by Matt Larkin
“She’s hungry!” He lunged forward and grabbed the bars, though his grip did not quite encompass them.
Idunn shook her head. “You’re not listening to me. I know the blade makes you feel powerful … I mean it does make you powerful. But if you can’t let it go, it will cost you everything you still value in your life. Can you not see what it’s doing to you?”
Lies. Lies. She wants me for herself.
Tyr growled at Idunn. “She is … helping me. Unlike others.”
The Vanr groaned. “I am trying to help you, Tyr. I’ve spoken to Frigg on your behalf, tried to explain the curse. But she sees that as all the more reason to keep you bound. She won’t kill you, but neither will she let you go. Still there, is hope. In time, I think might be able to—”
“Get me Gramr.”
“No, Tyr, I can’t do that. I would not, even if Frigg would allow it. Having that blade will only—”
He roared at her, and she backed further away, shook her head. “Tyr.”
“Please … Give her to me. I cannot lose her. Not her!”
Kill her.
No! Not Idunn. Never Idunn.
You love her more than me.
“That’s not true!” he shouted.
Idunn opened her mouth. “What’s not—”
“I love you more than anyone!”
The Vanr worked her mouth into a crooked smile. Sad smile. “You mean that?”
“Of course. Gramr, I need you. Come back to me.”
Idunn sighed, a shudder taking her. Then she shook her head and walked away. Twice, she turned to look over her shoulder.
“Come back!” Tyr roared at her. “Come back! Bring her to me!”
I am so hungry.
Tyr beat his fists against the bars. Again and again. Until they bled. Until his bones cracked.
The bars did not break.
I am … hungry …
49
Though Gudrun did not fear to travel alone—what Niflung would?—she called several more draugar to her as escorts. It was just a precaution. She had no reason to fear that man. Clearly he was a sorcerer, but Loge? No. That was impossible. The fire priest would have died centuries ago. Wouldn’t he?
But then, how old was her father, really? How old was Grimhild?
The ways through the mountains were long and tedious, even to one who knew the secret tunnels beneath them. Gudrun felt she’d been walking through such ice caves for an age. Odin had rejected her—again—and worse still, she had lost him. Thanks to his unexpected ally, he’d escaped. Gudrun had failed, and miserably so. One advantage to keeping to the ice caves, though, was the mist didn’t seep far into the underground tunnels. Maybe Grimhild couldn’t find her and Hljod down here.
She’d have to do something to appease the woman, something to make up for her failure. Certainly she couldn’t let Grimhild kill Odin, but something else, aught that might avert the queen’s wrath, because if Grimhild returned, and Gudrun gave her naught, Irpa would become the least of Gudrun’s worries.
Fool child … afraid of her mother …
Her breath had grown out of control, turning into such gasps that a draug turned to look at her. She had to get hold of herself.
“How much farther?” she snapped at an undead warrior.
“At your pace … an hour.”
Hel, Gudrun hated the hollow, raspy voices of these things. Why had she even bothered to ask? Trying to distract herself by talking to the dead?
We are all dead … here …
“Are you all right?” Hljod whispered, as if the draug wouldn’t hear the echoes off the ice walls.
Gudrun patted the girl on the shoulder. “A minor setback.” Actually, it was a fairly major one. Gudrun had never given much consideration to Odin’s allies, other than that thrice-damned wife of his. But he had a Vanr among his people, and now this man claiming to be Loge.
She needed to get this over with. Ve had become her only remaining asset. The Troll King had done well enough, so far, and his people could move about the mountains freely, even as they still laid siege to Idavollir. All she needed was to break the Ás fortress before Odin reached it, and thus ensure he had nowhere left to turn save her. Or did she yet fool herself?
Yes …
No. If she could but drive away his allies, then she could have Odin, and Grimhild would have no need to punish her. That was all it would take.
Of course, controlling Ve would prove more difficult without calling upon Irpa. But he only needed to think she could still rely on the wraith. The Troll King might be half-witted, but he must still fear the shade. Hel, Gudrun feared Irpa.
You need me …
She pushed herself harder, quickening her steps. The draugar had told her the Troll King had made a burrow in the next mountain. Unfortunately, there were no direct tunnels between the two, which meant traveling out into the sunlight—which the undead hated—and into the mist.
But then, mist seeped into the cave long before she reached its end. Maybe Grimhild would know where she was the moment she passed into it, or maybe it only worked if the queen was actually scrying for her. Either way, she had no time to waste.
“I don’t …” Hljod said. “I don’t want to go in the troll burrow.”
Gudrun pulled up short. She should have thought of that the moment she settled on this plan. One day, perhaps, the girl would have to face her fears.
Not today, though—Gudrun was not Grimhild, and she would not make her charge strong by traumatizing her.
Instead, she hugged the girl. “You’re not going to. You’ll wait outside, of course. Trolls won’t come out into the sunlight.”
“Oh.”
Gudrun released the girl and continued on. She had to do this quickly, before Grimhild could interfere. It was her only chance to save Odin. Somewhere along the line—she couldn’t even say when—she’d begun to fantasize about carrying his child, about what kind of mother she would be.
Better.
Since doing better as a mother than Grimhild was about as big an accomplishment as managing to wake up in the morning, she would do better than she’d done so far with Hljod.
Petty dreams …
Predictably, the draugar grumbled about passing through daylight, even daylight obscured by the mist. It drained them of their supernatural powers, probably left them feeling strangely mortal. The fears of the undead were not her problems, though, and Gudrun demanded they follow her into the wooded vale.
The trees here had begun to warp, to twist in on themselves. Perhaps the trolls had made this a burrow for some time.
“Wait here,” she told one of the draugar. “Protect Hljod at any cost.” She placed a hand on her apprentice’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”
Hljod did an admirable job of hiding her fear, though Gudrun could see it, bundled just under the surface. She patted the girl again and entered the burrow.
The moment she descended into the next cave, her draugar perked up. Odd, to think of dead men’s spirits being lifted, to think of fresh confidence in their steps. Everyone had something they feared, she supposed.
In the tunnel she passed trolls, most alert, watching her with wary eyes. Were they expecting her? Didn’t trolls usually sleep during daylight? And though she spied troll-wives off in the corners, naked and shivering, none of the trolls paid them any mind.
If her presence now inspired such fear in these beasts, maybe Gudrun could use it. Deeper she delved, draugar soldiers at her side. And then she entered the Troll King’s new throne room, and she realized it wasn’t her presence at all that inspired fear.
Grimhild stood before the Troll King, the pair of them watching Gudrun. The Niflung queen wore a mask of bone, half its jaw cracked away. A troll skull, in fact, though Gudrun had no opportunity to savor the obvious discomfort it must have brought to the trolls.
“Daughter.”
“Grimhild.”
Her mother frowned, her lips shadowed by the mask she
wore. “I fear you have let Odin escape you a second time, daughter.”
Gudrun held herself still, trying to give naught away in her visage, to reveal naught Grimhild could read, naught she could use against her.
“Imagine my surprise to learn you had made such a careless mistake. You can be a slow learner, daughter, but even you must eventually learn, yes?”
“Yes.” Gudrun walked forward simply because it was far too late to back away. Maybe bravado might … Maybe if she could just … Just do something to keep Grimhild from punishing her again, whatever it might take.
Once, Grimhild had let a snow maiden overtake Gudrun’s body for weeks, forcing her to watch her own actions without control. And even that was better than … She couldn’t let this show on her face. Every step was like walking through fire. Trying to still her trembles was like holding back an avalanche. “It seems you speak with one of my servants now.”
Bold, perhaps, claiming Ve as her servant, but she had to be bold. Grimhild liked bold. Didn’t she? Fuck, she was going to cry. She couldn’t cry. These trolls would eat her alive at a sign of weakness. Her heart kept trying to beat its way out of her chest. Hel save her.
I will save you …
All she had to do was let Irpa devour Ve’s soul. And surrender her own body in the process. “I … Ve! You are to move in on the Aesir. Your brother marches to meet them as we speak. Before he returns, you must break his people and destroy Idavollir. Kill them—kill Frigg.” Without his wife holding him back, Odin would surely turn to her, and then maybe they would both be spared by Grimhild. “Kill Frigg and your other brother, the berserk.” Remove both from the board and Gudrun’s plays for his heart would be made simpler.
The Troll King chuckled, a sound that grated on her ears like someone striking rocks together. “You want me … to kill my brother … and my sister-in-law.”
“Do you still harbor them such love?”
“I need … payment.”
“The Niflungar are rich in gold,” Grimhild said. “Rich beyond your dreams, Troll King. Follow us and you will have all the payment you desire.”
“Gold is … good. But a king … needs a royal … wife.”
Son of a bitch thought to try that again. Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time?
Grimhild looked from Ve to Gudrun and back, her lips pursed. Gudrun’s own mouth dropped open. No. Even Grimhild could not … Not that. Not that. She would let Irpa possess her fully before she allowed that to happen.
“M-mother?”
Could her own mother sell her as a troll-wife? It was impossible. She was heir to the Niflung throne, and Grimhild could never tolerate the such a stain upon her own honor.
Grimhild raised an eyebrow. “Mother now, is it, daughter?” Then she turned back to Ve. “You will do as my daughter commands, Troll King. When the Ás queen is dead, you will have your reward.” At that, Grimhild turned and strode from the burrow.
Gudrun chased after her, not willing to be left alone down there. “You cannot be serious.”
“I told you long ago, daughter. Your sex is a weapon. Wield it, or have it wielded against you.”
“And for that lesson you’d have your own daughter left as a troll-wife?”
Grimhild shrugged. “If your trench were half so precious and unique as you seem to think it, Odin would still be in your bed, and we would not be having this conversation. A sorceress must do whatever it takes to garner power, Gudrun. Lying down with a troll is not like to be the worst thing you ever do, if you live long enough.” Her mother gave a passing glance to Hljod, then motioned to the draugar. “Come. It is past time I took care of things myself.”
Gudrun’s warriors abandoned her without a second look.
That was the lesson. Now, as soon as the sun set, she would be at the mercy of the trolls. Without calling on Irpa or the draugar, she could not protect herself, much less Hljod, from an army of trolls. True, she might use the Art of Mist to hide herself and hide from them, but she could not maintain that over Hljod for long, and, in any event, she would then find herself possessed by Snegurka. Which meant unless she threw herself upon Grimhild’s mercy, clung to her skirts for protection, she would lead Hljod back to the very fate she’d tried to save the girl from.
But Grimhild was right about something else. Even if Ve had taken her—and she doubted Grimhild would truly let her family be so dishonored—it would not have been the worst thing Gudrun had ever lived through.
“I hate you,” she whispered into the mist.
And then she took Hljod by the hand and followed after Grimhild.
50
When Odin asked how they had reached him, Loki had told him about the swan cloaks. Sigyn had thought her lover wanted to keep these magic tools a secret, but part of her was glad he revealed the truth.
Now Odin slumped against the mountainside, cradling the shards of his broken sword like he held a babe in his arms. Considering the sword had helped slay a dragon, Sigyn suspected Frigg would forgive Odin for breaking it, but the man didn’t seem to see it that way. According to the story, the blade had been a gift to Sigyn and Frigg’s father during the Njarar War, granted by King Nidud of Njarar, and strong enough to last generations. Neither her father, nor the long dead king probably ever expected it would find as much glory as it had.
Either way, they needed to pass these mountains with as much haste as possible. Terrifying as the ice river had been, at least it had offered a swift route through the Sudurberks. Even if Odin was not so weakened by his ordeal, it would have been a long trek. And Odin’s injuries were far from the only change wrought in him, and had he claimed to be a man twice his true age, Sigyn suspected most would believe him. His blond hair had gone white, his face creased. Whatever those sorcerers had done to him, it had taken his youth from him, though he might yet live forever, thanks to the apple.
“I have had more visions,” Odin said. The king turned a rosy gold ring over and over in his fingers. The thing was carved in the likeness of a swan, strange and beautiful.
Loki nodded, not taking his eyes off the fire. “I once told Sigyn that prescience is a complex burden. I’d offer the same advice to you.”
“When I was a child, I used to dream of dragons. Mighty serpents, consuming the world. Dragons of flame and sea and terrible, terrible rage. I thought it … prophecy. A foreboding that one day I would inherit Gungnir. It makes me wonder if I had some bare hint of the Sight even back then.”
Loki shrugged. “Perhaps you did. And perhaps you dreamed of dragons for other reasons …”
“I killed that linnorm. It is done.” The king tucked the ring inside a pouch.
“Perhaps. Or maybe what you think the culmination of prophecy is merely a step on the path. Some would say a man’s whole life is woven at the moment he is born, maybe even before. Your parents made choices, but those choices were based on the reality given them by the choices of their parents and so on and so on. Such that, every decision, perhaps, becomes one of necessity. Of fate—urd. Or so some believe.”
“I refuse to believe our choices amount to naught.”
“That’s not exactly what Loki implied,” Sigyn said.
“Your man claims our fates are already decided. I will make my own future, and Hel take the plans of any who think to spin my urd. I want to understand what I see so I can control it, change it.”
Loki chuckled, though the sound was empty of any humor. “I know that feeling all too well.”
Sigyn frowned, unsure what to make of that. Loki felt trapped by his own prescience?
“Can you bring me back to our people?” Odin asked.
Loki shook his head. “A swan is not equipped to carry a man.”
Now she had to hide a smile at the mental image. No, they couldn’t carry Odin, and at this rate, whatever battle the Aesir faced would be long finished before their return. That left a single, obvious answer, much as she detested the idea. “I can go and send Sleipnir for you.”
Loki looked up at the sky above them, though what he saw she couldn’t say. He didn’t seem surprised by her offer. Prescient insight? Perhaps he had seen this in the flames, back in the cave, or even before that. “Sigyn, I cannot leave Odin alone in his condition. The Niflungar are still in these mountains, hunting him.”
“I know. That’s why it has to be me.”
Odin swallowed. “Brother. I hate to separate you from your woman, but she is right. With Sleipnir, I could reach our people in days. Just enough time for me to heal. We have to look to the rest of the Aesir. I-I’ve seen things, battles with trolls, constant battles every night. I see our people dying in droves, dying and wondering where I am.”
Sigyn shifted, uncertain what to say. Odin had inherited the Sight from Frigg, but he seemed to be seeing the present rather than past or future. All she could say for certain was he was right—the Aesir needed their king. By Freyja, they needed a miracle. But then, had she not witnessed a miracle down in those ice caves the day before? Her lover had wielded fire as a weapon unlike aught she had seen or imagined or even ever heard tale of.
Loki shook his head slowly. “What you see is true enough, brother. But … be careful with the Sight. It is so easy to lose yourself in dreams and visions. Life is right now, wherever you stand that at very moment.”
Odin grunted, but Sigyn couldn’t tell if it was in acknowledgement of Loki’s point, or refusal of it. Either way, he gave no other answer.
“I need to say goodbye alone,” she said, and dragged Loki away by the hand.
“I know you can do this,” he said once they were out of earshot. “Still I fear to send you alone.”
“What you can do with fire would stagger skalds and put vӧlvur to shame. Why haven’t you stopped the draugar and the trolls yourself? Why not go and take the fight to the Niflungar?”