Ulf wouldn’t let his feet, or the feet of his king’s children stop running. They ran and ran, and when he knew their little bodies couldn’t run anymore, he pushed them on, further and further. He didn’t know the fate that had befallen his king—the joyous, princely man whom he had raised as a ward himself and who might as well have been his own son for the amount of time they had spent together—but he knew he couldn’t think of that now. He needed to fulfill his king’s wish and get his children to safety.
They were long departed from the Castle of Týrborg. They were running through the underground escape tunnels that spanned in seven different directions all the way to the far-off fringes of Týrborg. Many hours had passed since they first began their flight from the castle and Ulf knew the children didn’t have much energy left. He also knew that if they could make it another half mile or so, there was a side tunnel that went to the stables. If he could just get the children there, they could escape to safety.
He offered little lies of encouragement, meant to spur them on: “We’re almost there,” and, “Everything will be all right…” Ulf didn’t know the truth of any statement he told them, but his encouragement had worked so far. Another ten minutes passed, and he saw the branch to the stable tunnel up ahead. He told the children to walk and to be as quiet as possible…he didn’t know what lay in store for them out there. They reached the stable tunnel and began walking cautiously down it. Ulf knew it wasn’t far and he took the lead. A few minutes went by, and Ulf found himself at the tunnel’s exit, hidden by large bails of hay. He leaned his entire body weight against the bails and toppled them over, startling the already frightened horses.
Ulf moved fast. He readied five horses and ensured all the children were accounted for, placing all eight of them on the horses. The only child he didn’t have was the King’s youngest son, the newborn. He could only hope the child’s mother, the Queen, had escaped with the young babe. Ulf ran to an alcove in the side of the stable and grabbed weapons he had stashed there years ago for just such an occasion: a large halberd, a one-handed ax, a longsword, a short sword, and a shield. He strapped the bundle of weapons to the horse, placed the shield on his back, then mounted his steed. “Once we are out in the open, there’s no telling what will happen. Each of you are excellent riders and now is your time to prove it. You stay close to me, or you will die. We make for the southern fringes.”
Ulf dug his boots into the flanks of his horse, and it took off with the children following closely behind. Ulf had never known a horse to run as fast as it did now, as if they knew the otherworldly dangers that were present in Midair at that moment. A loud rumbling shook the earth and Ulf looked behind him to see Týrborg Castle razed to the ground and an immense black cloud pulsating from the ruins and spread out amongst the entirety of Týrborg. “Hurry!” Ulf shouted at the children. “Don’t look back! Stay focused and keep your eyes on me!” At the speed these horses were galloping, they would be free of Týrborg soon and Ulf could see the dark trees of Vulkánian Forest fast approaching. There would be other problems to deal with in the forest, but anything was better and more manageable than the evil that lurked behind them.
The wind seemed to carry them faster and faster as they neared the edge of the Vulkánian Forest. As they approached, the ground behind them began to split open and the whole world started to tremble; Hel was opening the doors to her realm beneath their very feet. Trees around them were uprooted and tossed to the ground and a blazing fire was ripping through the remains of Týrborg, barely discernible through the dark cloud that had engulfed it. Ulf and the children had to dodge the many dangers that appeared suddenly in front of them or to their sides, but each and every one of them made it to the safety of the forest.
Once there, Ulf turned and looked at the destruction of their home, of his people—of everything he had worked his entire life to protect. The children circled around him, sharing his gaze and staying as close as possible to him for safety. The destruction of Týrborg was total. Ulf knew the other kingdoms of the Isles of Midair would soon fall too, and that the magik of Vulkán was all that protected them now in the great forest.
Ulf had a plan in mind of what he would do, he only needed to see it realized. He had been told rumors in the past of a great stoney bridge in the South which spanned the depths of the icy Torruglian Waterfalls. He had never ventured that far south himself, and he never heard of anyone returning from their adventures across the bridge, but it seemed their best—albeit naïve—option at the moment. Perhaps there was another realm there, separate from the evils of Midair, that the dark magik hadn’t yet touched or taken root.
He turned his horse and started into the depths of the Vulkánian Forest. The children followed suit and they all rode in a solemn column of two.
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THE DARK FOREST
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The forest was immensely dark. The moon’s light couldn’t find its way through the high canopy of thick leaves and vines, and Ulf had to trust his horse's senses to keep them on a safe path, though he had no way of telling what south was. He would ride a little further to get away from the edge of the forest before stopping to rest the horses and the children, and to make a fire. He knew the darkness would be playing havoc on the children’s minds after what they had just been through, so he started to quietly hum a song known to all children of Midair; a song that remembered times of the summer, when life was vibrant and matured and people would gallivant about carefree: The Song of the Æfnirlings. Ulf was only a few bars into it when he heard a few of the children join in with his humming, then more and more until they were all humming the beautiful melody of the summer song.
They continued on like this for a while until they arrived at the edge of a brook. Ulf alighted his horse and let the horse roam for food and drink from the stream while he set about lighting a fire. He told the children to stay aloft their horses till he had the fire going well and good, which didn’t take him very long for the kindling was perfectly dry and easily caught fire. He tossed logs onto the tender flames until a large fire was born before him, then he helped the children off their mounts.
Eight of them. Seven girls and one boy. Did the other son survive by some intervention of fate? Six of the children were spitting images of their father, the boy included, while two of the older girls looked nearly identical to their mother. Starting with the oldest, the children’s names were: Agnar, Evelina, Sidsel, Hjalmar—the lad—, Tanja, Vivi, Sanja, and Katja with their ages ranging from nineteen to five years old, and the two youngest—Sanja and Katja—being twins. One of the last things their father had done for them was to change their inherited names to Skýsson—the girls to have Skýdatter—so that they could forever be free of the evil their grandfather had brought to Midair. Ulf knew the logic behind Hrafen’s thinking: if he could break tradition and have his children take names after the prized possessions of the gods, then they would look more favorable upon them. But Ulf would forever think of them as Hrafensson and Hrafensdatter, and he would call them as much so that they would never forget what their father had tried to do for them…what he had tried to save them from.
The fire was roaring now as the children’s eyes began to close from exhaustion. The horses were all roaming the forest for food; Ulf knew they would return when called, for they had been raised and trained to do so. Many minutes passed as they all stared into the flames of the fire, most being lulled to sleep by the crackling of flames. Ulf wouldn’t let sleep come to him though. He would stay alert and keep the prized children safe. He looked over at Agnar, the oldest daughter of the king, and saw that she, too, would not allow sleep to befall her. More minutes passed before Agnar stood up and sat next to Ulf, when it was just the two of them awake.
“What happened back there, Ulf? Why did the ceremony go so wrong?”
Ulf contemplated his answer for a long pause, for he always censured his words before he spoke. “I only saw the beginnings of what happened, same as you Princess, so I can only speculate. I fear that we waited too long to push the dark magik back to its realm, as we needed all the Jarls to arrive with their magik longswords before the ceremony could be performed. In my last fleeting glimpses of the Great Hall though, I noticed two of the Jarls missing—the two Jarls who had caused such a delay in the first place. I fear there was treachery involved, Princess.”
Agnar couldn’t hide the shock from her face. “Treachery?! But who would do such a thing when my father was trying to right the wrongs of grandfather and send the dark magik back? Who were these two Jarls?”
“Jarls Vargr and Hákon, Princess. And as your father always said to me, people will always surprise us. I don’t know what Vargr and Hákon could’ve have possibly stood to gain by betraying Midair, but I assume they allowed the evil to fully encapsulate this realm in the promise that their kingdoms wouldn’t be touched and all their competitors for power destroyed.”
“That’s sickening, Ulf. All the people killed, all the lives destroyed, for what? For power? What a sickening thought.”
Ulf nodded in agreement. “Yes, indeed it is. But let this be a lesson for you, young one. One day, you will hold power over others. You will be thrown into the middle of the continual contest for power—don’t let it consume you. But always know that it will consume others, and trust no one besides your own wit and abilities.” He paused and removed his short sword from his sheath hanging from his side. “And when you are betrayed, you pierce them with this,” he tossed the sword to her, which she caught by the handle.
Agnar nodded at Ulf, in a deep thought about all he had said. “Do you think my mother and baby brother made it out, Ulf?”
“I don’t know…but I can hope. They must have made it out of there, otherwise I no longer hold belief in the gods or in fate.”
Neither said a word for a long time. Agnar eventually succumbed to sleep as she laid her head on the forest floor with her brother and sisters. Ulf stayed awake and alert, ready for anything, as always. As the hours passed and the horses returned to sleep next to their masters, Ulf heard a sound in the trees behind him. A horse whinnied and Ulf got to his feet, longsword drawn. The children began to wake from the commotion, and all gathered at the edge of the fire behind the safety of Ulf.
From the darkness of the dancing shadows stepped forward three immensely tall men—easily seven feet tall—and all with fair features. They had weapons, but they weren’t drawn, putting Ulf a little at ease. The one closest spoke up first. “You, human. You enter my forest, bring that accursed light, and raise your weapons at me? Who are you and why have you passed through the sacred boundaries?”
Ulf has come prepared for this. For hundreds of years, men and dwarves had lived side by side in Midair, with the men dwelling by the sea and the dwarves in the darkness of the forest. Brutal wars had been fought between the humans and dwarves in the past before the truce was signed and Midair divvied up between them. Now, Ulf uttered the only words that could possibly save a human in his predicament: “Æulsangettorax!”
The dwarf stopped in his tracks. Belzung had plans to kill these humans and eat them in repayment for what had been done to his family long ago, but this damned human knew the secret language and the secret words. Belzung could only comply with the utterance, for he would not issue the darkness upon himself or the forest if he failed to obey it. “Follow me,” is all he uttered back towards Ulf as he and the other dwarves headed back through darkness they had come from.
Ulf lit three torches, saved one for himself, and gave one each to Agnar and Evelina. Then they took off after the dwarves through the woods. They caught the path the dwarves were traveling on quick enough, and Ulf whistled, calling the hastily left behind horses to him. Agnar brought up the rear with her short sword drawn, while Evelina was in the middle and Ulf in the front. The dwarves were taking giant strides, and it was all Ulf could do to keep up with the short-legged children he had in tow. They walked—mostly ran—for a long time, but not a single child complained, even the twins—the youngest of the clan. They just pushed on and would keep pushing on till they were told to stop. Strange shapes would pop out from the edges of the shadows cast by the three torches, sometimes causing the twins to cry out. Evelina would hush them, tell them it was nothing, while she herself was unsure if there was something else lurking in the woods or not and their only protection was the escort of dwarves.
They presently came upon an opening with a blue light glowing about, cast by starnfaldr bugs trapped in glass casings. An enormous, single mountain stood before them with a large wooden door standing as the entrance to the caverns. An ancient willow tree hung above the door, the branches of which seemed to be entwined with the rocks of the mountain. Belzung approached the door, whispered magic words so Ulf and the children couldn’t hear, and the great door swung open. “This is the entrance to Nidavellir, home of the dwarves. You will only be permitted to the Outer Halls for your audience with the great Drajn, and no further.” At that, Belzung and the other dwarves disappeared into the mountain.
Ulf and the children cautiously followed. When Ulf stepped across the threshold, he was smitten with astonishment. A stone bridge stood before him, below which spanned an expansive, industrious city entirely illuminated by the starnfaldr bugs in their entrapments. The dwarves had hollowed out the entirety of the mountain and had then excavated the ground below, going miles deep. Offshoots ran along the sides below, and interconnected stone bridges spanned gaps of great distances everywhere. Directly ahead of Ulf, at the end of the bridge connected to the mountain entrance, stood an incredible, solitary building made of stone and gold. Massive spires towered above the building, with the central spire touching the ceiling of the cavern. Golden statues of frightful beasts that Ulf had never seen before adorned each corner of the building; they had the heads of a wolf, bodies of a horse, human hands, and wings; the hands each held a sword, thrust out before them. Below these golden statues were silver skulls—human skulls—being crushed by the creatures. Ulf and the children followed the dwarves across the bridge and entered the incredible building. The doors of the building were cast open upon their approach and before Ulf, in a throne entirely made of gold, sat the dwarven Drajn in flowing robes of purple. The beard on this dwarf was white and overly long, falling well below the Drajn’s stomach, showing his age. As they approached the Drajn, Belzung said, “These humans and this man—" Belzung pointed at Ulf— “has claimed Æulsangettorax, great Drajn.”
The Drajn looked at Ulf curiously. “By what rights do you use the words of the ancient and the secret, human? Especially in the manner of a parley?”
“I had no choice, Great Drajn. Midair is overrun by the ancient dark magik and Týrborg has fallen. I use these words by the right of my lineage, as a descendant of the united dwarven and human kings of the ancient past. I am Ulf Várgrsbane, son of Dráden Várgrsbane, raised by the Secret Sect of Odin to be Thegn Protector of the line of new kings, whom our power was bequeathed to. I am charged with protecting these, the children of King Hrafen.”
The Great Drajn wasn’t expecting all this. He hadn’t seen a Thegn Protector for many generations, but he also hadn’t gone looking for one. “Ask what you came here to ask then, Thegn Protector. I will grant it if I can.”
“I’ve heard stories of an immense land to the South, one only accessible by a great bridge. If the stories are true, I wish to leave my wards here under your protection while I go look for survivors in Týrborg, and then cross the great bridge on my return.”
“There is a bridge indeed, and it stretches down into the lands that Heimdall populated long ago. I will keep the children of your king safe while you are gone and send you off with guides when you return.”
“Thank you, Great Drajn. I will return in three days time.” He turned to Agnar and said, “Keep them safe. Remember what I said to you about trust. If you’re in trouble, get to a safe place and blow this horn—" he handed her the horn he always kept at his hip— “I’ll find you anywhere you may be.”
Ulf bowed to the Drajn and left across the bridge and back into the forest to look for survivors. Agnar and the other children looked around them, stunned. Their protector had just abandoned them in a strange land with a strange people who had once been their enemies. What would keep these dwarves from killing us or holding us ransom? Agnar thought to herself. The dwarf who found them in the forest and had so far done all the talking for the three led them out of the magnificent building through a separate door from whence they had entered. They followed a twisting path down and down into the depths of the hollow mountain until they were led through a big bronze door carved into the interior side of the mountain. Through the bronze doors was an entirely new world to the children—things they had never seen and could scarce imagine: an enormous cavern supported by giant columns of silver; a forest of trees made of gold blazoned across a plain of bluish-purple grass, reflecting the light from an enormous glass encasing holding thousands of starnfaldr bugs, which acted as a miniature sun to illuminate the darkness of the cavern; a river glowing green by the luminescence of the charngberry fish swimming in thick throngs in its waters; little cabins made of freshly hewn wood and cottages made of stone dotted the landscape randomly. It was a paradise the children never knew had existed before, and after seeing it, they didn’t know how they would live without it.
The dwarf that led them, who’s name they learned was Belzung, walked them down a twisting brick path that led to quaint cottage of white stone with a red roof. Belzung opened the door and held it open for them to enter. “I will be your guardian for the next three days until Ulf Várgrsbane returns…if he returns. If he doesn’t…well, we’ll see. For now, get settled, get cleaned. There’s food in the ice box and cold water from the mountain stream siphoned off to run to a tap in the kitchen. I’ll be back later.” Belzung turned and left, leaving the children to explore their new abode.
The four younger children ran wild through the place while Agnar, Evelina, Sidsel, and Hjalmar deliberated around a beautiful, round wooden table in the kitchen that was intricately carved with different flowers and birds. “Why would he just LEAVE?!” shouted Sidsel. “Who are these people and how can they possibly be dwarves…they’re too tall and not ugly like the stories at all!” said Hjalmar. “What happened to mother and father…” voiced Evelina, more quiet than the others, but with a distant sadness that snapped the others out of their unimportant thoughts and bringing them to the reality that they could very well now be orphans.
“I wasn’t kind with the last words I said to mother,” said Agnar. “She was intent on having me marry one of the Jarl’s sons from Baderbrāge, but I wanted nothing to do with those good for nothing oath-breakers. She told me the past needed to stay there and I shouldn’t hate someone for what their grandparents did…but I spat on the ground in front of her and…”
“Oh, be quiet,” interjected Evelina. “That doesn’t matter. We’ll see her again. Whatever that was that attacked us, it couldn’t possibly kill mother and father. They’re practically invincible and it would take at least a whole army to put up anything close to a fight that could beat father.”
“Did you not see?” It was Hjalmar who spoke up this time in a quiet voice. “Those things that crawled from the ground after it split open? I saw them, right before Ulf whisked us away. I’m not sure anything could have stood against that…”
“Like I said,” continued Evelina as if Hjalmar hadn’t said a word, “mother and father are fine. Ulf will be back in a couple days with them, and then I’ll embarrass you in front of everybody for doubting them.”
There was nowhere else for the conversation to branch into after Evelina shut down their worries with ridiculed disbelief at their faithlessness in their parents. Hjalmar got up and left the table, followed a moment later by Agnar and Sidsel—the most reclusive and quiet of the children who spent her time listening instead of talking. Evelina knew she had been too blunt with them, but she wouldn’t hear of any talk about mother and father not returning to them. She was sixteen, but knew she couldn’t live without them, and she avoided all possibilities of it.
Elsewhere in the beautiful little cottage, Tanja, Vivi, Sanja, and Katja were exploring the fantastic little building. Vivi ran into one room and saw a golden circle on the floor. Unable to contain her curiosity, she jumped on top of it; the golden circle lifted from the ground under her weight—just a few inches, but enough to startle her. She went to jump off and, to her surprise, another golden circle sped out from the bottom of the one she has been standing on and landed right under her feet—throwing her off balance because she was expecting to land on the floor, and she fell backwards onto her butt, laughing. Vivi called the others to her to show them what she had found. She called and called, but no one came. Eventually, she set off to go see what the others had found, for it must be something amazing if they were ignoring her discovery.
The cottage’s hallways twisted and turned, always with a curvature that was enough to drive one crazy with a desire to walk in a simple, straight hallway. And they seemed to go on for far longer than they should have for a tiny cottage. Vivi finally found her sisters in a room off the corridor far down from the room she was in. They were playing in a room full of a soft, fluffy substance that Vivi’s nine-year-old mind was sure were clouds. The floor gave way to a pit full of the clouds, while the walls had holes to place hands and feet in to climb up and down—where one of the twins, Sanja, was climbing—and ropes dangling from the ceiling, begging Vivi to swing into the cloudy wonder. She acquiesced, grabbed the rope, and with a yelp of pure delight swung into the center of the pit and let go, falling, falling, until she was completely enveloped by the clouds (she refused to think of them as anything else). It was the most freeing, delightful experience she could ever remember, as if she was just existing in a world of soft nothingness.
While the children were staying busy exploring the wonders of dwarfdom, Ulf was having a much different experience…
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SURVIVORS
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The dwarves took in and guarded the extra horses, while Ulf took his horse and an extra so he could switch mounts and continuously ride. He found his way back through the Vulkánian Forest by happenstance—or luck—until he was back at the forest’s edge near Týrborg. It was worse than when he had left it: the ground was belching out lava in most places, consuming all living things in its path; the ruins of Týrborg Castle in the distance had a frightening green glow all around it and enormous beasts that Ulf never imagined could exist flying overhead; and the dark, sinister cloud had settled over the town of Týrborg, undoubtedly causing the same horrors that had brought about the demise of the castle. Ulf stuck to the tree line of the forest which had remained unharmed thanks to the dwarven magic. He knew Týrborg was lost, but he needed to make his way to the closest jarldoms and either warn them or save whomever he could.
It took four hours of riding along the tree line, but he finally made his way to Grandolguft Bridge—the only connection to the other isles not by ship. He approached warily, unsure of what dangers might be in store. Luckily, the bridge was on the outer lands of Týrborg, so Ulf was able to avoid direct contact with the dark cloud. He didn’t know how much longer his luck could last though. He sent his spare horse across the bridge first to spring any trap that might be lying ahead, waited a moment, then followed. He rode slowly at first, ready for anything, then he spurred his own horse into a gallop when he felt it was safe. The steel horseshoes rang against the stone of the bridge as Ulf threw caution to the wind, just wanting to get to the land of the other side—he had wasted too much time already being cautious.
It didn’t take him long to get to Yuletonbragr, the isle on the other side of the bridge. The Darkness hadn’t touched the isle yet, but Ulf could see that they weren’t waiting for the destruction to find them: everything was abandoned. The guard tower attached to the bridge, the fishermen huts that dotted the shoreline, the usually bustling town farther inland—all abandoned. Ulf wasn’t sure where they would’ve run to, but he needed to find them. He rode like the flames of Surtr were on his heels, rushing through the village, galloping through the halls of the old castle, searching through the glen and the accompanying hills. He finally found a band of thirty-something stragglers atop one of the hills looking frightened and desperate. Ulf told them who he was, what had happened, and where to go: he was sending everyone he could find to the Vulkánian Forest and the safety of the dwarves. When he finished, he rode on. He needed to rest soon, but the adrenaline from the day’s events was still coursing through his veins, pushing him on and on, but nearing his limits.
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A day had already passed since he left the Vulkánian Forest and Ulf finally forced himself to stop. He had encountered a few more survivors and escapees, telling them where to go, but not as many as he hoped. So far, he estimated he had found around two hundred—a horrifying number when contemplating that the populations of Týrborg and Yuletonbragr combined was over fifty thousand. There must be more. Ulf refused to believe so many had died. He fell asleep resting his head on his black bearskin, thinking of all the lost lives.
He awoke to a wolf pulling at his leg—not his leg itself, but the cloth wrapped around his boots. How did a wolf sneak up on me?! Ulf kicked the wolf off his leg, got to his feet, and drew his sword. The wolf darted away without a fight, seemingly not interested in fighting for its food. Or maybe it was only trying to wake me up?
And then the ground shook. Ulf looked out and saw the cracks forming in the ground like he had at the castle before those otherworldly creatures clambered out from them. Ulf knew Yuletonbragr Isle would soon be lost. He mounted his spare, fresh horse, and rode on, making for the ferry to Røkkrvānger, the next closest isle. He didn’t know how long he slept, but he didn’t feel refreshed at all, and the sun was still blocked out by the ever-encroaching black cloud and accompanying green aurora, so he didn’t think it had been too long. There was no wildlife anywhere as he rode; they had all absconded when the terrors began descending on Yuletonbragr. He would reach the ferry soon—if it was there. If it wasn’t…he didn’t know what he would do. There was no bridge connecting Yuletonbragr to Røkkrvānger because it was destroyed in the Battle of Three Ghosts. He could only hope the option would be available to him.
A terrible shriek rang out from the black sky above Ulf, frightening his horses and almost throwing him. He looked up and saw one of the red and black creatures that he had previously seen above Týrborg Castle descending upon him. He didn’t know how he would avoid the beast, and—worse—he didn’t know how he would be able to fight it. The creature was monstrous in every aspect: it was larger than their largest longboat, and its wings were bigger than the largest sail ever made in Týrborg to help speed them along as they traversed through the various isles of Midair; the scales on the creature’s hide alternated blood red and black, making a terrifying vision as it flew past; a single, hideous head shaped like a snake’s protruded from its gargantuan body from a long neck, with white flames spewing from its jaws…flames heading right for Ulf. He pulled the reins as hard as he could to the left, while simultaneously drawing his sword—if it would even be able to do anything against the beast. The white flames barely missed Ulf and his horse, and he immediately made for the cover of the nearby trees. There was no possibility of crossing to Røkkrvānger aboard the ferry while this beast was harassing him, but he didn’t know how he would lose it—and the trees would only provide cover for so long from the beast’s flames.
Ulf rode through the grove, constantly dodging the flames of the beast and riding in a circle. Soon, the entire grove of trees were burning from the white flames, eating through the wood rapidly. One great tree toppled over, crashing onto the ground with a deafening crash, and Ulf saw his chance. He kept the flying, nightmarish beast chasing him in a large, fiery circle. As he came around to the final stretch, he spurred his horse on as fast as she would go. Then, under the cover of a still-standing tree close to the giant, fallen one, he jumped from the horse. He landed in a roll, drew his sword again, and rushed for the fallen tree. The beast was following his riderless horse, and it flew directly over him as he emerged from beneath the cover of the tree. He reached the fallen tree and ran as fast and steadily as he could up the still burning trunk, not caring as his boots and wayward bits of clothing caught fire. If he failed now, he would be dead anyways. As the beast swooped down to snatch his horse in its jaws, Ulf jumped off the end of the tree with all the power his exhausted legs would give him. His longsword found its mark and he drove the point through the beast’s skull, throwing all his falling body weight behind it. The beast crashed to the ground, the horse’s tail clasped in its jaws and the horse itself in a frenzied panic. Ulf flew off into the distant trees, though he had tried with all his strength to hold onto his sword.
He rolled over and out of the bushes he had landed in, groaning, and grunting as he did so. He laid on his back momentarily, enjoying the peace and catching his breathe, turning his head to the side and looking at the creature in the near distance he had just slaughtered. He finally got to his feet, trying his best to ignore the pain in his right shoulder and right knee, the two joints that had taken the brunt of the impact, and walked over to the dead beast. White, syrupy liquid was dripping from its lifeless jaws and from the mortal wound Ulf had inflicted upon its skull. The thing was atrocious up close, and Ulf wondered what kind of devilry had spawned such a horrendous thing. These things must be of the lost children of Muspell. Only that primordial realm of flame could produce such a thing. The eyes of the great monster were black with gray irises, lifeless now. As Ulf looked closer, he could see tiny specks of gold floating about the black. He ripped his sword from the beast’s skull and hacked at its neck till he had the head lopped off. Then he went and hacked the enormous wings off. Not finished, he struggled through the iron-like chest of the monster until he reached its heart, cut it out, and ate it atop its carcass, as a final sign of conquest.
Satisfied with his rest and his trophies, Ulf jumped down off the dismembered carcass and called for his remaining horse. He had to wait a few minutes, but when it arrived, he attached the enormous, decapitated head to his saddle. He left the wings behind; as much as he wanted the trophy, it was not practical or possible to take them with. He walked over to the horse he had been riding, the one who saved his life, and saw a large chunk missing from its hind quarters as it writhed around and neighed in pain. He caressed the horse’s mane, shushing it as he did, then drove his sword through its heart to end its suffering. He asked Odin to have the Valkyrie take the horse’s soul to Valhalla so he could be with the courageous animal again one day, then he mounted the spare horse and continued on his way.
He approached the ferry to Røkkrvānger and let out a sigh of relief…the large boat was still there but abandoned. He dismounted and guided the horse into the boat, untied the line, and used the long pole to push the watercraft to Røkkrvānger. He breathed in the salty air as he journeyed, enjoying the slight burn on his nostrils, and ruing the day when man would be separated from the life-healing properties of the natural world. He’d had a dream three nights prior of entire lands filled with a stone-like substance and a shiny, reflecting material, with buildings touching the sky and manmade craft flying across the skies like birds. Nature has been destroyed and built over, replaced with a discernible…fakeness. It stuck out so vividly in his mind, and he returned to it so consistently, that he knew he would never forget the dream, knowing it was a vision of things to come in the far-distant future. It was no world that Ulf wanted to live in.
The craft reached Røkkrvānger, and Ulf docked, tied the line to the dock, then guided his horse off. The darkness hadn’t completely encapsulated Røkkrvānger yet, and Ulf could see the beams of a midday sun shining through. He now had at least an idea of how much time he had left—a little more than a day. That didn’t leave him much time to look for survivors in Røkkrvānger and get back to the Vulkánian Forest. He mounted his horse and took off, making for the beautiful, white-stone city.
The city of Røkkrvānger was built into two giant mountains protruding from the isle, emanating the presence of guardians of the large isle. Ulf approached the tall city walls and found the gate open, and the guard towers abandoned, like in Yuletonbragr. He galloped through the city, finding a meager amount of people as he went, telling them to make their way to the Vulkánian Forest. He kept riding till he reached the castle and went through on horse. He found the Jarl’s son and his father’s Thegns in council in the great hall. He rode his horse right up to the young man and said in a voice just short of yelling, “Why are you still here?! Do you not know what’s happening throughout Midair? Do you not know what’s happened to your father?! You must take all your people and leave for the Vulkánian Forest as soon as you can! The Darkness will be here soon!”
The boy scoffed at Ulf. “I’m well aware of what’s happened in Týrborg and that the king brought a blight upon us all. We will do as the people of Røkkrvānger have always done—hide in the mountain caves until the danger passes.”
It was Ulf’s turn to scoff. “You don’t know this danger, boy. It is unlike anything ever seen in this world. I saw the ground split open wide, and demons crawl forth; I’ve seen fire spew from the depths of the cracks and the world shake so violently, the walls of Týrborg Castle crumbled to the ground; I’ve seen an enormous Darkness descend upon all Týrborg and Yuletonbragr; and I killed a giant flying beast that belched white flames from its mouth.” Ulf took the monster’s head from his saddle and held it up for all to see. “This is what awaits you as you hide in your mountain, thinking the rocky walls will protect you. You will not be safe; the evil will find you.” He put the head back on his saddle, turned the horse around without another word, and rode out. He’d wasted enough of his time on these ignorant people. He needed to get back to the children in Nidavellir.
He retraced the path he had taken to get to Røkkrvānger, riding to the ferry, crossing the Delivýann Ocean, and riding through Yuletonbragr till he reached the Grandolguft Bridge. There, he was stopped in his tracks. He found the bridge ripped asunder by the ravaging earthquakes, and its remnants lay in a heap in the deep waters below. Ulf couldn’t quite tell, but he thought he might possibly be able to cross still; where there were no crumbled stones to walk on, the horse could wade. He had no better options, so he decided to go for it.
The crossing was precarious and long. The horse fought him as he rode across the dangerous waters, which swirled in whirlpools at Ulf’s feet, threatening to pull them both under. The horse suddenly started bucking, almost throwing Ulf in the water. He looked down to see what was spooking the horse and saw scores of red and white sea snakes swimming in the waters, latching onto his horse’s legs. He did everything he could to calm the horse but when nothing he did worked, he drew his sword and started hacking at the water near the horse’s legs…doing everything he could to not wound his horse. He finally got the horse to launch forward in the right direction, but it was running too fast now. If Ulf couldn’t slow it, the horse would miss a step on the submerged stones and break its leg. A few seconds later, that’s precisely what happened. The horse missed its step, its front right leg plunged into the waters between two rocks, and its leg snapped in half with a gut—churning, tree branch-breaking sound. Ulf went flying off into the waters ahead, landing on the stones after the shallow waters barely broke his landing. He splashed through the waters trying to find his sword, found it, and made for the shore of Týrborg.
He reached it a few minutes later, drenched head to toe with four of the red and white sea snakes latched onto him. He ripped them off and looked back at the waters woefully, his horse flailing around in pain. His heart tugged at him to help the animal, but it was beyond help. He turned around and made for the Vulkánian Forest—a much longer journey without his horse.
Ulf felt as if the entire isle of Týrborg had begun retreating into the waters it had emerged from. The deep crevices still scarred the landscape and the fires that had spewed from below were starting to solidify into black rock, even as more poured over it. His world was falling apart before his eyes. The green aura still hung over the remains of Týrborg Castle, and he saw five more of the flying beasts still roaming the skies, shooting their white flames at the ground. Ulf couldn’t imagine what could be left in Týrborg for them to burn. The teratoid black cloud was nowhere to be seen at least.
Ulf began walking to the forest. He didn’t know where he would find the energy to move on, but he had to find it somehow. He needed to get back to his wards and get them away from this broken, lost realm. Hours passed. Ulf kept his legs moving, one after the other; he would pick a landmark in the near distance—a tree, a strange looking rock—and force himself there, then pick another just to encourage himself to keep moving. He finally passed into the Vulkánian Forest and the protection which the realm of the dwarves provided. He had hours to walk still, but he could move faster now that he had no need to be secretive in his movements for fear of discovery. So, he walked in peace for a while, letting his mind wander on different topics to take it off his current situation.
Suddenly, he heard a great cracking sound as if many branches and tree limbs were being crushed all at once, and he looked all around him to see what it could be. To his left, quite close to him, he could see a giant ash tree pitching left and right, growing taller and taller with each sway. Its roots were pulling up from deep beneath the ground until they were completely exposed, stretching out in thirty-to-fifty-foot appendages. The already immense tree stood even taller on its roots as it stretched them out, and Ulf swore he could hear a sound through the rustling leaves like a sigh of pleasure. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Against his better judgement, he approached the tree cautiously. He was about twenty feet away from the tree when he yelled as loud as he could, “Hail! I am Ulf Várgrsbane from Týrborg, Thegn to King Skýsson. What…who are you?”
Ulf saw an ancient face appear in the leaves of the great ash tree as a voice boomed from what Ulf thought would’ve been a squirrel’s hole in the middle of the trunk, “I am Týraskr, child of Yggdrasil, birthed from the right hand that Týr lost to his friend Fenrir. After the great wolf bit off the god’s hand when he was betrayed, he spit it back out, unable to consume the god’s flesh. Týr retrieved his hand, walked these woods, and buried his hand with a nut gifted from Yggdrasil. And that was my becoming. I am the perpetual reminder of betrayed friendship and trifling with the fates.”
Ulf thought he could learn much from this tree, and he still had time left before he promised the children he would return, so he sat down to converse. “Your ancient wisdoms could be most beneficial at this time. What other insights do you have to impart to a fellow of the king’s court?”
Týraskr let out a kind of grumble through his squirrel-hole-mouth, but the words that followed did not portend a sense of annoyance. “In this land, eons prior, the gods walked and rode amongst your ancestors, adventuring, feasting, and multiplying your peoples. Without doubt, you are a child of the great ones, Ulf son of Várgrsbane. On occasion, they journeyed down into the hinterlands and upon Midgard to adventure amongst the lesser children of the driftwood, Ask and Embla. Great Heimdall was the most notorious progenitor there, siring the three castes of beings in that broken realm. I can see with my far-sight that you are destined to journey those lands also…beware! For they are not like your people. You will be outcasts amongst them for your great size, fair hair, and your means of worship will seem strange to them. Exercise all caution amongst them and protect those whom you are charged to. I also see great deeds in your future, greater than deeds you have already accomplished such as defeating a Dreki of Hel, a son of Níðhǫggr, the eater of my father. Skuld herself had told me of your deeds to come, and I am honored to be in your presence. But alas! Time has run her course, and I must be off. The dangers in Midair are growing, and soon even the powerful magic of the dwarves won’t be enough to stop it.”
Ulf was astonished and perplexed by the words of the great ash. How could it have known he had slayed a “Dreki”—as Týraskr had called it—and more, that there was another realm, Midgard, where there were other beings who didn’t look like or follow the ways of Ulf and his people. “Great Týraskr, before you depart, can I ask a favor?”
The tree bellowed out a resounding, “Yeeeessss.”
“Will you bring me to Nidavellir, to my wards? My journey has worn on me excessively and both of my horses were killed. I would be greatly indebted to you.”
Týraskr pondered then again said, “Yeeeessss,” as his leaves shook. “I will tell you more stories that have past from your age, those now belonging to Urðr.”
Ulf bowed in gratitude and Týraskr bent his branches to the ground, cracking as he did so, and Ulf grabbed onto a sturdy branch. Týraskr rose again and began to walk in great strides to Nidavellir. “Young one, I will tell you stories to bring with you to Midgard, where the old beliefs have died off and younger ones have taken hold. I charge you with their propagation. You undoubtedly already know the common stories, so I will impart the hidden mysteries to you—those which few amongst your kind know. Long ago, Týr was the leader of the gods before the terrible war with the Vanir. He lost his seat to Odin after he failed to end it during the millennia of fighting. The world was more peaceful in the old days; Týr charged each god with a task for the care of the realms, and each complied with the tenderest of care for their responsibilities. It is of these days that you must know.”
The wind blew a chill on Ulf’s face as Týraskr’s giant strides made fast work of the journey. “Everything is a balance. Everything has good, everything has bad; what can tip the scale in which direction? Only choice. Made either by desire, greed, lust, hate, envy, love, selflessness, loyalty, duty, honor, or integrity—choice is the greatest power of our world and all the realms within. Great Týr made a choice by not destroying the Vanir when he could—and he lost his high seat. He wanted their submission, not destruction, for he was honorable. If you forget all else, remember to always make your choices with honor in your heart. With that aside, let me take you away to the days of ancient past…”
Ulf smelled an unusual scent emitting from the leaves of Týraskr, and he felt his eyes closing against his will. He soon dozed off into the land of slumber, as Týraskr filled his head with dreams of how the world once was.
He awoke with the sleep still trying to pull him back in, but he resisted. He was afraid of the time that had passed, for he had been gifted many, many dreams. “How…long…” he yawned, “…have I been sleeping?”
“Hardly long enough for me to impart all my wisdom to you, youngling. But if you need a more exact time, about one hour.”
“Have we reached Nidavellir?” Ulf noticed the tree had stopped walking.
“Indeed, we have. Before us are the gates.”
“The dreams I had…why did the world have to change?”
“Everything changes. It is the undesirable truth of life. The oasis of Týr couldn’t last forever, just as Midair cannot forever last. One day, the realm you will escape to, Midgard, will end also and many of the greatest gods will die there.”
“But I walked with the gods…they could talk to me without moving their mouths, and I could talk back to them in the same manner. I…”
“I know all you saw, Ulf Várgrsbane.” Týraskr interrupted. “I conveyed the visions to you. But time has dwindled, and with it the ability to give you my wisdom in such a manner. I will instead choose a different method of transmittal…” Týraskr set Ulf on the ground in front of the Nidavellir Gates and began to twist its branches. One large branch twisted itself like a vine around another and pulled at it till the smaller branch ripped away from Týraskr. Týraskr then consumed the branch through its squirrel-hole mouth, and Ulf could see a mesmerizing golden light emit from the hole. Minutes later, a large object flew out of the tree’s mouth and landed on the ground in front of Ulf’s feet.
“Pick it up. It is yours.”
Ulf looked at the object before picking it up. It was a large book with a golden cover that looked heavy and was engraved with beautiful pictures of the gods as Ulf had seen in his dreams, and of the Dreki that he had killed, and other symbols that Ulf had never seen before. He picked it up—it was quite heavy—and turned the pages, each colored gold with black and silver inscriptions. There were thousands of them, each inscribed with the pictographs and symbols of the cover, and more. “What…is this?” Ulf was struck by the beauty of the object he was holding.
“That is everything you needs know about the past. Learn to read it and share the wisdom. Enlighten Midgard to the old ways. And now, I depart. My time of existence is no more, and I must away from Midair for always.”
“Where will you go? Are there more of you?”
“I will journey to the great North and find a place amongst my father’s roots. Maybe the Norns will care for me as they do him. And no, there are none like me, I am the first and the last of my kind to ever be. One last wisdom before I depart. When in Midgard and when able to, journey far south, to the land called Egypt and meet with the Magi of the Mystery Schools therein. They will help you decode that which you cannot. Now, farewell and may your journey be full of adventure.”
“Farewell, Týraskr. I am glad to have met you.”
The giant ash tree walked back through the forest whence it had come. Ulf stared after Týraskr, amazed by the come-to-life tree and the knowledge imparted to him. After Týraskr had passed from sight, Ulf put the valuable book of knowledge into his pack and banged on the Gates of Nidavellir. The not-so-friendly Belzung was the one to greet him minutes later.
“Ah, you’ve returned. I must say, I didn’t think you would.”
Ulf said nothing, he only grunted. He wanted to get the children and leave Nidavellir as soon as he could. They crossed the great stone bridge to the Drajn’s audience hall where the old Drajn was waiting. Ulf didn’t think the old dwarf ever moved from his great chair. “Hail, Drajn!” Ulf called as he approached.
“Hail, Várgrsbane. I’m pleased to see you returned. What tidings do you bring of your journey?”
Ulf relayed his past three days, amazing the Drajn and the other dwarves in the hall with the stories of the Dreki, the isles splitting apart, the stubbornness of the Røkkrvāngers, and of Týraskr. Ulf left out the bit about the information Týraskr shared with him and the great golden book he was gifted.
“Your journey has been long and tiresome, Ulf Várgrsbane. You have done your people proud with your persistence. You say you found thousands of people though and warned them? Telling them to come to Nidavellir? There have only been one hundred and sixty-three refugees from your lands to ours.”
Ulf couldn’t believe it. What’s happened to all the others? Everyone he had warned, the days of tireless riding to go as far as he could to save as many as possible—only one hundred and sixty-three had attempted…or survived?…the journey. “I understand, Drajn. Thank you for your assistance in everything. I would like to see my wards now though, and head to the southern realm as soon as possible. I recommend your people follow me there too. I don’t know how long your magic will hold out against this darkness.”
“I will permit those who wish to journey with you to do so. As for myself, I can never abandon Nidavellir. Belzung will see you reunited with your wards and to the bridge binding us to the southern realm. I wish you luck, Várgrsbane.”
Belzung led Ulf through a side door and down a twisting path until they came upon magnificent bronze doors. Ulf was led through, and he stood there in the same bewilderment which held the children captivated. The colossal columns of silver, the golden-treed forest adorned with the bluish-purple grass, the artificial sun, the flowing river, and the magnificent cottages. It swelled Ulf’s heart just gazing upon it. Belzung looked back at Ulf, noticing he had stopped following, and smirked. “Creations like Eilador, this land before you, are why the Drajn and we dwarves will never abandon Nidavellir. We will all fight to the death for it.” Belzung continued down the path and Ulf followed till Belzung stopped at the door of a beautiful cottage and knocked.
Sidsel came and answered the door momentarily, a look of delight on her face. “Ulf! You’ve returned! I’m so glad!”
Ulf smiled and hugged the child. “I’m glad to be back. How are you and your siblings?”
Sidsel’s smile grew even bigger. “We’re delightful. You wouldn’t believe the magic of this place! I have to show you!” She stretched out her hand and pulled Ulf through the door and down a winding hallway. Belzung walked by, inviting himself to the kitchen to eat some food while he waited for them to depart to the southern bridge.
Sidsel meanwhile was pulling the overly tired Ulf through the long hall, talking rapidly about all they had been doing while he was gone. He tried to pay attention to it all, but he felt himself falling asleep even as he walked. He had to stay awake though. I must get to the bridge. Then I can sleep. Sidsel finally opened a door and saw all the children sitting in different places of a vast room filled to the ceiling with shelves full of books. Towering ladders on wheels and rollers straddled the bookshelves, allowing access to every book. On the far side of the room was a beautiful pond with an ancient weeping willow tree growing from an island in its center, and streaming, colored light from the artificial sun poured through the multicolored glass along the wall. As soon as the children saw him, they all ran to Ulf with an exuberance that lightened his heavy load.
Each child talked over the other, trying to get Ulf’s attention and share their stories with him until Ulf finally had to shush them all so he could talk. “Children, gather your things. We must leave this wondrous place, for the Darkness is coming.”
The delight instantly flew from their faces at the mention of the Darkness. They had been so entranced by the magic of Nidavellir that they scarce had thought about the evil outside its walls. They exited the room after agreeing to meet by the front door as soon as they could. Agnar and Evelina helped the youngest with retrieving the items gifted them by the dwarves while the others went their own way. Ulf returned to the front door to wait, then heard sounds in the kitchen. He investigated and found Belzung there eating a sandwich. The sight of food made Ulf’s mouth water, and Belzung could see it.
“Sit down, Ulf. I’ll make you one. After what you’ve been through, you are no enemy of mine.”
Ulf gladly accepted and sat in an intricately carved wooden chair. Belzung made him a sandwich and joined him at the table. The two sat in silence while they ate, for they were both men of action who wasted energy on words only when necessary. The food refreshed Ulf and gave him the energy he would need for the journey ahead. Presently, the children appeared in the kitchen one by one till all had arrived. Ulf and Belzung rose from the table, and Belzung led them from the cottage, down the path through Eilador to the beautiful bronze doors and departed the extraordinary golden forest.
They followed Belzung through the underbelly of the mountain on a path they had never taken before, crossing golden and black-metal bridges, paths laden with gems from deep inside the mountain, and other walkways made of the purest silver. The journey lasted less than an hour before Belzung stopped in front of a pair of towering black doors with silver, runic symbols engraved upon it. Ulf read the runes which said, repeatedly, “Beware! Beyond this barrier lies the realm of the wood-made. Turn back now, or never return!” Ulf thought it a cheery tiding for the path he needed to traverse.
Beyond them rose a great clamor which caused all eyes to turn and see the cause. A great multitude of people were coming upon them from a building that looked much like the one Ulf had encountered the Drajn in. He assumed one of these buildings stood at each entrance to Nidavellir to astound and overwhelm visitors. Ulf recognized the multitude as the people from Týrborg and Yuletonbragr, the only ones who would survive the calamity to come. He greeted the ones he knew from Týrborg—the people he had grown, dined, learned, and fought with. Ulf finally felt a sense of hope for the future.
Then a beautiful voice rang out that was music to Ulf’s ears: “Ulf?! Is that you?! Ulf!”
He turned to the direction of the voice and saw his Queen, Diananxes, amongst the throng, working her way towards him with the King’s youngest son in her arms. She broke through the crowd to Ulf and threw herself into his open arms. She started crying tears of relief and joy at having found him and her children she thought she had lost. She hugged and kissed each child in turn, then turned back to Ulf. He knew she was trying to find words but couldn’t, so he stopped her. “Please, my queen. I care for them like I did their father. No words are needed to pass between us.”
Ulf then heard Belzung uttering words in dwarvish, which, if one had to, would translate to something like: Tales of past, sirens of future, open ye to the travelers of the present. As he finished uttering the words, the magical doors creaked open, revealing a bridge of gray stone leading into a mist of cloud and rain.
Ulf shook Belzung’s hand, gathered the children and his new followers, and crossed the threshold of the black and silver door, departing Midair forever.