Winterfire

Epilogue

In Ragnarok, the sons of Odin and the sons of Thor fought on the plains of Vigrid with the same wild abandon their fathers had, but it was not their destiny to die that day. Honir, Lif’s former teacher, also managed to survive, as did Baldur and Hodur. Njord was able to douse the fires and save some of Vanaheim, his home.

In the days following Ragnarok, some of the surviving gods reunited  and combed the battlefield in search of the Aesir’s treasures. Thor’s sons, Modi and Magni, found their father’s hammer, Mjölnir. Odin’s sons, Vidar and Vali, found Odin’s golden chess pieces.

Lif and Lifthrasir awoke at the same time to find themselves in the hollow of a tree. “Lif, this is our tree! Look! Here’s the fishhook I stuck here when we were hiding from the Danes! How did we get here?”

They crawled out of the hole and looked up at the tree where they’d sheltered. “This isn’t our tree,” said Lif. “Look how big it is! I can’t see the top.”

“It looks like the tree from that cave we were in when the earthquake struck,” said Lifthrasir. “Except this one’s covered with green leaves and doesn’t seem to be about to tip over….and we’re not in a cave.”

“You’re right,” said Lif. “It does look like that tree. The last thing I remember was a branch falling off the tree and you pushing me out of the way. That’s it. We must have hit our heads. I wonder how long were we out.”

“Long enough to miss the destruction of the cave and then the growth of this forest,” said Lifthrasir he strode around the base of the tree, which was, indeed, surrounded by trees of all kinds, as far as they eye could see. Lifthrasir disappeared from Lif’s sight for such a long time as he walked around the far side of the tree, she began to get nervous.

When at last he emerged, Lifthrasir called Lif closer to the tree. “Look at these leaves. They’re perfect little cups, and they’re full of rainwater.” He carefully pulled a leaf down without spilling it or breaking the stem and offered it to Lif. She drank the water. As she pulled another down, they heard voices.

“I’m sure they’re still close by,” said a man’s voice neither of them recognized. Lifthrasir scooped Lif up in his arms and put her back into the hollow in the tree, climbing in quickly behind her.

“We’ve been around Yggdrasil a dozen times,” said another man. “We’ve gone back and forth to the lake more times than that. Either they’ve left, or, more likely, were never here in the first place. Maybe they didn’t survive after all. If my father didn’t make it, what are the chances a couple of frail humans did?”

Lif and Lifthrasir remained silent. Whoever belonged to those voices was searching for them. Even more frightening, they’d known where to look. Lif and Lifthrasir didn’t even know where they were. They both had their weapons. Their eyes met and they each gave a little nod: they would not go easily.

“I can’t speak on behalf of the boy, for I’ve never met him, but Lif is as far from being a ‘frail’ human as your father was. I--” Lif burst from the hole in the tree and launched herself at Baldur.

“Baldur!” she yelled. The unexpected force not only knocked him down; it knocked the wind out of him. As he lay gasping for breath, two strong hands gripped Lif’s shoulders and whisked her off Baldur as if she were an old blanket. They were as rough as if she were and old blanket, too.

Before Baldur could even choke out Lif’s identity to call Thor’s sons off, Lifthrasir leaped from the tree, brandished Tyrfing, and stood ready to strike. “Let her go,” he said. There was no panic in his voice and no doubt of his intention. Tyrfing’s blade glowed like a sapphire in the full light of a sunny day.