The Mists of Niflheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  Rivulets of blood still ran down the girl’s body, occasionally dropping into the abyss. A gag silenced her, though she stared at both Gudrun and Grimhild with loathing. But then, a sorceress was used to being hated by most of those she dealt with, human or otherwise. Still, given how quickly this girl healed, any but the most recent injuries would have sealed themselves.

  “What are we doing here?” Gudrun asked. “Are you still torturing this wretch?”

  Grimhild frowned, then touched a wall. No markings separated it from the rest of the corridor, but as Grimhild touched it, the wall slid backward, dust tumbling from cracks that must not have opened in years.

  The queen took a lantern from the dungeon wall, then descended yet another staircase. Deeper and deeper they climbed until Gudrun thought they must be as far below ground as the castle’s towers stretched above it.

  “Ever wonder what lies beneath the Pit?” Grimhild asked as the stairs finally ended at an iron-banded door. She took a key from a ring at her belt and unlocked it.

  Gudrun frowned and followed her mother. Below the Pit … Yes, she had wondered and assumed all that lay down here was bodies. Bodies splattered after falling hundreds of feet into a darkened cavern.

  The hall wound around a bend and led to yet another iron door, this one a grate, though Gudrun could see naught in the darkness beyond it.

  “The Pit,” Grimhild said, “is the real dungeon.”

  “There are more prisoners down here?” Had some survived this fall? It sounded impossible—but then, so had Odin leaping out an eighth-story window and walking away.

  “There is one.”

  Grimhild unlocked the gate and slid it into the wall, then entered a massive cavern beyond. Gudrun hadn’t been able to see this because it was simply too large for the light to fill. The place seemed roughly circular, with an outer ledge surrounding yet another pit. Once again, Gudrun could not see the bottom of it. As Grimhild approached the gap, a bridge of stone grew out of the floor beneath her, forming an archway to an island far distant.

  What in Hel’s name did Grimhild keep down here that needed such security? Reluctantly, Gudrun followed Grimhild. Fear of what Grimhild would do if she disobeyed outweighed fear of whatever waited beyond, but only just.

  The lantern light cast flickering shadows over the stone floor as Grimhild walked forward.

  Something moved ahead, with the sound of iron dragging on stone.

  Chains, Gudrun realized as she drew nearer: chains of a man with both arms bound to opposite ends of the platform, although both with enough slack he could rise and even walk toward them. In the darkness, she could not make out his features, though she could see he was naked.

  “Why keep this man here?”

  “Some tools are too valuable to discard, even if they are hard to control. And it is not a man, daughter. This is the first and greatest of the varulfur, progenitor and ultimate ancestor of their bloodline in Midgard. A foe so implacable even the Vanir feared him. This is Fenrir.”

  Grimhild pulled a tattered shirt from beneath her cloak. A shirt that had once belonged to Odin when he had stayed in this place so long ago. She tossed the shirt at Fenrir’s feet. “Come, wolf. Smell your prey.”

  Epilogue

  Long had Loki flown in swan form, heading ever back into the far north, back toward Reidgotaland, and toward the island of Samsey the Niflungar called home. He had not thought to return to this place any time soon, but now he had no choice. Odin would be looking for him, Loki knew, and would face hard choices and dangers without his guidance, but Loki could not turn back.

  His visions had failed him once, allowing the Niflungar to capture Sigyn and manage to carry her so far off. The had borne her through dark troll tunnels where he could not easily follow in person nor in vision. But now they had reached open ground in their homeland.

  He saw them.

  The Sight would not fail him again.

  Pyromancy, as all divination, could focus the Sight and reveal other times and other places. As now, the visions danced in the bonfire, unfolding images beneath Castle Niflung. Loki knew all too well what monstrosity they kept down there and what havoc the first varulf might wreak upon Midgard. Such things were concerns for another time, carefully hidden away until he could take steps to deal with them.

  Some things, however, could not be borne.

  The fire surged with his anger, leaping high into the night sky even as Grimhild led her foul daughter into the Pit, as the fires revealed Sigyn suspended there, bloody, frightened, and alone. Deep down, she had thought herself safe, thought Loki could never allow harm to befall her, and, in that confidence, had overstepped her abilities. It only made things worse that through her sacrifice she had, in effect, saved Odin and thus all of the Aesir, all of those for whom Loki himself had taken responsibility.

  And now she shivered. And a tear dripped down her cheek as the Niflung queen and princess disappeared into darkness.

  Loki roared into the night, unable to contain his rage. And from that unquenchable fury the bonfire expanded, doubled in size, and swept outward in a ring of fire that obliterated mist and darkness.

  As Loki himself would soon do.

  Gudrun had taken from him the one thing Loki could not live without. And in so doing, the Niflungar had sown the seeds of an inferno that would rise to annihilate all who stood in its way, until at last, the Children of Mist trembled before the rising conflagration.

  The flames would soon spread, and, as with the end of all things, naught but ash would remain.

  Want to see Odin’s journey?

  Grab your copy of The Shores of Vanaheim

  http://www.mattlarkinbooks.com/the-library/the-shores-of-vanaheim/

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  If you liked The Apples of Idunn, you’ll love the prequel. See the dawn of the Njarar War and the tragic adventures of Agilaz and Volund.

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  Thanks for reading,

  Matt Larkin

  Author’s Ramblings

  Anyone writing historical fiction has to find a balance between historical accuracy and accessibility to modern readers. Writing historical fantasy, this becomes equally true. For example, in earlier versions of the books, I used the measurements “handspans” and “fathoms” instead of feet. Those measurements would have been more historically accurate to Norse cultures, so I wanted to use them. The problem was, a reader then had to figure out first, how big a handspan is, and then convert that into feet or meters for it to have any inherent meaning. This extra level of detail actually detracted from the fictional dream by forcing most people to stop and think about things they shouldn’t have had to think about.

  You also have to carefully balance the use of modern diction—again for accessibility—and period accuracy. Consider: while the word “fuck” has a long history in English, the common usage as an adjective (“fucking huge”) is very modern. On the other hand, this usage produces a visceral reaction in modern readers that could never be generated by any substitute. Any attempt to generate this same feeling with another word has to be so close in use and sound (“frakking cylons!”) that everyone knows exactly what you mean and you should have just fucking said it … or forces you substitute in an in-world made up profanity with no emotion attached to it. So you kind of take the stance that the characters are not exactly speaking English anyway, and focus on conveying meaning and emo
tion, while trying to avoid anachronisms as much as possible.

  Adapting mythology comes with its own issues. The original stories don’t always fit well within the constraints of any realistic tale, much less the framework of dark fantasy I use throughout my Eschaton stories. A story in which Thor causes the tides by drinking half the ocean stretches verisimilitude way beyond the breaking point.

  These very limitations can, in fact, spark creativity. They can force me to reinterpret (or offer simple nods to) the original stories that, I hope, offer additional entertainment to those familiar with the source material (but never require that familiarity).

  In Loki we see a prototypical trickster god (and possibly a fire god) with strong parallels to certain deities in other cultures. In later Norse mythology his role changed and become more and more demonized, possibly because of influence from contact with Christians. In The Ragnarok Era, I treat Loki as a much more morally ambiguous figure (which I think is true to early Norse sources), and almost as an anti-hero. He is, as in traditional myth, Odin’s blood brother—but in his machinations we can see the seeds of mistrust that will one day grow between them.

  In The Mists of Niflheim we reach the middle of the beginning as Odin attempts his march toward Vanaheim. As I mentioned in The Apples of Idunn, this original premise came from the Prose Edda. This book also shows a bit more of the early Volsung Saga which will play out more over time.

  Once again, special thanks to my family, and to Brenda, Clark, and Fred, all of who’s input was invaluable in crafting this book. Also, thanks to Clarissa for an awesome reimagined cover.

  Thank you for reading,

  Matt

  About the Author

  Matt Larkin is an American fantasy and science fiction author. He lives in Florida with his wife Juhi and daughter Kiran. With a background in philosophy and publishing, Matt started a small press dedicated to top notch speculative fiction. He adores mythology and history, passions he conveys through his mythic fantasy novels.

  Matt would love to hear from readers, so feel free to email him at matt@incandescentphoenix.com.