Birthright

This flash piece is a rough draft of a scene from the prequel novel of The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology based new adult series I'm currently writing with Meri Benson. It may or may not end up in the final version of the novel. This was also written in response to 8Letters' #31Letters challenge, an invitation to write every day for the whole month of January.

Here are the shorts we've written so far for the prequel, in chronological order:

• Birthright (this story)
• Ice Queen
• Quiet Time
• Growing Pains
• Tyr Lends A Hand
• Big Sister, Big Brother
• Just Friends
• Admittance
• Prison Break
• Escaping Asgard
• Marriage Plans
• New Normal
• Hunting Trip
• Night Out
• Waltz
• Treason
• Reporting In
• Escaping Asgard Redux
• Brother's Keeper
• Traditions
• Primping
• In Vino Veritas
• Final Hour
• Better Off Gone
• Resistance and Steps
• Forsaken
• Revenge Served With Rage
• Goodbye, Good Friend
• Inheritance
• A Winter's Bargain
• Death Finds All
• Homecoming
• Reconnection
• The Hour of the Wolf

Hotel Fen, the first published book of the series, follows after this point.

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In Norse mythology, Hel is said to preside over an underworld realm where she receives a portion of the dead. She is referred to as a daughter of Loki, and is described as having been appointed by the god Odin as ruler of a realm of the same name, located in Niflheim. Her appearance is described as half blue and half flesh-colored, and further as having a gloomy, downcast appearance.

Hodr is the blind son of Odin and Frigg, who is tricked and guided by Loki into shooting a mistletoe arrow which was to slay the otherwise invulnerable Baldr, his twin brother.

(Wikipedia)

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Headless corpses knelt before Geiravor while she sat on her grandfather’s throne. There were rows and rows of them, stretching from the foot of the stone steps all the way into the gloom that stretched over the horizon. The hall had to be as large as the stories said Valhalla was, and perhaps it had been just as opulent.

The dead still wore their armor and battle dresses, preserved by the thick layers of ice that coated their bodies. On their backs they carried shields painted with two golden snakes circling each other. In the firelight, the creatures’ green eyes almost looked alive.

Their weapons, however, were missing.

“Why did you bring me here?” Geiravor asked in a small, trembling voice.

Nobody had dared to enter the ruins of Laufey’s palace for centuries. Most believed it haunted by the spirits of his army who were unfairly robbed of their afterlives. Some steered clear of the area out of reverence to the old king, though he was long dead. Others stopped caring after Loki sold his soul to the Aesir and pledged himself as Odin’s brother, forsaking the ancient bloodline and their generations of service as Jotunheim’s sovereigns.

Children, however, were often silly and loved to do things simply because they could. The whole excursion had been Skadi’s idea, and Loki’s daughter, much younger and wide-eyed with admiration for the huntress, had never once questioned her cousin’s wisdom. Not even when Skadi tied a cloth over her eyes and led her blindly over what felt like several hills and a large, frozen plain.

Not until she found herself deposited on the ruins of Laufey’s royal seat.

“Skadi?” she asked again. “What are we doing here? We shouldn’t… we shouldn’t be—”

The huntress dropped to one knee in front of her, and Geiravor felt herself shiver. She’d never really given her lineage much thought, growing up content to be associated with her mother instead of her largely absent father. But something within her had come alive the moment her eyes opened in her grandfather’s hall, and with the sensation came a ringing in her ears that sounded like a thousand cries for help.

No, not help. Justice. Retribution. Vengeance.

“This is your birthright,” the huntress answered in a strange voice, and when she lifted her head, her features no longer belonged to Skadi. Instead, an unfamiliar girl stared back at Geiravor — a child so much younger than her, with skin so pale she must never have seen the sun, and golden runes shining within her eyes.

“But Laufey’s reign has ended,” Geiravor explained.

The child continued to stare up at her, unblinking. “No. It has only begun.”

“Who are you? You are not Skadi. Where is she?”

“I am One of Three. We see all that have passed, all that is, and all that will be. We see the beginning and the end, and for your help, I offer a gift, as a friend.”

Geiravor had no idea what the child was talking about. She had not met her kind before, never having left Jotunheim. But the strange girl was insistent, blabbing on in rhymes about owing her life to her. It made just as much sense as Skadi’s brilliant idea to travel to the ruins in the first place.

Maybe the place was cursed.

She stood up to leave. Ancestral home or not, she’d had enough; let Skadi catch up whenever she was herself again. But the child’s cold hand suddenly gripped her forearm with such force, she found herself sinking back into the remains of her grandfather’s throne.

“Take heed when winter arrives,” the child droned, runes gleaming in her irises like stars, “for frost can burn, and cut like knives. And when your heart is challenged do recall, just how far you are willing to fall.”