Fate of the Gods

by Matthew J. Kirby

  Thorvald bowed to the king, and then turned to his mentor. “I shall not fail,” he said.

  “Bring them the judgment of the Norns,” Torgny said.

  Thorvald left the council chamber and returned to the great hall, where the nobles waited in a mass near the throne. He said nothing to them, and met none of their eyes as he stalked through the throng toward the doors. The marshal stood near them, and when he saw Thorvald, the anger on his face showed that his earlier befuddlement had turned into a shame that demanded a reckoning.

  “I would have words with you, skald,” the marshal said, stepping into Thorvald’s path.

  “And I would have words with you.” Thorvald stepped to the side to go around him. “But not today.”

  The marshal reached out his arm to block him. In an instant Thorvald had him twisted around, shoulder and elbow joints straining painfully behind his back, with a dagger at his throat. Not his hidden blade, but an ordinary knife. The marshal winced, eyes open wide in shock.

  “I go on the king’s errand,” Thorvald said, right into the marshal’s ear. “You will not delay me. But I swear I will return, and at that time, if you still have cause against me, then we shall have words. Understood?”

  The marshal nodded. Thorvald released him, and the man staggered away, rubbing his arm. Thorvald gave him a glare of contempt and marched through the doors.

  There were warriors enough among Eric’s war band for Thorvald to assemble his company, but he didn’t want professional fighting men from Uppsala, and he was no longer sure of their loyalties if the marshal had been corrupted. Instead, Thorvald wanted warriors from the countryside who knew the land well, who loved the land, and would therefore fight all the more viciously to protect it. That meant he would seek his company from among those summoned under the ledung by the Bidding Stick.

  He mounted Gyllir and rode south onto the plain of Fyrisfield to scout among the encampments there. He trotted past dozens of farmers, craftsmen, and common laborers, and occasionally, when he caught a spark of courage in a countenance, or saw confidence in the holding of a weapon, he stopped to ask a single question.

  “If I could grant you one wish, right now,” he said, again and again, “what would it be?”

  The answers came easily.

  A woman.

  Ale.

  Victory.

  An honorable death.

  But none of them gave the right answer.

  He did not have much time to give this selection, and as the day wore on, he wondered if he should simply draw men from among the war band, after all. But then he spied a giant in a camp not far away, who stood heads taller and wider than any man around him. The kind of man who called to mind the children of the jötnar and their stolen human brides. Thorvald rode toward him at a brisk trot and dismounted as he neared the stranger’s circle.

  “Greetings,” he said. “I come to you with the king’s authority.”

  “You have it backward, friend,” said a man missing several fingers. “You see, we’re all here by order of the Bidding Stick, so I believe we come to you with the king’s authority.”

  He laughed, and so did some of the others. The giant did not.

  “You there,” Thorvald called to him. “What is your name?”

  “Östen,” the giant said. “What’s yours?”

  “Thorvald,” he said. “How do you earn your livelihood?”

  Östen frowned. “Sheep. Why is that business of yours?”

  “It is not my business.” Thorvald raised his sleeve to reveal Eric’s arm ring, and the sight of it forced the gathering into silence. “As I told your finger-deficient friend, it is the king’s business.”

  Östen’s frown softened, and he nodded. “How may I be of service to the king?”

  Thorvald surveyed the giant’s hands, his scars, his bearing, and did not need to ask if he could fight. Östen could fight very well. Instead, Thorvald asked the question he had asked of all the others that morning.

  “If I could grant you one wish, right now, what would it be?”

  “To go home,” Östen said, without hesitation, as he touched a single thread tied incongruously around his thick wrist.

  Thorvald smiled. That was the answer he had been waiting to hear.

  Natalya ran.

  Not toward.

  Away.

  Her body wasn’t hers. It belonged to her fear, and it carried her through the Forest, leaping over roots and dodging around the trees. Her mind wondered where she could run or hide in a wood that was the same in every direction, but her body asked no questions. It took the icy fuel of her adrenaline and filled her every muscle with it. It whipped her heart into such a frenzy she couldn’t tell its beats apart. It numbed her to the scrapes and bruises acquired in her flight. It told her mind not to interfere. Her body knew what to do.

  Owen ran beside her, and she tried to stay aware of him, even though she couldn’t tell if he was aware of her.

  The Serpent chased them. Its speed seemed impossible, blinding, as if the trees and uneven ground offered no obstacle. As if the Forest and the Serpent shared intent.

  The monster gained on them, and then, with a sudden lunge, it entered the corner of her right eye. She turned toward it just as it struck, its mouth opened wide to reveal white flesh and ivory fangs as long as her legs. But the strike missed her by inches, and one of those fangs stabbed deep into the tree nearest her, and became embedded. The Serpent coiled up and thrashed, trying to tear itself free.

  Guys? Monroe said. Talk to me. What’s going on?

  “A little busy right now!” Owen said, and then he called to her, “Are you okay?”

  Natalya nodded, still bewildered.

  “Let’s go that way,” he said, pointing in a new direction.

  Guys? Monroe said.

  “Not now!” Owen shouted back, sprinting away.

  Natalya ran after him.

  With the Serpent’s attack, her mind had taken back some control. The Forest to either side and in front of her presented nothing but endlessness, a desert of trees. They couldn’t outrun the monster, but they also couldn’t hide. They couldn’t even climb the trees to escape, because she was pretty sure the Serpent could reach them. She felt she had to be missing something.

  As a memory, and a simulation, this made no sense. There had to be more to the collective unconscious than these two archetypes. There had to be something beyond them. The voice had said something about a path, and also fear, devotion, and—

  Fear.

  And Monroe had said that the Serpent archetype represented death and fear.

  A few feet ahead of her, Owen skidded to a stop, and she almost ran into him.

  “What are you—?”

  “Shh!” he said.

  She looked around him and saw the Serpent. Not its head. Just its huge, never-ending body, slithering across their path with the sound of a rushing river, disconcertingly unaware of them.

  “Which way do we go?” Owen whispered.

  They couldn’t go back the way they’d come, unless they wanted another encounter with the Serpent’s head. And it seemed foolish to turn to the left or right and follow its body if they were trying to escape from it. That meant they had to go over it.

  “I don’t get it,” Owen said. “If this is all just a symbol, shouldn’t there be a magic sword around here? Something we can use to kill it?”

  “We have to climb over it,” Natalya said.

  “Wait, what?”

  “It’s the only way.” She stepped forward, right up to the nightmare express of skin and scales rolling by. The snake’s body was almost as tall as she was, and was smooth enough to gleam, which meant that climbing it, especially while it was moving, would be difficult.

  “You’re serious,” Owen said, stepping up beside her.

  “Can you think of another way around it?”

  “No. But I also think this whole simulation is messed up.”

  Natalya couldn’t argue with
that. The Forest around them still seemed to twist and contort itself in the darkness just outside the edges of the dim light. The Serpent’s body emerged from and disappeared into that same boundary. It felt as if they had become trapped in a moment, or a thought, that replayed itself on an infinite loop, and the only way to break the loop was to move ahead.

  “So how do we do this?” she asked.

  Owen looked around. “Maybe we climb one of the trees?”

  She cast her gaze up with his, searching for a low enough branch to grab on to. None of the trees nearby offered one, so they walked along the path of the Serpent until they found a tree they could use.

  From its side grew a branch just thick enough that Natalya could barely encircle it with her hands. She latched on to it, and with her feet against the trunk she pulled and heaved herself up until she rested in the branch’s crook. Then she offered Owen her hand to help pull him up, and soon they were both safely above ground.

  Natalya hugged the trunk of the tree and shimmied around it onto another, higher branch, and then another, until she reached one that stretched out far enough in the right direction and looked strong enough to support them.

  “Here goes,” she said.

  Owen looked at her, looked down at the Serpent, and nodded.

  Natalya lowered herself into a straddle over the branch and scooted out onto it several feet. Then she leaned forward to hug the branch, crossed her legs at the ankles, and allowed herself to swing over and around so that she was hanging by her arms and her legs. Then she inched along, hand over hand, making her way slowly outward until the branch sagged and complained, and she’d gone as far as she dared go. But when she looked down, she discovered she was suspended directly over the Serpent’s body, not nearly far enough to make it to the other side.

  “What now?” Owen asked, still clinging to the trunk of the tree.

  “Um—” What else could she do? “I’m going to let my legs go. Then I’ll hang on to the branch with my hands until I’m ready to drop onto the snake.”

  “Wait, onto the snake?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded toward the far side of the Serpent. “I’ll try to fall off that way. You know, drop and roll.”

  “Yeah, good plan,” he said with a shake of his head. “What if the snake doesn’t want us to use it as a trampoline?”

  The Serpent was so enormous, Natalya hoped that it might not even notice them. She reaffirmed her grip on the branch with her hands, took a deep breath, and muttered, “This better be worth it, Monroe.” Then she let her legs uncross, and as they fell away from the branch, her body swung by her fingers and hands. But she didn’t drop. Not yet.

  It was hard to tell from her angle, but it seemed as if her toes now dangled about two or three feet above the Serpent’s body. Not a problem at all, when she wasn’t landing on a moving surface of reptile scales. But she felt her hands getting tired, and if she didn’t go soon, she wouldn’t be able to choose the moment for herself.

  “Okay!” she called to Owen. “Wish me luck!”

  He gave her a weak thumbs-up.

  She let go.

  A second later, her feet touched down, and she immediately dropped her body to all fours as the Serpent whisked her suddenly away, moving much faster than she had expected. She glanced back at Owen, up in the tree. His mouth hung open, and he grew distant until he disappeared into the woods.

  She was supposed to fall off. Not go for a ride. But then she looked ahead and saw the trees careering by to either side, marking her passage through the Forest at exactly the speed of her terror. She felt the wind in her hair, and beneath her hands she felt smooth, hard scales, which were neither cold nor warm, but about the same temperature as the air.

  She was riding a giant snake that had eyes like brass cymbals and fangs so large their venom wouldn’t matter. A beast that had almost killed her only minutes before and probably wouldn’t miss a second strike.

  She was riding it. Keeping a grip on her fear, like Monroe had said to do.

  She knew she should jump off, but she didn’t want to. Not yet. This dangerous moment had captured her, and she wasn’t quite ready to leave it. She and Owen could keep running from the Serpent, but for how long? This archetype seemed to fill the Forest, and it would find them eventually, but at least this way, she rode it by choice.

  “Natalya!” It was Owen’s panicked voice in her ear, in the same way as Monroe’s. “Natalya, are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m here.”

  “You were supposed to fall off!” Owen said. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Where are you?”

  “I’m on the snake with you! But now we can jump off together. Let’s—”

  “No,” Natalya said. “Wait.”

  “Wait? What for, beverage service? Because I don’t think they offer that on this thing.”

  Natalya didn’t understand why she was hesitating.

  “Natalya,” Owen said. “We need to jump.”

  He was right.

  “Okay,” she said. “Get ready. We’ll—”

  But then it was there. The Serpent reared its head in front of her, looming out of the murk with its eyes upon her, flicking its forked tongue. Natalya felt the same all-consuming, mind-emptying panic she had when seeing the creature for the first time, and she lost the ability to move or speak. She could only watch as the Serpent eased into alignment with itself, bringing her directly toward its mouth.

  She had to move. She had to fight it.

  “Natalya?” Owen said. “Hello?”

  “Jump,” she whispered, straining and shaking.

  “What?”

  “Jump!” she shouted, and managed to tip herself to the side, rolling off the Serpent’s back into a fall. She hit the ground hard, and her momentum tumbled her a few feet, slamming her back into a tree.

  The Serpent’s body continued to rush past her for a few moments, but she didn’t spot Owen riding it, which hopefully meant he had listened to her and bailed out somewhere down-snake. She didn’t dare call to him to find out, because even in that moment, the Serpent’s body had slowed, and from every direction she heard the rasp and rattle of its scales against the trees. Then she saw one of its great looping coils slide into view. Then another, and another, until she was surrounded, and the whole Forest appeared to writhe with its impossible body.

  Natalya cowered where she was, in pain, frozen in place as if already impaled against the tree by the Serpent’s fang. At any moment, its silent head would slip around the tree she leaned against, and there would be nothing to do, and nowhere to run. Its mouth would open, and it would swallow her alive. The thought of it brought a scream to her throat, but she covered her mouth to trap it inside and stay hidden for just a few moments more. Just another moment or two of fear, fighting the inevitable.

  Unless Monroe could pull her out before then. The simulation would end either way, with her death or with an evacuation. But she wouldn’t have learned anything that could help stop Isaiah. He would still be unstoppable if he found the Trident.

  Well, if she was going to fail, it might as well be on her terms, but it wouldn’t be because she’d asked Monroe to save her. After all, the voice had said the path was through fear. So she accepted her fear, instead of fighting it. Against every instinct buried in the deepest corners of her mind, she stood up. Then she took several deep and even breaths, listening only to the sound of herself. When her hands stopped shaking, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then she stepped out from behind the tree.

  The Serpent whipped its head toward her, tongue flicking, but she didn’t run from it. In accepting her fear, she found it had actually vanished, for it no longer served a purpose. Now she stood her ground, calmly facing the enormous monster bearing down on her.

  The Serpent closed the distance between them almost instantly, and Natalya closed her eyes, allowing it to happen when it happened. She felt the soft Forest floor beneath her feet, and high above the sm
ell of snake she caught something light and fragrant. A blossom of some kind.

  A shadow crossed her, blotting out even the meager light in the woods, and then she felt something flick the top her head, tossing her hair. The Serpent’s tongue. After that came the monster’s mouth, which pressed against her head and opened, sliding down over her face, soft and dry, smothering her. She remained aware of a painful squeezing at every point on her body that soon forced her mouth open to let the air out of her. She was in its mouth, about to enter its throat. She lost awareness then of where she was, and she felt herself slipping into nothing—

  “Natalya!”

  Her eyes shot open.

  “There you are!” Owen called.

  She looked down at her body, and discovered she was unharmed. The Serpent had vanished. She stood upon a path paved with red stone, a path that began at her feet, and the Forest around her had changed. Bright sunlight suffused it with a soft green glow that had banished the barrier of darkness. The path of red stone ran along the ground and around the trees in loops and whorls that made little sense, but away to the right it straightened out and proceeded confidently into the Forest.

  “You found a path,” Owen said, running up beside her. “Where did the Serpent go?”

  Natalya looked again at the path, its regular stones laid close together like scales, much of its course a coiled knot. “I think … I think the Serpent is the path.”

  “What?” Owen looked down. “Really?”

  “It ate me.”

  “What?” he blurted. “What do you mean it ate you?”

  “I mean I felt it. I was inside its mouth. And then I was just … standing here.”

  Owen appeared to be tracing the path with his eyes, taking it in. Then he threw up his hands. “Sure. Why not? That makes about as much sense as anything else in this place so far.”

  “It does make sense. Sort of. When you think about what that light said.” Natalya pointed to where the path straightened out. “I think we should follow it.”

  Owen agreed. “Maybe it leads out of the Forest.”

  “I think it does.”