The Shores of Vanaheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 3)

by Matt Larkin

  Odin squeezed her hand. In the majesty of such a place, he would not give in to despair, would not give credence to the thought of all creation dragged down into chaos.

  Freyja’s lion sat on its haunches, not following as Freyja led Odin down the long walk. When he glanced back again a moment later, the lion had finally lain down in the grass. He wanted to ask what purpose they served, whether she kept them as protectors or not, but found himself unable to violate the surreal quiet of this place with human speech.

  Odin did not release Freyja’s hand, nor did she his. The bridge itself had a slight rail and, regardless, stretched more than wide enough they could walk without fear of falling. Though the bridge was stone, it was supported by roots of Yggdrasil that seemed to have grown up and over it, forming arches and supporting the entire structure.

  Likewise, at the bridge’s end a hall rose, built around the tree’s trunk, this too seeming as much grown from bark and branch as built. Pale luminescence radiated from windows—gaps in the growth, really.

  Any question he wanted to ask seemed to die on his tongue. He wanted to know everything and yet … no words could begin to give voice to the magnificence of creation before them. They walked in silence down the long bridge.

  In the tree overhead, he once caught a glimpse of what looked like a giant squirrel, running and leaping from branch to branch.

  “One of the tree’s guardians,” Freyja said in answer to his unspoken question, even her voice only half a whisper.

  At last they stopped at the tree’s base. Finally, Odin pulled Freyja to the side so he could look into the abyss beneath them. Roots stretched down there far, far out of his sight. The wind seemed to blow from down there, whispering secrets beyond time and space and begging him to step off the bridge.

  A breeze overhead rustled the leaves, but only a few fell, drifting down into the black. One leaf fell upon the bridge, and, on a whim, Odin knelt to examine it. The leaf ranged in shade from the deepest green he had ever seen to a near yellow. With a start he gasped. The patterns of light and dark, the veins on the leaf, looked maddeningly like a glyph.

  “Wh-what is this?” he finally managed to ask. “You warded the tree itself?” That sounded blasphemous.

  Freyja knelt beside him and spoke softly. “Never. This is the mark of a soul. Man, woman, child … some think even animals may have souls. And this leaf fell because that soul’s owner died.”

  Odin’s jaw fell open, but all he could do was grunt and lift his gaze to the towering tree above him. A tree sporting millions upon millions of leaves, more than could be counted in lifetimes.

  “Yes. The answer is yes. Every time someone dies in this world, a leaf falls. Every time someone is born, and new leaf grows. Every person on Midgard, everyone you know or ever might know, comes from Yggdrasil.”

  The revelation was too much, left his mind numb. Idunn had never told him this, though she had called it the Tree of Life. Of course she knew that. She had climbed among its boughs, picked its apples. His chest trembled at the spectacle before him.

  “What happens if … if the wind blows down a leaf? Or if Idunn accidentally broke a branch?”

  Freyja shook her head. “You couldn’t cut a leaf out of Yggdrasil with a sword. They fall when the owner falls. Not before.” She looked away, her face drawn tight.

  “What is it?”

  “Once, a long time ago, I used the power in Yggdrasil to fuel a spell. It was how I cast out the First Ones and thrust them into Alfheim. A great many leaves fell that day … And I …”

  Oh, Hel. Freyja had tried to protect her people, and the cost … Odin wanted to offer some comfort, but from the look on her face surely thousands must have perished. She had said sorcery would always have a cost, one you could not predict and would not often want to pay.

  Finding no words, he instead pulled her close and held her against his chest for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “We do what we must to protect those we love, Freyja. Sometimes the only choices are hard ones.”

  “I learned later a farmer out in Sunna’s fields dropped dead. He hadn’t had an apple, and his heart just gave out. Coincidence, maybe. But maybe not.”

  Some questions were best left unanswered. He just sat there, holding her until the sky began to color and the sun to set. They watched it in silence, sitting on a bridge over that abyss. Suspended between life and death.

  31

  “He has slain our own people!” Zisa said. The woman pointedly avoided looking at Tyr in the center of the hall.

  Frigg had called the jarls back to Odin’s hall. Those who lived, anyway. Two had fallen in the battle, and Frigg had still not named any replacement for Bedvig. That left only five jarls and their closest thegns. For the moment, Zisa represented the Skalduns, and she fumed at Tyr, who once again stood surrounded by jarls.

  Sigyn, who now stood beside her sister, had suggested Frigg conduct this meeting in secret. But when Zisa had heard of Tyr’s actions, the woman had drawn the attention of half the Ás camp.

  “The king pardoned him once,” Zisa continued, “and he uses that pardon to again act against us.”

  “I don’t think he acts wholly on his own violation,” Sigyn whispered into Frigg’s ear. She had had very little time to mull it over, as Zisa had forced this gathering the moment the battle ended. Sigyn had only bits of the story of what happened at Idavollir, but it seemed Frigg had arrested Tyr before, only to have him released on Odin’s order. “His bloodlust is not natural.”

  Frigg offered a slight nod but kept her eyes on Zisa. “He also slew many of our foes and brought aid from Valland. Hoenir? Have we learned aught more of why Volsung pursues us?”

  “Yes, we interrogated a few, and they admitted the Niflung princess pushed them into the attack.”

  Gudrun. The vicious bitch was behind this, and, no doubt, behind Loki’s disappearance as well. And with every passing moment, tracking her down would grow more difficult. Sigyn ought to flee immediately, take her swan cloak, and go searching. But she did not know where to look; moreover, the jarls were now out for Tyr’s blood. Sigyn was certain he was not in control of himself—a frightening thought, yes, but it meant there was hope for him.

  Vili folded his arms and looked around at the other jarls. “So he fought our enemies. No one ever questioned his valor. His loyalty, however, is suspect. Honor seems nonexistent. We cannot have this murderer in our midst.”

  “He was ensorcelled by our enemies,” Sigyn protested.

  Frigg scowled at her, forestalling any further argument.

  “If that is so,” Arnbjorn’s son Kory said, “he is even more a threat.”

  Well, maybe Frigg wanted to forestall argument. Sigyn was not going to stand here and let them sacrifice the man who had saved her. Even if she had time for a long, drawn out debate. Which she did not. “It could have been any of you. If the Niflung sorceress set her will upon you, do you think yourself strong enough to resist, Arnbjorn? Or you, Vili?”

  “Obviously. That’s why she didn’t try me.”

  “She bewitched Tyr because he is the finest fighter among all the Aesir. And even after her sorcery, he still saved us. His blade drove back Volsung’s army. How many more of us would be dead, had he not returned?”

  Hoenir cleared his throat. “There is truth to the girl’s words.”

  Frigg rose, the sudden motion silencing all the jarls and drawing every eye in the hall. “Enough. I have made my decision. Odin has been gone too long, and we will go after him as soon as the wounded are gathered.”

  “Who will go?” Hoenir asked.

  “Everyone. We will leave no one behind for Volsung or Niflungar or trolls or anyone else to prey upon. Lady Idunn assured us Vanaheim would put us all beyond the reach of such foes. So let us go with haste.”

  “And Tyr?” Zisa said through clenched teeth.

  “I said everyone will go. Tyr is—was my husband’s champion. What other place but guarding his queen and his children should a c
hampion occupy?”

  “But—”

  “Silence. If you wish to protest, do so with Odin. The king alone will decide such things. For now, your queen commands you make ready to depart.”

  Tyr, who had said nothing the entire time, shut his eyes and sighed deeply. Under other circumstances, Sigyn would have wanted to learn what went on in his mind, and what strange fate had befallen him. Not now, though. Now she had more pressing concerns.

  Gyrlin intercepted Sigyn just before she reached Tyr. Eyes wide, looking as close to panic as Sigyn felt herself, the girl barred her from going any further. “They’ve gone!”

  “Who?”

  “Volsung’s ships, they’re leaving!”

  Sigyn sighed. “Yes, we won.”

  “But Reiner—”

  “I’m sorry, Gyrlin. I have no way to reunite you with your brother at the moment. My sister is queen here, though, and she’ll find a place for you.”

  The girl’s lip trembled and she looked keen to object. Despite herself, Sigyn imagined slapping the woman if she did. She did not know whether Reiner lived, nor was it her problem. All that mattered now was finding Loki.

  “Go to Frigg and tell her I sent you. Tell her your full tale. I’m certain she will take care of you.”

  “But—”

  Sigyn pushed the girl aside and ducked into Tyr’s tent.

  The thegn spun on her, hand on the hilt of his runeblade.

  The sight killed the words in her throat, and she found herself unable to take her eyes from the sword.

  And then he shook himself and resumed packing. “I thought you someone else.”

  “You thought maybe I was one of the many, many Aesir here who may mean you harm.” She did not envy him now. He had earned himself a great number of enemies with his recent actions, and most Aesir would not know or care if those actions were spawned by Niflung sorcery. Indeed, perhaps the reason Frigg did not want it known, was that it would only drive the others to fear Tyr all the more. And worse, perhaps to fear who might next fall under such witchcraft.

  Tyr grunted. “You defended me.”

  “I need your help. Loki is missing.”

  He paused and looked to her now. “Are you certain he did not fall in the battle?”

  No. She would not even consider that. He was too clever, too old, too … too hers. That could not happen. “I fear the Niflungar plotted against him.”

  Loki had once feared the same thing. He had warned her that, once their enemies knew him as Loge, they would plan accordingly. He had said this, but she had not considered the deeper ramifications. That, given this knowledge, they would go to great lengths to overcome their ancient foe. Given how he had turned the last pitched battle, perhaps they might even stage an entire battle, sacrifice countless lives, all as a distraction to capture him.

  Or murder him?

  No! No, he could not be dead. No one had found him among the fallen or the wounded, and men had worked for hours, building pyres, sending away the dead that they might not linger in the mist. Loki was not dead. He wasn’t. The foul princess had taken him.

  “I’m certain they have him now. Maybe they intend to try with him what they tried with Odin. I don’t know, but I need to find them before they can follow through with whatever their plans might be. I need to find him now.”

  Tyr sighed and rubbed his beard. “I saw Volsung’s scouts on the way north to the Valland fortress, along the river. Or perhaps they took him on a ship.”

  Sigyn threw up her hands. “In other words, you have no idea where they took him.”

  “Frigg commanded us all sail for Vanaheim.”

  She scoffed at that. “I am not going anywhere save to look for him. And you … Well, I spoke the truth, Tyr. Some foul sorcery works upon you, and I can only hope knowing that will allow you to better fight against such power.”

  Tyr grunted, then nodded. “It’s the blade.”

  “Gramr?”

  “It bears a curse.”

  “Then cast it aside!”

  “I … cannot. Even did we not face such foes, I cannot let go of her.”

  Her? Damn, but that sounded twisted. She did not envy him the days to come. But neither could she afford to dwell on him. If Gudrun had taken Loki, she might take him by land. Doing so would allow her greater stealth, greater ability to hide herself in the mists. However, if she wanted speed, the ships would offer that. Those ships had come from Hunaland, and Sigyn had to assume they would return in that direction. Hunaland lay far to the northeast.

  “Tyr, listen. Frigg needs you now. You have to pull yourself together and be there for her while I am away.”

  Tyr cracked his neck. “You are set on going?”

  “Yes.” Beyond any doubt.

  “Then go with speed. I wish you well.”

  She slipped from the tent only to find Gyrlin still standing there, wringing her hands. Damn it.

  Sigyn threw an arm around the girl. “I told you. Go to Frigg. Maybe when all this is over, we can see you safe back to Reiner. I can do naught more for you right now.”

  “Ugh. You … you’ve done so much for me already, Sigyn. Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t seem more grateful before … I just …”

  “You were worried about someone you love.” Sigyn knew how that felt.

  She clasped the girl’s arm, then ducked around behind the tent, where no one could see her. Loki was right about that—concealing the extent of one’s abilities, holding back, could grant a greater advantage. By revealing himself in the battles against the draugar, Loki had made himself a target.

  The Niflungar blamed Loge for their defeat at the hands of the Lofdar. So if they had captured him, they would most likely want to bring him back to Grimhild with all possible haste. And whether they intended stop at Volsung’s castle or not, Castle Niflung also lay northeast.

  She sighed. Any other day, she would have stayed and helped Gyrlin. But … but not today. Today Loki needed her. Sometimes, a woman had to choose what mattered most.

  Sigyn raised the hood of her cloak, embracing the rush as her form shifted under the garment, becoming that of a swan. She loved flying. The world never seemed so pure as when she looked down upon it from high in the sky. Now, she took flight.

  Northeast, after those ships. And she had to pray she had correctly guessed Gudrun’s plan. She was going to find the princess. And she would save Loki. Because to her, he mattered most.

  32

  When the sun disappeared behind the mountains, Freyja pulled him to his feet. “Come. We’re here anyway, and I want you to meet someone.”

  He followed her inside. Gnarled and knotted roots formed twisting halls. The light inside emanated from mushrooms sprouting in clusters from those roots. Everything was grown—no sign of carving or the work of men, though neither could he imagine this place quite natural. This was like the troll burrows in Jarnvid, albeit without the thorns and twisted aspect.

  Freyja navigated the winding maze of halls with confident steps, allowing Odin little time to linger or wonder at the place. Neither hall nor palace seemed quite the right word for the structure they had entered. Freyja rounded another bend, then began to tread a steep path downward. This they followed long enough, they must have passed beneath the level of the bridge and down into the roots. Though the tree appeared to hang suspended in open space, it seemed not the least bit unstable.

  “Idunn has chambers above, though I don’t know if she’s here right now.”

  “There’s something that’s bothered me since we reached the bridge. This is the most sacred place in Vanaheim. And not all of the Vanir are blessed with apples. So what stops those others from coming here and taking one?”

  Freyja turned back to him with one raised eyebrow. “The tree has several guardians, most notably Vedrfolnir and Ratatoskr. Had you come here without me or someone else with permission, you’d have seen one of them, much to your detriment. Then there’s the man we’re here to meet, one of the last of the Firs
t Ones remaining in Vanaheim.”

  She continued onward, until finally the path leveled out and opened into a comparatively large chamber—the ceiling rose perhaps ten feet, giving Odin room to breathe. A handful of other paths branched out of the room, and from one of those entered a man garbed in a long indigo robe embroidered with silver trim. His hair was dark, though streaks of gray ran through it.

  Another First One. Besides Eostre, this man was the only one Odin had seen. This robed man had made the original march across Midgard and, apparently, had grown old before ever receiving an apple.

  “Lord Lytir, I present Odin, King of the Aesir. He has come seeking knowledge to use against the Niflungar.”

  Lytir narrowed his eyes and advanced until he stood a mere hairsbreadth away from Odin. After staring a moment, his hand launched out like a viper, grabbing Odin by the back of his neck. Odin clenched his fists at his sides, trying not to resist. Lytir looked from one side of his face to the other, his eyes glazing over as he did so. Again, the Vanr paused. That faraway look—he was using the Sight. What would it foretell about him? Could the man divine Odin’s true purpose on Vanaheim? If so, things might grow bloody in an instant. And Hel’s frozen tits, Odin did not wish to fight these people. Especially not Freyja. Never her.

  At last, Lytir pulled away, his eyes clearing and his face growing even darker. Odin’s arms tensed. If the Vanr called him out, he would have no choice but to strike. No matter what else happened, he could not sacrifice the Aesir. He had brought them here, and they—all mankind—now needed Odin to complete his mission. No matter the cost. Had he not just told Freyja the same thing? That, whatever price must be paid to protect those we love, we must pay it.

  Lytir cleared his throat, then pointed to the path he had just come from. “They will let him look. If he is to find knowledge, let him sift through it or drown beneath its weight, if that is his urd.”