The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Arastead frowned and shrugged his shoulders. He called upstairs: “Who is there?”

  And a voice replied: “Your meal is ready.”

  “That is a man’s voice,” said Grum surprised. “Oh, and good, more food.”

  Arastead chuckled. “I am glad you can tell the difference between a man and a woman’s voice,” he said.

  “His voice is familiar though,” said Farling worried.

  “I recognize that voice and it does mean trouble,” said Arastead knowingly.

  Once up the stairs, Farling noticed items on the kitchen table and yelled in joy: “My father’s sword! And here, the shield stolen by Loki!” He grabbed his sword, his face a beaming smile.

  Grum was not far behind. “My war hammer, and Gloves and Belt of Strength,” he boomed. “But how and why? These were in the realm of the frost giants we were told, stolen by Loki, given to his love, Yorli.”

  As Peg’s eyes glowed eldritch green, Arastead said: “I think if you ask the gentleman in our kitchen, the one with his back to us, he might provide some answers.”

  The person hunched over the stove stopped scrambling the eggs, added a pinch more salt and pepper to the frying pan, then, with a self-satisfied grunt of approval, turned and faced everyone.

  “Loki!” Farling and Grum shouted.

  “Who else?” Loki’s voice was nonchalant.

  Farling thought Loki looked comical, an old Norse god, holding a frying pan of scrambled eggs in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other. The apron he wore clinched the odd appearance.

  “Now, who is ready for eggs?” Loki asked as if he prepared eggs for breakfast every morning.

  “I am,” said Grum who took this all in stride as if the scenario was completely normal. “That porridge this morning did not do the trick.”

  Farling said: “Grum, I think you stretched your stomach during your competition with the frost giants. I worry you will now be permanently hungry.”

  “No change there as far as I can tell,” said Arastead as all three quickly devoured the scrambled eggs, complimenting Loki on the taste.

  “Coffee, anyone?” asked Loki. Everyone nodded, so he poured three mugs, then one for himself.

  Grum tore off a heel of bread and ate while talking. “I did not know you were a cook, Loki,” he said.

  “I have many skills,” replied Loki. “I am also very good at escaping icy dungeons and stealing enchanted weapons.”

  Farling, Grum, and Arastead looked at each other, quizzical looks on their faces.

  Loki raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, no one told you?” he said. “I was being kept in the dungeons in Thrymr’s castle when you were competing.”

  “No,” Farling began, “somehow that slipped the minds of our hosts. And by the way, thank you for returning our weapons. I guess that because they made you a guest in their dungeon, you felt it best to repay them somehow?”

  Loki smirked. “The frost giants are as full of bluster and arrogance as always,” he said. “They even took some of my blood with the Aesirslayer Blade, enough to power their army of golems.”

  “Aesirslayer nearly killed your sister,” said Arastead, his voice concerned. “The blade is poison to a Norse god.”

  “I had my head separated from my shoulders by the dwarf king,” said Loki, absently rubbing his neck where the axe had cut. “Poison is nothing to me, it is like sugar in my coffee. Not healthy for me mind you, but something I can easily get rid of.”

  “You spoke of an army of golems,” said Arastead. “What are the frost giants planning on doing with this army?”

  “Oh, probably attack Asgard and destroy my sister and brother in the process.” Loki’s voice sounded bored. “But my blood is not the same as my sister’s, so we will just have to wait and see what becomes of these golems. It may not be the outcome Thrymr planned.”

  Farling looked to his friends and shrugged, not sure what to make of the comment. Said: “Well, we thank you for the eggs and coffee.”

  Arastead nodded. “And thanks for returning the enchanted weapons,” he said.

  Grum pointed an accusatory fork at Loki as he said: “Although, you should not have stolen them in the first place.”

  Loki raised his hands admitting guilt. Then: “I needed an introduction to Thrymr. What better way than to present him with gifts, especially enchanted weapons he hates. Although, come to think of it, he was not pleased with my gifts, which is why I took them back. He does not care for them, but I know you blacksmiths do. I understand you wielded these weapons quite well against Thrymr’s sons.”

  Farling and Grum smiled widely then described their fight against the frost giant brothers. Loki smiled the entire time.

  “So,” began Arastead, “thank you again, Loki, for returning these weapons. But we have a new enemy in our midst—assassins. They have kidnapped Princess Margret of Aarlund.”

  Loki raised an eyebrow and then tapped his lips with one fingertip in thought. “I knew I smelled something odd in Trondheim,” he said. “Well, you now have your enchanted weapons. They should help somewhat when you dig out that nest of vipers. Not as effective as against frost giants, but still, should help.”

  Arastead said: “We were hoping to beat the frost giants in the contest, but their champions beat us handily in all three competitions.”

  At this, Loki threw his head back and laughed aloud. “I forgot, you three lost against the frost giant champions,” he said. “Well, of course you lost: The frost giants cheat. You heard me.” And Loki then enunciated: “They cheat. You think you competed against people? I see by your stunned expressions you thought you did. No, you competed against something completely different than what you thought. What were the three competitions again?”

  Arastead counted them off on three fingers: “A test of speed, eating, and strength,” he said.

  “And you lost all three,” said Loki.

  They all nodded. Arastead said: “Even though Jakobus gave us rings of power that would help us run fast, eat more food, and lift practically anything.”

  Loki chuckled loudly. “Even with those rings, you were hopelessly outmatched,” he said. “The frost giant champions were beings of magic, you did not stand a chance. The frost giants, especially that crafty Thrymr, knew you would lose all three events. He just wanted to test you, see how fast, strong, and hungry you are.”

  “I am confused,” said Grum. “What exactly did we compete against?”

  “In the long-distance running race, you competed against thought. Nothing is faster than thought.”

  “Impossible!” blurted Arastead. “No wonder I lost.”

  “Grum, in the food eating contest, you competed against fire,” said Loki.

  “Unbelievable!” Grum interjected. “That explains how he was able to eat all the bowls and cutlery. He was fire, now it makes sense.”

  “And Farling, in the show of strength, were you asked to lift an ordinary looking house cat?” asked Loki.

  Farling nodded. “Well, a frost giant house cat, so it was quite tall,” he said.

  Loki chuckled again. “Were you able to lift the cat off the ground at all?” he asked.

  “Well, I was able to lift just one paw off the ground so that it was free and did not touch the ground,” replied Farling.

  “Impressive.”

  “Why is that? The champion I was up against lifted all four paws of the cat off the ground just enough so that its paws did not touch.”

  “Well of course he did.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It was the Midgard Serpent that gnaws at the roots of Yggdrasil. It has strength immeasurable.”

  “I thought the great Midgard Serpent never left Yggdrasil.”

  “It is hard to explain, but the Midgard Serpent can be in many places at once. Tell me, do you really think that was a normal house cat you tried to lift?”

  Farling shrugged, looking at his friends for help, but they shrugged as well. Farling said slowly: “
Yes.”

  Loki smiled. “It was no house cat,” he said. “It was the largest mountain in all of Jotunheim.”

  “You mean I lifted a mountain?” blurted Farling.

  “Well, a part of the mountain, which was impressive enough,” said Loki. “But tell me, when you lifted one of the cat’s paws off the ground, what expression was on Thrymr’s face?”

  Farling shrugged. “I was not looking at the frost giant king,” he admitted.

  “Arastead, when you just barely lost the foot race, what expression was on Thrymr’s face?” asked Loki.

  “I was too exhausted after the run,” replied Arastead. “I was not looking at Thrymr to judge his reaction.”

  Loki nodded. “And when you, Grum, hungriest of all Midgardians, what expression was on Thrymr’s face when you lost the food eating competition?” he asked.

  “I did actually notice Thrymr’s expression,” said Grum. “He looked concerned.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said Loki. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “I am confident Thrymr looked concerned at all your close losses. He knew you used dwarf magic and it scared him. This was not a contest of speed, appetite, and strength. It was a test at how well three Midgardians could wield dwarf magic, and I am sure it scared him. It will definitely give him pause for thought before he thinks of ever sending more frost giants into this realm.”

  Farling said: “But we lost, and now the dwarves must build an enchanted sled for the frost giants.”

  Loki acted surprised. “Did the frost giants demand a deadline for when the sled will be delivered?” he asked.

  “No,” said Farling.

  “That there then is their out,” said Loki. “With no delivery date, the dwarves have all the time they need to fulfill the contract. They could deliver it tomorrow, or they could deliver it in three hundred years. Thrymr must be rusty as he forgot how slippery the dwarves can be in their negotiations.”

  “I am glad,” said Arastead, “as I did not enjoy losing and I did not enjoy the thought of the frost giants enjoying more items of magic.”

  “Well, no need to worry any longer,” said Loki. “Your familiar, Arastead, has been following my every word. Which means my brother, Galdr, now knows everything as well. Still, I should visit Asgard soon as a part of me, well, a small part of me, does miss my sister and brother.”

  “And what of the Thrymr’s daughter?” asked Arastead.

  “Oh, I am not worried about my relationship with her,” said Loki. “We will be fine. Although, she had better not find out the reason I gave those enchanted weapons to Thrymr. It was a ruse, you see: I needed to find out what the frost giants were up to, as out of all the realms, my brother and sister were most concerned about the frost giants attacking Asgard. I now know Thrymr’s plan, as does my brother as he was listening to our entire conversation through your cat’s ears. He will tell our sister everything.”

  Arastead said: “Loki, I am sorry I did not trust your motives when you stole our enchanted weapons.”

  “Oh, no, you were right to not trust me,” said Loki, his hands raised in protest. “If Thrymr had accepted the weapons, I would have asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage then and there on the spot. So, you see, do not trust me. I am entirely selfish in all my decisions. And with that advice, I am off.”

  “Loki, before you go,” began Farling, “is there any way you can help us attack the assassins guild?”

  “No,” answered Loki flatly. “I may not interfere. Still, I do like the Aarlund princess. Fine, a little more free advice then: Beware the princess, she is not all she seems to be.”

  Grum said: “Rather cryptic, do you not think?”

  “Yes, it was supposed to be cryptic,” said Loki in mock sarcasm. “I am the Trickster, I am not my sister or brother. I do not like helping you Midgardians and if you ask for any more help, I will give you bad advice, something that might just get you three killed.”

  Farling nudged Loki down the stairs. Said: “Thanks for coming.”

  Grum added: “Do not let the door hit you on your backside on the way out.”

  Arastead whispered: “It has been a pleasure, but we have things to do. Grum, we do not have a door.”

  Grum whispered back: “It is just an expression.”

  Once Loki was gone, everyone sat down again at the table and exhaled deeply, almost making a whistle sound, marveling at just how lucky they were.

  “Well, gather your weapons,” said Farling, “for we must root out the nest of assassins and destroy it.”

  “I just hope the princess is OK,” said Arastead.

  CHAPTER 39

  The Milk of the Beast

  Margret was not OK.

  She had been kept isolated in a small room with no windows and blank walls. Always enveloped in darkness, she could not tell how many days and nights she had been kept in the room. Food was not delivered to her at regular intervals, so there was no way for her to know if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner. And all the meals were the same, again throwing off any chance for her to orient herself as to the time of day. The floor felt the same as all the walls—smooth—so there was no texture, nothing for her fingers to feel any stimulation, nothing for her to enjoy.

  And so her mind began to eat her thoughts.

  At first, she resisted. She tried to remember events, happy events. She talked to herself out loud, but after what felt like several days, she was too exhausted to talk. And so she carried on her conversations inside her mind.

  But with nothing to stimulate her, nothing for her mind to digest, no sensations of light, no sensations of sound, no sensations of smell, no sensations of touch, no sensations of taste, her mind fed on itself for stimulation.

  She knew she was in trouble, knew if this kept up, her mind might just stop working. Even if she was brought out into the light, listened to the finest music, tasted the richest foods, smelled the sweetest aromas, and felt sand ooze through her toes, it would not be enough to repair her damaged mind.

  Soon, she could not even stand as she could not tell up from down, left from right, and had lost all sense of balance. And so she just lay on the ground.

  She began to punch herself in the shoulder for stimulation, but this too proved to not be enough. It was as if her mind demanded more, always more. And so she banged her forehand against the floor. The pain she felt satisfied the hunger of her mind. She felt blood trickle down her face and touched it and stuck her finger in her mouth. The acrid taste of blood eased her mind. But only for a while.

  Her screams bounced harmlessly off the walls. And even this too stopped quickly, as exhaustion overcame her.

  And so she slept.

  But her dreams now were never fitful, never satisfying. Now, it was as if sleep itself exhausted her even more. She felt pain when she opened her eyes and even that little bit of effort exhausted her so that soon, she just stopped opening her eyes. It came to the point where she could not even tell if her eyes were open or not. She would poke a finger in her eye to see if it was open, but even by doing that, she could not tell any more as her eye felt as dry as her eyelid.

  Nightmares flooded her mind when she slept and soon the same nightmares occurred when she was awake. Events in the past that had bothered her slightly now grew exponentially so that those same minor events were now filled with horror.

  Anxiety and panic flooded her body causing her heart to beat irregularly and her breathing to become shallow. But even this too would not be enough to satisfy her insatiable mind and so even this stopped from sheer exhaustion.

  Voices came and went, but she was not sure if these were hallucinations. Soon, her mind demanded more hallucinations on which it could feed. And so her hallucinations became more and more real as they took on sounds, smells, looks, tastes, and feels. Her mind generated rich tableaus of vistas and panoramas filled with people, runes drawn in chalk on the floor, lighted candles placed strategically around the rune. She smelled the fa
int chalk on the ground and so sniffed greedily, trying to inhale as much of the chalk smell as she could so that her mind could feel something, anything, it was so starved of stimulation.

  Her eyes could not focus as she felt as if they had not been used in years. She noticed she was sitting on the ground, her knees underneath. Still, she swayed back and forth, unsure of her balance, as if she was on a small boat, whitecaps on the waves, tossing her to and fro. A part of her enjoyed the swaying, as if she was listening to music, but a small part of her knew something was wrong. But that voice was small, and a louder more insistent voice told her to enjoy the music, enjoy the swaying, enjoy the dance.

  And when a drink was held up to her mouth, her hands clasped at the horn, unsure at first, then more confidently as the drink’s taste filled her mouth, burned her throat, and filled her stomach.

  At first, the drink made her gag as if she had forgotten how to drink, like she was a newborn child, unsure how things worked. But so fierce was her hunger and thirst that she overcame the drink’s nauseous taste and forced it down.

  Soon, the horn was empty and with that done, she opened her eyes.

  She blinked as she felt as if her eyes were slowly waking up.

  She saw a creature sitting inside the chalk rune that was drawn on the floor, and it played a musical instrument that looked like a flute. The sound of the flute was soothing, and she swayed back and forth to its rhythm and beat. The creature inside the rune looked human enough, but even to Margret’s blurred vision, the creature looked as if its skin was made of scales and that its eyes had a serpent appearance.

  Realizing something was not right, she tried to stand. But then whatever she had drunk flooded her body, causing her every nerve to tingle, her mind to go on fire, and her vision to flood with light.

  She fell forward, her hands not checking her fall.

  Her face slammed against the floor.

  She groaned, surprised at the sound then realized she had made it.

  A voice not her own commanded: “Rise, princess.”