As the monster died, Halfdan’s rage abandoned him, replaced by the sensation of broken bones. He dropped his hammer immediately, as pain shot through his right arm. Spitting blood, he knew that he needed to rest and give [Mend Your Wounds] time, but this was a poor location, too conspicuous. This particular fellow was clearly posted here to guard the gate, and there might be others around. Not to mention, should anybody enter, regardless of reason, they would immediately spot Halfdan. So he picked up his weapon and bag of provisions with his left hand and limped out of the room.

  The man of Midgard was not sure what he had expected from Myrkheim, but it was nothing like the sight that awaited him. He stood on a ledge, and before his eyes stretched out what appeared to be an endless cavern. As far as sight would reach, he saw a landscape of rocks and cliffs that rolled like hills; above, a ceiling higher than any tree could ever reach, barely visible. The only light came from the same kind of fungus as inside the cave, growing like moss everywhere to cast the land in a soft, blue-white glow.

  For a moment, Halfdan felt himself enamoured by the alien sight. Sif would love this, he thought, and the reminder stung. But it broke him from his reverie. He was not in a condition to fight, and this was unknown territory full of dangers. Those rock monsters could be everywhere, given the landscape.

  The gate had been built inside a ruined tower that seemed central to the greater cavern. It also lay up what could be considered a small mountain. Halfdan began the journey down the path until he reached a small crevice that would suit his purpose. He squeezed into it and sat down, arranging his cloak to make himself less visible.

  No longer exerting himself but resting, Halfdan could make full use of [Mend Your Wounds], and he felt how his pain began to lessen. He glanced at the bronze hammer under his cape. Odd to make it from that metal rather than steel, but who could guess at the customs of the J?tnar? Regardless, it had proven its value.

  With time to spare, he closed his eyes and examined the tree of his gift. After the fight with the J?tun and also the rock creature, he had three Seeds to spare; Halfdan noticed that just like killing Rimnir, dispatching the monster had given him two Seeds. As he had no need of them right now, he chose to stick with his strategy of saving them for a time of crisis.

  He had come far since his time as a berserker living in a small town in Midgard. His physical prowess had increased, and in addition, Odin’s gifts had strengthened his resilience and gifted him power over runes.

  Examining the latter, Halfdan noticed something for the first time. His tree was slightly altered. A vein in the branches ran from [Know the Runes] to touch several other skills. This change had probably happened a while back when he first unlocked the ability, but now was the first time that the berserker had examined his tree in peace.

  What did it mean? Halfdan had never heard of this. His own teacher in the gift of the berserker had not mentioned anything like this, nor did he know of other gifts where such a thing happened. Perhaps it was unique to skills granted by the gods. But what was it for?

  He tried to focus on the connections; which skills exactly were bound together? He saw [Know the Runes] now touched [Mend Your Wounds] along with [Strength of Body], [Keen of Sense] and [Wielder of Weapons], some of his strongest skills. Perhaps this meant that if his other skills also grew stronger, they would connect, but he still had to wonder at the significance.

  Halfdan thought about what little he knew concerning the use of runes. He had just experienced it with the gates, but that seemed to be a Dwarven invention. In Midgard, he had never come across anything like this, nor was that how he had left that world. On the other hand, he recalled hearing tales of rune-staves carved with healing symbols to dispel disease and the like. The connection to [Mend Your Wounds] might suggest such a power, except he had no use for that, as the skill already ensured he healed from any injury, especially together with [Hardier Than Them] keeping him hale.

  The connection to [Strength of Body] seemed more promising. Anything that increased a berserker’s strength was worthy of investigation. The question was how to make use of this. Halfdan could not see how carving a rune-stave might work. Perhaps if he applied the symbols to his weapon or himself?

  He lacked needle and dye to mark his skin, and he had no chisel or other such tool. But he had the knife that he had given Sif, which she had lent him back in J?tunheim. Carefully, he carved the rune of sól into the bronze head with superficial scratches. Throwing his cloak aside, Halfdan held the weapon away from himself, using his now healed right arm. “Sól,” he spoke, endowing it with the power from [Know the Runes], and the head burst into flames.

  That could be useful, the berserker thought with a smile. But he could admire the wind in his sails another time; he was still deep in unknown and most likely hostile territory, close to a point of interest guarded by stone monsters. His wounds healed, there was no need to linger here any further. Halfdan got up and left the crevice, continuing down the path that led away from the gate.

  After a while, as he reached what had to be considered the ground, Halfdan saw it split in two. There was no telling of what might be east or west in a place without sun or stars; not that such knowledge would have helped him, given he had no idea of what lay where. He only knew that he should look for Sindri’s forge, wherever that might be and for whatever reason Loki sought to go there. Nothing good, unfortunately.

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  To his surprise, Halfdan noticed a sign of civilisation amidst the harsh terrain that otherwise bore no sign of cultivation or settlements. On a stone, partly covered by glowing moss, he noticed an inscription. He bent down and cleared away the obstruction to realise it was a road sign. With perfectly carved runes, it read, ‘Dwarfhome’.

  The meaning was clear. For any traveller arriving from the gate, it showed the path to the home of the Dwarves. And since Sindri had been a Dwarf, and Halfdan sought his forge, it made sense to go in that direction. His decision made, Halfdan turned right, led by the faint glow of blue moss and ancient runes.

  *

  Walking down the same path that Halfdan would tread a day later, Loki and his followers, one unwilling, reached the ground and the same crossroads. “What does it say?” Freydis asked, seeing the inscription.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Loki told her. “A thousand years may have passed, but I remember the road to that crafty little bastard Sindri and his forge.” He gestured to the left, the opposite direction of where the way stone pointed, and began walking; pushed by Freydis, who brought up the rear, Sif followed right behind him.

  Hearing the name of their destination, the girl mouthed the words to herself. That’s the place mentioned by the norn, where Halfdan will go, she thought, considering the implications. She could continue with Loki to this forge and be reunited with Halfdan simply by letting events unfold. However, given it was the last location Halfdan was fated to be before Hel, it suggested he would die there.

  Though not necessarily. Maybe Halfdan would fight and defeat Loki, all would be well, and he would die many years from now in his bed from old age. Sif sighed, knowing that was an unlikely outcome for a berserker. Most likely, the norn’s rune-stave had carved Sindri’s forge because that was where a warrior like Halfdan met his end.

  That complicated Sif’s situation. Her first instinct had been to escape. With both of these watching her like a hawk, that did not seem possible at present, but surely an opportunity would arise. And Sif had no doubt Halfdan was hot on their trail. If she got away and followed the path back, she ought to find him.

  That did not solve everything, however; Halfdan would still have to pursue Loki, ending the threat to the realms. The best thing would be if the berserker caught up to them before Sindri’s forge. In other words, there was one thing Sif could do to help: slow their progress as much as possible, giving Halfdan the chance to catch up.

  She lessened her pace, which cause Freydis behind her to bump into her. “Keep up,” the priestess told her with a cold voice. She had never expressed much warmth on most occasions during their previous journeys, but Sif felt like a mask had been removed. The priestess was distant with a chill in all her interactions. Defiantly, Sif slowed her walking speed again, smiling as she felt Freydis stumble into her again.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Then suffer.” The reply came from Loki, leading the way.

  Sif looked up at the back of his head and imagined slinging a stone straight through his skull. Freydis had unfortunately taken her sling and thrown her rocks away. “Halfdan will kill you, you know.” Already, she could imagine the berserker’s axe cleaving the neck cleanly.

  This time, the initial answer was a condescending laughter. “I have survived a thousand years of captivity, venom dripping into my face. The Aesir themselves dared not kill me. But a feeble mortal of Midgard will be the one to end me? I am counted among the gods, you little fool.”

  “Gods die. Baldr did. You will too.”

  “Baldr!” Loki laughed heartily. “That smug and self-satisfied weakling. Asgard is a better place without him, trust me.” His voice turned to a sneer. “Don’t ever compare us. After all this time, he’s still in Hel, and I’m here. So who of us had the better plan?”

  Sif frowned, realising that Loki was both in a talkative mood and also revealing things he probably should not. “Baldr is trying to escape his fate?”

  “More like hasten it,” Loki snorted before he suddenly spun around and slapped Sif across the face. “Don’t pry into the affairs of gods, mortal child. You’re alive because I deem you useful. But you can be replaced.”

  “Master, she is slowing us down. Deliberately, I think,” Freydis pointed out. “If the berserker is indeed chasing us, wouldn’t it be wise to let her go? She will run to him and be a stone around his ankle, slowing him down instead of us.”

  Loki turned his eyes from his prisoner to his priestess. “You forget who gave you the gift to gaze into the hearts of Men and know their desire. Do not attempt to deceive me.”

  “Yes, master,” she mumbled, looking into the ground like a scolded child.

  “No, she will stay with us and prove her usefulness.” He grabbed Sif by the chin, and she returned his gaze with a defiant stare before wresting her head free. “Who knows? Maybe by the time our work here is done, she’ll have come to a new understanding of our purpose.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Enough dallying!” Loki looked from one to the other. “We have plenty of road ahead, and while my long years of captivity have taught me patience, they have not made me kind. If she tries to slow us down again, punish her. We need her legs in working condition, not her arms.”

  Freydis swallowed and bowed her head. “As you command, master.”

  They set into motion again, an odd, misfitted band. One in front, smiling and whistling to himself, a scowling child in the middle, and a sentinel bringing up the rear with a troubled demeanour the others could not see. Ahead of them, nothing but rocky terrain spread out, illuminated by the occasional glow of moss.