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

by Deborah Davitt

  The small woman put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “The time in the earth is practically a second gestation,” Minori assessed, her voice glum. “They’re adding mass, as Kanmi said. From what, I don’t know, except perhaps the biomass in the peat itself. It’s all . . .decaying vegetation, and a good source of energy. Possibly from the stone itself. That’s . . . insanely complex. It usually takes a body twenty years to convert food into the mass of an adult human being. They’re . . . quadrupling in mass inside of what, a few months? And Kanmi’s absolutely correct. We can’t just take it away and . . . leave a pile of decaying flesh to the side, or compress them down into smaller versions of themselves.”

  “How about . . . shape-changing?” Adam hazarded, and looked at Lassair.

  I . . . don’t know if I can change anyone but myself, the spirit admitted, sounding deeply troubled. And I do not know what they originally looked like. They would never be precisely who and what they were before. I am perfectly content never to manifest entirely the same way twice. What I do is . . . effectively . . . destroy the body I am currently using, and remake it when I manifest and de-manifest. Not as much when I merely change shape. I pass through fire every time I change from human to phoenix, for example.

  Adam frowned. “But when you change shape when you’re pregnant, the baby would . . . always change with you, wouldn’t it? Or be destroyed, and . . . god help me . . . recreated?”

  Oh, it would, but I found a way around it, Lassair said, blithely. I move the infant into the Veil temporarily and then bring it back when I reform. It’s frozen in time there, and very safe.

  Adam winced. “I’m . . . going to stop asking those kinds of questions. They make my head hurt.” He turned to look at Vidarr. “We’ll . . . keep looking for a solution for you, all right?”

  “It’s . . . just amazing just to hear Ima’s voice,” Vidarr said, hoarsely, and looked straight at Saraid, meeting her gleaming green eyes. “And to know that there are . . . people out there willing to help. I’ve spent the last year, finding others who could be saved. And putting down those who are irrevocably lost. For my part, I thank you for this gift.”

  And I, as well, Ima whispered.

  There was a long pause, and finally, Sigrun put her hands over her face. After a distressed moment or two, she asked, “How is it that there are so many who have escaped?”

  Ima’s voice answered softly, I heard many of the scientists complaining, back where we were, before we fled. They could not judge when someone was ready to burst from their earth-womb. Many broke free early, and simply ran away, unattended. They had to keep guards on all the marshes. On every womb that might become a grave. Even so, if a guard wasn’t ready, the new-born monster might tear him limb from limb and escape.

  Sigrun nodded, and Adam grimaced again. “So not only are they meddling with things they should not be, but they are barely in control of their experiment.” Sigrun sounded ready to spit. She shook her head, sharply. “The ettin? Were they . . . two soldiers, put in the earth at the same time?”

  Vidarr looked wretched, as Ima came back over and once more pillowed herself on his legs. “I think so. I do not know. I . . . remember, vaguely, that there were those who . . . weren’t volunteers. We were told they were . . . control subjects. Prisoners, otherwise slated for death. I think . . . that they might be the grendels. The brutes, the ones with fur everywhere. They didn’t volunteer.” He exhaled. “And now you know the whole story.”

  “Not the whole of it,” Adam said. “Where did they do this to you, Vidarr?”

  The jotun shifted atop his rug, and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I know I ran north. But by which twists and turns, I do not know. I know there were . . . different locations. The first facility was near a lake. Bogs everywhere in the vicinity. That’s where they pushed me into the earth. And then . . . an island. Or a peninsula. Where we were kept while they trained us. That’s where I swam from. Cold water, but it didn’t hurt me. Then snow, waist-deep, at the time. The Sami tell me I came to them in 1969. A year ago. The last date I remembered before that was 1968. So . . . I lost a year of my life to madness and darkness and earth.” He stroked Ima’s ruff now, looking down at her, guiltily. “And you, my friend? Have lost so much more.”

  Aprilis 26, 1970 AC

  The lictors opted to keep a quiet, subtle sort of watch that night in Vidarr’s camp. Trennus found that he trusted Vidarr himself, but the other giants, especially the one that Lassair and Sigrun had helped, were . . . unknown quantities. So they rested, in and around their vehicle, and Lassair kept each person company as they awoke and watched, and ensured that they all stayed warm. Trennus had been a little too occupied holding a giant in place to register everything that Saraid and Lassair had done, until after the fact . . . and now he was simply awed by them. You both did amazing things today, he told them, in simple appreciation.

  I am afraid that having returned her voice to the wolfwoman temporarily, will only make her sink in despair, once I depart this place, Saraid admitted. She’d demanifested once more.

  Does the male wolf have a voice? Is there a person inside of him, too?

  Yes. His voice is not as strong as hers is. Now that he has his sanity once more, his strength may grow, in time. He will . . . need to be taught. Like a child. Saraid sounded wretched.

  You didn’t make this worse, wild-heart.

  I think I may have. He was not aware before, of what he is. Now, he knows. Part of him longs to be a simple wolf. And part of him remembers being a man. I will . . . .work with him.

  Trennus closed his eyes, and tried to will sleep to come. Lassair’s warm body was in his arms, but his mind refused to relax. Ten years of habit, of knowing that sleep meant the Veil, and work of a different sort, had conditioned him to resist sleep for as long as he could, every night.

  Rest, Lassair told him. Saraid will let you sleep in the Veil, as well.

  Trennus nodded, incrementally. An image flashed through his mind. Thanking the giantess for the food, and the way she’d turned her face away, letting her long hair fall down across her face. Morrigan take it. She was embarrassed.

  Ashamed, Lassair corrected, sadly. She saw you smile at her, and she thought herself hideous, so she hid her face. I would heal these people if I could, Flamesower. I would heal all of them. But I do not know what they looked like, before. And I . . . do not have the power.

  You did much today, just healing a mind, Trennus told her, and smoothed her hair back from her face. You and Sigrun?

  She helped hold the shape of a mortal mind intact. I could not have reshaped so much, without her. Nor could she, without my help, I think. Lassair reached up, and tugged lightly on one of his braids. Sleep.

  For a wonder, he did, falling into the Veil, and opened his eyes to see Saraid’s smile. Felt her arms wrap around him, and then she pushed his head down to rest across her human thighs, as Ima’s furry muzzle had lain across the deer’s knees, earlier. Flamesower reached up in the misty green light of the Caledonian woods, and stroked his fingers across Saraid’s cheek. Beloved. His eyes widened slightly as her form shifted a little, and the deer antlers faded from her forehead, her ears moving upwards. Becoming pointed, and positioned atop her head, poking out of her long tumble of white hair. Are you the huntress, as well as the deer?

  I am all wild things. She let his head slip to the soft moss, and, in a flicker of motion, straddled him. Leaned down, and kissed him. Would you sleep, dear one?

  Perhaps . . . not quite . . . yet . . . .

  The next morning, Trennus awakened, and he and the others worked to convince Vidarr, Ima, and the nameless male wolf to come with them. “Look,” Adam said, simply, “It’s this simple. The more information we can give the local authorities, the better our chances of being able to help you. Something as simple as . . . lord. An X-ray, to see how precisely your body’s been changed? Could make a difference. And we’re heading right for what seems to be the heart of the monst
er problem, down near Lieksa. It’s on Lake Pielinen.”

  “You said you remembered a lake, an island, and bogs,” Trennus put in. “This might be the right location. If nothing else, just being in the vicinity might jog your memory. Ima might remember familiar scents.” He looked across at the enormous wolf. “And the longer you stay with us, the longer Sari will have to help you with your voice, Ima. And the other wolf, as well.”

  I . . . would like that. But I fear that we will be attacked on sight. The people of the region have no reason to love our kind, and every right to fear us. The wolf sank to her haunches, and looked at Vidarr, panting.

  “If we go, we all go,” Vidarr said, after a moment. “I won’t leave my brethren here alone. The other giants in this region know me. They fear me. They might take advantage of my people in my absence.” He scrubbed at a face that was curiously enough, devoid of facial hair. “That will look threatening to the townsfolk, however.”

  “Not if I fly alongside you,” Sigrun said, simply. “At least, I hope that will convince them to put up their muskets and rifles. I can deter some of the bullets, too.” Her ability to control winds had improved over the years, Trennus knew. Where once she could only foul arrows in flight, she now had a fair chance of deflecting bullets in the air, as well. But not ones fired from Judean or Hellene semi-automatic and automatic weapons. Something about muzzle velocities.

  So, they trooped to the road, and awaited their convoy, including the new vehicle that the local authorities had promised Brandr and Erikir. The militia escorts, in high-sided trucks, had indeed come armed for bear with blunderbusses and rifles, and it took Sigrun, Brandr, and Erikir a solid twenty minutes to convince the guardsmen not to open fire on the giants—whom Vidarr had bidden to sit down on the road, and look as peaceful as possible—or the fenris wolves. But eventually, they were able to get going again, heading southeast, as the giants and the wolves loped along, on foot, keeping up a steady, ground-eating pace of thirty-five miles per hour. “They really were designed to counter modern warfare methods,” Adam acknowledged in their vehicle, which was much less crowded now, thankfully.

  “How so?” Trennus asked, stretching his legs as best he could. Most automobiles were really not designed for people with his height in mind.

  “The Mongols have adapted to the modern battlefield by adopting tanks. Spirit and ley-powered, like ornithopters. Top speed is thirty-five miles per hour, and they have cannons turret-mounted on top, just like Judean electric- or chemically-powered tanks. Except our guns are better.” Adam shrugged, and kept his eyes on the road. “They make up for it by adding flamethrowers and other things for closer-combat than Judean tactics call for with tanks. They’re fast-moving, and they’re able to use the same slash and turn tactics with them, that they’ve always used with their mounted cavalry. Now, the mounted cavalry is used for sneak attacks, and the tanks are used for . . .frontal assault.” Adam took his eyes off the road for a moment to turn and look at Trennus. “Now look at the . . . jotun. I mean, really look at Vidarr there.”

  Trennus looked. “Nine feet tall,” he said, after a moment. “Probably eight hundred to nine hundred pounds. Armored under the skin. Runs without tiring as fast as a Hellene or Judean tank. And he’s carrying what might as well be a cannon over his shoulder.”

  Adam nodded. “He’s a living tank, Tren. Give him a rocket-launcher or the minigun off a helicopter, and it couldn’t be more apparent. The wolves? Faster runners. Pack tactics. You could use them to herd a group of human soldiers into a kill-zone. Or could be used for guerilla tactics. Attack from cover, out of stealth, after stalking their prey for hours. And then back into the forest again, with no survivors, or just enough survivors to leave a psychological mark on opposing forces. The giants? Could probably punch a hole through a Mongolian tank’s side. And if the lindworms are real, too . . . and Erikir’s got the scars on his face to prove it . . . that’s the start of an air force. A better one than Raccia and these countries have had before. Intelligent, fast-moving, independent units.”

  Trennus grimaced. He didn’t like the picture Adam was painting, but he couldn’t deny that it made sense. “Magic’s been used in warfare for thousands of years,” he said, quietly. “Never like this, though.” His stomach turned.

  “Yes.” Adam sounded tired. “That’s humanity, isn’t it, though? Always finding the next best way to kill each other.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Kanmi. That sounded like something he’d say.”

  “I’m getting tired of putting out other people’s fires, Tren.”

  “I hear you there.”

  Five hours after that, their convoy rolled into Lieksa, and the townspeople took one look at them all, and cleared the streets. Trennus had never seen people scatter this quickly before, but between the armed guards in the trucks, the giants, the gigantic wolves, and Sigrun flying above, spear in hand, he thought the townsfolk might well have had a point as they all scrambled out of their flower gardens and ran for their front doors, or peered out of shuttered windows as the vehicles and creatures lumbered past.

  “Could we be a little more visible?” Kanmi asked over the radio, on the Praetorian band. “Really, let’s just announce our presence.”

  “I am more or less required to do precisely that,” Sigrun replied, on the same channel, the sound of wind rushing behind her voice. “When one means to give someone a challenge, one does not sneak to do so. You stand up. You declare your grievances and your causes for action. And if a reconciliation cannot be found, and amendments cannot be made? Then you fight.”

  A squawk of static, and then Kanmi retorted, “I thought you were working with her on the whole concept of stealth, ben Maor.”

  “I am. She’s better about it than she used to be, you have to admit.”

  The town of Lieksa was Fennish by language and affiliation. As such, Gothic and a smattering of Latin had to be their bridge languages; Fennish wasn’t even related to most other languages of Europa. The local gardia, for example, were called vahdit, instead, and Trennus thought every word had about twice as many vowels as it really needed. It therefore took yet more time for them to deal with the local authorities, most of whom hustled to the main access road of the town and tried to set up a perimeter line to prevent them from entering. Trennus and Adam got out of their vehicle to go talk with the vahdit officers, only to find that Brandr and Erikir were already handling it . . . but with a more cautious tone about the giants than Trennus thought Adam might have used. Sigrun had landed, and was standing off to the side, respecting the bear-warriors’ position as liaisons.

  Trennus circled closer to Sigrun, as he watched Adam move in to try to at least participate in the ongoing conversations. Watched the crowd of officers, male and female, with their riot shields and pistols and blunderbusses, eying the giants in what looked like genuine panic, and Vidarr, once more, directing his people to sit down, harmlessly, on the ground. Kanmi and Minori, in the other motorcar, looked bored and resigned; they didn’t speak any of the local languages, and if trouble started, would be behind the curve. Lassair, if you wouldn’t mind translating for them?

  Of course. Two people are simple enough. It’s when it’s a large group of people that it becomes difficult.

  Thank you, flame-heart. Trennus passed her an affectionate thought, and kept watching the crowd of officers, the onlookers peeping from various doors and windows. “So, the main problem here isn’t that the townsfolk can’t believe what they’re seeing,” he assessed after a moment. “It’s that they’ve had run-ons with the jotun and ettin and whatever else before, and want to kill them.”

  “In essence,” Sigrun agreed, as one of the vahdit officers began shouting up at Brandr, his face turning almost purple in his frustration. “They’ve also never had anyone bring a giant or a fenris in alive before. They don’t have . . . prison facilities.”

  “Cages,” Trennus muttered. “Damn it, these people just got out of cages.”


  Sigrun turned her head slightly, and nodded. “Keep in mind, each of them probably is guilty of something,” the valkyrie reminded him, quietly. “Or at least, their maddened selves were guilty of crimes.”

  Trennus grimaced. “I understand that. I’m all in favor of binding a spirit to a bottle or a stone if it’s malefic, and only going to cause problems in the future. These people? Aren’t spirits. From Vidarr’s description of his . . . awakening . . . I’d be willing to bet that the treatment they’re given even after the transformation is the cause of at least some of their madness.”

  Sigrun nodded, emphatically. “I cannot argue against that,” she replied, immediately. “But the townspeople are also right to be afraid. They have, as yet, not received evidence that giants can be anything other than brutish murderers.”