* * *
• • •
After yet more long days and short nights with her, Loki left again. Angrboda was more than used to this; after all, he’d been visiting sporadically for years and years. But part of her had hoped it would be different now, although that part soon resigned itself to the fact that Loki was Loki and did what he wanted, and she stopped focusing so much energy on waiting for him, instead channeling it into organizing her stocks for the winter.
There was also a certain thing that she had to tell him, which served only to make the wait that much harder.
Angrboda had grown restless during the autumn while he was away. Winter was close at hand in Ironwood by the time Skadi dropped by for one last visit before the mountain passes snowed her in.
“So, you’ll be spending the winter by yourself?” she asked as she plopped a great bag of dried meat down near the table.
I hope not, Angrboda thought, handing her a cup of ale. “It seems that way. Me and the goats.”
“And the baby, too,” said Skadi. “Or am I wrong?”
Angrboda instinctively put a hand to her stomach, which was barely bulging. “How did you know?”
Skadi took a swig from her cup. “I’m observant. Though I’ve never observed any men around here—who is the baby’s father?” She smiled, but only barely. “Not a wolf, I hope.”
Not in a manner of speaking. “No. It’s my husband.”
Skadi gave her a long unfathomable look. “You have a husband?”
“Yes.”
“And where is he?”
“Away.”
“I see,” said Skadi doubtfully. She seemed a little offended. “Will he be back before winter?”
Angrboda shrugged.
Skadi sighed. “You can’t stay here.”
“I’ll be fine; I assure you. Besides, I have enough food here for myself.”
“Indeed?” said Skadi, eyeing her belly again. “But enough for two, if your husband returns?”
Angrboda had nothing to say to that, for she’d been fearing the same thing. Her appetite had increased somewhat, but should Loki come back and spend the winter with her, there was a chance her stores wouldn’t be enough to feed them both.
Skadi looked satisfied. “That settles it—you’re coming to the mountains with me. My father will welcome you. He has a particular interest in magic. You’ll just have to ignore his occasional foolishness—he sort of grows on you after a while, I promise. Lately he’s taken to going on fool’s errands, so you may not even have to meet him right away.”
Angrboda regarded her friend calmly, suppressing her growing alarm. What if she wasn’t here when Loki deigned to make an appearance? Would she not see him until the passes thawed in the spring?
“How will we get there?” she asked. “I’ve no skis or snowshoes, and I’ll be slow.”
“You can ride on my sledge.”
“There’ll be no room for me on the sledge if we take all the supplies back up the mountain.”
“We’ll take as much as we can fit on the sledge with you. This cave of yours is cold and dry enough that the food will keep until you return.”
“What about the goats?”
“They’ll be fine until spring. They’re animals. Think about this,” said Skadi. “Is waiting here all winter really what you want to do, at the risk of your baby’s health?”
Angrboda sat down heavily on the bench. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I was being foolish. I’m just not . . .” She drummed her fingers on her thighs, then motioned to her abdomen. “I’m not used to this quite yet. I wish I had someone to share it with.”
“Isn’t that the point of being married?” Skadi scoffed. “Some husband you have.”
Angrboda shifted and looked down at her hands, because she couldn’t deny she was thinking the same thing.
“Well, you have me,” Skadi said.
“It’s not the same. You’re not my husband.”
Skadi gave her a scathing glare. “Of course. I’m only your friend. What do I matter?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Of course.” Skadi’s eye twitched. “Wait. He doesn’t know, does he?”
Angrboda shook her head. “I’ve not yet seen him.”
Skadi slammed her cup down on the table and stood. “Pray I never meet him, or he’ll come out the worse for it. Come, grab as much as you can carry and let’s get moving.” She paused. “But don’t grab too much. You’re with child. Pick light things. Here, I’ll get the sack I just brought in and take it back to the sledge—that’s the heaviest.”
“Soon I’ll have you securing my boots for me as well,” Angrboda mused.
“Just you wait, my friend,” said Skadi. “Before long, someone will have to.”
Angrboda stowed her heaviest woolen dresses in her traveling basket and donned her cloak and hood, then followed Skadi outside and closed the door to her cave, and stacked rocks and twigs and dead grass in front of it so it would be hidden when the snow fell.
As Angrboda was finishing up, a falcon perched itself on a tree branch near her head and peered at her. She looked at Skadi—who was busy rearranging the supplies on the sledge and muttering to herself—and then back at the bird and whispered, “It’s about time.”
Sor-ry, said Loki. There was this business with a giant and some golden apples. Business in which I may or may not have been involved . . .
“I’m leaving for the winter,” Angrboda said. She was not in the mood for his stories of mischief-making, although she knew he was itching to tell the tale. If he’d have shown up but half an hour ago, she would be spending all winter curled up in his arms. Now it was too late, and if he revealed himself, Skadi would probably spear him with one of her skis.
Loki seemed to sense the brooding air emanating from the Huntress, for he retained his falcon form. I can see that. Where are you going, anyway?
“The mountains.”
Ugh. Why would you want to go there?
“I was invited. And Skadi has sworn violence on my absent husband for leaving me to winter alone. I’d stay a bird if I were you.”
I’m sorry, he said, fluttering down to perch on her shoulder. I’ll come visit you, then.
Angrboda shook her head. “The weather will be too bad. Do yourself a favor and stay in Asgard this winter.” Her news of the baby was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back; this wasn’t how she’d pictured telling him. He might be quite expressive while in animal form, but something in her wanted to see his face when he heard, so she could gauge more accurately how he felt about the whole thing.
Because after her conversation with Skadi, part of her was desperate to know whether she’d made a mistake in agreeing to be his wife. His reaction to her pregnancy would be very telling.
“I’ll be back here as soon as the passes clear,” she added.
The falcon bobbed its head, then gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek before flying away. By this time, Skadi was ready to go; she gestured for Angrboda to come sit on the sledge and made sure she was bundled up in furs.
The trip would take two days, and each mile took her farther from her home. And Angrboda realized then that the last winter with Loki—even as a mare—had been too short, and the ones before them barely memorable. This was going to be the longest winter of her very long life.
* * *
• • •
They stayed the night in the giant Gymir’s abundant hall, and Angrboda once again had the pleasure of finding herself in the company of Gerd, who was the daughter of Gymir and his wife, Aurboda; although Skadi had referred to Gerd as her cousin, their fathers were distant kin.
Gerd didn’t seem to notice Angrboda’s pregnancy and Skadi didn’t mention it, and they were off again the next morning after they had exchanged some of their supplie
s for the hospitality. At least now their sledge would be lighter.
The next day, they found Skadi’s father Thjazi’s hall, Thrymheim, empty—save for a few reindeer grazing near the storehouses, tame enough to roam freely. Unlike in Gerd’s parents’ hall, there were no servants, not even guard dogs barking at the gate.
“We don’t need much, my father and I,” Skadi said when Angrboda observed this. “Those who live close enough to disturb us—well, they know better.”
Skadi did not seem particularly surprised that her father was absent. As she unloaded the contents of the sledge into one of his storehouses, she muttered darkly to herself about wild-goose chases and golden apples and quests for immortality.
Angrboda caught the bit about the golden apples but decided to keep what Loki had told her to herself.
She did not have long to wait, though, to find out what such apples had to do with Skadi’s father—for within a fortnight of Angrboda’s arrival, Gerd was at their door, freezing and irritated. Once they had invited her inside and poured her a cup of ale to warm her, she told them what she’d heard from her parents, who had heard it from others: that Skadi’s father, Thjazi, had been killed by the Aesir after abducting the goddess Idun and her golden apples of eternal youth.
“What happened?” Angrboda asked, for Skadi was too stunned to speak.
“Thjazi captured a man called Loki first and threatened him until he agreed to find a way to get him Idun, and he did,” Gerd began.
Angrboda was almost glad that her husband had hinted at his involvement in this matter; otherwise she might’ve visibly started and given herself away at the mention of his name.
“And then to get her back,” Gerd went on, “Loki flew into this very room and turned Idun into a nut, they say, and flew back to Asgard.”
I wasn’t aware he could project his shape-shifting powers onto others, she thought, wondering if this part of the tale was true.
“But Thjazi followed in eagle form, and the Aesir lit him on fire when he arrived, and killed him.” Gerd stared down into her cup. “I’m sorry, cousin.”
Skadi did not shed a tear. She just balled her fists in her lap and stared down at them. Angrboda put a hand on her shoulder, and no one spoke for a while.
“Who is this Loki person?” Skadi said quietly.
“Odin’s blood brother, who’s reckoned among the Aesir,” said Gerd. “He’s a giant as we three are, and they say he gets the gods into trouble constantly and then gets them out again, as he did this time.”
“Which makes him a traitor,” Skadi spat. “The gods hate us. They look down on us. Why would anyone do such a thing as join them?”
“The benefits, I suspect,” said Gerd. “There must be something to marrying one of them or otherwise becoming their kin, as he did.”
“This Loki is going on my list of men whose throats I’ll slit if I ever come across them,” said Skadi. She turned to Angrboda and added, “Along with your useless husband.”
Angrboda resolved not to mention they were one and the same.
“Oh, you’re married now, then?” Gerd said to Angrboda. “Why don’t you cover your hair, as married women do?”
“It’s a recent development,” Angrboda admitted, although the truth was she’d forgotten about this custom. “I’ve not had a chance to make myself a head covering.”
Gerd seemed offended by this. “My mother has plenty of spares. I’ll have one for you when next we meet.”
It was nearly nightfall and at this point Skadi had invited Gerd to stay the night and she’d accepted. Soon after, Gerd fell asleep on a pile of furs in the corner, and Angrboda and Skadi were left to talk by the fire in the middle of the hall.
“Are you all right?” Angrboda asked her after a time.
Skadi shook her head.
Angrboda moved over and sat next to her on the bench, took her hand. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss, my friend.” And I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry for the hand my husband had in your father’s death as well.
“I will avenge him,” Skadi said, shaking. Tears were coming to her eyes now, to Angrboda’s immense relief—she’d been more worried at the fact that Skadi was not weeping. “When the passes thaw, I will go to Asgard with sword and shield and all the armor I have, and I will avenge him.”
“Perhaps they will compensate you instead.”
“And perhaps I will spear them all through before they can so much as speak a word.” The tears now dripped down Skadi’s face, and she turned to Angrboda and said, “Where did you get that scar? That was them, wasn’t it? They did that to you?”
“Yes,” Angrboda said quietly. “But that was in another time. Another life.”
“There’s no such thing. And time doesn’t matter unless you’re keeping track of it.” Skadi sighed. “I will go alone, after I take you back to Ironwood. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. This is something I must do.”
“I understand,” Angrboda said, but it was only a half-truth: She understood that the loss of Skadi’s father did merit some sort of compensation, which Angrboda was sure the gods would provide. But the concept of vengeance was something she could not quite grasp.
Not fully, anyway.
Not yet.
* * *
• • •
So she spent the winter curled up with Skadi near the fire and listened to the other woman’s stories, for she herself had few to tell. Skadi had traveled much on her skis and knew almost everyone who lived within a week’s journey of Thrymheim, and she knew mostly everything about them, too. Yet in her sleep Angrboda would hear her mutter or cry about her father. And if there was anything to do during the winter, it was sleep, so she heard more emotion from Skadi during those times than when her friend was awake.
To her surprise and relief, the matter of the scar on Angrboda’s chest did not come up again, so occupied was Skadi with her mourning. It would have caused her more grief to see her friend in such pain had Angrboda not been so consumed with excitement about the child growing inside her—an excitement that Skadi would occasionally share, but more often not.
When spring arrived and the passes cleared, Skadi did as she had promised and took Angrboda back to Ironwood. Once they dug up the entrance to her cave and checked that the food supplies had kept, Skadi unloaded the sledge.
Angrboda was more than happy to be home. It felt as though she had been away a long, long time. She put a hand on her stomach and felt her baby kick, and smiled a rare smile.
“How can I repay you for this?” she asked Skadi. It had been a harsh season, and Angrboda truly did doubt that she would have come through it as healthily as she had if she’d stayed in Ironwood.
But for all its severity, the winter had been blessedly short. She was only six months along in her pregnancy when she arrived back at her cave, and not showing very much at all. A late autumn, a short winter, an early spring. The best any of us could hope for.
Skadi just shook her head in response to the offer. “It was enough that you were there for me. I would have lost my mind and let grief consume me had you not been at my side. Consider us even.”
Angrboda shifted. “So you still intend to avenge your father, then?”
Skadi’s gaze hardened. “I do.”
“Then, good luck. And if you need to be healed, you know where to find me.”
Skadi nodded and left, and Angrboda wondered if this was the last time she would ever see her friend.
* * *
• • •
It was not long at all before Loki was at her door, but by then she was already preoccupied with cleaning and gave him only a peck on the lips when he entered the cave instead of the passionate, lingering embrace she’d been envisioning all winter. He looked surprised, like he was expecting a warmer welcome than that, and blinked at her from his place in the doorway.
“You’ve gotten fat,” he commented as he watched her bustle about.
She whirled on him, lip curling.
“Not that I mind,” he added hastily, palms up in surrender. “It’s a good look for you.”
“Well, thank heavens for that,” Angrboda snapped. “And for your information, I have not gotten fat.”
“Well, from what I can see—”
“Think about it, Loki. Think very, very hard.”
After a few moments, Loki’s mouth formed an O shape. Angrboda folded her arms.
“So . . . who’s the father?” he asked, half-jokingly, but she could see a bead of sweat on his brow.
Angrboda gave him a deadpan look. “Oh, I don’t know . . . my husband?”
“Then I suppose this is a bad time to mention that the Aesir made me take a wife among them.” His gaze was fixed on her belly. “When did this happen?”
“I suspect the night you got back from delivering your eight-legged horse-child to the All-father,” Angrboda said. Then her brain took a few steps backward and she bristled. “A wife?”
Loki walked up to her and put his hands on her hips, staring down at the bulge. “Shouldn’t you be bigger by now?”
“Why did they make you take a wife?” Angrboda felt like she needed to sit down, for her heart was pounding so angrily that she feared her head would explode.
“Sigyn is much bigger than this and she got pregnant at least an entire moon after. Maybe more.” Then he caught the way she was staring at him and said, “Sorry, what was the question?”
“The matter of your wife in Asgard,” Angrboda said through gritted teeth as she sat down heavily on the bench.
“Oh,” said Loki. He plopped down next to her and leaned backward against the edge of the table, his thigh and shoulder pressed against hers, crossing his legs at the ankles. He addressed his next words to the cave wall. “Right. They made me marry her—I suppose they’re trying to keep me in line. I told them I already had a wife in Jotunheim, but they disregarded it. And as such, they don’t recognize you as my wife, and made me take another.”
The Witch's Heart Page 6