Featured Writer: Fixit

[natalie]

We are so happy to have Fixit as our featured author this month. Read a chapter of his NaNo project below- as well as our conversation with him!

Chapter 6


As they walked to the dining hall, Ollie asked Sif who Tyr really was. She was happy to oblige him.

“Tyr is one of the bravest and fiercest of us all. He inspires great loyalty in all in Asgard. You saw how, at his command, the einherjar tore each other apart? Despite their constant rebirth, the wounds they sustain in battle pain them as if they were still mortals; every slice, every tear, every broken bone, every disembowelment. Still, they fight, for no other reason then he asks them to, and for the glory that he promises them. The group of warriors that you saw today are fiercely committed to Tyr, perhaps even more to him that to Odin himself. There are others, though, who think differently.”

She stopped and turned to look him square in the eye. “He is impressed by you. Your gambit was risky, in fact, I thought he was going to kill you as soon as you asked for his spear, but you won the admiration of a great many today in just a few short minutes.” She stepped closer to him; he could feel her hot breath as she spoke. “They will all grow to love you, I think.”

“They? I’m hurt, Sif.”

She ignored him, and part of him was glad for that. The rest of him wanted her to step just an inch closer in response. Had she done that, he would have kissed her, he had no doubts about that, and then there would have been consequences. Still, he would have been powerless to stop himself, so he was grateful. For now.

Anxious to change course, he asked, “How did he lose his hand?”

“I already told you, earlier in the hallway.”

Ollie thought about what she had told him.

Fenrir. The binding of Fenrir. “Wait, he’s the guy who sacrificed his hand to bind that monster? Really?”

She nodded. “And you stood up to him. Now you realize the friend you have made today. An ally such as he is worth more than you could imagine.”

Ollie’s thoughts drifted back to when he lay on the floor of the arena, bleeding from his stomach, and Sif’s demeanor towards Tyr as she tended to the wound. “What did you say to Tyr when I was down?”

“I thought you may ask about that,” she said. “I told him that, if you perished because of his pettiness, he would have to deal with me. And I meant it.”



* * *



Sif took her leave of him, explaining that she had a husband to tend to, and Ollie had proven he could get by on his own. He didn’t realize how much he liked her near-constant presence until she was out of his sight. He figured he could manage without her for a little while, at least, though he really didn’t want to.

He smelled the food before he saw it. Finally. While the food assaulted his sense of smell, making him a little light-headed, the din on the other side of the door had a similar effect. Whatever was going on there, it was raucous.

He moved to open the door when it swung inwards away from him, thanks to another attractive shield-maiden. From what he had seen of this world, an Asgardian shield-maiden being beautiful was akin to water being wet; he already took it for granted. He smiled at her, and she bowed as he walked past the threshold. She closed the door behind him with a bang that echoed through the room, even above the noise of the scene before him.

There were banquet tables as long as football fields, and every inch of them was taken up by laughing, snarling, ravenous, drunk men. They tore into whatever was in front of them, and when that was gone it was quickly replaced by the scores of shield-maidens who waded through them. Food, drink, and sometimes fists flew.

To Ollie, the anarchy of it all was perfect. Pure. And a part of him wanted to just jump in with both feet, but he was still an outsider here, so he decided the best course of action was to grab some grub and stay the hell out of the way.

That plan was good up until the moment Tyr picked him out from a distance of some two hundred feet. Tyr raised his hand and somehow silenced this crowd within seconds; now that was respect. All eyes turned to look at him.

Shit.

Tyr raised his spear above his head in a familiar gesture. “Nieuwe strijder!” Fully half of the contingent in the room echoed him with raised fists and a thunderous roar. “NIEUWE STRIJDER!”

Ollie, unsure what to do, raised his own fist, and his einherjar (curious that he felt a sense of ease when among them now) exploded into cheers.

The ones who didn’t just stared at him, and he could feel what couldn’t be anything else but contempt. Some sneered, others whispered among themselves, while the more disturbing among the bunch fiddled menacingly with their weapons. Ollie decided to give those men a wide berth, at the very least.

He couldn’t know that, in just a few short minutes when things got interesting, that he would no longer have that option.

He walked towards Tyr and his men, and they swarmed over him and good-naturedly pounded him on the back and shoulders. A mug of something foamy was thrust is his face, so he took it, decided it would be best not to think too much, and pounded it, and that elicited another cheer It might as well have been gasoline, but he didn’t mind, because he had become one of them already. He had found brothers, and there were many worse things in the world than that.

The rest of the warriors eventually forgot about him and got back to their version of normal. One among their number, however, still shot daggers at him: a gigantic redhead with a crazy beard and crazier eyes. Ollie knew without knowing that this man was Thor, and that he was going to be a problem for Ollie, sooner rather than later.

Next to Thor was his hammer, just resting on the table. This in itself wasn’t what drew Ollie’s gaze. But the men taking turns attempting, and without exception, failing to lift it, was more than enough. He asked the nearest warrior, who mentioned what sounded like “enchantment”, though it was hard to make it out clearly.

Thor planted his enormous hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his hammer in one swift motion. He strode directly towards Ollie, deliberate and purposeful.

Here we go. The funny part is I haven’t even done anything. He tried to ignore the approaching god, but Thor was not about to let that happen. He slammed his hammer down next to him, spilling ale into Ollie’s lap.

Tyr stood up faced Thor. “That is enough.”

Thor stepped forward and stood nose-to-nose with him. It was easy to see that there was a history of mutual dislike between these two. “I will decide what is enough.”

Might as well get this over with. He stood up, straightened to his full height, and still came up six inches short of the two warrior-gods. He put a hand on Tyr’s shoulder and said, “I got this, big fella. Thanks.”

Tyr moved just enough to allow Ollie in, but he didn’t move far. Ollie bowed in greeting, which Thor half-heartedly returned. “Well met, Thunder God.” Sif had given him instruction in protocol and proper greeting.

“Aye, well met,” Thor said. He looked around him at the einherjar who, regardless of where their loyalties were in this confrontation, looked on edge and ready for a fight. “Made yourself comfortable, have you? Found some drinking fellows?”

“He has earned it,” Tyr interjected. “Bested two warriors with no warning.”

“Bested two of your warriors. He would not best mine.” A cheer rose from his faction.

Ollie saw Tyr bristle at that slight, and he got angry for him and his. And now mine. “Is that so? Care to put that to the test?” He was feeling confident from his earlier encounter, and this time he knew what to expect. The fact that most of them were rip-roaring drunk and sloppy didn’t exactly dissuade him from the challenge. “Here and now?”

“You should still your tongue, else it be removed for you.”

“Is that a no?”

Thor pointed to the closest of his men, though, snarling and drooling as he was, he more closely resembled a wild animal. Just a man, that’s all.

The man charged, and the fight was over in just a few seconds. Ollie stepped aside and, using the man’s own wild momentum against him, catapulted him into Thor, who went ass over tea kettle, with the added indignity of both the warrior and a table full of food landing on top of him.

The rest was pure pandemonium, the ultimate bar-room brawl. The two sides clashed in a mess or fists, Ollie and his brothers giving as good as they got. Thor had gotten to his feet and was tossing bodies aside with little concern for their allegiance, all to get to Ollie. He got close enough to grab the object of his rage, but was met with a flying tackle from Tyr, one hand be damned. The two titans traded mighty blows, reeling and rallying. Under different circumstances Ollie would have paid good money to see this fight in the ring. Don King would have been salivating at the prospect.

A fist crashed into Ollie’s jaw, and he stumbled, but pressed forward again. He saw that a shield-maiden was caught between two combatants. He recognized her as the one who had opened the door for him a lifetime ago, so he pulled her to him and, prior to releasing her, kissed her firmly on the mouth. He spun her away to safety, a smile on both of their lips. God help him, he was actually having fun. He supposed brawls like this happened a lot, even before he was here to start them. The einherjar fought like madmen, even without weapons, which seemed to be an unwritten rule within these walls.

Several hands closed around his neck and shoulders, nearly immobilizing him. He soon saw why, as Thor, who had somehow separated from Tyr, approached, a killing blow pulled back. Ollie threw his head back, crushing the nose of the man behind him.

He ducked under Thor’s fist, but it was too close. He didn’t think he would get that lucky again. Thor cocked his fist once more; Ollie was pinned against the table.

The hammer.

Pure instinct drove him to sweep up Thor’s hammer and hold it in front of him to absorb the blow. Thor’s fist crashed into the hammer, which absorbed most of the blow, and still Ollie flew backwards onto the table, landing in some sort of stew.

The silence was so sudden and complete that Ollie figured the only thing that was missing was the sound effect of a needle scratching across a record.

For the second time tonight, every person in the room stared at him, but this time it was out of shock. Even the Thunder God’s mouth hung open in surprise. “What? What’d I do?” Ollie asked.

Thor got a hold of himself. “Give. Me. My. Hammer.”

Ollie climbed out of the stew and walked towards Thor, studying Mjollnir. There was nothing all that peculiar about it, save for the fact that men bigger than he couldn’t even lift it, and he had wielded it against its owner.

All right, so I guess that is a little weird.

He stood in front of Thor, oddly satisfied to see that a vein in his forehead was throbbing so hard it might burst. “Here you go,” he said, cheer in his voice. Ollie tensed as Thor reached for his hammer, sure that he would take an opportunity to take a sucker punch. He looked like he wanted to tear Ollie apart, but he merely accepted his weapon and turned to leave. On his way out he and Mjollnir exploded the end of a table with one blow.

Ollie took the opportunity to leave through the opposite door. As he left, the shield-maiden that he had kissed opened the door for him once more. He was out in the hall again, only this time he had company.

“What’s your name?”

“I am Kajsa.” The shield-maiden replied.

“Kajsa. May I ask you a question?”

“Aye.”

Ollie remembered what the einherjar had called him. “What does ‘nieuwe strijder’ mean?”

“In your tongue, it means ‘new warrior’. Now, may I ask something of you?”

“Of course.”

“It is bold.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you wish to have company tonight?” She asked coyly.
He didn’t have to think long on the offer. “Aye. I most definitely would.”






Chapter 8



A long time before Ollie’s arrival Frigg, wife of Odin and mother of Balder, the god of light and purity, awoke with a start. She, like Sif, had the gift of foresight, only Frigg was cursed with knowing the destiny of every man and woman in Asgard. She was doubly cursed because she refused to reveal anything, even to Odin himself.

Tonight, she dreamed of her beloved son Balder’s premature death. That, she could not abide, and set out to take precautions. She intended to extract a promise from each and every object of this world to do no harm to her son. She was meticulous, methodical, and in the end she was certain that she had missed nothing. Balder was safe.



* * *



Ollie’s first and only meeting with Balder was strange and tragic, and it led to his self-exile from Asgard. Balder was a handsome man, and loved by all. It took Ollie only a few moments to understand why. Balder greeted him with a bow and the warmest of handshakes. He commented that he had taken the time to witness Ollie’s training and how impressive he was. His compliments were thoroughly genuine.

“Aye, you are to be commended for the level of knowledge of Asgard you have gained in such a short time. Others who have been here for lifetimes show less care than you have.” He offered a toast to Ollie. “To you, adopted son of Asgard!”

Scores of drinks were lifted in Ollie’s direction. “Son of Asgard!”

He waved them away, modest and a little but embarrassed. Such was the charm of Balder, which perfectly contrasted Loki’s false sincerity, which Ollie experience yet again when Loki came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder, Mr. Congeniality. Ollie fought an urge to draw his knife and press it to Loki’s throat. He squelched it, but appreciated the comforting weight of it on his hip nonetheless.

Dinner commenced, and it was, by far, the most fun Ollie had enjoyed in years. Balder was the reason.

After a lot of food and even more drink had been consumed, Ollie was witness to the weirdest party game he had ever seen. He had heard the tale of Frigg’s quest, and of her success. Balder, it was said, could not be harmed, so a sport had evolved: throwing anything and everything at him. Balder took all it in good spirits, even egging some of the contestants on into throwing stranger objects.

Kajsa joined him briefly and kissed him passionately, possibly a taste of the night to come. She left him, back to tending to the crowd.

It was fascinating to watch all manners of object harmlessly bounce off of him. Large metal steins, rocks, shields, even animals. It was impossible to watch without laughing. Even old Frigg enjoyed the show.

Another of Frigg’s sons, Hod, stepped up to throw at his brother. Hod, blind from birth, needed a pair of eyes to aim, however. Loki volunteered, and an alarm rang in Ollie’s head.

Hod asked, “What will it be today, my brother? A spear? A chair perhaps?”

Loki said, “How about something smaller? This dart of mistletoe, mayhap? Surely this could not harm you, kind Balder!” Ollie looked at Frigg, who seemed entirely unconcerned; she seemed confident that the mistletoe would hold to its oath.

It most certainly would have, if it were mistletoe.

As Loki handed the dart to gentle, trusting Hod, Ollie heard a slight, muffled clicking sound that was very familiar to him. Had he placed it a few seconds earlier, he could have saved Balder’s life, as well as Hod’s, and he would not have been exiled into dreaded Jotunheim.

Hod pulled his arm back to throw, guided by Loki.

Ollie’s mind identified the sound and his hand shot to his belt.

No.

His knife was gone.

“Hod! No!”

Too late. Hod released the dart-which-wasn’t, it flew true, straight to Balder’s heart. As soon as the knife buried itself in flesh, the spell that Loki had placed upon it dissipated, and there was Ollie’s knife for all to see.

Frigg had gotten oaths from everything in this world. What stuck in unsuspecting Balder was the only object not of this world, and it was obvious that, out of anyone, of course it would be the Liar of Liars who would use that to his advantage.

Balder seemed oblivious to the reality of the situation. He stood there for several drawn-out seconds, that same sincere smile plastered on his face, lighting up the company. Ollie watched in horror as the blood seeped out from around the blade, then moved to catch him. All he could offer Balder was a soft landing.

And that is how the wonderful, harmless Balder died: collapsing into Ollie’s arms, a victim of jealousy and ultimate treachery.

Ollie was surprised to find that he was crying, and even more surprised to find that he was by far the only one. He grasped the hilt of his knife and pulled it out. He slipped it back into its sheath, still stained with Balder’s innocent blood.

Poor, blind Hod still had no idea what had happened. “What? Did I miss him?” He continued to ask questions, and panicked when no answers were forthcoming. Loki, his guide of a few minutes ago, was nowhere to be found. Ollie’s conscious completely shut down. He laid Balder on the floor, got up, walked through the utterly shocked guests and into the hallway.

He broke into a run, knowing where Loki would be headed, where he would have to be headed if he wished to escape from here in one piece. He flew through Gladsheim, the great hall he had come to know as well as his own home. He thought he just might catch Loki, but only if he pushed himself harder. I swear he’s going to pay.

He reached the corridor that would lead him to the stables, and he caught a glimpse of Loki’s backside. Ollie was a warrior in peak physical condition, and Loki was a privileged being who almost never had cause to run, so Ollie closed the gap as fast as he could have hoped. He was going to catch him.

And then what? I am still mortal, after all.

Ollie felt all he had to do was stall Loki long enough for someone like Tyr to get there and handle it. Ollie figured he could find several ways to keep Loki busy, and they all involved the business end of a sword…which he just realized he didn’t have.

Just let me catch the son of a bitch, and I’ll wing it.

He made the stable and Loki was hoisting himself up onto a gleaming white horse. Ollie launched himself at the Trickster and executed a perfect high tackle, both of them sprawling in the dirt and hay. Ollie used his momentum and rolled to his feet, looking for a weapon. There was none to be found. He moved on Loki, who was rising much more slowly, anyway. He began to pummel Loki with closed fists, not willing to let up for even one second. The spooked horses began to whinny and stomp their feet, spooked.

I’m faster, meaner, and more disciplined. I can do this.

They both knew that he could, at least in the short term. That is why Loki, god that he was, war-son of Odin, cheated. It was in his nature. He grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in Ollie’s eyes. It didn’t blind Ollie and make him stumble around as it did in the movies, but he had to turn away from it for a second, and that was long enough. Loki unloaded with a wild haymaker. It was sloppy, but it had the benefit of raw power behind it.

Ollie flew backwards and crashed into the wall of the stable, stunned. He pitched forward, but caught himself with his hands before his face slammed into the dirt floor. He cleared his head and looked up to see Loki leaving on horseback, his escape in full swing.

Not yet, Ollie thought.

He mounted the nearest horse, a gleaming black creature, and took after Loki, forgetting that he had only been on a horse a few times, in another life. He had devoted all of his time in Asgard to training with the Einherjar, and had neglected something as simple as horseback riding. He would be lucky to not break his neck, but that didn’t matter right now.

He needn’t have worried. His horse took after Loki’s like it was his own personal mission. This horse practically rode itself, and Ollie would make him his own. He was fast, but Ollie thought he might not be fast enough. Loki had a large head start, was a skilled rider, and knew his destination. Still, Ollie’s horse was game for the chase, and persisted.

He thought he heard Loki laughing, and that stirred his anger. Stirred my anger? No, it pissed me off, is what it did. Ollie took a second to appreciate that he was even beginning to think in Asgardian terms and speech, and at another time this would have amused him.

Loki led them into the forest. Branches whipped across Ollie’s face and thorns ripped at the horse’s flanks, and still he pushed. This horse is like the Terminator. I couldn’t have chosen any better if I tried.

The distance between them had grown shorter, when they burst out of the forest and approached a fascinating sight: the rainbow bridge, Bifrost. That would mean that Heimdall would be…

…there.

“Heimdall!” Ollie yelled, feeling stupid for yelling. It was said that he could see clearly for a hundred miles and could hear the wool grow on a sheep’s back, so he must have known of their approach for miles. “Heimdall! Stop him!”

Heimdall didn’t move an inch as Loki flew past him, and now Ollie was sure he was laughing as he did. Ollie’s horse nearly threw him as it was startled by the sudden transition from earth to vibrant color.

He had gotten away. Ollie would find him, but not today. Defeated, he dismounted and ran his hand along the grooves in the horse’s flanks. They were ugly, but superficial. Ollie assumed his face looked similar. He grabbed a handful of grass and held it to his mouth, rubbing his snout, “Helluva ride, fella.”

He walked over to Heimdall. The guardian stared straight ahead, looking for any sign of giants moving on Asgard, as he constantly would until Ragnarok. A large, curved horn, the kind that was made from an actual horn, hung at his side.

During his stay in Asgard, Ollie had gotten over his awe of the gods. He had actually grown quite comfortable around them (except for Sif, of course). He thought nothing of standing next to Heimdall, shoulder-to-shoulder, and looking in the same direction. Heimdall neither welcomed him nor dissuaded him. Ollie spoke to him without looking. “Care to tell me why you didn’t stop Loki?”

Heimdall answered him quite frankly. “It is not my duty. I prevent entrance to Asgard, not flight from it.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” Ollie nodded. “Would it have changed your mind if you knew that he just murdered Balder?”

Heimdall winced. Ollie only saw it because he was looking for it. It was a small, barely perceptible reaction, but it was a reaction nonetheless. Somehow, that comforted Ollie a little. “I am not surprised. Loki has ever been envious of Balder. Despite his bravado, he is jealous of many.”

Ollie nodded again. “That’s plain to see.”

“You are a mortal, yet you chased a god. Why?”

“He played me for a fool, and a good man died. Is that a fine enough response?”

“Aye. No one understands that better than I. Loki is my enemy…then, now, and for all-time. I hope to slay him one day.”

This drew a snicker from Ollie. “You know something, Heimdall? I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Ollie was surprised when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Heimdall turned to look at him. It was the first real movement he had made. Ollie’s gaze never wavered from Bifrost; he thought that Heimdall might be testing him.

Heimdall studied the mortal beside him for several minutes, saying nothing. Then he seemed to reach the conclusion he had been searching for: “Aye. I would think it so.”

[natalie]

1- Where did you get the idea for this story?

I had the idea for my 2006 NaNo "Ragnarok" in my head for a few years. I originally planned to make it a screenplay, but when NaNo rolled around I decided that it was time to give it the treatment I felt it deserved.

2- What do you particularly like about this story?

I love action, battle scenes, love stories (when done non-cheesily) and mythology, and this story sounded like a great way to pull it all together.

3-What are you future plans as a writer? Any plans for this story?

My immediate plans are to finish the dang thing! I’ve been sitting on the climactic battle scene for way too long. I’m exactly where I want to be with it, and I know exactly where I want to go. Weird as it sounds, I think I’m a little afraid to part ways with a bunch of characters I feel like I know personally. Other than that: write, get published, get published some more, say goodbye to a 9-5 job. The thought of making a living by writing is as close as I can comprehend to Heaven on Earth.

4- What influences you as a writer?

Everything I see and hear. People I see on the street, random snippets of conversation, a newspaper headline, my own dreams…everything has the potential to be, if not a great story itself, a part of one. My wife telling me to hurry up and make a million dollars helps keep me motivated, too.

5-This story is written from a third-person perspective. Do you typically write in this perspective?

I typically write using the third-person omniscient, though I like third-person limited, as well. First person can be powerful, given the right story. I dabbled in second-person present once…yeesh. I don’t recommend getting that cute with your story.

6-What made you decide to participate in NaNoWriMo?

When desire to finish your first novel meets a desire to challenge yourself to do it in thirty days, you get NaNoWriMo. It was pretty much a one-man bet. I further handicapped myself by signing up five days late, so that was fun.

7-What’s your preferred genre to write? How about to read?

Same for both: horror, mystery, suspense, mythological.

8-What is the biggest challenge you face in writing?

Up until a few years ago, it was motivation. Now, it’s finding time. I have a three-month-old son, Nathan, who takes up a lot of my time, and deservedly so. I’ve learned to adapt, so I’ve become an accomplished one-handed typist.

9-Who is your favorite author? Why?

I’d have to name two. Stephen King remains The Man to me, though most of his recent work pales in comparison to his earlier stuff. I still love the stories he tells, I just don’t always dig how he tells them. He’s been my greatest influence, which is odd considering that my style isn’t all that similar.

Also, Robert McCammon, author of “Swan Song” and “Boy’s Life.” The latter book has stuck with me on a deeper level than any other. It’s a remarkable piece of writing.

10-If you could have dinner with any fictional character, whom would it be?

My first choice would probably be Spider-Man, but I’m sure he’d have to leave right in the middle of the meal to save the city or something, and I'd be stuck with the check. So I’ll go with Roland Deschain, the Gunslinger from King’s Dark Tower series. If ever there was a way of life I could get behind, the life of a Gunslinger would be it. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.

[Fixit]

I really like this guy's stuff.

[natalie]

*snort*

You make me laugh.