Quest for the Golden Apples
Part 1
Quest for the Golden Apples
Copyright © Dec. 3, 1997 by Nick Alimonos
A young, dark haired woman lay in bed under a single white
bed sheet. Her eyes were closed, beads of sweat formed on her
face, and her expression revealed great pain.
There was a man kneeling by her bed, clutching her hand,
running his other hand along the length of her bare arm. He looked
to be in his late forties, with long, straight, dusty blonde hair. And
he stared at her with watery, blue eyes, whispering; “Open your
eyes, Mari’na. Please, open your eyes.”
Through the open doorway came a bronze skinned, middle
aged woman, scantily clad in armor, with blue blue eyes like a fawn,
and reddish-brown hair tied up in a pony tail. Holding her hand was
a little girl, just old enough to walk on her own and suck her thumb,
with straight hair, white as snow, swaying down to the middle of
her back, and no pupils. Her eyes were clean bulbs of white.
“How are things, Adam?” the woman asked.
“Not good, Teela,” he said quietly, standing and turning to
look at her, still holding on to his wife’s hand. “The doctor said she
won’t make it.”
“What!” she cried. “That can’t be . . .”
“He said she’s not used to our diseases. Many Eternians die
from arostia every year. Some strong live through it. But she can’t,
not with her immune system. Well, that’s what he said. There is
nothing he can do for her.”
“How long did he say . . .?”
“Hours, days, no more than a week.”
“You’re not giving up, are you?”
“No,” he said. “But I feel so . . . so helpless!” With that, he
let go of Mari’na’s palm, and clenched his fists. “I can kill a
thousand ogres with my bare hands, but I can do nothing against
this tiny bug. What am I going to do?”
Teela answered him with a hug. “All we can do is pray.”
“Do you think any gods care?” he said. “They won’t help. If
she is to live, I’ve got to do something.”
“Mommy?” the little girl intoned. “Why is Auntie sick?”
“Don’t worry, dear. She’ll get better,” her mother replied,
combing her fingers through her daughter’s long, white hair.
“How is Rain?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s fine.”
Somewhere from a distance, there came the screech of an
Eternian eagle. “Zoar?” he murmured.
“Quick!” Teela cried, snatching Rain up in her arms, bolting
out the doorway. But Adam was hesitant. He turned to his dying
wife, looking at her as if he never would again. Then, ever so
gently, he cupped her hands in his, kissing them, and pressed his
lips against hers’.
“Farewell, my sweet sweet Queen,” he whispered in her ear.
But after one small step, he still held on to her tightly, as if his hand
refused to release her own.
He did let go at last, letting her arm fall lifelessly to the bed.
Upon reaching the open doorway, however, he looked back once
more, hoping she might sit up and speak, or even, stir slightly; it
would have given him the greatest joy. But she did not.
Adam found Teela and Rain standing out on the terrace
overlooking the bronze domes and obelisks, and the many webs of
golden bridges, of Eternos. In the reddish-orange sky were two
moons, one green disc ruling one fourth of the horizon, and the
other, a violet coin. But what entranced them was a bird with
orange, blue, and white feathered wings spread six feet across,
circling the palace where they stood.
“Zoar!” Adam exclaimed, walking up behind Teela.
“The Sorceress,” she added.
“I will follow her. Perhaps, she can cure Mari’na’s illness.”
“Take my sky sled,” said Teela. “It’s fastest.”
Adam had removed his royal attire, and was now dressed
only in his brown fur underwear, his leather boots, and his sword’s
scabbard.
The wind played with his blonde hair as he turned the knob
on the blue, bird shaped sled, racing over the red, dusty plain that
was the surface of his kingdom. Soaring above him, all the while,
was the great eagle, Zoar, leading him to the place he knew too
well, the grim ruins of the skull-faced, limestone castle, Grayskull.
When they at last arrived, Adam landed Teela’s vehicle, as
the bird continued on, through the open window of the castle’s
highest tower, three hundred feet above the ground. He then
walked to the edge of the windy, bottomless pit surrounding the
castle, a pit from which a strange, white mist slowly rose into the
air.
“Hello!” his voice echoed. With that, the mouth of the skull
dropped with a chain-rattling sound, forming a bridge across the
pit.
He-Man walked into the castle’s dark, shadowy chambers,
chambers so dark he could only see the middle-aged woman come
to greet him. She was dressed in the cowl of an eagle, with orange,
blue, and white feathers, colors that did not match her stony
countenance, or the light of the candle in her left hand, flickering in
her gray eyes.
“Welcome, He-Man,” she said coldly.
“You have summoned me. Why?”
“I know that your wife is dying.”
“Can you help her?”
“No. Nothing can stop the disease in its late stage, nothing
short of a god’s power.”
“Then why did you summon me?”
“I said, ‘nothing short of a god’s power.’”
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to save your wife, you must go on a quest.
But it is a perilous quest.”
“You KNOW you have no need of telling me that! I will do
anything for her! And I have risked my life for lesser causes.”
“Then let me tell you of Asgard and the golden apples.”
“Golden apples?”
“On the isle of Asgard is a tree, the Tree of Life, from
which grows golden apples. Any who eat of these apples are healed
of all injuries, remedied of all sicknesses, and prolonged from aging
by one year. In this way, one may maintain his life, and his youth,
forever. It is, what man has sought since the beginning of time, the
cure for death. But the tree is jealously guarded by those native to
the island, those who would keep the secret of eternal life to
themselves, and who have become immortal by way of it, the gods
of Asgard.”
“I see. So, how is it that you came upon this knowledge?”
“Myths of Asgard abound. I have known of it for many
decades, but only now do I possess the means to get there, the spell
component to create a magic doorway.”
“And what is that?”
“Hairs from Fenris the Wolf,” she replied, lifting a small
glass vial containing the long, gray strands.
“Fenris . . .!”
“Yes, do you remember him?”
“Remember him? I still have the scars to remind me.
The Lord of Destruction summoned him to help invade the castle.
The monster was a powerful adversary. But I thought he was killed,
a long time ago, during our last battle here.”
“No, he was not killed, for Fenris is immortal. I had him
imprisoned in the dungeons of Grayskull. It is there that he has
remained all this time, until, late last night, as I was pouring over
some ancient books of myths and legends, I came across the name
of Fenris, and learned of his Asgardian ancestry.”
“So then I must go to Asgard. But what of the gods?
You say they guard the apples jealously, and I cannot defeat a god,
can I?”
“No, but you may win the gods’ favor. You must take
Fenris to them. I have him put in a bag, bound by the golden hairs
of a virgin maiden. It is, the only thing that will hold him. But
beware, in his own world, Fenris will grow even stronger, and he
may escape.”
“But . . . why would the Asgardian gods want their monster
wolf returned?”
“They wouldn’t. But you must understand their culture,
He-Man. The Asgardians value . . . the masculine virtues. You must
remember this above all else! Do not show cowardice, pain, or any
other sign of weakness, and if they approve of you, they just might
let you have an apple.”
“I understand. If I bring Fenris, and let them believe that I
captured him, they will hold me in high regard.”
“Yes. Whether they give you an apple, I cannot say.
No mortal has ever eaten of the golden apples, though many have
tried.”
“I will not fail,” said He-Man. “Where do we begin?”
“I have arranged for everything. First, I would advise you
wear your tunic. It is cold in Asgard,” and as soon as she finished
her sentence, a fur tunic came and wrapped itself around his neck.
“Also, you will need your armor,” and with that, a blue breast plate
with a red, Eternian cross blazing in the center, covered his
muscular, upper-torso. “And your shield,” she added, last of all,
handing him, as if she had plucked it out of the air, a round, silver
and gold shield. “Now you are ready.”
Past many rooms, corridors, and flights of steps,
He-Man followed the Sorceress, trusting in her uncanny sense of
direction, to a small room where a large, golden bag of very fine,
silky material, lay next to an open doorway emitting a blinding
white light.
For any other man, the golden bag would have been far too
heavy, even to lift, but not for He-Man. He-Man carried it with
ease. And so, with his sword in its scabbard, his shield in his hand,
and the bag slung over his right shoulder, he covered his eyes, and
with a brief farewell, stepped through the doorway into another
world.
When He-Man’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a green
grassy field of rolling hills and river valleys, stretching out before
him to meet the pale blue sky, as well as a small figure approaching
him.
Standing no more than three feet tall, the figure had a black,
bushy beard, dark, round eyes, and many wrinkles from old age.
“I’m Durin,” he said.
“What are you?” He-Man asked, dropping the bag.
“Me!?” he said with a deep, craggy voice; “What am I? I’m
a dwarf! What did you think I was?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here at last,” he said, folding his
arms and tapping his foot. “I was getting tired waiting!”
“You know me?”
“Yes, the Sorceress said you’d come. You are He-Man,
aren’t ya?” he asked, squinting.
“Yes. Is this Asgard?”
“No! By Odin’s beard! Didn’t she tell you? No mortals are
allowed near Asgard.”
“Then, where am I?” he asked, looking around.
“You’re in Valhalla, home of those who die in battle.
But, there is a bridge you can take to Asgard, the Rainbow Bridge.”
“Will it be difficult to cross? How far is it from here?”
“My, you ask many questions.”
“I don’t have much time, little man!” He-Man cried, lifting
him up by his collar with one hand.
“Unhand me, human, or I won’t help you at all!” said the
dwarf. He-Man let go of him then, and he fell on his butt with a
thump. “By Odin’s beard! All the gold in the world isn’t worth this
harassment!”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, my wife is dying, and I don’t have
much time. Please, will you help me?”
“All right, all right, I will take you to the Rainbow Bridge,
as agreed. By the way, what’s in the bag? Whatever it is, it’s
moving!”
“Oh, nothing,” He-Man said, turning to see that, indeed, the
bag was bouncing and bulging. But after several swift kicks, it
moved no more. “Let’s be off!”
He-Man and Durin walked to the edge of Valhalla.
There the land dropped off, hundreds of feet down a jagged wall of
granite, where a wooden ship with oars extended like a centipede’s
legs crashed against the rocky beach.
The Astral Sea spread infinitely outward, or so it seemed,
and nothing but the sun’s rays upon the deep blue ripples of the
water could be seen, shining like stars. But to the far left of them,
they could just make out an arching band of many colors, and as
they moved toward it, it became more clear that it was a rainbow
jumping from the tip of Valhalla, up into the pale blue sky,
vanishing from sight.
For hours they walked toward it, but the more they walked,
the more it seemed they had to go; just when they thought it was in
reach, it would be a little further off, and a little more. Then, right
when they were about to give up and turn back, the Rainbow
Bridge suddenly appeared, sprouting from a cloud hanging from the
edge of the land.
“Here we are,” said Durin.
“And I was beginning to think you didn’t know how to get
here!” grumbled He-Man, dropping the bag, for even he had tired,
having carried Fenris all the way on his back.
“Well, I should leave you now, good luck.”
“Wait . . . this bridge takes me to Asgard?”
“Yes.”
“You said no mortals are allowed near Asgard. What’s to
stop me from going?”
“Heimdall.”
“What?”
“He is the god that guards the bridge. Good luck getting
past him.”
“You never said anything about a guard!”
“Well, you didn’t ask.”
“I ought to throw you off this cliff!” cried He-Man.
“Well, you’re on your own, human, farewell!” And the little
man ran off.
He-Man gritted his teeth and walked up to the rainbow
reluctantly. It was about six feet wide, shimmering and slightly
translucent. What unnerved him most was that it had no hand rail,
and looking down at the water far below, he wondered, even, if it
would hold him.
Ever so slowly, He-Man touched the tip of his boot to the
shimmering bridge, and sure enough, he did not fall through it.
Even still, it did not seem solid. Rather, it was like a shallow pond,
for with his slightest touch, multicolored ripples formed in the
rainbow.
He-Man started across the bridge, then, which seemed to
rise up, all the while, staring through it to the sea far below, and
looking back from time to time, as Valhalla shrank to no more but a
hazy silhouette, and ultimately, to nothing at all.
At times, his mind would wander, even in this strange,
fantastical world, to the royal bedroom where Mari’na lay. Reliving
the times he shared with her, a thousand images of her lovely face
flashed before him, and it pained him, and there was a tightness in
his chest that would not go away. But his daydream was broken
when he thought he saw something: strange shapes beneath the
water like tentacles, or serpents bodies. It frightened him to wonder
what they were, if anything, for how could he see such things so
clearly from such a height, unless . . . He did not wish to think
about it, what things lie waiting to swallow him if he were to fall.
The very notion of it made him dizzy. And he pondered then over
Heimdall, and what he would do when he would face him. A god he
had never faced before. Would Heimdall throw him off the bridge?
“Halt!” a voice cried. “Where goest thou?”
He-Man dropped the bag, looking up to see a man with a
long, red, round beard, wearing many furs and a horned helmet.
And in his one hand he carried a short sword, and in the other, a
trumpet.
“I am He-Man, and I am going to Asgard. Who are you?”
“I am Heimdall, guardian of the Rainbow Bridge. No
mortals may pass into Asgard!”
“YOU?” said He-Man, surprised, “are Heimdall? You are a
god?”
“Aye! Turn back lest ye witness my wrath!”
“You don’t look so impressive to me,” said He-Man.
“Let me pass, my wife needs . . .,” then he remembered what the
Sorceress had told him, and stopped.
“Go on, mortal!”
“Let me pass or I’ll go through you!” He-Man threatened,
sliding his sword from its scabbard.
“So, ‘tis a battle ye crave, eh?” With that, Heimdall charged
at him with his sword overhead.
He-Man parried several attacks, returning with ones of his
own, but Heimdall was quick to block each one.
“Thou art the greatest mortal I have ever fought!” cried
Heimdall. “But ye shall die nonetheless!”
He-Man stressed for a reply, but could think of nothing but
his wife, and the fight.
The battle ensued for a great length of time, neither man nor
god tiring, though Heimdall moved with greater confidence,
knowing the boundaries of his bridge well. As for He-Man, he
hesitated to move, many times fearing he would jump or step too
far back and plunge into the vast sea below.
In past adventures, He-Man would charge into battle bare
breasted, with nothing but his sword to protect him, and slay a
thousand hard earned warriors before returning home unscathed.
Now he fought a single other, with both his shield and his armor,
and yet, this man, or god, pushed the very limits of his strength, and
his heart.
At long last, Heimdall gored him in the cheek, and He-Man
flew into a rage. Whipping his sword around in a semi-circle, the
head of Heimdall dropped, rolling off the bridge, and lifting his
body overhead, He-Man tossed the rest of him down. Head and
body fell toward the sea, but before hitting the water, a gargantuan
green serpent burst from beneath the waves and with one bite,
devoured them both.
He-Man leaned on the hilt of his sword to catch his breath,
examining the only remains of the late guardian of the Rainbow
Bridge, a sword and a trumpet. The sword was of simple design,
made of gold, but no dint could be seen on the blade’s edge. As for
the trumpet, it was made of a ram’s horn.
Without thinking, He-Man put the horn to his lips, when a
voice shouted; “Don’t do that!”
“What!?” He-Man cried, turning.
It was Durin. “You fool! Blow that, and all the gods will
come running!”
“You!” cried He-Man, lowering the horn. “What are you
still doing here? I thought you left.”
“The Sorceress said you were tough. I just wasn’t sure how
tough, and I didn’t want to be around when Heimdall threw you
into the sea.”
“You’ve been following me?”
“From afar, yes. Who else is gonna help you when you meet
the gods? They don’t like strangers, ya know.”
He-Man looked at the sword, then at him. “Gods indeed!”
he answered with a mocking tone.
“They are!”
“They have you all fooled, Durin. They’re just simple
warriors, great warriors, for certain, but nothing more. They being
gods is a myth, and what better way to scare off would-be invaders,
than a good myth?” Then a shocking realization came to him: if the
Asgardian gods were a myth, what of the golden apples? Were they
a myth too? He hoped, he prayed, not.
“You will see when we reach Asgard!” Durin asserted.
As the two continued toward Asgard, they noticed that the
rainbow path made a gradual downward slope, the sea below grew
dark and tumultuous, and the further they pressed on, the colder the
air became, so that He-Man was glad to have his fur tunic. It also
seemed as if he had to strain more to carry the bag, and he
wondered whether it was actually getting heavier, or if it was
fatigue that made it seem that way.
“There!” said Durin at last, pointing. The misty outline of a
tree’s branches could be seen rising up over the horizon.
“Could that be . . . the Tree of Life?” He-Man asked
excitedly, a new hope growing in his heart.
“Yes!” said Durin. “I have only seen it in books, and all my
life I wondered what it would be like to see it with my own eyes,
and there it is!”
With the tree in sight, their pace quickened, and soon the
whole oval head of the tree could be seen, followed by its trunk, its
roots, and last of all, the island of Asgard itself. It was like a tiny
island with an oak tree growing in the very center of it.
“Good lord!” He-Man exclaimed. “It must be over a
thousand feet high!”
“More,” said Durin.
The Rainbow Bridge came to an end by a snowy bank, and
there He-Man and Durin stepped off of it, looking around.
All the island was a wrinkled blanket of snow, broken by a
series of mountain ranges, and the Tree of Life rose high above
them all.
“So this is Asgard!” He-Man shouted over the howling of
the wind.
“Yes!” Durin shouted in reply.
“Is it always this cold?”
“Yes! The gods like it this way. Don’t ask me why.”
He-Man and Durin continued their trek, He-Man ankle deep
in snow, Durin almost up to his waist. Being shorter, Durin would
have moved much slower than his human companion, if it weren’t
for the large bag slung over He-Man’s shoulder.
“This bag is getting awfully heavy,” He-Man said.
“Why do you need to carry that thing around anyway?
What’s in it?”
“You’ll find out when we get to . . . Where are we going?”
“The house of the gods. Look,” said Durin. “Over there is a
rock. Let’s rest.”
“All right,” said He-Man, putting the bag down.
“It is said that we dwarves are pretty stout,” said Durin,
sitting with his back against the rock. “But you . . . don’t you ever
tire? You beat Heimdall and all . . . just who are you?”
“I am Adam Randor,” said He-Man, sitting by him, “King of
Eternia.”
“Kings don’t go around beating gods up,” Durin replied.
“See this sword,” said He-Man, freeing it from its scabbard.
“It is a fine work,” said Durin, touching the blade. “And I
should know. We dwarves are wise in the ways of weapons. We
live in the furnaces of the earth, forging steel.”
“The sword is what gave me my strength,” he went on.
“Ah,” Durin sighed. “Magic.”
“It was given to me, when I was a young warrior.”
“What for?”
He-Man breathed in deeply. “It’s a long story.”
“Why do you seek the gods?”
“To get the golden apples.”
“So,” said Durin smiling, “you seek eternal life.”
“No, it’s not for me. It’s for my wife. She is . . . dying.”
“Wife, eh? Had six of ‘em, outlived them all.”
“No woman could take her place,” said He-Man bluntly.
“Tell me, what’s so special about this . . . woman?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “She was a great warrior,
once, a hero like me. I have never met another woman quite like
her.”
“Tell you what,” said Durin, turning to face him. “I’ll help
you get those golden apples, anyway I can.”
“Thanks, Durin. I think we had best get off this rock now,
before we freeze to death.”
“Yes,” said he, hopping up. “We should be getting to-”
“Durin,” He-Man cut in. “Did you feel that?”
“What?”
“A tremor.”
“My legs are numb,” he grumbled. “I can’t feel a thing.”
Suddenly, an avalanche of snow slid down the mountain.
He-Man and Durin were far enough to make a good run, but what
followed afterwards stunned them both to silence.
Stepping from behind the mountain fissure came a HUGE,
stooping man. The black strands of his matted hair and beard,
flecked with snow flakes, fell down over his face to his stomach; his
skin was leathery and full of soot; his yellow stained teeth were
mostly chipped or missing, and he wore but a few patches of furs
from different animals crudely sewn together.
When He-Man gathered the power to speak, he
muttered; “By the spirit of Grayskull! He must be thirty feet tall!”
“We are doomed!” Durin cried, balling up into the fetal
position. “It is a giant!”
The giant laughed; “Little people!” Then, he cupped his
hands to scoop them both up. But He-Man stood his ground,
drawing forth his sword. “I have faced mightier than you!” he cried.
“Come and get me!”
Before the giant could retort, a single bolt of lightning fell
from the sky, so bright as to force them to turn away. Then there
was a deafening BOOM! and when they dared look again, the
giant’s head had broken to bits of bone and blood, and with another
thundering crash, his body fell to its knees, slumping over, chest
down in the snow.
“That was some lightning bolt!” He-Man exclaimed.
“That was no lightning bolt,” said Durin, clambering to his
feet. “That was the hammer from the hand of Thor!”
“Thor?” He-Man repeated.
“Look!” Durin said pointing up into the air. Then there was
a sound like rolling thunder, and from the clouds came a flying
chariot pulled by two goats. Holding the reins of that chariot was a
handsome, young looking man, with broad shoulders, a clean
shaven, square-jaw, and long blonde hair that danced in the wind.
Atop his head, he wore a shining, silver, feathered helmet; around
his neck flapped a blood red cape, and beneath it was a suit of
black, leather armor.
Once the chariot landed, He-Man could see a plain stone
sledgehammer in the man’s right hand, and when he stepped off the
chariot, he could see that the man stood seven feet tall, but with his
boots and his winged helmet, he looked ever taller.
“Mortals?” said he. “How come ye to Asgard?”
For a moment, He-Man thought to fight the man, but
remembering the giant and the lightning bolt, he decided otherwise.
“I am He-Man and this is my companion, Durin. Forgive us for
trespassing, but I have come here to give you a gift.”
“A gift?” he replied.
“Yes. It is right here, in this bag!”
Thor opened the bag and looked inside, then closed it again
quickly.
“Is it to your liking?” He-Man asked.
“Aye!” he laughed, “come!” And he turned to his chariot.
He-Man and Durin followed, getting into the chariot with
Thor. Then, Thor grabbed the reigns, crying; “Toothgnasher!
Toothgrinder! Away!” With that, the chariot lifted into the air with
them, up into the clouds.
(end of part 1)
Part 2
Quest for the Golden Apples
Copyright © Dec. 3, 1997 by Nick Alimonos
Nestled between the roots of the Tree of Life was the house of the
Asgardian gods, a wooden rectangle one hundred feet long, with a
snow-topped, triangular roof, flanked on all sides by wooden
beams.
As Thor’s goat-drawn chariot landed, He-Man thought to
himself how modest it was, the house of the gods. Even his palace
on Eternia surpassed it, both in size and splendor.
Once inside, He-Man and Durin felt warm instantly, so
much so that He-Man had to remove his fur tunic. The two
strangers were also surprised to find but one room within, with a
massive, roaring hearth, highly decorated with antlers on every
wall, and spanning the length of the room, a single, wooden table,
where thirteen men and four women sat eating and drinking
heartily, all of whom, were beautiful.
“Thor, mi son!” said the man at the head of the table, an
ancient looking man, though strong, who had but his right eye, as if
the left had been plucked out, with a long beard, white as snow, in
braids, and the cowl of a wolf.
“Father,” Thor said, leaving the bag by the hearth.
“I bringeth mortals from Valhalla.”
“Mortals!?” said he, standing, “here?”
“They art brave, great Odin. This one,” he said, pointing to
He-Man, “faced and defeated Heimdall at the Rainbow Bridge, and
stood ‘is ground ‘gainst a giant.”
“’Tis true?” asked Odin, turning to a man sitting at the table
who, to He-Man’s astonishment, was Heimdall.
“Aye, great All-Father, ‘tis true. He cut off mi head and
tossed me in the sea.”
“Well, then,” said Odin smiling, “be seated.”
He-Man looked for a chair, but could find no extras. “I am
honored, great One, though I don’t see . . .” but before he could
finish his sentence, there were two more chairs, and he and Durin
sat.
“Eat!” Odin commanded. And so they did.
For what seemed like hours, He-Man and Durin did nothing
but eat steak and drink mead, but no matter how much they ate,
their plates were always full, and their mugs too.
When He-Man could eat and drink no more, he put his plate
aside, which looked as if it hadn’t been touched, and turned to
Odin, saying; “I thank you for the fine meal.”
Odin answered him with a belch. “Why, thou hanst eaten a
thing!”
“Really, I’ve had enough.”
Odin laughed. “Mi youngest daughter could eat more!” And
the rest of them laughed too.
“Well,” He-Man replied. “I could eat more, but I tire of
meat. If you had some fruit, perhaps . . . maybe, a golden apple?”
“Golden apple!” Odin cried, knocking the chair down
behind him as he jumped to his feet. “Thou hast come to seek the
sacred, golden apples!?”
He-Man grew suddenly afraid as everyone turned to look at
him. “I . . . um, yes. Yes, I have!”
“No mortal may eat of the golden apples!” he shouted,
staring into his eyes with his one eye.
“I am no mere mortal!” cried He-Man, rattling the table
with his fist. “I have defeated Heimdall, and brought you Fenris the
Wolf!”
The gods gasped. “’Tis true?” Odin asked, raising an eye
brow as he fumbled with his braided beard.
“Aye,” said Thor. “I’ve seen it miself.”
“Then . . .,” Odin replied, “thou must prove thyself worthy
of the apples.”
“And how can I do that?” asked He-Man.
“By fighting and defeating the greatest one among us, mi
own son, Thor!”
“But I can’t . . .,” He-Man protested, “that would be . . .”
“Or,” Odin continued, “return to thy wif an’ bury her.”
“How . . .?”
“The great All-Father knows all.”
“All right!” He-Man cried. “I will fight your son!”
“Good,” Odin said, smiling. “Good.”
“When and where do we begin?” He-Man asked.
Thor stood suddenly, pounding his hammer into the ground,
and with a resounding KRAKA-DOOM! He-Man went flying out
of his chair and through the wall, twenty feet from the house into
the snow.
As He-Man labored to sit up, Thor stepped from the freshly
made hole in the wall of the house, swinging his hammer overhead.
“Give up, Eternian?”
“Never!” He-Man cried, a cloud of white air escaping his
mouth, as he stood, unsheathing his sword.
“Then die!” Thor said, letting his hammer fly.
He-Man raised his sword, holding it tightly with both hands,
putting all his strength behind it, as the hammer flew toward him, a
string of lightning tailing after it.
Hammer and sword collided with a deafening CLANG! as
waves of force cursed through He-Man’s body, nearly shattering his
bones, but he and his sword remained. Even Thor looked surprised.
But no more than a second past before the mystic hammer flew up
into the air, returning to the outstretched hand of its master. In that
moment, He-Man ran up to Thor with his sword raised high, as
Durin suddenly appeared with his shield, just in time for He-Man to
stop the hammer from crushing his skull, smashing the shield,
instead, to bits, as if it were made of glass. All was a blur, then, as
He-Man thrust his fist into Thor’s stomach, and turning his sword
around, hacked off Thor’s left ear, taking the wing of his helmet
with it. With that, Thor went berserk, knocking He-Man back with
the edge of his hammer. He-Man slid back into the snow, with a
large dent now in his breast plate, and a broken rib beneath. But
He-Man was undaunted. Getting to his feet again wearily, he
searched for something to throw, finding a massive, snow caked
boulder nearby.
He-Man threw the boulder with a fierce cry, but it was to no
avail. Thor tossed his hammer again, breaking it apart as it still
sailed through the air.
“’Tis no hope!” Thor cried. “Give in now, and I may yet
spare thee!”
“No!” He-Man screamed, running up to him again,
brandishing his sword.
Sword and hammer met once more. But this time, the force
was too great, the shock waves alone, dislodging every bone in
He-Man’s hand.
He-Man cried in agony, as the sword fell from his grasp into
the snow. Thor swung his hammer, then, and all He-Man could do,
was put his arms in front of his face.
DOOM!
He-Man lay on his back, with his nose broken, teeth
missing, his left eye, already swollen, and a ringing in his ears from
the sound of impact.
Thor looked over top of him. “Do you give up, now,
stranger?”
The throbbing pain in nearly every part of his body
commanded he cry for mercy, and the cold made it even worse, but
with the thought of his wife, lying in bed, dying, he could but
answer; “No!” clutching Thor’s feet.
Thor fell down, as He-Man sprawled on top of him, driving
the elbow of his left arm into his groin. Then He-Man stood,
wedging the heel of his boot into Thor’s throat, lifting Thor’s
hammer with his left hand.
“No!” Thor gasped. “It cannot be! Only Thor hath the might
to lift Mljoiner!”
“But I am He-Man!” he cried, raising the hammer above his
head, “the most powerful man in the universe!”
“Mljoiner, stop!” Thor commanded. And the hammer did
just so, inches before hitting his face.
“What-?”
Thor laughed. “Mljoiner obeys but me!” he said, clasping
his hammer in hand with a mad gleam in his eyes.
He-Man came crashing into the room, splitting the table in
half, sending food everywhere, and the gods dispersing. Thor was
soon to follow, limping in after him, pounding his hammer into
He-Man’s armored stomach before he could stand.
All the gods circled them now. “Do you give up!?” Thor
cried.
He-Man turned on his side, coughing up blood. “No,” he
rasped, eyeing the hammer hanging ominously over his skull.
“Death first!”
“So be it!” Thor cried, swinging downward.
“Stay thy hand!” Odin shouted. “He has, indeed, proven
himself worthy.”
“Aye, Father,” Thor replied, helping He-Man to his feet.
“What?” said He-Man. “I don’t understand . . . I thought I
had to beat your son.”
“Nay, brave warrior,” Odin laughed. “’Twas a test. Many
hath come from Valhalla to seek the golden apples. And thou art
the only mortal, in all of two thousand years, who hath surpassed
the test, the test of valor in the face of death. Truly, thou art worthy
of the golden apples!”
“’Twas a good fight!” said Thor, slapping He-Man’s
shoulder. “No hard feelings, eh?”
“Ugh . . . none taken,” He-Man replied, looking at him
oddly as he rubbed his shoulder, then noticing for the first time that
Thor’s ear he had cut was, somehow, replaced.
“Here’s your sword,” said Durin, walking up to them.
“Take these also,” said Odin, handing He-Man two, golden
apples. “Eat of one, and go to yonder homeland with the oder, lest
thy wif die.”
He-Man bit into the apple. It tasted sweet but otherwise, no
different than any apple he had ever eaten, and yet, almost instantly,
his broken rib, nose, eye, and even his teeth, were restored. It was
as if he had never fought. But best of all, was the new hope that
sprung in his heart. The myth of the golden apples was true, and
there were gods standing before him. Mari’na will live, he thought
to himself. We will share new memories again!
“Thank you,” said He-Man, turning from Odin, to Thor,
Heimdall, and to Durin, last of all, holding back, as best he could,
the tears in his eyes.
Suddenly, Odin marched away, to a young god stooping by
the hearth. The young god seemed to be toying with the bag, and
he was holding a pair of pruning shears. “Loki!” Odin screamed,
clenching his teeth. “What doest thou?”
“Oh, nothing!” he replied with a mischievous grin, “have
fun!” and he vanished.
Then the bag burst apart, and a man-like, dark-gray wolf
stood in its place, crouched low to avoid the vaulted, fifteen foot
ceiling, a wolf of mostly claws and teeth, and eyes burning with a
green fire, whose breath was like a blasting furnace.
“Fenris!” Thor exclaimed, swinging his hammer.
He-Man stumbled back in awe. The Fenris he had once
fought was not this creature. The Fenris he knew was much smaller.
And though he was afraid, he stood his ground, as he always did,
when all the rest but Thor and Odin fled. I dare not flee now, he
thought to himself, or the gods will think me a coward, and just
maybe, take the apple away. Perhaps, this is the true test of valor.
“Now, He-Man!” Thor cried. “We fight side-by-side!”
He-Man hurled himself at Fenris, plunging his sword deep
into the monster’s side. And in that same instance, Mljoiner went
smashing into Fenris’ face. He-Man flew back, but the wolf was
only stunned, recoiling through the torn wall with the sword still
embedded in him, nearly collapsing the roof.
“Come, He-Man!” Thor cried, handing him a thin, golden
thread with tassels affixed to both ends. “Take thy maiden’s hair
and help me tie ‘im down!”
“Tie him down?” He-Man stuttered.
“Aye, thou didst capture ‘im before?”
“Yes,” he said, following Thor outside, “of course.”
“Fenris leaves a trail of blood,” said Thor, kneeling to
examine the snow laden ground. “’Twas clever of thee to nip him.”
“Nip him?”
“Aye, ‘twill be easier to track ‘im.
“Toothgnasher!” Thor cried, “Toothgrinder!” and the goats
came tromping up. Thor and He-Man jumped into the chariot, then,
and rode off.
After an arduous, half hour chase, Thor and He-Man
cornered Fenris by the edge of a cliff, and leaping from the chariot,
the mighty thunder god delivered a series of hammerings to the
monster wolf’s skull like a madman, unearthing waves of snow with
each and every blow.
He-Man would have never believed the wolf still lived if his
claw had not burst from the ground, tearing into Thor’s face and
neck, knocking his helmet away.
“Now He-Man!” Thor shouted, pounding Fenris down
again, his face and neck smeared with blood. “Thy maiden’s hair!”
He-Man ran up to them, seeing Fenris, half buried in snow
from waist down. He then unraveled the hair, and holding Fenris by
the arms, as Thor held him by the legs, he worked to wrap the hair
around. As he was doing this, he could not help but wonder how
something as fine as a hair could bind such a powerful creature, but
as soon as the knot was tied, an impossible task, with Fenris
thrashing about, if it had not been for the tassels, Fenris was, as if
by some strange spell, incapable of standing.
He-Man and Thor stood, at last, having suffered but minor
cuts and bruises, and laughed together. Then they fastened Fenris to
the chariot, following the trail of blood back to the house, finding,
on the way, He-Man’s sword.
“What are you going to do with him?” He-Man asked,
watching the very full bag swing gently from the ceiling.
“Who knows,” said Thor, grinning. “Weel ‘ang ‘im
someplace. I question, what am I gonna do ‘bout Loki, the little
runt!” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“I will surely remember this, you too, Durin.”
Durin smiled.
“And thou shalt fondly be remembered in all Asgard,”
Thor replied.
“Now be gone with thee,” Odin cut in, “while ye still hath
time!” And when he pointed to the hearth, the flames died, and to
He-Man’s amazement, he could see, beyond the charred firewood
of the hearth, his own bedroom, and Mari’na laying there with
Teela and Rain by her side.
“Fare thee well!” said Thor, shaking his hand.
“Farewell!” said He-Man, turning and stepping through the
hearth into his bedroom.
“Adam!” Teela shouted. “When did you get here?”
“Here,” said he, “Mari’na must eat this apple.”
“A golden apple?” she said. “Where did you find that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“But how can she eat an apple if she can’t even open her
eyes?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, crushing the apple in his hand,
letting the juices drip onto her lips. Teela helped, then, opening her
mouth up with her fingers.
“Is that magic?” the little girl asked.
“Yes,” he said, kneeling by the bed, taking Mari’na’s hand
in his. “Mari’na, open your eyes, please . . .”
“By Odin’s beard!” she replied, sitting up.
“Mari’na!” he exclaimed. “How . . . how do you feel!?”
“F-fine, yes, I feel wonderful!”
“Oh, thank the gods!” he said, pulling her towards him,
kissing her gently on the lips.
“See!” said Teela, laughing. “Gods do care!”
“Yes,” he replied, never turning from his wife’s eyes, “and
let’s hope we never need their help again!”
Teela looked at him oddly, wondering what he meant. But
since he and his wife continued to kiss, she didn’t ask. She just took
her daughter in hand, and let them be.
