He blocked the narrow bridge at the height of the arc. The bridge is as wide as his shoulders. The crevasse below as deep as his eyes. I had no other means of reaching my destination. I had to get past him.
I had allowed the horse to choose his own path. Not familiar with this area, I trusted the steed and merely hung on. Through other areas, he had galloped with fierce intent. Running free and true, no obstacle stumbled him. It was obvious, he knew the lands well.
When he approached the bridge, he slowed. I thought for me to dismount, but when I shifted my weight to do so, he danced roughly in displeasure. The bridge looked made of polished glass. No rail to protect the one that slips. With measured steps, the horse stepped onto the bridge and walked hoof by hoof.
I saw the man in the distance. Knew he guarded the passage. I checked my weapons, my defenses, and my resolve. The horse stopped about six feet from him.
His skin was the texture of granite. I knew then, my weapons would be useless against him. He stood there, his arms crossed with his hands at his shoulders. His head tucked into his chest. I could not tell if he was dressed in moldy clothing, or if that was moss growing on his skin.
“Hail!” My voice is swallowed by the emptiness below us. I nudge my steed. The horse shakes his head and drops his muzzle. A drop of time drips by. “Hey! To who do I seek permission to pass?”
He raises his head. What looks like pebbles fall from his neck and shoulders. He still grips his shoulders, but he now faces me. I realize the stone man is over 7 feet tall. “Permission?” Eyes the color of onyx stare lidless at me. “Only a mortal man asks permission.” His voice is the rumble of blundering rock. “And no mortal man has permission.” He grins, showing shattered marble teeth.
“Can you jump over him?” I whisper to my steed. The horse shakes his head again. His girth fills the bridge, no dodging past him. Nervously, I note the horse may have difficultly moving backwards swiftly, much less in a straight line.
I hear the sound of rock sliding on glass. The stone man is shifting his feet. He has now moved into a defensive posture. Hands in sledge sized fists swing slowly back and forth.
Perhaps there is another way. I reach into my bag, and retrieve the runestone that was giving me direction. It glows from within with a sudden flash. The glow then focuses into a beam a few inches long. No matter which direction I hold the runestone, it points past the stone man, across the bridge. I look at the horse, who nods in the beams direction. Muttering about both horse and runestone, I put it away.
“You have runes.” The man’s voice deepens. “Who gave them to you?”
“No one.” I stare at the stone man. “I need to pass. If permission I may not have, then what must I do to pass?”
“I want your runes.” He grinds his teeth. “Give them to me.”
“Permission is not yours to give to me, the runestones are not mine to give to you.”
“I will give you permission! Give them to me!” He moves his legs, but is unable to advance towards me. I also note, he has yet to lift a foot from the ground.
“You said ‘no mortal man has permission’! Why do you now promise me what I cannot have? If you know these are runestones then you know they are not mine to give.”
He flails with sudden speed, swinging wildly at me. But still unable to advance closer. I am thankful for the horse’s steel nerves. His temper spent, he roars at me with the sound of a hundred rockfalls. I wait for him to finish, to return to the quiet impasse we started with.
Grinding his marble teeth, he returns to his defensive posture. “I will wait for you to pass me, and take them then!” His threat feels strangely hollow. I know he is bluffing. He can not take the runestones from me. (They are not his to take.)
“How can I pass you, when your bulk takes up the full width? Give me space to pass, or I will simply remain here and continue to defy you.” The glittering in his eyes increases with each word I speak. With my own stony voice I say, “You can’t touch me. Not even the slightest pebble of spit can reach me. All you can do is block my path. For a jotun of stone, you sure are blustery.”
“RRRRRAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!” He leans forward, swinging in great arcs. But his feet remain connected to the bridge, and he is unable to approach closer than six feet. Sweat falls off in a shower of pebbles. The foam of his anger fly as sand. But my observation holds true. All he can hurl at me, is words.
“Ymir’s Teeth! If it were not for the blood of Sleipnir between your legs, I would have cracked open your bones the moment you set foot upon me! Why do you hide behind the bastard mongrel of an Aesir’s bitch? If you think yourself something, step down and face me as you are!”
Set foot upon…? I blink in revelation. The bridge? He IS the bridge! The horse nods in agreement. This jotun, forced into service as a bridge, is now taking out his frustrations on me. And I have had enough of the verbal game. I feel my own anger rising. Loki’s Kiss has taken hold, my blood heats in simmering fury.
“No.” I catch my hand reaching into the rune pouch. Already, Thurisaz is burning against my thumb. It would be so easy to smite him with the rune. I will my hand to hold still within the pouch. Or is that what he wants? Destroy him, destroy the bridge, free him from his servitude. Not to mention, destroy my means to get to my destination. And me along with the rubble, to fall into the unending abyss below.
He continues his verbal taunts. I release the rune and quit the pouch empty handed. I look steadily at him, and again say, “No.”
“And who, by Ymir’s Toes, are YOU to say ‘No’ to ME?!” He crosses his arms in open defiance. Cocksure to pound me into a bloody splatter if I give him the slightest opportunity.
Who am I, indeed?
I take a deep breath, and stare down the jotun until he shifts uncomfortably under my gaze.
“I am the Bastard’s Favor. I am the Thrice-Carved Elm. I am the Remade. I hold the Smoldering Faggot with neither fear nor wound. I am the Shadows that tease your stillness.”
“I am the Mongrel with no master. I sow Chaos in my wake. At my touch, the world shifts. I am She that has descended unto Death yet lives still. I am She that no rules, nor chains, nor restrictions can bind for long, if they can bind at all!”
“I am the Outsider and the Untouchable. I whisper in the ears of Lords, and dine with Queens. I am She that takes on being He at the slightest whim. For my delights, Men serve me. For my treats, Women delight in me. I am Conquered and Conqueror and Conquering still.”
“I hold Fire in one hand, and Ice in the other. Having been remade, I can remake others. I am She that goes where She wills. And I am She that will go over YOU!”
I draw in a great breath, and with the combined Will of all my forms, I command the Jotun, “Stand down, for I WILL pass. I need not your permission!” The jotun crumbles away at the command. Pebbles strewn in all directions until the bridge is as a normal stone bridge. The horse dances lightly as his footing becomes more secure under-hoof. The transformation of the bridge at an end, my steed prances his way slowly down the bridge to the other side of the chasm. I did not encourage him to hurry, remarking instead what a fine prancer he is.
Now on normal ground, I retrieve the runestone of my destination from the pouch. Holding it up, I expected it to point straight forward, in the same orientation as the bridge. To my surprise, it now pointed sharply off to my left. I understood then, that dealing with the stone jotun was as much of my ordeal as the destination that awaited me.
I point the new heading, and the blood of Sleipnir whinnies and races the wind, again.