“Will you ever learn to keep your mouth shut, Sly One?” Angrboda asked him, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself as she finally turned to face him.
Loki looked over his shoulder at her, the fading light framing him in the doorway, and his scarred lips twisted into a wicked grin.
“Not likely,” he said.
And then he was gone.
* * *
• • •
Angrboda sat in her chair for hours afterward, absently turning Hel’s wolf figurine in her hands, wondering whether she’d done the right thing. The she-wolf was rather too small to fit inside the cave comfortably—Angrboda had far less furniture inside the last time the she-wolf had lived in Ironwood with her—and so stood watch in the clearing, sheltering indoors only at night.
Eventually Angrboda got up and started a fire in her center hearth and started practicing her spell again. Then she remade her bed and unpacked her wagon and pack basket. She went outside and set up a few rabbit snares, and the she-wolf herded the creatures to their deaths before going off to hunt larger game to feed herself, as Fenrir had done so long ago.
And so Angrboda lingered there in that awkward state, where everything was so familiar—her home, her bed, and her rabbit stew, now made with foraged root vegetables instead of the ones from her now-empty garden—and yet so different.
Skadi arrived at her door a few days later.
Angrboda was sitting on her stool next to the fire, summoning up the energy to strengthen her shield enough to put both arms into the flames this time, when the Huntress entered. The two women stared at each other as Angrboda stood slowly, at a loss for words.
She had never been more relieved to see anyone in all her long life, and now that Skadi was here, she had no idea what to say.
“Your wolf almost didn’t let me pass,” said Skadi, standing awkwardly just inside the door. She had a jug of ale in one hand and was holding two skinned, headless rabbits by the legs with the other; she shifted from foot to foot. “You . . . did want me to come here, right? Or did I misunderstand that look you gave me at Baldur’s funeral?”
“Yes,” Angrboda said quickly. Then she cleared her throat. “I mean, no, you didn’t misunderstand. I want you here.”
“I see.” Skadi stepped inside and set the jug down on the table. “So you’ve done what you set out to do?”
“I did as much as I could, and it was time to return.” She went to her chest and pulled out two empty cups, uncorked the jug and filled them with ale, and passed one to Skadi, who sat backward on one of the benches at the table, facing the fire. Angrboda put the rabbits into her cauldron, added some water from a bucket so their dinner could stew, and put another log on the fire. Skadi was silent all the while, but Angrboda could feel the weight of her gaze.
“He came here, didn’t he?” Skadi asked as soon as Angrboda sat back down.
“He did,” said Angrboda.
“And you turned him away?”
“Aye.”
“Because you knew what he’d done?”
By way of a response, Angrboda turned back to the fire and asked, very quietly, a question to which she already knew the answer—for she knew he’d be bound in torment, but she hadn’t seen the events connecting Baldur’s death to Loki’s punishment. “What has become of him?”
Skadi leaned back against the table. “He went to a feast the Aesir were holding at Aegir’s—probably right after he left here. I myself was present. He forced Odin to seat him, citing their kinship, and then proceeded to insult everyone present.” Skadi pursed her lips, evidently recalling some of said verbal abuse. “The insults returned only served to roll off him like water from a leaf. Then Thor arrived and made him leave by threat of violence.”
“Of course. How very like Thor.” Angrboda tried very hard to force down a dark smile and failed. Yet he knew enough to realize that, should he engage Loki in verbal combat, he would lose. A smart move on Thor’s part to stick to his strong suit: brute force.
“Indeed,” said Skadi. “Anyway, he left and was hunted down. Then he was captured and bound, not two days ago. I don’t know if I should tell you the rest.”
“I should like to know.”
Skadi sighed. “He was taken somewhere distant, somewhere in Midgard. One of his sons with Sigyn was turned into a wolf, who then disemboweled the other son. Loki was bound with that second son’s guts, which turned to iron. The wolf then ran off.” She shifted. “No wonder Sigyn reacted the way she did, that night at the river, if that’s what you made her see . . .”
Angrboda nodded grimly. “What then?”
“Then a snake was hung above Loki’s head, dripping venom on his face,” said Skadi. “He writhed so powerfully, it felt as though all of Midgard shook. But the Aesir allowed Sigyn to stay with him, with a bowl to catch the poison— reluctantly, for they think he doesn’t deserve as much. And so do I. But at least this way, he will be too distracted to try thinking his way out of this. It was necessary.”
Angrboda let this sink in. So this was it. This was how my vision came to pass.
Skadi reached forward and put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Angrboda nodded. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me all of this. And for coming back.”
“Of course,” said Skadi. She looked like she was about to say more, but instead she said, “So, I’m assuming that your quest was successful?”
Angrboda smiled. “We have a lot to catch up on, my friend.”
Skadi sat silently through Angrboda’s tale, which took well into the night to finish telling; the only part Angrboda left out was how she’d seen Skadi at Hymir’s feast. By then the rabbits had stewed so long that the meat fell right off the bone, and the jug of ale had run dry.
“So that’s where the wolf came from,” Skadi said when she was done. “You’re she, then. The witch who lived here so long ago, whom I mentioned on the day we met.”
“I am.”
“Well,” said Skadi, “then it seems to me, if you’re she, you’re more than capable of—well, whatever it is you’re going to do about all this.”
“I appreciate your confidence, my friend.”
“Anytime. I’ll be right back—I have to use the latrine.” Skadi stood, went to the door, and opened it—causing a gust of unseasonably cold air to rush into the cave. Confused, Angrboda moved to join her at the door, where the Huntress had stopped short.
Angrboda soon saw why.
There was snow. Three feet at least, which had not been there when Skadi had arrived a few hours earlier.
Which was not terribly unusual, except that midsummer had been a month ago.
“Fimbulwinter,” Angrboda whispered. When Skadi gave her a questioning look, she explained, “Baldur’s death and Loki’s binding are the start of Ragnarok—that’s what they’re calling my prophecy. And next comes three years of winter.”
The she-wolf, who seemed to have been fast asleep in the clearing, stood up suddenly and shook herself, sending wet clumps of snow everywhere. Then she looked at the giantesses and said grumpily, I don’t suppose you have room inside?
Angrboda and Skadi moved to either side to let the creature pass, and Skadi said, “She can talk?”
“You can hear her?” Angrboda’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought it was only me. And so did she, for that matter.”
Skadi shrugged. “I’ve always felt a certain kinship with wolves . . .”
Oh, I like this one, said the she-wolf as she settled down by the hearth. Can we keep her?
* * *
• • •
The winter escalated quickly, and Skadi left the cave before the mountain passes were snowed in. Angrboda did not expect to see her again for some time, and she wondered what she was going to do for three
long years, sitting here with the she-wolf. Work on my spell, I suppose.
Skadi had not asked her to go to the mountains with her again, and Angrboda tried not to be disheartened by that.
But Skadi did something unexpected: She packed every single provision and possession she could from her hall, loaded everything onto three sledges, donned her skis, and led all her reindeer down from the mountains.
Angrboda could not have been more shocked if Freyja herself had suddenly appeared to apologize for restraining her bodily while the gods stole her children away.
“I know you didn’t invite me to winter here, but your wolf did,” said Skadi, amused, as Angrboda gaped at her from the doorway. “As I understand it, this is her home, too.”
“This must be everything you own,” Angrboda sputtered.
“Everything of value, at any rate. Would you care to lend a hand, or does your head pain you today?”
“You’re . . . giving up Thrymheim?” Angrboda whispered. “Why? You wouldn’t even do such a thing for your husband.”
“A three-year-long winter anywhere would be rough, but I fear it’ll be worse in the mountains.” Skadi shrugged, but the look of amusement did not leave her face. “It’s the end times, my friend. And while I’m hardly worried about us surviving, I cannot say the same for the rest of this realm. I suppose it won’t surprise you to hear that the giants have been growing restless and angry.”
Angrboda thought back to her visit to Hymir’s hall—which Skadi was still unaware of—and then realized Skadi was referencing the witch’s own prophecy.
“It’s our nature to be that way, but it’s been worse ever since Baldur was killed and Loki bound—I heard enough on the way here to make me think they’d march tomorrow if most of us weren’t from the mountains. It’s been one thing after another with the Aesir for many years now, but Loki’s binding was the last straw. Many believe his killing Baldur proves that the Trickster is on our side once and for all. Besides that, his insults to the gods at Aegir’s feast have been chronicled in a poem by someone who was there—a servant perhaps—and are making their rounds. Can you imagine how Jotunheim feels, hearing someone talk to the gods that way? Loki didn’t hold anything back.”
“They’re rallying around him,” Angrboda murmured. “It’s a flimsy excuse, but we’ve always been a combative sort of people, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” said Skadi. “The giants will take any excuse for a chance to take down the gods once and for all. But if we’re to fight, Jotunheim must survive this winter.”
“I’ve been thinking about that as well,” Angrboda said quietly, choosing to ignore Skadi’s use of the word “we” when talking about the giants marching toward Ragnarok—and their deaths. “You’ve always been my strongest connection to the worlds outside these woods—I believe we can find a way to help. As in the old days. I wondered if you could go to—?”
“Gymir’s hall, to see what remains of Gerd’s old garden, so you can resume making your hunger potions for me to dispense all over Jotunheim and Midgard?”
Angrboda blinked. “Well, yes. Exactly.”
“Why do you think I’m in such a hurry to unload these and get going?” Skadi untied one of the ropes holding the supplies to the first sledge and handed Angrboda a thick bedroll with furs sticking out. “Put this next to your bed—it’s where I’ll sleep.”
“That’s nonsense,” Angrboda said without thinking. “You’ll share my bed.”
Skadi opened her mouth and shut it again.
“That is—it’s large enough for both of us to sleep comfortably. I’ll not see you sleeping on the floor when we can both fit our separate beddings on my sleeping pallet.” Angrboda was grateful that her face was already so red from the biting wind—it helped disguise the flush creeping up her cheeks.
“All right,” Skadi said when she finally found her voice. “Put this next to yours, then.”
* * *
• • •
And so, as in the time before, Skadi traveled out into the worlds and back again with her reindeer and sledge, and Angrboda stayed behind in Ironwood and worked with the materials Skadi brought back for her.
Skadi’s first supply trip was indeed to Gymir’s hall. Gerd’s parents’ servants had continued to grow her garden in her absence, and all the plants had been harvested, dried, and stored as soon as the unexpected winter began.
Gymir parted with all of it: Every last leaf and stem was loaded onto Skadi’s sledge. When Angrboda expressed her surprise, Skadi remarked offhandedly, “They need little.”
The months passed. Angrboda counted them by phases of the moon, and soon there was one year gone. As the winter continued, Skadi’s suppliers ran lower and lower, so she was forced to cover more ground in her search. The she-wolf often went with her, leaving Angrboda alone. Skadi was sometimes gone for weeks at a time.
Angrboda fretted over her absence, but in her heart she knew that if there was one woman in the cosmos who could take care of herself, it was Skadi Thjazadottir.
I suppose it’s always been my lot to wait here for someone, Angrboda thought. Those times when Skadi did stay and spend the night, Angrboda could barely sleep, and it seemed to her that they were separated by more than just the several layers of fur of their individual bedrolls. Part of her was screaming to roll over and have the conversation she’d been meaning to have with Skadi for a very long time—a conversation that would explain the stab of jealousy Angrboda had felt when she’d heard Skadi was married, and much more yet.
She stopped herself every time, and before she knew it, Skadi was off again.
I’m overthinking, she told herself, but she still felt frozen with fear. But what if I’m misreading things? What if I’ve misread her from the very beginning? What if it’s all in my head?
For her part, the she-wolf remained mostly silent and observant these days but would sometimes give Angrboda knowing looks when Skadi was turned the other way.
“Do you ever think about your cousin Gerd?” Angrboda asked Skadi one night as they sat across from each other at the witch’s table. Skadi had just returned from one of her long trips, her cheeks still red from the cold, a steaming bowl of stew cupped in her hands. The she-wolf sat in the corner, gnawing on the leg of a small hoofed animal she’d killed earlier that day.
“I don’t think about her often enough,” Skadi admitted. “When I visited Gymir’s for those supplies, her old mother was shuffling about the hall with her head down. She speaks of Gerd in the past tense, as though she’d died rather than wed. She has it bad in Asgard, though,” she added, and her dark expression encouraged Angrboda not to inquire further.
Angrboda felt the tiniest stab of pity for her old friend, but she shook it off and sat up straighter over her bowl. “Well, she made her decision.”
“She didn’t have much of a choice in marrying Frey,” Skadi said gently. “And from there, it was only a short step further to betray you to the gods, as she was compelled to do. I cannot excuse what she did to you and her family, but I do recognize why she did it. There is a difference between understanding and forgiveness. It’s possible to have one without the other.”
“Hmm,” said Angrboda, raising her bowl of stew to her mouth to take a sip of broth. Angrboda often thought of Gerd when she looked at her own tablet-woven belt, which had weathered quite a lot with her over the course of her travels and had become dirty with age no matter how much she washed it. It was truly well crafted to have held up this long.
“I do understand,” Angrboda said after a time. “But it’s as you said—I cannot forgive it, and I hope never to see her again for as long as I live.”
Skadi considered this. “You cannot forgive Loki and not forgive Gerd.”
Angrboda froze with the bowl halfway to her mouth. “Who says I’ve forgiven Loki?”
“I didn’t say you have; I’m only saying.” Sk
adi shifted on her bench. “I spoke with Gymir for a long time when I went to him. He told me that the giants were beginning to amass in the citadel at Utgard to weather out the long winter together.”
“And?” Angrboda sipped her stew. “Did Gymir go to Utgard, then?”
Skadi nodded.
“So that’s why he let you take so many provisions from his stores.”
The Huntress nodded again. “He and his wife needed only what they could take with them to Utgard. And Gymir spoke truthfully—many of my trading partners have abandoned their villages and homesteads and headed north to the citadel. More and more each time I venture out. Lately I’ve been going to Utgard to dispense your potions and gather new provisions.”
“That’s why you’re gone so long these days,” Angrboda said with a frown. But she had a feeling there was something Skadi wasn’t telling her. “Do . . . do they know of Ragnarok? Or are the giants amassing of their own accord?”
“They’re blissfully ignorant, for now. And I’m not about to tell them. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway—they’d want proof.” Skadi finished her stew and crossed her arms on the table, regarding Angrboda levelly. “When the long winter is over and the end begins, they’re going to march against the gods. And I’m going with them.”
Angrboda had sensed this coming, but her insides turned to ice nonetheless.
“Why would you do such a thing?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even. Her head began to pound horribly. She felt dizzy with anger.
“Because what else can I do?” Skadi shrugged, and Angrboda’s blood pressure rose further. “It seems a fitting end for me, does it not? I’m going to die fighting—fighting for my land, fighting for my people. Fighting to avenge my father.”
“Is your father not already avenged?” Angrboda said through gritted teeth.
Skadi scowled; the witch’s words had prodded a sore spot.
“The gods slew him and gave me a fool’s recompense for his death,” she said, her voice rising. “I shall have a proper vengeance and take down as many of his killers as I can.”
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