. His hair was held in place by a band of solid gold and he was clean shaven. Even in the torchlight, everyone could see that he had the deepest green eyes. He stood there silently, his eyes not flinching from the statue.

  “I do not think he heard you,” said Grum.

  “I heard, Grum of Trondheim,” said the Master of the Hunt.

  Grum mumbled: “Was not too sure how well he could hear in that helmet.”

  “I think he hears just fine,” whispered Arastead.

  Einar raised his voice, said: “Master of the Hunt, we would ask a favor from you.”

  “No mortal may ask a boon of me. Only the gods may ask.”

  Grum whispered to his friends: “I think we better get some horses, because otherwise it is going to be a long run to catch that cart.”

  “Wait,” said Margret, “the jewels in the necklace begin to glow.”

  “I do not see it,” said Airthear.

  Nas said: “With the circlet, Princess Margret sees things we do not.”

  Then suddenly everyone could see the necklace glowing. The necklace seemed to drink the moonlight that filtered through the trees and the necklace glowed brighter and brighter. The light from the necklace emanated and pulsed out radiance through the statue all the way down to the statue’s fingers and toes. The light became so bright everyone shielded their eyes as if the statue was ablaze from the sun. The, with a sudden burst of light, the glow dissipated and disappeared back into the necklace.

  “It is good to see you again, my love,” said the Master of the Hunt.

  And to the utter shock of everyone, the statue said: “How I have missed your voice, Magnus.”

  “Magnus,” whispered Grum, “his name is Magnus?” Arastead elbowed him hard in the ribs. “You are wrecking the moment,” he said.

  Freya rose and stepped down from the dais. Her hair was the color of golden straw and flowed over her shoulders down her back. Her fine dress was plain and elegant and covered her arms and legs.

  Everyone went to one knee, even Magnus. She walked along the empty aisle formed between the two rows of people. She gently touched everyone on the head whispering their names. As their heads were touched, everyone bowed lower in greater respect.

  In front of Magnus, she extended her hand in front of his face. He held it gently with one hand and lightly kissed it.

  “Rise,” she said. Freya and Magnus held hands for a moment longer then let go.

  “It was foretold that when my necklace was returned, there will be great danger in the land,” she said. “Speak, King Cormac, what need have you?”

  “King Frederick is in danger. My Lady, we would ask that the Master of the Hunt and his hounds rescue King Frederick and return him so that my daughter, Princess Margret, may heal him.”

  Freya nodded. “She wears my old circlet well,” she said with a smile.

  Margret curtsied graciously. “You honor me, Mother.”

  “The Master of the Hunt will rescue King Frederick, but he will not rescue him alone.”

  “My Lady?” said King Cormac.

  “It will not do for King Frederick to wake and gaze upon the Master of the Hunt and his hounds. It would not serve well at all. It would be best if he opened his eyes and saw people he knew. You will accompany the Master of the Hunt.”

  “I would be honored to accompany the Master of the Hunt, My Lady.”

  Freya gently shook her head. “Not just you, King Cormac. The Master of the Hunt will bring all of you to rescue King Frederick.”

  Magnus said: “You will join the Hunt. To join my train and follow in my wake, you must merely say, ‘I join the Hunt.’”

  Cormac was first to utter the words, then everyone followed.

  “My hounds need a scent to follow.”

  “The king handed me this sword,” said Cormac. “He held the scabbard.”

  The hounds sniffed deeply of the scabbard, then tossed their heads back and howled. The sound was deafening.

  In a soft voice, Grum said: “I think they have the scent.”

  “Really, how could you tell?” whispered Farling.

  Arastead grinned, said: “Another adventure for Bringon’s blacksmith apprentices.”

  “Too soon for this smithy,” said Grum. “We need to space them out better as I need some rest.”

  ***

  The Master of the Hunt blew his ornate horn. A sonorous sound issued that seemed to carry on forever. The hounds leapt forth, and as they did, they pulled everyone along behind them. The faster the hounds ran, the faster everyone else did as well, as if all were pulled by an invisible string.

  The ground blurred beneath Farling’s feet. He felt weightless and light and ran without effort barely breathing hard. Trees streaked by, the Paupers Cemetery disappeared in a few seconds, and within moments he was at the road running north along with everyone else in the Hunt.

  On the road, the hounds led the way as they had caught the scent. The Master of the Hunt brought up the rearguard blowing his horn from time to time, the sound carrying for leagues.

  At the sound of the horn, farmers slammed doors shut. Candles were extinguished with calloused fingers, water poured hurriedly on fires. Children were held tight by their mothers as they gently rocked their children whispering that it would pass. In panic, animals in the barns loudly brayed and mooed kicking at stall doors trying to escape and run away. Birds shivered in their nests and squirrels hid deep in their tree homes.

  Ahead, Farling could s
ee a cart being pulled at reckless speed by two large horses. The two drivers whipped the horses, urging them for greater speed. But as the Hunt gained, the cart turned a corner too quickly, one of the wheels caught a rut, and the cart flipped causing the drivers to land on the ground and the tapestries and rugs to fall out of the cart.

  Looking behind them, the drivers saw the Hunt approach, and ran into the forest, screaming in terror. The horses continued running dragging the broken and empty cart.

  The Hunt stopped at the strewn rugs, the hounds sniffing at all the rugs until they found the one they were looking for.

  Einar ran to the rug, cried: “King Frederick must be inside that one! “Quickly!”

  The Aarlund brothers rolled the rug open as quickly and gently as they could. Once Frederick emerged from the rug, the hounds looked happy at their discovery.

  Frederick lay on his back staring up at the night-time stars.

  “He appears to be in altered states,” said Einar. “I do not think he realizes what is going on. He may have been force fed a paste of visionflower and wine.”

  Nas said: “Princess Margret, please use your healing powers and see if you can bring King Frederick back to normal.”

  Margret knelt beside Fredrick and touched his temples with her fingertips. She closed her eyes. Within a few moments, Frederick’s eyes focused and recognition could be seen on his face.

  “King Frederick, it is I, Princess Margret of Aarlund. I am here with my father, King Cormac, and others. Are you well enough to stand?”

  “Princess Margret,” said Frederick slowly as if talking was new to him. “I remember you. My wife gave you a circlet. I see you wear it. I have had the strangest dreams.” He looked around, realizing he was not in familiar surroundings. “Where am I? What is going on?” His voice sounded stronger with every word. He stood and looked around. No trees were close to the road so bright moonlight streamed down illuminating the scene.

  Cormac cleared his throat to get Frederick’s attention. “King Frederick, it is I, King Cormac. You were kidnapped several days ago and held against your will. We rescued you as you were being taken by cart out of Trondheim towards Baron Sakarias’s stronghold, where we are certain he meant to cause you great harm.”

  “Baron Sakarias?” said Frederick looking confused. “But why?”

  “We believe he and other barons meant to sabotage the peace between Dennland and Aarlund and start a war.”

  “Where is my wife, Queen Astrid? Is she safe? Is she well?”

  “She is fine, no harm has befallen her.”

  “I must return to Trondheim.”

  “We will return you now. Although, I was hoping that we would have returned you using the cart that brought you. But the horses have bolted and are long since gone.”

  “I can walk,” said Frederick. He looked around at everyone in the group and his eyes went wide as they settled on the Master of the Hunt. “I do not believe I have met everyone.”

  Cormac introduced everyone, including the Master of the Hunt.

  “This night becomes stranger and stranger,” said Frederick. “I must admit, even during my brief periods of lucidity, I did not imagine that the people who would rescue me would be such an unrelated group. I thank thee, and will thank thee all again once I am safely in my castle.”

  The Master of the Hunt spoke. “I must return King Frederick to Freya.”

  “Agreed,” said Cormac. “Afterwards, we will then walk King Frederick back into Trondheim by the secret tunnel. That way, no one will think it strange that their king is walking around outside.”

  Magnus shook his head, said: “We have no time to walk. We must make haste.”

  “King Frederick, are you well enough to run?” asked Cormac.

  “I believe your daughter has healed me of my ills. I can run.”

  “Then you must ask to join the Hunt,” said the Master of the Hunt. “You must say ‘I join the hunt.’”

  And Frederick said: “So be it. I join the hunt.”

  ***

  From his belt, Magnus pulled his horn and blew. The sound carried, reverberated, and returned as faint echoes.

  “To Freya!” he cried to his hounds. The hounds threw their heads back and howled deeply at the night sky. Then they ran, returning the same way they had come. And as the hounds ran, everyone was irresistibly pulled behind them. And as before, the Master of the Hunt followed at the rear blowing his horn.

  Frederick kept pace with the Hunt. And within what felt like moments, the group had returned to Freya. She stood in the middle of the ruins of her old temple.

  “Welcome, King Frederick,” said Freya with a warm smile. Frederick bent a knee in front of the goddess as did everyone else. “Magnus, you may release everyone from the Hunt.”

  “The Hunt has ended,” said Magnus, and Farling felt as if something had been lifted.

  Freya raised her arms wide, said: “Rise, everyone. Time is short. Evil is afoot in the Norse realms. A dark host gathers at the edges, waiting to attack. Already some of Odin’s gifts are reappearing. My circlet that Princess Margret wears, the Sword of Almuric at King Cormac’s hip, these gifts you will need to fight, but you will still need more. Sihr, come forward.”

  Sihr knelt before Freya who said: “Sihr, you are already a great healer. With this gift, you will be able to heal wounds you were not able to before.” She handed Sihr her staff. He held it and admired the carvings and runes.

  “Thank you, My Lady,” said Sihr in a voice full of emotion. “I will make sure I use the staff for good.”

  “I know you will,” said Freya. “Now go, it is time you returned Frederick to his wife.”

  Everyone bowed and followed Sihr back to the hidden passageway door. He opened it, pulled a lit torch from the wall, lit the other torches, and walked back to the basement of the Paupers Temple.

  “This is where I say my goodbyes,” said Sihr. Everyone shook hands with him, as they headed out into the night.

  Einar looked around, careful no one was watching them too intently, said: “We must accompany King Frederick back to the castle and ensure his safety. This early in the morning, the streets are quiet as the bakers have not yet risen from the Hive, but they will soon. And it would be best if no one, not even the bakers, saw King Frederick walking about. Bakers are known to be a gossipy bunch.”

  And the walk back to Trondheim castle was uneventful. And at the castle’s door, the guards were surprised to see King Frederick outside the castle, but asked no questions.

  Frederick said to the group: “Everyone, this is where I must say goodnight.”

  To Cormac, he extended a hand.

  “In friendship, I owe you King Cormac the most. You did not have to risk your life to save mine.”

  Cormac just smiled, said: “In truth, my life and yours, our countries, are already bound. If someone was to cut you, I would bleed. If I was struck, you would bruise. We are brothers, you and me. I could not risk anything happening to my family.”

  “I am in your debt.”

  And Cormac said with a wink: “Then I hope one day you will repay me.”

  Frederick’s smile was wide and genuine. “With pleasure,” he said, then addressed the rest of the group. “This has been a most unusual King’s Tournament. I am grateful to you all for returning me to my castle. There is still one more thing I must do, so again, a goodnight to you all, and I hope to see you at the tournament.”

  Cormac watched Frederick safely enter the castle, said: “I think it might be best to stay in our pavilion this night.”

  “Agreed,” said Margret. “I will need to fetch my handmaid at some point.”

  “I am sure she is fine,” said Einar. “She is safe with my friends. I will return her in the morning.”

  Arastead said: “Tomorrow is the sword tournament.”

  “I am betting on the Aarlunder again,” said Grum. “Which brother is competing?”

  “I am,” said Eithlenn.

  “Which one
are you again?” asked Grum. “No seriously, you Aarlund brothers all look the same to me.”

  But no one listened as they were all laughing too hard.

  ***

  “I am awake, Rickters,” said Sihr. “You may stop shaking me.”

  “Your pardon, Master Sihr,” said Rickters, “but you have an early morning guest.”

  Sihr glared bleary-eyed at the light that filtered through his window. It was still early, and he felt as if he had just fallen asleep. He yawned deeply.

  “Rickters, could you please do me a wonderful favor and make me a really strong mug of tea?”

  “Of course.” Rickters ambled off to the kitchen.

  “Oh, and some porridge?” Sihr could see Rickters nod his head in reply.

  Sihr dressed, washed his face and hands, and went to greet his guest.

  Standing inside the doorway was the Aarlund druid, Nas. His tattoos seemed to be slightly faded this early in the morning as if they too were waking up.

  “Welcome to the Paupers Temple, Druid Nas. How may I be of service?”

  “Good morning, Sihr. I trust I am not too early?”

  “Usually this is not too early, but what with recent events, the morning feels as if it comes earlier and earlier. Or perhaps I simply go to bed later and later, one or the other. Are you hungry, Druid Nas? I am about to break my fast with strong tea and porridge.”

  “If it does not inconvenience you or your larder, I would be grateful for the repast. And please, you may refer to my simply as Nas.”

  “As you will, Nas. I have always felt discussions, especially early ones, are much better over tea.”

  “I think you may have some Aarlunder blood in you. We are formidable tea drinkers up north. Sometimes I think I should live in Lanksha so that I could drink the tea there, as I always worry that traveling bruises the tea leaves.”

  “And here I thought pouring hot water on the tea leaves was not nice. I never thought tea leaves could bruise.”

  They found some stools in the kitchen. Sihr introduced Rickters, who busied himself with boiling the water for the tea and minding the porridge.