by Matt Larkin
Thor glanced at Freki who shrugged. He couldn’t see Tyr’s face so he had no idea what the man thought. Either way, Tyr started off, following their now sizable escort.
They were led into a circular chamber as big as many thegn’s halls. The place was bedecked with tapestries, cushions, and other plunder no doubt stolen from the lands around the Black Sea. Some of the art looked Miklagardian, and the pillow style could have come from Serkland. The weavings might have come straight out of Asgard, so Thor assumed they had been taken from Aesir in Aujum long ago.
Freki flung himself on the cushions and Tyr, frowning, sat across from him, ushering Baldr to take a seat as well. Thor, though, walked the circumference, taking in the battles depicted on the tapestries. One scene, in particular, looked to show a shinning, armor-clad warrior leading a vast procession away from burning lands. The Great March of Vingethor? Thor frowned. He just wasn’t much for history, truth be told, and whatever happened back in Aujum hardly had overmuch bearing on the Aesir now.
Elsewhere, a mural depicted a man upon a boat, fishing, and seeming to have drawn up a mighty serpent from the depths of the ocean. The very thought of it seemed absurd, but still, what glory to a man who could kill a serpent of the deep. And did this represent the greatest serpent … what was it? Jörmungandr. Hmm.
The chamber door opened and a jotunn entered, this one standing well over ten feet tall, his skin tinged blue in the manner of frost jotunnar, with a shaggy gray beard strung into uneven braids. His neck was bent and misshapen, with a pronounced forward hunch, his eyes catlike and altogether discomfiting. It came as little surprise that Hymir would prove a man-eater—he’d have to be to have lived so long—and still his appearance had Thor reaching for Mjölnir’s haft before he thought better of it.
The others, too, had climbed to their feet.
The jotunn king bared his teeth, yellowed and almost sharpened looking, and settled his glare upon Tyr. “I’d not have reckoned you fool enough to come here, boy.”
Tyr cracked his neck, glowering. Thor expected him to protest he was long past being a boy, but the one-handed man said naught.
So Thor did. “We come from Holmgard with an offer of peace.”
“Peace? Was I fearing war with those little wretches and didn’t realize it? Do rats come to offer you peace, when they want to nest in your home?”
“Holmgard is not your home,” Baldr pointed out. “And unless I am misinformed, you are not allied with Skadi. The Winter Queen still thinks to claim all of Thrym’s legacy and conquer Midgard besides. Do you believe you can hold out against her forever? Sooner or later she’ll come to Kiovia and demand you bow to her and pay her tribute. When she comes, wouldn’t you rather have allies?”
Hymir growled, a low guttural sound like a bear first stirring to anger. “Who is this boy? And what good are allies who cannot even protect themselves? Your lands are ravaged, pathetic things, dying as we speak and not hardly worth the trouble to spit on. You’d offer to stand against Skadi with me, but your offer’s got no teeth. Reckon that means you waste your time. Worse, you’re wasting my time.”
Damn it, the headache was already starting, just listening to this trollfucker. Thor grated his teeth a moment. The worst of it was, the jotunn actually had a point. “Rathbarth thinks to make himself king, but he’d be willing to pay you tribute in exchange for your friendship.”
At that, Freki tossed a sack in front the jotunn. The bundle clattered and clanked, turning on its side and spilling forth a mix of plundered silver jewelry, Miklagardian coins, and gems taken from the neighboring lands. A fair ransom for a throne, maybe too much even.
Hymir knelt and grabbed the bottom of the sack, upending it and then shaking until everything piled forth. A fair haul indeed. “Hmmm.”
“As a king under your protection, he’d ask but one thing,” Thor said, and Hymir looked up sharply. “There is an old fortress on the shores of Lake Ilmajarvi. Rathbarth requests that as the seat of his kingdom.”
Hymir growled again. “Place belongs to Hrod.”
“A fine man, I’m sure,” Baldr said. “But surely he could find somewhere else to live.”
Thor shot his brother a cold look. Still, it was said and out there, and all Thor could do now was look to Hymir.
“You want to buy the fortress. Don’t reckon you can come up with this much tribute every winter. Even if you could, it’s missing something. Tyr, why don’t you tell them what the tribute is missing.”
Tyr was glowering at him, fist clenched at his side. “Hymir expects you to offer up slaves.”
“Nine slaves,” the jotunn said. “Every winter, with the tribute.”
Thor grimaced. Rathbarth might have taken some slaves in his raids, but those would be people from Bjarmaland. The very people Thor was supposed to be here protecting. And no matter how bad those slaves had it under Rathbarth’s people, their lives under a jotunn would be worse. At least under a king of men they didn’t have to worry about their master eating them when the mood struck him.
He looked to Tyr, but the man’s face was naught but a grim mask. He clearly didn’t approve, but nor did he seem to advise refusing. Leaving the choice—and the burden—in Thor’s hands. Well enough, he was the Prince of Asgard. Still rankled having to agree to such a thing. “You’ll have your slaves.”
Hymir’s grin seemed to grow darker. These creatures should be wiped off Midgard, driven back through the breach and barred from ever returning. Only, Thor could see no way to achieve any of that. Right now, Skadi was the far larger threat. “I’ll have a blood oath out of you, over a cauldron of Brimir.”
Thor didn’t have much idea what that even meant, save the blood oath part. But he’d stand by his word, so he nodded.
The jotunn king led them through the fortress, down a wide staircase with steps a little too steep for comfort, and seeming to stretch on for far too long. Eventually, they descended into a dank chamber somewhere below the mountain.
At the center of this chamber rested a giant cauldron the size of a small mammoth. At first Thor took it for bronze, but on closer examination, he saw streaks of darker metal running through it. Strange runes marked the sides, and a surrounding stone staircase led to the top.
Hardly a point in hesitating now. Thor started up the steps.
“Not you,” Hymir said. Then he pointed to Baldr. “The pretty one.”
Thor opened his mouth to object, but Baldr had already nodded and begun heading for the stairs.
Glowering—Father had said to keep Baldr safe—Thor met him halfway. Baldr just clapped him on the arm and kept going, until he stood peering down over the lip of the cauldron. He drew a knife, then slit his palm and squeezed, allowing his blood to drip into the vessel.
Steam hissed and billowed forth with each drop of blood.
“Your oath that Rathbarth’s new kingdom will uphold our bargain and pay tribute in silver and slaves to me, or your life is forfeit.”
Baldr repeated the words, squeezed a last few drops into the cauldron, then started down.
Hymir nodded.
Rathbarth should be pleased.
And Father would be furious.
11
Fifteen Years Ago
Freki crinkled his nose as he sniffed the area where Thor had woken up. The varulf shook his head slowly. “All sorts of foulness here, brother.”
Thor glowered at the varulf. He didn’t need a recount of whatever he’d done or what defilement had been spilled on him while he lay unconscious. “The hammer.”
“It’s hard to be sure under all the other scents, but I think … jotunn.”
“What?” Thor could only gape at him. A jotunn had gotten into the town, and unnoticed?
Freki shrugged as if understanding his question. “How many jotunnar have we seen that could pass for human? Those who never tasted the flesh of man might seem but tall men themselves. Saying naught of half-jotunnar.”
Like that bastard Tyr, or so it was said.
>
Thor ran a hand over his beard and groaned. “So a jotunn snuck in and stole Mjölnir while I was unconscious. Can you track him?”
Freki grunted. “Yes, probably, but that doesn’t mean you’ll catch him. How much head start must the creature have on us now? I might catch him alone, though.”
“No.” No, Thor wouldn’t let his brother put himself in danger to make up for his mistakes. He’d made … too many mistakes. They had already cost him more than he could bear to part with.
Sif.
Thor shut his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. She’d died because of him. If he hadn’t lain with that damn jotunn woman, hadn’t sired Magni, she’d not have left him. Then, he could have protected her, even had they gone to Peregot at all. Thor wouldn’t repeat his mistake. He wouldn’t let anyone else he cared about pay that price.
Geri came around the corner then, her own face grim as well. “Roskva’s gone too.”
Thor sighed. He could hardly blame her for running off after he’d killed her brother. Or he shouldn’t blame her, though a sudden perverse desire to punish her crept into his breast as well. And why not? Why should he not hate himself for the vile workings of his heart? “Forget her. Find Loki.”
“Why?”
Thor grunted. “Because the bastard knows things he’s got no right to know. Like … uh … what’s the damn word?”
“He’s got the Sight,” Freki answered, and Geri nodded grimly before taking off to find their father’s blood brother.
Thor despised having the man hanging about. Father had almost certainly sent him just to keep an eye on Thor and make sure he didn’t do aught else foolhardy. If so, Loki had failed at that last night. Thor hadn’t meant to … It was all trollshit!
He followed Freki back around to the main entrance to the hall but didn’t step inside. Men would stare at him for what he’d done. No one would speak against him, of course. It had been his right, first with Roskva, and with Thialfi too. They’d not speak ill of him. But they’d think it.
Thor had no place in Holmgard anymore. Never really did have one, truth be told. No, he ought to be well away from here.
Geri met them back at the house they shared, Loki trailing behind her.
Though his face was impassive, Thor could’ve sworn those crystal blue eyes of Loki’s judged him. Mother had that look when she arbitrated disputes in Valaskjalf, especially when she knew one side was clearly in the right. A keenness about her.
“You’ve lost it,” Loki said.
“I didn’t lose it. It was fucking stolen.”
Loki didn’t respond to that, just edged around Thor and slipped into the house. Thor followed the man inside, and the varulf twins came in last.
Father’s blood brother sat before the fire pit, as always, staring into it.
Thor slumped down across from him. “Well. Where’s the jotunn taking it?”
Loki didn’t answer. Just kept looking at the flames like they were reciting skaldic poetry or something. Thor couldn’t begin to fathom quite how the so-called Sight worked. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to offer straight answers when a man needed them. And straight answers were about the only answers worth having.
Especially when a man’s head was splitting in two. Thor hated riddles and he hated—like the raging fires of Muspelheim hated—waiting for things.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know he was unreasonable most of the time. Just, that he felt he ought to be able to scream at anyone judging him and say, “my wife was murdered!” And that ought to have excused just about aught imaginable. Sif was dead and they’d never know who had done it. Not even Loki had been able to tell him that, and Thor had asked. Because, truce or not, he’d have broken into Serkland and hunted the bastard down. He’d have found the murderer and hung by his entrails for all to see, and prayed it would appease Sif’s ghost, wherever she was.
He’d tried talking to her, many a time. Never got an answer. Maybe she watched him from the Otherworlds, but if so, she couldn’t speak back. Or didn’t want to. That was worse, wondering if she still hated him. She’d died hating him, he knew. Died that way and maybe would go on hating forever, blaming him for all her torment.
“The hammer is bound for Thrym himself,” Loki said, jolting Thor from his dark musings.
Freki groaned.
Thor scoffed. “King of Thrymheim has stones, I’ll give him that. It means the thief is headed for the breach.”
Loki nodded.
Freki was right though, Thor wouldn’t be able to catch the thief, not if he was making good time. And jotunnar always made good time.
“There’s more,” Loki said.
“What is it?” Geri asked.
Loki looked to her, dour. “They’ll launch an invasion, an army of jotunnar coming through the breach.”
Ah, trollshit. Thor didn’t have time for this right now. Sure, a day ago he’d almost have welcomed it. A war meant lots of skulls to crush. Plenty of places to vent his rage. But without Mjölnir …
“Hardly a coincidence,” Geri said.
Loki nodded. “We have to get these people ready or the whole of Bjarmaland will fall before winter is out.”
And that was another damn thing. Only jotunnar would start a war in the middle of winter. Thor grunted in disgust. “What we have to do is get that hammer back. Can’t have it used against us, and besides, I need it to hold back the invasion.”
“So Freki and I will go,” Geri said. “We can track his scent and cover ground much more quickly in wolf form.”
“No,” Thor said. No, he wouldn’t risk his brother and sister. Odin had a new son now, true, but Geri and Freki were the ones Thor had grown up with. They’d always come first for him. “I have to do it myself.”
“You can’t move quickly enough nor find it alone,” Freki pointed out.
Loki rose abruptly. “With the swan cloak I can go after it in the air, more quickly than even varulfur can run.”
“So give me the cloak,” Thor said.
“I’ll do better. I know where we can find another one.”
His own flying cloak. Now that sounded like a plan. “Fine. So the wolves stay here and get Holmgard ready for war. You and I, uncle, we go hunting swan maidens.”
Loki favored him with a stern look. “We are not hunting them. We’ll claim the cloak because we have dire need of it. That’s all.”
Thor shrugged. It was all the same to him.
Loki led the way through densely wooded hills that, much to Thor’s chagrin, proved many days walk from Holmgard. While they headed in roughly the eastward direction of the breach, still their route would hardly prove the swiftest possible way there.
“You realize if we don’t find the cloak we’ve wasted a huge amount of time coming this way,” Thor said.
Loki didn’t look back, though, infuriating as ever. “Given that you cannot fly without the cloak and cannot catch the thief on foot, you have essentially lost naught.”
Would Father mind overmuch if Thor rammed his boot up Loki’s arse? Musing on that thought at least allowed Thor to smile and hold his peace while they traveled.
“Try to walk as quietly as possible,” Loki advised.
“Why?” Thor wasn’t much for sneaking about unless setting an ambush.
“Because these woods are thick with vaettir besides swan maidens. Some much more dangerous. Believe me when I say you do not wish to find yourself face to face with an ash wife or the like.”
Thor snorted. But he did so softly, and watched where he placed his feet. It wouldn’t do to let Loki know he did hold a bit of fear for such things. No, it wouldn’t do, but he still didn’t want to have to deal with vaettir if it could be avoided.
After walking a good deal longer, the sound of a bubbling creek reached them and Loki dropped into a crouch. Here was a man good at sneaking about. Too good, to Thor’s thinking, though he mimicked the man and tried to move with just as much grace.
Behind Loki, he crept forward until
he could catch a glimpse of a stream running between the hills. And there, in the waters, three naked women were bathing. Loki signaled Thor to wait, then dropped down to his belly and slithered forward like some fucking serpent.
The man might have been Father’s blood brother, but he was … uh, what was that word? Guileful. Too much so. A man ought to be straightforward whenever possible.
Loki crawled over to where the women had lain cloaks of swan feathers across rocks. Thor paid him only half his attention. After all, there were naked women bathing not thirty feet away. A man didn’t just ignore that. Doing so would have been unnatural.
Still, he kept glancing back and forth toward Loki. The man grabbed one of the cloaks then started back.
Thor frantically signaled for him to take the others too, but Loki made no effort to do so. “What’s wrong with you?” Thor demanded through clinched teeth when Loki drew nigh. “Those could help others. The twins, maybe.”
“I’m not going to steal something we have no pressing need for.” Loki thrust the stolen cloak into Thor’s arms and snuck past him.
Thor moved to follow, debris crunching under his feet. Almost immediately, a shriek went up among the women, followed by splashing and a furious rush back to the rocks.
Then cries of outrage at finding only two cloaks.
Grimacing, Thor crept on after Loki.
12
The desolate snowfields of Niflheim stretched out endlessly before Gudrun, and behind as well, for as she glanced back, her footprints seemed to go on forever. A fell gust swept over her, turning even the light snow flurries into a storm. Somewhere ahead lay the gates of Hel, but she might walk for an age before she reached them. Given free will, she’d have turned back and fled from that destination, but her legs defied her, pushing always forward toward damnation.
It seemed she’d been treading in that direction all her life.
