by Matt Larkin
“I am the king’s brother.” Vili lumbered over toward her, dwarfing her in his shadow. “The command should be mine.”
His nostrils flared and eyes dilated as he stared down at her. These days, he watched her like that a little too oft. Perhaps Vili thought Tyr had not noticed. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. Berserk was always too brash. Sometimes that served the Wodanar. Sometimes not.
Oft enough, Odin had to rein in his brother. And now the king was not here to control the berserk.
Frigg straightened her shoulders and met Vili’s gaze with an impassive stare. “I am Queen of the Aesir, wife of Odin, and mother of his heir. My words are the words of your king, Vili. Do not make me repeat them.”
Tyr’s grip tightened around Gramr’s hilt over his shoulder. Feel of it offered a sudden comfort, though he didn’t recall reaching for her. Vili glanced from Frigg to Tyr, as if thinking of trying his luck.
“Vili,” Tyr said. “Find me your best varulf trackers. Send them to me.”
For a moment, Vili glared at him. Testing his will. Then the berserk snorted and slunk back toward the stairs.
“He is apt to be a problem,” Frigg said when the man had gone.
“You handled him well.”
Frigg nodded. “Tyr, I … I can’t lead the people after Odin.”
Tyr released Gramr and cracked his neck. What to say to that? Frigg was queen. Odin would want her obeyed.
“If we leave the shelter of Idavollir without defeating the Troll King, we risk losing everything, all Odin has struggled for. All our people.”
“This shelter will not last us long, either way. Not enough food to sustain our numbers. Hunters can’t bring in enough game while we linger here. Always have to be back before dark.” And Odin had been gone less than a day, and already the jarls were vying for his throne.
Frigg’s scowl only deepened. “You have my decision, Tyr. We have to remain here and continue whittling away at the trolls.”
Tyr drummed his fingers against his biceps. Frigg knew the truth already, even if she wouldn’t face it. Some twelve thousand Aesir were left, which meant nigh to a third of their number had already fallen on this march. The people could not take much more without breaking. But the decision was Frigg’s, and Tyr did not envy her it. He could see no good choices.
Instead, he returned downstairs and to his room. A few hours’ sleep before he met with the varulf trackers. Just a little rest. As if he could shut his eyes. As if he could shut out the visions of his failure. Tyr sat on the straw mat that served as his bed but did not lie down, just stared at the wall carved from blocks as large as he was tall. Further reminder they had traveled beyond lands where they belonged.
Of course, Tyr would have followed the son of Borr into Niflheim itself if he could. And what would Odin want now? Would he want Tyr to come for him? Or to remain at Idavollir and protect Frigg, follow her? Fuck, but the man would ask Tyr to protect his family. It was everything to him, wasn’t it?
A rapping on his door shook him from his musings. He hadn’t expected Vili’s varulfur so soon.
“Enter.”
It was not a varulf, but Idunn who slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I heard what happened.”
Tyr couldn’t think of aught to say, so he just nodded.
Idunn crooked a half smile, then slunk down right in front of him. She took one of his hands in her own, tracing its rough callouses with her soft fingers. “Men like you want to remonstrate with themselves for everything that goes wrong around them, huh? One could be forgiven for thinking the apple was to blame, that it led to delusions of grandeur. But I suspect—and you can tell me if I’m wrong—that you had this problem before. So every man and woman who died out there, that was your fault, right?”
Tyr snatched his hand away. “Who else ought I to blame?”
Idunn shrugged. “The trolls, maybe? The Niflungar? But you, Tyr, you’re the one trying to make the world a better place.”
“You mistake me for Odin. I’m just a warrior following his lord.”
“Mmmm, no, I don’t think so. You’re a hero in your own right.” She placed a hand on his face, and Tyr felt himself flush, his pulse pounding. “I believe in you.”
“You believed in Odin, too …” His voice seemed barely a whisper.
When she withdrew her hand, her warmth lingered on his cheek. “I still do.”
“There are no heroes, Idunn. Just blood. Us and them.”
Idunn smiled wanly. She rose, and, though Tyr wanted to tell her to stay, he couldn’t.
24
Flying above the mists, Sigyn looked down on the giant fortress. Loki, the black swan beside her, continued flying, making no move to land on the battlements.
Loki had tried to speed them all away from this, tried to get passage from Aegir, and if Sigyn had listened when he told her to stay behind, if she had just for once done as she was told, maybe this could have been ended. Instead, she and her people remained holed up in this ancient place.
At long last, the sun rose, its warmth heating her wings. Up here, above the mists, the world was beautiful. She could see for miles, and though the mists covered the world like a blanket of clouds, the peaks of mountains stuck out above them.
Exhausted as she was from the flight, still her heart longed to remain up here. How many people would ever see such a sight? But Loki dove down through the mists, landed somewhere beyond the Ás scouts’ range. He didn’t want to reveal the cloaks to the others. How clever—by not letting them know about his newfound powers, he could seem even more mysterious. She followed him, beset almost immediately by the chill as she passed through the cursed vapors.
These mists locked the world in Fimbulvinter, gave rise to draugar and trolls, and gods-alone-knew what else. Odin’s quest had seemed unreal, like mist-madness—maybe because Sigyn had spent her entire life living among the mists—but now she had seen a glimpse of the world without them. The world that should have been, the world that, according to Idunn, once was. And Odin would create that world again. Sigyn had to believe he could do it.
Her whole body ached as she resumed human form. The transformation itself was as painless as removing the hood, but it served to remind her just how tired she was. Before she could falter, Loki was there, supporting her in his arms.
“Why do they linger in this place?” Sigyn asked.
“We must get back, something’s wrong.”
Something wrong besides that the goddess Hel had spewed her unholy mists across all of Midgard? Something besides how badly Sigyn had thwarted Loki’s attempt to save them all. And how did Loki know what was wrong?
“Do you have visions like Frigg?” she asked as he guided her toward the fortress.
“Not exactly.”
Despite herself, despite the guilt she’d wallowed in since leaving Aegir’s castle, Sigyn smiled. This was their favorite game, after all, and Loki always seemed to find time to play, to dance with her. “You don’t exactly have visions, or your visions are not exactly like Frigg’s?”
“Yes.”
Damn it. Sigyn shoved him a little. “Which of the two things I asked was the yes in answer to? And don’t say both, because the questions were mutually exclusive.”
“The latter.”
“So you do have visions of the future.”
At that Loki pulled up short. Sigyn slipped from his arm then turned to look back at his face, waiting. If she asked the wrong thing now, he’d be able to deflect her original question, and she was pretty certain she had him now.
“Prescience is a complex burden, Sigyn,” Loki said. “Maybe the greatest burden. I’ve known others who bore such burdens, and it has nearly broken many of them, left them writhing in madness or despondency.”
“Which men?”
“I did not say they were all men. Come, the Aesir have need of us.”
Loki took off again, forcing Sigyn to follow. She frowned. So those of whom Loki spoke were not all male, or
not all human? For that matter, was Loki human? Was Sigyn herself? The apples had made them immortal, given them powers. Made them, according to Idunn, exactly the same as the Vanir. Frey and Freyja, and the great king Njord, beings of myth her people had worshipped for millennia—no different than she herself. Such thoughts were a heady mead apt to go straight to one’s head. Would the Aesir one day look down on ordinary humans, be worshipped themselves as the Vanir before them? If they succeeded, Sigyn didn’t need prescient visions to know they would be worshipped, and, without proper care, they would become as apathetic as the Vanir—or worse, despotic tyrants.
But if Loki could see the future, why had he not seen that she would follow him? Or had he? But that didn’t make any sense. If he’d known their whole moon-long trek was for naught, why go? So that must mean he saw glimpses of the future, but not everything. Not enough to avert every disaster Sigyn might stumble into, nor to spare the Aesir from every consequence of their folly.
She followed Loki into the fortress, much to the surprise of the gate guards. After a brief bout of questions, she drifted off to find Frigg. Large as this fortress was, the Aesir seemed to fill every corner of it, people packed so tightly together that everywhere stank of human sweat and human waste. Men and women and children looked up as she passed, eyes pleading with her—for food, if their sunken faces and gaunt bellies were any indication. They were starving, yet they had not fled this place.
And Sigyn had naught to offer them, a failing that only magnified the weight upon her shoulders. Maybe, had she not gone after Loki, maybe he would have had a solution for them. Or perhaps not. The guards had told her trolls had besieged them, and trolls no doubt meant Ve had returned, pursuing them even to the farthest reaches of Midgard. The Aesir paid for Odin’s failings, and Sigyn had blamed him for that, but now, they also would pay for her own.
Her sister walked in the midst of her people in the great hall, head and shoulders straight, seeming regal despite the losses. The jarls were here too, each shouting about the best possible course, some saying they must seek out Odin—where was he?—and others insisting they ought to return to Aujum. What madness had gone on in her absence?
And though Frigg barely smiled at Sigyn’s appearance, Sigyn could see the relief in her eyes. And since Frigg was too damned proper to do so herself, Sigyn ran up and embraced her half sister.
“What’s happened?”
“Trolls attacked us not long after you left. Odin had thought this place would offer succor but … they took him, sister.”
“The trolls?”
“The Niflungar, Idunn thinks.”
Frigg spoke softly, speaking of her fears for her husband. And for her people, who were already beset by these trolls. Was Odin all these sorcerers truly wanted? If so, why? Sigyn had once spied on Idunn and Loki speaking of Odin. He’d dodged all her questions on the subject, but Sigyn had heard him call Odin the Destroyer. The Destroyer of what? The Vanir?
In the depths of Halfhaugr, Sigyn had read ancient dvergar runes. They too had spoken of a Destroyer, something the dvergar feared, which, at the time, Sigyn had taken to mean Hel herself. But Loki had referred to Odin by that very term.
Like it or not, the Aesir needed Odin. He had carried them this far, and if the jarls were any indication, the whole alliance would splinter without him. So, if all of their lives rested in Odin’s hands, Sigyn needed to understand as much about him as she could. Whatever this Destroyer was, Idunn seemed to know, and if Loki wouldn’t tell her, maybe the Vanr woman would.
“I am losing them all,” Frigg whispered.
Sigyn nodded and glanced around the hall.
Jarl Arnbjorn was at the forefront of those proposing they retreat back to Aujum. How he intended to do so—they could not well go back the way they had come—he did not say. Bedvig, meanwhile, kept carrying on about how they ought to go conquer the local Vallanders. In her flight here, Sigyn had seen a few cities, enough to know the rulers here must have a great levy of men to call if needs be. And the last thing the Aesir needed was more enemies.
They needed to find Odin before one of these malcontent jarls drove them all to annihilation.
Sigyn hugged Frigg again and slipped off, hunting down the goddess. She didn’t have far to look. As usual, Idunn traveled among the people, hopelessly fascinated by the details of Ás lives. This time, the Vanr walked with Fulla, asking about every last duty of a midwife.
“Don’t the Vanir have midwives, Idunn?” Sigyn asked.
“Oh, you’re back, Sigyn. Welcome back! We do indeed. Well, sort of. They just don’t find that much employment. We don’t have as many babies as your people. I mean, we certainly have as much sex—or, probably more. I think maybe the apples make us less fertile, nature balancing out our immortality. We don’t need as many offspring. Nevertheless, many of my people practice various forms of preventing conception. Freyja actually taught me a trick where you—”
“You don’t think I actually buy this vapid waif routine, do you?”
Sigyn almost bit her tongue when she realized she’d just interrupted Idunn from telling her about some magic method of contraception. Not that Sigyn seemed to need it. Often as she and Loki warmed each other’s beds, they had no child to show for it. Perhaps Idunn was correct about a side effect of the apples. The flurry of Idunn’s words made her sound as simple as Fulla, and yet, this was a woman who vied with Loki, competing to manipulate Odin, a man all seemed to agree could change the whole of Midgard.
Idunn clucked her tongue, then spoke to Fulla. “Maybe you should give us a bit alone. Sounds like someone has something she needs to talk about. Loki not running it deep enough for you?”
The woman’s smile was so innocent Sigyn almost wondered if she really meant it. “He gets the job done. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m still looking for someone to see to my needs. I spend so much time traveling out in Midgard. I guess that’s why I get lonely. It’s so comforting to be able to actually talk to people, hear about their lives. Sometimes I get carried away, I guess. Which is not a reason to be rude about it. Given a long enough time frame, most things begin to seem trivial. Modesty, social customs, they’re generally affectations of mortal minds, so we, at least some of the Vanir, let them slip away. Courtesy, however, never loses its value.”
“So you’re saying letting your mind jump around like a cluster of bunnies is not an act?”
Idunn frowned, then. “Have I done something to offend you, Sigyn?”
Now Sigyn frowned. Was she too hard on Idunn? Sigyn had to admit, she did not like that Idunn and Loki seemed to know each other from some time before, and, perhaps she had let Loki’s obvious distrust of the woman affect her own judgment about the Vanr.
“You want to be my friend, Idunn?”
Idunn laughed. “Child, I’ve tried to be a friend to all the Aesir. I’d never turn down a friend, though I’d prefer my friends not call me vapid. I’m not vapid, I’m enthusiastic. Spend a year or two with no one to talk to and see how you feel.”
“Then I apologize. I spoke too harshly. I’ll watch my words”—Sigyn was always careful with her words—“but you won’t call me or any of the others ‘child.’ Because we’re younger than you does not make us children, least of all your children. But we can be friends, Idunn. Why don’t you tell me about Odin?”
Idunn sighed and glanced off to the north. “As best I can tell, the Niflung king or one of his minions came for Odin.”
Sigyn had gathered as much herself, but she didn’t intend to stop Idunn until she got some real answers. “Where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll kill him, though.”
And now the woman decided to drop the effusiveness? “Why not?”
“Oh. Well, I don’t really know, just a feeling I guess. I mean, if they wanted him dead, they’d have killed him on the battlefield, right? His death would have broken the Aesir. But the mists came in, and they took Odin and they left. They must have wanted h
im alive for one reason or another.”
“Yes. What reason?”
Idunn giggled. “How should I know?”
Sigyn paused as a troop of warriors passed them by. This was not for others. But she sure as Hel wasn’t buying Idunn’s act now. “What is the Destroyer?”
Idunn, picture of grace that she was, actually faltered a step. “Oh, Sigyn. You should not be spying on others. That’s rude. Now that you’re living forever, you have to think of your manners. Without trust, what is there?”
“What is the Destroyer?”
“A myth, Sigyn. A legend passed down from my grandmother to the Vanir. A primal force, like one of the Spheres of Creation. A force of … change. Change on a grand scale, the end of one world and the beginning of the next. The end of an era. Like … like the coming of the mists.”
The mists had come nigh unto five thousand years before Odin’s birth, brought by the dire goddess, Hel. What had any of that to do with Odin? Or maybe that was the wrong question at the moment. “And who was your grandmother, exactly?”
Idunn sighed. “She was magnificent, Sigyn. A warrior from the Skyfall Isles, a child of the moon. She guided our people to Yggdrasil, back before I was born, but she refused an apple herself. She was a hero, and she fought to save the world, giving everything she had to protect it from Hel.”
Sigyn had heard most of that already—that Idunn’s grandparents had tried to stop the mists, had battled Hel herself—but this morning Sigyn had seen the sun, pure and undiluted by a shroud of vapors. She’d looked down on the world and up at a sky so blue she’d wanted to cry. “It seems they failed.”
“They didn’t fail!”
Several other Aesir paused and stared at Idunn’s outburst. Sigyn couldn’t blame them—she hadn’t thought Idunn even had a temper to lose.
“My grandfather died to send Hel back to Niflheim and keep her there, Sigyn. He died to see my grandmother—and my mother in her womb—to safety. Whatever horror you think this world faces, believe me when I tell you it would have been far worse if they hadn’t closed the rift between the worlds.”