by Matt Larkin
Tyr jerked his head toward the main door. Loki had gone outside? Into the mists? That was … unfortunate. Sigyn nodded at the warrior, rose, then approached the door herself. Damned thing would creak on its hinges for certain. With luck, though, all these men were twice over too drunk to wake from the sound. She should be safe enough, here within the town walls. As long as she had fire, she need not worry overmuch about mist-madness.
She edged it open, then slipped through the crack. Outside, the bitter night air stung her cheeks. She pulled her cloak tighter, but it wouldn’t be enough. She needed a warm bed and a few hours’ rest. Maybe Tyr had been right. Maybe this should have waited for morning. And yet she found herself continuing on.
A breeze blew through town, stirring a drift of snow. Sigyn grunted against the cold and took a few steps outward before she spotted the man sitting in front of a small fire, staring at it. The flame was between the two of them, but he seemed to be looking at her, or at least in her direction.
Was that enough of an invitation?
It would have to be. She trudged over, then sunk by the fire, across from Loki. Not even the flames granted enough warmth out here.
“Why did you leave the hall?” she asked.
“That’s not what you came here to ask me.”
No. Again, he was a bit too perceptive. “And yet, it remains a valid question.”
“So it does.”
How very illuminating. If he wasn’t going to cooperate, this was pointless. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“No,” he said, as though shocked at the question.
He didn’t want to be alone, and yet he’d slunk away from his fellows to sit out in the cold. The man himself was starting to seem as mysterious as the horse. And Sigyn treasured a good mystery.
“Your jarl, he knows Frigg is a vӧlva.”
The man simply smiled at her from across the fire—the merest hint of a smile, really—but she found herself returning it. He waited for her to ask an actual question. How clever. Fine then.
“Why does he want to marry Frigg?”
“Is a political alliance not reason enough?”
“You’ve implied an answer without actually giving one. Does that work out for you?”
“Most of the time, yes,” Loki said, his smile growing.
“And if I request you give me straight answers?”
He sat with hands resting on his knees, legs crossed. The position looked uncomfortable, but he seemed at peace. “I suppose you won’t know until you try.”
If he wanted to play, she’d indulge him. She liked a puzzle. “Please answer my questions directly.”
He didn’t respond to her imperative, just stared at her with those deep blue eyes.
So she hadn’t actually asked aught. “Will you please give me direct answers to my questions?”
Oddly, he blinked, then stared up at the stars for a time. He seemed so entranced with them she feared to interrupt, as though he communed with the gods themselves. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said at last, finally returning to stare into her eyes. “I will answer a question directly, if you will do the same.”
“Deal,” she blurted, then realized her mistake. She’d agreed to a single question only—which meant she’d have to choose very wisely. Something that would answer all Frigg’s concerns at once … or at least allow Sigyn to deduce the answers to the remaining questions.
Sigyn folded her hands in her lap, smiling while she turned possible questions over in her mind. What is the real reason for the marriage? Does Odin truly care for Frigg? What was Loki’s secret? Her smile grew. What she wouldn’t give to know that. The man undoubtedly had many, but she couldn’t afford to waste her one question on them. Not after she’d promised Frigg. Still, she hated to leave a mystery unsolved … No! What could she ask? Is Odin trustworthy? Why did Frigg dream of spring at Odin’s side? No—he could well answer some nonsense about a vӧlva’s visions being metaphors. But then, that would tell her something, as well. If the vision was a metaphor, and Odin would not become a literal king, that might well sway Frigg’s choices.
“Once again your silence speaks well of you, Sigyn Haddingsdotter.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I—”
“No!” She raised a hand and almost leapt to her feet. “That is not my question.” Damn. He could have easily asked after her with any local. Maybe Olrun had told him after their tafl match.
Loki smiled and nodded. She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t quite hide her own smile.
She had to ask something about spring. If Odin’s future was somehow tied to that, then the fate of all Midgard rested on him. But the question had to be about Odin. Any question she asked specifically regarding Frigg’s vision could be vague or unhelpful, even in a direct answer.
“I have my question,” she said at last. “What is so special about Odin that he might shape the fate of Midgard?”
Loki’s mouth opened as if he hadn’t quite expected that, but his eyes still seemed warm. Almost proud. “What a well-thought question. One, I suspect, that has more depth than even you realize. Since you have requested a direct answer, I’ll try to give one that will make the most sense, rather than be the most complete. Odin was chosen by one of the Vanir, Idunn, to receive the apples of Yggdrasil, making him immortal—a gift he can share with a few select others. This gift, and the power and responsibility it entails, would naturally allow—in fact, all but force—him to challenge the current state of the world.”
Sigyn’s mouth hung open a crack. Of all the things she’d expected he might say, that was not one of them. Her first reaction was to dismiss the implausible claim. The idea of a goddess traveling to a small Ás tribe and offering the gift of immortality was absurd. But then, so was a man riding an eight-legged horse or slaying a jotunn. If the gods had truly chosen Odin, then the man was destined for a life of greatness, be it great glory or great tragedy. Sadly, the two so often went hand in hand.
She tried to speak, but only a pathetic gasp of breath escaped.
Loki raised a hand as if to forestall any further questions. “I believe I have upheld my part of our bargain. Now I have a question for you.”
Sigyn blew out another breath. “A deal is a deal.”
“So it is,” Loki said, his eyes locked on hers. “Consider this. Odin now faces the question of eternity. Ask yourself whether the life you live is one you would be content with for the rest of time, or if, in his place, you would find your existence wanting. Tell me, Sigyn, have you not felt aught missing from your life, as though some part of your soul sought for something you could not quite name?”
“I …” She swallowed. What did that mean? That she was lonely? Without doubt she was. How could she not be when most people, even her own father, had never understood her? At best she was tolerated, at worst feared and mocked for the very talents the gods had blessed her with.
Loki rose, still smiling. “Thank you for the direct answer, Sigyn. We should probably return to the warmth of the hall.”
But for a while she sat there, shivering, unable to stop running his words through her mind.
31
The pounding inside Odin’s head was even louder than the pounding on the door. For a moment he pulled the furs over his face, as if that could cut out the banging. Too much mead last night. Or perhaps not enough—a few more pints and maybe he’d have slept through this interruption. Instead, he stumbled over to the door and flung it open.
“What in the name of Hel’s frigid crotch is going on?” he demanded.
The servant, a chambermaid, reeled back, her mouth agape. Poor girl was probably no more than fourteen. Gods, Loki had been right. Odin was a vulgar man. It appeared that was something he’d have to work on.
“Uh, apologies, my lady. You woke me from a pleasant dream.”
The girl stared at her feet. “Jarl Hadding summons … er … requests your presence.”
What now?
&n
bsp; “Fine. Run along and tell them I’ll be there shortly.”
Odin rubbed his palms against his eyes then stumbled over to a wash basin and dunked his head in the chilled water. Gods! That’d wake him well enough. He shook his head, flinging droplets of water around the room before donning his tunic.
Finally he strode out to the great hall, where Frigg and Sigyn stood by Hadding’s side. The jarl shifted in his throne with poorly disguised pain. The old man squinted at Odin before speaking. “Jarl Odin, let us not mince words. You have been holding out on your prospective allies. It has come to my attention you hold a great gift, the greatest gift a man could hope for.”
This was not mincing words? Odin folded his arms. If the jarl wasn’t going to be direct, neither would he. “Indeed. My sexual prowess is legendary, so I shouldn’t be surprised word has reached this far. Your daughter shall not be disappointed.”
Frigg pressed her lips together, barely hiding her displeasure. Sigyn blushed and stared at her feet.
Hadding glowered and rose from the throne, his knees popping as he did so. “I know you have apples that grant eternal youth! Don’t you think your allies deserve such—” A cough wracked the man’s chest, then he rubbed it before continuing, “such considerations?”
How in the burning flames of Muspelheim did he know about the apples? It was too much to hope Odin had kept the secret from his own people, but who would have told the Hasdingi? Of course, every one of them had been drunk last night. For all Odin knew, he himself might have let that slip in his boasting. Dammit, this was not what he wanted to face. Even if the apple would cure Hadding of his ailments—and Odin didn’t know if they worked that way—the man wasn’t just old, he was a coward and a weakling. Hardly someone Odin wanted to spend eternity with. Besides which, he had only one apple left, and that was meant for Frigg. He needed his queen by his side.
Odin clenched his fists at his side for a moment before answering. “Rest assured, Jarl, I will treat my allies right. Those who earn my friendship will get what they deserve.”
Hadding nodded, apparently satisfied with Odin’s words, though Sigyn frowned. Odin tried not to look at her. The girl had recognized his words actually promised naught. She was a clever one, one worth watching. And if she told Hadding, would he listen?
Hadding coughed again. “Well, then”
“Once the marriage is concluded, our alliance becomes formal. Why stand on tradition? We could well hold the ceremony tomorrow.”
When Odin turned from Hadding he caught Frigg smiling at him. It was well she was pleased with the union. Eternity was a long time to spend with an unhappy wife. Odin returned her nod. She whispered something in her father’s ear, and he grumbled about it.
“I’m afraid we need at least one more day to arrange the feast.”
Odin tried not to let the irritation mar his face. Every moment he wasted with this frivolity was a moment Ve slipped farther from him. If the only way to save his brother was to bed Frigg, that was hardly an onerous task. But they needed to get on with it. Still, arguing over it would only lead to suspicions and quarrels. Odin waved his hand in acquiescence. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He then strode off to find Tyr. The warrior was outside, despite the early morning hour, shirtless and working through forms with his sword, a daily regimen Odin wished he still had time and discipline for himself. Once, growing up, he’d trained like that with Tyr every morning.
“Come to join me?” Tyr asked without looking his way or even pausing in his strokes.
How the fuck did he do that?
“The jarl has set the wedding for the day after tomorrow.”
“Good.” Tyr continued swinging his sword, not even looking at Odin. A master of the blade, for certain.
“I’m going to ask for a house here, for my brothers. Watch over them.”
Now Tyr paused mid-stroke, and turned to face him, sweat streaming down his face. “They are men grown.”
Odin stepped close to the thegn. He had to trust someone with this. And he had named Tyr his champion. How far did the man’s loyalty stretch? “After the wedding, I will have to leave, to find these Niflungar. Hadding has learned of the apples and thinks I’ll give him one. I have none to offer him, nor would I if I did.”
“Not a strong man. Not anymore.”
Odin grunted. “I see you understand me. The jarl will not be well pleased. He might even encourage the Wodanar to leave Halfhaugr.”
“We need it.”
They did. Odin had sworn on Gungnir and his father’s name to make himself king. And that meant holding a fortress like Halfhaugr.
“Most of our warriors, half the tribe, they dwell inside the town walls for the wedding. If Hadding pushes too far while I am away, do what you must, but do not lose this place.”
Tyr’s grumble sounded almost like a growl, but he nodded.
32
Sigyn pulled the golden headband from Frigg’s brow, staring at it a moment. Unmarried noble girls wore these as a symbol of purity. And now she would be wed in mere hours. Traditionally, this ceremony should have taken place the day before the wedding, but both Hadding and Odin seemed all too eager to speed things along.
Their father because he was too blinded by greed for the apples to think of aught else. Odin because … well, Sigyn had to assume Odin had reasons beyond simple lust for Frigg. The man sought power. And while he had promised naught definitive in his clever wordplay, he would be locked into alliance if he married Frigg. Nor could she imagine he’d want an enemy of the Hasding tribe, not after going to such lengths to gain them as allies. And if Sigyn aired her fears to Frigg, it would only further agitate her already apprehensive sister.
“Why are we rushing all this?” Frigg asked again, while the maids pulled away her dress.
Sigyn wrapped the circlet with care. If Frigg had a daughter, she’d present this to her one day. “Father is just overwhelmed. You know he’s not well.”
“And you really think those apples might save Father?” Frigg suddenly seemed aware of the other women around.
“I don’t know,” was the only answer Sigyn could offer. She had no reason to doubt Loki’s statement, but it all seemed too fantastical. She’d found Loki a few more times over the past day, and though every conversation had been fascinating, none had truly revealed much. “Come.”
Sigyn took Frigg’s hand and led her to the bath the others had drawn. Rocks heated in a brazier decorated the room. Sigyn dipped her hand in the water. It was almost too hot to bathe in, but it would cleanse Frigg of her old life in a ceremony every girl dreamed of, and one Sigyn would never be like to know herself. She flicked drops of water from her fingers on the heated stones, starting a curtain of steam throughout the room. The other five girls did the same while Frigg eased into the bath. Before long, Sigyn was tempted to remove her own clothes as well. The room had filled with so much steam a sheen of sweat built on her forehead and damped her blouse. It wouldn’t take much of this for her to miss the damned snow.
If she was honest with herself, Sigyn envied Frigg for all of it. The rituals, the ceremony, the honor, having a man between her legs … Frigg, vӧlva that she was, was getting it all. And Sigyn should be happy for her sister. She was happy for her. But being part of all this forced her to confront her own distance from everyone else. Now she’d lose one of the only people in the whole tribe who understood her. Sigyn knew part of Frigg had feared her, feared she would replace her as Father’s heir. Sigyn could only hope this marriage alliance would ease that fear, because Frigg was also one of the few people she truly cared for.
At last they led Frigg to another bath, this one unheated. The icy water would wash away the sweat and warmth and the old life Frigg had known. Sigyn did not envy her that ritual. Her sister shivered as she sunk into this tub. She dunked herself underwater briefly, then rose. One maid handed her a towel, while Sigyn watched the other maids gathering Frigg’s dress, its deep green fabric embroidered with red knotwork.
Frigg’s mother should have been here to do all these things. Though Frigg was two years older, it had been Sigyn to comfort Frigg when her mother died. Agilaz and Olrun had been the only parents Sigyn had ever known.
After Frigg had donned her new gown, Sigyn placed the bridal crown on her head. It was real gold, taken in a raid centuries back, before the Hasdingi had settled at Halfhaugr. Vӧlvur spoke of those days, living in Bjarmaland, raiding villages for plunder. Odin’s people still lived that way. Sigyn liked to think abandoning the savagery represented progress. Would Odin take them back to such days? Unless, of course, she were to truly believe Frigg’s vision of spring, mist-madness though it sounded. But Loki had said the Vanr goddess had chosen Odin. And much as she wanted to dismiss it as superstition, the foreign tracker had a way about him, one that bespoke wisdom and truth.
Frigg straightened the crown on her head and examined herself in the reflection of a washbasin. She blew out a slow breath, then stared at herself in silence for a long moment—a silence Sigyn dared not break. What tensions and joys did her sister feel this day?
“I am ready,” Frigg said at long last, eyes still locked on her reflection.
Sigyn took her by the hand and led her out through the great hall.
“Jarl Odin has already given the bride price and brought a sword,” a servant told her.
This was it, then. She led Frigg out into the yard. By now, the sun had risen. Most of the townsfolk had gotten little sleep through the night, but the excitement filtering through town was intoxicating.
Odin’s people stood in front of a table laden with gold and silver ornaments. There were necklaces wrought like winding serpents, arm rings of twisted gold, a headband depicting Yggdrasil. Hadding would probably have accepted an offer of half as much. For the apples, he’d have probably taken a tenth of it.
For a dowry, he presented two goats, two horses, and two cows. If Odin took offense at the offer, he gave no sign, nor had he during negotiations. He was so eager for Frigg, Sigyn almost had to wonder if he truly had feelings for her sister. A marriage for love was uncommon at best, despite the tales skalds told of such things. No, impossible. Odin would have come himself if he had … And Tyr had acted without his jarl’s knowledge.