Every night, his people set up camp, as best they could. Established watches, and kept track of time both by the stars overhead, and by wristwatches most of them now carried on strings around their necks. They didn’t feel the cold, but fires were a comfort, and a reminder that they were people, not beasts. Few of them had tents, but they’d started carrying long poles with them, cut from whatever saplings they found along the way, so as to set up lean-tos. “I feel like we’ve regressed,” Vidarr grumbled one evening, as the sun finally began to sink into the horizon. The long summer days were allowing them to march for very long periods, at least. “I don’t know about you, but I miss indoor plumbing.”
Ima had chuckled out loud at that in the meager shelter of the lean-to made of woven branches that she shared with him. “I think it . . . certainly possible that we would break any current toilet just by sitting on it. Still, hygiene’s an issue. Though everyone seems to be almost insultingly healthy . . . the smells are a little strong.” She wrinkled her nose. Her previous occupation had been as a nurse, with an orientation towards combat medicine, and that had proven useful, time and time again. Jotun healed; not as quickly as some of the god-born, but quickly enough. But it still helped to have someone around with a dab hand for suturing, and Vidarr had, himself, gone under Ima’s needle more times than he really wanted to count in the past few months.
“You would notice that more than I do.” He looked at her, with clear affection. He’d been more than a little concerned, in the first days after Loki’s . . . disappearance, or demise . . . that she’d continued to gravitate towards him out of habit. A wolfish tendency, perhaps. Loyalty towards the pack-leader. And the fact that she had curled up in his bedding the first night could have been pure habit. But she’d been in her jotun form, and the look in her eyes had told him that she clearly knew the difference . . . and that she was still insecure about her appearance, and also, having seen everything they’d seen, the deaths of gods . . . she’d wanted to celebrate having hands and a voice, and having survived. Her joy in having hands and a voice again had been tempered once she’d seen the tail, ears, and fangs. He’d pointed out, repeatedly, that he had fangs, and that she was a good deal prettier than he was, but it had taken more direct methods of persuasion to assure her that she was anything but unattractive.
Those methods had had the extra side benefit of keeping all the fenris males from sniffing around her. His scent had been all over her, and hers all over him, and for wolves—even ones who had once been human—that carried a good deal of social weight, especially since Vidarr was, more or less, the pack-leader. That is, it had carried weight at least until Iunius, when Ima had unexpectedly gone into heat, as had the handful of other female fenris in the pack.
Calling it by the scientific name of estrus hadn’t really helped; she still smelled of it to all the other fenris, regardless of her form, and Vidarr had been forced to chase off several males. The other steps he’d needed to take had been . . . highly pleasant, actually. And while Ima still blushed pink whenever the topic came up, he thought she’d rather enjoyed the experience, as well. Of course, there was one other natural outcome. They were quite certain that she was pregnant. The other wolves could smell the difference on Ima’s skin, and she hadn’t bled since her period of heat. If the fenris had been true wolves, only Ima, out of the entire enlarged pack that was the column of refugees, could have mated. As alpha female, she’d have chivvied and chased all the other females and prevented them from being impregnated. Of course, fenris weren’t so much wolves, as people. There were, as a result, about a thousand pregnancies at the moment.
The real problem was, they weren’t really sure how pregnant any of the women were, or with what. They had a handful of veterinarians and doctors in their motley assortment of jotun, fenris, humans, and nieten. But no equipment, and the towns they’d gone through had no power for what medical facilities had been left unlooted. No couple in the column knew if they were having one child or a litter. Human, jotun, or puppy. Vidarr simply did his best not to think about it, and so long as Ima lived through the birthing-process, he was resolved to love whatever creature came out of her. He also did his best not to think about her going into labor. At all. His first wife had died in child-birth, after all.
So, he pulled her down into the rough bed they’d made, of about a half-dozen human-sized sleeping bags that Ima had sewn together. Her fingers were a little too large for human-sized needles, but, as with the suturing equipment, she made do with the equipment at hand and a little patience. “All right. So. Once we get to Gotaland . . . we need to negotiate for a few things. Our services, in exchange for . . . .”
“Hot baths,” Ima said, firmly. “And soap. Lots and lots of soap.”
“The fenris aren’t going to like that. I’ve never met a dog that likes baths.”
“The fenris’ noses are constantly assaulted by the rest of us. And they don’t like the fleas and the ticks any more than you’d think they would. They’d deal with baths and grooming just fine.”
He laughed, and tapped his fingers against her shoulder, counting off ideas. “So, living space. Basic amenities, so even an old barracks would do, so we have access to your all-important hygiene facilities—” She jabbed an elbow into his ribs, and Vidarr grinned. “Food. Food we don’t actually have to hunt. Takes up too damned much of every day, just the logistics of feeding everyone.”
“An army runs on its belly.”
“Mmpf, tell me about it.” He bit her shoulder, something he’d quickly learned she liked. “So, what else, besides a lifetime supply of flea collars and squeaky toys?”
“Shut up. You were much nicer when I couldn’t talk, Vidarr.”
“You squawk so very nicely when I tease you now, that I can’t help it.”
“I could go wolf-form for the rest of the night.” No threat at all in her voice.
“Well, then I get a nice warm blanket, but we both miss out on fun.” Vidarr rolled to his back, his mind still churning. “Housing. Hygiene. Food. I’m missing something.”
“Education for the children.”
“Obedience classes can be offered in-home by the parents.” He paused, as her elbow found his ribs again. “Realistically, yes, I know. We need things to . . . let us remember we aren’t beasts. Far-viewer privileges. Books. It’ll take more than food bowls with human names on the side for the fenris, though. I . . . don’t even know what will help them.”
“Calculi.”
“You really think those new-fangled things will take off?”
“I got to use one at a hospital two years ago. I think they might change the world, yes.”
“And these will help the fenris exactly how?”
“If Saraid can’t give us all voices or form-shifting . . . maybe the calculi can speak for us.”
“What, you’re going to type the words in with your nose and it’ll speak for you?”
“Maybe.”
“Huh.” He would never have thought of this, and rolled back over to kiss her for it. And then paused. “Ima?”
“Hmm?”
“You ate something raw before bed, didn’t you?”
Her ears drooped. “And I forgot to brush my teeth.” She rolled out of their sleeping bags. “I’ll . . . be right back.”
Vidarr rolled to his back once more, and spent the next two minutes laughing and wondering if he would be murdered by his lover if he accused her of having dog-breath when she came back. He opted not to point this out, however, when Ima returned, one hand over her mouth, and smelling faintly of the toothpowder they’d found in an abandoned trading post in a largely empty town three days north of here. “Medical. Dental,” he said, as she slipped back into the bedroll with him. “Oh, and we should get married.”
Ima stopped moving, as Vidarr went on, “You see, I think we probably don’t need to worry much about the common cold, but if we’re volunteering as Gotaland’s standing army, we’re definitely going to be wounded periodically. We’
ll need doctors, beyond those few who got . . . turned into us. And equipment. Not all of us can chew on bones to clean our teeth, and while we heal, broken teeth need to be pulled before new ones grow in. So, dentists.”
“What was that?” Her voice was a squeak.
“Dentists. Sorry, came to mind when you were brushing your teeth.” He kissed her hair.
“Vidarr! Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“More or less. I think it’s good form to be married to the mother of your children. Puppies. Whatever they turn out to be.” However jocular his tone was, his fingers were clenching and unclenching in the bedroll.
“Vidarr, why do you smell afraid all of a sud . . . oh.” Ima sounded abashed, and rolled up to an elbow. “Your late wife. I’m not her. Dying in childbirth isn’t that common anymore. From what you’ve said, it sounds like she may have had a stroke during labor. It’s horrible, and it can happen, but . . . .”
“All the more reason to put medical care on the negotiation table,” Vidarr said, firmly. “So, are you going to marry me?”
“Do they let people marry their dogs these days?”
Vidarr growled, and Ima’s eyes went wide, and her ears actually tipped down. “Not funny,” he told her. “I tease, but you know I don’t mean it.”
She touched his face. “I know. But . . . more seriously . . . Vidarr, who on earth would perform the ceremony!”
“Erikir. He more or less counts as a priest of Freyr. Good omen to have him do it.” He thought about it. “Can ask Sari, too. Most of our people like her. Sigrun would be good, too, though I hate to ask her. She looks so damned tired all the time.” He nuzzled her neck now. “Say yes.”
“Woof.”
He growled, bit her shoulder again, and Ima laughed.
It took them until nearly September to reach Gotaland, and by the time they reached that embattled kingdom, Ostrogotia, its eastern province, had fallen completely into chaos. Grendels and ettin and lindworms traversed the area at will, and the stream of refugees fleeing to the current capital in Jönköping had become a mere trickle. Vidarr met with the current elected assembly at a local thing, came to some agreements with the representatives of a dozen embattled towns, and turned his jotun and fenris forces loose on the local ettin and grendels. He was a mercenary of ten years’ experience. He fully realized that what he had currently was more of a disorganized mob than an army. “Army will come, though,” he told Ima, once he got back from their first raid. “Just need . . . damn it . . . time to train people. Supplies. We need muskets on a scale like mine, guns suited for our hands. We can’t just go in with pitchforks, like thralls and serfs once did.” He grunted a little as she tied off another suture for him. “Wish you’d been with us, Ima. You’ve always been so good at taking people’s legs out from under them in a fight.” He grinned up at her.
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Oh, I had a fight of my own today. I had to remind someone right here at the hospital today that I’m definitely not a domestic animal.”
Vidarr paused. That had sounded . . . too apt. “What?” he said, his smile fading.
“I’d requested an ultrasound. I’m four months’ pregnant. If I were a wolf, I’d have already whelped two months ago. Even the other fenris haven’t whelped yet, though.” Ima grimaced. “We’re all on a different schedule, somehow, regardless of our forms. I wanted to see how far along I actually am. One of the orderlies seemed to think that because I’m a big sceadugenga, I must not be able to hear.” She clipped the thread of the suture, and started a new one, on his other bicep, where a fresh gash still oozed blood. “He said that this wasn’t a veterinary clinic, and that they weren’t set up to handle livestock, cattle, or zoo animals.”
Vidarr went still. “His name?” he said.
“Already handled it.” Ima pulled her lips back from her teeth. “Shifted form. Looked down at him. Exhaled.” Fenris breath was not unlike Niðhoggr’s. It blasted out like frost, and could instantly induce frostbite on unprotected skin. “Not directly on him, don’t look like that. Then I took his arm in my mouth and just . . . held it.”
Vidarr considered that. “Did he piss himself?”
“Yes. It stank.”
“I’ll hold off on demanding any of his other bodily fluids, then.”
“I’m just glad that I was wearing a blanket-material dress, and not anything made of leather. Loose. It didn’t tear, and I wouldn’t have missed it if I had.” Ima grimaced. “I eventually got my ultrasound. At the local horse veterinarian’s office, unfortunately. The hospital’s MRI couldn’t get enough depth on me.”
“And?” Vidarr was holding his breath now.
“There’s good news and some not so good news.” Her hands were steady, however, as she continued suturing his arm. “Hold still.”
He’d gone rigid. “What’s the good news?”
Ima sighed. “I’m right on track at four months. I’m glad. The doctor said that considering my size, and the fact that no one’s ever recorded a . . . jotun pregnancy before, let alone a half-wolf jotun’s . . . I could have been set up like an elephant.” Ima made a face. “I wasn’t looking forward to a sixty-day pregnancy like a wolf, but I also don’t really want a two-year one, just because I’m . . . big. I’ll take human-average happily.” She tied off the last suture neatly. “And they, like Sari, suggested I try to stay in one form, or the other, so that my body knows what it’s supposed to be constructing.” She paused, looking worried. “You smell scared, Vidarr. Don’t be. The bad isn’t really, well, bad. It’s just . . . .”
He reached out and took her hand, trying not to crush it in his grip. “Just tell me. Please.”
“We’re probably going to have to have a word with Asha.” She sighed. “It’s triplets. Humans—and jotun!—aren’t really designed to have litters. I don’t think she took that into account when she was fixing me.”
Vidarr’s brain locked in place for a moment. And then he reached out and wrapped his arms around her midsection, and put his head against the slight swell of her abdomen, feeling nothing but relief for a moment. He could deal with three children. He couldn’t deal with the thought that she might be taken out of his life. So it took him a moment to find his voice. “That, and having her remove the estrus cycle would be nice.”
“Oh, that part was fun. But someone really needs to invent a pill for that.”
“We’ve only existed as a people for . . . four or five months, as far as anyone out in the real world is concerned. And you’re not just a jotun, you’re a shifter, too. The gods only know what your hormones look like. We’ll use condoms.” He paused. “Very large condoms.”
“Ah, bragging, are you, then?”
“Compared to human-average, it’s not bragging, it’s the gods’ honest truth.” He lifted himself to put his head on her shoulder, and spoke into one lupine ear. “I’ll scour the wrecked stores for balloons or something the next time you go into heat.” His voice was muffled. “Party supply aisle, correct? Perhaps something festive in pink or yellow?”
Ima threw back her head and laughed so hard she actually did howl.
There was nothing that wasn’t an issue for the jotun as they began their new lives in Gotaland. The barracks were designed for humans, and the nieten, fortunately, stayed with them to . . . be interfaces to humanity, in the same way that shifters like Ima were the liaisons from the fenris to other humans. Metal bed-frames collapsed under jotun weight. Mattresses ran the gamut from spring-filled types, which . . . pancaked entirely under their bodies . . . to feather-filled pallets on the floor, which turned out to be the best option for the jotun, at least for the time being. The fenris were mainly accommodated with soft rugs and piles of hay, which they seemed to enjoy.
The doctors in Gotaland had to use livestock scales to weigh them, and recalculate dosage charts entirely from scratch for painkillers and other such things. Determining the recommended daily caloric intake was also something of an issue. Jotun digestion was supremely efficient.
Humans tended to excrete a good deal of what they ate, but jotun seemed to use far more of what they consumed. But even so, they bulked over four times what a human did, and Vidarr already knew he ate at least twice what he’d once needed to for medium-activities days. On days on which he fought, or had to run to get somewhere, he could consume easily three times his previous caloric intake. The fenris were in much the same boat, but mostly only ate meat. This made them an expensive army, but at least, he could make the substantiated claim that they were an effective one, as he began training his people, at last, in tactics and weaponry.
Maius 1-Iulius 15, 1970 AC
Frittigil took her time with the decision Sigrun had put in front of her. Sigrun had been quite straightforward about giving her and Rig a place to stay while she decided what to do with her future . . . and her son’s. And Sigrun had been just as straightforward with her only words of advice on the matter: Make it your own decision. Ignore absolutely any words my sister may have spoken on the issue. She has been verging on insanity for decades. I love her, but it is true.
The Goddess Denied Page 44
