An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
This is a chonky chapter. But it's kind of a favorite because a ... certain dragon and certain doggy make their debuts. :)
Hel and Modgud trek over the hard, unforgiving tundra, flanked by niflakkar. Modgud carries ice picks on her shoulders, a bundle of twigs on her belt, and many coils of rope all over. Hel carries only a satchel of food and a water flask Ganglöt insisted she bring. There’s no telling how long they will be gone, and even if Modgud doesn’t need sustenance, Hel should keep up her strength with cured meat and carrots. She also has a bag of saltlick lumps for the niflakkar.
The horned, shaggy escorts don’t look hungry, but Modgud can’t help eying them again and again. She speaks to Hel in a low voice. “You’re sure they won’t eat me?”
Hel knits her brows. “I’m … fairly sure.”
“Great. Has anyone tried to stab one of them?”
“Oh, yes. But nothing anyone brings with them among their grave goods is real. Well, solid in the way the living are.”
“Then the niflakkar are alive. But what do they eat? Really?”
“They seem satisfied with saltlick. We have plenty of deposits of it around this place. And I’ve told them they can’t eat any souls. So far, they’ve listened.”
“Why, though? No disrespect, but why do they listen to you?”
Hel smiles slightly. She remembers the forest and how she practically wagged her finger at the niflakkar until they submitted. “I told them who I was when I brought them out of the ice. That was enough.” She says this with composure, but she also glances at their escorts.
The niflakkr walking beside her turns its head. This one has green eyes and white hair. A few of the others have white or gray hair while most of the group has brown hair. None of them seem capable of making a pleasant expression. The folds of their leathery skin force their faces into perpetual scowls or snarls. The big, sharp teeth and tongues that often fall out and writhe like inquisitive snakes don’t help. Yet Hel, as a shiver catches her, regards the white-haired niflakkr.
“Do you have a name? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
The niflakkr squints. This doesn’t appear to be an answer. If it is, it suggests that the creature doesn’t understand the question.
Hel points to herself. “Hel.” She points to Modgud. “Modgud. These are our names.”
She points to the niflakkr. The creature touches its chest. Now Hel notices that, beneath the thick fur, there are bulges for breasts. Perhaps a female niflakkr. The creature still says nothing, but it, or she, gives a grunt that might be a question or a laugh.
Another grunt. This time, it sounds amused.
“Then I would like to give you a name. I will give all your kin names, unless you tell me what names you use for yourselves.”
Now the niflakkr gives a long whine. It might be a complaint, but then it, or she, bends down a little more, and her ear twitches and angles toward Hel.
“Oh. Right now? Uh … Hjordis? Yes, you’ll be Hjordis.”
Another grunt, louder and rougher. The niflakkr shakes her head, but the grunt sounds mostly approving. After scanning the company, Hel resolves to name the rest of them.
