CHAPTER 1 –A TRIP TO SVERIGE
Hela Half-Rotted, the queen of the dead, couldn't care less about reaping. After all, Lord Death - who had given her the powers she required to rule Niflheim after Allfather Odin had thrown her out of Asgard - had also provided Hela with beings to do just that. However, when one is young (well, relatively young, that is - the Norse gods were not immortal but lived a good long while) and restless, it does one good to leave one's realm and roam about the Land of Midgard.
The death goddess didn't even know why she had chosen this land, or this city, or this day. There was some sort of festival going on and Hela readily made herself invisible to join the party; it would bring no good to anyone for her to cause people to run from her, shrieking at the apparition of a woman with a half-dead appearance. She sincerely hoped that she would do no reaping today.
Unseen and unheard, then, Hela wandered among groups of children (they made her laugh - she loved children and strove to make them happy when she could) and people doing tricks and women selling bread and flowers, for it was springtime in the land of Sverige. The lively cacophony of humankind made her heavy heart just a bit lighter as she rarely saw pink cheeks and quick movements and heard shouts of happiness and comradeship.
She hobbled in her serious way to the city square, where a man wearing a gold crown stood surrounded by family and friends. He must have been the king there, she supposed; his grand clothing and his jeweled fingers certainly bespoke of wealth and success. A finely-wrought sword hung from his belt. He was speaking to the people, and Hela stopped to listen.
It was not his speech that interested her; it was his life force. It circled him with a lemon-yellow shimmer that made her eyes - long used to gloom - hurt a bit. She squinted and smiled, if only to herself.
His eyes were a deep blue and his hair was chestnut brown and it fell in loose curls onto his heavily-embroidered cloak. His teeth were even and white. He was the most handsome man Hela had ever seen.
She took a seat on a stone wall and didn't even mind when a fat woman sat upon her. It was extremely rare that the death goddess smiled, but today she smiled and smiled.
And so it was that on that day Dyggvi Domarsson, King of Sweden, entranced not only his people but the goddess of death as well; this would prove to be both a blessing and a curse.
"He was glorious," Hela told her father Loki the Trickster, who had come to visit her in Helheim. "He really was. I couldn't take my eyes off him."
"Hm," Loki commented, rubbing his chin. He was surprised that his daughter was confiding in him thus; but who else had she to talk to? The shades of the dead? "And he rules the land of Sverige?"
Hela nodded. "Ah, it is too bad for me that he'll surely go to Valhalla when he dies instead of coming here." She sighed heavily. "He will no doubt perish in the field of battle, defending his land against its foes." She slumped and cupped her chin in her hand. "Just more bad luck for me."
Loki reached out and felt the skin under his daughter's crown. "Are you all right, girl?" he asked.
"Of course I am," she replied, affectionately batting his hand away. "He was just very pretty to look upon and I loved listening to him speak."
"All right then, my dear," her father said, eager to change the subject. Hearing about his poor deformed daughter's crushes always depressed him. "Let me tell you about an idea I had concerning Iduna and her apples - "
It was many years later that Loki Laufeyarson found himself in the land of Sverige, and he took himself to a battlefield not because he enjoyed seeing soldiers die but because he liked seeing the Valkyrior in action.
Like his daughter had long ago, the trickster situated himself on a stone wall and watched a while. His eyes fell upon the leader of the Swedes and the memory of his daughter's comments came to his mind. Why, wasn't this just the opportunity he was looking for? He had been heavy on the favors he requested of his daughter lately, and this might just cheer her up.
After the Valkyries had carted off their numbered souls and the Niflheim reapers gathered the rest, Loki scanned the survivors.
Ah, there he was. Dyggvi Domarsson, as big as life.
Quite alive, grey and somewhat wrinkled but still hale and hearty. The trickster god smiled a great beaming smile and wafted over to the Midgard king.
He stood there a while, hovering about four feet off the ground, and listened as Dyggvi rallied his troops and congratulated them on another great victory.
The king didn't feel but a puff of air when Loki sneezed in his face.
This was unfortunate because Loki had recently visited the faraway Land of Rus, where disease now ravaged cities and villages alike.
The trickster did not bestow money or jewels or purple fabric as his tribute to King Dyggvi of Sweden, but Corynebacterium diphtheriae instead.