by Matt Larkin
The flame in Loki’s hand flickered and died as he looked upon her, yet she could have sworn a hint of pride lurked behind his crystal-blue eyes. He knew what she had done, without his help, without need for anyone to come and save her. She had slain a vaettr in its own domain. Odin himself would have been impressed.
Sigyn flung the head in the midst of the villagers, her arm aching. Using her pneuma to drawn upon superhuman strength had drained her, as if she still had to pay a price for what she put her body through. Chills wracked her chest, and though the situation demanded she remain the implacable, unassailable representative of King Odin, all she wanted was to curl up next to a fire and sleep for days.
Gyrlin, who had knelt behind Loki, slowly rose from her crouch, eyes wide.
“W-what have you done?” the elder said.
“Freed you.”
“You’ve damned us! What of the mist? Without her protection, the varulfur, the trolls, the draugar—”
Sigyn flung the axe between his legs. The blade embedded in mud at the elder’s feet, and he looked down at it, mouth agape. “Face them. And at least know you do so without selling your souls to some other vaettr, nor pissing away the lives of your young women.”
Not that Gyrlin was like to be safe in this village any longer. Once Sigyn had gone, the villagers would blame her. With luck, they would only ostracize her. Without luck, perhaps they would kill her themselves, as if any of this had been her fault.
Sigyn wiped a grimy hand across her forehead, then stumbled to where the girl stood. “Have you kin anywhere else?”
“I … I … down the river, by the sea. My brother is a captain beholden to King Volsung.”
Sigyn almost groaned. Volsung had proved himself foe to all Aesir already and would no doubt hang Sigyn and Loki both, given the chance. And yet … “A captain with his own ship?”
Gyrlin nodded. “Newly promoted, indeed. I was engaged here, but when my betrothed fell to pox, the villagers blamed me. Thought I’d make an apt sacrifice to the lady.”
Sigyn glanced back at the villagers. Maybe she ought to have let the ash wife wreak her vengeance upon these loathsome people. Either way, she could not leave Gyrlin here, and the girl might just have presented her an opportunity. She looked to Loki, who nodded. So Sigyn put a hand upon Gyrlin’s shoulder, heedless of the gore. “And will your brother be grateful? Grateful enough to ferry us to Valland or beyond?”
Gyrlin looked to the villagers who had so betrayed her. Perhaps she did not know the answer. But she nodded again anyway, obviously seeking any escape from the wretched fate that await her here.
So they would follow the river to the sea and—Freyja willing—be gone from Volsung’s domain in a matter of days.
10
In the early morning, Volsung’s servant led Gudrun down to the many ships. The king himself stood aboard this ship, clad in mail decorated with dragon motifs. He cut a mighty figure surrounded by his many men-at-arms. Of course, if he faced Odin in battle, he would die. For Hljod’s sake, Gudrun hoped Odin would be occupied elsewhere.
All die …
Irpa spoke the truth, but Gudrun had no interest in the wraith’s opinions.
You will …
Of course, if Fenrir went after him, maybe even the Ás god-king would die. The mere thought of the Moon Lord silenced even the wraith. A vaettr older and more terrible than even the twisted shade bound within her flesh, and it frightened Irpa. The wraith’s lack of protestation made that much obvious and almost brought a smile to Gudrun’s face.
Almost, though in truth, she had little to smile about. Gudrun did not like sailing into a battle with so many uncertainties. No matter the outcome, chances were good someone she cared for or someone she at least needed would die. Volsung could prove a useful ally to her if he lived. And Odin … Gudrun ground her teeth. No! She did not care if he lived or died. Not anymore. In fact, it would be better if he perished and she could put all this behind her. This was the path Grimhild had set them all on, and Gudrun intended to follow it and beat her mother to the end. She would become the queen, no matter the cost.
And it all came back to the grimoire. In her desperation, Gudrun had even turned to Irpa to help unravel its mysteries. Despite the wraith’s obvious desire to increase her hold over Gudrun, Irpa had admitted the book’s secrets lay beyond even her. That had left Gudrun with the gut-wrenching fear she might need to summon something older and more powerful than even Irpa to unravel the grimoire.
A step she had thus far refused.
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 center 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 jotunn 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 consi
dered 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?”