by Matt Larkin
So instead, he stood beside Ingjald and his thegns. The king’s daughter Asa snickered, seeming a bit too fascinated with the flaming ruin of her home. It was a calculated move on the tafl board, not something to relish, even considering many of the dead were enemies and traitors.
The problem with Ordrerism was that the Deathless priests offered men immortality. Odin had promised that some of the worthy would join him in Valhalla and fight, drink, and fuck until the end of the world. But somehow, the lure of bodily immortality drew in so many more, convinced that the god-emperor alone was a true deity.
Baldr rubbed his face. It had started slowly, the spread of this insidious faith. A few priests, alone or in small groups, passing among the villages. Hardly worth noting, and thus, largely unnoticed by the Aesir. Until one day, nobles and kings had begun shunning the old ways in favor of these new. Mother had wanted to reveal the truth that, if the Patriarchs offered immortality at all, it would only be through vampirism. But Baldr had advised against such a tactic. Most of the people would have never understood or believed such a thing.
Their worlds were small.
More importantly, the Aesir were warriors. They didn’t fight their enemies with petty words, and doing so would have served to undermine the faith Father had built. No, it was better to simply kill their enemies and stamp out this faith before it could spread farther. And sometimes the best way to be sure you killed all the rats was just to burn the whole barn down.
“Guthruthr of Skane did not attend,” Ingjald said. “But the kings of Dalar, Njarar, Ostergotland, and Jamtla are dead for sure. The plan was a success. Still, we cannot allow Guthruthr to unite the people against us. Should I have my men make sail for Skane now?”
“No,” Baldr said. “You’ll have enough to deal with in order to subdue the neighboring lands without spreading your men to the far south. Besides, sailing in winter is too risky.” And the damn winter seemed disinclined to ever end. “No, there are other ways to ensure Guthruthr is no threat.”
“You mean send someone to murder him.”
Baldr had chosen Ingjald because the man was ruthless and loyal to the Aesir. Unfortunately, cunning too seemed included in the deal. “You have a daughter of marriageable age. She has what, fifteen winters behind her?”
“I don’t want to marry that old bore,” Asa snapped.
“No one asked you,” Baldr said, still looking at Ingjald. “You need an ally and Guthruthr will hear of this and know he has two options. Either forge an alliance with you and accept you as high king, or go to war. He’s not strong enough for war to be his first choice.”
“So he’s a craven?” Asa said. “Even better. Let’s kill him too.”
Ingjald narrowed his eyes, glanced at his daughter, then turned back to Baldr. “You’ll see to it?” Baldr nodded. “Go with him, then, girl.”
“But—”
Ingjald turned his glare on her and Asa fell silent. “You will do whatever the Prince of the Aesir tells you, Asa. Mind him and bring no shame upon us.”
Traveling to Skane in the company of Asa did not much appeal, but Baldr saw no other way to be certain. Not that Asa was unpleasant to look on, with auburn hair in a flower braid, and mischievous eyes, just that she was young and impetuous and Baldr would have just as soon spent his time with a woman of more maturity.
Still, the needs of Asgard outweighed his personal preferences.
“Don’t wait for summer,” he said to Ingjald. “Your levies should be moving on Dalar within a fortnight. Njarar is a lesser threat, but if you can claim it quickly enough, it will provide a bulwark against Ostergotland.”
Baldr dared to hope the man wouldn’t disappoint him. He’d hate to think all this would prove for naught.
Baldr stuck to the wooded paths, avoiding the coastline. If any of the fallen kings’ men survived Ingjald’s massacre, they’d be looking for vengeance and he couldn’t take the chance someone would recognize Asa. The young woman strolled along at his side, humming softly to herself, providing far less vexing of a companion than he’d expected.
That she didn’t talk overmuch worked in her favor. Indeed, she seemed to have the intelligence to realize her life could be in jeopardy, though that didn’t appear to frighten her half so much as he’d have expected. Was it courage on her part, or a steadfast belief in Valhalla?
Either way, toward evening they came upon a camp just off the path.
With one hand, Baldr eased Asa behind him, the other wrapping around his sword hilt. Laevateinn had been a gift from his mother on his hundredth winter. Apparently Father had hidden it away in the bowels of Yggdrasil, but Mother had called that a waste, and granted him the runeblade. Baldr had no complaints.
“Peace,” a figure said, emerging from the wood. Hödr.
Baldr eased off the runeblade’s hilt and embraced the other Ás. “You always seem to know it’s me.”
“I can smell you.”
Baldr frowned. Hödr had said that before, and Baldr had never been quite sure if it was meant to start a bout of insults or just Hödr being strange. The man knew things he really ought not to, but smelling people didn’t seem very plausible. He wasn’t a wolfhound or varulf.
Rather than answer the strange statement, he beckoned Asa forward. “Hödr, this is Asa Ingjaldsdottir.”
Hödr offered her a rather stiff nod, then beckoned the two of them back to his camp.
There, an older man and a young woman sat, and beyond them, a handful of men. The elder man had a hand on his sword hilt as Baldr approached. “Is he not with Ingjald?”
“Baldr was the one who told me to save you.”
A stretch, given Baldr wasn’t actually sure who these people were. The girl was beautiful, though, with hair the color of sun-drenched wheat, and a smile that seemed hidden behind her obvious wariness.
Hödr waved a hand in their direction. “King Gevarus of Gardariki and his daughter, Nanna. We were heading for the harbor, but Ingjald set their ships ablaze.”
Baldr grimaced. Asa, though, snickered as if that was some kind of jest. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
Hödr nodded. “It means we have to move into Njarar to help them find a ship home. Whatever Ingjald’s plans for Sviarland, this has clearly not become a place for foreigners.” Baldr’s cousin pointed off to the woods. “I’m going to hunt for some game. We had no time to gather any provisions before we fled Fyris Hall. Will you gather roots, berries, whatever else we might eat?”
Asa plopped down by the fire. “Well I already have a satchel full of nuts and berries. Some of us came prepared.”
Nanna cast a withering gaze on the other princess, then rose. “I’ll help find something to eat.”
Hödr’s regard lingered on Asa so long that Baldr began to wonder if he planned to criticize the girl. Fortunately, his cousin just turned and stalked off into the wood. Baldr couldn’t say quite how Hödr hunted, but he was fairly good at it, so it was best to let him do so alone.
Beside Nanna, Baldr skirted the path, seeking aught else they might eat.
“Your companion seems lovely,” Nanna said.
Baldr chuckled. “A sheltered life, perhaps. And she’s young.”
“Do not all mortals seem young to you?”
Again, he found himself laughing. “Yes. But some more than others. A few years can make a great deal of difference at her age.”
“So … she’s not your … lover?”
All he could do was chortle at that. “I’d sooner claim a jotunn as a lover. No, she is betrothed—or at least intended to be—to Guthruthr. A peace offering.”
“You mean a bribe to acknowledge Ingjald’s supremacy as high king.”
Oh. Nanna was a clever one. The woman knelt and tugged at some roots half sticking out of the frozen ground.
Baldr filled his arms with pneuma and yanked it free with one hand, grinning when she gaped at him. Few women failed to be impressed with a display of apple-enhanced strength. Baldr brushed a hand over her
cheek and she shuddered, pulling away.
He cocked his head at her abrupt response. “Am I not pleasing to you?”
Now she blushed, glancing about everywhere but at him, suddenly far too absorbed in hunting for berries.
“You need not feel shy about your desires.”
“If I had desires, they would be only intended for my husband.”
A shame. Baldr rose. “You’re married.”
“No, I mean …”
Oh. So formal, then. Baldr grunted in understanding. “Have no fear then. Save your desires for after you are wed if it suits you.” Still, he could hardly help but imagine her cheek gripped in his palm, stroking the back of her head. His lips pressed hard against hers.
Baldr forced his gaze away from her, at least until she’d turned her back to hunt for more roots. Some things were hard not to look upon.
He’d had a wife, once, a long time ago. She’d fallen in battle before ever tasting the fruit of Yggdrasil, and Baldr had contented himself with keeping lovers wherever he went since then. It kept things simple. Better to enjoy a few nights—or a fortnight in some cases—of joy with someone and then keep the memory pure than to fool oneself into thinking love could last forever.
Thor had warned him about that trap before he married, but Baldr had refused to listen to his brother. After all, no one ever remembered Thor for his wisdom, and it had been little secret he’d lost Sif after having an affair with a jotunn.
Did that mean Baldr should pass the rest of eternity without a companion? He’d mused on the idea of taking another wife, without doubt, but it never seemed right. Nor needful, since he’d found plenty of women all too eager to lay with the famed Prince of Asgard. For all he knew, he even had a few bastards running around the world. Once, he’d gotten twins in Kvenland to share his bed at the same time for three nights in a row.
Funny, now he couldn’t even remember their names.
When they had enough forage in hand, they returned to where Gevarus had stoked the fire, boiling water in a pot Baldr had left at the camp. Baldr plopped down beside the mortal king and tossed his gathered bits in the pot.
No sign of Asa. Maybe she’d wandered off to have a piss. Either way, he wasn’t like to miss her conversation anytime soon. Nanna sat down across the fire and dropped her handfuls of roots into the broth, setting aside the berries in neat little piles by type.
For some reason, that made Baldr smile. Why did it matter, sorting berries, when they’d eat them all in a few moments?
He looked to Gevarus. “I want to ask for your daughter’s hand.” His words seemed to have leapt from his mouth of their own accord. True, he’d mulled over the idea, but he hadn’t intended … Well, nowhere to go now save forward. “I can offer a hefty bride price from the coffers of Asgard, enough to see your kingdom flourish.”
The king stammered, looking to Nanna, then back at Baldr. Obviously struck dumb by the idea of an Ás looking to marry a mortal. Of course, after they wed, getting her an apple would be his first order of business. Mother wouldn’t deny him.
“Well,” Baldr said, and patted Gevarus’s knee. “I have to finish taking Asa to Skane, then return to Asgard to get the bride price. But after that, we’ll have a wedding that will be the envy of all Midgard. Perhaps around Sumarauki.”
Gevarus nodded, mouth still hanging a bit agape.
Waiting that long to hold Nanna, to feel her warm embrace, it rankled. But he had to respect her desires. The waiting would only make their love all the sweeter.
4
The sun never set in Alfheim. It just blazed in the sky, on and on, until it baked Odin’s skin into hard leather. His prison, if it could be called that, was the top of a tower encased in a curtain of shimmering light that stretched up at least thirty feet. He’d tried several times to pass through it, but it seared his flesh so completely he’d have no chance of surviving it. The last time he hadn’t been able to use his hand for three days.
And yet, it allowed the liosalfar to pass through when they so desired. The light bent around them like a waterfall crashing over their shoulders and flowing harmlessly aside in a rainbow of colors. They came to bring him food and water, sometimes even to talk, though few seemed inclined to answer his questions.
His captors had returned his hat and clothes to him, though he sometimes wondered if that had more to do with prolonging his suffering than easing it. He’d considered throwing himself through the curtain. Considered it, oh so many times. He couldn’t judge how many years had passed here—centuries at the very least.
All that kept him from ending it was the visions. They provided solace, yes, and a deeper truth his captors seemed not to understand. He saw things happening to him outside of this prison. The wolf, Fenrir, still tore his throat out. He still saw his own hands wrapped around Loki’s neck. He saw the world dying in Ragnarok, consumed in fire and ravaged by Hel. If any of those things were to come to pass, then at some point he must escape this tower and this world.
Delving into the past and future were his only refuge, the only recourse that kept him from madness, assuming he had not in fact lost his mind. Within this place, he had so little point of reference he’d begun to doubt that.
Thunder rumbled overhead, dark clouds drifting in. Odin sighed in relief. The rains came most days, at least for a little while, cooling his burning skin and, blessedly, washing away his shit. On days when it didn’t rain, the tower would grow reeking in the blistering sun, for he had no other way to remove the foulness.
With little other warning, a torrent erupted overhead. Rising to his knees, Odin spread his arms and let the pounding rain wash over him, opening his mouth and drinking in its sweetness. In visions of past lives he’d experienced such downpours, in rainforests like the ones covering Alfheim.
More than ever before, his memories of past and future had melded together into a surreal flow, time washed away as if by the rains.
She’d come to him, in the first days he was here. A memory he could not stop himself from reliving over and over, torturous and damning, as if walking through his pain might serve as penance for his unforgivable mistakes.
So long ago. Or maybe yesterday.
The curtain of light parted and Freyja strode through, more radiant than ever, her very skin now flush with luminance, her eyes aglow with a hint of sunlight, her hair glittering as if made of gold. She wore a sheer white draping that offered little for modesty but was probably cool in the merciless sun.
Odin strode toward her, intent to take her in his arms, but she stepped around him, stalking him like a cave lion waiting to pounce. His love traced a finger along his back, over his shoulder blades before coming around to face him once more.
Her slap caught him off guard and carried such force he actually stumbled backward, flailing a hair away from brushing against the light barrier.
“How dare you …” She shook her head in awful disgust.
“I … I didn’t know you’d be caught in the spell. I tried to spare you and Idunn, I tried—”
Freyja sneered at him, her expression darker than he’d ever remembered seeing it. “That oversight I could almost understand. But not what you did after I was gone.”
“What?” Odin had no idea what she was talking about. Had she been able to see him after that? Had he done something that had offended her? Did she speak of him sleeping with his wife? After drinking from the Well of Mimir, he’d known he needed to sire another son, a champion who would become the favored symbol of Asgard. “Did you think I would not lay with another woman for seventy years?”
“Seventy … was it only seventy to you?” She snorted, still grimacing. “You truly have no idea what you did, do you, Od?” She stalked closer, placing a hand to his still aching cheek. Her face so close to his, radiating heat, her breath so warm. “I was pregnant when you sent me here.”
Odin found it hard to swallow. “We have a child?”
Freyja’s knee snapped up and caught him in the stones.
Odin doubled over in blinding pain, before slumping down on his arse and moaning.
“We had a daughter. Hnoss, I named her, and she was beautiful beyond compare. Her laughter was a symphony of joy. Her smile could bring this whole world to a pause just to revel in it. And when she was grown, she had a place in the Summer Court, winning honor, Odin.”
Her tone had his heart clenched in almost unbearable pain. No torture had compared to this. Not even when Gjuki was sucking out his life. Not when Audr had claimed his body and made him a prisoner in his own mind. His mouth moved in a futile attempt to speak.
“He came into the palace and, despite the glow of sunlight, still he seemed cloaked in shadows. The queen’s guards would have cut him down in an instant, but he invoked a blood oath. A promise made by her father that the firstborn daughter of his loins would belong to him. Not even the queen could break the power of such an oath, or at least she would not risk it.”
Freyja was shuddering, her words seeming to tremble in the air. A tear welled in her eye but refused to fall.
Odin wanted to retch. This wasn’t … wasn’t possible …
“He … dragged her out by her heel, screaming, weeping. Calling for me, as my brother tells it, though I was not there.” At last, the tear broke and ran down her cheek, and she shuddered once more. “I went … to the queen. But she couldn’t help me. I went even to Dellingr and begged him to let us save Hnoss. Not even the Elder God would send us to break a blood oath made by her own father. I … don’t know what the svartalf gave you … I hope it was worth it.”
Freyja spit in his face and stormed back through the curtain.
The rains stopped almost as suddenly as they’d begun. A quarter hour of them? Odin could no longer judge such things. His sense of time was one of the first things he’d lost here.
