Quickly, Mithrén jumped to her feet, dressed hurriedly and raced out of the small wooden dwelling, in search of the only people she knew who might be able to provide the answer: the Elven Elders.
*
‘So... if we could just clarify the situation, here… ’ said Fearless, looking up at Surtr, as the giant led the men on, towards Nastrondr, ‘… basically, this journey is dangerous, after all... ’ and he shot a look of thorough disapproval back towards his brother who, in Fearless’s opinion, had deliberately led him to believe that the contrary had been the case.
‘Your life is not at risk – ’ replied the Fire Giant, slowly and without looking down at Fearless.
‘Oh, good – ’
‘ – provided you remain by my side... I can protect you from the creatures – ’
‘ – Creatures!?’ gasped Fearless, frantically looking around for any signs of their presence in the immediate vicinity.
‘ – as long as you do not try to confront them – ’ continued Surtr.
‘No need to worry about that, where Fearless is concerned,’ muttered Sharp Axe to himself, but suspected that Surtr already had the measure of his brother.
‘ – or get too close to them. I shall walk the path we need to take... make sure you stay close to me and walk that same path’ concluded the Fire Giant.
The group plodded on in silence, until Aldaron, who had by far the keenest eyesight of those following Surtr, said quietly to Sharp Axe and Fynn, ‘What’s that? There, look... up ahead... on the right.’
As the group approached what Aldaron had seen, the men could make out, through Niflheimr’s gloom, what looked like a series of very thick, twisted ropes, apparently hanging from the sky, down to the ground.
Sharp Axe frowned and shook his head. ‘It... looks like... like giant roots... hmmm... I wonder... ’
The whole structure appeared to be bathed in a faint but distinct glow and, as the men drew nearer, they could make out movement between its crooked limbs: movement of a slithering, serpentine nature.
‘Are they... ?’ began Sharp Axe, addressing Surtr with an open-mouthed expression of awe and astonishment on his face, ‘the roots of the World Tree?’
‘Yggdrasil,’ replied Surtr, with a brief though, nonetheless, approving look down at Sharp Axe.
‘Ygg... dra... what?’ demanded Fearless. ‘And what are those horrible snake-things doing in it?’
‘I’ve heard of this... ’ gasped Sharp Axe, ignoring Fearless, ‘... in stories... years ago! I... I didn’t realise it actually existed!’
‘Looks like ash roots,’ commented Aldaron who, as a forest-dweller, knew a thing or two about trees.
‘Would you tell us about it?’ said Sharp Axe, suddenly, to Surtr. ‘Er... please?’
The Fire Giant slowed down and came, gradually, to a stop.
‘Could we get a closer look?’ enquired Fynn.
‘Is it safe?’ wondered Fearless, loudly.
Surtr appeared to consider the requests of Sharp Axe and Fynn then, without answering, began to walk towards the gigantic, confused, twisted mass of roots and its slowly-writhing, parasitic inhabitants.
Sharp Axe looked round at his men, most of whom stood still, some looking horrified, others merely apprehensive, but all staring at the spectacle, with no apparent desire to move any nearer to it.
‘Come on,’ said Sharp Axe to them, encouragingly, ‘this isn’t something you see every day! We’ll be safe with Surtr,’ and he followed the Fire Giant, in order to have a better look at one of the great wonders of the Nine Worlds.
On closer inspection, the men could see that the serpents which, viewed from close-quarters, appeared to be even larger and more disgusting than they had appeared from a distance, were gnawing at the roots with long, slender, very sharp-looking fangs which projected, disconcertingly, from their enormous, wide mouths.
‘They’re eating it!’ exclaimed Alfgeir, clearly shocked. ‘They’re eating the... World Tree... thing!’ He looked up at Surtr, an anxious, eagerly-enquiring expression on his weather-beaten old features. ‘Is that bad?’ ’he asked.
Everyone looked at Surtr.
‘Well,’ replied Surtr, looking unconcerned, ‘Grafvitnir, there, looks well on it, don’t you think?’
At the mention of its name, one of the huge, black, glistening serpents which was entwined in Yggdrasil’s roots, positioned a little higher from the ground than the Fire Giant’s head, stopped its gnawing and looked down.
‘They have names!?’ cried Jormunrek, clearly both amazed and, at the same time, rather repulsed by this prospect.
‘Yes,’ said Surtr, flatly, though a raised eyebrow betrayed his surprise at Jormunrek’s reaction. ‘Below Grafvitnir are his two sons, Goin and Moin... next to them is Svafnir... ’ The giant scanned the hanging roots and pointed to another serpent. ‘That is Grafvollud and, next to him, Ofnir... ’ he said and craned his neck, to identify those serpents who were residing in Yggdrasil’s roots at a much greater altitude. ‘Ah, yes... there are Grabak and Hring – you see, together, there? And... Hoggvard is just above them... so... Nad should be somewhere... ah, yes, over there.’
‘He knows his serpents, doesn’t he?’ muttered Hodbrodd to Sharp Axe. ‘He could get work here, as a proper guide.’
‘Maybe,’ replied Sharp Axe, unenthusiastically, ‘but I don’t think this place gets many tourists.’
‘These... things,’ said Fearless loudly, to no one in particular, from well behind the rest of the group. ‘They aren’t liable to fall off those roots, are they?’ but everyone ignored him.
‘Shouldn’t there be... ?’ began Sharp Axe, looking as though he were trying to remember something but, before he could say any more, there was a loud, ominous scraping sound, which came from beside one of the World Tree’s lowest-slung roots. The men immediately turned their attention to the position from where the noise seemed to be coming and saw, with growing horror, a most vile, repulsive and stomach-churning sight. A giant, dark-green, serpent-like creature, considerably larger than any of the serpents which occupied the nearby collection of roots, with tiny, seemingly-ineffectual limbs and wings, a large, rather pointed head and blazing, orange-yellow eyes, was slithering its way slowly towards Yggdrasil’s roots, out of a bubbling, steaming, water-filled hole in the ground, which none of the men had previously noticed. Its arrival on the scene was accompanied by a disgustingly rancid, putrid smell: the smell of rotting human flesh.
‘... another serpent?’ concluded Sharp Axe.
‘Nidhøggr… ’ announced Surtr almost brightly, by way of introduction, ‘… the serpent-dragon.’
‘Urghhhh... I think I’m going… to be sick,’ grumbled Fearless, hand to mouth, turning away from the group.
‘He resides,’ continued Surtr, unconcerned, ‘in that well over there, called Hvergelmir – the roaring cauldron – living off the rotting corpses which Hel brings to him from her realm.’
‘He’s well looked-after, then,’ ventured Hodbrodd. ‘Is he dangerous? I don’t like the way he’s – ’
‘Only if you are a corpse,’ replied Surtr reassuringly. ‘He eats only long-dead flesh... oh and the roots of Yggdrasil, of course, when he has no corpses.’
‘There are wells by Yggdrasil’s roots in other worlds, aren’t there?’ said Sharp Axe to Surtr, who nodded.
‘There are two others,’ he said, raising dark eyebrows and nodding, a faint smile indicating some small measure of satisfaction that he could share his wealth of knowledge. ‘One is Mimisbrunnr, found beneath Yggdrasil’s roots in Jøtunheimr, guarded by the God of Wisdom, Mimir... of whom Odin requested a single drink from the well, that he might acquire great knowledge and who demanded one of Odin’s eyes in return.’
[Groans of shock and disgust with Mimir and of general sympathy for Odin from the men.]
‘Odin also hung himself,’ added the Fire Giant, having registered the men’s reaction, ‘for nine days and nights from Yggdrasil, again in the quest
for knowledge. I only hope the indescribable agony he endured was worth it!’
[More groans of shock and general sympathy for Odin from the men.]
‘And the other well,’ continued Surtr, ‘is Urdarbrunnr, which lies beneath Yggdrasil’s roots in Asgard, across Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge. That well is cared for by the Norns: the three sisters, Urda, Verlandi and Skuld – Past, Present and Future.’
‘Right, well,’ said Fearless, having taken several very deep breaths to calm his delicately-poised digestive system, ‘this is all fascinating stuff... absolutely fascinating, but – ’
‘Yggdrasil,’ cut in Sharp Axe, once again addressing Surtr, ‘has other inhabitants, doesn’t it?’
‘It does,’ confirmed the Fire Giant. ‘Two swans – the first two that ever existed – swim on the water of Urdarbrunnr; they feed off the ash leaves from the World Tree, which the Norns throw upon the water.’
‘Told you it was an ash,’ muttered Aldaron, clearly pleased with himself, but no-one took any notice.
‘Then,’ went on Surtr, ‘between the branches of Yggdrasil, live four deer stags, known as Dain, Dvalin, Duneyr and Durathror, who also sustain themselves on its leaves. At the very top of Yggdrasil, lives the blind eagle known as Vidfonir.’ At the sound of this name, Nidhøggr turned towards the men, hissing threateningly; in response, almost all of the men took a precautionary step back.
‘Upon the eagle’s beak,’ continued Surtr, nonchalantly, ‘sits the falcon, Vedhrfolnir, who does nothing but watch and whose eyes see what the eagle’s cannot. And, finally,’ said Surtr, with an expectant eye on Nidhøggr, ‘there is the squirrel, Ratatoskr – ’ and here, Nidhøggr, who had been slowly working his way up through the lower, complex mass of hanging roots, quickly twisted his head again, opened his eyes wide and let out a sudden angry, surprisingly-loud, screaming roar of disapproval, which made all but the Fire Giant jump with fright.
Surtr merely chuckled quietly. ‘The squirrel,’ he explained, looking down at the men, ‘torments poor
Nidhøggr , there, running from the very top of Yggdrasil, down to the roots here in Nastrondr, taunting him with tales of how the eagle plans to tear him apart, then running back to tell the eagle tales of how Nidhøggr plans to eat him whole.’
‘Life here sounds like great fun,’ said Fearless, ‘it really does, but shouldn’t we be – ?’
‘The well, Hvergelmir,’ went on Surtr, as though Fearless were both invisible and silent, ‘is the source of many rivers: Svol, Gunnthra, Fjorm, Fimbulthul, Slidr, Hrid, Sylg, Ylg, Vid, Leiptr and Gjøll… ’
[Polite nods and very quiet round of applause from the men, in recognition of Surtr’s impressive memory.]
‘… and it is the bridge over the river Gjøll,’ continued Surtr, ‘that we must cross, in order to enter the gates of Helheimr.’
These words brought Sharp Axe back to reality with a sudden jolt, reminding him of how close he and the men were to the dreadful and unknown horrors of the Realm of the Dead.
‘And you should find that... an interesting experience, shall we say?’ added Surtr, with the slightest sign of a smirk on his ancient features.
*
‘I think,’ explained Mithrén to the small gathering of Álfheimr’s Elven Elders that she had managed to rouse from their beds so early in the morning, ‘that Sharp Axe and Aldaron need help – ’
‘You think... ?’ cut in one of the elders, doubtfully, his head cocked slightly to one side.
‘Well, yes... I had... a dream,’ spluttered Mithrén, not wanting to waste too much time describing why she thought help was required, ‘and in this dream, they were with a group of men – ’
‘Not those ruffians who came with him, in search of milk from our goat?’ interrupted another elder.
‘Er... yes... ’ replied Mithrén uneasily, taking a brief moment to reflect on how badly this seemed to be going, ‘... probably.’
‘Probably?’ repeated the first elder.
‘Yes, look, ’ sighed Mithrén, the first signs of desperation now apparent in both her voice and expression, ‘the details in the dream were a little vague – ’
[Some sighing, tutting and head-shaking from the Elven Elders.]
‘ – but,’ persisted the elf maiden, ‘the point is that, in this dream, they were being led through what I believe to have been Muspelheimr and Niflheimr... by a dark-skinned, glowing giant, of some kind... ’
[Some furtive glances and quiet muttering between the Elven Elders.]
‘... And... ’ frowned Mithrén, tentatively, ‘... they were all being followed – at a distance and unseen... by a solitary hooded crow.’
[Silence.]
Chapter Eight
Garmr
‘Well, that was interesting… ’ mused Fearless, in a tone which Sharp Axe recognised as his brother’s most extreme degree of sarcasm (one he reserved for moments when he was feeling particularly irritated with someone, something or just life in general) as the group set off again, ‘… The World Tree... marvellous... and what fascinating wildlife! I think I’d quite like one of those tree-snake things myself, for the garden back home... ’
[Grunts of general disagreement from the men.]
‘... although that Nidhøggr’s standards of personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.’
[Grunts of general agreement from the men.]
‘You should be careful where you tread, now,’ advised Surtr, although he delivered the warning rather casually and did not appear to be taking particular care of where he was treading, himself.
‘Why – what’s wrong?’ enquired Sharp Axe who, looking ahead of Surtr, could see nothing to cause concern. All he could see, in fact, other than some rather large puddles, situated on either side of the path along which they were walking, were harmless-looking lumps of what appeared to comprise rock or wood of varying sizes, scattered randomly within and outside the puddles. ‘I don’t... see... ’
‘Nastrondr is also known as the “Shore of Corpses”,’ Surtr informed them, in a very matter-of-fact manner. ‘What you can see up ahead are pools of venom from the serpents who are presently hanging amongst Yggdrasil’s roots... ’
[Loud groans of disgust from the men.]
‘... together with remnants of human bodies, which Nidhøggr has found not to be to his taste.’
[Louder groans of disgust from the men.]
As the men drew nearer to what the Fire Giant had described, treading now with extreme care, the stench of rotting human flesh became so strong, they found it almost unbearable. Surtr, however, seemed unaffected by it.
‘Do not step in the venom,’ he continued, considerately, ‘or you will lose your feet.’
‘Or, in your case, Randver, foot,’ pointed out Fearless considerately and rather nasally, as he was pinching his nostrils together at the time with thumb and forefinger, in a determined attempt to maximise his chances of crossing the Shore of Corpses without passing out along the way.
After a most unpleasant walk which lasted several minutes (but which felt much longer than that to the men), the ground became drier, there were no longer any lumps of human flesh to be seen and the men could breathe a little more easily.
‘Phew!’ sighed Alfgeir, finally filling his lungs with generous quantities of what passed for fresh air in Niflheimr. ‘I wouldn’t want to go through that again... ’
‘Well, assuming you can’t navigate your way around it – no, of course, not: what am I saying? – we shall have to come back this way... ’ drawled Fearless, observantly, ‘... unless you were planning to move in with Hel, that is. Obviously, we’d have to kill you first – ’ but he stopped abruptly, because several small fires had suddenly broken out on various parts of his clothing.
Sharp Axe and Fynn swung into action, swiftly removing their trusty blankets from the bags on their backs, into which they had been packed again on entering Nastrondr, for its climate was slightly less cold than that of the main region of Niflheimr. With these, th
ey systematically beat Fearless to the ground, where he adopted a self-preservational foetal position, all the time protesting that the fires had been extinguished. Randver came to the assistance of Sharp Axe and Fynn although, instead of employing his blanket to help put out the flames, he opted for using his wooden leg, in a kind of stamping motion, aimed principally at Fearless’s head. Opinion was divided amongst the human onlookers about the effectiveness of this technique in terms of putting out the flames, but Randver received more than his fair share of noisy, enthusiastic encouragement, all the same.
Surtr continued to walk on ahead, without looking round.
The firefighters eventually accepted that they could do no more to ‘assist’ Fearless and let him be, leaving him to lie on the ground in something approaching a catatonic state. Alfgeir, Hodbrodd, Jormunrek and Ulric patted Randver on the back as he walked past their makeshift, hurriedly-assembled guard of honour, offering words of congratulation for his not inconsiderable contribution to the recent entertainment. Randver, seasoned warrior and veteran of many a battle though he was, could not help but be moved by the men’s show of appreciation. He was on the verge of delivering the opening line of an impromptu speech to express his heartfelt gratitude for said appreciation, the gist of which he had just finished composing in his head for the occasion, when Sharp Axe pointed out to everyone how much distance Surtr had covered in the time he, Fynn and Randver had taken to beat the living daylights out of Fearless. Attention was therefore hastily transferred to the task of catching up with Surtr (just in case any of Niflheimr’s more harmful inhabitants might be in the vicinity), away from the still-smouldering, near-motionless, semi-conscious, quietly-groaning Fearless.
[Quiet chuckling in the background.]
*
‘So,’ said Fearless, addressing Surtr and trying to sound brighter than the sorry figure he cut, as he limped along, battered and bruised, with wispy strands of smoke continuing to rise from his charred clothing, ‘are we likely to have any more interesting encounters with anything – living or otherwise – before we reach Helheimr?’
Helheimr Page 8