We followed the river, and as evening approached I managed to bag our dinner, using my sling and a single stone; a fine otter as it sat by the riverbank, eating its catch of fresh salmon. I picked up the dead otter and the salmon (which was almost as large as the otter itself), and, rejoining the others, suggested we stop and make camp.
‘We can do better than that,’ Odin said. ‘There’s a little farm not far away. Let’s offer to share our food with them in exchange for a dry bed.’
That was typical Odin. Don’t ask me why; he liked the Folk. Any excuse to talk to them, to pretend to be one of them, he’d take it.
I looked at my catch and shrugged. ‘All right. Let’s see what your friends say, shall we?’
Well, we knocked at the farmhouse door. The farmer’s name was Hreidmar, and he welcomed us affably enough, until the subject of dinner came up, and he saw the otter. In a moment his eyes went cold, and he walked into the little house without another word.
‘What’s eating him?’ I said.
Odin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out,’ he said.
We followed Hreidmar into the house. His two sons were sitting by the fire. Fafnir and Regin were their names, and they were no friendlier than he had been. They barely spoke as we settled ourselves in front of the fire, but glared at us in silence. I didn’t care for it at all, and if Odin hadn’t been so keen to spend the night under their roof, I think that in his place I would have taken my chances sleeping outside by the river. But Odin and Honir didn’t seem to have picked up on the fact that we weren’t entirely welcome.
Finally, I cooked dinner. No one else seemed about to. Our three hosts must have been vegetarians, because they barely touched the fish and wouldn’t even look at the meat, but I just thought well, more for us, and finally unrolled my bed and settled to sleep by the fireside.
Odin and Honir did the same, and we slept deeply and dreamlessly – that is, until, some four hours later, when somebody slapped me awake and I found myself and my friends tied up hand and foot, with Hreidmar and his two sons watching us intently.
‘What’s this?’ said Odin.
I tried to assume my Wildfire Aspect but found myself bound with runes as well as rope. The farmer and his two sons weren’t quite as rustic as they looked; if only we’d checked their colours before accepting their hospitality.
Hreidmar bared his yellow teeth. ‘Which one of you killed my son?’ he said.
‘Your son? We haven’t killed anyone . . .’
He showed me the otter’s skin in his hand.
‘Oops,’ I said. ‘That was your son?’
‘Yes, that was Otter,’ said Hreidmar. ‘He used to like to hunt by day. He often took that Aspect. In the evening, he’d bring home his catch to share with me and his two brothers.’
Well, I mean to say. Who wanders through the woods during the hunting season disguised as lunch, for gods’ sakes? And why hunt as an otter when you can catch more salmon with a net? This Otter couldn’t have been very bright. I was about to point this out when I saw Hreidmar’s face, and decided against.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I started to say. ‘Obviously, I didn’t know who he was. If I had, do you think we’d have come here?’
Hreidmar drew his knife and grinned. ‘Talk all you want. Otter’s still dead. And now you’ll pay for what you’ve done. In full. In blood.’
In blood. That again.
‘Does it have to be blood?’ I said. ‘How much do you want? I’ll raise it.’
Hreidmar’s eyes narrowed. ‘A ransom?’ he said. ‘I’m warning you, it won’t be cheap.’
‘Anything,’ I said. ‘I swear.’
Hreidmar and his sons conferred. Finally, he spoke up again. ‘All right. I agree,’ he said. ‘If you can bring me enough red gold to fill this otter skin in my hand, and then to cover it completely, I’ll let you and your friends go free. Otherwise . . .’ He ran his knife over the ball of his thumb, and smiled. The blade made a nasty stropping sound.
‘I get it,’ I said. ‘Just let me go. You can keep my friends here as hostages.’
Honir looked alarmed at this, but the General just looked inscrutable. I guessed he was trying to assess how likely it was that I would just opt to save my own skin and leave the two of them to face the music.
I turned to him. ‘You can trust me,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ And then as Hreidmar released the runes, I took hawk Aspect and flew away to find the gold that would ransom my life.
I know. I know what you’re thinking. Why bother with a ransom at all? That was my chance to finish him; to strike at the heart of Asgard; to take the revenge that I’d so long desired . . .
Stop. Stop there a moment. Follow the thread to where it leads.
If Hreidmar killed the Old Man, the whole of Nine Worlds would hear about it. Thor would be quick to avenge him. And there would be no way to escape the fact that I was responsible for his death. The gods would be after me in force. They would hunt me wherever I tried to hide. They would never leave me in peace. They would slaughter my twin sons, just to make sure that neither boy grew up with thoughts of vengeance in mind. And when they caught me – and they would – they would torture me to death as sure as snakes are slippery.
So now you’ll see why I didn’t do what you might have expected. For all my resentment of the Old Man, he was still my protector. Without him, I would have been friendless, cast out of Asgard quicker than leftovers that are starting to stink. No, I needed Odin on my side. I needed him to be grateful. And how better to achieve all this than by saving his life at the risk of my own? If I’d known the power of Hreidmar’s runelore I might not have entered his den quite so fast. But I knew his reputation as well as his appetite for gold, and I’d been certain that enough of it would cover Otter’s unfortunate death.
Yes. I’ll admit it. I planned the whole thing. I needed Odin’s gratitude. And, for all his intelligence, he was so predictable – his affection for the Folk, his love for those little valleys and woods. Everyone has a weakness, and his was this sentimentality; it didn’t take much for Yours Truly to guide him to the appointed spot, while letting him think it had been his idea.
The rest had been easy. A handful of stones can bring down more than you might think. An otter, a man – even a citadel can fall under a well-aimed stone. All I had to do now was find enough red gold to ransom my friends, and I too would be redeemed.
So – where was I going to find the gold?
At first, I considered World Below. The Tunnel Folk could always supply plentiful quantities of gold of all varieties, but this time I sensed that Ivaldi and Sons might not prove altogether willing. Instead I made for the One Sea, where Aegir, the storm god, and Ran, his wife, had their cavern under the waves.
I arrived in Aegir’s hall dripping and naked. Not that they cared; the Undersea was hardly big on etiquette. Ran was the goddess of the drowned, and she and Aegir ruled the Deeps, while Njörd, the Man of the Sea, ruled the waves and kept them safe for fishermen.
Aegir’s hall was cavernous, lit by phosphorescence; dripping with water and studded with undersea gems and pearly shells. On a throne made out of a single shell, Ran sat, pale as sea-foam, watching me with oyster eyes.
I went up to her throne and bowed.
‘The General’s in trouble,’ I said. ‘I have a plan, but I need your help. Please, will you lend me your drowning-net?’
The net was Ran’s prize possession. Unbreakable and stitched through with glam, she used it to drag the ocean floor, to turn the tides and drown sailors who ventured too far into her realm. She handed it over – reluctantly.
‘What are you fishing for?’
‘Gold,’ I said.
Net in hand, I left the cave and went to explore the Under-sea. I found myself a cavern, lit by a long, vertical shaft that led back to the World Above, and cast the net into the sea. I happened to know that the Tunnel Folk had cousins all over World Below, and that one of them – Andvari,
his name was – liked to mine the sea bed, which was rich in all kinds of minerals. With Ran’s net of woven runes, it didn’t take me long to sense Andvari’s presence, then to snare him and haul him out, totally at my mercy.
Of course he’d changed his Aspect. I cast the rune Bjarkán and saw that a massive pike was caught in my net, flailing and thrashing and showing its teeth.
I spoke a little cantrip – a named thing is a tamed thing – and, using his true name, made him resume his true Aspect. Within seconds, the little guy was sitting on the cavern floor, whining in the folds of the net.
‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’
He sounded both aggrieved and scared. I wasn’t surprised; Andvari’s folk were a lot less aggressive than Ivaldi’s brood. They were smaller, too; more like the goblins that came to infest the Undersea and World Below after the end of the Winter War.
‘I want your gold,’ I told him. ‘Yes, I know you’ve got a stash down here. Red gold, and lots of it, or I’ll wring you like a rag.’
He took a little persuasion. But I can be pretty persuasive, and with the help of Ran’s drowning-net I managed to convince him. Still snivelling, he led me to his secret smithy, where I packed his supply of red gold into a number of leather sacks. When I had finished, there wasn’t a scrap of gold left in the chamber – except for a little ring on Andvari’s finger, which I saw him trying to conceal.
‘That too. Hand it over,’ I said.
Andvari snivelled and protested, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I added the ring to the pile.
‘It’s cursed,’ said Andvari sullenly. ‘You’ll never live to enjoy your theft. Bad luck will follow you everywhere.’
I grinned. ‘So much the better,’ I said. ‘As I’m not planning to keep it myself.’ And then I picked up my sacks of gold and set off on foot back to Inland.
‘You took your time,’ said Odin, when I got back to Hreidmar’s place. The prisoners were still bound fast; they looked dishevelled and hungry and tired. It would make a good story, I thought, knowing that Honir would spread the tale; and then there was Ran, who would tell it to Aegir and all their cronies; how Loki had bravely come back into the wolf’s lair to ransom his friends . . .
I grinned. ‘Here comes the cavalry. I think, when you have a look at all this, you’ll find that Otter has been suitably ransomed.’
Now Hreidmar untied the prisoners, as his sons counted the gold. They stuffed the otter’s skin with it, then heaped it over the bursting remains like a barrow of strawberry gold. Odin watched them in silence, rubbing his sore wrists. I guessed he was as angry as I was at having been caught and humiliated – but he said nothing, just watched them silently through his one eye.
At last, the skin was packed full and covered nose to tail with gold. Only a whisker protruded –
‘There’s no more gold,’ said Odin.
‘Then I’ll make up the rest in blood,’ said Hreidmar, once more drawing his dagger.
‘Wait, there’s this.’ I pulled off the ring I’d taken from Andvari. I’d hoped to slip it to Odin, of course, but needs must, when Wildfire drives.
‘Will this cover it, do you think?’ I bent down and covered the whisker with the ring of blood-red gold.
‘Close,’ said Odin.
I smiled at him. ‘Did you doubt me?’
‘No. Not even for a second.’
And so our very reluctant host was obliged to let the three of us go. As I crossed the threshold, I looked back over my shoulder at him.
‘By the way, Andvari’s curse lies on the ring I took from him. I hope you enjoy it. Serves you right for holding my brother to ransom.’
Odin gave me a sideways look. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘Just remember I saved your life. You know you can rely on me.’
He smiled. ‘I know I can,’ he said.
And just for a moment, I almost believed that neither of us was lying.
Funny, how the things we say come back to bite us, like rabid dogs we once made the mistake of feeding. Although we didn’t know it then, our summertime was running out. The seasons had begun to turn, the shadows to lengthen, the sun to set. That rosy light is deceptive; it shines on the faces of those around you and makes them look like friends. They’re not. In ten minutes’ time, the sun will have set, and it will be merciless . . .
LESSON 1
Death
The dead know everything, but don’t give a damn.
Lokabrenna
AND JUST LIKE THAT, it was over. A golden age of godhood, gone, like apple blossom on the wind. I don’t pretend to know much about love, but that’s how great loves come to an end, not in the flames of passion, but in the silence of regret. And that’s how my brother Odin and I reached the end of our fellowship; not in the heat of battle (though that would come round soon enough), but in lies, and polite smiles, and protestations of loyalty.
He never told me how he knew. But the Old Man knew everything. All my petty treacheries: how I’d tried to set up Thor; how I’d lost Frey his runesword. If I hadn’t given away the ring I’d taken from Andvari, I might have assumed that the Maggot’s curse was the cause of my turning luck, but I’d left that ring with Hreidmar as part of Otter’s ransom. No, this was something different, something more unsettling. I could see his disappointment, his pain in the way he looked at me, although he never said a word – to me, or any of the gods.
I think I’d have preferred it if he’d simply punished me. That, I could have dealt with. A world built on Order has rules, so I’d learnt, and breaking them has consequences. I’d been living in Odin’s world for long enough to understand, if not to approve, the principle. But this didn’t seem to be Odin’s plan. It made me quite uncomfortable.
Don’t get me wrong. I had no regrets. Odin’s corruption-by-sentiment hadn’t brought me quite that low. And don’t go believing those stories about how I really cared for him, and how our tragic friendship became a kind of passion-play acted out over centuries. Take it from me, it wasn’t. All right? But I was feeling insecure. I felt the hammer about to fall, and I had nowhere to run. I needed to know the Old Man’s mind. I needed to know what his plans were. And so I looked to the sky for help – and Hugin and Munin, Odin’s birds.
They were no ordinary birds, of course. They were Odin’s ravens, trained to carry the Old Man’s thoughts anywhere in the Nine Worlds. That was a part of his power, those birds; manifestations of his Spirit and Mind – with their help, he saw everywhere. But it also meant that he was never at peace. If anyone ever thought too much, it was the Old Man, always alert, always scrutinizing the Worlds for the hint of a threat to his empire. It isolated him. It set him apart from the rest of the Aesir.
It suited him to be that way, but I knew he was lonely. Power had taken its toll on him, and knowledge was eroding the rest. Perfect knowledge was what he’d craved, but with perfect knowledge, illusions die, including such perennials as friendship, love and loyalty.
Think about it for a while. How can you hope to have any friends when you spy on everything they do? How can you enjoy the present when you can see the future? Most of all, how can you love when you know Death lies in waiting?
And Death was where they led me first. Or rather, Hel, Death’s Kingdom. Not a realm I frequented much, in spite of having fathered its ruler, and not the kind of place in which I felt my unique skills would best be utilized. But that was where the ravens led, and that was where I picked up their trail – through Ironwood, and then underground, travelling on foot through World Below for much of the way, not being privy to their trick of simply crossing directly through Worlds – until, days later, I arrived onto the dusty plain of Hel.
Not my favourite place in the Worlds. Hel’s own kingdom is cold and bleak. Unbound by the conventional rules of size, or scale, or geography, it stretches out in all directions; a colourless desert of sand and bone under an arch of colourless sky. Nothing grows here; nothi
ng lives – even Hel was a half-corpse – and those who come here are either dead, doomed or simply desperate. I told myself that my daughter would surely agree to see me – but it was her kingdom. If she chose, she could have me wait at her pleasure for weeks or months; or until the desert swallowed me and I became one of the dead, dust on a wind that blew ceaselessly under that strange, subterranean sky.
I found my daughter waiting, drawing circles in the sand. She’d grown since I last saw her, though, sadly, she hadn’t improved much. She’d always been moody and intractable, even when she was a child, and now she looked at me askance through her single living eye (the other one was dead as bone under a wisp of white hair).
‘Why, it’s dear old Dad,’ she said. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
I sat down next to her on a rock. Around me, the hot dry wind of Hel stirred the souls of the departed into a kind of half-sentience. I could feel them drawn to me, sensing the warmth of a living being. Not a pleasant feeling. I made a mental note to myself to try to avoid Death as long as I could.
‘I thought I’d say hello,’ I said. ‘How’s the job shaping up?’
Hel raised a single eyebrow.
‘Well?’
‘Well – Dad. You’ve seen this place. What do you think?’
‘It’s . . . interesting.’
She made a sound of contempt. ‘You think? Sitting here, day in, day out, surrounded by nothing but the dead? Not what you’d call exciting.’
‘Well, it’s a job,’ I told her. ‘It isn’t meant to be exciting. Not at the start, anyway.’
‘You mean you think it’s going to improve?’
I shrugged.
‘I didn’t think so,’ she said. ‘So what do you want?’