by Matt Larkin
Shame that. Tyr grunted. “All right. We will speak when I return.”
They left in the morning, trusting to a dog sled to carry them far. Fewer nights spent in the wild the better. Tyr guided the sled. While Loki stared off into the mist like he could see aught through it.
After long hours of silence, the foreigner looked at him. Smirked. Brash trollfucker.
“What?” Tyr demanded.
“Some questions are best held close to one’s chest, true enough, but ask naught and you may learn even less. Vast ignorance is apt to disguise itself as common wisdom.”
Tyr shook his head, looked to the dogs. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Loki chuckled. “It means you wish to ask something but still your tongue. Deep down, part of you realizes that uncovering the answer means exposing your worldview to scrutiny it might not endure.”
“You talk like a damned vӧlva. You took Odin to fight this Ymir. Sons of Borr might’ve died up there. And now you’ve sent him off Njord knows where. Why?”
“Are you so certain Njord knows so much?”
Tyr spat over the side of the sled. “You insult the Vanir now?”
“Has it occurred to you that you ask me questions and then complain when I have the answers?”
“What fucking answers? You led Odin to fight Ymir. He tells it like you even aided him. But you tell no stories of your glory.”
“I’m not interested in glory.”
“And that’s the fucking problem. You can’t trust a man who doesn’t care for honor.”
Loki was staring off into space again. What did he see out there? A trap? Was the foreigner leading him into an ambush? “You think glory and honor are exactly the same thing?”
“A child still on the teat knows that much, foreigner.”
“The pursuit of glory may one day cost you much.”
Tyr scoffed. “Are you a coward?”
Loki offered no answer. The bastard. Tyr’s accusation was unfounded, of course. The foreigner had gone up against the jotunn, even if he downplayed his role. He had gone where Tyr should have gone. But then, Loki had somehow tricked Odin into sending Tyr away. He must have.
And now, Loki had convinced him to have Odin marry Hadding’s daughter. The foreigner must have some greater scheme. But Idunn was the only one clever enough to unravel it. And she had said to arrange the wedding.
Tyr would do so. But he’d keep an eye on Loki. A careful eye.
25
The deer wouldn’t venture beyond the copse of evergreens. It was rare to spot one at all this close to town, and Sigyn was determined not to lose it. She was no hunter, as Frigg insisted on reminding her every time she went out alone, but she was a good shot with a bow. Her calves ached from crouching still so long, waiting for the animal to give her a clean shot. Her father had not named her a hunter, true, but she could be a hunter. Maybe that was her place—the same place Hermod had once held.
She’d left Snow Rabbit tied to a tree a quarter mile away, afraid the horse would spook the deer. Poor mare thought she’d been getting a gentle ride, but then Sigyn had seen the tracks. She would be the song of the town if she brought the animal down. Game had grown sparser and sparser around Halfhaugr, especially in winter. Bringing home fresh meat certainly wouldn’t hurt her marriage prospects, either.
Her father would have her pretend to be simple, demure, and spineless. Then maybe he’d find a man for her. “No man wants a wife smarter than he is.” Troll shit on that.
The deer lifted its head sharply.
Damned beast had heard her. It was going to bolt. She could feel it. It was going to—
The deer bounded off, darting between trees. Sigyn rose and drew her bow back in a single motion. She narrowed her sight along the shaft. Steady. Steady … She loosed.
The arrow whizzed over the deer and thunked into a tree.
“Son of a troll!”
She blew out a long breath. She ought to have stuck to just the riding today. Her dress was damp with melted snow as she trekked back to Snow Rabbit, making the journey oh so much more enjoyable. When she finally reached the mare, the animal shook nervously. Leaving her tied to a tree outside the wall might have been foolish, but no harm had come of it, nor would she expect any during daylight, though that light was fast fading.
“Come on, girl,” she said as she untied the rope. “Best head home.”
Snow Rabbit started back the moment Sigyn mounted her, setting a pace just shy of a full trot. Sigyn wouldn’t hold her back. The poor animal knew what lurked out in the mist at night probably better than humans did.
The wind blew against the back of her neck, so she pulled her hood up. For a time, she kept the pace, then set Snow Rabbit trotting. They’d both be less on edge behind the town wall.
Moments later, another rider approached from the direction of town. A man, by his bearing, and pressing hard—in the wrong direction if he wanted to reach anywhere safe by nightfall. She could get off the road to avoid the traveler, but he would have seen her already. If he meant her ill, she’d rather meet him with bow ready. Besides, a man in that much of a hurry wouldn’t be like to stop for a lone woman. She dismounted, unslung her bow, and nocked an arrow without drawing back.
It took only a few breaths for her to recognize the man—Agilaz. “Sigyn. What are you doing out so late? You should be behind the wall.”
Sigyn tucked her arrow back in her quiver. “Well, you’re out here.”
“I’m a trained hunter and scout. You’re a wellborn lady.”
Yes, wellborn—after a fashion. “Where are you going, then?”
“Scouts reported trouble spreading between the Athra and the Godwulfs. The jarl wants me to learn the truth of the matter.”
She climbed back on Snow Rabbit. “So I’m coming with you.” She cared not overmuch about the Athra, but any threat to the Godwulfs was a threat to Hermod.
“No.”
“But I—”
“No, Sigyn! Go home. The jarl has guests from the Wodan tribe. You should be there to meet them. You can catch the night meal if you make haste.”
Guests? Had Odin returned after all?
Sigyn winked at Agilaz, letting him know she knew he’d manipulated her. It was fine—she was curious about the jarl Frigg and their father so desperately wanted to win over. “Just take care, then.” With that she took off toward the town.
A guard called out at her approach, then others opened the gates for her, albeit briefly as they ushered her inside with disapproving glares. With her luck, she’d probably just added a slew of rumors for the town to whisper about her. ‘Did you hear about Sigyn? Out riding at twilight like a crazed vӧlva. Tempting the vaettir, that one.’ She shook her head. Actually, the fear of vaettr possession was strong enough she shouldn’t risk further implicating herself. Suspicious fools wouldn’t need much goading to think she’d become host to something or other. A few winters back, the town had driven out a woman they claimed was alf-ridden. Poor woman had probably frozen to death in the wild.
Sigyn hurried on to the stables and handed Snow Rabbit’s reins to the boy there. “The Wodan jarl, he’s here?”
“No, my lady. One of his thegns went to see the jarl, though. And the foreigner came back with him.”
“Foreigner?”
“Am I so foreign?” a voice said behind her. “I have walked these lands often enough.”
Sigyn’s shoulders hunched reflexively, and she blew a quick breath to calm herself. She’d not even heard anyone approach. Slowly, she turned to face the man—a sandy-haired stranger. His eyes, blue as sapphire, widened for a heartbeat when they met hers—so briefly she might have imagined it. Except she knew well enough the effect her pretty face could have on men who didn’t know better. This man dressed simply, like a common freeman, but his elocution was too fine for an uneducated man.
She lowered her eyes from his. She couldn’t seem too bold. “Does walking in a land make you a native there?”
/> The man nodded slowly, then stood straighter, hands behind his back. “Given enough time, I believe most would argue it does.” He spoke with such deliberateness that Sigyn felt her cheeks flush. Gods, he was probably imagining her naked.
And did that even matter? Not really. Had she not just been looking for a husband to distract her from Hermod? With such thoughts in her head, it mattered little what went on in the heads of others.
“Are you with Jarl Odin?”
“Yes. You can call me Loki. If you wish to see Odin, though, he is not with us.”
And if the jarl of the Wodanar had not come, why had he sent his thegn here? Surely not to thank Frigg for her aid in avenging his father. Such a purpose required he make the trek himself. The thegn might have come alone bearing a demand or threat, if Odin sought pretense to make war on the Hasdingi—the last thing Frigg or any of them needed.
“You speak volumes in silence,” Loki said.
“That’s …” Disturbingly perceptive. “… the gift of women.”
“Hardly a universal one. I’ve known many women—”
“No doubt.”
He raised an eyebrow, and Sigyn flushed a little, praying it was merely that she’d interrupted, rather than that he’d caught her implication. With a lean body, a handsome face, and refined manners, he could well have had many women.
“I … I should go,” she mumbled and edged around the man, careful not to brush up against him.
What in Hel’s frozen world had she been thinking? Letting herself get flustered by a man just because he looked her way. It wasn’t like she’d never known a man’s touch—she’d taken her pleasure from a few in her time. But deep down she’d always known they’d never take her for more than someone to warm a bed on a cold night. If she wanted a husband she’d need to … to what? To not interrupt a man when he was speaking, maybe. Freyja alone knew how to please a man. Legend said the love goddess could have any man who drew breath. It shouldn’t be that hard for Sigyn to claim just one for herself.
She pushed open the door into the great hall, forced to put her shoulder into it because of its weight. It creaked on its hinges, revealing the warmth of the hall. Inside, a feast was laid for a night meal. Jarl Hadding had gone to great lengths to impress his guest: plums, apples, roast squirrel, and at least one whole reindeer. Not that it surprised her. Her father wanted to win Odin’s support just as much as his daughter did.
All had gathered around the feast table, with Odin’s thegn sitting across from her father. Sigyn’s chair stood empty next to Frigg, so she settled into it, offering only a nod to those around her. The Wodan thegn took no notice of her, and most of her own people pretended to take even less. Frigg, however, clasped her hand in welcome.
No sooner had Sigyn sat than Odin’s thegn rose, hefting his goblet into the air. “Jarl Hadding. Your hospitality is worthy of song. We come unannounced, and you honor us with a feast to make your ancestors proud. And I …” the thegn looked to Frigg before taking another sip of his goblet. “I would like to propose a more permanent alliance between our peoples.”
“What did you have in mind?” Her father folded his arms, obviously trying to hide his interest.
“What alliance is stronger than one of marriage? My lord remains unmarried, as does your daughter.”
A slight silence filled the hall, before several Hasding warriors whooped in approval. Sigyn lowered her gaze to hide her own shock. Odin knew Frigg was a vӧlva. While her sister had plotted to sway or seduce Odin, he’d come to her on his own. What man married a vӧlva?
Sigyn would have put her sister’s chances of a good marriage at even less than her own—which was to say about as the same as finding a mermaid atop a mountain. By Hel, Sigyn would have made a better match for Odin, though she had never met him, and he probably knew naught of her. It wasn’t as if Hadding boasted of his bastard daughter, but she could have made a wife fit for a jarl. She sipped her mead. Not that she cared.
Her father stroked his chin, though whether in consideration or just because he wanted to cover his own surprise, Sigyn couldn’t quite say. “You honor us, Tyr. Please, convey my acceptance to your lord.”
Tyr sat, banging his hand on the table as though he’d won a great victory. Loki slipped in during the commotion and sat close to Tyr, those too-blue eyes watching Sigyn.
This was a man with an agenda, a deep plan. One more puzzle.
26
When Odin returned to the Wodan town, his people were waiting for him. Scouts must have reported his arrival ahead, because Vili already had mutton roasting on the fire, though it was early for the night meal. The thick aroma was intoxicating as heady wine. Odin had eaten little since he’d left the Norns’ mountain.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Sleipnir before dismounting and joining his brothers.
Vili ambled over the moment he spotted Odin. “Sons of Borr together again,” his middle brother said.
Odin clapped him on the shoulder. “Indeed.” He cocked his head at the mutton. “And how well you know me.”
He snagged a leg of mutton and bit deep, shuddering with pleasure as its hot juices dribbled down his chin. He took a swig of mead, then looked around.
“Where’s Ve?” He had dared hope the apple would have revitalized the boy.
Vili belched out a raucous laugh. “Little brother’s been plowing the goddess’s trench, putting the two of us to shame. Spends all his time in her house.”
A pit opened in his stomach that had naught to do with hunger. He handed Vili the mead skin and mutton. “I’d better check on them.”
“You think he’d let us join in?”
Odin glared at Vili, who jerked back and then let out another rumbling chuckle. Odin stormed off toward Idunn’s house. Vili was an oblivious fool and always would be. And if things had gone badly, maybe that was a mercy.
He paused on the threshold, listening. Just in case Vili was right. Inside, a girl sang softly, though not Idunn. What in Hel’s frozen underworld was going on?
Odin stuck his head in the tent to find Jorunn sitting in front of Idunn, singing of valorous battles against the jotunnar long, long ago. Ve sat on a cot, skins wrapped around himself, gently rocking back and forth to the melody, eyes staring vacantly ahead.
Idunn had positioned the smith’s girl such that both the small fire and Idunn herself blocked clear view of Ve. The goddess crooked a half smile at Odin’s entrance. “Did you know this girl has a lovely singing voice, Odin?”
He shook his head. He’d had no idea. “Indeed you do, girl. Why don’t you grab some mead at the feast hall? They’ve started the night meal early tonight.”
“What’s happened?” he asked the moment Jorunn left.
Idunn ground her palms into her eyes. “I should have given you the apples sooner. I’m always too late. I keep trying to be like her, and it’s never enough.”
Odin knelt beside Idunn and reached a hand to her shoulder. “Be like who?”
“My grandmother. She was a hero, Odin. You’d have liked her, I think. A warrior like you—”
“What is happening to my brother?” he demanded. Odin had no patience left for Idunn’s prattle. “You said the apple would halt this!”
“I think … part of him wants it.”
“What? What did you just say?” She grimaced as his grip tightened on her shoulder. He knew he was hurting her, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “You were supposed to be taking care of him, Idunn! I trusted you. Half the tribe thinks you’re in here fucking his brains out. And … and you’re saying he wants to lose his mind? So what in Hel’s frozen underworld—”
Idunn’s face darkened, and she shoved him so hard he tumbled over. “Do not use those words. My grandfather died to stop that frozen underworld from becoming this world. And I … I would have gladly slept with Ve if I thought it would have saved him. Do you think I want to watch this happen?”
Odin rose slowly, gathering himself, before stalking to his brother’s s
ide. Ve’s eyes glimmered red, and he gnashed his teeth as though they pained him. “What are the mists doing to him? And what do you mean he wants it to happen?” When Idunn didn’t answer, Odin turned back to her only to find her looking away. “Idunn?”
She shuddered, clutching her head in her hands. The goddess, looking so vulnerable. Afraid. Such a thought did not comfort him. “A person can fight the mists—for a while, at least. He’s not fighting hard enough, and they’re swallowing him up inside. Leaving room for something else.”
Something else? Gods, she meant a vaettr was possessing Ve. “Use your sorcery. Cast it out.”
“I can’t. For Ve, it’s as if whatever is inside him is filling a void. Part of him wants it there.”
Odin placed a hand on Ve’s head. It burned as with fever. “I just need time! Time to find the Singasteinn and earn favor from that ghost.”
“Are you so certain she can halt the transformation?”
Transformation? Hel’s frozen … Odin let the thought trail off. When he stood, he almost fell over. The ground seemed to sway beneath him. Was this his fault? What would drive Ve to such loneliness that he’d rather be possessed than face it? Ve had always been … just there. Odin watched out for him, never let him get over his head in a fight. What more did the boy want? A woman? Had Ve needed a wife? He’d never asked Odin to arrange a marriage, but maybe Odin should have broached the topic himself. Vili had been content to foster bastards on every willing maid in the tribe. Odin had just assumed Ve would be the same.
Or was it something else? Had Odin and Vili pushed Ve aside? No, no damn it. All he had to do was honor his oath to the ghost. She would stop this.
“Fuck me,” he mumbled. Unable to look at Idunn or Ve any longer, he staggered out of the house, wandering until he at last collapsed before a fire.
Someone offered him a stein of mead, and he kicked it back, hardly tasting it.
“So, brother,” Vili said, “tell us of these vӧlvur you went so far to see.”
