Intent on his demonstration, Vidarr seized a strand of Larson's sanity and hauled his charge back to his own imagings. The sun filled Larson's mind, a golden ball of glory shining down upon the chaos. From the sidelines, a wolf leaped upon the daystar, and caught it in fangs sharp as needles. Light crunched like bone, and bloody foam flecked the wolfs maw. The world plunged into darkness.
A distant cock's crow rose above the din of battle, followed by a second and a third. In blackness, the ground quaked. The World Serpent rose from its bed in the sea, and the gentle lap of surf became an all-consuming hell, battering rock to sand. Elsewhere, at the seat of the world, an enormous tree of ash moaned and shivered as a man and woman found refuge in the hollow of its trunk. Tension built like the crescendo of a song. While the men of Midgard slaughtered one another, greater armies gathered, preparing for a war which would color the heavens sunset red with the blood of giants, monsters, and gods.
The battle plain of Vigrid stood ready. Giants poured to its northern shore from a ship created of human Fingernails. From a second vessel, Loki leaped to shore, leading the tortured souls of Hel who followed his commands like automatons. From the south came hordes of living flame led by the black giant, Surtr, whose sword blazed with the glory of the murdered sun. Before them all waited Loki's children: the flame-eyed wolf, Fenrir, breath soured by meals made of Midgard's warriors, and the World Serpent whose venom spewed as thickly as tar.
A handful of gods strode forth to challenge those who sought to destroy the world. They were flanked by the ranks of Valhalla, men who had died in the glory of war and whose souls had been rescued from battlefields by Odin for this conflict. Odin commanded his troop, terrible with his magic spear and helm of gold. The sight might have driven Larson to total mindlessness if not for Vidarr's influence. Guided by the god's vision, he saw the Silent One himself poised among the defenders.
With a howl of hellish fury, the Wolf sprang upon Odin. The warriors of Valhalla swept forward to meet the riot of giants and the Hel hordes under Loki. Sadly outnumbered but honed to a skill which evened the odds, their swords blurred to a whirling fury which scattered limbs and spilled lives like water.
Unable to turn from the violence, Larson pleaded for mercy. Despite his efforts to tear free, Vidarr's nightmare visions unreeled relentlessly. The battle raged on. Odin locked in mortal combat with the Wolf, whose fangs tore like daggers. Beside them, Freyr faced Surtr's firesword with only his fists for weapons. Freyr capered like a dancer, but a final lunge by Surtr tore open his gut. Larson watched helplessly as his patron became the first god to die.
Nearby, the World Serpent vomited poison on the taut-muscled god, Thbr, who bruised the snake's mottled flesh with hammer blows mighty enough to fell an army of men. Thor crushed the Serpent's skull. The god stumbled nine steps in triumph, then collapsed, lifeless, as the venom overwhelmed him.
While parrying the strokes of giants, Vidarr searched for his enemy. He saw Loki's agile form dodge then return the blows of another god. Both sprang forward in offense. Sword scraped sword and each pierced flesh. God and Helmaster died together.
Vidarr broke from the throng. His cloak was stained with sweat and blood, his sword notched and dripping. As he raced to add his strength to that of his father, the Wolf swallowed Odin and turned on him. The scene progressed in slow motion. Eager for vengeance, the Silent^ God stomped his booted foot on the Wolfs lower jaw. His hands caught Fenrir's muzzle and held. Vidarr strained with an effort that taxed every sinew. Sweat sprang from his forehead, rolled down his cheeks like tears, and pooled on his lips. The Wolf loosed a human scream. Its body gave like' cloth, sprouting a river of blood which washed souls from the battle plain.
The image froze as Vidarr's illusions ceased, the end slapping into Larson's mind with the impact of a broken film. Through the knowledge of a god, the elf knew that Loki had been -defeated. Though Surtr's fires would destroy the world, elves, dwarves, giants, and most of the gods as well, there was a strong suggestion, like that in a fairy tale whose last sentence reads, "And they lived happily ever after," that all would ultimately be well. Somehow Larson knew the earth would rise again, complete with heaven and hell. From the two humans hidden in an ash tree would spring a new generation of men in the image of a god who was the son of a god; they would be the forebears of Larson's own world.
Just when Larson believed the nightmare had ended, Vidarr gathered his thoughts and forced him to understand what would happen if the same battle occurred with the silent god still imprisoned in his sword. Again the gods fought evil on the plain of Vigrid, but this time, the elf Larson had come to know as himself stood nearby, removed from the skirmish. As before, divinities died. Loki and the god fated to kill him locked in conflict. The glowing blue sword in Larson's grip quivered with sorrow as he watched Bramin wield Helblindi to protect Loki from his would-be slayer.
With Bramin's assistance, Loki endured until Fenrir swallowed Odin. But this time, Vidarr, Valvitnir the wolfslayer, shivered, imprisoned and impotent in the metal in Larson's hand. Alive because of the entrapment of Vidarr's soul, Fenrir howled with wolfish laughter and leaped onto Loki's enemy. With a snap of his jaws, the Wolf broke his opponent's spine then set upon the firelord, Surtr.
Loki rose in triumph. At his command, Chaos swirled like colored fire in a cyclone. It descended upon Vigrid, breathing new life into Loki's demon hordes. The souls of Valhalla fell prey to agonies beyond that which any being of flesh could understand. On Midgard, Chaos whipped men to killing frenzy. Fathers slew sons who pleasured mothers and raped sisters. Winds smashed rotted trees and swirled oceans to ship-swallowing maelstroms. Then Bramin's shadow sword splintered the World Tree, and the half-breed dragged the chosen survivors to the tortures of Hel.
"Stop!" Larson screamed through a haze of pain. "I've seen enough."
But the Lord of Silence showed him one thing more. Waves hurled foam against a cliff where Silme crouched, protected from the Hel hordes by a dwindling ring of magics. Larson watched helplessly as Bramin burst through her wards, his laughter cruel as thunder. "Now sister, your soul is mine!" He jerked the Helsword from its sheath and struck for Silme's breast. She flinched back; horror etched her features like sculpted glass.
"No!" Larson jerked away with enough force to break Vidarr's control. He fell back into his own private hell. A bullet-riddled, Vietnamese girl dropped to the ground screaming, her baby left to die in the field. A companion sprawled legless in the mud, babbling about returning home before medics shoveled him into a bag marked KIA. Shells screamed about Larson with the intensity of Loki's Chaos. Grenades roared like Fenris. Men fell like twisted puppets. And this time it was his own hand on the trigger.
Larson's fist struck the ground again and again. "Why me? Why me? Why me?'
This time, Vidarr did not answer.
Chapter 5
Childslayer
"Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other."
– Francis Bacon, Of Death
Silme's voice cut through the dark haze of Larson's confusion. " Allerum! Allerum, what's the matter?"
Drawn from the wild surges of memory inspired by Vidarr's imagings , Larson raised his head. Gaelinar crouched among the pines, patient as a shadow in the predawn mist. Closer, Brendor and Silme stood over Larson. The child cocked his head sideways in question. Silme's brow was lined, and concern darkened her blue eyes. For the first time since they had left Forste -Mar, she regarded Larson with something other than hostility.