Chapter One

Icy winds blew unforgivingly; snow and frost shifting to and fro from their frozen

positions. Hel looked at her ragged clothes. Boots of brown seal skin leather sinking into the snow with a loud crunch. Her fox skinned skirt, now a musky grey shade from lack of washing, frayed at the bottom with patches of fur now missing. Some of the tares went all the way up her leg, exposing her stockings on her left leg. Following her examination up, she tugs at her yak skin cloak over her right side as she limps towards the trees. At least there, the forest coverage help break up the wind. Her blond hair flows all around in a cloud of yellow.

The sky remains unforgivingly clear and Hel thinks back to what Odin warned her to do. She stairs at the world around her. White so brought it almost burns her eye to look at too long. Trees covered in snow and frost making them sparkle. Taking a deep breath in, Hel starts to limp towards the first tree she can spot a second color in. Frost Apples were in season and the first bloom has come to town.

Carefully Hel reaches up with her right hand, standing on her toes to reach. A gust of wind swoops from under the trees-nocking Hel into the tree itself and taking her cloak with it. “No!” Hel’s quiet cry goes unnoticed as she reaches out with both arms to recover her cloak. Horrified she looks down at her exposed left side. The rotted skin hanging off her skeleton hand, exposing her raw bone finger-tips. Her foot wrapped up in tight leather to keep the bones put together. Instinctively, Hel folds herself in and falls to the ground. She touches her face. Exposed muscle mixed with dripping skin. Her teeth rattling with the cold as no lips on that side existed any longer to protect from the temperature. Tears swelled her eye and shame overcame her horrible state. Just kill me. Hel begged anyone who could listen.

“You still have use.”

The voice shook Hel, eyes growing with fear. Hel does her best to push her left side into the tree-ignoring the burning from bark scraping against her exposed raw side. “Who is that?” she groaned.

“What? Don’t remember me little sister?” A deep voice called from the snow. Hel scanned all around her to see who spoke to her in such a way.

With a slow blink Hel sees the iron footwear. Catching her breath, Hel leans bows so low her face is in the snow.

“Forgive me my Lord. I get confused.” Hel’s voice catches as she tries to piece together what is happening before her.

Gilded fingers reach out and poke her gently. She looks up and follows the armor from the hand reaching out to see a man in black armor. He leans low to the ground. His face close to hers. He has creamy skin with black wire like hair for his beard and mustache. His locks looked feathery and soft but were the same shade of black. His brown eyes demanded attention. And yet, Hel immediately felt safe with his presence around. Something Hel did not trust as it was not something she had much experience with. In his hands, he held out her cloak.

“Vidar?” Hel wasn’t sure where the name came from but she knew it was his. The Fates often liked to play with Hel with what knowledge she was granted and allowed to use.

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He smiled brightly and helped Hel to her feet, being extra careful to hover over her left side instead of actually touching her. Even standing straight up, Hel only came to his shoulder with the top her head. Vidar compassionately draped Hel in her cloak, pulling her hood over her left side.

“Why are you here?” Hel carefully whispered the question-hoping the wind would take her words away. Vidar simply chuckled and reached over her. She could smell him as he leaned over her head and plucked a Frost Apple from the tree above. Blood had recently been shed by his hand.

Hel turned her head East, toward the village she resided in. Horror screamed inside as visions of the monks she lived with slaughtered against the halls of their home. Their blood splattered across the walls and over the furs. The fire in the Hearth has long been out, the salt rings of protection nonexistent.

Opening her mouth to scream, Vidar’s compassion quickly turned into mercilessness as he grabs her left bicep and shoves her against the tree. Chocking on the scream as pain erupts from her body. Waves of fear, panic, and hopelessness radiate throughout her being. Behind her left eye, Hel’s visions show her the villages father South of her hut coming to the prayer house with gifts.

They have been preparing for months for the blooming Frost Apples. Their sweet odors of cinnamon and honey beckoning the villages to collect them, cook them, and prepare them for meals to share with one another under the blessings of the Monks. Her heart lurched in grief for their pain as they open the doors to the Monks’ bodies slew so carelessly about the home.

“Why?” Hel flinches as Vidar takes a bite out of the apple being held over her. It’s juices dripping from his lips and landing on her cheekbone. Frost Apple scent circled up into the air as wind danced around her. Hel watched as Vidar chewed loudly, taking another crisp bite of Apple.

Down below, Villagers begin to take note of the smell wafting through the murder scene. Naturally, their instincts told them to start heading towards the forest where the Frost Apple trees resided. Realization begins to settle in as Hel blinks to focus back onto Vidar-now, almost done with the sweet treat.

“Took them long enough, wouldn’t you say?” Vidar’s smile reminded Hel how to never trust that safe feeling ever again. Throwing the apple at her face, Hel bends down to wipe her skin as best as she could of the juices. When she looks up again all Hel can see is the villagers approaching, and approaching fast.

Limping away as fast as she can, Hel doesn’t try and look back as she can hear them yelling. Monster. Murderer. Deformed. Unnatural. Bad Omen. All things she has heard her entire life. Experience has let Hel know that it doesn’t matter what they do to her, she will not die. The moment she regains consciousness again, she will look as she does now.

One shuffle too quick causes Hel to loose her balance and fall into the snow. Laying down trying to crawl away her tears freeze on her face as they form, ripping at her skin and drawing blood as the wind tears it off her face.

Blood starts to build up in Hel’s ear as she unintentionally summons visions of her own dismemberment; the sound of snapping bones, arms and legs.

“Please…” Hel begs as she continues to crawl away, “please…. Just leave me be. I promise to go away….”

Snapped back into reality as a new wave of pain starts from her ankles and radiates up her body. She turns her head to see a man has grabbed her. The baker from the village. Rage in his eyes as he drags her down into the freshly lain snow. Suddenly, the pain is gone. Hel wiggles her toes in hope they still remain and with much surprise, is able to pull her legs under her chest in the fetal position.

Grabbing her cloak to cover herself as best as possible, Hel looks up from the ground to see the Baker; his face not looking right. Hel gasped in horror as she realized he should be face down in the snow but instead has been turned to face the sky while his body lay lifeless in the snow.