Loki took a sip and said, “This is a lot better than usual. Did you make this batch differently?”
Angrboda reddened a bit as she grabbed her basket. She didn’t need to be told that Skadi was a better brewer than she was, so much so that the witch had stopped making her own ale in favor of her friend’s. “No. I’ve been trading for it. Drink as much as you want.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Loki called after her as she left and closed the door behind her.
The rain had ceased sometime in the night. She took a huge breath of the crisp autumn air and immediately felt better.
Since she had first come to Ironwood after her burning, the woods had grown greener and greener each spring, and she could not help but notice that the green seemed to be spreading from the area in which she had made her home. Perhaps Ironwood was showing its gratitude at having just one inhabitant again.
As she got farther from her cave, the thickets of trees became denser, the forest darker. There was nothing in Jotunheim east of Angrboda’s cave, for it bordered the mountains at the very edge of that world. But Skadi came from the north, and Angrboda was now heading south along the mountains’ edge, trying to find plants whose berries she or the animals hadn’t yet touched. Soon enough she passed into unfamiliar territory; even Skadi couldn’t find traces of animal activity in this area, so it was pointless to set snares here. But as the rest of her usual haunts had been picked clean, she figured she’d at least have a look around.
The trees seemed to close in on her. Several times she thought she heard footsteps over her shoulder—but when she turned around, no one was there.
She kept walking but couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed. She almost thought she heard someone whispering behind her, repeating something she couldn’t make out—and then a cacophony of voices laughing and singing, carried on the wind—
Mother Witch.
Startled, Angrboda stumbled on a rock and lurched sideways, and her basket went flying. When she had picked the dead leaves and sticks out of her loose hair, she fumbled for her basket, and that’s when she noticed she had fallen into a clearing. Looking down to see what had caused her to trip, she saw a small rock and then noticed there was more than one, forming a circle with a small gap, all half-buried in the underbrush.
A foundation, Angrboda thought. As if for a home.
Looking past this, she saw that a circle of foundations lay around the outside of the clearing, more visible than the one over which she’d tripped. In the very center was another ring of rocks not so closely packed together, which Angrboda assumed had once enclosed a fire.
The wind picked up and she thought she heard voices again—women whispering, children laughing, the howl of a wolf. They were as distant as a faded memory, but she could have sworn—
“I thought you went to get berries,” said Loki from behind her, and Angrboda jumped and put a hand to her chest in surprise. He gave her a crooked smile when he noticed how startled she was. “Am I interrupting something?”
I was just imagining it. Angrboda willed her heartbeat to get back under control. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see what was taking you so long.”
“Ah.” She had not even heard him following her. She went down on her haunches and looked out over the foundations again, frowning.
Loki crouched beside her and looked in the direction she was looking. He stuck out his upper lip and said, “I mean, I supposed that all you did all day was stare at rocks, but—”
“Someone used to live here,” she said quietly.
Confused, Loki stood and then crouched again. “Oh. I see. Maybe your witchy magic scared them away. Or maybe it was your face, Angrboda Troll-woman.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, and he made a show of flopping over and clutching at his chest.
“What if these were troll-women as well?” she asked mildly, gesturing to the clearing.
Loki arched his eyebrows and sat up. “The Jarnvidjur?”
For some reason, the word sent a chill through her. “Those are . . . the women who lived here with the wolves? From the stories?”
“Well, yes.”
Angrboda stood, casting a last glance at the clearing before turning around and walking off. She heard Loki get up and follow her, oblivious to her uneasiness at the discovery of these ruins as he complained all the way back to the cave.
“But what about breakfast?”
* * *
• • •
He was gone for a time after that, leaving her to dwell on her thoughts.
She didn’t go back to the clearing. She was afraid that if she did, she would just sit there, listening to those whispered voices on the wind, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the memories to awaken within her and explain why she felt such an attachment to that ancient place.
But still she stayed away. Without Loki there to startle her from her reverie again, she feared that she would turn to stone in that clearing, staring at rocks just as he’d said, until she became one of them herself.
One night sometime later, Loki came in and sat down beside her, looking troubled. She took part of the woolen blanket off her shoulders and draped it over his. His closeness made her heart skip a beat, and she cursed it. There it was, that dizzying, claustrophobic feeling—but this time, she couldn’t flee.
Loki didn’t notice. His gaze was fixed on the fire, but hers was on his mouth. His wounds had healed fully by now, but as she’d predicted, the scarring was worse on one side than on the other.
“Doesn’t it scare you?” he asked.
“What?”
“The fire. Aren’t you frightened? After what happened?”
Angrboda shook her head. “No.”
“Didn’t it hurt?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Depends. Do I have to promise to keep it?”
Angrboda leaned in, ignoring the tightening sensation in her chest as she moved closer to him, and lowered her voice. “The healing was worse than the burning. Because when I was burning, I could leave my body. I didn’t feel a thing. That’s how I put my heart back, too.”
“Really? I’d heard that was part of the nature of seid. But haven’t you sworn off such things, after what happened to you as Gullveig?”
Angrboda shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, but I didn’t go far.” If I did, I’d risk alerting Odin of my whereabouts. That was one of many reasons she’d vowed to avoid using seid. If she went too far, she’d risk brushing up against Yggdrasil: the tree connecting the Nine Worlds, the axis of the universe. It was now Odin’s own means of transport, and she dared not go anywhere near it.
When Loki didn’t say anything, Angrboda turned to him and changed the subject. “So, what’s going on? You only come here when you’re bored or troubled, and you seem more of the latter today.”
“That’s not true.” Loki pressed his lips together as if trying to keep himself from speaking, but the words started tumbling out anyway. “But, well . . . recently, there was this builder who came to Asgard with his horse. Offered to build a wall, in exchange for Freyja—and the sun and moon, too, but we all know Freyja is the real prize.”
“Indeed,” Angrboda murmured. “Surely the Aesir didn’t agree to this.”
“Mmm, yes, except they did,” said Loki, shifting uncomfortably. “With some slight alterations. Courtesy of yours truly.”
“And what were these alterations?”
“Well, it was suggested that the builder do the work in less time, and he agreed, so long as he could use his horse to help him. The Aesir considered this and asked me for my opinion. I told them to go for it—what do I care? We needed a wall, and this stranger was willing to build it. I didn’t see the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is that the builde
r’s stallion is supernaturally strong, and the wall is nearly finished. The Aesir are about to lose what they’d wagered, and they say it’s my fault and now I have to fix it. Or at least that’s what Odin told me, when he had his foot on my throat and was threatening my head. So now I have to do something, and I know what. It’s just . . . not going to end well. I have a feeling. But it’s better than getting killed.”
“Perhaps the only solution is to keep your mouth shut next time, before someone shuts it for you,” Angrboda said lightly. “Again.”
Loki grinned at her, the light from the fire dancing in his eyes. “I would very much like to see them try.”
* * *
• • •
A short time after he left, while she was out collecting firewood, a horse came up beside her and nudged her arm. She was so startled at the touch that it nearly caused her to drop the kindling she was cradling like an infant.
“Oh, hello,” she said absently. Then it occurred to her to wonder what a horse was doing wandering around in her woods and how it had approached her without a sound, so she paused and stared at it.
It stared back at her with abject misery.
“Huh,” said Angrboda. “What brings you here in such a form, Loki?”
I’m in trouble, said the mare in her head.
“What sort of trouble?”
You’ll see in a few months.
Angrboda considered this.
“Loki,” she said, “please don’t tell me you shape-shifted into a mare and lured the builder’s supernatural stallion away so he couldn’t finish Asgard’s wall in time to win his prizes.”
A beat of silence passed.
The mare flicked its tail, irritated. And here I thought you didn’t do your prophecy magic anymore.
“I didn’t need magic to put two and two together. Come along, then,” she replied, patting its muzzle in what she hoped was a comforting manner before leading it back to her home.
Angrboda did not end up spending that winter alone. Instead, she had Skadi barter for hay above anything else, and she cared for the horse.
Now that it was snowing outside, Skadi was faster than ever in her trips from Ironwood to Jotunheim proper. The woman was in her glory on a pair of skis—even with her reindeer and a sledge in tow.
One time, when Angrboda invited her inside for dinner before she took off to the mountains again, Skadi was surprised at the pregnant mare hunkered down in the corner, wretchedly munching on hay as if it were the last thing it wanted to be doing.
“So that’s why you’ve needed so much hay lately,” said Skadi. “Where did you get a horse?”
Angrboda shrugged and stroked the mare’s mane. “This one wandered up to me in the woods one day and needed help. Who was I to refuse?”
“So you’re going to be curled up here with a horse all winter, feeding and cleaning up after it?”
The mare whinnied, and it almost sounded like an extremely Loki-like snicker.
“That’s the idea,” said Angrboda, unfazed.
Skadi sighed. “You are an odd woman, Angrboda, even for a witch. Do you have those potions for me?”
Angrboda handed her a large box of clay pots, their woolen padding packed securely around their neat little rows. “There you are.”
“Once the passes fill with snow, I won’t be able to see you,” Skadi said. She eyed the mare and then looked back to Angrboda. “Are you sure you have enough provisions to last the winter?”
“Indeed. You’ve outdone yourself, Skadi, I assure you. We’ll be fine.”
Skadi embraced her suddenly, then pulled away and put her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” Angrboda replied, then shut and secured the door behind her.
So that’s Skadi, said Loki.
“That’s Skadi.” Angrboda stroked his forehead. “So . . . you, me, and the goats.” The goats had their own shelter outside—which Skadi had constructed along with the latrine, some ways away—but Angrboda figured she’d have to bring them into the cave when it got too cold. “It’s going to be a long winter.”
I’m stuck like this for longer than that, Loki said sullenly. Can’t you just . . . whip up a potion and a chant to get me out of this faster?
Angrboda smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
• • •
And so Loki and Angrboda passed the winter in the cave, and Angrboda’s potions once again worked their magic: Instead of taking nearly a year, the mare gave birth in the spring to a gray colt. Skadi came as soon as the mountain passes cleared, with new furs and big game and early springtime plants for Angrboda to use in her concoctions so that they might start up their trading arrangement again.
Skadi wondered at the colt, for it had eight legs and she’d never seen anything like it before. Loki and Angrboda were amused at her amazement; they were used to the colt by now.
Angrboda was surprised to see that more of the gray trees in Ironwood now had leaves in the spring and that there was grass in the clearing outside the entrance to her cave—enough for a mare to munch on while the colt galloped playfully about. Angrboda often ground her plants and mixed her potions outside to watch them.
It was early autumn when Loki told her he was taking the colt he’d borne back to Asgard as a gift to Odin. Its name was Sleipnir, and it would come to be known as the best horse among gods and men.
Angrboda argued. She wanted to keep the colt; she found she had a certain fondness for Sleipnir despite his peculiarity. But Loki refused. He would not tell her why, besides citing the fact that Odin was the All-father and deserved a horse such as this, and she could do little to change his mind.
On the morning he decided to leave, Angrboda was sewing in her chair when a sudden whoosh made her look up to see air swirling around the mare like a tornado. When it dissipated, Loki was standing there, hunched and haggard and very much naked.
“A little warning would have been nice,” Angrboda said, pointedly looking the other way.
“Yes, I suppose it would have been.” His voice was hoarse from disuse, but he sounded more than a little relieved. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare clothes, would you?”
Later on, as they stood in the clearing at midday, Angrboda once again tried to change his mind about parting with Sleipnir.
“You never go anywhere anyway. What would you do with a horse?” he said, now fully clothed. Angrboda had hastily shortened one of her dresses into a tunic and happened to have on hand a pair of pants she’d been mending for him. He’d have to go barefoot for now.
“I’m not saying I would keep him,” she said. “I’m saying we would. He’s charming.”
As if on cue, Sleipnir trotted up to Angrboda and nuzzled her hand, and she smiled and stroked his mane.
Loki just looked at her, then shook his head and led the colt away, chin held high. Angrboda watched him go until he disappeared. The hole in her heart seemed to always be present now—after months of Loki’s company and then the addition of a baby animal, her cave seemed colder and darker in their absence.
* * *
• • •
But Loki had apparently decided not to linger long in Asgard; to her surprise, he returned before nightfall.
Angrboda was cleaning up from supper when he entered. Newly man-shaped, he looked tired and drawn from the months and months he’d spent as a horse, more so than he had when he’d left that morning. When he’d been trying to put on a show.
For his sake, she hoped it had lasted all the way to Asgard.
“Did Odin like his gift?” she asked, turning to him.
“Yes,” he replied. He’d swapped the clothes he’d departed in for his usual Asgardian garb; she tried not to be offended by that.
She sat down on her bed pallet and regarded him. He leaned agai
nst the table, arms folded, seeming determined not to look at her. In the firelight, the bags under his eyes were even more prominent.
“Come here,” she said, holding up the corner of the large woolen blanket she’d draped across her shoulders and beckoning for him to sit beside her on the bed. He approached her reluctantly and sat down. She put the blanket over his shoulders so it covered them both, and he shivered and pulled it closer around him, staring at the fire.
The silence between them could have lasted a thousand years.
“They think I don’t know what they’re saying about me,” Loki said at last. “I bring them a great gift and I’m rewarded with . . .” He waved his hand and gave up trying to describe it.
“And you care what they say?” Angrboda asked. “Why?”
Loki shook his head. “You live in a cave. You don’t know what it’s like to live with a bunch of—”
“Aye, I know what it’s like.” She reached out and placed her hand on his. “To be an outsider.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Loki said bitterly, and pulled his hand away. “Oh, that’s right. You were stabbed and lit on fire, multiple times. And now you’re hiding out here on the edge of the world all by yourself. I would rather be considered disgusting and shameful among the rest than be alone like you.”
“Is that what they called you? Disgusting and shameful?” Angrboda asked, ignoring his jab at her. Although her memories as Gullveig were vague enough, she recalled feeling like she didn’t belong—and the moment they’d turned on her, burned her, she’d felt a lot of things. But the emotion she could recall most distinctly was not fear or anger, but the feeling of being used.
She imagined Loki must be feeling the same thing. And she did not wish that on her worst enemy—let alone the man before her, who made her thrice-burned heart flutter so annoyingly. The thought of him in such pain made her chest burn with fury.
“More or less,” said Loki, and he shrugged. “But I just decided that I don’t care.”
The Witch's Heart Page 4