by Matt Larkin
Loki shook his head sadly. “My power has its limits too, Sigyn. All power does. And part of the power you saw me wield yesterday was in the fear the Niflungar felt toward me and toward the unknown. If I were to step into the open and use all I know, all I can do, I might win us a day, yes, but after that day, they would know my limits and account for them. Had the Niflung woman known of me before, maybe I would not have been able to overcome her. We have to choose our actions with care.”
“To get to the future we have to live through the present.”
“The sorceress you saw in the ruins—her power was but a shadow of that wielded by Grimhild, the Niflung queen. And now she will know I am among the Aesir and will take countermeasures.”
Sigyn pressed her hands to Loki’s chest, still bare since she had burned his shirt. Was he saying this Grimhild was a threat even to him? The other day Loki had seemed invincible, like some ancient fire god. But then, he had just admitted his power had limits. “What countermeasures?”
“I cannot say, and until her course is clear, I dare not act directly. I must know her moves before I make mine. She has a tome, an unspeakably ancient book written in blood and marked with the glyphs of countless spirits. Her ancestors used that tome to wreak havoc across the world, and despite all efforts many made to destroy it, the unholy book remains. And with it, she can lay down curses you cannot imagine, Sigyn.”
“Where did this book come from, then?”
He shook his head and clasped her hands in his own. “An era long past. What matters is this—with the secrets therein she can raise and command the draugar, even across great distances. And, if she grows desperate enough, there are yet worse denizens she could call forth from Niflheim or elsewhere.”
The warmth of his hands was a comfort, if a small one. Impossible though it seemed, Loki appeared afraid of this woman. She withdrew her hands and pulled his face down to hers, then kissed him on the lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll send Sleipnir to Odin. Then you fly back to me.”
She tried to pull away, but he yanked her back to face him. “Sigyn! Do not take risks, not now. I can’t lose you, not … Just be careful.”
Sigyn winked at him. Always nice to hear he needed her as much as she needed him. She slipped from his grasp, then pulled on the swan cloak.
The moment she took to the skies, she reveled in it. So free.
High above the mountains she flew, her enhanced eyes cutting through the mist and revealing her way. Revealing also the camp of draugar hiding in the hills just beyond the Sudurberks. Her people had no idea how close those things had drawn to them.
At nightfall, Sigyn had to stop and rest, at least for a time. She dared not rest long, with time grown so short. On she flew, until she spotted the fortress, beset once again by trolls.
Sigyn landed beside Frigg, who stood on the ramparts, vainly trying to comfort her people. Her sister spun as she landed, clearly shocked to see a swan here. There was a time to hide powers, and a time to act swiftly. Sigyn removed her hood and rose in human form.
All around her, women gasped. Frigg herself stood, mouth agape, eyes wide.
Sigyn rushed over to her half sister and embraced her.
“Odin?” Frigg mumbled.
“He lives. Loki is with him, out in the mountains, and I’ve come back to send Sleipnir to him.”
Sigyn spoke softly, her words only for Frigg’s ears. At them, her sister nearly collapsed in her arms, trembling. Hot moisture rolled down Sigyn’s cheek. Gods above, Frigg was crying. Frigg!
Sigyn looked around the fortress without releasing her sister. Far fewer men remained than when she had left. Too few.
“We cannot hold out much longer,” Frigg whispered. “I don’t know what to do. The trolls have renewed their press.”
Strong as Frigg was, Sigyn still shouldn’t have been surprised. For far too long her sister had had to be the font of strength for all the Aesir, unable to share her fears. And in this situation, anyone would have been pushed near the breaking point. If Sigyn didn’t do something soon, Frigg and the rest of her people would be pushed beyond that point.
“All will be well,” Sigyn whispered. “Tell the people Odin rides to their aid.” She gave Frigg a final squeeze, then raised her hood and flew down the stairs, seeking the horse.
The eight-legged monster steed had joined the warriors standing against the trolls just beyond the main gate, his many hooves trampling the monsters, able to crack even their thick skulls.
Sigyn once again resumed human form and shouted for the horse. “Sleipnir!”
She had not truly thought her voice would carry over the chaos of the battle, but the horse turned and ran toward her. She caught his muzzle in her hands and stroked it. It was not so long ago her greatest ambition had been to understand the nature of this creature. How much had changed in the past moons.
“Can you understand me?”
The horse snorted.
“Good.” She pointed to the mountains. Human eyes could not have seen so far, certainly not through the mists and darkness, but Sigyn could see. “Odin is there, wounded. Keep a straight course and you’ll find him. Loki is with him, waiting for you. Will you help them?”
Sleipnir snorted again, then took off at a full gallop, blanketing Sigyn in a dusting of snow. His form blurred past the battle. Snow churned under his hooves in a curtain that marked his passing. He covered ground even faster than Sigyn could fly.
Off to save his beloved Odin. Odin would ride into this chaos, risking everything to save his people. And it would not be enough. Grimly, Sigyn watched trolls kill more of her people.
They were going to fail.
Odin’s return might rally them against the trolls, but an army of the undead approached, led by Grimhild, the sorceress even Loki feared. Powers far beyond the ken of the Aesir converged on them, and Frigg’s fragile calm was a window into the shape of her people as a whole, apt to break on the next charge.
Sigyn had told Frigg that all would be well, but that was a lie. It wasn’t going to be well. Not while the sorceress queen led her forces against them. Not while she wielded the curses Loki so feared.
But when Sigyn had been afraid, Loki had come to save her. Now it was her turn. In her flight, Sigyn had seen the Niflung camp. Their queen would be among that army.
Sigyn had destroyed any hope of a quick retreat across the sea. In refusing to do as Loki had bid, she had cost the Aesir an alliance with the sea jotunn. But she could do better than that, could be worthy of Loki and the others’ trust. She could save them all.
She donned the swan cloak and took back to the air. Tired as she was, still she had one more thing to see to.
If Grimhild’s power came from some dark tome, it was time to deprive the sorceress queen of that book.
51
Wind whipped against Odin’s cheeks as Sleipnir charged through the hills. Miles swept by in moments, but he dared not slow his mount. Not now, not when every passing instant brought his people closer to destruction. Never had he pressed the eight-legged horse so hard. But Sleipnir understood the need, of that Odin was certain.
Loki had all but called Odin’s need for visions of his father’s life a weakness. How had the man known what Odin was doing? Visions of his own? It didn’t matter. Odin had to see, had to feel. It was all he had left. All there was …
And as Borr, he was connected, still whole.
Borr knelt beside his father, Buri, whose blood seeped into the snow. Raiders in the night and a spear to the gut would lead to a long, painful passing, even a glance told Borr that much. And he could have sworn the spear had ripped out his own heart.
“You’ll be fine, Father,” he mumbled, clutching the man’s hand. It had already grown clammy.
“I’m … not daft, Borr.”
Borr choked on his words, unable to speak, unable to even think. This couldn’t happen. Not now, not so soon. Bestla was due in a moon. Father would be a grandfather, would hold Borr’s own child in his ar
ms as he must have held Borr long ago.
“A-are you …?” Borr tried to ask, then shook himself. He couldn’t waste these last moments, but he had to know. “Do I make you proud?”
“Always,” his father said. “Do I, you?”
“What?”
His father sputtered, choking. “It is … our children we must … do right by, boy. Do I …?”
Borr could no longer hold back a sob. “Beyond words.”
Odin blinked away his own tears. His father had watched his grandfather die. Had felt all the same things as Odin. Had lamented never letting his father hold his firstborn. It was all the same. All a circle, all for naught … All for … for children. It is our children we must do right by.
And those words had guided every day of Borr’s life.
At last he had no choice but to slow, as Sleipnir passed into the forests. Odin charged past a troll, lopping its head off with a slash of Gungnir, never breaking his stride. On and on Odin rode, until he brushed through the lines of his own people.
The Aesir paused mid-battle, all looking to him as he rode through. They had taken the fight out to the trolls, knowing the fortress would be breached in any event. They needed him. Odin turned, rearing Sleipnir up and thrusting Gungnir into the air. Almost as one, the Aesir joined his war cry.
“Fight! Brothers and sisters, fight as you have never fought before! Tonight trolls shall fear men!”
They could not afford to break now. To prove his point, Odin charged forward, impaling another of the rocky monsters. His people followed his charge, pressing against the trolls that beset them, though the creatures probably took a score of warriors down for each monster that fell.
The valkyries would be busy this night.
But Odin had seen glimpses of these battles in his dreams, in his nightly terrors while he’d waited for Sleipnir. His people were losing, breaking. He’d seen the gates of Idavollir torn down, the chains broken. Tonight or the next night or the night after, the trolls would overcome the Aesir. Fear, hopelessness, they had worn away at the once proud warriors, draining them of the will to fight. Odin had to return that will to his people, or they were lost.
It is our children we must do right by.
And had Borr?
Beyond words. Odin could only dream of making Thor as proud of him, of being the hero to his own child his father had been to him.
“There!” Odin shouted, pointing to a pair of trolls smashing through his people in the distance. “Your brothers need you! Will you abandon them in their hour of desperation? Will you let them fall alone?”
Another war cry was his answer, and the Aesir charged forward, rushing to defend the others. No longer were they loosely held together tribes, ready to break over old hatreds. Now they were men, men clinging together against the horrors of the mists.
That was what Odin needed them to be. And the Aesir needed him to be a symbol. They needed a victory, and they needed it now. Odin did not join the renewed charge, instead kicking Sleipnir forward through the forest. Trolls did not fight as a united front, not like this. Their godlike leader was all that held them together, and, without the Troll King, without … Ve … they would not hold their kingdom together.
And that meant Odin had no choices left to him. For an age he had held on, unable to let go. He’d marched on Vanaheim convinced he could save Ve.
But Ve was lost.
Round the forces he charged, cutting into trolls as he passed them, letting all his people see he had returned, but ever searching. Hunting for the one foe that could put an end to this.
The Troll King advanced on Odin’s people in a slow, determined gait.
Ve, a son of Borr. Odin’s brother. His true brother. And because of the Niflungar, Odin no longer had the choice to honor that legacy. He kicked Sleipnir into a gallop, cutting Ve off.
Now Ve leapt forward, slamming both hands downward. Sleipnir’s sheer speed alone saved the horse. Ve’s fists beat into the snow, flinging up a blinding curtain of it. Odin jumped down from his horse and slapped it away.
This was between him and his brother.
He set Gungnir. Twice before Odin had fought Ve and been unable to kill him, unable to harm his brother. “Come to me! Finish this.”
Ve snarled at him. Then he bounded forward, snatching up a fallen tree trunk nigh to ten foot long.
“Oh, fuck,” Odin mumbled.
Ve swung the tree with both hands. Odin dropped to the ground and slid under the club. Ve’s weapon slammed into another tree, not only snapping the end off the club, but splintering the tree itself. The impact barely slowed the Troll King. He immediately reversed his swing, slapping at the ground repeatedly.
Odin rolled to one side and then the other, desperately trying to regain his feet, but unable to do so under the onslaught. Ve bellowed at him, snarling like an animal. Odin scrambled away, ducking behind another tree.
His hiding place exploded into shards of wood the next instant. It gave Odin just enough time to regain his footing and back away. Through the shattered trunk, Ve grinned at him. He grasped one hand on each end of his club and heaved, snapping it into two pieces. Then he advanced on Odin wielding two four-foot-long clubs.
Odin leveled Gungnir. This was not going to be good.
“Odin!” Hermod shouted, the warrior charging toward him.
“No!” Odin held up a hand to forestall Hermod. “I have to do this myself.”
Ve had hesitated at Hermod’s approach—or the warriors the man led—then grinned when the man slowed.
“Is this what you want, little brother?” Odin demanded.
Ve was gone. Gone forever. As Borr was gone. As long as Odin clung to them, he would never truly be able to live, never truly be what those who were left needed. Hope had died a long, slow death. And from the ashes of its pyre … Odin had hope still, hope for Thor, hope for the future. It is our children we must do right by.
Because Buri lived on in Borr and in Odin and in Thor. As Odin would live on in Thor’s children one day.
Ve leapt forward, swinging both clubs together, intent on crushing Odin between them. Odin dove into a roll and came up just behind Ve, jerking Gungnir up in an arc. The dragon spear’s blade bit through Ve’s calf and the troll toppled forward, wailing.
As part of Ve would live on, for he was the blood of Odin and Odin’s children.
“I am sorry, brother.” The Niflungar had left him no choice. None. More than aught he had wanted to save his little brother. He would have given his own life for it—but not the life of his son. Not the lives of his people. Odin must be the hero to his son.
The Niflungar had tried to sway him, to corrupt him, to destroy his very soul. They had proved they would do aught to break him, to sway him to their vile goddess. But Odin had seen through their ways. And still, he could not even begin to quantify the many secrets Gudrun had taught him. Or the things he had learned from watching the Niflungar.
Odin thought himself above them, beyond their corruption. But the truth was, he’d do aught to save his son.
The Troll King rose, eyes narrowed, and turned on Odin.
So many times, Odin had seen the Niflungar surround themselves with the mist, reach out and call it upon them like a cloak. He did not have a Mist spirit bound to him, but Audr might hold similar powers.
Yes …
And Odin stepped into shadow, calling it around him like a shroud that settled on his shoulders with the chill of the grave. The wraith inside clawed its way to the surface, strengthening its hold on his heart, even as its power drew him across the Veil for the barest instant.
Ve suddenly pulled up short.
To his eyes, Odin would have vanished into the mist, becoming all but invisible. Odin’s brother spun, wildly swinging at the vapors. Random blows, easy to avoid. Odin strode forward, crossing back into the Mortal Realm behind Ve while swinging Gungnir. His attack tore open a vicious gash along his brother’s back. The troll tried to turn, and Odin swept his spear
up again, tearing an even deeper gouge along Ve’s chest.
Maybe he should end it. A solid thrust to a vital spot, and this fight would be finished. One solid thrust to neck or chest, and the battle would be done. Ve would be gone.
Ve was already gone.
Without their king, the trolls might have no kingdom, but they would still rampage and wreak havoc among the Aesir and the natives of Valland both.
Instead, Odin slammed the butt of his spear into the troll’s nose, breaking it. The Troll King stumbled backward, clutching his broken face and whimpering. Black blood poured out from between his rocky fingers. Odin’s chest clenched at seeing his brother thus, but he needed to be absolutely certain his point was made.
Rather than go for a vital spot, Odin rammed Gungnir into Ve’s shoulder. His brother flailed in pain, nearly yanking the spear from Odin’s grasp.
“Enough!” Odin roared at him, jerking his spear away. “Take your people and be gone, Troll King. You cannot win.” He needed to do more than kill the Troll King. He needed their leader to send them away, drive them away for good.
The Troll King bellowed into the mist. Still not broken, and that meant the trolls would remain a threat to the Aesir, to Thor.
Odin needed to send a message to all trolls that something much more powerful than themselves guarded the realms of man. He needed to make a statement that would not be forgotten.
He set his jaw. With a single, swift swipe of Gungnir, he severed the Troll King’s nose and cut out his right eye. Ve was gone. Ve was gone, forever lost. Odin advanced on the Troll King, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his face and wailing.
Maybe the other trolls would turn on their king, kill him in his weakness. Odin could do naught about that. He had to make his point. “Go back to the Jarnvid and do not venture forth again. Midgard is claimed for humankind from this day forth. Trespass at your peril. You are banished from these lands, troll!”
The Troll King actually whimpered, then looked up. His eyes held defiance or desperation. “No,” he said in a rocky grumble.