The Goddess Denied (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 2)

by Deborah Davitt

  Brandr smiled as she clasped his wrist. “Well, these particular giants don’t seem to be too much of a threat.”

  A wide-eyed glance from the newcomer. “How can you say that?” Kylliki asked, taking a seat. “There have been attacks on a dozen farms, at least.”

  Adam intervened before Brandr could respond. “These giants have stopped others of their kind from attacking humans in the past. And surrendered themselves to us, willingly. More than that, I don’t really want to get into, ah . . . my lady?” That, with a quizzical look at the woman, as he tried to ascertain her correct method of address.

  A quick, piercing glance from Kylliki, as if she were weighing Adam with her eyes. “Oh, I am no lady,” she replied, with a merry laugh. “I am merely a shaman, bound to the service of Sampsa Pellervoinen. Lord of the harvests.”

  Sigrun’s truthsense twitched in her mind, and she blinked, looking at the woman more closely. There was nothing in the set of the face, the wide eyes, nothing in the body-language that spoke of deception. And yet . . . something was amiss.

  Lassair? she asked, silently, as the conversation went on around her, Kanmi asking, tersely, “So, the waiter said you’d brought us some information. What would you like to tell us?”

  The spirit’s tone was troubled. I cannot see her spirit, Stormborn. Look with your other eyes. There is nothing there. She is bound, and deeply, to a god’s service.

  She just said that she was a priest of Sampsa Pellervoinen. A Fennish god. And you could always see my spirit. Even before, when you were but a scrap of what you are now.

  Yes, but you are god-born. And of a type that declares what you are, in every fiber of your being. You are a standard, carried into battle, and a weapon. It rings out from you. Other god-born are more subtle in who and what they are. Lassair seemed to be struggling with putting the concepts in a way in which Sigrun could understand the, And you are bound to Trennus, and he to you. It . . . makes a difference. I cannot see her. Look.

  Sigrun grimaced internally. She really did not like using othersight. It seemed . . . an invasion of privacy, at the best of times. And today, after realizing that Freya had crammed her head full of far more than just ways to control the damnable shifting colors . . . she couldn’t trust it. Not with whispers of other knowledge teasing at the edges of her understanding constantly. She was closing herself down, so she wouldn’t hear them, but othersight required that she open herself. And the gods only know what will get through, if I do . . . .

  As she began to squint, cautiously, at the others, Kylliki was already replying, with a more serious mien. “The word in town is that you seek the heart of where the monsters dwell. I believe I know their lair. And I can take you there.”

  Brandr, thankfully, was no fool. He scowled a little at Kylliki. “You just happen to know this, how?”

  “Because I barely escaped the place with my life!” Kylliki replied, sharply. Sigrun’s truthsense twitched, again. “I sometimes take a boat out on the lake, and go fishing. Or, in winter, I walk out on the ice. Cut a hole down through the ice, and fish.” She shrugged. “It supplements my diet. So a month ago, I hiked out across the frozen lake to an island where I hardly ever go, because it’s just too far away from town . . . and when I cut down through the ice, a creature came up through the hole. I thought it was the most aggressive fish I’d ever seen, at first. Then it caught my wrist in its teeth, and tried to drag me back down into the hole with it. I thought it was going to tear my arm off.” She shuddered. “It slipped, let go for an instant, and I began to run. I could feel the poison in the wound, and knew to let it bleed the poison out.” The woman held up her left arm, rolled up her sleeve, and displayed a still-raw scar. Sigrun watched, distantly, as Brandr took the Kylliki’s arm, and ran his fingers over the skin, checking the way the scar tissue flexed and moved.

  The thing was, Sigrun realized, as she let herself sink into the othersight, was that everyone had a least a flicker of color to them. Brandr was sealed to Thor. She couldn’t, therefore, see much of him, but he definitely had an aura. A brilliant glow, as seen through leaden gray, as if a thunderstorm passed directly in front of the face of an enormous sun. Erikir was sealed to Freyr, lord of sunlight, crops, and male generativity. Glimmers of brilliant gold limned his massive frame, echoing the light that usually surrounded his sword in combat. The others? Kanmi’s banked-coal scarlet, Minori’s blue-on-blue, Adam’s shining steel, Lassair’s brilliant flame . . . all clear. They blazed in light the way a trumpet brazened out a song. Even Trennus, absent now, and soul-bound to Lassair, usually had bright, vivid colors. That could simply mean that Lassair didn’t offer him as much protection as other spirits offered to those they bound. Or perhaps, as Lassair said, they were all bound to each other. They all knew each other’s’ Names. It was difficult to hide what you were, when people knew you that well.

  The fire-spirit had said, emphatically, that the people who had captured her and Minori in Tawantinsuyu had been all but invisible to her Veil senses. Likewise, Kylliki was almost a void in othersight. A faint gray outline suggested that a person was there, but nothing more. No lights. No colors. Sigrun blinked, trying to force the two types of vision apart, and they wavered, disconcertingly, like oil paints mingling uneasily on a canvas. The vast majority of ordinary, average people barely had enough personality or will power to appear in othersight as it was. They were a wash of gray, overlain by faint emotional colors, usually. Perhaps this is what it looks like when a . . . very normal person becomes blood-bound to a god? she offered to Lassair, feeling a little helpless.

  I do not know. I do not think so. And yet . . . I cannot tell.

  We can watch, and we can wait.

  All that, in a flicker of heartbeats, and then Sigrun returned her attention to the conversation at hand. Kylliki was nodding earnestly, and regarding Brandr steadily. “When I reached the snow-covered shore, there were . . . creatures coming up out of the snow and shedding frozen mud in chunks. Giants. It was horrible. Terrifying. I ran and I ran, and I called out to my lord for protection. He must have answered. Even with the poison in my wound, the giants were . . . clumsy. And my lord guided my footsteps so that I did not fall into any of the sucking mud.” She paused. “Of course, most of the bogs were frozen, too. That might have helped.” A little guilty laugh at the admission. “And then I was back on the lake’s ice, and running and slipping as fast as I could for the true shore.” She paused, and shuddered. “I finally crawled to the shore and found an abandoned fisherman’s shack. I stayed in there for . . . three, maybe four days, while the poison ran its course.”

  The story was a good one. Detailed. Clear. Little emotional cues here and there, and just the right amount of self-deprecation. Erikir looked fascinated. Brandr was nodding, slowly. “Bogs,” he muttered, under his breath. “That tallies.”

  “You weren’t hunted down?” Minori asked, suddenly.

  “I might have been,” Kylliki admitted. “I don’t remember much of those days besides delirium and pain. I thought I heard howling all around the shack. I thought the door, wooden and feeble, shook on its hinges and almost burst in. I thought I saw dark shapes all around me.” She shook her head. “But when I came to my senses, I was whole . . . and I was alone.”

  Every word she spoke hummed around the edges of Sigrun’s truthsense, but words and tone and demeanor sounded sincere. Ten or twenty years ago, she might have instantly denounced the woman as a liar. But Sigrun had learned patience, at least a tiny store of it. And as such, she looked around the table one more time, and saw belief in Brandr’s eyes. In Erikir’s. They’re hearing what they want to hear, I think, Sigrun thought. I would never have thought them credulous. Brandr in particular should be . . . questioning. Resistant. He was always the first to say, if something seems too good to be true . . . that this is most likely the case. Sigrun turned and glanced at Adam, who frowned. Stole a glance at Minori and Kanmi, both of whom wore identical expressions of concentration.

  “
So, you ran, leaving a trail of blood on the ice behind you, and you had an infected, poisoned bite, which you managed to recover from, at least partially, without going into shock or losing the limb to gangrene, without treatment,” Kanmi said, as if simply reiterating the facts.

  “Oh, no, no. You misunderstand me.” Kylliki shook her head. “Once I reached the shore I know I wrapped the wound with cloth torn from my shirt, to slow the bleeding.”

  “Mmm.” Kanmi’s noncommittal reply was anything but, to someone who knew him well. Mmm and hmm almost invariably meant he’d found reason for doubt, and was merely preparing for a scathing set of questions. “So, after that, you took refuge in an abandoned shack not far from the island. Was it in clear view from the shore?”

  “There was overgrowth around it. Ivy. Underbrush. It hadn’t been kept up in many years.”

  “You heard wolves? Scent-trackers?”

  “I thought I did. The delirium was powerful. I could have dreamed the whole thing.” A glum expression. “I’m sorry that I’m not more helpful.”

  “You’ve been extremely helpful,” Brandr assured her, giving Kanmi a hard look. “Tell us the name of the island, and we’ll investigate it.”

  “It was Kinahmonsaari. It’s about two miles long, and shaped almost like an anchor at both ends, with a long, thin bridge of land between the two wider sections. I’ve gone there every so often for many years. All pine trees, around the bogs, anyway.” She sighed. “A beautiful place. One I remembered visiting with my grandfather, when I was young. And now the memories are all despoiled.”

  That actually rang true. Sigrun blinked, in surprise, and raised her eyebrows slightly. “How long ago was that?” she asked, suddenly. It was the first question she’d posed. “Can you tell us any of the history of the island? Was it ever sacred to the gods of the Goths and the Cimbri, for example?”

  Brandr shook his head at Sigrun, but Kylliki smiled and chuckled a little. “Oh, it was a long time ago. Decades, I’m afraid. It was once sacred to Tuoni, our Fennish god of death, but he has not had rituals performed there in . . . centuries, really. There’s a very old ley-station on the island. Or there was, when I was a child. Newer ones, in better locations, have been built, superseding it, I’m afraid. I’m sure the roof must have collapsed in on itself ages ago.”

  Truth, that, Sigrun thought. Every word of it. How interesting.

  Brandr bared his teeth. “Thank you, shaman. You should stay here in town, where it is safe. Erikir here and I will investigate this on the morrow.”

  “I’d be happy to show you where it is on your map, and I have no wish at all to leave town at the moment,” the woman replied, in tones of faint relief. Yet again, Sigrun’s truthsense twinged.

  After several more minutes, the Fennish woman left, though she paused and looked down at all their plates. Smiled a little, and asked Adam, directly, “I would have taken you for the sort of man who preferred steak to salad.”

  “Generally speaking, I do,” Adam replied, dryly.

  “Well, you’ll find, as you get older, that less red meat in your diet will be a good thing. Easier on the digestion.” A little pat on his shoulder, and then she was gone, with a clatter of beads. Sigrun stared after her, her eyes narrowed. What was that about?

  In her wake, Brandr sat back and drank half his beer in one pull. After a moment, he nodded. “Well, that’s settled then,” Brandr said, briskly. “Erikir and I will start checking into possible locations for the monsters tomorrow, starting with hers. The rest of you can keep looking for that Fennish sorcerer, and the Raccian technomancer.”

  It verged on an order, and Sigrun did her best not to bristle. Could feel Adam starting to stir beside her, and, once more, put herself in the line of fire. It was her fault all of them were here; the least she could do was . . . keep the effects from impacting all her friends. “Brandr,” Sigrun said, trying to ensure that all the respect she felt for her mentor lived in her voice. “Isn’t this just a little convenient?”

  “Of course it is,” Brandr told her, and drank down the rest of his beer, wiping away the foam with the back of one massive hand. “But you and yours are going to stay out of our way while we’re off springing the trap.” He shook his head. “She had me going pretty good. I was downright angry with all your infernal questions.” He gave Kanmi a stare. “Was about to tell you to mind your manners with the lady, until something clicked.” He grimaced. “My mind feels as full of holes as over-risen bread, of late. But once it clicked, I didn’t see any need for her to know that I doubted her.”

  “Let them see the big dumb brawler,” Erikir said, suddenly, and grinned through his beard. “Just like you’ve always taught, Brandr.”

  Sigrun looked around the crowded dining room. Kanmi had adjusted his low-level sound ward over their table, so that they could speak unheard, but noise from the rest of the room filtered in, very faintly. Background chatter. People in the town still felt safe enough to congregate. But they looked nervous, Sigrun noticed, leaving the hotel now that the evening shadows were starting to draw in; Kylliki had seemed nervous, herself, wrapping her cloak around her tightly, and scuttling out, with a group. But her eyes weren’t afraid, Sigrun thought. “Brandr,” she tried again. “There’s safety in numbers. You should permit us to come with you.” Ah. This is diplomacy. Making us appear weak, so that no one feels threatened. Livorus would laugh to see me now.

  Brandr shook his head, sharply, and looked away. His expression had gone bleak. “No. In fact, this might even be enough to call in to Valhalla.”

  Sigrun raised her eyebrows. “You think that this is where he’s hiding.” She didn’t use Loki’s name. She didn’t want to invoke his attention, if the god were anywhere nearby.

  “Matches up pretty nicely with all the facts we have so far. Gods, for all I know, that woman was him.” Brandr lifted his eyes to meet her own. “You’re not to come with us, Sigrun. I am sorry, but those were my orders.” He stood, and beckoned Erikir with him, and they left the table.

  In the wake of their departure, there was a moment of absolute silence. Kanmi finally cleared his throat. “I hope that you’re not going to just accept that, Sigrun,” the sorcerer said, with asperity in his voice. “This all began as your pursuit of justice. Suddenly, it’s gotten political. And personally, I say fuck politics.”

  “It’s a cold day somewhere in gehenna,” Adam said, quietly. “Because I actually agree with Kanmi here. One hundred percent. And, what’s more . . . I’m fairly sure that two bear-warriors aren’t going to be enough if that island is the production facility for the giants.”

  Sigrun swallowed, and put her face down in her hands. “No,” she said, through her fingers. She’d gotten a good look at Erikir and Brandr’s eyes. “They know it, too. They’re relying on Valhalla sending in Hel. They know they won’t stand a chance there alone.”

  Then why go? Lassair asked, her fingers playing with a knife at the table, heating the metal to red-hot, and then rolling it into a tightly-compressed spiral.

  “Because they’re idiots,” Kanmi muttered.

  “Because that’s what they’ve been ordered to do,” Sigrun corrected, sharply. “And they trust in the gods not to let them die for merely following orders.”

  Adam looked at her, and said, simply, “Sig? Are you going to follow their orders?”

  And here we are again, Sigrun thought. The very core of what Reginleif questioned me about, at such length, over the past ten years. Am I a rebel against my gods? Am I proud? Do I hold my judgment above theirs? She took a shuddering breath. No . . . and yes. I fight prophecy every day of my life. I have seen gods who were . . . mistaken and deceived, in Tlaloc and Inti and Supay. If anyone could fool my gods, it would be Loki. And yet . . . he told Fritti he meant to hold off Ragnarok, if he could. The rest of the gods . . . they know that. They’ve heard what Fritti told me. But do they believe it? Sigrun exhaled. Lifted her eyes, and met Adam’s, then Kanmi and Minori’s. “No,” she said, quietly. “I
think it possible that those orders were given without knowledge of all the facts. We’re . . . going to need to get our giant friends, and Trennus, out of that prison.” She swallowed. “I won’t ask them to fight for us, but they can’t be locked up with panicking townspeople around them, if things don’t go well. And I think Vidarr and Ima will come with us, regardless.”

  So, we will go to this island? Lassair thought, and made an unhappy moue. There’s a lot of water between there and here.

  “Yes, but your skin really is water-proof,” Minori reminded her.

  Yes, but it’s cold water, Lassair grumbled. I will demanifest to travel across it.

  Adam snorted. “Well, get together everything you think you’ll need,” he told them all. “We can try to scout tonight, so we’re not going into a completely unknown situation.”

  “Tell Trennus to see what the local spirits have to say about the layout, any spirits that are bound there, any activity by people, that they’re aware of,” Sigrun told Lassair, rubbing at her face. “We do not have to venture so close as all that, to be able to see. And, let us be clear.” She looked around. “If this truly is our quarry’s lair? What our eyes perceive, and what is really there, may be two entirely different things. Scouting with merely our eyes and ears will not be enough.”