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

by Deborah Davitt

  Minori shuddered, and Lassair put a hand on hers now. Carrying mortals into and out of the Veil is extremely difficult for most spirits. I can hold an unborn child in the Veil, but even that . . . changes them. As mine have all been changed, though some of that is their bond with me. And consider what happened to Shadeslore’s servants, when Illa’zhi took them through the Veil.

  “I know, I know.” Minori swallowed. “Trennus is unusual in his ability to carry people through the Veil. Efreeti charge enormous tolls for such, which is why it’s not commonly done . . . yet.”

  This time, Kanmi forced the words out, audibly inside their minds. Teleportation . . . game-changer. Once one side does it . . . all sides will . . . Not a convention. No treaties . . . Just new. He looked directly at Min. Don’t. Not till . . . no other choice.

  Reginleif stared down at her plate. “I was born in 1769,” she said, quietly, and sensed Minori’s head lifting, sharply. “I’m two hundred and twenty-four this year. My grandfather took me to see hot air balloon exhibitions, because he wanted to share the air with me, even if it was just once.” Her smile was bittersweet. “He didn’t live to see the first airplanes, of course. Or ornithopters. Or rockets. The application of science to warfare has actually outpaced the development of new magical techniques in this century.” She looked up. “Be certain that you know what you’re about to unleash, before you use it.”

  Minori nodded, slowly. “I agree. And so does my guest,” she replied, tapping her right temple. “But I don’t see what else we can do when entire districts have been depopulated and turned into ghul. More mouths for the mad gods.”

  Reginleif balanced an untasted shrimp on her fork. “I don’t have answers, Minori.” She finally took a bite of her food, and had to stifle a noise of pleasure as her salivary glands surged to life. People didn’t understand the pleasure of corporeality.

  The conversation shifted then, Lassair putting two fingers to her full lips. So, other than discussing this new way to light great fires, why have you called me here? For my part, I would like to express that Masako must find a god or a spirit to bind herself to. Or else I will see my poor Solinus grieving like Stormborn, ere long.

  “That’s a topic for another time,” Minori said. Reginleif was unable to read the expressions that crossed their faces, as a silent conversation passed before her eyes, and she found herself on the end of a speculative stare from Lassair.

  Truthsayer says that you sought my assistance in a matter of passion? Lassair’s voice was now intrigued, and she leaned across the table, studying Reginleif.

  The silent laughter of Kanmi Eshmunazar was surprisingly loud. Reginleif ignored it, however, and let her valkyrie self come forwards, indifferent and cool. “Minori misspeaks for her own amusement,” she said, setting her fork down. “It may seem a little less momentous than the rest of the conversation, but I require your assistance for an old friend of mine.”

  . . . it’s always for a friend, never for themselves . . . . Scratch, scritch, went the fountain pen.

  “In this case, I speak only the truth.” Her tone was repressive. “Minori tells me that you are looking for passion. I have an old friend in need of that, and in need of healing. Brandr Ilfetu.”

  The pen hovered over the foolscap, but even Kanmi appeared to be stricken wordless for the moment. Regin folded her hands, and went on, calmly, looking directly at Lassair, “I’ve known him for almost ninety years. He’s a good man. You’ve met him, of course. Like most bear-warriors, he keeps his passions fairly tightly controlled when not in battle. They can be dangerous when allowed to run unchecked.” A muscle twitched in her cheek. “All god-born can be dangerous in that way. Yes, I am living proof of that.” She returned her gaze to Lassair, whose mouth had dropped open. It was an interesting challenge, persuading a creature who was more or less persuasion incarnate, herself. She couldn’t rely on her siren’s voice. Reason and rationality might not even affect Lassair. But titillation might. Novelty. “I cannot vouch for it personally, but it’s widely rumored that if they direct the adrenal rush, not into battle, but into bed, the experience is quite exceptional.” Reginleif found another shrimp lurking below the kelp, and ate it, this time not tasting it at all. “You have been searching for passion. Brandr should have such in his life, rather than paying for the services of whores. He could not be a conduit for you entirely, as he is already sealed to Thor, but he is a man of both passion and principle. He may suit you.” She shrugged. “And if you find that you do not enjoy his company, I am told you are an excellent matchmaker. Perhaps a nieten or a jotun female might do for him.”

  Lassair didn’t answer for a long moment. The fountain pen lifted, and wrote, Asha at a loss for words . . . note the date and time. . . . .

  Finally, Lassair asked, sounding lost, Why do you ask this of me?

  Reginleif finished her salad, and put a few coins on the table to pay for it. “Because I see pain that I have caused,” she replied, simply. “And I would like to see it healed. Once, I saw things that I deemed broken, and I tried to solve the problems by hitting them with the biggest hammer I could find.” She glanced at Minori, hoping the woman would hear more in her words than she expressed directly. “These days? I try to fix the small things. They add up, eventually. Over time.” Give me another hundred years or so. She shrugged. “Asha, if you are willing, please let me know. I will make myself available to re-introduce the two of you at some taverna, and then make myself scarce.”

  I would be happy to be of assistance.

  Iunius 7, 1993 AC

  Solinus’ helicopter arrived at the Jerusalem airport late on the evening of dies Veneris. Masako met him there, with the children in tow, and he dropped his duffel to the ground as Shiori threw herself at him with wild abandon, and Astegal toddled towards him, managing to fall along the way. “You’re home!” Shiori shrilled. “Do you get to stay for long?”

  Behind them, Hanni clung to Masako’s hand, and Solinus got a good look at his adopted son for the first time in months, around Shiori’s head. Hanni still hunched in on himself, clearly ashamed as people in the airport glanced at him and his wings. But he stood up straighter than he had, months ago, and Sol gave Masako full credit for that. Considering I dropped a brand-new child in her lap and went back to war, she could have been pissed at me and taken it out on him. Instead, she’s working marvels with him.

  For most of his children’s lives, Solinus had largely been a face in a photograph. At least I never change, he thought, and stood, one child dangling from each arm. “Not for long, a thaisce,” he told Shiori, the endearment slipping out in his Pictish dialect of Gallic. “Just a week’s leave. Hanni, get over here and give me a wrist-clasp.” As Hannibal did so, smiling hesitantly, Solinus dropped down again and wrapped his arms around all three of them, weaving under the bat-like wings, and then stood again, with an audible grunt. “All right. You are officially getting heavy.” Shrieks of excited laughter and quite a bit of giggling informed him that the children, including Hanni, were enjoying themselves. “Anyhow, tonight, I get to spend with all of you. Tomorrow night, your mother and I get to go out a bit, and then next week while you’re all at school . . . I’m going to sleeeeeeep.” He held out his arms, the children still clinging to them and squealing madly, and managed to hug Masako. After a decorous public kiss, he set the children down, except for Astegal, who he carried under his left arm as he slung his duffel over his right shoulder. “What’s new?” he asked Masako. “I’ve been living in a news blackout on Ikaros.”

  Her dark eyes gleamed. “Lots of things. I’ll tell you after the children are down for the night.”

  “You’ll have to talk fast. I have plans for once they’re asleep.”

  “You always have plans.” She grinned up at him, and they both laughed. He spent the evening chasing after the children, picking Astegal up and tossing him into the air again and again until the boy’s spirit-born heritage burst through, and he landed in his father’s hands in a ball of
flame and hysterical giggles. “Pretty good,” Solinus told the toddler as the flames instantly dissipated once more. “Have to keep practicing, though.”

  “I can’t do that,” Shiori pouted.

  “No, you’re more like your mother and Grandmother Min and Grandfather Kanmi,” Solinus told her, calmly. “I used to tease your mother incessantly about not being able to summon fire. And you know what she’d do to me? Put my fires out by removing all the oxygen from the air just under my neck. So I could still breathe, but I couldn’t burn.” Solinus picked up his daughter, as always, amazed by the fact that he and Masako had made this stubborn, complex little creature. “A sorcerer is a very good thing to be.”

  He went over Hanni’s schoolwork with the boy; he was a year older than Shiori, and they’d all been afraid that his trauma and amnesia would put him behind his classmates, especially in a Judean school. But most instruction was done in Latin, and he wasn’t behind in any of his classes. There were, however, piles of notes from concerned teachers, suggesting that Hanni was getting along well with harpy classmates, but shied away from all physical contact with his schoolmates, and didn’t react well to aggressive behavior. Solinus’ eyebrows rose at one of the notes, which stated that when an older student had pushed the boy around, Hanni hadn’t resorted to his talons. Instead, twin swords made of light had appeared in his hands . . . direct evidence that some of the daeva’s power still lived inside of him. “It’s like I’m seeing my childhood all over again,” he admitted. “Somewhere, my old teachers are laughing. Still, Hanni, you can’t do that to your classmates. Some of them have seen things like you’ve seen. And some of them haven’t. But here, where it’s safe? We should act civilized. And show a little self-control. I’ll work with you on that before I have to go again.” He caught the quick, grateful glance from Masako, and swore inwardly. He really didn’t deserve her, and he knew it.

  She asked him a bit about his deployment over dinner, but Sol shook his head. He didn’t want to empty himself of everything he’d heard and seen in the past six months, at least not yet. And not in front of the children. “Later,” he promised. “Tell me about your research and your teaching, instead.” He paused. “Actually, are any of my siblings available for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Maccis still is. Fyriacus is on maneuvers. Inghean called to say Rig’s back tomorrow—she wasn’t expecting him for another month—”

  “Damn. His mission might not have gone very well, then.”

  “He’s alive. I call that a success.” Masako reached across the table to touch his hand. “Mad god attack at the southern tip of Africa yesterday. There’s not a lot of information, but there were earthquakes. We know what that means.”

  Solinus rubbed at his face, his stomach churning. “You know, if the various war gods could be let off their leashes, we wouldn’t have the mad godlings anymore,” he said, sharply. “Tyr, Thor, the Morrigan, Sekhmet, Mars . . . they could hunt these things down—”

  “And then the war gods would have absorbed all that power,” Masako said, her lips pulling down. “And then what? They’d be more powerful than the chief gods of their pantheons. Can you imagine Jupiter permitting Mars to be more powerful than he is?”

  “War inside the pantheons,” Solinus said, glumly. “Instead of between them, the way it looks like it’s going . . .” He looked up. “You ready to sell our house and move to Da’s old one? Assuming everything actually works out and we can keep the family in Jerusalem?”

  “I had a real estate agent come through last week. I was going to move us once you were back in the field, and put this one on the market then.” Masako’s shoulders slumped. “Everything’s falling to pieces, isn’t it, Sol?”

  Before he could answer, there was a shattering sound from the sink, and they both leaped up, too late to save the plate that had fallen from Shiori’s hands.

  “Whoops,” Shiori remarked, staring down at the shards. And then, sudden realization. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to break it!”

  Before any of the rest of them could move, Hannibal was already there, picking up the pieces, his face woebegone. Another of the notes from the school had indicated that he tended to get distressed when things broke. When things were out of order. “You need to pay attention,” Masako told their daughter, but glanced at Hanni now. “But it’s not a big deal. We can all put the plate back together in the morning. Because that’s what we do when something’s broken.”

  Once the children were settled into bed, Solinus caught Masako in his arms, and carried her into their bedroom. Kissed her as fervently as he ever had, and set about undressing her . . . and stopped when he found markings on his wife’s back. “What’s this?” he murmured, sliding a finger down the vividly-colored image of red roses, twining along a black vine from her upper right shoulder to her left hip; the vine was surrounded by shimmers of flame, the colors ranging from violet to red. “This is beautiful, Saki. It had to have taken you months to have done.” He’d never asked Masako to put the Matrugena bears on her arms. The vine, however, he wanted to kiss his way along. And promptly did, even though she began to laugh at him.

  “It’s an irezumi,” she told him. “An enchanted one. I finally found someone who’d fled Nippon who could do what I wanted.”

  “Oh? What does it do?”

  “Protects me from fire. Pretty much all fire, besides walking into open lava.” Masako looked over her shoulder, under her lashes. “No more having to concentrate on holding onto my spells in bed. Also, useful, when I go back into combat—”

  He didn’t even let her finish the sentence, catching her mouth with his, and pushing her down, gently but urgently, onto the bed . . . which, it turned out, once he scrabbled the covers aside, she’d put flame-retardant cloths across. “No holding back?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “None,” she told him, cheerfully, and Solinus took her at her word, joining their bodies with a groan of absolute relief, and truly let go with her for the first time ever. The fire alarms went off. After the first time, and having to deal with Hanni’s terror, and having to reassure him that no, the magi weren’t coming for him, Solinus wisely took all the batteries out for the time being.

  One night’s risk seemed worth it.

  The next night, Minori took the children for them, which left Solinus and Masako free to spend time with some of the other young people in their extended family. Maccis, Zaya, Inghean, and Rig all met them, and Maccis shook his head when they all tried to decide where they were going to go for the evening. “Some magus named Tehro recommended a taverna to Zee called Psyche’s Wings that turned out to be the hunting grounds for the single, lonely, and desperate,” Maccis said, and Zaya flushed, vividly red. “Past that, the only places I currently hear about are jotun and fenris places. You won’t want to go there.”

  Masako held up a finger. “Wait. Tehro sent you to Psyche’s Wings?” She started to laugh. “I’ve heard about that place.”

  Solinus shook his head. “The place had a reputation even ten years ago.”

  “Isn’t Tehro a little old to be going there? He’s in his fifties, and married.” Masako shook her head.

  “That’s probably precisely why he’s going there,” Rig told her, and Solinus laughed. Rig looked at the rest of them. “I have no idea where to go. So long as the food is warm and no one there tries to kill me, I’m fine.”

  Zaya was giving Maccis a dirty look, still. “I think we should go to one of these fenris and jotun places that I’ve heard absolutely nothing about,” she said, firmly.

  “You’re not going to want to go,” Maccis told her, smiling faintly. “The chairs will be uncomfortable.”

  Solinus took that as a bit of a dare, and they made their way deep into Little Gothia, where they found Mjolnir, a taverna named for Thor’s legendary hammer, which was located in a repurposed warehouse building. The main entrance at the back . . . previously the loading dock area, with the roll-up door left partially open to the night air. Th
e jotun bouncers inside gave their group a glance askance, and one of them pointed at a sign stenciled in spray-paint on the wall: Small-folk are responsible for their own safety. Portions are sized for a jotun or fenris adult. Children’s menus are available. Please ask your waiter about the lutefisk!

  “We’ll take our chances,” Solinus told the jotun, grinning. Masako was taking this in stride, his twin, Inghean, eyed the alleyway cautiously, and Zaya clutched Maccis’ arm and crowded into him, eyes wide, as amazed as if she’d been walked through the Veil to an alien world.

  Inside, the taverna retained most of its warehouse ambiance, though it smelled clean. The ceilings were thirty feet high, and the floor was still a poured-stone slab. The dining area was divided between low tables and high; the low tables were clearly for the fenris families that gathered around them, and the huge tables and metal chairs on the other side of the dining area were intended for jotun bulk. Solinus knew he was tall for a human male, but as they took their seats, his legs dangled a foot above the floor, like a child’s, and Masako needed a boost up into her seat. “I could have lifted myself,” his wife said, with some dignity.