"So what are we supposed to be doing, again?" Faroes asked Sister Iceland. "We're bottling up some lava from Hekla," she replied. "Now put this gear on, or you'll fry into a crisp."

Faroes sighed as he clumsily got himself into the heavy duty pants and jacket she had provided. "This whole thing is stupid," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" she said in a tone that suggested possible violence.

Faroes yelled, "We're going to a volcano, pretending that it's some mythological realm, just to appease some goddess who's not even real, all to possibly reanimate the corpse of my oppressor. It's all a bunch of horseshit!"

Sister Iceland was not one to get mad. Indeed, it had been a trait of her and her brother. But what this impudent colony was saying was too much for her. She roared and raised her hand to strike him. Faroes yelped and hid. She came to her senses. She couldn't hit someone, much less someone who was weaker. He's just prone to anger, she thought. Let's not overreact.

"Faroes, I'm sorry. Please come back out," she called. He emerged from the shadows, looking very repentant, and got his protective clothing on without a fuss. She wondered if… nah, she thought. That's too personal. She grabbed a metal Mason jar from the kitchen cupboard. "Hold onto this," she said. "Please don't lose it."

They exited out the back and walked a bit until Hekla appeared on the horizon. The largest volcano on the island, it wasn't necessarily hard to spot, especially with the lava pouring out of it.

"So, that's where we have to go?" Faroes whimpered.

"Yep," said Sister Iceland. "Stop being such a baby and hand me that Mason jar."

As they approached the mountain, the world surrounding them shifted out of focus, and they found themselves on another world entirely. It was a hot, fiery, and hellish world. A large city carved out of black rock formed before their eyes. Sister Iceland saw the utter terror in Faroes' eyes. "Welcome to Muspelheim," she said.

Canada looked at his clock. It read 6:14 in the morning, and yet the knocking was getting more and more frequent. "Who in the heck is knocking at this hour?" he asked himself as he opened the door. And there was Sweden in a parka, standing on his doorstep.

Canada squinted. "Sweden? Is… is that you?"

Sweden nodded grimly. "May I borrow a moment of your time?"

"It's 6 am!"

"I know, but it's important."

Canada relented. "Come, sit."

Sweden sat down at the kitchen table. "Got any coffee?" he asked. Canada glared at him reproachfully.

"Sweden, I just woke up! Don't come into my house and start demanding coffee!" Canada reprimanded. Sweden held up his arms in surrender. A teenage voice called from upstairs. "Papa, qui est-ce?"

"It's only Sweden," Canada said. "Go back to sleep, Quebec. Sorry for yelling." A door closed. "Aye-yay-yay," Canada groaned. "So, what are you here for?"

"Well, I'm wondering if any of those old Viking settlements you found happened to be near a polar region of any kind," Sweden said. Canada squinted suspiciously. "Why?" he asked testily. "Did you lose something?"

Sweden fidgeted. "It actually might be better to answer the question and not ask them," he said. Canada yawned. "That's a question for Newfoundland," he said. "I can give you directions to his place." Thanking him for the botherance, Sweden left to visit Canada's lost province.

After driving for two hours through the most desolate landscape Sweden had ever seen this side of Siberia, he arrived at a cliff's edge. Parking the car and peering over the edge, he saw a tiny village built on a shoreline that probably totaled about a square mile, sandwiched between the cliff and the Atlantic Ocean. A narrow and slick staircase carved out of the cliff descended down for what seemed like a couple hundred feet.

He can't be serious, Sweden thought, grimacing.

Regardless, he braced himself, pulled on his boots, and began climbing down. It took a while due to him crawling backwards on his hands and knees, but he finally reached the bottom.

The village looked like it was home to a hundred people and the village dog. Sweden wasn't necessarily a fish out of water- this bore a strong resemblance to some of Norway's forgotten fishing villages- but his combed hair, glasses, parka, decent pants, and hiking boots definitely contrasted with the general de facto dress code of galoshes, rubber overcoats, flannel (so much flannel) and denim jeans. A small fishing fleet sat in the degenerate harbor, and the boats looked as if they hadn't been fixed up since the province became a part of Canada in 1949.

He wandered around the town, marveling at the houses. There was a post office, a tiny grocer's that sold mostly canned goods, a pub, and a tiny cannery. The houses were in the Irish-coast-fishing-village style. Sweden figured that the best place to look first would be the pub, giving that the rain was blowing sideways and it was a fishing town.

As he walked in, the first thing that hit him was the atmosphere. It was a small pub, but was packed with people. He went up to the bar. The tender was a rugged sort, and bore a resemblance to Svalbard. "How you gettin' on, cocky?" he asked with a bellicose laugh. "Could I have a pint, please?" Sweden asked. He gave a solid nod and poured Sweden a glass.

"Ye new 'ere, b'y?" the tender asked. "Um… yeah," Sweden volunteered. "So, where h'are ye from, now? Well, I reckon that's a stupid quest'in. Yer from Canada, aren'cha? Yea, ye are, right. $4.50." Sweden laid the cash on the counter and proceeded to drink his beer when the bartender let out an exclamation. "Well, I be damned!" he said, fingering the coins. Sweden, without thinking, had giving 4 ½ kroner, not Canadian dollars. "This ain't mainlan' money, ain't it, b'y?"

Sweden gulped. "No, sir, it's not."

"Then wer' h'are ye from?" the tender asked.

"My name is Sweden," he replied.

"God in 'eaven! Oy, b'y!" he yelled towards the crowd. "We got ourselves a 'onestegaw Vikin'!" Excited murmur skipped around the bar. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm looking for somebody," Sweden asked quietly as he replaced the 4.50 kroner with 28, which was the proper amount.

"Well, who ye lookin' fer?" he responded.

"Newfoundland."

"OY! NEWFIE!" the tender bellowed. A Scottish-Irish-looking fellow stood up. "THIS VIKE WANTS TE TALK TE YE!"

Newfoundland came over. "Whadd'ya at, b'y?" he said, shaking Sweden's hand. Noting the blank expression, he instead said, " 'ow ye doin', b'y?"

"Ah," Sweden said. "I'm okay, thank you. Is there a discreet location we could talk?" Newfoundland nodded.

"Have you seen anything… out of the ordinary at your old Viking town?" Sweden asked. Newfoundland took a pull from his ale. "Lance-o Med-o? Haven't been there in h'ages. I could give you a ride over to the rock next morn' if ye wants." Sweden frowned. "We're not on the island right now?" The fisherman shook his head and pointed out the window to a mass of land across the water. "Thar's the rock," he said. "This here's Lab'dor, hence Lab'dor bein' the tender an' all." The burly man at the bar waved. "So we're on Labrador?" Sweden asked, confused. "Eh, b'y," Newfoundland said. "See, this here terra'try is'n two parts. Lab'dor is on the mainlan', tha's the firs' part. Newfoundland, the rock, is the other part."

"Newfie's visitin' from Sin Jinn's for the day," Labrador declared. "And I do reckon that this calls for gettin' on the go! Pints on the house!" A loud mass of cheering ensued. "Is there a place that I could bed down for today?" Sweden asked. Newfoundland, understanding the newcomer's slight claustrophobia, escorted him out.

In a room on the other side of town, Sweden made his calls.

"Where are you at?" Sister Denmark yelled. "We've been worried that something happened."

"I'm in some fishing town on the coast of Labrador," Sweden yelled back. Commotion was occurring on the other end.

"Where?"

"Labrador!"

"Like the dog?"

"Yeah."

"What in the name of Thor are you doing there? I thought you were talking to Canada!"

"Canada was tired and didn't know, so he devolved the responsibility to the person who would know. So Newfoundland's taking me over to his island tomorrow to investigate."

"Where?"

"Newfoundland!" Sweden said angrily.

"Like the dog?"

Sweden sighed with exasperation. "Yes, Denmark, like the dog."

"What's on Newfoundland?"

"L'Anse aux Meadows. The only excavated Norse village on this side of the Atlantic." Silence on the other end. "Okay, good luck," she said, and hung up. Sweden sighed, then collapsed on his bed, exhausted.

Iceland woke from his nap. It had been a very strange nap. "Woo, boy," he yawned. "That was weird. There were white trees and black grass and a giant-" He looked up to see a very large mouth filled with the biggest, whitest teeth known to man. "WOLF!" he yelled, startled.

"Yes, young warrior," Fenrir said, smiling. "I am a wolf. I hope you know my name?"

"Fenrir, Odin's bane," Iceland said, gasping for breath.

"Good," Fenrir said. "I like it when people have fear before I eat them." He lunged at Iceland, but he was ready for him. Next thing he knew, Fenrir was smarting from a punch to the jaw. He growled and glared at Iceland, who was armed with several demons, lava, and a killer smile. "Now, wolf, we could fight this out. Or we could just agree to an existence where we stay out of each other's sight. We both hate the other." Fenrir laughed a booming laugh. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I have spirits of Múspellsheimr at my immediate command," Iceland declared. "As well as the power of flame!" Fenrir laughed again. "Your powers are a joke! Young warrior, have you heard of a fellow named Surtr?" Iceland pretended to look thoughtful. "Surtr? Is he big, tall, a fire giant? The eventual destroyer of Yggdrasil?" Fenrir gave a nod. "That's right, young one. He and I are good friends!"

"How about that?" Iceland snarled. "Well, I'll have you know that Surtr is my bitch, and you're about to join him!" And before Fenrir could say anything, Iceland unleashed hellhounds on him. Although they were much smaller than he was, their flames and biting hurt a lot. The howling could probably be heard from Asgard. Knowing that Fenrir was bonded, Iceland recalled the demons after what he deemed a proper amount of time. As Fenrir licked his wounds, Iceland glared at him coldly. "Don't fuck with me again, got it?" he said. Fenrir got the message.

Iceland struck out into the forest. He made camp using natural debris, and hunted with a knife that he had on him. He posted demons to watch Fenrir and make sure that they both acknowledged the truce.

When he was bored, he scouted the island, eventually reaching the tallest point on the island. He could see one end, where Fenrir was sleeping. On the other side, the island expanded into a large tract of forest and other environments. He saw his camp, which was only a few hundred yards away from Fenrir, even though it seemed so much further. The sun had set by this point and the night sky had assumed its primal role. Iceland was astounded by the detail he was able to see. Well, when you have no light pollution for forever, I guess that puts you at an advantage, he thought.

He breathed in and out, and started to think.

I wonder where the others ended up. Hopefully not somewhere awful. Denmark's probably screaming his head off. Sweden's reprimanding him while Norway tells Sweden to lay off. Åland is petting Sweden and Finland's threatening everyone with a knife. Yeah, like that.

I wonder how I got here. I was falling, and then BAM! I wind up here. Huh. Did I hit the side? Maybe I made accidental contact with something and got transported here. Who knows. All I have to do know is avoid any contact with that literal bitch over there and we'll all be fine.

All of a sudden, a figure materialized from thin air. She was astonishingly beautiful, with long blonde hair. She was not a ghost, but a very physical reality.

"Well, hello," Iceland said.

"Hello, Iceland," she said. Her voice was that of a young girl, but piercingly cold.

"And who might you be? I doubt I'll be surprised after today."

She laughed. "Oh, Iceland! You know who I am! Is it not clicking?" He shook his head.

"My name is Freyja."

"Oh. OH," he said, quickly realizing what was going on. Scrambling up, he bowed in respect. Freyja laughed. "No need to do that, dear," she said. He sat down. "Oh, I remember when you were a rough-and-tumble Viking. And then you just…"

"Disappeared?" he said, feeling a pang of guilt.

"Yeah," she said, sitting down next to him.

"So, why are you here? You're not going to try and convert me, are you?" he asked.

"Odin thought you might need a companion," she said, smiling. "You're going to be here a while."

"I am?"

"You're on the middle of an island floating in outer space, tenuously connected to Yggdrasil. I'm astonished that you survived at all after encountering Fenrir, much less beating him. You've impressed many, including me," she said.

"Why, thank you," he said. "I'm flattered."

"My pleasure," she said, beaming. "Now, I assume you're wondering where your friends are." He nodded. Her smile vanished.

"Iceland, they fell into Helheim."

He paled- at least, as much as he could- and was swept by dread.

"Åland, Norway, and Sweden made it out. They're working with the sisters and as many people as they can."

"What happened in Helheim?"

The goddess remained quiet.

"Freyja? What happened?"

She said, "Åland, Sweden, and Norway got lost for a while."

Iceland felt a pit in his gut, but pursued his question. "Freyja, what happened to Finland and Denmark?"

"Finland also disappeared. Nobody knows where he went."

"And Denmark?"

She paused, then said with measured calm, "He died, Iceland. He hit his head on the rocks."

Iceland hadn't felt so sad in a while. He felt the tears immediately. "I could use that companionship right about now," he said. Freyja smiled with sympathy and comfort. "I'm sorry, Iceland, but I'm not that companion. She'll be here soon. As for your other friends, they made it out after a bargain with Hel."

"Hel doesn't bargain," he said miserably. "What did she say?"

Freyja grimaced. "She said that if the Nordic countries brought her flame from Muspelheim and water from Hvergelmir, she could raise Denmark."

"I have a feeling it's a trick," he said, "but anything is game. Did she say anything about me or Finland?"

"She alluded to two other challenges, but didn't say what they were for," she said, "but I wouldn't lose hope. For one, your sister knows where you are and has disclosed it to the others. Now they're focused on finding Finland and getting those elements."

"Muspelheim has a portal near Hekla."

"And your sister has located it," she said. "She's there right now with Faroe Islands."

"Poor Faroes," he said, chuckling.

"Niflheim is proving a little tricky. Sweden is currently in Newfoundland and Labrador."

Iceland nodded grimly. "L'Anse-aux-Meadows. He's a smart man."

"They love you very much, Iceland."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Really?" asked Freyja with curiosity. "If they didn't, why would your sister spend months alone, communing with me, trying to find you?" With a wave of her hand, he saw his sister at the new Norse temple, surrounded with fire.

"O goddess Frigg and Freyja, high and mighty, if you are aware of my brother's location, please tell me. I love him." And then she broke down crying. Iceland felt terrible. As he thought about it, a thought occurred.

"How long have I been gone?"

"In Midgard time? A little over four months. In Fenrir time? A little over a day."

He gasped. "A day?"

She nodded. "Time is a funny thing on Yggdrasil," she said. "The general rule is that the closer you get to Midgard, the more 'normal' time becomes. The further out you go, the slower it is. So to your friends, who spent about two weeks in Helheim, one week equaled two Midgard months. This island is so isolated, however, that a week here would be about 2.3 Midgard years."

Iceland went quiet. "Well, at least that means that if they're indeed going to rescue me, it should be around breakfast tomorrow," he said with a sense of consolation.

Freyja smiled sympathetically. "There's the catch, Iceland. They aren't going to be rescuing you any time soon. To get here, you have to be immortal."

"So? Couldn't they just ask you?"

"First, they would have to find Bifrost, which only Æsir know about. Then, they would have to convince Heimdall that their cause is worthy enough to petition before Asgard. If he doesn't think so, that's that. But suppose they make it. The trip alone would take about six Midgard months. The petition before the Æsir would take about three Asgardian days. One week on Asgard is seven Midgard months, so now they've spent a total of nine or ten Midgard months getting to Asgard, not counting the time it took to find Bifrost and convince Heimdall. They would wait a total of one Asgardian week to allow for your retrieval, and then the journey home. Grand total? About two Midgard years. Or, a week here."

Iceland's face fell. "So that was essentially a roundabout way of saying that this is going to be the longest week of my life?"

She made a forced smile. "Yes, dear." He let out an exasperated breath.

"You'll do great. Just focus on the present and everything will be fine." She stood up and started to walk across the heavens, disappearing into mist. He let out a sigh, and fell asleep.

It was a gorgeous spring morning in Tallinn. The birds were returning from Italy for the upcoming warmer months, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. You would never think that two Baltic relatives were going on a mission to the Land of the Dead.

Sister Finland showed up to Estonia's house absolutely sober, but had a hip flask full to the brim with homebrew if necessary. Knowing her companion, she was definitely going to need it; just seeing Estonia made her want to drink. Meanwhile, Estonia answered the door half-conscious with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, although she woke up a little when she saw Sister Finland. The Finn gave a curt nod and entered. "Coffee?" Estonia offered. Sister Finland signaled that she, indeed, did want a cup of coffee as quickly as possible. She marveled at how tidy Estonia's house was; the last time she had been here the floor was littered with vodka bottles and ice cream cartons.

"So, down to business," Estonia said promptly as she pulled two jewels out of her pocket. "Sweden gave me these before I left. They're one-way teleporters; one for there, one for back. He managed to find a portal or some other that aligned with our dimension, and he created these for the same portal. How do they work? You smash them on the ground and say where you want to go. If you want more people to come, you have to be touching them somehow. Got that?" Sister Finland, following barely as the coffee cleared the morning fuzz out, nodded in understanding.

"Great," Estonia said. "Chug down that coffee, because we're leaving."

After doing so, Estonia took Sister Finland by the hand, smashed the jewel on the floor and said in a clear voice, "Tuonela!"

The room spun out of focus, and soon they were gone… and a desert materialized before their eyes.

"Okay, Finland, here's the deal," Estonia said, peeling off her top. "Take off everything that's going to cause you to be hot. Hats, tops, anything. This heat will kill you." Sister Finland did as she was told. It seemed like Estonia knew what she was doing… for once.

Daybreak over Fenrir's Island found Iceland slumped over, snoring. Delling was roaring with laughter, so much so that the island woke with a start. "Huh! What!" he exclaimed. Squinting up, he saw the god of dawn laughing hysterically. Iceland gave him a glare that would have froze Helheim over, and Delling excused himself to continue dragging the sun over the horizon.

"Damn minor gods," Iceland muttered, and curled up to continue sleeping. A shade fell over him, and he took it as a sign of convenience.

"ah-HEM!" the source coughed with frustration. Iceland opened his eyes a little, only to spot someone. His companion! She was about his height and age, and in fact looked like a young Freyja.

"Why, hullo," he said, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

" 'Why, hullo' yourself," she snapped back.

Iceland felt a little patronized. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Sjöfin, your companion," she said. "I can't believe the gods wasted someone of my talents and looks on… you. A mere mortal."

Now, Iceland didn't feel patronized. He was affronted. "Sjöfin, I just learned that my friend died. My other friends are impossibly far from here, and I have no hope of getting rescued. I really could use a friendly companion."

She humphed and stormed off, leaving Iceland agape. Some friend they sent me! he thought. After sitting and stewing in his newfound anger for a little bit, he climbed down from the mountain and returning to his basecamp, where he found Sjöfin playing with his demons.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Those are my guards! They keep me from getting eaten by the huge wolf right out there! Hræða hana burt!" Suddenly, the demon stopped being so cuddly. "What… what's happening to… it?" she asked as the demon's eyes started glowing red. Then, it ballooned into a frightening shape and sounded the noise of the apocalypse. Sjöfin screamed and ran away crying. Shows her right, Iceland thought. Yeesh.

Shortly before full sunrise, he grabbed his jury-rigged bow and arrow, along with the flag he had made from his shirt and a stick (another flag hung at his basecamp, as a sort of mark-the-territory move), and he went out to hunt.

About 1,500 paces from his camp, as he neared a lake, he could hear a noise. Peering from behind a tree, he saw Sjöfin crying softly beside the water. He immediately felt absolutely terrible about his behavior, and yet a voice in his head said, Yeah, but she got what she deserved. Moody and scornful bitch. This thought bothered Iceland; was he not himself? And then he realized why a companion had been sent to him. The gods knew that he was lonely, and that bred bad things. His knowledge of psychology wasn't great, but it was enough to know that he was being a dick.

After hunting, he returned to his camp. He laid down to take a rest, but the demons were quite nervous, growling at every little thing. "Shut up, guys, there's nothing there!" he said, and they calmed down a little. His eyes shot open, however, when he heard a little scream, only to see Sjöfin dangling by her arms like a monkey from a tree branch right above him.

"You!" he yelled, and he realized that that came out more spiteful than wanted. "What are you doing?"

"Just exploring," she said innocently.

"Oh? Right into my basecamp, guarded by demons? No wonder they were all jumpy!"

"Yeah, well…"

"Wait. Were you watching me?"

She twirled her hair. "Maybe."

"That's weird!"

"You're weird."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She fell off the branch into the leaves below. "So, who are you?"

"I'm Iceland," he said. ""And you said your name is Sjöfin, although I don't know that name."

She sighed. "I'm a love goddess. I had nothing else to do, so Odin sent me here." She noticed his cold expression. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch earlier. I was angry, but not at you." He nodded gently. "Yeah, I apologize, too," he said. "That was really mean of me. I saw you crying." He grabbed a demon. "Vera logn!" he ordered, and the demon assumed a playful position, purring. "Go on, stroke him," Iceland said, taking her hand and placing it on the demon's tummy. Sjöfin seemed to have the time of her life. "He's really cute!" she said. Iceland laughed.

"Haha, so are you," he said without thinking.

She stopped and turned, only to see blush Muspelheim red.

"Oh, really? Me, a love goddess, cute?" This only caused Iceland to blush more.

"I need to talk to Fenrir again," he said, quickly changing the subject.

"Okay, loverboy," she teased. Throwing one last nasty glare, he trumped off with a couple of demons. "Sauma, Garm, come!" he ordered, and left Sjöfin there in the camp.

Maybe that's what they wanted, Iceland thought. Maybe they want me to stay here forever.

1. The Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador is often considered "the lost British Isle". The culture is very different from 'mainland' Canada, and they still consider themselves fundamentally different from the rest of Canada; in fact, some locals still say they're "going to Canada" when going to the mainland. They were the last province to be absorbed into the confederation. They speak a dialect of English called "Newfoundland English" or simply "Newfie English", which involves heavy use of "b'y" (boy), which is used to address people of both genders. I spent FOREVER researching the dialect so I could make the scene a little more authentic. They also are host to the earliest proof of Europeans discovering the Americas, at a community called L'Anse-aux-Meadows. You can visit the only excavated Norse settlement in the Western Hemisphere here.

2. Fenrir is the brother of Hel by Loki and a giantess named Angrboda. He started out as a cuddly puppy, but quickly grew into a massive, monstrous wolf. Odin chained him down to an island isolated from the rest of the World Tree.

Keep reading! I love you guys!