Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 3: Books 7-9

by Matt Larkin

  “I …” she began. “I saw Hnoss.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Hermod cleared his throat. “We need to move. Volund made it clear his forces cannot hold Amsvartnir. This distraction is to allow you to free yourself, and it seems it worked. Let us not waste it.”

  Odin clapped him on the shoulder, and Hermod took off, leading them back toward escape.

  “Not that way,” Odin called after Hermod had taken several turns and attempted to follow the descending path. He pointed instead to a side passage.

  Hermod glanced at him, then at the women, and finally shook his head and took off running down the way Odin had indicated.

  They followed this, taking another turn past a chamber where several females were engaged in close quarters combat, the clang of steel echoing all around.

  And finally, on to blood-splattered docks, and waiting ships.

  “We are lucky the prince was engaged in the heart of the fighting,” Idunn said, as they sailed over the Onyx Lagoon toward the river Kokytos.

  “Not lucky for many of our warriors,” Hipparch Elga snapped.

  It seemed she commanded Volund’s forces.

  Odin didn’t know how to feel about finding himself rescued by the dark smith. He ought to feel something, this he knew.

  It seeps from you … you know it’s gone, but still you cannot bring yourself to miss it …

  His humanity? Perhaps Audr was right. Perhaps Odin had lost the part of himself that should have governed such times. He couldn’t honestly say with any certainty. So many parts of himself had flitted away in his mission. Maybe his youth had been the smallest price.

  Seeming almost afraid, Freyja tentatively slipped her hand into his and pulled him away from the others. “We have so much to talk about, I scarcely know where to begin.”

  Odin favored her with a smile, knowing it was sad but unable to do better. Had he lived a thousand lifetimes, drawn to this woman, always. Half of his own soul. Always torn apart again by the implacable web of urd. Its threads suffocated him, leaving only moments for the expression of love.

  What if he could turn away from the impending doom? What if he could flee it? Take her in his arms and run to the farthest corners of existence? Maybe even back to Alfheim, where they might hide and while away eternity.

  So very tempting, even with the fear that the Norns might force him back into their web.

  “Begin,” he said at last, “with what lies in your heart. Those things which cannot be left unsaid. Because even immortals always have less time than they think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Instead of an answer, Odin drew her into a close embrace and kissed her forehead.

  “You are my guests now,” Volund said, upon his throne in Saevarstadir, a city-state at least as convoluted as Amsvartnir. “Partake of my hospitality.”

  In the darkness below the days, Odin inclined his head in acknowledgment. He could not say he had missed the dark smith.

  Of course, Volund meant ‘guest’ in the same manner as Fjalar had.

  They had traded being imprisoned in one city for another.

  It didn’t really come as a surprise.

  29

  Music filled the air, men strumming on lyres to set the mood. Everything smelled of snow, rather than flowers, so it wasn’t quite perfect, but still, Hödr felt a profound peace with Nanna standing beside him on the small boat, her arm in his. The woman he loved laid her head on his shoulder.

  “What does it look like?” he asked.

  “Hmm. People are shivering.”

  “I can hear that much.”

  “Can you hear them smiling? Everyone wore their brightest clothes this evening. They’re gathered on both banks, waving at us as we drift past. There’s a little boy over there, shifting from foot to foot, probably wishing he could be anywhere else save here. And a girl, maybe ten winters waving at us. Um … the mist isn’t too thick today, despite the chill, though there’s a bit of ice built up on either side of the river.”

  Hödr laced his fingers in with hers, trying to focus on the beating of her heart and the rhythm of her breathing. It was a solace at all times, even those of peace, as now.

  He’d won. He’d truly done it.

  Though his victory had cost him half an arm and far too many lives … Nanna was truly here, with him.

  “I was born blind,” he said. “My mother refused to expose me, even though others told her to do so. Mother wouldn’t let them. She tried … everything to keep me from feeling less than other boys. But I never quite felt like I belonged.” Especially not after Eldr. Mother had wanted so badly to help him, but it had cost them both, and Father, more than anyone could have imagined. “I never thought I could … I mean, maybe I never thought I deserved to have happiness in my life. I spent centuries claiming naught for myself, just trying to make up for mistakes I—or my parents—had made.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Maybe one day you’ll explain that all so it actually makes sense. One thing, though—you do deserve happiness. And I did choose you. Relax a little.”

  Why was that so hard? Hödr chuckled, though it sounded weak in his own ears. Why did he feel so damned convinced someone must come along and take this all away from him?

  The things he’d done when Eldr held him, they seeped into his dreams. They reminded him …

  Hödr grunted and shook his head. No. He’d spent far too long, lingering on those dark moments. He felt the acrid reek of burning human flesh, scorching his nostrils. Felt it a thousand times more than when it had really happened.

  “I’m your wife, now,” Nanna said, this time with a light elbow to his ribs. “I’d rather prefer you keep your attention on me. Or at least on our wedding.”

  “Tell me more about it.”

  She glanced around. “Well, they couldn’t string flowers together, so they just draped linens over the arch. Looks kind of foolish, honestly, but I appreciate the thought. Must have been my father’s idea, without a doubt.”

  “Sentimental?”

  “Always.” She chuckled a little, but it cut off far too quickly. “Especially since my mother died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Mmm. Well, anyway, I’m excited to meet your parents. They must be interesting.”

  Hödr found himself caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace. He couldn’t think of any other time when anyone seemed terribly eager to meet either of his parents. Their family had become veritable outcasts on Asgard. While Queen Frigg would never actually turn against her sister, Mother and Father seemed, at best, now tolerated.

  As for Hödr himself, he’d never be able to return. Baldr would have him executed on sight, and Frigg would side with her son, without doubt. It did not mean Nanna could never meet Hödr’s parents though. Father … he saw things in the fire. “I suspect they’ll come to us, in Gardariki, one day before too long.”

  “You’ll send word to them?”

  He wouldn’t need to, even if he had a way to do so. “I swear to love you,” he said.

  Nanna squeezed his hand. “If I doubted that, I wouldn’t be here.” A pause. “Still nice to hear, though.”

  That drew a slight chuckle from him. Yes, he’d never believed he’d have something like this. That peace could come to him. Companionship? Never. Not after what he’d done and what had been done to him, not while most Aesir drew no distinction between the two. Mother called Hödr the greatest victim of it all, but few others saw it that way.

  It felt like a dream, one he never … Past the din of the crowd and the music, footsteps sounded in the forest, the crunch of snow under so many boots.

  “No …” Hödr reached for Mistilteinn. His fingers closed around the hilt.

  Lightning crackled. Everything slowed. He could sense it, disrupting the air currents, power leaping around it as the hammer hurtled through the air. Hödr tried to shout a warning, but it came so fast he barely had time to dodge to the side.

  It didn’t
matter.

  Thor hadn’t aimed Mjölnir at him.

  The hammer crashed through the boat. Lightning erupted in a deafening roar, shredding wood. Like a jotunn’s fist, the impact flung Hödr from the craft, a half dozen feet, before he pitched down into the river.

  Icy cold numbed his senses. Couldn’t tell … where …

  Muscles had seized up. Water rushing up his nose. Mouth. Choking …

  It felt like he flailed under the water, but somehow, he managed the surface, coughing up lungful after lungful of freezing water.

  Thor … It meant … Baldr.

  Nanna! Fuck!

  His senses returned with agonizing slowness. Screaming resounded on both banks, men and women terrified, dying. The smell of blood bombarded his raw sinuses as he pulled himself up on one bank.

  Shivering and dazed, he managed his knees and drew Mistilteinn, trusting the runeblade to give him strength even when his own was flagging. The first auras began to take shape.

  People fleeing in all directions. Raging warriors slaughtering anyone who got in the way or stood against them. On the far side of the river, a powerful aura, someone flush with pneuma.

  Thor. Trollfucking bastard had always wanted an excuse to kill Hödr. Now it seemed Baldr had gone to his brother and given him the chance.

  Hödr climbed to his feet.

  Another strong aura trudged toward him, bearing a flaming sword.

  “Did you think your treason could stand, cousin? Did you truly believe you could win against the might of Asgard? We are the lords of creation! We are the rulers of this world!”

  Hödr grunted. He was tired of trading words with Baldr. Where was Nanna?

  There. On the far side of the river … grabbed by Thor.

  Damn it. Damn both brothers. Damn their entire fucking family. It was enough. How many centuries was Hödr to pay for what Eldr had done with him? He’d never wanted to hurt Thrúd and he hadn’t had a damn thing to do with what happened to Sif. Just because the vaettr that had possessed him had joined with the Serks didn’t make him responsible for their actions.

  No.

  No more.

  Growling, he advanced on Baldr.

  The prince still favored his ribs. He’d probably not spent so long in convalescence since tasting the fruit of Yggdrasil. Well, this time Hödr would give him a wound that wouldn’t heal at all.

  Teeth grit, he moved to circle the prince.

  “Naught to say?” Baldr mocked.

  “No desire to converse with the contents of a troll’s arse.” Hödr lunged, going for the prince’s throat. Tight, rapid slashes that drove Baldr back.

  The prince’s wounds slowed him. Not a lot, but Hödr didn’t need that much of an edge.

  Mistilteinn swept up, caught Baldr on the cheek and sent the prince stumbling.

  “I’m gonna cut your fucking face off!” Hödr lunged in. And realized his mistake too late.

  Baldr had lured him in, feigned more pain than he must have felt. The prince whipped Laevateinn back around so fast that flames licked at Hödr’s face and neck. White hot agony raced through him, and Hödr stumbled away, screaming. His flesh bubbled and peeled, the sickly sweet reek of it leaving him gagging, even over the pain. Blood oozed from his seared skin, running down his chest.

  His tunic might have caught fire if it weren’t soaked.

  Baldr came in again, almost faster than Hödr could get Mistilteinn up to parry. Now the prince was roaring, launching furious blow after blow.

  Even with his pneuma drawn, the pain threatened to overwhelmed Hödr. It blurred his senses and turned the rest of the battle into a hazy mush of swirling auras. Had to focus.

  Parry. Dodge.

  He kept giving ground until his foot skidded on ice at the river’s edge.

  “Nowhere left to go,” Baldr taunted.

  No. No, Hödr refused to lose. No more!

  All sense should have told him to defend. But fury drove him forward, stepping into his parry as he drove Baldr’s runeblade down into the ice. Laevateinn’s flames washed over his chest, but his sodden clothes warded him. A little. The rest—he no longer cared about pain.

  Hödr slammed his forehead into Baldr’s nose. Cartilage crunched under the blow and the prince stumbled backward with a wet gurgle.

  Snarling, he lunged at Baldr.

  A rock slammed into Hödr’s chest before he could strike, flinging him five feet through the air to come crashing down onto ice. Mistilteinn slipped from his grasp and pain rushed in over him, suffocating him. Air refused to enter into his lungs over the crushing weight now bearing down upon them.

  Desperate, Hödr patted around on the ground to find the runeblade. His fingers brushed over the edge, sliced them, though that pain seemed so far away he could scarcely feel it. His hand closed around the hilt as Baldr closed in on him.

  And Thor. The other prince had thrown a rock the size of a man’s head at him. Hödr was lucky his entire chest hadn’t caved in. Actually, probably he had the apple to thank for that.

  Thor differed, though. Maybe looking for that damn hammer.

  Hödr scrambled backward, managing to get up onto his arse but not to gain his feet. So hard … to breathe …

  “It’s over.” Baldr’s words were muffled by a broken nose, but even still, Hödr could hear the fury underlying them.

  That flaming sword was coming for him. And he was going to die.

  Hödr could think of only one thing to do.

  He rolled over, drew a breath, and flung himself back into the river.

  The freezing waters hit him like another blow, shocking him back into awareness.

  Probably not for long though.

  Hödr swam straight down, until he brushed the riverbed, then let the current carry him, swimming with it.

  Maybe Baldr would find him, when he came up for air.

  Or maybe he could get far enough to make his way into the wood. Neither Baldr nor Thor was a master woodsman.

  Already, Hödr’s lungs had begun to burn, threatening to burst. Had to hold on.

  Swimming with the runeblade in his only hand was too damn hard. He twisted around just enough to sheath it.

  Had to get another breath.

  With no choice, he kicked off the riverbed and made for the surface. There he allowed himself a single breath. Not even long enough to sense the auras or get a feel for where his foes might be. He couldn’t afford that.

  No.

  Back down under the surface.

  Had to stay down. Had to escape …

  Nanna …

  Part IV

  Year 399, Age of the Aesir

  Winter

  30

  “You have shamed me,” Baldr said to Nanna, when she entered the house he’d claimed.

  Word had come that Gevarus had taken a wound—a deadly one, to his gut—and lay in the fevers.

  Baldr didn’t fare much better. Chill sweats seeped down his back while his insides seemed lit aflame. His side was a ruined agony. He rested on a wolfskin spread by the fire pit, unable to decide if he was too hot or freezing.

  Thor insisted they return to Asgard and let Eir look at the wound. Since when did an immortal need such care? But Hödr had been right—none of the wounds dealt by Mistilteinn healed like they should have.

  Instead, they festered as if Baldr were a mere man.

  “You don’t look well,” the woman said. Still staring defiance at him.

  Oh, he was not well, and part of the blame fell at her feet for that. “You have chosen a traitor and by all rights you should share his urd.”

  “Then send me to him.”

  Were he stronger, he’d have rolled his eyes at that. As it was, the only retort he could offer was a groan.

  “You’re really dying.”

  “I’m not dying. I just need … rest.” He pointed a finger at her. “You … Hödr is dead, more like than not. Either way, I would not allow you to join him. Not after he raised a blade to me. No, he is to
be denied aught save a traitor’s death and an eternity rotting behind the gates of Hel. Or perhaps feeding the dark dragon in Naströnd.” He wanted to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze.

  “My father is dying.”

  No doubt. But Gevarus had joined Hödr in his conspiracy, so Baldr would’ve seen him dead one way or another, regardless. Even had the man managed to return to his kingdom, Baldr would’ve come for him. Some slights could not be ignored. Still, for Nanna’s sake … “I’ll grant him a brave death, if he wishes … a chance at Valhalla.”

  Nanna blanched. “Save him.”

  Oh, not even if he could do so, though it would little avail him to admit that. “Not in my power.”

  “You’re a god.”

  Now he chuckled, painful though that proved. “Yes. But … not one of healing.” Indeed, Eir alone might have such skills. But with the wound Baldr’s men had described, Gevarus would be dead long before they could get him to Asgard. Not that Baldr would do so, regardless. “Those who might save him are not here. He raised a blade against my men and thus earned his urd.”

  “You are a bastard, then.” She looked like she might spit on him. A slight he would have no choice but to punish.

  He lifted his chin, daring her to do it. She didn’t. Finally, he sniffed. “I am the last hope to avert Ragnarok.” Mother had foreseen that. “Do you know what that means? It means all of mankind … shall live because of me. So quick to judge with your words … You have no idea the terrible things my blind cousin has done … The murders, rapes, tortures. And now treason.”

  Nanna looked like she might deny Hödr’s crimes, but she shut her mouth and set her jaw, stern-faced and dour.

  Baldr groaned, and waved his hand. “Be gone from my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Sneering, she stormed out the door and slammed it behind her.

  Baldr slumped down beside the fire with a groan, and pulled another blanket up around his shoulders. So cold …