34. Rest in Peace
“Nifl.”
The moment Tryg’s feet touched the ground on his next step, he drew one of his swords... and a torrent of gray mist burst from his soles. With each step, more and more haze emerged, creating a swirling, expanding fog that quickly dominated the battlefield.
Just before it could reach him, the dragon stopped, hesitant, and glared at Tryg’s silhouette amid the mist with fury. Between its sharp teeth, a bluish radiance shone, and then its maw expelled a cerulean conflagration toward the young god.
But Tryg was no longer there. He had foreseen the beast’s freezing attack and moved to the side, running. Then, he commanded:
“Fela.”
At the sound of the ancient word, the mist advanced toward The Pale One and surrounded him entirely. The dragon was not bothered by the cold of the fog, but, by the way his enormous head swung from one side to the other, desperately searching, it was obvious he had not liked the partial blindness at all. For, indeed, the mist Tryg had invoked, though shimmering, was cold as ice and so dense that almost no light could pierce through it.
Tryg could not see much better than the beast inside it either. But the situation and, most importantly, his shadow vision gave him an advantage. Even if he could not see very far ahead, he could still foresee attacks coming in his direction and enemies about to appear.
“Íssgeirr.”
Tryg followed the direction in which he had seen the Revenant earlier and, a few steps later, emerged from the fog and spotted the witch invoking magic with her branch-like staff. However, while running, Tryg had invoked two ice stakes similar to those from the stalactite showers some Revenants summoned.
Before the witch could unleash her magic, Tryg hurled one of the stakes in his hand at her. The Keeper, however, dodged his attack with ease, spinning, folding into herself, and, in doing so, transporting herself away. But Tryg had already imagined she would use that power to escape; he had defeated far too many Revenants not to know. And, with the aid of his eyes, he had also foreseen where she would end up...
Turning his body with grace, he hurled the second stake of cerulean ice toward the point where the witch, an instant later, emerged from within the fabric of reality. The Keeper widened her dark eyes, two black sockets that seemed more like the hollows of a skull.
She was struck in the chest and, as her wavering figure became more solid and fell backward into the snow, she screamed in pain. A thunderous roar echoed through the chamber — the cry of a companion who seemed to feel her pain. It seemed The Pale One, even after death, could still feel when his ward was in danger...
Tryg’s chest tightened. Even so, he accelerated across the pale grass and reached the Keeper before she could use her magic again.
“Svellbrynja.”
With the witch on the ground, he covered his boot with a hard crust of ice and planted his foot on her chest. With the magic touching her, she certainly could no longer become intangible or escape. Now, all that was left was to finish her.
However, when he looked into her dark eyes, Tryg hesitated for a brief instant, remembering the woman who had once fought him with everything she had only to fulfill the order of a vile god who no longer existed — to protect the Raven Tree.
It was strange... Tryg had already faced and killed other undead who surely had a past as alive as the woman beneath his feet. Yes, she was no longer alive; her gray skin and cadaverous stench indicated that she was nothing more than a walking corpse now.
Even so, it was cruel to look into her hollow eyes and see that the fate of her soul had been to be corrupted by the labyrinth. If the Keeper had abandoned her loyalty... if she had followed her own path instead of giving her life for a task given by the All-Father...
She, that Einherjar who had blown herself up, and so many other powerful and honorable warriors... If they had simply moved on with their lives, if they had never surrendered their destinies, they would have had a second chance. Ragnarök would not have happened either, Tryg would not have lost Jorg, nor been separated from Frida, and none of the suffering he had endured for more than 15 months would have happened. He would still be in Midgard, milking goats, celebrating his birthdays beside his mother.
Tryg sighed and, in the next instant, listening to the desperate cries of the dragon that searched incessantly for his ward... decapitated the Raven Keeper.
“Rest in peace.”
Viscous, dark blood flowed, staining the snow. The smell of rust and rot. But Tryg did not look away... On the contrary, he remained staring at the witch, this time with his eyebrows raised.
The Keeper’s severed head suddenly smiled and whispered a few words in an ancient, harsh language. Tryg understood nothing of what she said, but he felt, from the tone and the moment... that she was thanking him. He gave her a faint smile.
Another roar echoed through the chamber, the saddest and most furious so far, tearful and powerful enough to make even Tryg’s soul tremble with a shiver of grief and, at the same time, tension. He felt cold. He felt death coming.
Tryg drew a deep breath and stared at the dense fog that still swirled around The Pale One, surrounding and clouding him. Then, a moment later, there came a conflagration of freezing flames being expelled in every direction, uncontrolled, trying to strike anything in its path.
Rist... Sinmara. Even at a distance, they were still within The Pale One’s reach. Anything inside the chamber would be.
No.
It was certain that the queen of Niflheim would not die to a dragon like that, nor even be struck. But Tryg did not want to risk her needing to exert herself for it, especially by using her magic. However strong Sinmara was, she was not in her best condition and would only worsen if that happened.
Besides, Rist would probably die. Even if she had drunk the juice from the flasks, she still would not be able to avoid an attack she could not predict or even see.
Tryg shot forward. Three seconds remained. Unfortunately, he did not have time to analyze his enemy and, after that, devise a plan. He needed to act at once and draw the draconic protector’s attention as quickly as possible. But... Tryg did not have enough time to invoke his magic either, like the great boulder of ice he had used before.
The magic tattooed onto his body by his teacher was a blessing. It gave Tryg new, versatile, and powerful abilities that could be used for countless things, including subduing many enemies, even simultaneously. But there were a few problems.
The first was that, since Tryg had not learned magic, only received it marked onto his body... Well, he did not know the magic itself. That was the problem. He knew what to do to activate it through the tattoos, thanks to his teacher’s lessons, but he had no knowledge of the real processes behind it.
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The second disadvantage arose from the first. Without knowledge of the magical processes, Tryg had no way of altering aspects of the invocations, such as size, acceleration... and the speed with which they happened.
Therefore, it was not long before he realized he would not manage to hit the dragon in time to interrupt his devastating attack. There was only one option: draw his enemy’s attention so he would focus his attack on him.
Yeah, I’ve really gone mad, he thought, and then began shouting. Two seconds remaining.
“Here!”
Amid his shouting, he also whispered, keeping the hilt of the white sword tight in one fist and extending the palm of the other to the side: “Íssgeirr.”
At the same time, some of Tryg’s tattoos stopped glowing, and part of the pain and cold his muscles felt also faded. That was because he had also deactivated the magic that both kept the mist he had created from dissipating and maintained it swirling around the dragon.
Thus, gradually, the fog became less dense and would soon allow The Pale One to see at least the silhouette of the young god who had killed his ward and begged for his dangerous attention.
One second remaining. The dragon, already with cerulean flames between his teeth, turned his face toward his true enemy. He still should not be able to see Tryg fully, but in the next second...
The last second ended. Now, at least his silhouette should be visible.
The beast opened his enormous maw and expelled a freezing torrent of blue fire. Pointed shapes of cerulean ice formed wherever the blaze passed, freezing even the air in its path.
Tryg gritted his teeth and jumped forward as high as he could. He would have enough strength to dodge by leaping to the side, but the dragon would easily adapt to that and hunt him down.
In the air, time slowed. Tryg looked down and, with the mist already almost entirely dissipated, saw The Pale One just below, freezing the grass with his flames. At a distance, Rist and Sinmara watched him side by side, though far from him.
His teacher was fine, merely analyzing what he was doing, as always. The Valkyrie seemed better than before; some of her wounds were already healing, and her skin, once pale as a ghost’s, looked more alive. Clearly, she was still not fit to involve herself in the fight, not even close, but at least she seemed better.
Tryg smiled, pleased, but his focus quickly returned. He extended his hand and fired the ice stakes he had invoked toward the dragon’s furious eyes. Unfortunately, his projectiles struck only his horns and hard face. As much as he had trained his shots with his teacher, it was still difficult to hit such a small moving target.
Tryg clicked his tongue, falling and spinning. The protector closed his maw and stared at him. Tryg landed an instant later, sliding through the snow. Once he stopped, he advanced again, trying to keep the dragon from losing interest in him. Of course, that would be difficult after he had killed his ward, but... Better safe than sorry.
This time, The Pale One beat his wings, taking flight and sending out a wave of wind so strong that it drove clouds of snow to the four corners of the room. Tryg brought an arm to his face and planted his feet on the ground to stay in place.
High enough, the dragon dove toward him, roaring with his maw wide open, a blue flash shining in the depths of his throat. Gritting his teeth, Tryg saw that The Pale One would not spit anything else. In truth, the beast would try to swallow him.
Tryg launched himself upward again and, by a hair, was not swallowed. But he had not jumped only to dodge his enemy. As The Pale One passed beneath him, Tryg dropped and drove his sword between the beast’s silver scales.
The dragon did not react; he seemed to feel nothing. He continued his flight, beating his enormous wings, rising into the skies. Soon, Tryg was already so high he could see even the limits of the labyrinth and the white, frozen, misty plains, mountains, and valleys of Niflheim beyond.
But Tryg could not distinguish anything inside the labyrinth, could not analyze it. He was too worried about not letting go of the sword’s hilt and praying the blade would not come loose. Queen Sinmara, please, do not do this to me...
The Pale One spun, leaving Tryg upside down, hanging. Then he folded his wings and dove at full speed. Under the even stronger force of the wind, Tryg had to struggle harder not to come loose. But he needed to do more than that. He had clung to the dragon’s back not only to stay away from his claws, teeth, and flames. He had done it to create an opportunity, too.
Drawing his other sword, Tryg also drove it between the scales and began climbing the enraged protector’s scaly back toward his head, which moved from one side to the other, probably searching for him in the chamber below, confused by not finding him...
Upon reaching the beast’s head, Tryg drove one of the swords into his eye. Dark blood spurted like a geyser. The dragon roared in pain and lost his course in the midst of the fall, trying to shake off the insect bothering him.
Tryg twisted the sword and pulled it out, worsening the wound. At the same time, he pushed himself off the beast’s face and leapt away from his gigantic body, which thrashed ceaselessly in the air, spinning and spinning. However, he was not only trying to escape... As he fell, Tryg also drove his swords into the dragon’s left wing and slid, tearing through it.
Only then did he fall. Fortunately, his lessons and magical gifts involved more than just invoking ice stakes and veils of mist. Ignoring the enormous beast plummeting behind him, he pointed his hand downward and, an instant later, swift torrents of shimmering snow burst from his palm, creating a peak just below. Tryg landed by sliding down the pale mound.
To be honest, he did not know whether that was necessary or not for his divine body. Perhaps his bones and muscles could endure landing from a height like that, nearly ten times greater than himself. But that was not the moment to test it.
Tryg half-turned and stood up in time to see The Pale One crashing violently into the middle of the chamber, screaming and making the world tremble as clouds of snow rose. For a moment, the snow blurred his sight and he could not check again how his teacher and Rist were.
Therefore, for now, he focused on the greater problem — he sheathed one of his swords and advanced with the other leveled toward the direction where his enemy had landed. Now, with his other hand free, Tryg prepared more ice stakes just in case.
Cold flames appeared in his shadow vision. He clenched his jaw and changed direction. The fire, however, would follow him... No, in truth, the dragon would simply shoot in every direction, blinded as he was by the clouds his own body had raised.
Tryg muttered a few curses between his teeth and hurled the ice stakes toward the future flames, again trying to draw The Pale One’s attention. But the aimless conflagration persisted... and Tryg had no way of knowing whether it would hit the Valkyrie or the Queen.
Please don't get hit, he thought and changed direction, leaping over the blaze that, one second later, began. Upon landing, free from the danger of freezing, Tryg ran again until he found the dragon once more. He threw more ice stakes, drawing the attention he desired so much and, at the same time, despised so much.
The Pale One tried to swallow him. Tryg slid beneath his jaw and struck him. The cut, however, was superficial and served for nothing beyond further provoking his enemy. The dragon swung his claws downward.
Tryg was no longer there; he was behind The Pale One, cutting through his heels. The beast roared and, before he could stagger and fall, Tryg leapt away. As soon as the beast fell, he pressed on and climbed him by the tail. Then he drove his sword into the scales and ran forward, ascending along the dragon’s spine, opening it, dark blood running wherever he passed.
The Pale One screamed to the skies and shook his body frantically, forcing the young god off him. Tryg landed in the snow, but before he could even try to reach his enemy, the dragon beat his wings and tried to fly again.
His movement, however, was erratic, idiotic even, since one of his wings had an enormous hole. The beast fell to the side. Tryg was satisfied with that, but he did not smile. He still needed to figure out how to kill his enemy. He could injure him enough that he would die from blood loss, but that was not a good option. If it took too long, the women he so desperately wanted to protect...
In the shadow vision, The Pale One turned toward the distant Sinmara and Rist, his brow furrowed with fury. Damn it, Tryg thought, and started running again, distressed.
“No! Here, you pile of dung!” he shouted through gritted teeth.
When he finally turned toward the Queen and the Valkyrie, the dragon charged, his sharp claws sending tremors through the chamber. Tryg could not allow it. As much as Rist’s most worrying wounds had already healed, from what he could see, she still should not be in any condition to flee from the beast, much less fight it. Sinmara would manage, of course, but he did not want that either.
Fortunately, Tryg reacted quickly and soon reached his enemy... The dragon’s shadow stopped. His tail moved, trying to strike Tryg’s legs. What?! he thought, widening his eyes. He barely managed to stop and jump, avoiding the attack.
Flames. A torrent of freezing fire so broad and so vast that there was only one way for Tryg to escape it. He jumped... and the beast did too. Then, after the shadow, came the monster’s maw, full of white teeth sharp as razors.
There was no way to dodge in the air. There was no time to invoke any magic. There was no way to avoid it. Tryg saw himself being devoured.
And the last thing he heard before the future he had foreseen came to pass was his teacher’s desperate voice screaming his name.