The Songweaver's Vow

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  The ship pushed through the walls of the longhouse, destroying timbers and planking. The cracking walls and roof sagged and fell, blockading the end of the hall as Loki sped away across the dead plain.

  Euthalia was left alone in the underworld, alone in Helheim. She had no way to return.

  She folded her arms across her chest and held herself, cold in the fireless hall. She had to return to Asgard, had to warn them of Loki’s impending attack. She had to find Vidar and explain she didn’t know Freyja had been the one to curse him. She had to find a way out of Helheim.

  She looked around as if she expected a door to appear. It did not. She took a few steps one way, then another. She was numb.

  A hissing sound seized her attention, and she looked up just as a snake fell to the ground beside her. She leapt to one side, too startled to scream, and it slid away from her into the rubble. The hissing continued, however, and she looked up.

  The broken thatch was writhing with angry snakes. And now that the roof was collapsing, they were falling.

  Euthalia ran for the rubble pile. She would climb to the top, somehow, and then she would just leap to the ground beyond. Surely that risk of injury would be better than staying in a collapsing hall thatched with serpents.

  But the rubble shifted beneath her, and snakes slid from between the fallen beams, hissing and drawing back to threaten strikes. Euthalia scuttled back, hesitated, and then pressed forward again. She had no other exit.

  Motion blurred simultaneously with a bloom of pain on her hand, and Euthalia yelped and, recoiling, lost her grip and tumbled back to the floor. Two punctures marked the back of her hand. She had not even seen the snake as she climbed.

  The venom burned in her hand, and she saw her hand swell even as she watched. She turned back to the rubble and started climbing, but already her fingers were going stiff and numb, and it was difficult to flex them about the handholds she found. She lost her grip and slid nearly to the floor again.

  Another beam fell, and two more snakes dropped in front of her. Euthalia spun, looking for another exit, but there wasn’t one. She was trapped, and she would die here in Helheim, and Loki would destroy Asgard and all the nine worlds, and she would never apologize to Vidar and tell him she loved him.

  She dropped to her knees. “Vidar,” she whispered. “Vidar….”

  The hall was going dark, no matter how she blinked her eyes, and she was swaying. She cradled her wounded hand and let the tears finally come. No one was there to see. She had betrayed Vidar and she had begun Ragnarok. There was no reason to hold back the tears.

  She slumped to the ground, snakes dropping around her, and lost her vision.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  An enormous crash roused Euthalia enough to open her eyes, and she saw the opposite wall of the hall had cracked and sagged. There was a second blow, and timbers cracked and a hole gaped wide, trickling dust. A figure moved, silhouetted in the opening.

  There was a snake in front of her. There were snakes all around her. She could not move; a drowsy inertia sat heavy upon her. Snakes hissed all around her, and she could not move.

  Then a heavy boot appeared before her face and kicked the nearest snake away. The boot returned, pushing each hissing serpent back. The snakes hissed and a few struck, but none could penetrate the heavy leather boot.

  Euthalia blinked, trying to make her eyes focus, and then a hand took her shoulder and rolled her face upward. “Euthalia!”

  “Vidar!” She found strength she had not believed she had and extended her arms upward, trying to grasp him, to pull him close.

  But he was already gathering her, one hand beneath her head, one beneath her chest, cradling her to him. “Euthalia,” he breathed. “I thought—I thought you were lost to me.”

  “Vidar.” She was crying now. “Vidar, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant—I didn’t know—Vidar….”

  “Hush,” he urged. “Later. First, eat this.” He pressed a berry into her mouth.

  It was bitter and sweet all at once, and as the juice burst in her mouth she felt a curious tingling through her tongue and throat. She swallowed, and the tingling spread through her torso and ran down her arms, concentrating in her injured hand. “Idun’s?” she asked weakly.

  “Yes, Idun’s epli,” he answered. “They will heal you of the snake’s venom. Take another.”

  By the fourth berry her vision had sharpened and she was able to speak clearly. By the seventh, she was able to rise and fling her arms about him properly. Cold metal brushed her cheek; he wore a shadowing helmet. He was in armor and bearing weapons. He had come to Helheim to fight.

  “You came for me,” she whispered. “Freyja—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was Freyja….”

  He pulled her closer to him. “Freyr told me you were here,” he said in a rush. “He came to Folkvang and shouted until I came outside, saying that Freyja had tried to kill you, that you’d been serving her, that you somehow thought to petition Hel for me.”

  A spark of rage stirred within Euthalia’s too-heavy body, not as strong as it should have been but promising to grow. Folkvang was another of Freyja’s halls. Freyja had kept Vidar in her very own hall, even as Euthalia slaved for him. “Folkvang? You have been in Folkvang?” Then the spark caught. “You went to Freyja?”

  He went still. “I—I asked Freyja to conceal me. She was the only one who could. I couldn’t bear for all to know that my… that my face had—”

  “No.” She didn’t want to hear him admit he was ashamed that his wife had recoiled from him, that he had needed to hide from those who knew he had gambled and failed.

  “I didn’t know she also had you.” His dragon’s voice was dangerous.

  She pulled him more tightly to her. “Vidar,” she murmured into his neck. “I never—”

  “Euthalia, my love,” he interrupted, “I should have given you a reason, I should have asked you, I should have stayed, we both—let us forgive one another? Start again?”

  “But I didn’t know it was Freyja—I thought I could ask Loki to undo the curse, and instead I have set him upon Asgard—”

  Vidar stiffened and pulled back from her. “What about Loki?”

  “He is free,” Euthalia said, her voice nearly a sob. “He has gone to lead the Jötnar against Asgard.”

  At that moment a sound burst through the broken hall, setting the stones to vibrating and making the snakes hiss and strike at whatever was nearest them. Euthalia ducked her head against Vidar’s chest and pressed her hands over her ears, but still it pierced her and set her heart pounding anew.

  When it ended, Vidar said grimly, “That is Gjallarhorn, blown by Heimdallr,” he said. “He has seen Loki’s army.”

  “What do we do?” asked Euthalia.

  “We fight,” answered Vidar immediately. “We fight. It may not be true Ragnarok, and we will push back this assault. Or if it is indeed the end of all things, then we will meet our end with courage and valor.”

  He took her hand and they got to their feet, and they picked their way through the disturbed snakes to the hole he had kicked with his heavy boots. Outside there was a horse—Sleipnir, she realized with a start.

  Vidar noted her surprise. “He was the only horse who could reach you in time,” he said. “It takes nine days for an ordinary horse to ride to Helheim.” He lifted her onto the saddle and then mounted behind her. “But Odin will need him now.”

  Euthalia wrapped her hands in the horse’s mane and wondered if the horse, another son of Loki, would betray them. So far he had seemed to be only a horse, albeit one with eight legs, but he was a spawn of Loki just as Fenrir and Jörmungandr and Hel were Loki-spawn.

  But the horse obeyed as Vidar turned him back toward Yggdrasill and set him at a gallop. The gait was unnaturally smooth, with twice as many legs, and Euthalia relaxed her grip on the mane. There was no sign of the gatekeeping woman and Garm the hound, but Vidar put a hand about Euthalia’s waist and rose in the stirrups, and Sleipn
ir leapt the Corpse-Fence Nágrindr as if it were a fallen log on a forest path.

  They ran on, pounding over the chasm bridge so fast that Euthalia could not see below to see if the battling warriors remained or had gone to fight with the others. On they flew, until they reached the massive tree and Sleipnir launched onto it, neck outstretched with speed.

  They galloped all the way back to Asgard, and as they left Yggdrasill and plunged into the open field, Euthalia sat tall and looked around, straining to see Loki or any sign of battle.

  She did not have long to look. All the einherjar were assembling, looking toward the distant sea and falling into rows along the many gods and goddesses. Euthalia’s heart sank.

  Vidar reined the sweaty horse to a halt. “Stay here,” he said. “I must get Sleipnir to Odin, and I will fight with them. You stay by Yggdrasill. If there is any safety, it will be here at the World Tree.”

  “No!” protested Euthalia. “Don’t leave me now, now when I have just found you again! You said we would fight!”

  “I will fight,” repeated Vidar. “You are a songweaver, Euthalia. Stay safe.”

  “Vidar!” She grabbed at his arm, but he was already setting her down, and as he kicked Sleipnir forward her grasp was torn free.

  She ran after him, knowing she could never catch the wind-swift horse but needing to do something, something other than standing and watching in the safety of the tree.

  But Vidar sped away from her, going to join the massing einherjar and gods near Valhöll. Euthalia stumbled to a halt and squeezed her fists, sobbing with lack of air and anger and despair. She turned from Valhöll and looked toward Sessrúmnir. “Freyja!”

  The goddess was arrayed for war, bearing a shield and spear and riding in her two-wheeled cart drawn by two large cats. Euthalia started toward her, but the low wagon was already moving quickly and it was impossible for Euthalia to intercept it. She would have to chase it all the way to Valhöll, and what would she do when she caught it? Accuse Freyja of cursing Vidar? Who among the Æsir and Vanir would care, as Loki and the Jötnar advanced upon Asgard?

  But she could not stand where she was.

  She ran toward the lines forming for battle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  What a fool you are, Euthalia, she told herself. A useless fool. A destroyer, like Loki and his kin.

  She clenched her fists and wished she could stop everything. She would give up Vidar, anything, to keep Loki from destroying Asgard and Vidar, and Midgard and her lost family, and every other thing she had ever known or not known.

  But there was no way to stop this now. Fate had rolled over her and all of Asgard, and—

  And I tell you, even if the Nornir have woven it, it can be unwoven. It needs only a weaver who can grasp the thread.

  Odin’s words burned through her like fire through a threshing floor. She gasped, caught at her throat, and then whirled to search the sky.

  Riders circled above the battle, wild women with spears and dangerous eyes. Their usual task was to choose those who would die in battle and then to collect the slain once fallen, to carry them to Valhöll against the time of Ragnarok. But there was no choosing of the slain this day, not with Ragnarok upon them. They circled, waiting to close upon Jötnar and the dead of Helheim.

  Euthalia tore her apron free and waved it above her head, running after the nearest valkyrja. “Stop!” she called, knowing she could never be heard above the din. “Stop!”

  But the valkyrja saw her signal and descended, reining in her snorting horse. She looked puzzled when she drew near enough to realize she did not recognize Euthalia. “Who are—”

  Euthalia flung herself at the horse, grasping at the woman’s waist and sliding back to the ground as the horse bounded sideways and snorted. “Take me to the Nornir!” she demanded.

  “What?” demanded the woman. “We are closing for battle!”

  “I can stop this,” Euthalia promised, hoping it was not a lie. “But I have to reach the Nornir.”

  The woman stared at her, holding in check the prancing horse. “Who are you to speak to the Nornir?”

  She was a ragged mess, Euthalia recalled, with a thrall’s collar and matted hair and still bearing Tyr’s blood over her dress and the apron she waved like a banner. “I am Euthalia the Songweaver,” she declared. “And I know what to say to them. I need only to reach them.”

  The valkyrja hesitated, looking back at the ferocious battle. For a moment Euthalia thought she was considering escaping the danger, but then she realized the woman feared leaving the impending fight. “I need a warrior to carry me,” Euthalia said quickly. “Loki will send someone to stop me if he realizes where I am going.”

  The woman turned back. “Loki knows you?”

  “By name and face,” Euthalia assured her. “He taunted me even as he was building Naglfar, but I was alone in Helheim and could not stop him myself.”

  The woman’s expression relaxed into a grim smile and she extended an arm. “Come on, then.”

  Secure in her position of having an exalted enemy, Euthalia climbed behind the warrior and wrapped her arms tightly about the armored woman. The valkyrja let the agitated horse go and they launched forward fast enough to snap Euthalia’s head backward.

  They climbed steeply into the air and turned toward Yggdrasill. Euthalia looked down and then tightly closed her eyes instead. That was a mistake, for she had no warning when the horse plunged sickeningly.

  Whatever she had thought of Hel’s three-legged horse, that ride was nothing compared to this. This horse was faster, nearly as fast as Sleipnir, and its rider skilled at aerial and ground maneuvers which left Euthalia’s stomach two turns behind. They dove, they soared, they wove through the tree’s branches and flew down the narrow channels of its rough bark. Euthalia clung to the valkyrja and made no attempt to shield her face from the woman’s snapping hair or to brush the wind-tears from her face.

  Urdarbrunnr, the Well of Destiny, lay among the roots of Yggdrasill, so they had to travel even beyond Helheim. When at last the horse’s motion slowed, Euthalia opened her eyes. They were galloping along an enormous root, with the horse’s hooves firmly on the tree itself. Euthalia tried to breathe a sigh of relief and found she wanted to vomit.

  Then the horse slowed to a trot, and a walk, and a halt. The woman half-turned in the saddle. “We are here.”

  Euthalia tried to slide from the horse and couldn’t; her muscles were too stiff and locked in position. The valkyrja took her arm and lowered her, and Euthalia’s legs gave beneath her as she reached the ground. She fell to her knees and bent forward, spitting saliva and dry heaving.

  The valkyrja looked down on her with doubtful silence.

  Euthalia spat a final time and wished for water. She did not look up. “What is your name?”

  “Hildr,” came the prompt answer.

  Euthalia nodded. “When this is finished,” she said, “I will tell Odin what a great aid you have been.” If Odin cared about her words. And if this ended in any way which permitted speaking to Odin or anyone again.

  Hildr seemed to understand the unspoken condition to the promise. “Thank you.”

  Euthalia pushed herself upright and got to her feet. She looked around and saw three women standing some distance away, watching their arrival.

  They had watched her fall and heave. Euthalia’s stomach twisted again, this time in shame.

  But somewhere in the tree above them Loki was destroying all the worlds, and Vidar might already be dead. She wiped her hands on her stained skirt and started toward the women, her heart pounding in her throat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The Nornir were three women, all stately and wise and of indeterminate age. They stood beside a silver pool nestled among the man-height roots, and they watched Euthalia approach without moving or speaking.

  She drew within arm’s reach of them, and then she worried she had come too close. They were not gods like Odin or Vidar; they were more powerful than
gods. They were unalterable fate.

  No, not unalterable, she reminded herself. That was why she had come.

  She hesitated, and then she bowed low. How best to address them? “As you know all, I suppose you know who I am,” she said.

  One of the women nodded. “But even if that is so, it is rude not to introduce yourself properly.”

  Euthalia cringed. She had no room for error in this. “I am Euthalia, wife of Vidar and a songweaver. I have come to ask your assistance.”

  The woman who had spoken lifted a hand. There were runes in her fingernails, grown into the horn. “I am Verdandi,” she said. “This is Urd, and this is Skuld.” They all nodded a greeting to Euthalia.

  “You wish to weave a song with us?” asked Skuld.

  Euthalia folded her hands together to stop their shaking. “You must know what is happening right now. Loki is opening battle against Asgard and intends to destroy all the worlds.”

  “What is it you want?” prompted Verdandi.

  Euthalia was surprised at the question. “I want to stop him!”

  “And you think you can do that here?”

  Euthlia took a breath. “There is nothing which cannot be unwoven,” she said. “It only needs someone who can find and pull the thread.”

  “And you wish us to pull the thread of Ragnarok? Stop this battle? Save all the nine worlds?”

  Euthalia squeezed her folded hands. “Please. Tell me what to do. Please.”

  “Oh, songweaver.” Verdandi shook her head. “You do not understand your power.”

  “My power?” Euthalia stared at the Norn before catching herself. “What is my power in this?”

  “Did you not say it yourself?” asked Urd. “That you had opened Ragnarok, by your own doing?”

  Euthalia went rigid, her hands and feet going numb and horror squeezing her heart to a halt. Yes, it was true, and she was beyond foolish to think the Nornir would not know it or judge her for it. “Yes,” she whispered, all that she was capable of. “I went to Hel, to free Loki, because I wanted to save Vidar.”