by J. M. Barlog
“Interesting…” Mimir commented, squinting his one good eye as he inspected the triptych.
As he stared, a golden light erupted from his eye, striking the jewel in Týr’s eye. The metal symbol above Týr’s head began to shudder, the whirring sound of clockwork gears behind a wooden facade becoming audible.
“Now, this is most interesting,” Mimir said.
Then an image formed at the panel’s base. As it came into sharper focus, it appeared to show a diagram of an ornate key, beside the door that it fit into, which Atreus imprinted on his memory. It also displayed a talisman in Týr’s hand.
“So that’s what it is,” Mimir said, trying to make it sound like he knew what it was all along.
“What is that?” Atreus queried, examining the panel more closely.
“I’ll tell you what it looks like. I think it is some sort of secret plan, concealed by Týr so no one could access it but him… and those few others the giants trusted. And right under Odin’s nose—ha! I did promise I’d get you to Jötunheim…” Mimir boasted.
“What do you mean, head? You said we were out of options,” Kratos snapped.
“Don’t you see, brother? Odin never gave up hope, and neither should we. He knew there was a clue in here, but we’re the ones who found it. These plans are for a key to some chamber Týr’s kept hidden. I don’t know where it’s leading us, or what we’ll find… but it’s a path.”
Kratos cast a glance at Atreus, who immediately looked away.
“How do we make this key?” Kratos asked.
“We ask one who specializes in this sort of thing. A dwarf.”
“That symbol on the temple door… it’s a bunch of runes together. Peace. Unity. Hope. Other things too,” Atreus commented, as they made their way out of the room.
“Týr’s own design. He made this door himself,” Mimir said.
Kratos’ mind churned as they ascended to the realm travel room. He vacillated between remaining silent and speaking. He understood that the longer he delayed facing what they had witnessed, the more difficult it would get.
“Before… what you saw…” Kratos started slowly.
“I didn’t see anything,” Atreus responded quickly and adamantly.
“You did not see me with someone? An old man?”
“What old man?” Atreus replied.
Kratos analyzed his son’s look—he was lying.
“Can we go? I hate this place.” He rubbed his arms vigorously for effect. He could only hope it worked. He just wished his father would let the conversation die there. He wanted no more confrontation. As a matter of fact, if they never spoke of it for the remainder of the journey, he would be happy. And he suspected his father would be happy also.
“Yes… very well.”
The lad escaped onto the glowing Bifröst bridge the moment it lined up. Why would his father beat a helpless old man? Is that something a god would do? Atreus thought not.
“So, let’s get back to Midgard and see about making that key,” Mimir said, when he felt a tension rising between father and son.
Silence resumed until they returned to the caldera temple complex, where they activated the realm travel mechanism to allow their return to Midgard.
Leaving the dome array in Midgard, they immediately took up the trail they hoped would lead them back to where they had last encountered Brok. If the blue man had changed the location of his workshop, they might lose days roaming about the woods in search of him.
As luck would have it, Brok had remained in the same place. On their approach, he lifted his head from his workbench, which was set up beside a crackling campfire.
“Can you make it?” Kratos asked, about the detailed drawing of the key from Atreus’ memory he sketched in the dirt.
Brok stared at it quizzically.
“Is it a weapon? Armor? Or likewise an instrument of war, of which I am a master at shapin’? No? Then forget it. Even if I wanted to make such an insignificant gewgaw, I’m liable to chink my tools making something so delicate and ladylike.”
“Then shingle it,” a voice came from behind them.
They all turned to see Sindri standing ten paces away, clutching his workbag.
“Pattern weld the thing with skap slag. Keep the layers thin, alternate the overlay.”
A sneer formed on Brok’s face as he stared dumbfounded at his brother.
“Okay, smart guy. And where d’ya propose we find a lump of quality skap slag? Last time I saw one, I could still get rigid down south,” Brok said. “You probably gonna have to ask your da what that means, boy.”
Sindri withdrew a fist-sized hunk of shiny slag from his pocket, lifting it like a trophy. “Duh, right here!”
Brok gasped as if experiencing a true wonder of the world.
“You shut your mouth. Is that…? But where did you…?” Brok’s voice rattled, his lower jaw hanging open.
“Had to get my hands dirty,” Sindri responded casually. “If you know what I mean.” He offered a wink, indicating a meaning only the two dwarves would understand.
Brok stared at him for a long moment, then started to laugh. “Well, don’t just stand there—let’s do this!”
“You… you are suddenly fine working on something that is not a weapon?” Sindri teased.
“Ah, hell, why not? They’re good people.”
Sindri and Atreus stared at Brok like he was some sort of alien.
“What? I can grow, too.”
The brothers crowded Brok’s portable smelting furnace, both feverishly hammering away. “Watch the spine! Keep your wrist loose,” Sindri growled.
“Help yourself to whatever I got to eat in my sack,” Brok offered.
Kratos and Atreus pulled out apples and bread, dried venison and dried apricots. After consuming it they settled beneath a sprawling oak to fall fast asleep, despite the raucous banging. Hours later, they awoke to loud talking.
“You keep your wrist loose. Get more heat here!” Brok ordered, gesturing with his hammer.
“Coming up. You going to temper that steel longer?” Sindri said.
“Don’t need to. I triple-quenched it in draugr oil. See?” Brok smiled in a boastful way.
“You clever little beaver. How inventive. And sanitary! Never too late to learn a new trick, is it?” Sindri said, matching his brother’s smile.
Atreus watched with obvious glee, happy the two brothers were finally working together. He looked over to his father, who watched stone-faced, which caused Atreus’ smile to fade.
“Here it is!” Sindri declared finally.
He held up a broad-angled key with pride. It matched exactly the drawing still visible in the dirt. Brok returned to his smelting furnace, to extract a branding iron with a glowing tip.
“Don’t forget this!” he said.
Together, the dwarf brothers branded the item with a hiss.
“A creation Dvalin would be truly proud of.” Brok grinned.
“Is Dvalin your father?” Atreus asked.
“Your mother never taught you about Dvalin? Sure, of course not, he’s not a god. You people only care about the gods. He’s the ruler of all the mountain dwarves. We don’t answer to your gods,” Sindri said.
“I have work to do,” Kratos said sternly, grabbing the key.
Atreus shrugged, while Kratos stomped away.
“Now we just need to figure out what door this key opens. It has to be somewhere around the temple…” Atreus said.
“And beyond that, hopefully some trace of a secret path to Jötunheim!” Mimir added.
Returning to Týr’s temple, Kratos located the door that matched the one they had seen beside the diagram of the key. Unlocking the door with the key, he threw it open to reveal a small antechamber at the foot of a narrow staircase.
“Great. We’re inside! But… what is this place?” Atreus asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine, little brother,” Mimir answered.
Suddenly, the large Jötunheim door swun
g open by itself, along with a simpler, smaller door they could reach, which led across a Bifröst bridge to another door with an ornate carving on it.
“Does that mean something?” Kratos asked of the carving.
Atreus shook his head.
“Lift me up to see it,” Mimir said.
Kratos placed Mimir’s eye squarely before it.
“The talisman! I suspect we’ll be needing that,” Mimir said.
Using his knife, Kratos pried the talisman in the form of a carved wolf’s head from its socket on the door. He swung open the door to reveal a mystic gateway to a strange environment, like a tree branch stretching out to infinity.
“There it is! We’ve got it!” Atreus said.
“The panel in Odin’s library showed him holding this,” Kratos said.
“Yes… yes! That’s it. I understand now. It showed Týr walking the realm between realms. Normally to stray from the path is certain death. Well, Týr always followed his own path, if you catch my meaning.”
“The realm between realms…” Kratos said.
“So you’re saying Týr’s shrine was showing him stepping off the branch of the World Tree. And you’re thinking, to reach the secret path to Jötunheim, that’s what we need to do?” Atreus asked.
“I am,” Kratos replied.
“Oh, dear. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” Mimir said.
* * *
They stepped into the nebulous mist of the realm between realms, where light swirled around them as if scrutinizing the invaders.
“If you’re thinking about hurling us all into the void, I hope you’re quite sure,” Mimir cautioned.
“Wasn’t it your idea? Find our own path, right?” Atreus said.
“Bollocks,” Mimir said.
Without hesitation, Atreus sprinted along the branch to the edge of a precipice resembling that in the triptych panel.
Kratos peered into black void. “This is where Týr stepped beyond. Ready?” Kratos said. He looked at his son.
Atreus climbed onto his father’s back.
“Well… if this is it, lads, it’s been an honor,” Mimir said, with a shaky voice.
“Have faith, head,” Kratos said.
He stepped off, gliding into a controlled descent.
“This is incredible!” Atreus shouted.
“I… thought… there’d… be… a… bridge!” Mimir said, against a fierce wind contorting his face. He floated away from Kratos’ body as if weightless, only to return to the God of War’s side as they neared the ground.
Kratos landed cat-footed, braced for anything. Atreus slid off his father’s back the moment they were on solid ground, anxious for what lay ahead. A twisting path before them led to the lost tower of Jötunheim. The tower had been constructed of ornately carved sandstone, with tall, narrow windows on all sides.
“The tower! I knew there was something down here,” Atreus said.
“Amazing. How do you hide something that exists in all realms? Cast it out of any realm to the space between realms. Clever old Týr,” Mimir said.
“Is Jötunheim on the other side?” Atreus asked.
“Can’t be that. It is not like you go through Vanaheim to reach the Midgard peak,” Mimir said.
“But how do we use the tower?” Kratos asked.
“I suggest we look inside. But stay alert; Týr’s little challenges are never as simple as they appear,” Mimir said.
* * *
Entering the tower, they found it empty, with the exception of a simple pedestal.
Seeing nothing that could be used with the pedestal, Kratos decided to place the talisman on it, thinking it might act as a key to unlock something within the tower. However, the talisman disappeared a moment after making contact.
“Don’t know if that was such a good idea,” Atreus said. “It’s gone, and nothing happened.”
Kratos gazed around, hoping to notice something changing.
“What if we needed—” Mimir started.
The tower room began shaking, silencing the head midsentence.
“I don’t know about this,” Atreus said.
The tower began to rise.
“The tower is absorbing the talisman’s energy!” Mimir said. “It knows what to do. The artifact served its purpose. We’re fulfilling Týr’s spell!”
“What happens now?” Kratos said.
“No idea, brother. But after that fall, I’m guessing we’re past the worst of it.”
“We’ve stopped… I think it’s over,” Atreus said.
“Aye… but where are we now?”
As Kratos threw open the door to the Jötunheim tower, they watched the realm travel bridge outside rotating past the other realm pathways.
Without warning, as the realm travel bridge passed Alfheim, two Dark Elves lurched through the opening to attack. They came with such speed and voracity that they left no time for either Kratos or Atreus to prepare their blades or the bow. Kratos shoved Atreus from the opening, latching onto the neck of the first Dark Elf to enter. That slight bit of time allowed Atreus to withdraw his knife and brace for the attack of the second elf. The lad’s scream was lost in the screeching of the elves slashing with their knives.
Kratos snarled the next Dark Elf through, to slam it with all his might into the adjacent tower wall. Dark blood spurted from the elf’s mouth as Kratos ripped the wings off with one hand.
Atreus slid on his knees beneath the slashes of the charging elf. Before it could bank around in the air, Atreus attacked it from its vulnerable back, stabbing viciously between the wings. An agonizing wail sundered the air. Blood spurted across his face. He relented, unsure if the creature was yet dead.
Kratos ripped the head off the elf he held, discarding the limp carcass at his feet. He spun around, hoping to help his son, witnessing instead Atreus plunging the knife into the elf’s temple in a deathblow, while maintaining control on top until it lay lifeless.
“It’s dead,” he reported to his father.
But they had no time to lower their guard. The bridge approached the Vanaheim opening; they had no idea what to expect.
The yowling of Wulvers answered their concern.
As the realm travel table passed Vanaheim, three Wulvers leapt for the doorway. Atreus’ first arrow took out the lead. Kratos chopped down the other two the moment they breached the tower.
Kratos turned to observe the realm travel table. The Midgard tower came next.
They kicked the dead aside when the travel bridge locked into place with the Midgard tower.
“We’re back in Midgard! There’s the bridge! We did it—the tower’s back where it belongs!” Atreus said.
“Just when I thought I’d seen it all.”
“Now Týr’s travel room can take us to Jötunheim,” Kratos said.
“What are we waiting for?”
“Odin suspected the giants secretly possessed some remnant of primordial Jötnar creative essence—the stuff all realms were made of. The talisman must have been fashioned from that. They must have been desperate, even to trust Týr with it,” Mimir said.
Kratos moved to the realm travel table.
“I must tell you, I don’t know what we’ll find when we get to Jötunheim, but it is imperative that we cover our tracks. Huginn and Muninn will tell him of the tower’s restoration, and we mustn’t let our efforts be to his benefit.”
“Huginn and Muninn?” Atreus said.
“A pair of ravens: Odin’s spies. The war-god dispatches them throughout the realms to observe from on high and report everything to the Allfather.”
“The ravens…” Atreus muttered to himself. Now he understood why they saw them on their journey, and why his mother needed to be informed if he saw ravens in their forest. They were the ones informing Odin of their whereabouts. That could have been how Baldur kept finding them.
“Activate the table for Jötunheim,” Mimir said.
“Yes, let’s go,” Atreus chimed in.
; “Wait. This isn’t going to work. There’s no travel crystal,” Mimir said. “Týr must have used his own eyes to refract the energy. It was his final failsafe.”
“But you’ve got eyes like him, Mimir,” Atreus said.
“I’ve got an eye. One! Odin plucked out my other eye precisely to keep me from traveling.”
A Bifröst beam shot out from the realm travel table, striking the receptacle with the missing travel crystal.
“Sorry, lads. Hoped that might work.”
“What did Odin do with your other eye?”
“He’d have kept it in any of a hundred places, I’m afraid.”
“We’ve come so far. There has to be a way,” Atreus said.
“Look, bit of a long shot, but for years I would see Sindri, and sometimes Brok, lurking around on that mountain when Odin came for his visits. Maybe they know something.”
* * *
“Brok! Sindri! I’m so glad we found you,” Atreus exclaimed when he came upon Brok’s shop. Both dwarves stopped to face the lad.
“Where’s your da?” Sindri asked.
A moment later, Kratos entered the clearing.
“You got another job for us?” Brok asked, in a way that made it sound like he was preparing to refuse it.
“We are always glad to help,” Sindri butted in.
“Not a job. A question. Do either of you know where we might find Mimir’s other eye?”
“His other eye? What for? He’s got the other one. Nobody needs more than one good eye anyway,” Brok said.
“How can you say that?” Sindri bickered. “If you had only one good eye, you’d end up pounding your thumbs until they were flat slivers.”
“I can out-pound you on metal with one eye any day!” Brok fired back.
Kratos growled at being forced to endure their senseless banter. “Guys, the eye?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh. No, no, no. That’s… I’m sorry. As a matter of fact, Odin asked me to… he wanted me to build a… he showed it to me, you see, and I… declined,” Sindri stammered out nauseatedly, before excusing himself.
“Well, that was useless,” Mimir commented.
“You know… it was about the same time that Odin came around lookin’ for me to build a statue with some sort of hidden compartment. Now, that not being a weapon and the Aesir being a bunch of pock-speckled cockers, I saw fit to decline. But I know he got it built just the same,” Brok said.