Boltram and I exchange stories - of his son and of my father. In the Goth's words, I get a sense that he witholds more than he shares, but one can hardly accuse a grieving father of insincerity. His fond memories may be nothing more than tokens from beyond the grave. But our uncertainties will soon be answered...

Our conversation comforts our passage through the Ruins of Hel. Her subjects exist as they are able, neither alive nor dead. We catch sight of one or two pitiful wretches who cower behind stone pillars. They live as cowardly as they died. Yet not all of Hel's subjects died a coward's death. My mother Gerutha was no warrior and not of my father's race, so this became her dwelling.

Her cave is warm, illuminated by a dull, blue firepit. The dome of the cave is an overturned ship, festooned with blankets, ornaments and other treasures that belonged to her in life. She is still so young to my eyes, though the spun-gold sunshine of her hair has been extinguished by the moon's silver. She sits upon a stool, weaving, but her eyes are upon us when we enter. Those pale blue eyes close slowly, pushing tears down her cheeks. "Your visit is an ill omen, Amleth," she speaks softly, though I can almost feel her warm breath upon my ears.

"Mother, you know I am able to come and go from this world as I please," I say, quickly regretting my childish bravado. "I come with Thane Bolt--"

"There is no Thane Boltram of Burgundy," my mother interrupts calmly and with inordinate sadness. "You seek Thidrek, heir of the House of Amal. Though he dwells not here, you may indeed find him here, for I was warned by the Wyrd sister, Skuld, of your visit today. She prophesied the end of the Nine Worlds, ushered in by your arrival to my cave. She said you would seek Thidrek Amaligg, and so you do."

"Thidrek," I say to myself, searching my memory to put a meaning to the name. Is what she says true?

"My lady Gerutha," Boltram interjects. "Forgive my inquisitiveness, but do you mean to say that Thidrek has been cast here into Hel's domain?"

"No," my mother says, still in contemplative mourning. But the Nine Worlds have. Loki has escaped his bonds. He rallies the giants to war against the Aesir. The End is here.

The three of us are suddenly interrupted by the sound of labored breathing from behind us. A battered warrior collapses near the entrance of the cave. By the blue firelight I recognize this thane - it is Ydalir's one-time champion, Beowulf! He had left the Waetling shore for Heorot, after the feast at Solmonath!

What on earth is going on?