Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 1: Books 1-3 Read online

  Odin turned slowly to the berserk. He was completely oblivious to what was happening to Ve. Gods, they had ignored their little brother. And now … now Odin was going to fix it. No matter what it took, he was going to save Ve. No, not just Ve. He was going to save all his people.

  “Well?” Vili asked. “These Norns?”

  Odin hesitated. The Norns spoke in riddles, but what he’d understood of it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, like a splinter in the back of his mind. Talk of fire and flood and betrayal would only distress the others, and even if it were all true, they could do naught about it. “You know vӧlvur. Stuck on their own mysteries. Now is the time for drink.”

  Vili chuckled and nodded. “Meat and mead both!” Just like that. The world was so simple to Vili—action without consideration of consequences. Odin tried to share his joy, but there was no joy in him. He could feel the emptiness in his own heart, borne of his failures and weaknesses. Failures he could not repeat. And it wasn’t his brother’s counsel he needed, was it? For a time he sat with Vili, before slipping off to find Loki.

  He had not gone far however, when Tyr intercepted him. Part of him wanted to wave the thegn away, to push forward toward the only thing that mattered. Loki might know where to go to save Ve. But Odin himself had made Tyr his champion and his voice, and he had made an oath to Idunn as well. “What is it?”

  Tyr grunted, dropping whatever greeting he’d intended. “I did what you asked. Found a way to draw the Hasding tribe to our side.”

  “Good. Yes.” Halfhaugr was central to all the tribes. If he controlled that, winning support at the Althing became that much easier. “What did you offer them?”

  “You are to marry the jarl’s daughter.”

  Odin sputtered. “Marry the … She’s a fucking vӧlva, you fool!”

  “Everyone will fear you. Respect you.”

  The king with a witch bride.

  “Jarl Hadding is not long for Midgard,” Tyr said.

  Odin groaned. And Frigg was his only heir. The plan had the barest hint of sense to it. Enough to keep him smacking Tyr for his folly. “You overstep your bounds.”

  “You said to make you king. Few drops of blood on the wedding bed. Save you rivers of blood on the battlefield.”

  Odin clenched his fists at his side. Gods but he wanted to hate Tyr for this. “I have other things to tend to.”

  He left Tyr standing there, no longer caring what the man had to say. Only Ve mattered now.

  Odin’s blood brother had climbed a hill some distance outside the town and sat alone beside a small fire. The trek was short, and after so long on horseback, any chance to stretch his legs was welcome.

  “Welcome back,” Loki said when Odin reached the top. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Odin slumped across the fire from Loki, then kicked at some of the loose kindling. The fire sputtered and seethed. Like Odin, recoiling from outside forces. Every step he took seemed to carry him further into damnation, all while Ve dwindled. “I’m not sure. But for certain Sleipnir was an aid. Thank you for that.”

  “Then keep him. He’ll be loyal to you for as long as you return it.”

  “A fine gift.” Not so long ago he’d seen the horse as monstrous. Now he knew better. Sleipnir was glorious. And everywhere Odin rode, men would look on with awe. Maybe that had been part of Loki’s plan all along. “And I want you to have something … Another of the apples, brother. One to give to whom you choose as your companion in life.”

  Loki opened his mouth, then swallowed without speaking.

  Odin raised his hand, forestalling the need for thanks. Loki had earned all Odin could give and more a dozen times over. And now Odin needed his counsel more than ever. The foreigner had a way about him, and if anyone could handle the details of his visit with the Norns, Loki could. Odin’s blood brother had become his last hope to save his true brother.

  He told Loki all he could recall of the Norns’ prophecies and riddles. And at last he told him what Idunn had said of Ve.

  And when he had finished, Loki nodded. “So what do you want to do?”

  A part of him wanted to simply ask Loki what to do. But if Odin was to be King of the Aesir—a role Idunn had forced upon him, true, but one he had pledged to accomplish—he needed to make such decisions himself. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out before speaking. “Tyr would have me marry Frigg Haddingsdotter. A vӧlva. But the Niflungar …”

  “You don’t know where to find them.”

  “I was hoping you would tell me.” The ghost’s curse coiled around his heart, crushing it, threatening to steal away those he cared most for. His brothers were all the family he had left.

  And all of this because of his damnable pride on the mountain. Had he not gone after Ymir, Ve would not have caught so much of the mists. He’d not have needed sanctuary in the Odlingar castle. The varulfur would not have come to the feast. Like a wretch, he brought misery upon his tribe and his own kin. Or was he but a fool for not considering the consequences? For not heeding Heidr’s warnings about the cost of all actions. No way remained to him, save forward.

  “What of Tyr’s plan, then?”

  “Marry Frigg?” The woman was attractive, for certain, but Odin was hardly ready to settle down with a wife. “Marriage would mean passing up on a great many willing girls. Why settle for one love when you can have many?”

  Loki raised an eyebrow. “Is that love?”

  Odin shrugged. “Physically speaking, anyway. Besides, the woman is a vӧlva. How could I marry someone like that?” Legend said to sleep with a vӧlva was to risk falling under her spell. To say naught of dealing with a wife who’d always have to act like she knew more than she really did. That bit was like to grow tiresome about three days into the marriage. If that much.

  “A vӧlva touches the Otherworlds, and is touched by them in turn. The marriage might serve more than one end, should you let it.”

  Now it was Odin’s turn to raise a brow.

  “What do you know of seid, brother?”

  “A vӧlva’s magic. They see things, know things, can bespell a man’s mind.”

  Loki nodded, then stirred the fire. “There are two kinds of energy at play within us, Odin. One kind is stronger in men, one kind stronger in women. When men and women are intimate, they can draw out a small portion of the opposing energy, balancing our own. When you bring her to fulfillment, part of the energy she gives you will be that that feminine energy.”

  Odin scoffed. “You’re saying I can fuck the magic out of a witch?”

  Loki frowned. “That was vulgar. If you are to be a king, you must rise above vulgarity, no matter where you came from. What passes for the jarl of a small tribe will not pass for a king. And, no, that wasn’t what I was saying. Naught is lost, just shared. Her vital energy passes into you as yours passes into her, and from it you may gain a hint of seid.”

  “That’s a power for women.”

  Loki raised a finger to forestall the objection. “You want to unite the Ás tribes under your banner, and you’re going to be swayed against gaining power and insight because it’s unmanly? Perhaps Idunn did not choose her champion carefully enough.”

  Odin’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to keep them in his lap. “How dare you? I will lead our people.” He would do aught to save Ve.

  “Then lead. Take the power from her, and you may gain a glimpse of the things she sees. With it, you might understand riddles that otherwise leave you out in the cold.”

  Odin grunted in disgust. Tyr had little love for Odin’s foreign brother, but they both of them agreed on this damned wedding. And if it could tell him where to find the Niflungar …

  Gods, Loki was right. Marrying Hadding’s daughter would give him so many things he needed. And maybe, one day, there could be something more between them. She was regal, intelligent. She would make a fine queen. And other tribes couldn’t help but fear the man with the monstrous horse and the vӧlva queen. He sighed and
let his face fall into his hands.

  Finally he stood. “Prepare yourself. We leave for Halfhaugr in the morn.”

  27

  Clay pots, metal vials, and bowls of Freyja alone knew what all came crashing onto the floor as Frigg swept her arm over her work table. Sigyn’s sister wailed and leaned against that table.

  After blowing out a slow breath, Sigyn moved to Frigg’s side and set a hand on her shoulder. Very few people ever saw a vӧlva lose her composure. The respect their titles carried demanded they hold themselves above others, above petty human emotions.

  Frigg turned toward her, and Sigyn embraced her older sister.

  “Naught I try helps him.”

  Sigyn held Frigg at arm’s length so she could see her face. Their father had had a long life—longer than most jarls could hope for. It was the way of things. But now that Frigg could no longer stave off the inevitable, she seemed to take it harder than she should have. Or maybe Sigyn would have felt the loss more poignantly had she not been pushed aside and cast out by nearly everyone she’d ever known.

  “Perhaps no brew can help him.” Sigyn squeezed her arms. “If it is his urd, he will die.”

  Frigg scoffed. “I didn’t think you believed in fate.”

  Sigyn shrugged. “You do, vӧlva. That’s really all that matters here. Not that I think that’s all that weighs upon your mind this afternoon. You’ve hardly left this room since Father agreed to have you wed. For all your plans to sway Odin, you never actually expected to get him, least of all like this. You went hunting for a bear and, on finding one, only then realized you have not armed yourself for such prey.”

  “Odin isn’t prey.”

  “And yet you pursued him as such. Had you slept with him, could you truly have swayed his mind with your trench? Or is that all vӧlvur bombast meant to discourage men from raping your kind?”

  Frigg’s face fell, touched by a hint of fear that tugged at Sigyn’s heart. She had not expected that.

  “You don’t know. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

  Frigg turned from her then, leaned back on the table, shoulders slumping.

  Damn. She never had learned to mind her tongue. “Don’t fret over it, all right. In fact, forget such things. You spoke with this man. Tell me of him.”

  “Angry … He is so angry.” Frigg turned to look at her now. “Consumed with it, like his insides were caught aflame. A fire rises in him, one fit to consume Midgard.”

  “Is that your vision?”

  Frigg sighed. “It was difficult to make sense of it. But I saw myself as his wife, side by side, ruling over a great city like the ones in tales of ancient times. And there was fresh water, greenery, plants—like summer. A summer that didn’t end. I think Odin won’t be a mere jarl—I think he will be a king. And there was war, yes, famine, flame.”

  Sigyn tapped her finger against her lip. What was she to say to something like that? Frigg seemed so convinced of herself, it almost made it hard to doubt her. So had she seen a vision of her future with Odin? And why was Sigyn even here, forcing her to talk of it? The decision definitely had naught to do with a masochistic need to see Frigg, of all people, find a marriage while Sigyn remained alone. “The Ás tribes have not had a king in a long time, but even if they raised one, what has that to do with summer?”

  Frigg considered for a moment, her eyes latched onto Sigyn’s face. “What if the world could change? The Vanir are said to live in islands of spring—of warmth that does not wither and fade after a few moons. What if somehow Midgard could share such a destiny?”

  Sigyn shook her head, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. Now they had devolved into true vӧlvur pomposity. Breathe in the smoke of a few strange plants and call the hallucinations visions. If that’s all it took, she could be a vӧlva herself. But these women convinced themselves what they saw was truth—albeit not always literal truth. It could be a metaphor. And since no one could really disprove a metaphor, a vӧlva’s visions could hardly be disputed. All very convenient.

  But Frigg clearly would not allow herself to be easily dissuaded about this. Sigyn sat on the cold stone floor. “The world has been covered by the mists of Niflheim for as long as anyone remembers. These stories about a time before the mist—they’re probably just stories. Who wouldn’t dream of a better world? No matter what world we live in, people will look around and imagine it could be or could have been better.”

  If Frigg thought some rage-mad jarl could change all of Midgard, she was thinking with her heart over her brain. And Sigyn was beginning to think Frigg did have feelings for Odin. Perhaps those feelings had been born of Frigg’s visions—a self-fulfilling prophecy of her love for him. And though Sigyn had not met him, he didn’t sound fit to be king of aught.

  “What if I could be a queen?”

  What if she could? She’d be like to spend the rest of her life watching for knives in her back.

  Frigg eyed her, as she sometimes did, clearly trying not to reveal what was going on in her mind. Sigyn knew well enough, though, even if Frigg would never admit it. She knew because her own thoughts had gone there—that Sigyn herself might prove a better heir to Jarl Hadding. She was younger, more beautiful, and not a vӧlva. She’d have been a decent match for a marriage alliance—if any man would have had her.

  Frigg, though, had had her first visions as a child. Visions damned a girl, forced her to look into the darkness and allow it to seep inside in the name of cultivating seid, in service to a tribe that would fear her. The tribe’s old vӧlva had taken Frigg away—and no father, not even a jarl, could deny a vӧlva her chosen quarry. And thus began the slow poisoning, the transmogrifying a girl into a witch, who, in moments of weakness, clung to shreds of a life that might have been.

  Sigyn tapped a finger against her lip. “Do you believe Odin has such ambitions?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps. Whether he has them or not, I believe he carries a weighty urd.” Frigg paused a moment, then sighed. “Father is … not long for this world. All my potions have only staved off the inevitable. I will need a strong husband if I am to hold leadership of this tribe. And that is to say naught of the numerous threats we face from without. The Skalduns, the Godwulfs, and the Vanir-damned Sviarlanders. And those are only the nearest threat. Were Father to have refused Odin, then we’d have made enemies of the Wodanar as well.”

  There. Frigg had accepted their father’s death, at least in some part of her mind. But Odin had sent his man here unbidden, offered marriage before Frigg or Hadding had finished sowing those seeds. And even Frigg realized that for the man’s actions to line up serendipitously with her plans—and her vision—ought to raise a few doubts. More than a few.

  “And you want me to find out where Odin’s true intentions lie. If he already plans to strive for kingship, and if his offer for your hand holds any ulterior motive.”

  Her sister sighed, looked back at the empty table. “You have a way of uncovering the truth of things, yes. But, Sigyn …” She turned, serious as ever. “Tread with care. Our whole tribe hangs in the balance.”

  For a heartbeat, Frigg’s calm trembled, her poise threatened as it so rarely was. Sigyn had seen her sister’s tears when her mother died, but she was so afraid to show anyone her true feelings. Was that vӧlva training? Was that need to hide herself something that had been beaten into her sister? Sigyn remembered running through the town square, laughing, chasing after a smiling Frigg, but that was so many years ago. Before the visions and the training and the loss.

  “Don’t worry,” Sigyn whispered. “I’ll figure it out.”

  28

  The baying of elkhounds greeted them as Halfhaugr drew nigh. Odin rode Sleipnir out ahead of his people. More than a third of the Wodanar had come. Warriors, berserkir, shieldmaidens, washerwomen, tradesmen. All he had invited to see his wedding. The numbers would serve as a message to Hadding, as well—a reassurance, perhaps, of the value of their alliance, or a threat should the jarl have second thoughts. Odin had
little time to worry overmuch on his oath to Idunn until he had saved Ve. But if the key to that lay between Frigg’s legs, he needed make damned sure her father could not change his mind.

  A scout approached as he drew nigh, a hound at his heels. Agilaz Farshot. He took in Odin’s entourage but made no comment. Not even a visible reaction to the eight-legged horse. A steady man this, perhaps a thegn.

  “We did not expect so many guests. I’d ask them to wait outside the town while I inform Jarl Hadding. He can make arrangements.”

  Odin looked back at his people. “I understand. We are eager to celebrate, of course.”

  “Of course.” Not even the hint of a smile. Stern bastard.

  But that name … Agilaz. Odin had not much considered it when they first met at Father’s funeral feast, but wasn’t Agilaz some famed archer from back in the Njarar War? Ve would have known. He learned all such tales.

  “Jarl Odin, I welcome you inside Halfhaugr, however. Frigg Haddingsdotter awaits you in the fortress.”

  So they wanted him to enter alone, separate from his warriors. A reminder of their own strength, of the strength of their walls. Hadding was a fool if he thought he could hold Halfhaugr against Odin’s men. The jarl could not have even guessed what Odin had become. Something far more than a man. So infused with the glory of Idunn’s apple, Odin could fight his way through a dozen men or more.

  He snorted, then dismounted. “Lead the way.”

  Inside the fortress, Frigg stood, hands behind her back. She wore the most elegant of green dresses, embroidered with golden knotwork that might have represented the boughs of Yggdrasil. Ironic, that the fruit of that very tree had made Odin immortal. The woman nodded respectfully as he drew nigh.

  Yes, she had beauty, grace, poise. And to save his brother, all he had to do was satisfy her. In his mind he tore the dress from her shoulders. Held her down until she shuddered beneath him, crying out in pleasure. The image seemed so real, he flushed. At least with his thick fur cloak, she probably couldn’t see the swelling in his trousers.