With a death rattle, yet signifying the opposite, Halfdan sat upright. His eyes bulged out, and for a moment, he thought that Ylva’s dagger had chased him from Hel to give him such a deep, stabbing pain his chest, until he looked down and remembered. With a face twisted by agony, he pulled the blade out and let it fall to the side, clanking against the ground. At last, he turned to see his companions staring at him. “I’m back.”

  Sif leapt up and flew to hug him from the side as he sat on the improvised table, which elicited a groan of pain as his wound was disturbed. “You’ve handled worse,” she said dismissively, keeping her arms locked around his shoulders.

  “I have.” He laughed, squeezing her arms. As she let go, he swung his legs around to touch the ground and get up.

  Freydis got on her feet as well and wordlessly embraced him, which he returned. Neither moved until Sif at last cleared her throat, loudly. “Well?” She looked at Halfdan expectantly.

  He closed his eyes to inspect his tree. A branch had grown. [Master of Runes], glowing with the strength of nine Seeds. Opening his eyes, Halfdan smiled. “Let me have your knife.” Sif gave him the blade from her belt, which he accepted, and he bent down to pick up a small pebble. Quickly, he scratched a symbol on it, returned the knife, and placed his free hand on top of the other. Muttering a word, a glow appeared between his palms; as he revealed the small rock, it was infused with light. “I figure this will be useful.”

  Sif took the glowing stone with an amazed look. “I can’t even do that!”

  “Keep it. I can make another.” Halfdan laughed, partly from relief that he had been successful. Only now, with the journey to Hel behind him, could he admit to himself that he had been worried of failure.

  “Sif, fetch some water. Halfdan must be thirsty.”

  “Right!” The girl ran off.

  Halfdan, who had recognised by Freydis’ tone of voice that this had been an excuse to send Sif away, looked at the priestess. “What’s on your mind?”

  She took a deep breath. “Do you understand how this felt? Waiting, day after day, staring at your corpse?”

  “It wasn’t exactly easy for me either,” he protested.

  “I know. I understand. But you barely gave me a moment to even become familiar with your intentions. We’d only just returned here, and you grab my hands, place a dagger in them, and use me to stab yourself.” She looked at him with as much hurt in her eyes as flowed through her voice.

  “You’re right. I hurried through it… I was afraid to lose my nerve.”

  “Not possible. You’re a berserker. You mean that you were afraid I’d lose my nerve.”

  He let his breath escape, taking a moment. “It had to be done, and I needed you for it.”

  “And what if you had failed?”

  “I would have been trapped for eternity in Hel, I imagine. Which, I would argue, would be worse for me than you.”

  “But at least you got the choice.” Freydis lost control of her voice briefly. “Never reduce me to that again. Never go where I cannot follow.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. “The path is clear now.”

  She hesitated, looking at him for the longest moment. “There’s something I should tell you,” she finally said.

  “What is it?”

  “The Vanir. Freya. She told me… she told me you’ll suffer defeat at Odin’s hands. That they’ve foretold you’ll surrender to him, which means you’ll be imprisoned again.” She swallowed. “If you’d not been so hasty, I could have told you before you went to Hel.” She reached out to touch his chest where the wound had already disappeared, leaving only dried blood. “I don’t think we can do this, Halfdan.”

  “You have no way of knowing Freya spoke the truth,” he reminded her. He tried to keep his voice light despite how this worried him; he had the feeling that the Vanir would not lie about this, and fate had proven to be a force to be reckoned with. It was the string he followed, the path he trod; perhaps the strongest power in all the nine worlds.

  “But should we not consider it? It’s not too late to simply disappear. With your new abilities, you can protect us from unfriendly eyes, right? The nine realms are vast. Many places to hide.”

  He shook his head. “The path I am on, the powers I have, they’re to fight Odin, not hide from him. I don’t think that would work. Besides, a life spent always looking over our shoulder? We talked about this.”

  “But everything foretold must come true, isn’t that why all of this is happening? Isn’t that why you have gained these powers to begin with, because you follow the path laid out by fate?”

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  “True, but it is a twisted road, and it doesn’t go where we expect. The nornir made me think I’d die in Hel, yet it did not happen.”

  “Instead, you became Odin’s prisoner. Not much of an improvement.”

  He gave a half-hearted smile and pulled her into an embrace. “I will not let us fail. No matter what it takes.” Even if I must prove stronger than fate itself.

  She did not reply at first other than to bury her head against his shoulder. When she finally pulled back, she appeared composed. “Very well. So where does the path lead next?”

  “To J?tunheim.”

  “And what’s there?”

  Halfdan smiled. “An army.”

  *

  The trolls, ever patient and helpful, began digging the remaining tunnels needed. As before, their pace of work allowed a few days of respite for Halfdan and his companions. Sif enjoyed it the most; the trolls treated her as a child, and indeed, for a brief while she was allowed to experience childhood again. After all the dangers she had faced and would face thanks to her association with Halfdan, he did not begrudge her this time of stolen innocence.

  As for himself, the berserker found it harder to relax. He did not usually borrow troubles from tomorrow; those of his gift tended to only worry about what was in front of them or the challenge directly ahead. And J?tunheim, compared to his recent sojourn to Hel or even Alfheim and Vanaheim, did not give him cause for concern. He did not expect Odin or the other gods to hinder his plans; if nothing else because it was not their territory, and they would most likely prefer to strike on more favourable ground.

  But once his work was done in J?tunheim, only Asgard awaited. Halfdan had collected the spells, the runes, and the bones. Nearly every omen for Ragnar?k had been met. Very soon, he would be at the end of the road. Either Odin would relent, or Halfdan would be forced to choose whether to push through and thereby drown the worlds in fire, or give up and make some feeble attempt at flight.

  The thought of unleashing doom would have been inconceivable when he was still mortal. Now, Halfdan was less sure. He had changed in so many ways, and even though he felt like himself, he could not deny that he was fundamentally different. Fate had not only laid out the path and placed him upon it; it pulled him along, and every step, he took more willingly than the last. Ultimately, he knew that all of this was only possible precisely because he had it in him to go all the way. If he was not worthy of Loki’s mantle, his destiny, he would have faltered long ago.

  The prophecy that Freydis had shared did not worry Halfdan; his concern was the opposite, that he would be successful. That Odin would in the end be powerless to stop him. Looking at Sif play with Rumble, Halfdan asked himself the question whether he had the right to not only risk, but actually destroy all the worlds solely in an attempt to save two people? He knew that the answer ought to be ‘no’, but reaching out to take Freydis’ hand, his answer was ‘yes’ all the same.

  *

  The trolls finished another tunnel, breaking through to J?tunheim. With some provisions gathered – Halfdan barely needed any – the three companions set out once more. The mood was positive this time; the gods had little to no sway over J?tunheim, and while spies might still attempt to find and track the trio, Odin and his minions had less resources at their disposal in that realm.

  “What is our purpose?” asked Freydis after a while.

  “It’s part of the prophecy. Loki leads an army of J?tnar to Asgard. The final battle,” their skáld informed them.

  “Yes, as his priestess, I am aware of this,” came the impatient reply. “I meant, what is our plan once we arrive? Those most powerful among the J?tnar, their leaders, they will not support you.” She glanced at Halfdan. “You threaten to upheave their world, which is not an enticing prospect to those at the top.”

  “All very true,” he acknowledged. “But if such an upheaval would cast those up high into the depths, it also promises to do the reverse for those down below.”

  “That was always Loki’s promise. I believed that at first, but I was also desperate. I may not be as well-versed in the prophecy as others,” Freydis admitted and shot Sif a look, “and maybe the J?tnar won’t be either. But the leaders know what Ragnar?k signifies. You may find it hard to convince any of their people of your benevolence.”

  “I will prove it by deed if not by word, then.” Halfdan’s previous visits to J?tunheim had given him a few ideas on how to approach this obstacle. Furthermore, he felt a confidence that stemmed from the path he was on. Fate itself had prepared it for him; if he stepped into open air, it would summon a bridge beneath him. As long as he moved to fulfil the prophecy, it was only too willing to oblige him. Halfdan would have his army; not only because he needed it to threaten Asgard and stand a chance against its defenders, reaped from mortal warriors for many centuries, but because it had to happen.

  As for the J?tnar who joined him… There was a risk that this would all end in fire, and all those who followed him would be consumed by it, assuming they did not die earlier in the fighting. But it was no greater risk than what Halfdan assumed. He knew how the prophecy ended for Loki. Combat with Heimdall that saw both of them dead. The fact that his companions had slain the god during their foray into Valh?ll did not matter. By now, someone else would have ascended to Heimdall’s position, ready to fight, kill, and die against Loki. Every piece would be ready as arranged by destiny.

  *

  The journey was shorter than to Alfheim, about on par with the distance to Vanaheim. As always, Halfdan looked forward to being in sunlit lands once more with trees and green, even if they had to be on their guard. The trolls had not made the tunnel in a haphazard direction, but rather steered towards deep roots that extended into the earth, allowing them to delve up and into a forest rather than open terrain.

  Despite this precaution, the travellers were not afforded much protection from unfriendly eyes. While the woods of Alfheim had been dyed with the touches of autumn’s colours, their current surroundings instead suggested that winter was nearly upon them. Less than half the foliage remained, and every shaking of the wind threatened to turn the trees fully bare.

  It could not simply be the natural passage of time; only a fortnight or so had passed since they left Alfheim. They should still be in the middle of autumn.

  None of them remarked on this. They all knew what this meant. Ragnar?k would be a battle fought in snow, heralded by a winter thrice strong. The fimbulvetr was nearly upon them.