The Abomination of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  He had arrived in Pitcairn with his tail between his legs. A quick vote by the other thieves guild masters and he was demoted. Now a common thief, his share of any income was a fraction of what it had been when he was master. Still, he had his life and he meant for it to be a long one.

  Soon, Doshmin approached Alchemist’s stronghold. As he entered the land around it, he noticed that the fields looked slightly overgrown and some weeds were starting to sprout. He saw no farm animals and saw no one working the land. He looked up at the many chimneys that sprouted from the buildings behind the stronghold’s wall but saw no smoke rising.

  He reined in his horse and found a hidden grove in a small forest nearby. He dismounted and unsaddled his horse, letting it rest and eat the grass at its leisure. He hung his saddle and bridle on a tree stump, then walked towards Alchemist’s stronghold.

  The large front gate was locked solid. The sun was shining as it was still mid-morning. He walked around the wall for a few minutes, then found a good spot to climb. He pulled out his small rope with a short grappling hook at the end, perfect for this time of climb. He expertly swung the rope and released it. He watched as the hook sailed up and over the wall. He gave the rope an easy tug and felt the hook bite into the wall. He pulled harder, satisfied that the hook would hold his weight.

  In just a moment, he was up the wall. At the top, he sat on his heels, surveying the buildings. No people, no animals, and no smoke. It looked deserted, just as he had suspected. He pulled out the rope’s hook and found a rock outcropping that he put the hook over so that he could climb down the inside of the wall. He left the rope hanging just in case he needed an escape route.

  Doshmin wandered about the buildings. He would call out occasionally, just in case as he did not want to surprise anyone. But no one answered. All the doors were locked, but he knew he could pick open any door lock if needed.

  There was one building he had been curious about when he had first visited many months ago; a large building with a curious chimney. As he approached, he marveled at the size of the main doors to the building. It was easily the largest building in the stronghold. Each door looked to be about 12-feet high and six-feet wide.

  With some effort, Doshmin opened a door. They creaked open in protest. He looked around. Still, no people.

  Doshmin let out a low whistle in appreciation. Inside was a forge like he had never seen before. It was a strange combination of objects that all fit smoothly together. At the top, near the ceiling, there was a trapdoor that could open. In front was a large sluice that would allow the water to run down. With his eyes, he followed the sluice channel and saw that it ran towards a large wheel, like one used in a watermill. It even appeared that a person could alter the sluice channel so that the water could flow down more quickly. The waterwheel was connected to the largest forge bellows he had ever seen. The amount of air those bellows could direct into the forge driven by the waterwheels must have created one of the hottest forges in either Aarlund or Dennland.

  An unease settled over his skin. A strong urge to flee was building in him. Then he saw something that gave him pause. At the far end of the building appeared to be a statue sitting in a chair, but like no statue Doshmin had ever seen. As he approached, his unease grew, but his curiosity won over. Now, he stood in front of the seated statue.

  The statue’s head hung low, its chin touched its chest. Its long arms lay on the arms of the stone chair. It appeared that someone had chiseled hair on its head, a kilt around its waist, and sandals on its feet. Even veins and muscles seemed to have been finely carved from the stone. He inspected just a little bit closer then realized it was not stone, but metal, like iron. Intricate runes covered the giant’s body.

  Doshmin did not like what he saw. He turned to flee but as he did, one foot stepped on a flagstone that sunk slightly under his weight.

  What happened next rooted him to the spot.

  The giant lifted its head, inhaled sharply, and bellowed like a bull. It opened its eyes and Doshmin stared into the blackest eyes he had ever seen. The giant lifted itself from its chair and moved towards Doshmin with astonishing speed, arms outstretched, fingers eager to grasp.

  Doshmin’s screams echoed off the walls of the forge, then stopped.

  CHAPTER 25

  The Ravens Bring News

  The raven cawed softly waking the old man.

  “Hugin, is it back, the ship has returned?”

  The raven cawed again.

  “Ah, it is on its way. That is good. I was worried the ship may not return before the water froze over.”

  He heard Munin’s wings flapping as he entered the longhouse. The great raven landed on the back of the old man’s chair and whispered in the old man’s other ear.

  “Freya has given her staff to a champion, that is good news. And the Master of the Hunt and Freya were able to spend time together, that too is welcome news. Now that she is awake, he will most likely stay near her so that he can visit with her around the time of each full moon. A silly curse, but a necessary one. Perhaps one day it will be lifted. What news of the barrier between Midgard and Alfheim?”

  Munin whispered again.

  “The barrier still holds. But it has been weakened to the point that the elves were able to pass a demon through. That is not good. I fear I cannot help the people fight against this demon. They will need to use the gifts they have been given to overcome it.”

  The ravens scratched at the chair.

  “Hungry, are you? I will find you some food.” The old man tottered off to the pantry to make a plate of nuts, bread, and salted fish. He placed the plate on a table, and the ravens ate gratefully. He gently petted one of the raven’s backs, lost in thought.

  “We will need to wait for Alchemist to make another move. Though I fear by then it may be too late. What is he going to do next?”

  CHAPTER 26

  The Frost Giants

  Old Monk had been climbing the hills and mountains for what felt like weeks. Although he knew it had not been quite that long, the burning sensations in his legs told him otherwise. And while he was thankful that the snowshoes prevented him from sinking any further into the deep snow, the snow would gather on his snowshoes adding weight to every footstep. The cold too had started to seep in even through his thick fur coat. He hoped the destination was not much farther. And then he worried about the trip back. He looked over at his friend, Alchemist, who did not seem to feel the cold or mind the heavy trudging. It was if an inner strength drove him ever forward.

  Alchemist had led an expedition from their stronghold in Aarlund up into the great mountain range that lay to the north. Alchemist’s stronghold lay at the foot of the great Aarlund mountains, but they had still ridden ponies as far up the mountain range as possible. One of the apprentices had taken all the ponies back to the first base camp, but the rest of them had pushed on up higher and higher until the air grew thin and the snow grew thick.

  Old Monk did not envy the apprentices who pulled the sleds. They had picked the strongest young druids to pull each of the three sleds, but it was still a burden as each sled held the tents, the food, and had a live sheep tied to it. Behind each sled was another strong young druid who would push the sled using his hands or a thick tree branch. The young druids would alternate pushing and pulling the sled to give each other a small rest. But still, when the group stopped to eat or setup camp, the young druids were grateful to stop.

  Old Monk had not understood the reason for bringing the sheep. At first, he had assumed they were for eating, but then realized the sheep were being kept alive for a reason. It was also another thing to make sure the sheep would not freeze either on the sled or a night. They kept the sheep warm enough using thick fur blankets over the cages to keep out the chill and the wind. Months before in preparation, they had also let the sheep grow thick coats of wool so that they could keep themselves warm as much as possible on their own.

  As the sun reached its zenith and reflected so much light
off the snow that it dazzled everyone’s eyes to near blindness, they reached a plateau in the mountain.

  “We stop here,” said Alchemist. He walked away from the group, looking at the strange rock formations that stood like broken teeth in a large circle.

  Everyone was grateful for the early respite. Usually they would climb until the sun had almost set, using the last bit of light to set up camp and start their cooking fires.

  But as the young druids began to set up the tents, Alchemist returned. Then: “No tents, we do not camp here. Bring your shovels, the sheep and follow me.”

  Alchemist led them to the rocks that formed a shelter. Old Monk looked at the rocks. Each was taller than he and slightly wider. He counted nine stones in the circle. It was easy to walk in-between each stone. The circle the stones formed was about 30 feet across. Old Monk shook his head. The sunlight bounced off the snow on the ground dazzling him with its brilliance, but he thought he had seen something in the stones. He placed his back to the sun and faced the stone to better protect his eyes. He traced his fingers over the carvings in the rock not recognizing them at first. But when he did, he inhaled sharply.

  “Thrymr,” he whispered.

  “We dig here,” said Alchemist, shaking Old Monk from his trance. “Remove as best as you can all the snow inside this circle of stones.”

  After an hour of effort, the snow had been cleared to Alchemist’s liking. The druids brought the sheep to the middle of the floor. Uncovered by blankets, the animals shivered in the cold.

  “Do not worry,” said Alchemist, “you will not feel the bite of the cold much longer. Hold them down,” he directed to his druids. Alchemist pulled out a sharp dagger and quickly ended each sheep’s life.

  The air was so cold steam rose above the blood. Alchemist covered his dagger in the blood and then touched each of the nine stones with the blade.

  Old Monk felt a tremor and knew it was not he who had shook but the ground. He watched in amazement as the rune patterns on the standing stones seemed to fill with the blood making the lines go dark as if with ink. Then a voice spoke and he felt a shiver go down his spine.

  The voice boomed: “Who awakens Thrymr, king of the frost giants?”

  “It is I,” said Alchemist. “O Thrymr, king of the frost giants, wisest of all, you have slept long. It has been thousands of years since you last cast eyes upon the land.”

  “Lies, it cannot have been that long.”

  “O Thrymr the merciful, the compassionate, you and your kin slept the sleep of the forgotten. When the elves were forced back to Alfheim, you and your kin were forced to sleep in Midgard, far from Jotunheim, even as the realm of Jotunheim slept. As I have unlocked your freedom, so I will unlock the elves. The Norse gods are now few. Odin is gone. You will be able to reclaim that which is yours in the Norse realms as little stands in your way. I bring you this.”

  Alchemist produced a blade that shimmered in the sun.

  Thrymr said: “Aesirslayer, the only blade that can cut a god.”

  “And it can be wielded by a frost giant. Who will be the god slayer amongst you?”

  “My sons fought the gods long ago. With that blade, they can now destroy them. Which gods still walk the land?”

  “Freya is the only one you will be able to hurt. There are others, but you cannot reach them. Like you, Freya too has recently awakened. She sits in her old temple outside of Trondheim in the realm of Midgard.”

  “Trondheim is too warm for us.”

  “I have anticipated that. Spring is approaching down south, but with my magic, I will send Trondheim such a blast of cold and snow that will ensure the safety of your sons.”

  “They will not fail in their task.”

  “They had better not. There is one more boon I ask of you, Thrymr, king of the frost giants.”

  “Speak.”

  “You must return Aesirslayer with the blood of Freya on it.”

  “Agreed. If you free us from our imprisonment in these stones, my sons will return the blade with the blood of Freya on it.”

  “Then I will free you.”

  Alchemist raised Aesirslayer above his head. The sun caught the sheen of the polished blade and the reflection bounced across the rune stones. Then he forced the blade up to its hilt into the ground in the center of the circle.

  The ground shook. Thin cracks spread from the blade like cracks in ice. The crack lines ran across and up the rune stones. A sound of great splintering was heard, then the nine rune stones crumbled.

  No longer prisoners bound by the rune stones, the giants walked towards Alchemist and the others.

  Thrymr placed an enormous hand over the sword’s hilt and easily pulled the blade from the ground. And where it had been like a two-handed sword for Alchemist, it was like a dagger in the frost giant’s hand.

  Thrymr said: “When will we know it is time for my sons to travel to Trondheim?”

  “When even you start to feel the bite of the cold, it is time,” replied Alchemist. “We leave the sheep as an offering to you and your kin.”

  Alchemist, Old Monk, and the young druids packed the sleds, tied their snowshoes on tight, and made their way back down the mountain side. Behind them, Old Monk heard the crunching of sheep bones.

  Unnoticed, one of the frost giants did not feast. Princess Yorli, daughter of Thrymr, watched as the men fled down the side of the mountain.

  “And what of my beloved,” she whispered. “Where is Loki, he who commands my heart?”

  CHAPTER 27

  A New Forge

  Lanson’s forge was now clean and operational.

  His old forge had stood empty for months and the committee that oversaw the Hive was fine with selling it to the young blacksmiths. The Hive had even allowed a new symbol to be created for their forge that Grum and Arastead would stamp on all their work. After much discussion, Grum and Arastead had decided on using the runes for ‘G’ and ‘A’ and combined them into a unique bindrune.

  To purchase the forge, they borrowed money but figured with all the business they had, they would be able to pay off the debt in not many years. While it was strange to purchase a business in the Hive as typically businesses were handed down from father to son and mother to daughter, it did happen from time to time. But what made it stranger was that Lanson was not around to sell the forge as he had no family. In these cases, which were extremely rare, the money would be given to the Hive committee who would then decide how best to spend the money: fix roads, hire more guards, dig new wells, or something else equally important to help advance commerce and trade in the Hive.

  Snowflakes large as coins fluttered down gently in the air. While it was cold outside the forge, inside, Grum and Arastead sweated heavily as they worked their craft.

  Grum dunked a hot piece of armor into the water causing steam to hiss into the air. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then went back to his anvil and started hammering again.

  He asked Arastead: “What do you think Farling’s up to in Jordheim?”

  Arastead paused. Then. “Probably same as us. Hammering metal, shoeing horses, life of a smithy.”

  “I miss that Jordheimer. We had quite the adventures when he was around. Funny how it has gone quiet now that he has left.”

  “Perhaps adventure favors the Jordheimer, not the Trondheimer.”

  “Perhaps. Still, if this is all I am going to be doing for the rest of my life, I may stick my head in the bucket of cold water and call it quits.”

  “It is not all that bad. You said you have had some interesting sessions at the thieves guild.”

  “Yes, Einar and his thieves have proved interesting. The training sessions with Jorum put me through my paces as I am still sore. It is like being back at School. You seemed fine with Pressan.”

  “Yes, Pressan has proven to be very interesting, especially when we talk of gods and wizards. He has a wealth of knowledge in that library. He has also been a great help in building a new library at the Scho
ol.”

  “It is good to see King Frederick’s word is his bond. A new roof for the Paupers Temple and its stable, a proper burial and headstone for Orlough, the beginnings of a fine library at the School, more work for Bringon, and a farm for Farling. Although, a part of me wishes he had not helped Farling purchase a farm.”

  Arastead smiled then said: “The extra work for Bringon has also worked out for us as any work he cannot deliver on time, he has given to us.”

  “Yes, and he takes a small commission on those jobs. But, then again, I would have done the same.”

  “I hope Farling is well. The last note we received from him merely said that he had started working on the farm.”

  “Yes, and that was several months ago.”

  A shadow crossed the front of the forge. Grum and Arastead stopped what they were doing. They did not recognize the stranger.

  “Good morning, sir,” said Arastead. “How can this humble forge help you today?”

  The stranger said: “Perhaps if you had written this Farling character more, he would not have seen it fit to travel down here from Jordheim to find out how his two old friends are doing.”

  “Farling!” they cried as they dropped what they were doing and rushed to greet their friend.

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” said Arastead shaking Farling’s hand. “Grum, let us put the forge on hold for the rest of the day and show Farling our new home!”

  “I thought I recognized that voice,” said Grum as he too warmly shook Farling’s hand. “It is good to see you, Jordheimer!”

  “It is good to see you too, old friend.”

  “We are not that old,” said Arastead.