Helheimr

by Fynn F Gunnarson

  Sharp Axe carried out a quick mental count of all the world-ruling goddesses he knew. He could think of only one. He was one step ahead of Harald Fairhair in the story and did not like the way the next chapter was starting to look.

  ‘Which goddess?’ asked Sharp Axe, hoping his memory had failed him.

  ‘Hel,’ replied the king, pleasantly.

  ‘And would I be right in thinking that you are looking for volunteers to retrieve this list of kings, so that you can prove your right to the throne?’ deduced Sharp Axe.

  ‘Yes, you would,’ smiled the king. ‘That’s it exactly! I knew I’d chosen the right leader for this mission!’

  [Congratulatory noises from most of the men, aimed at Sharp Axe.]

  ‘I need you to retrieve the list of Norway’s kings for me from – ’

  ‘Helheimr,’ breathed Sharp Axe.

  ‘Exactly!’ said the king, brightly.

  ‘Helheimr!’ exclaimed Hodbrodd. ‘Sounds nice. Is it far from here?’

  ‘You don’t understand, Hodbrodd,’ groaned Sharp Axe. ‘Helheimr is the Realm of the Dead!’

  ‘Oh… ’ said Hodbrodd, screwing up his face as he racked his brains, ‘… don’t think I’ve ever been there... ’

  ‘Well,’ interrupted Fearless, clapping his hands smartly and briskly rubbing them together. ‘Thank you so much for keeping us entertained, this afternoon, your... er... Majesty. Absolutely first class history lesson, there... but I think it’s about time I was making a move... long journey back home, you know. Now... if you could just see your way clear to handing over the money I was promised… ?’

  ‘How is it that you were offered money, Fearless,’ interrupted Fynn, ‘when none of the rest of us… ?’

  Fynn suddenly stopped himself in mid-question, having caught sight of the onset of some activity around him: the other men were now shuffling their feet awkwardly, looking at the ground, whistling distractedly or, in some cases, doing all three.

  ‘Ah... ’ said Fynn distantly, the message hitting home, ‘… you were all offered money... except for Sharp Axe and me... why is that, your Majesty?’

  The king cocked his head to one side and observed Fynn.

  ‘I – that is my messengers – had to make a judgment, on meeting each of you, as to what it would take to persuade you to help save the Kingdom of Norway... in the case of you and Erik Sharp Axe, it was clear that you were noble, with a strong sense of duty and that you would work tirelessly to avoid civil war and even fight to the death to prevent invasion.’

  ‘Er... well... ’ shrugged Fynn, a little uncertainly.

  ‘Whereas,’ continued Harald Fairhair, ‘gold was a far more attractive proposition to certain others... well... everyone else, in fact.’ The king paused and looked around at Sharp Axe and the men. ‘You were chosen for this mission because the tales of your heroic adventures proved that, if anyone could help me in my hour of need, you men could! Of course you will be paid if that is what it takes... er, Fearless, was it? But when – and only when – I have Freyr’s list of the House of Yngling’s monarchs in my hand.’

  [Disappointed groans from most of the men.]

  ‘I don’t want your money,’ exclaimed Sharp Axe, to surprised looks from the men and to one of great disappointment from the king; but Sharp Axe continued, ‘I’ll do it to avoid civil war and prevent invasion.’

  Harald Fairhair looked at Sharp Axe in the way a proud father might look at his favourite son – in exactly the way, in fact, that Sharp Axe’s own father had never looked at him.

  ‘Now,’ said Sharp Axe, boldly, looking around at the men. ‘Who’s with me?’

  [Silence.]

  ‘I am!’ said Fynn and Aldaron, simultaneously, after but a moment’s pause.

  [Otherwise, total silence.]

  ‘I really am very wealthy,’ pointed out the king, on the off-chance that this piece of information might, for some reason, encourage still-undecided would-be volunteers to sign up for the mission.

  [Immediate assortment of declarations from the men, such as: ‘You can count on me, your Majesty!’, ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ and ‘Helheimr’s supposed to be nice, this time of year!’]

  Even Fearless, his legendary cowardice having finally been slightly outweighed by his greed, jealousy and fear that all the others might end up rich whilst, if he walked away now, he would end up with nothing, was moved to volunteer for the mission.

  ‘Excellent!’ declared the king with his broadest smile yet. ‘Now, gather round while I tell you what you will need to do... ’

  Chapter Five

  Surtr

  ‘So,’ said Harald Fairhair in conclusion, having informed the men of precisely what their mission entailed, ‘does everyone understand what needs to be done?’

  Of the eleven men staring back at their monarch, only three nodded: Sharp Axe, Fynn and Aldaron. The king quickly appraised the situation: of the eight remaining men, five looked as though they would never understand the plan, even if he were to spend the rest of the day trying to clarify it; the other three, he correctly assumed had, in all probability, simply not been listening to him.

  ‘Good,’ said Harald Fairhair, again correctly assuming that this was the best result for which he could have hoped, under the circumstances. He wondered, briefly, whether this group of individuals could really be the ones who had found Mjøllnir – a feat which not even the Thunder God himself had been able to manage.

  ‘I must take my leave now, I am afraid... good luck to you all,’ announced the king suddenly, having decided that this would be a good time to make his departure, before someone asked him to repeat the instructions or he began to receive awkward questions about, for example, the precise nature of the risks involved in embarking on such a mission. ‘And bear in mind,’ he added over his shoulder as, flanked by his two armed guards, he began to walk rather briskly towards the dense copse out of which he had earlier appeared, ‘Erik Sharp Axe is acting on my authority... so treat him with the respect you would afford your king... ’ and, with that, he promptly disappeared into the trees.

  Sharp Axe could feel all eyes were on him; some of the men, in particular Alfgeir and Hodbrodd, were staring at him as though they had never seen him before.

  ‘Should we... ’ ventured Alfgeir, reverently, ‘... call you “Your Majesty”?’

  Sharp Axe sighed. ‘No, Alfgeir,’ he answered, self-consciously.

  ‘What about “My Liege”... your Majesty?’ suggested Hodbrodd, respectfully.

  ‘Sharp Axe will be fine,’ replied Sharp Axe, abruptly.

  If Sharp Axe had thought this might bring an end to the staring, he was wrong: the staring continued and the accompanying silence made him decidedly uncomfortable. To break it, Sharp Axe cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘we must – ’ but he was cut short by a commotion, which appeared be emanating from just inside the wood, close to the spot where the king had re-entered it a few moments earlier. There was a loud, frantic squealing sound, followed, a split second later, by the sudden appearance of two wild boars. They shot out of the trees, past Sharp Axe and the men, then carried running and squealing as if their lives depended on it.

  ‘What in Asgard – ?’ began Sharp Axe, but was interrupted again, this time by Aldaron.

  ‘Bad omen, that,’ he informed them, in a bleak, concerned tone.

  ‘Why?’ asked Fynn.

  ‘When animals look that terrified, it usually means that dark forces are at work,’ replied the Light Elf.

  ‘Dark forces – ?’ began Sharp Axe, only to be cut short again, this time by his brother.

  ‘Is he,’ demanded Fearless, looking at Sharp Axe but pointing at Aldaron, ‘going to be doing this the whole time? Spreading doom and despair with his “sixth-sense”... or whatever strange powers it is those elves think they’ve got? Hmm? Is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Sharp Axe, evenly. ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’
/>
  ‘What does this “omen” mean, then?’ ranted Fearless, turning on Aldaron. ‘That we’re all going to die horribly, stampeded by wild boar? What, exactly, does it actually mean?’

  ‘Well… ’ began Aldaron, wishing now that he had kept his concerns to himself, ‘… I’m not… exactly sure what it – ’

  ‘There! See what I mean?’ spat Fearless triumphantly, mainly to Hedin and Hamdir, who both nodded knowingly.

  ‘All right,’ said Sharp Axe, irritation now evident in his voice, ‘now that we’ve cleared that up… as I was going to say, I think we’d better set off immediately. Muspelheimr is several days’ ride away from here, according to the king and he needs that list urgently.’

  ‘Muspelheimr?’ said one of the men. ‘List?’ said another. Sharp Axe knew that, however long the journey ahead might be, with this particular group of men in tow, it would seem much, much longer.

  ‘I’ll explain everything to you all – again – when we set up camp, tonight,’ he sighed, then mounted his horse and galloped off along the road south which, Harald Fairhair had said, would eventually lead Sharp Axe and his men to Muspelheimr, land of the Fire Giants.

  *

  ‘Muspelheimr,’ explained Sharp Axe, as he sat by the campfire that same night, ‘is inhabited by a race known as the Fire Giants.’

  ‘Why do we have to go there,’ piped up Ulric, ‘if the list we need is in – where was it – Helheimr?’

  ‘Because,’ sighed Sharp Axe, ’the list is in Helheimr but, before we get to Helheimr, we need to go to Muspelheimr, to seek out the Fire Giant Surtr – because,’ has added quickly, anticipating the next question from at least three people, ‘we need his assistance to guide us through another place along the way, called Niflheimr and, also, through Helheimr itself – ’

  ‘Why in Midgard,’ interrupted Fearless, ‘would we need a Fire Giant to guide us through these places, when we have, perhaps, the finest navigator in all the Northern Lands here, amongst us, already?’

  Sharp Axe was confused, partly by the apparently complimentary nature of Fearless’s question, but mainly by the fact that he had no idea to whom he was referring.

  ‘Well… Alfgeir, of course!’ elaborated Fearless, to everyone’s surprise, especially Alfgeir’s.

  ‘Er... well... ’ began Alfgeir, with a modest shrug, singularly failing to realise that the last thing on Fearless’s mind had been any intention of delivering a compliment.

  ‘Because,’ explained Sharp Axe, deciding to address Fearless’s question, since there was a point to be made and he wanted to make it, ‘directions are not the problem.’

  Alfgeir looked relieved.

  ‘The problem,’ continued the leader, ‘is that, without Surtr as our guide... well, let’s put it this way... no-one but a god or a giant has ever made the journey to Helheimr... at least, no-one who ever managed to… live to tell the tale.’

  [Silence.]

  ‘The, er, other thing is that… even if we did make it to Helheimr... we’d need to be protected from the Goddess of the Dead, Hel. She wouldn’t make visitors like us feel very welcome... ’

  ‘Because she would... ?’ enquired Fearless.

  ‘Well, she would… kill us... ’ replied Sharp Axe.

  [More silence.]

  ‘What are these Fire Giants like?’ asked Fynn, eventually, hoping that a new direction in the conversation might help to lift the gloom which had gradually descended upon the group.

  ‘Well, I always thought that they were the enemies of the Aesir in Asgard and the Vanir in Vanaheimr,’ replied Sharp Axe, trying to explain in the simplest terms, for the benefit of those of his men he knew would find it hard to follow any kind of explanation, ‘but the king seemed to speak in very glowing terms about Surtr, didn’t he? And since this list was created by the Vanr, Freyr… and Surtr will be helping us to carry out Freyr’s wishes, I suppose I must have been wrong about the Fire Giants. Anyway, as to what they’re like, I think it’s pretty safe to assume they will be a lot bigger than we are and used to a very hot climate – Muspelheimr is, apparently, a very fiery place.’

  ‘Will they speak our language?’ asked Jormunrek, whose knowledge of Ancient Norse had proved so useful and yet, at the same time, such a liability, during the visit of Sharp Axe and his men to Jøtunheimr.

  ‘You know, Jormunrek,’ replied Sharp Axe, ‘I really don’t know... but I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of – ’

  ‘Getting one of us married off to a Fire Giantess?’ offered Fearless.

  ‘I was going to say, Jormunrek, that you’ll be more than capable of making us understood, if you need to,’ said Sharp Axe supportively, ignoring Fearless’s latest dig although, in truth, exactly the same thought had already occurred to him.

  ‘What about this Niflheimr place?’ asked Alfgeir, who was secretly hoping he would not be called upon to do any navigating during the mission – as, indeed, was the rest of the group.

  ‘Apart from the landscape being pretty flat, I expect it to be something along the lines of Jøtunheimr,’ speculated Sharp Axe.

  [Groans from the men.]

  ‘Except,’ he continued, ‘much darker and a lot windier.’

  [Louder groans.]

  ‘And a lot more dangerous,’ added Fearless.

  [Uproar.]

  ‘No, no,’ shouted Sharp Axe above the din, shaking his head, ‘it won’t be dangerous for us… the king told us – as you’ll remember, Fearless – that Niflheimr is uninhabited... well... mostly, anyway.’

  [Sudden, brief silence, followed by resumption of uproar.]

  Why, thought Sharp Axe to himself, couldn’t Fearless still be stranded up that tree in Grimstad?

  *

  As the men talked into the night, a lone, hooded crow sat in a tree, above the campfire, its head tilted slightly to one side, as if it were somehow listening to everything being said on the ground below.

  *

  After almost four days’ ride along the route described by Harald Fairhair, the south coast of Norway finally came into view in the far distance, as the king had said it would. The terrain had also changed markedly, from lush, green, rolling hills to dry, dusty rocks and stones, which slowed down the men’s progress considerably, for fear that the horses (and they, themselves) might sustain injuries from falling.

  The temperature had also been rising quite noticeably for the previous few hours, as the group approached what would turn out to be the southern-most entrance into Muspelheimr. This, according to Harald Fairhair, was where the Chief Fire Giant and guardian of Muspelheimr, Surtr – older and, some said, more powerful than the gods of Asgard themselves – had built his great castle out of a single, colossal, magnificent piece of black marble. This entrance also provided the men with their only hope of safe access into Muspelheimr, with its permanently blood-red, sunless sky and thick, acrid smoke, which issued from the raging underground fires and angry, unpredictable volcanoes.

  ‘We can’t ride into that!’ complained Fearless, pointing at the deep-orange glow emanating through almost impenetrably-thick grey smoke and mist, ahead in the distance. ‘We’ll be roasted alive! And, even if we aren’t, I have very delicate skin... I’m bound to come out in a heat rash.’

  ‘It’s the only way in for us,’ replied Sharp Axe dismissively, his gaze also fixed on the unwelcoming sight. ‘If we tried to enter Muspelheimr anywhere else, we’d either be burned alive or killed by one of the other Fire Giants who lives here.’

  ‘Sharp Axe,’ said Aldaron, leaning over from his leader’s left side and speaking quietly enough to be heard only by Sharp Axe and Fynn, ‘I’ve been wondering about something... ’

  ‘Yes?’ asked Sharp Axe cautiously, hoping it had nothing to do with bad omens or dark forces.

  ‘Do you think we can… trust Surtr?’ continued Aldaron. ‘I’ve never heard very good things about the Fire Giants.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking, too,’ said Fynn, leaning in from Sharp Axe’s other side a
nd speaking just as quietly as Aldaron had.

  ‘Hmm?’ went Sharp Axe, fearing the worst.

  ‘If Harald Fairhair has never personally seen this list of Freyr’s... how does he actually know his name is on it?’

  ‘What?’ frowned Sharp Axe, who had never, until this moment, even considered that Harald Fairhair might be anything other than the rightful King of Norway.

  ‘Well,’ explained Fynn, ‘just say, for instance, that Freyr had not put Harald Fairhair’s name on the list... I mean, there might be other living members of the House of Yngling, for all we know... what if one of them is the rightful king and not Harald Fairhair?’

  ‘I suppose... ’ said Sharp Axe slowly, ‘... that we should read the list when we get it... ’

  ‘Yes,’ went on Fynn, ‘but what if his name isn’t on it? We’ll know he isn’t the rightful king! And if we hand over the list to Fairhair, then once he’s read the list himself, he’ll know that we know that someone else is the rightful king!’

  ‘Which,’ deduced Aldaron, ‘will make it very dangerous to be us!’

  ‘Well, yes... ’ agreed Sharp Axe, ‘... I’m sure the king has more supporters like those two enormous guards, somewhere or other.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Fynn brightly, but still quietly, ‘some poor, unsuspecting individual delivered it to Fairhair alone... perhaps someone who had stolen the list from the rest of us, because he thought he’d be in line to receive all the credit and money himself, for taking it to the king.’

  ‘Fearless!’ whispered Sharp Axe and Aldaron together and all three of the front riders let out a triumphant, conspiratorial laugh.

  ‘What is it you three find so funny?’ enquired Fearless, from the back of the group.

  Sharp Axe shook his head by way of reply but kept his silence, just in case Fynn’s plan proved, one day, to be a useful fall-back option.