Chapter 24 The Lady of the Chariot #2
The Bog Mother was a goddess of great power, but when the new gods rose, the AEsir with fire and sword and the Vanir with seier and sea, the old deities scattered or were slain.
Most transformed, their domains being overtaken by the younger gods.
It’s said that the Bog Mother’s dwelling place—the sacred grove and the drowning lake—sank into the earth, deep below.
And the goddess of the bog sleeps, guarding her treasures.
Thori trembled.
The hort!
He knew of these items. Odin had told him about them that fateful night when he’d instructed him about the raid at Nóatún. The Hort of Nerthus, he’d called them, a treasure stolen by the Vanir.
Norns. That’s why his father had been so obsessed with this fortress.
Not for strategic advantage. Not even for vengeance against the Vanir.
His father had sought the Bog Mother’s power, just like he’d sought power from every dark corner of the Nine Worlds, and it was all the same to him if Thori had been slain or if all his einherjar died with him.
Hot tears pricked his eyes. He blinked furiously.
Father used me as a weapon. A replaceable tool.
Slamming the book shut, Thori stood, toppling over the chair as he went. He needed to talk to Njord. He put down the book with more force than necessary, sending pieces of the hnefatafl game flying.
Hel.
The door opened, and he heard Njord’s soft footsteps approaching. Thori froze. He needed to talk to Njord, but he didn’t want the sea god to see him like this.
“Thori? What’s wrong?”
Njord’s voice was soft with concern, and Thori almost couldn’t bear it. Pressing his eyes shut against the tears threatening to fall, he stumbled closer, sinking to his knees. Tired. Defeated.
“The bog mother,” he blurted. “She’s an ancient goddess also known as Nerthus. And her dwelling place is here.”
“What?”
He couldn’t meet Njord’s gaze, but he gestured miserably at the book on the table.
“The Bog Mother. Myrmóeir. Nerthus. They’re all the same. The same ancient goddess, or at least connected somehow.” He drew a shuddering breath. “Odin knew.”
His voice wavered on the last words. Pathetic. But the realization of the full extent of Odin’s betrayal kept rolling over him in waves, each one worse than the last. He couldn’t pull himself together, couldn’t think straight.
“Thori.” Njord’s hands tangled in his hair, warm and steady. “Breathe. Take your time.”
But Thori couldn’t stop the truth from tumbling out, couldn’t contain the bitter fury rising in his chest.
“What you said to me in Nidavellir, you were right, you know? When Father sent me to raid Nóatún, his only goal was to increase his power. He told me you’d stolen treasures from Asgard, the Hort of Nerthus, he called it.
Weapons of divine power hidden here at Nóatún.
I thought it was about settling a score, that Odin had finally offered me a chance to prove my worth.
But it was never about me, not even about Asgard’s honor. ”
Thori laughed a little hysterically.
“It was about the power of an ancient goddess, and naturally Father wanted it all to himself. He was more than willing to let my warriors die, just to get his hands on another source of forbidden knowledge.”
The tears he’d been fighting spilled over, hot trails of shame trickling down his cheeks. Thori leaned forward, hiding his face against Njord’s thigh.
“Do you know what’s funny? I wish he’d told me. I wish I’d been part of his dishonorable schemes instead of just his…tool.”
He felt so stupid. The dumb warrior who went where Odin sent him. A convenient weapon, nothing more.
“I’m such a fool.”
“You were betrayed.”
Njord’s hands combed gently through his hair, soothing in a way no enemy’s touch had any right to be.
“I should’ve known better, but instead I fell for Father’s lies. Hel, he didn’t even have to try too hard, so eager was I to matter, and in doing so—”
Guilt crashed over him with renewed force. Norns, what had he done? He’d led good warriors to die for Odin’s ambition, had raided Vanaheim because he’d believed in lies, had killed Njord’s dragon because…
“I wronged you and the Vanir, and I accept any punishment you deem suitable.”
“Thori.” Njord’s hands slipped under his arms, and he pulled Thori to his feet with gentle strength. “It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t give you a punishment you can’t handle.”
He clung to Njord’s shoulders, crying quietly against his chest, and Njord let him, mumbling words of comfort. When he started to calm, Njord guided them down onto a seat, pulling Thori right into his lap.
“That’s more like it,” Njord mumbled against Thori’s hair. “How are you feeling?”
The genuine concern in Njord’s voice had Thori almost bursting into tears again, but he composed himself.
“Better,” he hiccupped.
“Good. Now, tell me everything you know. About the hort. About your father’s plans. Help me understand what’s going on.”
So Thori did, trying to make sense of everything he’d learned.
The hort of Nerthus that his father claimed the Vanir had stolen from Asgard.
The realization that Nerthus and the Bog Mother must be the same deity or at least closely related, and that Odin must have thought that her treasure lay hidden somewhere beneath Nóatún.
“Father sent me here to steal the Bog Mother’s treasures,” Thori said miserably.
“From her sunken dwelling located beneath Nóatún,” Njord continued. “But if her resting place had been here all the time, I would’ve known. This is my domain.”
Thori lifted his head, meeting Njord’s fury-clouded gaze, but the rage wasn’t directed at him; that much he understood.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Njord’s expression turned questioning, almost amused.
“Wouldn’t I? And here I assumed that as lord of storm and sea, as rightful ruler of this domain, I’d know what’s going on in my very own fortress. It was me who raised this island from the ocean, after all.”
Familiar insecurity made Thori’s chest tight. He looked away.
“Of course, you’re right. How foolish of me.”
Silence stretched between them, but then Njord cupped his jaw and coaxed him back to eye contact.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t know if the Bog Mother’s resting place lay under my fortress?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me your reasoning.”
“I—I haven’t thought this through.”
“But what were your thoughts?”
“It’s silly, really.”
“Thori, please.” Njord’s smile was all softness. “Share your thoughts with me.”
“Well, I—I mean, would you remember? There are so many gods and goddesses who came before us, and we often share traits with them, right?”
Njord nodded. “Yes. Powers and domains. Sometimes even similar names or even the ways we’re worshipped.”
“Sure. But do we really remember them? Did they walk the Nine Worlds when you did? Do you remember Nerthus, or the Bog Mother, if they’re really the same?”
Blinking, Njord considered his words.
“They vanished before I rose from the waves.”
“And when you were born from the sea, did Nóatún rise with you?”
“Obviously.”
“What if your domain was born from the ashes of Nerthus’ realm? A goddess living in a lake on an island, ruling over bog land and drowned men, she may not have been a sea goddess exactly…”
“But close enough,” Njord breathed, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Oh, Thori.”
And suddenly, Njord pulled him close, raining kisses all over Thori’s face and whispering praise.
“You solved the riddle, and you came to me. Told me. So clever. So loyal.”
The praise warmed Thori from the core, and he returned Njord’s kisses eagerly. He melted into Njord’s touch, allowing himself this moment of comfort.
Someone cleared their throat, and Thori flinched away like he’d been caught doing something forbidden. Njord, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any qualms about kissing him. He held Thori close, gazing over his shoulder to regard the intruder with calm composure.
Thori turned as well, feeling himself blushing as he watched Skalmold and Andora enter the room. The seeress regarded their intimate position with a knowing smirk.
“My lord. We have news from the ritual.”
Njord didn’t rise, just settled his arm more securely around Thori’s waist.
“What did you learn?”
“I made Hrothgar’s corpse talk to us even if he’d taken precautions during his life to prevent such interrogation.”
“Skalmold had to battle the dead man for information,” Andora said excitedly.
“And even though I couldn’t determine where Svanhild intends to raise the Bog Mother, I learned that she has sent Sveinn with his war fleet for Nóatún.”
“When should he arrive?” Njord asked.
“Within days, if the winds favor them. But I guess they’re trying to distract us from Svanhild trying to wake the ancient goddess. We must forestall her.”
“But we don’t know where the Bog Mother’s resting place is,” Andora said, fear creeping into her voice. “Could be anywhere in the marches.”
“It’s under Nóatún,” Njord said.
“What?” Skalmold sounded equal parts doubtful and intrigued.
“Thori found out that the Bog Mother is the same goddess, or is at least closely related to Nerthus. You know how these old gods are; they tend to merge and overlap. Her sacred grove lies beneath Nóatún,” Njord said.
A slow, dangerous grin stretched across Skalmold’s face.
“Oh, that makes sense.” She pinned Thori with her gaze, making him feel like a hare facing an eagle. “Odin knew. That’s why he sent you to raid Nóatún all these years ago.”
“Yes, Odin knew,” Njord said. “But Thori didn’t. He figured out what he was surely not supposed to learn and shared his knowledge with me.”
Skalmold grinned even wider.
“Splendid. That means Svanhild will have to come to us.”
“It also means that we have to find this drowned grove, and the cave system underneath the fortress is as extensive as it is dangerous,” Njord said.
“Then we’ll have to eliminate Sveinn swiftly, before we deal with Svanhild.”
This time Njord returned her grin, feral and beautiful.
“Yes, seeress. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”