Chapter 9:
Frieren:
“Are you… sure you’re saying what you want to say? Maybe you still need a few more lessons?”
“Mr. Stark, don't be rude!” Fern admonished.
“I’m not trying to be!” He protested. “But- come on, he’s saying he’s not just from a far away land, but a place where you can only get there by traveling through a giant magic tree! You can't tell me it doesn’t sound insane.”
They’d left Granat behind them now, about a day’s walk or so at their rear. About three or four days walk ahead of them was the Village of the Sword, where the Hero’s Sword rested.
The mountain cold was already beginning to nip at them, and it would get colder still before they made it with winter approaching ever nearer. Hopefully, they could make it before any serious blizzard set in.
“Promise lad- All true,” Mimmir chimed in from his place dangling from Kratos belt, who walked ahead of the party. He was speaking more and more, but his accent was still thick and his sentences were still rather rough. “World Tree; Yggdrassil it named. It hold up the World. Nine World.”
“It still sounds unbelievable,” Stark groaned as Fern turned to look at her mentor.
“What do you think, Mistress?”
“I have no reason to disbelieve them,” the ancient Elf answered calmly. “They’re clearly not from this place. And they have no reason to lie; especially so outlandishly.”
“That is true,” Fern agreed with some hesitation as she turned away to look back at Atreus again. “So… what are these ‘Nine Worlds’ called?”
The young bowman grinned holding up fingers as he counted them off. “Our world; Midgard,” he stamped his foot on the ground, as if to emphasize the point. “Land of cold- Niefelheim, Land of Fire. Muspelheim. Alfheim, land of Elves.”
“A whole world full of elves.” Stark tossed a look over his shoulder towards her. “That’s kinda hard to imagine.”
She could agree... Mimir had mentioned before that there were elves where he came from, but an entire world full of them? It seemed almost a strange concept. It’d been so long since she’d even seen another of her kind. How many would there be in a place where they were the sole inhabitants?
Perhaps it was incredibly lonely there…
“Niddavelier, for the Dwarves. Jottunheim, land of Giants. Helheim- Realm of the dead.”
“The dead? Do you think it's anything like Aureole?”
It was Fern that asked this time.
Atreus, somewhat predictably, looked confused. “What is ‘Aureole’?”
“It’s where we’re traveling… we hope,” Fern explained. “It was said by Flamme, the legendary mage, that Aureole is the land where the souls of the dead go to rest. A place where you can meet old friends that have died, loved ones that passed on.” She turned her eyes forward, clearly thinking of Heiter. “We’re hoping to see if it's true…”
“Many places for Souls to rest,” Mimir chimed in. “Helheim, just one realm. Aureole could be another.”
“You’ve only mentioned seven of the realms; which are the last two?” Stark requested.
But at that, Frieren noted that the boy hesitated, just a bit, his eyes darting to the back of his father’s head. “Err-”
“Vanaheim-” Mimir answered, and again, Frieren noted the brief flash of relief on the boy’s features. “Home of Vanir. Gods. And Asgard. Home of Aesir. Gods.”
Fern almost stuttered in her step. “More than one God?”
“Two groups of them,” Stark added.
“Why does a place need more than one God?”
“Ahh.” Mimir’s golden eyes glimmered with interest. “Your land, only one God, yes?”
Fern nodded. “Yes; the Goddess of Creation.”
“Tell us about her,” Mimir proposed. “We’ll tell you about ours.”
Again, keeping an eye on Atreus out of the corner of her eye, she noted a slight stiffening, a flash of something she’d almost describe as trepidation.
But Fern didn’t seem to notice; immediately speaking on the basic nature and scripture of the Goddess. Having been raised by Heiter, it made sense she’d know so much about the deity, and be pious in her own right.
“The Goddess of Creation is just that- our creator. According to our scripture; at the dawn of time, she created our world: elves, humans, dwarves. Some creations emerged imperfect. Those would be the monsters: creatures bereft of the Goddess’ grace. ‘Protect your neighbor, Defend from evil, live a righteous life’. Those are her tenets."
Mimir almost sounded incredulous. “That all?”
“Are your Gods more complicated?” Stark asked of the dangling head.
“Aye; very, err, complicated." He stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Many rules. Many Gods.”
“Like what?”
“Well… Example. Bragi; God of Poem and Music and String.”
“String?” Stark asked.
“Music string,” Mimir amended. “To worship, must do these things, to receive blessing: dedicate music, or sing at death of loved one.”
“That sounds doable-”
“But- singing angers Hœnir. Silent God. Or. Stuck in big snow, Pray to Höðr, God of Winter to make snow stop. But prayers to Höðr anger Váli who hate him.”
“Ok yeah, I can see how that would get complicated.” Stark winced.
“Is there anyone you can pray to that won't anger another God in some way?” Fern asked.
“No one contests prayer to Odin; All Father.”
Stark nodded. “Is he the God leader?”
“Leader of Aesir, aye.”
“Oh yeah, you mentioned two groups of Gods. Suppose they would have two leaders.”
“Aesir and Vanir. Aesir: Gods of War. Battle. Vanir: Gods of Natural. Healing.”
“Why do you have Gods of War?” Fern balked, horrified.
“Fighting, of course,” Mimir said, as if it should be obvious.
“But- how much fighting in war could any of you need!?”
‘Humans always fight in wars,’ she wanted to say, but refrained. Stark however, spoke up in her stead.
“Well; war isn’t just, you know, war between people,” he reminded. “We’ve been at war for almost all time against the demons and monsters.”
Fern still looked unsure. “I suppose-”
“Aye, Monsters.” If Mimir could nod, he no doubt would. “Aesir slay, err… Monsters.” She noted those gold eyes shift momentarily to Atreus. Before darting back over.
The young bowman also seemed uncomfortable, to her eye at least.
“Atreus.”
Kratos’ voice rumbled out of the warrior, and Atreus answered in their own tongue. The pale giant still hadn’t grasped the language to nearly the same degree as Mimir, much less Atreus.
After a second, the boy nodded. “Father’s asking if you could explain some of the monsters in the book we got from Miss Monica.”
“What would he like to know?” Frieren responded, still quietly following the five ahead of her.
With Atreus acting as Translator, the conversation was a bit… clunky, but it flowed easily enough.
“Father would like to know specifically about these-” The boy held out the book, holding it between the three of them where Frieren noted the man had marked the corner of a good dozen and a half pages or so with a red ink mark. “They’re similar to some he’s seen before, and he wants to know if they’re the same.”
“Similar to the monsters he’s seen? Have you not seen them?” Fern asked the boy.
Atreus took a look at the pages, frowning just a bit as he scrunched his brows in thought. “No. I think they’re from Father’s… travels.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. She had the patience to wait, but she had to admit she was curious.
“Well, we call this one a Hydra,” Fern began to explain. “It has multiple heads and can regenerate if they’re not decapitated at the same time.”
—
Just ahead of the group however, Mimir whsiperd towards the pale giant who’s footfalls crunched through the light dusting of snow.
“Brother.”
Kratos grunted.
“You’re not usually one to concern yourself with trivial beasts. Is something wrong?”
A silence. A heavy one.
“No,” the War God finally said. Mimir didn’t believe him. “Just a precaution.”
Mimir listened to Fern, Atreus and Stark speaking, and as he listened, and heard the descriptions of some of the beasts… well… if he still had a gut, he might have just started getting a sinking feeling that he knew what was bothering the normally unshakeable God.
The snows began to fall more heavily as they continued North.
—
Hours later, as the sun began to set, and the cold truly set in, Kratos led the way forward, carrying the elf.
She’d fallen from the cold.
Whether that was because of her race being disinclined to the cold, or the elf’s own lack of ability to stay awake, the God wasn’t sure. Regardless, the group would hardly leave her to die on the road.
And so he ‘volunteered’ to carry her.
That is to say, Mimir wouldn’t stop pleading and Atreus wouldn’t stop looking at him with sad eyes until he agreed to quite literally shoulder the burden of lugging her up the mountain.
She was hardly some “great weight”, but it was the principle of the thing.
The first words he was going to learn of their language were “wake up”, and they’d be directed at her.
Then, through the cold, something caught his eye.
“There!” He shouted, hurrying his steps, large legs plowing through what was now shin deep snow, the others following behind him.
“The Cabin!” He heard Fern gasp behind him. “It is here.”
“We can start a fire and get Frieren and ourselves warm,” Atreus said.
As he drew closer, Kratos could faintly hear a sound coming from within the cabin and wondered if it was occupied.
It was a small structure, no bigger than a single room; if there already were people here, he hoped he wouldn’t need to kill them for the space, but he was prepared to drive them out if need be.
Then, he opened the door, finding a shirtless man doing.. Squats… in the gloom.
He spied the long, pointy ears and decided, right then and there, that all elves in this world were either Mad, Lazy, Stupid, or a combination of the three.
—
Separated from the traveling party by thousands upon thousands of Kilometers, she walked quietly through the forests.
Her name was Tot.
Humans, however, knew her as the Saint of Endings.
They always were very dramatic.
She was an elder Demon, one of three remaining in the world.
She’d never been any good in a fight. Ironic for a demon, really. But she had other skills. Every Demon did, especially one as old as she was.
Aura the Guillotine.
Böse the Immortal.
Grausam the Miraculous.
Schlacht the Omnicient.
Macht of the Golden Land.
Solitär the Nameless.
Qual, the Elder Sage of Corruption.
Each had their own strengths, their own specialities. The things that made them feared, gave them their names.
Her skill, the thing that was so very invaluable, especially to Demon Kind… was her mana sense.
It took focus, but if she wished, her senses could spread across the whole of the continent, capable of detecting mana signatures across the land, even if only faintly. It was the basis for her work; the curse that would swallow the world.
But that gift, that ability, had left her confounded over the last few weeks.
She’d awoken in a cold sweat more than once. An icy feeling of palpable dread suffusing her. It had taken days to get a hold of her nerve before she focused, honed in on the source of whatever this dread was.
Just in time to sense the death of Aura the Gulliotine, either fighting, or near the source of this.
And nearby, a curious something else that she’d never sensed before.
Curiosity and an existential threat. Both of these things drove her actions now, pulling her away from her isolation in the far corners of the world.
Her return from self imposed exile led her here.
To this one.
There were others she could have called on, consulted with. Perhaps more powerful in their own way, but Macht and Solitar would take time to convince, and they were ruled by their own interests and whims.
This one. This one was far more predictable.
Far more… direct.
Searching for him was easy.
Simply follow the bodies.
The human encampment lay in ruins when she arrived. A small army of men left as bloodied corpses in his wake.
She heard the wet slice of blade carving through flesh, the grind of it sliding against armor as he pulled it free, his final victim dying like so many thousands before him.
“Oh.” His voice was surprised. “You, coming to me. How curious.”
Tot stepped forward, smiling at her fellow Demon as he turned to look at her.
“Rivale,” she smiled.
Her fellow smiled back, but only just, his eyes ever searching for an opening, a vulnerability.
She understood. She did the same.
“Why are you here?” He asked, cutting to it straight away; she’d expected nothing less really.
She let her smile widen.
“What if I said…” Her voice was tantalizing, carrying a true promise in its syllables. “That I could give you the thing you seek?”
He chuckled, amused, but his eyes glinted with a dangerous edge. If she wasted his time and interest… “And what is that?”
“A worthy challenge?”
The Demon went still.
And then, the being known as The Bloody Handed God of War… smiled.