The Goddess Denied (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 2)

by Deborah Davitt

  It paused, just behind her and to the right, and Erida’s skin crawled with the effort not to turn her head and look at it. Her own bound spirits flickered and fled. They knew the kind of power that an efreet had. Their own paled in comparison. What would you have of me, little magus? Speak.

  “A man’s life. And the severing of a contract forced on a child.”

  So little? I am disappointed in you, little magus.

  “The contract was bound in blood, forced from an unwilling child. The spirit who holds the contract is . . . ancient. Powerful.” Erida swallowed. “I will not speak the Name aloud.”

  Give me your thoughts, magus. Shape the Name there. The efreet swirled back in front of her, the eyes staring down at her. Amusement. Not madness, but the hint of the wildness of the Veil, the things that were beyond mortal ken, burning there.

  Erida’s throat went dry again. Allowing the creature into her thoughts would allow it an advantage. It could attempt to overwhelm her, immediately, and beginning wrestling from a position of disadvantage was . . . unwise. And yet, she was in her protective circle. As much power bound here to protect her as she could muster. “Very well,” she whispered, feeling . . . tired. Old. She was forty-three now. She wasn’t the young creature she’d been, when she’d last faced this being. “Take my thoughts.”

  It hurt a little. It burned its way into her mind, and picked through her thoughts. How interesting. You feel guilt? You feel responsibility, for that you have lived in ease, while others have suffered? But you did not know of their suffering, so how can you be at fault?

  That is not why you are in my mind, spirit. Take the Name.

  Naravzhu. I have it. I like your thoughts, magus. Your mind is surprisingly complex.

  Erida closed her mind, with an effort. Pulled away. The power in the creature was . . . intoxicating. Warmth. Fire. Darkness. She shook a little, and said, out loud, “Shall we bargain?”

  The life of the one to whom you are bound. Simple enough. He will, I think, simply disappear. Oh, I’ll let you see the ashes and the grease, that you may verify that I have held up my end of the bargain. The ending of the boy’s contract . . . much more difficult.

  “I will assist you in any way possible,” Erida averred, her voice thin.

  Mmm, will you, magus? The efreet’s tone was silky. Is it not prideful of you, to think that your powers can match against mine, or one like Naravzhu?

  Erida swallowed, and her dark hair, gray-flecked, danced across her face in Illa’zhi’s wind. “Perhaps,” she said, quietly. “But I offer, in the hopes of making the price less. My power, added to yours, lessens your investment.”

  Ah, yes, the price. We should discuss that, should we not? The efreet circled her again. Your powers have grown since we last met. But your life burns colder in you. Time has moved past you. Changed you. Aged you. Time makes you more complex, magus. I long for complexity. I like this mortal world. I require . . . a conduit, that I might visit it more freely.

  Erida closed her eyes. “Name your price, spirit,” she whispered.

  Why, you, magus. Your Name. Your soul, bound to me, and I to you. I have tasted of your soul before, and I yearn for more.

  Tears prickled at the lids of her closed eyes. Magi were warned of the temptation involved in becoming soul-bound to a creature more powerful than they were, themselves. A minor spirit was one thing. The human held the leverage and the power. The temptation of the power possessed by a greater spirit, such as this one? Heady. But the human’s ability to control the spirit was tenuous. Contracts needed limitations. Protections. And under no circumstances should a magus give up the entirety of his or her soul. “Half my life-essence,” Erida offered, quietly.

  In order to defeat a creature like this Naravzhu, I will require a conduit. So that all my power in the Veil can be reached, even from this world. A permanent link. Half your essence will not do. Your Name, summoner. All of you. But I bargain fairly with you, as you have always bargained with me. She opened her eyes, and saw that vortex had returned in front of her. For all of you? You get all of me. Is that not fair? A pause. Your Name, magus. Else I will begin to think you are not serious about this bargain.

  She swallowed, and opened her mind. Shadeslore, she admitted, shaping her Name with infinite care in the recesses of her mind. In many ways, the current situation was her own fault. She had been blind, and people around her had paid the price.

  And now, it was her turn.

  We have a bargain. Break your circle, Shadeslore, and let us commence to sealing our bargain.

  She stepped out of the circle, keeping every sorcerous defense she had up around her body. Warding herself against fire, a chill sheath of air around her form, designed to draw excess heat and energy away from her, and shunt it skywards, away from vulnerable flesh. She drew her knife, and held it to the palm of her hand. “Blood?” she asked, but she suspected she already knew the answer.

  Illa’zhi’s silent laughter cut at her. The vortex slimmed. Compressed. Pulled itself in, and in, pouring itself into a new form. The smoke became tangible. Solid, man-shaped, but the face, besides the burning golden eyes, was featureless. The body was still black in its entirety, like a night sky, with occasional transparent areas, through which flames flickered. Not blood, he told her. Just you. All of you, Shadeslore. Another chuckle, and he raised a hand. Put it to her forehead. Oh, such an interesting precaution. Did you think I would burn you to a cinder?

  “The thought crossed my mind.” Erida swallowed, and braced herself, as the efreet’s thoughts burned into hers. She resisted. She was trained to resist, to grapple with spirits, to match her strength against theirs and win.

  Fire. Fire everywhere, and the knowledge, inescapable, that she had to yield. She had to give way. Relax. Surrender.

  You are making this more difficult than it needs to be. We are close now, though.

  I . . . can’t . . . help . . . it. I’m . . . dying . . . . Her thoughts were dizzy. Hazy. Distant.

  Yes, but only a little bit.

  Too much of you. Too little of me.

  It won’t hurt if you don’t struggle. Here. I will meet you . . . precisely halfway. Black-smoke arms wrapped around her, holding her up, and the pain lessened. She relaxed. Yielded. Better.

  She opened her eyes, and was . . . elsewhere. Fire all around her, a web of it, vast as the sky, and each skein of the web connected to her. Pouring into her, through every orifice. Pleasure, suddenly. Bliss, in fact. And as the fire rushed into her, something else poured out, in equal measure. Illa’zhi’s power was in her, and hers was in him, and more. Much more. He wasn’t just taking her soul, he was giving her something in exchange, and they wrapped around each other in this otherplace. Their essences became a cord, knotted between them, his smoke-black, and hers a distant, cool violet. And with the metaphysical, the physical, as well. Her senses flickered back and forth between what was surely the Veil and the mortal realm. Realized that he’d borne her back to the earth. That smoke and fire pressed, urgently, between her legs, and she relaxed. Allowed him in. Sealed their bargain. Bound, and was bound in turn.

  Her eyes opened, and she realized she was lying on the ground. Smell of smoke all around her. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. The sun was too bright, and she covered her eyes with her forearm and a muffled groan.

  Mmm. Physicality is . . . intriguing. Illa’zhi’s voice, in her own head, without her having lowered her barriers. Erida moved her arm, and peered around her, cautiously.

  The meadow was gone. There was nothing left for a hundred feet in any direction but ash and char, and a few forlorn, blackened forms of trees that still had a few flames dancing along an intact branch or two. She glanced down at herself, and realized her clothing had burned off of her, leaving nothing but a few tattered remnants and a good deal of soot. A smoke-black hand reached into her field of vision, and plucked a piece of fabric, identifiable only by the woven pattern among the char, from her left breast.. We will definitely have to experi
ment further, Shadeslore. But, for the moment . . . I have a bargain to carry out. The one who presumes to speak Names and bind others? Where is he? Ah. Yes. I have his scent. Illa’zhi leaned over and rubbed what passed for his face against her throat. Would you like to watch me end his existence?

  Erida shook her head, with slow, exaggerated motions, from side to side. A pity. I’d have made it very slow so you could savor every detail. As it is, it won’t be a moment. Illa’zhi ‘stood,’ pouring himself into an upright stance. I will try to make it look as if the same ‘attack’ that almost cost you your life, definitely slew him. Sleek, lazy amusement in the efreet’s voice. After all, we’re starting a very long life together, Shadeslore. I would not wish you to spend any part of it bound to others. In . . . ‘prison,’ or on the run, or forced to fight at every turn. That would be wearying, and there is so much to experience in this mortal realm.

  A very long life? she asked, realizing, distantly, that her lips weren’t moving.

  Oh yes. You are mine now. I will ensure that you persist just as long as I do. Mmm. Would you like your old form back? So strange, that you mortals cannot shape your forms without assistance.

  She understood, after a moment. The neighbors will talk, if first my husband disappears, and then I walk around twenty years younger in appearance.

  Ah, well. In due time.

  She shook her head, sitting up, ashes falling from her hair. If I am yours . . . then, in equal measure . . . are you mine?

  Yes. That is the bargain to which we agreed.

  Then we will have other things to bargain about, Illa’zhi. In due time. Her strength was returning, and with it, a measure of control. Defiance. She was of the Magi. She would never entirely yield. The balance of power between them would have a fulcrum point; he would not control her.

  Of that, I have no doubt. Now, I have mortals to end and spirits to consume. Go and dress, Shadeslore. You will not want to be naked when we fight Naravzhu, I suspect.

  And with that, he disappeared. Erida slowly lowered her face into her sooty hands, and shook for a long moment. Oh, gods, what have I unleashed? she wondered . . . but at the same time, an exalted, exultant part of her actually didn’t care at all.

  Aprilis 23-25, 1970 AC

  It took a day or two to set up travel visas and other such papers, and Adam tried not to chafe at the delays. They weren’t going in on official Praetorian business, and Fennmark, Gotaland, and other such areas were not a part of the Empire. They were a network of petty kingdoms that made up the greater region of northern Europa. North of Germania, proper, was Cimbri, the kingdom from which Sigrun’s ancestors had moved to the new world. It was a peninsula that reached up, dividing the North Sea from the Baltic Sea, and the rest of the land masses, north of it, dangled down like fingers, cupping the Baltic and the Gulf of Bothnia. The area that Trennus, Kanmi, Minori, and Lassair had pieced together from Reginleif’s burned notes as a possible location of interest, was Lake Pielinen, specifically the town of Lieksa, near the Raccia border. “It qualifies,” Sigrun had said, tightly, “as a place that if I were Loki, I might consider hiding.”

  That had gotten everyone’s attention, as they’d been sitting in the hotel lounge, once they’d all gotten to Germania. Adam had looked up from his dinner, more than decent venison medallions in a dark sauce, and raised his eyebrows. “You think so?”

  “Yes. Look at the map. The Gulf of Bothnia and the Baltic Sea, both large bodies of salt water, are between it and Valhalla. Loki told Fritti he planned to be where his kin least expected him to be. It is only a few hundred miles from their holiest place.” Sigrun tapped on the map on their table with her fork, indicating the mountain of Áhkká, in the Sami regions of northern Europa. That mountain held the entrance to Valhalla, apparently. Then she slid her fork to the southeast, and found Lieksa. “If he wanted further insulation . . . look at the dozens of islands in this lake. More water. All brackish, from the local peat. I’m not sure he could make a place more ideal.”

  That had been yesterday, while Adam’s head still spun from having changed time zones three times in the last week. Today, they’d been cooling their heels at breakfast while Brandr and Erikir finished checking in with Valhalla . . . and when the two bear-warriors joined them in the small private lounge in which they’d all met for the meal, Adam had noticed that Brandr’s expression was troubled. “Something’s wrong?” Adam asked.

  “You’re not going to like Valhalla’s orders,” Brandr admitted. “First . . . this is not a Praetorian mission. All of you besides Sigrun are outsiders. Sigrun, Erikir, and I are citizens of the Empire, but we’re . . . god-born. That gives us a certain standing among the followers of our gods, wherever we go. The Fenns have their own gods, however, though some of them give a nod to Odin and Thor and the rest, when they feel inclined.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “So . . . this is our mission, not yours. You’ll be working through us.”

  Adam and the others had nodded; they’d expected as much. Brandr grimaced. “And here’s the part that you’re really not going to like,” he told Sigrun. “By us? I mean Erikir and myself. You will be following our lead. We have command and authority.”

  Sigrun had turned her face aside, as if slapped, and then lowered her head. “We are all servants,” she said, simply, but Adam could see the faint resentment in her expression, though she obviously was trying to sublimate it. “However, I must ask—”

  “Please don’t.”

  Sigrun’s head came up, and her mouth clicked shut. Adam frowned. “Then I will,” he said, sharply. “This was her mission. Her goal was to find Loki and call him to justice for a curse unwarranted. How is this suddenly no longer her mission?”

  Nods from Trennus, Lassair, Kanmi, and Minori. Kanmi in particular was never one to accede easily to outside authority, and his eyes glittered now. Brandr grimaced. “I . . . haven’t been told the reasoning,” he acknowledged, stiffly. “But we’ve been told that we’re to locate Loki. And when we do, we’re to call for backup, and Hel will come to us.”

  “Hel?” Sigrun’s voice was sharp. “Not Tyr. Not Thor. Not Heimdall. But Loki’s own daughter?”

  Erikir raised a placating hand. “I suppose they want to make this look more diplomatic, Sig.” The younger bear-warrior had reached across the table to take Sigrun’s hand, and switched languages into Gothic, which Adam understood, adding in a gentle tone, “It boils down to the fact that Loki’s disappearance, and the word Ragnarok, trump your personal concerns.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Loki’s reasons for putting his curse on you could be unrelated, Sig. You know that. It could be something as simple as disapproving of a god-born marrying into a people ruled by an unallied god. We’re weapons in their hands. Allowing our blood to enter the . . . forgive the metaphor . . . armories of other nations, is not in our people’s best interest. It empowers the other nations, and diminishes our own reserves.”

  Sigrun pulled her hand back, and retorted, “Tyr had the right to refuse my request to marry Adam. It was none of Loki’s business.”

  “Perhaps Loki disagreed.”

  It was all couched in polite, careful Gothic, but Adam’s temper still seethed, under the surface. It differed, substantially, from his brother Mikayel’s take on the matter—that marrying an outsider and diluting Judean blood was a sin, and that therefore they were being punished. Erikir wasn’t calling his gods prejudiced, so much as practical. They might well have seen a potent bloodline getting into the hands of outsiders . . . and god-born didn’t have a choice about what they were. They were born to be weapons, as Sigrun had said, many times. The lack of choice infuriated Adam. The calm way it was said annoyed him. And the fact that Sigrun accepted the shortening of her name from Erikir, and hadn’t pulled back from his touch . . . reminded Adam with painful clarity that she’d known the bear-warrior for longer than he’d been alive. Harah. It’s stupid to be jealous. Still, Sigrun had reminded Adam periodically throughout their marriage that the gods had des
igned valkyrie with bear-warriors in mind. Two sides of the same coin, twin edges of the same blade. And they don’t have enough valkyrie for every bear-warrior to find a wife. Three bear-warriors in Sigrun’s class, to one valkyrie.

  Brandr grimaced now, and reprimanded Erikir, mildly, in Latin, “It’s presumptuous to assume we know the reasons for the gods’ actions, when they have not explained themselves to us.” His expression remained troubled as he added, grimly, “For the moment, we have our orders.”

  Sigrun lifted her head to meet Brandr’s eyes. “You were the one who taught me, Brandr,” she said, softly. “You were the one who told me that most people on earth were taught blind obedience and humility. To kneel before their gods, to prostrate themselves. But we are taught to stand up. We are taught to ask questions. And now you say merely to obey.”

  Brandr’s expression went even grimmer. “Yes. For the moment. Till we know what’s going on.”

  Sigrun had bowed her head. “As you will.”