“But what she needs is the key,” Odin countered, “which is safely guarded in Asgard.” The key he meant was Sif, and although she knew that, it wasn’t enough. Keys could be lost or stolen.
“If they ever get their hands on her.”
Odin chuckled. “You fear too much. Our greatest enemy is the fire demon.”
“You don’t fear enough. Sif has not adjusted to life here.”
“Then make her adjust. Thor is a brawny lad, up for fun. He should do.”
Freyja frowned, showing her discontent. “I don’t care if she should lay with someone or not, but within her is the power to raise the dead, even him.”
“But they need the crown and her; I don’t foresee that possibility. Lady Hel has done a lot in her time as ruler, but would she be willing to kill this woman to extract the one thing needed to raise her beloved? I doubt it.” Odin then turned away.
Freyja nodded and walked away, lost in thought. Despite her understanding of his words, the conflict of keeping that, which was destined to die for all of the worlds to remain intact, weighed on her. It was akin to befriending the chicken, one then needed to slaughter and eat. The secret only a few knew. The key’s blood was the curse and the solution. But for the power of resurrection to work, one life would have to be sacrificed for another.
But if Odin wasn’t going to help her, what other choice did she have? How could she stop Lady Hel from coming after her, personally? How could she protect Asgard from falling?
Her thoughts raced. It wasn’t enough to know that the threat of their destruction was inching ever nearer. No, she needed to take control of things too.
With this in mind, she hurried to her chambers and sent for Kara, the Valkyrie. It was time for the crown to be moved. She removed the precious crown from behind a metallic knotwork that hung on her wall, and placed it in a shell-like conch case, then shoved the case into a drawstring bag, which she quickly enchanted until it appeared more like an armlet.
Removing it from Asgard would ensure the safety of the realm, especially out of reach from the key who could activate it.
“Yes, this is the best of plans,” she decided and waited for Kara’s arrival.
Chapter 6
Freyja
Freyja considered her options. The moon and sun both lit up the sky, as half of Asgard rested under the night’s blanket dotted with bright stars. She held the Alder King’s crown in her hands—the jewel-encrusted crown sparkled brighter than the brightest of diamonds; it reflected both the light of the sun and the blessed moon.
In the inset of the crown rested nine different stones; each of their own significance, power, and purpose. With a wave of her hand, she removed the magical stones one-by-one and palmed them.
With them safely in hand, she raced away from her grand hall towards the circle of Yggdrasil, the great ash tree that connected all of the nine realms, leaving behind the towers of gold that dominated the Asgardian landscape.
Surrounding the tree were eight picture frames that floated around the trunk. Each frame had a different appearance: ice, fire, wood, rock, metal, vines, coal, and bone fragments.
In the circle surrounded by the grand frames, here, all realms met, in this one spot; ruled where no great border or chasm separated them.
The stars continued to twinkle as if nothing was amiss.
She’d seen what was to come. And her hands held that which would bring about the end of them all.
Danger lurked and had not been quashed as they’d originally intended.
She held her breath and raised up the deep purple Iolite gemstone. It glowed, and her palm took on its purple glint of elder magic.
She could weave all of the stars together to change the destiny of men, but still, that would not lessen the risk with the stones. No, the only action could curb this brooding darkness that sought to quash all the light that Asgard provided.
“Why have you summoned me?” Verdandi the Norn asked. She appeared. Shoulder-length hair as red as the most fiery of flames floated behind her.
“I could not sleep,” Freyja said. “Something is right around the bend.”
Verdandi chuckled. “You seem to have forgotten that there is always something coming. It will take more than your ridding of the king’s crown to nullify the truth, know its way.”
“We must work together to alleviate this, or even the great Ash Tree will not remain standing when it is finished; for all realms will fall.”
Verdandi nodded and took hold of Freyja’s purple-tinted hand. “And for that reason, we will cast forth these stones through time and space, where they will be safe from the growing threat.”
The Alder King had previously had a horrible run of things; he and his daughters would kidnap the children of Midgard and carry them off to the rest of the Fae.
“We all have our parts to play, Freyja. You can decide the fates of men, but I decide the fates of the gods.”
“What are you demanding?” Freyja asked.
“You will give me the stones, and all shall drift away.”
The hairs on Freyja’s arms rose. She would make a different world, a hierarchy, where the gods were erased, and the Norns would reign supreme and the children of men under her feet. It flashed before her eyes like bright lightning.
“I will never allow mankind to pay your ransom.” Only she stood between this Norn and that toppling. Freyja slammed her hand closed, and the loud echo sounded throughout the realms, as eight of the stones scattered. That of the earth-rattling combined with the loudest boom that had ever resounded from Asgard.
The crown fell to the ground.
Freyja turned in a circle and watched as the ice frame began to melt; the fire began to cool, the wood began to char, the metal warped, the vines withered; the coal began to smoke, and the bone fragments began to crumble to ash.
“I will destroy everything before I allow the Norns to win,” Freyja countered. “Maybe you need to see what it is you are fighting for.”
Freyja cupped the air, and the Iolite entered her palm creating a large purple light that radiated in and around her.
“Before there were the gods, there was Ymir,” Verdandi screamed, and the earth around Freyja cracked, then began to crumble.
It opened up and sucked Freyja into the darkness.
Chapter 7
Lady Hel
Even the goddess would grieve.
Life and resurrection? The words replayed and sparked hope, something foreign to her. It never did any good to wish or hope for a better outcome, yet Verdandi had ignited that spark.
Maybe her grief would now come to an end. In the shadow of her gothic house on Midgard, far away from the Dark Elves who sought to destroy the city, Lady Hel strolled through the woods on her property which overlooked the river. Her home hadn’t been flooded, as the wards would always keep her belongings safe.
She retraced her steps from that fateful night, winding under the canopy of the deciduous trees which blocked all sunlight from peeking through. Her memory was perfect; she could recall every scent, every snapped twig that had broken as she’d marched to his grave—the grave she would dig with her bare hands.
She reached out and touched the rough bark of the white oak trees; her heart pounded in her ears the nearer she drew. It had been a while since she’d been back here to visit. Not that she loved him any less, but she couldn’t hold him anymore. However, the longer she stayed away, the more she missed him.
It wasn’t better to love and then be tossed into a world of pain. She’d wanted nothing more than for the sky to fall, for the world to mourn just as she did.
She reached where his mound should have been to find it disturbed. The dirt freshly moved.
The leaves rustled, the blades of grass blew in the slight breeze, and from the river, a scent of fresh water mixed with the rhythmic sound of the water crashing against the larger limestone boulders. Crows cawed, squirrels scurried, and still, she stood there.
“No,” she screa
med, and the birds scattered. She fell to her knees clawing at the roots and black soil. She gathered the soil to her, pulling and yanking at it like a mad woman in search of that which she’d lost. Digging deeper and deeper until the dirt was waist high. The mound now flat, she confirmed it to be so; the grave was empty.
Someone had stolen her Harley’s remains.
Her soiled hands mixed with her tears, which she then smeared across her face.
Snapping off a branch from the nearby tree, she placed a sigil around the grave between the trees. She took her sharp fingernail and sliced her palm, squeezing out the droplets of blood needed. She, as the goddess of death, had control of the dead; this should not have happened. Who would dare take him from her, again?
“Show me that which has occurred,” she ordered. The sigil slowly began to burn until it turned bright red.
The image slowly took shape. A male shadow moved toward the grave; his face covered. He carried a metal shovel with a red handle and moved in, closer, pushing the shovel’s cutting edge into the dirt until the blade filled with dirt. He then tossed the sacred soil and its clumps into a mound.
“Show me your face, you coward,” Hel demanded, but still his face remained hidden.
She continued to watch him and stood there scrutinizing every movement, just as if she’d been there from the beginning. The man dug deeper until he revealed Harley’s shroud. He then poured salt on the body and cut the cloth across Harley’s face.
He turned and called over his shoulder. “My Lord, it is him,” and in moved the god she didn’t expect to see involved in this: Njord.
A loud horn blew, and Harley’s body rose into the air and floated. Dirt and salt fell from him. “Come, we must deliver him to the queen,” Njord said.
The queen could only mean Freyja. She was the one who knew where Harley was buried. She was also the one who made sure to take him away from her, again.
A plan began to form, one that would require a few players.
Lady Hel closed her eyes, raised her palms and the essence of the Alder King that remained in the soil, slowly took form. She absorbed it—a green glow turned first into fireflies that fluttered around her. They each then took their place on her outstretched arms forming intricate gauntlets that slowly soaked into her skin.
“They will rue the day they touched your sacred mound. I promise,” she whispered and clapped her hands, then disappeared in a murder of crows.
It was time to find the helper and learn what he knew.
Chapter 8
Sif
In the wonderful Asgard, a placed I’d prayed to visit since Thor had found me, and what should have been my respite, had become my prison. Today was all playacting; be the strong believer, and act like I belonged here to train with the Valkyrie and Freyja’s handmaidens. I felt like an imposter, and no amount of hacking and slaying would make this all better.
It wasn’t enough to be the key. Everything I did had me reacting. I couldn’t just stand on my own two feet and be. No, they’d had to bring me into their chaos. I’d never been arrogant, or cocky even. I’d never attempted to take more than my share, but still, I was punished.
I raised my battle axe and swung it with all of the gusto I could force. But, Kara, a Valkyrie, wasn’t up for my half-fight.
Sure, Snorri, the Historian, had warned us all through the myths, but I thought they’d simply been made up. That when Christianity came to Iceland, he’d mixed things up until a jumbled stew remained; sort of like looking for apples here in Asgard, in a world that didn’t seem to grow the fruit.
Here the sun still shone brightly, and if I closed my eyes I might have been able to imagine home again—not the dystopia I’d helped create, but what had existed beforehand. But here I couldn’t find respite. Without looking in a mirror, I knew that dark circles rested under tired eyes. Sleep eluded me like catching the wind in a bottle.
Despite the battle in Midgard being over, I heard the whispers and knew the truth; every bone in my body could echo what was taking place in Midgard, as it tore itself apart. It was the one place I wished to return and the one place I was forbidden to go. If only they knew.
How had I gone from freedom to prisoner, locked away in this struggle between free will and fate? The continuous circle was enough to drive anyone else mad. But for me, it wasn’t madness I sought, but triumph, with every muscle’s burn.
In the practice field, in the shadows of the city of gold, the clanging of battle weapons would have given anyone pause, but it didn’t. Just as those in the hall of Valhalla trained and practiced daily, so did the Valkyrie, who were dressed in full gold-and-white armor, holding a variety of combat weapons. Some had longswords and shields, while others at the far end of the field practiced with their bows and arrows.
And that now included me, with my battle axe, gifted to me by Thor, the mighty god of Thunder.
“If you’re going to waste time, I could be training with someone else, Sif,” Kara said and blocked my half-hearted attack with her longsword.
I wasn’t certain to know how long I’d been there, as time didn’t run quite the same in Asgard as it did on Earth. Right now, I was here to learn how to fight, and who better to teach me than the Valkyrie who went to war daily to round up the dead, and of course, determine who should die?
I was just going through the motions. Swing right, block left, duck. It had no meaning. No depth.
I lowered my battle axe. “Let’s call it a day.”
She nodded and gave me that pity expression before she hid it behind her chagrin. “But the horn hasn’t blown. We practice until it blows, like always. Plus, you can’t just continue to mope.” She waved her hand at the golden and marble splendor around us. “This is Asgard after all.” It looked like one would expect it to: lush with foliage, and not even a blade of grass out of place. Perfect even.
But I didn’t feel perfect. More like I’d shown up after a bender with a thick cotton tongue, and a mouth that surely tasted like castor oil.
“Surely Odin has not taken kindly to your disregard of the Asgardian way of life as he’s allowed you to be here among the gods, but you show only disrespect,” Kara continued.
I wasn’t necessarily here because I wanted to be, at least that was the ever-growing feeling that continued to rise and crash against me like the incoming tide’s waves. Something was off. Not everything this shiny, this perfect could be such.
“He should return you to Midgard,” Kara dead-panned.
But he wouldn’t. I’d not let on about how things there were, or even showed that it crossed my mind, the state of things. What could I do to change it, after all, according to them?
Right now, I was starting to feel more like a kept prisoner than a welcomed guest.
“No.” I sighed, “He’s going to let me explain. And then attempt to soothe my ruffled feathers.”
I heaved up my battle axe and spread my weight to swing. With arms shaking from overuse, I swung the axe slicing through the air. Kara jumped out of my blade’s reach. Taking another swing, I moved forward chopping left and right. Kara then blocked my advance with her shield, pushing me backward.
I fell to the ground and scrambled away as she advanced on me. Her sword’s blade came ever closer, striking, slicing and promising death.
“When are you going to get Loki out of your head? Stop being his puppet.” Her words were akin to having each of my fingernails yanked out. Blood pumped through my heart, pushing me on to continue, but no one knew that which rested below the surface. They all assumed what had happened, how I’d felt, and believed me to be naïve.
Every whirlwind relationship came to an end, and I’d fallen head over heels in love with Loki. He’d drawn me in like fire, and the passion between us had singed me.
I shook my head to rid myself of the fog, the heartbreak. I knew the truth.
Just as her sword’s tip would have pierced me a mighty horn blew, and all the weapons dropped to the ground. Kara leaned over me, bo
wed and then offered a hand to help me up.
“You know, if you’d concentrate, you could be more effective with that thing. I don’t believe Thor was thinking when he gifted you a battle axe. He should have provided you with daggers.”
“I was distracted. Who is that?” I asked and pointed at the older man with the shimmering fish scale, shell and netting cloak.
“That is Queen Freyja’s father, Njord. Usually, he isn’t dressed in his away outfit. He must be heading down to Midgard, as that is a great catastrophe.”
My mouth went dry.
“Now, concentrate,” she continued.
I nodded my agreement, but the more I used my axe, the more it felt like it was becoming an extension of me.
A tool I could use, but to be honest, I had a long way to go to get to that Valkyrie efficiency.
“Come, let us head to the pub, watch some more of your Earth sitcoms and TV shows, and I will buy you a large stein of mead, then you can tell me more about what they say about us down in Midgard.”
“I can’t. I promised to meet with Heimdall afterwards.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Of all of the princes, I never thought he’d be the one to garner your attention, but you two do seem to spend a lot of time together. I wonder, what do you two talk about?”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and led me off of the field, where all the other Valkyrie waited. Our group of eleven left off, leaving the other teams behind.
This was a soccer team, at least the camaraderie was. The Valkyrie chatted about their plays and how one was almost bested by the other; they chitchatted about the worthiness of the latest arrival to Valhalla, Odin’s hall of fighters, and of course that of Thor.
At the mention of Thor’s name, I could feel them all—all twenty-two pair of eyes boring into my back.
“You’ve heard the news then?” Kara leaned over to ask.
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