Free Fire and Lies by Angela Chrysler

up over his wide chest, forcing Bergen to shuffle into the empty spot he had offered to Kallan.
    “Darling,” Bergen exploded, rubbing a hand over Ottar’s chest.
    “Ger’ off,” Ottar said, adding a back handed punch to Bergen’s shoulder.
    With a chuckle, Bergen laid back, the usual grin stretching his mouth. Kallan scowled as she shifted herself into a more comfortable position.
    Eager to welcome the sudden warmth that enveloped her, Kallan eased onto her back and, despite her mental flourish of protests, she fell into a sound sleep.
    * * *
    The wind rattled the forest leaves with a gentleness that coaxed Bergen awake. He sighed and watched his breath billow into a ball before as it dispersed into the cold air. Ottar snored quietly beside him, unconscious to the world around them.
    Shifting his weight, Bergen flipped onto his side and tucked his arm beneath his head, then stopped.
    Stretched across Rune’s chest, Kallan lay fast asleep under Rune’s arm where it was wrapped protectively around her. Her hand fell with elegance down Rune’s side and Bergen watched, stupefied, as she rose and fell peaceably in time to Rune’s breath.
    Bergen moved to settle himself back to sleep, but paused mid-shift as Rune slid his hand into Kallan’s hair. Bergen watched Kallan release a deep sigh as she nuzzled Rune’s chest, confirming his suspicions.
    Laying his head onto his arm, Bergen stared at the tent’s ceiling. He spent the next hour sorting through what little he knew about the night his brother took off to Midgard and the weeks that followed.
    After sending his mind through a maze of dead ends, he forced himself to sleep comforted with the plan to extract every answer out of Rune by tomorrow’s end.
     

 
    S igyn rode without rest, aware of each day lost at Loptr’s side, as Svadilfari carried her without sleep. The flames of Muspellsheim burned her flesh from the impervious heat as she came to face the grand, steel gates alive with the inferno that forever burned as constant and as consumed in flame as the sun. The ground was hardened, black stone, steaming with the constant heat that fed the realm. Frequent pockets of bright, golden reds pushed their way through the black ground alongside pillars of flames that rose from the rock. There was no life save only what the fire gave.
    Sigyn stopped briefly at the pair of giant, ebony fire wyrms that flanked the steps of Surtr’s hall. Their long, slender bodies twisted and curled then tapered to the tips of their tails like snakes until they seemed to entangle themselves in their own spine. Both wyrms tightly tucked their grand, willowy wings to their sides.
    They slept as Sigyn approached, paying no mind as one raised its snake-like head to glance curiously at her with its one good eye, round and black and red, as black as a fire opal. With a snort, it deemed her harmless and nestled its untethered head back beside its four-toed paw, giving her a glimpse at a scar that sealed its right eye. The fire wyrm returned to sleep.
    Undaunted by their vast presence, Sigyn urged Svadilfari through the burning gates, unconsumed with undying flames that licked the red sky. She came to the doors of Surtr’s hall and dismounted, leaving Svadilfari alone at the bottom of the yellow steps encrusted in brimstone.
    Gathering her skirts in her sweating palm, and through a sharp stench that pierced her nose, Sigyn ascended the steps to the open doors, her head high, charged by the need to hope.
    “Surtr!” Sigyn cried with an undeterred stance as she walked down the length of Surt’s hall. “My Lord!”
    “Sigyn!”
    The boom of Surtr’s voice rumbled the halls and rattled Sigyn’s heart. She gritted her teeth and held to her strength as she neared the steps of his throne.
    “You come with a request,” Surtr stated plainly, knowing her purpose before she spoke. “Ask it then. Be brief,” he commanded as Sigyn came to stop at the feet of his throne flanked by the set of