by Lentz, P. K.
“These things must not be allowed to claim Vanaheim,” he says. “Tyr, you shall assemble a Great Host and lead it there. Raise the Alvar and the Svartalvar and every fighter among the Aesir and Vanir who can lift sword or hammer or ax. Let no man, no woman shirk. Go. Now!”
Asgard's warlord hesitates for the space of an indrawn breath, just long enough to send me a dark glare. Then he whirls and strides from the hall to his appointed task.
“Father, what of me?” Baldr asks. “I would join the Host. If the portents no longer—”
“Join it you shall,” Odinn says. “But first, I have another task for you. Interloper!” The force of his attention startles me. “You tried in vain to warn me of this threat, and I cut out your eye. Yet when this danger appeared, it was your first thought to come to me. You have shown yourself of worth to Asgard. I would have you sworn to me. Will you do it?”
I answer swiftly: “Yes, All-Father.”
“Kneel, and lay your sword at my feet.”
I do so, and Baldr leads me in the reciting of an oath making Odinn the lord whom I will obey above all others. I take the vow without reservation. I owe nothing to Ares or any of the Chrysioi, to whom I was but a tool. And as for my brother and sister Atlanteans, an allegiance to Odinn does not at present put me at odds with them. I will do my best to ensure the contrary: that my new allegiance does them good.
“Thamoth, “ the All-Father addresses me when I rise, “your first duty under my command shall be to return to Neolympus, where you will present to its leader my terms. In return for recognizing me as highlord and standing with us in Vanaheim, Ares and his people will enjoy peace with Asgard and its protection from the jotnar and all other threats. Make clear to him that should he decline, when this new threat is past, his city will be wiped out utterly. You have seen both our strength and theirs, and so your word will carry weight when you tell him truly that they stand no chance against us. Do you accept this charge?”
“I do, All-Father.” I agree not only because I have just sworn I would, but because his offer is what is best for all parties. If there is to be any slight chance that the Myriad will be defeated, all must stand together.
“There is a thing you must know,” Odinn goes on. “I have sent a spy to Neolympus. He is Loki, my blood-brother, and he wears the guise of your countrywoman. Should you reveal his presence to anyone there, or hamper him in any way, you need never return to Asgard, for you will have shown yourself to be a vow-breaker and our enemy. Do you understand?”
“Yes, All-Father.”
“What of me, Father?” Baldr asks impatiently. “What task will you set to me?”
“Do you think Thamoth will go alone? Someone must represent me in taking the Interlopers' oath, and that is the job of a prince and heir.”
Baldr's face twists in a skeptical expression, but within seconds it vanishes as he deems the charge important enough.
I have a request for the All-Father which may be impertinent, or even beneath him, but I opt to ask it anyway.
“I would bring Gaeira, All-Father,” I say. “She led me here and knows the way to Neolympus better than any save your ravens.”
Odinn's bristling white brow furrows as he glares down at me with his single eye. “Take her,” he says. “But before she sets foot in Jotunheim, she must be told: the jotnar are our allies now. No more of their number must be slain by her or by anyone under my command. So speaks Odinn.”
The All-Father's edict chills me, for although I know it is proper, I also know it shall devastate Gaeira.
“All-Father—” I begin instinctively to plead on her behalf. Baldr sets a restraining hand on my shoulder, which succeeds in silencing me.
“Father,” Baldr says before I can reconsider. “Why will Tyr stand at the head of the Great Host? What of you?”
Odinn scowls. A rumble comes from somewhere deep in his beard. “I will do as Freya has persisted in advising me since the Interloper woman first came to us. The entrance into our realms of these folk from another world, and the enemy that followed, has unwritten our future. A new one awaits, and I must glimpse it. I must drink again of the Well.”
“But, Father—” Baldr protests. I know instantly, as he must, that argument is futile. “There is no telling for how long the waters will entrance you. The battle may be won or lost by the time—”
“Yet it must be done,” Odinn interrupts his son decisively. “Freya was right. Had I but heeded her sooner, perhaps she would not lie dead now, as in all likelihood she does, alongside my son on the plains of Niflheim.” He breathes deeply and clenches gnarled, battle-scarred fists. “It must be done,” he repeats. “And there is no time to waste. I entrust the welfare of Asgard to my sons,” Odinn says, lone eye on the one of them yet present. “Be sure that it stands when I return.”
“It shall, Father.”
Baldr kneels and bows his head before Odinn. Now that I am his sworn man, I know that I ought to do the same, and so I do. Odinn turns, and we rise and watch him stride off, out of his great hall by the back route, thence to fly to the tangled roots of Yggdrasil and seek for a second time the wisdom of Mimir.
46. Of Loves and Oaths
I exit the palace with Baldr to find Gaeira in the front rank of a crowd gathered at its steps. Perhaps it should not surprise me that she has waited for me, but it does. If she is not careful, I might begin to believe that I am somehow important to her.
My pleasure on seeing her dies swiftly under the weight of Odinn's edict that I must pass on to her. It crushes, not only for what it means for her but also for me.
"We are to travel with Baldr to Neolympus," I tell her, avoiding the bad news for now, "to secure the Chrysioi's help against the Myriad."
Gaeria does not, of course, offer acknowledgment. But she knows that I am hiding something. I know that she knows. Somehow I am ever naked in her bright eyes, my intentions laid bare. I would not wish it otherwise.
In Odinn's absence, the crowd of Aesir looks to Baldr. Standing on the palace steps, he raises hand and voice. "Aesir!" he cries. "The All-Father goes in search of wisdom from the Well! My brother assembles a Great Host, while I ride out to gather new allies! Fear not! We shall prevail over this enemy! Go now, and let every man and woman of us prepare for war! For Odinn! For Asgard!"
The impassioned cry goes up from the assemblage: "Odinn! Asgard! Odinn! Asgard!" And then the Aesir disperse to make ready, and Baldr and Gaeira and I are left on our own, more or less.
"Will you tell her or shal—" Baldr starts to ask. I raise a hand and nod, cutting him short, but the exchange does not go unnoticed by Gaeira. Baldr sighs and goes on, "I will choose our escorts and gather supplies, then meet you at the gates."
He leaves, and I stand alone before Gaeira with nothing to do but inform her that the chosen purpose of her existence, so close to completion, is suddenly void.
"There is no easy way to tell you this..." I begin. I do not wish to go on, but I must. "Odinn has decreed that until this threat has passed, you must slay no more jotnar."
My throat slams shut. I feel responsible, as if I had brought the Myriad here myself. Gaeira's face stays impassive, but her eyes glaze as I have never seen them do. She blinks many times, rapidly, also as I have never seen. Her lips part, and a breath passes them silently before they close. She takes a backward step away from me, then turns and runs.
"Gaeira, wait," I call out, stupidly. But I let her go, as I know I must. I hang my head and rub stinging eyes. I hurt for Gaeira, but part of my pain is selfish: it now will be that much longer before I can hear the voice I so very much would like to hear.
Assuming the Myriad does not kill us both, and all the giants besides.
Gaeira has not told me, nor could she have, when and whether she might return. So I sit on the palace steps and wait. Later, I stand and wait. Later still, I pace and wait, but still she does not return. At length, I decide to go meet Baldr at the city gate. I find him there with the six Aesir warriors who w
ill accompany us to Neolympus. There is no sign of Gaeira.
"She needs to be alone," Baldr tells me.
"I won't leave without her," I say, and quickly feel a fool.
Baldr ensures that the feeling is a strong one. "Of course not," he says bitingly. "The Myriad are sure to understand and delay their invasion for you." With a snort, he adds, "If I had not known from the moment you two returned that you had lain together, I would know now!"
I am saved from having to produce a reply by the sound of loud, hurried footsteps from one edge of the crowded square in which we stand. I know at once that it is not Gaeira, for her movements would never be accompanied by such racket. Yet when my eyes find the runner who has freshly burst into the square, it is one whom I recognize. I more than recognize her: it is Ayessa.
She looks all over urgently. Her gaze finds me, and she resumes running in my direction. When she reaches me, I realize my error; it is Baldr she has come to see. She falls to one knee before him.
"Lord Baldr," she says breathlessly. "The death of your brother is tragedy without measure, a deep cut to the heart of Asgard. But, my lord, if I might trouble you... is there any word yet on those who accompanied him?"
Hearing Ayessa's voice, looking into her wide eyes alive with fear, I surmise the cause of her concern. Sigrid, her lover, must be among the fifty Valkyriar gone with Thor and Freya to Niflheim.
Baldr casts a grim look in my direction before answering. "No, Valkyr. No word yet."
When I see that Baldr plans to stop there, offering her no word of encouragement, I opt to speak, even though mine is likely the voice Ayessa least wants to hear.
"They could yet live," I say.
From her kneeling position, Ayessa comes halfway to looking at me, but does not quite. Baldr gives me an even more dismal look, one which makes it clear how implausible he deems my assertion.
Still, I insist, "You and I and others lived, when all around us died." I crouch to come level with her. She twists her neck to ensure she cannot even accidentally look at me. I do not care. Nor do I blame her. "She lives, Ayessa... Essa," I correct myself. "I believe that. You must, too."
I want to tell her other things, things about us and what we both saw in our visions from Mimir's Well, but now is not the time. Ayessa proves it with a glare in which still simmers the familiar hatred for me. But it is muted now by worry for Sigrid, and if she thinks ill thoughts of me, she keeps them to herself. Rising, she quietly thanks Baldr, turns and leaves.
"You do her no service by giving her hope," Baldr says to me when she has gone. "If Thor lies dead, surely they all do."
"When I faced the Myriad, the strongest among us gave his life that the rest might live. Perhaps your brother is as as much a hero as he."
Baldr frowns in annoyance. "Perhaps..." Seconds later, he smiles and inclines his chin in the direction of his gaze. "Our party is complete."
I follow his look and see Gaeira coming through the crowd toward us, long-handled ax and pack slung on her shoulders. I feel a rush of joy and relief on seeing her. She is yet out of earshot, I think, giving me time to quickly ask of Baldr, "If she can kill no more jotnar, what must become of her oath?"
Baldr answers me with quiet confidence: "If there is one thing I have learned as a son of Odinn, it is that there will always be another war with the giants."
47. A Battle Torn Host
Nine strong, we ride out from Asgard across the plain to Bifrost and thence to Heimdall's fortress of Himinbjorg. The odd time-effect of crossing the bridge means it is night when we emerge, and so we halt and rest, something I find I have no trouble doing. For however many hours it is until the dawn, I sleep upright in a hard-backed chair. I awaken to Baldr shaking me.
"Come, Thamoth," he says. "It appears you may have been right about my brother."
Minutes later, I stand with Baldr on the battlements of Himinbjorg and learn what he means. We look down on a procession of warriors approaching the fortress's gates. It takes me but a glance to comprehend that these are the survivors of Niflheim. I put their number at fewer than fifty. Leaning over the stone, I set my one good eye to work hunting for the two individuals whose fate concerns me most, Freya and Sigrid. Some of the survivors clearly are Valkyriar, but beyond that I am unable to pick out individuals from the heights.
Every soul in Himinbjorg, myself included, soon races out the fortress's gate to meet the returnees. It is then that I get a chance to scan their ranks from a closer vantage. My eye flicks to the eagle blazons, then up to the faces of those who wear them. Shortly, I find one which inspires a wave of relief. It is the face of Sigrid, and never have I been so pleased to see one who so despises me. I find myself genuinely happy for Ayessa that her lover lives.
I continue my search of the Valkyriar, finish, and repeat it without success in locating Freya.
There are two more figures whom I recognize: Hel and Hodr, clinging to one another in the back of the band's only chariot. Hodr does not drive it; another does, for both of Hodr's eyes are covered by a blood-stained bandage. Baldr races to the chariot's side, grabs his brother and embraces him. Words pass between the two that I cannot hear, and then with Baldr's aid, blinded Hodr steps down from the chariot.
Two fighters unknown to me, an Einheri and Valkyr, approach Baldr and briefly kneel before him. Gathering that they are those to whom leadership of their respective forces has fallen in the absence of Thor and Freya, I move closer to ensure I am privy to any report they give. In so doing, I learn what transpired.
The Asgardian force was barely in Niflheim an hour before the swarm appeared, a great green cloud on the horizon. Hel conjured a persistent wind at the Asgardian's backs which succeeded in thinning the mist, improving the fighters' ability to see their hideous, airborne foe. Following Ayessa's and my advice, they held in close formation, aided by tethers made by Freya, not of mere rope like ours were in Hades, but of an enchanted light.
At first the Asgardians, their frost giant allies, and the thralls of Hel fared well in stemming the deadly tide. But, as ever, the Myriad were too many. The defenders began to break and withdraw. In an effort to rally them, Thor broke formation and drove straight into the thickest part of the swarm, where he was overwhelmed before any but his brother Hodr could decide to follow. Hodr fell under a barrage of arrow-like quills expelled from the bloated flesh of one of the creatures and was only saved by means of Hel's magic, which carried him back to safety. Of the many missiles which struck him, one pierced each eye, depriving him of sight.
Thus began a fighting retreat in which a great many more were lost. The withdrawal reached the gates of Niflheim, through which the force had marched but a few hours earlier. There, in a guard tower built by and for frost giants, Freya and Hel combined their powers to create a barrier through which the swarm could not pass into neighboring Jotunheim. One of the two, Hel or Freya, must remain there at all times to maintain the enchantment.
That is where Freya is now. I am greatly pleased to learn that she yet lives-though doubtless not so pleased as all of the Aesir who have loved her dearly for so long, or as Gaeira, her fellow Vanir, whose joy finds no outward expression.
The defeated Einherjar and Valkyriar enter Heimdall's hall for a well-earned rest which they cannot enjoy. For us, meanwhile, Gaeira and Baldr and I and our six escorts, it is the time for leaving. We ride on into Jotunheim. Night comes before we reach Neolympus, and so we make camp near the very spot where I first came upon Gaeira battling two hill giants. We eat and drink from what we brought with us, and then we sleep. I want to sleep with Gaeira's warmth at my side, but must settle for lying on the opposite side of the fire from her.
Come dawn, it is my turn to guide us. We descend into the valley and thence to the foot of the mountain on the slopes of which sits Neolympus. We are halfway up the only approach when we spot figures ahead.
"Hold!" One of them shouts. "Identify yourselves!"
I know the voice. It forces a smile my to lips, which have no
t known one since Gaeira's farm.
"It is Thamoth!" I cry back. "I have met the folk of this world and return with their prince as emissary!"
"Thamoth?" Crow's voice comes back, hesitantly. Seconds later, he careens down the path toward us, stopping just short of our position in a clatter of pebbles. Other Atlanteans whose faces I know well come up behind him.
"Thamoth?" There is an odd skepticism in Crow's voice. "Is it truly you?"
I chuckle. "Who else would I be?"
Then I remember the spy sent into their midst, the one whom I am oath-bound not to betray to them.
"I know not," Crow replies, with no trace of humor. "Answer a question to which only the real Thamoth would know the answer."
What causes him to suspect me so? Has Loki's deception been uncovered already?
"Ask," I say. As I stare too hard at Crow's face, into his dark eyes, a strange feeling creeps over me which I do not think bears any relation to the topic at hand. I knew him...
He thinks a moment and asks, "Who gave me my name, where, and why?"
I would smile, but that strange other feeling persists. Distractedly, I answer: "Ayessa, in the cave in Hades, because you wouldn't stop cawing."
"Hmm," Crow comes back, showing that he is yet unconvinced.
"Ask another if you must," I say. "But we haven't all day. The Myriad have come."
"The Myriad?" Crow intones with horror. "No, it cannot be."
"It is, Crow. The natives of this world mass to fight it. They would have Neolympus stand... with..." I trail off because suddenly I know the reason for the strange feeling that seeing Crow has caused in me.
Slowly, I begin to laugh.
"What?" Crow demands, as though his suspicions have been renewed. "What is it?"
"I know who you are," I tell him, and I laugh some more.
"Of course you do."
"No, not that. I mean before. In Atlantis. As sure as I am Thamoth, I know the name of the soul that animates your dead flesh. Do you wish to know it? Or would you keep being just Crow?"