Fiction logo

The Rent of Ragnarokk

Casualties

By Theis OrionPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 4 min read
1
The Rent of Ragnarokk
Photo by Leonardo Yip on Unsplash

Yesterday, I met with a yawning chasm in an old man's face--some strange trick he conjured, when he revealed that he lacked an eye. It had bothered me to be so stricken by it--we all have holes these days, where precious things once were--and so I'd knuckled down, to conclude our trade.

But the abyss returned to loom large in my dreams, and it seemed that it now lurked everywhere about me. The sky gaped above, looking hungry and empty--like a gravity of its own was brewing, and we might soon be swallowed by the sky. I saw it in people's faces as well--wide-eyed, gripped with a mix of alarm, fear and bafflement. The world was being taken by degrees, slowly fading into gray-- hopeless and lightless.

It infuriated me to care, though. These were people who had acted as though they'd crafted the earth beneath their feet--even as they'd stolen it. The present was a pat answer to their crimes.

I was walking down a side street, on my way to the Main, when I passed a man frozen before his front gate (its window boxes of petunias and marigolds now shriveled and gray, like everything else). The front of his house looked like it had been punched in by a great fist--which was the truth of it--and I could hear the howls of wolves in the distance. The man wasn't moving, just staring into nothing, holding a package wrapped in brown paper, tied with a string--suspicious, because knots no longer held here, any more than any other bond.

But I knew its source. The giants had their own laws--and poisoned gifts. Soon, what was left of this man's world would be gone--he would awaken from the spell to find a gaping hole where his home had been. And his face would be yet another reflecting the abyss. Or things might be much worse than that.

Either way, saving him was a trap. I could hear the wolves' howls as they circled nearer, waiting for some unwary fool to help him--one of many reasons I usually avoided residential areas. Moreover, there were tolls to be paid here, and what one couldn't pay was always taken in blood. I walked on. I'd been stupid enough to try and save people like this before, and even when you overcame their catatonia and nearly died yourself, they still blamed you for everything in the end.

I emerged onto Main Street--and comparative safety--to find more people than ever, their moods ranging from stupefied to hysterical. Hysterics didn't last long; they drew too much attention. Those who were stupefied lasted a bit longer, but not much. In a few days, the crowds would likely be back to normal.

I felt a hunger to find what had washed on the shores from the night's storms. There were always good trades after a bout of disaster. I spotted someone on the corner, and felt that familiar pull of gold. Everything, though, seemed useless--books and papers, more treasured dinnerware--chipped after last night's tremors and quakes. What made people think such a thing would buy them a future? Yet it seemed that everyone packed them in those last hurried moments of escape. Soon the streets would be paved with shards of heirloom porcelain, perhaps in preparation for one last great family meal.

"Here for some cat food, perhaps?"

--Odjinn, the old man of the abyss, seemed determined to sell me futures in cat food. Here he was, presiding over another strange collage of prizes.

"Yesterday's treasures should be enough to last all your days--and yet, you're here."

"There's never enough to survive, Odjinn. But maybe there's keys to a palace amidst the rubble."

"Aye, there might. Just what palace, though?"

One could always depend on an old man to pick apart hopes and dreams.

"And what of the keys you've found--prefer to hold the keys to closed doors, don't you?"

"I have a blank book and a bag of empty hearts."

"O, how the magic of the mind has dimmed in times such as these!" Odjinn's lament might have been withering criticism to some, but it wasn't news to me. I'd never been known as a genius. A cleverness for finding and bartering for treasure was the highest gift of my mind. Whatever insult he intended, I was simply too dumb to care.

I had opened the book--and despite the magical buildup--the tree tracing itself in lights of green and gold that came from nowhere--the book inside had been blank. It was like a storm rose up around me in a matter of moments, then disappeared to nothing. The entire book appeared to be blank--perhaps he was right, I took the life from everything I touched.

"The book didn't work."

"Did it?"

"It didn't." --didn't this man understand anything?

"So it did."

"-Did not."

"Simple minds," he said, shaking his head. "Do you have the book?"

"I do." No wonder it had been free--no refunds, no complaints.

"Your mind is a blank."

No surprise there.

"All the secrets of life and fate are written here, yet you see nothing. To be expected, I suppose." He paused for a moment of reflection, stroking his beard, then roused to action suddenly. "Well--to the palace, then?"

This old man had a perplexing way of railroading things--last time I'd met him, I was trying to hoodwink him out of a stash of gold, and he suddenly gave it to me (which still bummed me out for some reason). This time, "the palace?" I wanted to say no, but really, I had nothing better to do. I'd just be dodging wolf patrols and contemplating the abyss.

And so, our adventures began.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

Theis Orion

Muckraker

Dreaming of pretty words, pretty worlds.

Writing of dystopian realities, and all us poor fools, caught in the net.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.