Chapter 8 #2
“Information,” Charlie repeated. She knew what they really meant. They wanted gossip—and not the kind that her classmates swapped every day in the cafeteria. They wanted Asgardian gossip.
What could she offer the ?lvor? They seemed to already know everything. What news could she share with them that they might not already be privy to?
“Two Valkyries visited my high school today,” she blurted, regretting it almost immediately. She was probably supposed to keep their visit a secret. Sharing it with the most gossip-prone creatures in the forest most definitely did not count as secretive.
Mysa and Fjólu shared a meaningful look.
Crap.
“Did they, now?” Mysa asked, turning to Charlie. “And which Valkyries were they?”
No turning back now. “My twin, Sophie. Along with another.”
The ?lvor nodded. “We are aware that your sister works for the Allfather.”
“You are?”
“Obviously.” Fjólu rolled her eyes. “Now. Tell us: What did they come to your school for?”
“Nuh-uh.” Charlie shook her head. “I’ve already given you a valuable piece of information. It’s time you pay up.” She had no idea if bartering with forest spirits actually worked this way. She could only pray that the tidbit she’d shared would be enough.
Mysa and Fjólu exchanged one last look.
After a long pause, the dark-skinned fairy nodded, facing Charlie and rolling back her tiny shoulders. “The information you’ve provided is sufficient. We will now answer your question. However, before we do, we must tell you a story.”
“A story?”
Charlie didn’t mean to sound panicked at the word, but she knew how Asgardians were when it came to storytelling.
On multiple occasions in the last few weeks, she’d found herself stuck with Bjorn and Vidar as they reminisced on their favorites: the time Loki disguised Thor as a female bride and tried to marry him off to a giant named Thrym as a trick to get his hammer, Mjollnir, back; how Freyja came to drive a chariot pulled by cats; the day the gods spat into a kettle to create a new god named Kvasir who would carry all of Asgard’s stories, legends, and songs.
The Vikings even told her, on multiple occasions, of the battles in which they themselves had perished and been subsequently whisked off to Valhalla (naturally, their deaths grew more heroic and outlandish with each telling).
She might be stuck on this stump for hours.
“But—”
“Hush, human,” Mysa snapped, her delicate voice harshening. “You will hear our tale.”
Inwardly, Charlie groaned, but she could only nod.
Mysa relaxed. “Good. Now. Here begins the tale of Loki’s most fearsome children, sired by himself and the giant Angrboda, outside of his marriage to Sigyn. Together, Angrboda and Loki created three vicious creatures known as Jormungandur, Hel, and the Fenrir.”
At the sound of the Fenrir’s name, Charlie’s stomach turned over. She could still see his glowing red eyes, still smell the death on his breath. Her heart picked up speed, the taste of panic filling her mouth. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose control of her body again.
Distraction, she reminded herself. Listen to the story.
“Loki knew that the other gods would not approve of his bastard children, so he hid them away with their mother, in the realm of the giants,” Mysa went on.
“But the Allfather sees all, and it didn’t take long for him to learn of the monsters’ existence.
He sent two minor gods to bring them to Asgard and face justice. ”
“On the journey, the young Jormungandur and Fenrir began to grow,” said Fjólu, smoothly picking up Mysa’s story.
“They grew with such speed that the gods escorting them became worried. They had no idea how huge and powerful the monsters might become. By the time they reached Asgard, the Fenrir was the size of three boulders, while the serpent Jormungandur had stretched to nearly ten meters in length. For her part, Hel was the size of a regular woman, but no less horrific. You see, Hel was no normal creature; her body was split down the middle, half beautiful young woman, half rotting corpse.”
“Odin, who had drunk from Mimir’s well and could see all of time, foretold that Loki’s bastard children would become the gods’ biggest threat,” Mysa said.
“They would fight alongside Surtur to bring about Ragnarok, the end of Asgard as we know it. The gods’—and the humans’—only chance at survival was to lock the monsters away before they could do any damage. ”
Fjólu continued, “Loki didn’t even fight the gods’ decision. Sheepish and cowardly as he was, he stood by and watched his children become imprisoned.”
“Hel was sent to Helheim to rule over the dead,” Mysa said.
“Jormungandur was released into the sea, where he grew so long that his body wrapped around all of Asgard fifteen times over, getting so tangled that he could never find his way back out of the water. But the Fenrir … he was the toughest to pin down. His strength was so great that he could break any chain put around his body, no matter its size or length. In the end, the gods had to turn to the dwarves on Svartalfheim to create Gleipnir, a magical, unbreakable ribbon with which they tricked the Fenrir into allowing himself to be bound. The wolf was never able to escape.”
“Until last month,” said Fjólu. “When he began his mission to raise Surtur.”
Charlie hated this story. She hated it more deeply than any of the other myths she had read about Asgard, even though they’d all contained similar horrors.
At first, she thought it was the monsters they spoke of that made her body feel as if it were covered in cockroaches.
But the more she considered it, the more she realized that it wasn’t the monsters she hated in the story.
It was the man who created them.
The man who brought three creatures into the world, hid them away out of shame, and then stood by while he let the other gods lock them up.
It was disgusting. She could hardly blame the Fenrir for being so angry at Loki. No one deserved to be treated that way by their parents. Not even giant, terrifying wolves.
Please, gods, she thought toward the heavens. Don’t let him be my father, too. Let it all be a horrible misunderstanding.
Swallowing, Charlie reached for her voice again. “And what does this story have to do with me not being affected by your song?”
Mysa batted her eyelashes. “Your earlier payment only covered the cost of the initial story. We’ll require another for the answer to that question.”
Charlie’s jaw dropped open. “Are you joking? What on Asgard do you want now? Another piece of gossip?”
“Oh, nothing so big as that,” said Mysa. She and Fjólu had both become suddenly, suspiciously interested in their fingernails. “We accept other forms of payment, too. A treasured memory, perhaps. Or a few months off your life.”
“A few months?” Charlie sputtered. “What the Hel does that even mean?”
“It’s nowhere near as scary as it sounds,” Mysa said, laying a hand on her heart. “You can trust us on that.”
“You most certainly cannot,” said a low voice over Charlie’s shoulder.
Dread seeped into her stomach.
He was here. Him. He was standing right behind her.
Mysa and Fjólu hissed. Their purple lights popped back on, and they took off from the stump, darting toward the throng of ?lvor, where Charlie quickly lost them in a sea of identical purple.
Damn it, she thought, letting out a sigh. There go my answers.
Only then did she finally turn.