Seal 13

 

Chapter Thirteen: Eternal Lament

 

The years bled away before his eyes. No longer was he able to remember how long it had been since he’d been dumped into the keeping of the gods. Many counted themselves lucky to be chosen, some were ‘barely’ deserving of the title ‘Chosen’ but he did not delude himself, for one moment, into believing he deserved to be there. Escape was improbable, for Asgard was a labyrinth of floating isles – one it was impossible to traverse without divine aid. Einherjar were reliant on the Aesir to get to most places. Few magi were trusted and allowed to command teleportation magicks in the shining realm. What could he remember? Vytis remembered little, the time grew to be so long that he afforded his attention only to the most important experiences: his first days and the end. He remembered his escape with particular relish, the cherished freedom he’d grasped with open hands…

The first days there were spent in recovery, recovering from the Valkyrie under the care of Eir. In recollection she was perhaps the only God he did not despise, the only one he regretted betraying. Grudgingly upon first meeting her innate kindness had painfully reminded him of Astridr. The first day she had treated his physical wounds and left without a word. The second day she had the misfortune of choosing to speak, to inquire after his emotional well being. Beyond the care that his rudeness could offend the Aesir to enough displeasure for them to kill him he had asked in turn where her compassion had been for his wife.

At the time, to him, it had been a valid albeit bitter question haunting him.

Eir had been kinder than he’d ever thought the gods could be. A smile, small and sad, curved her lips showing the sincere grief she felt on his behalf, for his internal suffering, “You continued to pray to me on her behalf long after you forsook all the others gods…”

“You heard me? Yet you did nothing? Why did you do nothing?” he sat upright despite the pain that lanced upright along his back, the pain was good – it cleared his mind to feel anger and outrage anything besides just the pathetic sensation of useless sorrow.

“Your anger tells me much of what she meant to you. You are not the first who has asked this of me, this particular question. I did not stand idle, allowing your prayers to fall on deaf ears,” she paused as if cutting off the words like others, “I heard you but even I cannot contest the will of the All Father – Odin.”

The answer had been a hollow one, devoid of any comfort, with no peace he could glean from it. However, it had been the only answer Eir could give him; they were both forced to accept it even if neither one liked it.

The goddess of Healing, from that moment onward, seemed to take special interest in him – into healing the wounds of his heart. At the conclusion of his recovery Eir offered him a choice, one which would make his centuries amongst Asgard bearable – return to Valhalla or remain with her in Lyfjaberg. Vytis never ended up leaving the healing halls of Lyfjaberg. He devoted what strength he possessed to protecting the only god he’d ever respect. Eir had failed him but he could respect her love for the sanctity of life. At times it hurt because of how much Eir could remind him so much of Astridr, so much of that which he had lost.

The days each slipped into the next, the years melting away with quiet ease. Peace reigned in the shining realm until an event known as The Mists of Nifleheim occurred upon Midgard. Rarely had visitors besides the ill and infirm graced her halls or called upon her company but one night Freya appeared. Eir had retired to rest within the gardens of Lyfjaberg. Vytis was at her side, always was, he was her protection against all things. Eir did not dismiss him lightly; in fact she rarely did at all. Freya simply acted as if he didn’t exist, “The impact of the Mists spread further. I come at this late hour to ask a favor on behalf of Lord Odin.”

Eir, who didn’t have it in her to be cruel or turn anyone away in need, smiled in benevolence and acquiesced, shifting aside as if allowing Freya to settle down beside her. The Second Rank goddess remained hovering where she was in midair as Eir initiated the conversation, “What may I do to be of assistance?”

If Vytis had been able to voice his opinion freely he’d have asked how Eir could be FURTHER assistance. Already she’d allowed most of her personal guards – her protectors of last resort – to go to the field, everyone save himself. Eir had released any Einherjar able to fight despite her misgivings about sending some to their deaths and of course she healed the survivors of the brutal scourge upon Midgard. The Mist of Nifleheim was the first time in a long time that Queen Hel of Nifleheim had waged divine war upon the plane of the human world of Midgard, to date it was one of the most brutal wars ever seen – a desperate invasion attempt.

It took him everything to swallow his words, words borne of protective outrage but Eir gave Freya her small, tragic smile, “What more can I do? I have sent away my blades that they might bestow my mercy upon Midgard in defending it. I have done as you asked and release any and all fit for battle into your keeping. All my healers aid those upon Midgard’s surface, acting as direct intermediaries in a capacity, a way that I cannot. You tell me how much further I can aid you and shall do whatever I can within reason.”

There WAS nothing further she could do in reason. Perhaps that is why he finally spoke up or perhaps it was because he truly could not stand the life around him, everything and everyone subservient to the wishes of Odin and Freya. In hindsight his words were not wise to hold in his mind let alone voice them aloud, “Lady Eir has done MORE than her part! Can you not see she is driven to weariness? From healing, from intervention, from answering prayers for mercy?”

The impact his voice breaking in upon their conversation was instantaneous. Eir’s face drained of color, almost making her pallor appear less than god-like; she was almost human to his eyes in those few moments. A pure strain of fury slithered through the air as the fertility goddess’ rage took over her facial features. Eir recovered from her shock before Freya could act upon her rage, “Freya! Please don’t, he speaks of concern for me!”

Eir’s plea was the only thing that saved him, made the Second Rank goddess back down. Still her rage writhed, he could sense it from how the wind stirred malevolently around her floating form, moments before her eyes met his in hatred, “Perhaps HE can be part of THAT intervention of which we speak,” she spat out the last word making it apparent that he was never welcomed in their conversation, “if his blade is as good as his tongue he ‘might’ be useful, useful enough to be worth sparing.”

Eir stilled her tone serious, “Vytis is the only protection left to me. I, I will have to think on it,” it was not that she was so dependent upon him; it was a serious ordeal to strip a goddess of her entire retinue, serious enough to make Freya back off.

“I did not realize your martial commitment in this conflict was so deep,” Freya’s eyes bored in his direction, “once the conflict is pass we will see that you are adequately recompensed so your guard will exceed this,” she gestured at him dismissively as she vanished leaving them to the silence of the garden.

He’d bit his cheek, to keep from reacting to the insult she’d given at their parting. Eir’s gazed out across the garden allowing several long moments to stretch between them before she spoke up, “What she asks for….I’ve been given time to consider it but they will want an answer sooner or later. It is not my decision to make, many would say you have no choice that my decision is your choice but I cannot send you, send anyone, forth into the madness suffusing Midgard when it may cost you your life…”

Here it was – the chance he’d long been waiting for. So long had he wanted opportunity to just get away from it all, more times than he cared to admit he didn’t want to live the hollow existence that continued to stretch endlessly throughout time. Eir had been fair and just and kind to him, enough that he was grateful she gave him a life of purpose up there but enough was enough. While he was up in Asgard he might possibly live forever in a silent agony that he alone understood, one that he had no hope of recovering from.

He had taken the ultimate gamble, risked everything, and lost. During life he’d risked everything to spare Astridr, all his money, all his prayers, all his attempts had been nothing. Her life had been taken despite it all and he knew part of him had died with her that last evening. Even in death he’d tried everything and still failed in the end. There was no doubt in his mind that Hel had likely believed he’d defaulted on their contract – the covenant. His heart twisted painfully in his chest at the thought of her body becoming the unmistakable decomposed husk of a corpse. Centuries amongst the Aesir and he’d never crossed the Valkyrie since she’d had first attached the chains of his enslavement about him.

It was a poor way to repay Eir but he wanted the oblivion proffered, all the better if it came to embrace him sooner. There was no easy way to tell her but he had to, he couldn’t continue living on like this, as if believing that if he lived long enough he’d grow out of his memory and eventually forget everything. Unfortunately he knew better, “I care for you, Eir, more than I ever thought I would but I am tired. If I cannot find Astridr in the next life, if I cannot be with her then I would rather find oblivion and let it take me.”

A sigh, heavy with sorrow, came through her lips, “Some wounds, it seems, are beyond my healing. I will let you go if it will ease your suffering.”

“Nothing will ease it, Eir, this path will merely end it…,” letting him go to his final death upon Midgard was like euthanasia, like killing an animal to end its suffering long after there was no way to help it any longer.

It was how he returned to Midgard but where he meant to meet his end, fate had a new beginning in store for him, waiting to unfold before him. Though he was thoroughly exhausted with living he had no intention of falling without a fight. Truthfully he would have been pleased to be set loose upon the armies of Nifleheim until his reaped his own death. Instead he found himself becoming a single face among many. It was disorienting, to return to the concept of belonging to an army – a regiment. It had been so long since his years serving in the army during his lifetime and in Asgard his tasks hadn’t gone beyond serving in the function of a guardian – a solitary position that required little team play or coordination. He was pleased to find out that his practice with the blade hadn’t been a waste, his skill had greatly been unaffected by the disuse it suffered.

The difficulty in protecting Midgard did not lie in protecting them from powerful individual demons but in subduing the sheer numbers allowed to cross over from Nifleheim to Midgard through gateways. To cut down the invasion they had to practice prevention as well as annihilation, they had to stop any more gateways from being opened while destroying the numbers upon Midgard. Instantly upon his arrival on Midgard he’d been given the task of hunting the few powerful demons able to open the ‘gateways’. These precious gifted few were well protected, entire armies bowed at their feet making it necessary for the armies of Asgard to amass in great number just to approach the target.

At the time he joined the forces of Asgard they were collecting for an assault upon the island of Dipan – it was to be a massive staging point of invasion for the North, one that could open into a direct assault upon Crell Monferaigne once they crossed over to the mainland. Crell Monferaigne was the strongest asset the Aesir possessed upon Midgard, the threat Hel’s war provided was very real and not likely to be forgotten by the Gods of Asgard again. She had brought them to their knees in a neutral realm, was poised to take their head in fact. No wonder they’d been so desperate, desperate enough to leave their own realm practically deserted.

“Vytis!” a voice broke through the reverie of his observations; it was an eager male who was rather young for an Einherjar. Vytis had no doubt he was brave but also had no doubt that the same bravery was the reason he had died, “We’ve arrived early, they’re sending out the orders for half to go on guard and half to rest up. I’ll take first shift.”

“That’s alright, I can stand guard,” he said mechanically, not prepared to be patronized when he was the veteran in terms of years and experience as Einherjar.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said stubbornly, “I wasn’t the one who was just staring into space. Rest up; I’ll wake you for your shift in a few hours.”

He was about to argue when he stopped, it would be pointless and who was he to argue? He couldn’t deny the fact he wasn’t paying attention, not without someone calling him on it. Besides maybe he’d get a chance to sleep long enough to dream. The mere hope of reaching that elusive peace under the veil of sleep it was always worth it. His dreams belonged to Astridr, they always belonged to her, it always made him reluctant to wake and return to the nightmare of reality but the few moments of bliss were enough to make him happily weather cutting his heart to the quick upon waking.

Her beautiful sunlit hair streamed past her slim waistline, glimmering underneath his appreciative gaze. Astridr turn to face him, her eyes lovely enough to rival the clearest of skies, her petite lips curved into a smile she seem to reserve especially for him, “Vytis… I’ve been waiting but not long, don’t worry! I’ve just been admiring some of these specimen of flowers you’ve gotten me,” a radiant glow suffused her facial features as she turned full in his direction, “You’ve really outdone yourself in providing me beauty enough to appreciate for the whole of my lifetime. I look forward to sharing such a beautiful world with our child.”

His eyes followed down to her abdomen which was swollen, heavy with child. Without preamble a n easy smile curved at his lips. Personally he thought the garden paled in comparison to her but she always appreciated it, “If you are not by my side, I can always find you here…”

“It’s my sanctuary, one of them,” her eyes ghosted up to meet his and he realized that she thought of him as another, by the intensity of her gaze he was the one she went to for solace, peace, serenity. His eyes couldn’t break that connection between them, he didn’t, he hadn’t even realized she’d crossed the distance between them until she placed her soft silken palm against the strong muscles of his torso between the folds of his unbuttoned shirt, resting it over his heart as if transfixed by yearning only for her eyes to flutter upward to focus on him. Swallowing and breathing properly had become difficult in those few innocent yet provocative moments searing between them, and he felt as if it would only give him relief if he touch her. He didn’t reach out with his calloused hands, just a subtle tip of his neck, bringing their lips to touch in the softest caress but he’d remember it forever.

“Vytis, VYTIS!” someone was shaking him awake and he was furious, so god damn furious that he drew his blade and swiped at the air in one smooth stroke, “Fuck! What is your problem?”

“What is yours?” he was seriously pissed off that he’d finally had the first dream in years it seemed and some trigger-happy moron had disrupted it. It took him a moment to get his emotions to slow down long enough for his logic to catch up, it was too loud – around them he heard too much – the sounds of weapons being readied and sheathed, screams of battle and blade in the distance, “What the hell is going on?”

“That is WHY I woke you,” the young Einherjar cursed, “the battle has begun on the South side of the camp. They’re holding off the undead and we sneak up the mountain and slit the throat of the magi bitch who is charged with opening the gateway.”

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me for my damn shift?”

“Uh, hello, it wasn’t time yet, you only slept a few hours, my shift wasn’t done. Gear up and get moving,” the young Einherjar left and a wry grimace curved at his lips, like hell that youth would ever step in his shadow. It wouldn’t take him long to heed the orders and ready himself, unlike some he didn’t sleep until he was ready to fall into battle stride upon waking.

Battle, as always, was chaos, tactics and strategies and the best-laid plans could fall apart in a short few moments leaving warriors with a bone-deep weariness as they bathed themselves in blood. Numbers would help but he knew much of the warriors would fall and that very easily that defeat or victory would lie upon one individual out of hundreds making it to the magi before another onslaught was opened upon Midgard. Within mere moments of enterring the conflict he’d already sacrificed his hearing, it was impossible to hear threats encroaching upon himself when they were heard coming upon them all from every direction. Sometimes he found that the undead would get too close for him to use his blade effectively and he’d fall back upon brute strength, using his fists. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been fighting but his arms started to throb and ache from the constant weight of the blade that he was surprised to find that he’d thrown the crude weapon away, abandoning it in favor of his fists.

The feeling of swift and merciless retribution, it was wonderful, calculating and unforgiving in a way that the blade never could be. You’d never get up close and personal when you had your enemy at sword point, the carnage would always be a blade’s length away. No more worrying about keeping your blade clear of allies and the cumbersome metal no longer would weigh down his agility, stripping him of his greatest physical asset. He was no means a professional when it came to using his fists but it came naturally, as if it was meant to be.

Vytis fought until no more enemies came at him, he looked in the distance and saw a whole host of undead fighting other Einherjar. His ears were still ringing with the echoes of blade on blade, flesh colliding against flesh, the scent of death heavy on the air. Only sight seemed able to serve him in this current circumstance. Suddenly he felt a prickle upon the back of his neck; it was almost as if he had a sixth sense, one which sensed the approach of something. A tall slight female, for it was undoubtedly feminine, was at his back behind him. Upon her graceful feet she spun, readying a spell upon her fingertips in the time it took her to spin 360 degrees. Suddenly he realized that he was starting at his death in the face, he’d never get to her in time to kill her before she killed him. Maybe he would have with a blade but never using hand-to-hand combat. The force of the spin combined with the gale of summoned magic flung back the hood of her cloak, with force enough for him to see the visage of his enemy.