The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1) (31 page)

Odinn looks out over the assemblage with his
single eye, fills his ancient lungs with air and bellows at all:
“Leave!”

He need say no more. His word is law in all of
Asgard, and in no place more than this hall. Within seconds, every
Aesir present apart from Odinn's own sons are filing out. I am
preparing to join them when Odinn speaks again.

“The Interloper will remain,” he
says.

I halt in my tracks and turn to face him. His
eye is not upon me, but staring out over the heads of the banished
crowd. Gaeira has not been granted leave to remain, and so I share
with her a brief look that  no observer would presume to have
conveyed a thing before we go our separate ways, I toward the dais
and she with the throng of evacuating Aesir.

Minutes later, I stand alone before the
All-Father and his two sons. Odinn looks at none of us, but at the
empty space in front of him.

“These things must not be allowed to claim
Vanaheim,” he says. “Tyr, you shall assemble a Great
Host  and lead it there. Raise the Alvar and the Svartalvar and
every fighter among the Aesir and Vanir who can lift sword or hammer
or ax. Let no man, no woman shirk. Go. Now!”

Asgard's warlord hesitates for the space of an
indrawn breath, just long enough to send me a dark glare. Then he
whirls and strides from the hall to his appointed task.

“Father, what of me?” Baldr asks. “I
would join the Host. If the portents no longer—”

“Join it you shall,” Odinn says.
“But first, I have another task for you. Interloper!” The
force of his attention startles me. “You tried in vain to warn
me of this threat, and I cut out your eye. Yet when this  danger
appeared, it was your first thought to come to me. You have shown
yourself of worth to Asgard. I would have you sworn to me. Will you
do it?”

I answer swiftly: “Yes, All-Father.”

“Kneel, and lay your sword at my feet.”

I do so, and Baldr leads me in the reciting of
an oath making Odinn the lord whom I will obey above all 
others. I take the vow without reservation. I owe nothing to Ares or
any of the Chrysioi, to whom I was but a tool. And as for my brother
and sister Atlanteans, an allegiance to Odinn does not at present
put  me at odds with them. I will do my best to ensure the
contrary: that my new allegiance does them good.

“Thamoth, “ the All-Father addresses
me when I rise, “your first duty under my command shall be to
return to Neolympus, where you will present to its leader my terms.
In return for recognizing me as highlord and standing with us in
Vanaheim, Ares and his people will enjoy peace with Asgard and its
protection from the jotnar and all other threats. Make clear to him
that should he decline, when this new threat is past, his city will
be wiped out utterly. You have seen both our strength and theirs, and
so your word will carry weight when you tell him truly that they
stand no chance against us. Do you accept this charge?”

“I do, All-Father.” I agree not only
because I have just sworn I would, but because his offer is what is
best for all parties. If there is to be any slight chance that the
Myriad will be defeated, all must stand together.

“There is a thing you must know,”
Odinn goes on. “I have sent a spy to Neolympus. He is Loki, my
blood-brother, and he wears the guise of your countrywoman. Should
you reveal his presence to anyone there, or hamper him in any way,
you need never return to Asgard, for you will have shown yourself to
be a vow-breaker and our enemy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, All-Father.”

“What of me, Father?” Baldr asks
impatiently. “What task will you set to me?”

“Do you think Thamoth will go alone?
Someone must represent me in taking the Interlopers' oath, and that
is the job of a prince and heir.”

Baldr's face twists in a skeptical expression,
but within seconds it vanishes as he deems the charge important
enough.

I have a request for the All-Father which may be
impertinent, or even beneath him, but I opt to ask it anyway.

“I would bring Gaeira, All-Father,”
I say. “She led me here and knows the way to Neolympus better
than any save your ravens.”

Odinn's bristling white brow furrows as he
glares down at me with his single eye. “Take her,” he
says. “But before she sets foot in Jotunheim, she must be told:
the jotnar are our allies now. No more of their number must be slain
by her or by anyone under my command. So speaks Odinn.”

The All-Father's edict chills me, for although I
know it is proper, I also know it shall devastate Gaeira.

“All-Father—” I begin
instinctively to plead on her behalf. Baldr sets a restraining hand
on my shoulder, which succeeds in silencing me.

“Father,” Baldr says before I can
reconsider. “Why will Tyr stand at the head of the Great Host?
What of you?”

Odinn scowls. A rumble comes from somewhere deep
in his beard. “I will do as Freya has persisted in advising me
since the Interloper woman first came to us. The entrance into our
realms of these folk from another world, and the enemy that followed,
has unwritten our future. A new one awaits, and I must glimpse it. I
must drink again of the Well.”

“But, Father—” Baldr protests.
I know instantly, as he must, that argument is futile. “There
is no telling for how long the waters will entrance you. The battle
may be won or lost by the time—”

“Yet it must be done,” Odinn
interrupts his son decisively. “Freya was right. Had I but
heeded her sooner, perhaps she would not lie dead now, as in all
likelihood she does, alongside my son on the plains of Niflheim.”
He breathes deeply and clenches gnarled, battle-scarred fists. “It
must be done,” he repeats. “And there is no time to
waste. I entrust the welfare of Asgard to my sons,” Odinn says,
lone eye on the one of them yet present. “Be sure that it
stands when I return.”

“It shall, Father.”

Baldr kneels and bows his head before Odinn. Now
that I am his sworn man, I know that I ought to do the same, and so I
do. Odinn turns, and we rise and watch him stride off, out of his
great hall by the back route, thence to fly to the tangled roots of
Yggdrasil and seek for a second time the wisdom of Mimir.

I exit the palace with Baldr to find Gaeira in
the front rank of a crowd gathered at its steps. Perhaps it should
not surprise me that she has waited for me, but it does. If she is
not careful, I might begin to believe that I am somehow important to
her.

My pleasure on seeing her dies swiftly under the
weight of Odinn's edict that I must pass on to her. It crushes, not
only for what it means for her but also for me.

"We are to travel with Baldr to Neolympus,"
I tell her, avoiding the bad news for now, "to secure the
Chrysioi's help against the Myriad."

Gaeria does not, of course, offer
acknowledgment. But she knows that I am hiding something. I know that
she knows. Somehow I am ever naked in her bright eyes, my intentions
laid bare. I would not wish it otherwise.

In Odinn's absence, the crowd of Aesir looks to
Baldr. Standing on the palace steps, he raises hand and voice.
"Aesir!" he cries. "The All-Father goes in search of
wisdom from the Well! My brother assembles a Great Host, while I ride
out to gather new allies! Fear not! We shall prevail over this enemy!
Go now, and let every man and woman of us prepare for war! For Odinn!
For Asgard!"

The impassioned cry goes up from the assemblage:
"
Odinn! Asgard! Odinn! Asgard
!
" And then the
Aesir disperse to make ready, and Baldr and Gaeira and I are left on
our own, more or less.

"Will you tell her or shal—"
Baldr starts to ask. I raise a hand and nod, cutting him short, but
the exchange does not go unnoticed by Gaeira. Baldr sighs and goes
on, "I will choose our escorts and gather supplies, then meet
you at the gates."

He leaves, and I stand alone before Gaeira with
nothing to do but inform her that the chosen purpose of her
existence, so close to completion, is suddenly void.

"There is no easy way to tell you this..."
I begin.  I do not wish to go on, but I must.  "Odinn
has decreed that until this threat has passed, you must slay no more
jotnar."

My throat slams shut. I feel responsible, as if
I had brought the Myriad here myself. Gaeira's face stays impassive,
but her eyes glaze as I have never seen them do. She blinks many
times, rapidly, also as I have never seen. Her lips part, and a
breath passes them silently before they close. She takes a backward
step away from me, then turns and runs.

"Gaeira, wait," I call out, stupidly.
But I let her go, as I know I must. I hang my head and rub stinging
eyes. I hurt for Gaeira, but part of my pain is selfish: it now will
be that much longer before I can hear the voice I so very much would
like to hear.

Assuming the Myriad does not kill us both, and
all the giants besides.

Gaeira has not told me, nor could she have, when
and whether she might return. So I sit on the palace steps and wait.
Later, I stand and wait. Later still, I pace and wait, but still she
does not return. At length, I decide to go meet Baldr at the city
gate. I find him there with the six Aesir warriors who will accompany
us to Neolympus. There is no sign of Gaeira.

"She needs to be alone," Baldr tells
me.

"I won't leave without her," I say,
and quickly feel a fool.

Baldr ensures that the feeling is a strong one.
"Of course not," he says bitingly. "The Myriad are
sure to understand and delay their invasion for you." With a
snort, he adds, "If I had not known from the moment you two
returned that you had lain together, I would know now!"

I am saved from having to produce a reply by the
sound of loud, hurried footsteps from one edge of the crowded square
in which we stand. I know at once that it is not Gaeira, for her
movements would never be accompanied by such racket. Yet when my eyes
find the runner who has freshly burst into the square, it is one whom
I recognize. I more than recognize her: it is Ayessa.

She looks all over urgently. Her gaze finds me,
and she resumes running in my direction. When she reaches me, I
realize my error; it is Baldr she has come to see. She falls to one
knee before him.

"Lord Baldr," she says breathlessly.
"The death of your brother is tragedy without measure, a deep
cut to the heart of Asgard. But, my lord, if I might trouble you...
is there any word yet on those who accompanied him?"

Hearing Ayessa's voice, looking into her wide
eyes alive with fear, I surmise the cause of her concern. Sigrid, her
lover, must be among the fifty Valkyriar gone with Thor and Freya to
Niflheim.

Baldr casts a grim look in my direction before
answering. "No, Valkyr. No word yet."

When I see that Baldr plans to stop there,
offering her no word of encouragement, I opt to speak, even 
though mine is likely the voice Ayessa least wants to hear.

"They could yet live," I say.

From her kneeling position, Ayessa comes halfway
to looking at me, but does not quite. Baldr gives me an even more
dismal look, one which makes it clear how implausible he deems my
assertion.

Still, I insist, "You and I and others
lived, when all around us died." I crouch to come level with
her. She twists her neck to ensure she cannot even accidentally look
at me. I do not care. Nor do I blame her. "She lives,
Ayessa... 
Essa
," I correct myself. "I believe
that. You must, too."

I want to tell her other things, things about us
and what we both saw in our visions from Mimir's Well, but now is not
the time. Ayessa proves it with a glare in which still simmers the
familiar hatred for me. But it is muted now by worry for Sigrid, and
if she thinks ill thoughts of me, she keeps them to herself. Rising,
she quietly thanks Baldr, turns and leaves.

"You do her no service by giving her hope,"
Baldr says to me when she has gone. "If Thor lies dead, surely
they all do."

"When I faced the Myriad, the strongest
among us gave his life that the rest might live. Perhaps your brother
is as as much a hero as he."

Baldr frowns in annoyance. "Perhaps..."
Seconds later, he smiles and inclines his chin in the direction of
his gaze. "Our party is complete."

I follow his look and see Gaeira coming through
the crowd toward us, long-handled ax and pack slung  on her
shoulders. I feel a rush of joy and relief on seeing her. She is yet
out of earshot, I think, giving me time to quickly ask of Baldr, "If
she can kill no more jotnar, what must become of her oath?"

Baldr answers me with quiet confidence: "If
there is one thing I have learned as a son of Odinn, it is that there
will always be another war with the giants."

Nine strong, we ride out from Asgard across the
plain to Bifrost and thence to Heimdall's fortress of Himinbjorg. The
odd time-effect of crossing the bridge means it is night when we
emerge, and so we halt and rest, something I find I have no trouble
doing. For however many hours it is until the dawn, I sleep upright
in a hard-backed chair. I awaken to Baldr shaking me.

"Come, Thamoth," he says. "It
appears you may have been right about my brother."

Minutes later, I stand with Baldr on the
battlements of Himinbjorg and learn what he means. We look down on a
procession of warriors approaching the fortress's gates. It takes me
but a glance to comprehend that these are the survivors of Niflheim.
I put their number at fewer than fifty. Leaning over the stone, I set
my one good eye to work hunting for the two individuals whose fate
concerns me most, Freya and Sigrid. Some of the survivors clearly are
Valkyriar, but beyond that I am unable to pick out individuals from
the heights.

Every soul in Himinbjorg, myself included, soon
races out the fortress's gate to meet the returnees. It is then that
I get a chance to scan their ranks from a closer vantage. My eye
flicks to the eagle blazons,  then up to the faces of those who
wear them. Shortly, I find one which inspires a wave of relief. It is
the face of Sigrid, and never have I been so pleased to see one who
so despises me. I find myself genuinely happy for Ayessa that her
lover lives.