The next night Prince Sweyn arrived at the agreed meeting place hooded in a brown mantle so no one would recognize him, posing as a simple merchant in the village.
The man in the habit waited for him, but beside the stranger stood another figure so tall he could scarcely be called human. Sweyn had never seen anyone of that size before.
“Is he two meters… or even more?”
he wondered, terror in his eyes as he stared at the giant.
Seeing the terror in the prince's eyes, the hooded man spoke to him reassuringly.
“You have nothing to fear, my lord. As I told you, I am a servant of the great Odin, and this man is a jotun,”
the hooded man said.
The prince's eyes opened wide in terror.
“A jotun? One of those giants that live in the other worlds of the tree Yggdrasil? Seriously?”
the prince asked, voice shaking.
“His mere presence here in Midgard, the land of men, is proof of my words and of the gods’ favor,”
the man in the habit replied calmly.
Still surprised, the prince tried to calm down, even though he felt his heart beating like an angry drum.
“Al… all right. I believe you,”
Sweyn answered, approaching the hut and pushing the door open while doing his best not to look the giant directly in the face—he feared for his life.
The prophet and the giant stepped into the hut as well. The so-called jotun had to stoop to enter, even breaking the lintel a little as he passed.
Inside the hut everything was dark and in disarray. The smell of damp and mildew was strong, and mice squeaked throughout the house. A table and a few chairs were barely visible in the moonlight. The prince had refused to light the hearth so as not to draw any curious eyes.
“No matter,”
the man in the habit said.
A bitter cold bit at Sweyn. He shivered and felt a growing urge to light that stupid fire, but he held himself back. Yet he noticed that neither the man in the habit nor the giant seemed to mind the cold at all.
“And tell me, what plans do you have to give me the throne, prophet?”
Sweyn asked bluntly.
“Plans? From us? None,”
the hooded man answered.
The prince felt that the hooded man was mocking him. This annoyed him.
“Do you mean to say you’re merely wasting my time? Are you after my life, then?”
the prince asked, nervous.
The prophet shook his head as a low chuckle could be heard coming from his lips.
“No, my lord. Do not misunderstand. We are servants of the great father Odin, and we will ask for only one thing in return for his victory,”
the hooded man replied without flinching.
“What, exactly?” the prince asked.
The hooded man looked at the jotun, and they both nodded. Then he stepped forward and raised his arms as if about to deliver a passionate recitation.
“We want you to hang every Christian and traitor you find in your path—even if you choose to execute them in the serpent pits you love; we need their near-lifeless bodies to be hanged and presented to the great Odin,”
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the man answered.
The prince was confused by these words. He couldn't understand how foolish the self-proclaimed prophet's request was.
“Why would the method of execution matter so much?”
Sweyn pressed.
The hooded man lowered his gaze to the ground for a few seconds while he remained silent. Sweyn felt like he was being mocked for a moment... but what could he do? Without a doubt, if he tried anything against him, that giant would crush him... or his heart would be stopped, as had happened to the guard the day before.
Fear. The prince felt like a mouse negotiating with two fat, rude cats.
“These are our conditions. If you do this, we will grant you superhuman power in the war against your father. As I said, we have no plans for you: you must convince the Jomsvikings to unite against your father. I do not think you will have trouble—your majesty is strong, skilled, and charismatic; a far better candidate for the throne than your savage father,”
the hooded man said.
The prince remained silent, trying to understand the logic of these words.
“Only executions, then? It sounds very suspicious to me,”
the prince muttered, pondering.
That very concern made him stop feeling the cold; yet now a different nervousness crawled through his body, like a fly trapped and sensing the spider closing in.
“Because human sacrifices please our father Odin. Do you not know this, Prince Sweyn? Ragnarok approaches, and if you do not want him to die within Fenrir’s jaws, you must give him more and more power so he may be victorious.”
“Your father, King Harald, seeks to prevent more warriors from reaching Asgard to fight beside our father Odin. Do you want the cosmos destroyed because of your inept father?”
the hooded man said, his voice sharp with irritation.
At last Sweyn could see the prophet’s eyes—violet, almost red; his gaze was full of rage and terror.
“Forgive me, I knew nothing of this,”
the prince stammered.
The prince realized he had uttered words he would never have said: "Forgive me." He was so afraid that he didn't realize he had said them.
However, the prophet also began to look calmer, while the Jotun smiled as if he were mad.
“Do not worry, your majesty,” the hooded man answered in a calmer tone.
“Then you must not see yourself as merely a king of Denmark—you must see your revolt as the key to our father Odin’s victory over the forces of evil.”
Those words resonated loudly in the heart of the fearful prince.
“I understand. Not only will I free Denmark from my father’s tyranny, but I will also aid our great lord Odin,”
the prince said, excited.
At once the prince pictured himself dining in the great hall of Asgard beside Odin and fighting at his side as an Einherjer, a human warrior who would be resurrected to join the gods at Ragnarok. The fear dissipated in moments.
“So it is, your majesty. Father Odin will grant you the throne of Denmark, and you will help him defeat his enemies and prevent Asgard’s forces from falling into enemy hands,”
the hooded man replied, a malevolent smile appearing on his face.
Almost as if screaming, like a child who found a favorite toy, the prince looked excitedly at the two beings in front of him.
“All right. I will begin tomorrow to execute as many Christians as I can. Hanged—will that do?”
the prince asked, thrilled.
“We have a deal then, your majesty—King of Denmark and savior of our father Odin,”
the hooded man said, bowing.
The giant did not bow; the hooded man gave him a discreet kick in the leg, and the two-meter figure inclined his head as well.
The men left the hut, leaving Prince Sweyn alone, wrapped in darkness and cold. Something surged through him and he ran to the door, throwing it open to pursue the two men—but they were gone. They had vanished completely.
“Did I dream it all? Is it the intense cold playing tricks on me?”
the young prince wondered, bewildered, as the thrill ebbed and the cold returned to his bones.
“In any case, I will do as that man asked. After all, whether it helps our god Odin or not, killing Christians and erasing their filthy religion from our lands is, unquestionably, a goal I also desire,”
he thought, drawing his arms around himself to warm up.
Prince Sweyn left the rickety hut and made his way back to his palace at Aros.
