by Poppet
“Hmmm, I could eat the whole block, it's delish!” I understand now, protein and carbs are exactly what's on display. Nuts and cheese for protein, some derived from the grains too, sweetness for carbs thanks to the sugars. It's stunning that these dudes grow everything themselves and yet still stockpile for emergencies.
“I stocked our larder about two weeks ago.”
Narrowing my eyes, pouring our golden ambrosia for us, I arch both eyebrows, “You hadn't met me two weeks ago.”
“The divergent trail intersects regardless, Em. I knew you'd come home and I knew I had to prepare for you. I also knew you'd grow a foot and need well fitting garments for your new incarnation as a harii shadow.”
“Then why the hell did you make the escape hatch on the edge of a sheer drop into a crater?” I demand.
“Because in normal circumstances we would have flown off that ledge and swooped down to hide, but I had to have a back up plan for you in case you hadn't advanced to that level yet.” Changing the subject he gestures to the apples, “Valhalla apples don't rot, ever. They'll last us indefinitely and inject much required resources into our bodies.”
“I half expect you to tell me you once owned the goose that laid the golden egg.”
He laughs, “Emma, we're not prone to flights of fancy.”
“You've got to be kidding? All of this is like stepping into a fairy tale while we're hunted by fee-fi-fo-fum.”
“Yeah well, the British had a way of truly pissing on the passivity of the Jötunn. They called us ogres! Asswipes.” Derailed from slicing he aggressively points the sharp knife tip at me, “Pompous dwarves is what those little pricks are.”
“This is all truly insane, Mac. If I didn't have a supersized me as proof I'd think you've been feeding me magic mushrooms and sent me on one heckuva vision quest.”
“To children anything is possible, why do adults forget that? In many cases children are correct. You knew this alternate world existed on your periphery the first time you faced a shadow and intuited it was more alive than the light ever is.”
Changing the subject completely, I broach, “Mac, my eyes are freaky.”
Sitting back he beams at me. “Your freaky is my sexy.”
“Seriously Mac, it bothers me. They aren't pretty like yours.”
Leaning forward he captures my hand, absently stroking my knuckles with his thumb while he speaks to the grain under our hands, “Emma, you have been blessed far more than most Ravens. You have the Skadi owl gene. Owls and eagles share the golden eyes of our ancestors.” Looking up, meeting my gaze, I watch his eyes intently as they sparkle through the spectrum of heaven. “Elskling, you may not have noticed that your left pupil twinkles like a birthing nebula. That is the gift of the Thur gene. You are so powerful. Your eyes can't hide who you are. You are born to be great, to become a legend.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I grumble, feeling more unsure of myself by the second.
“Yes. It means you will adopt either owl or eagle form when you change into your ancestral avatar. Your wingspan will be wider than mine, you will be stronger than me... because you are stronger than me.”
“Crap! I'm still a midget compared to you!”
“Emma, might is not measured by stature, it is measured by ability. The human ranking system messes with your equilibrium. You can level mountains, raise them up again, wipe out giant, beast, or man, with a sweep of your anger, and control all elements. Snow, wind, rain, cloud, heat, it is yours to command. I do not have those abilities. I control shadows, that's it.”
My stomach is adopting the accordion routine, shuddering in and expanding out with nerves. “Mac, what are you saying?”
“I'm saying you need to do the rest of your learning far away from other life. We need to find an uninhabited land where you can test your abilities without witnesses. The catacombs has already become too restrictive for you. I will protect you while you learn, but one day I think it will be you protecting me. You surpass me. Your golden eye is a blessing, a gift from Þjazi. His emblem and avatar was the eagle.”
“Thiazi? Who's he?” I interrupt.
“He's Skadi's father, sweetheart. She gets her glowing skin and iridescent eyes from him.” Sitting back, extending his legs, he expands, “He came from a giant family, his dad Olvaldi and brothers Idi and Gangr. But he's most famous for using his eagle form and kidnapping the goddess Iðunn. In the process he humiliated Loki and the slight has never been forgiven, hence our stupid internal war between our factions.”
“Who's Idun?”
Lordy this history makes me so lost!
“She's the keeper of the golden apples, Læraðr. She offers eternal life. Please note in our culture a female offers eternal life.” Clearing his throat, he says, “Basically what happened is Þjazi fell hopelessly in love with her and used Loki to kidnap her. Once she left Asgard the gods aged rapidly, withering away and quite desperate to have her returned. Loki, without much choice in the matter, got her back. But it's no secret that Loki longed for her too and harbored a lot of spite toward her because she was fervently in lust with Bragi, who murdered her brother. Loki thought her lust fickle and him a more worthy receptacle for her divine body. Skadi's father Þjazi and his brothers were all pale and luminescent, like all jötunn, which is why they are confused in literature with elves, which could attest for her attraction to them. However in our native language elf simply means subterranean being, which we are as we live underground in the mountain. It is not middle earth, it's simply inside rock. We do not dwell outdoors on the top surface where the elements attack, we live where we are naturally insulated and warm. Undetected.”
Then it hits me, the woman and the apple. Holy shit do I know a distorted version of this story.
“That's why you're so pale! It's the glowing gene. That's why your voice is an aphrodisiac! You're like... you're like a god,” I blurt.
“Yes, as are you. You are naturally pale but now you are growing into your beauty on an hourly basis,” he purrs, and I shiver involuntarily.
My mouth is running away as my mind flips about in epiphany, “And the story of the flying angels, the glowing beauties, with their fiery swords, like you all have, you are... how did this story get so messed up?”
He smiles sagely, looking through me as if I'm nothing more than an empty translucent shell, “Yes Elskling, now you know the truth. That is why you couldn't adopt human ways as your own, they did your heritage and your gender a grave transgression which they simply multiply with their eternal infractions and adherence to patriarchy. We may serve Odin but we're not stupid enough to deny the everlasting life represented by the goddess Idun.” He pats my hand, “They have much to atone for which is why we make preparation for Ragnarök.”
“What?”
“The human version is called the rapture / Armageddon. In Asgard we call the final showdown of the gods disrespected by men, Ragnarök. The gods will assemble and strike down all who desecrated the holy with their heinous lies and diabolical enslaving of our descendants. It's not long now and the balance will be restored, then the world will be purged of this vermin.”
“What the hell does Ragnarök mean?”
“Fate of the ruling powers. It is set, nothing can undo what will be. It is the renewal of the ruling powers in the minds of the people of this world. They'll reclaim the lost and offer eternal life to everyone who acknowledges the light of Asgard and all the power within that realm, including the immortal drink from Idunn's cup.”
Shuffling uncomfortably he scuffs his combat boot in taps on the floor, “I'm aware the original version has been corrupted over time but I know the power in Asgard, I witness it every day and I witnessed the harvest of souls this year. No one is forgotten, the gods account for everyone. Nothing can stop enlightened Spirit.”
He stares moodily out the door, the tension and anger in him clearly on display. I don't want to say anything to upset him so sit and wait, watching his eye swirl with images
and colors.
“Want to hear a song?” he asks randomly.
“Sure,” I nod, happy he's distracting himself from morbid hate crimes.
“This is a poem from Völuspá,” he says, walking to collect the mandolin displayed above the empty hearth, then stalking to the front door and leaning against the thick mud wall, propping his foot up to balance the mandolin on his leg.
Fucking sexy with a capital F. Long shins make my heart popcorn.
“It sates itself on the lifeblood of fated men
Paints red the powerful's homes with gore crimson
Black becomes the sun's rays
All weather is treacherous after summer days
Brother's will fight and each other slay
Sister's offspring will defile kinship that day
It is harsh in the world now
Rife is moral whoredom's shallow
An axe age, a sword age
Shields are riven for war
A wind age, a wolf age, and more
Before the world goes headlong into despair and ruin
No man will have mercy on another or his fortune.”
Silencing the last strum he stops, staring at me with worry lines etching his beauty, “It's the end, the world before Ragnarök, and you see it everywhere all over the planet now. When the sun goes black the gods have no more need to illume such dark hearts, for they will be the radiance for the ones in denial. It is writ in that black book that tried to mirror the Book of Shadows, but only Raven and Wolf remember the truth. Wolf is black, Raven is black, we are the shadows who witness every misdeed and bide our time to bare witness for the hour of their death.”
“Mac?” I soothe, anxiety weeviling mercilessly through my calm.
“Sorry, Em. I just get so fucked off with the bastards! Rape, pillage, drugs, everything - even humans are peddled for money, and it sickens me! The rulers, the 'powerful's' they do nothing while they pad their nests with insatiable greed. We are shadows, we will not feel it when this world goes dark, but mankind will be in chaos and terror. That is when we get the call. Us Shadow warriors will step out of the dark, infiltrate every hideaway, and cut the throats of the merciless fuckers who hid the holy woman and her everlasting life. We'll burn them in a pyre that is taller than the cosmos, destroying their wicked ways and lies before returning light. The bastards in their holy dresses hiding behind effigies and crucifixes are the worst perpetrators of burning all truth, perpetuating lies, burning women and children, genocide, and turning guidance into plunder when they raped the innocent in their halls. Fuck them Emma! Fuck them! We took down Rome for fuck's sake! Do they really think they can escape a shadow? Every man has a shadow to remind him no matter where he goes, no matter what he does, there is always a witness to his crimes. The harii. The shadow will step away and cut out his heart, one by one they will fall by the shining sword of Asgard's army. We have no fear of the dark because our light is within us.”
“And then?” I challenge, wondering what good this bloodshed will achieve.
“And then we take off our necklaces and put the arrows in the valhalla mark, we send the call to return, we each shoot one arrow at the only luminary left in the sky, the blood red moon, and the rainbow staircase will light up the darkness like the aurora borealis, the bifrost bridge will lower in a shimmering second and the gods will return. Raven will ask Odin yet again for the sun and the stars, and we will return light to the longest night in history. The night of the harvest of all evil, burnt out and slain by the shadows who are so close they sleep right next to the bastards they will murder when Odin gives the sign.”
“And then?” I challenge, amazed to witness this bitter bloodlust in Macala.
“And then mankind will no longer have a shadow. We will be free.”
In one sentence it all makes sense, and I understand.
I totally understand.
“Long live Odin,” I grin, lifting my juice and saluting him.
He smiles then, his tempestuous eye clearing and sparkling with inner brilliance, “Skal! Long live Odin.”
Chapter 23
Emma:
Boosting off the wall he closes the door, pointing to the woven rug in the center of our humble hideaway, “It's time we had a heart to heart. Sit there, I just have to fetch something.”
It's dark without the salve of daylight.
Why did you close the door?
Anxiety dribbles a ball of fear into my stomach and I sit where he indicated, looking behind me into the shadows of the wardrobe and bathroom.
The only lighting comes from the crystals either side of the bed. We're hiding. I hate that we have to hide because this dynamic is itching my raven blood, antagonizing me into fight mode. He's got me worried because he's in such a capricious mood.
Mac strides back and the hulking shadow is a fear scatterer. He may be tall – dark – and handsome, in the most supernatural of ways, but he's my shadow and I trust him.
Sitting opposite me with a leather bundle in his hand, he locks his legs in the meditation pose and places the bundle down between us, unfettering leather cords.
“When I was young I loved to spend hours playing in the cavern of Asgard's pool. Next door to it is the cave where we keep the love crystals. It's a huge supply from home which has a magical pull on a young mind.” Pausing before exposing the artifacts in scuffed leather, he looks at me, “Lars spent his days there too. One day I asked him what he was doing because he'd choose the tiniest rubble to ignite with his love, covering the corner where he sat in endless scatters of little fairy lights.”
Mac swallows hard, leaning back on rigid arms locked at the elbow, “He was lighting the way home for his little girl. He couldn't find her or her mother and wanted to make sure she was never lost in the dark without knowing he loved her. He was trying in his own ineffectual way to relume your way back to him, but it was futile.”
The thrum of his voice is so grave my eyes are filling with puddles.
“He loved you Em, so much. He was a broken man without you.” Flicking back the top layer of the package he exposes three small shining stones.
They are the size of my fingernails they're such little fragments, glowing brightly against the dark brown parchment, little scatterings of captured love blazing my unshed tears into distorting smears.
He scoops them up, takes hold of my hand, and deposits them on my palm, “Always keep these with you. They shine because your father still loves you.”
“Where is he?” I gulp, sniffing, taking the tiny treasures and holding them tight to my heart. I'm about to lose it, badly. In a simple gesture he fractured my heart into fissures.
“Asgard most likely.”
I am too choked to speak so tilt my head and frown the question.
Exhaling heavily Mac hunches close, grasping both my knees in a pep talk huddle, “The thundereggs, they're toxic if we consume too many. That's how he died. But a jötunn cannot truly die, our soul hibernates, we're taken home in the harvest of the Wild Hunt. He's safe, and he's still holding you in his heart.”
My chest is an instant abyss, the pain and sorrow so immediate I'm sobbing. “D..ead?”
He hugs me, caressing tenderness up and down my back, waiting out my deluge.
But I never got to know dad!
I hardly remember my father and thought... I thought being Raven meant I'd be back with my family. This isn't fair!
Withered hope snuffs to despair and I pry my eyes open, lashes thick with tears, to gaze longingly into the pebbles of love, looking for him inside them.
The hollow cavity inside me has ruptured so wide I'm lost in the void. I can't feel anything but grief. Broken, I wrack against his chest, my nose clogging, my eyes immediately scratchy and swollen. Why? Why?
Soothing me with baby kisses, wiping my eyes repeatedly with the cuff of his thick black henley, he rocks me with hushes until the pain ebbs to distraught. All my childhood sadness is exhumed, the emotion as real now as it was when I kn
ew daddy wasn't coming back to rescue me. This feels exactly the same. Mourning without closure. Without getting to say goodbye.
Emotional pain is so vivid my chest aches with angina.
Pulling back he regards me with seriousness.
“He loves you, elskling. He missed you more than he could contain. It destroyed him. His heart was broken and no one could console him.” Gruff, he looks up at the thick mud ceiling, his throat working when he mutters, “I would be the same without you.”
Meeting my stare his eyes shine too bright, “He planted the seed of curiosity in me. I knew you had to be amazing for your father to love you so much. I made up my mind when I was about five, to find you. Initially I wanted to find you for him, but after he passed the only way we can outside of the Wild Hunt, I couldn't let the ambition go. And when I did locate you I could see why he adored you. You're such a magnificent angel.” He says it with such heartfelt tenderness, tracing drowsy love doodles on my jawbone, that I lean in and close my eyes, savoring the healing of his warm touch.
Hiccuping out a despairing laugh I squeeze his hand, gripping three child sized love crystals in my left fist.
Looking back at the parcel to smother the bleak emotion from our interaction, he flicks the other flap open, lifting out a necklace of arrowheads, putting it on me, scooping my hair away from it when it sits on my shoulders and depresses my collarbones. It's heavy, very.
“This was his, and instead of fashioning a new one for you I thought you might like to keep his key to home close, warming your skin and reminding you that you're cherished.”
Fingering the little arrowheads dulled by age, I examine it. It's long, scooping the chain together to hide in my cleavage. They remind me of shark's teeth and it feels tribal to have my own.
It works because I suddenly don't feel so alone, like I have an invisible legion of kin lined up behind me ready to defend or snatch me out of harm's grasp.
Out of the folds he unearths two shot glasses and a beautiful vial of ornate crystal filled with resin hued fluid. It looks like honey. Uncorking the ampule he pours a measure for each of us, folding my numb fingers around the little glass that looks ridiculous in his hand. Clinking his to mine, he says, “To Lars, long may he light your way through the constellations.”
