Giants swept up fighters as if they were children plucking grass. At Einer’s instructions, their giant was carrying another thirty members of his fleet. Most of their crew had been warriors in life, but had perished away from their battlefields and been denied the glory of Valhalla, despite their worth.
Thor’s thunder was loud in the sky. His goat-carriage was up there somewhere. No doubt Thor’s red eyes scoured the ground, searching for targets for his hammer.
The giant Einer had enlisted was humming a song that none of them knew, but they were quick to invent words to fit the melody. Three dozen men and women were laughing and singing as they sat on the giant’s shoulder, hung from his belt, and dangled in his hair.
When Thor goes to war,
Let him try, let him try, let him try,
He will strike and roar
Let him cry, let him cry, let him cry.
The song went around, and they took it in turns to add lines, before they all sang it together to the giant’s hum. To the hum of all giants and forefathers. Deep within Einer, the melody rose. His fingers throbbed in the same rhythm.
Einer had imagined Ragnarok to be many things, but he had never imagined that he would be laughing and singing as he was carried into battle on the shoulder of a mountain giant.
They finished Brannar’s verse. The last one belonged to Einer, and he was left with the great task of finishing their song. With a smile on his lips, he sang loud and clear:
Bitten by the great worm,
Let him cry, let him cry, let him cry.
Thor shall writhe and squirm,
Let him die, let him die, let him die.
The warriors laughed at Thor’s terrible end and then they bellowed the verse as loud as they could. They were so pleased with their song that they declared themselves skalds and swore it a shame that none should come to hear it, but of course, before the end many did hear, for they sang it more than once.
They were carried far ahead in high spirits as they sang their song, again and again. Their giant began to sing along, and then a giant next to him joined in, and more and more of Helheim’s own learned the words and adopted the mocking song of Thor’s destined end.
Lightning struck directly ahead of them.
‘Someone is angry,’ their giant chuckled. The threat of death only made them sing louder, announcing their arrival on the battlefield. They could hear the crashes of war when they weren’t singing, and even when they were. Like drums beating along to their songs.
Their singing stopped suddenly. Another lightning strike lit the battlefield, revealing what lay ahead of them. There were aesir on the nearby fields. Weapons were being hurled out in all directions, coming at a speed that not even a giant ought to be able to match. On the side of the gods, only the gods themselves had the ability to conjure runes. They were marching directly towards a god, perhaps several of them.
The Midgard Worm shrieked ahead of them. They were close. They wouldn’t get much further on their giant. The others were readying to jump down and fight, but they were not yet close enough to even see Valhalla, and the Alfather would not venture far from his hall.
The giant had not given them the advantage that Einer had hoped.
‘Sigis,’ Einer called, and leaned in to speak past Brannar, sitting on the giant’s shoulder between them. ‘We need to get you to Yggdrasil’s root so you can set up. We will join the war here.’
He looked at Brannar as well, then. He didn’t trust Sigismund to anyone else in their shield-wall, and certainly not to go alone, but they had to split up. It would be too dangerous for Sigismund to head into battle with them. He was the only one who could undo the bracteates. They couldn’t risk him dying before the task had been accomplished.
‘You two are going to have to go around. I’ll ask the giant to take you.’
The giant looked down at them with a knowing smile that said he had heard. He would take Sigismund and Brannar around the battlefield, and all the way to Yggdrasil’s outer root so they could set up the anvil and start to undo the two bracteates they already had.
Tassi knew where to meet them. It would be his task to bring the Alfather’s bracteate to Sigismund, once they reached the Alfather and Nar, Bogi, and Einer had cut the ring off the god’s neck.
‘It’s time to fight,’ Einer yelled to the thirty warriors who had climbed atop the giant with them. ‘Ready yourselves!’
The giant took them close to the actual battle, where the gold shields of Valhalla glittered in the light from Thor’s lightning. Something else lit the battlefield, then: fires burning from the south. Huge fires were burning through Asgard. They were far away, but in the utter dark of the nine worlds, they were easy to spot. They advanced fast, spreading through the dense world of gods. They lit the way. Finally, fighters could see what they hit, and giants where they stepped.
‘Surt, at last,’ their giant grunted.
The ancient giant, Surt, had arrived with fire demons from Muspelheim. Their flames raged through the battlefield and lit the terrified faces of those who fought.
‘Stop here,’ Einer requested of the giant. He didn’t have to shout to be heard. His loud thoughts pierced through the clamour of the battlefield. The giant crouched down and began to pull warriors free of his belt to set them down.
Einer’s shield-wall rose to their feet on the giant’s shoulder and made ready, wishing each other luck and success on the battlefield. Despite the dark, Einer noticed Sigismund smiling. His old friend hadn’t smiled like that since he had admitted that he couldn’t undo the bracteates. From afar Sigismund was gazing at the approaching fire. He caught Einer staring.
He cornered around Brannar, still with that wide smile carved across his face. ‘The fire demons will melt them,’ he announced to Einer in a whisper as they hugged their final goodbyes.
‘Stay safe, old friend,’ Einer said. Their armour clanged as they embraced each other tight. Einer’s chainmail dug into his skin, and he was acutely aware that he was without a bracteate. He was more vulnerable on this battlefield than he had been in years.
‘Die well,’ Sigismund told him.
They parted from each other’s embrace, but their hands held on. Never again would they meet. Einer didn’t like the finality of it, but with a nod and a sigh, he accepted that the time had come. Their hands let go of each other, and their destinies parted for the last time.
‘I’ll keep him safe,’ Brannar answered to Einer’s unspoken words, as if she could hear his thoughts as clearly as giants and gods could.
The giant, a caring being, like most giants Einer had met, had waited for them to say their final farewells, and he knew that the time had come. With a warm hand, he plucked Einer off his shoulder, and placed him carefully on the ground. ‘Make Glumbruck proud,’ his voice rumbled, and then he turned away.
Einer felt the forefathers pulse in him, stronger now than ever before. His mother was among them. Their anger made him growl. Now that battle was mere heartbeats away, the forefathers were shouting.
Einer unsheathed both of his swords. At his side Nar and Bogi had their axes out, hiding behind their large shields, and tall Tassi casually held his spear in one hand and his shield in the other. Slight as he was, Tassi had a calm that Einer had rarely seen. His slim arms were so long that wielding a spear, he far outreached almost every other warrior on the field.
Gold shields were moving fast towards them.
‘Bloody shields,’ Bogi sighed and raised his own. They were outmanned twenty to one, at least.
Einer took a deep breath, strengthened by the forefathers. He twirled the Ulfberht sword in his hand to secure his grip and brought his own sword out in front of him to use instead of a shield.
‘They’re only short-lived,’ Einer told his small shield-wall, and in that moment, he felt like a true giant, as his uncle and grandparents had promised he would. The forefathers shouted through him. He tasted blood in his mouth, and his breathing was steadied by their constant reminder. Even Odin’s gold-shielded defenders were nothing to him. He had fought giants. He had fought gods. It would take more than twenty of Valhalla’s best to overman Einer.
Bogi, Nar, and Tassi were less confident, but he had picked them well, and instructed them how to fight on this battlefield. He had even told them to leave ample room around him and announce themselves before they came into sword distance of Einer, in case the forefathers filled his mind and made him incapable of distinguishing kinsman from foe.
The others who had ridden with Einer’s group advanced in a shield-wall. They walked, instead of running, as Einer had instructed them to do back on Helheim’s beach. Their shield-wall was tight. They were ready.
‘Joining your south flank,’ Einer yelled to them. Nar, Bogi and Tassi seemed relieved at that prospect. The three of them joined their shields to the wall and Einer strode to the side, unprotected.
He breathed in the rhythm of the forefathers’ chant. His forefathers seemed to boil directly under his skin, and their presence gave him strength. They would protect him. The song Einer and his crew had invented was being shouted across the plains. It echoed between the two armies. ‘Let him die, let him die, let him die!’
The advance of fire demons basked the world in both light and shadows. There was enough light for Einer to see not merely his own swords but Valhalla’s glinting shields too.
In a roar, Einer launched into a run, as he had taught his Helheim warriors never to do. He was a giant. He was different. Every piece of him hummed with that knowledge. The muscles in his fingers were flexed around his sword hilts. The tip of his fingers pulsed. Even his toes were ready for the fight, hungering for blood. Einer grunted as a spear was thrust after him; he deflected with his sword and kept running. Valhalla’s shield-wall stopped advancing. They braced for Einer’s blow, and Einer readied himself for theirs.
His armour was tight, chainmail and leather both. Loki had secured the best armour for him. His helmet even had a bump out at the forehead to allow for Einer’s arrow stump, which normal helmets screeched against. The sound of the forefathers rang in his head. They steered him ahead.
He took a deep breath and swept his left-hand sword from bottom to top, diverting an incoming spear. At the same time, he slammed his Ulfberht at the foe directly in front of him.
His sword rattled. The golden shield held, but the warrior stumbled backwards from the blow. Einer shouldered himself against the shield, parried an axe with his Ulfberht, and kicked under the shield. His foot slammed into the other man’s shin. The warrior buckled. Einer grabbed onto the edges, wrenched the gold shield out of his enemy’s grip and cast it aside. It hit another man trying to corner around at the back, thinking Einer hadn’t noticed.
The forefathers heightened every sense. Einer felt the grass and mud through the thick soles of his shoes and smelled the stench of sweat. Their every move seemed so predictable. So easy.
Einer kicked out, avoiding a sword blow aimed at his foot, and kicking another man in the shin. His left hand spun, reversing his sword, and he thrust backwards. He sliced through meat and did not have to move to know that he had killed an enemy. Meanwhile, his right hand parried an axe and two swords, both aimed for his head.
The forefathers did not take over as they had in the past; they merely steered him. Made him aware of what his opponents were planning. It almost felt like he knew what they would do before they did. They only had to decide on a move, and the forefathers’ keen senses picked up on it.
The two shield-walls clashed. Eager warriors eyed Einer. Something moved at his back. Einer whirled around to see gold shields advancing in a ring around him.
Einer pointed the Ulfberht at the ground, swept it under lesser warriors’ shields, and kept it there as he spun. He gritted his teeth in a suppressed roar. Warriors screamed as their toes were sliced off. Einer shouldered an opponent out of the way to find new ground where there was no one at his back.
His sword glistened dark red in the distant flames. First blood had been shed. The smell of blood was strong, and it wasn’t just coming from Einer’s sword or the wounded. It was coming from the forefathers, too, as if Einer could smell the blood on the battlefield, could taste it in his mouth.
Einer shouldered past his foes. The crowd was tight. No one lifted their weapons free of the wall to strike him in time. Einer kept his weapons low, slicing through shoes and toes and shins as he pushed through. Whatever his swords found.
An axe hacked him across the back. Einer roared and swung around to face his attacker.
The warrior’s eyes were wild and shaking; he must have taken berserker caps before launching into battle. Einer ignored the pain in his back and glanced at the man’s feet. That was how he had managed to free himself from the crush: one of the warrior’s own kinsmen lay buckled over, his shoulder and jaw shattered by the axe. He wasn’t dead yet, but soon he would be, trampled to death by his own friends.
Einer let out a forefather’s grunt.
The berserker too was grunting, but his were different, uncontrollable and desperate. Like a drunk man trying and failing to speak, and furious that no one understood him.
The berserker launched at Einer, but his shield hindered him. The crowd was still too tight. With another wild grunt, he threw down his shield and then launched himself at Einer.
Einer raised his left-hand sword and stabbed through the berserker’s stomach, but the man kept coming. The sword was stuck. Einer let go of the hilt and pushed the berserker’s arm up. The man managed to hook his axe over Einer’s back, again, but this time, it didn’t pierce his armour.
Einer kneed the berserker in the groin, but the man merely grunted and attacked again. He had no shield, no weapon, but he had teeth, and he intended to use them. Einer couldn’t lift his Ulfberht, and at this close range it would do him no good, so he raised his left hand and grabbed the berserker’s shoulder instead. The forefathers hummed loud and filled him with strength. He tightened his grip around the berserker’s shoulder until he felt bones break.
Still, the berserker snapped his teeth. The man’s shoulder was broken, his arm dangling helplessly, but his teeth were still snapping away. The circle of fighters around them pressed them closer together. Einer stubbed his nail-less finger and howled. He was jostled by shields and weapons on all sides. He wrestled his sword arm up, planted his elbow against the berserker’s chest, and punched him in the face with his left hand. Once, twice, three times. His hand was bloody. The berserker dropped at Einer’s feet, unconscious or dead.
Warriors pushed in close again before Einer could retrieve his sword. He held onto the Ulfberht and tried to shove his way free of the crowd, but the more he tried, the more stuck he got.
They were not advancing. The crowd was helplessly rummaging, and Einer couldn’t get through. He jumped up to look farther, above helmets and swinging weapons and shields, but he could not see Valhalla. Not that he could see much in the night, lit only by lightning and fire.
No matter where Valhalla was, Einer had to get out of this crowd. He peered at the helpless faces of other warriors as he tried to push through. Valhalla’s fiercest were as desperate as him to get free and fight. It was like they were caught in a net or surrounded by a tightening rope.
A shadow was cast over their desperate faces. No one had time to react, or do anything but lift their eyes, before the sole of a giant’s foot came sailing over them. There was another crash further ahead, and then the foot rose again. Valhalla’s champions clung on and were carried into the air. Some fell on friendly weapons and shields, others held on.
Barely had the foot risen before the warriors were forced even closer together, filling the gap the foot had left. Above, escaped fighters laughed, hanging onto the giant’s foot.
There was an escape.
Einer was not the only one to think it. They all peered up at the dark sky, hoping to see another approaching giant. A saviour to free them from their sweaty ranks.
Einer let out a frustrated grunt at being stuck. He had lost track of Nar, Bogi and Tassi. He peered over his shoulder but could not see a single warrior from Helheim. Either they were dead, or trapped, or they had moved on, while Einer had fought and become stuck amidst the Alfather’s warriors.
Another shadow raced across shields and helmets. Upon Einer, too. Not a giant’s foot this time: the shadow was much larger and longer than that.
It fell hard among them, and Einer was cast down amidst the crowd in a tangle of limbs and weapons. His helmet banged against a gold shield. The controlled breath was knocked out of him. Something slimy and slick pressed against his arm and cheek. The Midgard Worm.
Warriors hacked into the worm’s skin, and Einer yelled for them to stop. The outer skin was merely slippery, Einer knew, for he had touched it before, but piercing through to the layer beneath would unleash a deadly venom. That was why the waters between Niflheim and Helheim’s coasts had been near impossible to swim across, because the Midgard Worm lay out there and bit its own tail short. His grandmother had taught him that.
‘Don’t strike it!’ Einer yelled, but his words were muffled by the Midgard Worm’s squealing cries.
As loud as he knew how to do, Einer thought of Loki, and made his presence known to the giant. He was here, crushed by the Midgard Worm! But perhaps there were too many other loud thoughts at the edge of Ragnarok’s battlefield, because Loki did not come for him.
The Midgard Worm slithered across Einer. His face was rubbed raw, until the end of the tail rose from his chest.
Einer pushed away those fallen at his feet, climbing up before he was trampled. The warriors who had taken most of the Midgard Worm’s weight lay crushed to death at his side. Einer stepped onto their slimy bodies.
He watched warriors screaming above him. Warriors who had hung onto the worm, axes buried into its skin. Venom was running down their weapons and arms, killing them quicker than they would have died on the ground.
The crowd closed around Einer again. Quickly, he searched for another way out, and then he knew. He sheathed his Ulfberht and ran the three steps that separated him from the next man. Grabbed hold of his shoulders to force him down, then stepped onto the man’s back, and then another’s shoulders. Further along, a mob had raised their shields over their heads, to better move. Einer smiled and stepped onto their shielded roof.
Looking up at Einer, others tried to follow his lead. They toppled over all around the thick crowd, trying to step on each other, to get up and free. Below Einer, warriors crouched to trip him up, but he moved too quickly across their shields and shoulders.
The Midgard Worm slithered away fast. It was so long that Einer couldn’t see which end its head was. Loki would not have heard him, even if his thoughts were the loudest on the entire battlefield.
‘He’s there!’ someone yelled. Einer recognised Tassi’s voice and peered over his shoulder. Tassi didn’t look like he was stuck in the crowd like Einer; somehow, they had gotten ahead of the mob.
Einer fixed on the direction of his shield-mates and walked across warriors, stepping on helmets and shoulders and shields and anything half-solid. He tumbled over the last shield, then his shoulder bumped against someone’s helmet and all of him fell. The muddy ground took the worst of his fall. The forefathers were loud, masking the sharp pain in his shoulder.
A hand reached down, and Einer took it. Bogi lifted him to his feet. They were all there. Unlike him, they had stayed together, and avoided getting caught in the mass of Valhalla’s warriors. Einer pulled forth his Ulfberht sword, patted down the empty scabbard where his old sword had been and felt bare for it. But he was free of the thick crowd. There was room to breathe.
Valhalla’s warriors had been rounded up, like fish in a net. The outer row of warriors was tied in by simple ropes. Some distance away, Einer saw a giant holding onto the rope, laughing at all the wriggling short-lived he had caught.
He smiled at the sight. Runic ropes and knots kept the Alfather’s fighters trapped. He was glad to be out of their midst. He dried the sweat off his forehead. His underarms were slick with sweat. Had it not been for the forefathers’ control, he would have been panting for breath.
‘Should have stayed with us,’ Tassi said in a disapproving tone.
Still smiling, Einer nodded.
He had launched ahead, thinking he could cut the way through the crowd for them, but he should have known better than anyone that there was no chaos quite like that of Ragnarok. Getting lost in a crowd was easy, and too dangerous to risk again. ‘We stay together, now,’ he agreed. ‘But first I need a weapon for my left hand.’
A strong stench of piss surrounded them, and when Einer looked down, searching for a shield, or a second weapon to wield, he realised that what he had thought was mud were corpses that had been crushed under a giant’s foot. Their shields were broken into pieces, and the corpses, too, ground under the sole of a giant. The shafts of axes and spears were crushed. All of them were useless.
‘I’ll find something on the way,’ Einer decided. Staying put anywhere on this battlefield made them targets, and that was how warriors died.
His three comrades nodded and lifted their shields to form a wall in front of them and Einer. Together they headed off searching for Valhalla, and for the Alfather.
The forefathers chanted loud and reminded him that the end was near. Soon he would join them, for no one survived this battlefield.
As if Ida’s plain, too, listened to Einer’s thoughts, a light shone straight ahead of them.
It came neither from Thor’s thunder nor from fire demons, but from a god’s conjured runes. They were coming close to an aesir. It could be Odin, it could be Tyr. It could be any of the gods. They had to head towards the god, whoever it was. Dart into the deadliest part of the battle.
Einer took a deep breath. ‘Gods too must die,’ he reminded himself, but the words did not calm his worries about what deadly dangers lay ahead of them.