The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3)

by Deborah Davitt

  “. . . more or less.”

  “All right, then. Not actually my business, then. ” Adam shifted the telescope as Nith bumped it out of alignment.

  “If it becomes relevant to you, I promise that I will tell you then.”

  “It's all right.” He glanced up at the enormous dragon. “You weren't permitted to speak by Hel?” He had the sudden sensation that he'd erred; the dragon hissed at the sound of the name.

  Not to anyone but her.

  Adam leaned down, and began searching the heavens again, had found the nebula he'd been hunting for. He exhaled in satisfaction. “So, if you don't mind the question . . . what exactly are you?”

  Other than a dragon?

  “Yes.”

  I am what Stormborn is. Nith shifted, his scales scraping against the stone wall behind him.

  “A god-born, then? But more like Rig. Directly born from an entity.”

  Correct in essentials, if not in specifics.

  “Nith, do you mind if these few know your story?” Sigrun's tone was gentle. She rarely used that voice with anyone but close friends or children.

  If you wish for them to know, I have no objections. It is of no great moment, anymore.

  Adam was aware of Trennus sitting up, in interest. “Nith tells me that he was raised primarily in Hel's domain in the Veil.” Sigrun paused. “And that he remembers running through her hall of decaying bodies on two legs.”

  Adam's head rose from the telescope, and horror flashed through him. “You were human, once?”

  Humans like to believe that they are the pinnacle of creation. No. I was never human. No more than Stormborn is. Nith's voice was calm, but his tail lashed. There is no special virtue in being human, specifically. But I do remember being other than I am now.

  Adam shifted in his chair. The subject of humanity had come up over the years. Sigrun had always insisted that the god-born in her culture were intercessors. They occupied the position between gods and humanity, and were servants to both. And of course, the fenris, the harpies, and the centaurs . . . they were human, too, if not human-shaped. Though they and the jotun seemed to have differing opinions on the word human. Nith's perspective seemed to differ from Sigrun’s.

  I remember, Lassair said, comfortably, that Stormborn once said that white hair was the mark of the Loki-born. Reginleif had it. Your progenitor had it. Fenris has it—Stormborn, has anything been done towards reaching out to Fenris?

  "I am taking Rig and Saraid to him tomorrow," Sigrun said, in a tone of faint surprise. “You did not know?”

  Lassair glanced at Saraid, and said, playfully, You are keeping secrets!

  Saraid looked puzzled. No. Worldwalker and I have already discussed this. I did not think it would interest you.

  Lassair waved her fingers dismissively. Nevermind. I will get the details from you both later. She smiled up at the dragon now, with the same brilliance she gave everyone else. At any rate, Loki chose to manifest his avatar with dark hair, as I recall. And Rig has the same. Do you remember your hair color, Niðhoggr?

  . . . no.

  “That was not a whole truth,” Sigrun said, a little reprovingly.

  It is of no importance. Nith’s tone was dismissive.

  Oh, but it is! It relates to your humanity, and your ability to recover it, through memory. Do try to remember. Lassair clapped her hands together.

  Adam found it interesting that the dragon didn’t respond to Lassair immediately. Instead, Nith’s head swung towards Sigrun, who nodded, after a moment. A ripple passed through the dragon’s frame, and he finally replied, The hall was always dark. I do not know if it is a true memory, but I remember . . . strands . . . falling into my eyes. The hair may have been dark in color. I do not remember white. The dragon paused. She used to seize me by it. I remember that much. I would be dragged to my place in the circle of runes, and then she would begin work on me . . . all over again. There came a point when I simply didn’t leave the circle. Not to eat and not to drink. I had finally come to believe that the energy of the Veil was enough to sustain me. And it kept me alive. But I was still hungry. Still thirsty. I thought I would go mad from it.

  Adam heard Sigrun inhale, sharply. Clearly, the words meant something more to her, though to him, they spoke of horrendous abuse.

  How . . . how long did that go on? Lassair sounded furious. As she would at the mistreatment of any child.

  Decades, I think. There were no changing seasons, no day and night there. And she slowed and sped time as she saw fit. A sense of . . . not indifference, but resignation. I spent most of those years on my . . . hands and knees? I remember seeing hands . . . . A suggestion of puzzlement. I was yoked in place by her power. Being pulled. Distorted. Bones being altered. Organs being shaped, again and again. I remember begging her to stop, and she told me if I ever spoke to her in that mewling fashion again, she would cut out my tongue and make me eat it. I learned willpower, through fear. I cried out, but I never begged again.

  Adam stared up at the beast as Nith once more lowered his head to the telescope. A sense of curious wonder to him.

  “That is worse than what even the fenris and the jotun endured, in their half-year transformation in the mud of the bogs,” Trennus muttered, angrily.

  “Nith, I am so sorry.” Sigrun’s voice shook.

  There is no occasion for your sorrow, Stormborn. You were not there. You were not even yet born. A pause. The tail and neck hurt. I remember my spine elongating being the most painful and longest part of the process. I can only describe it as being akin to being on the rack. Every time she would shape a new vertebra and add it, it was an exquisite relief. And then she’d begin to pull me again.

  Why did it take her so long? Saraid sounded frantic. Vorvena, Maccis, and his siblings experiment, freely, with this shape or that. It doesn’t cause them pain.

  She was . . . trying different things. She was not a natural shape-shifter. And I believe that she didn’t wish for me to be able to change my form, independently of her desires, either. A few times, as she changed chemical balances or the structure of my main heart—I have several, to maintain this form, you understand—I would have died, if it were not for the energies of the Veil sustaining me. And . . . pain was a part of the process, I think. She wanted to . . . distance me from humanity. To make me a creature of pain and rage. And I was.

  “Conditioning,” Sigrun said, in a sick tone. “We have definitely seen that before. Kanmi, for example.”

  “And yet, to this day, you do not value humanity?” Adam raised his eyebrows, the expression doubtless lost to darkness.

  I did not say that I do not value humans. You, and your belief, your love, and your hate are what makes this planet . . . interesting. Spirits could go to your Mars, but it was of little interest save to elementals, until life and sapience came to it, too. The dragon’s sense of careful indifference returned. I value humans. I simply know that I am not one of you. I am other.

  “Could you regain your humanity?” Adam asked. The implications for Sigrun made him key in, rapidly.

  What value would I have, were I human? I could not fly. I could not fight as I do. I could not move freely from the Veil to the stars and back again.

  “But distance from humanity is usually what turns people into monsters,” Trennus said, quietly.

  Monster, you say? Am I such? Nith’s tone was chilly. Are the fenris? The jotun?

  Trennus held up a hand. “Sociopaths. Serial killers. And, dare I say it, gods like . . . Hel. Too distant from humanity to care about the individual anymore.” Tren sounded deeply concerned.

  I would suggest that sometimes, distance is necessary for . . . perspective. Is there not a distance between the commander and the commanded? Detachment is a very necessary thing, for a god-born that intends to survive the centuries. Though I will admit that there is a difference between that distance, and being made into something . . . entirely separate from humanity. A ripple of long muscles in the massive body. The hunge
r was part of it. The thirst. The desire to do anything that would stop the pain. Make her happy with me, just for a moment or two, so that the pain would stop.

  Conditioning, again. Saraid’s voice was soft.

  Yes. And then, when she was satisfied with my body’s shape, if not its growth, she brought the frost-giants to her hall, to train me. It was painful. I lost almost every battle at first. And she also began bringing enemies to her Hall. Ones she had defeated. And bade me learn to kill. I was hungry. I was thirsty. And I would have done anything to make the pain stop. So I hunted them in the Hall. I killed them. Spirits. Monsters. Men. I am not proud of this. But this was what she made of me. Her pet, her sword, her executioner. I was bound. And now, I am not. The words were simple, almost laconic. Adam tried to, and failed, to picture a life that had been comprised of slavery for as long as entire civilizations had existed. A life that had revolved solely around killing the enemies of a cruel and unloving mistress. He was somehow unsurprised as Sig dropped to her knees, and let the beast pillow its head on her lap for a moment or two, and the long tail moved in the grass again, the scrape of the scales a soft susurration. I shall go now. You are well-protected here, Stormborn. There is no need for me to remain.

  “What, you’re her bodyguard now?” Adam asked, trying for levity that sounded hollow to his own ears. “Last I checked, lictors don’t usually rate bodyguards of their own.” Part of him rebelled. It’s my job to protect her. But the truth was, that while he still went to the target range once a week to make sure that his skills remained sharp, and a gun was a great equalizer—none more so than Caliburn!—getting to his weapons was difficult some days. And Sig was quite capable of taking care of herself. Enough so, that she shouldn’t technically need a bodyguard.

  It has been long since any of you held that title. Times change, Steelsoul. But as I said, she is safe here, with you, and in this land. For now.

  “Actually, we should be going,” Trennus interjected, quietly. “I need to go check in on all the children.”

  And it is rare that I have the chance to see my young ones, Saraid said, softly. Good evening, Steelsoul, Stormborn, Malice-Striker.

  Lassair’s cheerful wave capped off the farewells, and Sigrun walked with the trio to the gate in the wall, and Adam, left alone with Nith, looked up at the dragon. “Something’s changed,” Adam said quietly. No reply. “Tell me something, Nith. You feel bound to her, don’t you?”

  She gave me my freedom. She gave me hope. All of you allowed my existence to become what it is now, but none more so than she did. The head lowered. A debt is owed.

  “All I did was shoot Hel. You’re the one who actually killed her.” Adam shook his head.

  Your weapon removed many of her protections. I could not have slain her without your aid. I honor you for that, Steelsoul.

  “You’ve put yourself at Sig’s beck and call for years. I think any debt is fully repaid.”

  I will be the judge of what is owed.

  Adam glanced across the yard. Sig was still speaking, softly but earnestly, with Saraid. “My father died when he was seventy-one. I am now only eight years younger than he was, then.”

  Time is relative, Steelsoul. Eight years can be an eternity.

  “Or the blink of an eye.”

  Silence. Adam swallowed. “I once asked Trennus to make sure she’s . . . all right, when I’m gone. To take care of her, and make sure she doesn’t fall on her spear. I have a feeling you’ll be around long after I’m dead.” Fleeting images of all the godslayers they’d researched over the years assailed him. The one made of stone, that had defeated the pazuzu. The one made of fire, who’d fought beside Prometheus. The Assassin, in his black, hooked armor. Whatever the creature had been, that had lit off the eruption of Santorini. Which monster will I become? Wait. Sophia told me, damn her. “Poor old Akhenaten never had a chance.” No wonder the eyes in the tomb painting follow me around. No wonder Sigrun’s flesh crawls so much, she won’t be in the same room with the damned thing. He shook the realization away. “You’ll do the same thing?”

  If I survive? Yes. It is as likely that I will die, as you, Steelsoul. I do not see the future as clearly as some do. The distant future is closed to me. But in my immediate future . . . there are many battles coming. I smell blood on the wind. It would be an honor to fight with you once more. But I do not think that this will transpire. The moonfire eyes glimmered in the darkness. I have enemies to hunt. Farewell, Steelsoul.

  The dragon turned and leaped into the air, rapidly regaining his normal size, blotting out the stars . . . and then vanished, entirely. “His formative years make mine look fair and happy,” Sigrun muttered as she came back to Adam’s side, and helped him stand up once more. “I find myself wondering if it would be possible to go back in time and kill Hel again.”

  “Kanmi would call that a difficult mathematical problem,” Adam replied, and tried to chuckle.

  Much to his surprise, even after sitting so long in the chilly garden, he was able to get to his feet fairly easily. Minimal pain in the knees and hips, and only a twinge in his lower back. “If this keeps up,” Adam told Sigrun as she walked with him to the stairs inside their house, “I might be able to go for a walk tomorrow.”

  “Don’t overdo it,” she warned him, her face turned away as she looked at one of her framed prints on a wall. “If you overexert, you’ll just hurt all over again. One good evening does not a miracle make.”

  “Oh, I know.” Adam wrapped an arm around her waist. He still loved her. He hoped she still loved him, and that she wasn’t staying with him merely out of . . . duty and obligation. He was doing his best not to be a burden to her. And of late, he was rather glad that she didn’t allow any mirrors in the house. Seeing the wreck of his body beside her, still young, still beautiful . . . would have been entirely too cruel. Without a mirror around, and on nights like these, when he felt almost fifty again, he could pretend. So he tugged gently on her braid to try to make her smile, and was rewarded when she turned back, a faint up-tilt to the corners of her lips. “You going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I would if I could Adam. Truly, I would.”

  “All right then. Are you going to let me chase you around the bedroom?”

  A pause, and her eyes flickered. “Certainly.”

  “All right, that might be something of a low-speed chase these days. Let me put it this way: are you going to sit still on the edge of the bed while I creak my way over to give you a kiss?”

  “That could be arranged.”

  Martius 23, 1992 AC

  Maccis was aware that events were transpiring all around him, and at a rapid pace. It was two months from summer, which meant that this year, he was going to be in the field for three months with the landsknechten. Just patrolling the Wall, which was dangerous in its own right. And his mother and father had gone off for a couple of days, and Aunt Lassair had looked worried the whole time they were gone . . . and Rig had gone with them, after a muttered story about a Carthaginian child who’d been turned into the avatar of a daeva. Apparently, the child was being brought south from Palmyra to Jerusalem, and Solinus and Masako might be adopting him, if Masako agreed. It had been a quick tumble of words, and then Rig had disappeared with everyone else, only to return late yesterday afternoon, looking tired and yet even more on edge. There’d been odd smells clinging to everyone, too; salt and brine, and a suggestion of smoke on Aunt Sigrun, too. Maccis knew better than to ask, however.

  So it came as a surprise, as he was finishing up a school report this morning, that there was a tap on the room he shared with his full brothers, Caranti and Deomiorix. Both of the younger boys were off at a friend’s house, however, as he looked up to see his father there, his face serious. Maccis winced inwardly. He’d gotten a lecture about keeping Zaya out far too late and infringing on the bounds of trust that everyone had placed in them . . . but at the same time, he’d a feeling that his father had understood. If they’d been up in Britannia
, Maccis thought he’d have had far more opportunities to be with Zaya. Seasonal celebrations. The forest all around. And a culture that took a more relaxed view of such things. All in addition to the fact that while he lived in this house still, he was, under Pictish law, and by most Imperial standards, an adult. “Da? Did I forget to do something?” Maccis blinked, and thought rapidly about his list of chores. He was fairly certain he’d taken care of everything last night, to include picking grapes off the vines on the walls, weeding the garden, and making sure that his younger brothers went to bed on time.

  “No, no.” His father came in and sat down on the bed beside him. “Sigrun’s taking Rig to meet someone . . . fairly important today. Your mother and Ima, the co-leader of your landsknechten regiment, are going with her. Your mother thinks that you should go with them.” His father swallowed, and Maccis’ nose twitched. He could smell worry roiling off his father’s skin. “Vorvena doesn’t go wolf-form much. You do. So . . . you’d be very appropriate to go along with them. You’re mostly going to need to keep your mouth shut, watch, and listen. And you don’t have to go. Sari and Ima just . . . think it might be important to you, down the line.”