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The Samhain Gate
11/24/2008
The cold of the stone floor burned Iris through her jeans.
She stared at the stones, wishing she could disappear into them, hoping she was making herself small enough. Iris had never been very religious, never really thought about various divinities, besides the mythology they forced her to learn in school. Apparently it wasn’t mythology after all. She half-expected Zeus to come striding out of the side door. If Odin and Thor were real, why not all the others? She tried to make her brain work, but it seemed to be filled with cold syrup. Images and bits of stories she’d heard flashed, elusive, though her mind. Iris realized her mouth was open and shut it, hoping she hadn’t been drooling all over the god’s floor.
“Get up girl,” There was a note of amusement in Odin’s voice; “I’m not going to eat you.”
She took a couple deep breaths before attempting to find her feet, and then stood up slowly, keeping her eyes down. Not only as respect and—she hoped—proper humility, but also to avoid his penetrating gaze.
“What is your name, girl?”
She swallowed hard, “Iris,” her voice sounded small and pathetic to her own ears, she hoped it wasn’t really that bad, “um. . .” she panicked for a moment, how did one address a god? “. . . Sir.” ‘Sir’ was good; she reassured herself desperately, no one could take offence at ‘sir.’
“She’s not what I expected of you, my son.”
“I can explain.”
“No need. Thank you for bringing her. Tyr will take charge of her.”
Even Iris knew a dismissal when she heard one. She was still staring at the floor, but imagined Thor had bowed again, and she could now hear his footsteps retreating from the hall.
Iris stayed where she was, working her hands together, staring at the floor, hoping she hadn’t offended anyone. Why was she here? She hated the thought of Thor abandoning her. Not that he’d been exactly nice, but at least she’d gotten an idea of what to expect from him. And she’d bought him beer. She hadn’t done anything for Odin, and had no idea how he might act.
“Stop staring at the floor, girl!” Iris jumped and looked up involuntarily, then cringed. The god was looking at her. She relaxed a little after a moment. He seemed to have turned off the stripping, penetrating power of his eye, and now seemed nothing more than an old man with long gray hair and a long gray beard.
“Tyr!”
She jumped again at the curt summons, and another tall man appeared out of the shadows behind the throne. He was more slender than Thor, muscled like a gymnast instead of a wrestler, with incredibly pale white-gold hair and beard. With a start, she noticed his left hand was missing at the wrist. Iris wondered how a deity could loose an appendage.
“Sir?”
“Apparently, this is your brother’s choice. Train her, arm her, and bring her to Valhalla to be tested.”
He bowed, “Yes, sir.”
“It should be . . . interesting.” He waved a hand in their general direction, and settled back into his chair.
Test? What sort of test? Iris realized Tyr was looking at her expectantly. He motioned her to the side, where a smaller door opened to let them back into the courtyard. Iris was glad she at least didn’t have to walk back across the silent, echoing Hall.
Blinking in the sudden bright light of outside, Iris turned to her new companion. He was looking at her the way someone would look at a car they were thinking of buying, weighing the features and the cost. She squirmed a little under his gaze, wondering what features he was wanting, and which of those—if any—she possessed. Finally he smiled, and Iris noticed for the first time that he was almost unbelievably handsome. She supposed that was natural, considering he was a god.
“I’m Tyr.” He inclined his head, just a little.
“I’m Iris.” By this point she was glad she could remember her own name, and wished desperately she’d had some sort of formal etiquette training as a child.
“Sorry about Thor. He’s a little . . . crusty, until you get to know him.” He laughed, “I would have brought you myself, but technically it’s his place to choose and present the champion, and mine to train him.”
Tyr seemed slightly more approachable than anyone else she’d met today, “Champion?”
“Walk with me. We’re going to my Hall. I’ll explain on the way.”
He began walking out of the courtyard, back to the road, and Iris followed, trying to keep up with his longer stride. He was at least a foot taller than her own five-five, and Iris had to hurry to keep up. She hoped where they were going wasn’t far.
“There are nine realms in the universe. This is Asgard; the one you inhabit is Midgard. Usually, the borders of these realms can only be traversed by certain beings. I can travel between them, you cannot.” He looked down at her, and Iris realized he’d shorted he stride so she could keep up, “Understand?” She nodded, it sounded pretty straightforward so far, comparatively speaking. “However, at certain times of the year, during phases of the moon or alignments of the stars, the barriers between the worlds can weaken and things can get though that shouldn’t. Turn left here.” There was a road branching off the main track, they turned. “Still understand?” Iris nodded again. “Good. Now, because all the nine worlds are connected, when something gets out of balance, everything gets out of balance. We, the Aesir, like to keep that from happening. More specifically, the Allfather likes us to keep that from happening. Therefore, he told Thor to choose a human and give him some of the powers of the Aesir, and so make him our champion on Earth. Am I still making sense?”
“How?” Iris realized she was speaking and swallowed her throat closing.
“Go on, girl.”
“How did you end up with me?”
“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “there was a bit of a mix-up with you. Thor had picked out a man, a street fighter, and was all set to hit him, when something went wrong and he hit you instead.”
“So, this is all just a big mistake?” Relief washed over her. She wouldn’t have to do anything heroic after all. They could just undo whatever had happened and she could go home. Maybe they could even wipe her memory or make her think all this was a dream. “You can just pick someone else?”
“Unfortunately, no. The Allfather commanded me to train you, so I must. When you’re ready, I’ll take you to the fields of Valhalla and The Allfather will test you.”
Iris tried to ignore the sinking, sick feeling in her stomach, “What happens if I don’t pass the test?” Somehow she doubted it would be multiple-choice.
Tyr stopped walking and looked down at her, “You’ll die.”
“What!?”
“I am sorry, Iris. There’s nothing I can do except give you the best instruction I can. My Hall is just up this way.”
* * *
The distance was not what Iris considered “just up the way,” but was glad of the chance to try and think through what was happening. What was happening? Somewhere in the back of her mind, Iris still expected to wake up at any moment. Deeper down, she knew she wasn’t dreaming, and was trying to keep from sitting down in the middle of the road and having hysterics.
Tyr walked along a half-stride a head of her. She could tell he was slowing down to match her pace, and was momentarily distracted by the glint of the sun on his nearly-white hair. Her gaze slid down to his missing hand. She wondered about it again, but wasn’t about to ask. What sort of test would she be expected to pass? How long would she be here? What sort of training was she going to get? What if she failed? Iris’ stomach clenched. She wasn’t ready to die, especially not because some god she didn’t even believe in had screwed up. Her life wasn’t very exciting, and probably not very meaningful in the grand scheme of things, but, it was hers. It was the only was she had.
“There it is.”
Iris jumped, and then looked to where Tyr was pointing. Sitting on a small rise, overlooking a rocky beach, was a surprisingly modest group of buildings. She glanced back and couldn’t see the giant Hall they’d come from. They must have walked farther than she’d thought.
“This will be home for you for a little while. What do you think?” The rise was covered in green, and sloped gently down to the sea. Three horses grazed in a fenced corral on one side of the building. It looked like something out of a picture book. Iris was charmed, despite her worries.
“It’s beautiful.” Her smile fell, “How long will I be here?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. As long as it takes.”
She stopped walking, “But, I have a job! I can’t just disappear!” Iris groaned and put a hand to her temple, “My purse. I left my purse in that . . . cart . . . thing.”
“I’ll send a messenger to get your bag, don’t worry.”
“How can I not worry? This is a nightmare! I am going to be so fired!” She moved restlessly, aimlessly.
Tyr grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, “Listen! Relax! Time is different here. You won’t be missed.”
Her whole body relaxed, “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now, come on.” Keeping his hand between her shoulder blades, Tyr walked her towards the building.
The sick feeling in her stomach eased a little, at least—if she survived—she wouldn’t have to worry about showing up on a missing persons list.
The reached the doors to the largest building, much smaller than the massive doors to Odin’s Hall. Keeping his right hand on her shoulders, as though afraid she might try to cut and run, Tyr used the stump of his left arm to push the door open. “Come in, Iris.”
She followed him into the hall, looking around. Only a couple stories tall, roofed with beams and thatch, and only large enough to hold—maybe—a hundred. The windows were larger, and sunlight streamed across benches and tables. She stepped onto a braided rug, one of many which covered the floor. There were hangings on the walls, done in scenes of battle. Iris didn’t have much time to stop and look, she followed after Tyr. While Odin’s Hall was built to make the person entering it feel small and insignificant, Tyr’s house seemed to be built for the personal comfort of himself, and maybe a few close friends.
A string of guttural, primitive words rang out across the room. Iris jumped, looked, and realized that it was Tyr who was speaking. A blonde girl was at the other end of the room, clearing out of a fire pit. She replied in a few words of the same language, and then went back to scooping out ashes. Iris watched the exchange, feeling utterly lost. Apparently, not everyone here spoke English, or whatever magic had enabled her to understand was now gone.
Tyr turned to her, “Good, your room is ready. You’re looking rather the worse for wear. I have a few things to do, you might want to have a bath and eat something.”
“How can I understand you?”
“I’m speaking your language. Come on, your room is this way.” He led her though the room, past the head table, and out a side door. There was a narrow hallway, and he opened the third door on the right. He opened it and showed her in.
The room was surprisingly large, and more airy than Iris expected from the cramped confines of the hall. A large, open window looked out over the ocean and a bed made from dark, heavy timbers was in the center of the room, with a chest at the foot of it. Another braided rug covered the floor beside the bed.
“I told my girls to get the room ready for you. There’s also some decent clothes in the trunk, feel free to make use of them. The bath is through there,” he motioned to another door opposite the one they had entered.
“But,” Iris didn’t want him leaving without answering her question, “how are you speaking English?”
“I like to travel, so does the Allfather and Thor, so we’ve all learned some of the local languages. Heimdall guards the bridge to Asgard, so he knows many different languages as well.”
“So,” Iris was getting that sick feeling in her stomach again, “only the four of you speak any English at all?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her, “Don’t worry, if you need to speak to any of my servants, I can translate. Now, enjoy your bath, I’ll have one of my girls bring you something to eat. I have to see to a few things, and then we can get you fitted for your armor.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“That’s a good girl. I’ll be right back.” He walked out and closed the door behind him.
Iris sat down on the chest and put her head in her hands. She was alone in a strange place, she didn’t speak the language, and the only person who had been at all nice to her had just left her. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been looking forward to a weekend of doing laundry, now she was in a—Iris didn’t know exactly where she was—with no idea how to get home. Her mind shut down, and Iris did the only thing left to do; she began to cry.
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