Raven Quest (Valhalla Book 4)

by Jennifer Willis

  He smiled, and his eye drifted closed. His chest stilled, and Sally was sure her own heart stopped. She waited for his breath to rise again, for him to cough or smirk or give her grief about being overly sentimental, but nothing happened.

  “Odin!” she shouted. “Odin, come back!”

  His eye cracked open, and he offered a weak smile. “Soon.”

  Sally gritted her teeth and talked herself out of kicking him in the ribs, even though she was quickly growing furious. Odin was dying, and he’d deliberately chosen Sally as his companion, lagging behind the others so they wouldn’t witness his passing. He’d planned this.

  She’d already stood by while Freyr and Nanitch ended their lives, and now she was supposed to serve as Odin’s personal Valkyrie while he too shuffled off his Earthly coil?

  “Bragi,” Sally whispered. “Iduna.” Was there some particular incantation or working she was supposed to do to ease Odin’s way? She remembered Maggie’s funeral rite for Iduna, but that was after the goddess had already died.

  “They and many others await me in Valhalla.” Odin’s voice was heartbreakingly thin. His fingers trembled as he reached for her. “Sally, come nearer.”

  She crouched next to him and took his hand into both of hers. His hand was strong, calloused, and it went slack in her grasp in the space between one breath and the next. She tried to quiet herself. The last Earthly sounds to reach the mighty Odin shouldn’t be a silly girl’s sobbing.

  “Quiet now,” he said with a hint of the command she was used to. Sally nearly laughed as she wiped at her wet face.

  The ravens peered down at the old god, talons gripping the branch as they dipped their heads in keen interest. Odin’s face broke into a relieved smile.

  “The forest is safe. The Yggdrasil is protected. The sacred grove stands ready,” Odin said, his eye locked on the ravens. He inhaled deeply. “And my son has become a father. Frigga . . .”

  Sally’s brows knitted together. Was he hallucinating? She pressed his hand firmly in her own and raised it to her cheek. “Odin?”

  The ravens clucked down at him. “Magnus. Yes,” he said. “Will you tell Thor? Magnus?”

  Sally clutched at Odin’s hand, trying to massage warmth and life into his fingers. “Magnus? I don’t understand.”

  Odin’s face relaxed into a contented smile. “The Cosmos continues.”

  Sally followed his gaze upward and nearly cried out when she saw that the tree was now almost wholly black. Every branch teemed with perching ravens, while scores more circled in the sky overhead. Not one of them made a sound.

  “What . . . ?” she whispered in awe as more ravens settled onto branches on silent wings. She had never seen so many birds of any variety together in one place, and this dark mass of ravens remained so eerily quiet. Every cell in Sally’s body tingled in the presence of this undeniable magick.

  Sally looked down at Odin. What did it mean to be attended by so many creatures of mystery and enchantment? And where had they all come from? But the peaceful calm that had settled in Odin’s features stilled her tongue.

  “Sally!” Heimdall’s voice echoed down from the crest of the hill above, followed by Rod’s cry, “We’re coming! Don’t move!”

  She heard them racing down the hill, their speed tempered by the need for balance on the steep incline. Opal called out words of encouragement. Sally would soon be in the company of her friends.

  But she didn’t glance their way. She kept her eyes on the face of the old god who had passed so peacefully beneath this evergreen in the Three Sisters Wilderness, many miles and countless generations removed from his home. She lifted Odin’s hand and lightly kissed his fingertips before resting his lifeless palm flat on his chest. She closed her eyes and felt the community of ravens pull in a hushed, collective breath before the tree exploded with their cries of mourning. A cawing cacophony filled the air as hundreds of birds lifted from the branches and scattered in every direction across the sky.

  Black wings blocked out the sun for a full minute as the ravens circled overhead and called out their echoing dirge. Sally bowed her head and waited for the shadow to pass.

  18

  Thor clutched Bonnie’s hand as they stepped away from the shelter of the Yggdrasil’s thick branches and walked toward a dozen tables creaking under the weight of all manner of savory foods and confections.

  Frigga had been cooking for a week, and this wedding feast put to shame even her most generous Jul spreads. There were eight different kinds of chicken alone, in addition to selections of wild game—gifted by Grace’s kin—plus pots of lamb stew, beef brisket, and pork ribs. The vegetables, grains, and salads outnumbered the meats three-to-one, with every ingredient sourced locally. The showpiece of the center table was the towering wedding cake—a five-tiered structure of honey-glazed almond cake and candied fruit, adorned with edible wildflowers.

  But even with his new wife at his side, Thor couldn’t quite pull his head out the woods. Those few days in the wilderness—which were supposed to have been some challenging fun in his waning bachelorhood—had left him reeling. He squeezed Bonnie’s hand tight, just to be reminded of the warm comfort of her fingers in his own.

  He glanced at Saga, standing in the shade of the World Tree in her strapless bridesmaid’s dress and looking even more bewildered than he felt. She’d left town for a simple history conference and returned home to find her father gone, her cousin dead for a second time, and her brother the unexpected father of a Bigfoot baby.

  But she’d arm-wrestled all three Norns for the right to play babysitter at the wedding reception, and now Saga patted the blanketed bundle she was cradling and bent her head low to whisper something to the child.

  Thor’s arms ached for the weight of his new son, and he nearly laughed as tears sprang to his eyes. He’d been a father less than a day—now a husband, too—and already he couldn’t imagine his life any other way.

  He’d nestled the infant against his chest on the long drive back from the Three Sisters Wilderness, while he tried not to think about Odin’s body in the back of Heimdall’s truck. What was the saying about children and new beginnings? It was something poetic about the next generation renewing the spirit and vision of the one just passing. Thor hoped it was true.

  Nanitch remained an enigma. How had a creature that Thor hadn’t even believed to exist ended up leaving so deep a mark on his psyche? He wasn’t keen on talking about his lost friend—not even to Bonnie, not yet—but even Opal had said something about Thor seeming strangely humble and almost placid now. It was more than a little disturbing.

  And Nanitch had been female, a shocking surprise Thor was still trying to wrap his head around. A worthy warrior who’d knocked him out with a single blow. Who’d sacrificed herself to save those she barely knew. It was a good death, but it seemed a waste. Thor had overheard Grace telling Opal about the traditional role of Nanitch’s people as guardians of the wilderness and watchers of the volcanoes, and why Nanitch’s living blood was a necessary ingredient in installing Freyr as the new spirit of Mt. Bachelor. But that didn’t stop the heavy sickness in Thor’s gut when he remembered how Nanitch had stepped into the lava without hesitation.

  Freyr was gone, too. Again. Sort of. No one had a clear answer on that one, not even Grace. But Freya hadn’t hesitated to recruit Rod to take over the Raven Dojo; she insisted she’d need to relocate to the Three Sisters Wilderness for the foreseeable future, to help her brother acclimate to his new role and to ensure that Faith, Hope, and Charity didn’t take advantage. Thor doubted the volcano spirits would be foolish enough to cross Freya, just as much as he doubted that Frigga would react kindly to the loss of her handyman.

  And then there was Odin. No one spoke his name after those first terrible moments when they realized he was dead. Sally had pleaded that she’d tried to help, that he had stubbornly chosen his place and time. But Thor wasn’t listening. Freya and Grace had patted the girl’s shoulders and told her it wasn’t her fau
lt, that she’d done the right thing by remaining at the old god’s side and honoring his final wishes.

  The words were dull pacification. The shock of emptiness that Thor saw reflected in Heimdall’s face spoke to a different view of the Moon Witch, and Thor wondered again why his father would have chosen the mortal girl as his last witness over his own kin.

  “Frigga has really outdone herself.” Bonnie lightly rubbed Thor’s arm, bringing him back to the subdued celebration. She knew his mind was wandering. How odd that a mortal could know him so well. He nodded and offered an obliging smile in reply.

  Thor watched his mother float about the reception, pausing for only superficial interaction with guests as she carried fresh trays and dishes to the tables and checked on the food that was already out. Her smile was too bright, frozen in place and ready to crack.

  The Moon Witch clung to the shadows, conspicuous in her grief. Thor imagined he and his kin appeared cold and uncaring in comparison. But the loss was too sudden and too recent, the immediate need to pick up and carry on too great.

  “I wish you could have known him better,” Thor whispered to Bonnie as he looked up into the early evening sky. Odin had honored the Moon Witch with his last words and his last breath and had entrusted her with a single word for Thor. At least he’d understood that message.

  But there had been nothing for Frigga, nor for Heimdall or Saga or Freya. Odin should have had his family around him, not some silly teenaged mortal. But who was he to second-guess the All Father?

  And now who would—who could—take the All Father’s place? Trying days were on the horizon, and though he and Heimdall maintained their brotherly repartee, Thor knew the contest of wills was soon to begin, with the Lodge and the Yggdrasil and all the rest awarded to the most worthy steward.

  Thor scanned the small knots of guests milling about the outdoor reception, then surveyed the distant tree line. There was no sign of Loki. It was a slight, but also a relief. If the trickster had had the audacity to show his face, Thor guessed they might now be marking the loss of the god of chaos, too.

  Bonnie steered Thor toward a table offering every flavor of spiced wine he’d ever heard of, and many that he hadn’t. He marveled at Bonnie’s easy fortitude. This was supposed to be her special day, with everyone gathered to cheer her new beginning. But Odin’s shadow was long.

  Bonnie had volunteered to postpone the wedding, but Frigga wouldn’t hear of it. “The world continues onward,” Frigga had said. And so Bonnie became the smiling and somber bride for this bittersweet and more than slightly surreal family celebration.

  Now, Frigga filled a glass with a ruby-colored bramble wine. “To your continued health,” she toasted the newlyweds without a hint of strain in her voice, even as tears glistened in her eyes. She lifted her chin and bolstered her air of pleasantness. “It is a joyful day. My son has married his love, and has become a father. My family is gathered in just revelry.”

  . . . And mourning, Thor heard her unspoken words.

  He filled two glasses with blackberry mead and handed one to Bonnie. He lifted his own glass to her and was surprised and a bit embarrassed when the rest of the gathering halted their conversation and circled around, their own glasses raised and waiting for Thor’s toast. All eyes were on Thor, and he promptly forgot what he had been about to say in confidence to his bride. His tongue was heavy as he struggled for a few words about his father, but he didn’t yet have the vocabulary for the warring pride, grief, and awe inside him.

  Bonnie made a slight sound, a light clearing of her throat, and brought his focus back again. He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted his glass a bit higher.

  “To my goddess wife,” he said, then drank from his glass.

  Bonnie’s expression clouded, and she leaned close to him. “Your human consort, you mean.”

  Thor choked on his mead and nearly spat it down the front of Bonnie’s gown. He studied her dress as he coughed, noting how the linen-colored lace over the fitted sheath complimented her curves. Elegant and uncomplicated, just like Bonnie.

  “I am a god, you are my goddess,” he blustered, trying not to give into the heat he felt rising under his skin. “Anyone who says different can take it up with—“

  Bonnie rested her fingers on his wrist, and he fell silent. “We’ve talked about this.”

  Thor’s face hardened. It was an old argument, and one that should have been settled already. “Maggie!” he shouted as he scanned the faces around him. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said to Bonnie before he stormed off to find his de facto sister-in-law. “Maggie!”

  But Grace found him first. She took his elbow and pulled him away from the feast foods and the mingling guests and toward the shelter of the Yggdrasil. Once they were ensconced in the shade of the World Tree, she gazed in open admiration at the powerful branches that reached high into the sky over her head. Thor watched the old woman and waited for her to speak.

  She rested a weathered hand on the Tree’s massive trunk and traced the scar still visible from the internment of Bragi’s ashes only a few years earlier. Odin’s ashes would be offered to the Tree later in the evening.

  Grace patted the bark and sighed. “She will make her own choice.” She turned to look up at Thor. “Don’t push it. Besides, it’s a non-issue at the moment, is it not? No apples, no decision to be made.”

  Thor wanted to argue, despite her skill with the thick walking stick she gripped in one hand. On top of everything else, did he have to bicker about Bonnie’s mortality, too? There was no telling when Maggie’s new grove of sacred trees might produce fruit. Possibly centuries, long beyond the reach of a human lifespan.

  “Making Bonnie immortal—or as close to immortal as your lot gets—won’t bring back your father.” Grace’s voice was calm and kind.

  Thor blinked down at the small, withered woman. Barely half his size, but she had a way of getting straight to the point that was as sharp as all of Hugh’s blows to the head and the siatco’s punch combined. Grace’s serene face didn’t betray a hint of distress or concern, even after everything that had happened. Thor wondered if anything could rattle her.

  Grace leaned heavily on her walking stick. A mischievous smile played on her lips as she caught his eye. “So, tell me about your vision quest.”

  Thor’s shoulders slumped and he felt the air rush out of his lungs. The vision quest! Hadn’t that been the entire point of the weekend? He was supposed to have met his spirit shrub or found his shamanic totem fruit or something, even if his guide hadn’t been the genuine article.

  But he had communed with the spirit of a valued kinsman and had bonded with the siatco. Thor wasn’t sure he had the words, however, to satisfy Grace’s expectations.

  Chagrined, Thor started to stammer out a vague reply and hoped Grace wouldn’t send him back to the woods for more sweating, fasting, and getting the stuffing kicked out of him.

  But Hugh’s question rushed back to him: When is a god not a god?

  Thor looked up into the sky and saw a pair of ravens circling above the Yggdrasil. Messengers of the gods. Had they really betrayed the House of Odin, or just shoved it forward into its next incarnation?

  “A god is not a god, when he stops believing in himself,” he said.

  Sally felt numb, from the tips of her toes to the top of her scalp. She’d managed to sleepwalk through the wedding, which she would remember later as a brief and sunny respite in the midst of some truly dark days. But even standing beneath the strong branches of the White Oak Yggdrasil wasn’t enough to pull the Moon Witch out of her funk.

  Frigga dressed in white not to compete with the bride but as a sign of mourning for her lost husband. Sally had no idea how Frigga could even be upright and intelligible, much less overseeing a wedding celebration.

  The ceremony marking Odin’s departure was shorter and less emotional than Bragi’s memorial, which had been filled with poetry and solemn ritual and attended by immortal kin and human Ein
herjar alike. This gathering was smaller, more intimate. No one had the energy or the will to pronounce hushed, elegiac words to honor their patriarch. Even the birds in the sky remained quiet. Frigga, Freya, Heimdall, Saga, and Thor stood in a loose semi-circle at the base of the Yggdrasil. Bonnie, still in her wedding clothes, waited in the distance with Maggie, Grace, and the baby Magnus, her newly adopted half-siatco, half-lava-god son.

  Sally stood alone between the two groups—not quite divine, but caught in an oblique orbit around Odin’s Lodge.

  Odin’s body had scarcely cooled before it was committed to the flames, and even that had happened in secret. Sally had no idea who had tended to the cremation, and there was no one she dared ask. Not yet.

  Freya sliced open a cleft in the Yggdrasil’s trunk to receive Odin’s ashes. But her entreaty to the World Tree was silent. There we no heartfelt words asking the Yggdrasil’s forgiveness for her blade, no voices raised in remembrance or mourning as the stone jar was placed inside the new hollow in the Tree’s side. There was only the release of the gathering’s collective breath as the Yggdrasil healed and absorbed all that remained of the Chief of the Gods beneath so many layers of living wood.

  And that was it.

  Frigga smiled at Heimdall, Thor, Freya, and Saga as the last colors of sunset dwindled from the sky. She gestured for them to return to the Lodge. They hesitated as a group, then began the long climb to the homestead. Frigga remained alone at the base of the Yggdrasil, her eyes tracking their exit.

  Sally didn’t move.

  Thor kept his eyes on Bonnie and lumbered past Sally without a glance in her direction. Heimdall was more active in his avoidance. He actually swerved around her, and Sally felt the slight as keenly as if he’d slapped her across the face. Freya looked like she wanted to approach Sally, but Heimdall murmured something sharp and pulled her along with him. Only Saga met Sally’s eyes as she passed, but she didn’t slow her pace as she followed her brothers back to the Lodge.