The Chronicles of Loki: Book Three: Ragnarok

By M. Gregory Kendrick

The Chronicles of Loki Book Three: Ragnarok is the third book in a trilogy centered on the life of the Norse trickster, Loki. Essentially, this is a reworking of the Norse myths in which the character commonly identified as the god of mischief and wickedness gets to tell the story from his point of view. The twist with this treatment of Loki, however, is that he, Odin, Frey, and company are presented as if they were real human beings who lived ages ago on a lost island continent they called Igdrasil, which, as in the myths, was also divided into nine realms inhabited by distinctly different peoples and cultures. Perhaps the most challenging (and fun) part of this book has been reimagining Loki's various adventures and misadventures as they might have actually happened without the benefit of magic and sorcery (though a Lovecraftian dimension is at work in this book and its predecessor). The book moves on two time axes. One takes place in the present. In this timeline, Loki, his family, and allies are setting in motion what will be a war of vengeance against Odin and the Aesir. Readers are introduced to the machinations of key characters in the myths—Odin of Asgard, Frey of Vanaheim, Surt, High King of the Muspelhim, the rulers of the wee folk of the West, i.e., Ivaldi, the principal ruler of the Dwarves, and Mama Cori, Lokane of Alfheim, as well as Loki's children, Fenrir (aka the Wolf), Fafnir (ruler of Jormundheim), and Hela, Queen of Nifleheim. The second timeline is a memoir of Loki's life, which in this book encompasses the theft and recovery of Thor's weapon, Mjollnir, Odin and Loki's encounter with an evil brigand, Odin's vision quest and madness, Sif's golden hair, Balder's death, and Loki's imprisonment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667805696

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©2021 M. Gregory Kendrick. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other

noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-66780-568-9 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-66780-569-6 (ebook)

For my Palo Alto Pals David Casci, John Nystrom, and Yoko Yanari and the champion of nerds everywhere, Tony Friscia

Contents

Chapter One

Seeing Through a Glass Darkly

Chapter Two

What Fiery Eyes You Have!

Chapter Three

Setting the Board

Chapter Four

An Evil Man and a Vision Quest

Chapter Five

The Game Begins in Earnest

Chapter Six

Sif’s Golden Hair and the Madness of Odin

Chapter Seven

Let Slip the Dogs of War

Chapter Eight

The Death of Balder and the Imprisonment of Loki

Chapter Nine

Ragnarok

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Glossary

Chapter One

Seeing Through a Glass Darkly

R’lyeh

In R’lyeh, Cthulhu dreamed of Mu-Thulan, when he and his fellow Elder Beings had ruled this world the humans called Earth. Great had been the cities his race had built both on land and under the sea. Pleasing had been the many temples raised in their honor by the human thralls who served them. Numberless were the eldritch ceremonies and blood sacrifices performed in them to assuage the many appetites of himself and the others of his kind. Even now, years out of mind from that moment, he could still smell the sea-scented incense rising before his blood splattered altars; taste the iron bled out of those sacrificed to him and hear the screams of the offerings with whom he had deigned to mate.

Then came the time of ice and snow, when the land masses had been covered by glaciers and even the depths of the oceans could provide no relief from the cold. It was then that his race had fled back to the stars from which they came while condemning dread Cthulhu and those who followed him to exile in this frozen waste of a world. It was then that his long slumber had begun in R’lyeh, a deep sleep that had lasted millennia until he had been awakened by the sound of his name uttered in the language and according to the rituals of Mu-Thulan.

The human called Odin had awakened him and made him aware of the world that had arisen on the ashes of his race’s civilization. Gone were the great cities of the Elder Beings. Only remnants of that time remained, such as the plinth circles wherein his kind had met and mated, and the temple he had built on the island the humans named Jormundheim.

In their place, the human filth that had bred and multiplied by the thousands had carved out petty kingdoms and dotted the land with settlements they laughably called cities. It was a most displeasing sight that filled Cthulhu with rage and resolved him to cleanse Mu-Thulan, cull its human herds, and make it ready for the return of his race.

Realizing this resolution was a long and laborious process for one such as he. The intellect of Odin, the human through whom he worked his will, was limited and inferior. He had to be trained in the language and rituals of Mu-Thulan, and bent to the will of his master. This involved the suppression of his many human emotions and the severing of his ties of family and friendship so that he could carry out what needed to be done to bring his master’s vision into being.

And then there were the forces of nature that had to be harnessed so that Mu-Thulan could be cleansed of the human infestations that covered its four corners. To achieve this end necessitated the resurrection of the technologies the Elder Beings had used to reshape this world to their liking when they had first arrived from the stars and claimed it for their own. These had lain in abeyance for millennia and had to be refurbished and in some cases rebuilt entirely.

Still, he was an Elder Thing for whom time had little if any meaning, and in the end his efforts and his patience were bringing him ever closer to his goals. His human servitor had laid the foundations for a new group of overseers to control and periodically cull the humans who would survive the coming holocaust. By convincing Odin that his brother Loki and his family were to be the agents of a great and bloody Ragnarok, he had set into motion the string of events that would plunge all of the human realms into a continental war that would leave them weak, divided, and ripe for the return of the Elder Beings. And in the depths of the sea where he lay dreaming in R’lyeh forces were being unleashed that would change the face of the continent the humans called Igdrasil.

Then he would wrest control of the gate from his sister Yog-Sothoth, open its portal, and summon his race to once more take control of this world.

All this and more Cthulhu dreamed while he lay slumbering in R’lyeh.

Asgard

As his master dreamed in R’lyeh, Odin brooded at the head of his column on the way back to Asgard from the failed Althing in the Sacred Grove of the World Tree. Bitterness and anger filled him as he contemplated how he had been manipulated and used by the dread Elder Being he had served so loyally over the years. How could he have been so blind to what Yog-Sothoth had called his cruel and capricious nature?

What else could one say of a being who demanded blood sacrifices and other dark rituals to satisfy his monstrous appetites? And then there was the admission from Cthulhu himself that he had never been, nor ever would be anything but a tool that he would wield to torment, torture, and enslave both his people and all the other human inhabitants of Igdrasil.

Bitterest of all was the knowledge that he had wronged his beloved brother Loki and the members of his family to avert a war that these wrongs had made inevitable. Because of his foolishness, nay his madness, Angrboda had died and her husband, eldest son, and daughter had lost their freedom. Loki had been right at the Althing to name him the author of the coming conflict.

Yes, he had been a fool, and he and his family would soon pay a steep price for his folly. The Ragnarok he had foreseen when he hung from the World Tree was coming. Of this there could no longer be any doubt and he had insured its arrival. Indeed, even now Loki had made the opening moves in a war that would sweep away Asgard and his house. Surt would keep Frey at bay and doubtless his Midgard allies would soon be the subjects of Hrothgar the Younger and thus the allies of Jotunheim.

Though there would be no redemption for him and his family, perhaps there might yet be a way to save some of his people from the doom he had unleashed. What had the Elder Thing called Yog-Sothoth said to him at the Sacred Spring? Your doom is sealed, Odin of Asgard, in that voice that was not a voice, in a language he knew not but still understood. Because of you war has come to all of Igdrasil, a war that will consume you and the one who was once your brother. Some of your people might yet be saved, however. Look to the west, look to my children of the forest and the river for guidance. She must have been referring to the wee folk of the mountains and forests. What had Wendegal said about them at the Althing? The Elves were building arks as if in expectation of some great catastrophe.

Odin knew there was no time for him to instigate, much less complete such a project to save the Aesir. Loki and his allies would strike Asgard quickly and hard some time before fall. No, he couldn’t save all of his people, but he could save some of them and entrust these fortunate few with the wherewithal to start life anew somewhere else. To these survivors he would entrust his great library, weapons enough to defend themselves, and considerable treasure with which to barter for food and shelter. And he knew exactly whom he could entrust with this task.

Summoning his faithful acolyte, Vidar, to his side, Odin began to relate to him his plan for the salvation of the Aesir from oblivion and some redemption for himself and the bane he had ultimately been for all the Ymir.

Vanaheim

Frey and Freya rode ahead of their contingent to the Althing so that they could better converse in private. The end of that event had been quite tumultuous, what with the abrupt departure of both Loki and Odin despite the protestations of Wendegal and his fellow shamans. Neither man had given the High Shaman any explanation as to their decision to depart the gathering before its completion. And even more mysterious was the disappearance of Brother Oskar and the letters he had been charged to deliver to the three high kings inviting them to a parley with Wendegal as mediator.

Actually, Brother Oskar had been spirited out of the Sacred Grove, given a fresh horse, and sent back to Noatun and his Morðingi masters. Freya had favored killing him for bungling the assassination, but Frey had thought otherwise. Aside from the problem his corpse would pose, the Vanir king felt that his assassin’s plan had been first rate and would likely have succeeded if Hoder had stayed in Vanaheim and not tipped off Loki’s accursed twins to the rumors making the rounds in Noatun about the Guild of Assassins planning something big for the Althing. It was really quite dispiriting that secrets were so difficult to keep among the gossip-loving Vanir.

Then there was also the fact that Loki had put a stop to the assassination attempt out of an uncharacteristic bout with his conscience. Whatever his brother’s Vanir heritage and upbringing, he still at times exhibited that dour Jotun fondness for fairness, which, as every self-respecting Vanir knew, was not how the real world operated. In any case, Oskar, or whatever his real name was, was now the business of the Morðingi Directorate. Whether they decided to make an example of him or not was their decision.

Being Vanir and as such always conscious of good manners, Frey and his sister tarried another couple of days in the Sacred Grove to assuage the good Wendegal’s feelings. They explained to him that the failure of the Althing he had inherited from the late Mimir was probably always doomed to failure. Their brothers, Odin and Loki, had never had any intention of putting aside their differences and had only attended out of respect for the order and a surfeit of piety. In light of Odin’s embrace of a religion organized around a blood loving monster and Loki’s avowed agnosticism, this latter explanation was completely false.

When their trip home finally got underway, Frey asked Freya to ride with him some distance from their column to discuss the future of themselves and Vanaheim.

What now my brother?

We return home my sister and prepare for war against that tattooed savage.

Will you be joining Odr and I at the head of the northern army?

Of course, my dear Freya! I am High King of Vanaheim and as such expected to lead our troops into glorious battle. Aside from that, you don’t think I’m going to let you and Odr have all the fun do you?

No, of course not, Frey. Though it looks as if it’s going to be a rather bloody campaign.

Why do you think so, my sister?

Well, Surt has been planning this war for years and our informants tell us he has emptied every Muspelhim town and village of anyone who can wield a weapon, weapons, I might add, that now have steel in them.

You’ll be happy to know, dear sister, that I have anticipated this.

And? asked Freya.

"Unbeknownst to Surt I’ve assembled a Vanir fleet, armed with Nafta that Loki managed to get for me earlier in the year, and this little armada is going to lay waste to the settlements along the Muspelhim coast and interior tributaries."

"Pray tell, dear brother, how did Loki manage to get his hands on Nafta?"

"He’s Surt’s ostensible ally and managed to convince the fool to send him a supply for his attack on Asgard. Fortunately for us, that wunderkind of his, Fafnir, figured out a way to manufacture an even more lethal kind of liquid fire and Loki sent me a supply as some small recompense for allying himself with our neighbors. Fitting don’t you think that we’ll be using the flame worshipping savages’ own weapon against them?"

Yes, most fitting indeed, dear brother.

I actually wanted to speak to you about something other than the upcoming war though, my sister.

Well, dear Frey, I’m here and I’m all ears.

I must confess that all these prognostications of doom hovering over us have made me not a little uneasy.

Really, Frey, since when did you start taking the pronouncements of priests seriously?

Well, while I might not think much of the Ymir religious folk, I did have considerable respect for Mimir, as did Odin and Loki, and his successor is no fool either. If the late High Shaman really believed there’s a catastrophe hanging over Igdrasil, I’m inclined to give it some credence.

So, we’re going to build arks like the Elves and sail away into the sunset? Freya asked with barely concealed disdain in her voice.

No, no, nothing so dramatic and in any case with war looming over all of us, there’s no time for such a project.

Then what else are you talking about?

I want to insure that my daughter and grandchildren will be safe if some disaster befalls us while we’re off fighting Surt. To that end, I’ve instructed Gerd to ready a small fleet of longboats with provisions, weapons, clothing, and anything else needed for a long voyage into unknown seas. I think you’ll agree that my wife is quite good at making such preparations.

"No one’s a better hausfrau than your Gerd, my brother. But why tell me all of this?"

Because if we’re sending Sif and the children off into the unknown to start a new life in some distant land, I want them accompanied by young Vanir men and women of quality who know their way with a sword and can be counted on in a fight. Other than your husband, you have the best eye of anyone I know for picking out such people. So, on our trip back home and before we leave for the front, I’d like to ask you to help me assemble a Vanir company to accompany our family.

Well, Frey, while I think you’re giving far more credibility to Mimir’s prognostications than I do, of course I’ll help assemble a kind of Vanir court in exile. I may not care much for Gerd, but I adore my niece and her boys despite they’re also being the children of that lout Thor.

Actually, Freya, no one hopes that he’s more wrong about all this than I. But if some doom is looming over us, I want to insure that some of our beloved Vanaheim survives and has a chance to thrive elsewhere.

Well then, to begin with I know a couple of dancers who are almost as accomplished as I am and have bodies that can only be described as musical, simply musical.

Of course you do, my sister.

Jotunheim

While his foster family contemplated the future, Loki Farbauti—often called the Sly One, the Trickster, the Shape Changer, and the Sky Traveler—was deep in thought himself as he led his Althing contingent back to Utgard. Though he was completely unsurprised by the failure of Mimir and Frey’s efforts to maintain the peace between the Children of Ymir, and pleasantly surprised—actually greatly relieved—that Frey and Freya had not attempted to assassinate him, he was troubled nonetheless by things that had been revealed at the gathering.

The murder of Mimir by some inhuman thing that enjoyed intelligence, enormous strength, and some kind of link to the sea, was uppermost among these concerns. While he detested even the hint of some supernal explanation for what this creature was and why it had struck out at the late High Shaman in such a savage fashion, he was also mindful that his beloved daughter, Hela, might be correct in her assertion, which he knew was shared by the Norn Mother Superiors, that the Ymir were dealing with a member of a hitherto unknown form of life that was now moving among them and possibly manipulating some of them for reasons known only to itself. That Odin was probably connected in some way with this creature he was loathe to admit, having dismissed his assertions regarding a lost civilization founded and created by such beings for decades. Nevertheless, such a link would explain much about Odin’s seemingly mad actions over the years.

There was also the uncanny coincidence that many of the people whose opinions he respected, Hela, the Lady Urd, Imre, and the late Mimir, all shared the same forebodings about the future, and were equally concerned that the unseen being that had slain the High Shaman was moving behind the scenes to bring forth a continent wide catastrophe. What had Urd asked at that High Council meeting before he left for the Althing? "Loki, do you ever feel like you’re being manipulated in all this, like a pawn in a game of Skák?" At the time he had been convinced the old witch was losing her mind. Now he was not so sure of that; indeed, he was beginning to think she might have had a point.

Finally, there was all this business about the Lokane of the Elves having been visited by their goddess Mama Wata. She too, had received visions of a doom hanging over Igdrasil and of a malevolent, lidless golden eye, the same eye that had been revealed to Imre when she looked into the mirrored forehead of a turkey cock. All of this had taken him back to that time when he had followed Mama Cori and her Clan Mothers to the sanctuary of their goddess perched above an inlet with deep dark waters, and how as he prepared to leave he had suddenly felt as if he were afloat in the waters of the inlet behind him. Everywhere about him was the scent of the sea and a sense that something unseen was wrapping itself about him—wet and warm—and in his head a woman’s voice said to him in a language he did not know but understood nonetheless, You are not one of my children and are strange to me. Who are you and what brings you to this resting place of mine?

At the time, he had shaken the experience off as a dream brought on by fatigue. Now he was wondering if Hela was right and he too had been visited by one of these—what did she call them? —Elder Beings. This made him smile when he thought about what his youngest son, Fafnir, would say if he knew his supremely agnostic and rational father was even entertaining such thoughts. That said, was it not his supremely agnostic and rational son who had found references in Utgard’s Norn archives to the civilization of Mu-Thulan and the claim that its inhabitants had actually raised the great temple of Jormundgand.

Loki’s dark reveries were interrupted by a very familiar voice next to him.

Did you think of something amusing, milord Loki? asked Thrimm. You were deep in thought and then suddenly smiled.

"I was thinking about what transpired at the Althing, Thrimm, in particular the murder of Mimir and the creature responsible for it. I confess I find myself giving more credence to Hela’s theory that we are dealing here with an up to now unknown form of life. The smile was thinking of what Fafnir would say were he to know that I was entertaining such unsubstantiated ideas."

I actually think our Fafnir would find the idea of such a creature to be ‘fascinating,’ as he’s wont to label anything that captures his attention. And if he knew his sister lent your conjectures credibility, he’d doubtless want to study the subject exhaustively.

That’s certainly true, Thrimm. As he’s always been fond of saying, though Hela’s intellect is no equal to his, next to him she’s the most intelligent member of our family.

This observation made both men laugh, as Fafnir’s intellectual arrogance and lack of empathy were well known to all in the Farbauti household.

"What do you think, Billy Goat?"

Do you recall that Vanir minstrel you and mistress Angrboda were so fond of lo those many years ago, a fellow by the name of Horatio?

Why yes. First-rate lute player, gifted versifier! Why do you ask?

Well, I was just recalling a line of his in a work of drama on which he was working. It goes something like this, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

And?

Come now, milord Loki, you’ll agree that our knowledge of the world around us is still quite limited. What makes our Fafnir so remarkable is he sees things and makes connections that most of us don’t, and will often dismiss only to find out later that he’s onto something. That’s why he’s always telling us ‘You see but you do not observe.’ Taking into consideration our limited understanding of this Earth and the universe around us, and our tendency to avoid challenging what we think we know of as fact, is it really so outlandish to conjecture that we are indeed dealing with an unknown life form that has been resurrected and appears to be taking an interest in our affairs?

So you think there’s something to what Odin has been going on about all of these years? That there may be these Elder Things out there?

I’m merely saying there is much about this world of ours that we don’t know or understand. Take these stone circles, like the one within which we planted our World Tree. No one knows where they came from, nor have any of the civilizations on this continent claimed them as their own. And the great temple in Jormundgand. No one seems to know when it was built or how. Fafnir doesn’t dismiss the idea that there was a civilization here before us that may have been superior in many ways to our own. He just finds the idea irrelevant to his own investigations.

And Mimir’s prognostications of doom, this vision of the Lokane Mama Cori?

Well, I can’t speak to the Lokane’s vision, but Mimir was much like our Fafnir. He was someone who could see things the rest of us could not, or as your son would say he both saw and observed. I’ve never lied to you before, milord Loki, and I don’t intend to start doing so now. Frankly, I’m uneasy. I felt this last winter was a kind of warning and since the beginning of spring it seems to me we’re experiencing the calm before the storm.

That could be because there’s a war coming.

I’ll grant you there’s that, too, but I would council you, milord, to take Mimir’s ‘prognostications’ as you call them, and the Lady Urd’s unease seriously.

How would you recommend I do that, Billy Goat?

Do you think the Vanir fleet poses any real threat to Utgard or Jotunheim?

"I know it doesn’t because Frey is planning to deploy his navy against Surt’s coast and I’ve given him Nafta to use against the Muspelhim."

Out of guilt for making common cause with his enemy?

Something like that, Thrimm. The Vanir are my people as well. Why are you asking this?

Because I think we should get our fleet ready to take a select number of Jotuns on a long voyage to some place other than Igdrasil.

Our version of the Elfish arks. Who would be at the head of this little journey and who gets selected to make it?

I was thinking our Hela in her capacity as Mother Superior of the Norn Motherhouse in Utgard. She and the other Reverend Mothers can determine the kind of people who would be critical to the success of such an expedition. And they could make arrangements to secure as much of the Norn archives as possible.

You do know the Lady Urd is still very much alive.

She’s doesn’t think she will be for long, milord Loki, and between you and me, she’s already laid the groundwork for Hela to succeed her.

Well, that’s good to know. On the other hand, what if none of these prognostications of doom come about, Thrimm?

Then nothing is lost. Everyone returns to business as usual. But if something disastrous is on the horizon, at least some of our people and the essence of our civilization will be saved to begin anew elsewhere.

And my Helie would survive and have a chance of a new life elsewhere.

Yes, milord Loki, the House of Farbauti would go on whatever happens to us.

Have you spoken to anyone else about this?

I might have had some exploratory discussions along these lines with milady Urd. Her authority and wisdom would after all be critical to the success of what I’m suggesting here.

So you’ve been conniving with that old witch behind my back, Thrimm?

Smiling, Thrimm answered, Oh I’ve been doing that for quite some time, milord Loki, quite some time. As did your wife.

The mention of Angrboda brought a hint of moisture to his eyes. What would she think of this idea he thought, and in an instant he knew. Turning to his Billy Goat, he said, What on Earth would I have done without all of you in my life? You have my blessing in this matter. Begin whatever preparations you think necessary. Spend whatever you need, but let me talk to Hela.

I would not have it any other way, milord Loki.

Well, Loki thought, if we are heading to the end of our world, I know my dearest Angrboda would want her beloved daughter as far away from it as possible.

Jormundgand

The priest had finally given up his ghost during Imre’s last session with him, and the High Queen of Jormundheim was in high dudgeon that he had revealed so little about his encounter with the being called Cthulhu. Though she had introduced him to her vast erudition in the ways of awakening every pain center in his miserable body, and keeping him fully awake and aware of his surroundings during the experience, his terror of that creature had allowed him to resist answering her queries. Never before had she visited so much anguish on a test subject over so long a period of time with so little to show for it. Normally, she would have found such resistance fascinating, as her Fafnir enjoyed deeming things he found of interest. Instead she was frustrated and not a little exhausted. Torturing people could be very trying, particularly when you were a perfectionist when it came to all things touching on torment.

Towards the end, however, something had indeed snapped in the priest’s mind. He had begun to speak in a tongue Imre did not know or understand. Kept repeating certain words such as Mu-Thulan, and in his final moments of consciousness said something that was embedded in her own mind, Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. Cthulhu cf’tagn.

Not for the first time, she found herself recalling the images she had beheld in the mirror-like forehead of that accursed turkey cock this priest had brought into her household. A great plain littered with the bodies of dead and dying men. Images of Asgard, Midgard, Jotunheim, Nifleheim, indeed all the nine realms, ablaze with raging flames, swirling smoke, and ashes. Jormundgand’s great pyramid trembling, cracking, and crashing into its plaza, while waves of water washed over the city. And then the feel of some wet and squamous thing touching her mind, and a rimless golden eye speaking to her in a voice that was not a voice, in a language she knew not but still understood, Behold, dark sister, Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods, and prepare yourself for the doom that is coming.

As if these memories were not troubling enough, there were also the reports she had received from Hela outlining the particulars of the Althing. The murder of the High Shaman, Mimir, by some inhuman creature linked to the sea and possessed of both intelligence and incredible strength. The failure to bridge the divide between Odin and Loki, and the inevitability of the coming war. And also the rumors that the wee folk were building arks capable of taking them to safety in the eventuality of some great catastrophe befalling Igdrasil.

What did it all mean, and what should she do?

If some doom was going to overtake the nine realms, it was impossible at this late date to prepare for some kind of mass evacuation of Jormundgand. The fleet she and Fafnir had assembled was earmarked for the coming war against Asgard, a conflict she was committed to by dint of her ties to the House Farbauti. There was also no question of her sailing away into the unknown and leaving her people, her country behind. While she had no love for her subjects and regarded them primarily as tools to be used and discarded as she saw fit, this was her kingdom that she had plotted, schemed, and murdered to inherit, and if it was to perish then she would perish with it.

Still, there was the question of her legacy. The great Collegium she and Fafnir had built together. Their research into so many different subjects. The mapping of the human nervous system that had commanded so many hours of work in her house of pain. Her family’s wealth that might be used to raise another Jormundheim on some other shore.

With this thought in mind, Imre resolved to summon the Thons of her Collegium to a meeting on the morrow where she would place her concerns before them. She would order a part of Jormundheim’s merchant fleet put at their disposal, and instruct them and their most promising students to prepare for the possibility of a long voyage elsewhere in the eventuality of some cataclysm befalling the city. They would take with them as much of the Collegium’s archives as would be practicable, as well as sufficient stores, weapons, and treasure to allow them to establish themselves elsewhere.

Doubtless there would be incredulity and grumbling. But if there was one thing Imre was quite good at, it was persuading those who disagreed with her decisions to change their minds. After all, their lives might depend on it.

Having made her decision about the future, Imre felt a kind of peace come over her that she hadn’t experienced since her encounter with the mirrored bird. Looking about her workspace, she resolved to clean up what was left of the priest, and have a fresh test subject fetched over from one of the surrounding cells. So much to learn, so little time! Yes, things were definitely looking up.

Chapter Two

What Fiery Eyes You Have!

Not long after his accession to the Aesir throne, Odin decided to pay our family a visit with his son Thor in tow. Ostensibly, my brother was dropping by to see how Hoder’s education was progressing and to give his eldest son and heir a better sense of the Aesir’s Jotun neighbors. But it soon became obvious the real reason for his trip was to study the parchments linking the great temple at Jormundgand to Mu-Thulan, which Fafnir had found in the archives of the Norn Motherhouse in Utgard prior to our trip to discuss a possible marriage alliance between Eric Magnusson’s daughter Imre and one of our sons. As the readers of this Minnisblaòi know, that journey resulted in the betrothal of my youngest son, Fafnir, to the lady in question, a union, I might add, with which I was not altogether at ease, knowing what I did about many of Imre’s so-called studies and more lurid recreational activities.

But, as is often my wont, I digress. At the first opportunity, Odin made haste to the Lady Urd’s library and began to pester its caretakers with requests for this document or that pertaining to the lost civilization of Mu-Thulan and its black speech. Which, of course, left my family to contend with a high-spirited and easily bored Thor. That there was little love lost between Hoder and his older brother went without saying. They were as different from each other as Fenrir was from Fafnir. That said, as Fenrir came to understand his brother’s social difficulties, he became increasingly patient and protective of him. No such modus operandi existed in the case of Odin’s two oldest sons. Thor considered Hoder’s reserve, passion for learning, and gentility to be signs of contemptible weakness not befitting an Aesir prince. Hoder, on the other hand, returned that contempt in equal measure. In his eyes, his eldest sibling was nothing more than an ill-educated, boorish lout, a typical Aesir—loud, debauched, crude, and cruel. Consequently, Hoder made himself scarce about the household, spending most of his time with his father in the Norn rectory.

Fenrir and Hrothgar were the logical custodians of Thor during his visit. All three of them were martial in nature and enjoyed spending time with the ladies. Unfortunately, my eldest and his best friend were off making a tour of our frontier defenses at the behest of Thrimm and Rolf, the General Intendant of the Vörnher of the Plains. Actually, it would be more correct to say that those two at the behest of Fenrir’s mother had arranged for this trip to keep the young men preoccupied with something other than engaging in sexual peccadillos at our court.

Hela shared Hoder’s disdain for his brother, and was also at the time beginning her own studies under the tutelage of the Lady Urd. That left the twins, who had far better things to do with their time than babysit an Aesir prince. There was gambling to be done (with half their winnings going to my wife, who used them to feed and clothe Jotun orphans), clandestine missions on behalf of Thrimm to collect information, and the dives and bordellos of their youth to look in on from time to time.

So that left Angrboda and I to look after Odin’s eldest. Fortunately, as was the case with so many people, my wife had a soothing effect on Thor. For one thing, she genuinely liked the boy and felt that with a strong hand and the right guidance, he might yet become a man of quality. For another, she paid attention to him and doted on him in a way his parents obviously did not. If he wanted to go hunting—and what self-respecting Aesir did not?—she arranged for him to journey to the forests where Dian took him under her wing and along on her hunting parties. It proved a perfect match, as the two shared the same simple, earthy nature. Soon Utgard was abuzz with stories of Thor’s wondrous weapon that unerringly found its mark and returned to its owner’s hand. And whatever game he brought down with it, he instantly gifted to the forest communities in whose lands he was hunting. There were also rumors that in addition to bagging assorted animals, he was actually having a bit of a torrid affair with my General Intendant of the forest Vörnher. When I pressed Angrboda about the truth of this, she merely smiled knowingly and said that while she wasn’t in the habit of listening to gossip, such a liaison would not surprise her given how alike Thor and Dian were. Once more, I was impressed by my wife’s perspicacity.

Whatever the truth to the rumors, Thor returned from his hunting expedition in high good spirits and blessed my wife profusely for arranging for Dian to be his guide and companion among the forest Jotuns. It wasn’t long, however, before he once more became bored and restless. Sensing this, Angrboda asked Thor if he still had any interest in hammers and smithing since I had gifted him Mjollnir. To my surprise, his eyes instantly lit up and he boasted of how he had become known in Asgard as a competent blacksmith, and that one of his pastimes was forging weapons for his father’s Einherjar and their Valkyrie consorts.

Well, that being the case, how would you like to travel to the mountains of Jotunheim and work with the hammers of some of the finest smiths in Igdrasil?

You could arrange that, Angrboda? I mean I don’t want to be any trouble to you.

"No trouble at all, my boy. In fact, it’s been far too long since I visited my tribe and family, so I’ll take you there myself and introduce you to our miners, smiths, and ingineers."

And so I found myself on a trip to my wife’s people with Odin’s eldest in tow. It would prove to be one of the more memorable trips of my life.

When we entered the territory of the mountain Jotuns, we were greeted with joyous crowds wherever we went. Angrboda had always been much loved by her people, but during our reign they had experienced a degree of peace and prosperity they had never known before.