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

by D. A. Roberts

  Spinning to my left, I stepped past and beneath his blade. I pivoted on the ball of my left foot and scored both of my blades along the back of his right knee. Sparks flew from the armor and the shriek of metal on metal pierced the noise of the crowd and the droning of the drums. An audible gasp could be heard from the assembled Eldjötnar. Clearly, even they hadn't expected me to survive the initial attack, let alone score the first hit.

  I continued the spin, whirling back out of his range. Just as I was standing back up, he spun with his blade screaming in at face level. Instinctively, I knew I was too far away for him to hit, so I stood my ground and let the blade pass by me. The tip of the blade whispered past my nose with less than an inch to spare. No sooner than it had cleared my face, I was moving in for my next attack.

  He didn't seem to be favoring his leg, so I doubted that the blow had done any damage. I knew that it was going to take more than one direct hit to pierce his armor, so I concentrated my attack against that same knee. As I spun beneath his sword, I angled in for another attack on the armored joint. Just as I was lining up the attack, I felt him grab a hold of my cloak, yanking me to a stop.

  Using my left hand, I jabbed the tip of the sword into the knee and felt it sink in through the overlapping plates. It might not have pierced the chain mail, but I heard him grunt in pain and release the cloak. I rolled forward and jumped back to my feet, a good ten feet behind him. I could see that he was now favoring that leg and looked angrier than ever. I had hurt him and I think that made him madder than anything.

  “Aldrnari!” he snarled, venom dripping from his voice.

  Instantly, the massive blade erupted in flames. It spread rapidly along the blackened steel and caused the edges to begin to glow red. I couldn't see a source of the fire or any type of accelerant. While my brain screamed that there had to be some kind of logical explanation to it, in my heart I already knew. Here I was facing the most fearsome of the Eldjötnar warriors. They were the fire-giants of legend. Was it that unbelievable to assume it was some type of magic? There was also the advanced technology involved in the construction of the Bifrost Bridge. I suppose it was possible that it was just technology that we didn't understand. Whatever the explanation, I had bigger things to worry about.

  The advantage that the flames gave him was not insignificant. That now meant that any hit he scored had the chance of either massive burn damage or of setting my gear on fire. Now, more than ever, it became supremely important to not let him hit me. This guy really was twice my size and had every advantage. I had to find a way to change the odds or I was going to be roasted alive on that flaming blade of his.

  “Do you fear the flames?” he asked, mockingly.

  “Not really,” I replied. “I just find it ironic that someone so much bigger, stronger and better armored would have to resort to cheating so quickly.”

  “Call it what you will, Grant,” he said, chuckling. “Your death will bring me great satisfaction.”

  With that, he began to swing the sword back and forth, fanning the flames and causing the air to fill with dark smoke. I wasn't sure if he was intentionally trying to obscure my vision or if he was just doing it to intimidate me. Whatever his reasons were, I wasn't going to let him get away with it.

  “Fuck the knee,” I muttered and launched myself at him.

  He spun the big sword around and cleaved directly at my chest. I spun my left hand sword around and placed the blade against my left shoulder, catching the blow against the flat of my blade. The massive impact drove me to the right, nearly knocking the breath out of me. I thought for a moment that he had broken my sword, but it had withstood the blow. My cloak was singed and I could smell the burnt hair of the wolf's hide as the flames licked their way up my side.

  Rolling with the momentum of the blow, I snapped my right arm around and over. I wasn't aiming for his head, his knee or anything that would instantly kill him. He would be expecting that. I was aiming for something smaller and infinitely more delicate. Something that would change the way he fought. My blow shrieked down the hilt of the sword and sliced deeply into the fingers of his left hand.

  Roaring in pain, he watched in horror as the first three fingers of his left hand flew away to land in the dirt. That left him with only the thumb and pinky finger on his left hand. He staggered back several steps, looking in shock at the bleeding stump of his left hand. The massive sword fell from his right hand and instantly the fire went out.

  I started to lunge forward to finish him off while he was in shock, when an arrow slammed into my right thigh. It went completely through, leaving about ten inches of the fletched end of the shaft protruding from the front of my leg. It was one of the massive arrows used by the Eldjötnar, so I knew that there had to be more than two feet sticking out of the back of my leg.

  Surtr was recovering and reached for the battle-axe with his good hand. There was murder in his eyes as he brought out the colossal axe. I wasn't sure who had hit me with the arrow, but it was clear that Surtr's followers had no intention of letting me win this fight.

  As I glanced around, I saw a massive Eldjötnar archer taking aim at me with another of those deadly shafts. Before he could unleash the arrow, the sound of another bowstring twanged out its note of death. A red arrow streaked across the open air of the arena and struck the big archer in the face. I instantly recognized that arrow. Bridgett was evening the odds. I couldn't help but smile.

  Snapping my right wrist around, I broke off the shaft behind me. I felt the pain lance through my leg when I hit the shaft, but I knew that it was better to not have it sticking out and further hindering my movements. It struck me that had the arrow been a few inches lower; it would have ruined my knee and ended this fight. There would be no way I could continue without the use of my leg. As it was, I could still use my leg. It just hurt like Hel.

  As Surtr brought the big battle-axe up with his good hand, I steadied myself and took a quick stock of my situation. Although the arrow wound hurt badly, I could still fight. I had full use of both hands and could still run if I had to. Surtr only had the use of the one hand and I could still see he was limping on the bad leg. Suddenly, the odds didn't seem so badly stacked against me.

  Lumbering right at me, Surtr brought the gigantic axe up and prepared a blow that would undoubtedly split me in half. I waited until he began his attack before spinning to the inside. I went to his left, towards his bad hand, knowing that he couldn't use a weapon with the stump. I spun around and slashed both swords across his abdomen, drawing sparks and an angry grunt of pain. Although it hadn't pierced the thick armor, it had forced him to change his angle of attack.

  Just as I was starting to spin away, I saw something an instant too late. Rolling his damaged hand backwards with the palm out, a spring loaded blade shot out of his forearm brace. It was easily a foot long and as wide as my spear tip. It was too late for me to dodge or parry and I felt him drive it though the middle of my back and out the front of my stomach. He buried it up to his hand and I felt blood burst from my mouth as I cried out in pain. He'd gotten a lung, too.

  I could see his shadow dwarfing my own. I could see him raising his axe for a finishing blow. I wasn't ready to let him do it. Forcing myself to step forward off of the blade, I felt it slide out of my body and saw the blood pouring from the massive wound. I was hurt badly and was losing a lot of blood.

  In desperation, I spun around with everything I had. He was just bringing the axe down as I stepped inside his reach. As the axe buried itself in the ground where I had just been standing, I drove both blades down onto his arm, right where the elbow meets the bicep. It wasn't enough to sever the arm, but I saw blood spurt out of the ragged hole that I made in his armor and forced him to drop the axe.

  With a bellow of rage, he drove his left wrist-blade through my chest and deep into my abdomen. He missed the heart, but I knew that he had hit the same lung. I felt the swords dropping from my hands as the crowd went insane. I could hear them chanting hi
s name, over and over and over.

  “Surtr! Surtr! Surtr!”

  Lifting me up by the blade, that was stuck through my chest, he brought me up to eye level. My feet were dangling four or five feet off of the ground. I could smell the fetid breath of the cruel giant as he glared hatred and death into my eye. He wrapped his good hand around my neck and cocked his head to the side as he took a slow measuring look at me.

  “I seem to remember promising to show you your heart before I killed you,” he mused.

  I tried to respond but his grip on my throat was too tight for me to breathe, much less speak.

  “What was that?” he asked, contemptuously. “I can't seem to hear you.”

  Loosening his grip enough for me to breathe and cough, he smiled a predatory smile and chuckled.

  “There,” he said, “that's better. Now, what was it you were trying to say? Last words, perhaps?”

  “Keep telling yourself that, fuck-head,” I said, smiling darkly.

  Before he could say anything else, I smashed the barrel of the big XVR into his mouth. I knocked out two of his front teeth as I forced the barrel inside. I saw shock and fear in his eyes as I pulled the trigger. I kept squeezing it until blood and brain matter erupted out of the helmet, spraying all over the front of my armor.

  Surtr stumbled backwards before dropping me to the ground and tumbling over backwards, landing in a lifeless heap. I collapsed onto my back with the massive blade still protruding from my chest. It was torn away from his wrist as I fell.

  Above me, the crowd erupted in chaos. I could see the different factions already fighting to see who would take control, now that Surtr was dead. I could feel spasms wracking my body as I coughed up more blood. The stars above me twinkled coldly as I stared up at them. I couldn’t even force myself to sit up. My strength was gone and what little I had left was ebbing quickly as blood poured out from the massive wounds in my abdomen.

  I don't know how long I lay there before I heard the explosion. Fire erupted into the dark sky. A strange light lit up the area and then a powerful beam of energy shot up into the night sky. It looked to be about the diameter of a small building.

  “The Bifrost,” I whispered, blood on my lips.

  Then the ground began to rumble and shake. All around me, I could hear the sounds of battle as the Eldjötnar battled each other for control. There had to be multiple factions vying for power because they were more concerned with killing each other than they were with me or Surtr.

  Red began to tinge the edges of my vision and I knew I was fading fast. As my head lolled to the side, I saw someone striding towards me with a massive sword gasped in his hand. At first, I thought it was Bergelmir, but that hope faded when I realized it was Fornjot the Destroyer.

  Instead of coming to me, he walked over to Surtr and drove the sword into his chest, making certain that the big warrior wasn't going to rise again. Then he wiped the blade on Surtr's cloak and started towards me. I figured that he was about to give me the same treatment that he had just given Surtr. Instead, he knelt over me and spoke softly.

  “I did not believe that you could do it,” he said, shaking his head. “You truly are everything they say that you are.”

  I tried to lift my head to speak and he gently held me down.

  “Drink this,” he said, pouring a fiery liquid into my mouth. “This will help your wounds to heal, but it will still take time. You are badly hurt.”

  I coughed and sputtered and the burning liquid made its way down to my stomach. I've drank whiskey that had nothing on whatever that stuff was. I could feel the wounds in my stomach and chest begin to burn. Although they were still bleeding, the blood flow was beginning to slow. At this rate, it was still going to take the better part of a day to heal. Maybe longer.

  “I am in your debt,” said Fornjot. “Surtr enslaved my family and my clan. Now that he is gone, we will return to Muspelheim and try to rebuild our lives. Fair warning, though. Not all of the factions will be so inclined. I fear that this battle is not yet over.”

  In lieu of a response, I merely coughed and spat out blood onto the dirt floor of the arena.

  “Your friends are coming for you,” he said, standing back up and turning away. “You would be wise to clear this area as fast as possible.”

  “The…Bifrost…,” I managed to croak.

  “Cannot be shut down, now,” he said, turning back to face me. “Once the gate is open, it cannot be stopped. Your friends managed to destroy the machine but not before the gate was opened. The door between worlds has been breached. The age-old barrier that kept Midgard closed off has been broken.”

  “What?” I gasped, choking.

  “After the last cycle of Ragnarok,” explained Fornjot, “the Gods sealed Midgard off from the rest of the realms. Mankind was not to be touched by the other races. The barrier could only be broken from this side. Now it has been.”

  I wanted to know more, but he began walking away.

  “Wait!” I hissed, spitting more blood onto my chin.

  “There is no more time, Grant,” he said, not stopping. “Leave this area before the Magma Tap detonates.”

  With that, he was gone. I could feel the ground trembling beneath me and had little doubt that he was right. The Magma Tap was going to blow. The ground was growing hotter and I could hear the calling of hundreds of birds as they fled the area.

  “Wylie!” I heard Spec-4 call.

  “Here,” I gasped, trying to shout and failing.

  Lolling my head to the side, I saw them all coming towards me. They were leading several of the massive horses that the Eldjötnar used. They were all there, but I could tell that they had all been fighting. There was damage to their armor and they all had their weapons drawn.

  “Grab his weapons,” Spec-4 called to Snake.

  “On it,” he replied and started gathering my fallen gear.

  I felt her and Bridgett gently lifting me up.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Spec-4. “Help me hold him.”

  As gently as she could, Spec-4 pulled the blade out of my chest. I groaned in pain as it slid free. Tossing it aside, she immediately applied pressure to the wound with a cloth. She repeated the process for the arrow in my leg. She bound the wounds as quickly as she could, then pulled me into a sitting position.

  “Let's get him onto one of the horses and get out of here,” said Spec-4.

  “Let me help,” said Bergelmir, lifting me onto the back of the nearest horse.

  Then he lifted Spec-4 up behind me and she wrapped her arms around my waist.

  “Lean on me, Wylie,” she whispered. “Stay with us. We've got to get out of here before this place goes sky high.”

  Snake and Bridgett shared a horse while Bergelmir climbed onto the other one. Then we thundered out the gate and headed away from the chaos that had erupted in the wake of Surtr's death.

  “Griff?” I wheezed.

  “Already gone,” said Spec-4. “We covered them while they headed out to the north.”

  “Good,” I managed to mutter before blacking out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Snakedance

  “There is only one god and his name is Death.

  And there is only one thing we say to Death:

  Not today.”

  - George R.R. Martin

  A Game of Thrones

  I woke up briefly as we rode past the collapsed ruin that had once been the Nathanael County Jail. There was very little left that was recognizable, except the ruins of the city bus and the crumbling front steps. The rest of the building was charred and devastated, leaving only a few skeletal steel beams extending out of the twisted wreck that had once been such a large part of my life. So many years spent working there. So many memories. So many lost.

  I remember turning to see where we were heading and passing out, again. My next clear vision was of the severely damaged city square. We had stopped there to rest and so Spec-4 could change the dressings on my wounds. Whatever Fornjo
t had given me, it was keeping me alive, but it wasn't healing me quickly. My own natural resilience would see to that, but the wounds were bad enough that it was going to take time. I needed a place to rest and heal.

  “Where do we go, now?” asked Snake, speaking to Spec-4.

  “I don't know,” she replied. “I can't think of any place that would still be standing.”

  “We need a place that is defensible,” added Bergelmir. “This battle is far from over.”

  As Spec-4 tied off the wrap that covered the wounds in my chest and stomach, I groaned in pain at the sudden pressure.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, smiling softly.

  “It's ok,” I wheezed. “Not your fault.”

  “Someone's coming,” called Bridgett.

  I rolled my head to the side and saw a single figure approaching from the north. From his size, it was clear that he was an Eldjötnar. He was massive and heavily armored. His helm looked like the head of a serpent, with its jaws open and fangs bared. His armor was scaled like a snakeskin, fitting him tightly and allowing a free movement not equaled by the massive plate armor that they usually wore. I had the distinct feeling that he was something unique.

  “I know that warrior,” said Bergelmir, his voice ominous.

  “Who the fuck is he?” asked Snake.

  “His true name is long-forgotten,” replied Bergelmir. “But he long ago earned the name of Jörmungandr, the Serpent of Midgard.”

  I could see that he wore a large medallion around his neck. Hanging from a large chain was an ouroboros. It was an ancient symbol of a serpent in a circle, devouring its own tail. The name came from the ancient Greeks, but the symbol has been found throughout the world. It was the symbol of eternity, or more specifically...Immortality.

  “What the fuck does he want?” snapped Snake.