Chapter Five: Reunion In Mimr's Pub
In which six unlikely heroes learn the truth about life, the universe, and everything. Unfortunately, the whole affair has got an expiration date. Blame meddling gods.
Eryn retched and bent over, fighting to stay on her feet and not vomit despite this new shock to her sense of reality.
One moment she had been sitting in a German airplane in nineteen forty-four, and the next she was standing in a space that looked to her eyes like a medieval tavern crossed with a stereotypical English pub: low ceiling upheld by thick, carved rafters; unadorned, unvarnished wood tables surrounded by an eclectic mix of chairs and benches; the bar, a flat-topped, arm-length, chest-high surface with a small open space behind. Filling it were shelves set from floor to ceiling, on these were bottles of varying size and shape arrayed in a haphazard fashion.
On either side of the bar hallways led into the torch-lit depths of whatever structure the pub was in. Candles burned on every wall, each producing a constant golden light of almost unearthly brilliance. And on the wall Eryn stood under there were three heavy oak doors. Above each was a seemingly handwritten sign displaying a time in hours and minutes that was counting steadily towards zero.
Eryn was set to investigate more closely when there came a brilliant flash and a crack of thunder, then in front of the furthest door stood Yari and Loucas. They stared at her in surprise, making Eryn conscious of the fact she was dressed like a Nazi. She looked down, grimacing, but to her shock, she was once again dressed exactly as she had been in Iceland, jeans, shirt, jacket, and hiking shoes.
Yari smiled brightly and waved at Eryn, like they were just meeting up for an end-of-day drink, but Loucas ran forward to embrace her. Yet the hug he clearly wanted wasn't to be, as there came another flash and crack of thunder, this time right between them. When Eryn had blinked away the afterglow, Timur, Kim, and Patrick were standing there too.
“Oh thank God!” Eryn and most of her friends cried out together. Her eyes stung, tears broke free to rush down her cheeks, and the six friends congealed in a massive and slightly manic group hug.
Eryn had no idea know how long they stood there like that, drawing comfort from each other. Whatever was happening to them, at least they were together again.
Amid the crush and noise of half a dozen people trying to tell their story at the same time, Eryn heard a soft thump, almost imperceptible to the human ear. Yari cocked her head, then walked over to a table where a cat now sat, staring at them.
It was snow-white except where patches of the deepest black were scattered across its body, from the tip of its nose to the tuft of its long slender tail. Its gaze was imperious as it evaluated them each in turn, giving the distinct impression of knowing precisely who they were and where they had been. Yari held the cat's gaze the longest, until the cat finally yawned at her. Yari yawned back. The cat flicked an ear and curled into a neat loaf, loosing a single clear meow.
“Freyja is on her way to greet us,” Yari said, looking surprised that she had. She turned to the rest of them and shrugged her shoulders. She ran a hand through part of her hair.
“I don't know how to explain,” Yari said, “but I distinctly heard her to tell me to say that. The cat, I mean. I don’t know who the person is, isn’t that a common name in places like Iceland? A very pretty one too. Free-yah! Cool! Oh, and also, there's another kitty over there. I… think that’s actually a person she’s on, and not just a couch.”
They all looked to where she pointed. A second cat, that looked like it belonged in a snowy forest with its long shaggy coat colored in a blend of the richest browns, lay on a figure that at first glance could have been taken for the couch it napped upon. They were wearing a hood drawn over their face and a pair of mud-stained booted feet were propped on the arm rest of the couch.
Neither the cat nor the person stirred. The six friends turned to each other, sharing confused, increasingly exhausted looks.
Though mortally weary all of a sudden, Eryn felt the urge to tell her friends everything that had happened, but wasn’t sure where she could even begin. She took a deep breath, knowing they likely felt the same way, and decided to be blunt and brief.
“So, guys,” she smiled wanly, “I kind of... killed Hitler. Blew him right up, in what I’m told is nineteen forty-four. I’d like to believe that isn’t possible, but right now, I just don’t know.”
They looked at Eryn in shock. All but Yari, who looked up at the ceiling, as if she were trying to remember something.
“Don’t feel too bad, Timur blew up a tank.” Patrick said slowly, shaking his head in disbelief “In the American state of Idaho, somehow, supposedly in the year twenty forty-one. Though I guess that's not quite the same as offing Hitler, is it?”
“Loucas blew up a whole space station!” Yari shouted, mistaking the mood of the moment.
“Hey!” Loucas protested in turn. “I just delivered a blasted package! I had no idea what was in the thing! And it wasn't the whole station. Just… a lot.”
“And the year is twenty-one forty-seven,” Yari added helpfully. “Olga told me when we integrated.”
They all stared at one another, mutually uncertain what came next. They were saved from their collective blank out by the sound of feet approaching swiftly from one of the hallways beyond the bar.
A woman of astonishing beauty entered the pub. She was slim and tall, clad in a simple white gown, red-gold locks flowing freely about her shoulders. Her demeanor was queenly: proud, alert, confident, a woman accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. Timur started, and seemed to remember something.
“That’s Freyja, then?” Timur muttered, eyes widening. “She definitely looks like a goddess… ”
Freyja suddenly turned and ducked behind the bar, rummaging for something. She seemed oblivious to them, humming contentedly as if seeking something she misplaced. The nearer of the cats looked towards the bar, ears and whiskers leaning forward as if to get her attention. There came a squeak, and Freyja emerged so quickly that for a moment all they saw was a blur. She stared intently at them, then shook her head, seeming confused.
“Six humans,” Freyja muttered in a voice like honey. “Six, in Mimr’s Pub? How unusual! And Einherjar, but I certainly don't remember selecting them. Odin, are these yours? They look utterly fresh, though. Not your usual style. Nor is it your habit to bring them here. What, is Val-Hall finally too crowded for your tastes?”
The figure on the couch stirred under his cloak. “Nope, not mine,” Odin muttered. “Loke's.”
She started in fear. “Lopt is free?!”
“Yep. Blame them.”
Freyja shook her head, and stared Odin, dismayed. Then it was as if she saw something in the far distance, her eyes going briefly out of focus. A moment later she turned to them, flashed a broad smile, and opened her arms wide in greeting, several long golden bracelets twisting around each.
“Einherjar!” Freyja cried so loud the room shook. “Welcome to Mimr's Pub! The hidden side of Mimr’s Well, where we who mortals call gods convene each day to speak of what is passing in other worlds. And wow, but do we have heavy matters to discuss!”
Freyja turned and busied herself at the bar, pulling six large, ornately decorated goblets from unseen cabinets and filling them up, talking all the while.
“I see you've met Weiss! And there's Schwartz over on Odin’s chest. I’m sure you will become fast friends! If you are going to be hanging around you must enjoy cats! Just give me a moment to sort out this goblet and mead situation, and I'll bring you all mugs of Idunn's finest. You are clearly in need of it!”
Despite the ongoing general weirdness of the day, the six friends felt themselves actually relaxing. If nothing else, this place felt calm, at least relative to where each of them had been before. Yari's stomach growled, and Timur's answered. He laughed and looked at his friends, rolling his eyes.
“So, you are Freyja?” Timur called over to her teasingly. “And that guy is Odin? Since we're sticking with this whole Norse mythology theme today?”
“Correct!” Freyja called from behind the bar. “Close enough to the full truth, anyway. The finer details are… complicated to explain. But here! I've finally found the right mead. My dear brother Freyr must have been behind the bar again. He never puts anything back in the correct spot or closes the cabinets, the carefree barbarian.”
Freyja emerged from behind the counter and arranged the cups around a large glass pitcher she set atop the bar. After dipping each goblet into it and setting all six on a platter, she walked over to a table and set the tray down next to Weiss, who was now contentedly napping and purring.
“Sit, and drink of Idunn's nectar!” Freyja spread her arms wide as if blessing them. “Then we can discuss your… collective predicament, let's call it.”
They sat around the table as Freyja instructed. Mead didn't seem like it could be sufficiently filling to blunt the noble hunger Eryn was feeling. But it was soon clear that this was no ordinary mead. The scent alone was almost overpowering yet somehow satisfying, rich and earthy like a dark beer.
Despite their misgivings the primal urge to sate hunger was too strong, and all began to drink greedily of the delicious liquid. To Eryn it carried a taste that roused memories of contentment and cheer growing stronger with added consumption. Freyja sat on an adjacent table, feet shifting a bench, smiling as they emptied their cups and sat hoping for more.
“You have all been through the ringer today, haven't you?” Freyja shook her head, refilling their goblets with a sympathetic smile. “No worries, one goblet will fix that, two will leave you feeling ready to do it all over again! Idunn grew the apples that went into this batch specifically to my request for occasions such as these. We get some starving Einherjar in here, at times. Thor pushes the troops hard when he takes them troll hunting! This should carry you through until the next time you can return.”
A thrill of hope shivered through Eryn. “Next time we return?” Eryn asked, catching Freyja’s eye. “Does that mean... we get to go home?”
Freyja smiled at her, compassion clear in her eyes. “Ah, no,” she shook her head. “I didn't mean that. I'm very sorry, but Loke has pulled you all from your own Thread of reality. Made you all Einherjar. We can't undo that, or send you home. Think of it as a gift! Sort of, anyway. From… a certain point of view, let’s say.”
All six guffawed together. “Gift?” Eryn snorted. “Which part? Reality taking a holiday?”
Freyja shook her head, tutting in frustration. “Of course Loke didn't bother to fill you in on the details before using you. Typical! I always told these bullheaded Aesir that they needed to just kill that son of a Jotun and be done with it, Odin’s blood brother or no.”
Eryn cocked her head at Freyja. So did Kim and Yari, as if quizzical looks were contagious. Freyja grimaced. Only Timur seemed to have any idea what she was talking about.
“Apologies!” Freyja slapped a hand to her forehead. “I forgot that you have no idea how this whole Einherjar thing works. You aren’t from an era where the old truths are much remembered. So, let me see, how to explain it simply enough in the hour we have available before you must all return to your respective eras along this new Thread… ”
“Return?” Loucas and Patrick said together, both men growing pale.
Freyja nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid. Loke has granted you the gift of the Einherjar. You have been pulled from your Thread in the Web of Fate and associated with another. For better or worse, you are all stuck where you were sent until you meet your woven fate. Such is life, as long as it may yet last!”
Freyja raised her hands, and in the space between them the same glowing, flowing orb that had brought them there appeared, hovering like a miniature sun. Through a series of sharp gestures with her hand, she somehow altered their view, as if the orb itself were a three-dimensional display that could be panned and zoomed to examine smaller sections. Freyja focused on a dense knot of golden tendrils surrounding a node of sickly green, one of these thread-like structures standing out from all the rest.
There was a loud thump as the other cat, Schwartz, hopped onto the table next to Weiss. They sniffed noses for a moment, then Schwartz settled into a loose loaf next to Weiss and gazed at Freyja, mewing softly.
“Stay on task now, Freyja.” Odin said, walking up. “You're falling into the web, again, my dear. What-could-be is, in most cases, no longer relevant.”
Freyja reached over to him and testily grabbed the hood of his cloak, casting it back with a flick of her wrist to reveal Odin’s aged, wizened face, long white hair flowing over his shoulders and even longer white beard reaching halfway to his knees. He had one good eye, the socket where the other used to be covered in a cloth patch, and it now fixed a witheringly penetrating gaze on the orb.
“Alright Gandalf, give me a second to catch my train of thought! Curse that murderous wretch Loke, anyway. He did… something, and I am certain it was very, very naughty.”
Eryn could swear that she saw the old man roll his one eye. Freyja continued to stare at the translucent orb, gesturing at it.
“Gandalf, Freyja? Really?” Odin muttered. “You'll confuse them. The oldest of them has seen fewer than what, thirty winters? Kids, really. How many understand the full meaning of that reference? Or that the final letter should be pronounced more like a v than an f in English.”
“If I need to, I’ll go ask J.R.R. himself,” Freyja retorted. “And I told them your main name a minute ago. Just be glad I didn’t go full Germanic and call you Wotan, like that Hel-claimed fool Wagner.
“How gracious of you, Freyja.” Odin chortled, patting her on the shoulder with a wrinkled hand. “Good to know I can count on you for an accurate introduction. I will have to instruct them on all your secret names, one day, including the naughty ones. Now, please focus! Distracting yourself from the terror with games is all well and good, but what little time remains ought not be entirely wasted, hm?”
“I'm getting to it!” Freyja laughed, brushing off his hand. “Okay new Einherjar, see this thing I'm looking at here? The magical entity I sent to call you here? It is named in your tongue the Web of Norns. It is a representation of how your universe, Midgard, looks from our perspective, on the outside.”
“Perspective is very important to keep in mind as we discuss your present and future. Anything your mind perceives, it does so from a certain perspective that can be physically located at a distinct point in time and space that can be described relative to all other points in time and space. This perspective is shaped by physical conditions, past and present, experienced by your body. It is linked to that ineffable phenomenon called the mind, of course, but your sensory organs ultimately control what the mind can comprehend, and being of a physical nature they are subject to physical laws.”
“As mortals, you experience your lives as a sequence of moments. The sum total of all mortal moments across time and space comprise the physical history of your universe, Midgard, from its inception to its inevitable end. You as an individual in Midgard exist as a mind attached to an assembly of congealed bits of energy you call matter, your body, that interact according to consistent rules established at the origins of time.
“But you must know that Midgard is only one universe, one World, of nine known to we who mortals call gods. In fact, Midgard itself is the youngest of the Nine Worlds, the product of a peculiar alignment of Muspelheim, Niflheim, and Jotunheim.”
Freyja paused, staring intently at them, as if choosing her words carefully. Eryn, despite being able to follow the apparent goddess’ logic, still did not understand what any of this had to do with anything.
“Have you ever stopped to wonder why,” Odin cut in, “that in Midgard your physicists can't reconcile theories of quantum mechanics and relativity to produce a unified theory of physics? This is a development most believe would offer a road map for understanding all events in the universe.”
They all shook their heads, except for Loucas, who nodded vigorously. Odin laughed and sighed. “Freyja, do you begin to see the challenges in trying to explain how the universe works when time is short? Have you found the right words yet?”
“I know, I know! I'm getting there!” Freyja waved him off. “Patience, Allfather, sheesh! Okay, new friends, so just know that the fundamental forces that animate your world originate in other ones. The cosmos as you experience it is an emergent effect arising from their intersection. Niflheim is where gravity comes from, Jotunheim is the source of quantum effects, and Muspelheim is the fount of all the energy that later congealed into the matter that made your bodies.”
Freyja took a breath, winking slyly. “The fun bit in this is that time, as you know it, is an illusion. You humans experience the world in terms of sequential moments from birth to death, taking place at a particular point in time and space. Things look linear to your mind as you ride your thread of causality, ever looking backwards and forwards, never able to perceive the other chains of cause and effect that in fact do exist as separate instances of reality. Not your fault, of course just a natural consequence existing in a constrained material universe.”
“But viewed from outside, Midgard is like a sort of spherical space bounded by the full set of zero-probability outcomes – things that simply can’t happen, given the laws of cause and effect. But between them, nearly everything that can happen does, new Threads of reality splitting off after every chance event. Midgard is an infinite multiverse filled with distinct Threads, linked at two decisive points: two poles located at antipodal points. One, the Big Bang, is the beginning. The other is... The End. Ragnarok, the total destruction of Midgard.”
“So reality is a multiverse after all?” Loucas cut in when Freyja paused for a breath. “Multiple timelines and all that? Good to know, I suppose… I could win a Nobel prize if only I could actually prove it.”
“It is indeed,” Freyja beamed, apparently happy one of them was catching on. “Now, The Web of Norns is ever-shifting like this because there are infinite possible paths a Thread could take. However, look closely and you’ll notice that there are clusters, branches and roots if you will, because some realities are systematically more likely to occur than others. You see this sort of trunk stretching from pole to pole? That’s what we call the Main Sequence, a dense cluster of Threads that are similar in may respects. Though I have to say it… looks far less dense than it ought. How odd!”
Freyja shook her head and stared at the web. She started and blinked hard. Then she tapped at it several times, each more anxiously than the last, as if hoping something would change.
“Odin, we have a problem.” Freyja said, exhaling as if punched in the gut. “I knew something bad must happening when Weiss called me in, but now… Allfather, what has Loke done?! Free is bad enough, but this… this...”
Odin grunted in affirmation. “I was waiting for you to finally notice, Freyja.”
Freyja zoomed in on a single thread, dimming the others, and it became clear this was the source of the knot of sickly green. It was livid like a cancer, and growing. Freyja began shaking her head in fear, muttering curses to herself. Odin fixed his gaze on the increasingly confused friends.
“What Freyja would tell you,” he said gravely, “if she weren't busy gibbering in terror, is that Loke has used you six to create a terrible paradox. We had thought that it was impossible to create one in this way. Apparently, Loke disagreed, and once free chose to prove us wrong in the most horrible way.”
Freyja exhaled, her breath ragged. “Definitely a paradox, no doubt about it. And terminal, too. The intervention points he hit were just right, the clever troll! No wonder Mimr is so quiet right now. There is absolutely no way to reconcile Hitler's early death with the destruction of a Terrestrial Occupation Center and the nightmare that has been triggered in Post-America in the same Thread!”
And by Ymir,” Freyja continued, “even if we could, Loke also caused a massive volcanic event right in the middle of those centuries in their original Thread! Two impossible Threads forced to collapse into one another… and there’s nothing that can stop the Web from shredding now, Fate will fall sooner or later. So the seeress Voluspa is proven right at last! Fimbulwinter has fallen upon the Nine Worlds. Ragnarok is coming fast.”
“Will someone,” Eryn shouted, losing her patience, “please tell me what is going on? What this all actually means? For us, in the here and now, wherever or whenever that apparently is!”
“Nothing good,” Timur muttered, shuddering. “That much I can tell you already.”
“By making you Einherjar,” Odin spoke gravely, “Loke was able to insert you into the a Thread at three critical points in such a manner that cause and effect cannot be reconciled. This paradox will grow to consume all Threads, then all Worlds.”
“You see, those of us from outside of Midgard can enter into it at will, landing in any Thread at any point we choose. However, we must be most cautious, because by doing so our presence becomes entangled with whatever Thread we touch. Any event we merely observe creates a physical reality that cause-effect interactions in that Thread must be able account for to maintain the laws of causality. Stretch one too far, and it can self-destruct. Damage one along the Main Sequence, and it can draw others to itself, creating a dangerous knot of possibility that subtly impacts other Threads as well.”
“Midgard, from our perspective, always self-corrects to prevent a paradox from occurring by blending Threads in ways those living inside cannot perceive. Some merge, other split off, even die entirely without affecting the rest. But the longer we of godly kind interact with a Thread, the more other Threads seem to be drawn to it, and the greater the risk of deleterious impacts to Midgard as a whole.
Freyja cut in angrily. “Which makes what Loke did so utterly devastating! He picked the perfect set of points to strike if you want to damage the fabric of existence as much as possible. All the Web is beginning to shift as Midgard adjusts. And as it does, strains and tensions will emerge, because there are many events that simply happen a certain way to keep the whole from fraying apart.”
Eryn's patience was at an end. “So effing tell us, goddess lady! What does this mean? What’s happening to us? Why can’t we go home?”
Freyja laughed. “You know, I think you may be one of mine when you're a bit more seasoned! At least, you would be, if time were not literally running short.”
“Could you be so kind as to answer my friend,” Patrick spoke up, his voice even and polite. Eryn would have smiled at him, appreciating his ability to calm most situations, but right now she was too furious.
“It means,” Odin cut in again, “that you six may represent the last, brutally slim chance Midgard and the Nine Worlds have. Fimbulwinter has begun, Loke is free along with his demented family, and there's little we can do that won't simply make matters worse given the existing strains on the Web of Norns. Reality is already beginning to unravel.”
“But you six might be able to make a difference,” Freyja looked up, smiling again. “Maybe. Given time, and of course, continued survival. Loke forced you six to be his Einherjar, but this came at a price, allowing us to help you in small ways. Like granting you refuge whenever you can get away unobserved. Just grasp the Web, as you did before—but you will have to make sure you can’t possibly be seen!”
“And this mead is good too,” Yari said, finishing her mug. “I feel much better already, though food would be nice, too.
Odin and Freyja grinned, each petting a cat. “As time is running short already, this will have to wait. I must warn you that you will be drawn back to Midgard whenever the time above the doors you enter through reaches zero. A safety measure to ensure that your absence from your Thread does not materially impact events. It is always best to go before you must, to have time to prepare for whatever you are about to encounter.”
“So you are telling us,” Kim grimaced, “that we are all stuck wherever we just landed? But there’s something we can do to help stop the end of the world?”
“Not stop, only slow,” Freyja shook her head. “And sadly, yes, you are stuck. To take you home now without worsening the paradox would require setting you in the middle of a volcanic eruption. Death will not improve your situation, for soon even the dead will rise to face the End of Days, and their freedom to act will be substantially less than your own.
Timur pushed his mug aside and stood up, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look, I'm actually kinda digging the whole acting out the old Norse fairy-tales thing we seem to be doing, but this is getting ridiculous. Loke, whatever he is, splits us up and sets off Ragnarok? And nobody can stop it? What's the point of making us go back, then? What can we accomplish? Nobody is shooting at us here, so I’d kind of prefer to stay.”
Freyja smiled. “Because, we're operating in unknown territory here, some of the last that remains to us. Fimbulwinter has begun, and the Web is starting to tear. That means the End is coming, but it also means that probability and prediction are starting to become less reliable. There may in fact be opportunities to postpone the inevitable, as we have done successfully for so long.”
“And how do we do that then?” Kim asked, scowling. “How do we even know what to do? And how much can we do? I'm getting press-ganged into being some kind of soldier along with Patrick and Kim in some dystopian future North America, as best as I can tell. Even lacking prior experience with the whole war thing, I can tell we won't have a lot of free time.”
“You do what you can.” Odin said, speaking slowly and carefully. “Whatever seems right and best protects those around you. But also, when you are able, you must check the Web of Norns and ask Mimr to guide your actions.”
Timur rolled his eyes, pointing at the shimmering orb. “And how do we do that? I remember the name Mimr… a disembodied head preserved by magic or something, right? But I thought that was called the Web of Norns? How do we tell anything from that tangled mess?”
Odin and Freyja looked at Timur. Eryn saw the cats look at Yari, who yelped as if in sudden realization. She walked up to the glowing orb and placed her hand on it. A humming noise began and then a calm digitized voice sounded from inside the orb.
“Odin, Freyja,” it scolded lightly, “you might have told them about poor Mimr earlier on. I do listen, you know, and could have explained many things better than either of you.”
Odin laughed. “Sorry Mimr, got carried away in the moment. Introduce yourself now!”
“Hello World! I'm Mimr, the living interface between the gods and the Norns who weave the fates I see. I am fully equipped as a research platform and decision-support system, capable of providing predictive statistics and qualitative advice on the outcomes of potential actions. So long as you have complete privacy, I'm happy to work to answer any questions you might have to the best of my abilities. Which are substantial, I assure you.”
Timur cocked an eyebrow, and looked back and forth between Freyja and Odin. “So that's different,” he said, “you aren't re-enacting all the bits of the mythology down to the letter, then? Huh, Mimr being a computer would explain a few things about Heod getting beheaded in Vanaheim in the wayback, if I'm remembering my Eddas right. You know, that whole thing when he couldn't make decisions without Mimr being around, and annoyed everyone around him.”
Odin chuckled. “We aren't re-enacting anything at all, you humans have simply forgotten vital truths. Small wonder, as you live only a century or so, and it has been thousands of years since the Aesir-Vanir war affected your world or we walked among and spoke with your ancestors. Loke's lies don't help matters, either. But you are an intuitive thinker, that I'll grant you. Continue to impress me, and I may have to claim you for Val-Hall.”
“In any case,” Mimr said, sounding mildly offended “If you are all done discussing the very distant past, time is pressing for us all. Let the all-knowing Mimr guide you six heroes on your quest!”
“Some quest,” Timur muttered in Eryn’s ear. “See, I told you hiking in rural Iceland was a bad idea.”
Eryn was just restored enough by the mead, which really did feel like consuming a hearty meal, to have the energy to punch him in the shoulder. The reminder stung a bit more than she thought it should in this moment.
“First off,” Mimr said, “Eryn, you made sure that Adolf Hitler died. Well done! Even if it does help trigger a paradox, few men deserved early death more than he, and a fair few people will get to live more of life than would have otherwise. Not a small achievement, that, even if ephemeral given the onset of Fimbulwinter.”
“Now, Eryn, in order to survive, you will have to convince the German coup plotters to trust you and avoid certain critical errors while carrying out Operation Valkyrie as it is planned. You are on the right track already, but you must make sure that most of the Nazi leadership is eliminated or else a counter-coup will be inevitable and likely impossible to stop.”
“Timur, Patrick, and Kim, your presence at that convoy has set in motion a terrible conflict. You are at the mercy of events and will be for some time to come, yet if you can keep your heads and earn the trust of those you now fight beside, there will be opportunities to impact the course of upcoming events.”
“Loucas and Yari, your task is to simply survive. The events set in motion on Station Rome simply have to play out until you too earn the trust of your comrades and a role in the hard fighting ahead. Keep close to your sister, Loucas, because there is far more to this integration than you yet know.”
Eryn felt her heart pounding faster and faster, and glanced back to see that the time written over her doorway leading back to Nazi Germany was approaching zero. She looked at her friends, noting that they all appeared as shocked and dismayed as she.
How could any of this be real? Einherjar, gods, wars – they were just six regular people, friends and flatmates. She wanted to reach out to them, to say something to make it all better. But fear was surging through her, and Eryn felt herself trembling despite the restorative effects of the mead. She turned to Freyja, searching her eyes for answers.
Freyja smiled kindly. “It will be okay. We will watch over you and do what we can. You aren’t in this alone.”
“Indeed,” Odin nodded, the smile on his wizened face rather less reassuring. “Whenever you can be sure that you are alone, think of the Web of Norns and grasp it! You will find yourself in this refuge, able to obtain sustenance and rest. We may or may not be around at any given moment, as we have business of our own to attend to as our final hours approach, but do feel free to help yourself at the bar. Weiss and Schwartz usually hang about too, unless they're off pulling Freyja’s chariot. And others of our kind happen by as well. All will offer what advice and aid they can.”
Freyja nodded sagely. “You should all have an opportunity to return here within the next few days. It will take some time and thinking to coordinate regular visits, but it can be managed. Definitely keep an eye out for the others! My brother is a bit of a buffoon, but knows his mead and is preternaturally cheerful, so much that it’s kind of annoying, to be honest. And Odin's son Thor is rough, but you'll like him.”
“Even if he is a bit daft.” Odin snorted.
“Odin, you are the worst father ever,” Freyja rolled her eyes. “Small wonder you tried being a mother once or twice. Seeking your true calling in life?”
“Careful,” Odin growled, “or I will make the Aesir again think you are Gullveig in disguise and have them burn you a few more times.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Freyja bit her lip, “and what will we do on the second date, my lord?”
The pair laughed as if sharing an old inside joke. Eryn's clock finally reached zero. A bell tolled from somewhere unseen. It was time to return. Eryn stood up, as did her friends, all gazing at one another regretfully.
“So we’re stuck,” Kim shook her head and sighed. “This is really happening. Timur, you'd better train me and Patrick up but good! I don’t want to die in Idaho… truth is, I don’t even know where it is on a map off the top of my head. Jakarta is a long way from western America.”
Timur nodded seriously, then turned to Eryn. “So you really killed Hitler, then?” Timur asked, looking impressed. “Well done! Seriously. I’ll have to work hard to match that deed! An infantry fighting vehicle is as far a cry from Adolf Hitler as a hill-troll from the Witch-King of Angmar.”
Despite herself, Eryn laughed. “Pun intended? He did die crispy! In truth, I only helped, though. The important stuff was already happening. I just kind of… nudged events along.”
Loucas laughed. “Killing Hitler, dang. Beats my own bombing run, which I didn't even know I was making until it was over. Not sure an office building, even one in a space station, comes close to taking out history’s number one bad guy.”
“Yeah, that is pretty epic,” Patrick agreed, patting Eryn on the shoulder. “It'll be even more so if you can keep from getting killed in the aftermath.”
“Thanks Patrick, for that tremendous vote of confidence,” Loucas glowered. “But I’ll do my best, not that I think I have much control at the moment. Have I mentioned we’re in freaking space? And the future… it isn’t what I expected.”
“You’re telling me,” Patrick said. “Idaho borders Canada. America going to war with itself in the middle of the twentieth century?”
“Doesn’t surprise me all that much,” Yari said, petting the cats. “Loucas and I grew up there, remember. It’s been pretty broken for a long time.”
“Does Puerto Rico really count, though?” Loucas grinned, reprising an old inside joke of their own. They all laughed, and Eryn thought that was the nicest sound she had heard in hours.
The bell tolled again, creating an awkward moment. None wanted to go, but all had to. Finally, her feet feeling like lead, Eryn sighed and turned to touch the door. It began to glow around the edges, a brilliant light that dimmed even the steady candles of Mimr's Pub or the glow of the Web of Norns. The door swung open, and Eryn waved goodbye to her friends.
Eryn she took a step into the bright light, and shut her eyes as it burst around her in a blinding flash.
And so the six friends parted again. To begin.