Chapter 8
Valley of the Gods
Near Asgard Valley, Titan
"I remember an expedition to the ruins of Bannenbaurg when I was young. The once proud capital of the Kingdom of Ban reduced to a pile of wind-blasted rubble. The glory of Man is so fleeting. What little is left behind should be a warning to us. If only we had the eyes to see and the ears to hear..."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Leaving the St. John-Mark Abbey behind, the Gladians continued on the trail toward the River Titan that was the kingdom's namesake. At about the halfway point, they came across a valley that was most peculiar. It was not part of the mountains with their dips and rises, nor had it been carved out by the river. It appeared more like a giant sinkhole, many miles across. It could have been that it was an underground spring, but once there had to have been dry land, as some ruins could still be seen sticking up out of the water.
While the men were resting, Mark summoned Squire Halfdan, pointed out to the valley in the distance and asked him, "What can you tell me about this place?"
"This place, milord?" Squire Halfdan asked. "Between the mountains and the river... This would be the Vale of Asgard, abode of the gods..." He cleared his throat. "I, ah, I mean the gods of the heathen folk, milord, not to say that—"
Mark raised his hand to stop Squire Halfdan. This would take forever if he was tripping over his words the whole time.
"Continue," he said. "And speak plainly. You have nothing to fear."
Somewhat uncertainly, Squire Halfdan replied, "Ah, yes, milord. Well, you see, the Northmen believe there are Nine Realms: Midgard, the Realm of Men; Asgard, the Realm of the Gods; Vanaheim, the Realm of the Vanir; Alfheim, the Realm of the Elves; Nidavellir, the Realm of the Dwarves; Jotunheim, the Realm of the Giants; Muspellheim, the Realm of Fire; Niflheim, the Realm of Ice; and Helheim, the Realm of the Dead."
The mention of Niflheim reminded Mark of when his journey carried him to the land of Arma in the Far North. There was a small kingdom within the depths of the great glacier, a land of mist and ice. He remembered the hot springs whose heat had been used to carve chambers and halls within the ice wall, the stately King Ymir with his snowy white beard seated upon his frozen throne, and of course the dread creature they fought. Most of all, he remembered the cold that bit right into your bones. No winter in all his years could compare.
He wondered if the Niflheim he knew was the same one the Northmen believed in or if the Niflheim of myth was just its namesake. There was no telling with all the wonders in the world.
While Mark was thinking about this, Squire Halfdan continued his story.
"The world has its beginning and so it must have an end. That end was foretold long ago, but the foretelling and the fulfilling weren't quite the same. There was no Long Winter to herald the end. It all happened so suddenly. Asgard had slept for ages while Odin the All-father journeyed in the Realm Beyond Realms. Then one day he returned and summoned his battlemaids, the Valkyries, to ready an army of selected warriors for the final battle.
"It was during the reign of Hakon, I think... or maybe Horik. The All-father demanded the King's obedience and the King refused. In truth, there was a false Odin for many years who had been put down several times and the King thought this was the same as all those other times. How wrong he was.
"To punish the King for his insult, the All-father gathered together his army of the Einherjar, his chosen warriors, and marched westward. However, in gathering his power, he stirred three mighty evils: the great serpent, Midgard's Worm; the dread beast, Fenris-wolf; and the armies of the accursed dead from the gates of Helheim.
"The King and his hirdmen found themselves trapped between the All-father's army and the three evils. The battle that followed was Ragnarok. Thor Redbeard, the Thunderer, mightiest of the gods, laid low Midgard's Worm, but at the cost of his own life. Brave Tyr the One-handed, god of war, sacrificed his hand when the gods bound the Fenris-wolf, and would have avenged his hand, but was instead consumed. Even the All-father himself, with his vast knowledge of the runes, the oracles of the ravens Huginn and Muninn, and the never-failing spear Gungnir, could not overcome Fenris-wolf's greedy jaws. However, it was Vidar the Silent, the Thick-shoed, the Avenger, who slayed the dread beast, bursting from the creature's guts, tearing apart its jaw and taking up the All-father's spear to pierce its black heart. He then led the Einherjar who remained to new land, where a new life awaited them."
"What about the army of the dead?" Sonia asked.
"Milady?" Squire Halfdan asked, cocking his head.
"The army of the dead, from—what was it?—Helhaym."
"Helheim, milady. I, uh, I don't know if I ever heard that part. They were defeated, I suppose."
Hearing this seemed to deflate Sonia a little.
"I was hoping for something a little more than that."
"Forgive me, milady, but I'm no skald. It's all a jumble of different stories I heard as a boy. In the telling, the men would usually argue about the points. Tyr was supposed to die fighting the hound Garm, Vidar was never inside Fenris-wolf, there were supposed to be Fire Giants and Frost Giants, and so on and so forth.
"They would often add to the story, claiming feats by their ancestors and such. Perhaps if Redbeard fought against the army of the dead, they would have talked about it more. He was the favorite. Nearly every man in the Marauders bore the emblem of Thor's hammer. It was said that when he fell, he was taken into the earth, his mother, and once the earth drank enough blood, Thor would be reborn to lead all worthy warriors to glory."
"Well then, those bastards did their damnedest to bring back their beloved Redbeard," Sonia muttered bitterly.
This gave Squire Halfdan pause and he seemed unsure of how to continue, or even if he should continue at all.
"Thank you, Squire Halfdan," Mark said. "It tells us something about this land and her people."
"Do you actually believe any of it?" Sonia asked.
"Obviously I'm not going to acknowledge any god but God," Mark replied, "but even in the most fantastical story, there is at least a grain of truth to be found. If nothing else, we can learn what a people deem worthy to be preserved through their stories and that can tell you a lot about them."
"The Northmen like to fight, I'd say."
"That isn't so different from our people," Mark said. "Some scholars say that Northman, Teuton, and Saxon all were once one folk, so it should be no surprise that we would not be so different."
"But I'm not a Teuton or a Saxon," Sonia replied. "My kin's from Fodla. Celts."
"I don't know much about Fodlans," Mark admitted, "but surely they wouldn't want to be found lacking in martial spirit when compared to their western neighbors."
"I can't say I know much about them either," Sonia replied. "I imagine you're right, though."
Mark looked out to the valley and said, "If this place was truly believed to have been an abode of gods, whatever reduced it to this would certainly seem like the end of the world."
"Sort of like now," Sonia said.
"What?"
"Don't you feel it? The plagues, the famines, kingdoms falling apart all around us... Even our powers... It doesn't flow like it used to.
"You felt it when we went up against those bandits, didn't you? And don't try telling me it's our age. Sandra can barely tap into the Gems' power during our training. I don't even know if she'll be able to pass the Rite of Succession. Is Nathan having trouble too?"
Mark nodded. Part of him wanted to believe it was just because they were at peace and there was nothing strongly driving Nathan to bond with the Gems, but even though Mark rarely used his powers anymore, it was exactly as Sonia said. He could certainly understand how she would see signs and portents in all this.
"We don't know when the end will come," he said. "The day will come like a thief. We should always be ready for it."
"You've always got an answer for everything, don't you?" Sonia replied, shaking her head.
"Not for everything, no," Mark said. "Let's just focus on the task before us, one day at a time. If we're too busy looking out to the horizon, we might miss what's right in front of our noses."
"Now there's a philosophy I can get behind," Sonia said approvingly. "Alright, cousin, we'll leave the world to sort itself out, but we might just find ourselves getting sorted out with it."
"We'll deal with that when the time comes."
"You think there'll be any giant snakes or god-eating wolves?"
"I highly doubt it and sincerely hope not."
"Well, you've got no sense of adventure," Sonia said, cracking a grin.
That kind of adventure Mark could live without, but he had a feeling whatever was waiting for them might not be much better.