The Mists of Niflheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  “Stop!” one of the girls wailed. The girl ran over as Sigyn tried to don the garb.

  Sigyn punched her in the face, then grimaced as the girl pitched over, grasping her bloody nose. “Sorry.” She flung the cloak around her shoulders and watched Loki do the same. She pulled up the hood. “How do I—”

  A wild energy rushed down from her shoulders. The cloak began encircling her of its own accord, and a shock rushed out her fingertips. She’d heard it pained varulfur and berserkir to shift, but she felt only elated. Instinct took over, and a beat of her newfound wings hefted her upward. Another beat and another, and she was flying, soaring.

  Air rushed over her feathers, filling her with such a profound joy she would have wept, could she have done so in this form. Loki, a black swan now flying beside her, flew for one of the giant windows high above. Sigyn followed him outside, out above the sea and into the night sky.

  Above the mists and up, up toward the clouds. Naught bound her anymore. She was free of all constraints.

  A fell roar rumbled from the castle, and the waters outside it began to swirl. And then he rose out of the sea. A man’s torso, stretched into the sky twenty feet, a long white beard streaming around him. His arms were thick as tree trunks and knotted with muscles, but it was the glowing runes covering them that drew Sigyn’s eyes.

  Loki passed in front of her then beat his wings even harder, drawing her to follow. They were racing for the cliff beyond the sea.

  Almost immediately, the sky darkened and the winds picked up. A sudden gust flung Sigyn back out to sea and nearly sent her toppling out of the sky. She dove down, trying to cut under the air currents. Streaks of lightning lit the night sky. Loki circled back again, clearly seeking some way to aid her. But this was on her.

  Sigyn banked in one direction, then quickly turned as the winds shifted to block her. Her maneuver allowed her to cut through the prior gust and soar above the cliff. Loki skidded onto the ground and yanked off his cloak. Sigyn did the same, another gust of wind threatening to fling her back out to sea even as she shifted.

  Instead, she stumbled to the ground.

  Loki leapt to her side and caught her, then pulled her to feet. “Run! We have to get as far from the sea as we can, beyond the reach of their power.”

  His hand wrapped around her wrist, they ran.

  Lightning coursed through the sky behind them.

  22

  At night, they weathered the barrage of trolls, hiding in the fortress and praying for daylight to send the monsters scurrying back into their holes. By day, Odin allowed his people some sleep while sending others out to forage for food. Agilaz reported local Vallander farms and towns had been smashed to bits by the trolls, the animals and women taken. And night by night the Aesir’s supplies dwindled, almost as quickly as their resolve.

  Odin stood at the gate, beside Tyr, waiting. Another night was fast approaching. The trolls would try to climb the walls again. A few had gotten inside last night, and a score of men had died to bring them down. When would it end? Ve was out there, Odin knew he was.

  And unless Odin did something, this would continue until the Aesir at last broke, having never even laid eyes upon Vanaheim. So really, only one choice remained to him now.

  “Tonight, we open the gates.”

  Tyr grunted.

  “Choose the finest warriors among us, but leave the archers to man the walls. You and I, your chosen, we will head into the mist.”

  “To what end?”

  Odin clenched his fists at his side. Indeed. What could do? “Trolls don’t act with such deliberateness. It means a leader drives them, and we both know who that leader must be. I have to go out and find him, face him.”

  “And if you do?”

  Odin glowered. Ve. Son of Borr. Odin’s blood.

  Urd was cruel.

  A fell wind swept through the mountains and into the hills, washing over Odin’s army as they clashed with the trolls. Odin was done with hiding. He would take the fight to the trolls and end this threat, avenge the fallen, find a way to save his brother, to get through to him. They had headed out to valley between two hills, knowing the trolls would follow, thinking them easy prey.

  But tonight, the Aesir were the hunters.

  From atop the taller hill, Odin reared Sleipnir, fully conscious of the silhouette he created for his people. He hefted Gungnir into the night sky behind him. The trolls would not come out to fight during the day, and his people dared not chase them into their burrows. And so, now, on this night, he was going to end this.

  “Tyr!” he shouted, then indicated a cluster of the trolls trying to charge up the hill.

  The mists had taken his brother. They would not take his son, nor any more of his people. Tonight, these Mist-spawned trolls would be the ones to fear men. Odin leveled Gungnir like a lance.

  Vili, as instructed, rampaged among the trolls, lining them up. The bear’s claws could score a troll’s hide, but wouldn’t easily slay them. He would, however, drive them into position.

  Odin’s chest shook, a rumble building in it. These creatures had taken his brother from him. They had slaughtered hundreds of the Aesir, the people who looked to him for protection, for guidance, for a champion. And, by his ancestors, he would give them one. Men needed something to believe in, a symbol. And Odin … he needed to keep his family and his people safe. Whatever the cost.

  A war cry erupted from his throat, and Odin charged down the hill. Sleipnir’s hooves kicked up snow and rocks as the horse flew forward, men and trolls rushing by in a blur. Odin slammed into a troll, Gungnir punching straight through its chest. His momentum lifted the troll off the ground, the beast’s bellows now turned to whimpers.

  The weight already threatened to yank Gungnir from his grasp, but Odin held on, and Sleipnir turned just enough. A heartbeat later another troll was impaled on Odin’s dragon spear. This time, Odin didn’t fight the momentum. He let it carry him off Sleipnir, then flipped over the trolls and used his own weight to yank his spear free.

  Odin landed in a roll and immediately launched himself forward. He could not slow. These trolls were animals. And animals feared those more savage than themselves. He whipped the spear in a wide arc, cutting a gash through a troll’s nose and another’s chest. The beasts recoiled, clearly stunned by a human not only charging into their midst, but able to pierce their rocky hides.

  Odin used the distraction to ram Gungnir through a third troll’s face, roaring as he did so.

  “I am Odin! Son of Borr! Fear me, beasts!” He didn’t know whether these creatures could understand him, but they did begin to draw back from him. He cut out a troll’s leg with the undulating blade of his spear.

  Other trolls buckled, at least two actually turning tail and running.

  “Not … your subjects.” The voice was rough, like gravel.

  Odin turned to face the speaker. The creature before him no longer resembled Ve, but Odin knew. The Troll King was much like other trolls—an elongated nose, tusks, and a hide like moss-covered rocks. Scraggly hair hung past his shoulders. But his eyes held more than animal cunning. They held wisdom and hatred beyond the capacity of a mere beast.

  “Brother …”

  Ve rose up to his full height, now half again as tall as a man, and raised arms as thick as tree trunks. “You … kneel.”

  Odin swallowed. That had never been an option. The trolls would like as naught eat his men and claim his women as troll wives. He just had to reach his brother, find a way to bring out his human side. Ve was still in there, he had to be.

  “Are you working for the Niflungar, Ve? Why? Why betray me?” Why, after Odin had spared Ve’s life in the Jarnvid? There had to be some semblance of his brother left behind the Troll King. A remnant of the young man Odin and Vili should have done better by.

  “I am … King. I … work for … no one. We work with … Mist.”

  “Ve! Please, brother. Heed me.”

  Ve snarled, his hands balling into mass
ive fists.

  Odin leveled Gungnir at Ve. His brother knew the dragon spear, knew its power. Even through the haze that now seemed to blanket his mind, he had to know he could not win against such a weapon. “Send your … people away, brother. Don’t make me do this.”

  Indeed, how could Odin fight his own blood? Fight another son of Borr? He wouldn’t—he couldn’t. Ve would come back to him, Odin just had to figure out how to reach through the mist that blanketed his brother’s mind.

  Ve grinned, revealing the full horror of his tusks, then bellowed, beating his hands upon his chest. The sound of boulders cracking together like an avalanche. And Odin felt all the other trolls look to their leader.

  The same symbol Odin had tried to be to the Aesir. A god among them. And if Odin allowed Ve to rally the trolls, the Aesir would pay the price. They would die in droves, carried off by the trolls as breeding stock or feasts.

  And Odin could not allow that. He had to protect his son. His father would have done it for him. His father … Ve’s father. But if he did not fight the trolls would take them all. Father … How could he fight his own brother? How could he kill his father’s son?

  “I’m sorry, Ve,” Odin mumbled, shaking his head. “Father … forgive me.” He charged Ve, spear thrusting forward.

  Ve leapt forward, slamming both hands straight into the ground. Odin dove to the side and rolled to avoid the blow, as it shook the earth. Odin rose quickly, but Ve was faster, flinging a giant fistful of snow at him.

  The snow caught Odin in the face, blinding him. An instant later, a mountain slammed into him, flinging him back. The impact slapped Odin into the snow, and he sunk at least an arms’ length beneath the surface. Odin gasped, struggling to suck air into his lungs, fighting the pain of cracked ribs. Gods, where had he dropped Gungnir?

  He flailed, trying to dig himself out of the snow.

  Calm, he had to be calm. He needed to call on his power within to fight the pain. If he could just focus for a moment—

  A giant rocky hand yanked him out of the snowdrift and flung him through the air. Odin crashed against rocks poking out of the snow. He heard his own arm break, the sickening sound registering even over the shock of another impact.

  When at last he managed to get a breath, he coughed up blood. Gasping, unable to rise from the pain, Odin tried to crawl to where Gungnir lay in the snow, ten feet away. Ve covered the distance between them in a single bound, his landing blanketing Odin in a fresh dusting of snow. Before he could even clear his vision, Ve hefted him up again.

  A fist like a hammer slammed into Odin’s face, and everything blacked out. Merciful unconsciousness threatened to swallow him. Ve was—his brother was going to kill him.

  Odin’s mind clawed at his powers, trying to pull it up and block his pain.

  “Odin!” Tyr’s voice sounded far away. “Where are you?”

  Odin forced himself to focus, to look up. A solid wall of mist had encircled him and Ve, cutting off his view of aught else.

  “Here,” Odin croaked, knowing his voice would never carry.

  Ve lifted him again. His grand quest ended here. And Odin had failed, had led his people to their destruction.

  All you build will turn to ash, your children shall die, and your dreams shall burn.

  The ghost’s words echoed in his brain over and over.

  His children. His child, Thor. His own blood, the blood of Odin’s father and forefathers. Rage cut through his pain, and he grabbed Ve’s wrist. Finally he caught his power, allowing him to match—or at least challenge—Ve’s strength.

  Odin tried to yank himself free of Ve’s grip.

  “That will be enough,” a voice said. “Release Odin.”

  Ve snarled, then looked at the speaker.

  The mists parted to reveal a man with long black hair, a raven perched on his shoulder and a golden crown upon his head.

  Gjuki.

  Odin tried to speak, but blood burbled out of his mouth.

  The Raven Lord seemed to drift over the ground, a faint wisp of shadows trailing off him. A mere hint in this realm of the endless shadows he cast in the Penumbra. Gjuki placed a hand on Odin’s head, and Odin’s vision began to dim. His power slipped from his grasp, and with it, consciousness fled.

  “Worry not, Odin,” Gjuki said. “You will have your chance to say all you wish.”

  Everything went dark.

  Part III

  Sixth Moon

  23

  Another body, but still not Odin, Njord be praised. Tyr had searched the hills hours past the dawn, walking like a man in a daze. The mist itself had turned on them in the battle. Odin must have been right. Niflungar must have come for him. And now, with all the bodies laid to rest on the pyres, and still no sign of their king …

  Now what? If Tyr could not protect his king, his charge, what was left for him? The shame of his failure. Of his broken oath to Borr. Of living on.

  Yes, the Aesir had taken down dozens of trolls in Odin’s charge. In the sunlight their corpses looked like boulders covered in black ichor. But hundreds of warriors had been taken by valkyries this night, their bodies now burning to keep them from rising as draugar. And Odin himself captured. It was the only explanation Tyr could think of—no sign of the king or his body. And where would they take him? Halfway back across Midgard toward Reidgotaland? Or somewhere closer?

  Perhaps Tyr could use the varulfur to track Odin and his captors. That was what they were best at. His legs felt numb as he trod back toward Idavollir fortress. Back toward Frigg, where he would have to recount his failure. For all the power in his sword, still he could not even find his foes.

  Inside the fortress, he found Frigg’s maid, fretting about.

  “Where is she?”

  “U-up on the battlements,” Fulla mumbled. “Did you kill all the trolls full dead as dead?”

  Hardly. “We killed many of them.”

  Fulla wrung her hands, then busied herself tending to the wounded. Of which there were many. Trolls had cost them all a great deal.

  Tyr pushed on, toward the stairs. Didn’t get far before shouting drew his ear.

  “The trolls broke off,” Jarl Arnbjorn said. “With them gone, we have a chance to retreat.”

  Retreat?

  “We swore an oath to our king,” Hoenir said. “And we must remain until he’s located.”

  Arnbjorn’s son Kory spat. “Man is troll fodder. He’s not coming back, and we cannot afford to waste time here.” Man might’ve had twenty winters. He could fight, Tyr would grant. If kept talking such folly, Tyr would grant him a chance to prove it.

  “You do not know that Odin has fallen,” Hoenir said.

  “Even if he had,” Annar said, “we don’t know what people lives here. Marching through these lands, even back to Aujum, we may face other foes.”

  Arnbjorn waved that away. “You suggest we simply dawdle here like frightened children awaiting our parent’s return?”

  Tyr pictured his hands crushing Arnbjorn’s windpipe. The jarl and his son were a thorn. Always boring into him. Fucking up Odin’s plans. As if Bedvig did not present enough problems. Now the jarl of the Itrmanni wanted to return to Aujum. Make all they had lost for naught.

  Before he could say aught, though, Hermod drew him aside.

  Hunter bore a gash on his forehead. Probably ought to see a vӧlva. Man leaned in close, speaking into Tyr’s ear. “You asked me to watch Jarl Bedvig.”

  “And?”

  “He’s been taking meetings with Moda and Arnbjorn.”

  Making allies. Moda, Jarl of the Bjars tribe had never been one of Odin’s stoutest supporters. And Arnbjorn … Last thing Tyr needed was those two allying themselves against Odin. Arnbjorn commanded the Itrmanni tribe, and that meant the largest group of warriors. Lose the Itrmanni, they’d all wind up supping with Hel.

  “Forget Moda for now. I want to know everyone Arnbjorn or Kory meets with. And don’t let them know you watch them.”

  Hermod
nodded.

  Tyr clapped him on the shoulder and left. And Bedvig Tyr would deal with himself.

  First, he needed to see Frigg.

  Tyr looked to the stairs, drew a deep breath, and began the climb.

  If not for the endurance the apple granted him, he would have long since collapsed. When he figured out how to draw on its power, he grew stronger, faster, near immune to pain and fatigue. It all came rushing back on him in the end. The thing made him like a varulfur or berserk himself, but sadly, not with their enhanced senses.

  Despite his supernatural endurance, Tyr’s chest heaved by the time he reached Frigg, who looked out over the battlements.

  “Any sign of him?” she asked. It was truly unlike her not to look one in the eye when speaking to him. A sign of her distress, or just of her displeasure with Tyr himself?

  “He is not among the fallen. Niflungar may have taken him somewhere north. In the Sudurberks, maybe.”

  “Can you not track him?”

  Tyr swallowed. Throat was so damned dry. “We don’t know these lands. That foreigner seemed to, but the gods below alone know where he got off to. Bastard is never around when we need him.”

  Frigg did turn to face him now, her face creased by a deep frown. “Yes. I’ve noticed. And he took my sister with him. What of Idunn? She seems to know all of Midgard and beyond.”

  True enough. Perhaps the Vanr could guess where the Niflungar were bound. And Agilaz could track almost anyone.

  Though there had been no sound, Tyr had the sudden sense of being watched, and spun to find Vili approaching. Surprisingly stealthy for a man so large, but then the animal spirits made berserkir like that, if not as much as the varulfur.

  “We should press our attack,” Vili rumbled. “Now is our chance to hunt down the trolls. Find their burrows and slaughter the fuckers while they sleep. It worked for Odin in the Jarnvid.”

  Frigg shook her head. “Odin was trying to rescue our people, and was faced with only a handful of trolls.”