by Matt Larkin
Something comes …
“The doom of gods … and then …” The corpse jerked, then thrashed violently, spewing blood over Odin’s face.
The stuff stung like icy water and sent him stumbling backward. He blinked it away.
The corpse grinned now, breathing out mist that crystalized along her bonds. The ropes stiffened, then cracked and shattered like icicles, even as the woman rose.
Odin rose too, shaking his head. “Sorceress, I command you—”
The woman laughed now. “Command? Me?”
He had heard that sibilant, mind-rending voice before. In the Well of Urd.
Hel.
Somehow, Hel had overtaken this corpse. Odin faltered, unable to move or speak. What was he to say to this goddess? How did one confront the Queen of Niflheim?
The goddess drew a finger along his jaw. Paralyzing cold coursed through him, stiffening his muscles and seeming to forbid him from making the slightest move.
“Long I waited … for you … Destroyer.”
A rough hand jerked him backward, and he stumbled and fell. Loki stood before him now, flames writhing his hand as he warded against this dark goddess.
Hel looked to Odin’s brother. And she laughed. “You think such a paltry flame will hold me back, fate spinner? Or do you imagine, that no matter how many ages pass, no matter how you change your visage, I would not know you, Father?”
“You are no child of mine. My daughter died. You are but a soulless abomination with delusions of grandeur.”
“Oh …” She cackled. “They are not delusions when one embodies the grandioseness of old.”
“Be gone!” Loki jerked his hands together. The flames from every fire he had built around the circle all surged together and collided, washing over them in a conflagration. Sheets of fire surged outward, and it was all Odin could do to bury his face in the snow.
The inferno consumed air and sound and all vision, even as it scorched the clothes off Odin’s back. It seared his flesh and left him writhing in agony.
His ears rung as he finally managed to roll over. The snows had melted and turned the ground to mud that stung his badly burned flesh. Had he not been immortal, that would no doubt have killed him. At last, groaning, he sat up and looked around.
Loki lay on his back, some ten feet away, arms splayed wide. The blast must have thrown him there. Odin crawled over to the man, working his jaw in the vain hopes his hearing would return. As he drew nigh to Loki, one thing became clear. His brother did not lay still, but rather spasmed, as if struggling against … a vaettr inside him.
Fire vaettr … jinn.
The word meant naught to Odin, but still he knew better than to disturb the man while he struggled against such a foe.
And so he waited.
31
Year 31, Age of the Aesir
The last snowstorm had passed days ago, and though one could hardly call these mountains warm, everyone knew—summer lay less than a moon away. Close, but not close enough, for Vörnir was already fixing the third breach they had found. One remained, and at his pace, the jotunn would close that with time to spare.
Sif followed the slope, up to a precipice where Thor stood, watching the jotunn. He did not turn at her approach, so she cleared her throat.
“It does not bode well,” he finally said.
Had she not said the same, moons ago, before this whole damned endeavor? “We have to do something, don’t we? If he upholds his end of the bargain what will you …”
Thor grumbled, at last turning to look at her. “Father says there is a dragon, deep below the world, in realms nigh unto the gates of Hel. The serpent feasts on the corpses of oath breakers, heaping eternal suffering upon them.”
The mental image of that made her shudder. She stared at the wall, trying to picture aught else. As if the horrors of Midgard and Utgard beyond were not enough. Mankind was not meant to know of the Otherworlds or the silent terrors lurking within them.
“Were I to strike him down now, it would be as good as breaking my oath.”
Sif scoffed. “You cannot be serious. Even if you could kill such a monstrosity—”
Thor’s scowl cut her off.
“Fine. Say you might slay the creature. Say even that attacking him would not constitute the grossest violation of the spirit of our bargain.” She pointed down at the breach where Vörnir yet labored. “Who will finish the fucking wall? You have no idea what lays beyond that, but whatever it is, it frightens Odin enough he sent us here to seal it off. As it frightened the damned Vanir sorcerer kings who ruled this world for nigh unto five thousand years!”
“Keep your voice down. It can echo in such places.”
Sif snapped her mouth shut. Having Vörnir hear them plot against him might be even worse than actually attacking him.
Thor scrubbed his beard, then shook his head. “Do you see any option before us?”
“Have you got a map to Alfheim shoved up your arse?”
Thor spat. “Then I have to send the twins.”
She groaned. “We’ve been over this. None of the Thunderers can attack the jotunn without—”
“Not him. The horse. Without it, he’ll be slowed and unable to finish his work in time. I can send them in the night. Maybe the jotunn won’t even realize varulfur brought down the animal instead of regular wolves.”
Sif glanced down at the massive jotunn jamming a stone bigger than she was into a gap. “This is a bad plan.”
“Do you have any other?”
She shook her head.
In the darkness before dawn, a bellow shattered the calm, reverberating off every peak and seeming agonized enough to shatter Sif’s bones within her chest. It was the wail of a being who had lost something beloved, something irreplaceable.
Well fuck.
Sif scrambled out of her bedroll, grabbed her halberd, and hesitated. What of her armor? Without it, every blow would fall all the harder, but she might not have time to don even a chain shirt …
The trembling ground answered that question, as tiny earthquakes announced charging Vörnir. Blue frost streamed from his eyes and mouth, and he bore a sword twice the size of any man. Rime and icicles crashed down from the wall and mountain slopes as Vörnir surged forward, kicking aside great drifts of snow.
“Thor!” Sif shouted, needlessly.
The prince had already risen, grabbed Mjölnir, and raced to meet the threat.
Vörnir swung that blade. It swished through the air with such speed and force the mere wind of it pushed Sif back. Thor rolled under it, coming up swinging Mjölnir. The hammer cracked against the jotunn’s fur greaves, drawing a howl from the beast and sending him stumbling to one knee. His off-hand caught Thor as he fell, the impact hurling the prince into the air. Thor flew past Sif and smacked into the wall with a tremendous crash.
Oh fuck.
Screaming, Sif raced in, halberd leading.
The varulfur got there first, leaping upon Vörnir’s back and biting. Their teeth and nails shredded his furs, revealing a gambeson with iron guards woven into it. Damn it!
Sif thrust the halberd at Vörnir’s face. The jotunn jerked backward and blocked the polearm with his vambrace. Its blade shredded fur and flesh, showering her in ice-blue blood, but the momentum stripped her weapon from her hands and sent it flying.
Meili was there an instant later, sword flashing. His blade carved into the jotunn’s thigh, sprang free, and came around again.
Vörnir roared, sweeping his own sword horizontally.
Sif threw herself prone, trying to shout for Meili to duck. He didn’t move fast enough.
The jotunn’s blade sheered through his waist without even slowing. Meili’s torso pitched over, erupting in blood, drenching and drowning her with it.
Sif was shrieking.
She had drawn her sword.
Didn’t know what she was doing, hacking and hewing. Bastard!
Someone tackled her just before Vörnir’s blade clove the gr
ound where she had stood. Hildolf was atop her.
Sif pushed him off, and they rolled apart an instant before that giant sword crashed down between them.
She scrambled to her feet, racing away.
Vörnir’s other hand caught Hildolf up. Shit. Sif dashed for the jotunn, sword high. Vörnir chucked Hildolf at the wall. In the darkness, Sif could barely make out the red splatter on the ice.
No. Without an apple … There was no way he could …
Mjölnir soared over her head, slammed into Vörnir, and drove the jotunn back several paces. The jotunn clutched his chest, gasping, but did not fall. He did not fall!
Screaming and half-blind with snow and blood, Sif charged forward and drove her sword through Vörnir’s calf. The jotunn toppled now, falling to his hands and knees, his sword crashing to the ground a bare foot away from Sif.
She couldn’t lift that but … Mjölnir was on the ground. Sif snatched it up and swung, smacking Vörnir in the temple with the hammer. That drove the jotunn to the ground, splattering his blue blood everywhere.
An instant later, Thor was at her side. “Give me that!”
Panting, she handed over the hammer. Thor spun, raised the weapon high and slammed it down on the jotunn’s skull. And again. Twice more, driving the creature into the snow, smashing skull to pulp and brains to gore.
Sif backed away. She stumbled over Meili’s legs and fell. Then immediately scrambled away from him like a crab, trying desperately not to weep. Meili … Hildolf …
“I had no choice,” Thor said, staring at the flames of twin pyres.
Sif too did not look away from the fire, especially not at him. “And now two men are dead.”
Thor growled. “You blame me? They were like brothers to me! All of us, all the Thunderers, we are all brothers and sisters to one another. Family!” He paused and shook his head. “And I will have them remembered as such.”
Family. Wonderful. Maybe that was why he’d never seen her as more than a friend. She was his damned sister. Well, now his pride and hastily made bargain had cost the lives of two more of their band. Their numbers dwindled.
Vörnir had repaired most of this breach—most—but another yet remained, and jotunnar on the other side could still dig out this one. So, all they had done was for naught.
Less than naught, in truth. For, the other jotunnar would learn that the Aesir had dealt with Vörnir in bad faith. The members of his court knew of the bargain, and when he didn’t return they would suspect treachery.
And what would the rest of the jotunnar do about it? Certainly they would never trust anyone from Asgard again. Worse, though—they might seek vengeance for the betrayal. And it would be the humans of Bjarmaland who would first suffer for it.
After what they had unleashed … there could be no going home now. Now, they would face the wrath of Utgard.
32
Five Years Ago
Geri had burst into the room after Sif had screamed. The varulf girl had taken a look around, apparently judged no danger, and then embraced Sif. Like that, they had sunk down to the floor, and Sif had wept. Sif was not a woman who wept, and yet … her hair …
Svarflami had once called her hair the finest, most shimmering tresses in all Midgard. That some goddess must have woven her locks from liquid gold. His words had eventually pried apart her thighs, but she still liked to tell herself he truly believed them.
Had she not already retched all over the room, she would have done so to think on this. Sigyn. Her aunt had done this because of … Sif flushed at remembering the awful things she had said to the woman. Her cheeks were burning.
But if Sigyn had a point to prove, she had gone way too fucking far with it. Sif was going to beat the woman bloody. She’d break the hand that had sheered her. She’d … she’d … What? Shave Sigyn’s head as well?
Finally, she lurched from Geri’s grasp. Her friend said naught, just staring at her. Sympathizing, yes, but not overmuch. Geri had never put so much weight upon her looks.
Sif though, had a reputation. And as soon as she strode out that door, all of Asgard would be staring at her. All of them would know her shame, snickering behind their palms. Mocking her as they dined and drank. She’d become a mockery.
The Thunderers could not leave Asgard too soon. She’d run to the farthest corner of the world if she could. Better to face a draugar or troll than the looks of amusement, or worse pity, she would surely find on these islands.
Damn it. Damn Sigyn! Why this?
“Do you know who did it?” Geri finally asked.
Oh yes. She knew.
“Who has done this!” Thor roared. “I will rend the man in two! I will rip out his spleen! I will mock his ancestors! I will shatter his weapons and cast the shards into the sea! I will feed his stones to my goats!”
Sif flushed again, speechless at the prince’s reaction. She’d not have thought he would so care about her or her beauty. And yet Thor seemed furious as though someone had impinged his own honor. Was that it? Would he have reacted so violently had one shamed any of the Thunderers? Or was it because it was her?
No. Once again, she was deluding herself. Two years together and he had said naught to let her believe such a thing.
“Sigyn,” Geri said. “They had an altercation the night before. This appears to be revenge.”
“Revenge!” Thor shook his fist in the air, flailing around like a troll. “I’ll show her revenge!”
And the prince raced off, out of Valaskjalf.
Sigyn and Loki’s hall barely earned the name compared to Valaskjalf. It sat atop a smaller mountain, overlooking the sea, more beautiful for the scenery than the building itself. Thor marched up that mountain at such a pace that, even with the apple, Sif’s heart had begun to race before they reached the top. Then again, more than just exertion probably drove her heart rate this day.
The breeze felt especially cold on her bare scalp. How did bald men even tolerate such chills? And once they returned to Midgard and the mists and the snows, it would only become that much worse. A daily suffering, although a small one, compared to her shame.
Thor kicked in the door to Loki’s hall, splintering the wood, though from the way it flew in, it had remained unbarred. Her aunt and uncle sat before a tafl board, both now staring at Thor. Sigyn had clearly forced herself to stillness, so stiff in her guilt. Loki, however, yet managed to look relaxed despite the prince’s towering figure and palpable rage.
“How dare you!” Thor bellowed, pointing a finger a Sigyn.
Loki rose, palms facing Thor. “Given that you have just kicked in my door—which was as always, open to the son of Odin—one might be forgiven for wondering how you dare such an action.”
“Your woman has wronged my—” Thor glanced at Sif, “—my friend.”
Was he about to say something else?
Loki cast a brief look at Sigyn, then shrugged. “Did she deserve it?”
Thor crossed the room in three strides, caught Loki up by his tunic, and hefted him into the air. “Do you dare mock me or my people?”
Loki’s eyes darted down to Thor’s clinched fist, and he grimaced. “I take responsibility for all that has happened. And I apologize. Does this sate your fury?”
Thor leaned in, seeming to snarl so fervently that Sif stepped forward. This ought not to go too far.
“Your apologies will not bring back her hair!” Thor snapped.
“Nor will you throwing your weight around like a troll,” Loki said. “However, I might be able to arrange something that would accelerate the natural growth of her tresses.”
Now Thor dropped him. “You can bring back her hair?”
Loki smoothed out his shirt, then took a step back. “Not overnight. But I can assist in the process, assuming the needed materials remain in Sessrumnir. Go back to your father’s home, Thor. I will attend to you there before the next morn.”
Thor grunted, then backed away. He looked at Sif as if suddenly asking her opinion.
/> Feeling a fool, she nodded. Was it even possible? Could Loki fix this? It would not undo all the people who had witnessed her in this state, but at least she would be able to leave behind this awful memory. Assuming Odin’s blood brother spoke the truth. But how did he intend to do this? Not by the Art, she hoped. Naught but woe ever resulted from mortals dabbling in such things. And yet … she would not live this way given another choice. The stares felt like lances in her side …
“I trust you will cast no further threats or allegations against Sigyn,” Loki said.
Thor shook his head. “You have taken responsibility. If you fail to help her, I will throttle you, uncle. Your woman is safe.”
“Your threats are as petty as her vanity,” Loki said.
Sif frowned, then flinched when she realized he meant her. He was saying it was her vanity that had wrought all this. And … and it was. Bitter and angry, she had made an enemy of Sigyn when the woman had probably not meant harm. Well, the bitch had done harm now. And Sif was not like to forget this. Thor might accept Loki’s claim of responsibility, but that didn’t mean Sif would.
Her mind raced, seeking some scathing comment to shame her aunt. Before aught came to mind, Thor grabbed her wrist and led her away from Loki’s hall.
When Sif did not attend the night meal, Thor had ordered slaves to bring her food in her room. He had come with them, checked on her, and after she promised she’d be fine, left. She had wanted him to stay, had willed it. He didn’t see that. He never saw her anyway.
But he had raged at Loki and Sigyn for what they’d done. What did it mean? She almost wanted to hunt Geri down and ask, as if the varulf might have some insight into the mind or heart of her foster brother. At the very least, Thor clearly cared for her on some level. He’d called her a friend, but he’d almost said something else. Hadn’t he?
Damn it all. Why did such things have to be so complicated?