Chapter four
When the dead go marching in
Passing through the Gatekeeper of the Rainbow Bride was easier than Sigyn had thought it would be. However it wasn't the Prince's authoritativeness that made Heimdall concede, it was the frighteningly stoic man's curiosity which allowed their group to pass.
It should not have been strange – the fact that he knew of their destination. Even if he were not all-seeing, then surely the garb of some, as well as the recent happenings – could not have indicated a different purpose. Still the Guardian of the Bifröst commented that they should have dressed warmer. And his warning – that his gates would not open should thus pose a threat to his pledge to protect – was unnerving. But the healer did not wish war to befall Asgard, if such happening meant that she herself would survive – she did not want that, she was not that selfish.
This was not her first time traveling via the shimmering bridge, which connected the vast space of Cosmos. Still it left an unpleasant vertigo in its wake. She was glad that it was not the same as her first few times – nausea was an unwanted guest. The Vanir girl calmed herself with a silly little comparison – she interpreted the centrifuge created by the Bifröst as staying too long on a swing and then facing the repercussions. The childish metaphor of swinging – and not crossing stars and nebulae at the speed of a blink of an eye – was soothing.
Jotunheim was dark, if not for the pearlescent shine of snow it would have been too unbearable even for godly sight to conquer. The young Lady guessed that evening was falling in the Cold World. It was nighttime in Realm Eternal so if it was actually possible to measure time by such vast distances, if the realms truly turned the same way, then it was earlier in this desolate place. Asgard was bright and assuredly marching into the day anew, while the Ice Realm had to be dying in the day of old. She reckoned that it was always sunless and dreary in this world, the darkness seemed befitting in her mind.
But it was not the lack of light that moved her most. No, the woman was immediately stunned by the cold. She expected it but it was impossible to do so accurately. It was beyond words – the frost that set into her very bones. And try as she might, she was unable to fight the shivers that wracked her form.
Heimdall's words echoed in her head menacingly: should they bring forth doom impossible to measure – they would remain lost here forever, salvation would not greet them with open arms. Neither would death, she thought. If their arrival was as unnoticed as it appeared, then when ice would win their outrageous little band over – there would be no Valkyries or her mother's royal fleet to ferry their spirits away. Battle or no battle, this world was beyond the care of the ferrymen, the deceased as well. Given if their souls would escape the confines of their frozen bodies at all. The female did not think that Hel would be in their abilities to reach then, therefore they would all be left to wander for eternity. Such a deathless death was beyond the horror her mind could have ever spawned.
Her thoughts about this realm had been correct – the snow and frost was all over, but somehow different from what she had seen of such prior. Perhaps it was the absence of a sun that made it all so blue-ishly grey, not blinding her with its purity – like the snow-buried mountaintops of Svartalfheim had, which often inspired dementia to set its perilous wings upon the heads of those who spent too much time in such endless sheets of white-light.
The girl-woman had expected to see humongous mountains, but how she had envisioned them – did not reflect reality. These structures of nature appeared to be hovering. No, that was not the correct word for it, they did look immensely heavy but stood on needle-thin bases – unmoving. They were all in straight verticals that could not have been anything if not forged by creatures. This realm was unbelievable.
The winds that were created by their abnormal method of arrival made one of the 'mountains' tumble down and the loudness of it startled her – that could not have been unheard by the inhabitants. However no one showed up and Thor ignored a remark from his comrades that their presence should never have 'graced' this world. He simply shrugged the comment off as if unhearing and beckoned everyone to follow.
As their band progressed slowly on foot Sigyn came to the realization that these pillar-like mountains were not mountains indeed – they were ruins of great structures. Having grown up in Asgard one might have formed a certain view on grandeur or become immune to it completely, however that was not the case for her. Whether that was due to her heritage or her nature – did not matter. The Vanir still found herself in awe at the beauty of Realm Eternal, but what she felt for this place of Eternal Cold was different – it was fearful respect. The crumbled remains of buildings were no less impressive than those of the Golden World.
The further she went the more frightened by this place she became. It held the silence of a tomb and the Prince answered to the seemingly rhetorical question that the Ice Jotunns were hiding like the cowards that they were. The Asynjur doubted the validity of his statement but it was not her place to oppose the royal Asgardian.
The deeper they ventured into the ruins the more it became apparent that it was not as destroyed as the initial view had depicted. A dome akin to a palace, which could have rivaled Gladsheim itself, arose in the distance. The feeling that they had landed in some important location intensified. The healer had no knowledge of the layout of this world, but it was more than possible that they were in the heart of it. She thought that there was no way that this fortress was abandoned, it was (as much as she could tell) still in a condition that could be inhabited. This would not bode well, she heard a voice repeat for probably the hundredth time this fateful day.
As they neared the ghostly castle, the Lady began to think that this was all a trap. She tried to redirect her mind into a different route, worry would not do her duty good, but it was difficult to transport her consciousness someplace else. With unspeakable effort she managed to continue assessing the 'palace'. She wondered what it could have looked like in its days of glory and prosperity. It was more than obvious that beings capable of building such were no mere monsters, without thought or capacity for strategy. Even if it all were built and designed by slaves of war, still the ability to create such ploy was well beyond that of a dense creature. And wasn't attesting lack of intellect to an enemy – that clearly was not short on it – a great danger itself? Sometimes she really did not understand how the Nine worked...
There were runes hidden in the Realm, some buried deep underground, some placed on mountaintops, others secured within structures of old – they all formed an intricate sigil, outspread and embracing the vast World of Cold. They all become alive as the barrier was breached. Loki removed his fingers from his temples, he felt inside his head the exact moment that the shield was penetrated. In pain his nerves became alit as if thunder was traveling through them and buzzed incessantly.
The new King instantly felt the arrival of his guests. His little rabbit took the bait and ventured straight into his den. Like a trained hunter he was patient and waited for the trap to shut. Let them come right to his doorstep, he would greet those that he awaited...
His awareness of these strangers was not limited, he knew the exact number that now stood in his frosted lands. And still he peered down from his Throne to look into the freshly spilt blood of a Jotunn that lay at his feet. The view in the sanguine liquid allowed him to observe, it reflected not future – but the 'now' that occurred. The murky sight that he was presented with was enough, for now.
The Giant set his red eyes upon the one that led this band of 'heroes', strays truly and so far from home... He recognized the man instantly, even if the tales would lack the physical description, the way the Aesir held himself was quite unmistakable. He would recognize the Odinson anywhere. The arrogance was so obvious that even such an ethereal visage could not obscure it and the blue-skinned creature was intimately familiar with the trait. But when it was this foolish, this misplaced – it was unworthy of respect; not something he could ever share like this. Like lambs to slaughter the Thunderer led his troops amongst vultures; so vulnerable, so utterly foolish. And so he would wait, this was when the dead go marching in after all. The demise would be so easy to grant, but he had different plans in his cunning mind...
The Prince, now self-crowned into a higher station, did not care for the kinsman that served as scrying material now. He killed the Jotunn himself and remorse was not in his repertoire. It was deserved anyway. The being was slight for his kind but nonetheless greater than the small royal male, however such limitations never bothered the 'survivor'. This death was sly, not really a fight – an assassination more likely.
The deceased had been an advisor in Laufey's misbalanced court. The position was upheld even after the shifting of the Rulers. The man had been clever, not your usual Frost Giant material. More mind, less brawl – and it was something he should have appreciated. And maybe he would have, had the man questioned less his new authority. A great head that he had on his shoulder did not help him now that he was a corpse. But when he was still alive there were forcedly respectful inquiries – there where they should not have been present.
This barge-in on the Allfather's door, what would that enthrall for their figuratively dying race? Laufeyson could understand where these vitally important questions came from, alas he had low tolerance for those who failed to comply with his commands. And so he did not deny the possibility that his secret schemes could be thwarted and whispered by the councilor into Odin's ear if the opportunity arose – and that was simply unacceptable. Therefore it was not against logic that this overly nosey Ice Jotunn would serve a different, higher purpose. As a carcass he had more use than he would if he had been kept breathing.
Killing brethren was not unthinkable to the new Leader. He was not well liked amongst his own people, no more was he appreciated beyond these lands as well. Such had never bothered him; he took what he wanted and removed anything that stood in his path. Why, the very way he came to his post did not gain him admirers. What the Heir had done before committing patricide was also not honorable by any means, but that was not his fault anyway. Unlike what some 'better' races thought, these kinds of actions were not viewed as wholly admirable by the Jotnar. Cruelty was not worshipped blindly, and while his people lacked the convictions like those of heroic Asgardians, it was accepted – not appreciated. Besides if not for their current Lord, they would no longer have anyone strong to turn to, opposing him was madness and the beings of ice did not lack foresight as much to dare do so.
In his mind the one at fault for his heinous crimes was the deceased King. Had Laufey not known that he wished to rule? By all means that was his right, he was the Crown Prince. He was raised for this purpose. But rather than getting the proper training to become what he was now, he was raised upon the idea. Had it been any different, if he were convinced that reigning over Jotunheim was not his destiny, then he would not have opposed stepping aside and allowing another to lead the Frost Giants. Alas it was not so...
He could often disappear and no one cared for it, but the oldest child was still present at times in court as was befit someone of his position. The former Ruler had forever viewed him with something that made his cold blood boil. It was something, something... was it disappointment perhaps? That held no meaning now, for his father was dead and that was that.
Long before his death, the Jotunn King had called upon a fraction of his court, consisting of those he trusted more (but there was no actual trust given to anyone, it was perhaps the same paranoia that Loki shared as well). The small circle was made aware of the one who would inherit his legacy, the castaway royal male was also present. To the surprise of most, the chosen Heir was not the eldest son, it was the second born – Helblindi. The firstborn was angered by this: how dared the man who called himself by that name, deny him of his birthright?! In his opinion his brothers, his half-brothers – were bastards. He was the sole child of the Queen, therefore he was the legitimate Heir.
It should not have been peculiar – the events that followed. Soon after that, Helblindi, a man in his own right at that time, had been found murdered just beside the Throne. His head was severed from his shoulders and the assassin had not even attempted to cover his tracks. To those who had known of the decision it should have been clear – the culprit, however nothing had been done to find the guilty.
Laufey had simply looked at his oldest with that same look and as always the Princeling felt that he did not exist to his predecessor. Perhaps it was because nothing could have been done or perhaps it was because he was her son, but punishment had not come for him either way. The people, unknowing of the selected Heir and assuming it to be the one born first, had simply been told that the middle child of their Leader was slain. Ice Giants, being what they were, had not asked any questions and hadn't found the information to be of any true importance. They were not bothered by any possible future (since they had deemed it secure enough) and they continued living in the present.
And so, for the moment, Loki had been content. Years passed and the fact that he had killed his own flesh and blood disappeared as the trifle thing for him that it was. Life had returned to its path and he hadn't cared that his father remained in power. But peace for him had never been a constant state and once again he had begun seething. The 'trusted' ones had gathered again (he was also there) and so the King chose an Heir once more. Why he had done so, the small Jotunn did not know. There were several millennia that the man could have ruled, so from where the need to appoint his future successor had come from – was a mystery still.
For the second time it had not been him to get the recognition. It was the third child, the youngest son – Byleistr, who had unknowingly received the title. So sooner than the last killing had taken place, barely a week after the secret meeting, the young adolescent was found dead in his bed. While the boy had been sleeping, his throat was slit. It was a merciful end and Byleistr had simply not woken up the next morning.
The eldest Prince had sent both of his siblings to Hel, to meet their mother. He did not hold the two males as his brothers, not even his half-brothers. It was blood that connected them – yes, but that was where it all ended. They had not been close, not at all and he even doubted whether the two had held any brotherly affection for one another. They had been brought-up with great metaphorical distance between them, even more so than was norm for Frost Giants, who usually led independent lives. They were strangers – not brothers. But still the youngest had died in a painless way. Loki needed him out of the way – that did not mean that the child had to suffer though.
Laufey had done nothing when he found the youngest dead, the cycle only repeated. Worst of all, the passed King did not harbor any guilt for his own faulty choices. So how could the kin-slayer feel any when the father's heart was as cold as ice?...
Truly, he felt no remorse for taking these extreme measures. The only things he ever regretted were things he had never had any control over – such as those that occurred prior his birth or at the time of his infancy. And those thoughts always led to such heaviness that he was unused to feeling, to grieving over things he could not mend... This line of thought was not for now though, he had guests to greet and not history to ponder...
A/N
Helblindi and Byleistr are Loki's brothers according to Norse mythology. The aforementioned one's name means Hel-blinder or All-blind, the latter's – Bee-lightning.
