The Mists of Niflheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  20

  The fortress of Idavollir watched over a seemingly endless plain Idunn called by the same name. The stones were clearly ancient. Cut from blocks so large no mortal man could have built this place. Even Hymir, the jotunn Tyr had known, would have been hard pressed to construct it, though Odin had said Ymir stood much larger. Tyr had not gone with Odin on his quest for vengeance. He’d wanted to. Instead, Odin had taken Loki. Damned foreigner always knew too much and yet was never around when needed.

  As now.

  This place was not for men. Chains as thick as Tyr’s chest ran along the length of the drawbridge, leading up to a fortress that passed through the mist. Couldn’t even see the top of the castle through it.

  The gates stood mercifully open. Otherwise Tyr couldn’t imagine how they would have opened a door that must have reached sixty feet into the air. He ran his fingers along Gramr’s bone hilt. Touch of it gave him some small comfort. It was all that could defend him against the Otherworldly. All he could trust in these days. He’d not ever let it leave his side. This sword could slay trolls and aught else that might come for the Aesir.

  “Tyr,” Odin said. “Idunn. With me. We’ll scout ahead. Such places can house”—Odin ground his teeth—“vaettir.”

  Odin would clearly never forget the Odling ghost. Shade had driven Odin on his mad quest to the Niflungar. A people the world would have clearly been better off without.

  Tyr drew Gramr and advanced at Odin’s side, Idunn trailing behind. The sword weighed less than a normal blade, at least when drawn. As if it wanted to fly. Wanted to hunt, to claim the lives of foes. And Tyr had fed it well recently.

  All three of them bore torches that kept the mists at bay and cast the entry hall in shadows. Dancing shadows. Torches were too meager a light to reach the ceiling or walls of Idavollir. But any light was better than none.

  Odin waved him toward a hall to the left, while he headed farther down the main hall. Idunn, for her part, glanced between the two men before drifting after Tyr.

  “What?” she asked. “I’m not a warrior. You don’t think I should go wandering off on my own?”

  “Have you not crossed the world alone?” Tyr asked, keeping his eyes forward. This hall led to a staircase which clearly led onto the battlements. Each stair, however, was nigh to three foot tall. Meaning every step climbed was awkward, tiring.

  If he’d had a free hand, he’d have helped Idunn up, but she climbed with surprising agility.

  “That’s going to be a long way up,” she mumbled, after they had crested the fifth stair.

  Indeed, probably another two dozen to reach the upper landing. But if his people could reach the battlements they could potentially fire down upon attackers. The fortress was surrounded by the great plain on all sides. Meant trolls could not approach them unawares, even at night.

  “Place is a marvel,” he mused.

  Idunn chuckled. “If you say so. Frey mentioned it, on occasion. Mentioned what an ordeal it had been to drive them from here.”

  Frey? Idunn spoke so casually of the greatest warrior of the gods, but then, why not? She was one of them.

  “So you … knew him?”

  “Still do.”

  “He—does he truly bear a flaming sword?”

  “Well, yes. It’s kind of his prized possession, one taken after the fall of the Lofdar. Hmm. Sort of the way you hold on to that icy blade of yours, addicted to its call. I did warn you, right? I thought I had, but sometimes I get flustered and forget what I told people, and what I just think I told people. And what I think I should tell people and maybe I have … you know?”

  “Idunn?” Tyr said, hefting himself up another stair. “You recall asking me to tell you if you started babbling?”

  “That I do remember.” She climbed up after him. “Oh! You mean now? Damn, sorry.”

  Comforting as the runeblade was, he needed a free hand to help him climb. Tyr sheathed Gramr, then continued up the rest of the steps to the landing. In a pair of alcoves at the top stood two great iron wheels, vertical, each with multiple spokes. A jotunn might have been able to grasp them and raise the bridge. Tyr suspected it would take a dozen or so men on each wheel to operate them. Assuming they could first be cleared of the coating of ice.

  But if they could close the bridge, it would cover the main gate. Then assailants would be forced to climb the walls while defenders rained arrows and stones down on them. Sadly, such tactics would only delay trolls. But delay might be enough. If the trolls held true to form, they would retreat with each dawn. Tyr needed only keep them busy that long.

  Tyr gazed out from atop the battlements. He was deep in the mist here. Torch kept it off him, but he couldn’t see far. They wouldn’t have much warning, but this had to be their best option.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Idunn said.

  Tyr grunted in acknowledgement, then turned to look at the Vanr woman. He couldn’t see the plains anyway.

  “Do you … fear me?”

  “What?” What need had a goddess to worry over such things?

  “Well, some of the others do. Not Odin, of course, but many of the Aesir do. I can feel it.”

  Tyr leaned back against the battlement. He hadn’t taken Idunn for someone who should care what others thought. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he had thought. She was easy to take in at a glance. To believe she was just this beautiful, intoxicating goddess. So full of life and joy. How odd that she should worry over what impression she gave.

  “Should I?” he asked. “Is there reason to fear you?”

  Idunn frowned, apparently unsatisfied with his answer. What did she want, then? Approval? A chill ran down his spine. That was it, wasn’t it? She had come to Odin, acting certain of her mission, driving him onto this path. But she was not certain at all. Had she doubted all along? Or had the thousands of deaths at the hands of draugar and trolls and the frozen river shaken her convictions?

  “You no longer think we can win,” Tyr said.

  “I—no! No, of course I don’t think that! Of course you can.” Her voice held all the confidence of a snow rabbit facing down a cave bear.

  “You cannot allow the others to see your doubt, Idunn. It would break them. You set us on this path—”

  “I know! Damn, but I know. There were so many Aesir, and you were such great warriors, and I thought … I mean, I thought about it for years and years. I thought this was what she would have wanted.”

  “She?”

  “My grandmother. I was trying to … to honor her wishes, her memory. But now it feels like a facade and I just wanted someone I could be honest with, someone I could … I don’t know.”

  “Trust?” Tyr shook his head, then pushed off the wall put a hand on her shoulder. “You have that, Idunn. But then, you must tell me everything from now on. Whatever dangers we face, I have to be prepared. I have to protect Odin and the others.”

  Idunn shook herself, and looked far too deeply into his eyes. Judging whether he was serious? At last she nodded.

  Tyr grunted. Good. Good. “I uh … never asked. Why are you doing this? Why would gods want men to rise against them?”

  Idunn blew out a long breath and flipped her hair from her face. “That’s a complicated question. It’s filled with so many half-truths and misunderstandings. Where do I even start? I went over this conversation in my head so many times over the years, waiting, wondering if it was really the right thing to do. They never approved of me going out into the rest of Midgard, you know. As though I couldn’t take care of myself? The real issue was, deep down, they knew they should be ashamed of what they let people like your tribe suffer. While they lounge in a land of spring, most of Midgard freezes and withers, dying in slow anguish. So I guess that’s the answer—most of them don’t want you to rise against them. Just me, mainly.”

  He had assumed as much. Tyr groaned, cracked his neck. “People will die. Lots more people. Frey … he as good with a blade as legend claims?”

&nb
sp; She shrugged as if such things mattered naught. “I think that …” Idunn paused. Turned to the battlements. “I don’t have much of the Sight … but I have some intuitions, Tyr. I feel something moving, very nigh to here. Old dvergar tunnels may run close to this castle.”

  Huh. Would explain where the trolls went in daylight. Also meant they might close on the fortress very soon.

  The setting sun dipped below the horizon. Still, Tyr stood on the ramparts, Gramr resting atop them. Stroked her hilt. If Idunn’s intuition spoke truth, the night would be long. With help from Vili and a dozen others, they’d lowered the gates.

  Wells deep under the fortress meant they’d have water. No food, though. Couldn’t hold out long without food.

  Archers lined the walls now, braziers burning behind them. But with the mist, they couldn’t see the ground. Couldn’t see even if massive forms moved out there.

  He ought to be out there. Gramr hungered for the black blood of trolls. Men gone savage.

  As if in answer to the thought, troll bellows echoed through the mist. Very close to the fortress. They had snuck through.

  He snatched up a torch and held it over the lip of the wall. Still couldn’t see a fucking thing.

  Great clangs sounded against the iron gate. Trolls beating on it. He’d set men down there, with spears, to keep them off the gate. It would be a long night.

  A great many long nights.

  21

  After Sigyn’s body had healed, Fimafeng carried her to a mercifully dry chamber. As he rose, he shifted back into legs, and Sigyn realized the skirt-like covering he’d worn had drifted away when he first changed form.

  “Oh gods,” Sigyn mumbled as she caught a glimpse of his manhood. That was not something she’d needed to see.

  The merman set her down, then pulled at her dress.

  “No!” Sigyn shrieked.

  Fimafeng just chuckled and gave over the attempt. “Little Bird,” he said and clucked his tongue. “Shy like a human. Bird’s dress is ruined.”

  He turned away and approached a wardrobe. Sigyn’s heart wouldn’t stop racing. Instead, he pulled out a white dress, held it up to her, then clucked his tongue again and put it back. Next, he withdrew a dress the color of the sky on those rare days when the sun broke through the mist. Fimafeng held this one against her, cocked his head to the side, then nodded.

  He pressed the dress into her hands. “Wear this.”

  Sigyn accepted the offer. The truth was, between the troll attack, weeks in the wild, falling down the cliff, and being dunked in the sea, her dress was beyond ruined. “Fine. Turn around.”

  Fimafeng frowned. “Bird must get over human modesty.” He folded his arms.

  Sigyn glowered. She should pick her battles. Gods, she’d been willing to expose herself to outsmart the damned trolls. If that was what it took to make this merman complacent, let him ogle her breasts. Oddly enough, as she let her dress fall, his face remained expressionless. Other than a quick—and blatant—appraisal of her body, he showed little interest.

  Sigyn yanked the blue dress over her head. Maybe Fimafeng preferred mermaids over humans. Or other mermen. If so, she was probably safe, at least from him. Other than the fact she was pretty sure he intended to force a spirit inside her, leave her a vessel to a mermaid, or one of those swan girls, or some other vaettr. Which meant not so safe at all, considering she’d just as soon remain in control of her own body.

  As soon as she had dressed, Fimafeng guided her by the shoulder into another hall. This place was massive, so easy to get lost. A left, then a right. Twenty paces, another left. She could not afford to lose her way. If this Fimafeng tried to force a mermaid into her, she was going to need to make a hasty retreat.

  They passed into another chamber, this one similar to the entryway, with a central bridge Fimafeng walked along. Around it, mermaids swam in pools forming an exotic school of women—and men—with tails of every kind of fish imaginable. Some she had never even imagined—yellow and blue stripes, orange and white frills. A dazzling display of beauty. Once, back in Halfhaugr, she’d have given aught to see this. Once, back when such things were stories, puzzles to unravel.

  About forty feet up, water poured from a groove cut in the walls in a horseshoe shape, creating a waterfall curtain on three sides of the circular chamber. As Fimafeng neared the back of the chamber, a shadow drifted forward from behind the waterfall. A woman’s form stepped through, the water parting around her, seeming to be a part of her. Her stunning beauty left Sigyn no doubt this was the goddess Rán herself. Her hair was so blonde, so shimmering, even Sigyn might have felt jealous of it—in another circumstance.

  Like most of the others in the room, she was naked save for golden jewelry, but water streamed over her in a curtain that seemed to create a kind of sheer, sparkling gown.

  The woman smiled, a wild mischief in her eyes that sent Sigyn’s heart racing. “What is this?” she asked. Her voice seemed to come from everywhere, from the waters all around Sigyn.

  “A lost traveler, my lady, and my gift to my queen. Do you wish her for mermaid? Or for swan maiden?”

  “I’m not lost!” Sigyn blurted. Maybe this queen could be reasoned with. If Rán had been with Aegir when Loki came to meet him, this could be her chance. “I am the consort of Loki, who has come to call on your husband, my queen.”

  Rán’s smile only deepened. “I like her. Mermaid, I think.”

  “No! I already belong to someone.”

  “Indeed you do, little girl,” Rán said. “You belong to me. And I have sisters in need of a vessel in this world. Once, long ago, this world housed tens of thousands of us. Did you know that? Once, our waters covered near all of your Midgard and the glory of Mu spread through endless seas. Now it’s so difficult to find willing hosts of sufficient beauty to be worthy of my kind.” The goddess chuckled to herself, smiling and bobbing her head.

  “Wait! You said willing hosts. I’m not willing.”

  Rán shrugged. “Of course you are. That’s why you’re here. You just don’t know it yet. Fimafeng, prepare her.” The goddess laughed again, and disappeared back through the waterfall.

  Fimafeng’s grip tightened on her shoulder and he yanked her from the room. Now Sigyn fought in earnest, straining against the merman’s impressive strength. He pulled her through the hall.

  “Stop! Please, I don’t want to be a mermaid.”

  Fimafeng clucked his tongue. “Very insulting, little fish. If you wanted to be a swan maiden, you should have spoken up earlier. Now it’s too late to choose. Besides, a mer spirit is a greater gift than a swan cloak.”

  “I don’t want to be any—”

  “Release her!” Loki’s voice boomed through the hallway.

  Sigyn turned to see her lover. She’d never heard him shout before. She’d never seen such anger in him, such darkness in his eyes. A surge of hope filled her heart like the break of dawn. She could kiss that man.

  “I cannot do that. Queen Rán has given the command—this one belongs to her now.”

  Loki strode purposefully toward them. Sigyn’s heart raced, surged with relief not only that he had come for her, but at seeing him again. Maybe she would have to start doing what she was told. One day.

  “Sigyn is mine.”

  Loki’s words made her feel surprisingly warm inside. Part of her wanted to see him beat the mermen who’d dragged her here. She had not seen Loki fight, but he often traveled with Odin’s warriors, and she’d felt the incredible strength in his limbs, the fine muscles of his body.

  Fimafeng shoved Sigyn and she fell into a pool of icy water, once again overcome by the sudden shock of it. She tried to put her foot down, but the water was too deep. She splashed around, flailing, trying to keep her head above water. A few short dips in the river with Agilaz had not made her an apt swimmer.

  Sigyn slapped for the side of the path, missed and went under. Not like this. She wasn’t going to drown like this, not after everything.

  Lok
i splashed down beside her, then she was wrapped in his arms and hefted toward the surface. He surged upward, flinging them both onto the path. Sigyn gasped, trying to catch her breath. A few feet away, Fimafeng lay on the stone, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

  How long had she been down in the water?

  “My lady,” Fimafeng shouted—or rather, sputtered loudly.

  Loki dashed over to him and landed with a knee on his chest. Then he punched the merman in the throat.

  Sigyn choked on the sudden violence of it.

  An instant later, Loki was pulling her to her feet again. “Sigyn, are you all right?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “We have to move. Aegir will learn of this. That mer was a favorite of his. He will be displeased.”

  Then why did Loki have to kill the man? “What does that mean? He won’t help us now?”

  Loki frowned. Yes, fine. It was a foolish question. They had just murdered the sea jotunn’s right-hand man. Help was out of the question. Just how much harm would they be talking about instead?

  Sigyn shivered from the cold. She missed the hot spring. The spring where those swan maidens swam … “There’s women here. They have cloaks that let them turn into birds.” Women or spirits or whatever they were.

  Loki rocked back on his heels. “Swan maidens. Where?”

  Stupid, stupid maze of a palace. It was left first, then … Sigyn shut her eyes. She could do this. “That way.”

  She took off running, Loki right behind her, leading the way back to the hot spring. The girls inside shrieked in surprise as the two of them burst into the room. Before they could recover, Sigyn sprinted for one of the numerous feather cloaks lying around beside the spring.