Halfdan’s eyes flew open as the connection was severed violently. Not only that, but he felt intense pain in his stomach as if he had been stabbed. The sensation of a viscous liquid pouring out from a wound told him it was not merely a feeling. When Odin had stabbed his fylgja, it had not only disrupted his ability to appear on the battlefield; the injury had followed him to his true form.
[Mend Your Wounds] did its task, thankfully. A fatal blow for the spirit that Freydis could summon, but not sufficient to slay an immortal berserker. Far worse was the uncertainty of what had happened. His fylgja slain, Halfdan had not seen what transpired after, but he had to assume the worst. If Odin could kill the bear so easily, what chance did Sif and Freydis stand? The god would not be susceptible to the skáld’s galdr, and Freydis’ gift did not lay in combat, but subterfuge. They had Hel’s dagger, which had proven itself against Heimdall, but Halfdan doubted that Odin would give either of them the opportunity to get so close. He had to assume the worst – that their blood coloured the soil of J?tunheim. Halfdan dared not even hope for enslavement; Odin would not make the mistake twice of leaving them alive to oppose him.
Plagued by these thoughts, Halfdan could do nothing but struggle in vain against his bindings.
*
He did not know how long he lay in the dark, waiting and fearing. Whispers reached Halfdan, but none of the voices belonged to Freydis, and he could not focus on their mumbled words. He strained his ears listening, but as soon as he could tell it was not his favoured priestess, he abandoned any attempt to discern their meaning and sank back into despair.
“Halfdan?”
The voice was clear, strong yet frail. He heard it with his actual senses, not whatever powers bestowed upon him by his immortal status. Halfdan turned his head – the only physical movement he could accomplish – towards the opening of the cave. By the lack of even the dimmest light, he judged it to be night. The various runes and wards created by Odin provided scant illumination; not enough that he could tell anything beyond a vague shape in the distance.
Was it a trick? Halfdan dared not hope; if any wished to torture him, this would be the strongest torment. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but his tongue would or could not obey. Perhaps he had already forgotten his powers of speech, or maybe a lack of water for so many days had left him mute.
One by one, the wards blinked out of existence. Halfdan felt the release of magic each time; a powerful wielder of runes was present, strong enough to counter the Alfather’s power. This also removed the only source of light, and Halfdan saw the cave plunged into complete darkness. He sensed rather than saw two shapes approach him; again he wanted to call out, but he lacked the words.
A hammer struck, and the accursed rope that tied him tighter than Dwarven-forged chains withered away. With an intense surge that overwhelmed him, Halfdan felt his powers return in full. Despite being immobilised for so long, he sensed no weakness in his body or spirit. He leapt to his feet with triumphant laughter, flexing his arms and hands in glee.
The clouds covering the moon parted, allowing its shine to enter the cave. In the pale light, Halfdan saw his rescuers, and he could not prevent tears from taking shape in his eyes. “You did it,” he stammered, finally able to speak.
Dropping the hammer that had rescued him, Freydis grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips against his. As she released him and pulled back, she gave a faint smile as a response to his surprised expression. “I didn’t want to miss another opportunity.”
Halfdan laughed again and framed her face with his hands, returning the gesture. Next to them, Sif rolled her eyes and looked away. “I don’t need that kind of thanks, just to be clear.”
For the third time, Halfdan’s laughter resounded, and he flung his arms around the skáld to embrace her tightly. “Did any berserker ever have a better companion?” As her muffled cries reached him, begging for air, he released her and tussled her hair instead. Overcome with emotion, he looked from Sif to Freydis, and he found himself at a lack of words again.
With more dignified movements, Freydis crouched down to pick up the hammer she had dropped. Using both hands, she presented it to him. “Your weapon, my lord.”
Accepting the tool in the same manner, Halfdan took hold of it. As he touched it, he felt a twinge of power. In his grasp, it grew in size as it had once before. The head became longer and narrower, fit for war, and the haft increased to many times its length. The [Heart of Yggdrasil] was his to wield once more. “Just call me ‘Halfdan’,” he said with a wry smile.
“As my lord commands.” Freydis bowed her head, hiding her own wry expression.
“How did you defeat Odin? All I saw – or felt – was my fylgja being destroyed.”
“Someone taught me how to use a sling,” Sif said in a casual manner.
“Hit him right in his remaining eye.” Freydis smiled with sinister joy. “It’ll be a while before he comes after us again.”
But he will come after us. The realities of their situation returned to Halfdan. He was free, but Odin would already be sending his hounds to hunt him. Or appear personally once recovered. “We should leave. They’ll be on their way here, whomever that one-eyed bastard – or blind bastard now – sends against us.”
The joyous mood evaporated, and the others adopted the same grave expression as Halfdan. Nothing further needed to be said. Together, they left Loki’s cave.
*
Once outside where he could properly see their faces in the moonlight, Halfdan realised his rescuers were exhausted beyond measure. They had walked day and night with nary a break to free him before it was too late. It seemed cruel to ask them to continue their march, though neither would have required him to ask; they understood their predicament as well as he did, and Halfdan had no doubt they would resume their journey until they dropped to the ground.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Fortunately, he was fully rested and brimming with strength. He crouched down between them, and surprising them both, he grabbed each of them around the thighs to lift them into the air. “Where to?” he asked in response to Freydis’ laughter and Sif’s startled exclamation.
“Anywhere but the direction we came from,” his priestess considered. “They’ll expect us to make for the gate and escape J?tunheim.”
Sif pointed. “That way.”
Halfdan nodded and began walking, carrying each of them like a sack of apples in his arms.
“This feels just like Rumble. You’d make a good troll.”
*
After a short while, when the anxious hilarity of the situation had evaporated, Freydis requested to be put down. “The loss of dignity is worse than any weariness.”
“As my lady wishes.” Halfdan let her return to the surface; as for Sif, the girl was slumped over his head, asleep. “I guess she’ll prefer to stay for now.”
They resumed walking, at a slower pace for Freydis’ sake. “We need a plan,” she spoke cautiously. “Buying time from would-be pursuers will be fine for tonight, but come morning, we’ll need a more substantial course of action.”
Halfdan tried to nod, though Sif’s presence prevented him. “Yes. But let’s talk about it after we’ve rested. Our troubles will haunt us soon enough. Let me enjoy freedom and company a little while longer, having been denied both. I realise to you, it’s been a matter of days, but to me…” His thoughts returned to the near endless cycle of fighting the bear in the forest, his mind trapped by Odin’s design. “I feel I have not seen or heard or known your presence in an eternity.”
She made no objections but simply reached out and grabbed his empty hand, and they continued on in silence.
*
They found a thicket when the night had grown old and spent the remainder of the dark hours sequestered. Freydis joined Sif in sleep. Halfdan, not weary in the slightest, took a restful pose just in case physical tribulations awaited him, but he stayed watchful. It proved unnecessary. For the time being, no hunters had caught up to them yet. Halfdan wondered if Odin would send others as he had done the last time his prisoner escaped. He imagined a berserker in Midgard, chosen unwittingly to be the Alfather’s new pawn.
Unlikely. With all his powers, Halfdan was more than a match for any berserker. He had himself been chosen to deal with the old Loki for his tenacity, perhaps, but also because the old deceiver could be bested in combat even by a mortal. This was not the case for the new Loki. Undoubtedly, the wily god knew this. He would use spells or snares and send devious servants rather than those of physical might. Or, once recovered, he would lead the hunt himself.
Odin could not be relied upon to underestimate Halfdan’s companions in battle again. He would appear with servants to deal with the priestess and the skáld while using his magic to subdue the berserker. Halfdan had no doubt that the raven god possessed a long array of abilities and powers to be used when the situation called for it. The question was how a newly minted immortal could hope to counter or defeat such an enemy.
The others woke, and Halfdan could practically tell the hunger on their faces. Personally, he felt it less, and it did not trouble him; as neither of them mentioned food, he would not be so cruel to remind them of it. Hopefully, their path today, whichever way it went, would lead them past water and possibly an opportunity to hunt or forage.
“We have to decide what to do.” Halfdan looked at each of them. “I’ve had some time to think. Roughly speaking, I see three options. The first would be to continue to run. Hide in J?tunheim, somewhere distant. We can live off the land and find somewhere secluded to dwell.”
Freydis shook her head. “Odin will never cease looking for you. He has endless servants at his beck and call, all of them disposable. He doesn’t care how many he must sacrifice to obtain his goal. He can simply replace them.”
“The other would be to separate.” Halfdan gave them another look. “He wants me. If I go in one direction, he and his hounds will follow me, not you.”
“No.” The curt reply was spoken emphatically. “I didn’t brave Asgard to free you, only for us to part ways.”
“Yeah,” Sif chimed in. “Stop trying to get rid of us.”
Half a smile rested on Halfdan’s face, and he raised his hands in surrender. “I’d never dare. But that leaves the third option, which is no more appealing.”
Freydis regarded him. “To take up the fight against him. And all of Asgard.”
“Yes.” Halfdan exhaled.
“He’s the high god. The Alfather. Master of magic and runes and seier,” Sif listed. “Do we really stand a chance against him and all his people?”
“If we can’t defeat him, we can create a threat of sufficient strength to force him to relent,” Halfdan contemplated. “There’s only one thing he truly fears.”
Freydis nodded. “Ragnar?k. You wish to use the threat of unleashing it,” she realised, “to make him back away.”
“He will only leave us in peace if he has no choice. We’ve seen how deep his fears run, how swiftly he deals with the slightest threat,” Halfdan argued. “He will do anything to prevent Ragnar?k. So we must convince him that retaliating against us will not avert Ragnar?k. On the contrary, it will unleash it.”
“That will only work if we are truly prepared to see it through. And that we have done everything necessary to see it unleashed.” Freydis stared at him with heavy eyes. “In fact, if this escalates, it may very well come to pass.”
“You were ready to see it done before.” Halfdan returned her gaze. “You believed new worlds awaited the cleansing of the old.”
“An easy belief to hold when the old worlds held nothing of importance to me.”
The berserker looked at the skáld in their company. “What say you? Between the three of us, you may know best what Ragnar?k will entail. Is it worth the risk?”
“Winter thrice strong,” the girl mumbled. “Brother kills brother. The gods die, Surtr raises his flaming sword, he covers the lands in fire.” She took in a deep breath. “I don’t know. But if this comes to pass, if the end of the worlds draws near… a skáld should be there to witness it. And if any songs survive to reach what comes next, they’ll sing of Halfdan and Freydis. I promise you that.”
The priestess looked at her patron. “I suppose we cannot avoid a fight. Better to do it on our terms than on the run, always looking over our backs. I’ve already spent what feels like a lifetime doing that.”
Halfdan nodded slowly. Immortal or not, bearer of Loki’s mantle, he was still a berserker. Taking the fight to the enemy was what he knew best. “Before we are done, we shall make Asgard tremble at our coming.”
