“What is this place?” Eldegard asked as he got weakly to his feet.
Greta conceded. “Most who live here call it Avalon after the ancient tongue, but it has many names.”
“Is this Elvir?” Vasen asked.
“No, it is Usgard above Midgard,” Greta said. “Elvir is over there. Nidelvir is that way, and Svardelvir is in that direction.”
“Usgard,” Bragi repeated.
“Usgard above Midgard,” Greta corrected. “But you may as well call it Avalon.”
The fairy queen arrived at that point and became big, even as she landed. Her court followed suit. Immediately, she walked up to Greta, got on one knee and held up her hand. “Lady Kairos. All is well?” She asked.
Greta took the hand, but made the Queen get up. “I don’t know,” she said. “I cannot stay this time. My anxiety is too great. I must get back to work.”
“My Lady works too hard sometimes, I think,” Thumbelin said.
“This is Lord Eldegard of Boarshag.” Greta introduced him. “And this is Vasen the Priest of the Temple on the Mount.” Vasen had been staring at Thumbelin and Greta.
“And this?” Thumbelin asked, sweetly.
“This is my brother, Bragi,” Greta said.
“Sir Bragi.” One of the ladies of the court nearest him offered her hand. Bragi took it, but since he did not know what to do with it, he merely held it for a second before he let go.
“She had become a powerful sorceress.” Thumbelin confirmed. “What then of her god, Mithras? What game is he playing?”
Greta shrugged. “Same old?” she said. It was time to go. “Please take Brunhild to an outer isle where she can live out her days in peace. I don’t want her eaten by dragons or cyclopses or any such thing.”
Thumbelin suddenly hugged Greta and whispered through a small tear. “I love your kind heart,” she said.
“I love you, too, Thumbelina.” Greta returned the same as she received.
The door appeared behind them. It would let out at the outpost. Everyone took a last look before they left, and Bragi especially had to partly drag Vasen back to reality. Once through the door, Avalon vanished, but several men, Romans and Dacians, saw them step out onto the Earth. They stopped what they were doing and stared.
Greta took advantage of the moment and pointed to Eldegard and Vasen. “Take them to safety,” she said. “Treat them kindly. They have had a hard morning.”
“Indeed I have, Lady Kairos,” Vasen said, having caught her name.
“Forgive this old fool, Mother Greta,” Eldegard said, and for her part, Greta did forgive him.
She watched for a moment as the man hobbled away, head lowered. “The rest of you need to follow me.” She said that in both Dacian and Greek.
“We are ordered to stay and guard this post,” one of the Romans spoke up.
Greta ignored them both. She focused and held out her hands. Her shield appeared in her left hand and Salvation vanished from its’ sheath to appear in her right hand. They were heavy, but she held them well enough. Some men stepped back in surprise, but she was not really showing off. As before, she did not feel sure if she could draw Salvation without cutting her own ear off. This felt safer, but then she immediately handed them to Bragi. “Here,” she said. “You know how to work these.” She did not wait. She started running across the field and about ten of the thirty or so men followed her.
It looked and smelled like a slaughterhouse. She saw bodies of the dead and dying everywhere. A few might recover if they received help in time, but that seemed unlikely. Some of the bravest survivors were out on the long field trying to help those that they could, carrying men on makeshift stretchers back to the outpost or the forest’s edge. Greta knew she could help, but she had something more important to do first. She turned toward the mount and caught her breath at the sight. The mount looked gone, along with the temple, and the water which bubbled from the sides, still crumbled parts and carried away boulders.
“The explosion blew the temple off the top.” A man said, as he stepped up beside her. It was the Centurion, Alesander. The water did the rest. It must have shot a hundred feet in the air and threw the walls of the mount for hundreds of yards in every direction. The rest then collapsed all the way around.”
“I said it was full of water under tremendous pressure, but I never expected this,” Greta said, then she had to save her breath to run. She had the feeling she might be too late. “Come on,” she said, but Alesander paused, and grabbed at her arm to stop her.
It felt like running through a nightmare, even on the edge of the battle. Greta had to run around and twice leap over men who were not quite dead. The sounds of agony were deafening. Some tried to grab for her legs or arms. She heard the word “Valkyra” over and over. She imagined a woman in armor with straw colored hair flowing behind would invoke that image, but for her own part, she wished the Valkyra were still around. She could use their help.
A man jumped in front of her and made her pause. She did not know from his blood-soaked clothing if he was Dacian or Quadi. He stared at her for a long second in disbelief, then he held out his arm. His hand was missing and the stump poured out his life’s blood. She brushed past even as Alesander and Bragi caught up, followed by the rest of the squad.
Greta passed by other horrors. She could not stop. She began to panic and reminded herself that she did not respond well in panic situations. But she feared she might be too late. It was her vision.