Screeching tires and rattling metal welcomed Eryn back to the twentieth century. The Heinkel transport’s engines roared as the pilot brought the aircraft to the Earth, fading away a few minutes later when the plane rolled to a lurching stop. Eryn shook her head to clear it, feeling totally refreshed by the mead and as a result once again fully aware of just how wrong her situation was.
Eryn was about to step foot in Berlin, during what she knew as the Second World War, after having assisted a hero of German history in changing it. A simple nudge of historical events, merely distracting a single man, and Adolf Hitler lay dead in the Wolf’s Lair.
Somehow, she found it much easier to focus on this aspect of her new reality than the rest of it, and it wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t because Eryn wasn’t granted much time to think. She heard the sound of booted feet towards the front of the aircraft, then Haeften reappeared. He caught her gaze, beckoned, then turned and retraced his steps.
She shrugged, shook her head, and obeyed, trying to walk as slowly as she could without making it obvious that she was stalling for time. Her brain worked frantically to consolidate what she had experienced over the past few hours and every vague recollection about this moment in history she could muster into a plan for surviving it.
Walking forward Eryn spotted an open hatch in the side the aircraft and, after a brief moment’s hesitation, passed through it and onto a steep step-ladder. Haeften stood waiting a short way off, behind him was parked a staff car operated by a uniformed driver. Stauffenberg was nowhere in sight, but not far away was a small building draped in some kind of dull-colored netting. Eryn assumed he must be telephoning his compatriots to inform them of Hitler’s death, the signal that the planned coup to displace and destroy the ruling Nazi regime could now proceed.
In the history Eryn knew, the coup had been more or less doomed from the start because Stauffenberg’s bomb failed to kill its intended victim. With the monster actually dead, she had to wonder: did the German Resistance stand a chance at winning? Eryn couldn’t be certain, but given what she knew, she could help make even more of a difference than she already had.
Assuming, of course, that someone didn’t come up with a reason to have her arrested and shot first. And to avoid that outcome she had to stick close to the cover story that had popped into her head before: Eryn was working with hidden friends of the German Resistance, the agent of a wealthy industrialist with substantial resources and deep insight into the workings of the Nazi regime.
Eryn approached Haeften with as much courage as she could muster. He stood stiff and still, a hand on a leather pouch affixed to his belt, and when she came close he lifted a portion of it to reveal the handle of a handgun. Eryn stared at him with as much defiance as she could muster, and for an instant Haeften’s eyes seemed to glint, but he just turned and took a seat in the rear half of the car’s cabin. Eryn followed him, climbing in the other side of the vehicle that seemed far too new given that it was, at least to her mind, an antique.
Stauffenberg emerged from the doorway and walked to the waiting staff car. The driver climbed out and opened the vehicle’s front passenger side door, assisting Stauffenberg into his seat. After the driver returned to his own and activated the engine, Stauffenberg twisted to look back at Haeften.
“Werner, we must get to the Bendlerblock as soon as we can. They sound like headless chickens over there! The reserve army deployments are only just beginning, even though we have little time to waste! There has been no reaction from the Gestapo or area SS units so far, but the moment Himmler is able to establish communications with them from wherever he has hidden himself, we must be ready!”
“I did not expect,” Haeften replied grimly, “that we would be welcomed by the Brandenbergers as we landed, but I had at least hoped to learn that the commands Paris and Vienna were taking the necessary steps. “Oh, and while we drive,” Haeften jerked his head towards Eryn. “We had better figure out what to do about her.”
Eryn realized she had only one chance to convince them that she was on their side, an the only thing she had going for her was a rough ability to predict the future. So she fixed her gaze on Stauffenberg, and spoke with as much conviction as she could manage.
“I told you before,” Eryn said, staring into Stauffenberg’s eyes. “I have information that you need, and I was sent to help your operation succeed. So let me!”
They stared at her, and kept silent. So she continued, knowing this was a reasonable start. They were listening.
“The most important thing you must know,” Eryn insisted, gambling, “is that Fromm cannot be trusted. He will betray you, he’s probably already betraying you. He will walk right out of the room your comrades have put him in and try to contact Rastenburg. If that fails, he’ll go straight to the SS, and they will perceive what’s happening.”
Haeften chuckled. “That would come as little surprise, Fromm has always cared about his own skin and nothing else. They were supposed to have arrested him by now, and that is knowledge you should not have, miss… ”
“Eryn. Eryn Miller,” she replied, reasoning that a fake name would only cause her trouble down the road.
“In fact,” Stauffenberg nodded, “our comrades have assured me that he is in custody. They have him sequestered in the Bendlerblock.”
Eryn shook her head. “Not as well as they think. Colonel Stauffenberg, you clearly heard over the phone that it is total chaos over there. No one will be paying particular attention to General Fromm. He can, and I am sure will, walk out of wherever he is being held. According to my information, he’s already in touch with the SS.”
This part wasn’t strictly true, but Eryn was certain it wouldn’t matter. Either they took her warning to heart or they didn’t, and if Eryn had already changed history so much details not immediately connected to the success of Hitler’s assassination were different, she was doomed anyway. It didn’t seem likely she would be left alone long enough to try out summoning Mimr for advice.
Stauffenberg and Haeften stared at one another while a few blocks passed by, then each turned away and sat quietly, as if considering her argument. Prediction made, now all Eryn could do is hope Fromm would play his role.
She looked out the window at central Berlin. The city seemed strange, and not just because it was foreign both in terms of time and place. Eryn had always enjoyed travel, new places and new people, new problems and new challenges. But this city was just… odd. Both buzzing with activity, but also subdued, somber.
Even the way people moved seemed to betray a weary alertness. The only real life seemed to reside in the youngest residents, and it seemed starkly out of place when paired with their uniforms: either the smart-yet-depressing Nazi Youth look, or the smart-but-spare aesthetic so often apparent among people in desperate situations, where the effort of being clean and tidy matters far more than actual success in the matter.
“Well, Eryn Miller,” Stauffenberg said suddenly, “I ought to remember my manners. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You seem to know exactly who Haeften and I are, so formal introductions shouldn’t be necessary, I take it?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Eryn shrugged, taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. I’ve… read your files.”
“Excellent,” Stauffenberg nodded curtly. “Now, please tell us exactly who you work for and why they are so intent on aiding our cause.”
“I work for Henry Ford, of Ford Motor Company,” Eryn lied. “As you might be aware, his company has longstanding business interests in Germany.”
“Why, pray tell,” Haeften blurted out, “would an American automobile manufacturer whose factories build tanks intended to kill young German men have either the inclination or resources to infiltrate our ranks? This is… most strange.”
Eryn looked away, realizing she shouldn’t let them provoke her. But looking out the window only made everything feel even more surreal. Though this part of Berlin did not appear to have experienced the massive bombing raids being sent by day and night against many German cities, still here and there a building, sometimes in the middle of a block that was otherwise untouched, would be missing a wall, or roof, or have crumbled entirely into rubble.
Eryn had never seen the results of war before, not like this. She found the very thought of being stuck in the middle of one terrifying.
She turned back to Haeften. “This war can’t end well for Germany. You know this, or else why would you be trying to overthrow your own government? And if Germany falls, what will stop the Soviets from advancing to the Rhine, or beyond? How long will they wait to spread their revolution across the world? Many American leaders want to prevent that from happening. But they aren’t in the government, and they can’t do anything about Roosevelt’s policy towards either Germany or the Soviet Union.”
“But the coming American election?” Stauffenberg cut in, leaning towards her. “Surely the Americans can replace Roosevelt and his allies if they tire of the war? If your industrialists are turning against the fighting…”
Eryn hesitated. There was something in Stauffenberg’s tone, a flash of naive hope. Did he really believe that an election could change America’s foreign policy in the middle of the worst war the world had ever experienced? Or was he baiting her?
“Roosevelt will win,” Eryn said, speaking slowly. “The opposition isn’t very well organized. We’ve decided that our best hope is that with Hitler out of the way, a more reasonable German government takes over. Maybe then Roosevelt and Churchill will be willing to negotiate a ceasefire.”
Both Stauffenberg and Haeften laughed together. “Churchill is committed to our destruction,” Stauffenberg shook his head, “regardless of the long-term consequences for the British Empire. The English are too stubborn to see reason. We offered them peace after their defeat in France and they refused, attacking their former allies’ ships instead, but now the balance of power has swung far in their favor.”
“Madame… Eryn,” Stauffenberg said softly. “Well, it seems we are of a kind, the three of us. Hopeless fools, dreaming of a better world. I wish I could take it on trust that your intentions in Berlin were as sincere as your words. We will make sure that you are kept safe and secure while we move to end this criminal regime once and for all. And perhaps in the near future we can have a talk, you and I, to determine what if anything your connections to Mr. Ford can do for the new German government in the coming days.”
As he finished speaking, the car came to a halt. A makeshift barrier had been erected across the roadway, and a dozen uniformed soldiers stood or crouched behind it, rifles held at the ready. Stauffenberg seemed pleased to see them, and instructed the driver to roll down a window so that he could speak to the officer in charge.
“Finally, evidence that the reserve army is on the move!” Stauffenberg exclaimed. “Tell me, captain, have you had any difficulties in this position?”
The officer shook his head. “No, Colonel. We have had to re-direct a few vehicles, but no one has challenged us.”
“You have had no sight of any Gestapo or SS units?” Stauffenberg asked.
“No, sir.”
“Excellent. Please carry on.”
Stauffenberg returned the officer’s salute, then a team of soldiers removed enough of the barrier that the staff car could creep past down the Bendlerstrasse. There were fewer soldiers than Eryn would have anticipated, given that this was apparently the center of the coup’ plotters territory, but she was more concerned about what Stauffenberg’s words meant for her. Was she about to be locked up somewhere?
The staff car came to a halt adjacent to a large but relatively nondescript office building, and the driver cut the engine. Stauffenberg immediately exited the vehicle and marched through an open door. Eryn moved to follow, but a sudden flash of metal made her pause. Haeften was also out of the car and now stood looking at her, an eyebrow cocked. She looked at him, noting the handgun now held loosely in his hand.
“Oh, that again,” Eryn tried to sound brave. “Do what you have to. Just keep an eye out for Fromm, okay? I’m telling you, you’ll catch him trying to get in touch with Rastenburg and the Gestapo to inform them about what you’re doing here.”
Eryn didn’t bother to wait for a response, but stood tall and walked deliberately past Haeften, following after Stauffenberg. The roughness of the stone walkway leading to the entrance hurt her feet, but at the moment she hardly minded: her heart was pounding. Being flippant with a mutineer carrying a lethal weapon was not a bright idea, she knew. But the more she talked to these stiff, severe German officers, the more she understood that the only way she was going to survive was by keeping them uncertain about her.
The interior of the Bendlerblock office building looked pretty much like any government office in any time or place. Dour, infused with the odor of ink and paper, and liable to induce claustrophobia in anyone who enjoyed the outdoors. She followed Stauffenberg through its halls, aware of Haeften not far behind. As Stauffenberg marched he was joined by an ever-growing posse of men in uniform, each making an eager report or urgently asking for orders. Some, unable to get a word in edge-wise, fell back to address Haeften, who was treated with nearly the same level of deference as Stauffenberg himself.
Naturally, everyone with a clear line of sight also stared at Eryn as she marched past behind him. She was pleased that they reached Stauffenberg’s office quickly. But the moment he came near, cheers broke out from the swarm of men and women who were packed into a broad space across the hall. Officers ushered Stauffenberg inside, and Eryn kept out of sight, instinctively aware that this was a moment where if she was noticed at all it would be as an intruder.
Haeften stepped to Stauffenberg’s side at the urging of a brisk wave of his superior’s hand, almost hesitantly, like a child called in front of a school auditorium. The cheers that erupted then were positively deafening, and in that moment, as Eryn looked at their beaming faces, she was struck by how young most of them were. Neither Stauffenberg nor Haeften was much older than she herself.
Yet both had experienced the horrors of war, their country stolen by fanatics, cities annihilated, friends and family forced to live in fear both of a regime that would happily send them to a concentration camp and the ordnance deployed by its many enemies. And both men had done something about it: they had tried to kill their leader to save their country’s people.
In Eryn’s time, their sacrifice had been almost entirely futile, save to inspire future generations. Hitler had survived the bombing, and the coup had fallen apart in hours. Many of the people now cheering in this building were supposed to be arrested or executed that very night.
And they still might be. Hitler’s death only eliminated one complication out of several facing the coup. Now, the would-be revolutionaries had to navigate a future that would soon become opaque even to Eryn.
The cheers subsided, ending as suddenly as they had begun. Eryn expected Stauffenberg to say something, perhaps give a rousing speech, but he and Haeften merely looked at one another, bowed slightly, then straightened again. Everyone turned back to their business without another word, and the noise level grew. Women pounded frantically at typewriters, men walked swiftly between desks carrying messages to other men talking rapidly on phones, and senior personnel crowded around odd machines that appeared to be this pre-digital decade’s equivalent of a fax.
Stauffenberg made eye contact and nodded at Eryn, which she took to mean that she should follow him. He walked through the bustle of the room, fielding simple questions as they were shouted at him while Haeften brought up the rear. He too was the recipient of numerous questions, and everyone was talking too quickly for Eryn to make out anything more than a general din.
Stauffenberg led them into a spare and utilitarian space that was filled with at least half a dozen older men, most wearing gray military outfits, the rest clad in dark-colored business suits that served as well as uniforms. A young woman, probably a secretary, sat quietly in a corner, scribbling into a notebook whenever the men spoke. A gray-haired man, one of the suit-wearers, turned to address Stauffenberg.
“Colonel Stauffenberg, finally! Please make your report as soon as you have a moment to catch your breath.”
Stauffenberg stopped in front of the semi-circle, and saluted, but not in the Nazi style, just a crisp and quick military movement of finger-tips from thigh to brow and back again. The man who had addressed him returned it slowly and deliberately. It was such a simple gesture, yet it seemed to convey both admiration and appreciation for what Stauffenberg had done.
Taken by a sudden instinct, Eryn walked quickly across the room to stand by the secretary. Haeften jerked involuntarily towards her, but remained where he was, apparently torn between keeping a close watch on her or standing by Stauffenberg’s side. Eryn felt like having some space, and being able to keep her eye on him.
“Colonel Stauffenberg,” the older man said after finishing his salute, “we and the German people owe you a great debt. Unfortunately, events are pressing, so we have no time for a proper debrief or celebration. But still, I wish to take this moment to hear the words directly from you. Hitler—you can confirm that he is in fact dead?”
Stauffenberg nodded once, almost ritually. “I can, General Beck. Although the briefing was held in a different location than was expected, and there were other unforeseen difficulties, the deed is done. Hitler is dead, and barring a miracle, Jodl and Keitel have also joined him in the pits of Hell.”
Beck sighed. “Thank you. Your word of honor as an officer is sufficient for me. Unfortunately, the greater task remains, and we will have difficulty convincing many other officers to join our cause unless we can demonstrate our unity and strength. Valkyrie is moving too slowly, as many officers we must rely on appear reluctant to accept the news out of Rastenburg.”
Stauffenberg shook his head in frustration. “There is no time for hesitation! Are the reserve army commands at least acknowledging their deployment orders, even if they are not moving quickly to obey? Dragging their feet is one thing, but outright defiance would be disastrous.”
“Some are, some aren’t,” replied another of the assembled men, this one wearing a military uniform. It is difficult to accept that the tyrant is dead, after all these years and so many failed attempts at ending his life.”
“Then I must speak with the holdouts,” Stauffenberg said. “If Himmler or any of the others gets on the radio and issues counter-orders, we will have a civil war on our hands. In the meantime, has there been any word from the units tasked with securing Berlin? If we can at least hold the capital, we have a chance to bypass the SS before they can react.”
“A unit of the Brandenburgers should arrive at any moment,” said another uniformed man. “Others are in fact moving, and available units of the Greater Germany division have confirmed their deployment orders. They simply need more time to assemble in the capitol.”
Stauffenberg took a deep breath. “Then I recommend that we contact all of the units that are proving hesitant and ask them to explicitly affirm their orders. I will do all I can to convince them of the truth of what I have seen with my own eyes: Hitler is dead, and Germany has entered a new age.”
All of the men in the room nodded together and turned to leave, except Haeften. He fixed an icy glare on Eryn, and waited for the others to depart. Then he walked slowly towards her, that glint in his eye once again. She held her ground, but could sense that the secretary, now with no notes to scribble, was suddenly very nervous.
“Eryn Miller, you are to stay here. Do not leave this office. We don’t have time to determine the truth of your claims, and the others don’t need to know about the… complications… your presence has introduced. Not until the operation no longer stands on a knife’s edge.”
Haeften turned and left without another word, though without closing the door behind. Eryn stood quietly looking at the door to the office, listening to the buzz of voices and keystrokes wafting in from the rest of the suite. She was still alive, and that was something, but it appeared that Stauffenberg and Haeften were more or less done with her for the time being. At exactly the moment when she was supposed to be trying to use her knowledge of how they went wrong in her past to make sure they didn’t here.
But what on Earth was she actually supposed to do, out of place and out of time, a stranger in a very strange land, with her one possible advantage slipping away at every moment? She remembered Mimr. If she could get herself alone, she supposedly could talk to Mimr again to ask for advice. Eryn wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work, but she was willing to give it a try. It beat standing around and waiting, at least.
The secretary remained in the office, and although people were moving quickly back and forth in front of the door, no one even bothered to look inside. Eryn turned her head slightly to get a better look at the woman, and realized she was more than simply young: the woman was scarcely more than a teenager. She wore glasses and a drab, modest outfit that seemed to fit some kind of military standard, given the similarity to how the other women in the building were dressed.
The secretary realized that Eryn was looking at her, and her face turned pale. She ducked her head, and pretended to be busy organizing notes.
“Hi… so what is your name?” Eryn said, smiling kindly. “I’m Eryn.”
“Gertrude,” the secretary replied in a tiny voice, “I am very sorry for my accent, my lady, I have only been in the Fatherland for a year, and I am learning slowly. Please excuse me!”
Eryn maintained her smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t even notice. I’m not German either. Canadian, actually.”
“Oh, I’ve never been to Canada! I am from Holland.”
It seemed strange to Eryn that a young woman from German-occupied Holland would be working in a military office in Berlin. But her anxiety surrounding her own situation drove out all other concerns.
“Well I am pleased to meet you,” Eryn said, “but could I ask you to do me a huge favor? If you aren’t too busy, I mean.”
Gertrude nodded eagerly, if shyly. “They all seem to have left… so maybe I can? I have no other assignment today but to serve whomever works in this office. What do you need?”
Eryn couldn’t help but feel sorry for Gertrude, who seemed much too sweet to be in the middle of a coup. She made a mental note to make it up to her later, if she could.
“Gertrude, I seem to have lost my shoes. Is it possible that somewhere in this building, there are some boots or shoes without heels that I can wear?”
Gertrude’s eyes flashed to Eryn’s feet. “I… yes, I believe so. There is a women’s closet where some of the ladies keep items to be repaired whenever there are enough materials to go around, and often they are forgotten and remain long unclaimed. I will check and be back as quickly as I can!”
She stood up and scurried towards the door. But half a step through, she halted suddenly, and looked back at Eryn.
“So… you aren’t SS?” Gertrude asked anxiously. “I thought they had brought you here as a prisoner?”
Eryn laughed, smiling despite her growing fear. “Oh hell no, I’m not one of those murderous thugs! I’m the exact opposite. I helped Colonel Stauffenberg free the world from that madman. And I’ll keep helping, if I can. But if you can help me to get myself a bit more settled, I would really appreciate it, Gertrude.”
Gertrude’s eyes widened in shock, and after a kind of anxious hybrid of a curtsy and a bow, she turned and half stumbled as she left the room in a rush. Eryn winced and shook her head, then closed the door to the office.
Alone for what she hoped would be at least a few minutes, Eryn sat in the chair facing the door. Given that when she’d been taken to Mimr’s Pub before Eryn had returned to the world in exactly the same position as she’d been in when she left, she figured that it would be best to be sitting down and ready to deal with anyone walking right after she came back.
Eryn held out her hands and looked at them. Nothing appeared. Not sure what else to do, she called Mimr’s name in a near whisper. A second later the room seemed to darken, then before her eyes there it appeared: the shimmering, flowing, writhing mass of golden light that the strange occupants of the weird place called Mimr’s pub had named the Web of Norns.
“Hello, Eryn! Mimr is here,” his cheerful voice called from the orb. “How can I help you?”
Her words came slowly. “So…um, well, I kind of... need you to tell me what to do next.”
“Happy to assist!” Mimr laughed. “Grasp the Web. There’s a short time available before anyone is likely enter this room again, just enough for a brief chat with some gods, a primer on divining fate. Grasp the Web, and I’ll take you to my pub!”
Eryn wasn’t sure what else to do at this point, so she reached out, and reality shifted. She scarcely had time to register that something was happening before she was back in Mimr’s pub, though this time the transition was less jarring than it had before.
A thumping accompanied by loud, raucous laughter drew her attention, and she turned to see Freyja’s cats, Weiss and Schwartz, stretched out on one of the tables with a half-empty tankard of mead between them. Several large and eclectically decorated mugs the size of antique goblets were haphazardly strewn around the remaining table space, which was wet with spilled mead both cats apparently enjoyed lapping up.
Looking beyond the cats and mugs, Eryn saw three unfamiliar faces all displaying the unmistakable signs of extreme intoxication. One was simultaneously youthful and ageless, beautiful face framed by a mane of shoulder-length hair golden like ripe wheat. The other seemed the first’s diametric opposite, dark, rugged, and weathered, hair and beard long and bushy and red as autumn leaves. The third face was more feminine than either, framed by dark hair loosely bound in a thick braid, olive complexion matched by piercing, yet kind green eyes.
The golden-haired man spoke, first grinning stupidly and blinking at Eryn. “Idunn! Heyo, we’ve got another for the party! Did you invite her? Don’t usually hang with Einherjar in Mimr’s place, but I like the change! Helps that she’s cute, too!”
Idunn shook her head, smile lopsided. “No, Freyr, I have no idea who she is. Do you recognize her, Thor?”
The biggest of the three shifted his large frame to get a better look at her, bright blue eyes peering from under bushy red brows. Eryn felt curiously diminished under his intense glare, but there was no unkindness in it, merely interest and appraisal blended with a drunken half-stupor. His eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing on Eryn for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Nope, nobody I know,” Thor replied, shrugging and downing more mead. “Freyr, didn’t your sister say something about unusual Einherjar? That we were supposed to keep an eye open for one or more?”
“I dunno, Thor, I’m drunk,” Freyr laughed, refilling his drinking horn.
“OK,” Eryn said, balling her fists and feeling annoyed. “So I came here for help figuring out how I’m supposed to talk to Mimr to work out how to overthrow Nazi Germany, or something like that. Can any of you, like, help, or are you all too drunk? I'm a bit short on time.”
All three blinked, looked at one another, and shrugged, laughing. Freyr, though he seemed to be the least present of the three, fixed her with an imperious stare.
“Hey, girlie,” he said, slurring, “the whole effing universe is about to end, we’re all about to die. I think we get to take a moment for some fun and relaxation! Just because you aren’t able to perceive what is happening outside of your immediate field of view, don’t assume you know the first thing about how we experience the world.”
“Supposedly,” Eryn growled in frustration, “I’m actually doing something about that right now. Which is why I’m asking for help. I have no idea how to work this Mimr…Web…person… thing. Mimr said you can teach me. So are you going to help, or do I have to figure it all out on my own?”
“Go ahead and try,” Thor grunted. “Odin’s projects aren’t usually something anyone but he can figure out. Never comments his code. Side effect of being the wisest of us all, I guess, but it is irritating. Anyway, since you are pressed for time I suppose we three drunks can help you out. Provided you stop being annoying and judgmental, because these things make the whetstone embedded in my skull quiver like mad!”
There was a flash and the Web of Norns appeared above the table where Freyr, Idunn, and Thor sat. The cats opened their eyes, and Weiss batted lazily at passing tendrils. Thor touched the Web, and began to move his hands. The Web of Norns seemed to pan and shift, and then zoom in on one region that seemed particularly unsettled, close to the sickly green mass that Eryn was sure had grown larger since she last saw it.
“Okay, Einherjar, here’s your brief,” Thor growled like a drill sergeant. “Mimr needs decent parameters in order to tell you what you need to know. By that, I mean that you have to come up with very specific questions to ask about the likely consequences of whatever actions you are thinking of taking.”
“So... uh… how do I come up with the right questions?” Eryn asked, blinking. The shift from drunk-speak to technical language was jarring.
“Trial and error, mostly,” Thor replied. “The trick is getting to the point where Mimr can show you the most likely and consequential outcomes associated with certain major events that may or will occur. Basically, you need to look for branch points within the weaving Threads. Junctions that Threads seem to collapse into or emerge from. Those are representations of critical points in spacetime, where the outcome of certain processes and events will significantly predetermine the possible course of possible futures for that Thread.”
She squinted, watching Thor manipulate the thread, apparently focusing now on a particular location. Idunn and Freyr watched closely, seeming now far less intoxicated than she’d thought they were at first.
“There. That’s the right one, Thor!” Idunn thrust her hand forward into the web. “Wow, take a look at that one, a nice, clean split between two equally probably outcome paths.”
Freyr pointed too. “Yes! And look, the spacetime attributes associated with her location are right on the breakpoint. Can’t ask for a better intervention vector than that.”
Eryn shook her head. “Can you all please talk a little slower and use terms I understand? I have no idea what you are saying, and I’m halfway to completing a doctorate.”
They ignored her for a moment, all three gesturing and speaking so quickly that she couldn’t follow. Then Thor raised a thick, calloused hand, and the other two went silent. He spoke slowly and clearly, pointing to the place that had caught Idunn and Freyr’s attention.
“Alright, there isn’t time to run you through a full tutorial,” Thor signed, “but here’s what you need to know. In the next few hours your friends in the Bendlerblock have to spread the word that Hitler is dead and that his Nazi cronies are being arrested.”
“The good news is that they are already moving to do that after a slow start. The bad news is that as things stand now, the surviving Nazi leadership will probably be able to muddy the waters enough that a civil war and counter-coup will destroy the German Resistance regime in its infancy. The course of events will largely snap back to something resembling what you likely learned about in history, at least in broad terms.”
“Wait, so killing Hitler didn’t actually change history?” Eryn gasped. “Then what was even the point, then?”
“Hey now,” Idunn shook her head, “any given historical event represents an outcome that, prior to happening, always had a certain probability of occurring. You experience only the effects of a single outcome, which itself emerges from the net impacts of all past events. This makes it hard to truly know just how likely or unlikely any event in fact was, from the perspective of the broader universe.”
“We as gods, however, can easily see that single events, like killing a charismatic leader, cannot alone change the underlying structure that allowed that leader to emerge in the first place. Another can swoop in to fill the role, and usually does, in short order. Humans are like moths to flames when it comes to power, and too many dearly wish to be told what to do by someone who is powerful.”
“I repeat my question,” Eryn said, annoyed, “what was the point of killing Hitler at all, then?”
“Because likely is not certainly,” Freyr’s smile remained happy and drunken. “And actions are what make the difference. Eliminating that monster created space for change, the potential to yank history onto a different trajectory. You have an opportunity to build something different, if you can learn to ask the right questions of the tool we gods have granted to you.
Thor nodded pointing at a tangled knot in the Web. “I am willing to bet Mjolnir itself that if you ask Mimr what actions impact this division, he’ll give you something to work with. Intervene successfully, and events will occur that drive history down a different path, perhaps irrevocably.”
Freyr looked at Thor with a bemused expression. “Don’t actually bet your hammer, son of Odin. That sort of thing never goes well, and Ragnarok will be bad enough without losing your best weapon. Look at me! I gave my best sword away chasing after a pretty lady, and now I have to face Surtur with only my favorite drinking horn. Major bummer, as humans of one of my favorite eras like to say.”
Freyr raised his rather unique, antler-like cup, and downed the liquid remained in a single enthusiastic gulp. Eryn stared at Mimr, feeling awkward.
“Mimr,” Eryn’s voice sounded strangely small to her, “what controls which direction the thread will go? If I want to make sure that the Nazis lose power, what needs to happen?”
Mimr’s voice was tinged with excitement. “Finally! Okay! A query I can work with! Well, do you want the long or the short answer?”
Eryn paused, then laughed weakly. She didn’t need to look at the time over the doorway again to know that she didn’t have long. “I think short will have to do.”
Mimr made a humming sound, then replied. “Well then! Simple it is: Eryn, you must get to the Goebbels’ residence, and there ensure that Joseph Goebbels is captured or killed. Fortunately, he lives just down the street from where you now sit in the government quarter of Berlin.”
“Good luck,” Thor said, raiding his goblet in salute. “I approve the hunting of trolls, and the damage that one has done in this and so many other Threads demands justice. Go get him, Einherjar! And do not forget exactly who he is.”
Eryn stared at the Web one more time, then took a deep breath. Nodding to the gods, she walked back to the doorway leading out of Mimr’s Pub, traveling back to nineteen forty-four and the Bendlerblock. It only partly made sense, but if nothing else, it was at least a direction.