by Matt Larkin
Sigyn faltered, shaking her head. “Hödr, you don’t need to do this. Come home with me.”
He chuckled at that.
Mundilfari advanced to her side, pointing the wand at her son. “Release the Art of Fire, Eldr.”
Now Hödr grinned. “Long were the ages I dreamt of the reprisal I would bring upon you, sorcerer. Years I wallowed in darkness, in suffocation, awaiting the chance to reward your temerity.”
Mundilfari spoke something in Supernal. Whatever it was, Hödr roared, whipping one hand forward. Fire leapt from that hand like an arrow from a bow. Sigyn screamed, flinging herself to the ground as a gyrating disc of flame shot across the room. The disc hit the back wall and exploded, stripping all oxygen from her lungs and sending her tumbling across the ground.
She gasped, blinking away tears, unable to see or hear. Another impact sent her toppling back down. Blazing heat scorched her arms and back as she tried to rise, still blinking through a haze of smoke. She rolled over and pressed against the back wall. A cloud of ash had engulfed the chamber, raining down and obfuscating the struggle. Mundilfari was trying to evoke something, but explosions kept cutting off his words.
Groaning with the effort, Sigyn rose, then stumbled toward the sounds. Something detonated in midair, and a body hurtled past her to collide with the wall. The same explosion drove her to her knees. Grimacing, she glanced at the body. Mundilfari, smoke rising from his smoldering robes. The sorcerer was trying to push himself up on his hands and knees.
“Hödr!” Sigyn rose and stumbled over to Mundilfari.
A figure emerged from the ash cloud, bearing Gambanteinn in one hand, a billowing flame in the other. His whole body trembled as he moved, as though every step cost him.
“M-mother …”
“Hödr?” Sigyn pulled Mundilfari up. Now what would they do? They needed that wand to exorcise Eldr. She reached a hand toward her son.
“R-run …”
Sigyn’s mouth hung open. That was him. That was Hödr, struggling to contain the Fire vaettr for a moment. Because he wanted her to escape. No. No, she wasn’t going to leave him. “Hödr, please, come with me …” Her voice was breaking. Please …
Mundilfari yanked her away, pulling her toward the entrance.
She barely glanced at him, but he had painted some symbol on the wall in his own blood. Hödr saw it too, as the sorcerer moved, for an inhuman bellow escaped him, reverberating off the walls and seeming to rend her mind. Sigyn collapsed, clutching her ears and wailing.
The sorcerer pulled her up again and shoved her out into the tunnel. Another explosion sent her rolling several feet up the passage.
She tried to rise, tried not to think of the burns covering so much of her skin. Another bellow echoed from the chamber below.
Sigyn seized her pneuma and flooded it through her body, blocking pain and granting strength. She grabbed the sorcerer’s arms and dragged him back out of the tunnel, desperately trying not to think.
Hödr.
Her son.
Her son!
This was not happening.
Outside, in the sunlight, she deposited Mundilfari. The sorcerer groaned and rolled over, exposing a blackened face and charred flesh. Even the apple might not save him from such severe burns.
Fuck. Fuck it! The man wasn’t her problem. She didn’t even like him. She had to get her son.
She started for the entrance again.
“Ward … won’t hold long.”
“I’m not leaving my son!”
“Kill … us … both …”
Sigyn worked her mouth, trying to form any coherent argument against retreat. It was her son. It was her son! But Eldr had him again, and held the wand as well.
“New … plan …”
She threw up her hands and wailed in frustration.
Finally, she grabbed the sorcerer, drawing his arm around her shoulders and ignoring his cries of pain. She had to hold on to her pneuma to carry him like this. Weeping, she stumbled back toward the hill.
Sigyn deposited Mundilfari in a valley several hills over. The sorcerer’s groans had become faint, his life failing him. Once, Sigyn had saved Loki by pushing her pneuma into him. He had warned her never to do so again.
But then, without Mundilfari, she might never save her son.
Doing this to Vili had caused the berserk to lust after Frigg endlessly.
But Hödr …
Sigyn placed both palms against Mundilfari’s scorched chest. And she threw bits of her own life into him, as much as she could before collapsing into a heap beside him.
As soon as consciousness had beckoned her awake, Sigyn had snuck back to the temple. The sun had already set, but moonlight offered plenty of illumination to Sigyn’s enhanced senses. Was Hödr still inside? Maybe he’d kill her if she entered … but he was her son.
In a crouch, she crept forward, hiding behind the brush as much as she could.
Slowly, so quiet no one without her hearing could have caught wind of her, she made her way to the entrance and pressed up against the side. Struggling to control her breath, she peered around the corner.
A figure sat in there, his back against the wall, chin on his chest. Through the shadows, she couldn’t make out his face.
Sigyn eased her way against the side. Breathe. This was it. If she didn’t confront him, there was no point in leaving Mundilfari behind at all.
Right. She could do this. She could do it.
She strode around the wall and began descending into the temple. Confidence. She needed confidence.
The figure looked up. Half his face seemed melted off, but he had a confidence about him. And he wasn’t Hödr.
The man rose, palm resting on the pommel of a curving sword at his side.
Sigyn faltered, drawing to a stop. Well … troll shit. If she made a dash for it, she might elude him in the hills, especially drawing on her pneuma to strengthen her legs. On the other hand, she’d have to run back up the slope. It gave him time to catch her. And she hadn’t come here for naught. “Where’s Hödr?”
The man cocked his head to the side. “Your son is under our control.” His voice was practically a growl. “If you want to see him again … there’s something you’ll have to do for us.”
Climbing back up the hill, lost in thought, Sigyn nigh blundered into Starkad. Tyr’s son rose from a crouch, silent as the dead. So quiet not even Sigyn had heard him.
“Find aught?”
For a heartbeat, she froze. Her gut churned with ice. Her cheeks flushed. And she pushed it all down just as quickly. She had to. “No. Where have you been?”
“Hunting the Sons of Muspel. I caught one of them alone in the night.”
So he stalked them after dark. Perhaps he was even more confident in his sneaking abilities than she’d suspected.
“I found Mundilfari, barely alive.”
Sigyn nodded. “My son … is gone. His mind …”
“I’ve seen others, taken by these Fire vaettr. I’m sorry.”
Sigyn nodded again, trying not to grimace. “Help us return to Peregot.”
“Their army is already on the move. We’ll have to make haste if we wish to reach the city before the siege begins.”
Yes. They had to hurry.
43
One Year Ago
Sigyn sat on the floor in a tower of Sessrumnir, surrounded by dozens of scrolls illuminated by numerous candles. Her senses tingled with the sound of the door opening, but it was a distant thought, digging at the back of her mind. She was so close to understanding, so nigh to it she could taste it.
Mundilfari had known things about the nature of reality. Things Sigyn—and previously Freyja and other scholars—had largely dismissed as ravings engendered by his descent into madness. He’d posited that every world in the Spirit Realm lay enslaved to an Elder God. While the existence of so-called Elder Gods seemed corroborated by later treatises written by Freyja, Sunna, and others, Mundilfari’s suppositions took the concep
t farther.
The Mad Vanr claimed the entities were powerful almost beyond measure, and different in kind from other vaettir associated with their realms. Moreover, that they represented a dire threat to the Mortal Realm, themselves being even more inimical and unfathomable than their lesser counterparts.
Loki claimed Hel had usurped the power of an earlier goddess of mist. An Elder God, the ruler of Niflheim? So Hel managed to kill the prior goddess? Or did the original lady of Niflheim remain bound somewhere, a source of—
Hermod came tromping up the stairs and bounding into the room, almost knocking over a candle in the process. Sigyn hissed, grabbing it before it could land on a scroll and burn away precious, irreplaceable notes.
With it reset in place, she glowered at her foster brother. “Hermod?”
“Sister.” Still travel-worn and dirty, her foster brother must have come straight here, which bespoke a disturbing urgency to his visit. His face was every bit as stern as their father’s had been.
“Last I heard, you had returned to aid Tyr in Peregot. What brings you back to Asgard?”
“Things have turned ill with Hödr.”
“He was injured?”
“No. We were at an outpost in the west. Small place, a guard fort, really, around a town.”
“And?”
“A blacksmith, he says Hödr forced himself on his daughter. The girl denied it, though. I argued with Hödr and he took off during the night.”
She shook her head. “No. No, whatever you’re implying, my son would not—”
Hermod held up a hand. “I tracked him south …” Her foster brother hesitated, scratching his head.
“Tell me.”
“I found … a burned out farm.”
“It could have been Serklander raiding party.”
“Could have. Tracks didn’t look like more than one person. I don’t know. I tried to follow, but he disappeared into the hills.”
How anyone could elude a tracker like Hermod, Sigyn could not even guess. “Thank you for telling me …”
“You aren’t as surprised as you ought to be.”
Sigyn rose and drifted to a table, as much to avoid looking at him as aught else. He had grown far too perceptive in the intervening years, and she had not the slightest inclination to share her fears with anyone. To give them voice was to make them too real, and she could not afford that. Save that, with Loki once again off trying to keep Odin under control, Hermod alone might prove her best chance to find her son and save him from whatever had befallen him.
With a shudder, she leaned on the table.
“Sigyn?”
“You have to find him. Bring him back to Asgard so I can talk to him.”
Hermod nodded grimly. “That boy … have you been teaching him aught of what you’ve uncovered in this … place?”
“Why would I do that?”
He shook his head. “Hödr knows things he ought not to. A great deal, honestly.”
“What things?”
“Details about Serkland, about the war … about … the Veil.”
Sigyn tapped her lip, uncertain what to say or what to think. “He’s intelligent and intuitive.”
“He sneaks about and spies.” Given Hermod’s own proclivity for doing just that, he spoke with a remarkable degree of spite in his voice.
“I need you to find him, brother. I don’t know where my husband is at present. I have no one else to whom I might turn.”
Hermod rubbed his temples, but nodded. “I’ll find him. But I think he needs to remain on Asgard at present. He is too clever by far, and I cannot risk losing track of him once more.” Assuming he could even find her son. The unspoken words settled around Sigyn’s neck like a weight.
She waited until he stepped outside and the doors had resealed.
Then she swept all the papers away and wailed in frustration.
Hermod had found Hödr, yes, though not where he’d last seen him in Valland, but rather attempting the crossing to Asgard on his own. The very thought of it left Sigyn’s stomach lurching. Aegir’s wrath had sunk a great number of ships when the Aesir had first come to Vanaheim, costing countless lives, including those of her and Hermod’s parents.
Any voyage undertaken now was undertaken with care. While Frigg paid Aegir annual tribute to forestall his wrath, still treacherous reefs and storms could easily scuttle or capsize a ship trying to make the crossing.
But Hermod had found the boy through means he did not deign to share. Sigyn could harbor a guess, of course. No tracker, no matter how talented, could follow tracks over the ocean. And if natural means could be ruled out, all that remained was supernatural means. Whatever Odin had been teaching her brother, he seemed to have begun taking to it.
Either way, he’d brought the boy back to her, and with the stern admonition that she send him to Hoenir, Syn’s father. While Hödr was far too old for fostering, Sigyn dared to hope Hermod knew what he was doing.
Either way, she found herself at Hoenir’s hall on the northern island of Asgard. Hödr didn’t resist as she ordered him to follow. She didn’t dare ask him about the girl Hermod had mentioned, nor the farm. The thought of it felt like Hel herself running her fingers down the back of Sigyn’s … Huh. And here she was, still thinking of her husband’s dead daughter as the dark goddess. She was that, but still, she was something else now, too.
“You’re quiet, Mother.”
She glanced back at him. While his expression was a mask of innocence, still a look of arrogance almost beyond words lurked behind his eyes. “I’m worried.”
“What? About me? I’m quite hale and healthy.”
Sigyn tried to force a smile in return, then increased her pace to Hoenir’s hall. He’d chosen to build it upon a lower hill, looking out over the sea. Ages ago, it seemed now, Hoenir had led the Godwulf tribe. Now, with the tribes dissolved and the jarls stripped of rank, Sigyn rarely saw him and had little idea what he did with his days. Nigh five decades since coming to Vanaheim. Longer than any of them would have expected to live back in their days in Aujum. Everyone found ways to busy themselves, she supposed.
The sound of shouts and splashing greeted her long before she reached the hall, however. She followed the noise around Hoenir’s home and down to the sea, where the former jarl was shouting at contestants in a swimming race. Three, no four of them, three men and a woman, all making for a rock out on a strand.
A sound issued from Hödr, something between a groan or a growl. Most people wouldn’t have caught it over the commotion of the race or the crash of the waves, but Sigyn had extraordinary hearing since taking the apple.
Experience had shown questioning him was not like to produce results, so instead she plodded over to Hoenir. He nodded at her. Standing beside him, she watched the race. “I’ve a favor to ask. From Hermod, really, or his idea at least.”
“Well, we’re all family here.”
“I want you to train Hödr.”
Now the former jarl looked to her. “Train him to what?”
She glanced back at Hödr, then lowered her voice to ensure he wouldn’t hear. “Wrestle, fish, swim, whatever. He needs a good influence in his life, and neither Hermod nor Loki is on Asgard oft enough to be that for him.”
The old man snorted. “These days, training the young to swim and fish is about the extent of my activities.” He shook his head, groaned. “Sometimes I think I ought to just head across the sea, go to Tyr. Let him find a use for me.” He meant find a glorious way to die. Sigyn frowned at the thought. “Ah. You’re lucky to have gotten your apple while you were still young, girl.”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course I will. What do you take me for?”
“You train girls here, too?”
Hoenir glanced at her. “Looking to be a shieldmaiden?” Sigyn barely smiled at that. No, she didn’t fancy herself a warrior. “Eh. Sure, girls, as well. They want to get strong, compete with the boys. A lot of them, they come to me, wanting to k
now what I taught Syn way back. They grew up hearing stories of her battling trolls at Idavollir and such. Remember that Hel-cursed place?”
“I remember. Keep an eye on the girls around Hödr. There was … an accusation.”
Hoenir groaned, then spit. “I’d let the hounds of Hel gnaw on my own stones before I let those things go on.”
Sigyn nodded, then made her way over to where Hödr stood, glaring at the swimmers. “Your granduncle Hoenir has agreed to train you. Mind him well.”
Hödr shrugged as if it mattered little. “Farewell. Mother.”
As she made her way back, Sigyn kept casting glances at him.
Loki met her at their hall on the other island. He sat on the cliff, looking out over the sea, staring, as if he knew where she’d just taken their son. Perhaps he did.
“When did you return?” she asked.
“Just now.”
With a sigh, Sigyn trudged up beside them, then slumped down to join him, taking in the beautiful sea and sky. Twilight drew nigh, and soon, they’d find a graceful sunset to put rest to a bitter day.
“You know where I’ve been?” she asked.
He nodded. “Hoenir is a good man. As good a man as the times allow for, at least.”
“I’m afraid for our son.”
Loki reached over and pulled her close, arm around her shoulders. “So am I.”
“There’s something wrong with him.”
“There’s something wrong with everyone. It’s the nature of the world.”
Sigyn grunted. “Not what I meant and you know it.”
“Two possibilities lay before you. Either, Hödr is who he is as a product of who we are, or else …”
“Or else I did this to him.”
But Loki didn’t answer. Maybe he thought her self-recriminations enough punishment. Either way, she needed to be sure. Somehow, she’d have to figure out what had happened to Hödr.
44
