Chapter 35
Freyja
“You’ll never get away with this,” Freyja yelled, stuck at the bottom of a dry well. Cinderblock walls held her in tightly. If she stretched out her arms, she’d be able to touch each side of the well that closed in around her. From her position, if she looked above, she could see the ever-changing sky—as night turned into day, and back to night again. A sky filled with dotted lights.
How long had she been down there in that pit? She didn’t know.
She attempted to crawl out, to climb the wall, but the more she attempted to climb, the deeper the well grew.
“You need not worry. I will keep your bed warm, and your husband satisfied. Does it worry you that he can’t tell the difference between my touch and your own?” Verdandi practically cackled.
“Why are you doing this?” Freyja asked.
“This can get boring in the long game of things, but how are you all to learn if nothing ever changes and you’re not forced to pay attention? They could recognize that I wasn’t you; I don’t smell like you, or even walk like you. But we see what we want to see.”
Freyja shook her head. “Do not harm my family.”
“I would never do that. I will remember my time with them fondly. You’ve given me a chance to experience something I’ve never been given the option of. Don’t worry. After this is all over, you will slide back into place like nothing ever changed. You will do what the Norns need you to do, as we determine fates. And this time, this place is what and where we need you to be. To disappear for a bit so that we can make the most of this situation.”
Tears filled Freyja’s eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried. She’d had it all. And now it had been stripped away. Replaced with a bad replica, and they might not even notice.
“Who knew all it took to break the great goddess of war was to trap her?”
Freyja refused to look up at Verdandi’s figure.
This time she’d find a way out. No one would keep her down. Freyja slowly began to laugh. It started out as a snicker, to turn into a rousing snort.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You! This is pathetic. I might be down here right now, and even miserable, but wait until I rise from this place.”
“What? You cannot do anything to me.” Verdandi scoffed.
“Not me, but all of the gods will come for you. You are not outside of the scope of redemption. It just feels right, doesn’t it?” Freyja threw her head back and laughed louder.
But no one could hear her cries for help, as Verdandi had placed a ward on the well allowing no magic to pass through. For all intents and purposes, she was buried down there until someone figured out that she was not the real Freyja walking around Asgard.
Would Odin notice? Only if he was present and not in his trance playing chess with an invisible partner trying to ward off Ragnarok that kept him up at night. And Thor? Her step-son, the one she’d raised like a son, might also be too busy defending Asgard to question why she was so different. She instead leaned back against the wall and slid down until she rested on the cool ground. Maybe the option would be to not send a message to those who Verdandi might be expecting but to the hero who would always help. Taking her finger, she drew the helm of awe in the moist dirt.
She’d somehow entered the game of the gods. She drew the magical sigil and took a seat and concentrated on the one she’d have a connection to: her granddaughter, the dragon, Jaz. Blood was the strongest of magic, the strongest of tools to reveal the truth. Although she was the step-mother of many of Odin’s children, it would take blood to break this magic.
And that meant Baldr’s blood.
She closed her eyes and focused in on her granddaughter’s face and allowed the well to shift away. Grounding away the anger, pushing it down into the ground, she sought to reach through time, place, and space to her only hope. With one last bit of concentration, she turned her palms up and entered the trance. She didn’t need sleep, just to bide her time, for the faithful would hear her, and the dragon would come.
“Shieldmaidens rise, Dreki rise, falcons rise,” she ordered, “hear my cry and come to my aid.”
She felt her essence reaching out through time and space. The faithful would hear the prayers. Like they’d taught in the temples, and how the gods could reach out, there was still the Asatru through the ages who could hear her words; those of the faith who could help to free her from this Norn-made prison.
Her eyes opened, and she saw the image of those gathering at her shrine throughout the realms. “Heil Freyja,” they chanted.
The more they prayed, the stronger she would become until even the Norn’s magic would not be able to hold her.
Yes, there was going to be hell to pay.
* * *
The End
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TINA GLASNECK, a USA Today bestselling author, enjoys creating stories that combine history, mythology and Norse Gods. Someday she might just fancy a trip to Asgard too, and find out what all the fuss is about! Read More from Tina Glasneck at: www.TinaGlasneck.com
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Hellbound Page 14