In the fourth room of the labyrinth — the third occupied by enemies — Tryg did not have much difficulty, despite the battered sword he was using, taken from an undead he had killed right at the beginning. Accustomed to the enemies he faced and now gifted with sharper senses and improved physical capabilities, advancing to that point was much easier than in his first attempt to reach Ivaldi's Workshop.
I wonder how I'll feel when the whole truth finally comes out.
The enemies were among the weakest he had faced so far, though more numerous: three disgusting undead, with glowing green cracks crossing their bodies, armed with almost blunt swords — which Sinmara called Shadows — and three Nightmares that fired crimson magic from their enormous and malicious irises.
Tryg, as always, began by dealing first with the three tentacled eyes that attacked from a distance, pushing back or avoiding the undead and dodging the magical projectiles. When he finally killed the Nightmares, he focused on the three Shadows, once again isolating the fights and eliminating them one by one, until only one of them remained.
However, when he decapitated the second-to-last, his blade split in two and then crumbled into a shower of fragments and gray dust. The Shadow attacked, brandishing its sword. Tryg saw his shadow before that and retreated until he reached the weapon of one of the undead he had just killed. He forced his legs forward and...
"Wait," Sinmara said suddenly. She was lying on top of his head, following each of his movements. Fortunately, his current strength was enough that her weight, as light as it was, did not hinder him.
Tryg created more distance between himself and the Shadow. Since those undead were usually slow, he had time to raise an eyebrow and ask:
"Yes?"
Looking up, he saw the fox pointing a paw toward the only remaining enemy. "Just dodge and defend against its attacks. I want to analyze something."
"Did you notice something?" he asked, half excited, half disappointed. Even with Sinmara being who she was, it would be a little humiliating if she had noticed a new pattern in the labyrinth so quickly. Yes, Tryg was not such an intelligent person, nor a proud one, but still...
She relaxed, but kept her gaze attentive. "Just do as I said."
Tryg shrugged and obeyed. It was not complicated for him to dodge or redirect the Shadow's attacks, not when he could easily predict its movements. The undead, in fact, seemed to be growing more and more irritated with its own failures and began to roar louder and louder.
"Enough. You may finish it."
Tryg nodded, waited for the Shadow's next attack, parried it, and punched its face with force. A satisfying crack resounded, and dark, saplike blood flowed from the undead's broken nose as it flew across the pale grass until it crashed against the room's wall. Tryg did not stop. Remembering the healing powers that kind of monster had, he finished it quickly, splitting its body in half.
Free from danger, Tryg took a deep breath and sat in the snow. He was not tired or hungry, and he had not been injured yet, but he knew it would be useful to stop and study everything that had happened so far... But not that much had happened.
He kept the habit of marking the corridor walls and leaving scratched stones in the chambers. Perhaps they would eventually prove useless, just like before, but he decided to do it anyway for peace of mind. Fortunately, the labyrinth had not changed yet, so his exit remained marked and could still be found. The enemies had not changed much either, nor had the traps.
For now, Tryg only had to advance until the first alteration happened, so that he could then study it. He was also hoping something different would occur, something that would indicate, even if only implicitly, how the labyrinth worked.
While Tryg took his canteen from his bag, the fox leapt from his head and sat in front of him.
"So," he said, "why did you tell me not to kill the Shadow?"
As she scratched one of her pointed ears, she replied, "I wanted to confirm a few things about your fighting style. That is, I wanted to see if you were truly as bad as I thought."
Tryg choked on a mouthful of water. After a few coughs and light pats against his chest, he managed to say, "Excuse me?"
"You are horrible. Uncoordinated. Distracted. And you rely too much on that shadow ability of yours."
He narrowed his eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's not like I spent my life training. I used to be a boy who spent his days milking goats, remember?"
"That is no excuse. Many of your flaws have less to do with your lack of experience than with exaggerated self-confidence. Which is a common problem for a god your age, in fact. Most of you rely too much on your gifts and battle instincts."
"Battle instincts?"
Sinmara nodded. "You must have noticed it by now. Even though you have never trained in any fighting style, you still know what to do naturally, like when you drop something and your body unconsciously reacts to catch the object. We are born with an innate predisposition for battle, at least most of us. Even Odin, who was better known for his intelligence and magic, was an exceptional warrior. Týr, who was more valued for being a kind and peaceful man, could also be mercilessly magnificent with a blade in hand. Yes, they also trained a great deal to become that good, but their talents had a part in it as well."
Of course Tryg had already noticed his strange proficiency for certain things, including battle. Ever since he was a kid, he had always been able to learn things faster than others, or do things most people would need months or even years to accomplish in a similar manner. He had simply never given it much importance. After all, what use would that be to a simple peasant?
"You have to stop depending so much on your gifts and instincts. You need to start studying more, whether by listing the weaknesses and advantages of your enemies and of the battlefield you are on, or by accumulating new kinds of knowledge, capabilities, and tools."
Tryg nodded, his thoughtful gaze lowered, remembering his first fight against the Revenant, when he had lost his balance because of a stone he had not seen. "You're right. For now, I can't improve my fighting style on my own, nor get such useful tools inside the labyrinth. But, at least, I can be smarter and more attentive to my surroundings."
"Very well." Sinmara made an upward gesture with her paw. "Stand up and take your stance with the sword."
Tryg obeyed, just as he did with the next commands.
"Spread your legs a little more. No, I said a little." She tapped the side of his foot. "There, keep it like that. Now..." She walked around him. "Bend your elbows more. Good. Now raise the sword above your head and strike with all your might until it returns to the same height as before."
Tryg swung the blade and stopped, producing a whistle and small waves of snow that spread outward.
"Um... Good enough. Now repeat that."
He repeated it three more times, then asked, "How many times?"
The queen shrugged. "I think about a thousand should do, for now."
"What?!" He stopped. "A thousand times?! But it's such a simple movement..."
"Do not argue. If it were earlier, I would ask for more repetitions, but you need to sleep as well."
Tryg looked at the sky, painted with crimson tones. The moon could already be seen in the sky, a dozen times brighter than the twilight sun on the horizon.
"Why did you stop? Continue."
"Aah, right..." He sighed and returned to practicing. "Look, I'm not tired. I can practice more, if you think it's necessary."
"I do. But, as I said, you need to sleep. Even if gods do not feel as much exhaustion as mortals, rest is still necessary, especially after a day like today."
Yeah... he thought. So much had happened to him in a single day... The old Tryg would certainly be exhausted by now. The new one, on the other hand, felt far too awake, as if there were still energy vibrating beneath his skin. Even so, it would be good to have some extra time to process everything and prepare his mind for the journey. After all, the labyrinth would begin changing soon.
"Right," he answered, producing another whistle with the sword, "I'll sleep as soon as I finish here. Feel free to sleep, if you want."
The fox jumped back onto his head and kept watching him, attentive.
"I will not. If I do not keep an eye on you, your flaws will end up repeating themselves and reinforcing your mistakes. I need to correct you... like now."
"Hey!" he shouted, after the fox bit and pulled his hair.
"You are lifting the sword too high."
He exhaled. "Right... Hey!"
"Bend your elbows less."
And so they continued beneath the late afternoon of Niflheim: Tryg swinging the sword, Sinmara pulling his hair whenever he made a mistake, and the labyrinth waiting in silence for the moment to change.
When the repetitions ended, the sun had already set, and the moon shone high and intense in the dark, starry sky. Although his body was soaked in sweat, Tryg was not exhausted, much less breathless. He managed to control the rhythm of his breathing and, as he approached the number one thousand, he also began to make fewer mistakes.
"One thousand and one..." he said, breathing deeply.
"Very well. Now, rest."
"Yes, ma'am."
Before that, however, Tryg cut some roots that snaked along the uniform walls and made a fire with the flint he still had. He was not bothered by the cold — his sense of temperature, in fact, seemed to be another thing that had been altered. Even so, the warmth and yellowish light were comforting.
He sat near the fire and took his canteen and two strips of dried meat for dinner before sleeping. The fox was already lying nearby, looking at the flames with a distant... and melancholic gaze.
Tryg looked at the fire as well, letting his eyelids grow heavy. "Do you want me to put it out?"
It took a while, but she answered, her voice weak, "There is no need..."
He nibbled at his food. "Do you want some food? I don't have much left, but I can get more later."
She sighed. "There is no need to try to distract me, young man."
"...Right... Well, can I ask a question, though?" Sinmara agreed with a grumble, and Tryg continued, "You seemed pretty experienced with swordsmanship. How did you learn to fight?"
The fox stared at him for a moment, then returned her gaze to the fire. "Forgive me... I do not want to talk about that..."
"Ah. Right..." He paused to eat a little more and take a sip of water. "How do you think I did? With the sword movement, I mean."
"Not bad for a beginner. But you still need to practice more."
"I figured. And wouldn't there be other exercises for me to—"
"Listen, young man, if you do not mind, I would like to rest now," she interrupted him, turning away and closing her eyes.
"Of course... Good night, Lady Sinmara."
She remained silent.
Tryg slept soon after eating and feeding the fire with a few more pieces of root. And the last thing he heard before fading into sleep, just like on his first night lost in Niflheim, was the sound of crying. But this time, it was more discreet, almost imperceptible, as if the person did not want anyone to witness their sorrow.
With his back to the queen, he let his eyelids grow heavy. Not only because of Sinmara's melancholy. But also because he wanted to ease her suffering and did not know how. Despite everything they had gone through together, she still resisted his approach. Even so, Tryg would continue trying the next day, and the days after that as well..
Facing loss supported by a friend's shoulder, anchored in a safe harbor, was always better than enduring it alone. At least, that was what he felt after meeting the cold queen.
***
Tryg woke very early the next day, while the sun was rising and the sky was still painted with the purplish tones of the end of dawn. He still did not know whether that sky belonged to Niflheim or to the labyrinth itself. Either way, he had already rested enough.
Sinmara was already awake when he rose, stretching and yawning. She was sitting in the snow, looking at the horizon, watching the flaming sphere slowly climb.
"Good morning," he said casually.
The fox turned to him, her typical apathy returning. "You took too long. Come on, we need to continue."
We...? Tryg smiled and nodded. He rekindled the fire, drank some water, filled the canteen with snow and, while eating one of his last strips of dried meat, waited until it melted. Then, after marking both the stone he left in the chamber and the wall of the chamber, he moved on toward the next passage full of traps, without worrying about putting out the flames.
The fox jumped and relaxed on top of his head again.
"Ready?" he asked, looking at the giant metal blocks that struck rhythmically against the walls of the passage ahead.
"The fact that you ask me that is an insult."
He let out a chuckle, waited, and as soon as the crushing blocks receded, ran into the next chamber. Upon arriving, he soon realized it was one of the smaller ones, one of those in which there would be no enemy to face...
The doors closed with a violent thud. Then the floor trembled, and the sound of enormous stones being dragged reached his ears — the same one he had heard so often the day before. The labyrinth was changing.
Tryg turned to face the doors and frowned, suspicious. They were still in the fifth room. But, in his first attempt, the labyrinth's changes had happened later — one room after that, to be more specific.
Perhaps it was only a coincidence; perhaps the changes could happen earlier. But Tryg doubted that.
Something had changed. And he had no idea what could have caused it.