by Matt Larkin
“She’s radiant …”
Oh, by the blazing Sun. “You can’t be serious. You’ve only just laid eyes on her, and she’s come with Narfi. Things are not apt to go well if you—”
“Go to her for me. Ask for her hand on my behalf.”
Freyja groaned. Her brother and his obsessions. “This is unwise.”
The singing had ended, and now the Wave Maidens set to refilling goblets with more wine.
“After the feast, please. Ask her … at least entreat her to lie with me. I must …”
Freyja rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that—”
“So,” Narfi said. “Here we come to your so-feared Ragnarok. On account of this battle, you betrayed your followers and your kin. You worked sorcery in the dark, calling upon Art that ought to have stayed forgotten. In so many guises you wandered Midgard, caring naught who your schemes undid. And now … now you find the battle impends not only in spite of your efforts, but because of them. Reckon that’s irony.”
Frigg shook her head slowly. “You speak as if you know the weave of urd, boy. Your tongue reveals the depths of your ignorance. Odin is here, offering you the chance to join our alliance—”
“Oh, silence yourself, witch. What, you think yourself blameless in all this shit? You had my brother torn apart.”
Frigg rose slowly, gaze turned icy. “He earned it for the murder of Baldr.”
“What do you mean, ‘because of my efforts,’” Odin asked.
Narfi wasn’t looking at the king, though, but at Odin’s queen. “You coddled your son and built an arrogant cur in place of a prince. Man who thought the whole world his due. Not so unlike his father.”
Oh, this did not bode well. “Narfi, I don’t know you,” Freyja began.
“No!” he snapped. “No, but I know you. How truly magnificent your trench must be, that Odin would risk unraveling all the worlds for another chance to plow it. If your cunt is that legendary, you ought to share it widely? I don’t reckon you’re much opposed to fucking every last man in the hall? Or do you deny having lain with half of Svartalfheim to get back to Odin?”
Freyja flushed, unable to quite form words. How in the blazing Sun did he know what went on in the World of Dark?
“Oh, come now,” Narfi said, leering. “You fucked your way through Alfheim and when there won’t a liosalf left who hadn’t pounded into you, you started on the svartalfar. Well, when you’re done with them, may I recommend jotunnar? We’ll give the biggest cocks in all the—”
Odin rose again. “You are dangerously close to losing your guest-right.”
“Oh, but I ain’t your guest, dear Odin.” Narfi looked to Aegir. “I came for my own kind. I am here, announcing that Ragnarok, that you so feared, is upon you. And you wrought it yourself when you betrayed my kin! So what of it, Aegir? Will you fight along the sea jotunnar, or will you turn your backs on your own progeny?”
Frigg sneered at him. “Lord Aegir has received tribute from us for centuries in exchange for our friendship.”
“Yes,” Aegir said. “But that does not mean I can deny the call of my fellow jotunnar. I must think on this development.”
“Do not do this,” Odin said, though whether to Aegir or Narfi, Freyja couldn’t say.
Narfi spit on the table. “Me, I’ll await your answer, Benthic Lord. As to the rest of you … well, in Hunaland we passed the Deathless legions. Reckon they’re closing in on any fool enough to yet follow the Aesir. This winter ain’t gonna end, neither. How long have you got before your foes are burning down the halls of Asgard? Not long, I reckon.”
With that, Narfi turned and stormed out, leaving a few jotunnar behind to await Aegir’s answer.
Freyja let her head slump down into her hand. That could’ve gone better.
Frey elbowed her again. “She’s still here, Sun be praised. Tell her I await her.”
Gaping, Freyja turned on her brother. “Are you mad?”
“Yes. Mad with lust that must be sated. Find out who the jotunn woman is and send her to me.”
All she could do was groan.
Aegir had continued to extend his hospitality to the Aesir, Vanir, and liosalfar, though many had departed once the feast was concluded, including Odin himself. Freyja had promised to catch up with him in Hunaland, after he insisted he must verify Narfi’s claims of the Patriarchs moving on that land. Od adamantly refused to use the Sight to do so.
It seemed utter madness that Frey wouldn’t give over his desire for the jotunn woman—Gridr, her name was—but her brother insisted that a relationship with her might help maintain the peace.
For her part, Freyja doubted aught would do so now, not after all she’d heard about Baldr and Hödr, and Narfi’s parents. Odin may have tried to plan everything so intricately, but from her perspective, it was hard not to see merit in Narfi’s accusations that her lover’s own schemes had created this disaster.
Now, Freyja plodded along inside Aegir’s castle, to the chambers granted to Gridr, and rapped her fist on the door.
A moment later, the door swung inward to reveal a spacious room complete with a pool. Probably it connected with the sea, but, given Gridr was a frost jotunn, the cold would have had no effect on her.
It took her a moment to spot Magni, sitting on the jotunn woman’s bed. Had she already taken a lover here?
“What do you want?” the jotunn asked.
“May I enter?”
The jotunn waved her inside and shut the door. On Alfheim, if you wanted to lay with someone, you simply said so. The liosalfar were even freer about such things than the Vanir had been, and Freyja saw little point in being circumspect. If the woman refused, maybe Frey would give over this madness and join Odin in fighting the Deathless.
On the other hand, Magni’s presence made it more difficult.
Perhaps noticing her watching him, he rose, and stretched. “I’ll see you before I leave, Mama.”
Mama? Better than finding he was a lover, yes, but … Well, that was unexpected.
Freyja nodded at him as Magni left. Once he’d shut the door, she turned back to Gridr. “My brother, Frey, is taken by your beauty. He wishes to lie with you.”
Gridr snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first Ás in my bed.”
“Frey is a Vanr, not an Ás. He’s willing to give you gifts of silver or gold for your favor.”
She grinned, exposing teeth that still seemed mostly human. “Wouldn’t take that amiss. Him’s one of the ones what was glowing?”
“Yes.”
“Eh. Does his cock glow, too?”
Freyja arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure it does.” Other liosalfar’s dead.
“Reckon that’d be a sight.”
“Shall I take you to him? You can decide for yourself about his … endowments.”
Gridr shrugged. “Ain’t got aught else to do to pass the time, waiting for Benthic’s say-so.”
These creatures were vile. Mundilfari had done right in choosing to banish them. And now, here they were, thousands of years later, begging an alliance from the jotunnar. Except, war now seemed more like than not.
Well, let Frey enjoy himself then. There would be blood aplenty, soon.
Atop one of the towers rising from the castle, Sunna sat on a windowsill, staring at the ocean, though Freyja didn’t imagine her friend could actually make out the waves through the mist. They could hear them, though, breaking against rocks below, beautiful and soothing.
“I miss Alfheim, actually,” Sunna said. “I mean, I had missed Vanaheim, too, though it has changed so much. My home is gone.”
“Mmm.” Freyja didn’t recognize the place anymore. “You don’t like it out in Midgard.”
“No, not really. Not half enough sunlight here. So dark, and cold. It’s like staring into Niflheim. Your parents did well, declaring this world off-limits.”
It was a strange thing, their friendship, Freyja had sometimes thought. After all, both of their fathers had once served as monarch of Vanaheim. F
or that matter, so had Sunna’s grandmother.
Freyja rubbed her hands. “And yet, here we are, planning to fight for the mist-filled iceberg.”
Sunna clucked her tongue. “Is it worth saving? Even if we could win, would it be worth the lives we’ll lose to do it? I’m not sure we should have ever come back.”
Freyja knew the feeling, yes, but she had to believe in the cause. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, anymore. I mean we were born on Vanaheim. But Midgard is still our world. Our ancestors came from here, or at least from east of here.”
“Well, some ancestors from north of here, and the others … I mean, that’s out in Utgard, technically. Kind of makes the whole wall thing seem contrived.” Sunna looked back at her sharply. “Oh. Damn, I’m sorry. I … I had forgotten you were involved in that.”
Freyja bit her lip. What was she supposed to say? That it had seemed a good idea at the time? That it had been to end a war, back when they still thought Midgard worth fighting for? So much changed over time. They’d overthrown Brimir and destroyed the jotunn civilization in the hopes of letting mankind rise into its own. But they’d gotten what later generations called the Old Kingdoms instead.
Lines as corrupted by the Art as Brimir had been, if not more so.
Freyja sniffed. “If you really want to go back to Alfheim, no one will stop you.”
“Eh. My brother won’t go.”
“I doubt that’s the only reason you’re staying.”
Sunna chuckled, shaking her head. “Honestly? I just don’t want to see all the people I care about die in this icy wasteland. You and Gefjon and even … Saule and the others.”
Freyja patted her friend on the shoulder. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you came with me.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than her brother came tromping up the stairs and blundering into the room. “She’s gone!”
“Who?” Sunna asked.
“Gridr! She left while I was sleeping.”
Freyja snickered, shaking her head. “Well, it sounds like you got what you wanted anyway, so I don’t see what the—”
“She took the sword!”
Sunna glanced from Freyja to her brother and back. “You mean …”
Freyja groaned. “You mean you let her steal Laevateinn.” She Sun Strode from the window to her brother and grabbed him by the hair with both hands, pulling his face down to hers. “You let the jotunn bitch take away a runeblade!”
“Gah!” He grabbed her wrists and yanked them back. “I didn’t think …”
Freyja released him, barely forestalling the urge to slap the man. “I hope she was worth losing one of our greatest weapons, you cock-brained cretin.”
Frey had the sense to flush, backing away.
Shit. They needed to find Odin and let him know. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
Part II
Year 399, Age of the Aesir
Winter
10
The crush of two shield walls, smashed together for the third time, created a heaving mass of bodies. Men grunting, shoving, pushing forward with their shields in desperation to drive the enemy back, while thrusting spears over or under the wall. And while getting spears thrust back at them.
Little Odin could do would make much difference in such a press of warriors, so instead, he stood motionless behind his line, glowering at the Miklagardian army beyond. Oh, and it was an army, many times over his numbers—though the mist had prevented him from getting exact counts. It looked as though the Miklagardian commander had deployed two ranks of infantry, each pressing in together, while lighter warriors guarded their flanks.
Warriors out of Gardariki, in fact. North Realmers who ought to have served him rather than the vampiric Patriarchs.
Continuous snow flurries—enough that a layer of frost had built up on Freyja’s gilded armor where she watched by his side—further impeded vision, making it almost impossible to gauge the Miklagardian’s true strength.
They had spread out through the Rijnland valley, and could have—had their commanders been willing to wage a battle of attrition—overwhelmed Odin’s dwindling numbers at almost any time. The Miklagardians seemed intent, rather, to fight slow, careful, conserving their men for the no doubt impending invasion of Reidgotaland once Rijnland fell.
Saule’s armored, golden Sun Knights scattered through the valley struck an impressive sight, but even they had not turned the tide of this war.
“You cannot win this,” Freyja finally said. His lover’s breastplate and manica actually resembled the armor worn by Miklagardian commanders, though polished gold plated hers. Her armor left her sides bare, exposing her glowing skin. Impractical, yes, but the more skin she had exposed, the more sunlight she could absorb. Odin had already had to dissuade her from Sun Striding behind the enemy line and killing a few to disrupt them. She carried a thin-bladed sword that she’d admitted served better against lightly armored foes than armies, and thus had also acceded to bring a light mace. With her alfar strength, Freyja could certainly crush a man’s armor and his chest cavity beneath using such a weapon.
But using such powers might have alerted his greater foes to her presence, and Odin could not risk that. Not yet.
Odin spared her a glance, but found his gaze drawn back to the crush, where handfuls of men continued to fall, after getting spears jammed into their faces, or their ankles cut out from beneath them.
“Your opponents have superior armaments, superior numbers, and, from the look of it, superior training. It’s only a matter of time … unless you choose to find a solution.”
“No.” No, he would not look into the future. Were he to do that, he’d willingly stepped into the Norns’ trap and would find his actions bound by their whims.
“You have no way to know for certain that simply refusing to use their powers frees you from their web of urd. Are not the rest of the cosmos who lack such gifts still bound by their strands?”
Odin shook his head. Freyja said naught that he hadn’t considered, over and over, from the day he rejected his visions. He had no solution, but he refused to be a pawn. Except … the obvious objection then became, that perhaps their game ran so deep as to have accounted for him not using the visions. How to contend with such beings? Loki had once implied that they existed outside time, and thus did not perceive it the way Odin did.
“The lighter infantry has continued to flank around us,” Freyja commented.
The only way she could have known that was to have embraced the Sight. Reluctantly, Odin did so, as well, allowing the battle to become a haze. The mist and snow vanished from his view, though, as he peered through shadows. The battlefield was thick with shades, flitting about, bemoaning their deaths. By looking through the Veil, he became more solid to them, and many began to draw closer, drifting toward him and Freyja.
Perhaps they had served Miklagard in life and now meant to continue their fight, or perhaps they merely deluded themselves into thinking he could abate their suffering. Even had he possessed such a capacity, Odin could not have afforded the time to attend to the dead. Not while the living so quickly joined their ranks.
He followed Freyja’s gaze. Without the weather obscuring the valley, he could indeed make out two more Miklagardian units, one to either side, flanking around. A few more moments and his forces would find themselves caught in a pincer. The strength of a shield wall lay on one side alone, and an attack from the rear would collapse the wall almost immediately, turning the already hopeless battle into a bloody rout.
Worse, beyond the Gardarikian mercenaries, mounted archers rode, moving into position.
Shades now drew up mere feet from him, flailing, moaning, shrieking inane pleas at him in a maddening cacophony of lamentation. Hundreds of them, pressing against one another, almost like their own shield wall.
Odin blinked the Sight away before any ghosts decided to force the issue. “We have to stop those archers, and the mercenaries, as well.”
; Freyja frowned. “The horses.”
Odin nodded. Yes. Her sunlight allowed her to influence the minds of animals—even a hydra once, Hermod had told him.
Freyja spread her hands, and her eyes began to glow.
Out in the valley, beyond the immediate press of battle, Odin could have sworn he heard fresh screams. Despite the risk, he had to know. He embraced the Sight, just for a moment.
The archers’ mounts had suddenly charged right into the ranks of the Gardarikians, trampling them underfoot, ignoring the commands of their riders. Rampant chaos.
Releasing the Sight once more, Odin looked back to Freyja. Her eyes continued to glow, but the light in her skin rapidly dwindled. She could not keep up such an effect for long.
In another lifetime, as another man, Odin had tasted such glorious powers …
Bah! Such nostalgia served no purpose at all.
Finally—perhaps having realized their reserves had come under attack—the Miklagardians pulled back their shield wall, creating a perilous gap between the two armies.
The Hunalanders took the opportunity to limp backward, dragging the wounded away as they did so.
The whistle overhead was the only warning.
“Shields!” a Hunalander shouted.
And then arrows rained down over his army. They jerked their shields up into a clumsy shell overhead. A barrage of thwacks resounded off the boards, punctuated by grunts and screams as no few shafts found flesh.
Odin cringed at the hideous slaughter of his army. There had to be some way to push back the tide, but he could not see it. “Kára,” he called, though he knew the valkyrie would already be doing all she could to gather the most valiant souls for Valhalla. In truth, he was lucky the valkyries obeyed him at all, given he’d handed over Draupnir. Perhaps they did not know he no longer possessed it.
Maybe he ought instead to use Kára to fight, directly. Valkyries had incredible power. She might slaughter dozens of Miklagardians. But she wasn’t invincible, either, and couldn’t protect herself against so many foes. All he’d get for his trouble would be one more dead valkyrie.