The Shores of Vanaheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 3)

by Matt Larkin

  Hljod already stood beside Volsung—a significant honor for the girl. And from the coy grin on her face, Gudrun suspected the girl had chosen to give in to the king’s pursuits. Gudrun nodded at her.

  She saw no sign of either Guthorm or Fenrir. The werewolf was probably stalking the wilds, sowing chaos and slaughtering peasants. He could move through the wilderness as quickly as the ships could sail.

  And Gudrun’s brother … as a draug, he would shun the light of day. Probably he hid somewhere in a hold, covered in a cowl and ready to strangle anyone unfortunate enough to disturb him.

  Time was short enough, Volsung would have to push hard to reach the Aesir. But the longships were swift and, if need be, could try to cut off the Ás ships’ passage. Grimhild had planned this well.

  Soon there would be war.

  And maybe Grimhild didn’t care who won. Maybe the Niflung queen only needed hurt Odin’s people so badly they could not overcome the Vanir.

  Judging by the sheer number of Volsung’s ships, that would not be a problem.

  11

  The ships were complete, and still Odin had no answer, save that he would need to see Vanaheim with his own eyes, to make his plan once he knew his enemies. No other recourse lay before him—if they sailed without his scouting the situation, more lives would be lost.

  He found Idunn still sitting on the beach, as she so often did these days, staring out across the sea. Beyond the mist lay her homeland … and his target.

  She stiffened as he approached. “It’s time, then?”

  Odin sank down beside her. “Tomorrow, I think. Our numbers are less than half what we set out with. Too many of my people have died already, Idunn. I need you to take me there, to the islands. I need to see them for myself, to know what we face before I lead the Aesir into it.”

  Idunn blew out a long breath and slapped her palms up and down on her folded knees. “It was an ideal, you know? A dream I was trying to fulfill for my grandmother. I keep telling myself that she was right, that no other way remains to us.”

  And yet, she was opening her own people to death. As Odin had done with the Aesir in starting this journey.

  We are all dead …

  Odin grimaced, ignoring Audr. “You all but forced me down this road, Idunn. Still, if I can win the loyalty of the Vanir, I will. I don’t relish the thought of their slaughter, but we both know why we came here. Let me go to them as an emissary. I can scout their defenses and numbers, catch the lay of the land. And I can try to negotiate on behalf of mankind.”

  “All you’ll do is alert them to your presence. Njord won’t negotiate with you. After turning his back on your ancestors, how would it look for him to side with you now? He would seem fickle or a fool, at least in his own eyes. He is too cautious, too full of his own pride. Not unlike other men I know.”

  Odin glowered. Yes. He had known pride, and his people had paid the price for it. Ve, Heidr, and thousands of others. But he would do better this time. He would not lead the Aesir into an ambush. “Then take me to others, go around the king. Surely some of the Vanir are reasonable, as you are. If they can be convinced of the need to work with humans, a war might yet be avoided.”

  Idunn glanced at him. “Do you really believe that?”

  Probably not. But he could try. “Either way, if I go there I learn the truth about the Vanir with my own eyes. Or do you think they would harm a guest?” Such a crime would be unforgivable among the Aesir. For them, the implied pact between host and guest was sacred, as no one should be left out alone in the mist. But the Vanir were long removed from such things.

  “No. They might banish you from Vanaheim or imprison you, but they wouldn’t harm you unless you resisted.” She turned to face him now. “This is truly what you want?” When he nodded, she sighed. “So be it, Odin. You’re right. This is why we crossed Midgard. There are secret paths we can take to reach Vanaheim. I will take you there. Maybe my mother, or maybe Njord’s children. Maybe someone will listen to your words. If not …”

  They both knew what “if not” meant. It meant war. It meant he would take Vanaheim by force. He had not marched the Aesir across half of Midgard, faced trolls and draugar and sorcerers, only to give up now. Odin and all the Aesir had made this journey planning to kill their gods. And if those gods would not step down or join his quest to save the world, kill them was exactly what he would do.

  Part II

  Eleventh Moon, Summer

  12

  “I do not like this plan,” Frigg said.

  Odin had not expected her to like it. They had built their own private hall not so far from the beach, one with a well-dug fire pit. Geri and Freki raced around it, chased by Thor, who had begun to walk, though he often tumbled down. Thick stones formed enough of a wall around the fire pit that Odin had no fear for the children.

  This place had become comfortable. It was not, however, a permanent home. It could not be. They had crossed Midgard to find a home. And one more battle lay before them now.

  Odin rubbed his beard, searching for words.

  His wife closed the distance between them and stroked his face. Frigg had never complained about his now-aged look, and Odin was grateful. His appearance had its advantages—it lulled men into complacency. But sometimes he did miss the handsome, youthful face he had not so long ago.

  “This is our best chance to avoid war with the Vanir. We cannot afford another war, Frigg.”

  She shook her head. She was clever, cunning, and politically astute. All of which meant she knew the truth he spoke.

  “I need to leave Gungnir here, with you. It would arouse too much suspicion were I to carry it to Vanaheim.”

  Frigg frowned. “You are walking into a dangerous land unarmed.”

  “You forget the strength of my muscles.”

  Frigg chuckled, then shook her head, then drew a dagger from her belt. “At least take this, in case your formidable muscles need help.”

  Odin did so, tucking the blade into his belt. “I will survive this.”

  “Is that the Sight telling you?”

  “My heart. Yes, and perhaps the Sight as well.” He embraced her, then snatched up all three children in his arms.

  Geri squealed and Thor laughed. Odin jumped up and down, relishing the giggling children. Finally, he set them back on the floor. He’d miss them.

  It seemed long ago now, but when Loki had rescued him from Gudrun, they had spoken of urd, of the possibility that fate gave him no choices. As now, when destiny seemed to force him forward, away from his family and his people, into the unknown. In his hour of direst need, Loki had arrived—more than once—to aid him. But now, he would travel where Loki could not follow—if the man yet lived.

  “What of you?” he asked Frigg. “Have you seen aught that might guide my course?”

  “I see … leaves falling from a great tree, splattered with blood.”

  Blood. Always, always blood was spilled.

  It was almost dawn, and time to ride.

  Idunn sat before Odin on Sleipnir, her tiny hands clutched so tightly on the horse’s mane, her knuckles had turned white. Odin had to suppress a chuckle at the goddess’s obvious fear. True, they now rode across the waves, through a mist so thick he could see but a few feet ahead of himself. The torch he held high overhead kept the worst of the vapors at bay—not that they could truly harm either Idunn or himself, not since they had eaten an apple of Yggdrasil. Still, mists concealed vaettir, spirits always keen to cause mischief at best.

  “Stick to the southern approach,” Idunn said, as if he could even see where they rode. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. Maybe not all her fear was born from riding over waves.

  Odin, however, had taken such rides before. And this time, Idunn’s warm body pressed close against his was a welcome comfort. His free arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. Perhaps he should have feared what lay ahead—Vanaheim. The islands of the gods. There grew the mighty World Tree, making it the cen
ter of the Mortal Realm, touching both Midgard and the worlds beyond. All had begun here. Forty-eight hundred years ago, Idunn’s grandmother had led the Vanir to immortality in her last, desperate ploy to escape the mists consuming the world of men. However pure her intentions, she had created a new race of deity who would look down on mankind, hear their prayers, and turn a deaf ear upon them. In Borr’s name, Odin would not repeat that misdeed. So much had been lost to bring him here. Knowing this, he could never turn back. He would take whatever steps were needed to find a way to cleanse Midgard of these mists.

  Loki was wrong. It was not his urd—it was his choice. A choice to build a better world for all his people. Indeed, for all of mankind.

  “Njord traded with Aegir to cultivate a treacherous reef on three sides of the isles,” Idunn whispered. She spoke often, rambling answers to unasked questions, as if to comfort herself in the chill and silence. Odin didn’t mind. “It left only the eastern approach clear for ships, and Njord could watch that approach, preventing our foes from attacking us.” Loki had told him of his encounter with the sea giant Aegir, whom Sigyn had turned into a foe. Shame, but then, if he were an ally of Njord, Aegir would have likely been a foe, regardless.

  “What enemies might attack Vanaheim?”

  “In times past, the jottunar, the Niflungar … others. Now, none dare challenge the Vanir. Many don’t even believe us real anymore.”

  Odin had grown up on stories of the skalds, so he couldn’t remember ever doubting the Vanir lived. But a few winters back, he would not have considered they might have aught to do with him or the Wodan tribe. Idunn had changed everything. But still she held back from him. Given what they rode toward, it was time to change that. His mission demanded he uncover all the secrets buried in five thousand years of mist.

  “The jottunar were your enemies. A few days ago you told me most of the First Ones were gone, slain in battle with such foes.”

  Idunn shivered. “We defeated them, in the end, banished them to the wastelands of Utgard. A frozen, lifeless realm they now claim as their own. I’m told a few human tribes survive there, beyond the Midgard Wall, despite all odds. Some even live in houses made of ice. People are tenacious.”

  For a time, the only sounds were the hollow beat of Sleipnir’s hooves against the water and the splashing they created. Try as he might, Odin could not spot the reefs Idunn claimed lurked just below the water’s surface. A ship would be torn to shreds in attempting to reach Vanaheim—the bigger the ship, the worse the damage. An apt way to defend against jotunnar, after all.

  “One thing I still don’t understand, Idunn. Your people were immortal. So you’re telling me all the First Ones died fighting wars against the jotunnar and the Niflungar? No. There’s something else you hide, and now I know you well enough to see it. So come. There is nowhere for you to run off to and no time left for mincing of words. How many First Ones remain?”

  Idunn sighed, shivering against his grip, but she did not try to pull away. Twice, she opened her mouth then shut it without speaking. Finally, she sighed again. “Odin. There are a few undeniable truths in this world. Among them, power corrupts. Men—or women—given the power of gods, begin to believe themselves such. It’s a heady mead, even before others begin to worship at your feet. Look at what kind of person Grimhild has become.”

  “She’s a monster.”

  “Do you think she was born that way?”

  Odin grunted. He hadn’t ever considered it. Perhaps no babe woke into Midgard evil. Maybe it was urd. People played out their fates because of, or in spite of, their natures. And here he was agreeing with Loki and the vӧlvur. No, Grimhild had made choices—bad ones. Choices of spite and pride and selfishness. Idunn, however, seemed to hold a different opinion, as she seemed to hold on most everything. Odin kept his eyes focused on the mist ahead. There was so little he could make out here. Perhaps he ought to embrace the Sight, try to gaze through the mist as he had done in the past.

  “No answer for me, King? Because deep down, you know I’m telling you the truth. No one who uses the Art remains the same. There are beings beyond our world that can be bent to our will, and through that very will can be given power to change reality. They are not bound by the laws of this world.”

  “They’re bound by the laws of theirs.”

  “You don’t understand—that’s the point. You cannot understand the supernatural. It is inimical to human logic and understanding. All of it, a hostile presence eager to siphon off bits of your soul and your mind. And in losing either, you become less and less human. Sorcerers pay the price of their humanity, often not even knowing it is happening, as they give in to megalomania or even solipsism.”

  Odin scoffed. He didn’t even know what those words meant, which, in and of itself, made it seem Idunn simply wanted to scare him. “If our enemies master the Art, we have no choice but to do the same. You would make it seem like a living force eager to corrupt young minds.”

  She chuckled without apparent humor. “You know, maybe it is, though it’s not limited to corrupting the young. How often have you seen me work sorcery?”

  Odin hefted the torch high. Something was amiss, but he could not be certain what. Even Sleipnir seemed ill at ease.

  And now that she mentioned it, Odin could not recall seeing Idunn cast any spells. She had worked illusions, healed a tree, but that seemed all. “Are you not a sorceress?”

  “Almost all of the Vanir study at Sessrumnir—our academy of the Art. But the wise look at sorcery as the last resort of the desperate. The price you pay almost always exceeds the potential reward. Worse, you cannot ever predict with certainty the result or even the cost. I might cast the same spell twice in exactly the same way and produce a different result. Sorcerers like the Niflungar ignore the price, or maybe they don’t even care about their humanity anymore.”

  “Fine, say you’re right. What does this have to do with the First Ones?” The answer, sick as it was, hit him like a blow. Idunn had been trying to tell him all along. Most of the First Ones had grown so drunk on the power granted by Yggdrasil it had changed them beyond recognition. And then what? Had their own children betrayed them?

  “Oh. You guessed it, haven’t you? Many were hunted down and killed by our own people. Freyja helped cast others from this world, banishing them beyond the Mortal Realm because they had transformed themselves into something inhuman. Some escaped, of course. Perhaps they wander the world still, immortal, and likely possessed by the very spirits they chose to invoke. Or perhaps so soulless, so removed from their own nature, that there is no longer a difference.”

  Idunn fell silent, trembling slightly under his arm. She must have known some of the people she spoke of. Watched them fall into corruption and madness, much as he had watched Ve fall. Even thousands of years later, it haunted her, maybe haunted all the Vanir. The glorious gods of Midgard were terrified of their own history, frightened by their failings and the ever-present threat of becoming like those who fell.

  For what seemed an age, he sought any word of comfort to offer Idunn. None came to mind. Her own mother would have been a First One—but Idunn had said Odin might still win her over. So not all of them had fallen.

  An ear-rending squeal shattered the quiet, an instant before a boar the size of a horse charged across the waves as easily as Sleipnir. Odin swept his torch at the boar, but too slowly. The creature crashed into him, tusks shredding flesh and embedding in his mail.

  Idunn screamed as the impact threw her off Sleipnir and sent her crashing into the ocean. Everything happened so quickly, next Odin knew, the boar had hefted him off Sleipnir and carried him far over the waves. It swerved, its tusks rending his mail. And then the shredded armor gave way, and Odin plummeted into the ocean. He hit the sea hard, dazed for an instant as he fell deep into the icy waters.

  Heart pounding, he drew upon the supernatural strength the apple had given him. Using that strength, he swam for the surface, glancing around for some sign of Idunn. There.
Swimming for the surface, her dress tangled up.

  Odin kicked his legs, carrying himself toward the Vanr. He had covered only a few feet before another form surged in front of him, that of a naked woman with a fish tail. A mermaid! Sigyn had spoken of seeing mer in the castle of Aegir, who Idunn had just claimed was an ally of Njord. She was beautiful. Beautiful for a heartbeat, until her mouth opened three times wider than it ought, revealing double rows of shark teeth. The mermaid crashed into him, bearing him deeper underwater. He caught her wrists, his own supernatural strength all that kept those snapping jaws from biting his face off. With every beat of her tail, they were carried further from the surface.

  Already, his lungs had begun to burn. His vision blurred on the edges. She was going to drown him. Left with no choice, he released one of her arms and grabbed her throat. It freed her arm to tear into his shoulder. Her fingers felt like claws gouging his biceps, but he focused all his strength into his hand, squeezing until her eyes bulged. Odin dropped her other arm and used his now-free hand to grab the side of her neck. Thick flaps of skin struggled to beat under his fingers. Gills. Odin snatched them and tore them away, ripping a chunk of her skin along with them. The mermaid shrieked, and the waters filled with blood. Odin let go and broke for the surface.

  He couldn’t see anything. His arms were becoming watery, like he swam through a dream. There was nothing left to do but rest.

  Arms gripped him around his shoulders. And then he broke through into open air. Gasping, ragged breaths tore apart his chest, followed by fits of coughing. Only after all that did Idunn come back into focus, treading water while helping him remain aloft.

  “What in Hel’s icy trench?”

  Idunn snickered. “Glad to see you’ve been working on controlling your tongue.” Her breath, too, came in heavy pants. “Hildisvini.”

  “What?”

  “A boar Freyja uses to patrol the shores—I had all but forgotten since it doesn’t target Vanir. It saw us and attacked. And the mer just happened to be nearby. They sometimes hunt these reefs. Njord encourages them, I think. They bring him news.”