Adventures in Jotunheim- Chapter Three

Morning came, and with it a pall of dread fell over our heroes. Even though the weather was the same as the previous day- bright, cold, and clear- they knew that they would have to face the same obstacles as their corresponding characters in Nordic Odyssey.

And it wasn't a subtle kind of fear. Each of the six friends were in varying states of fright, from Åland's fidgeting to Denmark's complete refusal to get out of bed. "I don't want to!" he said rather firmly. "I just know that something's going to happen to us."

"Come off it, Denmark," said Iceland. "If what you read last night was any clue, today's going to be amazing."

"Don't count on it," grumbled Sweden. He then chucked the book at Denmark; the smaller nation squealed as it hit him in the head.

"What the fuck was that for, Sweden?" Denmark moaned.

"You read the wrong entry," Sweden snarled. "The centaurs are the next part!"

Everyone was quiet.

"So, what does that mean?" Norway said, worried.

"No centaurs!" Iceland bawled.

"It means that whatever we're experiencing today, we're going into it completely blindfolded," huffed Sweden. "I hope you're happy… Dane Devil." And he stomped off to the showers.

"Can't we have a vacation without him losing it?" said Iceland. "It's not entirely Denmark's fault."

"No, but it really doesn't help that it happened," said Norway, who was assembling everyone's belongings in the sledge. "Like Sweden said, we are now not prepared for what will actually happen."

"But isn't that the point?" Iceland gruffed, getting a little angry. "We shouldn't always be knowing the ending. We should instead take the adventure as it comes to us!"

"He has a point," said Åland as he was toweling off from his shower. "We have been sticking to the book, so to speak, and when something like this happens, we are caught off-guard. We should be less reliant on the book and sort of try to take it as it comes," he said, glaring at Denmark (who had started to snicker at the last five words). "Plus, I'm sick of going to these places. They're so... token. An island of cannibals, and an island of centaurs? You find those in every voyage-gone-wrong story. I really hope that wherever we're going isn't so predictable."

As Sweden emerged from his shower, he still looked mad. "No, Norway, I'm fine," he muttered when the other nation had tried to offer him coffee. "Let's just go."

They didn't make it five feet out of the door when a fox slunk down from the hillside and perched itself in the vicinity of the path. "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," it said. The party halted. "Yes, I'm speaking to you, Norskie," the fox said, looking at Norway. He looked at the animal with a look that blended worry, insanity, and extreme joy. "Listen, unless you want to go somewhere that I assure you is very unpleasant, you must ditch that book you troopers hold so dear." Norway clutched the book closer. "We can't do that! It's our road map!" The fox shook his head. "There have been changes in the land. You of all should know." Sweden frowned. "Are you saying that this book and it's worlds are no longer open to us?" The animal nodded.

"Well, shit," said Denmark. "I think we should-" he was interrupted by a rustling. The fox had bolted, and upon turning around they noticed why.

The giant had heard noises too.

They kept dead quiet and still, as if they were actually dead.

Then Denmark started slipping.

"AGH! GUYS!" he screamed as he fell through the snow. The giant turned around to look at them, and he started to rumble over.

"Denmark? Denmark?" Norway yelled down the new hole. No answer.

"Um, guys?" Iceland said, tugging at Sweden's shirt.

"Go down!" Sweden yelled, and jumped into the hole, everyone following suit.

It was very dark and deep.

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When Åland regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the incredible pain he was in. He felt numb, but yet it was like being on fire- where you're numb to the pain but also suffer from it tremendously. For all he knew, he just broke every bone in his body. Breathing heavily, he subconsciously told his fingers to move. They did. He checked his other limbs and peripherals. All was okay, even though the burning sensation still raged. Okay, so I didn't break anything and I'm not paralyzed, he thought. So why am I on fire? The next thing he tried was feeling for his glasses, despite his hands being numb. Thankfully, he felt them there, and they seemed to be okay. Instinctively, he wiped them and tried to look at his surroundings.

What immediately came to mind first was 'dismal'. It was very grey, the type of grey where you feel that there's a distant light source but lots of fog is getting in the way. A layer of mist about an inch thick hovered above the ground, which was quickly ascertained to be rock. He also noticed that his entire front was coated in a red-orange grime that gave a burning sensation when touched. So that explains that, he thought.

The next step was to ascertain his surroundings. As was mentioned before, it was very cold and very grey. It had a certain dampness to it, like that of a dim closet. At first he thought he was in a cave; it sure smelled and looked like one. And then he looked up to see the ceiling rocket several hundred feet into the air, like some sort of earthy, ancient temple blasted into the rock. But what kind of beings could have created such a chasm? Giants, like what they saw above? Or something… else?

He took a nervous step. The floor was rock, and it was wet with the same liquid that he found all over himself. Careful not to slip, he made his way across the very uneven, stony terrain for what seemed like miles. However, he felt that he wasn't getting anywhere, like he was going in circles. Faint screams pierced the air, and he prayed that they didn't belong to anyone he knew. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ah, Sweden, thank God you're ok-" he halted abruptly as he put his hand on the other. It was cold as death. Turning around, he came face to face with a girl about his age. She had a very pale face, piercing eyes, and very, very black hair.

Åland screamed, and she put her finger to his lips. No sound came out. "Now, now Åland," she said in a very sweet voice. "There will be no need for that. Follow me, and you will find your friends. Eventually." Slowly, she took his hand into hers. He dropped to the ground in faint. She picked him up and started to walk.

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For the second time today, Åland came to. This time, it was in a stunning palace. As he woke, several maids dressed in white came to present him with fresh cloth and freshly cleaned glasses. "Welcome to Eljudnir. Her Lady insists that you fully regain your strength," one of them said, pushing him back down with a considerably strong push. "We will return when it is time to see her." Åland nodded and fell asleep. It felt like five minutes when they came back in to tell him.

Entering the throne room of the palace, Åland was gaping. It was gorgeous. Everything was gilded in silver and gold, and it looked freshly polished. The only caveat, Åland felt, was that everything exuded death. And not in the "kill-you-if-it-touches-you" way, but in that awful, creeping, cold way.

At the head of the room was a magnificent lady. She was bedecked in armour of bone, and a helm of cold, bloodstained steel. She held a spear that DID emanate that "kill-you-if-it-touches-you" feeling. She had flowing curls of black hair, and her face was full of deadly imperial force. However, Åland did grimly admit to himself that she was a very attractive woman: sort of like Sister Sweden-meets-goddess-of-death. Or maybe that was just the appearance she gave.

"Hello, Åland," she said. Her voice was high and piercingly clear; it felt like the winter winds that Finland got. "Before you ask, I must welcome you to my realm." She blew open the palace doors to reveal the humongous cavern, but with millions of beings sedentarily wandering around. Screams and moans filled the air.

"Welcome to Helheim," she said. "I am Hel, Goddess of the Dead."

Åland knew right then that he was in for a very long day.

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"Åland? Norway?" Sweden called out, wandering the same vast cavern. He, too, had no idea where he was.

Now, Sweden is not normally the one to get scared (that honor belongs to Denmark, who, too, was nowhere to be seen), and he wasn't scared. He was frightened. He was sure he was suffering from a concussion and seemed to be doomed to wander. Whenever he tried to lay down on the rocks, he would cry in pain from the poison slathered on them. It drove him to insanity, so much so that he was prepared to end it right there. As he was about ready to ram himself through some nasty looking stalagmites, a bright figure shone in the distance.

"Who's there?" he called towards the source. No answer.

To the other side, Åland saw a haggard figure, recognizable only by the shirt that was now splotched with the same red-orange matter that he had fallen in himself. The figure's wore a pair of bent and shattered glasses, with a seriously bad cut on his head that stained his hair red.

"God, is that you?" Sweden wailed. He saw an imposing figure walk towards him, wearing white and holding a staff.

"Gandalf?" he asked.

"No, just your boyfriend," Åland said, grabbing Sweden before the other could reach the ground in a faint. He had just put him in a fireman's carry when a familiar voice cried out, "Wait! I have one dead!"

Åland stopped in his tracks and turned around to see a stumbling Norway, carrying a limp figure in his arms.

A figure that looked all too familiar.

Åland's stomach lining seemed to give in to the hydrochloric acid that made him want to reel over in pain.

"He didn't stand a chance," Norway said, his voice cracking. "He hit his head directly on the rocks. There was nothing I could do." Åland resisted looking at Denmark, but it was too compelling in a macabre sort of way.

Denmark looked very at peace. Aside from his matted, bloody, and sopping wet hair, it almost looked like he had just taken a nap and didn't wake. Åland took pulses, which confirmed the grim news. They had lost at least one for sure; the whereabouts of Finland and Iceland had yet to be determined.

"Let's go," Åland declared. "I know a haven." And they walked, each with their most important other in their arms.

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Sweden's eyes opened. At first he could see but blurs, so he instinctively reached for his glasses. One problem: his glasses seemed to not be present. This immediately put him on high alert, and he shot up. A very firm hand pushed him back down. "Rest," said an unfamiliar voice, soft yet very authoritative. He duly did as he was told.

He felt something very cold being placed on his face. Waking, he could see. His glasses! Turning, he saw the familiar smiling face of his sweetheart.

"Hello, precious," Åland said.

Without saying a single word, Sweden grabbed him and kissed him, taking Åland by surprise. After breaking, Sweden said, "I'm so happy to see you." Åland made an expression that told Sweden that not all was well. That much he could ascertain: Where were they? But first:

"What happened?"

"There's been an accident," Åland said, voice cracking. Sweden's stomach churned.

"What. Happened?"

Åland refused to look him in the eye.

"Åland, tell me."

After a pause, he quietly said, "Denmark's dead."

Sweden couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. Denmark? Dead? No. It had to be some cruel prank that the smaller nation was pulling. No way could he be dead.

"Sweetie, it's true," Åland said, beckoning Sweden to see for himself.

Sweden marveled at the ornate palace, and wondered aloud, "I wonder who lives here?"

"You'll meet her in due time," Åland said. "But first, we must pay our respects."

They moved across the Great Hall to a small, marble room where the grey fog outside gave everything a very ghostly air.

In the corner sat Norway, who was also given the royal treatment. His eyes were bloodshot. His blonde hair was fraying. He looked like he himself was getting sick.

On a marble table lay Denmark, in traditional Viking burial fashion: His head had been cleaned, and a crown of iron had been placed on it. He grasped a large sword that lay on his body.

"With his sword and crown," Sweden said, marveling at the handiwork taken to present their friend in a dignified manner. "He was such a little frizzle, and yet I subconsciously know that he would want this." Sweden noticed the corners of Denmark's mouth were slightly up. "He even died with a smile on his face, the dumbass. But he was our dumbass, and my friend in the end, I suppose."

The emotion came suddenly, as he remembered that there would be no more drinking contests, rude awakenings, awkward moments with him fondling Norway every two seconds, and, probably the most damaging, no constant laughter.

He had not realized until that moment how critical Denmark's goofiness was to the overall morale and construction of the group. With his demise, Denmark had perhaps fatally unbalanced the Scandinavians. The others were not so keen on him as they were Denmark, which led to the horrible thought of who was going to lead the group: him or Norway.

But he set that aside for a different time. Now was not the time to start planning the carving-up of Denmark's estate. Now was the time for remembrance.

"I know his loss means a great deal to you," came a new voice. It was Hel, although Norway and Sweden had yet to meet her. Norway's face acquired a certain look of fear, like a cornered animal or perhaps a bug, knowing that this being had the ability to end its life right then and there.

"And who might you be?" Sweden asked. She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye, and he recoiled.

"I am Hel, one of the Fate Children of Loki and Angrboda," she said reproachfully. "And I would be careful, Sweden, as to whom you address with casual tones. I could breath on you and kill you." He felt engaged to this tantalizing voice, full of such clarity and yet greater power than anyone they knew.

"I am the Goddess of Death, ruler of Helheim, which is where you are now. All souls who do not die honorably in combat come here, either to wander aimlessly for eternity or suffer in Nastrond if they were wicked. Through the decrees of Odin, all must pass through me eventually, so I am in effect the Empress of Yggdrasil and the Nine Realms. I am a being of incredible power, and you are living beings in the realm of Death. I would tread lightly if I were you." And with that, she swept out of the chapel.

"Can we at least be at liberty to ask you a few questions?" Sweden called. Hel reappeared and glowered at him. "What?"

"We had two other companions. Can you tell us if they are here as well?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Why not?" Sweden pouted.

"Watch your tone," Hel said. "And I meant that they are not here. I do not know where they are, because they lie beyond my realm of sight." Then she changed from solemn to almost frightened. She said, "Wait. I see one. He has landed in…" She faltered.

"Where? Who?" Norway asked, standing up.

"Iceland," she said. "He is connected to the World Tree, but tenuously. He is on an enchanted island." A sickening grin spread across her face. "He will not be leaving alive."

Norway got angry. "Now, that's no fair! We should have a chance to rescue him, and our other!"

"Death isn't fair," Hel said.

"Oh, stop spouting clichés," Åland grumped. "I've had enough of those."

"Fine. I'll give you three tasks," Hel relented. "Upon the completion of each, you shall receive a reward. Is that enough for you?"

"Yes. Now, what is our first task?"

Hel thought for a moment, then said, "I need fire and ice from the Realms of Muspelheim and Niflheim, respectively. Given your heritage, I don't suspect you'll have much trouble with that. Now, be gone!" And with that, the three suddenly found themselves in Sweden's house.

"Well, what the hell do we do now?" asked an enraged Åland.

"We research, or we may never see our other friends again," Sweden said solemnly.

And they started.

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And switch!

Told you that Norse mythology was going to show up later!

And this isn't based on anything. I'm just going on what I want to now.

Hel is one of my favorite deities, for reasons you will see later. But Helheim is one of the overlooked areas of the Norse world- where you go if you DIDN'T die in honorable combat, hence the reason that the people who should've known about it (Norway, Sweden) didn't recognize it immediately.

The purists will remind me that Baldr resides in Helheim as well in some iterations of the tale as Hel's lieutenant or even lord, but I'm simplifying it for time's sake.

Sorry for taking so long. I was working 145 miles away the entire summer and didn't really get the chance to write much. I'll probably get back to work on a regular schedule now.

Keep reading!