by Matt Larkin
“The islands of the Vanir … they’re real too?”
Idunn leaned close to his face, so close he could feel her warm breath. “Real enough. Like me. Do I seem like a dream to you?”
Odin swallowed and fell back a step. “A dream might be easier to believe.” He shook his head. “What do you want of me? Why me?”
“Excellent questions,” she said, holding up a finger. “As to the second, you’re cunning, ruthless, and courageous. You’ve the potential to be a great king. You could go far, if you stop staring at my breasts.”
Odin flushed. Right. Look at her eyes. Best not even consider other parts of her anatomy that had been on his mind. Odin rubbed his temples. “Can you, uh, give me a moment, please?”
“Of course. Sometimes we all need some time to think things through. Take as much time as you need. I’m immortal, so it doesn’t bother me. For certain, though, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. By the Tree, wandering the world you spend so much time alone, or hiding from different kinds of vaettir, trolls, and men of ill intent.”
Odin stopped listening to her babble. She had spoken the truth. She truly was a goddess. No vӧlva could have wrought the miracle with that tree. And if that much was true, then, too, must her tale about the apples be. Apples of immortality.
“… because down in the far south, some places are still warm—not warm like Vanaheim, but warmer than here. And besides, my ancestors came from islands in—”
Odin cleared his throat. “Idunn.”
She quirked a half smile. “Sorry. Was I rambling? I get lonely out here.”
“My brother, Ve,” Odin said. “He …”
Idunn’s face fell a little. “I spoke with him. The mists are deep inside him now.”
“And can the apple stop him from going mist-mad?”
Idunn pursed her lips. “An apple would certainly slow the process.”
“Then give him the apple, please, I beg you.”
Idunn glanced at the gathering crowd, then once again took Odin’s hand and led him deeper into the forest. They wandered in silence a time, Idunn’s steps slow, a little unsteady. She did seem weakened, drained. No wonder she he had hesitated to provide any demonstration of her power.
She leaned against a tree and blew out a breath. “I have an apple for you, and enough for those closest to you. But I already gave you my terms. You must make an oath to become king and to fulfill my wish once you have done so.”
Odin clenched his fists at his side. For a brief instant he imagined himself strangling the woman. Goddess. No, even if he could have killed her—and with her power, who knew—he was not that kind of man. He had to be worthy of his father. With a growl, he unclenched his fists and stepped close to her. “So be it. I swear it.”
“Swear an oath you cannot break.”
Odin leaned a hand against the tree, placing his face a breath away from hers. “I swear on my father’s spear, Gungnir, and upon my father’s name, Borr. I will make myself king, and I will grant you any favor within my power. Now, give me the fucking apples!”
She ran a finger over his cheek, and he trembled. Then she pushed him gently backward. She turned and knelt, then dug away at snow piled in front of the tree’s roots until she revealed a hollow inside. From this, she drew forth a basket filled with apples that shimmered like gold. Even from the basket, their sweet scent wafted toward him, making his mouth water.
Idunn ran her fingertips over the apples before selecting one and offering it to him. “You will eat first; then I will take one to Ve.”
His hand closed around the apple. Warmth filled his palm.
“Come,” Idunn said. “Eat just one. And taste apotheosis.”
Odin’s breath had grown ragged. His heart pounded as he raised an apple to his lips. There would be no turning back. He didn’t know what apotheosis meant, but if this worked, he would have to become a king. He would become more than a king. He would become a god. A thousand generations would praise his name. And by Hel, he’d be there to witness those thousand generations. Immortal as Idunn.
To be king of all the Aesir … What glory. What honor to his father. What pride. Heidr had so often tried to warn him of the cost of his pride, and he had never listened.
But he had sworn an oath. He had to save Ve.
Slowly he bit down. Juice flowed over his tongue. Sweeter than any fruit he’d ever tasted. Sweet and bitter and spicy all at once. He swallowed, almost able to feel the bits flooding through his nerves. Explosions of sensation cascaded along his body, and he became only dimly aware he continued to eat. It was like eating the essence of life. Better than mead or sex or aught he’d ever known.
Stars swarmed before his eyes, and he fell on his back, watching as the mists cleared and revealed the glorious sun beyond. Midgard itself pulsed with life, as did every being on it. And he could feel them all. He shuddered in ecstasy until he had to close his eyes against the flood of sensations.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at Idunn, lying with his head in her lap.
“What happened?” he mumbled.
She stroked his hair. “You are changed now.”
His pulse was pounding, his loins throbbing. Everything seemed apt to burst around him. Fire coursed through his veins as he rolled over, forced himself to stand.
“Ve?”
Idunn stood as well. “I will take him an apple.”
“Vili too.” Odin groaned. The world was spinning around him.
“That will leave you few apples left. Choose your remaining companions carefully, Odin.”
He waved the comment away, panting, stumbling back toward the town. Gods! What was happening to him. Ethereal colors flittered at the edge of his vision. His gut had become a roil, twisting, writhing. His stones had become pulsing flames, so hot they seemed apt to burn through his trousers.
In the town, a riot of sensation coursed over him, the smells, the laughter, the taste in the air of smoke and food and sex. Jorunn was taking the drinking horn again. Odin staggered toward her, shoved the horn away, and kissed her. Her tongue was in his mouth, exploring, driving his senses to explode. Unable to stand it a moment longer, he grabbed the girl, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her off to his hall.
She giggled as he shouldered his way toward his bed. Wide-eyed slaves gawked a moment. It didn’t matter. Odin yanked the girl’s dress away, fumbled with his own trousers so clumsily he tore the laces.
Not sure whether he wanted to moan, laugh, or cry, he entered her. Part of him knew he used her more roughly than was his habit, but she only clutched him tighter. Gods, he couldn’t get enough.
He would never, ever have enough.
Three times he took her, until she protested she could handle no more.
Then he beckoned one of the slave girls over to join them.
Odin shot awake at the sound of the howl. It echoed through the town like a cry from Hel, setting all the hairs on his neck on end. The girl on his chest clutched her arms around his waist.
“My lord?”
Odin pushed her aside and snatched his trousers and a fur cloak. The screams began before he’d even finished fastening it with his brooch. Odin stumbled from the hall in time to see a massive black wolf leap onto a shieldmaiden and tear her apart. Its jaws ripped through her throat and shredded her flesh.
His spear. He needed his spear. He scrambled past the feeding wolf, struggling to reach Gungnir, unable to look away from the gruesome sight. Her death was his fault. He’d left his spear standing in the snow, a symbol of his pride. A symbol of his vanity.
A wolf circled in front of him, cutting him off. It turned its head toward Odin’s spear, then back at him. And it pulled its lips back in a snarl.
Hel. It knew.
These weren’t just wolves. Their eyes had the intelligence of men. These were varulfur. And the vӧlva had been right. This celebration had caught their attention.
Someone shrieked in agony behind Odin. He kept his eyes locked
on the wolf man. It advanced on him with slow deliberateness, a fell gleam in its eyes. Odin could tell it knew he was unarmed and was toying with him.
A man charged from the far side of the nearest tent, bellowing a war cry, sword high over his head. Tyr hadn’t had time for armor or even clothes. Blood drenched him from the neck down—no little of it his own, judging from the bite on his arm.
The varulfur spun, leaping aside as Tyr swept his sword downward.
“My lord! Go!”
Odin nodded at his man. Tyr could take care of himself. There was no finer warrior among the Aesir. And the distraction gave Odin just enough time to reach Gungnir. He ran for it, skidding to a stop as his hand wrapped around the shaft. An immediate power filled him. His strength and fury amplified. The rage of the dragon coursed through his veins. These wolves had picked the wrong town.
Spear raised over his head, Odin roared a challenge to any varulf foolish enough to accept. Moments later, a pair of them bounded toward him. No single challenge. So be it. He whipped the spear around, turning about and using its length to keep both wolves at bay. One snapped at him. A twist of his wrist slashed Gungnir’s blade across the beast’s snout. The werewolf yelped in pain and fell to the snow, pawing at its half-severed nose.
The other varulf jumped for him. Odin snapped the butt of his spear into its throat. The wolf fell, gagging.
“I am Odin, jarl of the Wodanar! And I send you to Hel, shapeshifter!” He thrust his spear straight down. It pierced right through the wolf and into the ground. The creature gurgled, then began a slow shift back into man form.
A woman screamed as Odin yanked Gungnir free. That had come from the guest house he’d given Idunn. It had to be fifty feet away. Odin took off at a sprint, but it would be too late before he got there. He was human, and he’d never cover that distance before the varulf devoured her.
His breath came in shallow gasps, the cold stinging his lungs. He had to try.
He barged into the house in time to see a wolf jump at Idunn.
“No!” Odin hefted Gungnir for a throw.
The wolf passed through Idunn’s form, which shuddered then vanished.
Odin’s jaw fell open, the spear forgotten in his hand. Sorcery?
The wolf shook its head, sniffed the room, then turned toward the bed. Odin followed its gaze to a slight shimmer in the air, trembling among the covers.
The wolf leapt at the shimmer. Odin flung Gungnir. It flew fast as ever, impacting the wolf midair. The varulf crumpled and fell, a splatter of blood coating the shimmer before vanishing. Odin strode over to the wolf, now whimpering on the ground, planted his foot on its head, and yanked his spear free. The beast stilled and transformed back into a man.
“Idunn?”
“Hmm,” her voice answered, coming from the direction of the bed. A heartbeat later, the shimmer fell away like a discarded shawl, revealing the woman beneath. Blood coated her face and dress, but it looked to be all from the varulf.
“Are you harmed, my lady?”
“No. I … I’m fine. Thank you. By the Tree, I should have known it could smell me, what with that wolf spirit inside it. A foolish mistake that could well have cost me my life.”
Dare he leave Idunn alone? Odin backed toward the house’s threshold but hesitated there.
“Go,” she said, clearly reading his unease. “I’ve crossed from one side of Midgard to the other, foolish mistakes notwithstanding. I can take care of myself.”
The sorcery. Odin nodded to her and darted out into the snow. The town had become a slaughter. Dozens of warriors and shieldmaidens lay wounded or dying. What a fool he’d been to disobey Heidr. She’d always urged caution, insisted the Aesir remain quiet and avoid attention. And he’d ignored her wisdom and thought her the fool for wasting her life in fear. She would know what to do now.
He started for her but caught Ve standing around, watching the varulfur with a blank expression on his face. Gods, not now. They could not afford this tonight. Odin slapped him on the shoulder. “Little brother!”
Ve turned toward him, eyes a bit too wide. For a brief instant they glimmered red. It was just a reflection of the fire. Had to be.
“Arm yourself, Ve!” Odin shouted, then took off running again.
He had to find Heidr, ensure her safety. Maybe her witchcraft could drive away these wolves. He bypassed several fights against the varulfur. Humankind might be disadvantaged against their superior strength and speed, but he had to—
A bear roared, a swipe of his claws taking off the muzzle of one wolf as another leapt onto his back. The Wodanar had their own shapeshifter, and Vili would help even the odds. Odin jumped into the air and flung Gungnir, impaling the wolf on his brother’s back. The creature fell in a heap. Odin rushed over, yanked the spear free, and kept going.
Ahead, the vӧlva’s front door had fallen in. Fucking wolves. Odin scrambled over the snow, then slid to a stop when he spotted Heidr lying on the ground just outside the house. Her body lay still. A varulf had torn her throat out.
This was not supposed to happen.
Odin dropped to his knees beside her body. Her eyes were wide, staring up at the night sky, at the mists above and the perilous moon. The vӧlva had served his father. In Odin’s earliest memories, she’d just been an apprentice, but since he was a child, she’d become a font of strength for the tribe. The source of their wisdom. The vӧlva told them when to move camp, where to hunt. And she’d been lost because of his pride. He’d brought the varulfur down on them. Heidr had tried to tell him …
Actions have consequences.
Such simple wisdom, and he’d refused to hear it.
His hand trembled as he shut her eyes. “In the name of my father Borr, I promise you vengeance, vӧlva.” He rose, eyes sweeping the town for any further varulfur. There, on the edge of town, he saw one, struggling with a shieldmaiden. Odin ran toward the pair, hefting his spear as he did. “Fly true,” he said, then threw.
The spear soared through the night, cutting away mist as it soared and impaled the wolf. Odin continued his trot to retrieve the spear, battle-fatigue beginning to take hold of his chest. The moment he grasped the weapon, his strength and rage returned. How dare these wolves attack his people and kill his vӧlva! Odin would see them rent and driven to the gates of Niflheim! He’d serve them in pieces to the minions of Hel!
“My lord,” the shieldmaiden said.
He nodded at her, then turned to take in the town. Whimpers and screams of pain continued to fill the night, but there were no further signs of battle. Had they slain the last of these creatures? There would be more. He would hunt down the savages.
“Find my brothers,” he told the shieldmaiden. “Send them to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He’d hardly felt the cold during the struggle, but as his battle frenzy wore off, an icy chill ate his bare muscles. From the deep darkness, dawn would come within the hour. Best get more fires burning to keep the mist away from Eskgard. Was the mist what turned the varulfur into cannibals?
He worked his way back toward Idunn’s house. The Vanr seemed to know something of these varulfur.
Loki intercepted him, bloody sword in hand. The foreigner breathed heavily but showed no sign of injury. After a glance around, Loki tossed the sword aside. “Are you harmed?”
Odin shook his head. He was not harmed—he would do the harming. He would rend these monstrous wolves in half and leave their corpses for ravens. “Can you track them?” These creatures would pay for the lives they had stolen. Heidr would have vengeance.
Loki nodded slowly. “I can.”
Idunn slipped out of the house now, eyes locked on Odin. “You don’t want to do that.”
Odin spun on her. “Fucking varulfur killed our vӧlva, Idunn! I have enough to tend to without such raids, and no time for such fuckery. I will erase these beasts from the face of Midgard! I will cut out their hearts and send them screaming down to Hel!”
They would see what h
appened to those who attacked the Wodanar. He needed make a point and make it fast. His oath to the ghost had settled around him like a noose, drawing ever tighter.
He grabbed Loki. “Find out where they came from. Now.”
His blood brother nodded, cast a quick glance at Idunn, then took off into the mist.
“Gather the warriors!” Odin bellowed.
Wolves would bleed for this.
18
“There, in the ruins,” Loki said, pointing toward the hilltop. The foreigner crouched on a rock, out of sight of the creatures.
Tyr knelt a short distance behind the foreigner, beside Odin. His fingers tingled, crisp like a winter storm. Always like that before violence. Battle had an energy that drew Tyr the way sex drew most men. When you were born to hold a blade, you felt it. Deep in the gut.
The crumbling wall might once have housed a stone fortress. Not all vaettir were hostile to mankind. Just most. Enough to make a man avoid such places. More often than not, you found vaettir of one kind or another haunting the fallen places once meant to guard against them.
Sometimes, varulfur in the wilds let the animal take over. They grew full savage, leaving behind their humanity. So easy for that to happen. In desperation, men turned quickly from civilization. Chaos was the natural state, and to chaos all things returned. Unless a strong hand held it at bay. A strong hand and a heavy shield … and honor. If Tyr hadn’t known better, he’d have thought this such a camp. A pack turned feral. But the Godwulfs were expanding their reach in all directions. Annar and that traitor both agreed on that.
Vili would have wanted to attack at night, when he could shapeshift. Still had his strength in daylight, but not his full power. But if he could, so could their prey. So they’d need to strike soon.
Odin had asked Idunn to take charge of Eskgard in his absence. Idunn, not Ve. Strange, that. Stranger still he’d left one of his brothers behind at all.
“We have only a few hours of daylight left,” Loki said. “If you want to do this, now is the time.”
