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

by Deborah Davitt

  Thor’s flyt had revealed to Nith the central conundrum of his own existence. He’d learned to accept pain, it was true. Physical pain. He’d deadened himself to the emotional pain of his relationship to his progenitor over the centuries. And in order to ensure that Hel could not hurt him further, that she would have no hooks, no leverage on him, Nith had taught himself not to want anything. To desire nothing. Any desire could result in the destruction of the object of that desire. He might even be required to destroy it, himself. Just being in Sigrun’s life as a faithful hound at first, had been enough. Then a trusted ally. A companion. A friend. It was enough, because it had to be enough. To ask for more invited the destruction of everything.

  His words startled her, and she pulled back, lifting her head. She knew that Nith had, if not secrets, then at least things of which he chose not to speak. Horrible things that he had seen, or been forced to do, over the centuries. Every civilization was built on blood. And he’d been there for most of the building. Then give me the burden of your heart, my friend. I will carry it for you.

  I love you. He forced the thought out. I have loved you since I met you. Is that not strange? He couldn’t explain it to her in words. How could he show her the fear and the wonder in her eyes when they’d met in the Odinhall? The freedom in her flight, in her spirit? The scent of power, so much like his own, the sense of resonance between them as they flew? The fact that while she’d been terrified, she’d still dared to fly with him, and had been smiling and laughing by the end. Two things so foreign to his existence, he’d only seen them at a distance, till that moment.

  Her eyes stung again, and she shook her head, numbly. You have never met anyone else. Your mother twisted and tortured you, and held you back from all acquaintance for two thousand years. You cannot judge if you love—

  A low rumble of sound broke from the dragon’s chest. Yes, I can. I know what is in my heart. You have always treated me as a friend, as a person, even when I was as mute as a beast. You are my freedom. My salvation. My stubborn friend who does not value herself as she ought. You shared the skies, your battles, and your power with me. You have shared the burdens of your heart, and I have shared mine with you.

  I share myself-as-goddess with you. Sigrun touched the dragon’s face, very gently. You have taught me how to be one.

  And you have shared yourself-as-mortal with me. Welcomed me into your home and your life. Asked me to help care for the younglings. Oh, how I loved chastising the ones who were cruel, the tormentors.

  I didn’t understand then, why it amused you so. But they were like your progenitor, in small ways. Sigrun’s lips tugged up at the corners. Not one of the school bullies had ever come near Rig or Inghean again, though the incident had gotten the neighborhood parents up in arms.

  Yes. Nith nodded, pulling her hand free to slide the length of his jaw, with its lethal teeth. You have let me become. Before, I was Hel’s weapon. Now, you allow me be whom I wish. You have changed not my Name, but the meaning of my Name. Malice-Striker, the one who smites the evil, the malicious, the untrue. He hesitated again. I would have shared more. Would have given you all that I am. I am sorry, Sigrun. I know that your heart is heavy now. And I know that it is given. I just . . . did not wish to die, without having said the words. I will go now.

  He turned, nose-to-tail, padding towards the door with a rustle of scales, already casting his mind forward into the battles that they would face on the morrow. He had to trust that they would be too involved in the fight, for any discomfort or awkwardness to occur.

  Don’t . . . don’t go. Please, don’t go. She caught at the upper hinge of one of his forelegs, trying to stop his movement, but he had halted in mid-motion at her first word. I love you, too.

  Nith’s head jerked upwards at the words, and an exhalation of frost lifted her hair away from her face. A kind of numb astonishment filled him. He hadn’t dared to imagine that response. And for a painful instant, he hesitated, wondering if this were a dream. That he’d somehow fallen asleep, and the dreams that haunted mortal rest were taunting him, and that somehow, inevitably, the vision would become a nightmare. You love many people, Stormborn. By your own words, you could have—should have loved Worldwalker. The summer’s king and winter’s queen. A fair match. You love his children as your own. You love Steelsoul and all the rest. I am grateful that there is a place for me in your heart alongside them.

  Sigrun moved around, in front of him, keeping herself between him and the door. Please, hear my words. Her throat tightened. You have guided me since my first faltering steps as a . . . goddess, she whispered. You have cared for me, guarded me during my sleep for years. Always been at my side, when you were most needed. She paused, lowering her head. You even forgave me when I was a fool enough to . . . ignore and deny what I was. And when I ignored and denied you, in so doing. You would have had every right to wash your hands of me. She snorted a little. You refuse to let me hide in the corners. You wouldn’t let me . . . punish myself for . . . being what I am. You fly with me, you lighten my heart. You bring joy to me, Nith. And I do love you.

  The moonfire eyes half-closed as she ran her hands along his jaw again. If I never have more than this, I am well-content. To have even this much? I am rich.

  Sigrun hesitated. Closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. For all her brave words of feeling unencumbered by the past, the past was always there. That was life. I gave him back the ring.

  There was a pause. I know. It was difficult not to overhear the argument. Nith exhaled. Here was the moment when he would wind up destroying the thing he wanted most. But he could not give her anything but honesty. Forgive me. I could not tell you, for it was not my secret to give you, but he did tell me that he thought himself fated to become a godslayer.

  Sigrun’s eyes snapped open, and her head jerked up. What did you just say?

  He’d expected the flare of anger. I suggested that becoming god-touched might void that fate. An Immortal, castrated, inhuman things that they are, cannot be made from a god-born or a spirit-touched. A god-born can only become the avatar, the vessel, of the god from whose lineage they have sprung. So it seemed likely that being sealed to someone would prevent an Aetheric spirit from possessing him. Nith’s voice was quiet. He said no. Even though it might prevent him from becoming the thing he feared.

  She pulled to cover her face with her hands. Can you forgive me for not having told you? There was dread in his voice, and a kind of dull acceptance.

  Sigrun nodded, tightly. She was angry . . . but she was actually far angrier with Adam, than with Nith. Adam had told Nith, and not her. Probably because he’d known she’d have told him the exact same thing as Nith. Which meant . . . . He’d already made his decision. Long before he knew he’d made the decision. She was still wearing, she realized, the watch Adam had given her, years ago, or at least, her manifestation of it. She took it off with quick motions, setting it on the mantelpiece, where Odin’s raven gave it an experimental peck. At the moment, it hurt to look at, and putting it aside meant that she wouldn’t throw a gift, given in love and consideration, into the wall.

  Another long, painful pause. You . . . he . . . . Nith stumbled. I have always respected Steelsoul. Honored him. Enjoyed flying with both of you, when he piloted his airplane. He was a warrior, and he helped slay Hel. He helped slay Baal-Hamon. Nith hesitated, choosing his words carefully. I would have accepted him being soul-bound to me, for that it would have kept him alive, and young, and would have given you joy. And I might have shared some small spark of that joy. He paused again. And yet, I say he is a fool.

  A fool?

  Yes. He has been offered . . . everything. Eternity with the woman he loves, and who loves him. And instead, he has chosen his mortality over you. He has denied you, every day. He denies himself. And you are one for whom I would dare anything.

  He loves me. He just can’t believe in me. She looked down.

  A diamond claw touched her cheek, and Sigrun looked up, startled. He lo
ves the mortal parts of you. He even cherishes the spark of divinity. He just cannot accept its blaze.

  She nodded, silently. There was another pause. You still love him.

  I love who he was. Who we were, together. I still honor him, and respect his accomplishments.

  But do you love who he is now?

  I care for him. But I gave him the ring to make it clear to him that he can have only one thing. Me, or the monster. He must choose.

  He would say that you are asking him to choose between you, and saving the world. The words were utterly neutral.

  No. I have asked him to come save the world with me every day for seven years. The lump of misery in her throat was threatening the clarity of her thoughts, her sensation of freedom from the past. No more, Nith. I pray you, no more.

  The dragon advanced, a single step, his claws scratching the wooden floor. Forgive me. I needed to understand. In the past, you have . . . forgiven him for this rejection.

  I know that we hurt the ones we love. It is an inevitable part of living. Forgiveness is part of that . . . and if I had my Adam back . . . But that was mendacity, and she knew it. Requiring him to be the young Adam again was saying that the individual could not change or grow. As she had changed and grown herself. But she thought that the young Adam, the Adam who had never seen the mad gods unleashed, might have accepted her goddess-self. Might have seen it as one more adventure. But the world had worn and eroded them into who they were now. Humans shaped everything; themselves, each other, and the gods, who shaped them in return. Everything was symbiosis.

  If he were young, hale, hearty once more, could he fight beside you tomorrow? Gentle words.

  No. The word was leaden as she leaned against Nith’s side, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He has not grown the way . . . the rest of us have. He is mortal, and fights in a mortal’s fashion. He does it very well. He has slain gods. But he cannot stand beside me. Another thought, barely a whisper. As you do.

  Nith’s eyes half-closed. If today you met who he was when he was twenty-five, would you still fall in love with him?

  The circumstances would be different, she said, consideringly. His soul would still be as beautiful to me as it was then, all honor and loyalty and hidden depths. But I would not be a Praetorian. I would have no reason to know him, beyond an exchange of words with his superiors. She sighed. That doesn’t change the past. That doesn’t erase the years between us. They were good years, Nith, in the main.

  Of course it does not. Of course it should not.

  I sense the word ‘however’ looming in this discourse. She couldn’t find that moment of clarity, of balance again. Of feeling unshackled by the past, which surrounded her again, clutching her.

  Yes. You are now not what you were then. You are what I am. I have lived for over two thousand years, and if I survive this coming battle, I may live two thousand more. In two thousand years, the forty-four years you have spent with him will be . . . equivalent to a year and a half, as a mortal experiences it. Nith’s tone became gentle. Not meaningless. Never that. But you will have much more perspective with which to understand it.

  Will there come a time when it does not hurt? Her voice was forlorn.

  Nith wrapped his tail around her, from her toes to her throat, and squeezed gently, wishing he could give some better gesture of care. His body was meant for killing, not for comforting. It will never not hurt. Especially given his apparent decision. He remained baffled by Steelsoul’s actions, and it was difficult not to hate the man for the hurt he’d done Sigrun. And yet . . . Nith respected Adam ben Maor as a fellow warrior. An ally. And at the same time, he also felt a sneaking hint of relief. Because, but for Steelsoul’s intransigence? Nith would not be having this conversation now. Would not have the gift of Sigrun’s affection to cherish in his heart. Nith was aware of all three emotional valences, and chose his words carefully, honestly . . . and he hoped, not self-servingly. But there will come a time when you remember him as someone you once knew. Who taught you, loved you, and gave to you, and whom you can forgive for his choices. And in time, you may even come to forgive yourself. He sighed, exhaling frost. If we have time. Centuries wasted, and now, we may not even have more than tomorrow. He paused. All of us know . . . that mortal love is finite. It ends. Sometimes, it leaves lessons and gentle memories. His wings slid forward, sheltering her. But most of what it seems to leave behind is pain.

  The poets tell us that love is infinite. That it gives us the capacity for greatness, for nobility. That in love, we come closest to the gods. The words were simple. And suddenly, she found the clarity again. The sense of living in this moment. Unbound. No more, Nith. I love him. And I love you. A mortal love, and an immortal one. One who will leave me, and one who will never forsake me.

  Another frost-laden sigh. I would have waited for you, Sigrun Stormborn. Till the world’s end, and beyond. I would have waited until his certain death of old age had passed, and comforted the sorrow of your mortal heart. I would have waited until the pain had transmuted into gentle memory and love, and only then would I have spoken. This is not as I would have wished. Not in bitterness. Not in pain. Not in despair.

  She shook her head slowly. No. No bitterness, Nith. No pain. No despair. I am not Sigrun, the valkyrie of the Eddas, who always chose the man in love with death. She reached up, and again stroked his black-silver scales. I am Sigrun Stormborn. And I choose life. She looked up at him. In the coming battle, we may very likely die. But now, there is no time. There is no past. There is no future. There is only us. I would . . . I would have one moment for the two of us, before the end. She kissed his muzzle. The end of the world is here. I love you, you who are so much more than mere death and darkness. I love you with my goddess-self, and I love you with my mortal heart. Will you take it, though it bleeds?

  I will tend to it, and hope to see it mend.

  A long moment passed, and Sigrun told him, softly, Show me your human face.

  Nith stopped moving. I . . . do not know what it looked like. I never saw my own face. I do not even know how to be human.

  I do not know how to change form at all. But I wish to see your face, and touch it, and know that you can actually feel my fingers. Can you not try? A little quirk of her lips, and then she bit the lower one.

  He struggled with it. I have tried, before. The experiments were not particularly successful. The admission was embarrassed. When you have been wounded, as I have told you, I carried you to your chamber to let you heal. He caught her look of embarrassment. I could have carried you in my teeth, but you were so badly injured on those occasions, it seemed I would do less damage with . . . hands. He shifted, uneasily.

  She felt herself flush. You did confess once to having found my garments confusing.

  There was nothing improper about it, he told her, his head lowered. Fear that he never experienced in combat, now filled his voice. Fear of . . . her. Of her rejection. You were burned and bleeding, every time.

  She touched his muzzle, gently. Then you managed arms and legs, at least?

  More or less. His scales rasped on themselves. Lassair, Saraid, and all their kin make this look so easy. He paused, and then reached out with his tail, delicately working the latch of the door. Leave, yrmahrefna, he told the raven that perched on the mantel. I will have no report to Odin of what I look like, as I struggle with mortal form.

  Huginn’s caw sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and the raven flew off, through the wall, as if it weren’t even there. Sigrun pulled the door closed now, with a muffled snort. Damnable stormcrow, she said, quietly. You don’t have to, Nith. I just . . . She shook her head. It’s hard to put my arms around you, like this.

  He did his best. Tried to envision being small. Fragile. Unarmored, with soft skin, and hair. Virtually unarmed, dangerously vulnerable. It was terrifying. Horrifying. He shook as his form shifted and blurred, dropped to a crouch that felt wrong, because his knees no longer bent the proper way, and then stared down at his hands, rec
ognizing them from the times he’d carried Sigrun in this shape. They were still covered in black-silver scales, shifting and flowing uncertainly, as his morphic field fought the transition . . . but as paws went, they were tiny. He couldn’t scythe through a building with these wretchedly small talons. What use is this form? he thought, and kept his face turned away from Sigrun. He could feel the features moving. Rippling. His muzzle and fangs kept trying to reassert themselves.

  Nith? She reached out, hesitantly. The black-silver scales were still death-cold to the touch. Why will you not look at me?

  I . . . do not know how my face should appear. You must give me one. She could hear terror in his voice, and understood it. This was the forbidden form. Just as she had been forbidden mirrors, he had been forbidden himself.