Investigation
We landed atop a small hill with an explosion of swirling sickly greenish dust, which was quickly blown away in the stinging, ceaseless wind. A line of black that cut halfway across the horizon marked our destination, across a wide, bleak plain of blasted stone.
Scathsa and I immediately changed into our natural forms, and e joined Loki in checking the aether as I scanned the ground and sky for material threats. I had hoped to fly, but the wind was violent and unpredictable enough that I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get off the ground. Loki looked up and we both watched Scathsa mutter and gesture for a few more minutes before e nodded. “I’ve got a web around us that should suffice until we get to the cliffs,” e said, as the wind around us diminished and the air freshened.
There was a pause as we all stared at the cracked plain that stretched out before us. “Well, we asked for a hike,” Scathsa said, eir voice thin and hollow against the endless winds.
“You did,” I replied as we set off.
“If you’d like to set off all the traps and alarms, feel free to run on ahead,” Scathsa said over eir shoulder. “Or you could change into a horse and let your playmate ride,” e added in our language, using a term implying more than friendship.
“Thank you, but I’d prefer to walk on my own feet,” Loki said in Aesir.
Scathsa stopped, blinking at Loki in surprise. As he walked between us, the Jotun let me catch a glimpse of a translation charm and winked at me. I snorted, swatting Scathsa with my tail, and we trudged off after him.
There was little conversation as we walked. Svartalfheim had been scoured of life millennia ago during the bitter war between the Dark Elves and the Aesir. What remained was a deserted tomb of a world. Despite its barren emptiness, the land and air were full of aetheric screams, the only traces left of the people who had once lived there.
Thinking of that war, I asked Loki, “Weren’t you worried that Tyr might make something from the remains of the Dark Elf ships?”
“The last battle, when the Dark Elves dropped their ships on us, happened on another continent and on the other side of the world,” he replied. “This continent was stripped of resources and pounded to dust centuries before that time. Their ideology was not kind to the environment.”
“Didn’t they live underground anyway?” Scathsa said, walking on Loki’s other side.
“Almost entirely,” Loki said. “But I’m told that by the time of our last conflict with them, their underground cities were mostly empty ruins. As far as we could piece together afterwards, they had a massive, planet-wide civil war long before they declared war on the rest of the universe. Winning that civil war wasn’t enough for them, though. The faction in charge had to be sure that the heresy of the other side was never heard from again, whatever it had been…” His voice trailed off, and we walked on in silence.
Loki held a device in his hand which he informed us was a signal to the wards that he was a member of the royal family, reinforcing the commands that had been sent from Asgard by his father. We found the spot where the company of guards had been set down a few days ago and paused there, surveying the area.
“They should have been safe from our wards at this distance,” Loki said, frowning at the device. “And they had a safeguard of their own that should have allowed them to get closer. But it seems that our own wards were turned against them.”
“Yes… look here,” Scathsa said, drawing out a thread of the aether and highlighting it so Loki could see it easily. “This is new, but it’s woven into the ward patterns. I’d wager it’s why you couldn’t tell anything was wrong without close inspection, too. Whoever did this weaving did a very good job of not just circumventing, but actually adapting the wards for their own use. It’s impressive work.”
“Try not to get too lost in admiration, I said, with a bite in my voice drawn from tension. “You’re here to destroy their work, not critique it.”
“The better it’s made, the more fun it is to figure out how to unweave it,” Scathsa said absently as e tugged carefully at the pattern. “Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it… there we go,” e added, pulling a thread free. We all tensed as we felt the ward flex back into its original shape, then relaxed when the device in Loki’s hand chimed, flashing a soothing green.
“I’ll take the wards down as we go,” Loki said. He made an adjustment to the device and the green light blinked yellow once, then faded away. “They’re useless now anyway, and if the traps are attached to them, it’s possible that removing them will defuse the traps.” He looked up at Scathsa, who nodded in reply, and we walked on.
Tyr’s prison had been carved into the rocks where the cliff wall ended abruptly in a sharp point. Scathsa and Loki each called for increasingly frequent stops as we approached the gate that marked the entrance to the dwelling, to disarm the traps and wards that wound through the aether. The entrance was a huge cavern mouth covered with a gate that, like most Aesir architecture, gleamed a nacreous greenish-gold in the faint sunlight. We halted in front of the portal as Loki consulted his device. There was another quiet chime, and the gates swung out, opening into darkness. All three of us were tense and alert as we entered the cave.
This was no rough hovel. The floor was flat and smooth, with stalls that may have been meant for horses or vehicles, but which stood empty and disused. Large sconces were carved from the walls, and would have given plenty of light to the cave if they had been lit. Just a few yards in, the gloom was nearly impenetrable, and we slowed to a halt.
“Don’t dragons live in caves?” Loki said, peering into the shadows.
“Our homes are usually better-lit,” Scathsa replied. “But we can adjust our vision to see better in the darkness. Can’t you?”
“I use magic to make a light. How would I change my vision?” Loki asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
Scathsa and I glanced at each other, and I shrugged my wings at em. “We can’t risk a magical light,” I said. “That would be an obvious trigger for a trap. Perhaps you could ride—”
Suddenly the cavern was flooded with light that seemed to pour from the empty sconces. We winced, membranes flicking out to cover our eyes as we adjusted to the fairly dim illumination. As we did, I looked back and realized the gates had closed behind us. The others saw a second after I did. We glanced at each other uncertainly. “I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one,” Loki said, looking at his device.
“First rule of dealing with traps: Assume everything is dangerous until proven otherwise,” Scathsa said, and shifted into eir Aesir form. I followed suit, both of us covering ourselves in illusions of armor more out of habit than necessity.
“That’s not very reassuring,” Loki said as we walked across the cavern to a set of stairs leading up into darkness.
Scathsa shook eir head. “It’s not meant to be.”
“Fair enough.”
Despite their constant scanning, Loki and Scathsa found no traps as we climbed the coiling staircase to the living quarters. The sconces flickered to life as we approached, then darkened behind us. There were no extra rooms for guards or visitors. The suite of rooms at the top of the stairs was smaller than the one assigned to us at the palace in Asgard, but it seemed comfortable enough. Wide balconies and windows carved into the rock of the cliff face let in weak sunlight, with force screens to keep out the howling wind and stinging sand. The modest kitchen was well-stocked with grown and harvested foods, along with a basic fabricator that would turn dirt into nourishing bricks for thousands of years if needed. There was even a large den, furnished with tapestries, rugs, comfortable chairs and many books, though no communication devices.
Everywhere, everything, was saturated with centuries of anger. Tyr had obviously never reconciled himself to his fate. Many of the furnishings showed signs of damage that could only have come from one source, along with clumsy attempts at repair.
We split up and began searching for clues—aetheric traces, discarded debris, a journal or diary—anything that would give us some indication of what had happened. Scathsa had found no more traps, but e warned us to check everything carefully before touching it, and to stay alert. After a couple of hours of fruitless searching, though, we were all tired and frustrated.
I was standing in the bedroom, staring out over the balcony and contemplating calling off the search, when a curtain seemed to slam down across the window and the sconces went dark, plunging me instantly into complete darkness.