Chapter One - A Cave In Iceland
Chapter One - A Cave In Iceland
When a spring break adventure goes wrong, it doesn't usually result in the end of all worlds. Voluspa didn't see this one coming.
Six friends marched in single file, their ears filled with the dull thump of human footsteps echoing from the rocky cavern walls no more than a meter on either side. In the dim yellow light beaming out from the leader’s flashlight, each of the young women and men could barely make out their companions’ true shapes, young bodies melding with their indistinct shadows.
Ever deeper into the Icelandic mountain they strode, an effervescent plastic ribbon trailing behind them marking the path back to daylight. One of the six, having been unusually quiet for most of the hike, finally couldn’t hold back.
“Heya, Eryn?” Timur called in a low voice to their dauntless leader at the head of the column, “I just wanted to tell you how incredibly stupid this idea of yours is looking right about now.”
Eryn didn’t spare him a glance, merely replied with a mild curse that faded into the stone like a banished ghost.
“Leave her alone, Timur,” Yarielis muttered in the monotone way she always spoke when irritated that her train of thought had been broken. “I'm having fun. These cool rocks are making our footsteps sound so strange.”
Timur stooped as he walked, feeling for and finding a loose pebble then tossing it casually back over his shoulder in joking reply. He heard a startled cry, but not the squeak he was expecting.
“Ow!” Kim growled, her slight accent adding to the menace she transmitted to him through the darkness. “Dude, that little rock got me right in the cheek. Your aim stinks – remind me to pay you back in kind when I can actually see you again.”
“Whoops, sorry about that, Kim!” Timur smiled sheepishly, though no one could see it. “Pick it up and toss it back at Yari for me, will you? I forgot what order we’re in.”
“Try and find it yourself,” Kim retorted.
Timur just laughed. “But seriously, come on people, I'm all for adventure and glory and grand feats, but spelunking in search of a sight of lava down the gullet of an Icelandic volcano? That’s a Spring Break only a geologist could ever enjoy. And Yari, I guess.”
“Magma, Timur. Magma.” Loucas laughed slyly, reaching out to pat his younger sister on the shoulder, more to reassure himself than her. “You know how Eryn gets. All that grad school lingo is seriously warping her mind.”
“Don't defend her, Loucas!” Timur shot back. “When we agreed it was Eryn’s turn to play choose your own spring break adventure none of us thought that would mean mucking around the world's dingy hind end.”
“While hungover.” Kim moaned. “Don't forget the hangover. I certainly can't.”
Kim wasn't bound to receive much sympathy from anyone on that point. The previous evening, a local geologist had challenged her to a drinking match. And lost, after a fierce contest that had depleted a significant portion of the bar's supply of lager. It was fortunate the good professor had been paying, or the group’s collective tab would have been a fright to behold.
“Hey, Kim,” Eryn called over her shoulder, slowing for a moment to feel her way past a particularly large stone partially obstructing the way. “Don’t forget that you were the one who insulted Dr. Toek's work, not me! I told you that one has an ego. Most profs do, but his is definitely bigger than most. Anyway, quit complaining – this is fun!”
Kim reached out her hands and made a strangling motion. No one saw the gesture, of course.
“Eryn,” Kim grumbled, “you have to remember that not everyone has your tiny-person metabolism. Or the Irish-German genetic predisposition for efficient alcohol uptake. Damned Celtic-Anglo-Saxon… whatever the heck you say you have going on in your Canadian mutt genetic heritage.”
“Hey now,” Timur snickered, “let’s not bring ethnicity into the party, eh? Because my heritage goes back to the damn Khans, man, so I definitely win!”
Eryn's retort was cut off by a sudden shift in the rocks under her feet that quite nearly caused her to roll her ankle. She swore under her breath – it was just too hard to see anything. To conserve their collective battery power hers was the only light currently active, a plan that she now realized had been too smart by half.
“You okay up there, Eryn?” Patrick, the sixth and, per usual, quietest member of the group called out from the darkness, concern clear in his deep voice.
“Yeah, just forgot how to walk,” Eryn called back, wincing and walking on. “What's up with you? I know that brooding silence has to mean something.”
“That sound we heard when we entered the cave keeps getting louder,” he spoke quietly, yet the words seemed to hang over them in the darkness like a stifling blanked, strangely amplified by the rock walls.
“I don't like it either,” Yari muttered.
The truth was, she spoke for them all. Yet in silence the six friends walked on, listening as the strange groaning, rattling sigh, like one might expect from a giant having a bad night's sleep, grew in intensity with each step they took. It was deeply unsettling that the mountain seemed somehow alive – not a quality one likes in a volcanic area, especially when deep inside a cavern scooped out by flowing molten rock at some point in the past.
For her part, Eryn knew it was probably wise to turn back, but a desire to see through what she had begun drove her on. After all, it was she who had brought them from their shared apartment in Vancouver to an academic conference organized to discuss the thrilling topic of the volcanic-induced geochemical impacts on medieval Icelandic society.
Eryn had no particular interest in the topic herself, but it had made for a good excuse to get her doctoral department to fund a trip to Iceland with a small pack of quote-unquote research assistants who merely had to take a seminar for university credit as part of the bargain. The timing of the conference couldn't have been better. The six friends had a longstanding agreement where they would rotate who got to decide the group's spring vacation destination trip each year. After traveling to Sri Lanka with Timur and Puerto Rico with Loucas and Yarielis, it had been Eryn's turn.
Of course, if anyone had known that she would take them to the remote town of Akureyri, on forbidding northern coast, they probably would have objected… violently. What no one had been able to argue with was the simple fact that it was free.
Loucas, finally tired of listening to nothing but footsteps interspersed with occasional banter, called out to Eryn.
“So the thing I don't get yet is how we’re supposed to get close enough to see the fiery stuff, anyway? Won't convection make things just a bit… uncomfortable? Lots of energy coming off a pool of liquid metal.”
“Great point, Loucas!” Timur laughed. “Wish you'd have thought of that about twelve hours ago, before we started on this mad hike into the pits of hell.”
“We won't get anywhere near that close, guys,” Eryn rolled her eyes. “I talked to the local experts long enough last night to make sure the area is safe. At least, I think I understood them correctly. They speak great English, but after a couple beers even mild accents get hard for me to parse. But I'm at least eighty-five percent sure that Dr. Toek had been up here a day or two ago and knew it was safe.”
“Did he tell you that before or after Kim drank him under the table?” Timur snarked.
“Shut. Up. Timur!” Eryn growled.
All except Yari and Patrick joined in for a round of banter, more to pass the time than out of truly positive feelings. None of them could have put into words precisely what they were feeling even if they had the presence of mind to try. But each felt as if a weight was pressing in from all sides, its power growing as they pressed on.
Yet on they went, none of them serious enough about turning back after walking this far to force the issue. The darkness made it difficult to say for sure, but the cavern seemed to be twisting perpetually downward and to one side, as if the molten rock passing by so long ago had struck a substance it could not burn through, deflected like a mole burrowing around a tree root.
Soon the six found themselves walking with their outstretched hands pressed to the walls, as these began to steadily narrow. Instinctively they bunched up, and finally forced to work their way around a sudden corner. Eryn was wondering when she ought to switch to a backup flashlight when, without warning, the cave walls gave way entirely, opening onto a broad shelf of rock.
They walked in a tight bunch out into open space, and as their eyes adjusted to take in a broadened horizon, they saw that a dense bank of low, dark clouds obscured the sun from sight. It was positively dark by normal standards, and though it seemed like dawn to eyes now accustomed to the cavern in truth none could be certain they had exited the mountain at all.
To make the scene even more unsettling, the clouds were illuminated from below by a threatening red glow that reflected eerily in what looked like a kind of wet ashy haze.
“Whoah, who dropped us into Vvardenfell?” Loucas muttered, like all of them an avid player of role-playing video games.
“Or Mordor?” Yari replied.
“Same thing, more or less, innit?” Timur shrugged.
“Guys! Guys! Holy hellfire Batman, would you look at that!” Eryn shouted, pointing excitedly towards a sight that nearly made up for the grim skies.
About two kilometers in the distance, across a misty chasm that began just a few paces from where they had emerged, stood a mighty frozen peak. From a gash in the center of the mountain's nearest icy face a river of fire poured like water, flowing over a cliff and down into a ravine before disappearing into the depths of the Earth far below.
Timur whistled softly. “Well, Eryn. Thanks an awesome sightseeing tour of the netherworld. Is there a coffee kiosk around? Or a WiFi signal? I'm craving a burger and a coke and a good long doomscroll on the internet.”
“Come on, Timur, isn't this amazing?” Patrick exclaimed, excited in a way he only got when there was art at stake. “Oh gods that be – I need to take a picture of this. Damn am I glad I have my real camera and not some dinky phone app. Is anyone's GPS working on their phone? We need to geotag this!”
Kim walked to Eryn's side, staring at the fiery clouds. She felt her hangover seem to subside, subsumed by a sudden sense of wonder. A wind arose, strong enough to tear her dark hair from the constraints of the loose bun she had pulled it into for the hike. Its mass whipped free above Eryn's head, a black cloud hovering over her friend’s field of unkempt, short, dirty-blond hair.
“Wow, hold that pose, guys.” Patrick said, and fast, repeated clicks made it obvious that he had found his camera – and that the single roll of film he had brought would be depleted in short order.
“Wow, I bet you can see this from space.” Loucas mumbled, almost whispering. “Gotta be able to. No way we’re still underground, right Eryn? Right?”
“You have no idea, kid,” a strange, almost mocking voice called out from nowhere and everywhere at once. Wanna see? I can show you. All of you!”
Loucas hadn't really expected a reply, much less from a disembodied voice. The six friends all looked at one another in shock, too stunned to speak.
The voice had no such difficulties, its tone mocking their stupor.
“You lot sure are dense. Humans in your days, pah! If you would actually look about, you might notice the one important thing in this entire scene that matters: Me! I’m not nearly as invisible as you seem to believe.”
“And for the record, children – this fine place is called Ginnungagap. Hel is much bleaker and colder. Lots more tortured undead, too. And my daughter makes her home there, so it is far from a pleasant place. One all mortals do well to avoid at any cost – though fortunately, she prefers more… notable beings than those such as yourselves.”
The voice laughed, a manic cackling that began with a sound like a thunderclap. Overcome by an old and overwhelming instinct Timur crouched down like a startled creature, head swiveling, his eyes scouring everything in sight with deadly intensity.
Kim moved to stand protectively by his side, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, and Patrick stepped forward to join them, glaring at the threatening skies. Eryn and Loucas remained frozen in place, confused and alarmed, staring at each other. For her part Yarielis seemed outwardly calm, but her head swiveled slowly side to side and her eyes were wide as her unique mind struggled to process the unreality of what was happening.
“What the hell is going on?” Timur shouted suddenly, like an angry soldier, balling his fists. “Who are you? Where are you? What kind of game are you playing?”
Timur's growled queries startled his friends almost as much as the disembodied voice. Their friend seemed to have transformed before their eyes, going from an ebullient young man to a wary animal in an instant.
The voice merely laughed again. “All excellent questions! I encourage you to seek answers. I might even be willing to aid you in your quest if you ask politely. Or simply begin looking around, as I already told you to. Because before I can help you, you will have to help me. I'm in a bit of a… predicament, you might say.”
Timur maintained his crouch, looking carefully at each and every tiny apparent variation in the landscape, near and far. Kim patted his thick, dark hair.
“I'm sure it's just some stupid Icelandic prank, Timur,” she said, trying to sound soothing, as if he were one of her brothers having a bad dream. “No big deal.”
Patrick grunted, nodding in agreement with Kim, placing a hand on Timur's other shoulder. Timur relaxed slightly, and stood back up.
“Yeah, I know, I know.” Timur sighed. “But you know where I grew up and what I had to do in Kashmir. Not a fan of things going boom. Or disembodied voices shouting strange things at me. About – what was that again? Ginn… ginnun-ga-gap? Sounds familiar, somehow, but…”
All of a sudden, nearly shocked into forgetting his fear, Timur stood up and cocked his head, grinning at the sky as he spoke.
“Wait, hold on: Ginnungagap and... Hel? That's all straight out of Norse mythology. Which we know about today because of some dudes in Iceland about a thousand years ago. We're totally getting messed with by some locals. Eryn, how many of your geologist buddies did you tell about this little hike? Dr. Toek enlist some buddies in getting back at Kim, you think?”
Eryn gazed back at him, unconvinced. Smirking confidently, Timur pulled out his phone and held the power button as if to look something up. Nothing happened. He tried again, with the same result.
“Uh, guys,” he said, confidence leaving his voice. “My phone is dead. But I know for a fact I charged it this morning and it hasn’t been on since. What gives?”
“What? I thought it had to be just mine.” Loucas said, holding his similarly dead phone over his head. “I always forget to keep the old thing plugged in at night.”
They all checked their phones, and found that all six were dead. The disembodied voice chuckled, seeming delighted by their efforts.
“Kids these days and their darn so-called smartphones – so I see I'm going to have to hold your hands on this, aren't I? Put away your plastic brains and TURN SOUTH! I assume you can figure out where south is? If not, never mind: Just LOOK OVER HERE!”
They all turned together then, as if compelled by an external will. And they saw a most curious thing. Half a foot from the chasm’s edge a desiccated tree clung on for dear life, roots digging into the barest accumulation of silt that had somehow accumulated in cracks between bits of harshly weathered rock. A sight odd enough in a nearly treeless place like Iceland; odder by far was that right by it the six friends could discern the front two thirds of a bare human foot, waving madly in the air with toes wiggling, desperately trying to catch their attention.
No compulsion was necessary to move them this time. All six rushed past dark jagged boulders towards the desperate tree and strange appendage, which seemed to simply appear out of the rocky wall of a nearby cliff. Yari broke out into a run, poofy, kinky hair flying everywhere, freed from a constraining sweater hood by a sudden breeze. Loucas, always protective of his sister, ran after her.
“What the… guys!” Eryn shouted to no avail. “Don’t get all split up! Yari! Argh, nobody ever listens…”
Yari reached the tree and stood staring at the madly wiggling, apparently helpless toes. The friends heard more disembodied laughter.
“Yes, strange sight, isn't it? Here's the thing, kiddos, I have to ask you all a simple question. I get an answer, then I can explain a thing or two. But only then! Silly rules, but rules they remain. What say you?”
“Don’t say anything yet, Yari!” Timur shouted, and she paused to look back at him, scowling stubbornly.
She waited for the others to arrive, Timur coming last of all, walking the last few meters and looking suspiciously in all directions, though with a knowing smirk still on his face. The toes ceased wiggling and seemed to stand at attention like pink fleshy soldiers. The voice made a sound as if clearing its throat before a speech.
“Good, you are all finally here. Well done! The first stage of your quest is complete, and I can now put the necessary question to you. It is quite simple: will you agree to help me? I’m in a bit of a jam, and need some outside assistance, you see. Nothing too special, I assure you.”
The six looked at one another for some time, half confused, half bemused. No one could deny the illusion of a disembodied foot was excellent, the prank well thought out if indeed it was one. And what else could it be?
“Alright, who is messing with us?” Eryn asked at last, smiling and shaking her head with a confidence she did not feel. “Who did we all talk to last night? A magician as well as a geologist? What's the trick? Dr. Toek, is that you? Are people in Iceland this bored?”
Eryn's question was met with a chorus of shrugs from her friends and no response whatsoever from the foot. The combined restaurant, pub, and hostel where they had booked rooms had been packed after the conference. Not much else for a visitor to do in northern Iceland in early Spring but hang out at the bar. Unless you liked herding sheep, or fishing, in the bitter cold. Half the town could ostensibly be in on the joke.
The voice, having posed its question, now appeared compelled to remain stubbornly silent. The foot and toes shifted, orienting towards each of them in turn, as if it were looking at them, waiting for an answer from someone, but the voice did not return.
“Oh what the… alright, I'm in.” Eryn laughed again. “Anyone else?”
All but Timur nodded or shrugged, one by one. He hesitated, grin suddenly fading.
“What are you thinking, Timur?” Eryn asked him.
He laughed grimly. “Eryn, I'm thinking that this whole situation seems… too weird. And kind of dangerous, for some reason. I have no idea why. Maybe just residual post traumatic stress. But you know what? Why not. If you all are up for playing into this messed up gag, I'm game too. Whatever prank the local yokels have set up—let's do this epic style. So pull back the curtain, strange voice! Timur Tarkhan will help ye in thy quest for… whatever ye seeks! Shoes, even!”
Timur ended his joking speech by pulling a ridiculous hero-esque pose, and that was when they heard a shout of triumph, wild and fierce.
“And so they agree of their own free will! Excellent! What is to be, LET IT BE DONE!”
The last words came as a piercing scream that rent at their very souls. They all covered their ears, trembling, and they realized then this wasn’t entirely caused by their own nerves, the world began shaking like the mother of all earthquakes was upon them. There wasn't time to cry or reach out, their vision turned to a vague blur of color and uncanny shapes and each of the six felt a moment of sharp, stinging pain.
Then it simply... stopped. The six friends opened their eyes in shock, the sensation only worsened by the fact their surroundings had utterly changed.
They stood at the edge of a wide grotto, an almost perfect circle of trees clinging to a surrounding wall of bare rock. At the foot of a stone outcrop just few steps away a man lay naked on a bed made of sharp, obsidian like rocks that drew blood with every breath he took. Manacles of some strange, flesh-like metal encased both arms and one leg, each connected to a chain in turn affixed to the stones below. The other foot was stretched out towards them, yet the man did not seem to be awake.
He twisted and writhed as if trapped in a horrible dream, eyes bulging under their lids, teeth clenched, hands straining against the chains. He seemed to be warding off a blow, and this gesture drew their eyes upwards to the source of his terror.
There in the branches coiled a massive serpent, a luminescent creature that managed to mix the very worst aspects of cobras and pythons. The snake's gigantic head turned towards the intruders, some sort of greenish substance bubbling from its extended fangs and dripping down a hair’s breadth from the trapped man. Then, plainly judging them of little concern, it began to uncoil and descend, stretching towards its helpless prey, rock below steaming and dissolving at the touch of its pale green venom, which sent its first droplets onto the man’s naked flesh.
He screamed, then Yarielis suddenly lurched forward, stretching her arms as if driven by some wild instinct, trying to push it away. The serpent paused, fixing one pitch black eye on her, and hissed, some of the venom sputtering forward to dissolve the rock right in front of her feet, forcing her to stop short with a gasp. The rest of the poison landed on the chained man's chest, and his eyes opened, bulging, every limb convulsing as he struggled to choke back more screams.
Loucas rushed to Sari's side, while Patrick and Timur stepped forward together to shield the siblings. Eryn and Kim shared a look then moved to join them despite their mutual shock.
But it seemed they had already rendered the aid the imprisoned man required. An instant after they had all moved, his mouth twisted into a cold grimace. Before any of the friends could take another step, he suddenly… shifted.
Where he had been now only three manacles and chains remained, swiftly clattering to the jagged rocks. Everything happened so fast it was as if the friends all shared the same brief vision: a shape like an eagle flashed towards the serpent, with slashing talons severing the creature's head. The enormous serpent fell to the ground in two pieces, poisoned blood flowing from its remains, bubbling and consuming the rock underneath, leaving behind a sickly green vapor.
The man reappeared in front of them, eagle no longer, and let out a scream of triumph that shook the entire grotto, sending cracks racing up the rock wall. The terrifying sound seemed to reach deep down inside each of them, striking their very organs like a thousand needles.
When it ended, a moment or a century later, the scene had completely shifted again.
Silence enveloped them, and when they had the courage to look around the six friends saw that they now stood, or seemed to stand, atop an invisible platform high above the Earth. They felt as if they were in orbit – a most unsettling sensation given that they had no idea how they could have gotten there, or why they were able to breathe.
The strange man stood in front of them, clad in a t-shirt, jeans, and well-worn leather boots, gazing down at the planet's surface with what seemed like a sad smile on his lips, which were surrounded by small scars from healed puncture wounds. They all followed his glance as if compelled, but at first all they could see was a mass of blue and white filling their view.
Something was very wrong with their home planet. A column of dark billowing smoke lit by a fiery red light from the very center of the Earth rose skyward amid the sparkling blues and whites of the North Atlantic. It took them some time to fully comprehend what it was they were seeing, the actual scale of it.
Iceland, all of it, was consumed by fire. A great fissure bisected the island, spewing flame and smoke into the stratosphere, so much it was clear the entire planet would soon fall under a Grey shroud.
On top of it all, the weird man who seemed to have been more than capable of helping himself stood there laughing.
“Happy Fimbulwinter, Midgard!” he cried, dancing a jig. The countdown to the end of days is finally over and done! Ragnarok is on, baby – time for everything to burn!”
He grew calmer then, and turned slowly towards the six friends, all frozen in place as if trapped by some spell. He grinned at them with open malice, lips pulled back to reveal bright white teeth, eyes glittering with mirth and glee and malice all at once.
The horror was somehow enhanced by the fact he seemed, in this moment, to each of the friends to be the most beautiful and the most frightening person they had ever seen in their lives. His visage alone seemed to cast a spell, long dark hair and twinkle in his eye an incitement to join a party under different circumstances.
He laughed again, shaking his head, addressing them like a teacher talking to schoolchildren. “Well, aren't we all a dazed and confused bunch! Come on, kids, celebrate with me! It’s Ragnarok time, children! The gods’ twilight, come at last! The utter and most final end to all Nine miserable bloody Worlds!”
All they could do is stare back in shock. None of this made any sense to any of them – and they couldn’t move anyway.
He chuckled wryly. “So, not exactly what you expected when you had breakfast this morning, is it? Ah well, that's what happens when you play good Samaritan to Loke, son of Laufey.”
“Low-kay?” Timur guffawed, proving they could, in fact, still speak, aping the odd way the man spoke his name. “You’ve got to be kidding… Loke? Ginnungagap... Hel… Fimbulwinter… Ragnarok... That snake, the chains—Loke? The Norse trickster god?”
Loke grinned at Timur. “Right you are! Or, that description is close enough for my purposes. You humans have muddled up all the old truths over the past few thousands of years. Loke – that will have to do. The appropriate identity for the god of the end of all worlds!”
Timur shook his head, voicing the strange truth making it no easier to swallow. “This... has to be some kind of trick. Psychoactive drugs administered by crazy Icelandic geologists in a cave. Someone is screwing with our heads. What, does Iceland house some secret CIA underground research center or something? The Americans did occupy a big base on the south side of the island for a long time – Keflavic, right? We saw it flying into Reykjavik the other day.”
Loke's eyes glittered, and he sneered. “Oho, an unbeliever in our midst! Ah, things are about to get so very fun for you! All of you. Ah, the plans I have, the work I shall put you to! Trust me, kids, you are going to have such an adventure. But first things first – time to assemble the family!”
Loke turned to gaze at the Earth again, as each of the friends began struggling to move, despite having nowhere to go. But it soon became apparent he wasn't gazing at the Earth, but to the infinity of stars beyond.
Something was moving there, at the very edge of sight. A vast swath of sky seemed to fluctuate, something huge lurked in the sea of stars, a power so great it bent even light around itself. Slowly it took a shape, that of dragon-like serpent, unholy mass slithering through space like an adder, growing huger than the Earth, than even the sun.
The friends stood in enraptured terror as it came closer and closer, until the stars vanished behind its bulk. Its open maw was as wide as their home planet and they knew it was coming to swallow it whole – but just before it did the scene shifted once again.
Now they stood in a vast but clearly constructed space, a sort of concert hall or theater truly gargantuan in scope. Far in the distance and as far below them as a mountain valley below a high peak was an endless stage with no backing, extending into apparently infinite starry depths. To each side both stage and enclosing walls likewise disappeared into an unseen, misty distance, but all visible was elegantly adorned. Spaced at a comfortable distance apart were ten rows of luxurious and comfortable looking chairs – thrones, really. The ceiling too seemed to be mostly optional, and above their heads spun stars arranged in wholly unfamiliar constellations.
Most of these chairs held figures of varied shape, size, and hue, this strange alien audience fixated on the stage below despite the fact no performance seemed to be underway. They either did not notice or simply didn’t care that Loke and six humans had just appeared in their midst.
The nearest throne-chair was exponentially more lavishly ornamented than all the others and taller by an order of magnitude as well. Upon it sat a man of human shape, dressed in green robes lending him an air of total authority. His pale and wise face was half covered by a shroud of some sort, so that only one eye was visible, keen and piercing flanked by strands of shining black hair.
Loke strolled forward, opening his arms wide and rushing to embrace the kingly man, who stood up and met his visitor with equal gusto.
“Hello Father! You’re free at last? So it is finally time, then?”
Loke grinned. “You know it is, Jormungandr, oh favorite son of mine! Fimbulwinter and Ragnarok are around the bend! We’ll meet at you’re sisters for dinner to lay our plans forthwith! I'm sure her banquet hall will make a fine command center for the End of Days, don't you?”
Jormungandr grinned and nodded. His cold eyes glittered, and they could hear a cruel eagerness in his voice.
“Count me in, pops. I was getting so bored with managing this petty empire—have you seen this part of Midgard? A boil on the arse of time and space. I'll be happy to watch it burn. See you at Hel’s then!”
Loke clapped Jormungandr on the back and laughed, then without warning the scene shifted once more.
Weary and confused, the six friends now found themselves in another cavern. The sound of rushing water was loud and close at hand, the rock walls lined with torches Under the far wall a simple wooden desk was set next to a narrow, spare bed, but aside from that nothing else adorned the chamber.
Yet it was inhabited. Another man, tall, powerfully built, with rugged features and long, shaggy brown hair that hung to his shoulders, reclined on the bed. He looked distinctly bored – and hungry.
“Fenris, my dear sweet boy!” Loke called, waving cheerfully. You look well, despite spending these last few millennia stuck in this dank hole. Hey, at least you aren't being ritually tortured by a venomous serpent every few hours. But I have good news! The time has come! An end to our mutual suffering at long last. You in?”
Fenris' head slowly turned to appraise Loke and his companions. “Depends, Dad, did you bring me dinner? Or at least something interesting to read? You want to talk about torture, how about being stuck with nothing to do but play with the precious few among the Aelfar who want to experience what it feels like to be eaten alive.”
He stood up slowly, licking his lips as he looked at the six friends. It was like the gaze of a ravenous beast deciding which tasty morsel to sample first. Loke casually looked them over, considering them one by one before shaking his head, seeming regretful.
“Mm, sorry kiddo,” Loke shrugged, my calculations indicate I have a use for all of them. But have no fear, Fimbulwinter is here! Plenty of food for my growing baby boy down in Midgard! Come on, let’s go to dinner. Brother Jormungandr is coming too, and you know your sister loves a crowd!”
Fenris seemed very disappointed. But then he grinned, and this was possibly worse than his hungry stare.
“I'll have to make due,” he growled. “But I've got a little problem to handle before I can go anywhere. You know the one.”
Loke snapped his fingers. “Oh yes, the Dwarves’ fetter! I forgot all about that. I know, I know, how could I – but hey, kid, I've had problems of my own.”
Fenris growled again. Loke rolled his eyes, reached out, and touched Fenris' neck. There, almost impossible to see in the torchlight, a strand of something as thin and supple as silk was wound around his throat. A quick tugging motion was all it took for Loke to break the chain, and it seemed most strange Fenris could not remove the fetter himself.
In that instant, the friends shared what seemed like a memory of a childhood nightmare. A massive, monstrous creature in wolf-form prowled forward across a grassy field, poison dripping from it's jaws that withered the greens below. It stopped and looked up at the moon, then the wolf's head distorted, jaws opening wider than seemed possible, so that the entire moon fit inside it.
Then these awful jaws snapped shut, and the moon was gone. The dire-wolf threw its head to the stars, howling a triumphant note, and the sky seemed to shatter.
The vision faded and the moment of sharp agony came again, and then yet again everything was different.
Now they were all seated along a bench in a hall like the great hall of an ancient castle. Two long wooden tables carved with scenes of mirth and pleasure were set on either side of a long fire pit filled to the brim with sizzling charcoal that somehow gave off no heat. Discordant and haunting music stung their ears, and as they found themselves able to look around they discovered the walls to be lit by lamps that gave off a sickly-green light that reflected off the many serpents slithering up and down the slimy walls.
Loke, Jormungandr, and Fenris sat along a bench across from them, engaged in what looked to be an urgent, private conversation. The six friends looked at one another, dazed and confused, trying to make some sense of what was happening, but were not granted the time.
A tall, thin figure approached, drawing all their gazes. Though its head was bowed, pale flesh could be discerned from behind the straggly locks of black hair that veiled the parts of her body not covered by a white gown. It moved rather quickly despite her feet shuffling along the stone floor, her gait that of a walking corpse. Loke looked up and flashed her a wicked smile.
“Hel! Daughter of mine, you look as well as ever!”
She walked to her father Loke's side and curtsied politely. “You always do joke at the most inappropriate times, Father.”
Hel turned her head slightly to look at the friends, one of her eyes gazing at them with malice. She stood still as ice as Loke brushed a lock of hair from her ear and whispered intently, watching them like a hungry lion might track a trapped gazelle.
Loke finished talking to her and went back to speaking quietly with his sons. Hel pushed another wayward clump of hair behind an ear and spoke to her human guests, voice a discomfiting mismatch of growling baritone and tinny alto.
“Welcome, honored ones, to the banquet of the dead in Hel-Hall, my home. Do not bother with the plates and silverware—just for show, after all. In my halls, mortals only feel more hunger, cold, and thirst the longer they remain!”
She cackled, and they stared at the creature that stood mocking them. Hel's was a mashup of two very different bodies: one half a beautiful bride-to-be, the other a rotting plague corpse, skin covered in boils and pustules hanging loose over a badly deformed skeleton.
Hel stared right back at them for some time, seeming pleased by their horror. Finally Loke looked back over and laughed.
“Alright, alright,” he snickered, “enough play, my dears. “Let's move forward with the operation as I laid it out, shall we? Here's the present situation.”
He flicked his fingers and a strange glowing orb appeared in front of his face, golden tendrils like spun thread writhing within a bright sphere. Loke gazed at it for a few moments in deep concentration. Then he reached carefully into the sphere, and gently touched three spots, each located at a point where several threads seemed to mingle.
He looked from the orb back to his children. “So, what do you say we try to stack the odds at Vegris a bit, eh?” We do a bit of wyrding and send these six recruits of mine here, here, and… here. Hit those three points in the Web of Fate hard enough, and boom – terminal paradox! And, perhaps, a chance—tiny, infinitesimal chance—to defy fate according to that old hag Voluspa.”
Loke waved his hand and the orb disappeared. Then he smiled sagely at the six friends, his strange brood—Jormungandr, Fenris, and Hel, joining in as well. It dawned on the six friends that these strange beings were like cats playing with a doomed group of trapped mice, their entire conversation clearly nothing more than a cruel show, the group actually enjoying the six friends’ confusion and fright.
“Here's the deal, children.” Loke said softly, mocking them. “You helped me, and so I owe you! I never forget my promises, and I’ll absolutely show you some things you never dreamed could ever exist. Not only will I not feed you to Fenris quite yet, I'll give you six pathetic mortals a starring role in what is to come. So whaddya say? Want to help be responsible for bringing Ragnarok to the Nine Worlds? Destroying everything and everyone forever? Your world is already toast, so might as well, right?”
Loke didn't give them time to answer. His happy grin twisted into a wild, insane, pained snarl. His pale, gorgeous face seemed to fade away, and a sudden, sharp pain worse than the ones before struck each to the core.
They stopped seeing, hearing, or feeling anything but their own panicked thoughts, certain they were being ripped apart in some strange vortex, trying to call out to one another, but to no avail. The six friends were gone, ripped away from the only world they had ever known.
And this was only the beginning.