The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3)

by Deborah Davitt

  Will they? Are they wolves, or are they men? Wolves do not understand inspiration. They understand that there is one male leader, and his queen, and all others follow behind them. They understand that each individual has a role. Humans chafe at such order. And they already follow you, do they not? I smell a mate already on you, though he is not here, as a leader should be. Thus, he does not lead them. You would not be my mate, either. There would be . . . division. Strife. Uncertainty. And such things are never what is best for a pack. He paused. You do not wish for me to lead. You wish to add my strength to your own.

  Fenris had stopped short of calling them liars, but it was plain that the god-beast saw through the pretentions of words. The massive head swung, and he paced now to Ima. You are one of the forest children, are you not?

  I was one of the first made in your image, Ima replied, her voice awed. We who may change our shape call ourselves the hveðungr, the children of Loki, as the god-born and you yourself are. But all of us who were changed on the Day of Hel’s Demise, and before, might well call ourselves that. Saraid, Lassair, and Sigrun Stormborn worked to give me a voice and hands once more. My mate is a jotun. We dwell in the south and fight in the great war that stretches over many lands. As almost all of our kind must do. Will you fight with us?

  The maw was now just beside Maccis’ ear, at the vulnerable point between neck and shoulder. He held still, though he let his head and tail drop in submission. And who is this puppy?

  I am Maccis, called Mirrorshaper. Son of Saraid and Trennus, called Worldwalker. I have the honor to call Rig my brother. Awe and terror comingled, though he did his best to keep them out of his voice. Unbidden, he added, quietly, I am here to learn.

  And what would you learn, puppy?

  Maccis took a long breath. Everything.

  A good place to start. Fenris turned back towards Rig. What bargain would you have of me . . . brother?

  “That you leave these lands, which are unsafe,” Rig replied, promptly.

  I cannot leave the north. The fetters around my neck may appear shattered, but they still bind.

  I will release you, uncle. Or Sigrun will. Nith’s voice was calm.

  You have the power, stripling? When last I saw you, you were scarce the size of an elephant, and voiceless.

  Time has wrought many changes. I fought my progenitor, and with aid, won. I met Dagon, and with the aid of my allies, triumphed. Yes. I have the power. So too, does Stormborn.

  Rig waited for their voices to pass, and out loud, went on, seemingly unconcerned by how small his voice sounded in comparison, “Once you are free, I ask that you go with Sigrun, first to Valhalla, where you and the gods might be reconciled. And then second, to go into Germania and Gaul, and fight the ettin, the grendels, and the lindworms there. The mad gods, if they appear. The jotun and the fenris there will rejoice to see you fighting beside them, I think. They might not be wolves. They might not accede to your leadership. But they are as much kin to you, as I am. They were born of Loki and Hel’s power. And they wear your shape.”

  That is what you have been told to ask. What would you bargain for, Loki’s son?

  Rig closed his eyes for a moment, and Maccis wished he could read his mind. “I fight in the south. I battle Persians every day, and the best that I can do is sneak in behind them. Cover their eyes with illusions. Would I like to see you charging a line of Immortals and biting into their flanks, tearing apart their tanks? Yes. But I have to trust that you would do more good covering the retreat of our people into warmer lands . . . than in Judea. At least for now.” Rig managed a faint smile. “Aside from which, you might not be welcome in Judea. I’m told there are proprieties.”

  Wisdom, prudence, and caution. This is a silken fetter indeed. It looks very light. What do I get in return? Whose hand will be placed in my mouth, to ensure that I am not betrayed?

  Mine, Sigrun began to respond, but Maccis yipped, imperatively. He suddenly understood why he was here. Mine, the young man said, quickly. I will be your hostage, Fenris. I am the son of the Lady of the Wilds and Worldwalker. If any betray you, you may feel free to bite off my hand . . . or even take my life. And while I am your guarantee, I ask that you teach me.

  Consternation from all those around him. From his mother, in particular: Mirrorshaper, dear one, are you certain of this? An intrigued look from Ima, even in wolf-form. And a muffled snort, full of ice crystals, from Nith.

  Maccis nodded to his mother. He was sure. It would disrupt his schooling. And it would certainly derail what there was of his social life . . . Zee. Damn it. Zaya may actually kill me for this. She might have the right to, too. Maccis swallowed, and projected the thought, more loudly, If this is acceptable, I ask that I may say farewell to my mate before the bargain takes effect. At the back of his head, another thought: And that I have a bodyguard on hand so that she doesn’t tell her father to rip my head off for abandoning her a week after . . . shit. But this is the right thing to do. I know it is.

  I find this bargain acceptable. I will consider myself bound to you, for the term of seven years, Rig, called Visionweaver. I will accept Maccis, called Mirrorshaper, as my guarantor for the term of a year, and another may take his place after that time, though I would prefer that he remain my hostage and . . . apprentice . . . for the duration of our bargain. That is, however, something that can be further negotiated at a future time.

  A year? Maccis’ heart sank. Me and my big mouth. On one hand . . . that year would have been another year’s worth of school. He could always test out of it for university work in the future, and a university education was looking like a poppy-dream anyway. He’d be in the field with Fenris, for the sake of all the gods. He’d be learning how to be a wolf from the greatest wolf-spirit ever spawned. But on the other hand, he was going to be away from Zaya for a year. He wouldn’t even be able to blame her if she wound up . . . going to the library with someone else. He wasn’t even sure if asking her to hand-fast him before he officially became a hostage was fair at all. But at least he’d be doing something.

  The enormity of the change he was making became clear to him, not just from Sigrun’s white face, but when his mother took him back home to pack a few essentials. Ima picked him up in an expansive jotun embrace. “You’ll do well,” the hveðungr woman told him, her ears perked up and her eyes gleaming. “You’ll be back in a year, a seasoned warrior, if Fenris releases you. There won’t be a single fenris or lycanthrope who won’t envy you the experience, and you’ll be more than ready to fight with our company. And I’ll make sure to bring in a few harpies, or maybe your siblings, to help the lindworms get their flying exercise.”

  His father wasn’t quite as sanguine. Maccis had known that his father worried about Solinus and Latirian on the front lines. Fyriacus, too. Maccis had really never seen that expression turned on him, however. “I knew the day was coming,” Trennus admitted, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I just thought we might put it off a little longer.”

  “I think it’s the right thing to do, Da.” Maccis wavered as he looked around his room. He wasn’t sure what to take. Clothes would be in the way. Toothbrush and toothpowder? How was he even going to carry those? He settled for a Judean-made ‘space pen’ that had a loop on the end that could attach to his collar. At least if I find paper, I can . . . write letters home? And what, send them by carrier pigeon, perhaps? What a thought.

  “Oh, I’m not denying it. It’s a man’s decision, and I’m proud of you.” His father’s hand came down on his shoulder. “You’re going to need to talk to Zaya.”

  “I know. Guess I’m making it to dinner with her and her parents after all.”

  He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation around the big mahogany table at the Lelayn mansion. The crisp white linen tablecloth, the chandelier with its hundreds of droplets of fine crystal, and all the fine porcelain plates made him feel a scruffy barbarian. Some days he relished the sensation, defiantly. Today . . . it made him all too aware of who and what
he was.

  As dessert was being served, Maccis exhaled. “I . . . have something to tell you all,” he said, and watched as Erida lifted her head, and Zaya turned towards him. Her younger siblings didn’t stop chattering amongst themselves at first, but he knew he had Zhi’s fixed attention. Maccis turned and took Zaya’s hands, gently, in his. “I . . . have to go away for a while. I’m sorry, Zee. I love you. And I will be back.”

  Her eyes had gone wide. “You’re going to Hellas with your mother? Or is this a landsknechten thing?”

  Maccis squeezed her fingers. “This . . . might go a little better if I just talk and no one interrupts, at least for a few moments. It’s neither. Rig made an alliance with Fenris today. Not the pack. Fenris himself, Fenrir Vánagandr. He’s being unbound, and entering the fight against the ettin, grendel, mad gods, you name it.” Maccis swallowed. “Fenris required a . . . guarantee that this wasn’t a trick. I agreed to be his hostage for the good behavior of Rig and the northern gods. For at least a year.”

  He closed his eyes at the expression on Zaya’s face. Confusion. Consternation. Hurt. “Why you?” she immediately demanded.

  “Because I’m the only one who can,” Maccis replied, tightening his fingers on hers a little. “Everyone else who was there was valuable. They all have jobs and tasks. You can’t take Sigrun off the front lines. You can’t take Nith. Ima’s the co-leader of a landsknechten company, and the single most important voice of the children of Loki. You take her away, half the pack here in Judea won’t talk to the other half. Rig? He was the one making the bargain, and he’s a Roman centurion, too. He can’t go absent without leave. My mother? She has to be out helping all the people who’ve been transformed. Which left me. I’m not that valuable in my own right. But I’m valuable to all of them. A son, the son of a friend, a relative.” Maccis looked down at the floor. “That’s why leaving me with Fenris makes a difference. It’s a question of earning his trust.”

  Zaya’s mouth opened and shut for a moment. “But what about . . . school? The landsknechten?” She paused, and voiced what was obviously the hardest word of all. “Us?”

  Maccis felt all the eyes in the room on him, especially her parents’, boring into him. One decision was completely reshaping the ordered pattern of his life. All the expectations of the next year, vanished, with a single word. School, courting Zaya, maybe hand-fasting her . . . all possibilities that might be gone, forever. “I have my basic diploma. University was going to have to wait anyway, Zee. Ima’s fine with me getting a year of experience before joining Vidarr’s Lindworms. If I don’t wind up permanently working with Fenris, anyway. I don’t know what the future’s going to hold now.” He tightened his fingers on hers again. “I . . . really hope that future still includes you. I won’t be able to offer you a life, not for a while. Not even a roof over your head, not on my own. Being a hostage isn’t likely to involve a paycheck.” He snorted under his breath. “And it would be unfair to ask you to wait . . . .” This was hard. He inhaled, and tried again. “I would understand if you wanted to go your own way while I’m gone. A lot can change in a year.” You know, it was easier when I was twelve, and everyone made decisions for me.

  Zaya’s fingers tightened on his. “Maccis, you great big idiot,” she told him, quietly. “Of course I’m going to wait for you. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

  The sensation of a band loosening around his chest was intense, and Maccis dropped his head and kissed one of her hands quickly, not caring if her siblings mocked them later, or what her parents thought about it, either. “Thank you,” he told her, quietly. “I didn’t start today thinking I’d be making decisions that would affect both of us. But it’s temporary, I hope. And necessary.”

  “Just don’t die.” Her voice was frightened. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Not planning on it,” Maccis told her, quietly. “Really not planning on it.” He peered at her, cautiously. “Probably not a good time to talk to you about hand-fasting once I finally get enough money together to afford an apartment?”

  Erida cleared her throat. “Zaya asked for, and will begin receiving a stipend for her archive work. If she’s careful with it, it would be enough for an apartment in the university district, if she so chooses, when she’s ready to attend there. In the meantime, I would suggest that taking advantage of having a safe place to live where the food is free and the laundry is done for you, is no bad thing.”

  Maccis flushed a little, and when he and Zaya were alone for a precious few minutes upstairs in her room, he stroked her hair back out of her face. “Thank you,” he told her, and kissed her, trying to engrain her scent into his brain. “Thank you for understanding that . . . there are things I have to do.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Wish I could make this a better good-bye.” He kissed her forehead, and smelled the brine of her tears starting again. “I’ll write if I can. In a way . . . this might even be for the best. This lets you . . . concentrate on school and the archives. I’m a distraction.”

  “You’re not a distraction.”

  “Yes, I . . . kind of am. You need time to . . . be you. To do all the things you need to do, learn all the things you need to learn, to be Keeper of the Archives.” One more urgent kiss, trying to make sure she understood everything he was trying to say without words, and then he left, with only one glance back.

  Zaya stood for a long moment in her room, and then sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands. Everyone she loved, one by one, was going off to this stupid damned war. Her father routinely vanished weeks at a time to fight on the Persian front. Her mother was putting some of the oldest Magi spells through calculi analysis with Bodi Eshmunazar, trying to come up with new twists that the Persian battle-sorcerers might not have seen before. Half of Maccis’ siblings were either in the military, or affiliated with it in some way. And now, he, too, had left for the front lines.

  And she couldn’t do a damned thing to help.

  Maius 4, 1992 AC

  It was night in the Woods, which meant a galaxy’s heart of stars overhead, enough light from them to see by, easily. Worldwalker was preparing for another foray out of the Woods, to see if he could find Loki. Hiddenstar and Visionweaver might be called on to find the place where the god had left the mortal realm behind. It would be easier if Worldwalker could find him first, however.

  Saraid materialized in front of him, looking frantic as he’d ever seen her. She put her hands on his shoulders, and said, urgently, Worldwalker, you must wake up, and then come with me. Quickly!

  What’s wrong?

  Jormangand has pursued a mad godling out of the Arctic. It veered south to Britannia. The world-serpent followed it. They are fighting in my woods! My woods are burning, your people are dying! Please, please, wake—

  Trennus snapped himself awake before Saraid could finish the sentence. He threw the covers off, just as Lassair’s body’s eyes opened, and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before scrambling for his clothing and a sack full of grimoires he always kept on the desk. He paused at the door, went back, and picked up his glasses. It would help to be able to read the Names there. Hundreds of them, he’d freed from the Nazca Lines, decades ago. Every name in one of these grimoires was a reminder of a debt owed. He couldn’t possibly remember them all without the books. “I’ll . . . be back,” he told Lassair. She couldn’t go with him. Not even a copy. The distance was too far for her to bridge, not while leaving a double here to take care of the family.

  What are you two going to do? Lassair asked, sitting up, her expression concerned. Wait. Linditus is finishing off his medical degree at the University of Londonium—

  “Deiana and Athim are there, too. They’ve been working with the flood assistance program, trying to get the Tamesis under control, and helping with the Greenland refugees.” Trennus’ voice was empty. “Londonium is hundreds of miles south. They’ll be fine.” Unless volcanoes start ripping open the land. Unless Jormangand crosses the entire island. “Ask Min to come
over to watch the young ones, and go evacuate them, if you can.” Trennus knew his children, however. He wasn’t sure they would evacuate. Linditus could heal almost as well as Latirian; he’d be at a hospital to take care of any people hurt in the mass hysteria that was surely transpiring all over the island. Deiana only had minimal fire-talents, but a gift for speaking with spirits. She’d followed in his foot-steps to become a summoner, and Athim, engaged to be her husband, was as solid a Magus as anyone of Erida’s line could be expected to be . . . and he’d been trained by Trennus, Kanmi, Minori, and Sigrun, not to mention his own mother. Young Athim would not be fleeing. He’d be holding up barriers over people while they fled. And if the mad god or the world-serpent came that far south, the young magus would be out there, trying to distract them. Deiana would be calling every spirit whose Name she knew. “I have to go.”

  The two of you cannot fight Jormangand or a mad god on your own! Lassair threw up her hands, and clothing materialized on her. Even with my help—

  Saraid manifested. I do not plan to fight either of them, but it is my forest that they are destroying, and my people, who have looked to me for protection under those branches for thousands of years! The thought was savage, and Trennus blinked. We do not have time to argue. Time runs only one way here. We will find something to do when we get there! She reached out a hand, and Trennus slipped his fingers around hers. The last thing he saw, was the startled expression on Lassair’s face, and he didn’t think it boded well. She had always led the way in their odd relationship. Saraid had always given way to her, but Lassair had . . . refunded . . . half of Trennus’ soul to Saraid, in acknowledgement of the fact that Saraid had actually bound and been bound to Trennus first. Saraid was not by nature one to push herself forwards; that was the gentleness of the hind in her. But she’d just turned on Lassair like an alpha wolf.