by Jodi McIsaac
Eden’s eyes lit up, and she started walking between the mannequins, admiring their garments. The old woman grabbed Cedar’s arms and raised them, and then stood back, looking at her with a critical eye. “Something new, I think. My lord?”
Thor smiled. “You are the queen in this chamber. I will leave the clothing of our guests up to you.”
“I should have thought of this before,” Cedar muttered to Finn as the woman bustled around them, examining them from every angle.
“You had a lot on your mind,” he answered. “Personally, I prefer you in blue jeans.”
“Tell me, how has Brighid been…before the illness, that is?” Thor said as he watched the woman work.
Cedar wasn’t sure how much to tell him. But if she could renew his interest in Brighid, he would be much more likely to help them. “She’s saved a lot of lives recently,” she said. “She helped avert a war between Tír na nÓg and Earth. And she helped us find Eden when she had been kidnapped earlier this year.”
“And does she still love humans over her own kind?”
“It depends on which of ‘her own kind’ you’re talking about, I think,” Cedar said, lifting her arms again so that the old woman could spin gold fabric around her torso. “Brighid is, as you know, a wonderful, infuriating mass of contradictions.” She smiled as she thought of her friend. “One minute you think she’s the most self-absorbed person you ever met, only concerned with her own pleasure. The next, you find out that she would sacrifice everything, even her own life, to protect those she loves—or those who simply need her help. I think she’s an amazingly sensitive, caring person. And to be honest, I think that a lot of the confidence she shows is bravado. It’s a mask.” She paused for a breath before looking Thor directly in the eye and continuing. “You have no idea how deeply you hurt her.”
He didn’t answer, but walked over to the other side of the room and stared out of one of the small windows. Eden was leaning against the sill of the other window. She looked tired.
“Are you okay, Eden?” Cedar asked.
“Yes, of course. This is incredible,” she said, gazing out of the window.
“What do you see?” Cedar asked, trying to smooth over their confrontation—and give Thor time to think about what she had said.
“Mountains,” she answered. “It looks like it goes on forever. Is there anything in this world besides stone?” She looked inquiringly at Thor.
“There is beauty in every world,” he said, still staring out the window. “If you know where to find it.”
Eden squinted out at the landscape, as though looking for those patches of beauty. Cedar watched her silently. Who was this tall, confident, powerful young woman, and what had happened to her inquisitive, feisty little girl? Eden had said she couldn’t go back to being the way she was before, but did she mean that she couldn’t…or wouldn’t?
The old woman stepped back, and Cedar looked down. She was wearing a gown of gold, with a long bell sleeve that fell to her knees on the left side. A winglike ornamentation curved over her left shoulder, joining with the bodice at the breast. Her right arm and shoulder were bare. In a few solid tugs, the woman had smoothed Cedar’s long black hair and tied it up with a clasp of pearls.
“Worth the detour,” Finn said, giving her an admiring look. He, too, was dressed in gold, in a long robe decorated with fine red leather. Over at the window, Eden gave a low wolf whistle, and Thor nodded in appreciation at the old woman, who bowed and left the room.
“Much better,” Thor said approvingly. “You look most wonderful, Your Majesty. I have sent a message to my father, and he is expecting us.”
Cedar, Finn, and Eden followed Thor down the stairs and across a large square courtyard to the entrance of another tower, this one many times larger and higher than the one where they’d just been outfitted for their audience with Odin. Every post and beam seemed to be carved with intricate knots and designs. Cedar noticed that the designs were similar to those found on the Hall in Tír na nÓg. We are not so different, she thought.
“Welcome to Hlidskjalf, the seat of my father,” Thor said, pausing outside the door.
The great stone door swung open to admit them, and Cedar tried to calm herself as they passed through it. Thor had seemed reasonable; but from all indications, they could not expect the same from Odin. She took a deep breath as they walked into the throne room.
She had expected more of the gray stone that seemed to be the defining feature of Asgard. Here in this great hall, the floor and the walls were indeed stone, but hanging from above were the branches of a huge tree, larger than any Cedar had seen on Earth or in Tír na nÓg. Green and gold leaves spilled from the branches and swayed softly in the air above them.
“Yggdrasil,” she heard Finn say softly beside her, and not for the first time she wished she had paid more attention to the stories he had told her back in Halifax. “The world tree.”
Cedar didn’t know what a world tree was, and though she thought it was beautiful, her attention was fixed on the man sitting on a tall golden throne at the end of the room. He was older than she’d expected. She had assumed that all of these gods remained at their peak, like the Tuatha Dé Danann, but this man’s hair was white, and his shoulders were slumped forward. Resting on each shoulder was a black raven. He only had one eye, which was narrowed at them. Where his other eye used to be was a simple black patch. A long spear rested across his knees.
“So the deceivers have come at last,” he croaked as they approached the throne. Thor went to stand at his father’s side. “Leave us,” Odin said, and the guards and attendants in the room immediately filtered out of the door.
“We come in peace,” Cedar said, feeling vaguely ridiculous that she’d just used that phrase in real life. “We bring greetings from all of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and wish only to reclaim that which is rightfully ours. We are in a time of great need.”
Odin started to laugh, but it sounded more like he was choking. “Great need?” he sputtered. “Ah, yes, we are all in great need these days.” Then his face returned to stone. “Let’s dispense with the diplomatic niceties, shall we? The jewels will stay here, and if you hope to leave this hall alive, you will tell me how they work.”
Cedar bristled at the threat, but took a deep breath and tried again. She wanted to keep this exchange peaceful if at all possible. “I will gladly tell you how they work. The jewels are from our homeland, the Four Cities,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “They are used in the binding of agreements. They were most recently used to bind the fate of many beings, including one of our own kind, to humanity’s belief in that which is beyond them. But as you must know, humanity no longer believes in such things, at least not enough to sustain the strength of the spell. In order to save these beings, we must destroy the jewels and break the bond. That is the only purpose of the jewels.”
Surely he could see that he had nothing to gain from keeping them…
“A fine story,” Odin said slowly. “A fine lie. One I have heard before. My son Thor came to me with the same tale. He was deceived by one of your kind, the one who enjoys slumming with the mortals. Though he told me about the jewels, he was too enamored with this woman to guess at their true power. A jewel that can control belief is a powerful treasure indeed.”
“What Thor told you is the truth!” Cedar insisted. “I don’t know what you think they will do for you, but it won’t work!”
“It will work if you tell me how it works,” Odin said, his voice booming through the hall.
“I did tell you,” Cedar insisted. “You can choose to not believe me, but it doesn’t change the truth! These jewels won’t help you reclaim your human followers, if that’s what you’re hoping. That time is over—for all of us.”
“Liar!” Odin stood up, his spear slamming against the floor and causing the whole building to tremble. “I have heard tell of the wonders of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Your presence still lingers in the minds and hearts of the mortals
on Midgard, while our followers have proven themselves faithless maggots. The Danann whore knew this, and she deceived my son.”
Cedar was burning with anger at his insults, but she was also beginning to think that he was quite mad. How could she make a bitter, insane god see reason? “Brighid told your son the truth,” she said again, her voice firm. “You are very powerful. If the jewels could help you, you would have discovered their secret centuries ago. That’s because there is no secret. They can’t help you, but they can help us. Please, people we care about are dying.”
Odin sat down hard on his throne. “I care not whether your people live or die. It is their own fault for making such a foolish agreement, if that is indeed what happened.”
“Why does it even matter to you if the humans don’t believe anymore?” Cedar exclaimed. “It doesn’t take away any of your power. It doesn’t change who you are.”
Odin rose again from his throne. Slowly, step by step, he descended the few short stairs, until he was standing directly in front of her. Everything in his countenance spoke of disdain. He was only inches away from her face, and her stomach clenched. She could sense Finn and Eden behind her, not moving, the tension in the room coiling, readying for the explosion. Odin’s one eye was icy blue, the white shot through with red veins. It traveled up and down Cedar, and she suppressed a shudder. The skin on his face was paper thin, almost translucent. She could see the veins and capillaries spreading out in all direction like a spiderweb beneath the skin. The ravens lifted up off his shoulders with several loud squawks and started circling above.
“What is a god without followers?” he said, his eye still roaming over her body. “Nothing. Just a human in a borrowed dress.”
Cedar heard a growl from behind her, and turned around to shoot Eden a silencing look. But when she locked eyes with her daughter, she promptly forgot about Odin’s insult. Eden’s olive skin was ashen, and her face shone with a fine shimmer of sweat. Was she that afraid of the Norse god? The younger Eden would have been terrified; perhaps the transformation was not as complete as she had been led to believe. Finn must have noticed as well, for he wrapped his arm around Eden’s waist. Cedar turned back to Odin, determined to get this over with and get back to Tír na nÓg.
“If you wanted the humans to believe in you so badly, why did you withdraw from them? You don’t need the jewels—you can just show them who you are.”
Odin looked at her shrewdly through his one good eye. “An excellent suggestion. Perhaps I shall pay Midgard another visit. It has been too long.” The corner of his mouth lifted up, wrinkling his cheek. “Though I wonder if you would approve of the manner of my arrival. Bifrost has been closed. But my son tells me you can create portals between the worlds.”
Cedar thought fast, trying to remember what she had heard about Bifrost, the bridge between Asgard and Midgard. Felix had said that it was closed. His assumption was that Odin had done it…but now she wasn’t so sure. All Odin wanted was for people to worship him, so if he could have gone to Earth before now, he would have.
Odin laughed again. “It seems you are a little behind, Your Majesty. I would like nothing more than to pay a last visit to Midgard. But Bifrost was destroyed before I had the chance. Now, however, there is someone in my throne room who can travel between worlds at will. It is a gift I did not even think to ask for.”
Cedar felt herself grow cold all over as she realized what he was saying. Odin didn’t want worship. He wanted revenge.
“Cedar,” Finn whispered urgently from behind her. Eden was leaning heavily on him, her face an alarming shade of white.
Cedar immediately put a hand on her daughter’s forehead. It was ice cold. Eden blinked back at Cedar, her eyes afraid and confused, childish once again. She wasn’t scared of Odin—she was sick.
Thor hastened to Finn’s side. “What is wrong with her? Is it the curse?” He no longer looked like a warrior god standing guard at his father’s side, but like an ordinary man, helpless in the face of something he could not change. His eyes beseeched Cedar, even as she, too, looked at her daughter in dismay.
“Nothing is wrong with her!” Odin snapped. “It is a ruse, a distraction. And no one told you to leave your post.” Thor lingered for a moment, and then returned to the dais, his face once again as hard as the walls behind him.
“Maybe it was the transformation,” Cedar said to Finn. “Her body can’t handle it. Hang in there, my heart,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear, stroking her arm.
She swiveled back around and faced Odin with a newfound fervor. “We must leave at once. Give us the jewels before it is too late. This is your last warning.”
Odin seemed unmoved by Eden’s sudden illness, and Cedar’s threat appeared to amuse him. “Create a portal to Midgard for me, and I will give you the jewels.” He held up a hand, and the two ravens that had been circling overhead flew down to land on his shoulders again. Four black beady eyes and one blue one stared unblinking at her.
“The only sidh I will ever open for you is one to Hell,” Cedar snarled, not flinching away from his gaze. Without warning, the ravens flew from Odin’s shoulders toward her face, their talons outstretched. She automatically lifted her hands to protect herself and felt searing pain as they ripped into her flesh. In an instant, Finn was in the air as a massive eagle and charged the ravens, who left Cedar and soared toward the high ceiling, Finn in pursuit. But they were unnaturally swift, and they darted and clawed at him as they led him in chase. Cedar brought her bloodied hands down from her face and summoned fire into her palms. She turned to direct the flames at Odin, but he was no longer there. And neither was Eden.
CHAPTER 18
Odin!” Cedar bellowed, staring around wildly.
“You had your chance,” came a voice from the golden throne. Odin had returned to his perch, but now Eden was lying limply across his lap. A silver dagger was resting between her breasts, the hilt clenched in his hand. Thor was still standing beside the throne, his knuckles white around the grip of the hammer, his eyes flickering between Eden and his father.
Odin’s voice was completely devoid of emotion. “I told you that if you opened the portal I would give you the jewels. It seems that my offer was not enough for you. So I have a new proposal. Open the portal, and I will give you your daughter’s life.”
Eden’s eyes flickered open, and Cedar saw her lips move. “Don’t do it,” she mouthed.
Cedar walked slowly toward the throne, her hands down at her sides, her fire extinguished. “We have done nothing to you. You would kill my only child, starting a war between our people, just to get revenge on a race that no longer worships you?”
Odin moved the dagger to Eden’s neck.
“You are not a god,” Cedar continued, her voice shaking with anger. “You are nothing but a pathetic old man.”
She stopped walking when Odin pressed the dagger into Eden’s skin, and a thin line of red appeared at her throat. “Stop,” Cedar whispered. “She’s just a child. She has nothing to do with this.”
“She has everything to do with this,” he answered. “Open the portal, or she dies.”
“I can’t,” Cedar said, but then threw her arms forward desperately as he moved to plunge the dagger into Eden’s neck. “I mean it! I can’t open the portal without her. I’m not strong enough. It’s the only reason she’s here with us. She opened it.”
Odin relaxed the hand that held the dagger, but did not release Eden. “She’s just a child, and yet more powerful than the queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann? Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” Cedar said, stumbling forward. “Eden is—or will be—much stronger than I am. I couldn’t open the sidh—the portal—between Tír na nÓg and Asgard without her help. If you harm her, you will never reach Midgard.”
“And your male companion? I suppose you’ll tell me next that you need him too?” he said.
Cedar was about to say yes, that she needed him more than anything, but she didn’t get
a chance. A great black serpent, its head larger than Odin’s throne, reared up from behind the king. A single black feather drifted to the ground beside it. Odin jumped up and grabbed his spear, and Eden slid off his lap onto the stone floor. Thor yelled, “Jörmungandr!” and swung his hammer at the snake’s head, but it darted away at the last second. Cedar ran to Eden and pulled her off the dais, hiding her behind a stone pillar in the corner.
“Eden,” she whispered, her hands on her daughter’s face. The wound at her neck was not deep; Odin had barely scratched the skin. Eden tried to look at Cedar, but her eyes were unfocused. Her skin was like wax, and she didn’t even seem to have the energy to raise her own head.
Cedar pulled Eden into her arms and whispered, “It’s okay, baby, we’re going to get you home.” She leaned her against the pillar and ran back into the hall, where Finn, as the great snake, was still doing battle with Odin and Thor. Thor had wedged himself between the snake and his father, as if he was trying to protect him.
Cedar threw out her hands, and a wall of flame rushed toward Odin. Thor pulled his father away at the last second, and started to wind up his hammer, preparing to throw it at Cedar.
“How dare you bring Jörmungandr against us!” Thor bellowed.
“I don’t know what you’re taking about!” Cedar yelled back, opening a sidh to the other side of the room. “Finn’s a shape-shifter!” She stepped through the sidh, which put her behind Odin and Thor. Odin threw his spear at Finn, striking him in the tail. The Finn-serpent let out a hiss of pain, and Odin rushed toward him with a war cry.
“You have to stop this!” Cedar said, stepping into another sidh that brought her directly to Thor’s side. “Thousands of innocent people will die if you don’t!”
Thor didn’t attack her, but he looked away, staring at Odin and the great serpent. “My father—”