The Mists of Niflheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  “He waited too long,” Frigg said beside her.

  And more would do the same, as the other ice floes drew nigh. Gods, how many would be pulled under, drawn to Hel or caught in the icy net of Rán? They probably couldn’t even see the shore. How could they be expected to make a jump when they could barely make out their destination? They had escaped the draugar only to find death at the bottom of the river.

  “A fire,” she said.

  “What?” Frigg asked.

  “Everyone!” Sigyn said. “Start the biggest bonfire you can! There, close to the shore. Burn aught you have, but get it going!” It would drive away the mists, give the others a chance.

  The Aesir rushed to follow her command, not stopping to ask who she was to give orders. After such an ordeal, Sigyn supposed they welcomed anyone taking charge. They threw their torches in a pile, lit more, and began piling on timber, spare clothes, aught that remained of their scant supplies, just to bring the blaze higher. Only fire protected them from the mists. Only fire would save them now.

  Fire is life. Loki always said so.

  More Aesir jumped from floe after floe, guided by the bonfire. When it had grown into a massive blaze, Sigyn ordered the others to make another and another. Perhaps the flames would guide the draugar or even other vaettir toward their location. Would her actions bring fresh doom upon them all? But they had to survive this doom to care about the next.

  For hours she watched as the Aesir piled upon the shore. Hours more as they warmed themselves beside the fires she had lit for them. Few thanked her, but she didn’t need them to know what she’d done for them. Most of the tents had been lost, so men and women simply lay beside the fires, huddling together for warmth and comfort against the night.

  14

  Tyr rested on the shore, Gramr across his knees. They had lost a lot of people. Couldn’t be sure how many until sunrise. Maybe they’d avoided the draugar—and gods, never had he heard of so many in one place. But the river. The river had claimed lives too.

  Those drowned at sea fell to Rán, men said. Caught in her net, and Njord alone might know what she did with their souls. But those drowned in a river? Who knew. Maybe nixies claimed them.

  Sigyn came over and sat on a log beside him. The Hasding woman wore a blue embroidered dress Tyr had seen Fulla working on for the past moon. He’d thought it meant for Frigg—certainly it was fine enough for a queen—but Frigg must have gifted it to her sister. Girl probably had to change after the river.

  “The queen send you?”

  “Not exactly, though she is concerned. We heard about the holmgang.”

  Tyr scowled. This woman always thought she knew better than everyone else. She was intelligent yes—too much so, in fact.

  “You are no warrior nor shieldmaiden. What do you know of a man’s honor?”

  “I know it’s not worth shattering this alliance over.”

  “Honor is worth everything. All we have in this bitter world.” He spat. “Not something I suspect you or that foreigner you bed down with to understand.”

  Sigyn rocked back, eyes flashing. For a moment Tyr wondered what went on in that head of hers. But he didn’t really care. “I’m not your enemy, Tyr.”

  “Nor are you really my friend.” He cracked his neck. “My loyalty is to Odin and his family.”

  “You mean to my brother-in-law.”

  Tyr paused. Damn. Sigyn, Frigg’s half sister, was part of the royal family, more or less. Having no good response to that, he grunted.

  “You have so much anger inside you. I heard about your past.”

  Damn it. Fool girl just had to keep digging into things that didn’t concern her. “Did you now?” He spoke through clenched teeth, barely able to contain the urge to knock that knowing look from her face. Did she know about Hymir?

  “Zisa …” Sigyn began, then stopped.

  Tyr looked up and followed her gaze. As if summoned, his ex-wife herself strode over, head high and back stiff.

  He wanted to tell her he was glad she’d survived. Wanted to. Words wouldn’t come out. Woman had betrayed him in the worst way. No words served after such as that.

  Zisa stood there, hands on hips. She knew it too. Naught left to be said.

  “What?” he finally demanded.

  Zisa worked her jaw. “The things we’ve seen these past few moons …”

  War with Hunalander kings. Draugar. Now this river seeming to spew from Niflheim. Tyr grunted.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Tyr looked at her sharply. “You came to me.”

  “More fool me, then.” Zisa glanced at Sigyn. “Your new woman?”

  “No,” he said at the same time as Sigyn.

  Zisa snorted, shook her head. “You ought not to make an enemy of the Skalduns. Odin’s mad quest has cost him enough support already, Tyr …”

  He rose so he could look down at her instead of the other way around. “You saying your cock-loving husband might turn on his king?” His grip tightened on Gramr. His runeblade would punish such disloyalty.

  “No! Gods, Tyr! You just don’t …” She waved her hand as if in dismissal, then turned and walked away.

  Gramr wanted him to draw her. She wanted to right this wrong. And he could. It sounded to him like the man’s wife had all but reported him for treason. Now Tyr just needed a way to challenge the man again, and this time he’d have no mercy.

  “You know …” Sigyn said after a moment.

  Tyr turned to her. He’d almost managed to forget she was there.

  Sigyn sat there, waiting for some acknowledgment.

  “Fine. Out with it, woman.”

  “She wanted to talk to you.”

  “Didn’t have much to say.”

  Sigyn shook her head and waved a finger. “She did, but you were not listening.”

  Tyr faltered. “What are you saying?”

  Sigyn shrugged. “You think she hates you.”

  What? Didn’t she? Should he even care? Zisa had betrayed him, gods, what? Sixteen winters back now. He’d been a young man then, and it had nigh to broken him. After that, he’d dedicated himself to training Odin and his brothers and to naught else.

  No reason to care what she thought now.

  None.

  And yet … he could not quite suppress the tiny surge of pride in his chest. To hear part of Zisa might still care. Perhaps a woman clever as Sigyn had some use as an ally.

  Bedvig, on the other hand, did not. Man was a coward and a wife-stealer. He might prove a threat to Odin, to all the Aesir. Tyr looked at Sigyn a moment. Hard to trust her.

  But her foster brother, Hermod—he had helped Tyr bring down one wicked jarl already. And maybe he’d do so again.

  Tyr shook his head. “I have someone to see.”

  Sigyn smiled and rose herself. “Then go see her.”

  What? She thought he meant Zisa. No. That part of his life was gone.

  Stolen by Bedvig. And thieves ought to be slain like beasts.

  15

  For a long time after leaving Tyr, Sigyn sat alone by a fire. She couldn’t say how long it was before Loki came and sat beside her, before she could at last rest herself, his arm around her shoulder.

  “Was this truly a thing done to Midgard?” she asked. These mists covering the world, blanketing it in chill and giving rise to draugar, trolls, and gods-alone-knew what other horrors … Was this never the way the world was meant to be? “Does Idunn speak the truth?”

  “As she sees it,” Loki said at last.

  “And what do you see?”

  “More than I’d like, sometimes. Or perhaps, not enough.”

  She leaned closer to him. Would he tell her now? If she asked again, would he finally reveal his secrets? Gods, but he was one puzzle after another. Maybe she didn’t even want everything revealed. Maybe it would take the fun out of figuring him out.

  “Idunn said her grandmother blamed you for something, Loki. How coul
d her grandmother have known you? Wasn’t that five thousand years ago?”

  “Almost.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am yours.”

  Sigyn smiled, despite herself. It wasn’t an answer to her question, not really. But she liked the answer all the same. As she liked his mystery. Let him keep it, then. She’d unfold his secrets, one layer at a time. They had eternity together, after all.

  “I have to leave soon,” Loki said.

  Sigyn jerked. Damn. He’d said that almost as though he’d known what she was thinking. Could that be his power? Many of the others had superhuman strength. Sigyn had uncanny senses. Had the apple granted Loki the ability to read minds? The thought left her flush, and more so when she considered all the intimate, sultry things she’d thought about him. And how would he react to those thoughts? Rather than answer, she concentrated on him.

  Can you hear me?

  “Sigyn?” he said. “I’m sorry, but there are things I must do.”

  Ignoring her direct thoughts. Fine. Sigyn drew up a mental picture of them making love.

  Loki offered no reaction other than to lean in. “Don’t be angry, my love.”

  So he was either the greatest actor in history, or he didn’t actually read minds. Sigyn blew out a breath, then shook herself. “I’m not angry. Just curious.”

  “I have to push ahead,” Loki said. “Prepare the way. We cannot afford to dawdle, not with what pursues us.”

  “Prepare what?”

  Loki shifted, turned his gaze to the west, where they were soon bound. “We’ll need a way to cross the sea to reach Vanaheim. On the far side of Valland lairs an ancient power bound to that sea.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I won’t risk you, Sigyn. Stay with the others and keep true the course. Idunn will be able to guide you there.”

  She folded her arms. Why was everyone always treating her like some delicate flower, some fawning maid? Gods above and below, her mentor Agilaz had trained her to hunt, then constantly urged her not to wander from town. She did not need it from Loki as well. Nor would she let him push her to the side the way Odin did to Frigg. She’d had a damned apple too for the gods’ sakes.

  He scowled. Reading her mind. No, he was reading her face. Sigyn looked down, then stared at the fire. Let him see her pout, then. “You don’t trust me. Fine. Just go.”

  “Sigyn …”

  She shrugged him off then stalked away, toward the fire where she knew Frigg sat with her husband and child. But she did not sit at the fire. Instead she watched them while keeping an eye on Loki. At last he slunk off into the mists, carrying no torch.

  He wanted her to stay behind. He wanted to keep her safe. Maybe she should appreciate the gesture. But Sigyn wasn’t the sit-by-the-fire-and-knit type.

  She stopped to grab a bow and quiver, then slipped out of the camp.

  The mists were no longer a threat to those who’d had the apples, and her eyes could see even in the darkness. Keeping to the shadows beyond the edge of the firelight, she followed Loki into the hills. A moderate wood soon surrounded them, but after so long trekking through the Sudurberks, this was a journey Sigyn could relish. So they had truly entered Valland. A place so far beyond Ás lands to become mere legend. What people called this land home? More pleasantly disposed ones than those of Hunaland, she hoped.

  Beyond the camp she knelt in the snow, pausing over Loki’s tracks. A long stride. He was moving quickly. The man knew exactly where he was going and was in a hurry to reach it. And he’d made no effort to conceal his tracks, which meant she could follow just as quickly.

  Yes, a good night’s sleep would have gone over better than a run at night, but then she might never uncover this piece of the puzzle that was Loki. One needed all the pieces to solve a puzzle.

  She ran after him, trying to soften the crunching of snow under her feet. He was probably too far ahead to hear her, but she’d not take that chance. Loki’s tracks passed into a valley between the hills. Without a torch Sigyn might never have been able to follow his tracks at night, at least not before the apple. Now, her eyes drank in moonlight and illuminated every footprint Loki had left.

  She pressed on and on, her heart surging. She could do this. Track him no matter how far he fled. The apple had made her a hunter with no rival. Her senses were—

  A low rumble echoed from the valley on the other side of the hill. Had Loki found some sort of trouble? Sigyn wouldn’t let him face it alone. She nocked an arrow to her bow. A few well-placed shots and maybe he’d see just how much he needed her. However ancient he might have been, she still had a lot to offer. Gods, he knew that, it was why he’d chosen her. Leaving her behind was just fool male pride.

  She crouched atop the hill, spying three shapes in the valley beyond. They hardly moved at first, then one raised its head and sniffed. The monsters were nigh to eight feet tall and covered in mossy, rock-like protrusions, oversized mouths, and ugly tusks. Trolls.

  Hel’s frozen underworld! Sigyn skidded back down the hill. Speaking of foolish pride. Now was not the time to be spotted.

  A bellow filled the valley, echoing off the hills. Followed by another and a third. Damn it! They’d heard her. The ground shook as the trolls charged up the hill, ice cracking and rocks tumbling down hill.

  “Well, fuck,” Sigyn mumbled, then took off in a mad dash. Rocks bounced along the ground as the trolls chased after her. One was so close she could feel it behind her. Sigyn dove to the side, rolled, and came up drawing the bow.

  She loosed a shot, but it was too close. The arrow bounced off the troll’s chest and it batted her bow away. The blow sent her tumbling along the ground. Sigyn rolled with the impact as Agilaz had taught her. Pulse pounding in her ears, she scrambled to her feet again. She tried to run, but a single shove from the beast sent her stumbling back to the ground.

  The troll straddled her, grabbing at her bodice.

  “No! No!” she screamed. She was not going to be a troll-wife. The other two had caught up and began letting out whoops.

  Sigyn struggled against the panic as the troll ripped her dress away. These were men, once. Men taken by the mists and transformed into things of rage and lust. And pride?

  “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop, I’m only for the strongest! I belong only to the strongest male!”

  At that, the troll did pause. So he did understand her.

  One of the ones behind whooped and bellowed.

  “Him?” Sigyn called, pointing at that troll. “Are you the best?”

  The troll howled like a wolf and closed the distance to her in three strides. It reached for her, as if to yank her right out from underneath its fellow. Instead, the first troll spun and punched the challenger in the face. Sigyn scrambled backward as the two collapsed into a wrestling heap. The third troll watched her a moment, glancing at the fight.

  Sigyn motioned him toward the others. Still it hesitated.

  The Hel-cursed monstrosities thought with their stones. Sigyn gave over any attempt to cover herself with her rent dress, even pulled it away to reveal a breast, and winked at the troll. At that, the thing flew into a frenzy, leaping atop the others and pounding both fists down onto them.

  Sigyn snatched her bow as she rose, then ran for the next valley, weaving in and out of the trees. Too much to hope the three trolls would kill each other. She had to put distance between them. With their great strides, she couldn’t outrun them, but maybe she could lose them.

  Ahead, the trees cleared in a circuitous route through the valley. Only a river would cause a break like that. Sigyn rushed down to its frozen banks, then gingerly stepped out onto the ice. It creaked beneath her weight.

  Fall through that ice and she was a dead woman. She backed away and looked to the trees. She could climb one, but they might still smell her. Even if they couldn’t climb the tree—and she wasn’t sure about that—the trolls could probably knock the damned thing down.

  Another bellow erupt
ed from behind her.

  “Hel take you,” Sigyn cursed, and glanced back to see the third troll rushing toward her. One tusk had been broken, one eye bruised shut. It loped along the ground, using its arms like legs.

  Sigyn looked back to the river, then to the troll. Freezing to death would still be better. She took off at a dead sprint across the ice. It groaned with each step she took. Faster. Faster!

  Her foot slipped out from under her, and she skidded, then fell. Her shoulder slammed into the ice, sending jolts of lightning along her limbs. The ice cracked and began to spiderweb where she’d impacted it. Grunting against the pain, Sigyn crawled along the river, toward the opposite bank. More and more cracks spread beneath her.

  Fuck!

  She collapsed into the snow on the other side and rolled over to see the troll hesitating on the riverbank. Stupid as the beasts were, it must still realize what the cracks in the ice meant. It couldn’t follow.

  Sigyn rose. Was she safe? Maybe. At least until the troll found another place to cross and came hunting her again.

  How long would she have? Long enough to get away? Maybe not. Nor could she take the chance—she needed to keep on Loki’s trail.

  Sigyn nocked an arrow to her bow. Focus. She let everything blur around her, focused only on the vulnerable flesh of the troll’s throat. She loosed. The troll raised an arm to block the arrow and it clattered off the rocky protrusions on its forearm.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Sigyn whispered.

  The troll began to howl. Had it heard her? Deep down, part of it was still a man. Men could be easily tempted.

  “Come on! Come and get me!”

  It howled again. Damned thing would bring a whole horde down on her. She had to silence the monster.

  “You want to plow my trench? Come get it!” she shouted.

  The troll leapt up and down and beat its chest. Sigyn almost laughed. Would have, if its display wasn’t likely echoing across half this country.

  “Fine,” she mumbled. “You need some enticement, fine.” She pushed her dress off both shoulders and let it fall, standing naked in the chill mist. “You know you want this!”