"Parliament has voted for emergency powers in the face of the multiple catastrophes that threaten, not only the United Kingdom, but the entire world. These are broad measures that have given the police far reaching discretionary powers, have brought the armed forces to full mobilisation and suspended any and all by-elections for the foreseeable future.

The Prime Minister has stated they have stopped short of calling the nation to a full war footing, but cannot rule out further measures. The opposition parties have now been called into an emergency cabinet, seen as a first step to suspending the democratic process for the duration of the continuing crises."

-+-

15

Runa and McAreavey huddled together in the small cave as the storm seemed to shake the very bones of the island. Waves lashed against the thin strip of beach, sending pebbles and sand flying in a swirl, exacerbated by winds so strong, they threatened to drag both figures out of their hiding place.

They clung to each other and Runa could barely breathe as a never-ending stream of wind, rain and waves battered them both, soaking them to their very bones. Her fingers began to cramp as she gripped the sleeve of McAreavey's waxed coat and she saw the old farmer flexing his fingers against his shotgun. She prayed, to God and the old gods for mercy. For the lives of her children, hoping that the ferocity of the storm focussed upon her and Alf, rather than the rest of the island.

And then, the storm fell away. Dissipating in the space of a second. One moment, Runa fought to keep her back pressed against the rough stone of the cave wall, the next she found herself able to breathe. The winds passing, the rain becoming nothing but a light shower and the waves calming. She gasped, drawing in precious air and she felt McAreavey fall to the ground beside her.

She wiped the rain from her face and prepared herself to continue to fold into the cave, should the storm return. It had not disappeared entirely. She could see it, continuing its fury, only thirty, perhaps forty, feet from where she crouched. But, here, the storm had given way to a pregnant calm. She doubted this was the end of it. Far from it. If she had guessed correctly, this only gave way to a greater danger.

McAreavey leaned his head against the cave wall, drawing in deep, rasping breaths, and he clutched his shotgun to his chest as though he would never, could never, let go of the weapon ever again. There wasn't a silence around them, she could still hear the winds, the rumbles of thunder, the striking of lightning, but, here, the sounds seemed to come from far away. Still, she strained her ears.

The sound of boots crunching on pebbles made her jump and McAreavey stirred from his fight to breathe. The boots came ever nearer and then stopped, out of sight, beyond the cave. Runa pushed herself to her feet and began to edge to the mouth of the cave. McAreavey grabbed her hand, shaking his head, but Runa gently pulled her hand free. She had to see. Had to face who she had expected to come.

"Mortal weapons. There is no honour in their use. No glory. A sword, or a spear, a hammer, yes. Bare hands and teeth, if we must, but mortal firearms. So indiscriminate. So impersonal." The voice carried towards the cave and Runa recognised the old, one-eyed man. Odin All-Father. "My eternal companions. They shall fly in the eaves of the mead halls of Valhalla. Shitting on the dead, no doubt."

Runa emerged from the little cave to find Odin crouched before the bodies of Huginn and Muninn. His ravens. Untouched by the might of the storm, they lay upon the beach where they had fallen, wings and bodies broken by McAreavey's accuracy with his shotgun. The old man stroked the feathers of each of the dead ravens and appeared genuinely upset. After a second, he wiped his eyes with one hand and then smoothed down his beard as he turned to Runa.

"Aye, well, you'll be another to taste the indiscriminate power of this mortal weapon, if you take a step forward, One-Eye." From behind, McAreavey's shotgun barrel appeared, soon followed by the farmer himself. "You're not welcome here, old one. Leave this island and none more'll get hurt. I promise you that."

"Daughter of the North, how could you destroy such creatures that have lived for thousands of years and sought only to keep me informed? Do you care so little about your gods? Have we harried you? Lied to you?" Odin rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together. He seemed even taller than before. "You need only have told us where the son of Loki hides and we would have taken him and left this place. You could have spent the last days of Midgard in the arms of your blessed children."

Runa didn't answer him. Instead, she looked about the beach. From the point, further away, where she and McAreavey had run from the cliffs above, and back, behind her and Alf, to where the beach thinned even more until it ended and only the cliff face rose from the sea waters. Something was not quite right. Her eyes lifted, searching the cliffs above. For one, horrible second, she concluded that she had made a terrible mistake.

"Where is Thor?" She didn't want to know the answer. "And the other one? Why aren't they here to help you capture Fenrir?"

"They'll be along soon enough." Stepping closer, Odin tilted his head to take a good look at McAreavey's shotgun. He removed his sunglasses. "Donar ... well, Donar needs someone to keep him in check. He tends to anger easily. And Vidarr cares only about his prize. It is his destiny to meet and defeat the beast that shall devour his father, me, and he seems to care only about Fenrir."

With the sunglasses removed, Runa finally saw the god's true face. Where he once had an eye, he now only had a sunken hollow, with ragged skin covering the inside of his skull. Two jagged scars criss-crossed over that dip in his face, but the other eye remained. A bright blue eye that emanated intelligence and divinity. Odin swivelled that eye towards Runa, disregarding the shotgun pointed towards him.

"I've never understood it. Never. Why, if you know everything that will happen in Ragnarök, do you run towards it? You know you will die, that Thor will die and almost every other god. Why accept it?" Once Odin had mentioned Vidarr, she knew who he was. The god that would survive. "And why now?"

"We accept it, because we are the gods of the North! We embrace it! To die in such a glorious war? Other gods would envy us!" He lifted his hands, flexing them like claws and he roared those words to the heavens. He laughed and then brought his gaze back to Runa. "And now because our time has come to an end. It must end, as all things end."

Runa hadn't expected that. From the bravado of proclaiming the glory of the war to end all things, Odin had slumped. He looked old and tired. She hated to admit it, but, in that moment, she felt a profound sense of pity for the All-Father. A creature out of his time, who would live on to the end of the universe, were it not for Ragnarök.

She couldn't feel too much sympathy for him, however. His war, the war of the gods seemed to come hand-in-hand with the disasters that now engulfed the world. She couldn't understand why the entire Earth had to suffer for their war. The entire Earth and her children, Hertha and Stigr. Why should they suffer for these gods that had no more care for mortals than Runa had for ants. She only wanted her children to be safe. To live out their lives. To live and love and grow old.

"You're all bloody mad!" Runa had almost forgotten about McAreavey, his shotgun still raised, pointing at Odin's chest. "Where're the bairns? What have you done with them?"

That caused Runa to pause in her thinking. She had not forgotten about her children, but listening to Odin had caused her to forget what she had told them to do. She had made it clear that if they couldn't reach 'Big Dog' unseen, they should return to the cottage. With Thor, 'Donar', and Vidarr not here, did that mean they had found Hertha and Stigr?

"We may very well be mad, old one, but we are still strong enough to fight." Odin inclined his head, as though listening, and then smiled to Runa. "In fact, the children are right here."

He half-turned, looking back towards the slope that led from the tops of the cliffs. Runa could see nothing, at first, and then she saw the huge form of Thor striding down onto the pebbles of the beach, tossing his dark hair over his shoulder. Then, Runa saw Stigr and then Hertha, the other one, Vidarr, leading them with immense hands upon their shoulders.

"Hertha! Stigr!" She almost began to run towards them, but Odin held out a hand and she felt some force holding her back. She couldn't move. "Are you alright?"

"Mummy!" Stigr tried to run, himself, but Vidarr did not release his shoulder. Stigr launched a kick at Vidarr that missed.

"Now, daughter of the North, here is my proposal. Tell me where the hound has hidden himself and you and your children can return to your little house in peace." Odin rolled his hand, tilting his head and making a little grimace. "As peaceful as Ragnarök can be, but peace, for a time. Or we kill them. Starting with the boy. They would enjoy his energy in Valhalla."

"How about I kill you instead?" Before Runa could even react, she saw McAreavey raise the shotgun to his shoulder and the boom of the two cartridges firing at the same time almost deafened her.

She flinched away, but soon turned her head back, looking not towards Odin, but to Thor and Vidarr, fearing they would kill the children in retaliation. Yet, they had not stirred. They still stood a good distance away, keeping hold of the children's shoulders and Hertha and Stigr both stared back at her and then towards Odin.

He still stood, the hot barrels of the shotgun held in his hand, pointing upwards, ripped from McAreavey's hands. The side of Odin's face had become stripped to the bone, but the flesh had already started to grow back and, within seconds, he looked no worse for having a shotgun blast to the face.

"That was foolish." With a sweep of the hand holding McAreavey's shotgun, Odin smashed the butt into McAreavey's face.

The old farmer flew away, the force of the blow lifting him from his feet and sending him spiralling out to crash in the sea. Runa still couldn't move. Not to help her children, nor to try to reach McAreavey. She saw the old farmer's body rise to the surface of the sea waters and then the shotgun splashing into the sea, beyond McAreavey's floating form.