Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods

by Jake La Jeunesse

  “No. I’ve been alone since you’ve been gone.” She sounded upset. Sitting on the bed again, she tried to change the subject. “Zeke, I think he’s coming back.”

  He didn’t hear her. “Absolutely nothing? No cars parked outside? If you went down the street, did anything seem strange there?”

  “Not at all.” She finally began to sound concerned. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “No. Just promise to be careful when you’re alone. Okay?”

  “I may be weak, but I’m no invalid.” To prove her point, she stood up. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Ariel remained standing, but Zeke collapsed onto a small stool. “Please,” he said. “The Karellan has been spying on me constantly, and I just received a summons from the supervisor.”

  It was unusual for the government to take interest in anyone in the slums. Her face betrayed her surprise.

  “There’s more,” he continued. “He knows about you.”

  Ariel resented being kept secret, but she understood the importance. Survivors of the Roman Conflict often disappeared under mysterious circumstances, killed to cover up details of the battle.

  And both Zeke and Ariel knew those details.

  The fact that the Supervisor had taken interest in both of them did not bode well. Ariel silently resolved to step up her exercises. Difficult times were ahead.

  “He’s threatening you if I don’t meet with him. I just thought . . .”

  “You’re very sweet, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She paused. “Are you going to meet with him?”

  “I have to. I need to find out what he knows about us. I promised Micah I’d look after you.”

  Ariel’s face lit up. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about!”

  “What? My promise?”

  “No! Micah. I had another dream about him. I think he’s coming back.”

  It was hard to get excited. For ten years, Micah Frostbane had been a heavy name to drop between the two of them. He had been their captain in Rome. To Zeke, he was both friend and family, the only he had ever known. To Ariel he was savior and lover. He also survived Rome, but he had disappeared so fast it felt like he hadn’t.

  “That man in China…Ariel, the description he gave us was perfect. He saw Micah die.” Zeke paused, choking on his words. “It’s been ten years. If he were alive, he would have found us by now.” He hoped, somehow, that she would prove him wrong. Her dreams had become awfully frequent, and he himself seemed to recall a familiar face in his own dreams. Could it mean something?

  No.

  He understood dreams. They did not reach into the future, as people have believed for millennia. They were merely reflections of your mind—your current state of being, your feelings about life, your hopes and desires.

  Dreams were very powerful tools for telling the present. Ariel’s dreams only said she wanted Micah back. It was a useless message. They both already knew that.

  “This dream meant something,” she said. “I could feel it. We were in Italy, just before the Roman Conflict. It was our last night together. Only it wasn’t. ‘It won’t be long now. Everything will be fine,’ he told me. He said the war can’t go on forever. That no misery or happiness was ever permanent.”

  It sounded just like something Micah would say. He was only a few years their elder, but as wise as someone who had walked the earth for ages.

  Everyone knew him for a man who excelled in everything. He was exceptional to the point that some questioned his humanity; surely he must be guided by some divine hand. Micah was a brilliant scholar and a wise sage. He was charismatic, friendly, and social, yet at the same time he was a fierce warrior with an incredible mind for tactics and strategy. There was nothing he did that he failed at.

  Zeke had spent most of his life living in his shadow.

  A shadow that he much preferred to the monolithic plate above his head. The plate that made him nervous not just for the government that sat atop it, but for the immense bulk of metal itself, locked in equilibrium between gravity and a series of support pillars.

  He thought of the plate, the horrors he had seen in Rome, Micah Frostbane and his disappearance. Something stirred within him. Despair? Hope? Rage?

  “I’m sorry,” he told the frail girl before him, “but it’s just a dream. He’s gone. I want him back too, but I have to accept it.”

  At this comment, she came to life with a vigor that surprised Zeke. “But what reason is there to live, if not for hope?”

  Surely it wasn’t for the dead city they lived in, and definitely not to become a meal for the monsters outside the gates. He didn’t have an answer. “Still trying to make the world a better place?” he said, half to himself. He was sure that was the spirit that Micah had adored in her.

  Ariel knew what he was thinking. “I only have the desire. Micah has the passion. He has the skill. You’ll see. He’ll come back and change the world.”

  Zeke looked affectionately at this strange woman, the girl who looked twice her age and acted half it. “I hope you prove me wrong,” he said, less than hopeful. “I have to go see Dumah. Can I get you anything before I go? Something to eat?”

  “No, you go ahead.” She knew she would have to work harder to become self-reliant. She hoped for the best from the future, but didn’t trust it for an instant. Not with the Karellan sitting high above her.

  “Don’t overexert yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

  Ariel watched him leave, then pulled a threadbare coat out of her closet.

  I think I’ll try jogging tonight, she thought.

  Ages ago, the lower city of Nifelheim—the only part that truly used to be Seoul—was alive and packed with people. The city lived and breathed with its own rhythms. It moved as if it were a single organism. A human has a heart, a brain, arms and legs. Seoul had the river, the mountains, the roads and railways.

  The Administrative Sector Headquarters was in a district once called Yongsan, the Korean word meaning Dragon Mountain. But there were few left who remembered the ancient name, and even fewer who used it. Books, records, archived histories: those were only available to residents of the upper city.

  Zeke spotted the ASH from far away. One hundred meters tall, the building extended all the way up to the plate, where it continued to serve as the administrative building for the upper city as well. A pillar of support for the fortunate wealthy, both figuratively and literally.

  Was the Karellan there? He wondered. Just beyond the plate, out of sight?

  No. The overlord was well-known for his secrecy. His office was somewhere else in the city, its location known only to a select few.

  Unless that was just what he wanted everyone to believe.

  It didn’t matter. Zeke’s only goal this evening was the Supervisor, the highest ranking governor in the world, second only to the Karellan himself. He took pleasure that such a prestigious position would involve caring for a dump like Lower Nifelheim.

  But despite that, the Supervisor was a powerful man.

  At the front gate of the tower, two guards holding assault rifles blocked his path. “State your business. If you gain permission to enter, you’ll have to check your arms.” The man nodded at the sword tucked into Zeke’s belt. He never parted from it.

  “Dumah sent for me. My name is Ezekiel Branderlief, and if he wants to see me, I will keep my sword.”

  “Unacceptable. Check your weapon at once or we will place you under arrest.” The guard remained calm.

  Zeke was tempted to walk away. He was not interested in what the Supervisor had to say, and his guards were giving him no reason to hear him out. But he did need to find out what they knew about Ariel.

  He gritted his teeth. “I don’t take orders from plate-owls.”

  The guards sneered. They were militia, born and raised with the other lower-class citizens in the slums. Joining the militia was seen by many people as the only sure way of getting decent housing and daily meals. It was seen by others as se
lling-out. Roosting under the protection of the plate, like owls.

  Zeke didn’t care one way or the other, but he was getting angry, and he knew the term would disturb the calm arrogance of the guard. The men leveled their guns. In a moment, he felt his sword in his hands, as if it leapt there on its own. “You make one move and you’ll be dragging your limbs back home with your teeth,” he growled.

  “That’s enough,” boomed a clear voice. A tall man dressed in a light blue uniform stepped out of the tower. Supervisor Adam Dumah was in his mid-forties, with touches of gray in his hair. He carried himself regally, but looked tired. “You can trust him. Let him pass.”

  “My lord, are you sure?” protested the guard.

  The Supervisor turned to Zeke. “Ezekiel Branderlief. Special Forces, served during the Roman Conflict. Highly lauded, but refused promotion after the war.”

  He looked almost proud, as though he were speaking about his son. Turning back to the guards, he continued, “I’ll not live to see the day a comrade-in-arms can not be trusted to keep his weapon in the presence of his superiors.”

  Zeke could have liked the man, were it not for his overwhelming hatred getting in the way.

  “Meaning no disrespect sir,” the guard protested, “but that’s precisely what our concern is—that you won’t live to see the day.”

  “And you are very good at your job,” he replied as though he were encouraging a small child. “But I’ve heard enough from you tonight. This man is now my guest, and if he so chooses to carry his weapon, I will grant him that privilege.” He turned back toward the building. “Come with me, please.”

  Zeke followed warily.

  They walked through the halls of the ASH, unhindered by doors that slid open as they approached. They were powered with a technology uncommon in the lower city, but a technology that had existed for ages. Only for the upper-class, of course.

  The Supervisor spoke as he led the way. “Lieutenant Branderlief. Ezekiel. Zeke to your friends. May I call you Zeke?”

  “The war was a long time ago. I left the title of lieutenant in Rome. And I prefer you didn’t call me at all.” He was determined to put the governor on defense.

  “They say you were there when the plate fell.” He opened a small door that led to a reception room. A young girl typed at a keyboard, ignoring their arrival.

  “And you obviously weren’t. Survivors don’t talk about it so lightly.”

  The Supervisor stopped. “I apologize,” he said as nobly as he could. It came across as a strained effort. “In my line of work, striking up conversation with strangers is a necessity. I simply thought we might share a common bond as soldiers.”

  Zeke was incensed. He spat out his words, quiet but intense. “We’ll I’m sorry, Mr. Supervisor, but I’m not exactly the type to sit around and re-hash old war stories. I don’t care much for honor or glory or promotions. I saw the plate fall. And when it happened, any soldier or civilian would have gladly stuck a knife in my back. There is no bond between soldiers.”

  Dumah said nothing, letting the man wear himself out. Let his temper subside.

  Zeke knew this. I’m being handled, he thought. “Since you don’t seem to be getting to a point any time soon, it’s time for some of my questions. You can start by telling me how you know so much about me.”

  “Very well. We’ll make this concise. Please, let’s finish in my office.”

  The two men stepped into what could have been a 19th century British drawing room. It was lavish. Zeke forced his rage to subside. His face remained disdainful.

  The governor took a seat behind an oak desk. “To answer your question, the Karellan isn’t the only man in this nation with spies. I do a bit of . . . research . . . on my own.”

  This was new. The Supervisor knew his secret. Did the Karellan? “Who have you told about Ariel?” He began to pace slowly, as if circling the governor.

  “The woman?” he said. “Oh, no one. I assure you I’ve kept knowledge of your girlfriend to myself and a handful of trusted agents.”

  Trusted by the Supervisor. Not by Zeke.

  “Good. As for you, I suggest you draw back those agents, because if your thugs leave so much as a suspicious footprint near my sector, my blade will taste your heart before . . .”

  “Please, please,” Dumah interrupted. His tone was disapproving. “Such a flair for melodrama. Mr. Branderlief, I will tolerate you for the sake of this mission, but do not test my power.” He stood. His voice became more soothing. “I swear to you on my honor as a soldier. If you cooperate with me, no harm will come to her.”

  Zeke stood a moment, sizing him up. Lieutenant Colonel Adam Dumah had also served in the war against the High Theocracy. He was absent from Rome for unknown reasons. Not by his choice. Micah met him a few times and had always spoken highly of him, although he was not as renowned as Frostbane himself. Dumah was a professional soldier in his day. And now he had sworn on that profession.

  He hated to admit it, but he could trust this oath. Zeke’s cooperation in return for Ariel’s safety. “So you want me for a mission?”

  “That is, of course, the reason I asked to see you tonight.” He seemed delighted that he had asked, as if this were a pleasant chat and he had just mentioned Dumah’s favorite topic.

  He is evil. “Kind of worked that out on my own,” he said.

  The governor stood. “These are tough times for everyone.”

  Zeke scowled. He thought of the oak desk. The embroidered rug beneath his feet. The wood burning fireplace in the wall.

  “Even I have the Karellan breathing down my neck. It wasn’t enough for him to appoint me to run the city. Like most administrators, he wants his hand in everything. To do my job around me.”

  Zeke wasn’t interested in his personal problems. “Just get to the point.”

  “He’s withdrawing his medical support. Our supplies have been cut,” Dumah continued. Hospitals in the lower city were under-funded, under-staffed, and under-supplied. Their patients could expect little chance of recovery as it was. To cut supplies would mean to end lives.

  But it was an all too familiar story in the lower cities.

  “So you’ve called me to your office and threatened Ariel because you ran out of band-aids?”

  The governor rose, slowly approaching. “It would do you good to be patient. I know you have no love for me, but I do have just cause for requesting your help.”

  “Then get to the point,” he snapped.

  A scowl flashed across Dumah’s face. Although it vanished instantly, his fatherly cheer did not return. It was all business from here.

  “There are reports of a complex, far to the south by the former city of Pusan. It’s been abandoned since the draugr started attacking open settlements, but intelligence suggests we may be able to locate some supplies there.”

  “And you want me to go get them.” It was not a question.

  “They tell me you’re the best.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Higher-ups,” the Supervisor said evasively. He turned and paced back toward his chair. “Nameless faces in the national bureaucracies.”

  More spies, thought Zeke. Then a thought occurred to him. “They pull their support, tell you where to find supplies, then want me to go get them?”

  Dumah paused. He looked grave. There was a moment of understanding between the two men. Only a moment. “Be careful. Obviously you can’t trust them. But you will retrieve those supplies.”

  Zeke thought of Ariel, being used as leverage against him. He thought of some place safe he might move her.

  In the lower city? Forget it. Everyone seemed to be a spy for the Karellan or the Supervisor. He could boast his skill and throw around threats. No one questioned that he was capable of following through. But he was far from omniscient. He could not be everywhere at once. He was not god-like. The choice was simple. Refuse, and every man he passed in the street would become an assassin in disguise, or cooperate for Ariel’s safety.
Until he found a way out. A lifetime of blackmail seemed a poor choice, no matter what the circumstances.

  “Fine,” he agreed.

  Dumah forced his cheerfulness to return. “Good. As I said, cooperate with me, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  “Just tell me the details so I can get out of here.” His words cut through the governor’s smile.

  “Very well.” He stood and approached Zeke, like a General briefing a soldier. “You’ll be working with three of my associates. I believe you’ve already met Daniel. The other two are some of my best soldiers.”

  “Daniel’s not militia?”

  “No. He’s assigned this mission from another department. But I assure you, everyone I am sending will work towards its success.” He paused. Silence. Then he continued. “Now as I was saying, the team will meet at the south gate of the city with the equipment. They will brief you. Oh-six-hundred hours. Be prompt.”

  “Finished?” he asked, unimpressed with the military jargon.

  “You may take your leave, if you wish.”

  Zeke turned and walked swiftly for the door, but stopped when he reached it. “Say I want to see Daniel tonight. Can I see him on the way out?”

  “I’m sorry, but I believe he left already. Mentioned something about having business at the Cathedral.”

  “Thank you. I’ll find him there.”

  The Supervisor watched as Zeke’s form vanished behind the closing door. He turned back toward his desk.

  “I thought you were going soft on us,” came a dark voice. “That bit with the blackmail, though. That was priceless. Who is this ‘Ariel,’ by the way?”

  The ninja sat in Dumah’s leather chair, his feet propped up on the oak desk.

  “Mr. Hugin.” The governor’s voice was heavy. “Both Ravens visiting me in one day? This man must be important for the Karellan to send his personal spies.”

  Hugin was a familiar, yet unwelcome face in the governor’s office. He was a Raven, one of the overlord’s personal attendants, responsible for gathering information and pulling the strings of the overlord’s dirtier projects. They were powerful, thorough and efficient. Not to be underestimated. If a malak appeared in the middle of the Amazon, the Ravens could report it within an hour.