by Arthur Slade
"Where is the sound coming from?" I asked.
"The Mórar. Bolverk's companions are in the underworld, standing on the shore of corpses, pounding the summoning drums. They are close to returning to life. That is why we can hear them so clearly."
I was silent. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying.
"Jormungand comes," Harbard said. "From the deep, they call him." The drums beat faster, heavier. "Once, many ages ago, Jormungand was a friend of my mother's people; the guardian of the island. A son of Sisutl." Harbard pointed at the rectangular rock. "The shaman would stand on that stone and speak with him. But now, Bolverk has twisted the guardian, turned him into something vile. He taught the great serpent to eat the flesh of land animals. Jormungand has refused to feed on your father. Bolverk hopes to lure him here and offer him smaller, human flesh."
A motion attracted my eye: gray robes flapping in the wind. Bolverk was crossing the bay, dragging Fiona toward the rock. At the very sight of him Harbard sucked in his breath. So did I.
Both Fiona's wrists were bound together by ropes. Bolverk yanked her ahead, wading easily through the water. He pushed her down on the stone, but she twisted out of his arms, landing with a splash. She was going to get away!
Fiona kicked desperately through the waves, but she couldn't use her arms. She sank below the surface. Bolverk waited, unconcerned. I opened my mouth to yell at him, to get him to save her. Harbard gripped my arm, silencing me. A few moments later Bolverk reached into the water and pulled her into the air. She gasped, gulping in air.
Before she could get her bearings, he roped Fiona to two posts, tying her tightly so her arms were stretched out and she was forced to stand. Bolverk backed away.
Fiona struggled but the bonds were too tight. The waves crashed up against the stone below her.
Harbard got to his knees. "I must go down there."
"I'll go, too."
"No. You'd be little help. I must do this; my father taught me how to deal with him. But up here ... " Harbard seemed to smile slightly, " ... yes, up here you will give me a big hand."
He reached into a holster on his belt, pulled out a pistol with a thick barrel.
"A gun? Do you expect me to shoot someone?"
"No. Bullets would mean little to Bolverk. This is a flare gun." I should have guessed by the size of the barrel. "Only one flare remains. I will signal and you'll fire it above Bolverk's head."
He handed the gun to me. It felt heavy and old like a swashbuckler's pistol. I searched for a safety.
"Careful," Harbard whispered, "it has a hair trigger."
Then he started looking for a way down. A second later he was gone.
28.
I settled into place, holding the flare gun with my left hand. Despite the healing stone my right arm was still useless, so I was worried about my aim.
Bolverk stood on the beach, his arms spread wide. The wind blew his garments into long, flowing ribbons that trailed behind him. He banged his staff in time with the drums. Waves washed in, splashing him.
Lightning sliced jaggedly through the sky, hitting a stone about thirty feet from me and pulverizing it. The heat seared my skin, left me momentarily blinded. Acrid smoke filled my nostrils.
I blinked. My sight returned and I could see Bolverk in the same place, chanting. The drums grew louder, more hypnotic; a beat as ancient as the earth. I found myself wanting to hit the drums, to stand, and let the rhythms move through me. The sounds spoke of a past that lay half-forgotten inside my heart, as if I had once believed in all the old gods and spirits; believed the world had been formed in burning ice and biting flame.
For a split second my vision slipped back into that other place. Four hulking, glimmering figures were at the edge of the beach, pounding on transparent drums. Fetches danced around them, darting in and out.
The stone in my hand pulsed and the vision ended. At the same moment a massive form broke through the water then disappeared. I stared at the shifting waves, now growing even higher.
Hurry, I thought, urging Harbard on, hurry!
I glimpsed a movement on the beach. Harbard had made his way to the bottom and was creeping around huge stones. A light rain drizzled down.
Another flash of lightning created two shadows above him on one of the rocks. Four-legged shapes with huge jaws. The wolves!
Harbard moved into the open, unaware he was being followed.
I yelled, but the drums and the crashing of waves were too loud. The wolves loped along, closing in for the kill.
"Harbard!" I screamed again. The wind ripped the words from my mouth.
I pointed the gun at the wolves. My hand was shaking and slick with sweat. I used my right hand to steady my aim. Pulled the trigger.
Click.
I pulled again. Click. Click. It wouldn't fire. The flare gun had become too wet or maybe it was too old. I tried to see how to open it, but in the dark it was impossible. I held the gun out once more and pulled trigger all the way back.
SSST-POOM. A red flare fell like a comet, making Harbard turn. The light revealed the wolves leaping through the air. Harbard threw up his arms. Then darkness.
I dropped the gun, pushed myself up and ran as quickly as I could across the slippery rocks, searching for a path that would lead down along the rock walls. I searched desperately, squinting my eyes in the dark and finally I discovered the narrowest of trails. I shoved the healing stone in my pocket and moved as quickly as I could along the path. The occasional bolt of lightning lit my way.
I only looked down once and that was enough. I was at least forty feet up from the ground. If I fell I'd be nothing but a pile of broken bones, to be feasted on by crows and flies.
I worked my way over rocks, bumping my side against the cliff. I slipped and grabbed at an outcropping to save my skin. The path grew narrower still. I clung to the wall, but my wounded arm was nearly useless. The rocks were sharp and slick. It was taking too long. Somewhere below me I heard the growl of a wolf. Harbard would be torn to pieces by now.
I quickened my pace.
A few feet ahead I could see the path widen. But first I had to cross a section just inches wide. I took a step. Then another. The ledge crumpled underneath my feet.
I plummeted down, arms flailing, looking for something to grab. Lightning flashed, revealing twisted, snake-like roots. I latched onto one, stopping my fall.
A second bolt of lightning revealed a single tree that had somehow clung to the side of the cliff for years, defying the rock, the lack of soil, defying the wind and rain that had pounded on it. The tree had worked its roots into the cliff wall and somehow found nourishment.
I held onto it tightly with my left hand, wrapping myself in the roots. Warmth returned to my limbs. The wind wasn't as harsh here. I had the odd feeling that the tree was lending me its strength. And then I remembered the dream my sister had told me about; the one with the Yggdrasill tree.
I felt her presence near me. I closed my eyes and thought I could hear my ancestors—my Grandma Gunnora, Grettir, Great Grandfather—all urging me on, whispering that I had work to do, my family's work passed down from generation to generation. I started to lower myself using the tree roots as ropes. Finally I reached the ground and could look across the bay.
The drums had stopped. One of the torches was out, the other flickered madly in the gale. Bolverk was gone. All I could see was Fiona on the rock, struggling against her bonds.
A few steps later I was splashing through six inches of water. The ocean was making its way, wave by wave into the bay.
Closer, I heard the snarl of wolves. I spotted the outcropping where I thought Harbard was and hurried toward it.
I rounded the rock and there was Harbard, still very much alive, but cornered by two wolves.
29.
The gray wolf was limping. It looked like Harbard had injured it with the small axe he gripped in his hand. But the wolves had done their own share of damage. Harbard's right arm was hanging down, bl
ood dripping from a wound that had been torn above his elbow. He had a crazed look on his face as if the gash had turned him into a beserker.
The limping wolf moved to one side of Harbard, the black one to the other. Their hides had been stripped here and there, were flapping loose, revealing white ribs. The grey wolf had no fur on its legs at all, only white bones, clicking and clacking with each movement. Harbard moved back and forth, facing one wolf, then the other, but he couldn't change position fast enough.
The black wolf leaped, its mouth wide. Harbard spun and sank the axe into its skull. It fell dead, seemed to clatter into pieces. I was already running to Harbard when the gray wolf plowed into his back. Its jaws clamped down on his shoulder. He screamed and tried to roll away but the wolf had him. I jumped the final yard and tackled it, my head smashing into its ribs. I grabbed the wolf's fur, tried to pull it off of Harbard, but bits of flesh and bone came loose in my hands. The pieces of flesh were cold as ice.
My ploy succeeded too well. The beast turned on me, fangs bared. Its tongue was black and dry. It dived for my throat and I fell back, pushing at it. Trying to keep it away.
Steel flashed. Harbard's axe was buried in the wolf's skull. It staggered, let out a low moan, then the red light of its eyes faded. It collapsed on top of me. I shoved the thing off of me and rolled away from the revolting stench of the carcass.
Harbard was lying on his back, bleeding from the shoulder. "A bad throw," he said, his voice grave, "I was aiming to chop his head right off. But I was using the wrong arm."
A loud, grinding noise, came from the water, like one of the cliffs had shifted closer. An unearthly moaning shook me to the core.
Water had splashed in and now reached up to Harbard's chest. He looked half awake. I got up and dragged him to higher ground. His eyes were rolling around in their sockets and he was moving in and out of consciousness. Without warning, he grabbed me, saying, "Ragnarok comes. The earth will be consumed by venom and fire," then closed his eyes.
I left him, pulled the axe out of the wolf's skull. Its body had mostly dissolved and was being bumped toward shore by waves. I was surprised how calm I was, as if I was seeing the most natural sight in the world.
The moaning was louder now. A sound that seemed to signal the end of the world.
I heard a cry for help. I dashed toward Fiona.
30.
The water grew deeper, making it harder and harder to run. Bolverk was somewhere out of sight. I charged toward the stone, waded to the front of it and Fiona finally saw me. "Michael," she said, her voice hoarse. "I've had a very bad day."
"Hold still. I'll cut you loose."
I chopped at the rope, but it was thick and made of tightly bound hair. And I was having to use my left hand. "Hit it again!" Fiona shouted. I struck twice more and the binding snapped. Fiona slipped to one side, then steadied herself.
"Take the axe," I yelled.
That familiar blaze entered her eyes. She grabbed the axe from me and whacked the rope again and again. The blade refused to bite. I climbed onto the stone, trying to find a way to help. A blast of wind nearly knocked us into the water.
Then, just as Fiona began to make headway, she stopped in mid-swing. "It's here," she whispered.
I glanced up, just as a glistening, vast shape crashed down into the waves. Part of the stone suddenly gave way. I slipped. The only thing that stopped me from rolling into the water was my grip on Fiona.
I pulled myself back and we scrambled to our feet. "I dropped the axe!" Fiona struggled against the remaining rope. "Don't just stand there! Help me untie this!"
I reached toward the rope, yanking at the knots. They were too tight and wet. We struggled together, trying to loosen them. Finally, success, and we both pulled. Fiona's arm was freed.
A hard object whacked my shoulder and I froze. Something blurred past my eye, struck Fiona and she, too, stood stiff.
Bolverk had arrived, his staff crackling with blue energy.
31.
"Infidel!" Bolverk whispered. "Ragnarok is here! You cannot stop the unstoppable."
I still couldn't move. The wind hit me full force, but my feet were glued to the stone.
Bolverk stood beside us. "Ormr," he bellowed. Words as ancient as all my ancestors, words that described nightmares. "Midgardsormer."
A roaring sound from the darkness answered him. The water began to bubble.
"Ormr," he spoke again.
Lightning slashed the sky, its light revealing a dark green form, moving toward us like a giant wave. A long snout floated in the air; the head rising higher and higher. Serpentine eyes the size of shields glared down: two glowing pools of rage. This was a face even Thor would fear.
"Jormungand," Bolverk whispered, "son of Loki, accept these gifts."
He bowed and stepped back a few yards, leaving Fiona and I frozen there.
The serpent's eyes flickered at us. This was the god of the island. Once a guardian of men, now an eater of flesh. It hovered like it was about to strike.
Sarah's voice drifted into my head. I dreamed you will use a stone to shake the root of all the worlds. I didn't know if it was her, or a memory of her, but the words were clear.
What could it mean? What stone?
The feeling that my twin sister was somewhere nearby calmed me, loosened my arms. The stone, I thought, the healing stone. I slowly pushed my right hand into my pocket and pulled out the stone.
Jormungand watched me, breath hissing between his fangs.
But what was I to do? Throw it? Would that drive him away? I thought of Thor, how he had slain the serpent with his hammer, then had fallen down dead from the venom. Pitting anger against anger. Steel against tooth and coil. Was that the way to victory? How do you fight something so enormous it could swallow the sky?
I lifted the stone above my head, showing it to the snake. He glared and hissed again.
Anger couldn't be at the root of the world. Something always rose up again, always came back. Even in the Norse myths, when all the battles were fought and most of the gods dead, a new world rose from the old. A world of light and warmth. Of life. Grandpa Thursten had told me all about it.
"Friend," I spoke, my voice cutting through the wind. "You were once our friend."
I lowered my arm.
Jormungand blinked. He dropped his head slightly.
"No!" Bolverk cried. The serpent looked his way.
Bolverk was silent now. He lifted his staff, waved it slowly back and forth. Jormungand mirrored the movement, his head drifting from side to side. Finally, Bolverk held the staff still.
"Midgardsormer," he whispered.
Jormungand snapped open his cavernous mouth. Displaying two fangs, dripping venom.
He lunged at us.
32.
The stone platform disintegrated beneath our feet. Fiona and I were thrown into the water, the weight of the beast knocking us further down. Panicking, I kicked up with all my strength until I broke the surface. I could hear Fiona floundering through the waves beside me.
Just as I found my footing a hand grabbed me from behind and forced me back under. I slipped to one side and struggled up again. Bolverk clamped onto my shoulder. I hammered at him and his hood fell away, revealing his raging face; all white and skull-like, one socket empty, the other holding a large, glowering eye. His mouth was uncannily big and thick-lipped.
I pushed at Bolverk then punched my fist into his eye and broke free, making him drop his staff.
"Meddling infidel!" Bolverk latched onto me again, digging his thin fingers into my neck. He lifted his free arm.
Jormungand rose up behind him, silently. Higher and higher, water dripping from his scales.
Bolverk seemed to sense the serpent's presence; he lowered his arm, released me and faced Jormungand. Then he began backing slowly away.
Jormungand dived, his mouth gaping, and Bolverk screamed. Then was suddenly silent.
A massive wave knocked me to one side. The last thing
I heard was Fiona yelling, "Michael!" then I was under the water again, kicking against the pull of an undertow. Deeper. Deeper. Down to the bottom.
But then, something bumped me, forcing me through the water with one big whoosh. Lifting me up above the waves, leaving me near the shore. Fiona found me and we swam back together. I led us to the end of the bay, splashing through shallow water, then climbing onto the rocks.
An immense and majestic serpentine shape rose in the distance, glinting with silver moonlight. I could just make out its shining eyes and a snake's snout before it dived gracefully into the ocean and was gone.
33.
Together, Fiona and I had the strength to help Harbard to the top of the cliffs. He was in much better shape than when I'd left him, though his arm seemed broken. "It's just a scratch," he said. He guided us to where he'd left his ferry.
He wouldn't let us drive. He planted his feet, grabbed the wheel tightly, and piloted us through the water. The sun was just beginning to rise, bringing color back to the world.
When we reached Harbard's cabin, his dog greeted us at the door.
"You don't have to fear him," Harbard said. "Surt knows the difference between good and bad. Unlike many people."
The dog stepped aside and we went in. I was surprised to find Harbard had a t.v. and a police radio.
Soon we had the Mounties on the radio and were told to wait right where we were. They informed me my father had been taken on a fisherman's boat to a hospital in Nanaimo before the storm had completely enveloped the island. He was in intensive care, but he had come to and asked about me.
Dad was going to be alright. It took a moment for this to sink in.
Harbard kept talking about axe-ages and sword-ages and wind-ages and wolf-ages. He seemed lost in some strange world. At one point he looked me in the eyes and smiled. "Snake slayer," he said.
We had to wait for a long time. Fiona told me what it was like to be in the caves with Bolverk. We didn't talk about Jormungand or anything else after that. It seemed too soon. She eventually fell asleep, but I found that even a snooze was an impossible prospect. There was too much to think about. I couldn't slow my brain down. I kept hearing Bolverk's final scream and seeing the serpent disappear beneath the waters.