The Madness of the Gods (Fantasy/Mythic Short Story)

Mist simmered over the river Ouse as Gunnr lifted the awning from the front of his hut. The morning stench wafted along the track-marked mainstay of Coppergate. Women folk swilled pails of night soil from doors as the clang of a bell marked the return of boats with a fresh catch. Jorvik awoke in the crisp winter air as Gunnr grinned at the shipwright’s wife passing on her way to the market. Fenyr was a score years younger than him, thin as a willow but strong and tall. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of sunlight, unfettered, like her lilting laugh. It had been many years since his wife had invited another to their bed. Gunnr knew the shipwright was lame and bent by the bone curse, possibly Vigdis could be convinced. He snapped out of these pleasant musing as a flash of red disappeared under the eaves of the carpenter’s hut.

Ranveig pounded the cloth in the woad pit before shooing the pigs out into the daytime pen. They squealed in protest as she swung the brush at them, imagining how fat they would grow.

A flash of red drew her eye waking her from her daydream of crackling and bacon. She stared up to the rafters and marked a pair of beady little eyes watching. The squirrel screamed a bark of indignation from his perch before flashing that bush of a tail.

“What is the news Ratotoshr?” She laughed as she picked up the birch brush to shoo this latest animal resident from the wattle walls of her home. She swayed as the air shimmered, seeming to wilt like leaves when the trees renew.

“As you know my name goodwife and addressed me properly I shall answer you just this once.” The squirrel flashed silver eyes in indignation freezing Ranveig to her marrow. The messenger of the gods turned its face away, grooming its whiskers with tiny paws. “Put down that stave mistress before I cleave your tongue from your mouth and keep it for store in Yggdrasil’s leaf fall.”

She stared dumbfounded as the chittering continued inside her head and fell to her knees. Ratotoshr bobbed its head in seeming approval.

“I have dire news for all in Jorvik. There lives a snake amongst you, akin to Jormungand, a deceitful liar who lairs in this town in guise of man.”

The squirrel edged down the side of the thatch to whisper in Ranveig’s ear. “Shall I tell you the name of this thief who dares to steal even from the gods?”

Ratotoskr’s eyes narrowed, silver dagger’s of moonlit menace. “Gunnr keeps leather off-cuts meant as tribute to Vidar to forge his vengeance. Hear well good-wife, Vidar has a memory long as the age of the world. If he is denied tribute, vengeance will fall on this place. Jorvik will be cast to the underworld and consumed in a tumult of fire and ice.”

Odin bent an ear and beckoned to the proud eagle. “Where is the wind walking in the second land of the domain of man? What news has passed up the fleshy bark of Yggdrasil, twisted by mischief and the fetid tongue of the conniving squirrel? What news from Níðhöggr and the realms of the dead?”

The eagle hopped and beat its powerful wings at the naming of the dragon but Odin smiled and held out his arm as perch. The Eagle settled and hopped along the great tree-trunk arm while the chief of the gods bent his ear to listen. After a long while, his smile bent crooked by a name he whispered over and over. “Loki.”

The cloaked figure watched through half lidded eyes as a lone squirrel weaved its way through the alleys of Coppergate. It visited huts of freemen, thralls and finally the hall of Jarl Hakon. Pouring poisoned words into the ears of all; those who slept on mud clot floor and those wrapped in quilted furs.

Night slipped by and the morning finally dawned.

Geir walked down the hill in the sharp sunlight of the morning. Jorvik lay below raising up the stink of human endeavor. Long had it been since he had wandered the second land and he found he had missed it. The musk of men and women folk made him feel alive, these sparks of life, so easy to enthrall, held their own power. They held the very spirit of the gods in their hands. The Skalds made the lands of Valhalla and Vanaheim more than a dream. These stinking folk breathed life into ode and saga, making them more than words. They stoked the fires of spirit that renewed Yggdrasil’s leaves. The gulf between the acts of creation was as thin as a hair. Human kind renewed the gods as much as the gods sustained the myriad worlds. Odin had forgotten, but he would be made to remember. Geir laughed as he rounded the corner and approached the shoe maker.

“How can I be of service?” Gunnr’s honest brown eyes appraised the stranger as Geir bent down and unslung a large set of antlers from his back to present to the shoe maker.

“I have a gift for you my friend.”

Gunnr looked at the dark glower of grey eyes. “Yes… and what could it be, for that crown of bone is as broad an antler as I have ever seen. Worthy of a Jarl and I can barely afford a pig to pen. Who are you to gift me anything?”

Geir smiled slyly. “I am named Geir and am messenger of one who would see you thrive. He labors long in a quest of vengeance to craft the means of a mighty boot to choke the life from the slayer of his father.”

Gunnr looked on wondering at this dark eyed figure. “You speak of Vidar and the final doom of Ragnarök. Who are you to know of these things and to speak for the son of Odin?”

Dark eyes blazed silver as Geir stepped to Gunnr’s side pressing a stone into his palm with the rune Gifa-is emblazoned in blood on its surface. The blood seemed to flow in the confines of the letters while red lurid light flooded Gunnr’s mind painting a picture of seeming in the nighttime behind the eyes.

Gunnr staggered back to lean against the wall of his hut.

“Allfather” he murmured as he looked at those silver eyes. Geir nodded his head slightly and leaned in to whisper.

“I have a design for you to make a shoe fit for a god Gunnr. A shoe of leather and bone with runes of the strength of ice carved in antler horn. Make these shoes for your Jarl Hakon and you will become the most famous shoe maker in the province of Jorvik. Many folk of note will travel to commission you and freeman Gunnr will be raised up to sit in the hall of the Jarl.” These words flowed like oil over hemp rope, slick and cloying.

“Let me in to your home a while freeman Gunnr, so that I can inscribe the design on the floor beneath the hearth.”

Gunnr nodded, took the rune inscribed stone, the antler and ushered Geir into the hut.

The slow drone of the lute mingled with smoke in the Longhall as the Skald sang of the time before time.

The skald stuttered into silence as Jarl Hakon stood to greet his guest.

"What should be done about these claims Geir of Harstad? You have travelled far to this land and arrive with the seal of king Harelsted. A name of high merit and deeds enough to make even the gods take notice. What is your advice?”

The cloaked figure stepped into the light. The flickering of the fire glinted in his eyes and the deep scar cut across his cheek like an oar cuts the ocean depths.

“Jarl Hakon.” The cowl dipped as he nodded before turning to address the hall.

“This matter is graver than some might recon. You asked me why the gods lay their eye upon this new-found land, rather than the great established lands of our fathers. It is in these new lands like Ængland that the gods like to play their games. The tide lines of war are already laid and intrigue in war is the meat of the gods. Consider it a sign of great things Jarl Hakon, Jorvik is in the sight of the gods. What to do about this errant shoe maker, I am not sure. It is folly to meddle with one so touched by the madness of the Aesir.”

The Jarl nodded running his comb through his beard as he contemplated the issue. The gathering held their breath as Geir leaned in as if to catch the echo of his thoughts.

Finally the Jarl spoke. “We will watch the shoe maker known as Gunnr, for now. It is as you speak Geir, it is folly to meddle with one so touched by the madness of the Aesir.”

Geir sneered beneath his cowl, now slipped low over his face to hear the proclamation. This was all too easy.

Gunnr strained as he stretched the leather over the block. He poured a ladle of urine over the strap, working the hand-stone over the material as drops of the stinking liquid drained into the bucket below. His wife snored in the background as he worked and the pigs farted as they dreamed piggy dreams of food. Gunnr stared at his creation in the flickering firelight.

The base of a shoe shone pale like the light of the new birthed moon. The sides were etched with runes that seemed to pour along the shoe flowing into scenes of ships flying flags that whipped the sky with crimson. His eyes streamed tears as he stared while his wife continued to snore gently in their bed. She let out a slight moan.

Vigdis wandered the dark woods alone. Where was her husband? Where was Gunnr. Everything seemed muffled by the hoary trunks of the trees. Moss glistened as slugs weaved their weary way around bare roots and great bulging boles crested by bracken. The wood was deathly silent. Neither bird called nor stag barked. As Vigdis walked she strained to listen and thought she could hear a distant sound like a hand-stone across leather. Hope flared inside her and she hurried on to find her husband. Trees seemed to lean over her as a feral baying of wolves murmured in the leaf piles surrounding the trees. She stumbled but caught herself as a glimmer of light caught her eye up ahead. Hurrying toward the light a great sadness arose in her for her barren womb and the ending of her spirit. A spark of understanding shone as the light grew stronger, a knowledge that this world was only the beginning of the spirits’ journey. This spark grew to a raging fire as she burst forth into a singing light and a forest clearing.

A tall man stood half bent over a plinth working leather like her husband. His hair and beard matted, twisted up like a feral dogs fur. His musk was overpowering and the smell seeped through the air like the stink of a stag in rutting season. A great steel shod boot of blackened leather lay to his side. Antlers lay around his feet like thorns growing from the earth. Shards of worked bone lay scattered about the plinth, shining runes of carved life reflecting his great fire. Light spilled from his face as he turned to look at her and the cut of his silver eyes weakened her in a sudden sickness. She held strong and to her feet as he strode toward her and wrapped her in his arms, taking her as a husband would a wife. She moaned as he looked into her eyes as they paired. A silent message passed into her mind... a warning!

A gut-wrenching howl sounded in the dark forests surrounding them and Vidar's eyes blazed from silver to red. The howl of Fenriswolf sounded once more in the distance before fading with the rustle of the leaves.

Geir strode through the filth of Coppergate's main street. A squirrel rode his shoulder while Loki rode in his mind grinning for the sheer madness of it all. He had reached the end of his patience, it was time for the fun to begin and time to set the cogs in motion.

The folk of the town wound a weary line from their huts as Geir raised his voice in proclamation. All had heard the whispered themes of craven words in their dreams, all prepared in their soft hollow hearts. Ratotoskr barked once before whispering in Geir's ear. "Speak now of envy, hate and man's jealous yearning for divinity. Stoke their fire Loki, the tinder is dry."

Geir cast his cowl back as he spoke. The scar which rent his face in two pulsing a crimson glow in time with his words.

"Good folk of Jorvik. It is time to rid this town of Coppergate of a curse. This curse will see you all devoured by Jormungand. You will rot in eternal suffering in tunnels wrought of crystal foam where water inhabits stone and Hel's runes drip in endless night." Geir's face seemed to stretch out deathly pale as he intoned. "And Jormungand will slowly devour the numinous light of your souls."

The crowd gasped as Geir strode into their midst. His eyes shone silver now, entrancing them in the rhythmic dance between word and light.

"It is still not too late. The shoemaker Gunnr mocks the gods two fold. We must send him to meet the gods and stand in judgment at the roots of Yggdrasil. He must pay for withholding tribute of leather off-cuts from Vidar."

Geir's voice lowered to a whisper as he spoke the name of the silent god and the people leaned in to hear.

"But he must also pay for the second crime of stealing offerings to make great works of craft beyond his ability. I have seen in my dream journey, under the spell of mushroom and mandrake root, the core of his madness. He crafts a shoe for the Jarl. A shoe of beauty and majesty, crafted with leather stolen from Vidar himself."

A distant rumble accompanied the naming of the silent god. Geir glanced about furtively as he strode toward Gunrr's hut. The crowd followed growling and yammering like beasts in their anger.

Gunnr turned to look at his wife as he attached the final strap to the shoe. She stretched, back arching in the dim light of mornings waking. Her eyes seemed to shine as she looked on him. Gunnr felt his blood grow hot, after all these years she still caused the sap to rise in him.

"I have a message for you my husband. From one close to your heart. One who labors in unison to forge a great boot to avenge his fathers slaying by the Fenriswolf. Labors eternally against what must come to pass."

He wrapped his wife in his arms and she fell into him. "Oh Vigdis, it seems we are both play things in the hands of Odin."

She shook her head as she looked up at him. "No. It is Loki and Ratotoskr who weave a web of weird to bind us. A web meant to bind Odin and hobble Vidar." The ground trembled at the naming of the silent god. Gunnr understood what he must do as they looked into each others eyes in silent communion. Certainty washed through him like a cold mountain spring.

They opened the door of the hut hand in hand. The morning light illuminated a pile of leather strips around a small alter of runes.

The door of the hut opened. Geir cast his hands dramatically at the two figures standing in the morning light.

"See the shoes marked with sacred runes good townsfolk. They spell your doom and the vengeance of Vidar."

Geir faltered in his speech and the crowd stumbled, tumbling to the mud as the earth shook in tumult. The people of Coppergate wailed and screamed at the doom Gunnr had brought upon them.

Gunnr stood like carved stone and lifted the shoes. He snapped the sides of the bone soles away leaving only thin blades of bone bound about by leather straps. He walked toward the river Ouse as the crowd scrambled to their feet in a frenzy and surged toward him.

Small waves tickled the bank as a great silence descended. The figure of a tall unkempt man, carving bone with a wide dagger of bronze wavered over the surface of the river. A deadly cold emanated from his eyes, shining silver as the river Ouse froze solid.

Geir spat in rage as Loki railed in his mind and Ratotoskr squealed on his shoulder. Gunnr slipped the strange blades of bone over his feet and slid gracefully across the rivers ice. He smiled as he looked back at the enraged townsfolk of Coppergate, slipping and sliding to land on their faces.

Vigdis watched, tears rimming her eyes. A great tree of flesh only she could see faded from the icy surface along with her husband.

Odin watched and laughed at the sheer madness of it all.