Hellbent

by Tina Glasneck

  “Why don’t you send him a message and inform him that I am indeed looking for him.”

  Njord shook his head. “There are more important things for you to do, and my daughter has asked me to pass along a message to you.”

  “Dear Freyja goes behind Father’s back? You don’t say. She gets too involved in things that do not concern her.”

  “Be careful of that tongue. You are starting to sound like Loki.”

  He hadn’t seen Loki’s son in a long time, and Loki had yet to say anything about where he’d disappeared to. In fact, since Loki had entered Odin’s throne room for his hearing, Thor had heard nothing from his traveling companion. Could he have been tossed through time, too?

  If he wasn’t bound up somewhere. Odin liked to bind people up—perhaps it was to make all of them hate him more and give him a reason to want war, or possibly it was because he had no idea what to do except to chuck more wood onto a burning fire.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Which ‘him’ do you mean?”

  “You’re hedging.”

  Thor stared upward and sighed so hard that it shifted one of the low hanging clouds of his way.

  “What is it that Freyja wishes for you to tell me?”

  “First, that you are to make your way to a land called America, where you are to protect the one who the prophecy and Norns are calling the catalyst. She is about to get herself in to a lot of trouble. The Odin’s Stone will show you who she is.”

  Thor nodded his head.

  The Norns, the three sisters of fate, always had their hands in such dire messes as this one.

  “Isn’t that what all humans do? They do not remain stagnant.”

  “True, but she is the key—”

  “To some important information?” Thor asked.

  “No, the key incarnate, and whoever possesses the key can also open the cages of Asgard’s enemies.”

  “Damn, I don’t understand my father. Why place the key so that anyone can possess it?”

  Njord didn’t answer, and Thor didn’t expect him to. Before the great civil war between the branches of the gods—the Aesir and Vanir—Njord had ruled. Yet, since uniting, he’d refused to utter a word against Odin. Silence was always his answer.

  “There is one other thing you must be informed of.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “That she has no idea.”

  Is that why Jörmungandr wasn’t showing up? Had Odin locked him away to some outer part of the Midgardian seas so that he could no longer encroach on mankind?

  “Njord, I need your honest answer. What did Odin do to Loki’s children?”

  “You’re aware of that already.”

  “Correct me if I am wrong. Loki’s three children were considered monsters by the All-Father and each was punished.”

  “Correct.”

  “Hel was sent to Helheim to rule as queen.”

  “Not much of a punishment, to be sure.”

  “A place like that can corrupt your soul.”

  “Souls, pssh.”

  “Fenrir was bound.”

  “Yes, but he walks around only wearing the cuffs that keep him in line.”

  “And Jörmungandr, how was it bound and where?”

  “That, my friend, is for you to ascertain, but you might want to collect the key before someone else does. And start looking in the West.”

  Chapter 5

  Sif, Lady Hell’s House

  As I drove through the black iron gates, my heart pounded in my chest, and the closer I got, cold tendrils from what felt like invisible fingertips reached out, colder than any air conditioner might be. If I closed my eyes, I feared what I might see as I approached the gothic structure. It was rumored to be a part of the old Laufeyjarson estate, which seemed fitting if this was really Lady Hel’s place, as she was indeed Loki’s daughter.

  I stepped outside of my beat-up car and could hear flowing water in the distance―I was only footsteps away from the James River―and smell the rich, green deciduous trees. In fall, they’d shed and their leaves would flutter to the ground like confetti—dead confetti. Then would come winter to bathe their limbs afresh in icy coldness.

  In Norse mythology, the realm of Helheim, or Hel the underworld, was not like the Christian hell of fire, but one of a bone-crushing coldness. If you lived in the north, in extreme cold, I’m sure that would be the worse variant, where it was so cold that not even a blazing fire could get you warm. Brrr. But there also seemed to be a difference in Helheim as to who could be found there. It was not just for the wicked, unlike the Christian hell. Instead, Helheim could also be the final resting place of those who died of old age or even sickness.

  I wasn’t sure which hell was worst; I would think that after a while both—extreme heat or extreme coldness—would cause an overabundance of pain; that the nerves would go on overload, deteriorate even, and eventually nothing more could be felt. All torment would end. Yet, I desired neither outcome, to discover which one was indeed my final resting place.

  Since the god Baldr was supposedly a resident of Helheim, perhaps that was where the gods went, too.

  I shook my head to be rid of these thoughts. Even now, if I concentrated, I could recall Freyja’s grief at the loss of her beloved son. She wore it in her eyes, like fallen stars. Her tears ran amber red just at the mention of his name.

  Something like that could humble you… when the gods cried. Even they could be touched by what was otherwise untouchable.

  “This is a chance that you could make a difference, Sif. Be cool. You can do this.” I straightened my shoulders and headed toward the front door.

  The door quickly opened and there stood a man in butler livery—his white uniform shirt crisp, his black jacket as dark at ink, and his gaze intense. “Good day, Ms. Johnson,” he said. His voice reminded me of Michael Caine, with a bit of that dashing British accent.

  I inched forward, crossing the front door’s threshold, and loudly cleared my throat. “And a jolly good day to you, old man.” It was the first thing I could think of—what I assumed polite society would say. I’d never met a butler, at least not at a fancy house, but then again, I’d also never been asked to a place that had butlers.

  “Sorry,” I squeaked. “I must be a bit nervous.”

  He nodded his head. “That is quite okay. It happens to the best of us. If you can follow me this way, for her ladyship is waiting for you.”

  From the foyer, which seemed airy and bright, I followed him down a dark corridor and peeked into the rooms we bypassed, which were filled with bold color choices, gaudy antique furniture that gleamed as if freshly polished, and pillows throughout that appeared newly plumped. It wasn’t the interior design I’d expected of Lady Hel.

  Along the hallway, large oil paintings rested in thick dark frames on wood paneling. Each seemed to depict something different—from scenes of torment in Greek Hades, to Dante’s representation of Christian hell, and others I couldn’t quite recognize. Each was nicely labeled with a gold engraved tag, just in case one wasn’t sure, I guess, of whose version of hell was depicted. I stopped before one of them. There in bold black strokes sat a raven cleaning out the beak of another bird, also large and black. Behind them lay a stormy landscape, and I could almost imagine the caress of the building wind and the rain dropping onto my skin. Slowly the painting began to morph until it was no longer an oil but scraps of a memory. My memory.

  I gulped. What sort of trick was this place already playing on me?

  “What if you could be someone else, Sif? What would you do to be someone else, to escape?”

  Escape? My life up until now, I’d lived mostly in my head. I’d been chasing success, and the line of whatever that was supposed to be just kept moving; a moving target that never seemed to get its feet. But I knew I had, deep down inside, a purpose, a pure reason to exist. It wasn’t to work until I fell into my bed exhausted, to barely get by. Almost all college students struggled, and that was
n’t going to end anytime soon.

  Lightning sizzled across the sky. “Pucker your lips and blow,” I heard and obeyed.

  I reached out my hand to touch the raven’s smooth black feathers. The bird shattered, broken pieces melted under my touch. I jumped back.

  Carson cleared his throat. “This way, please,” he said.

  Okay, calling him Carson wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t like he’d introduced himself or even had on a name tag. That would be ludicrous, though, to even wear a name tag on such a top-of-the-line uniform!

  I followed him and tried not to pay attention to all of the shifting paintings around me.

  “What is this place?” I whispered more to myself than Carson, as I didn’t think he would answer.

  “Those are portals to other worlds.”

  I stood stock still. “Uh?”

  “I only tell you that as you can see them. Most who enter this dwelling are unable to see the spiritual. You are different indeed. Her ladyship will be pleased by your visit. If you can take a seat right here, I will check and see if she is ready.” He opened and walked through French glass doors with etched glass, and I saw only the back of a man seated in an overstuffed chair.

  I waited outside.

  The room began to shimmer, like a gas leak. Something wasn’t right. It was as if my body had begun to split in two. The doors opened, and I moved unwillingly forward. In Lady Hel’s room, it was like being in her realm. She did nothing to hide herself from me—half beautiful, half blackened and decomposing. She smiled, and her face pulled up on one side, her lips tinted a bright red. She twirled her finger in the air and the more she did it, the more the thoughts within began shift.

  “Yes, you are quite different, lovely girl.” Her voice hurt. The lights began to blink, the walls dripped blood.

  “Is that blood?” I asked.

  “The walls like to talk. Does that bother you?”

  “Why have you asked me here? It isn’t to house-sit or watch your dog, right?”

  It had all been a ruse. A shiver raced down my entire body like a ghost had walked through me. My thought hit me too close to a fear I’d rather forget. Lady Hel didn’t need a house sitter.

  “The gods have betrayed you, and I am here to make it right.”

  “I’ve been betrayed by no one.” Just as her true appearance she hid, I knew her intentions were also unspoken.

  “Don’t you hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Exactly. They let you enter here and did nothing to stop it. They let you worry when they could bless you with the bounty you so need.”

  “Not everything is about me. I’m just a regular person, and my faith does not impede on your ability to exist. Light and dark are just two sides of the same coin.”

  “Do I need to remind you of our deal?” Lady Hel asked.

  She snapped her fingers and the scene again appeared—the tub filled with water, and there I sat, razorblade in hand.

  “How many times have they had you in the psych ward, and do your friends know?” She sneered. Her appearance shifted to that of the abusive female nurse, who’d taken too much of an interest in me, as if I were her pet and she my owner. I could almost smell her foul breath and feel the unwanted warmth thereof on my face and neck. The words she spoke in her Southern accent so thick in my ears. “You really are pretty for a black girl.”

  My soul collapsed in on itself. I cowered to make myself smaller. My shoulders slumped, and I drew my body in tighter and never moved from my spot. Soon, she’d come over and pet my hair like I was an artifact in an exhibition and without a word, imply an otherness, as if her comment wasn’t enough to do that. It was like going to a convention in a cute outfit and discovering that someone thought they could touch it without permission under the guise of appreciating it.

  Her appearance morphed back to that of the Lady Hel, made up to model perfection and no sign of decomposition to detect.

  “It still gets to you?” she asked. Her words had a hint of something equal to empathy, I guessed, but I wasn’t sure she could ever understand.

  “It’s not my job to be your perfection,” I countered. “This is heavy. My story isn’t about a black girl. I’m just a woman. Should it matter what color I am?”

  “But how many times have you come to visit me and been granted your return to this plane?”

  I remained mum. I pulled the edge of my sleeves down to cover my scarred wrists.

  “That is not this world. It used to be about tribes, religions. Now this place has just found a different way of discriminating. You need not be ashamed. Minds war against us. I can comfort you.”

  “I don’t need comfort. I see what is really there.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” She pushed back her chair, stood, and walked around her desk. “You can’t escape your destiny. Although, I am not privy to what the gods in Aesir have destined for you, I can tell that their hand is on you.”

  “You can tell all of that from shaking hands with me earlier?” I sighed. She’d like me to believe that I was the center of a divine plan. “What divine plan would that be?” My voice was peppered with a little bit of snark. I’d placed those memories in a vault for a reason—to hide them far away.

  “Remember, you are only here because I gifted your soul back to life on this plane. Just as I gifted, I can also take away.” She finally smiled a true smile. The air popped back in place, and for a moment, my shoulders felt lighter, and I invincible.

  “Relax, dear Sif, today we celebrate. It is not every day that I meet one of the faithful.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  Carson entered the room with a tray of champagne glasses.

  “Friendship,” Hel said.

  “And family,” Harley chimed in.

  I took the offered glass and toasted with them, although I wasn’t sure if this alignment was one I wished to be a part of. I’d studied her myths. She was a combination of yin and yang, light and darkness, completely complex. Yet, as I watched the smiles between her and Harley, I had the sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t a once-over. Their relationship was indeed genuine.

  Chapter 6

  Sif, present day, Richmond, VA

  The movie credits rolled and I leaned against the wall and sighed and watched as the theater began to empty.

  This was the closest I’d been. This was my shrine, my temple, my sacred space, watching an interpretation of Asgard’s glory.

  “Snap out of it,” Chimanda said and tapped me with her foot. “This popcorn isn’t going to sweep itself up.”

  Chimanda Wase was my roommate and best friend, and usually she didn’t have a problem with my daydreaming, but I was guessing today it was delaying her after-work plans.

  What was wrong with me? I loudly sighed. Runes flashed on the large movie screen. “Yeah, be right there.”

  “You’ve seen that actor play Thor so many times. You’re a little obsessed.”

  “It’s Thor, Chi,” I quipped. I shoved the half empty container of popcorn into the trashcan. A broad smile spread across my face just thinking about him.

  “I got to ask, I mean, as a black girl, why are you so interested in this white god?”

  “Oh, here we go again!” I began. “Do I need to give you a history lesson on the Norse gods—they were not gods only to those in Scandinavia. Their roots went back into the older Germanic tribes.”

  Chi rolled her eyes. Her family had emigrated from Nigeria, and although born here, she didn’t seem to understand the current obsession with the Norse gods, even among those who had no Scandinavian blood. The gods were experiencing a renewed popularity, and she didn’t like it.

  She’d never outright said that, but I’m sure it made her uncomfortable. One day, I’d be able to convince her that religion had nothing to do with color but more with heart.

  “And… let us not forget, that through the Vikings’ intensive trading, and conquering of Moorish-Spain, it is also quite likely some moors became Vi
kings, too.”

  “You got any names for that?”

  “What about Geirmund Heljarskinn? He wasn’t from Spain, but he’s considered to be one of the most famous black Vikings. The Viking culture was about warriors.”

  “And where are you getting this from?”

  “Think about it. His name literally means skin like Hel, Lady Hel.”

  “The thing is with all your talk of Thor, I can’t figure out if you are talking about the actor or the actual god.”

  I chuckled. “There is no question about that. The actor is just a Hollywood star, but he is not a god. There is no contest. The worship of the gods has nothing to do with my skin color, but with my heart, and communicating with the divine. If religion was limited to ethnicity, well, most of the world’s religions would have issues with that.”

  “You’re way too stuck on him.” Her words sliced me to the quick. “You’re wasting your life pining away over an imaginary person. A book boyfriend would be better. But instead, you’re choosing to live vicariously through thirteenth-century legends and myths.”

  No one understood my fascination with Thor, and I couldn’t explain it either. He meant something to me.

  Chi had her life all mapped out. She’d planned for exactly where she wanted to be when she turned twenty-five, how she’d meet Mr. Right during her senior year, and more importantly, how she’d spend her life.

  This was not as easy for me as might be assumed, especially since nothing else interested me except the legends of old. Enter Arts and Humanities, and of course, Norse mythology, as well as the Scandinavian stories.

  The day the professor had flashed the runes on the white screen, I’d soaked them in. I’d understood what they meant. Heck, for some strange reason, I could almost even remember their smoothness and weight in the palms of my hands.

  I’d dazed off again, a bad habit to have when friendship was not something that you could so easily take for granted. “Okay, okay, I’ve talked too much about my geekdom tonight.”