by Matt Larkin
Idunn froze in the process of bending to grab her leather vest. What … what the fuck was wrong with her? How had she become this person who would fret over what to wear or worry so over her appearance while she remained captive in Saevarstadir?
Groaning, she slumped down beside her bed and let her head fall into her hands. These increasingly rare moments of lucidity made it all worse. Most of the time, she was aware of her transformation but unable to move herself to fret over such things. But sometimes she … she …
Idunn slammed a hand down on the bed shelf, moaning in despair.
This wasn’t what she wanted! It shouldn’t have been what she wanted, at least. This madness.
Part of her longed to weep, but the human capable of that had faded long before she’d come to this dark world.
All she could do instead was wail, adding her pitiful cries to the chorus of suffering and arousal that saturated Volund’s fortress.
And then her door slid open and Idunn’s breath caught in her throat while she stared daggers at the intruder.
Hnoss.
Freyja’s daughter slipped into Idunn’s room, shutting the door behind herself. “I heard your lamentations.”
“I don’t lament aught.”
Hnoss snickered, shaking her head, before slinking down onto the floor in front of Idunn. “You do, not only with your voice, but your essence. Its pain is reflected through the umbral currents running through this very world. Once your transformation is complete, you will hear the shadows speak of truths beyond the ken of even other spirits. The first years are the hardest ones, whatever comfort that offers you.”
Idunn glowered while finishing donning her vest. “What should you care?”
The other woman frowned a moment, seeming to war with something within herself. “I … I’m going to offer you a chance to leave this place. No one ever came for me, and maybe no one could. But you … there is still a fragment of light in you, Idunn. Caught between that light and the darkness of this realm, you are torn in half. Given your heritage, that light will die sooner, rather than later. But I’m going to give you a way out, a way back to the Mortal Realm where you might yet determine your own fate.”
Pity? Should the centuries here not have stamped out any semblance of pity or empathy within Hnoss?
Idunn found it difficult to swallow. She should have leapt at the chance the woman offered her. And yet … her chest seized up tight at the thought of leaving it behind. Her body, her very soul ached for the shadows here.
Hnoss leaned in close. Her open-handed slap caught Idunn off guard, sent her toppling over onto the floor, her ears ringing.
Hand to her cheek, Idunn rolled over and sat back up. That had really stung, with alfar strength behind it.
“You think that you want it. You want him. There is a darkness in your mind, slithering about your soul, calling you to this place. But that darkness is not yet complete, not utter. It soon will be, Idunn, and I doubt I will have the strength or inclination to make this offer again. Let me help you.”
Idunn flinched. By the Sun, the woman had the right of it. Idunn knew Hnoss had the right of it. And still, trying to flee this dark world felt like trying to saw her own leg off. The pain of yanking an arrow out of her flesh.
“I remember,” Hnoss said. “I remember in the way we remember dreams, in that place of sun, swimming with you when I was very small. I remember you encouraging me to push my limits, to swim farther. And you knew the names of every bird, every flower in the rainforest. Aunt Idunn, I called you, because Mother loved you, even though the court thought you cursed, an exile. Do you still remember those days?”
“I …” Idunn could almost picture it in her mind, swimming in the sea, diving for pearls, as her ancestors had done. Finding one to give to little Hnoss, back when the girl had but a dozen years behind her.
“In the Summer Court, they called you tainted, urged me to stay away from you, but I didn’t listen. You took me to see the Radiant Falls. Was that a dream?”
As if Hnoss’s words had unlocked something in her mind, Idunn saw that blinding reflection of sunlight off the waters. Saw and reveled in its overpowering glory. A glittering rainforest. A sea of crystal waters. An ocean of light.
Hnoss leaned in close again and Idunn braced for another slap. “I wonder,” the girl said, though, “what was the Mortal Realm like? Is that a dream for you?”
“It’s …” Vanaheim was not so unlike Alfheim. A place of sun and warmth and myriad plants. Not eternal sun, no, for there was night, but Idunn liked the moon and stars and the cool breeze that blew across the mountains. And Midgard … it held so many wonders. Horrors, too, and more suffering than she could bear.
“I think I’d like to see it,” Hnoss said, “even if I could not stay.”
“Couldn’t stay?”
“Oh, the shadows are too deep inside me now, and this world would call me back. But I can show you the way through the darkness, and back to the Mortal Realm. I was born half-human, and thus still have a physical body. As do you, for the moment.”
Idunn rubbed her face. Midgard did seem a dream. And so did this moment. Surreal, beyond her ability to wrap her mind around. “The Vanir were banished to Alfheim by Odin’s sorcery. We never found a way back. The Veil stops us.”
Hnoss nodded, a mischievous grin on her face. “But some few of those descended from spirits have embraced their heritage and found a way into the Spirit Realm. Those, like Volund himself, who found his way here. And thus must know a way back. I may have followed him, once.”
Idunn gaped at the other woman. “Y-you could have left at any time!”
Hnoss shrugged. “And gone where? I told you, the shadows are part of me now.”
“If you show me the way out, won’t he know you helped me?”
She giggled. “Oh, yes. Volund will punish me.” She licked her lips and shuddered. “Oh, how he will punish me. I cannot wait to see what he will dream up.”
Idunn suppressed a tremble at the other woman’s words. She’d lost her mind. And if Idunn stayed here, she would become like Hnoss. Even now, the thought of leaving this behind tore at her. Which meant, she had best flee Svartalfheim before she changed her mind.
Before it became a part of her, as well.
4
A half dozen petty kings had shattered Reidgotaland into bloody civil war that had raged ever since the death of King Vigletus. All those old ambitions had flared up and Thor couldn’t think of a worse time for this bickering.
Oh, the Fimbulvinter seemed to have forestalled the worst of the fighting. Hard to get men to march when they were starving. But the petty kings still gathered their levies, preparing for a summer that might not come, and a war they were too fucking stupid to avoid.
Vigletus’s son, Vermund, ought to have had the rightful claim to the throne, so Thor had gone there to hear the man’s woes. And to get those damn spots flitting before his eyes at their squabbles.
Here, they sat around Vermund’s hall, at his table, with thegns and carls and so forth, each trying to see who could shout the loudest.
By Thor’s side, Gefjon drummed her fingers on the table in frustration. On the way, she’d claimed to have had a hand in establishing the first true kings of Reidgotaland, after the fall of the Old Kingdoms. Thor figured that was about as interesting as the color of his shit.
Which still put it better than listening to this jabbering, spot-inducing, trollshit.
He hefted Mjölnir.
Still no one looking.
He dropped the hammer on the table and it cracked the wood, carving out little splinters.
Now, everyone cast a satisfying stare his way.
“What?” Thor asked. “Were you having a fair time of it? Enjoying some boasting and insulting? Fucking imbeciles! We come here and tell you an army of Deathless bastards makes for your shores, and you can’t stop comparing cocks with one another long enough to mount a fucking defense?” Thor sniffed and rose. “Fine. I�
�ll settle it. I’ve got the biggest cock! Anyone need to see it?”
Gefjon chortled. “Not going to refuse, if you really want to.”
Other than a growl, Thor decided it best to ignore that.
Frey and Nehalennia had gone to the far north of Cimbria, to scout the situation among Vermund’s enemies and, with luck, to get them to agree to travel here and combine their forces. Of course, Thor’s luck didn’t oft run that way.
Thor ought to have brought more men, maybe, but Idavollir needed warriors to defend the place, and he couldn’t leave Magni without enough … ugh … what was that word? Reserves?
“Look,” Thor said. “It’s time to make peace, because very soon, we’ll be making war.”
“No one attacks in winter,” an insipid thegn protested. The man had a wart between his brows that looked like some damn third eye about to burst forth. Thor had heard his name twice already, but couldn’t remember aught save Warthead.
Now, Thor fixed his gaze upon that bulging thing. “Maybe you didn’t hear about Ingjald Ill-Ruler hacking and burning his way up and down Sviarland a few moons back. Still going on, in case you don’t know. The Deathless legions just conquered all of fucking Hunaland, also. And if you think they’re not already either scouting a route through the Myrkvidr—”
“No army marches through the Myrkvidr,” Warthead said.
“Or else building ships to move in on yours,” Thor finished, “you’re even stupider than you look. And if you interrupt me again, you’re going to look pretty fucking stupid. Because I’ll shove your head so far up your arse the only thing men’ll see is that blister sticking out like a little ball of shit.”
Gefjon snickered. “How colorful.”
Thor cast her a glare. A brief one. “Whether in a fortnight or a moon, you’re going to have thousands of Miklagardian soldiers on your shores. Gardarikian mercenaries, Hun conscripts, and fucking vampires stalking the night. The world is ending and sticking your fingers in you arses and humming real loud is not going to stop it!”
“In their arses?” Gefjon asked. “Don’t you mean in their ears?”
Vermund rose now. “What, exactly, is a vampire? Some kind of cavalry?”
“Nachzehrers,” Thor snapped.
Most stared blankly at him and a few others scoffed at him invoking Hun legends.
Thor threw up his hands. “Fucking draugar, only worse, all right? They’ll stalk the nights and kill and kill until you … ugh, grr! Until you …” Damn it! He hated his brain being so muddled. “Kill until you fucking die!” And he hated the way his words wheezed with no fucking teeth. He slapped the table. “So get the levies ready and make peace with the rest of your countrymen!”
“Indeed,” Vermund said. “As soon as they acknowledge my kingship, I will welcome the—”
Roaring, Thor now smashed both fists into the table, crushing it into kindling. His hammer clattered to the floor, and he paused only long enough to snatch it up before storming out.
“That went well,” Gefjon said, when she found him sitting atop a hill, staring out at the mist. Somewhere out there, the Deathless legions were marching. And they’d win. They’d win because no one here seemed to believe they were even real, much less led by the undead.
And these stupid trollfuckers deserved to die.
They deserved it hard.
Thor spit into the mist.
With a sigh, Gefjon settled down beside him. “Men thought the world was ending when the Old Kingdoms fell. Everything went to savagery, people barely knew how to farm anymore. On Sjaelland, I helped those who remained recover the techniques. I love this land, Thor. I mean, it was hard times, sure, but those are good memories for me.”
Why in Hel’s frozen underworld was she telling him this? “World wasn’t ending then. It really, actually is now.”
“No one ever believes the end is nigh,” she said. “Almost no one, until it really hits them. No one thinks, ‘this is the last happy time we’ll have.’ People aren’t made that way. They always imagine a future. It makes me wonder, sometimes, where the first people came from, and who made us so damn stubborn? Was that supposed to increase our chances of survival? The unwillingness, even inability, to truly grasp the fleeting nature of existence?”
“You and I are immortal,” Thor pointed out.
“Right, sure. My life has hardly been fleeting. But not long ago I saw Bragi die. He’d lived thousands of years, and his life ended in a heartbeat. Why can’t mine? Any of us, we might be dead tomorrow. But most, they can’t … can’t really believe it would be them or the people close to them.”
Thor rubbed the aching spot on his brow where the stone dug at his brain. “You got me confused with my father. Given the choice between philosophical musings and a pile of trollshit, I’d prefer a mug of ale.”
The woman chortled, shaking her head. “You’re right about one thing. You’re not overmuch like your father, are you?”
“Only in one thing. The way I see it, neither one of us breaks. Whether the world is ending or no, I’m going to keep fighting right up to the end. Past it, even.” Well, maybe that didn’t make overmuch sense.
Gefjon patted his knee, then rose, and drifted back toward Vermund’s hall.
Thor’s missing toes hurt. He couldn’t understand how, but they just kept hurting, out in the cold, as he hobbled his way along through the town, inspecting the paltry wall. How did something not there hurt, moons after getting cut off? How?
It didn’t make a damn bit of sense, and that vexed Thor almost more than the pain.
His toes were too stupid to know they were dead.
It was the only explanation he could see.
He had stupid toes.
And this wall needed to be reinforced. Honestly, it needed to be torn down and replaced with a wall about twice as strong, but Thor doubted so much time remained to them. He’d ordered men out there, digging a trench around the town. They’d grumbled about having to move feet of snow.
Well, when the Deathless legions showed up, they’d be grateful for whatever little bit of time those ditches bought them, wouldn’t they?
“Riders!” a sentry shouted. “Men coming from the north!”
North? Huh. Maybe Frey had done it and managed to bring some of the others to the table.
Almost daring to smile—a slight smile, it wouldn’t do to let men see his missing teeth—Thor hobbled his way toward the gate.
It was Frey and Nehalennia coming, leading a small trail of horses and a longer trail of men and women and children on foot. Dragging meager possessions, making their way across the miles.
Thor glowered at the sight. He’d asked the man to bring back an army to reinforce southern Cimbria and stall the Deathless advance. Not to drag along more mouths to feed. Everyone was starving already.
Even Thor’s belly grumbled more oft than not these days.
Thor stood by the gate, not going out to meet Frey. With neither a horse nor toes, Thor didn’t much fancy trekking over hills. The Vanr would understand.
Indeed, once he drew nigh, Frey hopped off his mount and trotted over to Thor’s side. “Get these people inside.”
Well, Thor had known that was coming. Much as he might have wanted to turn away all those mouths, he didn’t see how he could do so. With a wave, he sent men out there, ushering the … refugees inward.
Refugees. Huh. Not a good sign.
“What in Hel’s icy trench happened out there?” he demanded.
A hand on Thor’s shoulder, Frey guided him away. “Hel is right. She came to us, landed on the shore.”
“What?” Oh, fuck. So now they were trapped between the Goddess of Niflheim and a vampire-led army? Trapped on a peninsula with nowhere to go.
“She brought a ship, larger than any I’ve ever seen. Immense, beyond imagining. A … a floating city, almost. It burst through the mist over the sea like some skinless beast of bone and nails and raw, bloody tendons.”
Thor fell short, and spun, t
urning Frey about to look in his eyes. The man was scared. The Vanr, liosalf, famed warrior, his eyes shone with terror. “A living ship?”
“From it poured an endless army of the dead. Draugar … thousands upon thousands of them. Enough to swallow this land whole. Maybe enough to swallow the world. And led by a jotunn draug whose steps sent the land trembling.”
“You jest.”
From the pale look on the man’s face, though, Thor already knew better. “This is what remains of those I managed to get out from there. We cannot … we cannot survive this army. Not with the forces we have now. They … they were killing everything. Every man, woman, child, and animal they came across was slaughtered.”
Thor found it hard to swallow.
Frey, too, looked apt to faint. “They are coming for us, Thor. They’re coming here. Soon.”
5
While Hel might have descended through valleys herself and led the slaughter, she did not yet know where Odin was, nor her father. She would not make the mistake of overextending her reach, nor revealing the whole of her strength until the time was right.
No, she waited behind the endless ranks of the dead as they swept over this land, a place her host thought of as Cimbria in Reidgotaland, though Hel cared little for mortal appellations. Whenever they came to a town or village, Hrym would lead Hel’s draugar to massacre every living being.
Some souls Hel would feast on, while others fed her horde. The strongest warriors she raised with the mist, such that her legion only grew with each passing day.
There would be no mistakes, this time.
So many ages had passed since last Hel walked the Mortal Realm. Last time, she had grossly underestimated the Destroyer. Had thought, because he could not match her in an even fight, that he could do naught at all to stand against her. Instead, he had relied on trickery and treachery, and had cost her a host while depriving her of any other to claim.
