Johan pushed himself away from the cave wall where he had paused for a few sweet seconds. No longer breathing in great shuddering gasps, Johan forced himself forward after checking to make sure the child was secure in his sling. He stumbled on, using his long sword as both a crutch and a probe to check the floor for sudden sinkholes.
If he’d had any spare moisture in his body, he would have cried with joy as a sudden turn in the tunnel brought the welcome sound of rushing water. Johan knew he was nearing the surface now that the great underground river was at hand. In his eagerness, Johan moved faster and slipped on the damp tunnel floor that had been smoothed over the ages by running water.
Desperate to keep the child safe, Johan twisted awkwardly as he fell and took the full impact on his chest and face. His long sword clanged clearly above the roar of the river as it spun down the passageway. Surprisingly, the child remained silent as if he realized his newly-returned life depended on it.
Momentarily panicked at being weaponless, Johan plunged down the slippery tunnel, grasping wildly for his sword. There, near the edge of the torrent, it laid waiting for him. As he reached down and grasped the hilt, Johan felt a sudden cold hit him. He could see the frost instantly form on the back of his mud-smeared hand. Johan knew they had found him.
Cursing the gods and himself, Johan peered through the fog of his own breath, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the three figures he knew must be scant yards away. Laughing to himself bitterly, Johan could hardly believe that he could have come so far and be so near to reaching the surface and yet would fail here. Here, where his son would die again.
“NO!” Johan screamed to the oppressing dark. “You will not have him! I tricked your boatman, Harbard! I outwitted Hel and I beat your watchdog, Garm! I will NOT let you take him back!” As his clothes quickly stiffened in the growing cold, Johan’s strength suddenly deserted him and he sank to his knees. “I promised his mother. I promised.” he whispered as he stared down into the rushing waters. A large bubble went spinning by and a desperate plan was born.
Working quickly, Johan emptied his two waterskins and inflated them with air. Whispering a heartfelt prayer to Frigga, the mother-goddess and protector of children, Johan lashed the waterskins to the leather sling holding his son. “May the gods protect you now my son. Your destiny is of your own making. The death ordained by the Norns has already happened and now you walk your own path. Make it a bold one.”
Reaching down the low ledge to place the makeshift raft into the river, Johan knew he had run out of time. He felt his fate was at hand. Rising up, he turned to face the tunnel and saw them. Shrouded in dark cloth, they moved silently toward him. Once again, Johan cursed his own stupidity. For all his plans and clever maneuvering, he had forgotten to take the Norns into account. He had failed to realize they might be upset at his defiance and reversal of the fate they had decreed for his son.
Johan laughed as he raised his sword. His son was swirling away toward the river’s exit, and a curious lightness filled Johan as he became convinced that his son would find safety at the surface. Perhaps it was the nearness to Norns that gave Johan a glimpse of the future, but he knew that his only task now was to buy his son more time. It would cost him his life, but how many men in Valhalla would be able to brag that they had fought the Three Sisters of Fate in hand-to-hand combat?
As Johan strode forward to meet the single Norn coming down the corridor, his only regret was that he would not be there to see what destiny his son would carve out for himself, free of the fate the Norns had dictated. As his first swing descended toward the shrouded figure, Johan could see one of the other Norns bring a black and pitted knife to bear on a glowing thread stretched between the hands of the other cowled figure.
In the darkness, a child cried out for his father.
