That would be a good question for yourself, the she-wolf said dryly, looking up at her, eyes huge and pale in the firelight. Perhaps your next step is to figure out how to get your seid, and you can go from there.
“You’re not wrong, my friend,” Angrboda said. She was feeling very tired all of a sudden from all the talking and thinking she’d done today, but her mind was abuzz with the possibilities before her. “It seems to me that going back to my cave will do me no good in that regard, and something is telling me to keep on this path.”
That’s your instinct again, Mother Witch. Trust it.
Angrboda nodded. “Maybe it means there’s someone out there who can help me reawaken my abilities—I just have to find them.” She paused. “Will you come with me?”
I suppose it’s better than dying, the she-wolf said wearily, closing her eyes, although not by much.
* * *
• • •
Angrboda’s journey continued, but after she met the she-wolf, the presence of Mother Witch was no longer in the forefront of her mind; perhaps it sensed that its purpose had been served in its leading her to her old friend—who, despite not having the answers Angrboda sought, had at least pointed her in the right direction. Or maybe, she thought more than once, I can’t feel her anymore because I am her, and now I’m fully me again. But if that were true, wouldn’t she have all her memories back? She had to wonder.
So she and the wolf traveled on through the worlds, continuing as she had before, but now with a better sense of what she was looking for—even without the presence to guide her.
That was all well and good with her. If she truly was Mother Witch, then it was as the she-wolf had said: She needed only her instinct as her guide. And besides, the she-wolf was a far more substantial traveling companion than the nebulous ghost of her own past life.
So on they went. Whenever she passed by populated areas, the she-wolf would linger far enough away not to upset the inhabitants, and Angrboda would now ask questions in addition to bartering her potions. She asked if anyone else had passed through recently, anyone who said they could perform magic or who displayed any unusual skills. Most just shook their heads and said that she herself was the only one they were aware of—aside from the occasional fraud who said they knew charms or could use runes to cure sickness but usually ended up making things worse. Angrboda needed more than one hand to count the times she’d reached beneath a sick person’s pillow and pulled out an antler carved with the wrong runes, making them sicker.
Sometimes Angrboda would cast a charm to disguise herself as an old woman in areas where she didn’t feel particularly safe, in which case she’d also magic the she-wolf’s form into that of an elkhound so the creature could stay at her side. The more harmless they looked, the less likely people were to feel threatened by them. But those times when she herself felt threatened were few and far between. Angrboda now moved through the worlds with purpose.
And she found that if she acted like nothing could touch her, it seemed nothing would.
It’s good to see that you’re still making your concoctions, the she-wolf observed one day as they walked. Mother Witch was a healer first. It pleases me to see that you remember how to work this magic.
“That and seid were the only things I could never forget,” Angrboda admitted. “Both seemed to be a part of the very fabric of my soul—until now, that is.”
Don’t lose heart. There must be others in the Nine Worlds who can help you.
Angrboda stopped for a moment and clutched the side of her head, wincing. These days the headaches would come on with no warning, and she’d be unable to move for hours, dizzy and nauseated. She had yet to devise a potion that would take the pain away.
You could always ride on my back, the she-wolf suggested. And I could pull that dratted cart of yours.
“It’s a wagon,” Angrboda muttered. “And it’s fine. I’m fine.”
You used to ride me, you know. In the old days.
“I did?”
Put your walking stick in my mouth.
Her head hurt too much to question this, so she obliged her companion and the she-wolf clamped her teeth down on the stick. Angrboda had expected it to snap in the creature’s mighty jaws, but the witch gasped with surprise when it instead transformed into a pair of thick reins stemming from either side of the wolf’s mouth.
Reins patterned to look like snakes: green and yellow scales, and amber eyes.
Angrboda’s eyes bulged. “What—?”
The she-wolf’s black lips parted so that Angrboda could see it: a tiny symbol carved into one of her canine teeth. It’s an old spell between us. You weren’t the only one among the Jarnvidjur with some magic in them, after all. You wove these reins yourself. Do you remember?
Despite the pain in her head, a smile tugged at the corners of Angrboda’s mouth.
“It seems that wolves and snakes appear wherever I go,” she mused.
So would you like a ride?
“I think I’ll be all right. I just need to rest.” Angrboda reached out to take the reins from the she-wolf’s mouth, and they turned back into a walking stick as soon as the wolf opened her jaws.
By the time night fell, her headache had subsided. Angrboda made camp and sat by the fireside in a contemplative silence. The she-wolf was asleep at her back.
“Perhaps I did protect myself with a spell,” Angrboda whispered. If this was the case, it had been instinctual—unavoidable, even. And she’d hardly escaped the flames unscathed in the end.
A shield, perhaps. With a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut. She forced down her fear of that ancient pyre upon which the gods had burned her and focused every ounce of her energy into a barrier around her hand.
Then, slowly, eyes still closed, she extended her hand into the fire.
For one joyous moment, her spell held up. She felt the heat, but it was distant; the flames licked her hand but didn’t burn. Her eyes snapped open and—for the first time in possibly her entire existence—she grinned with triumph.
“And to think,” came Loki’s words suddenly to her mind, “you were once a powerful witch who did interesting things.”
The thought of him broke her concentration, and Angrboda yelped with pain and immediately pulled her hand out of the fire, clutching it to her chest. When she finally drew it away to examine the damage, a low hiss escaped her clenched teeth as she scowled at her blistered fingertips.
That’s a good start, said the she-wolf, who was staring at the witch’s hand.
Angrboda started at her companion’s voice. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
Do you have a healing salve for that?
“Of course.”
Good, the she-wolf said with satisfaction. Then you can try again.
* * *
• • •
Night after night, Angrboda practiced her spell. And the more she practiced, the more it became clear to her that she’d need more power than she currently possessed to be able to protect herself—let alone someone else—for any extended period of time.
It was now more important than ever that she find a way to perform seid, to reach that well of power, to reach her daughter. But was it a matter of getting past her own subconscious fear, or something more? Was there something else holding her back?
Angrboda had reason to think so. Soon they passed through a seaside market town in Midgard, where they came across a crowd assembled on the shore, greeting a crew of returning raiders, and she saw the opportunity to barter some of her wares; Viking men rarely arrived home without a scrape. But then she spotted a flash of copper hair making its way to the front of the crowd of townsfolk and felt a stab of recognition. Don’t I know her?
The copper-haired woman threw her arms around one of the burliest sailors, and when he picked her up and spun her around, Angrboda could see her face, an
d her stomach sank in disappointment. For a moment, she thought she’d seen one of the Jarnvidjur: a grown-up version of the little girl’s ghost she’d spoken to in Ironwood. But that was nonsense—that had been just her imagination.
What’s wrong? asked the she-wolf at the look on her face.
“Nothing,” Angrboda said, but now she took in the entire crowd, the townsfolk and their returning raiders—talking, laughing, shouting, crying, hugging, clapping one another on the back—and for a moment she felt horribly, starkly alone. “I just—I thought I saw someone I knew, that’s all.”
They do look alike, said the she-wolf, eyeing the copper-haired woman. Her, and one of our Jarnvidjur. A descendant, perhaps. Who knows where they all ended up after Ironwood?
Angrboda took a shaking breath, voicing aloud that feeling she’d had since the she-wolf’s revelation about the Jarnvidjur on the night they met, that feeling she’d since put a name to: shame. “I failed them. I failed you all. It’s my own fault I had no one to come home to. It’s my fault I forgot them. My fault I left . . .”
If I’d stayed, maybe I’d belong somewhere.
The she-wolf studied her with viciously intelligent eyes. Guilt is a heavy thing, Mother Witch, she said. It’s best left behind if you want to move forward.
“But if I’d stayed . . .”
It would’ve made little difference in the end. The she-wolf butted her shaggy head against Angrboda’s shoulder. So the Jarnvidjur fell apart without you—that’s the way of things. Even if it happened a hundred years ago or a thousand, it would have happened sometime. They left home, found new friends, founded new families. And so have you.
“I did. And now that’s lost, too,” Angrboda said bitterly.
Lost, but not gone, the she-wolf reminded her. Just because that time is over with doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. Your time with the Jarnvidjur, with Loki and your children, with Skadi . . .
“And now with you,” Angrboda said, stroking the she-wolf’s muzzle. Her eyes strayed to the copper-haired woman once more, and something bittersweet blossomed in her chest as she thought of the Jarnvidjur, all over the worlds, all with their own lives—and she, still an old witch with her wolf, the same as she’d been back then, but so much more yet.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “That does make me feel better.”
The she-wolf pulled away and said gruffly, Good, because that’s all the validation you’re going to get out of me today. Now, come. Let’s move on.
“Yes,” Angrboda whispered, with one last look at the people assembled on the beach, and she felt lighter somehow. “Let’s.”
* * *
• • •
She and the she-wolf were passing through the craggy wastes of northern Jotunheim when they passed a settlement and decided to stop. Angrboda had not visited this hall before, so to be safe, she magicked herself into the form of an old woman and glamoured the she-wolf into a hound, and they approached with the wagon.
Angrboda went first to the kitchen area at the back of the massive longhouse, for she always had more luck speaking with the women than going through the front door and announcing herself to the men, as was proper. The owner of the hall was named Hymir, and he happened to be hosting a feast that day. Angrboda could hear the raucous laughter coming through the walls.
Hymir’s wife, Hrod, was organizing the servants, who were coming in and out of the hall to refill their serving plates and pitchers of ale. They all seemed rather haggard, and Hrod answered the witch’s questions curtly, for she was very busy, so after Angrboda confirmed with her that there were no sick or injured in the settlement who might require her aid, she decided not to ask if anyone had come through lately who knew magic.
“But we may need a healer before the night is over, considering how much these men are drinking,” Hrod added tiredly. “So if you wish to stay and help me serve, I’d be happy to provide you with supper and a roof over your head tonight.”
Angrboda agreed. “I may look old and withered, but I can certainly pour ale without spilling it.”
“Excellent,” said Hrod. “What do they call you?”
“Heid” was becoming too noticeable a name. For a split second Angrboda floundered, then decided to make something up. “Hyndla.”
“Well, Hyndla, your help is greatly appreciated,” said Hrod, handing her a clay pitcher and sending her on her way.
The feast hall was even more raucous on the inside and was full of a larger variety of giants than Angrboda had seen for quite some time: hill trolls, dark elves, frost giants, rock giants, and the odd dwarf or two, along with a few other giants who were roughly the same size and shape as she was, indistinguishable from a human or god. Their host, Hymir—an enormous man—sat in the high seat and was recounting in a booming voice how he and Thor had gone fishing for the Midgard Serpent.
Jormungand. She barely kept her face straight as she milled about the hall, filling cups as she went, and listened to the tale. Thor had arrived under a false name and was offered hospitality but had quickly taken advantage by eating two whole oxen, so Hymir suggested they go fishing for their next meal. Thor then killed another of Hymir’s oxen and used its head to draw the Midgard Serpent from the sea, and then had broken Hymir’s boat as he struggled to keep the Serpent on his line. Hymir had ended up cutting the line, but that hadn’t stopped Thor from getting a blow in to the Serpent’s skull with his hammer, at which point Hymir realized just whom he’d gone fishing with.
Angrboda was livid.
To add insult to injury, Thor had then stolen Hymir’s mile-wide cauldron to brew enough ale for the gods. By the end of the story, the entire hall was as furious as Angrboda.
“The Aesir are thieves and deceivers all,” an ogre bellowed, and the rest of the hall shouted in agreement.
“Something should be done about them,” screeched a vicious-looking giantess in the corner, a woman twice Angrboda’s height and covered in boils.
And then, near the front of the hall, a very familiar voice called out: “I’ve a tale to tell, if you need more proof of the gods’ treachery.”
Angrboda’s heart skipped a beat as she turned to see Skadi stand up on a bench to address the congregation. The woman’s face was ruddy with drink, and she brandished her large cup of ale like a weapon.
Stay calm, Angrboda told herself, though her heart was positively palpitating now. It’s just a coincidence that she’s here. Don’t make yourself known.
“Sit down, Skadi Thjazadottir,” Hymir said dismissively. “We all know the story of how they killed your father.” He leaned forward in his chair and leered at her. “And yet you’re still one of them. Why is that?”
When the crowd started to shout, “Boo!” Skadi waved them off and said, “Pfft. I was going to tell the one about the binding of the Great Wolf. It’s a tale near and dear to me, though I only heard it told from another.”
“We know that one, too. It happened quite some time ago,” grunted a hill troll. A couple of others in the hall voiced their agreement, but there were others still who urged Skadi to continue.
“They stole him and his brother and Hel away from their mother, you know,” Skadi went on, raising her voice so it would reach everyone in the hall, although her words were rather slurred. “Tied her up and stole them in the night. But the joke was on them, for Fenrir grew so big that they knew they couldn’t keep him in Asgard for long. The only way they could restrain him was trickery. Fenrir allowed the gods to try binding him because he knew he could easily break any fetter they had. So they went to the dwarfs to craft a special one, made from the beard of a woman and the footfall of a cat and other such magical nonsense. The trick was that it didn’t look strong, so they thought they could fool him into putting it on, saying there was no harm in it because he’d broken bonds that were made of iron.
“But Fenrir was smarter than all that. Before he
agreed to put on the fetter, he said, ‘If it’s truly so easy to break, then let someone put their hand in my mouth as a token of good faith that you’re not deceiving me.’ And that’s how Tyr lost his hand, and how the Great Wolf became trapped.” Skadi raised her cup. “My point is, friends and kinsmen, that we giants have outsmarted the Aesir before. We can surely do it again.”
The assembled giants broke out into more cheering and jeering, but Angrboda stood rooted to the spot. She had not heard the tale of Fenrir’s binding before. So, that’s how he came to be bound—in those same fetters he broke free from in my vision.
She watched Skadi step down from the table and sit back down on the bench, watched a servingwoman refill her friend’s cup. Angrboda could barely breathe as she processed what she’d just heard.
Truly, her sons were exactly where they needed to be for her prophecy to come true.
“Bold of you to tell a tale of how my son Tyr was maimed, in my very own hall,” said Hymir once the assembly had quieted. “But the truth of it is that he’s as bad as the rest of the Aesir and helped Thor steal my cauldron to boot.”
Hymir is Tyr’s father? Angrboda had heard conflicting stories of Tyr’s parentage in the past, but to hear him confirmed as a giant angered her. Our bloodlines are truly not so divided, and yet the Aesir think they’re so much better than us.
Skadi became drunker as the night wore on, but as Angrboda was still in the guise of an old woman, Skadi barely even acknowledged her. Soon enough the longhouse began to quiet, and the various giants moved their benches to line the perimeter of the hall to sleep upon. Skadi passed out face-first on the table, and so her bench remained in place.
So that’s your Skadi, the woman you told me of. It seems she’s masking her pain with drink, the she-wolf-as-elkhound observed as she followed at Angrboda’s heels. Does that trouble you?
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