Hall of the King, towering pillars and citadels stood picturesque before Odin, and somehow, the weight of its greatness hovered over his shoulders and urged him on. Led by the guardians of the palace, Odin walked solemnly through the halls. Colossal and barren, there was no lack of eloquence in their marks. The rich gilt patterns of the walls and the floors were embroidered in a familiar way that caught the eyes of all the passersby. Towards the far end of the narrow anteroom were two lanky doors adjacent to the hall. Four other guards stood impassive, blocking its entrance. Odin paused impatiently and one of the guards who had led him through the hall stepped forward and faced the guards.
“Närvaro förväntas!”! As if used as a password, the phrase immediately signaled the guards, who stepped aside in an orchestrated manner and unnecessarily pushed both doors. The doors creaked heavily and Odin entered with careful haste. The room was shaped as a dome; its center floor pigmented marble that held mysterious symbols and calligraphy, mapped onto three overlapping circles. At the center of the smallest circle was a black star. Across the room were positioned seven cathedras that were aligned to form an arc. The centered seating was the longest and widest of all, on which, was seated the High, King of the Hall. The old face was wearier than intimidating, but the slow, cautious, way of his eyes and hands flashed an uncomfortable resemblance to a snake. Odin stopped at the center of the room, his feet, light above the star, and bowed before the king.
The king assessed him quietly and then queried, “Who enters my presence?”
Odin straightened himself. “King Gylfi, your Highness.” Despite the appropriate use of title, the King of High remained quite firm.
“What is your business here?”
Odin relaxed. It was never right to use a disguise but the times had given him no option. Fortunately, no one questioned his identity. “I only seek your council,” he said.
“Hah!” the King of the Hall guffawed. “I am a very busy man. Especially in these times, the world has gone mad!”
Odin contained his temper. “But your highness, I have come a long way to be at your presence. Surely you can spare some time to…enlighten me with your wisdom.” Odin paused, watching for any change emotion from the king; there was none. He continued, “I only wish to know about the Wyrd of the Gods. News has spread quickly but your people are still in no more fear than they should be.”
The King chuckled wearily and began, “The times have indeed changed. I will tell you what you need to know: There is a goddess; her name is Iounn. Her apples of youth may be the only thing left that can save us.”
“I will retrieve it,” prompted Odin.
“Hah! No one can, I assure you.” The King eyed Odin thoughtfully. “I have something for you.” He said, and slowly stepped down the cathedra. He walked to the far end of the room and hovered over a large door and entered. It seemed to lead into a small storage, but that was all Odin was allowed to see. Minutes later, the King of the Hall came out with several items in his arms. “Ah, here we go,” he said walking towards him. “This should help. Now this,” he said holding up a thin wiry tunic that glimmered in silver and was outlined with gold, “is one of a kind. It is made of dragon skin; indestructible it is, but light as a feather.” He handed me the tunic and handed me a sheath-like packet. “This contains a lightning bolt. It proves greatly useful in surprise battles. Use it well.”
Odin accepted these gifts gratefully. “Thank you,” he said. “But, why are you helping me?” The King of the Hall smiled, an unusual expression crossed his face, close to virulent mischief, but it was gone too quick to ponder. “It’s the end of the world, isn’t it?” he asked. “What is there to lose?”
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