SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Following Ragnarok Ch 2

Chapter 2: Gods at the Well

The sound of gurgling water became audible as Mist and Kolbyr drew near the glowing trunk of the great tree, where it connected Asgard to the cosmos.

“The Well of Urd,” Mist answered Kolbyr’s unspoken question. “The Norns are gone from here, overseeing the battle and making certain fate follows its course; we can rest and recover here, without fear of being disturbed, until the giants reach us.”

Mist sank tiredly onto stone steps that surrounded the well, in the protection of a white marble arch that sheltered the clear, bubbling water. Leaning over, she drank deeply, then rinsed the blood and dirt from her hands and face. Kolbyr followed her example, wincing as the icy water touched his burns.

After refreshing themselves, the two sat wordlessly in the shade of the World Tree, listening to the water and the distant cry of the great eagle as it mourned above Valhalla. The silence was so intense that when a quiet rustle broke the air above them, they both jumped and looked upward in surprise.

Three ancient women, their flowing white tresses mingling with their voluminous grey gowns, came into view, floating like chaff on the breeze. A fourth figure, wearing a deep blue robe embroidered with runes and clutching a wooden staff twined round with leaves and flowers, trod in the air next to them. He was a large, red-bearded man, who gave the impression of barreling through the air rather than wafting with the zephyrs like the women. Kolbyr jumped to his feet and fell into a crouch, claws extended, as the four settled on the ground at the edge of the well.

“Peace, dark elf,” the trio of women intoned in unison, their voices as insubstantial as their appearance. “We come seeking you and the valkyrie, not to bring harm, only to speak.”

Mist had not moved, her eyes locked on the towering man. Now, her face broke into a smile, and she leaped up to bow low before him.

“Wise Hoedin, I cannot express my joy at seeing you. I was not certain of your fate during Ragnarok. At least one of the great gods has survived.”

“As foretold, child,” the three women chided, turning sightless eyes upon Mist. “Do not doubt the path of fate.”

“Ah, Mist of the valkyrie,” Hoedin said, “I have not seen you since I traveled to live with the Vanir so many ages ago. When the Norns came to fetch me, I did not believe their words. I am both surprised and displeased that they spoke truth, that you are here in the company of this dark elf, on the most holy of worlds.”

“Forgive me,” Mist pleaded, falling to her knees. “I only sought to see my home once more before the end, and my wings would not support me. This dark elf agreed to become my new companion and carry me here, that we might recover enough to die honorably in battle.”

Hoedin shook his head, his expression dour. “You have tied your immortal soul to an enemy? The battle must have wounded your wits, valkyrie. I came here to speak with you on a vital matter, one which the staff of prophecy has revealed and the Norns confirmed, but your actions make it difficult for me to entrust you with this task.”

Mist knelt silently, head down, trembling under the god’s displeasure. Kolbyr, who did not even recognize this exiled god, had risen from his crouch as the Norns requested. His eye darted between the Norns, who swayed in the breeze that rustled the World Tree, and Hoedin. Anger rose in him at the god’s implication that his presence in Asgard somehow blasphemed the land, but he held his tongue. Dying in battle was one thing; being smitten by angry god was something else entirely. He had no desire to see what became of souls who incurred a god’s wrath.

“Hoedin.” The voices of Norns resembled the breeze around them. “Release your anger. This dark elf has a part to play, as much as the valkyrie. We told you this when we sought you out in Vanaheim. You saw as much yourself in the vision from the staff.”

Hoedin stood mute for a long time, emotions warring in his face. At last, he sighed and nodded grudgingly.

“Rise, valkyrie. Come closer, dark elf. Though I warn you both, my anger is merely delayed.”

Mist rose to her feet, keeping her eyes downcast in the towering presence of the gods. Risking Hoedin’s displeasure, Kolbyr met the seer god’s eyes belligerently and kept his distance. His behavior seemed to irritate the god, who scowled. Hoedin said nothing about the dark elf’s defiance, however, obviously preferring to choose his battles. Instead, the god turned his gaze back to Mist.

“How much do you know of the prophecies about the events after Ragnarok?” Hoedin asked, leaning upon his leaf-twined staff.

“Very little,” Mist admitted, shuffling her feet. “I know of the portents that preceded the battle, of course, and of the battle itself. But I never thought to survive beyond that, so I did not listen to the stories of what will happen after the burning of the worlds.”

“Perhaps that is best, valkyrie.” Hoedin’s voice was a low rumble, and he glared over his shoulder at the Norns. “It appears that the fate of the worlds is not as unchangeable as some would have us believe.”

The Norns hissed sibilantly, returning Hoedin’s glare.

“Or perhaps not all details were revealed,” they replied, voices discordant in their irritation. “We only know what is to come to pass, not how events will lead to the fate we can see. That is for each individual to decide.”

“Regardless,” Hoedin muttered, returning his gaze to Mist, “events are not unfolding as they should. The prophecies tell us that all the worlds will burn. But the fire of the giants cannot seem to touch Niflheim. The ice and mists on the world are protecting it.

“Queen Hel retreated to her halls on Niflheim near the end of the battle. If the fires cannot touch her, she will have no reason to release the dead gods she holds. Baldur is destined to become the greatest of gods, to replace Odin. But the staff of prophecy showed me Baldur held captive in the halls of Hel, and Queen Hel herself reigning over all the worlds, spreading ice and death.”

“This flies in the face of fate,” the Norns interjected, their hair whipping about their faces as if in a gale, though only a small breeze stirred Mist’s own locks. “Midgard must be reborn. Baldur must take his place on the throne of Asgard, gathering the young gods around him for the next eternity. Hel must release all good souls, and acknowledge Baldur’s supremacy. Above all, the World Tree must not be allowed to die!”

Mist felt as if she were falling; a pit formed in her stomach, and her palms tingled with terror. Always, she had felt secure and protected with the gods. Nothing happened outside of their knowledge. Yet here were the Norns and Hoedin, keepers of fate and prophecy, telling her that fate had somehow taken the wrong path. Not only were the worlds doomed unless something happened to change the outcome, but no one was certain what should be done.

She glanced at Kolbyr. His expression reflected the shock that she felt. He shook his head faintly, a disbelieving scowl on his face.

“And why are you telling us this?” Kolbyr demanded. “You are gods. You should be able to channel fate however you choose. Why come to us?”

“Foolish elf,” the Norns scowled. “Fate is above all. We cannot channel fate, any more than we can stop time.”

“Hel is beyond our power,” Hoedin continued. “When Odin banished her to her own realm and made her keeper of death, he relinquished any control he had over her. She is neither a warrior Aesir nor a rational Vanir, though she had powers of both types of gods. She is neither elf nor giant, but she has power over both because she controls mortality. If we venture into her realm, she would have control over even us, though we are gods.”

“So you created a monster, and now she has escaped your grasp,” Kolbyr snorted. “I repeat, why us? What can we do against a power not even the gods control?”

Hoedin swung his staff and struck Kolbyr on the side of his head. Kolbyr stumbled back and sank to one knee, his eyes glazed. Mist stumbled slightly as well, placing a hand to her head. The link between them was growing stronger; already she shared what Kolbyr felt.

“You will show respect, dark one, or you will taste more than my staff. I am tempted to kill you now and send only Mist.”

Dodging between the irate god and the fallen elf, Mist raised her hands in supplication.

“Hoedin, I beg you, do not take my companion from me. He is an insolent and foul creature, it is true, but without him I would have no chance of completing any task you set me. My wings are torn and broken. I must rely on him to help me fly, to lend me strength in battle.”

“Your vision showed them both traveling to Hel,” the Norns reminded Hoedin. “Though we cannot see the reason, the only path that ended without Hel’s rule began with these two traveling to Niflheim. Do not endanger the hope of the worlds over foolish pride.”

For another interminable span of time, Hoedin glared at the crumpled yet defiant creature at his feet. Finally, with an angry gesture from his staff, he turned away.

“Leave now, valkyrie, and take your filthy ‘companion’ from my sight,” the god growled without looking at Mist. “I cannot like the idea of owing the future freedom of our worlds to one such as he, so do not beg me to pass blessing upon your quest. The best I can give is tolerance, and that barely.”

The Norns sighed and rolled their eyes. Approaching the two survivors, they held out their hands. Two of them carried gleaming golden apples. The third held an iridescent sphere, dark and swirling.

“Take them, children,” they urged, their voices growing wispy and distant. “Surt is even now finishing his destruction of Svartelheim, what he can reach of it through the ice of Niflheim.” Kolbyr looked up hopefully. “Yes, dark one, he cannot complete the destruction of your world because it lies outside his power, within Niflheim’s frosty plains. But do not think this good; it makes your own path the more dangerous. Even now, he travels the long road from Niflheim to Asgard. He will reach here before long.”

Mist helped Kolbyr rise to his feet, and they each accepted a golden apple. Mist also took the odd sphere in her hand. A chill ran up her arm at its touch.

“The apples are from Idun’s tree. They gave the gods their everlasting youth and strength, and they will give you the strength to continue on this perilous path. The orb contains something that may help you to pass the wolf Garm. Though he died in Ragnarok, Queen Hel refused to give up her beloved guardian, and she recaptured Garm’s spirit. He still guards the entrance to her realm.

“Take the way through the caves. Thus you shall avoid Surt and travel straight to the night-dark halls of Hel.” The Norns retreated until they stood next to the World Tree, their forms insubstantial against its golden light. Mist had to strain to hear their final words. “We shall guard the World Tree against Surt’s flames. Hoedin will strive to preserve some part of Asgard against your successful return. If you die, do not die needlessly.”

Though Mist’s eyes never left the Norns, she could not say if they dissipated into the air or became one with the World Tree. Glancing over at Hoedin, she found that he was already distant, trudging his way through the waving fields of Asgard toward the horizon.

“Well, my little carrion bird, it appears that your gods have abandoned us to our path,” Kolbyr said without rancor. He bit into the apple, savoring the flavor as he chewed. “But at least they granted us a final meal.”

Tired, weighed down by hopelessness, Mist could not summon enough anger to reply.