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

by Deborah Davitt

  “No. But they’re off the ground, and I have no idea how they can stand it.” Trennus shuddered, and Saraid laughed, silently.

  Ima waited for the twins to land, and now continued. “Most lindworms,” she said, her tone sad, “we have found, are as some of the fenris are. Those of us who have lost themselves almost completely to the wolf. Intelligent. Feeling. Sapient. But more like animals than like humans. And then there are the exceptions. The ones who are more human than not.”

  Maccis patted the black one, and the beast shook its head. The red and the blue also acted restive. “Come on,” Adam could hear Maccis saying. “They need to hear it from you.”

  Speak, Nith commanded. Speak so that others will not do so for you. You are not bound to silence, as I was, as your ancestors were. Speak.

  After a hesitant moment, a clear, young, raspy voice echoed in Adam’s head. Yes, Father. The lindworm was clearly addressing Nith. Then it turned its head. I am Heolstor. Adam recognized the Gothic word for darkness.

  I am Scimar. Light. That was the fire-red lindworm, apparently.

  I am Rodor. Sky, a fitting name for the brilliantly blue one.

  We have been raised to fight beside humans. Heolstor raised his head and looked around, but his head swiveled back towards Nith, just for a moment. This is the place of our nesting. We would fight to protect it. If it is . . . permitted.

  Adam rather thought the floored looks on the faces of the Jerusalem city officials and Temple elders would stay with him the rest of his life, and it pleased him, in a fashion he didn’t trouble himself to conceal. As he slid his hand into Sigrun’s arm, and felt her surreptitiously brace him—something that never failed to irritate him, though he understood the damnable need for it—Adam choked down his annoyance, and glanced over his shoulder at Trennus, as Saraid slipped down into the parade grounds to speak with her sons. “Did you catch the look on Caesarion’s face?” Tren asked, quietly.

  “He wants to put all of this into use, immediately, I think,” Adam said, nodding.

  “More than that. He’s also looking at all of this disappearing on him if negotiations in Rome don’t go well with the Goths and the Gauls.” Trennus shrugged. “Even the missile defense dome might go, if Erida and Min get irritated enough to move out of Jerusalem.”

  “Twenty-three years of people being told ‘go home, we don’t want you here,’” Sigrun agreed, dryly, “and suddenly, the people saying ‘go home,’ might wake up and realize that the jotun and the fenris make up something in the order of thirty percent of the current protective forces around Judea, and twenty percent of its law enforcement.”

  Adam gave them both a look. “You don’t need to sound pleased about it,” he told them.

  “I’m not pleased.” Sigrun replied. “I will admit to a certain amount of amusement.”

  “You’ll be more than amused if Adam’s brother Mikayel starts demanding that the jotun stay, because they have an obligation to defend Judea,” Trennus told her, raising his eyebrows.

  Sigrun began to chuckle a dark, bitter sound. “Never going to happen.”

  I would only put a four percent probability on that event, myself, Prometheus said from behind them, and they all turned as the titan arrived. I would speak with all of you, and with Hiddenstar and her lover. Immediately. I have analyses that concern all of you, and which trouble me.

  Adam missed a step. He knew Sigrun had gone north to help Fritti retrieve Loki from the Veil, with the aid of Rig and Reginleif. He’d been aware that Fritti had been aglow lately, on the occasions when he’d seen her, but . . . he had a hard time picturing young Fritti and Loki being lovers, and did his best to shut that set of images out of his mind. Does this mean that Loki comes to Judea? Somehow flouts the convention that gods shouldn’t intrude on each other’s territory? He darted a glance at Sig, whose expression had gone blank again. Is he . . . god. “Sig, is there an entity living across the street from us?” he asked. Why wouldn’t she have told me?

  “I wouldn’t say living,” Sigrun replied, tightly. “More like trysting a few nights a month. Let’s get to the house, and have someone come over who can ward our words, hmm?”

  The god who cursed her—cursed us!—is courting Fritti across the street, going about life on a path for what, domestic bliss? Loki? A trickster? . . . probably not, though making everyone believe him to be respectable might be his best trick in history . . . Adam shook his head . . . . And Sigrun hasn’t marched over and beaten down the door. The world is upside down.

  An hour later, Adam was in the surreal position of seeing a bear-warrior cross the street, holding Fritti’s hand lightly in a massive paw . . . and once inside the ben Maor house, shifting into the equally-tall, but whipcord-thin frame of Loki the Trickster. Greetings, Loki said, his silver-rimmed gray eyes seeming to take in the entire house at once. He glanced sidelong at Sigrun. I had wondered what it would take to be invited to an abode of yours, Naglfar.

  “I rarely invite anyone to any home of mine,” Sigrun said, carefully, and with a degree of familiarity that startled Adam. No honorifics, and almost a casual tone. “My fellow lictors and their children, as well as Adam’s family, have been the exceptions over the course of my life.”

  Adam felt a chill at the words, and wasn’t sure why. He looked around. The dining room felt crowded. Prometheus was a titan, Loki an entity, and they both took up space, physical and psychic alike, and made the old furniture, usually so comfortable, seem drab, prosaic, and . . . dirty, somehow . . . by their mere presence. Fritti settled in at the table, eyes alert and flushing like a schoolgirl every time Loki looked over at her. Nith had shifted down to lindworm size and had positioned himself at Sigrun’s back, between her and the window, like a bodyguard. Trennus and Saraid sat side-by-side at the table, as well. What tidings do you have for us? Loki asked Prometheus. And should I be the first to say ‘no tricks’?

  Prometheus snickered. I still cannot quite believe that you were the same little forest sprite that I met the once, the trickster of the hills. Ah, well. To work. He looked around. You are all aware that Xipe Totec was destroyed three weeks ago?

  Sigrun nodded, her expression taut. “Not guilty,” Adam said, raising one hand. “I wasn’t even in the country at the time.” Ehecatl and Mazatl had both gotten drunk when the news reports had begun mentioning the rumor, however.

  The titan smiled faintly, but his eyes were troubled. No, Steelsoul Godslayer, it was not by your hand that he perished—and with relatively little collateral damage. Every one of his god-born, dead, cooked from within. Every effigy of his, every written mention of his name, gone. Wiped out in an instant. This was not the work of a mortal man, or the work of a mad godling. This was the work of a god.

  Adam saw the grimace cross Loki’s face. I had come to that same conclusion. My suspicions revolve around Rome.

  Eighty-nine percent probability that it was a Roman god, yes. Today, Tohil, a Quechan sun and rain god, had his spark extinguished. In precisely the same manner. Every one of his god-born, wiped out. His name effaced. Quecha and Nahautl defied Rome by conducting sacrifices. This was their warning and their punishment. Prometheus shook his head. Zeus was very creative in his punishments for me. Jupiter doesn’t seem to have the same imagination . . . or else, he is delegating the task to another god.

  “To which one?” Trennus asked, quickly. “If we know which one, we might be able to . . . well, not bargain, precisely, but anticipate the next move.”

  Precisely my own line of thought, Worldwalker. Judging by my previous experiences, and based on the information I have gained in the past several years, I would put the probability in the high eighties that the god who killed Xipe Totec and Tohil was Hermes. Or by his Roman name, Mercury. Once lightest of heart of all the Olympians. Time has altered him. Prometheus sighed.

  Fritti raised a hand. “Forgive me, but what does this have to do with . . . any of us?”

  Adam stared down at the table. “The gods of Valhalla and the god
s of Gaul have also defied Rome,” he said, feeling tightness in his chest as his heart began to pound. Adrenaline, his old friend, hit his bloodstream. He didn’t need it or want it right now, but it was there. “I told Sig months ago that we needed to be on guard in case someone tried to kidnap or kill her on behalf of Rome. I expected a special ops team.” He raised his head, staring Prometheus down. “I take it that that would be a low-percentile probability? Which of the Valhallan and Gallic gods is a likely target . . . shit.” He looked at Trennus. “You and Saraid are soft targets.”

  Trennus grimaced, and Saraid’s fangs bared, briefly. Prometheus shifted uncomfortably. Several gods of the north live outside of Valhalla, and yes, Worldwalker and Saraid would make for easy targets, with a high degree of public view. They were also present for the deaths of several major gods, which would make them excellent targets.

  “I already have to stay in the Veil three to four months a year,” Trennus asserted. “I won’t be forced into it permanently.”

  Prometheus held up a hand. Let me work through it. Jormangand is . . . theoretically weaker than an Olympian, but Mercury would not wish to make the attempt, and killing him wouldn’t punish the northern gods overly. Fenris committed the actual ‘crime,’ but he’s proven himself perfectly capable of taking on two gods at once, and winning. He’s also prophesied to be the death of Odin, the sun, the moon . . . I wouldn’t want to fight him. There is a high probability that Mercury would ignore Fenris, in favor of one or two other choice Valhallan targets. He pointed at Loki. Forty-nine percent chance that you are the next target. Of course, you are a trickster, as he is. There is professional courtesy among us, after all. A wicked grin crossed the titan’s face, matched by the one that crossed Loki’s. Also, forgive me, you are weakened. A kill is a kill, but he very likely must turn over all energies to Jupiter in . . . homage. Tribute.

  I am stronger than I was on my return. But not yet strong enough, no. Loki grimaced. Also, killing me would not entirely make all of Valhalla weep. We are growing in our ability to work together, but two thousand years of distrust does not become amity overnight. He turned, and looked at Sigrun. And that leaves you.

  Adam went very still. “Killing you, if the assassin follows his pattern, would destroy more than just you,” Sigrun pointed out, swiftly. “All of your god-born would die. Rig. Reginleif. Fritti is touched by you—”

  Frequently, yes. Loki’s grin was wicked.

  To Adam’s shock, Fritti reacted to that, both flushing and turning angry, at once. “Stop that!” she snapped, sharply. “This isn’t a joke!” It bespoke a level of equality in the relationship—whatever the relationship actually was—that staggered him.

  Sigrun had twisted to look back over her shoulder at Nith, and her voice became anxious. “You’re technically god-born of Hel . . . but if it’s every descendant . . . .”

  The bond is less direct than that between you and Tyr. I was subject to my progenitor, not to my grandsire. And even that link has been severed, as . . . others have been. Careful words.

  Prometheus grimaced. He will not approach you in the same manner that he approached the other gods, in their courts. He will very likely disguise himself as someone you know, trust, even love. He is a master of disguise. He can even deceive othersight.

  As can I. As can even my son. Loki tipped his head to the side. Fritti can see through such illusions. I believe that the ability is strong enough to protect her against even Mercury . . . but I do not know for sure. He gave Fritti a long look. For your safety, beloved, I will have to stay away a while. Until this is resolved.

  “That could take years,” Fritti said, emphatically. “No. Take me with you. I will not be separated from you again.” Again, that startling level of equality, which Loki tolerated with grace.

  Adam suspected that he was missing something. He raised a finger. “Excuse me. I assumed Sigrun would be a target because they think she’s primarily responsible for Tlaloc’s death. Which isn’t true.” He paused. “If they’re looking to send a message, why attack a valkyrie? Why not assassinate an entity like Tyr himself? The analysis doesn’t work for me.”

  Prometheus stared at him, and then sighed, turning towards Sigrun. You did not tell him.

  Sigrun remained silent. Adam’s stomach churned. “She hasn’t told me what?” He turned and looked at Sigrun, whose head had bowed, and tears were sliding down her cheeks. Tears that she normally immediately wiped away or otherwise concealed.

  Tears that had turned to frozen droplets of ice on her cheeks. “Sig?” Adam said, horrified.

  “Could you all give us a few minutes?” Sigrun asked, her voice rough. “We can work out a plan of action . . . after I’ve had a chance to talk to Adam.”

  Adam looked up, and saw no surprise on Tren’s face, just . . . compassion. Saw him and Saraid both squeeze Sigrun’s shoulders as they left. “Adam? Come next door and have some uisce beatha later,” Trennus said. “I think there’s a bottle left somewhere, and maybe even glasses.”

  No surprise on Fritti’s face, either, just absorption in her own problems as she and Loki walked out, their expressions suggesting that a silent argument was transpiring. Prometheus sighed, and apologized, And once again, I force your hand, Stormborn, before you are ready. I am sorry.

  And Nith . . . Nith laid his head against Sigrun’s shoulder for a moment, before twisting end-for-end and leaving the room as neatly as a cat. I will stand guard outside the window. Call me when you are ready.

  Adam waited until all the others had left, and turned to face Sigrun, who’d sat beside him, silent as a statue the whole time. Reached out, and touched the frozen tear on her cheek, lifting it away and staring at it as it melted on his finger. He didn’t know whether to be bewildered, angry, hurt, or betrayed. “Sig . . . What haven’t you been telling me?” He paused, and fear crept in to join the poisonous mix in his mind. “I’m not stupid. I’ve been aware that you and Trennus were keeping something from me, but I thought it was about the whole political disaster that is the Gallic-Gothic rebellion. And now I’m under the impression that everyone in the western world knew about . . . whatever this is . . . besides me.”

  She closed her eyes, and fear ate his innards like acid. There had never been a time in which they couldn’t talk to each other. From the very start, they’d bridged their vast cultural divide with words and humor. He took her cold hand in his. “Please just tell me what’s wrong.”

  Sigrun opened her eyes, and he saw despair in them. “I’ve been promoted,” she replied, dully. “I didn’t want it. I resisted it—consciously and subconsciously—for years. Prometheus wouldn’t let me hide behind my self-deception any longer.” She looked away for a moment. “Seneca wrote once, old Stoic that he was, Optimum est pati quod emendare non possis.”

  “It is best to endure what you cannot change,” Adam translated automatically out of the classical Latin she’d just used, and shook his head. “I don’t understand. Promoted?” It didn’t tally with her expression of despair. She’d turned down promotion after promotion in the Praetorians, preferring to remain in the field and shying away from desk positions as if highly allergic to foolscap and ink. Though, truthfully, a god-born with her talents would be wasted in an administrative job. But he was well aware of her aversion to stepping out of her perceived place. “Sig, what are you talking about? What can’t you change?”

  “We’re breaking Sophia’s future,” Sigrun told him, her voice little more than a thread of sound. “And to that end, Prometheus told me that I’d absorbed power from Tlaloc. Enough to control weather subconsciously.”

  Adam blinked. “That much, I knew. I kept logs of the weather, and your moods, wherever we went.” He gave her a direct look. “It used to rain when you wept. It stormed, when you fought. And whenever we’d had . . . relations . . . gentle rain. Just enough to soak the ground.”

  Color stole into her face, and she nodded, once. “Fertility. Tlaloc’s water aspect was what made him He Who Makes Thin
gs Sprout. Apparently, I can make it rain and feed people, but that’s as far as the fertility goes.” A faint shrug. Sigrun hadn’t even mentioned her barren condition in twenty-three years. Not since Loki had told her why he’d cursed her. “I have been controlling the ability since I became aware of it. No one should suffer for my moods.”

  His teeth ached momentarily as he ground them. “I haven’t seen even a gentle rain in a long time, Sig.”

  “You haven’t been . . . well . . . for a few years.” She looked away.

  He still had urges and drives. But the arthritis in his hips and knees made almost all sexual contact excruciatingly uncomfortable, other than Sigrun being on top, and that had never been their favorite position; he found it difficult to reach his climax, and she had similar problems. The blood pressure medications he was on also made it difficult to maintain an erection, which was embarrassing to the point that he was almost considering asking Lassair for help. So most evenings together lately had been largely celibate. It was frustrating, and it made him irritable.