Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 2: Books 4-6

by Matt Larkin

  Odin cocked his head to the side. Of course, all Aesir had heard of Nott. They feared her second only to Hel. But Dellingr … the name he’d heard in passing in the archives of Sessrumnir. The lord of Alfheim and god of the sun. In another lifetime, Odin had known the Sun God by a different name.

  He stroked his beard. So where to take this … “Whence comes the Fimbulvinter?”

  “From the mists of Niflheim, released unto the world to chill and choke the sons of man and herald the return of the Queen of Mist.”

  Hel herself. But these things Odin had learned long ago, from Idunn. “And what of you, jotunn? Whence comes your kind?”

  “From our Great Father, Aurgelmir, who drank the poisons of Elivagar and became vast and wrathful. With his blood the world shall be inundated until he walks once more.”

  “Ymir’s dead.”

  Vafthrudnir chuckled. “You seem to have forgotten the rules of this game.”

  Shit. He had no choice but to press on and hope he hadn’t lost his chance. “Where does the root of Yggdrasil breach above the Well of Mimir?”

  “In the farthest east, across the ice bridge over the sea, that men call Beringia. Amidst the first mountains you find, there lies the broken land where Mimir fled.”

  Yet farther east? How much father could there be? Did the world stretch on forever?

  He knows from way back …

  Did Audr think it meant Vafthrudnir knew the future? “Tell me, then, wise jotunn, the urd of the Aesir.”

  Vafthrudnir chuckled. “In every world I have walked. In the dark places I have seen the unraveling of time in founts of quicksilver. I gazed into the freezing depths of Niflheim. I have seen the doom of men and jotunnar and gods alike. All bound to descend into shadow.”

  “What fate befalls the Aesir?”

  “Do you mean to ask me what fate lies before you, oh king?”

  Odin blanched. Vafthrudnir knew. He knew who Odin was. “I …”

  “In the jaws of a fell wolf, a king’s blood runs thick. Though some few men might yet be saved by the grace of jotunn mercy, the wolf shall swallow their lord.”

  “What wolf?”

  Vafthrudnir snickered and rose from his throne, ice cracking and falling from him as he did so. “I do believe I have been contending with one under false pretenses. To hear the fate of the world and be able to do naught to change it must so vex you, Odin.” He waved a dismissive hand at the stairs. “Be gone from my court lest my mind be changed.”

  Odin stood.

  He might have questioned this being for an age. Vafthrudnir, though, clearly thought their audience at an end. Given the warning about this jotunn, Odin saw no choice but to acquiesce.

  Besides, it seemed the road before him was longer still.

  45

  The wood tribes of Galgvidr did not build their homes from mountain stone as did most jotunnar. Rather, they grew them, sprouting buildings from the boughs and trunks of twisting trees. Wood, woven together like baskets, but grown so tightly one might see each sinewy strand as a serpent. These created an arching maze that connected pines and spruce and firs together.

  The artistry of it impressed Skadi, even if it lacked the grandeur or elegance of what frost jotunnar carved from ice.

  For a time, she marveled at the tree trunk before her, massive as a building, twisting around itself in a way naught in nature would do on its own. But then, jotunnar were masters of nature, harnessing it while nurturing its extremes.

  In the days of Brimir, the jotunn tribes had lived together in peace—relatively, at least—overseen by the Elder Council. Now, she counted herself lucky to be able to walk among wood jotunnar without evoking a war. She had not come to the position lightly, nor did the locals at first accept her exchange of hosts on her most recent return.

  It helped that she had her old host as a prisoner.

  Skadi had given Gudrun to the chief’s son as a plaything, relishing in the Niflung princess’s screams as the wood jotunn ravaged her over and over. The sorceress had given in to hubris in trying to master Skadi. It seemed only fitting Gudrun should thus find herself so humbled.

  Skadi pushed on, inside the tree, where layers of roots bending back on themselves formed a stair up into the dwelling. On the upper reaches, the boughs of this tree wove together with those of others nearby, forming a hollow bridge. This Skadi followed, nodding at wood jotunnar inside before coming to the one she’d set to guard her more precious prisoner.

  As commanded, no flame was allowed anywhere nigh the chamber within. The only light came from a gap in the weave of wood, a tiny window, forced open after Skadi had forbidden fire here.

  And with good reason.

  Roots had grown down from the weave to bind the man’s hands above his head, while others had grown up from the floor, encasing his legs up to the knee in a cage of wood.

  Loki. Loge. Loptr. Kutkh. How many other names had this man had?

  Once, Skadi’s prior host had managed to capture him. She’d lost him, too, thanks to the interference of his lover. Ah, but the Ás bitch was not like to come for him in the heart of Jotunheim. No, now he was Skadi’s for good.

  A slight reek filled the wooden chamber. His trousers were stained with his piss. Well, Skadi had warned them not to release his bonds under any account.

  “Remove his trousers,” she called over her shoulder.

  The guard came and began sawing through the garments with a bone knife.

  Loki paid him no heed, staring only at Skadi with his level gaze, his crystal blue eyes. So many mortals felt abashed when naked. Not him. Why? Because he had lived so very long?

  “Just how old are you?” she asked.

  As expected, he offered no answer. The wood jotunn carried the filthy trousers away.

  “Old enough to have lived in a distant era, long before mist,” Skadi said, moving to stand beside him. She traced a finger along his abdomen. Well muscled, like the rest of him, even if he remained a bit svelte. “Old enough to have lost children. A daughter?”

  Now he stiffened ever so slightly.

  “The father of Hel herself. Tell me how that’s possible, human.”

  His eyes narrowed, just a hair.

  “Or are you not quite human? Not quite jotunn, either. But there’s something of both in you. God? Man? What are you? From where and when do you come?”

  “Do you truly believe you’ll get the answers you seek? And if you found them, would you even know what to do with them?”

  Skadi smiled. “Well …” She traced a finger down from his abdomen, then wrapped her palm around his stones. “I know if you fathered Hel, you must have quite the strong seed.”

  Loki groaned. “I have naught at all for you, vaettr.”

  Skadi chuckled as she knelt before him. “Let’s be honest: there are some things a man just can’t control.” She leaned in, then licked his cock. The man had—surprisingly—managed to avoid growing hard at her squeezing his stones. The more she worked her tongue around though, the more quickly he lost that fight.

  “Cease this.” Practically a growl.

  Skadi pulled her mouth back just enough to answer. “The strong take what they want. It’s the way the world is.” She wrapped her lips around him then, sucking hard. Forcing him closer. Finally, she pulled back and withdrew the furs hanging between her thighs. “I have to be honest, too. You may be tall for a human, but you’re puny compared to what I was hoping for. I’m not expecting too much from you.”

  He grimaced and looked away as she grabbed him and slid him inside her. The angle was awkward, but she’d judged the timing well. It didn’t take too much to send his seed spilling into her.

  And with it, a cryptic barrage of nonsensical visions. Of years stretching back for more millennia than she might have ever guessed. Of loss, of pain. Of a legacy of failure and the price of history.

  Skadi wiggled her hips free. “Don’t worry. I know you immortals aren’t known for fertility. We can try again tomorrow. As
many times as it takes, really. I’m curious just how powerful your blood will be.”

  Loki shook his head in apparent disgust. Bah. As if the man hadn’t enjoyed it.

  Skadi snapped her fingers at the wood jotunn. “Bring it.”

  The other man disappeared, running off down the wooden bridge.

  She turned back to Loki. “You see, I’m going to give you a choice. Pleasure, or pain. Venom, or the honey of my trench.”

  “Odin’s going to kill you.”

  Skadi shrugged. “Pain for today then. Sooner or later, you too will swear a blood oath to me.”

  Three wood jotunnar came back in, bearing a thrashing serpent between them. The creature was easily two dozen feet long. Snake-like, save for frills along the side of its head and a ridge running down its spine.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  Loki shuddered. “I have always known.”

  He had foreseen this? The thought left her almost speechless. She might have killed herself to avoid such a fate. “A serpent from Naströnd, of the very brood of Nidhogg, taken from the edge of Hel’s domain.”

  Loki shut his eyes, seeming resigned.

  Oh well. He might feel different after a night of it.

  The wood jotunnar mounted the serpent above Loki, locking it in place with great thorned pinchers that clamped onto the walls. The thorns dug into the serpent’s scales, piercing deeper the harder it thrashed.

  In its furious hissing, its acidic venom dripped from its curving fangs. The acid fell over Loki’s face, ran down his neck, his chest. It splashed on his shoulders. He roared in agony, flailing so wildly she half expected to hear his arms and legs snap.

  The scent of burning flesh hit her, whetting her appetite.

  Skadi clucked her tongue at Loki. Tomorrow, he’d make a different choice.

  46

  A great expanse of snow-covered plains stretched out far ahead of Odin and his party. To the south, the edge of a freezing sea washed over chunks of ice and sent them continually bumping into one another.

  Odin had lost track of how long they had walked. Surely by now he must stand upon the cusp of winter. If not, he did not even want to imagine how cold this place must grow in those moons. A permanent layer of rime now seemed crusted over his clothes, his gear. His buckles oft seemed frozen solid such that he had to break them open to undress or even to take a piss.

  Intuition told him to stay this course, but following the shore left his gut uneasy. As if something lurked out there in that dark sea. Something unknown and powerful beyond measure. A primal fear buried in the depths of his soul.

  Geri and Freki cast furtive glances at the waters from time to time. Only once had Freki questioned Odin’s choice to walk the shoreline, and, on finding Odin adamant, had let the issue drop. His children trusted him even to the exclusion of their own instincts. An honor and a gift they offered him, one not to be forgotten.

  Today, at least, the wind had died down and the late afternoon sun shone above—what little broke through the mist.

  “What if Utgard has no end?” Freki asked.

  Odin cast a glance at his son but offered no answer.

  Vafthrudnir might have lied, yes, but the Sight told Odin otherwise. Their destination lay still ahead. Further into the wilds.

  “The better question,” Geri said, “is if we are still in Jotunheim. We’ve seen little sign of jotunnar in the past fortnight. Maybe we’ve passed beyond their domains.”

  Freki groaned. “You know the legend, about what lies beyond Jotunheim …”

  Geri hugged herself and glared at her brother for bringing it up.

  Odin knew it, too. The legend claimed Iormungandr, the World Serpent, dwelt in frozen seas, encircling Utgard and thus Midgard as well. A creature that bounded the entire Mortal Realm.

  Its waking would mean the end of the world.

  “I see something out on the water,” Geri said after a moment.

  Odin started from his musings, and followed where she pointed, squinting. Indeed, several dark forms bobbed up and down out there. He pulled to a stop and stared, trying to make them out. Too far, though.

  Instead, he touched Valravn, and the vaettr sent out a raven, soaring above the sea. Through its eyes, Odin spied small vessels, long and pointed, wrapped in animal skins and suitable for a single occupant. Those within were men, ruddy-skinned and bundled in furs. They hauled up nets of fish and deposited them in crates draped over either side of their little boats.

  “Fishermen,” Odin said.

  Freki grunted. “There’s more ahead. Out on the ice.”

  Odin frowned. Going around these people would take them out of their way, and out of the course the Sight seemed to be pulling him on. Besides, they needed supplies. Maybe the locals would trade for silver. “Let’s approach then, but cautiously.”

  Evening drew nigh by the time they reached the cluster of men. A small hut rested some distance away, made from snow bear skin and perhaps bone. The men had bored a hole into the ice over the sea and had knelt around this hole, chanting in some unintelligible dialect.

  Almost unintelligible. A hint of recognition niggled at the back of Odin’s mind, drawing him closer to these people. A memory, perhaps, of another lifetime, one where he knew more tongues of men. Meanings sat just beyond his reach, taunting him.

  One of the men looked up sharply, paused in his chant and stared at Odin and his children.

  With the setting sun behind them, it must have been hard to make out Odin’s party.

  Odin drew closer. Now all the men rose and stared at him, muttering to themselves. Something about agloolik. What did it mean? He knew that word. Did it mean his group? Strangers? If Odin could but draw upon those buried memories, he might make allies of these people.

  One of them brandished something hung around his neck. A seal tooth? He expected a seal tooth to protect him?

  “Agloolik!”

  The others took up the chant, repeating the word over and over.

  Appearing at dusk, perhaps they mistook Odin and his people for some kind of vaettir. “We are just men,” he said, knowing they’d never understand.

  “Agloolik!”

  Odin reached inside his cloak to withdraw some silver coins.

  Before he could even show them the wealth, two of the men had drawn knives that looked carved from bone.

  A low growl escaped Freki.

  “Leave it,” Odin snapped. Those knives probably wouldn’t pierce his mail. These people were frightened and he hadn’t come here to kill humans.

  “Agloolik!”

  Odin knew that word. Too many lifetimes blurred inside his head, making it harder to separate out what memories came from where. But he knew this language … from way back. “Protectors …” he mumbled.

  A dark form burst from the hole carved in the ice, splashing freezing water in all directions. The men leapt away from the creature. But they didn’t continue to retreat. As if they had expected it.

  Slick black skin, black eyes. A seal.

  Freki snarled and the seal barked. And then the sea creature thrashed, twisting its form until it resembled something human.

  Finfolk … Agloolik. Finfolk.

  The shifter lunged at Odin, moving much faster than a man. Caught in his musings, Odin couldn’t react in time. The creature slammed him with the power of a horse, sending Odin flying backward. He crashed down onto the ice with enough force to send a spiderweb of cracks along it and leave him reeling.

  Finfolk … why had he thought them protectors? Didn’t they prey on mankind? Steal wives and husbands?

  Freki had cast aside his cloak and now tore off his shirt. He’d already begun to sprout fur as he dropped to all fours, snarling. Geri too had begun to strip.

  The finfolk became a full seal once more and slid over the ice with surprising speed and grace, aiming for Freki.

  Freki’s shift finished. He snarled, shook himself clear of his fallen clothes, and leapt at the seal, jaws snapp
ing.

  “Amaruq!” one of the humans shouted.

  Wolf … night wolf.

  The seal collided with Freki and both of them flipped over one another. Freki hit the ice sideways, skidded along, and struggled to regain his feet, looking half a fool.

  Even as Geri—now shifted herself—closed in on the finfolk.

  “Stop!” Odin shouted. Seized by the memory of another life, he repeated the command in the language of these Beringians. “Stop!”

  The shifters did so, drawing up to square off against one another. Geri slowly circled Freki and the finfolk, clearly intending to leap in if the fighting resumed.

  Blood had stained the ice. Blood from both Freki and his opponent. In the chaos, Odin hadn’t seen those bites land, but Freki’s leg was maimed.

  “Peace,” Odin said in their language.

  “Amaruq,” one of the others repeated.

  “Take them to the angakkuq.”

  “Risk our qaygiq?”

  So many unfamiliar words. So distant he couldn’t pull them out.

  “We cannot offend amaruq.”

  After a brief, bitter exchange, the Beringians reached some agreement. One of them stepped forward and cocked his head off in the direction of the plains, away from the sea.

  Freki whimpered. The varulf was losing a lot of blood.

  Not taking his eyes off the strangers, Odin knelt and hefted the wolf into his arms, drawing on his pneuma to give himself strength and stamina.

  The Beringians led them not to the hut, as Odin had first suspected, but farther into the night.

  The qaygiq, as they called it, turned out to be a large home dug into the snow, deep, forming an underground dwelling. A pair of lamps that smelled of whale blubber lit the place, and a stone-lined fire kept things warm enough that Odin shed his cloak.

  The longer these people spoke, the more their words took hold of his mind. Odin laid Freki on the wooden floor. Their angakkuq was a shaman, different from a sorcerer only insofar as shamans did not normally bind vaettir.