by Lentz, P. K.
Two women warriors standing upon the fortress's battlements cry out to others within, as we approach: "Gaeira of the Vanir comes! And a male unknown to us!"
Gaeira's company evidently is sufficient to allay whatever concern, if any, the Valkyriar might have about opening their gates to an unknown male, and we are allowed to enter into a courtyard where there wait six or eight women. All are armed, some armored. To my disappointment, Ayessa is not among them. I follow Gaeira's lead in dismounting. The Valkyriar offer her friendly greetings without expectation of their return.
I wait to speak until the woman who seems most senior of those present (though not in years, by which measure I would hard pressed to judge) looks at me expectantly.
"I am Thamoth," I tell her. "A... kinsman... to Ayessa. I would have words with her"
The woman considers, perhaps gauging my honesty. I begin to hope that she has not already heard ill of me.
"Essa is not presently among us," the Valkyr declares—not knowing what suffering she causes me in so saying. "She has spent much time in the city of late, at Odinn's behest."
I do not wish to believe her. I am searching for a way I might gently accuse her of lying to keep me from Ayessa when I hear my name called out.
"Thamoth!"
The sharp, angry exclamation comes from within the courtyard and takes all present by surprise. The exception is Gaeira, whom I suspect would not show surprise were the ground to vanish beneath her feet. My eyes, and everyone's, find the speaker, a Valkyr with sword in hand, advancing toward me at a run. I have never seen her before, but by the fire in her eyes and purpose in her stride, it would seem that, somehow, she knows me.
When she reaches our congregation, the point of her sword sweeps upward to hover an inch from my throat. I refrain from drawing my own, having no wish to brandish arms in a house brimming with elite warriors and in which I am a guest.
My choice proves a wise one. Within an instant of my would-be assailant putting her sword to my neck, Gaeira's is aimed in turn at hers. I feel no worry. The Valkyriar are famed for their prowess, but the feats I have seen Gaeira perform assure me that I am well protected.
The Valkyr to whom I had been speaking grabs the right arm of the woman threatening me and forces her sword down, at which time Gaeira likewise lowers hers.
"Sigrid!" the chief Valkyr says harshly. "Explain yourself!"
The woman, Sigrid, whose braided hair is the color of wheat, only snarls at me, eyes blazing with a deep hatred. Looking into them, I am sure that she knows. She knows who I am and that in another life I wronged her fellow Valkyr. Ayessa must have told her. Shame fills me at having my secret known.
Sigrid stands down, sheathing sword, but the hate in her glare does not diminish. "I cannot speak of what he did," she grates. "It was told to me in confidence. But he can tell you himself, if he has the balls!"
She spits at my feet, whirls and stalks off, hands clenching and unclenching.
The senior Valkyr gives me a new look in which lurks an element of suspicion. "Have you any inkling of what she might mean?"
As I consider answering her, my eyes are continually drawn to Sigrid's retreating form. In the end, I choose not to answer the question before me at all, but instead launch myself after my accuser.
Well before I reach her, Sigrid whirls with hand to sword.
I halt and hoist open palms. "I would only talk with you. In private."
The Valkyr scoffs. "If we enter a room together, slug, only I would leave!"
"Here, then, in the open," I concede. "Quietly."
"Quiet? Yes, you would want to keep your deeds quiet, slug."
"You should wish it, too," I say, "lest you betray a trust."
Fire still rages in Sigrid's eyes, but it is contained, for now. She nods at the several Valkyriar who have come to surround us, in case of trouble. Warily, they recede. I glance back to locate my only ally in this place, if I can call her that. Without reason, I sense that she would be at my side again in an instant were I to find myself in trouble not of my own making.
"If Ayessa has told you of our past lives," I say to Sigrid, "prove it. What was the name of our ship?"
The Valkyr's lip and fingers curl. "Ship? You mean her prison, slug?" She glares, and I wait. "Wellspring," she hisses at length.
She speaks it in the Atlantean tongue—which suddenly I feel that having drunk of the Well I would now be able speak fluently were I to try. I nod, accepting both my guilt and Sigrid's knowledge of it. I am guilty of crimes of neglect and willful blindness and will admit them freely. But I wish to reason with Sigrid, make her see that I am no slug, but a man worthy of a chance at redemption.
"Yes," I say penitently. "In following me into exile, Ayessa put great faith in me. I proved unworthy of it. I have no excuse. But—"
"Faith?" Sigrid spits the word back at me, like venom. "What choice did she have? You threatened to have her family slaughtered if she refused to go!"
So great are my shock and puzzlement on hearing this that I am rendered momentarily speechless.
"Do not pretend at innocence, slug," Sigrid presses. "You used her, ground her to nothing, and then you killed her!"
"I..." I begin. "That is not... I saw... the Well's vision..." Words fail me.
"You truly know not?" Sigrid observes. My confusion appears to bring Sigrid perverse delight, for her rage rises afresh. Her teeth set, lips writhing like snakes. She wants to harm me, but cannot freely do so. Not with a sword, anyway. So instead, she wields words.
"You locked Essa under that deck," she accuses. "You took your pleasure with her when and how it suited you, beat her when she defied you. And when she was no longer worth her share of water, you threw her to the sharks! You were, and yet remain, a monster." Sigrid raises a warning finger at me and says emphatically, "In death, Essa freed herself from you. She will never again be yours. Leave now, and do not return!"
She spins to leave. Of its own accord, my hand shoots out, heedless of risk, to seize her shoulder and spin her back. I withdraw the hand before Sigrid can bat it away.
"I did not do those things," I tell her. "I know I did not. I am no monster. "
In truth, I do not know that. I feel it, but how can I be sure? I have only Mimir's waters to trust.
"Not only are you a monster," Sigrid counters with rage unabated, "Essa knew it even before she drank from the Well. Why else did she flee your people the instant she had the chance, not even knowing what awaited her?"
"No, she... she did not flee," I argue. "She was separated from her hunting party."
Sigrid smiles, wickedly. "Aye, slug. Jotnar attacked and forced them to scatter. And then Essa had a choice, did she not? To find her way back, or to search for something better. The choice took her but a heartbeat. She never looked back."
"No!" I protest without thinking. "That is a lie!"
As a guest in this place, I instantly regret the accusation, loudly spoken. But someone must be lying, whether it is Ayessa or Sigrid. I cannot accept the alternative.
Sigrid bares her teeth, looking closer than ever to murder. But with a look around at her sisters in the courtyard, who feign disinterest, she checks herself and says, without moving her jaw, "May the flesh wither from my bones if Essa has told me a single untruth—monster!"
The strength of her faith in Ayessa is every bit as clear in her eyes as is her hatred of me. They are the eyes of one with whom it is futile to argue.
She spins and starts to walk away. This time I let her go. There is nothing to be gained by further words, even if Sigrid consented to give them. I am interested in the truth, not one woman's conviction. Calmly meeting several of the many stares upon me, I walk back to the cluster of Valkyriar and Gaeira.
"Forgive me for disturbing your peace," I say to our hosts. "We shall take our leave now."
"You both are welcome to remain," the senior Valkyr surprises me somewhat by saying. Even more surprising is that she appears to mean it. "A meal and beds ar
e yours for the asking."
"Do you give no weight to her accusations?" I venture.
"I do give them weight, even if I do not fully understand them. But..." She pauses, and her features tick strangely before she continues, "perhaps as Essa's lover, Sigrid is a mite overzealous in the desire to protect her."
Lover. The word lingers, expanding to fill my skull, my chest, my gut, the entirety of my being. Outwardly, I reveal no discomfort, I think, but inside I grow numb, so detached from my surroundings that I can scarcely be sure what words of farewell I let spill from my mouth as we take our leave of Folkvang. I am cordial enough, I hope, in declining their hospitality and bidding them farewell.
An unblinking ghost on horseback, I ride hard behind Gaeira, for whose silence I am suddenly grateful, across the plains of Asgard toward the city of the same name.
31. A Changed Woman
Evening is upon us when we leave our horses at the stables outside the city wall. Proceeding through the gates on foot, I speak for the first time since leaving Folkvang.
"Must we go straight to Odinn?" I ask Gaeira. Even in my own ears, I sound fearful and childish, but it is not fear that compels me to seek a delay in my punishment. "I would yet seek out Ayessa first."
Gaeira, as ever, keeps her silence. Not knowing the streets of Asgard, I still have no inkling where she intends to take me when she suddenly grabs me by one arm and breaks into a run, dragging me behind her with apparent purpose. The streets are hardly full, but there are enough Aesir about that we must dart and weave to avoid collisions. A minute later, our run ends as abruptly as it began. Before I can ask Gaeira (who would not answer anyway) what was her goal, I see it with my own eyes.
Before me stands Ayessa, whom the keen-eyed slayer of Jotnar must have spotted from afar.
Ayessa stops short, but shows no surprise at my sudden appearance before her. If I did not know better, I would think she had not immediately recognized me, as if her eyes would have passed right over me were I not standing directly in her path. My mind races. I know I must speak before she simply brushes past me and goes on her way, with or without pausing to knee me in the groin—or worse. There is too much to say; how do I begin? I have had much time to ponder such things, but thrust unexpectedly into this moment, whatever I have previously thought flees my mind, leaving tongue frozen.
"I too drank of the Well," I blurt. I must convince her that I am not the monster she thinks me. "I know I wronged you, Ayessa. But not in the way which you saw. Please, let us talk in private. A few minutes is all I ask before you banish me forever."
Ayessa gazes curiously at me. Something in her eyes is wrong, but the faint, derisive sneer which presently appears upon her lips is right, more or less. If anything, her scorn is too faint given her behavior the last we met.
While awaiting her response with bated breath, I notice that in place of her Valkyr's garb she now wears the hunting clothes and cloak she would have worn on the day she vanished. It is not odd; there is no reason she should not dress thus in Asgard. But that she more closely resembles the Ayessa I recall from our brief time together in this life makes even more acute the sense of loss I feel while looking at her.
"Whatever you have in mind to say, say it," she says eventually.
Ayessa's voice is the one I know, but something about that, too, seems different. I dismiss that observation, along with the others, as an effect of our separation. She has dwelt for seasons among the Aesir, and my own mind is clouded at present by the restoration of my lost identity, just as it was clouded back at Freya's cottage first by joy and then horror. Perhaps I cannot trust my own senses when it comes to her.
"Sigrid told me what the Well showed you. It is not what I saw. I never imprisoned you, I never—" I cannot bring myself to repeat the entirety of Sigrid's accusation. "I did not kill you, Ayessa. I know it. I swear it. There was love between us, even if I was unworthy of it. We have another chance now. If we are fated to be apart, then... so be it." Those words come with difficulty. "But let it not be because of lies!"
I fall silent, surprised somewhat that the same Ayessa who knocked me to the floor at Freya's has let me speak as long as I have. Still she says nothing, just staring at me, faintly scowling as if certain that I am worthy of contempt, yet unsure what answer she will give. That glimmer of uncertainty is, to me, a beacon of hope.
"No," she says calmly, dousing it. "You did kill me. And I shall never forgive you for that." She draws back a half step, preparatory to walking around me, then pauses to lift her chin and look haughtily down her nose. "Speak to me again," she adds, "and I will even the score."
Her manner is far cooler than it was when last we met. I suppose she has put me so far from mind that I no longer even warrant passion in hatred. Flicking her cloak so that it strikes my legs, she strides off down a side-street, passing Gaeira without a glance. The Vanir, by contrast, watches Ayessa closely, giving no hint of what she may be thinking. She thinks, perhaps, that the favors she has done me this day have been in vain after all, for here I stand on the twilit streets of Asgard, shunned and humiliated. I have no fear of what lies ahead for me, no worry about what price Odinn might exact for my transgression. I can think of no further punishment that might approach in magnitude the blows already suffered.
"Take me to him," I say dully to Gaeira. And she does.
32. Odinn's Price
We return to the vast, bright chamber in which I first met the Aesir highlord and his sons. Baldr runs up on seeing us enter.
"Thamoth!"
I do not quite know whether to thank or blame him for what has transpired since last I saw him. Either way, he might have stayed by me at the Well instead of running off.
Whether or not I am pleased to see Baldr, my grief-dulled senses are yet sharp enough to know it will do me no good to show displeasure with a son of Odinn, particularly now when I stand to face the All-Father's wrath.
Baldr grabs my arm and draws me in close for the sharing of secrets. "Tell me, what did you see, Thamoth? What was your crime against the girl?"
I draw breath to speak, but fail to conjure words. My shame is still fresh; I will not give voice to it just to satisfy his idle curiosity.
Baldr grins knowingly. "That bad?"
I like Baldr rather less now than I did a short while ago.
"She... does not hate me without reason," I say, hoping it will suffice. "But—"
I would tell him that I doubt the truth of her vision—but that would be to shed doubt on Mimir's Well itself, the source of Odinn's knowledge concerning the future of the Aesir. I am not ready to cast such aspersions, particularly in the absence of proof.
"But what?" Baldr prods.
I improvise, "But now it is time for me to face your father and pay his price. I will save my words for him."
Balder's smile fades. "I told my father last night of our actions and put the blame on myself. I think he will show you mercy."
I furrow my brow in confusion. "Last night?" I ask him. "Last night I had not even met you."
Balder momentarily shares my confusion. Then he glances at Gaeira, and his face lights in understanding. "I suppose you would not have heard from her, would you? It was yesterday that we rode to Yggdrasil. You lay unconscious by the pool for a day and a night. It is not uncommon."
I throw my gaze at Gaeira behind me. Did she really remain at my side for a full day and night, not even approving of my actions at the Well? She does not react to my look, but just stands there as ever, looking neither pleased nor displeased, yet... present. The vision of she and I naked and entwined springs to the forefront of my mind, prompting me to quickly remove my gaze from her. When I turn my head, Freya has appeared by the thick, pleated curtains covering the walls of the great hall. Her eyes are on me in a somber look.
"Thamoth," she calls calmly, sternly. Ominously. "Come."
Standing straight, I put Gaeira and Baldr out of mind and walk toward Freya at an even pace, alone, both knowing and not knowi
ng what awaits me behind the curtain. When I reach her, Freya behaves as a stranger, which stings me. She pulls the curtains back by a pleat, creating a thin, dark gap through which I precede her.
On the other side is a small, brazier-lit room the walls of which are decorated with skilfully painted pastoral scenes that I presently have little interest in admiring. My gaze goes instead to the simple throne of carven oak, set upon a stone dais, in which sits white-bearded Odinn, Lord of the Aesir. The throne's knotty arm, on which he drums thick, calloused fingers, looks well-worn from that very habit. From under his hoary brow emanates a heavy, one-eyed glare of which I am the minuscule target.
I venture as far into the room as Freya does, too close to Odinn for my liking, and halt where she does.
"Kneel," Freya orders. I do not hesitate. "Speak," she says next, almost before my knees have touched the stone floor. The command is as vague as it is unexpected. Am I to defend my actions? Beg for mercy? That is my choice to make, I quickly understand.
"Lord Odinn," I begin, "I have violated your hospitality and taken from you what is yours without leave. I make no excuse. I stand ready to pay your price."
"You drank from Mimir's Well." It is Freya who says this. Odinn only glares.
"I did."
"Did it grant you the knowledge you sought?"
"It did. It showed me visions of my unremembered life. They were... not much to my liking."
"Your past is of no concern to the Aesir," Freya declares. My transgression has soured her to me, it would seem, else there simply is no room for sentiment before the throne of Odinn. "Did the Well grant you any other visions?" she continues. "As you answer, keep well in mind that as it stands, you shall leave this room with life intact. Attempt to deceive us, and that may change."
Nothing about either of my present company leads me to believe the threat an idle one. Any inkling I may have had about holding anything back from them flees my mind.