Nifflheim

Trust in the Untrustworthy Pt. 2

Everyone is silent. Each of us trying to process the words just thrown at us. The little faith inside of me still sparks under the downpour of fear and uncertainty that rushes inside of me.

"I'll put my faith in the story. If we are all doomed here anyways might as well go down swinging." I announce, hoping to ignite faith in them as well.

Bjorn stands up with a shout. "Yeah! Let's make the bastard go hungry!"

Determination fills my companions' faces. Their expressions are like firewood dropping on my spark of faith, igniting it into a staggering flame. We can do this. Amidst the uncertainty and the god's life sentence of suffering, we will do this. Each of us here for our own sinful reasons. To trust in the untrustworthy will be our salvation.

"So, what is the plan?" Haralda urges, her eyes full of fight.

"Let's catch our breath here and make for the castle in a few hours," Iver answers, hope and confidence emanating from him.

*****

The wind howls as we make our way up the ridge toward the castle. The warmer clothes and thick cloaks make the cold slightly more bearable. The snow beneath us is over a foot high making our journey a gradual one. The cold chips away at the remaining heat I have hoarded in my cloak. By gods, I wish we were back at the fire.

The castle gently creeps into view with each step we take. Its black stone walls tower over us as we approach. No windows obstruct the seamless, firm bricks that stand with a giant wooden door at its center. The only entrance into the horrid depths this castle possesses.

"Being burned alive sounds kind of nice right about now!" Bjorn shouts chuckling to himself.

"You'd probably smell better than you do now!" Frode mocks back. Chuckling from our party follows his remark. The laughter is a short, but pleasant distraction from the cold.

The snow gets deeper as we converge upon the entrance. The wind paired with the snow makes it nearly impossible to trudge forward and my arms feel completely numb up to my elbow. Suddenly, the snow on the ground starts to shift and cave in on itself. Its movement originating from the castle and heading steadily toward us.

"Everyone halt!" Iver hollers, his voice effectively lost in the shrieking wind.

The snow continues to shift, moving toward Bjorn's feet. Iver quickly knocks back an arrow and shoots at the intended destination of the fluctuating snow. The arrow wisps in the wind, slicing through the snow, and slams into its target with a thud. The movement ceases and Bjorn grabs the arrow lifting the body from underneath the snow. On the end of the arrow sits the head of a snake that is large enough to eat a full-sized pig. Yellow blood oozes from the arrow in the snake's head and gently streams down its white, refined scales.

Haralda turns and hollers to Iver, "Admirable shot!"

"I thought snakes didn't like the cold?" Yells Langley, trying not to be drowned out by the wind.

"Hey!" Shouts Bjorn, trying to get our attention as the snake flails violently in his hands. Its massive jaw snaps toward Bjorn and the snake's fangs get ahold of his arm. Bjorn shouts in pain and drops the snake. Its white body camouflaged as it propels itself through the snow.

Iver knocks back another bow as the rest of us unsheathe our weapons. His arrow flies towards the snake but the snake quickly evades. I race towards the shifting snow and slam my axes down, feeling nothing but steel hitting the ground. The snake continues to advance until it finds its way to Haralda who swings her giant sword that clashes on the ground with the sound of thunder. The movement of the snow fades.