Bringing the Dawn

“Early start, Sól?” 

“Funnier each time I hear it, Helios.”

Helios, Greek God of the Sun, grinned. He knew damn well that Sól had no say in the matter, and stepped down from his chariot, which kept moving as Svalinn, Sóls husband, pushed it. 

“You Heathen gods are so serious,” Helios said. 

“Or your jokes are naff,” Svalinn grunted.

Sól had no time to say anything as she leapt up into the chariot. She could hear the wolves that followed her across the sky, crying for her blood. If she didn't start the dawn soon, they would overtake her and rip her to pieces, and the start of the beginning would… start. That would be letting the side down. And she was running late. 

“Such a grim religion,” Helios said behind Sól’s back as she swiftly released Helios’s horses from the chariot and jumped out to push as Svalinn brought her horses to be harnessed to the chariot. Árvakr and Alsvidr, Early Riser and Swift. Sól’s duties demanded she be an early riser, and Svalinn would have to be swift in body and mind to attach the horses quick enough. But he always was.

“It's done!” he yelled, vaulting the chariot and pecking Sól on the check as he handed her the reigns. It was a horrid rush that night to bring the dawn, Sól always got up early in the dead of night to make sure this was done properly, but there had been a party in Asgard that day, and Loki had made a complete tit of himself, causing Sól to drink several horns of mead to forget. The problem with the drinking horns was that they were impossible to put down until they were empty, and they never were. This usually wouldn't be a problem. Sól was the light that put daggers through the heads of the hungover after all. But the cockerel that woke her up each day, for whatever reason, was missing, and she had overslept. 

But she had her duties, even when hungover. 

So did Svalinn. If he didn't get to the bottom of the chariot in time and hook his feet into the straps, the humans wouldn't have to imagine what dying in a fusion explosion would look like anymore. It was all because of those bloody wolves. The stress they put on poor Árvakr and Alsvidr generated extra heat, and if Svalinn wasn't hooked onto the bottom of the chariot, holding his shield between heaven and earth, the humans would fry like haddock on a cooking fire. 

But he was always on time, and it was time for Sól to bring the dawn. The chariot kept rolling, Árvakr and Alsvidr champed at the bit, and the wolves howled for their blood. Skoll and Hati were their names. Mockery and Hate. 

“I’ll have you both as skins,” Sól muttered darkly. “When the children of Loki march on Asgard and the end of the world begins, the last thing you'll see is my blade stealing the hide from your backs.”

Both wolves would know her hatred and her mockery by the end. But they would win eventually. Ragnarok was fated; humanity and the heathen gods were not immortal but merely a flash in the pan. Life was like a sparrow flying through a house as a winter storm raged outside. The sparrow would briefly know warmth and light, and that was the light of life. But it would be a brief respite, as the sparrow would inevitably pass through the house and back into the winter darkness. Just as the sparrow would lose the light as it headed into the dark, the light of life would disappear from the world, and it would pass into the dark. Fate was inevitable and could not be changed, only endured. Helios was right. Theirs was a grim religion.

“You know, I wish they wouldn't take pictures of me all the time,” Svalinn said, cutting through her dark thoughts. 

Sól sighed as she remembered all the humans snapping their phones and cameras at her husband's bright, burning shield. No doubt, there would be beautiful cloud formations over easternmost Europe as they rose. Sól didn't get their need to take photos; there was always a beautiful sunrise somewhere, even when the sun was set. Though her job was to bring the dawn to Europe, there was technically a dawn wherever the chariot was, with dusk and night following soon after. There were probably some beautiful colours and cloud formations formed from the sunset they were giving Australia, and countless Aussies were taking photos of a bright pair of burning horse arses. Maybe Sól should swap with Svalinn and get him to show his bright burning arse and see how many pictures it gets? The thought made her smile. 

Speaking of mooning, Máni would be on shift also. Sól getting to see her brother at work for maybe an hour or so was a rare treat since Máni’s job as the driver of the moon chariot meant he worked irregular hours. Definitely made coordinating birthday gifts a bitch. But the sun and the moon had to rise and travel across the sky at the exact right time and the exact right place to make sure the humans got to set their clocks and stave off the inevitable descent into madness they would undergo if everything wasn't set just so. Sól and her brother had to rise at the perfect time, and if they didn't rise at the time expected of them every day, then Sól would give it 3 days until they were back to human sacrifice, even though she and the rest of the solar gods never asked for it. And so, she and the rest of the solar deities had to rise before the dawn to make sure it always began on time. 

But she was in luck that day, her brother Máni was out. Usually, he wasn't there all day, so Sól would barely have enough time to give him a middle finger before he dipped below the horizon, his own middle finger disappearing last. Sometimes, he swung close enough for Sol to call him a tosser before they passed. But this time, Máni was directly in front of Sol. That was wrong. This usually didn't happen unless…

Oh no. 

“Svalinn!” she called down to her lancer. “Are we due a solar eclipse tonight?”

“Are we?” 

“Useful!” 

“I don't know, do I? You're the one driving the thing!”

Sól felt the colour rising in her cheeks, but he was right. It wasn't his duty to keep that in mind, it was Sóls, and one wasn't due for decades. Máni must have lost control of his chariot and had veered into Sól’s way once he sank below the European horizon. The only way to avert a crash was a solar eclipse.

A solar eclipse was an exceptionally complicated manoeuvre. Sól would have to ride her chariot onto the top of Máni’s with the horses still attached, and poor Svalinn had to stay on the bottom of her chariot and stop the heat of her chariot burning her brothers' to cinders, all the while not slowing down enough for the wolves to catch up enough to start the end of the world. 

The problem. To do this, the horses had to be attached to the side of the chariot in a way that they didn't get tangled up. And she had been in such a rush that day that the horses weren't set up properly. 

She had let the side down. The sparrow would soon be headed into the dark. And it would be her fault. The wolves would eat well that night. 

That's why the cockerel didn't caw that morning! Sól realised. It was fated that a cockerel’s cry would herald Ragnarok like a war horn, and Loki must have stolen it in order to put it in the right place. If the wolves overtake her…

Like hell. 

Sól slowed down the horses, ignoring their protests, in order to attach them properly to the sides. The momentum of the chariot would only last so long, and while they were slowed down, the wolves would be gaining on them. She had no foothold, all that was below the wheels was sky, so she had to do it from the chariot platform. She started with Alsvidr since he was the calmer of the two. If she kept him calm, Árvakr would be more likely to stay calm as well. Even though Sól was terrified. To attach the horses to the side of the chariot while keeping them tethered to preserve speed was near impossible, but it was doable… provided they were allowed to slow down a bit. But they weren't, and the reason was gaining on them and baying for blood. 

Sol had only just gotten Alvisdr set up when she risked a look behind her, and felt a fist close round her stomach. The wolves were close enough that Sol could see their rotten black teeth, their dark matted fur and glowing eyes. Sól’s hands moved as fast as arrows to hitch Aravkr to the side of the chariot, but there was no hope for that. Either they sped up and hit Máni, or they slowed down and let the wolves take them. Máni was being chased by his own hounds, he couldn’t slow down. To change course would mean dawn didn’t come. 

Arvakr was only just hitched up in time, but the wolves were close. Máni had let his horses loose, and they were running beside his chariot, just in a way to make sure they didn't hit Sol's chariot. Máni had worked quick that day, he had lowered the front half of the Chariot, and Svalinn would be braced for the manoeuvre, but the wolves would get them first before she could bring the dawn…

“Svalinn! Angle your shield!” 

It was a loose hope. Svalinn had done this for centuries, telling him to angle his shield so that some of the heat of the chariot could escape would be to go against his nature. There was a terrible pause. The wolves were close, one leapt, aiming for Sóls throat when a burst of white-hot heat suddenly burst from the bottom of the chariot. The blast hit the wolf, Skoll perhaps, and it whimpered in the burning heat. The smell of burning fur filled Sól’s nostrils. Hati also pulled back from the heated onslaught, yelping as its maw touched the inferno. A rattle, a sudden change in elevation, and a sudden drop. They had completed the manoeuvre, and now Muni’s chariot would scatter the wolves. They were safe. Ragnarok would not come that day. 

“Sól,” Svalinn’s voice came from below. “Did you know that would work?” 

Sól let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Her head swam, and the stars swung around her in a dizzying circle. She slumped back into her chariot, feeling the rod of steel that had been holding her up the whole night detach from her back. The wolves could be attacked? When was that possible?

“I didn’t,” she replied honestly. 

She picked up the reigns again and began to pick the pace back up. For once in so long, she couldn’t hear the wolves that would bring Ragnarok. The wolves that would kill her. 

Fate was inevitable?