by Vasich, Mike
Tyr could not remember the last time he had felt as if a battle was hopeless, as if there was nothing that could be done to defeat an overpowering enemy. He had faced more powerful or numerous enemies many times, but always he had risen to the challenge. This seemingly unbeatable enemy made him wonder if the battle was futile. He fought on still, for he was Aesir, but as he saw the scattered bits of his friends and fellow warriors around the ruined shell of Gladsheim, he realized that this might very well be the end.
* * *
Heimdall was more torn than he had ever been in his long life. He could hear the battle being raged in Gladsheim. He gripped his sword like a vise—it had been loosed from its sheath after the mason had revealed himself—and he paced steadily to and fro at the foot of Bifrost. More than anything he wanted to be there, to add his steel to the battle, but he could not leave his post. It was his duty to safeguard Asgard from any who would attempt to invade from the only possible entry.
What galled him even more was his failure in protecting their homeland. It was he who had let the mason cross. How had he not seen what it really was? How could he be so blind? He could hear grass growing from a league away, but had somehow failed to detect a giant who had walked right past him. And he had done nothing more than banter with him. He cursed himself for a fool and longed to rush to the battle to fight—and perhaps die—with the other gods.
And yet he knew he would not leave. He must trust that they would triumph over this giant, despite his strength and power. This could very well be a ploy to lead him away from Bifrost so that another assault could be undertaken while the bridge was left unguarded. Though it pained him to stand there and observe the battle unfolding from afar, he could do no more than that for now.
He was shaken from his thoughts by a blinding flash of light, followed by the crashing of a thunder clap. As he looked up, dark clouds formed, swirling through the sky. The rain followed. It did not start slowly, but was an instant torrent, soaking Heimdall to the skin and sending rivulets of water coursing across the fields at his feet. He could feel the anger and fury present in every drop that fell, the power surging through the clouds as the lightning flashed again and the thunder shook the earth. He smiled grimly, certain that his mistake was about to be rectified.
Thor had returned.
The rain fell in through the gaping maw that was, until recently, the roof of Gladsheim. The giant was not even aware of the rain, as his slaughter of the Einherjar and his destruction of the hall continued. Broken and mangled bodies lay everywhere in the ruins, yet still the Asgardians attacked, although they might as well have been gnats attacking an ox.
Tyr could nonetheless see some effect of their attack. Frey had put out several eyes with arrows that still stuck out from the giant’s face, although it was difficult to tell if the giant had one continuous face across the whole of his head or if they were multiple faces. Still, too many eyes remained to count, and he could still see well enough to fight. Frey’s sword continued to dance on its own, stabbing here, slashing there, drawing blood wherever it bit into giant flesh. It would occasionally be slapped away, but always returned to do more damage. Sif and Aegir lay amongst the rubble, however, and Tyr was not able to stop his own assault—and defense—long enough to see if they yet lived.
Nearly all his ribs on one side felt broken. His weariness had caused him to react too slowly to a flailing fist the size of a boulder, and the giant had caught him in the side. He had been flung across the room, but his fall had been broken by the mangled bodies of a dozen Einherjar piled haphazardly in a corner. He had gotten up quickly to rejoin the fray, and had felt stabbing pain in his right side. He doubled over and spit blood onto the floor, gathering his strength before charging back to the battle, ignoring the agony of shattered and protruding rib bones digging into his side.
Tyr renewed his attacks, feeling his will slip away as he became more and more enraged. He no longer fought with precision and strategy, but instead with animal ferocity and savagery as his steel slashed and cut, sending blood splattering throughout the ruins of the devastated hall. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that this was a last, desperate attempt; that abandoning his normal tactics was the refuge of a warrior fighting his last battle. Only the sudden flash of bright light and the crack of thunder overhead halted his change into pure berserker.
He looked up into the stinging rain, past the giant, to see a figure fall from the sky and land on its head. Even through the pouring rain Tyr could see the spark of lightning in Thor's eyes. He felt hope renewed and retreated from his berserker rage, once more falling back into his old tactics, his every thought focused on how he could give Thor the advantage he needed to kill this giant.
Tyr leaped up and grabbed hold of the giant’s torn pants where they dangled in ragged strips near the floor. He pulled himself up while avoiding flailing arms and grasping hands. The giant’s body shook, and Tyr was nearly thrown in the process, but he managed to climb up to the giant’s waist.
Around him the scene was chaos. Einherjar still attacked, mostly with no effect, and the giant still rained blows down on them, killing them by the dozens. The rain pouring in made the footing treacherous, although only for the Asgardians, as the giant had too many legs to lose his balance. Arrows flew all around him, and some nearly scored hits on Tyr while they sped on their way to burying themselves in the giant’s thick hide.
Tyr steadied himself as best he could and looked up to see Thor struggling to stay on the giant’s head. One hand gripped a fistful of the giant’s hair and his knees were dug in, the constant whipping threatening to send him flying at any instant. Tyr drew his sword back and mustered all the strength his body would give before driving it up to the hilt into the giant’s abdomen. There was an unholy scream of pain, and Tyr felt something grab him and rip him off the giant’s body. In one violent motion he was thrown into a remaining section of ceiling, breaking through timber and slate, and he landed onto the wet roof amidst the debris falling all around him.
He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up to his knees, the rain threatening to send him skidding to the distant stone floor. He looked down at the battle and spied where he had stabbed the giant, his sword hilt gleaming through the rain. But his attention was more focused on what was happening on the giant’s head.
Tyr’s action had given Thor an opportunity. Thor was on his feet, one arm wound tightly in the giant's hair, and positioning himself for attack. Dozens of hands rose up to swat or grab Thor away. Some were avoided as the Thunderer yanked the giant head around to serve him, much like he might yank the reins of an unruly steed. Others met Mjolnir, Thor’s massive strength channeling through the hammer and crushing giant bones with ease, breaking fingers and snapping wrists and arms.
Each blow from Mjolnir sent a thunder clap reverberating through the ruined hall, sending shudders through the bodies of the Asgardians. Tyr dug his hands into the roof and held on tightly, lest the force of Thor’s blows send him sprawling across the roof and onto the ground below.
Lightning flashed again and again above their heads, and the storm increased its fury. The giant’s flailing became more and more desperate. Tyr recognized that the tenor of the battle had shifted. The giant's actions became more frantic, his inability to dislodge this demon from his head fueling the fear that was now driving him. Yet it seemed there was nothing he could do against Thor.
Mjolnir rose up high and came crashing down directly onto the giant’s forehead, the cracking bone louder than even the thunder that accompanied it. Again Mjolnir rose, and again it fell. The giant screamed in rage and pain as the blood ran down his misshapen face from the massive dent in his head where hammer met skull. A flailing hand reached up and grabbed hold of Thor, attempting to pull him off, but Thor’s grip held. His feet came out from under him, but he held onto the twirled locks of twisted and bloody hair with a death grip.
The giant, caught up more and more in a blood rage that ignored ever
ything but the need to get this impossible attacker off, latched onto Thor with several more arms and pulled. Thor’s grip would not loosen, however, and as the giant pulled, a chunk of hair and scalp ripped free from his head, dangling from Thor’s vise-like grip. Blood poured down the giant’s face, and a scream of rage ripped from his multiple mouths. Still, Thor was now dislodged and caught in the grasp of the giant.
Without hesitation, Thor flung Mjolnir from his hands. The hammer smashed into the giant’s face and he reeled with the force. Lightning crashed down, striking the hammer, and Tyr saw Thor’s features lit up, his red beard giving the brief impression that his face was on fire. Mjolnir, glowing red-hot, returned to Thor’s outstretched hand, and he sent it out again, once more smashing into the giant’s head. Smoke rose up from where it hit flesh, and there was a hissing as the rain cooled down the boiling skin.
With Mjolnir back in his hands, Thor struck the wrist of the hand that held him with a blow that shattered bone, and he was dropped to the floor below. Through the pain and blood-haze the giant lunged down at Thor, rage and desperation fueling his desire to kill this creature who continued to cause him pain.
The rest of the Asgardians, inspired by Thor’s onslaught, pressed their attacks. The giant contorted his body to rain blows down on Thor, and he was beset upon by Einherjar swarming over him like ants, stabbing and cutting every available surface. The remaining Aesir struck the giant in the most vulnerable areas they could reach.
Thor twisted out of the way of many of the fists and arms that sought to crush him, but Tyr could see through the rain and flurry of blows that one had struck him, even as Odin had been struck down. The hand came up again and again, smashing down upon Thor’s position, and others followed, the giant ignoring all enemies save this one massive, red-bearded Asgardian who thwarted him.
As the giant turned to his other attackers, Tyr’s eyes went wide. Through the haze a sole figure stood, a glowing hammer in hand and his eyes shining like lightning. The Thunderer had been struck dozens of times by this thing that had felled Odin with one blow, yet he stood, rage evident on his bloodied features even from Tyr’s position on the roof.
Thunder cracked even louder than before as Thor raised Mjolnir high above his head. There was a moment where Tyr could feel the hair on his arms standing on end, the crackling energy in the air nearly visible. Thor’s cry of fury drowned out even the thunder shaking the room, and a massive bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky, catching the giant full force with its power.
Tyr shielded his eyes from the blinding flash, but not before he saw the giant’s dozens of limbs raised to the sky, caught in the destructive power coursing through his body. Einherjar were flung from him, instantly killed from the force of the bolt. Even the Aesir who still stood were caught in the backlash from the giant, either frozen in mid-stride or on their knees in agony, while tendrils of Thor's lightning reached out from the bolt that held the giant frozen in place with its surging energy.
The bolt retreated, and the giant crashed to his knees. Again the Thunderer’s cry of fury issued forth. Mjolnir held high, once more lightning crashed down upon the giant, sizzling flesh and exploding eyes from their sockets. The remaining wall nearest the giant exploded with the force of the lightning stabbing down from the sky. Tyr was far enough away that he was not caught in the bolt’s thrall as much as those who were nearer, but he still felt the tendrils of power reaching for him, sending pinpricks throughout his body. While he wished he was closer to be able to rejoin the fray, there was a small part of him that was grateful that he did not feel the full unleashing of the Thunderer’s power.
Thor seemed to grow larger as he held Mjolnir high over his head, the energy crackling around him like a living thing. His face was plastered with the fierce and unmistakable look of conquest.
The lightning died out, but the giant remained on his knees; still alive, although his breath came in ragged gasps. His flesh sizzled and was charred black over most of his body, and blood ran like rivers from his wounds. Still, he was not down, and his size and ferocity had proven a match for the Aesir so far. Tyr wondered how the battle might have gone had Thor not shown up when he did.
The giant stared at Thor with his multiple remaining eyes. His face contorted into a grimace that appeared to be a mix of rage and pain, and his mouths opened wide as a scream of anger issued forth. Impossibly, he began to rise to his feet. Thor gritted his teeth and threw Mjolnir with every iota of strength he could muster.
Tyr had heard many legends of Thor’s strength. It was said that Thor had reeled in the Midgard Serpent while fishing one day, and only the treachery of a giant had set the beast loose. Thor was even supposed to have survived a battle with Old Age herself, a foe that defeats all.
These were mere stories, but Tyr had witnessed the Thunderer’s strength in real battle, and he had never seen its equal. Thor was virtually a giant himself, and Tyr had seen him lay waste to entire armies. He had felt the earth shake with a stomp of his foot. The unleashed fury of Thor was a thing more frightening than all the armies of Niflheim.
He witnessed this unleashed fury as Mjolnir was hurled from Thor’s hand with a force that was unequaled throughout the Nine Worlds. As the giant staggered to his feet, the hammer hit him in the forehead with a resounding wave of force and continued through his head, only to emerge in an explosion of bone, blood, and brain on the opposite side. The giant’s head was jerked backwards as if someone pulled it with invisible strings, before snapping forward and sending his entire body sprawling after it. The crash of the giant’s body on the broken floor of Gladsheim shook Asgard.
Mjolnir flew back to Thor’s outstretched hand as he approached the downed giant. He had a look of grim satisfaction on his face as he strode around the massive body, Mjolnir gripped tightly at his side. Even in death the giant’s size was impressive. Its head was at least twice Thor’s height, and it almost seemed absurd to Tyr that the giant had been felled by something that was so much smaller.
The injured Aesir scattered throughout the hall slowly rose to their feet. Hundreds of Einherjar lay dead around them, some so badly mangled that Tyr could not imagine that they would rise again with the morn, or at least he hoped they would not. He could not imagine how such mangled and damaged beings could continue to exist, and they would certainly be useless in battle.
Tyr climbed down from the roof. His strength was returning and his wounds were healing quickly. He headed past the massive corpse to see Odin.
The Allfather was standing in the exact spot where the giant had pummeled him, looking only slightly weary. Dried blood encrusted his face, but all signs of injury were gone. One of the remaining Einherjar brought him his spear, Gungnir, torn from the stomach of the giant and still dripping with gore. He held it like a staff and surveyed the scene of the devastation around him, a look on his face that Tyr thought might even be grim amusement. But he could never fathom Odin’s thoughts, and he knew enough of his self-sacrifice to realize that Odin did not always exist completely in the present with the rest of them. He was often elsewhere, other times and places, while still physically anchored to the present. He probably knew that he would be struck down by the giant, but made no move to prevent it from happening. It was his way, Tyr thought, to know what would happen and to make no move to change events.
He ceased pondering the thought. No one could fathom the mind of the Allfather, and it was folly to try. It was enough to relish this hard-won victory, the defeat of an impossible enemy, although thoughts must eventually turn to how the mason had accomplished this feat, this trickery.
He had fooled all of the Aesir, where his true nature should have long ago been detected. It was unfathomable that the mason had fooled Heimdall, he who could hear the wool growing on sheep, who could feel the reverberations of crunching grass underneath the feet of a distant traveler. Once in Asgard, both Frey and Freyja had likewise been unable to pierce the veil of his disguise. The Vanir were well-known for their
sorcerous abilities, and yet neither had seen the mason's true nature. It did not bode well that two of the Vanir could be so thoroughly fooled.
Tyr was also surprised that Loki could be tricked by the mason. And not only had he been fooled along with the rest of them, he had made the bargain possible by whispering advice to the High One. Tyr suddenly realized that he had seen no sign of Loki during the battle. As the wounded gods healed from their injuries, and the bodies of the dead Einherjar were taken from the hall, he confirmed that Loki had not been in Gladsheim while the mason attacked.
Balder would surely make much of his absence, and Tyr was not at all sure that he would argue the point. It was suspicious at best that the Sly One was not there at such a time. He wondered where he might be, and what words he might use to lessen the blame upon himself when he returned.
Chapter Eight
Thiazi looked away from the pool. The mason was dead, his brains scattered across Gladsheim. Even though Thiazi knew it would end in such a way, he was still surprised that they had bested the mason. After he flattened Odin, Thiazi had held out a small hope that the mason would not be killed, that he would destroy all the Aesir in Gladsheim, and then continue on a path of destruction across Asgard. He could easily envision the mason, with the hall crumbling around him as he grew even larger, absorbing the energy from the gods he had killed. He would go from there to crush Valaskjalf, Valhalla, and all the other halls of the gods, stomping the Einherjar and Valkyries into the dust on the way, while the Aesir could do nothing but rail against his assault. It was amusing to imagine, even if such an outcome was unlikely.
He had relished the looks on the faces of the Aesir. Even though he watched from Thrymheim, their expressions were no less satisfying than if he had been there to see them in person. Their fear was palpable, their hesitation in those last moments of his transformation speaking volumes.