by Matt Larkin
“Help me!”
And like that, the man sprang into action, a mad charge and madder battle cry. The circle tried to close him in. He beat one man aside with his shield, his strength actually flinging the foe several feet into the air. With his other hand, he cut out the legs of another foe. He never slowed.
At once, Sigyn’s attackers turned to face Tyr. The axeman swung. Tyr took the blow on his shield while sweeping the other man’s spear wide. He turned his blade, driving it through the axeman’s throat before the foe could recover from his momentum.
Sigyn fell back from the grisly sight. The spearman shrieked, thrusting at Tyr, but only managed to graze him as the thegn turned. Tyr whipped his shield into the man’s torso, driving him to the ground even as he jerked Gramr free of the dead man at his feet. Before Sigyn think or breathe, Tyr had run through the spearman.
He turned to face the rest of his would-be attackers, but none seemed intent to close. Indeed, many of those fell back, retreating toward the woods.
Sigyn panted, shaking her head, but not taking her eyes off Tyr. For the moment, he seemed calmed enough not to attack her. But the rage she had seen in him overshadowed even that of a berserk. Something dark had happened to Tyr, that was all too obvious. And without Loki or even Odin, the only one who might have the barest clue what was Frigg.
30
They walked long hours, down the mountain and into the valley beyond. Freyja chatted a little, speaking of birds and flowers and how much she enjoyed the Equinox festival, a time of music and dancing and wine and making love under the stars. Her words left Odin’s pulse pounding, his skin tingling, and his mind teased by her images through Otherworldly visions from the Sight. Almost, he could see himself walking beside her, taking her hand, dancing with her in a peace and joy he had never imagined for himself. Not in considering he might live a thousand years.
It was wrong, of course. Frigg. He had a wife. He had a son. And he had sworn to them …
Odin shook his head. One of the lions followed behind them with such lethargy Odin wondered that it did not nap even out here. After all, what would harm it? Vanaheim overflowed with life, with energy. Passion and beauty suffused every rock and cranny—for even in those places flowers and moss sprang up.
And Audr lay in silence, perhaps keeping his word.
Odin knew their destination, for Yggdrasil rose up from the valley ahead with glory beyond aught he had ever seen or dreamed. Every step down the path only intensified the tingle on his skin. The ground beneath his feet pulsed with energy so pure, so vital, it left him euphoric. His very soul screamed at him to grab Freyja and kiss her for hours. To slip inside her and never ever leave.
The Vanr woman glanced back at him, a twinkle in her eye that bespoke knowledge of exactly what he felt. That she felt it, too. How could she not? Stories claimed life itself rose from Yggdrasil, and Odin could no longer doubt those tales. He knew his breath had become irregular, but he didn’t bother trying to conceal it nor control it. Why should such petty things matter?
Freyja slipped her fingers into his hand, her soft touch sending fresh jolts of sensation shooting up his arm.
“Is … is it always like this?” he murmured.
“Yes … but not quite this … Mundilfari had a theory … he claimed Yggdrasil laid bare the connections between souls. Those meant to be together, soul mates, would be unable to deny their feelings in its presence. It was … just a theory.”
She pulled him along, further down the path, then paused at a boulder. With his eyes so drawn to her hands and hips and hair and shoulders, he had trouble focusing on what she pointed to. This feeling was not unlike the love potion Gudrun had drugged him with. Somewhat like that, but somehow more pure than simple lust. His very being thrummed with music he could almost hear, as though the tree sang to him. As though, for the first and only time, the world might just make sense.
Freyja chuckled and nodded again at the boulder.
“Uh. Sorry.” He knelt to examine the glyph carved there.
“Yggdrasil is probably the most important place in all creation. Certainly in our world. So we ward it, hide it from prying eyes, and protect it from spirits as best we can … but Mundilfari had another theory.” She pointed to further boulders. Now that he knew where to look, indeed, such warded stones sprang up all over the valley.
The tree’s roots held it aloft, rising out of a chasm that disappeared into a blackness seeming to tunnel endlessly underground. From the valley’s base, the path connected to a stone bridge spanning that gulf and connecting to the trunk.
“What other theory?”
“That …” She swallowed, as if choking on the words. “That something unknown feasted upon the roots of the tree, deep beneath our world. That, like all living things, Yggdrasil was doomed, in the end, and the Mortal Realm with it.” She shook herself.
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 i
f 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 champion 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 certa
in 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 …”
