no longer have existed. Killing Loki was the only way to free me, and that, as you know, also prevented the arrival of the White Christ and the coming of your people.
Larson pondered Vidarr's words, words that appeased some of the guilt he had felt since the day Bramin, Silme, and Loki had died near the entrance to Hel. But something still seemed amiss… Thereby defying the Fates who determined Ragnarok WOULD occur, the White Christ WOULD come, and my era WOULD exist.
Apparently.
The Fates can be resisted. Destiny can be changed.
Apparently. Vidarr's presence seemed more relaxed as Larson's attention shifted from the assault upon his memory.
Larson licked his lips thoughtfully. Explain something to me, Vidarr. How long ago did Baldur die?
Vidarr became evasive. I don't remember exactly.
Vidarr's caution made Larson suspicious. Approximately.
A century.
Stunned, Larson found it temporarily impossible to form a coherent thought.
Maybe two or three.
Baldur's been dead longer than a hundred years? So why, all of a sudden, has his resurrection become my emergency?
Vidarr's presence squirmed. It was Baldur's destiny to rise from the dead after Ragnarok and to rule the era of peace which would follow our father's reign of war. We could tolerate Baldur's absence knowing he would, one day, live again. By preventing Ragnarok, you banished Baldur to Hel. We want him back, and retrieving Geir-magnus' rod is the only way we know to achieve his return.
Larson's jaw sagged, and all anger drained from him. He recalled the odd feeling of divinity Baldur had radiated. It all came together now, a coincidence too strong to deny. Resurrection. A god of peace who is the son of a god of war. Divinity. His thoughts swirled. Not everything fit, but the parallel was frightening. And if Baldur is, in fact, Jesus, will raising him restore the future?
Larson suppressed the idea, wishing to evaluate the possibilities at a time when Vidarr could not read his thoughts. It would not do to set the entire Norse pantheon against him. Certainly, my meddling will have changed the later ages. Perhaps this altered future won't have a Vietnam War. Already, my presence appears to have changed history. I don't recall sorcerers or elves in any textbook.
Vidarr seemed confused by Larson's jagged leaps of logic. What are you thinking about? he demanded.
Larson kept his reply friendly, hoping to discourage Vidarr from penetrating the deeper portions of his mind for answers. I'm thinking I certainly will retrieve Geir-magnus' rod.
Joy suffused Larson's mind.
Larson added, After I rescue Silme.
Loki's children, Vidarr swore. I thought you were com' ing to your senses.
I am. And, Vidarr, if you keep interrupting my sleep, it'll take twice as long to finish my bargaining with Hel. It'll take twice as long to retrieve the rod, and it'll give Fenrir twice as long to eat me before I free Baldur. This is my last warning. If you penetrate my mind again, other than to talk, I'll shoot first and ask questions later.
Vidarr seemed unsure. Allerum?
Please, Vidarr. We're supposed to be allies. The last thing I need is more enemies.
Vidarr said nothing. Larson could feel the heated stirrings of the god's rising anger.
Good day, Vidarr. Larson finished firmly.
Good day. Vidarr responded curtly. His presence disappeared from Larson's mind.
Yawning, Larson stretched out on the ground. Thoughts of gods and churches filled his last waking moments then seeped softly into dream.
Taziar Medakan straddled a pine seedling at the edge of the clearing outside the northern town of Kiarrmar. A fresh carpet of snow covered the straight stretch of open plain, though no clouds marred the sky. The autumn sun shimmered from the distant arch of the Bifrost Bridge, scattering highlights of red, yellow, and blue across the ice. To the southeast, smoke from the town curled into the heavens. In every other direction Taziar saw nothing but trees.
Now, four days after his last encounter with Fenrir's snapping jaws and howled threats, Taziar's errand seemed madness. It would require him to slip past Heimdallr a second time, a feat he did not relish despite its challenge. He doubted the same ploy would work twice or that Heimdallr would show any mercy if he caught Taziar defying his orders again.
Taziar sidestepped around the seedling and dropped to a crouch. He did have another option, though it seemed equally foolish. He could summon Heimdallr, and, if the god did not kill him on the spot, convince him of the importance of his cause. Either course of action would sabotage the other. Once caught attempting to gain access to the realm of the gods, Taziar doubted Heimdallr would be interested in his reasons. And, if talking to Heimdallr failed, the god would be watching for Taziar to try to climb the Bifrost.
Talking to Heimdallr will waste less time. Having come to a decision, Taziar marched openly across the snow. His feet crunched through the frozen crust into a thin layer of powder. His toes felt chilled despite the leather of his boots. A wind gust hurled icy particles against his cheeks, reddening the skin. And this is only autumn. I don't think I want to experience a winter in Norway. He hunched deeper into his cloak.
Suddenly, light exploded before Taziar. Half-blinded, he staggered backward with a startled cry. He blinked through an etched web of shadow and found himself facing another man. The stranger was tall; Taziar's head scarcely reached his waist. A tunic and breeks of the most expensive leather hugged a heavily-muscled frame. Silver thread shimmered through his cloak. His left foot sported a crafted sandal, the right a boot cobbled from mismatched scraps. The entire effect inspired awe. Taziar stared, struck speechless.
The giant glared down at Taziar. Blond braids swung around grimly handsome features. "Come here, Shadow."
Taziar recovered quickly. He inched a half step closer. He knows my name…ormy alias, at least. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage." He added carefully, "Sir."
"That is as it should be." Apparently, the giant misunderstood Taziar's intention, for his next words answered Taziar's question thereby spoiling the effect of his own arrogance. "I am Vidarr. You must perform a task for me."
Vidarr? Allerum's god? Taziar studied Vidarr and found the god's disposition suspiciously easy to read. Anger and confidence seemed to radiate from him. Taziar doubted he could be the cause of Vidarr's rage, though he knew the wrong words might earn him the brunt of it. He considered his reply carefully. "Lord Vidarr. I am honored." He lowered his head and worked humility into his voice, hoping it would not sound feigned. "What service can this humble mortal perform?"
To Taziar's relief, Vidarr's anger faded slightly. "You will return to Allerum."
Taziar played along. Vidarr's request matched his plans. "I shall."
"And you will see to it he never discovers that the recovery of Geirmagnus' rod is impossible."
"What?" Taziar's question was startled from him. For the first time, "impossible" conjured bewilderment rather than interest. "You sent Allerum on an impossible quest? Why?" Fighting to keep accusation from his tone, Taziar dropped his pretense of modesty.
Vidarr's huge brows beetled. "Because, Little One, I have waited centuries to find a capable mortal ignorant enough of the impossible to achieve it."