Soon Kern, the mountain of the gods, rose before them in splendor. Caer gazed up at its icy peaks and remembered the curses she made to the gods, the promises made by her mothers in the deep past, and knew they faded. But for now the gods remained, watching and waiting until their time passed away.
The forest opened; the sun shone. Down the road Ull waited, and before them Himinbjörg, the lesser mountain, which sheltered the door, rose up.
There yet remained something Caer must do.
She touched the ground, hard with the first frost of the year, beneath her feet as Headred helped her down from the horse. The others glanced at each other, and they looked at her, watching and wondering. And as they did, she started for the door.
Beren opened her mouth to speak. A wave of Caer’s hand silenced her.
“I must go.” Caer walked forward until she stood before the boulder which blocked the path. It broke in two before her, revealing Náströnd. With no more thought or apprehension, Caer entered the door under the mountain.
She saw nothing but darkness. Water dripped down the ancient walls. She felt nothing, not pain nor cruel death as she felt before. The air smelled clear, clean, crisp and cool.
Somewhere, far away, a light shone.
It glimmered, its light growing, drawing herforward. It shimmered on the wet walls as the light of a candle shines on water, brilliant and white.
Caer felt it beating.
She did not desire it for herself. No one could possess Náströndir, the heart of the world, the heart she shared with Beren, and soon, with her children.
A shimmering obelisk, as light as the lightest feather, rested in the air before her, unmoving.
Robed in white, a man and a woman watched from behind veils. Caer thought the woman smiled.
And in the light, in the presence of gods, Caer saw many things to come.
Headred waited at the threshold for her to appear, and with a smile she stepped from the shadows and into the light outside.
“What did you see?” he asked as he lifted her into the saddle. Caer smiled.
As they rode to Ull, Caer thought of what she saw, of Cerdic and Cwen who watched, and of the future before her and before them all. And she knew the truth.
The road goes on forever.
So the tale of the winter and the Ice Queen ended, and a golden age began in the Kingdom of Sul. Years passed, and the friendship of the fairies and men grew.
I remember, as my people remember. For we remember all in the silver palaces in the golden glades, hidden from Miðgarðir in the fairy sidhes. We remember all.
The ages of those times of magic have long passed from the lands of mortals. On the earth beyond they have forgotten the fairies, the children of the gods. The blood among them sharing the power of the gods became diluted, forgotten in the depths of time.
And so we remain, shaded in silver palaces in golden glades, lost and forgotten by men, in our kingdom beneath the earth, and here we remember.
Our memory stretches the depths of time when the fairies awoke. Tales we tell of what came before, of the great ages of the gods. And legends we remember, of the dark time of the earth, a time of myth now a mist in the memory of Miðgarðir.
It began before the memory of men and fairies, in the depths of time when the gods formed from the ice of Niflheim. For as in winter, the darkness unleashed itself upon the races, and in winter the darkness fell, so in winter the gods came to be.
The age passed, and men forgot its history. The gods lie sleeping in the heavens when once they walked on the earth, in Glasheim, in the time of winter and in the time before. None remember them, or what now lies forgotten in the past.
None but me.
Evil did not end with the passing of the demon, born of her father’s spirit, but evil such as theirs would not be seen again in the mortal world for many years.
The last age of the world moved by, too swift by the judgments of some. Mortals forgot about the power of magic, turning their attention to the kingdoms around them, to the great machines of a new age, to science and alchemy.
And men forgot the ages of magic, going not with a bang, but with a whisper.
Men grew to love their power. Empires rose and fell in the lands above the sidhes; great and terrible, good and pure, all the same under the mantle of power.
Those who went before these forgot the lessons learned, the challenges passed, and victories forged. Time passed ever on, and the memory of men forgot even the legends and myths of Miðgarðir.
But I remembered, in the silver palaces in golden glades beneath the fairy sidhes.
The blood of the witches became diluted as time passed, and where once women of great power walked the paths of the world, none now live who possess such power. The power and its destiny live on now in every woman in the world, in their hearts and their souls, forged long ago by Dana and Woden, and where once the heart of the witch shared the heart of her world, so now the heart of every woman beats with the heart of the earth.
I linger here as I remember, beneath the golden pear tree growing in the shade of a silver palace, and gaze out into Miðgarðir. I still hear the rumors of wars; I still watch as they rage in the lands above. And I remember always evil lingers, and one alone, good or evil in men’s hearts, can win.
And as always the wickedness will rise in the heart of one, so will the righteousness will rise in the heart of another. ‘Tis the destiny of the good to fight the evil, to protect its kindred from the ones who would destroy it, the endless evil of men above, and I remember times in Miðgarðir’s youth, and such a battle we fought.
And I remember the victory of Caer.
I wonder now how I should end my tale. In the world above they call such stories fairy tales, for the fairies whom they do not remember, and tales have arisen of us as well. Each ends the same; they all lived happily ever after.
But this story does not end like that, for nothing in the mortal life ends happily ever after. The pain of the existence can be too great a burden to bear, though the hope of the human heart remains a great joy to see.
But how do I end this tale of years?
It comes to me as I watch and I see Miðgarðir above in the pool before me. So much grace, so much beauty, reminding me of the woman who once came into Miðgarðir, forged by the power of the gods, in Sul and the lands of Miðgarðir.
You see, once there was a legend.
The legend was real.
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