Winterfire

Chapter Twenty-four

Lif

The gleaming, golden bridge was visible almost as soon as I left the woods, though I was still half a mile away from it. It felt good to move my legs after the long day dangling beneath Frigga, and I walked swiftly, purposefully. Too quickly, I reached the bridge.

I approached the bridge cautiously, peering down into the water. I saw the shining blades just beneath the surface and experienced a moment’s panic. No, I told myself. I did not come all this way to be turned back by an illusion. I focused on an enormous hemlock tree on the other side of the river. I stepped onto the bridge; it was just an artifice. My feet were in the icy cold water; I sucked in my breath sharply, but resisted the urge to step backward. I took one step after another, never taking my eyes off the hemlock. The water rose rapidly, soaking my tunic to the waist.  The temptation to look down was powerful, but nothing I hadn’t experienced before crossing streams with Lucan; I ignored it and kept a steady pace.

After what seemed like a hundred steps, but had probably been only about thirty,  I didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the far side. The urge to look down was strong. A trick I’d learned from my mother years ago came back to me. “When you must face a fearful or painful situation, review all the good things you’ve done so far in your life, and make a story about them. Put your mind in a good place.” I remembered hearing the words Freyja had said about me: I was capable. I imagined Thor's gentle voice saying I was perseverant. I heard Urd's creaky, little girl's voice saying I was gifted. I pictured a young, barefooted girl being chased down a bleak beach by Viking warriors. I saw her forced onto a damp, rocking ship. I watched the shore grow smaller and smaller as she left her home and family behind. Then I watched her throw Breyta, sticking the blade into the center of the target. I watched her run beside Thor, the mighty God of Thunder. Then I imagined a scene that had not yet happened: the young girl stood on tiptoes to embrace a handsome young man. He put his arms around her, lifting her into the air and spinning her around.

As I was thinking of these things, I stepped unexpectedly onto the solid bank. I’d made it. I’d crossed the enchanted bridge over the Gjoll River. Now I had another accomplishment to add to my bag of tricks.

I walked up the bank to the hemlock tree, patting its trunk as I passed. The hemlock was the only tree visible on this side of the river. All the land was barren and rocky. A high, polished black wall surrounding Helheim towered immediately before me, but a path from the bridge led right to a massive gate, so I need not wander in the near-dark searching for it. A single, golden rune adorned the gate. I recognized the reversed image of Raidho. I rummaged in my bag of runes and found the Raidho. I knew exactly what it meant: travel, a journey, a change; positive, purposeful movement; metaphorically, it meant the dance of life. I turned it over. The reversed rune, the merkstave, usually meant the opposite of the regular rune. Honir had told me to “think in terms of the imagery of the rune; that way, you need not memorize the merkstaves; they will be obvious.” The reversed imagery of purposeful movement was stagnation, rigidity, disillusion, and death. That was fitting for the main gate to Helheim.

I climbed the black marble steps and studied the door. There was no doorknob, bell, or knocker visible. I placed my palms flat against the cool surface and felt all over, standing on my tippy-toes to reach as far as possible, which was only about halfway up the door. Nothing. I stood back, hands on my hips and reread the inscription.

Beneath the reversed Raidho was a small, faint, single rune: the Mannaz. It was so faint; I hadn’t noticed it in the evening gloom until I’d stepped closer. I found the Mannaz rune in my bag and turned it this way and that. I couldn’t remember which orientation was the regular one, and which was the merkstave. The merkstave cautioned to expect no help, and the regular orientation meant that one might receive some assistance.

I put the rune back in my bag. “If I can’t even expect help,” I said aloud, “It won’t hurt to ask for it. If, on the other hand, I’m looking at the positive position of the Mannaz, I may ask for help…Help!” I yelled. I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled again. “Help! Please help!” The final word was barely out of my mouth when the great, stone slab began to move.