Freya/Lore

The Three Labors
By Christopher Harrow

It is known in the wildlands below the ruined city of Faran Gol that, on the highest peak of the tallest mountain, among howling storms and dancing lightning bolts, the Thunder Tribe has dwelled since time immemorial.

To be a ruler of the Thunder Tribe, one must endure the Three Labors of Leviathan. It is on this day that a young girl, barely a woman, takes on this trial.

Her name is Freya. This is her tale.

Freya closed her eyes as the bitter incense burned her nostrils and filled her lungs. The cave she sat in was dank and cold. Freya had known this day would come. The day of the Labors. Freya was next in line to become queen of the Thunder Tribe.

When her Father passed two moons ago, Freya knew the trials were soon to follow. She had loved him dearly, but she had no time to grieve. Her thoughts held only trepidation of what was to come. Freya was a warrior born, she had no peer with the sword and shield, with the hammer or spear. But in the trials, it was said many were defeated without ever unsheathing a weapon.

The incense did its work and sleep washed over Freya like a gentle breeze. She drifted from the land of the waking to where dreams and nightmares roamed.

Freya opened her eyes and found herself in a vast dank bog. She looked up to see the sky the color of blood and a moon black as obsidian. The trees were pulsing, fleshy and horrific, shaped like slithering masses of coiling worms. From the trees hung dead woodland creatures: rabbits, mice, badgers, possums and the like. As Freya walked, the ground beneath her feet sucked at her boots as if wanting to hold her in place and consume her.

Freya slogged through this nightmarish swamp and a great form began to take shape in the distance. Two massive yellow orbs sat on a broad flat head. Freya immediately recognized the creature as the snake god - Akrohnis. Freya clutched her blade tightly and cautiously approached the massive snake spirit.

Akrohnis spoke, her voice halfway between a raspy hiss and a mother’s gentle whisper to a beloved child. Somehow it filled the entire swamp. "Freya of the Flaming Locks, you, like your ancestors before you, come to my realm seeking the rite of Rule. My test is not one of might nor swordsmanship, but cunning of mind. If you can solve my riddle, you shall gain passage through this realm, into the realms of my brothers. But if you fail, I will suck the flesh off your bones, and digest your living body for a thousand years. Do you accept my terms?"

Freya hardened her heart and steeled her mind. This was why she was here. She could not let fear trap her. Freya nodded firmly, "I accept, oh Goddess of Worms and Serpents. What is your riddle?" Akrohnis’ eyes flared in delight and her thin lips curved into something almost resembling a smile. "Very well. Here is your riddle," she hissed.

When bound, it chooses serf or king. When spilled, it foretells war or woe. When boiled, it fuels lusts and furies. When freed, it tumbles, falls, and fades away forever. When it runs, death will often follow.

Akrohnis stared at Freya, as still as a stone. "What say you, fleshling?"

Freya thought hard on this. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. She could feel the blood pounding in her wrists. Freya closed her eyes, then it came to her.

"Blood. The answer is blood. Blood chooses serf or king. When blood is spilled, it can foretell war or woe. Blood, when boiled, can fuel lust or anger, and when it runs, death may surely follow."

Akrohnis slowly moved closer, the massive head mere inches from Freya’s. Freya could smell the rotten stench of a thousand bloody meals. It writhed around her like a living thing. "You are a clever girl, Freya. It seems you are not merely a warrior. Sweet, sweet blood is our answer." Akrohnis shifted her monstrous coils and slithered away, revealing a stone gateway previously hidden behind her.

Beyond the gate, a portal led to a green land of fog and rain. Freya stepped through the gate and found herself in another realm entirely. This land was near the opposite of the previous. She was at the edge of a ruined village, in the midst of a fog-shrouded forest. The rain came down in solid sheets. Fog rolled along the ground. Bones of the dead filled the streets.

Freya noticed that while some of the dead wore armor she recognized, most of them were clad in clothing and arms strange and unfamiliar to her. Freya stepped over them as she made her way further into the ruined village. At the town center, an enormous raven pecked at the remains of a fallen giant.

Freya recognized the raven spirit at once. It was Nimogogg, Lord of the Dead. Freya approached him, and the massive bird immediately ceased pecking at the corpse and tilted its head towards Freya and cackled.

"It seems Sister missed out on a very hearty meal indeed. Did you find her riddle challenging? I’m not much for riddles myself. Terrible at them, I am," Nimogogg said in a high-pitched, sardonic tone.

Freya was silent. Nimogogg was known to her people as being a trickster, and while he was no great warrior, his words were often snares, binding the unknowing into terrible contracts and one-way deals often ending in their deaths… or worse. Silence, Freya thought, was the best course of action.

Nimogogg stared at her for a moment, his big black eyes like endless voids, and then continued. "Well I suppose we should get on with it then, shall we?" the Raven God muttered before turning his head to the misty hill behind him. "Upon that hill yonder are four thrones. Each throne bears a crown. Each crown is a choice. Each choice has a consequence. Bring one crown back to me." Nimogogg cawed loudly as if laughing, then resumed his pecking at the corpse.

Freya breathed deeply and made her way over the fallen warriors to the hill in the distance. The hill was so shrouded in mists that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Freya’s boots crunched against the bones littered in the wet grass. Ghostly cries echoed all around her.

Finally, Freya reached the top of the hill and the mists dissipated. Four thrones stood before her. The first throne was made of bones and mold. A crown of bone sat upon it.

The second throne was made of iron. Engraved runes were carved into the metalwork. A crown of rune-etched iron sat upon it.

The next throne was crafted of the most exquisite gold. A lavish golden crown encrusted with jewels sat upon it.

The last throne was woven from lush and vibrant foliage, alive with greenery. A crown of emerald twisted wood with barbed thorns sat upon it.

Suddenly, the shrill voice of Nimogogg rang out from all directions, "Each throne represents a way of rulership. Which seat will you choose? What kind of queen will Freya of the Thunder Tribe become?"

Freya thought for a moment. She knew which throne called to her. Freya picked up the Iron Crown with engraved runes and placed it on her head.

"It is no surprise the daughter of Kiern chooses the path of War. Very well. If it is battle you wish, it is battle you will receive." The mists suddenly swirled around her, obscuring her vision and the wild cackle of Nimogogg rang out all around her. The massive Raven swooped above her, his wings causing a torrent of wind and mists to whip around her. Then just as suddenly as it began, the wind died down and the fog cleared.

Freya found herself in a dark cave. The rock seemed to be made of a strange greenish-black mineral. Stalactites hung from the ceiling wet with condensation. Freya stepped forward then immediately froze.

A looming silhouette shifted in the waiting murk. The hairs on the back of her neck raised and Freya leapt off to the side. A crackling bolt of blue lighting scorched the ground where Freya once stood. The form of a great dragon revealed itself, its eyes and maw an azure storm of fury and energy. Its tri-horned head and jagged spines were the color of ebony.

Freya recognized the leviathan as Veltreik, first and king of the Spirit Dragons, dead thousands of years past. But here, in the world of dreams, he lived again.

She knew what her test was, but how could she ever defeat such a monster? She did not have time to ponder as another torrent of lighting arced in her path. Freya dodged again, readied her blade and shield, and charged towards the beast.

Veltreik shrieked as he rose up to his full height, filling the cavern. The massive span of his leathery wings spreading out endlessly. Freya took in this unreal sight. Shathoock! Another torrent of energy struck out from the dragon and Freya raised her shield to block. The shield instantly turned to glass and shattered in a thousand pieces. Freya avoided the next blast of energy by rolling behind a rock formation.

Freya looked down at her blade. A relic of her ancestors. It was once her fathers. He proved himself here in this very realm. He passed the Three Labors and was deemed able and fit to rule the Thunder Tribe. She wanted him now. To guide her, to impart his wisdom. But her father was dead, and Freya was alone. Or was she?

As she stared at her sword time seemed to stand still, a soft orange light started to emanate from the blade. Freya could feel the warmth from the light fill her to the very soul. A voice called out from the light and her eyes welled with tears.

"Freya, know this: I am with you always. You are more than worthy to lead in my stead. Believe in yourself and the legacy I have given. You are a tempest, show the dragon your heart." With that, the glow from the blade gleamed and Freya, steeled by the words of her father, leapt from her hiding place and charged at the dragon, a warcry erupting from her lips. The dragon reached out with a claw to swipe at her, but she was too fast. She plunged the sword into Veltreik's belly. The dragon roared, and the orange light from the sword swelled to blinding intensity... then all went black.

Freya awoke in the cold, dank, dark cave. She stood and looked around. Her tribe surrounded her, with calm, smiling and reverential eyes. They were silent as was the custom. The village elder came forward, bowed and place a gilded Iron Crown, strangely like the one from Nimogogg's realm, on her head. The Elder then sat a runed and ornate chest at her feet.

Freya opened the chest to reveal the most majestic of weapons. Golden twin hammers, immaculately crafted and engraved with the rune of her tribe. Freya had passed the Three Labors, and now her reign began. She smiled, as she knew her father would be proud.