The Witch's Heart

by Genevieve Gornichec

  Once she’d found her spare linen underdress, she donned it as gingerly as she could, then pulled a woolen dress atop it. The dress she’d been wearing, as well as the linen underdress beneath it, had been cut off by Skadi in an attempt not to jostle her head wound; she ambled back across the floor and picked them up, satisfied that she could repair them on her journey, so long as she remembered to pack a needle and thread.

  It was as Angrboda was piling provisions into her pack basket that Skadi entered the cave carrying two dead rabbits by the legs, and the woman stopped short and stared after she closed the door behind her.

  “What,” said Skadi, “are you doing?”

  “Leaving,” said Angrboda.

  “To go where?”

  Angrboda shook her head, which had a fresh bandage tied around it. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Skadi set the dead rabbits down on the table and folded her arms, drawing herself up to her full height—nearly a head taller than Angrboda, who was not a short woman herself—and effectively blocking the door.

  “Try me,” she said.

  They stood there staring each other down until Angrboda sighed and sat down heavily in her chair. As she considered how to explain, she traced her finger along one of the swirls she’d carved into the arms an age ago and didn’t meet Skadi’s gaze. For her part, the Huntress settled herself down backward on one of the benches at the table, facing her, following the movement of the witch’s finger with her eyes.

  “Does it have something to do with . . . where you were? For those nine days?” Skadi ventured when Angrboda didn’t say anything. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, laced her fingers. “Something to do with seid? You never did explain how you knew this sort of magic, and I didn’t want to press the matter the other times it’s come up.”

  “I don’t know how I know it,” Angrboda said, finally meeting her gaze. “I don’t remember much before I first came here to Ironwood. I remember next to nothing from Asgard save for what they did to me before I fled, and nothing at all before that.”

  Skadi straightened. “You were in Asgard? When?”

  “A very long time ago.” Angrboda shuddered as she thought back to it. “I went there from—somewhere—and passed through Vanaheim on my way. I taught them seid. Freyja was the only one of the Vanir to really catch on, and Odin was the only one of the Aesir. But I suppose that was enough to start a war—”

  “The war?” Skadi stared at her. “You . . . you’re Gullveig? I’ve heard her mentioned before, and it was so long ago that not much is known—most people think she’s Freyja, or was Freyja. Because of the name, you know? A goddess who knows seid and has a thirst for gold fits the description rather well.”

  “Good—let them think it. I want nothing to do with the gods,” Angrboda said firmly. “They stabbed out my heart and tried to kill me thrice more after the fact.”

  “How did you survive, then?”

  Angrboda had always wondered this herself, and now that someone had posed the question to her directly, she was forced to admit that she hadn’t the slightest clue. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

  “And that doesn’t trouble you? The fact that you came back to life not only after they’d stabbed your heart out, but also burned you three times?”

  The witch shifted in her chair. “I—I guess not.”

  Skadi seemed hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “Because I hoped it would never become relevant again,” Angrboda said. “My involvement with Odin and Freyja and my trials as Gullveig are all I remember. Nothing before that, nor why I was even traveling to the realms of the gods in the first place. And then there’s the matter of the prophecy—”

  Skadi scowled. “Which prophecy? The one you made Sigyn see at the riverside, or a different one?”

  Angrboda sagged in her chair. “What I showed Sigyn that night was one piece of a much bigger puzzle. It started one night when I was pregnant with Hel, and she was dying—I called her soul back from beyond, and that’s how he found me. He sensed it.”

  Skadi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but all she said was, “He?”

  “Odin. He started haunting my sleeping hours. I had a dream about how the worlds would end, but I didn’t see it all. Loki just shrugged it off, but—”

  “You should’ve told me,” Skadi said hotly. “I wouldn’t have shrugged it off.”

  “I’m sorry,” Angrboda said, and she meant it. She went on to describe how Odin had pushed her to access that prophecy to end all others. She explained how she resisted at first—how she saw enough to know her sons were somehow involved but did not see how everything would end—until that night when Thor killed her and Odin made her see it. Made her speak it.

  She kept the matter of Loki’s torment to herself, though. He wasn’t important to her anymore, and another mention of him wouldn’t improve her friend’s mood.

  Skadi considered the gravity of her words. “So you know how they’re going to die? Sigyn’s sons, and Fenrir and Jormungand? And—and the gods?”

  Angrboda nodded.

  “What about me?” Skadi asked softly after a long moment. “Did you see how I . . . ?”

  Angrboda opened her mouth to say that even if she had seen it, she’d never tell—but then she realized she hadn’t. She searched her mind for any trace of her friend in her vision and found none.

  “I—I don’t know,” she said at last.

  Skadi clearly didn’t believe her, but tried to be nonchalant about it. “Fine. I didn’t really want to know, anyway.”

  “No, I really don’t,” Angrboda said, sitting up in her chair so quickly that she felt a distinct pang in her head. She sat back and winced, then took a moment to catch her breath. “I didn’t see you die. And if I didn’t see it, it’s not certain it’ll happen, right?”

  “I mean, not necessarily,” Skadi began, “but—”

  “Maybe I didn’t see everything,” Angrboda said. “Maybe the only things I saw were the ones that are set in stone. That’s why Odin wanted to know what he can’t change—so he can figure out what he can. That’s the key to finding a loophole, isn’t it?”

  Skadi opened her mouth. Shut it again. Shrugged.

  “So what I need to focus on is what I don’t know rather than what I do,” Angrboda finished, speaking quickly and thinking even faster. More questions than answers. “I don’t know how you die; I don’t know how Hel—”

  She paused. Hel. I didn’t see her at all. I saw Loki crewing a ship of dead souls, but I didn’t see their new ruler on board. Which means she may not even be at the final battle. Which means . . .

  Which means there is hope for her yet. I can save her . . . somehow.

  “Angrboda?” Skadi prompted, for the witch’s eyes were wide with the realization. “Care to finish your thoughts aloud so I could be party to what in Ymir’s name is going on?”

  Angrboda leaned against the arm of her chair to steady herself as she made to stand. “I need answers. And to find them, I need to be able to perform seid again, to be able to contact Hel—and my sons—and from there, maybe we can figure all this out together.”

  “You can’t do seid anymore?” Skadi asked, frowning.

  “I . . .” Angrboda bit her tongue. “I tried last night, but I couldn’t. Something is stopping me—or maybe I’m stopping myself, subconsciously, out of fear. I don’t know. Seid is part of me, but it makes me feel vulnerable right now. It’s like my mind is trying to block out what happened and in doing so is blocking out my ability to travel out of body.”

  Skadi looked thoughtful. “So where do we start? Reawakening your magic, contacting your sons, saving Hel by subverting this prophecy and whatnot?”

  “We don’t start anywhere,” Angrboda said. She finally hauled herself to her feet but wavered, and when Skadi sprang for
ward and reached out to steady her, the witch held up a hand to stop her. “I must go alone.”

  Skadi dropped her arm. “Why?”

  “This is something I have to do on my own,” Angrboda said. She thought of the voice, the presence that had guided her out of her dark place and back to life: “What did you come back with that you didn’t have before? Me.”

  How did I survive my burnings? And why am I still alive after Thor killed me, too?

  Who am I, really?

  Skadi didn’t say anything, but her face became red with anger and she looked like she wanted to argue but was too furious to even speak.

  Angrboda braced herself. While Skadi may have taken everything in stride so far, something made Angrboda want to hold the presence of the stranger to her chest. This was more intimate than she could possibly explain to another person, and she knew she couldn’t hope to succeed in moving forward if she happened to be held back by feeling that this whole quest was foolish. That she was chasing a ghost—or worse, a hallucination.

  Whoever they are, maybe they know why I can’t die, because they know who I was before I was Gullveig. And maybe that’s the key to figuring out how I can regain my seid, reach out to my sons, and save my daughter.

  “Besides,” Angrboda said, “I’ve not been by myself for a while. And you have Asgard still, and duties as a goddess, don’t you?”

  Skadi’s expression darkened. “The gods were dead to me from the moment I found you tied to that tree.”

  “But they don’t know that, and you’re reckoned among them. Worshipped by those in Midgard, even. I beg you, don’t toss that aside for me.”

  “I shall never again return to Asgard,” Skadi said fiercely, leaning forward and squeezing her shoulders. “The gods could die screaming in the flames of Muspell and I wouldn’t bat an eye, so long as I could remain by your side. I know you won’t forsake this mission of yours—and I won’t ask you to. But you could come to the mountains with me first. You could spend some time healing and planning in my hall. I’ll take care of you, and then we can set off and do whatever it is you mean to do. The worlds won’t come to an end tomorrow, will they?”

  “No—trust me, there will be plenty of signs,” the witch said darkly, thinking back to her vision. I saw Odin’s son Baldur killed by his own brother, saw Loki bound, saw three uninterrupted winters, and then an endless night . . . to start.

  “Then what’s there to lose?” Skadi demanded.

  A moment passed in which Angrboda was uncertain. She saw that future laid out before her: Skadi forsaking her godhood, the two of them living together in the mountains or in her cave, offering each other comfort, keeping each other warm in the cold, dark winters.

  It would not be a bad life. After all, Skadi was truly one of the only people who had ever brought her peace. It seemed a bright future, the two of them together as companions.

  And maybe more, Angrboda thought, swallowing, for the thought sent a jolt of excitement through the pit of her stomach. She was tempted. She was so very tempted. After everything she had been through, did she not deserve the opportunity for such happiness—if only for a short time, before her quest began?

  “I can’t,” Angrboda said softly.

  “I’m sorry.” Skadi took her hands off the witch’s shoulders and stepped back, wounded. She looked down at her boots. “I’ve overstepped.”

  “You haven’t. You misunderstand me,” Angrboda said. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just—I fear if I go with you to your hall, I won’t leave again.”

  And I have so much to do.

  Skadi’s head jerked upward, and she held the witch’s gaze, questioning. Angrboda’s own expression betrayed nothing; she did not know how long she would be gone, after all, and the last thing she wanted was for Skadi to hold out for her the way she herself had always waited for Loki.

  Skadi straightened and looked away. “Then it seems I can’t stop you. When will you depart?”

  “As soon as possible,” Angrboda said, gesturing at her half-packed basket.

  “You intend to travel on foot?”

  The witch nodded.

  “How will you eat?”

  “I’ll forage. Perhaps if I come across a settlement, I’ll barter my services for some food.” She looked toward her worktable—which Skadi had built her so long ago—piled high with clay pots and vials of all sizes, plus baskets and jugs and linen-wrapped items, and then she glanced up at all the dried herbs hanging from the wooden rack on the cave’s ceiling. “I’ll take as much as I can in my basket and forage for the rest, I suppose.”

  “That won’t do.” Skadi shook her head and reached for one of the smaller pots, stopped with a cork. “People will recognize this pottery—we’ve reused it enough times. It’ll lend credibility to your wares.”

  “It’s too heavy for me to carry, though. It’s just as well—”

  “If you won’t let me come along, then at least let me do this one thing for you,” Skadi said hotly. Then she took a breath and added, in a more level tone, “Go back to bed and rest. Don’t leave until tomorrow, and by that time I’ll have figured out a way to make all this easier for you to carry. Please. Do this one thing for me.”

  Angrboda agreed.

  * * *

  • • •

  Angrboda was readjusting her pack basket the next morning when she opened the door and found a freshly built wagon, sized for her to pull comfortably. It had been left next to her winter-bare garden and smelled of the linseed oil that had been used to seal the newly assembled wood.

  “Skadi?” she called into the clearing, but she received no response.

  She carefully lowered the pack to her side and stepped outside to look around. But all she saw were Skadi’s light footprints and the wagon’s wheel tracks.

  There was no other sign of her. Angrboda knew in her heart that her friend was gone, and it made her feel both sad and relieved—she hadn’t been looking forward to that particular goodbye, and part of her knew that the wagon was Skadi’s version of a farewell.

  Angrboda went back inside and packed two boxes, stuffing unspun wool around the ceramics to keep them from breaking on the trip.

  One of the clay pots rattled when she shook it. Inside she found the polished amber beads Loki had given her, and she frowned; she’d never thought to wonder what had happened to them, because he’d gifted them to her on the same night her prophetic dreams started—perhaps he or Hel had hidden them there to surprise her later. The thought of Loki made her want to toss the beads into the fire, but she’d already put it out, and so instead she tied them around her neck and tucked them under her hood. They’d be a valuable item to trade if she needed to.

  When the wagon was packed, Angrboda took a last look inside her cave. It wasn’t as desolate a place as she’d first found it, but it wasn’t home anymore. She wondered how much longer her protection spell would last once she left, wondered how long things here would remain undisturbed, and then realized it didn’t matter. She wasn’t leaving anything of value behind.

  Angrboda took a deep breath and closed the door.

  And then she was off.

  * * *

  • • •

  First she headed in the direction of the stone foundations. It seemed like so long ago that she’d stumbled upon them, but somehow she knew the way back, which made her feel even more certain that this spot held some significance in her previous life.

  But she’d barely left her cave before her head began throbbing and she felt so dizzy that she could hardly walk straight, so she rooted around for a fallen branch to use as a walking stick to keep herself steady as she pulled the wagon behind her.

  Ironwood seemed to grow quieter the closer she got to her destination, just as it had the last time she was there. When she reached the clearing, the air itself had stilled as though trying to preserve t
he site in time.

  Angrboda dropped her wagon’s handle and sagged against the nearest tree. What now? She thought back to when she’d first approached this place. How she’d thought she’d heard voices on the wind, felt a presence following her, heard it come up behind her and whisper the words “Mother Witch.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember, but her memories went only so far back—that was her entire problem. But maybe there was something useful in what she could recall.

  “There was one witch here who bore the wolves that chase the sun and moon and raised many others still,” she’d said to Loki on the day they’d met at the river. How had she known that, when she’d barely remembered anything else?

  “Right,” he’d replied, because he’d heard the stories, too, so she hadn’t thought too much about what she did and did not remember. “The Old One and her wolf-children.”

  And then Skadi’s words came to her, from the day the Huntress had shot her way into Angrboda’s life with one stray arrow: “They say the witch who birthed the race of wolves is still here somewhere. She’s one of the ancient giantesses of the forest—supposedly they all lived here in Ironwood a long, long time ago.”

  Angrboda slumped into a sitting position against the tree and looked down at her hands.

  “Am I one of them?” she wondered aloud. “Or was I . . . their mother?”

  The clearing yielded no response.

  She dropped her hands down into her lap and sighed. She tilted her aching head back against the tree and looked up at the barren, ancient canopy of twisted gray branches above, then closed her eyes. “Oh, what did I expect—that the answer would just fall out of the sky?”

  She opened an eye and peered upward as if expecting just that. Of course she knew better, but she was still disappointed when nothing happened.