Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga

by D. A. Roberts

  “Thank you,” I replied. “You all did, as well.”

  “We were outmatched,” admitted Gnissa. “The Eldjötnar are more powerful than I ever imagined. Had it not been for you, they would have slaughtered us all.”

  “I have to admit,” I said, smiling, “I didn't know what to expect. I mean, the Eldjötnar are unbelievably tough.”

  “Those were just soldiers,” said Bolthorn. “Wait until you cross blades with their mightiest warriors. They are like nothing in this world.”

  “That's what I was afraid of,” I replied, sighing.

  “Think not of it,” said Bolthorn. “Tonight, we rejoice. For battles won, lives lived and lost, and for our continued success. If we die tomorrow, it will be as warriors.”

  “I can get behind that,” I said, nodding.

  With that, the others in the tent began to hand out skins of mead. I accepted one, but knew I'd better take it easy. I had lost quite a bit of blood and drinking too much wouldn't be a good idea. I wouldn't turn down the mead, though. I was thirsty and it was very good. I knew we were in their camp and there was undoubtedly guards. We were as safe as we could be, under the circumstances.

  After time had passed, most of the others retired to their bedrolls. Bolthorn came and sat beside me with a smile on his face. I could see that he had drank enough mead that he wasn't feeling any pain. He leaned close to me to speak quietly. Whatever he was about to say, he didn't want to announce it to the entire tent.

  “Gnissa will make you a fine wife,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “She will bear you strong sons.”

  “I'm already married,” I said, shaking my head. “I can't…”

  “Nonsense,” he said, cutting me off. “It is customary for great warriors to take as many wives as they can defend. From what Gnissa has told me, you should have an entire village of your own.”

  I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, shaking my head.

  “My people take only one wife,” I explained.

  “It has not always been this way,” he said, shrugging. “Odin had children with several women. Is that not the way of your ancestors.”

  He was right, of course, but how could I explain modern customs to him. I didn't want to insult them, but I wasn't about to wind up married to a giantess, either. I'm not sure I would be able to explain that to Karen or any of the others.

  “I know that is how things were done, in those days,” I began, “but things are different, now. I trust in the Old Gods, but not all of the ancient ways are still followed today.”

  “Hmm,” said Bolthorn. “You humans. Why deny yourselves so much freedom? Life is too short to waste on trivial things.”

  “I understand,” I said, “but I can't.”

  “No matter,” he said, eyeing me with a sly look on his face. “It is already done. Claim her or not, she is yours. You saved her life and proved yourself in battle against a mighty foe.”

  With that, he stood and walked away to his own bedroll. The fire was burning low, but the tent was still warm. The hides that were used to construct it must trap the heat in very well. I lay back and closed my eye, willing myself to go to sleep. After a few moments, I heard movement. From the uneven steps, I knew it was Gnissa.

  “Did my father speak to you?” she asked, despite my feigning sleep.

  Opening my eye, I turned to face her. The conversation was inevitable now.

  “Yes,” I replied, honestly.

  “Good,” she said. “But the choice is yours. Our ways are not yours.”

  “I'm glad you feel that way,” I said, trying to smile. “I already have a wife.”

  “And you only take one at a time,” she said, nodding. “I have heard this is your way.”

  “It is for most of us,” I replied. “I've heard of a few people who still take more than one spouse.”

  “I understand,” she said, softly. “A union between us would have been difficult, anyway.”

  “How so?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Most of my people would not accept the bonding to a human,” she explained. “Although it has been known to happen, half-breeds are rarely welcomed by either race.”

  “That doesn’t bother me,” I said, shrugging. “It shouldn't bother them.”

  “The old ways are hard to break,” she said, apologetically. “They run deep in my people.”

  “I can understand that,” I said, nodding.

  “It is best this way,” she added. “Although I cannot say that the thought of our union is not tempting, I think that is ice that is best not crossed.”

  “Agreed,” I said, suddenly relieved.

  “Besides,” she said as she stood to walk away, “you probably wouldn't survive the experience.”

  She walked away with a seductive sway to her hips, despite the pronounced limp from her wounded leg. I watched her until she covered herself in her own bedroll and turned her back to me. Funny, but I doubted that I was going to be getting much sleep with that running through my head. Of course, I was right.

  “What is it with these Hrimthurssar women,” I mused softly. “I think they will wind up being the death of me, yet.”

  Laying back on my bedroll, I tried to think of more pleasant things. Unfortunately, all that I could think about was Butcher. In my heart, I knew that he was only the first of the Einherjar to fall. I also knew that he wasn't going to be the last.

  Chapter Twelve

  Through Fire and Flames

  “I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.”

  - Archilocus, 650 B.C.

  I awoke the next morning to find that my shoulder no longer ached. I could smell food cooking on the fire and see streamers of light coming in through the seams of the tent. Sitting up, I flexed my arm and felt that it was stiff, but mobile. The wound, though nasty, had healed quickly with treatment and healing herbs. I could use the arm and that was good enough.

  Removing the bandage, I tossed it into the fire and watched the greedy flames devour it in an instant, sending a thin tendril of smoke curling towards the opening in the top of the tent. There was a purplish scar where the blade had pierced me that would probably fade in time. Not that it mattered, I think I now had more scars than unmarked skin. Oh well, the curse of the warrior, I suppose.

  I got slowly to my feet and noticed that there were only two other people in the tent. One was an older warrior who only gave me a side-long glance before going back to what he was doing. The other was obviously a young girl. I would guess her to be the equivalent of her mid-teens in whatever years that the Hrimthurssar aged in. She was cute, in a young sort of way. She reminded me of my own children and suddenly I really wanted to get back to them.

  I found my gear laying next to where I had been sleeping. The armor had been repaired and my weapons were all there. I quickly dressed and put my weapons back in place, then ducked out the flap of the tent. I could see that it was no tiny camp. At least a dozen more tents like the one I had emerged from were staged in a wide circle around a large central fire pit.

  I could see where they had constructed a rudimentary corral, which held not only about a dozen more Clydesdales, it also held the four mounts from the Eldjötnar warriors that we had fought. They were massive beasts, dwarfing the Clydesdales that stood around them. They seemed to have no problem getting along with each other, so I had little doubt that they would be easily approached. Although they were too massive for a human to ride, it was good to know that they weren't going to eat you if they got the chance. No, that was just the Hrimthurssar's choice of mounts.

  A quick bit of mental math told me that this camp could hold well over a hundred of the Hrimthurssar. That was considerably more of them than Thrym had led us to believe were here. I wondered why he had decided to deceive us. If they had been held back as reserves to attack us, why had they healed me instead of putting me to death when they had the chance? None of it made any kind of sense.

  I looked around for any faces that I
recognized, but only saw the old healer Bolthorn. From the lack of Vargr around the camp, I could only assume that they were all out on patrol. Although no one approached me, I could see the strange looks on the faces of the few who would even look at me. It was a mixture of emotion that I couldn't pin down. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

  “They don't know what to think of you,” said Bolthorn, walking up beside me.

  “Why?” I asked, still looking around. “I haven't done anything to them.”

  “You are a human,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “So,” I said, looking at him and shrugging.

  “They have all heard that humans are our enemies since they were children,” he explained. “They have also learned to fear the Eldjötnar. Yet here you are. You not only saved the lives of two of our people, you single-handedly slew three of the Eldjötnar warriors. They don't know whether to thank you or run away.”

  They don't need to run,” I said, smiling, “and I don't expect to be thanked. I only did what was right.”

  “And that is what confuses them,” he said, chuckling. “It is not common among our people for a warrior to do something for someone else, without there being something in it for them.”

  “Then maybe they need a better class of warrior,” I said, smiling.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. “Are you staying with us?”

  “I'm afraid I can't,” I replied. “I need to be getting back to my own people. We have a funeral to prepare for, to honor our fallen brother.”

  “We have wrapped him in cloth and placed him in a wagon for transport,” he said, pointing towards the corral.

  “Thank you,” I said, nodding. “Your hospitality has been…”

  “Unexpected, I would guess,” he finished for me.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding, “but also much appreciated.”

  “I appreciate that you saved the life of my daughter,” he said.

  “I think we can call it even,” I replied. “You treated my wounds and took care of me.”

  “It was, as they say, the least I could do,” he said, extending his hand.

  We clasped forearms as warriors. He gave me a measured look of respect before releasing my arm.

  “I'll take you to the wagon,” he said, turning to walk away.

  I followed him to where another sleigh was sitting with two Clydesdales hitched to it. In the back, laying on a pile of furs, was the wrapped body of Butcher. His sword was lying on his chest and they had placed his head back at the top of his body with only his face not wrapped in the white cloth. The blue tint to his skin and fierce look on his face made him look almost like one of the Hrimthurssar.

  Also placed in the back of the sleigh was more gear. I could see food, clothing and furs. There was even several wooden barrels. I had little doubt that they contained mead. I could see the weapons and armor that had been taken from the Eldjötnar were also placed in the back. Spoils of war, I suppose. I figured that they were giving them to me as a token of my victory. I wanted to show them to my own people and see if we could figure out just how the Hel they had managed to make one of the blades ignite on command.

  “I will tell the others you bade them farewell,” said Bolthorn.

  “Thank you,” I said, climbing into the seat of the sleigh.

  “May the branches of Yggdrasil ever protect you and yours,” said Bolthorn, extending his hand again.

  I took it and he held the grip for a long moment, staring into my eye.

  “You are nothing like I expected,” he said slowly. “The old tales are wrong about your kind. You fought with honor and courage.”

  “As did your daughter,” I replied. “I've also learned that not all of your people have to be our enemy.”

  “Then perhaps this is to be the beginning of something new,” he said, eyeing me speculatively. “Let us hope that it is.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Maybe we can learn to work together instead of killing each other in Ragnarok.”

  “We shall see,” he said, nodding. “It will all depend on if we can defeat the Eldjötnar.”

  “A big challenge, in and of itself,” I said, smiling.

  He released my arm and backed away from the sleigh, allowing me to flick the reigns and get the horses moving. I could feel his eyes on my back as I made my way out of the camp, but I didn't look back. My thoughts were at war as I headed back to our compound. I knew that some of the Hrimthurssar, like Thrym, were definitely going to be our enemies. But after what I had just experienced, I could no longer consider all of them that way. They were people, just like us. Some were good, some were bad, but they were just people. Too bad my own people hadn't figured that out about each other before the zombies came and killed most of us.

  When I reached the bridge that spanned the Niangua River, I activated my headset radio and called base. After a few moments, I was able to get a reply from Corporal Winston and he told me he would send a crew out to meet me at the gate to let me in. I didn't tell them about Butcher. That's the kind of thing best done in person. In fact, I had a lot to tell them about before it was all done.

  Hours later, after the tales had been told and we had build a large pyre for Butcher, we gathered in the open to send him off to the next world. There wasn't much talking, even among the Einherjar. They were all still in shock that one of us had fallen. Hel, so was I. I noticed that while the Hrimthurssar stood nearby and observed, none of them approached us or spoke. Thrym had to know that I had seen his people. How he reacted might very well cement or end our little alliance. The ball was in his court now.

  The fire from Butcher's pyre launched sparks high into the night sky. It was the clearest night that any of us had seen in months. Although the sky was still obscured from all of the debris in orbit, you could occasionally catch a glimpse of light from a star. Somewhere on the wind, you could hear the wings of a large bird as it flew unseen in the darkness. Although some might argue, I knew a Valkyrie had come to take Butcher home.

  I said a silent prayer for my fallen friend. I just hoped that when the time came, a Valkyrie would come for me as well. Valhalla awaits. I just hoped that it waited for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Best Laid Plans

  “In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling

  and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.”

  - John Steinbeck

  The Hrimthurssar avoided us all that evening. I had planned on discussing with Thrym why it was necessary for him and his people to stay here with us when they had such a large camp less than two miles away. I knew that if I did, there was probably going to be a fight between us. Although I didn't say it, I noticed that my own people were watching our “guests” much closer than they had been, and no one walked around unarmed. I'm sure that the Hrimthurssar noticed it, too.

  The next morning, while I was eating my breakfast, Thrym approached my table. Although he looked grim, he didn't appear angry. He was also unarmed, which took me completely by surprise.

  “Grant,” he began without preamble, “We need to talk. Alone.”

  “Alright,” I said, dropping my fork into a half-eaten plate of eggs. “Let's take a walk.”

  Although he was unarmed, I was not. I made no move to remove any of my weapons, either. I wanted him to understand that I didn't trust him and wasn't about to give him any kind of advantage. Besides, just because he was unarmed didn't mean the rest of his people were. Right then, I couldn't afford to trust any of them.

  We walked in silence until we were in the big vehicle bay. Since no one was around, he turned and folded his massive arms across his chest. I could see his hesitation to begin speaking. I knew he was choosing his words carefully, clearly anticipating that the wrong ones would undoubtedly start a fight. His credibility with me was pretty much gone.

  “I must apologize for deceiving you,” he began, slowly.

  Clearly, just saying the words was not easy for him. I sincerely doubted tha
t he had apologized for much of anything in his entire life.

  “I expected deception from you,” I said. “I'm just not sure why you would even need our help when you have so many warriors at your command.”

  “You saw the fight between the Eldjötnar and my people,” he said, frowning. “My people did not fare well against them.”

  “True,” I answered, reaching up and adjusting my eye patch.

  “That has always been the case,” he admitted, reluctantly. “Their warriors are more than a match for mine, when the numbers are even. Only with superior numbers do we defeat them.”

  “I can see that,” I replied. “The Eldjötnar are tougher than I expected.”

  “Yet, you slew three of them on your own,” he said, an odd note of respect in his tone. “That is unheard of among my people. It has always been so that fire melts ice.”

  “Is that why you came to us?” I asked, wrinkling my brow.

  “Yes,” admitted Thrym. “Your luck in battle is legendary. I thought that with you and your people in the fight, you might turn the tide against them.”

  “And if we died in the process,” I said, eying him darkly, “then so much the better.”

  Thrym took a deep breath and held it a moment before speaking.

  “That was my plan, yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “And you hoped to spare your own people from them,” I added. “At least, as much as possible.”

  “That was also part of my plan,” he said. “I thought that if you fell against them, then we would be able to finish the fight and complete the cycle of Ragnarok.”

  “But this isn't the cycle of Ragnarok,” I said, tensing my arms and flexing my fingers. “Nothing happened the way it was written in the old tales.”

  “The living dead don't factor into Ragnarok,” he admitted. “That much is true. It was Loki's plan all along to change the cycle and keep the Gods from winning, thus breaking the cycle forever and making him the only one left to inherit the Golden Throne of Asgard.”