by Matt Larkin
For soon, there would be but one land. One kingdom across the Mortal Realm.
Hel’s kingdom.
Atop her mountain peak, Hel watched, seeing through the mists as her draugar legion closed in on the south of Reidgotaland and reached a fortress warded by a trench and a wooden palisade wall.
The Aesir were inside, some few of them. Odin’s son, chiefly, whose hammer might fell many a draug, given the chance.
Perhaps she ought to forestall the assault, let her forces move around the tiny city while Thor hid behind his walls and let the world die around him. It would be fitting, yes.
Still, she could not well allow him to leave that place.
Hands raised, she bent the mist around her, swirling it into a disc like a mirror that could carry her commands. “Surround that city with frost jotunnar and lay siege to it. Waste no warriors unless anyone tries to escape.”
If Thor thought his defenses would protect him, perhaps he would then be fool enough to hide behind them until his supplies ran out. Until his people starved.
Until all the rest of Reidgotaland was ruined or bent to Hel’s will. Either way, it served Hel’s ends well enough.
And Nidavellir’s defenses had already begun to crumble.
Beyond the Myrkvidr, her draugar and jotunnar pushed into Hunaland. There, they met with the armies of Deathless, those wretched vampires who dared to stand against her. But they, as ghosts, lay within her power, and she would see them bent or broken, as it suited them.
Still, they posed an inconvenience, forestalling her advance to the south.
For now.
A momentary obstacle, even as the rest of the North Realms fell to her armies.
First, she would secure the North Realms, simultaneously building a power base for herself and depriving Odin of his own.
Should the Destroyer finally deign to show himself, he would find all he had built had come to ruin. He would find himself alone, bereft of allies, and facing the might of Hel’s kingdom.
It was inevitable.
6
Couldn’t well say whether Sviarland’s turmoil fell on Baldr’s feet. Wasn’t right, anyway, thinking ill of the dead, especially Odin’s son. Still, Tyr hadn’t seen this land so overwrought in … well, ever.
Ingjald Ill-Ruler had rebuilt his hall by the River Fyris.
Vidfamne had burned it down again, this time with Ingjald and his daughter Asa inside. King Ingjald had deserved that and worse, so far as Tyr had heard.
Except now, in the twilight, while Tyr walked among the ash and snow, the whole damn land was split asunder. Like a rotting carcass. Not just seven petty kingdoms anymore. Shit, no one could even agree on how many men now called themselves kings in Sviarland.
Fucking chaos, that’s what it was. Baldr’s grand plan to unite the land against the Deathless faith had fallen apart with his death. Maybe it was doomed before that. Tyr couldn’t say such things.
Saule appeared by his side. He’d never get used to that. Her being nowhere one moment and there the next. Moving on sunlight, she said. Didn’t even make sense. Sun was more than half set. How’d she travel on it?
The liosalf sniffed. “The witch-queens of Pohjola appear to have aligned with an army of frost jotunnar that moved through Kvenland. Leastwise, they allowed the jotunnar free passage through Pohjola and into Lappmarken. The people are already besieged there, and no lord up north has the might to hold them for long.”
Tyr grunted. “Suppose we have to head up there and stop the advance.”
“It’s too late. We’d never get up there in time. For all I know, Lappmarken has already fallen.”
All he could do was grimace. Shake his head. Men dead, dying. And no one could cross the damn snows fast enough to do aught. He’d sent Sunna and Mani down to the town to get dogsleds. Thrúd he’d sent south, to Skane. Had to meet Vidfamne. Had to get him on their side.
But given what Saule had reported, Tyr would need to head north. Damn it.
“Even if Lappmarken’s lost, we have to defend Jamtla.”
Saule’s shrug had Tyr half ready to rage at her. She didn’t much care one way or the other. Men, women, children, all got murdered. Damn liosalf could’ve been discussing the night meal.
Oh, no denying she had power. Lots of it. Couldn’t ask for a better ally in a fight. Just all the other times she came up wanting. Her, all the liosalfar, maybe the Vanir, too.
Whatever came from beyond the Veil, it wasn’t human. Not even if it once had been. Didn’t think right anymore. Didn’t care about things they damn well ought to have.
Tyr cracked his neck and glowered at her. Held his peace. Wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, lashing out at her. “We move as soon as Sunna and Mani return.”
In the end, he managed to gather a small force of men. Warriors with no lord left to them. War bands didn’t really fight for glory or causes. They fought for plunder. Well, Tyr had offered them all the plunder they could take from Lappmarken. Way Saule told it, place was dead already.
So they moved, some on sleds, others trailing behind. Two score men and shieldmaidens, all told. Rough lot. No point in lying to them about what they’d face, either.
Oh, he’d told them. Said clear that they went to fight jotunnar.
Some of them didn’t really believe. Hadn’t seen jotunnar in their lives, nor even their grandparents’ lifetimes.
Shit, it’d been centuries since Skadi’s war, and even that had been far from Sviarland. So these fools doubted. Figured jotunnar were just like men. Weren’t half wrong, maybe.
They were like men. Men gone savage, maybe willing to eat the flesh of the dead.
After a hard day on the sled, they made camp amid a grove of evergreens. Place was damn eerie, in truth. Only sign of civilization they’d found was an abandoned village three hours back.
Maybe they knew some war band or other was coming. Just up and left. Fresh snows had covered any tracks and Tyr didn’t figure it much mattered where they went. Nowhere safe left anyway.
Brooding, he spat into the campfire just to hear it sizzle. A small little pop. Then gone. Like people. Lives trudging along, then a pop. Gone.
Left the rest with naught but a bunch of memories.
End of the fucking world. And Tyr couldn’t well tell most of the people in his band that. If man died out, what did any of this mean? All the struggles. Wars. Thoughts. Lives.
All for shit, wasn’t it?
Odin could carry on about previous eras, old civilizations. Way Tyr saw it, hardly mattered much what the Old Kingdoms had done. What they thought. How they lived. Still all dead.
“You’re quiet,” Saule said, settling down across from him.
Tyr grunted. Had rather expected she’d have figured that out about him already. Didn’t see much need to answer so obvious a statement.
Liosalf had this smile, almost too beautiful. Like the rest of her, really. Radiant, and not just from glowing. Otherworldly, that way. Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him so much. If he hadn’t known about the twisted soul inside her. Not even jotunnar were so apathetic about the value of life.
“You don’t really like me.” Perceptive of her. Tyr had figured, not understanding people, they couldn’t read emotions, either. “Still, you imagine fucking me.” Eh … also unfortunately perceptive.
“Prefer my women warm inside.”
She giggled. “Are you implying my nethers are cold? Because I assure you, I’ve had no complaints, and I’m quite lascivious.”
Tyr spit into the fire again. Didn’t know what that word meant, though he could guess. Shook his head. Maybe it didn’t much matter. World was ending either way.
“That an offer?”
Her smile was damn unnerving.
Saule had her legs wrapped around his hips. While he ground her deeper and deeper into a snowdrift. Grunting. Thrusting. Naught romantic in it. Just animal need. Pent up too long. Better to know he was alive, even if for only a moment.
His rel
ease hit him hard.
Then it kept hitting him. Like … like she was sucking something out of him more than him just spilling it. Tyr gasped. Couldn’t catch his breath. Felt like his whole body started going cold. Like his fire was flowing right out of him. Into her.
So … cold …
And here she was, glowing all the brighter.
When she finally released him, Tyr fell back. Collapsed into the snow, scarce able to move. A damn powerful romp, yes, but this was more than that.
“What … did you do to me?”
Liosalf rolled over on top of him and patted his cheek. “Naught you didn’t seem to enjoy.”
Then she pushed up, and drifted away. Swaying her hips as she disappeared into the mist.
Tyr tried to sit. Muscles wouldn’t respond.
Shit.
He groaned. Just needed a little rest …
Unsteady, he made his way back to the camp. Kept listing to one side or the other. When he made it to the fire, he collapsed in front of it.
Saule was drifting around the other fires, glowing in the night.
Sunna and Mani were glowing too, and Tyr could’ve sworn Mani winked at him. Rather than sit and glower, Tyr beckoned the Vanr over to him. The man made his way to Tyr’s fire, then settled down across from it, grinning at Tyr.
“What the fuck did she do to me?”
Mani chuckled. “Took a little of your pneuma, I imagine. A little more than a man might already share with a woman when spilling his seed.” He continued to snicker. “I’m sure it was worth it, but maybe consider saving such interludes for periods of safety.”
What in the damn gates of Hel? “How long?”
“For your pneuma to replenish itself? A few days, depending on your own aptitude at drawing it in, and on how much she took. A fortnight, at most, assuming you don’t lay with other spirits in the meantime.”
Tyr could only groan at that, and Mani continued to laugh, shaking his head. “Believe me, I understand. Even knowing it would happen, I still buried myself between her legs every chance I got. When I first got to Alfheim I …” He cleared his throat. “Well, I was a varulf. And the sunlight suppressed that part of me and I felt like I had really lost a part of myself. Actually, since coming back to the Mortal Realm, I’ve begun to feel it stirring. But regardless, at the time, I was distraught. I took comfort where I could.”
“Your light always seems less than the others.”
“Because I have a Moon spirit inside me, my transformation into liosalf is less complete than most of my brethren. It does not make me well loved in Alfheim, but Sunna is, and, as her brother, I am afforded some indulgences.”
Tyr grunted. “Thought the Vanir lost their bound vaettir.”
“Most did. A few held on to them.” Mani spread his hands. “No easy answers in the Spirit Realm, my friend. The native liosalfar haven’t told us everything. They like their secrets and lies. Even from each other.”
Tyr was about to answer when Mani cocked his head oddly, then turned.
From the mist, Thor came trudging over. Favoring his bad foot. What in Hel’s frozen underworld was the prince doing here?
The man didn’t head for them, though, but for Saule, who’d not re-donned her armor. Way she swayed, Tyr could’ve sworn she wanted another man for her bed this night.
Oh.
Damn it. These days, Thor would plant his cock in anyone with a trench. And the prince would wind up as weak as Tyr felt. Couldn’t afford that. With a groan, Tyr gained his feet. Stumbled toward where Thor already had a hand on Saule’s arse.
Stupid fucking son of a …
Thor pulled the liosalf in close and rammed a seax into her gut with such force it hefted her off the ground.
Everything in the camp froze.
Tyr too. Just gaping. Unable to make his damn legs work. What the fuck had just happened?
Thor sliced with the seax, spilling her guts over himself. Steaming blood splattered the snows.
“My prince!” Tyr managed, stumbling toward him.
That wicked grin on Thor’s face. Like a punch in Tyr’s gut.
Thor jerked the seax free, then drove it into Saule’s heart. Snarled as he flung her corpse aside. Her glow had already faded when she hit the snows.
“My prince!” Tyr bellowed again, shaking his head. What in Hel’s frozen underworld had gotten into him? How was he even here?
“It’s not him!” Mani yelled, yanking Tyr back.
Thor chuckled, then pulled a helm he hadn’t seemed to be wearing off his head and tossed it aside. His form melted like ice, dripping down from above. Melted into … Fenrir. The Moon Lord was already striding toward Tyr.
Sunna appeared at his side, swinging a blade. Fenrir’s arm shot out so fast Tyr couldn’t see him move. Caught Sunna by the neck. Flung her bodily into an evergreen.
He heard the trunk crack.
“To arms!” Tyr bellowed. His own steps came too sluggish, and Mani outdistanced him.
Fenrir lunged forward, caught Mani by his forehead. The Vanr froze in place, trembling, while the varulf bared his teeth. Snarling through inhuman fangs. Mani’s fingers opened, dropped his own seax into the snows.
Men came charging in, and Fenrir released Mani, spun around. His backhand sent a man flying past Tyr. Then the varulf disappeared into the mist.
Mani dropped to his knees, hands to his temples.
“Find him!” Tyr roared. His feet wouldn’t answer his command. Too fucking slow. Too useless now.
Screams.
All around, screams.
His men dying. Snapped in half like kindling. Fenrir would pick them off, one by one, with ease. Invisible in the damn mist.
Oh, shit.
“Stop!” Tyr shouted. “Fall back to me! Form a circle! To me! To me!”
More screams.
And then a few torches racing toward him, even as he fell back toward the closest fire.
Mani shook himself, fair leapt to his feet, and took off at a dead run into the wood.
“Mani!” Tyr bellowed.
But the Vanr wasn’t listening.
Tyr stared hard at the Tarnhelm in his hands. Damned thing had sat in Frigg’s vaults for ages. Narfi … Fenrir, he must’ve claimed it when he fled Asgard. Cursed thing had cost Saule her life now. Way Tyr heard it, it had caused no end of grief before that too.
Still grimacing, he shoved it in his travel sack.
All told, Fenrir had slaughtered fourteen, counting Saule. Not counting Mani, who was still missing. Stupid Vanr.
Sunna, she’d recovered, and now knelt beside Tyr. Looking almost so grim as he felt.
Way he saw it, they had two options. Continue north. Try to stem the jotunn advance.
Or break away. Hunt down Fenrir. Before the damn varulf picked them off one by one.
No choice at all.
With a grunt, he rose. Took in the men. Problem was, Fenrir would slaughter these bastards like sheep. Worse, if they did take him down, the wolf vaettr would just shift to a new host. Any of them except maybe Sunna. She was a liosalf, so she probably couldn’t get possessed. Sun vaettr ought to have protected her from that.
Far from a perfect plan. Fenrir might still well kill Tyr and Sunna both. But she’d want to find her brother, and Tyr had no idea where Mani had fled to. None, save an inkling the man hunted the same prey as them.
Of course, all this meant abandoning Jamtla to the jotunnar, same as they’d lost Lappmarken. Harsh truth, true. But wasn’t Fenrir worse? More of a threat?
A man shouldn’t have to make that kind of choice. It tasted foul, like either way, he was choosing evil. Maybe Odin felt like that a lot. Maybe it didn’t bother the king anymore.
“Listen,” Tyr finally said to the gathered men. “Turn around and head back south. We sent word to Thrúd. Thor’s daughter, mind. Meet up with her.” And damn well hope she’d managed to enlist Vidfamne. “Find a place to stem the jotunn tide. Myself, I have to go after the varulf. None of you
want to be going where I’m headed.”
“Fuck no,” someone mumbled.
“I know I promised you plunder. Maybe there will be. Right now, I’m more worried about making sure Sviarland survives. That men have anywhere to live left when this is done. It’s a hard thing, but it’s what we’ve come to.” Tyr grimaced. Cracked his neck. Just wasn’t good with words.
So, with a last nod at his men, he turned out for the woods.
Didn’t need to tell Sunna to follow. Liosalf was desperate for her brother. Probably pissed for Saule, too. Tyr could just dare to hope they’d find Mani before Fenrir did.
Varulf needed to die. Permanent, this time.
And Tyr had to find a way to make that happen.
7
In the end, Odin had decided silver represented a rather universal language, and had trod down into the strange city now built where Asgard should have been, and traded for roasted fowl and a room to stay. After all, he had no way of knowing how long he might be stuck in a given time.
He spent the night there, and the next morning set to exploring more of the bazaar. At least until the tides began to tug on his mind. Rather than risk being jerked out of time in the midst of a crowd, he made his way into an alley and slumped down behind a barrel.
The alley stank of stale piss.
That thought didn’t last long, though, before the crashing waves of time drowned out all sounds and blurred his senses in their cacophony. The currents of time ripped him apart, and Odin could not even say whether he was screaming or not. Maybe someone heard him crying out and came to see what had befallen the old man in the alley. If so, would they see him break apart? Would they see him vanish, like a man stepping into the Penumbra?
For he did feel as though he was being drawn into shadow. And when at last his vision focused again, he found the only source of light a flickering fire pit in a windowless stone room. While Odin lay on the floor, in the back of the room, four figures sat around the fire pit.
