“You shouldn’t be here.” The voice is faint, defeated, and distinctly feminine.
Ruxi’s despair washes over me, the wave of emotion so strong, it reaches to Panta and then all the way back to this cave, drowning me in the ocean of misery that fills them. They drop their chin and belly to the ground and edge closer, as unthreatening as any beast their size could be.
“He … he’ll hurt you.” The creature’s warning slithers between us, terror stark in every soft word.
“He won’t,” I assure her. “We won’t let him.” I mimic Ruxi’s behavior, advancing slowly.
“Then he’ll hurtme. Please go.” These words are tight, verging on panic.
Anger flickers along my spine at whatever trapped her here and instilled such terror in her.
“We can’t leave you,” I announce as I creep forward to crouch in front of her. “Not like this.”
“This is my fate,” she declares, “the only life I may know.”
“No,” I insist. “I won’t accept that. If we can free you, you’ll come with us.”
“Then the worlds will fall,” she tells me, so much despair in her voice, it brings a tear to my eye. “The fates have spoken. Their weaves bind me here so others can thrive. When my body no longer feeds the earth, Ragnarök will destroy everything. The fates will be forced to start anew, casting their threads for the worlds that will be.”
“I don’t know who told you that,” Rata harrumphs, “but they lied to you. Ragnarök came and went, and we’re all still breathing.”
The serpent stops moving, a puppet whose strings were dropped. The shadows in her eyes flare into flames, which retreat almost immediately, leaving nothing but black discs. For twenty beats of my heart, nothing moves. I don’t think any of us even breathes. We’re still, waiting for her to react.
The tears that fill her eyes break the trance that seemed to come over everyone. A collective exhale bounces around us as she lifts her chin to look at the squirrel.
“Tell me you’re wrong,” she begs, a whisper in a storm. “It can’t have been for nothing.”
“I’m not a liar,” Rata responds with a shrug. “The world shook and broke open, Yggdrasill tossed me aside, and life went on.”
“He’s a liar,” Svend adds, “but not about this. Ragnarök is behind us. The worlds have changed but not as much as the fates feared. Gods, elves, humans, and everyone else still live and thrive.”
“I thought they needed me,” she rasps, her gaze bouncing between us.
“Why?” I demand. “Why would they need you?”
“I’m a lindwyrm,” she explains softly, “the last of my kind, I suspect. When others roamed Midgard, the gods grew to despise us for our gifts to their people. They harnessed all of us, bound us to serve their purposes. I was chosen to serve here.”
“Serve, how?” I push. I’ve never even heard of lindwyrms and have no idea what they’re capable of.
“We increase things,” she discloses with the barest lift of the corners of her lips. “Whatever lies beneath us grows. I’mhere because the chaos god believed the crumb of magic that reaches this place from Yggdrasill holds the jötnar at bay, keeps them from venturing into Midgard and beyond. He left me to ensure that magic never fails.”
“Loki did this to you?” I bark, anger at that manipulative bastard ripping through me. “He expects you to give your life to make the gods’ lives easier?” I don’t try to keep the fury from my voice.
“He promised to free me after Ragnarök.”
“Well, that’s bullshit,” I snarl, a pit forming in my stomach as I realize all she’s suffered for nothing. “We’re going to release you—fuck whatever it is he’s trying to do here—and then we can all chase revenge. He’s fucked up a lot of lives. We need to stop him, and you can help us.”
“How long?” she whispers, her words a sigh that barely reaches my ears.
“It’s been a bit more than ten years,” I tell her, “since Ragnarök cracked the barrier between Midgard and Jötunheimr. The gods defeated the jötnar, protecting Midgard and the other worlds.”
“Ten years?” she croaks, eyebrows shoving together as the pools in her eyes shatter and start to roll down her cheeks. She falls quiet again, and my heart breaks for her with every passing second.
“Then the fates are weaving new stories, creating paths for those who survived?”
“Honestly,” I answer, “I don’t know what the fates are doing. Everything seems broken.”
“If you free me, he’ll find out. He’ll punish you.” She pauses again, a tremble in her voice when she continues. “He’ll punish me.”
