by Matt Larkin
The touch was a scalding brand against his flesh. His skin blistered, bubbled, and popped. The stench of his own cooking flesh hit Odin full force, acrid and sickly sweet, choking him even as his arms and throat turned to charcoal.
In the back of Odin’s mind, Audr hissed in terror or despair. Valravn fled into dark corners of Odin’s soul. The vaettir he had bound were naught compared to the ancient, eldritch power now focused upon him. The power from which Odin dared try to wrest control of these valkyries. Through them, he had bridged the gap between realms and opened his own mind to this assault.
But it remained Odin’s mind.
All his anger, rage at the cruelty of urd, Odin fed into himself. He let it suffuse him. He let that darkness become him. Roaring at the entity that would seek to hold sway over life and death, Odin flung his arms free. He snatched the light being’s upper hands from around his throat, calling upon strength that could only ever exist outside this non-reality. The flesh of his hands burned away, leaving naught but bones.
And still he yanked the Sun God’s hands from his neck.
Finish … song …
Audr’s voice had become a faint whisper.
Odin’s throat barely had flesh left around it. To even speak invited fresh agonies upon himself. And still he opened his mouth, let the blood pour forth, and sang a further song. One in his own mind. One that extinguished all heat and all flame.
The outline of a face peered through rapidly dimming radiance, glaring and aghast at Odin.
And it vanished in an instant.
Odin’s vision returned only to see all eight women writhing, light pouring from their eyes, their mouths, even their noses.
As one, their rings burst apart. A heartbeat later, their swan wings exploded in a shower of blood and gore and feathers. Their screams echoed off the walls. The sound of it filled Odin’s ears, ringing long after the last notes of his song had faded away.
He glimpsed his own flesh. It had not burnt away, though his arms bore brand-like hand marks, as if the struggle with the vaettir had proved more real than he’d expected.
Elder God …
Audr’s voice sounded far away, as if the light had nigh to destroyed the wraith.
Had Odin won a contest of wills with so powerful a foe? Or had this so-called god’s power been divested in multiple directions, a mere fragment of his energy allocated to this struggle? He feared the latter.
Repercussions shall ensue, Valravn said.
“Oh, I know.” Odin’s voice still felt raw, burned.
The former valkyries now lay in naught but undershirts, struggling to rise off the ground. Crimson stained those garments, now matted with feathers.
Odin forced himself up from his knees.
“What have you done?” Svanhit moaned, her voice seeming nigh to weeping. “Why have you done this?”
“Because my need is greater. You will serve me.”
Skögul gaped at him. “Serve how? Our powers are stripped. Our … lives. Our immortality … Oh, by the light! You’ve trapped us in this realm.” The valkyrie glanced about as if seeking a weapon.
Again, pity tugged at his gut. Again, he forced himself to quash such weakness before it could thwart all his hopes. And yet, now the deed was done, his offer became a kind of mercy. “Suppose I can restore your powers. Your rings are lost, but the changes wrought in you lie quiescent, waiting.”
Another blonde woman stood. Her thin shirt did little to conceal her form, barely stretching down past her hips, but she seemed unabashed by this. “You would kill other valkyries for their rings? Offer us our lives at the cost of strangers?”
Odin reached into a pouch and withdrew one of the duplicates Draupnir had dripped. Slowly, he opened his palm so she could look upon it.
The valkyrie drew nigh, peering down it. “That is not quite the same.”
“It will serve, if you serve me. Who are you?”
Frowning, the valkyrie met his gaze defiantly. “Altvir.” Oh. Volund’s former wife.
The way she stared at him, it almost seemed she had begun to suspect the source of his knowledge. Odin offered her only a slight frown in return. Urd moved in strange circles and all things came round and round. Volund’s love of this woman and his loss of her might well track back to the source of this particular moment, but other moments traced behind that one. “Speak the oath and live in my service, Altvir. My valkyrie.”
The woman looked back to Skögul, who slowly nodded. “And you have enough for all of us?”
“Fortune favors you. I have eight.” Fortune, or urd.
Altvir stood aside so that her leader could come forward.
Skögul rose, no more bashful than her valkyrie sister had proved. Then she knelt before Odin, hand extended. “I, Skögul, swear upon light and darkness to serve you, lord. To choose the slain whom you would claim. To enact your will and bridge the living and the dead. I am yours, body, mind, and soul.”
Immortality. That was the gift the rings offered these women. The chance to break the chains of life and death and become more than fragile, short-lived humans. Many would risk much for it, of course. But for those who had tasted immortality, little greater terror existed than the fear of losing it. Such fears had crippled the Vanir. And Odin had well known the valkyries would not surrender their gift.
He slipped the ring unto Skögul’s finger, ignoring her glare.
She moved and allowed her sisters to come to him, one by one. Altvir and Svanhit, Gondul and Hrist. Sigrún and Hildr and Brynhild. His first valkyries and—given the cost and rarity with which Odin could replicate Draupnir—likely to be his only ones in the immediate future.
Brynhild, the last of them, rose looking at the ring on her finger, then her eyes flicked to Odin with some unreadable mix of trepidation and disdain. “Now complete the binding.”
Did the exact words matter? Perhaps not. “I hold you to your oaths, valkyries. Reclaim your powers and regain your wings.”
Brynhild glanced over her shoulder at her sisters. Gondul snickered while Sigrún and Hrist exchanged some private joke. Altvir closed her eyes and shook her head. Finally, Brynhild turned back to him. “You must bind the rings with your own pneuma for them to transfer the power. An exchange of pneuma.”
Odin cocked his head to the side. Either Volund hadn’t known, or hadn’t bothered to tell him. So how was he to give these women his life force?
It is always the same, Valravn said. The source of life.
Now Hrist shook her head. “Why do you think the Sun Lord has only female valkyries, you imbecile?”
Odin ignored her temerity, this once. Mostly because the meaning behind her words hit him in the face and stole his breath. Why did sorcerers always train under those of opposite genders? Because sharing flesh was the surest way to share life essences. Pneuma.
The valkyries here had known it, when they made their oaths. And the looks of disgust they’d cast upon Odin … because they knew the price it would take. Because Odin had, in essence, forced it upon them.
Even as he had so disdained Volund for his mistreatment of the girl. Now Odin himself would have to become the lecherous bastard.
“Oh, he gets it now,” Gondul said.
Skögul hefted her thin shirt, exposing what little it had concealed. “Good. I’d hate to have to explain this part.” She twisted her mouth up into an ugly sneer. “And it won’t work unless it goes both ways. So don’t disappoint me.”
In the Mortal Realm, Odin stood outside the ruined lodge, staring at his arrayed valkyries, each now clad once more in golden armor that glittered in the late afternoon light. No hint of softness graced any of their features. Did they see him as their rapist? All had come to him willingly, of course, desperately craving the powers he had stolen from them.
Men dreamed of bedding valkyries. Odin had not thought to gain such a boon—much less dreamt it would leave him feeling ill inside.
Utterly spent, he’d slept in their lodge. Of course, they d
are not strike out against him now. Not when he had become the source of all their gifts.
Your victims …
Audr’s sick amusement choked Odin. It squeezed his heart and filled his mouth with the taste of ashes.
“Brynhild,” he said at last. “Go to Hunaland and watch over Sigmund Volsungson.” Sigmund remained the key to reclaiming the ring of Andvari and finally letting Odin reach Alfheim and rejoin Freyja. He’d dared to hope the valkyries could do so, but—as Brynhild seemed delighted inform him—they still could not take a living man past the Astral Realm. Some things lay beyond even their power.
With a last look at her sisters, the valkyrie beat her white wings and was aloft.
“Sigrún,” Odin said. “You are to watch over Sigmund’s son Fitela.” The boy remained an unpredicted and unpredictable aberration in Odin’s plans. He could not afford to let him go unchecked, but nor was Odin yet ready to have him killed.
He turned to Gondul. “You will go and keep watch upon Starkad Eightarms. Take care, though, as he holds some latent ability with the Sight and might detect your presence.” Tyr’s son was both an asset and a danger, and not one Odin liked long out of his sight.
The next two took flight.
“Skögul,” Odin said, “to Valland. There is a bitter war coming, and I want the souls of the strongest from our side. Bring them to me in Asgard. Hildr, go with her and watch over Tyr.” He looked to the others. “The rest of you with me. It’s time you saw my plans for Valhalla.”
5
Sixteen Years Ago
The locals called this place Wolf Lake, named so for dire wolves that still sometimes roamed this land. While men ruled Sviarland and thought themselves mighty, large swaths of it remained wild, covered in forest and marsh and old places thick with vaettir. Odin had wandered Sviarland oft in the past three decades.
Not so very far from these woods, King Gylfi had once reigned in Dalar, and served as Odin’s voice on Midgard. But Gylfi was dead, and Sviarland had faced nigh unending war as one petty king after another struggled for dominance. Perhaps the blame for that lay at Odin’s feet, too.
Now he walked the shores of Wolf Lake, a raven on one shoulder while another flew out, circling the old cabin there. Built perhaps fifty years ago—more, maybe. Now home only to an old couple long thought dead. At least until Odin had spied them from the High Seat. Until he had sent his ravens there to be sure.
An ancient, gray-bearded man hefted a spear as Odin drew nigh to the cabin. “You’re trespassing.”
Odin quirked the edge of a smile as he continued closer. “A king cannot trespass in his own lands.”
“No king claims this wood. None who can enforce it, leastwise.”
“One king claims all of Midgard, old man.” Odin paused just out of range of the man’s spear. “One to whom you long ago swore allegiance.”
The man lowered his weapon. “Eh … Odin?” Odin nodded once. “Troll shit.” Not the greeting Odin had hoped for. “Does Hermod know we live? Does Sigyn?”
Odin rubbed his face as a cold wind blew across the lake. “We are both old men now. Can we not have this conversation by a fire?”
The cabin’s door flew open and a gray-haired woman stood on the threshold, sword held in a slightly trembling hand. “What is he doing here?”
Odin snorted. “Fine way to address your king, Olrun. Here I am, asking your husband to let me share his fire.”
Agilaz grunted then waved her to let them all inside. Glowering, Olrun did so. The former shieldmaiden slumped down by the fire, leaving her sword beside her as if she still expected to need to defend herself against him.
“Why now?” Agilaz asked when he had plopped down next to his wife. “Why after so many years?”
Odin lowered himself by the fire and warmed his hands. What to tell them? Now, because now the High Seat had allowed him to find them. Now because his ravens had confirmed what the seat had revealed. Now … because now Odin’s visions had revealed some connection between Olrun and valkyries.
Holding more knowledge than most men could dream of, Odin also found himself with more questions. And Agilaz’s earlier question seemed easier to answer and less likely to reveal more about Odin’s own limitations than he cared to. He looked to the old man. “Your son and daughter do not know you live.” An easy deduction, considering either one of them had more than enough cunning to have found their parents by now. “And I can only assume that’s because you think it easier for them to think you died on the crossing to Vanaheim.”
Olrun rubbed her hands. “They’re immortal. Best they not have to watch us wither away. We’ve had long lives. Longer than most.”
“Especially you,” Odin said.
Olrun flinched, then groaned. “Fuck. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Not because you missed us or sought after our wellbeing or—”
“Did you miss me?” Odin asked. “I am not afforded the luxury of making my decisions based on friendships or sentiments.”
Audr cackled in his mind. Insipid self-delusions … as if all actions were not driven by the selfish pursuit of one … best left lost …
Odin grit his teeth at the sudden mental image of Freyja.
“No?” Agilaz said. “Then be out with it, Odin. I am tired. I wish only to live out what few winters remain to me in peace, not struggling in war or facing horrors of the mist.”
Odin grunted, then stroked his beard. “You wish me gone, Agilaz? You have but to answer my questions and neither I nor any Ás under my order shall trouble you again.”
“These days you command more than the Aesir,” Agilaz said.
Olrun raised a hand to stop her husband’s objection. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We don’t have so very much life left in any event. I would not waste what I have in argument with him. In truth, I cannot tell you all you wish to know. I have spent so long stripped of my powers my memories have become a haze, blending with dream and nightmare, until I can longer say what truly happened.”
The implication of her words hit Odin like a blow. “You were a valkyrie yourself.”
“It was a lifetime ago, before the Njarar War.”
Odin leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“I … some few of us, caught between life and death, we sought immortality, after a fashion.”
“The rings.”
“They gave us power and made us half-mortal and … half-vaettr, almost. Allowed us to pass between the Mortal Realm and … beyond.”
Odin nodded. “You could enter the Penumbra. Pierce the Veil.”
Olrun shuddered and covered her face with her hands. “We guided souls through it. Souls that he wanted.”
“Who?”
“I can’t … even now my oath binds me, stops me from uttering a name. I broke my bonds, destroyed my ring … reclaimed my humanity.”
Agilaz took her hand in his own.
Odin nodded in sudden understanding. She had chosen a mortal life for the sake of her family. Her family … “You were a valkyrie when you bore Hermod.”
Now she glared at Odin with a sudden fire. “Do not drag my son into your machinations. Naught to do with what lies beyond death need concern him.”
Odin frowned, slightly, but nodded in acknowledgement. “Tell me more.”
“There was a lodge. There were nine of us.”
“Under Skögul?”
Olrun gaped. “How do you …?”
Svanhit had told him as much, and Olrun’s reaction confirmed that she had belonged to the same lodge as Svanhit. Sisters, after a fashion.
Odin leaned in closer. “Where. Where was this lodge, Olrun?”
The woman sighed. “Lappmarken, the mountains that form the border with Nidavellir. North of here, not so far. I … we were responsible for a vast region. Here, parts of Nidavellir, and into Reidgotaland.”
“There are other lodges.”
She nodded.
“How many?”
She frowned. “I don’t know.”
&nb
sp; “How many valkyries are there?”
“I don’t know that, either,” Olrun snapped. “Normally, if one fell, her ring would go to another. A woman elevated. But I destroyed mine so …”
Odin nodded slowly. The valkyries gathered souls. Svanhit had once tried to gain mastery of Odin’s soul, and doing so had cost her. They gathered strong souls for some master in the Spirit Realm. But if he had his own valkyries, Odin might harness those souls himself, and thus further prepare for Ragnarok. He would need all the power he could garner if Midgard was to survive.
The living and the dead. All must soon be made to serve his will, or all would perish in the final end of the world.
“You’re going to fail,” Olrun said.
Odin cocked his head. Had she heard his thoughts? Did some vestige of the power she once held yet remain to her? No, no, she meant he would fail in his obvious attempt to gain mastery over the valkyries. “What makes you think that?”
“You have no idea how powerful my sisters are.”
Oh, he had some idea. Odin had fought Svanhit once, and barely defeated her. But that was a long time ago. He’d come far since then. Besides, by the time he went to find this lodge, Volund’s work would be complete. And Odin would have the edge he needed.
6
The journey from the city of Thrymheim to the hall of Vafthrudnir was rougher than Skadi remembered. A broken path of shattered ice that her smaller, human form had trouble navigating. It forced her to climb, jump, and otherwise exert herself in a most undignified manner. Still, her old master knew more than most any being alive on Midgard.
He’d served on the Elder Council before the breaking of Brimir, an aid to his father Aurgelmir, before the Great Father walked away from his throne. Vafthrudnir knew of elder days, before the mists, or so Skadi’s own father had claimed. On his order the old ones had dug out the glacier and built their homes here on the plateau left behind.