XLV
Nexlan Kazaaro's In-Depth Guide to Your Next Best Interstellar Vacation!
….
And next, gentlepeople and gentlebeasts, we come to the Nine Realms!
Yes, that's right, the home of the famed warriors of the Æsir, once upon a time the scourge of the civilized galaxy. A fierce, bloodthirsty culture that makes their home on Asgard, First of the Nine. The Æsir were often hailed as gods by those they colonized - or rather, installed themselves as gods once their imperialist agenda erased the native religions of the land.
Let's see what Asgard's got to offer besides a legacy of suffering and destruction!
Though the privileged of the Æsir travel by a colorful multidimensional wormhole, there are several pleasure barges that stop in Asgard's bustling spaceports. Even private cruisers may request to dock, but be prepared for a thorough search by the King's customs officers.
In Asgard you will be treated to stunningly wide-open vistas of the Ziffurrani Nebula and its famed clouds of purple potassium and pink hydrogen gases. And every three hundred solar cycles, a great emerald burst explodes from a nearby sun, lighting up the local star clusters for a month or best part is that the planetary disc itself sits on the edge of uninhabited wild space - no orbiting colonies or fueling stations to block your view!
If you manage to tear yourself away from the celestial brilliance of Asgard's sky, there is plenty to see on solid ground. The royal palace of Gladsheim is a golden majesty of fluted towers. You might even catch a glimpse of the ruling family strolling through the bountiful public gardens!
There are several art galleries to visit, though for the parents among our readers, be warned - most of the subject matter may not be appropriate for children, unless they identify as apex predators or are accustomed to gratuitous violence. The most magnificent of them feature kings and warriors in the act of impaling a victim or several, and if you can look past all the entrails, are breathtaking in their capture of movement and form.
If art displays aren't your thing, or if the nausea becomes too much to bear, you might be interested in taking a dip at the beach. Swimmers can marvel at the awe-inspiring waterfall that crests the edge of existence - just watch out for the current, or it'll sweep you into a vast, senseless void beyond space and time!
If you're a connoisseur of all that is edible, Asgard is a fantastic place to sample a hunk of roast boar - so recently slaughtered the legs are still twitching. Make sure you get a taste of the gravy they serve on the side - the rich iron content of the blood really enhances the flavor profile!
As you can see, Asgard is full of fun activities for the whole family. Visit the First of the Nine if you want a glimpse into a simpler past - the Æsir remain isolated and very traditional, with quaint customs like ale-brewing, rug-weaving, and an absolute monarchy.
Here's some tips and tricks for making the most out of your visit to Asgard:
No one wants to stick out like a tourist - so be sure to remain armed at all times, visibly if possible. Every citizen of Asgard bears arms, regardless of their age, gender, or mental stability.
Do not make prolonged eye contact with an Asgardian. They are prone to attack at the smallest provocation. If one of them does attack, do NOT retaliate or make yourself seem bigger. Curl up into the smallest ball possible and whimper, if you can. The Æsir do not like prey that doesn't fight back, and prefer not to be reminded that their victim has a mother that they can beg to for deliverance.
If an Asgardian offers you a pint of ale, you must drink it all down at once. They will become quite offended if you do not, and perhaps even sit on your chest and force the liquid down your throat. Better to play along!
If you are jötunn, or otherwise blue-skinned, best not make an appearance in this realm. Another antiquated tradition they practice is prejudice against species!
Do not start a drinking song with many verses or a particularly long chorus. The Æsir will take up the chant. They have nearly unlimited stamina, with large barrel-chests capable of holding an enormous capacity of air. The song will go on for hours, and the Æsir are famously poor singers in any case.
And remember: Have fun! Don some armor and a sword, practice your ale-quaffing, and step back in time to witness the barbarity of an ancient age firsthand!
...
The Second of the Nine Realms is Midgard, but as it doesn't possess a spaceport and the majority of the species on its surface are alternately venomous, poisonous, or predatory, we will not be covering it in this guide.
XLVI
"To traverse the Void between the realms is a great undertaking." His father stands near the sharp crystal edge, gazing from the bridge into the vast wilderness of space.
Thor doesn't know how he can stand it. He refuses to look down into that black, depthless void. That hungry, leaching absence which swallows light and life, hope and love. Valhalla does not exist down there. Nor does Fólkvangr, that wooden hall where the peaceful shades rest. Not even Hela's servants dare encroach upon such all-consuming darkness.
Thor stares determinedly back at Odin. "I know."
"You must remain cautious," he warns.
"Yes, Father," comes his reply, with a touch of exasperation. "I know."
Odin's eyes are steel grey beneath lowered brows. "You know, do you? You know the currents of dark energy, how to listen to the inhale and exhale of the realms, the might of Yggdrasil's heaving branches?"
Chastisement has never encouraged Thor to hold his tongue. "I know that I know not of these matters, and that I must trust others to guide my safe passage." He smiles broadly at the assembled mages. "And I know my trust is securely placed, for they are the most knowledgeable in all of Asgard."
The young mage's apprentice at the front of the group grins back, bouncing in place on spindly legs. The women remain more dignified, inclining their heads. His mother's friend Isli winks at him.
Father turns to them. "I shall begin to summon the energy. Prepare yourselves to redirect."
They form a rough circle, dropping their chins toward their chests. The nape of his neck tingles, a frisson relayed through the air, the sleeping seidr of the realm's most powerful mages awakened. Like the heartbeat before lightning curls a tongue of white fire around Mjölnir's head.
His father is the focal point. Breathing deeply, eyes closed, his fine golden armor shimmers with a haze of power. Mother watches silently.
Thor waits with the councillors and the attendants and those others that feel more at home in the sparring circle than the mage's circle. The only exception is the apprentice that has retreated off to one side. Thor wanders over, his footsteps aimless. The proceedings are quite a bit more dull than he imagined. There are no colorful sparks shooting into the air, no chanting or singing. No puffs of smoke or rings of flame. Just unwavering, quiet concentration. It's awfully boring.
The apprentice glances over his shoulder as Thor approaches - and then looks left, and right, before staring up at him. Thor rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting to be acknowledged, but the young man doesn't speak. He tries to put the apprentice at ease with a friendly question. "Are you not participating?"
"M-Me, my prince?" The young man shakes his head. "Um - Master Kveiki is the mage. I am just her apprentice. I'll join the circle when it's ready, to lend my seidr, but I am not yet skilled enough to design the reflector runes. I mean - I am skilled with the runes, of course, my master is a very competent teacher - not that I am boasting - the masters certainly surpass me in the craft, but I meant -"
Thor mercifully cuts him off. "And your name?"
The apprentice seems relieved, swallowing audibly. "Leifr." He bows a head full of tight dark curls.
"How long have you been a mage's apprentice?"
"Only - only a few decades, my prince." Leifr's voice shakes. He fusses with his engraved silver cuffs. Thor tries not to smile.
"And do you find the Academy to your liking?"
Leifr blinks big brown eyes at him. "Of course! To study at the Academy is an honor." The mage seems to find his stride. "The wisest scholars in the Nine Realms frequent the halls. The secretkeepers of Alfheim's cloud forests, the Vaniri sunsingers, Asgard's own master healers. And - well, the Sky Spire holds the largest library I have seen in all my years."
"Surely it cannot be larger than that of Vanaheim's White Palace," Thor says.
"The White Palace?" Leifr shrugs one shoulder. "I've never been to Vanaheim."
"Truly?"
"We were going to go and visit the star maps in the Hall of Prophecy. Before - um - the Allfather ordered the Bifröst to be closed."
Thor cannot help but glance to the jagged edge of the bridge. The ljósvaldr is cloudy and colorless, no longer reflecting the light of Asgard's single moon.
Leifr hurries on. "You know, in the Hall of Prophecy, they have a separate room for each galaxy, with the exact location of celestial bodies projected upon the wall. All it takes is a touch of seidr to manipulate, and you can sit and watch the spin of foreign constellations."
"I know," Thor says softly. "My brother once kept me in Niflheim's star atlas for an entire afternoon."
He can see Leifr swallow, uncertain. Then his lips purse together and determination flickers across delicate features. "I - I was grieved to hear of Prince Loki's passing."
"You were?" Thor prods. He has heard this tune before, and found it shallow and insincere, a mockery in the guise of sympathy.
"Yes. His treatise on celestial geometry and fluctuation in ambient seidr was one of my favorite texts when I was younger. I have kept it in my bedchambers for many years."
"I did not know of such a treatise," Thor admits. "No doubt I would be unable to grasp the finer points of his conclusions."
"I don't see why," Leifr says. "He uses you as an example."
Now Thor is truly astonished. "Me?"
"He said you summon your lightning from ambient seidr. And ambient seidr fluctuates with the revolutions of the realms, so…"
"So...?"
Leifr rubs at the tip of his upturned nose and shoots Thor a sheepish expression. "To be honest, the subsequent paragraph eluded me."
A laugh bubbles up from Thor's chest. "Take heart, my friend. I still maintain that Loki's arguments were more convoluted than strictly necessary, for the perverse pleasure of confounding his audience. I was often the victim of such a ploy."
Leifr ducks his head but cannot hide his smile. They are quiet for a stretch, watching the tableau laid out before them on the splintered remnant of the destroyed bridge.
"Prince Thor?"
Leifr looks up at him, long-lashed eyes set wide in his dark-skinned face. Thor leans down a bit to match his height. "Yes?"
"Why are you going to Midgard?"
He blinks, and turns away. "I - I wish to make peace with the humans. To repay my debt to them, and pay penance for the destruction I caused when I last visited their realm."
"Oh." Leifr thinks for a moment, wriggling his nose. "That is very noble, Prince Thor."
Thor fiddles with the vambrance upon his right arm. He traces the engraving his mother pressed into the metal. An outline of a pair of horns, curving upwards sharply. "Noble. I once thought myself quite noble," he murmurs.
"I should like to visit Midgard, someday." Leifr chatters on without appearing to hear him. "Once the Bifröst is reconstructed. I would visit Midgard and Vanaheim and even Nidavellir, though I heard their mages are quite unwilling to share their ancient knowledge of metalworking."
His master approaches and calls for Leifr with an irritated edge to her tone. Kveiki, Thor remembers. Head Mage Isli's trusted lieutenant. "We shall begin soon, apprentice. Join the circle."
Leifr scampers off with a nervous grin and a small wave. Kveiki glides over to him. She sweeps gleaming white hair over one shoulder. "Apologies, Prince Thor. My apprentice proves his lack of restraint daily. I hope he did not try your patience."
Thor shakes his head quickly, biting back a frown. "Not at all, honored mage. He is simply eager."
Her tawny eyes flick over to Leifr. "Quite eager. He has much to learn."
"Then he is fortunate to have the attention of a wise and competent teacher." Thor bows his head slightly. "I must admit I was never as eager for a lesson at his age."
"Except perhaps from the swordmaster."
Thor concedes with a quirk of his lips. "Is that so terrible?"
Kveiki only tilts her head. Golden paint graces the line of her sculpted cheekbones, a tiny pattern of angular, precise runes standing bright against the warm bronze of her skin. "Eagerness is dangerous in a mage. An eager student of seidr goes too far, too fast. They cultivate more power than they can control. They court darker mysteries than they should seek. Magic is not forgiving. It does not tolerate mistakes."
"The mages of the Academy said the very same of my brother," Thor says, his voice low with a note of warning. "Yet he succeeded at every turn when they said he was doomed to fail."
"Then I suppose your brother was no common mage," Kveiki replies, in a tone that suggests she's humoring him. She turns with a swish of pale fabric, her gown whipping at Thor's legs. "To touch the well of power and not be sucked into its depths. I know of several who did not succeed."
Kveiki walks to rejoin the mage's circle. Thor stares after her, put off by her abruptness.
A soft voice at his shoulder startles him. "Lend her some sympathy."
He whirls, nearly tripping over his cloak. His mother raises an eyebrow. "Kveiki understands more than most the precarious path the student of magic must tread."
"You are seiðkona," Thor protests. "And you advocate against your own art?"
"When a warrior loses himself in the bloodlust, revels in it so deeply that he turns his blade against kin and countrymen, we would name him berserkr and cast him from our halls and hearths," Mother tells him. "When a mage loses themselves in the pulse of seidr, basks in the fire of their power, uses their magic to destroy, we should name them wretched as well."
Thor tries to puzzle out what she means. "I have never seen a berserkr who wields magic as his blade."
"The subtlety of seidr surprises all but the most watchful. A blade need not be shining steel to deal out death. It can be small and silent too," his mother says. "As for Kveiki, she has been… preoccupied of late."
He thinks of Frigga at her loom, these past nights, seeking shadows. Unease grips him by the short hairs. "Perhaps I should remain here. In case I am needed."
She reaches up and cups his cheek. "Perhaps they have greater need of your presence on Midgard. Perhaps you need Midgard," Mother says softly.
Thor studies her fine profile, her expression serene and unreadable. "Have you… Seen this?"
"My dreams fade upon waking," she murmurs. "But I feel that you are called away. I feel that this journey must take place."
There is no time to continue the conversation. Father raises his head. "Thor," he booms, "come near that we may send you on your way."
He kisses Frigga's cheek. "I shall return."
"When you are ready," she whispers. "And not before."
Thor strides forward and inserts himself into the center of the circle. Odin observes him, head to toe. Thor refuses to quail beneath that familiar penetrating gaze.
"You are set on this course," Father says, almost a question.
"Yes," he replies firmly.
Odin inclines his head in the barest acquiescence. "Call Heimdall when you wish to return. But be warned, Thor - it shall take several days for us to gather the required energy for the translocation. You will be on your own until then."
"I understand." Thor kneels, one fist over his heart. A gesture of respect, and farewell. A prince to a king, not a man to his father. Just as he was taught.
Odin breathes out a sigh. "May you find what you seek on Midgard. My son."
He raises his arms, and the mages follow, shadowing his movements. The warm buzz of energy turns hot, from embers of power to a sudden blaze. Thor feels something shift, clicking out of place, and then the bridge is gone, and the royal court, Odin's grey eyes the last lingering sight before he too is consumed with blackness.
It is not the roar of the Bifröst with which he falls. More like - he's been pushed, propelled. Thor descends, faster than he anticipated.
Too fast. The acceleration is unprecedented. A spike of worry pierces his gut. Something's wrong.
He gains more speed. The dark rushes past him, buffeting him this way and that. And then there are stars, streaks of light. A web of brightness in the distance. A galaxy - or a Midgardian city, he realizes.
And then the ground, closer every second. Thor yanks on his hammer and summons the wind. Instead of smashing into the earth in a crater, he is dragged across the rocky surface, skidding to a halt after many leagues.
He knows instantly he is not at the site the mages intended for his arrival. This is not Puente Antiguo. The air is heavy and cold, and he can taste moisture on his tongue. He has gone too far, been thrown out of his way. Perhaps the mage's circle summoned more dark energy than was needed for this journey.
Thor stands, shaking off the rough landing. He unhooks his satchel and dresses quickly. This time, he'd come prepared. The palace seamstresses had fashioned Midgardian garments, from his description. He hopes that mortal attire has not changed greatly from his last visit. The coarse material of the blue trousers itches on his legs.
The short quilted jacket he pulls over his shoulders is sturdy brown leather. The sleeves are tight. Thor fears the seams might rip, but they hold fast, for now. Mother had insisted on attaching the lining of armor plating herself, sewn on the underside, hidden with white fur.
The Midgardian town he had glimpsed from the sky is not far, now. Thor walks, the breeze pleasantly brisk, a tapestry of distant worlds laid out above him, white against deep blue. Asgard is up there somewhere, a glittering promise. He is no exile this time. He will return.
Thor passes small dwellings, and then larger, rectangular ones with brick facades. The buildings slope gently upward as he walks on, reaching farther up into the thin, streaming clouds. Humans are everywhere, on purposeful paths and leisurely strolls, darting and running, yelling into their handheld communication devices. No one casts a second glance at Thor. No one bows or salutes. By Helheim, they barely even move out of his way!
The man who just knocked into him looks up at Thor and snarls. "Watch it, asshole!"
Thor waves jauntily back. The human shakes his head and storms away.
A giggle from nearby has Thor turning. A girl stands at a door, holding it open for a couple to pass through and out onto the street. A rush of air wafts from the interior, smelling of roasted meat and spices. Thor's stomach rumbles.
He waves at the girl too. It is a common human greeting, he remembers. "How much for a roast and a glass of mead?"
She giggles again, as if he's made a jest, and points to a sheet of paper hung up on the clear window. "There's a menu here. The prime rib's on special tonight."
"I shall trust the worth of your word, my lady. Lead on." Thor follows the girl in, where several other attendants wait.
A older, silver-bearded man steps up promptly. "May I take your coat?"
Thor nods gratefully. He strips off the leather and hands it to the mortal attendant.
"Oof!" The man stumbles under the weight. Thor goes to help him, but he waves off the gesture. "No, it's okay, I got it. Just - heavier than I expected."
"It is well-made," Thor says. "My mother is an excellent seamstress."
"Er - right. Here's your coat ticket."
Thor takes the slip of paper, though he is not sure what to do with it. Opting for graciousness, he bows his head. "I accept this gift and your hospitality."
"Uh… sure." The attendant glances at his belt. "Would you like me to take your… hammer as well?"
"I applaud your boldness," Thor tells him. He pats the handle. "I have not yet seen any other capable of wielding it. Though you may try if you wish."
The mortal glances from Mjölnir to Thor. "I guess it's okay. Enjoy your dinner, sir."
The prime rib is spectacular. Thor devours four helpings of it - he cannot understand why they insist on bringing out one small child's portion at a time, but supposes he must make an effort to master Midgardian etiquette, no matter how asinine it seems.
After the table is strewn with emptied plates, Thor leans back in his chair and flips his cup of water upside down. The table servant is as attentive as the fellow who gifted him the coat ticket. He appears at Thor's side. "Are you - um - finished? Would you like the check?"
Thor nods. He will pay for his food and depart. If he is to locate Jane and tender his apologies in person, he must begin his search.
Preparation again serves him well. He does not possess their plastic bartering cards, like the one Jane had paid for his breakfast with in Puente Antiguo, but he does have some of their green currency. He hands over a stack of it to the table servant. "Will this suffice?"
"Sir, I can't accept this."
"What? Why not?" Thor peers at him.
"This is American money." The man pauses, but must see the blankness of Thor's expression. "We're in Canada."
"Canada. I am in Canada?"
The servant looks at him, mouth slightly open. "Well - yeah."
"Alas, this is all of the money I possess. Unless you would prefer gold?"
Thor reaches for the papers, but the table servant jerks his arm back and casts a quick glance around. "Uh, never mind. Don't worry. I'll take care of it. You're good." He slips the money into his pocket and busies himself cleaning up Thor's dishes.
As he is leaving, Thor notices a commotion in the receiving hall of the establishment. The other patrons cluster around the television set.
Darcy had gone to great lengths to explain television to Thor, when he was last here. "It's mankind's greatest achievement, as well as its greatest curse," she'd said, while Thor nodded, eager to learn of Midgardian culture. "It's brought us both Snooki and the moon landing. Infomercials and Shark Week. It's a double-edged sword, you know?"
"All swords should be double-edged, the better to cleave through a limb cleanly," he'd attempted to argue, at least until Darcy pretended to gag into Jane's colorful bag.
Thor gestures at the crowd of humans. "An invention worthy of worship," he tells the girl who only task appears to be holding the door open.
Deception has never been a skill he sought to cultivate, but this human disguise he wears has fooled everyone he has thus far met, and he is feeling confident enough to attempt to speak as a Midgardian as well as look like one.
She smiles at him. "You're funny," she says. Thor beams at her. "Something's going on in New York, I guess."
"New York," Thor repeats. "I have heard of this city."
"Always wanted to visit," she tells him a bit absently. "Seems like they've got everything going on. The most exciting thing to happen in this town was the grand opening of this chain."
"Perhaps I should visit myself," Thor muses. He must begin his search somewhere. Thor eases his way through the people around the screen, eliciting a few annoyed grunts. A woman is in the picture, surrounded by tall, lit buildings, spearing upward into a black sky. Like this city he stands in now, but on a bigger scale.
"Behind me, you can see what is left of the apartment complex-"
But her words don't catch in Thor's awareness. The face walking by in the background does. It's only for a second. It's enough. Thor has a good memory for faces. It's the son of Coul - the one who watched over his hammer.
"I must go to New York," he announces.
One of the humans looks at him. "You're crazy, buddy." He shakes his head. "But good luck."