The battle had ended. Hel stood by her father’s corpse, staring down at it with inscrutable emotions on the two halves of her face, switching back and forth. Sif and Freydis knelt next to Halfdan, their grief and terror plain to see.

  “Don’t be sad, child,” the berserker told Sif. “We knew this was the end of my journey.” The skáld was at a loss for words and simply cried. “Look after her,” he told Freydis with wheezing breath. “Look after each other.”

  “Of course,” she promised and glanced over Halfdan’s body at Sif. “You can be sure of it.” In contrast to his struggle for air, her own breathing came unhindered. She still looked pale in the bleak light of Hel, but her voice was strong.

  “Good,” he whispered. Knowing them safe and together alleviated the only fear the berserker could have felt in this moment. “Go. While you can.”

  “Can’t you do something?” Sif finally managed to say. “You made a stone to heal Freydis.”

  “This wound is beyond my abilities,” Halfdan said. He could not explain it better, but he knew that this injury was too grievous for [Mend Your Wounds]. Otherwise he would already be improving, but instead, he felt his life slipping from his grip. “Throw the hammer away. In the sea. Too dangerous.”

  “We will,” Freydis told him. “Don’t worry about anything. The pain will pass soon.”

  Halfdan did not care about the pain, but he knew she meant only to provide him comfort. The question was what would happen once his body failed him. He was already in Hel. Would he become a draugr? Would his corpse wither and rot, resigning him to become a shade? Or if one suffered death in Hel, was there only oblivion waiting? Regardless, no matter what awaited him, he knew his fate was no longer in his hands, but in those of a higher power. He turned his head to see that Hel, the ruler of the dead, had returned to her broken throne and sat, watching him, waiting for him to expire. Next to her, Baldr stood, doing the same.

  Halfdan turned his gaze back to his companions. His moments were fleeting. He had to make the most of them. “I love you both. Forgive me that I wasn’t stronger.” He fumbled with his hands trying to find theirs.

  Another outburst of tears came from Sif, and they both grasped his hands tightly as his grip began to falter. “You were stronger than any could have hoped for,” Freydis told him. She lowered herself to kiss his forehead. “You deserve peace more than any warrior in all the worlds I have known.”

  Halfdan tried to smile but found himself unable to react or respond. His mind, like his blood, was slipping away, engulfed by approaching darkness.

  *

  Above, a raven’s croak resounded. The bird had been sitting on the rafters, watching the battle. Now it began flying, and suddenly, other ravens appeared, more and more, circling beneath the roof. As one, they descended, and once near the ground, they gathered up until a flash of light appeared, blinding those watching. As it faded away, a tall wanderer had taken their place, with a curious walking staff in hand and an eyepatch on his face.

  The newly arrived glanced around, taking in the destruction of the hall, the fallen on the ground, and Hel on her damaged throne. “What a mess.”

  “You are not welcome here,” the ruler of the dead spoke harshly. “This is my hall, my realm, and you are not my guest.”

  “Take care, Lokadóttir,” came the cold reply. “I gave you your place, and I can take it from you.”

  Sullenly, she sank back into her seat, silenced.

  “Father,” Baldr spoke, and although quiet, the single word carried across the hall.

  “Son of my heart,” said the raven god. “I wish I had come for you, but I have other matters.” He made his way through broken wood to reach Halfdan’s side. Both Freydis and Sif stood up, staring in disbelief at the stranger in their midst. From inside his cloak, he took out a rune stone that glowed with power. He bent down, pulled out Loki’s dagger to toss it aside, and placed the token on the wound.

  “Father, please! Take me away!” Baldr approached the one-eyed wanderer with a desperate look on his face. “Let me see my family again! Let me feel sun and wind, the taste of water and food. I beg you!”

  “You belong to Hel,” Odin simply said, without specifying whether he meant the realm or its ruler. “It is foretold.”

  “Damn that witch and her foretelling!” Baldr cried out. “Does it matter whether I am in Hel or Asgard? A hundred signs must come true before Ragnar?k unfolds. If you took me away, you would still have ninety-nine warnings!”

  “Nobody leaves Hel without my permission,” came the frosty voice from the throne behind them. This time, Odin simply turned and bowed his head slightly in recognition rather than challenging her rule as before.

  Defeated, Baldr stumbled backwards, letting himself fall down to sit on the stairs leading up to that throne that kept him prisoner.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You’re really him,” Sif breathed. She had not removed her eyes from Odin.

  “The young skáld. My ravens told me of you. And you.” He aimed the last words at Freydis. “You killed one of my birds.”

  “It was a simple throw,” the former priestess declared. Loki’s curse had clearly faded from her; she stood strong and undaunted, and her hand around the haft of her spear twitched, as if ready to twirl the weapon around and throw it like a javelin.

  “Enough! All your mindless chattering annoys me. While I found the interruption of monotony amusing at first, you bore me,” Hel declared with a sullen voice, like a small child being denied a honey cake. “Do what you must, one-eyed wanderer, and be gone from my hall.”

  As before, Odin bowed his head, once more acknowledging the ruler of the realm. “I have not come to make enemies of you, lady of Hel. After all, I did my very best to avoid interfering for as long as I could. But when all pawns have been exhausted, the king must move on the board.”

  “That is all we are,” Baldr mumbled. “Pawns.”

  “I shall give your mother your regards,” his father replied.

  The fading conversation was interrupted by an unexpected source. With a rattling noise that sounded like he was dying once again, Halfdan sucked in the stale air of the hall, and his eyes flew open. “What – what is this?”

  “You failed me,” Odin declared with neutral voice. “And so your service to me is not done.”

  Blinking repeatedly, Halfdan got up on one elbow and looked around, only to wince as he disturbed the wound, causing the stone on his chest to fall down. Already, its light had faded, and as it fell to the ground, it seemed an ordinary pebble.

  The high god rose to stand. “I thought my instructions were clear. Capture Loki and imprison him.”

  Halfdan craned his neck to look over at the dead trickster. “I handled him,” he grunted, his memory of recent events returning. “He’s dead. No more threat.” Gritting his teeth, he got back on his feet again. Sif threw her arms around his waist, hugging him from the side.

  “You think a prophecy can be averted so easily? Simple-minded fool. I would have killed him aeons ago if so,” Odin spoke with disdain dripping in his voice. “It has been foretold that Loki will lead an army of J?tnar to Asgard, heralding Ragnar?k, and so it must happen.”

  Halfdan glanced at the corpse once more, which, notably, had not become a draugr or otherwise stirred one foot. “I doubt he’ll do that now.”

  “You still fail to understand.” The one-eyed god stared at him intently. “There must be a Loki. Someone must take up his mantle. It has been foretold, and so it cannot be any other way.”

  “Foretold,” Halfdan spat. “The norn told me I’d die in Hel, and I was dying, but you interfered. The future is not written in stone. Just on a piece of wood, and wood breaks easily.”

  Unexpected laughter resounded from Odin, and the rest stared at him with varying emotions. “Do you not see? On the contrary, it is just as they said. The nornir foretold the end of your mortal life…” He returned Halfdan’s gaze, confusion clear on the latter’s face. “You are a berserker. You keep what you kill.”

  The words were spoken with such a sinister tone of voice, it filled the hall with a sense of dread that seemed overpowering even in such an already bleak place.

  Odin snapped his fingers. The enchanted rope that Halfdan had carried around his waist since Loki’s cave unwound itself briefly, only to coil itself around him again like a snake, binding his arms and legs; completely restricted, Halfdan fell to the ground.

  Freydis charged, spear aimed to run Odin through, but a wave of his hand sent her flying back. Sif stared with open mouth, and when she seemed to regain her senses, a raven came from nowhere and flew at her, pecking at her face and preventing any use of her galdr as she tried to fend it off.

  “This is my hall!” Hel declared, standing up, yet she took no aggressive action against the stranger before her. Baldr, the only one placid, simply remained seated on the steps, resigned to the spectacle that unfolded before his eyes. “He murdered my father and committed violence in my home,” Hel continued. “He belongs to me!”

  “He belongs to fate,” Odin replied, his voice cold as Niflheim, and his one eye stared at the lady. “But as weregild, I offer these two mortals. Do with them as you please.” He let his hand sweep out, gesturing towards Freydis and Sif. “I’m sorry, my son,” he mumbled with a look towards Baldr before he bent down to grab Halfdan by the collar of his clothing. With a flash turned darkness that blinded those watching, and accompanied by the hoarse cry of ravens, the Alfather disappeared, as did his once-blessed berserker.

  *

  Halfdan saw the world through a blur. The rope that bound him not only restricted his movements, it also seemed to bind his mind and senses. He struggled to perceive anything around him, to see or hear. He understood that he was moving, and he knew that he was a prisoner; deep down in his thoughts, he recalled that his captor was Odin, that the god had betrayed him, and that he loathed him with every ounce of strength he possessed. Which currently was very little; his rage, which had always served him so well, had been hamstrung. He could cry out, he could curse and swear vengeance, but nothing more.

  After a journey, the length of which he could not measure, he found himself still again, lying on a slab of stone. His bindings became rustled, anchored to something, and finally tightened to the point he was completely immobilised. Through the haze inflicted on him, Halfdan looked up to see a one-eyed face staring down at him.

  “I’ll spare you the snake and any other torment. In fact, I’ll let you spend the time in sleep. No need for cruelty. After all, it wasn’t your doing that my son died,” Odin mumbled, speaking perhaps as much to himself as to the bound berserker. “Maybe if I’d done that with Loki, he’d still be here.” The one-eyed wanderer took out a rune token that glowed with power and placed it on Halfdan’s chest. The berserker, who had been struggling against his restraints, became calm, and his eyes closed. “But you must understand, I can’t have someone with Loki’s powers and destiny running around the realms, unfettered and unchecked. If so, fate would eventually run its course. Take solace knowing that your sacrifice has a purpose. While you lie here, nine worlds and all their denizens are safe.”

  Turning around, the raven god began to leave. As he walked, he occasionally touched the cave wall or bent down to let his fingers run across the ground. Each time, a hidden rune symbol ignited to briefly illuminate. This accomplished, Odin left, leaving behind a betrayed berserker.