The Valkyrie's Shadow, page 4
Sigrid paused, caught off guard, then shrugged. “I only recently became one of them. We aren’t really…friends.”
“Ah.” The ship rocked, and he nudged the wheel. “The gods had much to say on the matter of friendship. ’Tis a bond built gift for gift, laughter for laughter; ’tis unwise to find friends in all who smile and flatter. Would you agree?”
“What?”
“The path to a foe is crooked and tough, even if they live nigh. But the path to a friend is easy and straight, no matter where they reside.”
“Right,” Sigrid said slowly. Whatever he was on about, she had yet to find an “easy and straight” path to anything in life. And she wasn’t about to start buying the valkyries gifts.
Laughter erupted from the group. Edith and Runa tied their legs together with a horse bandage and hobbled across the deck in a three-legged race. From the railing, their mares watched with disdain.
They were obviously having fun, but Sigrid had spent the bulk of her sixteen years—soon to be seventeen—shoveling their mares’ manure and oiling their saddles, and a number of them liked it that way. They liked that rank separation. This suited her fine.
Sigrid shook her head. It didn’t matter now. She had important matters to discuss with the man they’d rescued. Ready to steer the conversation back to Mariam, she said, “Thank you for taking us back to Vanaheim.”
“Gift for gift, Sigrid.” He spun the wheel, and they emerged from the woods into a flat, rocky landscape. Their route wound through columns of steam that billowed into the sky. While Sigrid nearly gagged at the overpowering rotten egg smell, Ratatosk inhaled deeply through his squirrel-like nose, seeming to relish it.
Gift for gift. Would he give one more?
“I wondered if…if you’d be able to do one more trip for me.” Her throat was tight. “There’s a valkyrie in Niflheim who needs to get back to Vanaheim, and I wondered if you could…” She swallowed hard when his unblinking eyes scrutinized her.
“You want me to do another free trip to bring this valkyrie home.”
Sigrid toed the deck, her face burning. “She belongs in Vanaheim.”
Ratatosk paused. Sigrid’s chest constricted, making it hard to breathe.
“I charge a fee for my services.” He wasn’t angry or stern, just factual.
Sigrid’s heart sank. “I know, but I hoped that given…” She motioned vaguely back toward Svartalfheim.
“I am taking you home for free,” Ratatosk said.
“I should hope so!” Sigrid exclaimed. Was Ratatosk really going to be stubborn with her after she’d rescued him?
He turned his beady gaze on her. “What can you offer me?”
“Other than your life?” she asked, then pursed her lips. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be snarky to a god.
Ratatosk’s eyes gleamed. The corner of his mouth might have twitched, but she couldn’t be certain.
“It’s a cart of gold for a trip like that,” he said.
Sigrid’s wages as a junior valkyrie would never be enough. She looked around desperately. What could she give him that would be as valuable as gold?
“The canvas on your ship,” she said, struck with inspiration. “The Night Elves severed it. I’ll find it and return it to you.”
She was careful not to specify when. But finding and returning the canvas would benefit everybody in the nine worlds, and this was something she had a chance of doing.
Ratatosk looked at the torn remains of it, which was supposed to be there to protect the ship’s passengers against monsters like Garmr. Again, the weapon used to break it was fused with magic Sigrid didn’t understand—something that could destroy the indestructible. Night Elf magic was beyond anything they knew in Vanaheim.
As he considered, her heart thumped. If he didn’t accept this offer, she didn’t know what else to do.
“I can go to Niflheim’s port,” he said. “But if she isn’t there, I won’t get off the ship and search for her. She has to come to me.”
Sigrid’s breath caught. She nodded. From across the cosmos, this was the best she could do for Mariam. If Mariam was ready to come back, she would go to the spring, right? “Thank you.”
He nodded once, then turned them sharply at a fork in the spring, his bushy red eyebrows pinched in concentration. Clattering hooves, screams, and giggles filled the air as everyone struggled for balance. Sigrid gripped the railing for support. Around them, the smelly columns of steam billowed more thickly.
Sigrid chewed her lip. More questions about the Night Elves sat uneasy in her gut, as turbulent as the spring beneath them. “Ratatosk, why didn’t the other gods—Odin, Freyja, and the rest—stop the Night Elves from taking you?”
Not to speak ill of the gods, but for such a cosmic disaster, this seemed beyond the valkyries’ job description.
Ratatosk dipped his chin. “A sharp observation, girl. When the gods neglected to stop my capture or ensure my release, it became clear that something was amiss. I have ferried gods and mortals along Yggdrasil’s trunk and branches since time began. Odin decreed my role himself: Ratatosk shall run on the ash tree, Yggdrasil. So why did the gods not stop the Night Elves?” He paused, tapping his gnarled fingers on the wheel. “I intend to visit Asgard to find out.”
The ship creaked beneath them, and horses snorted and stomped.
When he said nothing more, Sigrid asked, “Do you have any guesses?”
He glanced at her, twitching his small mouth as if debating whether to continue. “My suspicions tell me…that this is the work of Loki.”
Chapter Five
Evil is Relative
Sigrid flinched like he’d shouted the name. She’d heard stories about the god of mischief, but she’d always thought they were just that—stories. She never thought she would live through one of his tricks. “Are—are you sure?”
“Loki is naught but mocking and sly, tainting the worlds with insults and lies,” Ratatosk said. “The god of mischief is single-handedly responsible for all suffering in the nine worlds, Sigrid.”
“So you think he’s been communicating with the Night Elves?”
“It’s possible—no, probable, I would say.”
“But…” Sigrid furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of what little she knew about the gods. “Why do the other gods keep him around? Wouldn’t the cosmic balance be easier to maintain if he couldn’t act?”
Overhead, the red sail flapped, and the ship picked up speed. The rocky landscape became a blur, the columns of steam blending into thick fog. Sigrid kept holding the railing, ready for rapids.
“The answer is in the word balance.” Ratatosk raised his voice over the wind. “It implies two sides. On one, you have goodness, order, nobility, and peace. On the other, you have evil, chaos, obscenity, and mischief. To achieve cosmic balance, both sides of the scale must coexist. I believe Loki felt that the scales had tipped too far into order. And so here we are, thrust the other way. I cringe to think what havoc he is wreaking in Asgard as we speak.”
“That’s grim.” The idea of evil being necessary wasn’t new, but it settled over her like a boulder. “Is there any way we can stop him?”
“Why would we? The fact that there will always be evil means there will always be good, too. Each of us must decide which side of the scale we want to be on. If evil you see, then evil proclaim it, and make no friendship with foes. In evil, no joy should you know.”
Sigrid rubbed the back of her neck, bewildered. “Who cares about balance when a world with only good is an option? We have to find Loki and stop him from whatever chaos he’s unleashing.” Her cheeks warmed as the words came out. She sounded naive. Who was she to stop a god? But if Loki was going to wreak havoc on the worlds like this, they couldn’t sit by and let it happen. She was a valkyrie now, and this was part of her job.
The ship rocked as they serpentined through the dense white fog.
“A world with only good is impossible.” Ratatosk swiped a hand over his nose in a helplessly squirrel-like manner. “All concepts are relative.”
Sigrid squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
“How tall are you, Sigrid?”
“Um.” In truth, she’d only gauged her height using a horse measuring stick, but she didn’t feel like making a fool of herself by telling Ratatosk she was sixteen hands high. Anyway, what did this have to do with Loki?
“Are you tall or short?” he asked before she could respond.
“A bit short, I think.”
“And when you were in Svartalfheim, were you tall or short?”
“Compared to elves, I guess I’m tall.”
“And if you went to visit the giants in Muspelheim, then what?”
“I’d be short.”
“See? Tall and short are relative concepts. So are rich and poor, dark and light. There is no such thing as one without the other. There is no peace without war as an option.”
“Okay…” Sigrid tapped the wooden railing. “So you’re saying there’s no such thing as good without evil to compare it to.”
Ratatosk’s lips curved upward in a half-moon—possibly the strangest-looking smile she’d ever seen.
“I still think Loki is unnecessary,” Sigrid said stubbornly.
“Sigrid, without the agent of chaos, there would never be progress. Suffering incites change. Look how the other worlds have abused and taken advantage of Svartalfheim. Now, Loki has goaded them into doing something about it. After so long, they want their turn in a position of power. And who can blame them? So we have war—but we are on the threshold of change. Chaos must come before balance can be restored.”
Sigrid’s heart jumped at the threat of war and chaos. She drew a breath and spread her feet wider to balance against the rocking ship. True, if there were no suffering, then nothing would ever improve. If she hadn’t been unhappy with her role as a stable hand, she never would have sought out Sleipnir or tried to become a valkyrie. Was Loki somehow behind that decision, too? Was Loki behind every big change and tough decision?
It was hard to believe the Night Elves’ rebellion was the beginning of necessary change. This was evil at work, and if Ratatosk was right that a war was coming, then the Night Elves had to be stopped.
Loki had to be stopped.
“I still think there could be a better way of going about this,” Sigrid mumbled, glowering at the white fog obstructing their surroundings.
Ratatosk chuckled, a dry, wheezy sound. “The god of mischief has never been one for subtlety.”
She could agree, given the stories.
She would have to bring up all of this to General Eira and Vala when they got home. There had to be something the valkyries could do to stop the cosmic balance from tipping.
Ratatosk did a double-take at something across the deck. “Smart horse you’ve got there.”
“What? Oh.” Hestur had lain down, probably because he remembered from the last journey on this ship that it was easier than trying to stay standing.
The fog thickened into an opaque wall, dampening her skin, carrying the pungent odor of hot springs.
“So you do think we’ll be seeing more of the Night Elves,” Sigrid said, the chill inside of her at odds with the warm mist.
Ratatosk took them around another sharp turn. “I think we must be prepared for more chaos in our fight to restore balance. If I am correct in thinking that Loki is responsible for the Night Elves’ actions—and having been around as long as I have, I am probably correct—then we will have a great struggle on our hands.”
Sigrid swallowed hard, a lot less confident about their victory than she was when they’d left the shores of Svartalfheim. A “struggle” must have been a light way of putting it. It sounded like they needed to get ready for the Svartalf King’s next move.
Hunched against the sticky, smelly mist smothering them, she wondered how long she would be able to keep riding Hestur—or if she would soon need a fiercer, eight-legged weapon.
Chapter Six
The Secret
Corral
By the time they said goodbye to Ratatosk at the edge of Vanaheim, rode through the trees and bushes of Myrkviðr, and came within sight of the Vanahalla’s golden towers, it was mid-afternoon, and Sigrid was ready to sleep for days. The longship’s wooden deck and musty furs hardly made for a restful night.
But rather than head to the stable with the others, she waved them on.
“Go ahead,” she shouted as Edith circled back to check on her. “I’ll catch up.”
Edith was one of the few who’d been nice enough to slow down as Sigrid navigated the thick forest, occasionally dipping below the treetops to check that she was okay. Now, Sigrid wanted everyone to go ahead and leave her, because she had to check on Sleipnir before dealing with the aftermath of their mission. Relaying Ratatosk’s theory about Loki goading the Night Elves into action could wait a few extra minutes. More important than any of that was making sure the best war horse in the nine worlds—the stallion ridden by the actual Odin—was safe and healthy.
The stallion who, by some odd twist of the cosmos, had ended up in Sigrid’s hands.
And I might never understand why.
She waited until the formation of white mares landed on the other side of the stone wall encircling the hill. From here, the barns and outbuildings that made up the valkyrie stables looked like a village in itself.
Home.
Jittering with the anticipation of reuniting with the powerful and slightly terrifying stallion, Sigrid veered back into the woods and onto a narrow trail that guided her to the place where she’d been keeping Sleipnir in secret.
The trail narrowed until branches scraped her arms and the canopy blocked the sun.
Shouldn’t Sleipnir be around here?
Was eleven days long enough that she’d forgotten where she hid him?
Hestur pushed through two ferns and stopped.
“Buddy, what’s going… Wait.” This was the spot. The tangle of wood and leaves that formed Sleipnir’s fence had grown so dense that it was opaque, and so tall that she wouldn’t even be able to reach the top on horseback. Fisk hadn’t been joking when he said the fence would keep growing.
A grin pulled at Sigrid’s cheeks as she dismounted. Fisk continued to surprise her with his craftiness. Why couldn’t the other Night Elves—the Svartalf King, especially—be more like him? More like…whoever it was that helped her get Ratatosk?
But when she imagined Fisk on a throne, with all of his innocence and optimism, that settled that. People with those qualities didn’t rule worlds.
She stretched her legs, aching from so many hours in the saddle, while Hestur set to work on a patch of grass.
“Hey, Sleipnir.” Sigrid’s voice bounced with a little nervousness.
Beyond the leafy wall, he snorted and stomped impatiently as she fumbled for the gate.
The wooden latch was so covered in vines that it blended in. Her fingers closed around it, but before she could open it, a presence closed behind her. The ground crunched, jolting her senses awake.
Someone is here.
A warm breath raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
Sigrid gasped and spun around, her pulse spiking. She grabbed her attacker around the middle, throwing her weight so they toppled to the forest floor.
The person let out a sharp breath as they landed.
Sigrid clenched her fists, ready for a fight. “How did you find—Mariam?”
The valkyrie lay beneath her on the forest floor, a mischievous smile worthy of Loki playing at her lips. She was even more beautiful than Sigrid remembered, radiant and full of life since reuniting with her mare and healing her soul sickness. Her skin was smooth and tanned, the freckles across her nose more prominent than before, her black hair long and shiny. Her perfect smile accentuated the apples of her cheeks and reached her brown eyes, which were bright and playful.
Sigrid’s heart gave a huge leap. She sat up, sitting on Mariam’s thighs. “You’re back!”
“What was that reaction?” Mariam’s body shook as she dissolved into giggles.
Sigrid cracked a smile, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I just came back from getting attacked by Night Elves in Svartalfheim!”
“You did? That’s a story I can’t wait to hear.”
Mariam’s returning smile was so beautiful that a warm, soothing sensation trickled over Sigrid, like lying in the sun. Then Mariam shifted beneath her, her hip bones digging into Sigrid’s inner thighs—and Sigrid became excruciatingly aware of the position they were in.
She got quickly to her feet, stumbling for balance. “Sorry—let me—” She cleared her throat and extended a hand to help Mariam up.
Mariam clasped her hand and rose to her feet. She’d regained strength since they’d parted, visible in her round face and the way her muscular body curved beneath her riding trousers and green tunic.
Inside the corral, an irregular clip-clop hit the forest floor as Sleipnir waited for Sigrid to come in. He nickered and snorted.
But Mariam snagged Sigrid’s full attention as they stood nose-to-nose, their hands still clasped.
“Good to see you, stable girl,” Mariam said, her sweet breath tickling Sigrid’s lips.
I guess I didn’t need to send Ratatosk to Niflheim.
“I—I didn’t expect you for a while longer…” Her words trailed off, something about Mariam taking away her speech.
Kiss her. The time was finally here. She would be able to feel their bodies pressed together like she’d yearned for every night as she struggled to fall asleep.
A thump rose beside them, and they both flinched.
“We had Ratatosk’s ship in our favor,” Fisk said, emptying an overstuffed rucksack into a messy pile on the forest floor. “I think we should have left it to you, maybe. We felt awfully bad after taking it.”
