The blackened hulls of Surt’s armada cut through the water, riding the winds toward the green shores of Orkney. When at last the fertile lands came into sight, excitement rippled through Surt. He was in the first rowboat to shore. Standing on the firm soil of Odin’s precious realm, Surt squatted down and ran his hand over the waving blades of grass.
How many eons had it been since he’d last felt the green velvet of new grass? How many lifetimes had he spent as Odin’s prisoner in a world where there was no freedom? All that would end now. Taking his staff, Surt drove it into the earth and looked at the men who crowded around.
“Let it be said that on this day, the army of Musspell made a claim on Orkney.”
The men cheered.
“Let it be known that on this day, the army of Musspell said no more: no more tyranny, no more being cast aside, no more being left to rot in the burning chasms of a land we were banished to by our forefathers who did not have the might to withstand Odin and his army. Let it be said that on this day, we take back our life; we take back our right to be of this land and in this place. To the conquerors, let the spoils of this land be divided!”
A chorus of cheers met his speech. The men thrust their spears in the air and joined him in his rallying cry.
With a raised fist, Surt urged his men out of the sea toward the lands of the Orkadian men, who would be crushed like tiny ants under his boots.
Bellac and Lukas began moving their legion of foot soldiers forward, raising a cloud of dust. The boercats were released from their pens, and, one by one, they shot into the sky with their masters on their backs.
Frigga, queen of the gods and wife to Odin, stared down at the stone floor of the gods’ chambers and waved her hand, making it transparent.
“Show me the red army.”
Immediately the view filled with the ugly giants flying on their snarling boercats. Below, foot soldiers marched forward, burning the woods before them.
Orkney was going to fall.
Her gut told her that, and it was never wrong. Better she should act before it came to that. Better a painless death of disappearing into a void than facing the burning fires of Surt and his army.
In her hands she held Odin’s Belt of Destiny. With its power, she could wipe Orkney from existence. It was the right thing, she told herself. Odin would agree if he were here. As she stretched the belt around her waist, Vor came up behind her, putting her hand on the queen’s shoulder.
“Everything will turn out fine,” Vor said quietly.
Frigga held herself, her hands wavering.
“Why should I believe you?” Frigga demanded, her voice uncertain. She wanted to, if truth be told. Odin dearly loved these creatures that were a mystery to her. But her husband had not returned, and she didn’t know what else to do, lest she risk losing everything. In Odin’s absence, the gods trusted her to keep Asgard intact, their house with many rooms. She had to keep Valhalla a peaceful place where they could walk freely and oversee their scattered children from afar.
“Odin is not lost, see?” Vor waved her hand, and the scenery changed. Frigga’s breath hitched in her chest as a towering bear roared from the top of a spire of rock. “He is simply delayed.”
The landscape was gray around him, but he stood proudly on two legs. For a moment, Frigga could swear his roar echoed in her ears.
Frigga unclasped the belt, unwilling to believe in this miracle. “What if he doesn’t arrive in time?”
“He will,” Vor said. “Trust in the boy.”