Cooling, pale blue light bathed the silenced hallways in a serene glow as our steps played off the sterilised surfaces. We had not exchanged words since our departure, her solemn demeanour proving a worthy deterrent in the face of circumspection. It left me alone, battling anamnesis that threatened to unlock a veritable pandora’s box that would send me spiralling into oblivion.
Placid illumination meant to evoke peace and tranquillity brought forth dread and suffocation. Marbled walls and flooring, pure in disposition, reflected a sinister image, wraiths lingering beyond the mirror of reality. The hairs on my neck stood at attention as cold sweat incised a pathway through my skin. What little solace I received came in the form of the thick herbal fragrance that saturated the air, being my only departure from harrowing reminiscence as I desperately fought to keep the tide at bay.
The meandering corridors eventually led to a foyer, a giant luminous orb hanging overhead, encompassing everything in a warming embrace. Ailing souls of broken bodies and shattered minds were strewn about, surviving the consequences of their exploits. I drifted closer to the nurse, the involuntary ticks and babbling drawing unwelcome retrospect. Suddenly, double doors to the side burst open, releasing a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs. I was stricken with fear, her frayed hair and sunken eyes giving rise to what anyone could mistake for a banshee. The commotion set off the other patients, who quickly descended into chaos. The perpetrator, in torn robes exposing a breast, displayed no awareness as she began sprinting toward us.
She didn’t make it far before two nurses emerged from where she entered, subduing her with ease. It was swift and precise, and before the madwoman even registered their presence, they had her tied down in a neck lock. Once she had lost consciousness, they dragged her back, each holding an arm, their demeanour… lax. Similar scenes unfolded as I glanced around, nurses wielding the same practised motions and tactics in an almost premeditated fashion. It was apparent that incidences like these were more than common here, my frayed nerves finding solace in the steadying hand I had unknowingly clasped during the ordeal. As we continued abreast, I wondered what manner of turmoil could reduce an adult woman to such a state. ‘Do I even want to know?’
We walked the crystalline temple dedicated to the mending of flesh and alleviation of thought until it was no more, minimalistic designs morphing to ones of grandeur. The sheen of polished marble gave way to the usual browns and greys I had grown familiar with, becoming the bedrock on which murals depicted grand sagas of eras long forgotten. It was a fine display of earthen artistry that was exceeded when we made it into what I expected to be the central chamber. Historic statues towered over all, chests ablaze, guarding this hallowed sanctum against those harbouring ill will while lighting the path of the worthy. If the adults were like toddlers before them, what more about myself, who was barely half their height.
People clothed in varying amounts of weaponry walked by us, heading into numerous side halls or elsewhere. The streams of warriors were accompanied by incongruous chatter, sounding like the early morning markets I sometimes visited. As we progressed, the statues grew in stature, depicting various men and women in different stances. Some remained stalwart, fit to weather any blow, while others opted for more aggressive forms, like a boulder in motion careening down a hillside, destruction in its wake. The level of detail of each one was astounding, to the point I could make out strands of hair and the stitches in their clothing. The people, ‘no, artisans’, who created these colossi were masters of their craft in all senses of the phrase.
My escort soon stopped at what I thought was the end of the main hall, but a fissure in the wall and the two guards standing by indicated the opposite. She stepped forth and had a few words with them, and despite me being close enough to hear the conversation under normal circumstances, the ambience deemed it possible to barely make anything out, and all I managed to catch was “thing”. They let us through, the crack seeming to draw in all light, a crude manifestation of the void I had once sailed through. The pathway inclined downwards, with a faint luminescence within the stone, barely allowing enough visibility to secure one’s footing. I began noticing rising temperatures while venturing deeper, cimmerian rock glazing us in a heat far above normal.
With the peculiar situation and us being alone, I decided it was time for some answers lest I enter the depths of Múspell involuntarily. “Miss—huff—where are we going?” I wheezed between handicapped respiration.
She broke neither stride nor form, replying, “A significant individual requested your appearance. I have been tasked with escorting you there.”
“Who is this person?” I questioned, voice enlarging in the tube-like chamber.
“They are one of the Nine Pillars that preside over all warriors and supporting personnel. That is all I am privy to,” she said with unconcealed reverence.
Noting her tone, I refrained from further inquiry, battling the heat that showed no signs of abating. When we finally stopped descending, I was drenched in sweat, feeling like I was within a large underground sauna. The nurse also did not go untouched, panting and habitually puffing her garment. Bright veins flowed within the opaque canals we treaded in, ushering us to who knows where. Heat pulsated from each one, the liquid flowing within, giving the impression I was walking within the arteries of the earth’s beating heart. The lines soon congregated, travelling into a passageway barred by a gargantuan barrier, which was still an understatement for all intents and purposes.
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Archaic etchings danced over the glassy lightless stone, a tapestry of ancient history out of reach of my understanding. It was slightly ajar, providing more than enough space for a man or ten to fit through. The maid turned and bowed before motioning for me to step into the darkness that crept beyond the gaping maw. With little choice to refuse and feet searing due to the inactivity, I complied, scurrying along, praying the stories I heard about fire giants were not based on reality. A low rumbling shook my eardrums as I delved deeper into what I was now convinced was Múspellsheimr, sweltering ground giving me no rest from its temperament. The shadows concealed my figure as I approached the glowing mouth signifying the tunnel’s end, where I could untangle a few dissenting voices out of the earthly grumble.
“You have no say in this matter!” a gruff voice tremored through the tunnel. Caught off guard and practically blind, I stumbled, catching myself on a nearby wall. I yelped in pain, pulling away as fast as humanly possible, holding a scalding palm, the now lack of speech betraying the fact I was known. I would have liked to remain hidden and pull from their conversation as much information as possible before I revealed myself, but what’s done is done. With a sigh of reluctance, I stepped into what was a large cavern, wincing at the change in brightness and setting.
What met my vision left me stunned, the tunnel culminating at a cliff that jutted high above an oozing sea of magma as far as my sight could reach. It bubbled and hissed as if it were alive, and a sense of powerlessness overtook me in its raw might. Ardent gems littered the roof of this expanse, resembling a bed of stars on a clear winter night. The earth at my feet, paired with the heavens high above, was a surreal picture, and I briefly lost myself to its majesty.
A silky voice, one you would expect of a conniver, interrupted my reverie. “I remember having that exact expression when I first came here. Ah, those were the good old times.” Slightly miffed that I had let the awe of this place drag me away from the situation at hand, I looked towards the source of the voices for the first time. A bridge extended from the cliff’s edge, sturdy, unbreakable, leading to a stone platform on the other side, lording over the molten earth. On this platform, I saw five people seated at a long table, silently awaiting my arrival, gazes palpable even at this distance. Crossing the bridge while trying to ignore the idea that below me, liquified stone with the ability to dissolve anything it touched boiled away, I sized up what I could now identify were five men of varying ages and the scene at large.
What stood out the most was that the… thrones they rested on were all unique. The central throne was the largest by far, denoting the foremost authority of its holder, an aged man, wrinkled and white yet somehow causing me an unfounded amount of concern. Carved out of his headrest was a vegvisir, the compass that shows the way. He was likely the head of this whole council. On the leftmost throne sat a middle-aged man, dressed in the standard colours of the guards, green and blue, his most distinguishing feature: shifty eyes. The symbol above his head was an opened palm, the hand that kept order within the city. To his left was a stocky individual, stroking a bushy beard, staring at me with angered eyes marked by the symbol of a person lifting a rock.
Sat to the left of centre was a man I had nearly mistaken for a bear, such was his size, muscles chiselled from stone glistening with sweat reminding me of those ancient nude sculptures. ‘Gree—something.’ His symbol was a bulwark of round shields forming an impregnable barrier. The last member seated at the immediate right of the head was a smirking man who looked the youngest amongst them, I guessed around thirty. I could imagine his identity from the dark hair and glowing green eyes, ‘an Illugi’. The carving above his head was the most striking so far, involving a sword piercing through the top of a skull ending when it was halfway down its length. The remaining four thrones were empty, and I saw no reason to pay attention to them when facing such lofted individuals.
The one to speak first was the chief, addressing the Illugi. “What reason have you brought this child here for Ívarr? He has no bearing in our discussion.”
“Oh? Here we are deciding his future, and you say he has no right to partake in it?” Ívarr said sarcastically. The meat of his words struck me like a bolt of lightning. ‘My future? What do they mean!?’
“Tch—did you have to say it so bluntly, Ívarr. You’ve scared the soul right out of the little guy,” hulk scolded, arms crossed.
“My bad, it was a slip of the tongue. I was just so surprised the kid is actually real and not some sort of out-of-season prank,” Ívarr chuckled, much to the annoyance of the bearded man who had started pulling at his beard for some odd reason.
“What’s done is done. Boy,” I looked into the eyes of the elderly man, tension rising against the infernal backdrop, “do you know why you are here?” he asked, to which I shook my head.
“You murdered someone,” the bearded man butted in, uncaring of the rudeness of his act. My heart dropped at the statement, for I knew this was no light charge. Would they lock me up in the dungeons or execute me? What would happen to my training, my goal of equalling the light? But most importantly, why could I not remember murdering anyone?
I gripped my head as blurred memories stitched together, gradually forming a mosaic of agony, rage and blood. I remembered the wrathful indignation I felt when someone dared step up to me. The searing pain and fright of tumbling down the bridge and nearly falling off. The delight of warm ichor trickling down my throat and ecstasy that kissed me when his head cracked like a pumpkin. “Nooo!” I cried, falling to my knees, tears hissing as they fell to the ground. This was not how it was meant to go. I had so much planned, so much to live for. ‘What would they do to me… what would they do to me,’ I lamented, sobbing on a floor that seemed far colder than what it was barely a moment ago.