《You all Belong to Odin》


 Ginnungagap

    It was cold, and wet. The day had started off with no promise of sun, no blue in the sky, no song birds. Those had long left, leaving my only companions, glaring, hungry ravens. They were the birds of war, of slaughter, which on this pewter coloured day seemed appropriate. My only companions were a murder of ravens.


    I threw the closest bird a crust of bread. It darted in, took the bread and flew away, pursued by a half dozen other birds. One bird, however, didn¡¯t budge. It had been sitting all morning on the trash can, just staring at me. I was beginning to wonder it the thing was alive.


    ¡°You¡¯d like to eat me, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± I addressed the bird. It was more an offer than a simple supposition. It was the consuming despair inside that made me speak to the creature so. Nothing could replace what I had lost, my will to live was gone. The great irony, was that the kindness of strangers were conspiring to keep me alive, and I was too much of coward to take my own life. So here I was, on the street, dressed in rags, sans legs, sans will. I threw my one arm wide and held out my hand. ¡°Peck my eyeballs out and have at it. Then I don¡¯t have to see myself.¡±


    Then for the first time, the bird moved, tilting its head as though suddenly listening. It blinked. Taking to the air it landed in front of me, gave one hop and examined me in an oblique way. Its scimitar shaped beak glistened in the muted light. Was there a teardrop in the corner of the bird¡¯s eye?


    ¡°Don¡¯t cry for me,¡± I murmured in half self loathing.


    And the bird jumped up onto my shoulder.


    I tried to ignore the it, but it just stood there tightly gripping my shoulder. Instinctively I went to move my right hand to knock it off, but it wouldn¡¯t respond. It was as though it was in rebellion against my body. I tried to laugh at the betrayal. It was a sad and broken sound but that was all the levity I could muster.


    Then the sound of someone walking by, stopping, and then the clink of something landing in my empty cup caught my attention. I tended to stop looking at people a long time ago. To look was to view the pity in their eyes, but I did look at the money in the cup. I fumbled the coin out of cup and held it up.


    ¡°I suppose a raven sitting on the shoulder of a cripple is worth something.¡±


    Then the raven snatched the coin out of my fingers and flew away.


    I laughed again. My father used to have this saying, when misfortune occurs, no matter how bad any event could be, it was better than a kick in the head. Well, I was sorry to confess, the old man was gravely mistaken; I had been kicked in the head so many times that my brain was nearly liquid.


    Safety fled when the street lights came on. That was when the predators came out. They were the refuse of society, the ones who would have no compulsion of attacking the weak and the poor. In fact, this was entertainment for them, to inflict pain and suffering on others greater than the internal devastation that was occurring within their own beings. To avoid sounding poetic, they were just shit rats.


    Every night I had to find a new place to hide, some place of refuge where I could become invisible. Any camouflaged depression in the ground, surrounded by foliage, was preferable, and to get that I had to drag myself to the park.


    Lifting myself up onto my old, beaten roller board, I began to knuckle it down the sidewalk. Making sure there was no traffic I rolled across the street, turned right and dragged my carcass down into a gully that was densely packed with bush, enough to conceal me. It was wet near the pavement, and I supposed this was what dissuaded any of the other dispossessed from taking up residency. After stashing the board, I dragged my body into the densest part of the brush. I had cut out an rough womb for me to rest.


    I wrapped my filthy, grey scarf over my face and slept.


    It had gotten suddenly cold, so cold that my nose began to go numb. I wiggled my toes to get some circulation back in them, and remembered I didn¡¯t have any. Even now after more than a year I was still having ghost feelings in my lost limbs. My breath was steaming up into the air in a thick, curling mist. But it hadn¡¯t been the cold that had woken me. It was the muffled scream.


    Rolling over, I pulled myself up the small gully through the brush to where it became thin. In the park, beneath the muted glow created by a broken lamp light there were two figures, one prone, one squatting. The upright figure was struggling with something at its waist.


    The lethargy inside vanished and an anger welled up inside me, and without thought I yelled, and pulled myself out into the open. What I was going to do, I didn¡¯t have a clue.


    Pausing, the squatting figure turned its head in my direction. The form beneath it squirmed and the creature on top struck out, knocking the one below senseless. It was then that I realized I was totally defenseless. The first kick was aimed at my head, but I managed to twist to the side and the blow caught me on the shoulder.


    Funny, how you can dwell in the world of the emotionally dead for years, and when something terrible happens, you are called back by some brazen trumpet, and the training kicks in. A man may be tall, strong, quick, but he¡¯s vulnerable from the waist down.


    The next kick, I took in the chest, but wrapped my arms around the leg and twisted. I felt the man¡¯s knee buckle and he was down, at my level. Welcome to the filth. Even though I was a shadow of myself, I was enraged and the adrenalin was fueling it. Rolling up on top I flailed out with my fists. Bruce Lee was phenomenal not because of his strength, but because of the speed in which he could deliver his blows. I had a black belt in Karate, 4th dan, so I knew how to hit. My first blow busted the man¡¯s nose and warm wet blood splattered onto the frost covered grass. The second one smashed in his front teeth tearing the skin on my hand. While the third blow missed pounding into the grass. Perhaps it was good it missed, because it was a killing blow. I screamed at the fleeing form to come back, to fight, to come back so I could kill him. In that moment he was the enemy, the one who had cost me my legs, my eye, my life.


    Strange, the beauty, the tragic beauty of the moment. There are moments in life that we hold up and say, ¡®this I shall remember forever.¡¯ I remembered a lover standing, dressed in black, floating against the white backdrop of winter. How wonderful she looked, the large snowflakes falling onto the black before melting into the fabric. She was beautiful and I knew it wouldn¡¯t last.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I dragged my body over the grass, the frost was numbing the bottom part of my torso where part of my hips remained. Although still unconscious, the prone woman moaned. She had her leggings pulled down exposing the crescent of her bare buttox. I tried to reach out up pull them back up. Just then she came to, twisted and scrambled away from me a terrified look on her face.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± I said holding up the open palm of my bloodied hand.


    She wasn¡¯t mollified and it was only the hard trunk of the tree that stopped her from backing away. Terror forced her eyes open, unblinking. I suppose if I had been assaulted into unconsciousness and woke up to see a mutilated man in rags reaching for me I¡¯d be terrified to. I didn¡¯t get a chance to say anything else because she twisted away, frantically pulled her leggings up, rose and fled.


    With the surge of adrenalin fading fast, I collapsed on my back, drained and exhausted onto the cold grass. Steam was rising from my mouth curling up into the air. Either I would freeze to death to night, or the shit rat I had beaten would come back with friends and finish me. Either way I was done. Closing my eyes, I waited. I came to when someone kicked me in the chest. Death was welcomed. Rolling over I began to laugh. I never saw who or how many there were before I went unconscious. Death had been my wish for so long that now when it had come, I just laughed and cried. Giving into the darkness and the pain, I let go.


    Then I woke up.


    Everything about me was covered in a blotchy film of red and black. It was the world seen through lethal pain. I had been here before, when they had cut off my mangled legs, saved my life. This was no hospital and the earth was damp with my blood. I must have been stabbed somewhere. Opening my eyes I tried to see through the red puff of inflamed flesh. One of my eyes wasn¡¯t working.


    On the the ground, at eye level stood the raven. It was eyeing me in an oblique way. It blinked at me and hopped closer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas,¡± I grunted incoherently. The last thing I wanted to experience on this earth was a raven pecking my only eye out. Then I heard it.


    It was a language that transcended speech and entered into my mind with such clarity that I was startled by it. The force was like a light dispelling the blackish-red shadows about me, dissipating them.


    ¡°I¡¯m full of a lot of ideas, John. I just have to decide which one is best for you.¡± The raven blinked.


    I wasn¡¯t on drugs, so it must have been my life draining out into the soil that was causing me to hallucinate. I closed my one good eye and muttered, ¡®go away and let me die in peace.¡¯


    How long I floated in darkness, I don¡¯t know. It could have been a moment or it could have been an eternity,


    When I opened my eye, the bird was still there. ¡°All right, what do you mean, best one?¡±


    ¡°Oh, in the old days it was simple: give them booze, women and sharp instruments and let them loose. At the end of the day, resurrect them and repeat, ad nauseum.¡±


    Part of me knew what the raven was talking about, but the other part refused to believe. Yet was there any harm in believing in a hallucination? After all, I didn¡¯t have long.


    ¡°Odin?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it like, seeing?¡±


    ¡°Painful, but not as painful as not seeing.¡± The raven hopped forward looking at me curiously. I wonder which one it was. Two ravens accompanied Odin: Huginn and Muninn. Huginn was thought and Muninn was memory.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Man has always been a brutal, vicious, carnal beast. The only species that given a half-baked excuse will extinguish itself. Those who are blind will kill and find an excuse to validate themselves. Those who are blind are always justified in their atrocities. Those who see, those who think, those who remember know what they¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°But they still do it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but seeing is the world. Let me show you.¡± The raven hopped forward and with a deft movement of its scimitar like beak pecked out my one good eye.


    I screamed not because it hurt; I was beyond that. I screamed because I thought that was how I was supposed to react.


    Blackness engulfed me and then...


    The world changed and I was standing, bathing in a bright, golden light. I had legs, arms. I was healthy and strong. I breathed in the air and it was sweet. My bared feet revealed in the feel of the grass. A figure was standing close to me, also bathed in light so exceedingly bright that I had to squint to see his features. I had both my eyes.


    ¡°Odin?¡±


    The figure shrugged. The raven that had picked out my eye was perched on the man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°See what I mean by seeing.¡±


    I noticed he was motioning to the green sward on which we stood. The grass wasn¡¯t perfect, but instead marred with black, slug like creatures that were wrything about.


    ¡°These are those who can not see, who can not think.¡±


    ¡°Everybody can think,¡± I said rather dismissively. I wasn¡¯t in the habit of giving too much credence to illusions, no matter how realistic they were.


    The raven gave a rich, metallic croak and I knew it was Huginn. It glared at me in disapproval. The slug like figures were frozen in form unable to break away from all the ugliness. Then they began to change, growing sprouting limb, arms, legs, heads. Even though they stood, fully formed humanoids the ugliness remained.


    ¡°Thinking, true thinking is more than stimulus and response. It involves the questioning of our very existence,¡± mused Odin.


    Suddenly Odin lashed out with his right hand. Mass plus acceleration creates force. The force with which Odin hit me sent me stumbling across the grass. I accidently stepped on one of the freshly made humanoid forms, crushing it into a pasty jell mess. The quick motion had startled Huginn who flapped up into the air croaking. I looked at the bottom of my foot in disgust and wiped it on the grass.


    ¡°Nice punch.¡± Odin hadn¡¯t even moved. A punch with that much energy had to come from somewhere.


    ¡°They leave an awful mess don¡¯t they, humans.¡±


    I stopped wiping. ¡°You¡¯re not telling me that this mess is¡­was¡­¡±


    ¡°A human? Yes, he was. Not a very good one, by the stench a rather bad one.¡±


    I noticed the redolent smell. It was as though I was standing next to a cesspit. If I accepted this, it would not have been the first time I had killed, still, to kill had a price, a dreadful price. A price that kept adding up with each death. There was a reckoning, and the reckoning had to be paid. Was this delusion part of that reckoning.


    ¡°You still don¡¯t believe this is happening, do you?¡±


    ¡°To be perfectly honest, no. I think I¡¯m dying on the grass, legless, penniless and without hope.¡±


    ¡°She came back, you know.¡±


    ¡°Who came back?¡±


    ¡°The young woman you sacrificed your life for, Freya."


    ¡°So I am an Einherjar?¡±


    "No. You will be so much more. If you let the Norms weave your fate."


    "I have a choice?"


    "Everyone has a choice."


    Huginn gave me another angry glare and croaked.


    Odin tapped his temple and looked at me. His sight penetrated with searing intensity. ¡°I need warriors that think. Without thought everything will be destroyed.¡±


    ¡°The final battle, Ragnarok. The battle where the Gods die.¡±


    Suddenly, to my surprise Odin laughed. It was a deep, rich laugh that began down in the depths of his stomach and burst from his lips. Head thrown back, Huginn took to the air and gave his own staccato version of laughter. Eventually, Odin quieted down and wiped away the tears from his one good eye, which he then bore into me with.


    ¡°The Gods are already dead. That¡¯s why I need you.¡±

 Huginn and Muninn

    I was gasping in great gulps of frigid air that scoured my lungs like a steel pad. The coppery taste of dried blood in my mouth was good news, it meant I was no longer bleeding, however, the broken ribs were not. I took a few shallow, excruciating breaths. I was being dragged over the precipice by the cold. Eventually it would kill me, but oddly enough I was grateful for the numbing effects. My eyes felt glued shut and I tried to rub them open. I wanted to die with my eyes open. Apparently Odin was just a dream. The gods should have no fear of dying; they¡¯re already dead.


    It was snowing, and what was left of my body was covered in it. I liked snow at night. No matter how dark it was the snow seemed to gather in all the invisible light and magnify it in a fantastical landscape of awe. I opened my cracked lips and let the flakes fall on my tongue and melt. It was nice.


    Then I was moving, being gently lifted. I tried to say something, but all I could manage was a pitiful groan. I was being placed on something, something dry, with padding, then I was moving again, sliding over the snow, floating on clouds and they absorbed me.


    It must have been days, because when I woke, I was clean, bandaged and surprisingly, not in agony, in fact, I was rather comfortable. The cloud of a bed I was in was beyond understanding, and the smells...I had subjected myself to the decomposing filth of the street for so long that my senses had been deadened, now they came alive. It was as though a chorus of birds had wakened in my diseased brain and were performing an aria. I slowly looked around the room.


    Images started to coalesce, colours separating from the blurred fuzz which becoming sharper, more distinct. There was a black blob off to the right side at the foot of the bed. At first I thought it was one of Odin¡¯s ravens and I mused which one it might be, thought or memory.


    ¡°Thought, the one of the two that in my case is the least lethal,¡± croaked a rasping voice.


    The figure sharpened revealing an old man, hunched over in a wheelchair. He looked like without the support of the chair he would simply collapse into a pile of dark clothes. He craned his bald, turtle like head at me and rolled a bit closer to examine me.


    ¡°Memories, my memories are only objects of regret.¡± He patted my arm. ¡°Nearly lost you, would have been a shame.¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡± Cracked with effort. ¡°This isn¡¯t a hospital. None that I know of.¡±


    ¡°No, no hospital. No staphylococcus, no candida albicans, no collsidium deficcil. You just may recover here. At a real hospital might as well tag your toe and roll you into the mortuary.¡±


    The old man gave a startled pause then burst out in a peal of laughter. ¡°You don¡¯t have any toes. That¡¯s a good one.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°So full of questions. I am one of the richest men you will ever meet.¡± A pale, thin hand introduced himself with a sweep in front of his chest. ¡°But this is the best money can buy. You are most likely curious as to why you are here?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I was thinking¡­¡±


    ¡°Hah, I will call you Huginn, Thought...something my wayward niece showed little of tonight.¡±


    ¡°The girl in the park¡­¡± It was dawning on me, exactly why I was here. I was being rewarded.


    He leaned forward, bleary eyes staring into my own. ¡°That is exactly why you are here. I want to say thank you. Something I do not get a chance to say often.¡±


    A long, lethal looking woman flowed into the room, because it was impossible for someone like her to walk. I knew the walk, the awareness of her body, the harmony of movement. She knew exactly where the old man was, how close I was to him, how long it would take to dispatch me, if she had to. Her hair was black, her features asiatic and I laughed. She placed a hand on the old man¡¯s shoulder. They both regarded me with a questioning gaze, part curious, part bewildered.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± rasped the old man.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I tried to control my voice because the laughter hurt. ¡°It¡¯s just. There was a game I liked to play when I was young. On the cover was a man sitting in a chair, and behind him, hand on shoulder, just like you two, was an asian beauty. I just find stereotypes amusing.¡±


    ¡°You do? Well?¡± The old man was suddenly harsh and demanding. ¡°Why?¡±


    I raised a hand. It was my way of offering a sign. ¡°I mean no disrespect. It¡¯s just, I loved that picture.¡±


    ¡°I know the game: Master Mind Were you any good?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, my sister used to beat me all the time. It was something with the colours. I would see the colours and forget what I was doing.¡±


    ¡°Which order?¡± The old man demanded rolling a bit closer.


    I could almost taste his interest, it was spiky and sharp.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Yellow, blue, red, green, then black. White was last, always last.¡±


    The old man gave a nod, as though I had said something that had just confirmed his perception of me. Although the conversation had been light, full of banter, I knew that what was going to happen to me was being balanced in the scale. I felt a wave of exhaustion well up inside me and my eyes drooped. Morphine, most likely. Out of the cloud of sleep rolled a thought.


    ¡°Why is that? Why is white always last?¡±


    In the blur, just before I lost consciousness. I saw the woman¡¯s face moving close to mine. Her hands were long, but there was strength there, a thickness that only comes from training. ¡°White is last,¡± she whispered, ¡°because it is the most important.¡±


    How long I drifted, I don¡¯t know. Sleep was supposed to be the deep oblivion which regenerates, but this was not my case. I was a submerged boat on a sea of narcotics, impossible to tell which direction I was. I fully expected Odin, or some god to appear, but not did. Just an endless void of dark clouds that shifted from one nightmarish creature to another, all attempting to devour me. Only when I finally woke up did I realize I had traded one nightmare for that of another.


    ¡°There we go, Mr. Huginn,¡± said the young woman who had been with the old man. Her black, glossy hair fell like a curtain and brushed against my face as she pulled me upwards and stuffed pillows behind my back to support me. ¡°We¡¯ve kept you under long enough. More than what¡¯s good. It was the Master¡¯s will.¡±


    Even though I was still fogged by the narcotics, I was surprisingly aware, and did not feel much pain. I felt a strange sensation of regret when she pulled away from me. It had been a very long time since someone had touched me in a caring fashion. I squirmed a bit and she looked at me suspiciously.


    ¡°You are uncomfortable?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Just some underclothing is bunched up. It¡¯s a bit uncomfortable.¡± There was something under my butt that was forming an uncomfortable ridge and no matter how much I squirmed, I couldn¡¯t free myself from it.


    There was a moment of hesitance on her face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said. ¡°The explosion took my¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± she said slipping her hand under the blankets and surgically straightening the cloth.


    I gave a great sigh of relief. The irritation vanished.


    ¡°How long ago was it?¡± she asked. While emotion refused to touch her face, there was a slight inflection in her voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Time is just a space between birth and death isn¡¯t it. Units of measurement don¡¯t really matter, do they?¡±


    She tilted her head and looked at me obliquely, the way a bird would. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± She moved to leave.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    She stopped and turned.


    ¡°Who are you? What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°My name. My name is Muninn. I am the other raven. Get well.¡±


    And she was gone.


    Convalescence proceeded as convalescence does, painfully slow, but the pain grounded me, tied me to the earth, to the new environment I found myself in. Black feather thoughts kept buzzing through my head and in the centre of the hurricane was the old man in the wheelchair laughing at my discomfort like some buzzard, except this time, the old man had an eye patch.


    Muninn brought in the wheelchair and parked it expectantly beside the bed. I glared at it with a jaundiced eye.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my scooter?¡± It was what I called my modified longboard.


    She returned my pretend indignation with a cold, blank stare. ¡°I burned it.¡±


    ¡°You burned it? You burned it? You went through my stuff and burned it?¡±


    She went to pull back my covers, but I pulled them up around my chest protectively. ¡°The Master wants you out of bed. It¡¯s time you made use of yourself.¡±


    She tried to pull the blanket away and I slapped her hand. Undeterred she moved quickly altering her hands, I countered them and in a flurry we fought. No punches were thrown, just the quick hand movements and countering slides. While she was faster, I was stronger and we would have continued our match for a while had she not grabbed the blankets and trust me up like some netted cod.


    ¡°The chair, Huggin.¡±


    ¡°Stop calling me that. I do have a name...fine, I¡¯ll get into the blasted chair. Just put my clothes up on the bed and I¡¯ll get dressed.¡±


    She put the neatly folded uniform, the one I had been ignoring, onto the bed. I reached down and grabbed the shirt. I caught the glimmer of a silver brooch on the black cloth. It was the letter H. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding,¡± I mumbled. She was wearing a black outfit with a silver M on her chest. She glared at me unyieldingly. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll dress up in Odin¡¯s uniform, but I¡¯m not going to like it. Well?¡±


    She continued to stare at me. ¡°Could you turn around and let a man get dressed in private.¡±


    Munnin gave me a curious look as if to say I had no reason for modesty, and maybe she was right. I had no reason to be private about anything let alone my parts. That had gone a long time ago, on both instances. She turned about and I dressed. The shirt was the main thing, while the bottoms were nothing more than pinned up shorts. Then I glared at the wheel chair. How was I supposed to get into the blasted thing?


    She must have heard my thoughts because she came to me and offered a surpriingly strong arm to give me support while I swung my torso out of bed and into the chair. Once settled, I begrudgingly felt comfortable. ¡°So, where too ¡®M¡¯, you mind if I call you ¡®M¡¯?¡± She went to push me and I snapped at her. ¡°Hands off! My chair, my hands.¡± I reached down and grabbed the wheels and gave them a vigorous push. I was surprised when the exceedingly responsive chair nearly put me into the wall. The thing must have cost a mint.


    ¡°The Master would like to see us, now. Follow me.¡± Her voice was cold, neutral giving away no sign of witnessing my emotional outburst.


    There was something alluring about ¡®M¡¯, the way she moved as she walked. It was smooth and subtle, but full of feminine lethal energy. Having no manhood was one thing, having the memories was another. I was still a man, but no way to realize it. So far I had avoided temptation, but my mind was being sorely tempted. ¡®M¡¯ turned a corner and for a moment disappeared from sight. I momentarily had the thought of turning the chair about and rolling for it, but where? Where would I go? The simple answer was nowhere. I had nowhere to go. She was standing at a large frosted glass door, waiting for me. There was a strange smell, a humid, earthen smell steppid in the feel of the tropics. What was that smell doing here. I placed my hand against the door. It was warm. As though responding to my touch, the door slid open revealing nature.

 Yggdrasil

    I wouldn¡¯t call living on the street nature; It was stinking, filthy squaller. The gutter was the depository where the detrius of humanity was jettisoned. All the useless throw-away parts that had been found defective ended up in that filth, like me. What I was staring at, as the door opened up before me, was true nature. The old man was resting in his wheelchair on an observation deck watching a gentle cascading waterfall flow past. About us was the cloak of jungle vegetation. The humidity was stifling. A young woman was standing behind him. She had white hair that fell well past her shoulders. It was the girl I had saved from rape and most likely murder. Why had I not noticed that she had albinism. She looked to be in the undecided attitude of both wanting to flee and wanting to stay. I caught her glancing obliqly at me. He face blushed. She was wearing dark glasses so I couldn''t see her eyes. Of course she hadn''t been wearing glasses at night. She wouldn''t have needed them.


    I sidled up to M, our wheels bumping. The water streaked by. I gapped at the spectacle wondering at the cost of being able to recreate, the stone, the water, the lush vegetation, inside. The place vertually breathed. ¡°Nice sound.¡± I always liked the sound of running water. It had always been a strange relationship between me and water. The surging, tempestuous froth could both destroy and calm me. I felt the humidity and the fine spray on my face. It felt good.


    ¡°Yes, it is," he said loudly enough to be heard over the water. "You cleaned up nicely." He began to back away from the platform, his hands failing to take the wheel grip. He held his hands up in surrender as the young woman took over pushing him. "Nothing, bloody well works any more." I began to follow. We were rolling up a path and he continued to speak. "I had this place built because I am unable to venture into the world outside. You see, my body, my immune system, virtually everything has betrayed me. I am only alive because of my immense wealth. Nature, in the raw would kill me, so I bring nature here and somewhat sanitize it.¡±


    OD gave a wave with his hand and his granddaughter pulled him away from the waterfall and began to push him up an artificial path. As we moved away from the waterfall the gentle intensity of the running water lessened and the heat and smell of the tropical vegetation became stronger. It closed in on use like a cloister blanket of moisture. A yellow bird flashed by and I began to noticed that this artificial world was full of life. A little bearded dragon glared at us whilie it blended in with the bark on the branch on which it perched. We were going up a slight incline that lead towards a large, open building. It was a dark teak wood building, proliferate with the unique scrolling wood work of an ancient world. We had to cross a bridge to get to the building, but the way was clogged his pinkish-red birds. In form they reminded me of short little pink flamingos.


    "Who let the Scarlet Ibises up here?" demanded OD testily swivling his head around to look at the young woman pushing him.


    She shrugged. "Must have been one of the help," she said demurly.


    He blew a blast of air out his nose. "Well, find out who and fire them."


    We made our way slowly through the birds. Despite my distaste for being a kept creature, I liked the old man. "You let the birds up here, didn''t you?" I said to M who was gliding along beside me.


    M was staring at the birds. I wouldn''t say she was smiling but there was a softness to her normally impersonal features. She shrugged. "They wanted to meet you, and this was the only way."


    "They wanted to meet me? You speak to birds?"


    "Among other things." With that she walked past me reaching out to touch the birds as she went.


    It is a strange world that takes the dead and resurrects them. I was, to myself, to others, spiritually and physically dead. Then Odin came and his blasted ravens. I had been promised to death. I shook my head, not entirely sure if I wanted this life that was being thrust upon me. At least I could listen.


    Inside the teak house there was a soft, wooden feel of another age. I reached out and touched some of the detailed ornamentation. I searched with my eyes, but did not find any point, any joint where a nail, a screw had been used.


    "There''s no nails..." I mumbled to myself.


    "None," barked OD. "Did you know, in the mines of Solomon the stone was cut without the use of any metal tools."


    I nodded but didn''t say anything. This was his moment, his pride, and I didn''t want to take it from him. I had been to Jerusalem, had gone beneath the walls and spent time in those ancient mines. I had done some private contracting for the IDF before I had lost my legs. There are places on the earth where the past piles up into the present in overwhelming awe, and overwhleming destruction. King Zedekiah had found that out. He had tried to escape through the mines. For his efforts, the Babylonians killed his sons in front of him and then gouged out his eyes and imprisoned. He spent the rest of his life in the darkness of his cell and his mind. Only death had set him free.


    "The Gods are dead," said M.


    We all stopped, me more than anyone, and stared at Munnin. That had been what Odin had said to me in my dream.


    "Munnin," said OD, "could you get us some tea. There is something that I wish to share with Huginn."


    M, much like the shadow she was, flowed into a back room.


    "Munnin is from Java. You may have confused her for being of Chinese descent, and there may be some truth to that, but she is mostly Malay Mongoloid..."


    "Why are you telling me this? I don''t care about anyone''s origin. it''s all the same to me. You obviously want me to do something for you or I''d be dead..."


    He snorted and gave a nod. "I appreciate your direct nature, but you must know about Munnin. She most probably will save your life. She is M because she is my memory. I found her in Java on one of my expeditions. You see, I used to be an explorer."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "I thought most things had been discovered."


    "We haven''t begun to scratch the surface. I found M in a little village. A group of terrorists had slaughtered everyone. I found M under the body of her dead mother. Big eyes, she had, big enough to consume the world, but so, so quiet. I suppose her silence saved her life, or they would have bashed her brains out. I adopted her, and had her trained in practically every martial art. She was a child of violence, so violence will redeem her."


    It was impossible for me to express any of my thoughts. I was facing a profound and almost mystical truth. It was eastern in origin, unfathomable, but nevertheless true.


    M returned into the room and placed four tea cups on the table. In the silence she carefully poured the tea. She handed me the tea almost reverently. I tried to catch her gaze, but she would not meet my eyes. After she had served the tea, she moved back and almost was absorbed by the shadows.


    "Firstly, Freya wants to say something to you."


    The young woman had taken off her glasses. The effect of her albinism had left the iris portion of her eyes so clear that there was nearly no colour pigment to stop my gaze. She blushed again and looked down at the floor.


    "I''m sorry. It was foolish of me to be out so late. I just figured..."


    "You just figured that the ruthlessness of this world had no ownership on you," growled OD. "You were foolish, damnably foolish." He reached over with his vein lined hand and patted my own with his finger like claws. It was like being touched by a mummy. I wondered how much time he had left. I also wondered how old he was. He said he was exploring when he found M. She couldn''t be more than twenty. He didn''t look 60 or 70. He looked more like 90. "I thank you." The discomfort passed as he removed his hand. "Although my gratitude is eternal, for Freya is the only one I am going to dispense my immense wealth to, when I pass over to Valhalla, it is not why you are here."


    "Can I ask a question?"


    "Depends on if the question is a stupid one."


    "Why all this Norse crap? It''s not as though there is any truth to it..." I could almost hear Odin laughing in my head.


    "There isn''t?" OD looked amused as though a child had shared some quiant misinformed idea. "One of the greatest sins of our time is to assume that the ancients were simpletons, village idots. They were not. Their understanding of the metaphoric was beyond anything we can comprehend. In the thunder, they saw Thor, literally, and because of that, Thor walked among them."


    I shook my head as his ideas ran off my skull like an oil slick. "So, if I believe in Odin, he will exist?"


    "It is not so simple. For that to occur you would not only have to believe but know. Knowledge creates life, and without that, the Gods are dead, or dying. It is what I''ve searched for my entire life, knowledge, truth. Of this I have found a portion of it."


    "Truth? You found truth?" I said a little too incredulously. I felt anger rising within me.


    "I found Yggdrasil." He leaned in towards me, his voice was full of adoring intent.


    "The world tree? Where?"


    "It''s not in a specific place. It''s everywhere and nowhere all at once." He laughed and I thought he must be partially mad. He tapped his temple. "It''s here, in the mind." He tapped the table. "It''s here, in this wood." He reached out and took Freya''s hand. "It''s here, in her flesh. In you...I can see, on the look of your face that you think I''m insane. Perhaps there is some truth to that, but who says what you can not see does not exist."


    "I need to see to beleive." I said in obstinacy.


    "The math is there. The logic is there. You see Yggdrasil runs through out the Universe. The tree of live supports, billions of worlds."


    I shook my head feeling my disbelief and sarcasm bubbling to the surface. I looked to M and then Freya for support. They couldn''t also believe in this tripe. M, as usual, was staring stonily off into the distance. Freya, with her dark glasses, was impossible to read, but there was a tear run on her cheek.


    "I was coming back from a protest," she said. "We need to make our voices heard. If we don''t they''ll just keep taking, killing. Things can be different. We can heal things. We can heal worlds."


    I felt an incomprehesible rage rising up inside me. My fury coalescing about me I went to move away, to leave this Javanese house of madness.


    "You have heard of the multi verse?" said OD.


    The closest I had ever come to the multi verse was in a Doctor Strange comic book.


    "It has been proven that the Big Bang that created our universe is based on inflationary principles. The Universe as we know it, continues to expand."


    "Then we don''t have to worry about it dying."


    "It will expand whether it is dead or living. I thought you were a man who would care."


    "Well," the rage boiled up inside me finally released. "You''re wrong. I don''t care. Listen, I appreciate everything you''ve done for me, but did you ever think that I didn''t want saving, that I was waiting, hoping, to just die?" I didn''t wait for a response but backed out of the Javanese hut and nearly rolled over a dozen scarlet Ibis in the process. Stupid birds. At the water falls I paused. Then spun the wheel chair around, then I realized I had no idea on how to get out of this bloody labryinth.


    Then I felt her behind me, the presence of a shadow.


    "You can never go back."


    "I can..."


    Then she spun me around and hit me, multiple times. One thing my training and experience ad taught me, was that if you wanted to kill someone, you went for the points of weakness and you were ruthless. M was ruthless and she was going for the kill. Fortunately my instincts kicked in. Her blows, although lighter than a males would have been, still poounded into me, repetitive blows of a hammer. I was able to deflect most of them, but one of them caught me on the side of the head and I nearly blanked out. Another thing I learned was to anticipate. Know what your opponent is going to do before they do it, then you''ve got a chance. With me in the chair, I knew that if she started kicking, I wouldn''t last long. I had a vision of myself prone at the bottom of the water fall. In a few moments she was going to roundhouse me into oblivian. I only had one chance. I threw myself out of the chair ontop of her. It was like wrestling with a python, but I managed to get her into a choke hold. It was my only chance. Even so, she slipped out of it. Rolling onto my back I waited for the death blow.


    Instead I recieved the sound of solitary clapping that rose over the sound of the gentle waterfall. I looked at OD in bewilderment. M was standing beside him, her face neutral again. Freya stood on his other side. Then I realized they were total opposites. M was dark while Freya was light. I puffed away and with no pride left pulled myself back up into the chair.


    "Why did you attack me," I sputtered. "You could have killed me."


    M just nodded her head.


    "You''re insane."


    "And, you," snickered OD, "are a liar."


    "A liar?"


    "You professed your desire to die, yet when you are attacked, you defend yourself as though your life depended on it...which it did." He was smiling."I had instructed M to grant you your wish, if it was truely your wish."


    "That''s not the same thing," I began to protest and realised that indeed it was. It was exactly the same thing. "Would you have killed me?" I asked M.


    She nodded again.


    "You didn''t because I want to live?"


    She nodded.


    "Now," said OD with relish, "where were we? I think I was trying to shed some light on reality and the multi-verse, and how we''re going to heal Yggdrasil."

 Freya

    It was more from default than any dedication on my part, that I found myself in the mansion''s gym and not back on the street. The truth of the matter was I really didn''t have anywhere to go, and being exposed as a fraud (I didn''t really want to die), I figured I might as well make the best of the situation. I still thought OD was mad, and M, emotionally and psychologically damaged. Freya, was just an immature kid.


    I had dispensed with the wheelchair and was on my hands. As a result of using my arms like a person would use their legs, they were about the same size. Freya, dressed in black leggings and top, was looking down at me warily. Personally I didn''t know why OD had asked me to train the girl and not M.


    "I want you to go up to that vault horse. Stand, with both feet firmly planted on the ground and then jump up onto it."


    She looked at the vault horse, looked at me, and then back at the horse. "I can''t do it. It''s too high."


    "You haven''t even tried."


    "I know what I can do and what I can''t do," she said already in frustration. "This, I can not do."


    "If I can do it, will you at least try?" Her plan was to wear me down by obstinate arguement. I had to change the playing field if I was going to get anywhere.


    She almost smiled. At least I had her attention.


    "What?"


    "I sure you''ve noticed, but you don''t have any legs."


    I looked down at where my shirt dragged on the floor and cried out in panic. I dropped down and began to flop about. "My legs! My legs! Where did they go?"


    She laughed.


    "No, serious. All kidding aside. If I can clear the vault, you''ll try?"


    She nodded. "I''ll try, if you clear the vault."


    So, I did, several times.


    She gazed at me in awe. "How did you do that?"


    "Practice. What I''ve noticed, in any training system, is that the body responds to practice. You see what you want to do and then figure out what you have to do to get there."


    "But you have no legs."


    "You''re looking at what I don''t have, not what I have. That fellow that tried to rape you dismissed me and I beat him."


    "But they came back and almost killed you."


    "Yeah, well, they got lucky. Now, the vault. You promised."


    "Can I take a run?"


    "No, you can''t."


    "Fine."


    She stood in front of the vault horse bent her knees, like I had told her, and sprung. She skinned her shins and fell backwards onto her back. We were now at the same level. "You''re better than me and you have no legs."


    I rolled over to her and grinned. "Yeah, but my arms are as thick as your legs. Now, let''s try that again. I''ll set it lower this time and we''ll work upward, all right."


    She puffed air out of her nostrils. There were tears in her eyes.


    I knew a little about albinism, enough to know that that particular gene mutation gave you different degrees of sight, of sun tolerance. I even knew it could be calledoculocutaneous albinism. A person could have it only in the eyes.


    "How much of the vault can you see?" I asked her.


    "I can see it fine," she said stubbornly. "I''m not blind. I can tell a good looking man for an ugly one." She was looking directly at me. I figured I fell in the latter category.


    I grinned. The intended barb bounced off me. Looks stopped mattering a long time ago. "Thank you. I''ll take that as a compliment. Now, if I was looking through your eyes, what would I see?"Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    She set her chin in a determined way and then decided that my question was acceptable. "The problem is my depth of field. If I''m approaching something and the background is similar to the object, the object is very hard to see."


    I looked at the vault and noticed that the wall was made up of a dark coloured wood, the same colour as the top of the vault horse. With some effort we were able to move the vault until it was in front of a cream coloured wall, where there was some contrast.


    "Can you see it now?"


    She nodded.


    "Now, try the jump again."


    This time, although she nearly fell off, she managed it. She stood on the top and wobbled.


    "Bend your knees, extend your arms. That way you''re better able to maintain your balance."


    "I did it," she said with a bewildered look on her face.


    I nodded with no littile satisfaction and made her jump up and down until she nearly fell again. When she was panting and sweat was dripping from her nose I pulled myself up to her. From my vantage point I was looking up. It''s strange how the point of view can transfer to dominance. Those who tower, dominate, those who are close to the ground, do not. Nothing could be more decieving.


    "When the man in the woods attacked you, what did you do?"


    Her eyes were shifting back and forth as she struggled to see the expression on my face. "What do you mean?" she said hesitantly not knowing why I was talking about this.


    "What did you do? Did you scream? Did you try to run away? Did you fight?"


    "I...I didn''t do anything..." she said suddenly flustered.


    "They depend on that, a predator. They depend on freezing you." I held up a hand in front of her face and began to wave it back and forth. "Snake style in Kung Fu, is beautiful. The movements of the hand are intended to hypnotize, and then..." I snapped my hand forward tapping her nose. "Then it''s too late. Never be hypnotized."


    She sat down and let out an exasperated puff of air. "I can''t see, when things are moving fast. I didn''t see your hand at all."


    I shrugged. "Things can move so fast, that even if your sight was perfect, you wouldn''t be able to see it."


    "Then what''s the sense of this?"


    "Your grandfather asked me to train you, and I said, I''d do what I can do." I gave her a sudden push, sending her off her haunches and onto her back end again.


    "Hey, why did you do that for?"


    I gave her another push. This time I only got a bit of her and knocked her to the side.


    "What are you doing?" she protested.


    "If you don''t like it, do something about it." I pushed her again. From her mannerisims, the way she dissected things, I knew she was very intelligent. I went to shove her again and she kicked me in the chest knocking me backwards. It was a clumsy kick with no power in it, but it took care of me, long enough for her to put distance between us.


    "Good, good," I said praising her. Then I noticed she was crying. Throughout the gym there were a number of plants in large, ceramic pots. Freya was supporting herself against one of these while she cried. Her tears ran down her face and dripped into the soil. I suppressed the compassion welling up inside me by summoning the image of her being raped on that cold night that seemed suddenly so immediate. Trauma had a way of doing that, of making the mind experience the feelings, the sight, the smell of things all over again as though it was just happening. Trauma was terrible. Then I saw something happening to the tree, or so I thought. The plant was a Norfolk pine with its swooping, draped like branches. It had looked a little ''off-colour'', but now it virtually glowed. It also looked taller, bushier then it had been. "You''re crying. Why are you crying?"


    "I pushed you," her face was wet and pink.


    I pulled myself over to her and handed her a towel. "That''s the idea. It was a pretty good push. That''s the first step of self defence, either to get away from the person trying to hurt you or you pushe them away."


    She shook her head as though I didn''t understand. "I don''t want to hurt anyone. I just want...I just want the world to be better," she blubbered breaking into a new course of tears.


    I sighed. Training her was going to prove difficult. I was going to have to get her to suspended her passivism and get her to see the training as just an exercise. Then when it came time to use violence, it would be second nature.


    There were those whose philosophy of man said that we are killers, natural born killers. That play fighting in young adolescent males was in preparation to be murderers. I didn''t believe it. Martial arts prepared the body, the mind for the use of violence. Fists, knees, elbows, feet, head, they were all tools to be employed. It was natural to abhore violence, we had to learn the path to violence. It was one of those funny eastern opposites: to be free of violence one had to embrace it. M should have been teaching Freya. She had embraced it so much that she had become it.


    "Are you all right?"


    It wasn''t me who asked the question. It was M who had silently glided into the room like a shadow hovering over Freya. She was a cloud trying to wrap itself around the sun. M gave me an accusatory glare as if to say ''what have you done.''


    "What? OD asked me to teach her how to defend herself."


    She didn''t say anything as she enfolded Freya in her arms and raised her up. She looked down at me. "You can''t teach her to hurt others."


    I felt not only the sting of not having legs, but of not having any morality to stand on. "Of course it''s wrong," I blurted out. "War is wrong. Violence wrong, but are you going to let someone hurt you?"


    She continued to stare at me, those dark, bottomless eyes boring into what was left of my soul. "I will protect her."


    "Fine," I shouted a little too loud. "Where were you in the park? Where were you when she was assaulted?"


    I saw her flinch. I had made my point. M gave a reticent nod and stepped away from Freya. "If you hurt her, I''ll kill you."


    Then the cloud was gone and the sun sniffled.


    "Come here," I said roughly.


    Freya knelt down and in the process of cleaning off the girl''s face I felt the wet damp of a tear on my hand. The wet vibrated like an electric shock that thrummed through my very being. It was...wonderful and very, very strange, but that was Freya.

 Naglfar

    I had a dream and in the dream I saw the ¡®big bang¡¯. It was bolt of light shooting into nothingness, except there was something. Something invisible but fertile and where ever the light went worlds were formed, entire solar systems came into being and with the light flew, on black wings, ravens.


    ¡°I fear nothing,¡± said Odin to me and he extended his arms of light to embrace me and the other. ¡°I fear nothing, not even my death.¡±


    In me, I knew this was not true. Odin feared his death. He feared his brothers. He would prepare for his end in fear and would die in fear.


    ¡°Do you know what I fear? Huginn, Muninn? I fear being without Thought, without Memory. For what is an old man when he has no Thought, when he has no Memory? Promise me never to leave me.¡±


    It was then that I Huginn and Muninn, the other gave our oath to Odin and knew we could never break it, but for Odin oaths were a different matter.


    "So, what are we looking for?" I asked as we pushed our way into the protestors. Having a wheel chair wasn''t such a bad idea; all I had to do was run the chair into the back of someone¡¯s legs. Then they would turn, see me, and their expressions would change from irritation to pity and they would part. I felt a bit like Moses.


    The protesters seethed like a big amorphous blob of cloth cover flesh. I never like mobs, no matter how well intentioned their cause was. The Romans coined the term ¡®mob¡¯ and the fear it inspired, because they knew that whoever controlled the mob, controlled the world. The Emperors of Rome knew that it was the mob that ruled. It was why places like the coliseum had been built, to placate the mob. Keep them happy, keep them saitiated on blood spectacle, and you keep your throne. Freya seemed to be in her element, striding through the mob, while M seemed about as uncomfortable as I was.


    Never trusted mobs. Once I was in a mob and it turned on us. We had weapons, but that had not mattered.


    ¡°What¡¯s the protest about?¡±


    Freya stared down at me. Her eyes were shielded by her black shaded sun glasses. Expression can often be read through the eyes, but with sunglasses...I noticed a slight petulant tightening around the mouth.


    ¡°It¡¯s about boycotting the Seal Hunt, about stopping the needless slaughter of helpless babies. Did you know ship loads of men pour out onto the ice every year, clubbing poor defenceless baby seals to death, leaving red blood trails across the ice?¡±


    I could tell she was working herself up against the indignity. She was young. Issues like this were seldom as simple as her graphic description. Life was never simple.


    I rolled along, Freya in front and M behind. I could feel M listening. Even though she rarely acknowledge things, I could feel her listening intently, taking in every little minutia. I was begining to wonder what she was doing, but I did have the feeling that she was deciding on something.


    ¡°Do they eat the babies?¡± I asked. Everything evil ate babies.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Freya unable to hear my quip. The collective babble was becoming louder making it almost impossible to hear each other. Someone with a microphone was up ahead shouting something out over the crowd. Whatever they were saying was having a profound effect on the mob. The mass was shifting.


    ¡°I should have worn my seal skin coat,¡± I yelled back. A woman glared down at me her face twisted in distaste, as though I was something she had just stepped in. I felt M stiffen.


    Freya loved protests and OD loved Freya, so we followed her. ¡®Keep her safe, everything depends on her being kept safe.¡¯ I didn¡¯t think a peaceful rally about the seal hunt was a particular dangerous event. Although, I was beginning to sense that there was something going on here, something bellow the skin of the seal so to speak.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I noticed that M was showing a slight shortening in her movements. It was something she did before attacking or defending. It was so infinitesimally small that nobody would have noticed it, but I did. I just saw things that others didn¡¯t, and that perhaps was the source of my madness.


    Then a sound, a strange noise rose up over the mumble of the crowd and settled down on us like a blanket. It sounded like some type of horn accompanied by drums and chanting. Suddenly, the crowd started to wave their arms in the air. Some would even cry out in ecstatic release. Then the music stopped, took a breath, and continued, but this time led by some type of stringed instrument. The rhythmic drums joined in, but this time the chanting was deep in the throat, growling out like some ancient hunter or warrior looking for purpose. I began to think that this was no rally against seal hunting, and then my mind opened up. The muddy darkness and confusion brought on by the press of people and their sound cleared away leaving me to stand in the centre, to see, to feel what was really going on. This wasn¡¯t a protest about seal hunting. It was a hunt and humans were going to be hunted.


    ¡°M, do you feel it?¡± I yelled. ¡°Get Freya out of here, fast.¡±


    Before the killing started, we were close enough to the stage to make a break from the mob; otherwise we would have been pulled into the maelstrom and chewed to pieces. A man turned on Freya his eyes turned up into his head revealing only the whites. He reached for her and I drove my wheel chair into his knees. A big man, he folded over and I brought my elbow down on the back of his head where the spine met the skull. He slumped unconsciously. Throwing him off my chair I pushed forward. M surged past me and in her deft, economic way started to clear a path. Quickly we reached the stage while behind us the mob had turned on itself. Sirens wailed in the distance. How long would it take for the police to get here? Most likely too long.


    The stage was draped in black, but on it were no musicians, no instruments, not even the person that had been shouting through his bullhorn, yet music still played. The music seemed to come from the air itself shooting out wave after wave over the fighting people. My chair was caught and I flipped out of it onto my face. M had ushered Freya up onto the stage, but I had been left behind. I felt sharp fingers digging into my back. I turned and lashed out with the back of my hand. I felt a nose break and blood spray, but it had made them release me. I looked up and cursed. The stage was too high. I felt more hands on me, grabbing, pulling me back. I clutched at the black fabric knowing that if I let go, I¡¯d be pulled into the melee and overwhelmed.


    Over me I saw a shadow, and for a moment, I thought I heard the flapping of wings. Then there were howls of pain and the snapping of bones and the meaty sounds of fist and heels impacting on flesh and bone. Then M was there, hefting me up onto the stage. Although not a big woman in that moment M seemed a giant.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I grunted rolling on my back. M extended a hand and pulled me up.


    Freya stared out over the violent sea of humanity that had turned on itself and was rending itself to pieces. She was horrified. Expecting peace she was now witnessing war. In the back the riot police had finally arrived and were forming up behind their shields. Off to the left water cannon began to blast into the melee in an attempt to separate the combatants.


    ¡°Am I the only one, but did the police arrive rather quickly?¡±


    M shook her head. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get out of here.¡±


    As we moved to the back of the stage, a light flashed and suddenly, standing in front of us, in a beam of light was a man dressed in leather armour holding his arms across his chest, as though he was just waking up from a long rest, or from an internment. The man opened his eyes, thought and consciousness flooding back into them, dispelling the void. The eyes widened as they settled on us.


    ¡°Huginn, Muninn, so glad to see Odin¡¯s ravens again.¡± He nodded towards the bloody brawl. ¡°I have a warning for you. Do not trust him. Do not trust my brother.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Freya stepping towards the hologram. She passed her hand into the light and through the figure.


    The figure smiled. ¡°I am Vili, Odin¡¯s brother.¡±


    Just then canisters of gas streamed through the air landing in the middle of the warring mob. The police pounding their shields began to move forward into the mob. Then as suddenly as it had began it ended. The music had stopped. The fighting was finished, rational thought had returned. Men and women began to look about in shock and amazement. They were aghast at the wounded people that littered the grass and even more horrified at their own bloodied hands. The sounds of crying and wailing began to rise into the air.


    ¡°You did this?¡± asked Freya.


    Vili looked out over the crowd and saw, for the first time, the bedlam. ¡°No, not this. Just don¡¯t trust Odin. He will look for a new home, a new body. Keep him from the girl.¡± Vili looked to the left into a scene we could not see. ¡°I have to go, someone comes.¡± The image began to break apart into snow like particles that drifted apart and quickly dissipated. It was then that the true screaming in the crowd started.


    A woman close to the stage held up her bloody fingers as though in some horrific supplication. They were all doing it, everyone in the mob. All holding up their hands seeming to ask, ¡®who, who had done this,¡¯ because every single nail on every single hand had been removed.


    M clenched her hands into fists and said one word: ¡°Naglfar.¡±