by Matt Larkin
What if she could? She’d be like to spend the rest of her life watching for knives in her back.
Frigg eyed her, as she sometimes did, clearly trying not to reveal what was going on in her mind. Sigyn knew well enough, though, even if Frigg would never admit it. She knew because her own thoughts had gone there—that Sigyn herself might prove a better heir to Jarl Hadding. She was younger, more beautiful, and not a vӧlva. She’d have been a decent match for a marriage alliance—if any man would have had her.
Frigg, though, had had her first visions as a child. Visions damned a girl, forced her to look into the darkness and allow it to seep inside in the name of cultivating seid, in service to a tribe that would fear her. The tribe’s old vӧlva had taken Frigg away—and no father, not even a jarl, could deny a vӧlva her chosen quarry. And thus began the slow poisoning, the transmogrifying a girl into a witch, who, in moments of weakness, clung to shreds of a life that might have been.
Sigyn tapped a finger against her lip. “Do you believe Odin has such ambitions?”
“I don’t know, perhaps. Whether he has them or not, I believe he carries a weighty urd.” Frigg paused a moment, then sighed. “Father is … not long for this world. All my potions have only staved off the inevitable. I will need a strong husband if I am to hold leadership of this tribe. And that is to say naught of the numerous threats we face from without. The Skalduns, the Godwulfs, and the Vanir-damned Sviarlanders. And those are only the nearest threat. Were Father to have refused Odin, then we’d have made enemies of the Wodanar as well.”
There. Frigg had accepted their father’s death, at least in some part of her mind. But Odin had sent his man here unbidden, offered marriage before Frigg or Hadding had finished sowing those seeds. And even Frigg realized that for the man’s actions to line up serendipitously with her plans—and her vision—ought to raise a few doubts. More than a few.
“And you want me to find out where Odin’s true intentions lie. If he already plans to strive for kingship, and if his offer for your hand holds any ulterior motive.”
Her sister sighed, looked back at the empty table. “You have a way of uncovering the truth of things, yes. But, Sigyn …” She turned, serious as ever. “Tread with care. Our whole tribe hangs in the balance.”
For a heartbeat, Frigg’s calm trembled, her poise threatened as it so rarely was. Sigyn had seen her sister’s tears when her mother died, but she was so afraid to show anyone her true feelings. Was that vӧlva training? Was that need to hide herself something that had been beaten into her sister? Sigyn remembered running through the town square, laughing, chasing after a smiling Frigg, but that was so many years ago. Before the visions and the training and the loss.
“Don’t worry,” Sigyn whispered. “I’ll figure it out.”
29
The baying of elkhounds greeted them as Halfhaugr drew nigh. Odin rode Sleipnir out ahead of his people. More than a third of the Wodanar had come. Warriors, berserkir, shieldmaidens, washerwomen, tradesmen. All he had invited to see his wedding. The numbers would serve as a message to Hadding, as well—a reassurance, perhaps, of the value of their alliance, or a threat should the jarl have second thoughts. Odin had little time to worry overmuch on his oath to Idunn until he had saved Ve. But if the key to that lay between Frigg’s legs, he needed make damned sure her father could not change his mind.
A scout approached as he drew nigh, a hound at his heels. Agilaz Farshot. He took in Odin’s entourage but made no comment. Not even a visible reaction to the eight-legged horse. A steady man this, perhaps a thegn.
“We did not expect so many guests. I’d ask them to wait outside the town while I inform Jarl Hadding. He can make arrangements.”
Odin looked back at his people. “I understand. We are eager to celebrate, of course.”
“Of course.” Not even the hint of a smile. Stern bastard.
But that name … Agilaz. Odin had not much considered it when they first met at Father’s funeral feast, but wasn’t Agilaz some famed archer from back in the Njarar War? Ve would have known. He learned all such tales.
“Jarl Odin, I welcome you inside Halfhaugr, however. Frigg Haddingsdotter awaits you in the fortress.”
So they wanted him to enter alone, separate from his warriors. A reminder of their own strength, of the strength of their walls. Hadding was a fool if he thought he could hold Halfhaugr against Odin’s men. The jarl could not have even guessed what Odin had become. Something far more than a man. So infused with the glory of Idunn’s apple, Odin could fight his way through a dozen men or more.
He snorted, then dismounted. “Lead the way.”
Inside the fortress, Frigg stood, hands behind her back. She wore the most elegant of green dresses, embroidered with golden knotwork that might have represented the boughs of Yggdrasil. Ironic, that the fruit of that very tree had made Odin immortal. The woman nodded respectfully as he drew nigh.
Yes, she had beauty, grace, poise. And to save his brother, all he had to do was satisfy her. In his mind he tore the dress from her shoulders. Held her down until she shuddered beneath him, crying out in pleasure. The image seemed so real, he flushed. At least with his thick fur cloak, she probably couldn’t see the swelling in his trousers.
“Welcome to Halfhaugr, my lord,” she said. A blonde girl stood beside her, as well as a burly man. A guard, perhaps. Agilaz had wandered off to meet Hadding.
Odin smiled. He’d wooed many a girl in his time, though never had he considered claiming it will save my brother’s life as a reason to overcome a woman’s resolve. “Thank you for accepting my proposal.”
Frigg half bowed, then beckoned for him to follow. “My father has arranged a private room for you in the fortress. I hear you bring a great many retainers with you. We will try to arrange lodging for them in the town.”
“Wonderful.”
Would she agree to sleep with him before the wedding? Unlikely. Still, knowing why he had come here made it hard to think of aught else.
Odin followed behind her, taking in the fortress. Old dvergar work, and stronger than men could hope to build.
“Did you truly ride here on an eight-legged horse?” the blonde girl asked.
“Indeed. And I don’t believe I caught your name.”
Frigg looked to the other girl. “This is my half sister, Sigyn.”
Half sister. A bastard child, perhaps? Elsewise, why had he never heard aught of another daughter of Hadding?
“Well, Sigyn, the horse is called Sleipnir. And he has carried me across more miles than I can count into lands you cannot imagine.”
“I have a great imagination.”
Odin chuckled while Frigg raised an eyebrow at her sister. The girl bit her lip, as if suddenly realizing she might have overstepped herself.
Frigg led him down a hall, past several wooden doors, before stopping at one. “Please make yourself comfortable here. I need to check in with my father.”
Sigyn hesitated as if she intended to linger, ask more about Sleipnir. Frigg grabbed her sister’s wrist and pulled her along after her, followed by their guard.
Odin grunted, then stopped in the room long enough to cast in his satchel. He too had things to ask the jarl of the Hasdingi.
Jarl Hadding sat in his darkened hall, coughing and sputtering while Odin waited. The jarl cleared his throat once more. “We’re arranging a few private houses for the nobles among you. The others will have to stay in communal lodgings.”
As long as his brothers got their own houses, Odin cared little. The others would be used to living in close quarters. Well, Idunn, of course, she would need her own space.
Odin shrugged, trying to seem amicable. “Anything you can arrange will serve. Come, let us speak of the wedding date.” The much more pressing matter.
“Yes.” He coughed, then spit out some thick vileness on the floor before his throne. “The new moon will prove auspicious. Frigg herself has divined this.”
“The new moon! By the Vanir, m
an, you’d have us holed up here halfway to the solstice.”
The jarl snorted, whether at Odin or because of the thickness, who could say? “A strain on our supplies, yes.”
“So let’s set the date sooner. Surely tomorrow or the day after would—”
“Tomorrow!” The jarl shook his head, then raised a finger. “I remember being young. That eagerness. You won’t grow old in a single moon, Jarl Odin. Tonight the mead will flow freely. Bring your men and enjoy it. Savor this time.”
Odin scowled. He would certainly partake of the mead. He doubted, however, he would enjoy the jarl so delaying his more urgent quest.
30
Sure enough, the eight-legged horse occupied a stall in the stables. Hands raised in supplication, Sigyn crept toward the strange animal. It snorted at her approach, its black eyes never leaving her own. The depth there spoke of worlds beyond Midgard and secrets no mortal had uncovered. Where did he come from? Somewhere beyond her reach, no doubt.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Easy. I’m a friend.”
“Sleipnir chooses his friends with care,” a voice said behind her.
She spun to see Loki had crept up on her, silent as a shadow and twice as mysterious.
“And is this horse truly the jarl’s mount?”
“Insofar as Sleipnir could belong to any person, he belongs to Odin at the moment.”
She smiled, turning his words over in her mind. Loki must mean the animal was too intelligent to be owned, which told her something in and of itself. Perhaps the horse was possessed by a vaettr. She’d heard spirits could alter a being’s physical form, given enough time. That could explain it. But still, questions remained. If it was a vaettr, why would it want a horse? What kind of vaettr was it? Did it serve Odin out of mutual beneficence, or did it have some ulterior designs the jarl hadn’t even considered?
“They are holding a feast inside,” Loki said.
Sigyn laughed. “Feast might be a stretch, I think. The winter draws on, and Father cannot hope to feed so many of Odin’s people. Certainly not if he hopes to hold a proper celebration for the wedding soon. Maybe that was Odin’s plan—to shame the Hasdingi or else force us to overextend ourselves.”
Loki stared at her with those too-blue eyes, the hint of a smile on his face. “A wise jarl has many plans, without doubt. But to what end would Odin wish to shame Hadding and the Hasdingi?”
“I don’t know that yet. But whatever he intends, I will find it out.”
The foreign man broke into a true smile now. “Of that I have no doubt. I must join the others inside.”
So would she. Drunk men were apt to say more than they ought, especially to a pretty girl. Loki, much as she wanted to speak with him, did not seem the kind to easily unveil his secrets. But she’d make time to talk with him later, though. He was almost as much a puzzle as Sleipnir.
Talking to Odin’s people had proved less illuminating than she might have hoped. They claimed Idunn herself walked among them. Such fancy made them seem gullible, entranced by a deceptive vӧlva. And yet, still the jarl had come here on an eight-legged horse, so she could not afford to rule out aught.
By now, many had passed the drinking horn around a half dozen times. A brawl had broken out, turned into a wrestling match, and ended with both men agreeing they needed more mead. A commodity that would run out soon enough at this rate.
Sigyn drifted among the guests, engaging in idle chatter while keeping ever conscientious of the conversations around her. Drunk men might still let slip their secrets, and any detail, however ostensibly unimportant, might prove the key to understanding Odin’s ultimate purpose.
Still, such an undertaking did not require her to remain sober either, and she’d accepted the horn a few times herself. Odin’s men offered it to her more oft than her father’s, who pretended she did not exist. Tonight though, that did not bother her—not much, at least.
In one corner of the hall, Loki sat in front of Olrun, playing tafl. Sigyn’s foster mother had a mind for the game, indeed had been the one to first teach Sigyn many winters back, though Sigyn had long since surpassed the woman. Intent on the game, she edged closer, until Olrun looked up.
“Here now. My daughter may give you a better challenge, foreigner. We both know where this game is headed.”
A glance at the board made that obvious. Loki would have her in five moves.
Her foster mother rose and motioned for Sigyn to take her seat. She did so while the blue-eyed foreigner reset the board.
“Dark or light?” he asked.
Sigyn settled into the chair, trying not to grin. “You choose.”
Olrun leaned against a nearby pillar, watching them. Like as not, she wanted to see Sigyn thrash the man who had just defeated her.
Loki leaned forward. “How interesting a question, especially when you leave it to another to decide.”
“As you just did?”
He smiled ever so slightly. “Then I would give you the light.”
“You’ll play dark, then?”
“One must learn to play both sides to truly master the game.”
Sigyn quirked her own smile and moved her first piece. “What game are you playing, then?”
He moved in turn, motioning for her to play. “I’ve studied most games across Midgard. Some are instructive, some entertaining—the best are both.”
They traded a few more moves. She couldn’t quite pin down his strategy. He blocked off her easiest plays but had not made any advances that might actually win him the game.
“You play very cautiously,” she said.
“It’s the long game that matters most.”
She took one of his pieces. “Too much caution can cost you.”
He seemed remarkably unperturbed, continuing to shift his pieces out defensively, not even making counterattacks. After several moves, he finally spoke again. “Sometimes one has to make sacrifices to win.”
She chuckled. “From where I sit, you don’t seem to be winning much of anything.” She claimed another piece.
“Perhaps you sit too long in one place. Everything is a matter of perspective. The changing of viewpoints can illuminate the world in ways we could not have imagined before.” He shifted his king, cutting off her plan to hem him in.
Instead, she claimed yet another of his pawns. She opened her mouth to taunt him then shut it and leaned back, taking in the whole board. Had he just … No. There was no way he could have planned that far ahead. What, twenty moves? And yet, he moved his next piece, leaving her with no choice but to fall back. To precipitate an endless series of counters that would end with him the victor in another ten moves.
Sigyn tapped her finger to her lip. Did he see this? Had he set this up on purpose? She moved again, testing.
Once again, he shifted another piece, forcing her hand and smiling ever so slightly about it.
She rose, shaking her head. “That was … I’m impressed.”
“Wait, what happened?” Olrun asked. “Is he giving up?”
“No. He’s already won.”
Loki leaned back, saying naught, but Olrun sputtered.
“H-how did …? You were winning.”
No. Maybe she never had been. How fascinating. An opponent who could plan even farther ahead than she could. She’d have to improve her game. For now, though, she nodded at Loki in respect. Maybe one more drink after all.
The feast had long since dwindled away.
The guests were most like to be asleep, but she could use the time to snoop through their belongings. Sigyn crept about the hall, inspecting the drunken warriors. Chances of finding something were slim, but you never knew. The things people carried could tell you a lot about them. Hadding had provided Odin with a room to sleep in, but the rest of the guests lay sprawled around the great hall. Some lounged on benches or slept in chairs, others on the floor. Odin’s massive brother lay facedown on a table, snoring into the wood.
Sigyn snorted at the sight.
Behi
nd her, someone stirred. She spun to see one of the warriors—Tyr—watching her with one eye open. He’d slept leaning against a pillar, as if guarding his fellows. Actually, that must be exactly what he was doing. The way he stared at her made her skin crawl. Not much chance for snooping through anyone’s things now.
She hadn’t seen Loki in here. He would have the most answers, but this Tyr was Odin’s thegn and champion. He might know Odin’s heart well, and it might prove easier to pluck answers from him than from one as clever as Loki.
Heart pounding, she approached the warrior, then spoke softly. “You’re the one who offered the proposal on Odin’s behalf.”
Tyr grunted.
She knelt beside him. “It surprised us all.”
He snorted. “Him, too.”
Oh? So he had come here without orders from his jarl? How intriguing. Odin had not sent Tyr, and yet the jarl had come here with all his people, ready for a wedding set to unfold in but a few days. The jarl must place unwavering trust in his thegn, then, enough to accept the man’s choice as his bride. Unless, of course, Odin plotted betrayal, adapting his plans to the opportunity Tyr had thrust upon him.
“You never truly said what Odin hopes to gain from this.”
“A wife.”
Sigyn smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps, but he could have found one anywhere. You came here, to Halfhaugr.”
Tyr grumbled something under his breath. “Godwulfs are on the move. Threatening the Athra.”
Sigyn frowned but nodded. So Odin, or at least Tyr, must know Jarl Alci was her father’s brother. Maybe he thought he could pressure his new father-in-law to restrain Alci. If so, Odin was in for profound disappointment. Her father could not protect his own people from Alci, much less some other tribe. “Where can I find Loki?”
“Can this not wait until morning?” he whispered, though the crook of his mouth said he thought he knew exactly why a woman would seek a man at this hour.
Sigyn flushed, no doubt confirming his suspicion. Let the man think what he wanted. Never mind a part of her longed for just that. For anyone who would want her for her.
