“It’s no trick,” the All-father said. “Merely a means to an end. As is everything I’ve done in my long life. Perhaps you know the feeling.”
Angrboda opened her mouth to argue, but then she heard a yelp and whirled to see that every head had turned to where the berserkers were trying to restrain the she-wolf, who yelped again as two of them knocked her down and kept their spears at her throat. The wolf bared her teeth but did not move.
Hurry, the she-wolf said.
Angrboda turned back to Odin, who was giving her an unfathomable look.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you really summon me here?”
“Because you wouldn’t come otherwise, and I wished for you to see. It’s all coming to pass, just as you said it would. We stand here as equals: me the father of the gods, and you the mother of the giants. Are you prepared for what comes next?”
“Yes,” Angrboda lied, lifting her chin. She discreetly took out her antler-handled knife and scratched off the runes on the prow, movements hidden from Odin by her cloak. “Are you?”
He was silent, but his one eye followed her as she gave the ship a gentle push and it slid off its rollers and into the sea. Behind them, she heard Thor cry out in rage and disbelief.
Iron-witch and All-father waded into the shallows after the boat. Angrboda said, “I suppose you’ve done nothing but prepare.”
“I only did what I had to do. I wanted you to know that,” he replied, looking down into the boat at his dead son. “Plants die; animals die. Men die and their kinsmen die. And so, too, must gods meet their demise, for not even we can prevent it.”
“But you didn’t even try,” said Angrboda. She didn’t ask him why; she already knew.
Odin did not respond to that. As Angrboda turned and walked back up onto the beach, he placed his famous gold arm ring inside the boat and leaned over to whisper something in Baldur’s ear.
“We should kill her,” Thor said loudly as Angrboda passed. She paid him no mind, but that old healed wound on her head began to throb painfully.
“She’s done us a favor,” said Frey, who stood leaning on his golden boar, Gullinbursti, as Baldur’s pyre was lit and pushed farther out to sea by Odin’s einherjar. The god himself watched, still knee-deep in the water, silent.
Angrboda’s heart skipped a beat when another voice joined the fray.
“Leave her be,” said Skadi, standing beside an older-looking man who Angrboda assumed was Njord.
After the briefest of pauses, Angrboda resumed walking, turning just enough to meet the woman’s gaze as she passed.
Skadi’s eyes widened.
The witch inclined her head just slightly, as if to say, Now. Now I’m done.
But before she could determine whether she’d been understood, Angrboda turned away quickly, hoping the Huntress had gotten the message. For next to her were two women whom Angrboda could not trust: first was Gerd, looking miserable, and next to her was Sigyn, whose expression was a mix of anguish and trepidation. As if she feared that the gods would turn on her for what her husband had done.
She’s right to be afraid, Angrboda thought, noting that Sigyn’s sons were nowhere to be seen.
Angrboda kept her head down and continued walking. When she reached the she-wolf, the berserkers lifted their spears and parted, allowing both woman and wolf to pass.
After that, Baldur’s wife, Nanna, died of heartbreak and was placed upon the boat to burn with him, along with his horse, and Thor angrily kicked a passing dwarf onto the pyre. But by that point Angrboda had mounted the she-wolf and disappeared back into the woods.
The she-wolf found her way back to the wagon easily enough. Angrboda slid off her back and took her walking stick. “You’ve been through enough today, my friend. I’ll pull the wagon.”
Where are we going?
“Home,” said Angrboda. She’d been thinking about it for the past few days, ever since her encounter with Freyja. There was no need for her to travel any farther—she’d found out all she’d needed to know. It would do her some good, she thought, to continue practicing her spell in the safety and comfort of her cave.
Part of her wanted to wait to see if Skadi would follow immediately, but another part wanted to get as far away from Asgard as possible. Besides, Skadi could be delayed by business with the Aesir—Loki was still on the loose, after all, and Angrboda did not doubt that Skadi would want to have a hand in capturing him.
And Angrboda suddenly understood that whether or not he was guilty, she knew he was going to suffer—she’d seen it herself—and now she knew why.
It made her stomach churn—the thought itself, along with the fear that she knew the first place he would hide: the only place he’d ever felt safe, in that cave on the edge of the worlds.
But that wouldn’t scare her away from her own home. And if he’d indeed had the nerve to seek refuge there, then he had some explaining to do.
* * *
• • •
Finally they crossed the river into Ironwood, and Angrboda and the she-wolf both visibly relaxed as they were swallowed up by the dense trees. The woods—her woods—were no longer green as they had been during the years she dwelled there in her cave, raising her children, but the place still felt familiar, felt like home.
Looks the same as I left it, the she-wolf said. Gray and dead. She stopped and sniffed the air, then veered to the right. Angrboda frowned and followed her before she realized they were heading south toward the stone foundations. The she-wolf loped ahead of her through the thickets until she came to the clearing, where she sat down heavily and bowed her large, shaggy head, almost as if in reverence.
Angrboda came up behind the wolf and pulled off her hood. She stood beside her friend and leaned heavily on her walking stick.
“This is where they lived,” she said quietly. “All that time ago.”
It was, said the she-wolf, tilting her head to look Angrboda in the eye. Do you remember?
“More than before, but I wish I could remember it all.” The witch squeezed her eyes shut. She had moved beyond guilt over the Jarnvidjur, but that didn’t mean she’d let go of all her regrets. Now that she was standing here, taking in the ruins and knowing in her heart whom they’d come from and who she’d been before, she couldn’t help but think again of how different it could’ve been if she’d never left, or if the Jarnvidjur had still been there when she’d returned . . .
“I wonder what it feels like,” she whispered, “to have someone to come home to.”
You still do, the she-wolf reminded her.
“You mean Loki?” Angrboda spat, whirling. “My home is no longer his. If he’s there when we return—”
Calm yourself. I’m not talking about him, the she-wolf said, rolling her eyes. I’m talking about your Huntress. Don’t act like you have no one to come home to, when it’s just as likely she heeded your call and forsook the gods the moment Baldur’s funeral ended to make her way back here. And if Loki did in fact seek refuge in your cave and happened to cross paths with her, she could be bashing his face into the side of a mountain at this very moment. Isn’t that a lovely thought?
Angrboda felt the heat rise to her face and was about to reply, but then she felt a rush of air from behind her. They both turned to see a person shifting from the form of a falcon as they pulled off a feathered cloak.
Her first thought was that it was Freyja, and she opened her mouth to tell her to go away, but when the person’s form solidified, it was Frigg.
Frigg, in her fine clothes with her dark hair styled intricately, a golden band around her head. Her face was lined and beautiful, and she was shorter and slighter than Angrboda. But there was something severe about her—though perhaps it was merely the look of a woman who had just lost her son.
Angrboda knew the feeling well.
I suppose my protection spell has run its cours
e, if she could find us here.
“Your daughter, Hel, has decreed that if everything in all the worlds will weep for Baldur, he can return from her realms,” said Frigg to Angrboda, her stern face set in determination. “We gods and goddesses have dispatched ourselves throughout the Nine Worlds to see that this would be so. Will you shed a tear for him, so that my son can return to me?”
Angrboda and the she-wolf were both silent.
“There was a hag in a cave who would not weep,” Frigg went on, her red-rimmed gray eyes narrowed to slits as she took a few steps closer to them. “She said, ‘Let Hel hold what she has.’ Freyja suspected it was you, Angrboda Iron-witch, so I came to speak with you myself. Mother to mother.”
“It was not I,” said Angrboda, “but I have cried enough over the loss of my own children. I have no tears left for yours. So now you have two who will not weep for Baldur.”
Three, said the she-wolf, though Frigg couldn’t hear her.
Frigg closed her eyes as if she’d suffered a blow, then opened them again. “Would you not wish someone to do the same, if it were your children?”
“If enough tears could have saved my children from their fates, I would have made all the worlds weep,” said Angrboda after a moment. One tear dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it hastily away; the she-wolf imitated her. “There. It is done. But that was not just for Baldur.”
“It will suffice,” said Frigg. “Thank you.” Her gaze lingered on the witch and her companion for a moment before she donned the falcon cloak again and flew away.
Loki stands by his deed, it seems, the she-wolf pointed out, if he’s so committed to Baldur staying dead.
“Let Hel hold what she has,” Angrboda murmured, and suddenly the thought of Loki getting his face bashed into the side of a mountain didn’t seem so sweet. She shook herself, unwilling to dwell on the implications of this, and said, “Come. My home’s not far.”
I know, said the she-wolf. Lead the way.
* * *
• • •
They traversed the woods in silence until they came to the cave. Her heart ached at the sight of the emptiness of the clearing, the barrenness of her garden—and then skipped a beat when she saw that the door to her cave was ajar. No smoke rose from the chimney hole and no light could be seen within, but she knew it was not empty.
“Stay here,” said Angrboda to the she-wolf as she started forward.
She found Loki slumped in her chair when she went inside.
He was staring at the empty hearth like a man already dead: green eyes glazed, scarred mouth set in a thin line, elbows on the arms of the chair, and long, thin fingers laced as if he were thinking. His deep green Asgard-style tunic was muddied and torn, and his unlined face was haggard.
How long had he been sitting here, without a fire, without food? Angrboda did not care.
When he saw her, he looked up, and his eyes widened as he sprang from the chair.
“They said you were dead,” Loki said, his voice barely a whisper. He reached for her. “Boda, I’d been looking but—they said you were—they said—and like a fool I believed them.”
“You did,” Angrboda confirmed without emotion—although to be fair, she imagined that Skadi would probably rather light herself on fire than tell Loki that his ex-wife yet lived, and Freyja and Odin had only just found out.
For his part, Odin probably had his own underhanded reasons for not running straight to his blood brother with this information. If Loki had known I was alive, what would have been different?
It had no bearing on Angrboda’s feelings toward him, however, and she only glared daggers at him until he wilted under her gaze.
“I killed Baldur,” Loki said weakly. He collapsed back into the chair, hands shaking. “I killed Baldur and then I wouldn’t weep for him, so he’s staying with Hel. And the Aesir are out for my blood.”
“And rightly so. It’s not wise to be here,” she told him callously as she took off her traveling cloak and hood and threw them on the table along with her pack. “Frigg herself appeared in my woods—my protection spell is spent. Make no mistake, the gods are coming for you. Just as they came for me all that time ago. Just as they came for our children. Thanks to you.”
Loki stood and reached out to her again. “Boda—”
But Angrboda took a step back and put her hands up. She felt as though her heart had jumped up into her throat, for when she spoke, her voice was thick with rage.
“You,” she said, “had the nerve to come here?”
“I had nowhere else to go,” Loki said desperately. “This was my home.”
“But no longer. Get out.”
“If it’s as you say, they’ll be here soon. You have to help me.”
“I will do no such thing. And how can I help you, anyway? You destroyed your own family—betrayed your own children. And now you’ve slain a son of Odin. You’ve slain your blood brother’s kin—your own kin. I cannot help you. I cannot do a thing.”
“Will you even let me apologize? I wanted to, but it was too late because you were—I thought you were gone. I never thought I would get the chance.”
“It’s not me you should apologize to,” Angrboda snapped. “The boys are beyond my reach, but I visited Hel. She was not happy to see me.”
Loki winced as if she’d hit him. “Is that so? How is she?”
“Cruel, powerful, and lonely. And she blames me for all of it—when she should be blaming you.”
“I did what I could for them. For all of them. For you.”
“And it all amounted to nothing.” Angrboda recalled what Freyja had told her—that Loki had attempted to bargain for her life—and found it didn’t dampen her rage.
“I know. But I did try.” Loki clenched his fists. “The gods do what they want and have no concern for others.”
“And that doesn’t sound familiar to you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Angrboda raised her chin. “It means that you don’t have to be a god to do that. And you were never a god to me, Loki.”
He ignored the jibe, too focused on himself to heed her. “That doesn’t change the fact that I am a god. And the worst among them, at that. I’m the one who’s done the most evil among the Aesir, and if nothing else, at least they’ll remember my name. That’s more than one can say for you.” When she didn’t respond, he switched to a different tactic. “If you turn your back on me now, you condemn me to death.”
Angrboda shook her head and stepped closer to him. “Not death. Although I’d gladly condemn you to that, if it meant you’d be on your knees in our daughter’s hall, begging her forgiveness.”
Loki ignored this, too. “You have the power, don’t you? To protect me?”
“Perhaps I could, but I won’t.” She held his gaze. “You were right. I married you and mothered your children. That’s all there is for me. That’s all anyone will ever know. The worlds go on, and you have a part to play in what’s to come.”
“A part to play,” Loki echoed, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Boda, I told you the very first time we met that I want nothing to do with your depressing prophecies. I make my own way—I choose my own fate. You can’t take that away from me.” His tone turned pleading. “You mustn’t.”
“Why did you do it, then?” Angrboda whispered. “Why did you kill your brother’s son?”
“The gods took everything from us, Boda,” he whispered back. “I thought it was high time I took something from them.”
Tears pricked Angrboda’s eyes at this. Even not knowing what would happen, not knowing that he was fated to do so . . . Loki did it anyway.
He thinks this is all within his control, within our control, and I envy him this ignorance.
And then another thought struck her.
Let Hel hold what she has.
“Took something—someone—from them,” she said slowly, “and gave it to our daughter.”
Loki gave her a wan smile. “See? Everybody wins.”
Something about that was nagging her, something Angrboda couldn’t put her finger on. Hel had always been Loki’s favorite. Had he truly slain Odin’s favorite son as a gift for his daughter? Had he had only Hel in mind when he’d guided that dart into Baldur’s heart? She searched his face for any clue that he was deceiving her, but she couldn’t decide.
And before she could ask, he saw his opening, saw that she had softened. He stepped closer to her and said quietly, “If you ever held any love for me, you would help me now.”
Those words, her words from the night her children were taken, stabbed her like a knife to the gut. But she was ready for such a threat, for she had one of her own.
“And if you ever held any love for me,” she said coldly, “you would understand why I cannot and will not help you. And you would leave.”
You are destined to face the consequences of your actions, Loki Laufeyjarson. And there is nothing anyone can do about it.
Loki held her gaze for a solid moment, and she found herself astounded that he was actually taking her words to heart instead of discarding them as he had that night. He put his hand on her cheek for a moment before lowering it, brushing his fingertip over the top of her scar, which was barely visible above the neckline of her dress.
“Do you still wonder sometimes whether it might have been wrong for me to return your heart to you?” he asked her.
Angrboda grabbed his wrist and pushed it away. “You don’t have permission to touch me. Not anymore.”
“I suppose that’s my answer.” Loki dropped his hand and stepped back, smoothing all emotion from his face. Then he moved past her to the door.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
He shrugged, then squared his shoulders, not turning around. “The gods are having a feast at Aegir’s, by the sea. I believe I’ll drop in and give them a little piece of my mind. Or a big one, perhaps.”
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