"Following Ragnarok Ch 3" by Angela Perry

Chapter 3: Dark is the Road

The entrance to the caves that led to Niflheim appeared warm, inviting even. Situated close to the trunk of the World Tree, not far from the well, the blue-veined marble seemed to glow in the golden light. Soft moss carpeted the floor, and lichens glowed a faint green in the depths of the cave.

Fastidiously curling his upper lip, Kolbyr lifted a clawed foot and flicked away some of the moss that clung between his toes. Behind him, hovering just outside the mouth of the cave, Mist gathered Asgard into her memory in hopes that it would make the long, dark journey bearable.

“Why is it,” Kolbyr grumbled, slumping against the wall, “that everything above Niflheim must be coated in noxious green? Do you simply not realize that soil and rocks have their own beauty?”

Mist turned away from the verdant fields of her home, avoiding Kolbyr’s eyes as she blinked moisture from her own.

“Creatures of light are drawn to life,” Mist replied, shouldering her way past the elf. “Creatures of darkness prefer death, barrenness, rot. Your twisted minds cannot encompass beauty and growth.”

The sudden hand on her shoulder gave Mist the excuse she craved to spin around and release her anger. Kolbyr met her glare for glare.

“How dare you say…?!”

“Never touch me…!”

“Judgmental carcass licker!”

“Pathetic lapdog!”

With a snarl, Kolbyr threw himself at Mist, claws extended. His weight bore them both to the mossy floor, shocking them to silence. Glancing down, the dark elf saw that once again his fury had been thwarted: his claws rested lightly against the skin of the valkyrie’s arms, and no amount of pressure would drive them any further.

Mist shoved Kolbyr off from her and pulled herself to her feet, wincing. Her tailbone and elbow throbbed where the moss had failed to cushion her from the solid rock beneath. Catching her gingerly rubbing the bruises, the dark elf sneered.

“So, there is a way around this accursed binding after all. I may not be able to attack you directly, but I can do plenty of indirect damage—”

His words cut off as he stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell. A smirk crossed Mist’s face as she withdrew her foot from his path.

“It works both ways, wolf. Perhaps you had better watch where you step.”

A cold silence fell between them as they made their way into the tunnel, Mist leading the way. The valkyrie moved swiftly and determinedly into the darkness. Only once did she look back, and then it was just to catch the last glimpse of light from the World Tree, before they irrevocably passed beyond its golden radiance.

The descent into the cave weighed more and more heavily on Mist with each step. She felt trapped by the tons of rock, pressed down into the ground. Tense muscles and straining eyes soon drained her, though she was unwilling to show weakness in front of Kolbyr.

The dark elf, on the other hand, seemed to grow more relaxed as they progressed. Once, he stopped to examine something on the wall that Mist could not make out, and several times Mist heard him humming war ballads under his breath.

The glowing lichens gradually faded and disappeared, until Mist could perceive no light at all. After stumbling into several walls and falling to her knees twice, she finally submitted to being led by Kolbyr. To her surprise, he said nothing derisive in response to her reluctant request for help.

Curious, and desperate to break the smothering silence, Mist asked, “You are content with helping me, then, without taunting my obvious weakness? Even though it would seem in this you are superior?”

“A true warrior does not mock his enemies’ weaknesses, he faces their strengths,” Kolbyr replied cursorily.

Silence descended between them again, though it did not seem as cold. To her annoyance, Mist found herself feeling vaguely chastised by Kolbyr’s words. She pushed the feeling down savagely. It was not as if she should expect honorable beliefs from a dark elf, after all. It was perfectly reasonable for her to assume that he would take advantage of her weakness, even if he had chosen not to do so this once.

And still the tunnel descended. Time stretched, until Mist felt as if they had always walked through the darkness. Through unspoken consent, they rested several times, sinking to the floor in a stupor of exhaustion.

On one of these stops, Mist took the opportunity to eat the apple the Norns has given her. As the sweet juices slid down her throat, energy suffused her. She felt her wounds closing, her bruises fading to minor aches. Hope flickered into life, and she reached behind her to feel her wings. The hope faded a little as she realized her wings were still tattered and unusable. The apple was able to heal her wounds, but not replace the feathers that had been lost.

At another point, Mist became aware of the cold that had crept into the caves. She had not noticed at first because the transition had been so gradual, but she found herself wrapping her wings around her arms to keep from shivering. The chill air seeped into her chest, made her eyes sting and her bones ache.

Not long after Mist consciously acknowledged the cold, Kolbyr announced, “We have entered the mountain caverns of Svartelheim. The gate to Hel is close.”

News that they were nearing the end of their journey lifted Mist’s exhaustion and discomfort somewhat. She resumed squinting into the darkness, hoping to be able to make out even a little of Kolbyr’s world. Thus, when a faint purple glow suffused the tunnel as they rounded a corner, Mist stopped in astonishment, shading eyes so long deprived of light.

Towering mushrooms rose from the soft ground to reach for a high ceiling. Rivulets of water, the source of the radiance, ran down the walls to a central pool. Rough rocks scattered beneath the fungus and along the walls added their purple glow to the room.

“What is this place?” Mist asked hoarsely, still shading her eyes as she gazed at the vast cavern.

“This is one of the mushroom forests of Svartalfheim,” Kolbyr said, a slight smile touching his lips. “My people harvest…used to harvest…the mushrooms for food and the rocks for light.”

“I did not expect to find something so…” Mist trailed off.

“What? Alive? Useful? Breathtaking?” Kolbyr’s eyes hardened. “Of course not. We dark elves are too evil, too unrefined and heathenish to appreciate life and beauty.”

He stalked to the central pool, weaving between thick stalks, and knelt to drink. Mist, too awed to think of a rejoinder, followed slowly, taking in the wonders of the underground forest. The mushrooms all appeared to have a purple cast from the light, but patches of dark orange and blue glowed in their own right on some of the fungi. By the time Mist reached the luminescent pool, she had counted eight different types, from squat puffballs to clusters of delicate chanterelles to the towering stalks crowned by thick, meaty caps.

Kneeling near Kolbyr, Mist gritted her teeth and fought down her pride. “Perhaps I…was too quick to judge, dark elf. I did not know…”

Kolbyr glanced at her, eyebrows raised, then turned away, rubbing one of his horns uncomfortably. “Drink deeply, valkyrie,” he muttered. “The glow will not harm you; it is just the minerals from the rocks that wash into the pool. This is the only place for pure water on our path.”

Mist took his advice and cupped her hands, marveling at the way the water painted her hands pale violet and sparkled between her fingers. The water was cold, colder than she had ever tasted, with a strange mineral quality. Even after she had slaked her thirst and stood, ready to proceed, the purple glow clung faintly to her fingers.

Expecting to plunge back into darkness, Mist was not a little relieved when the purple light continued into the next tunnel. The glowing rocks, she saw, had been placed in carved hollows along their path. Many of the stones had been worked into fantastical shapes: stone golems, beetles, snakes, eyes peering from elven faces.

The stonework grew more intricate the farther they progressed, spreading to the walls and ceilings of the tunnels. Knotwork animals and birds pranced or flew in the pale light, intertwining with each other around precious stones set into the walls. Carved pillars supported the ceiling in the larger rooms, vines twining around them to burst into lifelike blooms near the roof. Expecting to find it hard and cold, Mist was startled to touch a low-hanging blossom and find it soft beneath her fingers.

“So, you’ve discovered one of our earth flowers,” Kolbyr said, seeing her reaction. “We have developed many methods for working with precious stones and metals that you upworlders know nothing about. Our best craftsman can coax life from the stone itself. Those flowers are finely woven gold threads. Their beauty will never die, their freshness never fade.”

“But they will never grow, either,” Mist answered, pulling her hand away from the flower. “They will never truly live, because life is nothing without death.”

With an exasperated sigh, Kolbyr bared his teeth at her. “You simply cannot acknowledge that the ways of the dark elves are not as barbaric as you believe, can you, valkyrie? You are so superior, because you lived with gods in a field. Why did I ever bind myself to you? Hel would be better than this!”

“Well, we are about to find out,” Mist snapped back. “Perhaps the corpses will be better companions than I.”

Kolbyr strode into a dark tunnel without waiting for the valkyrie. “Undoubtedly they will—”

His voice cut off abruptly. Mist, who had stormed after him, bumped into him standing motionless in the tunnel.

“What…?” Mist began, but Kolbyr’s hand clamped over her mouth silenced her. His claws dug painfully into her cheeks.

“Silence,” he hissed. “Bide.”

After several moments, Mist’s annoyance got the better of her and she jerked her face from his grip. Just then, a pale blue haze wafted through the tunnel, apparently passing through one solid wall and into the opposite side. A thick smell of decay followed it.

“Draugrs,” Kolbyr snarled, fists clenched. “They must have escaped from Hel when Garm was fighting in Ragnarok. How dare they invade my home?”

“How dare you bring a valkyrie here, hideous one?” a voice hissed from behind them.

Mist and Kolbyr whirled to find a draugr hovering in the tunnel an arm’s length away, its red eyes boring into them and its face twisted into a rictus snarl. It had once been human, Mist’s senses told her, but its time in Hel had twisted it until a dark taint made it almost seem something else entirely. Terror pressed in on her from all around, a living thing that poured from the draugrs and invaded her mind. Despite efforts to resist the fear, Mist froze, unable to move, breath caught in her throat.

“Revenge will be sweet,” another draugr whispered, emerging from the wall on their right. “Was it you that left me on the battlefield, perhaps? I fought gloriously. How could I have not earned Asgard? Just because my heart faltered for one moment, and I died as I turned to flee, you filthy valkyrie passed me over, claiming I was unworthy.”

“The queen will be pleased to see you,” a third moaned somewhere out of sight. “Will she reward us? Will we be invited into her halls, where the dead gods sit? She has so long desired a valkyrie…”

“Why are you so far from your barrows, wights?” demanded Kolbyr, stepping in front of Mist. “Should you not be terrorizing cattle or bending neck to your vile queen?”

“Even we cannot face the wrath of Surt, foolish elf,” the first draugr murmured, its form solidifying. “Our barrows are long destroyed, along with any chance we may have had for peace. Now move aside. This is not your battle.”

“I am bound to this valkyrie,” Kolbyr replied, standing firm. “Her battles are my battles.”

Whispery laughter rose around them, growing deeper as the draugrs’ bodies coalesced.

“Very well,” one of the draugr chuckled, now fully corporeal. Shreds of skin hung from its gaunt frame, revealing shattered ribs. Liquid oozed slowly from several gashes in its deathly blue skin. “My brothers and I are not foolish enough to turn down a willing meal.”