Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 1: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

Hljod came in and set the bowl before her.

  Gudrun reached a hand over the bowl, palm a hairsbreadth above the water. She could feel the flow of the water. Even in the still bowl it had motion, movement, energy. She moved her hand with the motion, tracing slow, steady circles above the bowl.

  “You’re a vӧlva?” Hljod asked.

  The sudden break in her concentration caused Gudrun’s vision to shift back to normal, revealing the slight tremble in the girl across from her. A child, really, wrapping her arms around her legs, fearful of the night.

  Gudrun smiled, hoping it came across as warm. “I am a sorceress.”

  Hljod nodded, so Gudrun allowed her eyes to relax again, embracing the Sight.

  “What’s the difference?” the girl asked after a moment.

  Gudrun snorted. “The same as the difference between an apprentice and a master.”

  “Oh. That was illuminating.”

  Gudrun chuckled. The girl had a bit of a mouth, but then, so had Gudrun at her age. Hljod was so much like her—more than the girl could possibly realize. Gudrun almost wanted to look away. In Hljod’s eyes, she could see so much, like looking into memories she wanted to bury in the snow. Hel, maybe she ought to just leave the girl here among the king’s court. The man would likely take her in. Hljod would find work as a maid, marry some hunter, have a few brats … And spend the rest of her life haunted by nightmares of what had been done to her. Assuming the king didn’t make her a slave and force her to share his bed.

  Or … Or Gudrun could bring her to the Niflungar, make her one of them. Give her the power to never again fear. To heal, to be saved.

  And if she was going to truly bring Hljod among her people, to keep her as her own, the girl would have to understand. She blew out a long breath and removed her hand from the bowl. Father could wait.

  “Men call any woman who knows secrets of the Otherworlds a vӧlva, a witch. Most of those witches know naught of the true Art, but they fake it with herbs and poultices, with knowledge that seems frightening to simple men. Others possess a hint of the Art, a control of their life force, or a semblance of the Sight. But sorcery goes beyond this—sorcery is the evocation of spirits, beings of the Spirit Realm, which we can bend to our will or bond to our bodies. A sorceress uses spirits and ghosts to enact her will.”

  At a price. Spirits marked their own glyphs on your body, a constant reminder of a bond not easily broken. A spirit would always require payment for its services, feeding on the life force or the very soul of a sorceress who tried to master it. Push your limits too far and you’d wind up a vessel for beings of terrible nature. Gudrun shifted, enjoying the stare of wonder—and perhaps even the fear—on Hljod’s face.

  “Like what you did to that … that fucker who …”

  So more than a bit of a mouth, then. Gudrun nodded, trying not to smile. Hljod would need to learn to guard her tongue before they came among the Niflungar. “I called a wraith, a ghost—a very angry, ancient ghost. Trolls are horrors of this world, but they have naught on the horrors of the worlds beyond our own.”

  Hljod scooted forward a little. “Worlds?”

  “Tell me what you know of the Spirit Realm.”

  “Like Niflheim?”

  “Niflheim is one of the nine worlds of the Spirit Realm, specifically the World of Mist. It is ruled by our queen, Hel, and there is none greater than she. And do you know why?”

  The girl shook her head, predictably frightened to silence at the mention of Hel. The great queen was a name of fear, a curse among the common people of Midgard. She was the darkness they—justifiably—blamed for the state of their world and the horrors they faced.

  “Hel is here with us,” Gudrun said. “Even though her essence remains bound in Niflheim, she is among us, out in the mist. She is the queen of death, the mistress of the cold. The Vanir, the so-called gods of your people, are naught before her.”

  Hljod bit her lip a moment, then cocked her head. “And the other worlds? Do they have mighty rulers?”

  At that Gudrun rocked back. This girl was more perceptive than she’d given her credit for. “We do not speak of such things. Not to someone as yet uninitiated in our full ways. Now I need you to remain very still and very silent, Hljod. Remember what I just told you of sorcery? I’m going to call upon a spirit to communicate across a great distance.” She pointed to the glyph she’d painted on the floor. “Trust me when I tell you this—do not ever interrupt a sorceress in the midst of evoking a spirit. To call a spirit and not bind it is to risk being taken as a vessel. Spirits do not have physical form in our realm, but they will happily take control of our bodies.”

  Eyes wide, the girl fell mute. Gudrun hadn’t wanted to frighten her, but, in truth, a certain amount of fear was due to the realms beyond Midgard. A sorceress might touch minds, beings ancient beyond human imagining. And doing so was a risk equally unimaginable.

  Once again, she reached her hand over the bowl and resumed her motion over it. A mist formed over the water, pulling up the moisture and wafting through their small chamber. Perhaps some would drift under the fur door and alert the mortals to what she was about, but Gudrun had to take that risk.

  The glyph on Gudrun’s thigh warmed as she called out to the Mist spirit bound to her. The snow maiden would let her bridge the gap between here and Castle Niflung. “Show me my father.” Her voice was barely a whisper. The mists congealed into a hazy image, borne to her across the Veil that separated Midgard from the Astral Realm.

  Mighty Gjuki, the Raven Lord, stood stooped over a parchment, the room illuminated by a single candle. A whole unkindness of ravens perched around the room, all watching her. Almost as he came into view, he straightened, turned to face Gudrun.

  “Daughter.” His voice carried as if on the wind, far away, yet clear to her ears.

  “Father. I have done as Grimhild commanded. I have set the Troll King upon the Aesir.”

  “I know this.”

  Her father’s ravens watched all Midgard, offering him reports and secrets. But they didn’t see everything. They didn’t see into Gudrun’s heart. Maybe even Father would not understand her true feelings for Odin. He’d ordered her to seduce him when Odin had first come, but somehow, somewhere along that path, she had fallen into her own trap. And if he knew she was putting her heart before the will of Hel … She wouldn’t want to see her father’s rage.

  “Grimhild would see Odin torn to pieces by the trolls.”

  “Hel has reason to hate the man.”

  And what reason was it? That, neither Grimhild nor her father had ever revealed. “Please, Father. We both know she wants him dead because of Guthorm. If he was so easy to turn to us, he might not be so valuable. It is because he is strong-willed and powerful that he could be such a boon to us. You know this.”

  To say naught of Gudrun’s own heart. With Odin, for once, she was not alone. Maybe that was what she’d wanted all along. Someone to understand her, in a way her parents never could.

  Her father stared at something she couldn’t see for a time before answering, perhaps reading her unspoken words off her face. “That may be true. But Grimhild will have what she wants, daughter. Have you forgotten what happened the last time you defied her?”

  “I will never forget! Y-you should have punished her,” Gudrun spat at her father. Hel take Grimhild and Father both!

  “I am king, but even I am not as beloved by Hel as your mother.”

  “And will you still not choose me over her? Will you not come here and help me?”

  Her father again stared off into darkness. “Would that earn your forgiveness, child? I am still bound to the will of Hel. Your beauty and potions and magic did not bind Odin to our will. If he is to live, he must serve. You know this. I am giving you this one more chance to win him over.”

  It might earn him forgiveness. There was no forgiveness for Grimhild. Not ever. Oh, Gudrun had never defied her mother again, nor would she. Some lessons could not be unlearned.

 
“Odin?” Hljod whispered. “I know that name … Son of a trollfucker! You’re after the Troll King’s brother!”

  “Who is that?” her father demanded.

  “I told you to be silent!” Gudrun snapped at Hljod. “She is no one, just a servant. Please, Father. Help me.”

  Hljod folded her arms across her chest and opened her mouth, but Gudrun silenced her with a glare. Even in the momentary distraction, she felt the Mist spirit strain against her control. Gudrun grit her teeth, forcing her will back on the vaettr.

  Her father sighed, and didn’t speak for a time. “Then I will come to you, daughter.”

  “Good.” Gudrun waved away the mists and let her vision return to normal. She let the vaettr slip back inside her, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. It strained against her will, but she could take it. She didn’t want to draw more power from her talisman than she must—even such treasures oft had their limits.

  “I’m no one, huh?”

  Gudrun grimaced, still trying to force the snow maiden into dormancy. “The next time I tell you to—”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You told the Troll King to go after his own brother! You should be killing the trolls and everyone related to them.”

  Gudrun’s hands trembled, ice forming around them in glittering crystals. Hljod’s eyes widened as she caught the sight, but she didn’t apologize.

  “You forget yourself, girl,” Gudrun said. Gudrun had not meant to call upon the snow maiden’s power again. The vaettr itself was tempting her, like a man who could not resist his drink.

  Hljod leapt to her feet. “I didn’t forget what that thing did to me! You ever been raped by a troll, Gudrun? You think you understand me?” The girl’s voice broke at the end, suddenly choking on her own sobs.

  The ice dissipated from Gudrun’s fingers in an instant. Hljod shifted from mouse to snow bear and back in no time at all, her anger a mere cover for the fear and pain and rage. The utter aloneness. Except she wasn’t alone.

  Gudrun rose, opening her mouth but unable to speak. Instead she took a step toward Hljod and reached for the girl’s hand, who jerked it away. “I … do understand. Not by a troll …”

  An instant of confusion appeared on Hljod’s face, to be washed away by horror as she understood. “But you were … ? You’re a princess! Who would … ?”

  Gudrun squeezed her eyes to force the water out. She was not this person who wallowed in self-pity. And she did not tell this story. Not ever, not to anyone.

  “When I was your age …” Gudrun began, then choked, unable to speak. She slunk back to the floor. “I had a lover. And I—Grimhild didn’t approve. My mother, I mean. She demanded I break it off, and I … I was young, and given to folly as the young so oft are. I insisted I loved him. So she told me … Grimhild ordered me to murder him, sacrifice his soul to bind a vaettr to me.”

  Hljod sat down before Gudrun, eyes wide, face ashen. “And did you?”

  Gudrun shook her head. “Not then. I refused. Grimhild called me … lustful. She ordered one of her guards to sate me.”

  “Oh, Hel,” Hljod said.

  “I … I still refused.” Gudrun could no longer stop the tears. Some princess of Hel she was, weeping in front of this child. A child who had known all the same abuses. Hljod was her, wasn’t she? “S-she brought in more guards. Continued to let them … Until I … Until I did it. I sacrificed my lover and used his soul to bind Irpa—the wraith I used on the Troll King.”

  Gudrun jerked at Hljod’s sudden embrace. Rather than force her away, Gudrun wrapped an arm around Hljod’s shoulders. This child had suffered as she had suffered, perhaps even worse. And she deserved to know she was not alone.

  “I used Irpa … I had her kill all the men who …”

  “You should have killed that Troll King, too,” Hljod said, her voice cracking.

  Hel, the girl was right. Gudrun should have done so. She’d let fear of Grimhild, of facing her wrath once more, stay her hand.

  “Make me like you,” Hljod said. “I want to be … strong.”

  Gudrun stroked the girl’s hair. She’d thought to keep Hljod on as a servant, as if that was enough to make up for what had been done to both of them. But naught would ever be enough. Make her strong? Was Gudrun so strong, sitting here weeping, clutching this young girl for strength?

  Naught could change the past … but …

  But Gudrun would control the future. Hljod would be more than a servant, more than an apprentice. She would be like a sister. And Gudrun was going to protect her, this she swore.

  19

  Loki’s tracks led Sigyn all the way to the coast. For the better part of a moon she followed, passing through a few towns here and there. Few of the locals spoke the North tongue here. Indeed, Valland was part of the South Realms. Still, she had traded rabbit pelts for supplies. Too, Sigyn had avoided draugar and trolls, wading through endless mist until she had become an expert in sneaking around dangers. This must have been how Idunn had travelled the world. What difference was there between them, really? Both were women who had eaten the apples, and if the Vanr woman could walk from one end of Midgard to the other, so too could Sigyn.

  Idunn had once spoken of a lush island chain in the far southeast, one from which her ancestors had come. Sigyn would have loved to have seen that, though it must lay in Utgard, beyond the Midgard Wall. Instead, she followed Loki all the way to the great ocean, and it, too, left her breathless. The land at last gave way in a great, glacier-like cliff and dropped down to ice-topped rocks on the frosty shore she guessed waited at least sixty feet beneath. Mist poured over that shelf, obscuring much.

  But not enough, not from her. She saw the spires rising so far above the mist they seemed to scrape the clouds. A castle rose up out of the sea, topped by a half dozen of the great towers. Each tower was filled with innumerable windows, each of which had to be twice as tall as she was. Other separate towers rose out of the sea as well, making it clear some portion of the architecture must actually be underwater.

  Sigyn had to hug herself at the sight. Like something out of a dream, a palace of another age. And Loki had gone down into it. And if he could do it, she could too. Couldn’t she? She shook herself, then set out for the edge of the cliff. Looking out over the lip of it, she swayed with dizziness and sank to her knees.

  This was probably the stupidest idea she’d ever had. Of course, it was a little late to turn back now. She might not even be able to find the rest of the Aesir at this point. Forward was the only way. Loki was down there, probably getting himself in trouble and almost certainly revealing yet another mystery.

  Situations like this, one just had to do it. Just one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t afford to think too much—that was her weakness, of course. She swung one foot over the edge and felt around for footholds. She was a goddess, wasn’t she? Just how immortal was—

  The ice cracked beneath her foot and she fell, skidding down the cliff side. Ice and rocks ripped open her palms as she scrambled, desperate for any handhold to slow her descent. Mist blurred everything, but her hand caught on some rocky protrusion. The sudden stop yanked at her shoulder and sent jolts of pain throughout her body. And she felt her hand slipping, too slick with blood. Sigyn shrieked as she fell again, ice scraping her shins and what remained of her dress.

  Focus. Focus!

  She forced her eyes to look through the mist, to see the fall ahead of her, then twisted to land on another protrusion. The ice cracked beneath her, slowing her fall only briefly before pitching her downward again. Sigyn tumbled into the snow at the base of the cliff, rolled, and slammed into a rock. Her whole world blurred and spun. Pain shot through her entire body until she couldn’t tell head from foot, nor even guess how many bones she had broken.

  Immortal. And she’d still almost managed to kill herself. A feat worthy of song.

  For a long time she lay where she’d fallen, unable to even consider moving. Inside, she could feel her bones knitting back togethe
r. If she’d stayed with Frigg, her sister could have used her newfound healing powers. Of course, if she’d stayed with Frigg like Loki told her, she wouldn’t need healing. But Sigyn had never been very good at doing what she was told. Or at being left behind. Loki had shown her a new world, a new reality where she was no longer the outcast, no longer shunned for intelligence and enthusiasm. He’d showed her a world where someone would look into her eyes and see her very soul.

  That was worth eternity. It was sure as Hel worth risking her life over.

  When she rolled over, a fresh lance of pain shot through her arm. She screamed, or tried to, but it came out as more of a whimper. Broken arm, broken ribs. Gods, she was a fool, wasn’t she? Maybe just a little sleep. Odin had said the apple allowed him to heal from almost any wound. It meant she was going to be fine …

  The feeling of herself being lifted jolted Sigyn awake. She squirmed in a man’s arms, her body still aching. It wasn’t Loki who had lifted her, but a blond man with a bushy beard. He was brawny and bare-chested, covered only by a cloth wrapped around his waist like a skirt.

  “She thinks she is a bird,” the man said.

  Sigyn glowered at him. Was the man rescuing her? Abducting her? It must be someone from the sea castle. “Put me down. Who are you? What do you want?”

  The man clucked his tongue. “She sings like a bird, too. I am Fimafeng, little bird.”

  It was a start. Sigyn had to take control of this situation, before this Fimafeng got any ideas about her. “Do you know who I am?”

  “A pretty bird.” The man continued carrying her, his gait steady toward a massive stone bridge that stretched out to the castle. The bridge didn’t reach far above the sea, and now, with the tide in, a few inches of water lapped at his heels as he crossed.

  Sigyn twisted in his arms, trying to worm her way free. “This pretty bird wants to walk on her own.”

  “Birds don’t walk so well. I will carry you, Bird, until your wings heal.”

  Sigyn couldn’t be sure whether the man was truly simple, or just mocking her. Either way, continuing to struggle against him in her current state was pointless. Instead, she took the opportunity to check out the castle. The archway leading inside had to be fifty feet high. Massive columns supported a vaulted ceiling carved with all manner of sea creatures—animals Sigyn had heard of only in tale. When she looked down, however, she spied things that should have only lived in myth—mermaids. And mermen, in fact. Though human from the waist up—and naked—these people had long, twisting fish tails.