Vidarr's mental presence whispered softer than wind. I'm sorry.
The words struck Larson like a physical blow. He stared at the sword in his fist; fresh blood trickled from its haft to stain his fingers scarlet. It was all another lie. Despite the utter destruction Larson wreaked upon his own world, Vidarr remained imprisoned in the sword.
"Damn your evil heart!" Larson jumped to his feet and hurled Valvitnir. The sword flipped end over end, glittering as it passed beneath tears in the clouds. "Damn all gods and men! You forced my hand against everyone I loved in both worlds." Turning his back on the sword which had served as his companion for weeks in a strange land, Larson staggered several paces. He collapsed at Silme's side. Her flesh was cold to his touch. Her lids remained closed, as if in sleep. Tears poured from Larson's eyes like a miniature replica of Hvergelmir's falls.
Larson watched Gaelinar move through a grief-inspired haze which gave all reality the consistency of dream. Respectfully, the Kensei averted his eyes from Larson's tears. He trotted forward and seized the blooded Helsword which still lay beside Bra-min's soulless body.
"You stand for everything I despise and against everything I believe." Gaelinar's voice sounded strangely solid in the lingering silence which followed Larson's mental battle. Several seconds passed before Larson realized his teacher addressed the sword.
Larson heard no reply, but the sword shimmered in Gaelinar's hand and its form blurred. Numbly, he watched the Kensei carry the blade to Hvergelmir's chasm and set it, point first, at the edge of the falls.
Sound rose from the warped swordshape, scarcely loud enough to rise above the water's roar. "Back, mortal fool. You've no right to challenge gods."
The shifting mists before Gaelinar revealed a vague man form. Shock weakened Larson's grasp, and Silme's body slipped to the ground. Kensei Gaelinar cleared his throat. "God or man, Helblindi, you've no right to take glory from a warrior's battles. You're a tool of chaos and evil, a being with no reason to live."
Helblindi's figure sharpened to clarity. Though golden-haired and fair-skinned as Loki, Helblindi displayed none of his brother's beauty. "Men, not gods, are tools, mortal. Your weaknesses shall become my strengths. You're a toy, swordsman. I'll crush you with your own flaws."
The bitterness and power in the god's voice made Larson flinch. But Gaelinar stood steady as the land itself. "I have no flaws. Ask Allerum." Gaelinar's foot lanced toward the god, faster than thought. The blow crashed into Helblindi's gut. Off-balanced, the god fell, twisting and screaming, into the cascade. Gaelinar completed his statement in a triumphant whisper. "I'm no hero."
Awe nearly deafened Larson to a noise from behind. Even as he whirled, he knew what he would find. The spell which had imprisoned Helblindi in a sword was the same which held Vidarr. As promised by the Fates, Loki's death did break his enchantments; they just took time to fade. Larson recognized Vidarr from mental images and the broken reality of Vietnam. Though freed, the god still addressed him telepathically, but now Vidarr's actual presence was undetectable in his mind. / owe you, Allerum. Ask what you wish. If it is within my power, it is yours.
Larson did not hesitate for consideration. " Sil -me:"
Vidarr's face looked stricken. Allerum, I'm sorry. I want her back as much as you do. If you had used any other sword:
What little strength remained to Larson dispersed. He turned away.
There is something I can do.
Larson heard nothing. He cradled Silme's body like a doll. Both his lost world and the one he had come to save seemed faded and distant as childhood dreams. Vidarr's presence materialized in his mind. The god enfolded his charge, flicking consciousness to peace, and Larson dropped into a twilight sleep.
While Larson lay, anesthetized by Vidarr's powers, the god set to his task. Larson's mind patterns stretched before him like a road map designed by a maniac. Vidarr sighed without bitterness. With the tenderness of a father with his child, he sliced blind loops and alleys. His will forced coiled paths straight, broke unrelated connections, reaffixed the frayed thought waves which allowed Bramin and Loki to torture Larson with memory.
Vidarr's work continued well into the afternoon. The god mended all the flaws his capabilities allowed, deleting only those ideas which Larson found intolerable. He left the recollections of Vietnam, TJ.'s funeral, and Larson's own death along with happier ones of his parents and Terry in her prom dress. Though painful, they belonged to Larson and had their role in shaping his personality. Vidarr had no wish to change his savior, only to restore the sanity which was his by right of birth.
As the last of the tortuous pathways assumed its proper place, Vidarr withdrew to assess his work with pride. He retreated from Larson's mind, leaving a final message of hope and peace, a promise of future happiness and pain in a world with elves, dwarves, gods, and magic. Then Vidarr disappeared for Asgard, mentally and physically, leaving Larson with little or no understanding of his reward. Farewell, Allerum.
Epilogue
"Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world."
– Arthur Schopenhauer,
Studies in Pessimism
Still dazed, Larson watched Gaelinar examine the long row of weapons spread before him on the dirt. A half dozen steel shurikens weathered the Kensei's gaze. Each sharpened corner underwent and passed the test of Gaelinar's thumbnail, and he dropped the shurikens in the grass. Next, the swordmaster turned his attention to a silver chain, tipped at both ends by a five-inch spike. Every link met Gaelinar's intense scrutiny before the Kensei set the manrikigusari aside with the same satisfaction.
Stung by Gaelinar's insensitive disregard for the three corpses and for his own sorrow, Larson abandoned Silme's body and moved toward the Kensei.
Gaelinar looked up briefly, smiled a greeting, and returned his attention to an instrument which resembled a large tuning fork with unequal blades. This, too, the Kensei set aside. He reached for a dagger, unsheathed it, frowned, and wiped a spot on the blade with his cloak. With a toss of his head, he set the edge of the steel to his whetstone and scraped.
Annoyance rose in Larson. He waited for his teacher to speak.
Gaelinar said nothing. He nodded approval at the knife, sheathed it, and placed it with his other weapons. Katana and shoto soon joined his arsenal, along with a small knife which slid from a position in the katana's sheath. Larson had not previously noticed it.
Gaelinar hefted a short metal band and flared it into a fan with recklessly sharp edges. Larson's discomfort exploded into anger. "You inhuman bastard!"
Gaelinar looked up.
Larson paced furiously. "How can you sit there prissing and preening while Silme lies there dead? You're wrong! You do have flaws. You're not a man, you're an insensitive beast, a stone without feelings. Silme is dead! Can't you understand that? Can't you even cry?" Grief crushed wrath, and Larson was overcome by a fresh bout of tears. "Damn you!"
Gaelinar made no reply. A deft flick of his wrist closed the fan. Slowly, he reached for his arsenal. He tied the manrikigusari around his waist, beneath the wide sash. The swords and dagger regained their places at his sides. He stuffed the hachiwari in his belt, behind the katana. The metal fan disappeared beneath his cloak. Carefully, Kensei Gaelinar set to work, arranging each shuriken in its proper position in his arm sheath.
Each moment of silence jabbed Larson like a knife. He cursed the Kensei in Old Norse, switched to English as he expended his repertoire of insults, then finished in the Vietnamese version of American.