by Matt Larkin
Energy? “Like seid?” Sigyn asked.
Frigg looked at her, then back at Vili, as though she’d caught the same idea. Her sister placed one hand on the berserk’s head, the other on the wound. Sigyn looked to Loki, but his eyes gave away naught. Could this really work?
Frigg had begun to tremble, beads of sweat building on her forehead. She drew a ragged breath, and Sigyn heard Idunn encroach close behind her. Everyone, even Odin, now looked at Frigg.
Then Vili spasmed, his body lurching forward. On instinct, Sigyn grabbed one of his arms to hold him down. Even with both hands she could barely hold it in place, though Odin had pinned his brother’s other arm with little apparent effort. Vili roared in pain.
Frigg moaned, swaying in place, her eyes locked on Vili’s shoulder. Her skin had gone pale, and Sigyn wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but she dared not let Vili up. It took her full weight to hold the man’s arm in place.
Frigg trembled, her breath coming in gasps. And then she screamed and fell.
Sigyn scrambled to her side, no longer caring, as Vili lurched upward, sputtering blood.
“Frigg? Frigg?”
“She’s a healer,” Idunn whispered.
“Obviously,” Sigyn snapped. “She’s a vӧlva.”
“But she managed to transfer her pneuma, her life force, into another. Even among the Vanir, such healers are rare. Freyja can do it, a few others. I can do … more with plants than people.”
Sigyn frowned. Her boon from the apple appeared to be superhuman perception. Tyr, Vili, and Odin all got enhanced strength, Frigg held power over life itself, and Sigyn was stuck with the stunningly useful ability to hear a mouse fart.
And now her half sister was nigh to as pale as Vili had been. “What does that mean for her?”
“That she passed some part of herself into Vili.”
Sigyn’s frown deepened. The bear man was clearly going to live, which was good, but she couldn’t say she liked the sound of what Idunn had said. If Frigg had passed part of herself into Vili, wouldn’t there be some long-term ramifications? Would Frigg’s own life force recover? Would Vili forever hold part of her inside himself?
“Thank you,” Odin mumbled. As if he didn’t care what cost Frigg might have paid to save his brother.
Frigg nodded weakly.
“Loki,” Sigyn said, “can you help her?”
Her man immediately lifted Frigg and carried her to a fur where she could rest. Sigyn knelt beside her half sister and rubbed her forehead. Frigg had grown clammy, like a woman fighting a fever or losing to deathchill. Sigyn could only pray she wouldn’t be tempted to use this ability often.
Loki walked back to where Odin knelt beside his brother. “We cannot remain here. Those draugar in the pass will move on us come nightfall.”
Odin sat with his head in his hands, not looking up as he spoke. “If we retreat, we allow those behind us to box us in, trap us in the valley. There has to be another way.”
Loki was silent for a moment. Sigyn knew that look on his face—he would offer them a choice of damnations. “There might be. A river flows under these mountains, through ice caves carved beneath them. It could carry us well past Volsung and the draugar, both.”
“Please tell me you’re not thinking of the Ylgr,” Idunn said. “The river is cursed, born from the chill on the edge of the world and saturated by the mists of Hel. It is not a place for mankind. My people, even my people, would not challenge its rapids.”
“Your people?” Loki said. “Those same people grown complacent on the blessed isles of Vanaheim? People content to bask in five millennia of spring while the rest of mankind freezes and scrapes by out in the mists? Those people, Idunn?”
Odin paced around the tent. “Last night told us we are ill-prepared to face the foes ahead. We must take whatever route we can to press forward. We have to reach Vanaheim.”
“Then we need to be on the river long before dark,” Loki said.
Sigyn frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. She trusted Loki to protect them, he always had, but if this river frightened even Idunn—and naught had ever had such an effect on the Vanr that Sigyn had witnessed—it was probably no place for the Aesir.
Odin sighed. “Fine. I’ll tell Tyr. Loki, move Vili to his own tent. We have to give him at last half an hour to rest.” The berserk had regained a hint of color, but his breaths remained shallow.
Loki nodded and lifted Vili with little apparent effort. Sigyn’s mouth hung open. Son of a bitch! Did Loki have superhuman strength too? All the men got that? How was that fair?
As soon as they left, Idunn chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry so much. You’ll both probably develop another boon or two over time. The apple awakens all the potential within you. You just have to learn to harness the pneuma.”
Had Idunn just read that off her face? Sigyn closed her mouth, not answering. The Vanr goddess was more perceptive than she seemed. Most of the time she played at innocence. But Sigyn had heard the way she’d spoken to Loki, a conversation laced with ancient animosity and ulterior motives. Sooner or later, Sigyn was going to unravel that puzzle too.
First, she had to tend to Frigg. If Odin thought to march soon, Sigyn’s sister was going to need her strength.
Idunn left, and Fulla entered, Thor in her arms, the two varulfur children scampering about her feet. “These adorable babes wanted to see their ma, they did.”
“She’s too weak to hold them right now,” Sigyn said, cutting off Frigg’s attempt to grab Thor. “Just sit down, Fulla.” The maid clearly didn’t want to be alone, hadn’t even wanted to be left outside while Frigg tended to Vili.
The woman did as Sigyn had bid her, settling down on a fur and ushering the varulfur twins over to her skirts.
“I worry for him,” Frigg said a moment later, though she didn’t even sit up. For Frigg to show such weakness must have been a testament to her exhaustion.
Sigyn looked back to her sister. “I’m certain he’ll recover now.”
“Not Vili. Odin.”
Sigyn frowned. More weighed on him than draugar, that much a fool could see, but her sister spent too much time thinking of a husband who, as far as Sigyn could tell, thought little on her. “What is it you want to say?”
“I think Odin never truly mourned the loss of his father.”
Sigyn folded her arms over her chest. “His time of mourning is long past.”
“Rage may have carried him a long way. His desire for vengeance, his pride …”
“Rage?” Sigyn frowned. “Odin certainly has more than his fair share of that. But then, so should we.”
Frigg shook her head, then pushed herself into a sitting position. “Our father’s death was not truly Odin’s fault. And we, at least, took our time to grieve.”
Sigyn grunted, then leaned forward. “And you, despite yourself, you truly love him.” Odin might make a fine king, but Sigyn doubted he was an ideal mate.
“Should I not love my husband?” Frigg asked.
“That’s not an answer.”
Frigg frowned. “What answer are you seeking, then?”
Sigyn shrugged. “Same as always. The truth.” Loki was right. You could help another to the truth, but you couldn’t give it to them. They had to figure it out for themselves for it to hold meaning.
“The truth is … yes. Yes, Sigyn, I think I do.”
“Well, that’s half the truth.”
“Sometimes I think you spend too much time in Loki’s company.”
Sigyn laughed. Was she that obvious? “Oh, but I love him. And I know how much he loves me. I can see it in his eyes.”
Frigg sighed. “Fine. Yes, Sigyn. I do fear Odin doesn’t truly love me. Is that what you wish to hear? Is that—” Frigg paused, almost choking on a sob. “Is that what you’ve been trying to say?”
Sigyn took her sister’s hand in her own. “It’s half of it.”
Frigg sighed. “Please. Just have out with it. I have no energy for your riddles—
save them for your lover.”
“Let us say you hold only half Odin’s heart. What should you do? Accept reality for what it is? Be grateful for what urd has offered you? What would you do if you thought a jarl not loyal, not confident in you as a leader?”
Frigg had helped Odin win over the jarls. She’d sent Fulla among their maids to tell the tale of her rescue. She’d sent gifts of plunder Odin had recovered as a promise of future riches. She’d even called out a particularly recalcitrant jarl, forced him to openly challenge Odin. Often enough, she’d asked Sigyn how best to manipulate her opponents.
“So I should bribe or manipulate my husband into loving me?”
Fulla snorted, then immediately went back to pretending not to listen.
“No, Frigg,” Sigyn said. “Those are just tactics in a larger plan. A plan to fight for what you want. If it is something worth having, isn’t it worth fighting for?”
“Whom am I supposed to fight, exactly?”
Sigyn shrugged. “I guess that’s what you have to figure out. Know your enemy. Either way, Frigg, eternity is a long time to spend unhappy.” Sigyn paused. In truth, Frigg needed more time to rest and probably needed a bit more sisterly advice. Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t allow for either. “Just try to rest.”
Already, the camp had begun to move, heading deeper into the mountains, toward a river even Idunn feared, one that apparently could carry them under the land itself. Had Sigyn not seen all she had, she might have dismissed such a claim as fanciful.
She woke Frigg with a hand on her shoulder. “Can you walk?”
Frigg groaned, then nodded. Sigyn helped her to her feet, then guided her outside. Even as they exited the tent Loki was already on his way over, a bit of roast rabbit in his hands.
“You need to eat,” he said, pushing the rabbit into Frigg’s hands.
Frigg bit right in, and Sigyn had to stifle a giggle. Gods, she’d never seen Frigg eat like that. Hel, she ate like a berserk. Where had that dainty vӧlva gone? And maybe more to the point, how had Loki known healing would so drain her?
Sigyn’s man nodded at her, as if acknowledging her unspoken question. “Odin waits for you in the front.” He pointed toward the gorge, then swept up Geri and Freki in his arms.
Sigyn started down the gorge, Frigg at her side and Fulla and Loki trailing behind them. As if the mountain passes had not been bad enough, now they descended into misty darkness that looked much like she imagined Niflheim itself.
The Ás camp was largely packed already, everyone prepared for another march. Most probably didn’t know where they were bound yet.
Frigg leaned on her shoulder while they walked, and Sigyn said naught. She’d seen the gorge when they entered this valley. The chasm was deeper than even her enhanced eyes could see the end of, but there was a path down into it. If Loki was wrong, if they went down there and there wasn’t a way forward, they’d be trapped. The draugar would hem them in and pick them off, one night at a time.
But Loki never seemed to be wrong.
“It will be all right,” Loki said from behind her.
“Y-you don’t think there’s trolls down there?” Fulla asked.
“There’s no trolls,” Frigg said without looking back.
Of course, there damned well could be trolls in such a place, but Sigyn supposed telling Fulla that would only make things worse. So they continued downward, entering the gorge. A steep slope led into an ice canyon, the walls covered in icicles jutting out at every possible angle like countless spears ready to impale the fools who entered. The mists wafted over the gorge, creating a near ceiling that left the canyon looking more like a cavern. Thousands of Aesir all marching to the gates of Hel? The further down they went, the colder it grew.
Idunn had spoken the truth—the curse of Hel settled upon this place. Sigyn’s skin prickled and, though she saw naught, she could have sworn she felt the brush of the damned, moving invisibly beside her and welcoming the living to join in their torment. Yes, the gorge seemed exactly like a passage to Niflheim.
Her footing grew slippery. It wasn’t snow down here, it was solid ice, matching the shimmering walls of this place. From the way Frigg stumbled about, Sigyn realized her sister couldn’t see well enough. Ahead, other Aesir held torches, but Sigyn hadn’t thought to light one. How easy to forget her own eyes could see better in the dark than the others’. She glanced back. Fulla was watching her own feet carefully, but Loki stared ahead, meeting her gaze. Could he see, or did he simply trust her to lead the way?
A long, long way down into the gorge they walked. Hundreds, thousands of footfalls sounded behind them. Frigg shivered beneath Sigyn’s arm. And if they were cold after having eaten the apple, how would the mortal Aesir fare? The answer was as simple as it was abhorrent—many would fall to the deathchill. The young, the old, the sick. They would freeze tonight.
Many of the group ahead had paused. The bottom of the gorge opened into a cave, its maw like that of some enormous dragon. Stalactites and stalagmites of ice jutted all around it in a circle, the dragon’s teeth, ready to swallow any foolhardy enough to pass.
At the cusp of the cave, Odin stood, watching the Aesir line collect, giving the long camp time to catch up. “You’re certain?” he asked Loki when the man walked up to his side.
“Unless you can fly,” Loki said, “this is the surest way to bypass the creatures that pursue us. We have a few scant hours until sunset, then they will be on us. You cannot afford to hesitate.”
“We’ve come this far into the gorge,” Sigyn said. “There’s no time to turn back.” Even if it did look like Hel waited for them within.
Odin nodded at her, then looked to Frigg. “Be strong.”
Odin hefted his torch higher and wound his way between two stalagmites. Sigyn could have sworn a fell mist wafted off the ice as he passed. Odin led the way, followed by Loki. Sigyn grabbed a torch from one of the other Aesir, then followed with Frigg, who now seemed able to walk on her own.
The walls inside were solid ice, a blue-white hue that only reinforced the stomach-clenching sensation of passing beyond Midgard. Before they had gone far, she heard the rush of water, its rumbling echoing off the ice cave walls, growing louder with each step they took. It must have been the river, but gods above, it sounded like a waterfall. How fast was this current?
The path sloped downward, the ice slick and moist, each step threatening to send them all sprawling. Sigyn tried to move cautiously, but Odin and Loki were getting too far ahead. Rather than heft her torch high, Sigyn kept it low, watching their footing.
Exhaustion wore at Sigyn’s legs when at last the ground leveled out. The sound of rushing water now filled the entire cave, drowning out conversation. She rounded a bend and saw why. The underground river cut a path through the ice cave, flowing so quickly that ice floes—some ten feet wide or more—passed out of her view in a few breaths. An endless stream of those floes poured forward, perhaps cut loose by the currents, or perhaps hurled straight out of Niflheim itself. Idunn had called this river cursed. Sigyn believed her. It swept round bends, splashing against the ice walls, the floes smacking into the sides and each other.
“How do you propose we get boats down here?” Odin asked.
Or guide any boat through that? No waterman could avoid smashing his craft to tinder in such a tumult.
“I don’t,” Loki said. “We’ll have to ride the ice floes.”
“Have you gone mad, brother?”
Sigyn was forced to agree with Odin. “There are thousands of people behind us, Loki. Some carrying children, all laden with supplies.”
“Tell them to leave aught they can spare,” Loki said. “If the draugar catch us, we will have no use for extra tents or food, much less golden trinkets or treasures. Some of those floes are fifty feet or more across. We can make it.”
Some of them would, perhaps. Others would die. And Loki knew that, Sigyn was certain. Gods, they all knew that now. But he must’ve known before suggesti
ng this place. Was this truly their only option? A chill settled on her heart. He’d known what this would cost and still suggested it. Perhaps it was the least of all the evils.
Others came forward, helping Vili along. The berserk gasped at the sight before him. “Not really in the mood for swimming.”
“We cannot steer the ice floes,” Odin said.
Loki shrugged. “You won’t have to. The current will carry us past the Sudurberks, beyond Hunaland and into Valland. From there we can follow the Middle Sea toward Vanaheim.”
If they survived the river Ylgr itself. Perhaps it truly flowed out of Niflheim.
Odin indicated a massive ice floe flowing quickly toward them. “All of you, on there as soon as it passes close. Do not miss this chance.”
“What of Thor?” Frigg asked. Fulla still carried her babe, but Frigg would never allow her to do so in such circumstances.
“I’ll ride Sleipnir and carry him myself.”
Sigyn looked at Loki, who nodded. Sigyn shook her head, trying not to smile. Gods, this was madness. But she’d wanted more adventure in her life. Loki watched as a large floe, this one perhaps thirty feet across, slipped into view, then took off at a run and leapt for it, the twins still cradled in his arms.
Her man landed on his knees, unable to use his arms for balance, and skidded along the ice before coming to a stop. Well, damn. If he could do it while holding two babes, she was damned well going to do it too. Sigyn sprinted for the edge before she could outthink herself and leapt.
The floe didn’t tremble under her weight, but it was impossibly slick. Sigyn had to extend both arms, going with the slide as her feet skidded.
“Come on!” she shouted behind her.
But rather than Frigg, it was Vili who next jumped onto the floe. And the berserk’s weight did pitch the ice to one side. Odin’s brother scrambled toward the center of the floe.
Sigyn reached a hand toward Frigg. If she hesitated any longer, this floe would pass out of reach.
“Go!” Odin shouted at her. “I will guide the others. Go!”
Frigg took off running and leapt onto the ice floe. She barely caught the back edge of the floe as it passed and teetered backward. Before Sigyn could even get to her, Vili threw his arms around Frigg’s legs and pulled her to the center, then wrapped his arms around her.
