Chapter 2 The End
two
The End
Five winters after the Battle of Nóatún - Thori
The scents of late summer tickled Thori’s nose even before his longship left the hron-rād, the magical waterway connecting the Nine Realms, and glided into the sea that encompassed the lands of the Vanir.
Early morning chill filled the air, damp and fresh, and mist shrouded the coastline in front of them.
Thori held the helm and steered the ship towards the fjord, his warriors rowing in complete silence.
A shiver ran down his spine as he was overcome by a peculiar blend of nostalgia and unease.
The scenery reminded him vividly of the Battle of Nóatún.
The last clash between the AEsir and the Vanir.
For the time being. Though back then, instead of a single ship scouting the enemy lands, it had been a raiding fleet, and the sea had been churned by the Shipbreaker’s wrath.
Njord.
And his dragon.
A god and his deadly ice serpent, wreaking havoc among the lines of the AEsir.
A spear thrown in utter desperation.
Thori couldn’t fathom which Valkyrie had guided his hand that day. It had been an impossible throw, and yet his spear had found its aim.
“Father will not be happy when he hears of this little foray of yours.”
Frey’s voice pulled him out of his dark musings as his brother stepped up beside him and eyed the shrouded coastline with disgust. His harness gleamed as golden as his hair even in the gloom, and Thori’s chest felt tight with anger.
Frey didn’t understand Father’s ambitions because he had always been protected by Mother from the Allfather’s ploys. He had no idea.
“A glorious battle, rich spoils, and the humiliation of the Vanir to boot? Do you really think Father would disapprove?” Thori shot back, annoyed at his little brother’s constant questioning of his authority, and the fact that Frey had snuck aboard in the first place.
He didn’t need his brother, of all people, to tell him how risky this expedition was.
But as much as Frey got on his nerves, Thori didn’t like the thought of putting him in danger.
Hel, he should’ve made sure that Frey remained in Asgard.
“Father wouldn’t allow the heir to the Throne of the Gods to risk his life in a foolish raid,” Frey retorted in a tone that made clear how he felt about Thori’s ability to rule. “Isn’t he the master of cunning?”
“The Allfather is also the lord of frenzy,” Rune chimed in, leaning comfortably against the railing. The warriors on board were tense, but Frey’s favorite einheri seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“He is,” Thori agreed. “And you should’ve stayed in Asgard.” He gave his brother a stern look.
It would indeed have been better if Frey had stayed in the Golden Fortress, for Thori feared their foray might not find the Norns’ favor.
Dark forebodings had accompanied their journey from the very beginning; Thori’s sleep disturbed by dreams of death and defeat.
He had often woken up in the depths of the night to the song of wolves, only to realize that they were already on the high seas and the howling was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
But still Thori was determined to travel to Vanaheim and finally find out what happened to his parents.
Odin’s palace and the halls of Asgard had been lying abandoned for too long.
“We all should’ve stayed in Asgard.” Frey’s eyes were fixed on the coast, an angry frown on his face. “Haven’t you learned? The Vanir aren’t to be trifled with. And do you really think they abducted Mother and Father into their realm? Do you think they’re capable of such a deed?”
“I can’t think of anyone powerful enough to overcome one of them, let alone both, but still, they’re gone,” Thori said.
Only a treacherous part of him insisted that this wasn’t true. He’d seen Njord fight, and ever since that day, he couldn’t help but wonder—
“My spies whisper about the absence of the queens,” Rune said. “They say the young prince sits on the throne.”
Rune’s namesake—the Prince of Vanaheim. Rune had Vanr blood himself, and he thought it funny to share their enemy’s name. Not for the first time, Thori wondered if it was wise to trust him. And what exactly the Vanr was to his brother was anyone’s guess. Norns, he hoped they weren’t shagging.
“You think whatever has befallen our parents has happened to the queens, too?” Frey asked.
The notion was ridiculous.
“We’ve been over this,” Thori said dismissively. They’d discussed the rumors several times already, and they didn’t get any more believable. “Nobody in the Nine Worlds possesses this kind of power, and if they did, why not use it to conquer?”
“Yeah, if someone can defeat Mother and Father, they can certainly take Thori,” Frey said, smirking at Rune.
“Thanks for your faith in me,” Thori grumbled.
Frey was right, of course, but it still annoyed Thori that his brother had so little confidence in his ability to protect Asgard.
Tilting his head, Rune’s gaze fell on the mist-shrouded shore.
They had already reached the fjord, and the longship glided silently through the narrow waterway between the mountains.
They weren’t flying the raven banner of Asgard; the ship was supposed to look like a merchant’s vessel guarded by a few warriors.
Yet, Thori felt it only a fraction of a second after Rune: the heady premonition of danger and impending battle.
The fjord was too quiet. Not a seagull, raven, or seal in sight.
Raising a hand, Thori signaled the oarsmen to pause. A baleful silence stretched over them. Not even the whispering of waves could be heard.
“What is it?”
Frey grinned mockingly at him. Despite his warning words earlier, he didn’t take this whole endeavor seriously, and Thori would’ve liked nothing more than to shake some sense into his silly brother.
But he couldn’t blame Frey for his youthful cockiness.
Thori had been the same. Before their parents’ disappearance.
Before he’d seen one man lay waste to a whole army at Nóatún.
“The air reeks of seier,” Rune muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Sorcery. Yes. Thori could feel it too. The mist in front of them coiled and shifted in unnatural patterns.
Thori raised his ax, and his einherjar braced themselves without the need for a spoken command.
“What—”
Frey’s eyes widened.
The attack came before Thori could answer.
A shower of arrows rained down on them from the mist, and Thori instinctively reached for a shield. He raised it just in time to deflect a volley aimed at his chest. Cries of pain rang out around him as warriors fell and chaos descended upon the longship.
“Shields up!” Thori roared. The remaining einheri obeyed, taking up defensive positions.
Their assailants remained unseen, hidden by mist and sorcery. Why wasn’t Finna breaking down the enemy’s disguise?
Thori spotted his vala at the bow, trying to chant through the blood gushing from her mouth, an arrow protruding from her throat. Hel.
More arrows poured down on them from a different angle this time. Thori could sense that their power was magnified by seier, making them even more deadly and able to break through shields and armor.
“Brace!” Thori shouted, diving to avoid the onslaught. A sharp cry of pain next to him made him flinch.
“Frey!” Rune sank to his knees, covering his chieftain with his raised shield and body.
An arrow was buried in Frey’s left shoulder, and blood was turning his golden armor bronze. Thori’s heart thundered with panic.
He needed to stop this attack.
They needed to retreat.
Now.
“Rune, take the helm!”
Drawing on the power surrounding them, Thori steeled himself.
“But—” Rune crouched protectively over Frey, and Thori knew his brother would be safe. Relief washed over him.
“Take the helm. Retreat.”
“Thori,” Frey choked, face white and hands trembling.
Swiftly leaning down, Thori kissed his little brother’s brow.
“Tell Freyja not to worry. I’ll be back with you in no time.”
“Thori, no—” Frey’s eyes were dark with panic and pain.
“You have the command, Rune. Bring my brother back to Asgard safely.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“We’re not leaving you!” Frey protested, his voice raw with desperation.
“That’s an order!” Thori was already focused on their enemies. He could feel the rotten seier hiding them from view.
Power sizzled at his fingertips as thunder rolled in the distance. He could make out the outlines of their attackers’ longships now, three ghostly shapes lurking in the fog. Thori raised his shield.
“Thori!”
Frey weakly grasped his cloak, but Thori was already running.
Sprinting to the bow, Thori jumped. He let the power of thunder and raging storms carry him across the water and onboard the largest enemy ship.
As he landed, cloaked in rain clouds, lightning struck the ship next to him, felling the mast and setting the blood-red sail on fire.
Screams and panic erupted around him, and Thori grinned.
He came over the enemy warriors in a whirlwind of fury.
They were Vanir, raiders and priestesses alike, and they must’ve known of their presence.
Their mistake, preying on a ship from Asgard.
Shield crashing against bodies, Thori spun in graceful circles, his heavy battle ax bringing death to his opponents.
He cleaved through armor and flesh alike; his war cries echoing over the fjord.
Fighting like a man possessed by a berserker’s rage, Thori was determined to bring doom to his enemies despite being hopelessly outnumbered.
Roaring with anger, Thori threw a man off balance with his shield.
He cut the throat of another and called lightning from the skies with the same breath.
Yet, even Thori’s strength had limits. For every raider he felled, two more seemed to take their place.
Worse, dozens of priestesses countered his thunder’s power with their fierce chants, leaving Thori barely able to deflect their seier.