Fritti felt much better after those simple words, and relaxed a little. “So why is Rig needed?”
“Loki may need more than one . . . I believe the word is ‘conduit,’ though ‘anchor’ might also apply . . . to find his way out of the Veil once more. We know he left once, the year Rig married. But Trennus hasn’t been able to find him, or Reginleif, in all that time. He may need beacons. And while you shine very brightly, Fritti, I would prefer not to leave it to chance, any more than I would like to risk the lives of a crew aboard a ship at night, on a storm-tossed sea.”
“How unexpectedly poetic, Sigrun.” Fritti smiled faintly.
The valkyrie shrugged it off. “How much time do you need to be ready to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. Best that I can do.’
“Very well. I shall fetch Rig in the interim, then.”
“Come and have dinner with me, once you’ve located and arranged with his superiors to send him home. I’m scheduled to have a dinner meeting with the leader of the local harpies. She calls herself Lorelei. I think she was a Gothic tourist who’d escaped transformation in the north, only to be caught up in the wake of Baal’s death as the shockwave hit Hellas. She speaks Cimbric, Fennish, Raccian, and perfectly fluent Hellene. You’ll like her.”
Sigrun hesitated. “Normally, I would say that I should stay home with Adam—”
“And I’d tell you to bring him with you . . . or remind you that you’re the one who has persistently reminded me that I need to live my own life.” Fritti made a slightly impudent expression at Sigrun, and was relieved when the valkyrie didn’t frown at her for it. “He can’t begrudge you going out alone every once in a while, can he?”
“He wouldn’t. It is, however, my belief that couples should do things together when possible. Else they are not actually couples, but individuals living under the same roof.” Sigrun frowned. “But in this case, he is off with Trennus. Which leaves me unexpectedly free this evening.” Fritti watched her eyes scan from side to side, as if reading from an invisible list. “Technically, there is a refugee column moving from the Bodensee up into the Alps tonight. I should go there and—”
“And how are you going to go there, and fetch Rig, and be back in time to start our trip north?” Fritti said, practically. “Also, you need to tell me what I’ll need to pack. I had talked about traveling north with Vidarr and Ima, years ago—they were going to escort me to Lieksa, and Rig was going to keep us all protected from the ettin and grendels with his illusions, but that fell through. I just wanted to see where it had all happened . . . . ” Fritti broke off her rambling at the expression on Sigrun’s face. “Can you at least tell me how long I’ll need to tell my department that I’ll be gone?”
“I hope to have you home before the workweek begins again.” Sigrun’s expression was difficult to decipher. “I have already procured our method of transportation. And if all goes well, I should have Rig home by this evening, depending on how recalcitrant his superior officers are about releasing him for another ‘special project.’” Sigrun’s eyes, which had tracked off to the left, centered back on Fritti’s once again. “Dress in warm layers, and bring two changes of clothing appropriate to Marcomanni in late spring, and you should be fine.”
Fritti’s mouth dropped open again, and she shut it with a click. “Why is it, Sigrun, that no matter how old I am, I invariably feel thirteen and awkward when I speak with you?”
“It is the way of things. I generally feel about twelve when Brandr reprimands me for not training with him and the other bear-warriors.” Sigrun set a hand, lightly, on her shoulder. “Where are we having dinner? At your house?”
“Ah, no. A restaurant Lorelei likes, located just in between Little Nippon and Little Hellas.” Fritti rattled off directions.
“I know the area. Was it not a bad neighborhood, not long ago? A drycleaner and a row of empty shops, with graffiti in three languages?”
“It’s improved. New owners moved in, courtesy of some small business loans from my department. They set up round-the-clock fenris security, that sort of thing. A new set of apartments, dryad-friendly, has been built in the area, too.” Dryad-friendly meant that the balconies of the gated apartment complex all faced in around a central courtyard, where the dryads could wander around naked, and sunbathe nude on their balconies without being in violation of Judea’s public decency laws. “The taverna gets all types. They bill themselves as fusion cuisine, and it’s one of the last places to get fresh fish at the moment. We were having supply problems from the Mediterranean even before all the highways north of here were . . . disrupted.”
The valkyrie snorted in mild amusement, and nodded. Bade Fritti farewell, and left. Which left Fritti alone in her office, suddenly jittering like a schoolgirl about to go out for her first evening with the young man who was courting her. I didn’t think it was going to be so soon! I thought war would have to be hammering on the gates of the city before I’d go north. Oh, gods. If this works . . . I’m going to see him. I’m going to see him again.
And I have absolutely no idea how I feel about that.
She arrived for dinner at the taverna punctually at seven postmeridian; the restaurant was filled with its usual chaotic assortment of people. Harpies, dryads, a couple of centaurs, and a slew of Nipponese and Judean engineers just off work crowded around the bar at the center of the large room. A fenris family eating from bowls and platters set on a low table near the front windows; the mother and father were both working on what looked like a cow’s leg, each, while the pups were chowing down on raw stew meat. Fritti waved at the front desk attendant on her way in, and ducked back into the array of booths intended for bipedal customers.
Lorelei was, as usual, already at a table. She almost always chose this taverna, but always on a different day of the week, a different time, and tried to vary her seat, though she always took a table near the back, with a clear view of the doors and windows . . . and with enough room for the harpy’s wings not hit a wall or trail into a fellow diner’s meal. “There you are,” Lorelei told her with a faint smile, her red, swan-like eyes gleaming in the low light. “The waiter told me you’d called ahead and reserved a larger table. You’ve brought company?”
“A very old friend, and my son, if all goes well.” Fritti slid into the booth, unwrapping her light shawl, and picked up the menu. She knew what to order Rig—steak, medium-rare. Preferably two of them, one stacked atop the other. He burned a lot of energy in his work, and usually came home ready to eat like a fenris. Sigrun, however, she was unsure of.
Ten minutes of light conversation passed on the topic of daycare centers and how to get them adjusted for a sub-species that needed to keep eggs warm, safe and, most importantly, correctly identified when handed back over to the parents in the evening. “This is keeping harpy males out of the workforce,” Lorelei told her, bluntly. “They don’t trust that the eggs are going to be safe, and there have been a few cases of the wrong egg hatching in the wrong nest. So they feel compelled to stay home and brood. And I do mean brood. Most of them remember being the bread-winner for their families. In a few generations, the social dynamic may finish changing, and they won’t grumble so much, but I’d like to see it be a matter of choice if one parent or the other stays home to tend the egg—” Her voice cut off, and Fritti turned to look over her shoulder, spotting her tall son and the valkyrie beside him as they entered. “You know, I’ve just remembered. I think I might have double-booked this evening,” Lorelei said, sounding shaken. “Do you mind if I use the sat-phone the landsknechten insisted that I have, and confirm? It’s terribly rude, I realize . . . .”
Fritti blinked. “No, by all means, go ahead.” She waved Sigrun and Rig over, as Lorelei twisted to the side and dug out her satellite phone, opening it to push several of the buttons in rapid succession. Fritti was hardly aware; she hadn’t seen Rig in months, and had been out of town herself, when he’d briefly been home to kiss his wife and have dinner with the in-laws after a my
sterious ‘special assignment’ with Sigrun that he had referred to, obliquely, in his last letter. “There you are,” she told him, and accepted a hug from him. “All in one piece, too.”
“Not for lack of trying on the enemy’s part.” Rig settled down onto the bench beside her, making it creak under his weight. Fritti was always somehow startled to realize that her little boy now weighed well over two hundred pounds. “Aunt Sig here seems intent on finding new and creative ways for me to get in trouble, though.” His grin showed, however, that he didn’t mean his words at all.
Sigrun had moved around the table, her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied the woman at the table, whose face was concealed by her long, dark hair, and the hand that cradled the phone to her cheek. Fritti tried to make the introductions, but Lorelei was already sliding out of the booth and gathering her things. “I am sorry, Fritti. I really must be going. I had completely forgotten about this other meeting—”
Fritti watched Sigrun’s head snap towards the harpy. “Have we not met before somewhere?” the valkyrie said, sharply. “I . . . know that voice.”
“I’m certain that if we knew each other, we would recognize each other, ah, æðelinga . . . .” Lorelei’s voice was muffled, and Fritti’s eyebrows rose as Sigrun’s hand shot out and caught the harpy’s forearm, mussing the light black down there. There was a frozen moment as Lorelei stared down at the hand, and then slowly looked up at Sigrun, a faintly resigned look on her face.
Sigrun’s eyes narrowed, and there was a faint tingle in the air, as from static electricity, a sensation like a storm was about to strike. “Reginleif.” Her tone was flat.
“Waes hael, my old student. You’re looking tired. The last time I saw you and your husband, you were eating at a café a few blocks from here. I trust he’s kept to the salads, as I advised?” The words were cordial. The tone was bleak. Going through social motions, like a puppet-show.
“Odd. The last time I saw you, I had taken the gut wound that you’d given yourself to try to leash Hel. You’d kicked me in the face, broken my nose, and you wouldn’t stop fighting, even after Erikir pinned you to a wall. You damned near gutted him with his own knife on your way back towards Loki. You walked right past Brandr as he was fighting for life on the floor, too.”
Lorelei looked down. “Yes. I did.” The flexible siren’s voice was empty, but regret whispered up the walls around them, making people at the next table over start to shiver and reach for their cloaks.
Sigrun’s face had frozen into an expressionless mask, though her eyes were cold and narrow. Fritti saw Rig’s hand drop, searching for the side-arm that he wasn’t wearing, and he cursed under his breath. “What manner of disguise is this?” Sigrun asked. “I see no illusion here.”
“Nor do I,” Rig said, sharply. “I can see through almost any illusion there is.”
Lorelei . . . Reginleif . . . sighed, and sat down, one arm still held pinioned by Sigrun. “What you failed to mention, my old student, is that Loki dragged me with him into the Veil. I was pulled apart from him on the other side. And I was hunted.” Her voice was almost lost in the sound of chatter from all the other booths; they were getting some odd looks from the waiters and customers, but no one looked apt to intervene just yet. Harmonics of regret, sorrow, guilt, and pain, though Lorelei was clearly trying to strip them out. Sublimating all the power a siren’s voice could hold. “Hunted, killed, and devoured, just to rise again. To be devoured once more. I do not know how many times I was torn apart and killed and eaten, but I finally found a tiny piece of the Veil that I could . . . believe in. I made it a pond.” She glanced at Sigrun, and then stared at a wall again. “Swan-maidens we are, and a swan I became. I could not leave there, without being devoured. Until he came and bade me return to the mortal world. Told me that I had work to do. People who required leadership, training, and guidance. Flight isn’t an instinct in the first-generation harpies, Sigrun. They have had to be taught, and have had no one to teach them.” She shrugged. “I always knew how to fly. Just as you did. The wings are an . . . addition . . . from the Veil. I find them far more wearying than the effortless flight of a valkyrie, but . . . I am two things now. Still god-born of Loki. And a harpy. Specifically, a siren.” She looked up, her red eyes bleak. “I could shatter your eardrums and leave everyone in this room bleeding and stunned on the floor, while escaping through the broken windows. I have not chosen to do so.”
“I doubt very much if you could damage me,” Sigrun said, tightly.
“Yes . . . you have changed.” Lorelei sighed. Her arm was still clamped in Sigrun’s grip, but she showed no signs of resistance. “What will you do with me, then? Drag me to the Odinhall in chains, aboard some commercial flight that might or might not be attacked by a mad godling as it crosses Nova Germania? Or leave me to my task here?” Her tone was patient.
“If I had to take you anywhere for judgment, it would be Valhalla,” Sigrun said, her tone cold. Fritti saw Lorelei’s . . . Reginleif’s . . . head jerk up, and she frowned, herself. The god-born are not permitted in Valhalla. I remember that from Radulfr’s . . . Loki’s training. “That being said, I am still a fully-empowered ælagol,” Sigrun went on, quietly. “I could arrest you for any number of charges. Tampering with the Odinhall’s documents. Conspiracy, with Potentia ad Populum, to conduct unlawful experiments on unwilling human beings—”
“Yes. You could.” No expression. No affect. No defense.
“He asked for volunteers. He was given prisoners. I can add murder to those charges,” Sigrun went on, her voice and face frigid. “Every prisoner who died in the bogs is on your head, Reginleif.”
“I know.” Reginleif’s voice was empty. No excuses offered. No justification. “And more. One in every ten of our people died when Hel did. One in every ten became a jotun. A fenris. A nieten. I am aware of what I have done, Sigrun. Believe me when I tell you that I would welcome death rather than continuing to exist, remembering my own actions. But such mercy is not for me. I do what Loki has bidden me. An expiation that I expect will consume the balance of my life.”
Fritti saw Sigrun hesitate for the first time, her expression shifting between suspicion and something else. But it was time she intervened. Fritti raised a finger now. “I can’t speak to . . . any of this,” she said. “But Lorelei’s been here for seven years, at least. She’s been working with the harpies for at least that long. No problems, no arrests, just . . . work. Why, Minori introduced me to her, after a year or so of schedule conflicts prevented me from meeting her at the community center—” Fritti saw the look of fury on Sigrun’s face, and bit her tongue.
“Yes, Dr. Eshmunazar recognized me,” Reginleif said, still looking down. “I asked her not to tell you that I was alive, and here. She agreed, but informed me that she and her . . . house-guest . . . would be watching me. We have lunch at least once a month. My parole-officer.” Reginleif shrugged. “The Veil gave me time . . . ironically enough . . . for the grief and rage to burn down to ashes. And it gave me a way to understand the gods of this world. They may all have started out in that chaotic frenzy, eat or be eaten. But most of them are not like that anymore. Loki would not permit me to save Joris’ life. Not out of malice, but because I needed to be . . . unburdened in the war.” She raised her head for the first time in several minutes. “For my failures, Hel punished me by inflicting a lingering death on my husband. Five years of torment. I sought justice against her, and against Loki at the time. Was Joris’ death worth the lives of so many others? No.” Uncompromising, distant words. As if Reginleif somehow floated above herself, looking down on her life’s actions, and dispassionately condemned herself. Still, her voice remained flat. None of the enchantment that she could evoke with mere sound.
Sigrun released the other valkyrie’s arm. “You are still bound to Loki, yes? Yet I see only a single scar on your cheek. Unless you have become greatly more proficient at illusions . . . .”
“He helped me craft a new self-image. I coul
d not deviate far from the swan. Regaining the face alone was extremely difficult. I kept the scar as a reminder.”
Fritti could see unwilling empathy enter Sigrun’s face. Finally, the valkyrie sat down, pushing Reginleif further into the booth, and picked up a menu. “A third anchor-point,” Sigrun said, her voice emotionlessly distant, “would be a very valuable thing to have with us for tomorrow’s attempt, Fritti. You say that we can trust Reginleif. I can see the bond of energy that still links her to Loki, though the ones linking you and Rig are veiled from my sight.” She turned a page on the menu, as Reginleif turned to stare at her. “I would like to bring her with us, but I leave that to your discretion, Fritti. This is your attempt.”
Lorelei’s red eyes widened. Rig shook his head slightly. “Aunt Sig has a point. I only want to have to do this once. The more anchor-points we have, the better our chances of success.” Rig gave the siren a steady, blank look. “And I would prefer to keep an eye on . . . Lorelei, or Reginleif, or whatever her name is, for the time being. Until we all know who’s trustworthy, and who’s not.”
Reginleif’s eyebrows went up. “You have much to learn of tact, young one. Is this one a product of your teaching, Sigrun?”
Sigrun beckoned a waiter over, and they all began to order. Fritti blinked as Sigrun ordered duck prepared with pistachios; she definitely wouldn’t have picked that off the menu for the valkyrie. When the waiter left, Sigrun turned her head slightly to regard Reginleif. “Actually, I consider Rig to be one of my finest pupils, and I am certainly very proud of him. He is also the one to whom most of your lessons most directly applied. Seeing the world around us for what it is. Finding the unbelievable element in an illusion, and using it to break the figment.” Sigrun didn’t blink. “Believe me when I say that I thought of you every day I trained him.”
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 30
