Chapter One #2
In the face of Father’s small cruelty and Odin’s barb, I grit my teeth and stay still. Keep my face impassive. I’m the strong one. I don’t show emotion.
“All-Father.” He bows with mock respect, and with a twist of his wrist and an alarmed squeak, the bat became a squirrel once again, scurrying up the rafters with a slip of paper between its teeth.
“Only trying to give our little messenger the benefit of swiftness through flight.”
“They are swift enough, and everything is fine as it is. We don’t need this excessive transformation.” Odin waves a hand in a circle. He prioritizes order above all.
Father inclines his head but chuffs, whispering only to me, “No imagination, that one.”
I love his silver eyes. Shining and deep and fun and scary all at the same time. My brothers and I look nothing like him, but we all share his eyes. The windows to the soul, he says, even though Odin calls them liar’s eyes, dead and gray.
Life isn’t fair, that’s for sure. I’ve known that since my first memory, when Jormungandr was cast out into the sea.
His only crime was growing too large and damaging property.
But it was an accident. We were playing.
For all his wisdom though, Odin’s punishment only served to give my brother more space to grow.
They call Jor the world serpent now, stretching between realms with his ever-growing mass.
You think he’d receive more respect.
Fear is the only hint of respect my family gets among the gods. Fenrir, my wild oldest brother, for example. His crimes are never an accident though. They’re instinct.
Odin begins the meeting, as ever, with very bad poetry. It always rhymes and rarely makes sense, normally just stories of yore from his days of youth or exaggerated tales of his sons. Father features in a few. Even the ravens on his shoulder look half-asleep.
He sits on his throne, high and hazy-limbed. But only a fool takes their eyes off him, for he can turn sharp as a blade in an instant.
Metal disks clink together as the dancers surrounding Odin wave their limbs and circle their sundisk-covered hips. The charms on the valkyries’ wings tinkle as they move through the room serving ale and wine. Poor creatures, the lot of them. Bound in service to Odin, willing or no, sounds a misery.
Sweet smoke fills the air. Fermented cider of pears, honey cakes, and roasted hens. It is warm in Valhalla, some might even say pleasant, but already I miss the comfort of the ground - the plants and flowers, the myriad of scents that are both life and death rolled into one dizzying mess.
Up here, everything is airy and light. Anything could float away on a breeze. I could float away, a small nothing of a goddess in a hall of powerful beings who knew their place. My place is surely ruin, cast out like my brothers at any moment. Odin only waits for the first good excuse.
Father watches the other gods, cataloging them for his own purposes with micro-movements of his eyes, before growing bored and turning to me.
“How are your powers coming?”
I unloop my arm from the tree, and the second I let go, I miss the connection from the wood to the ground.
Since I can remember, we’ve lived in earthen rooms among the roots of Yggdrasill.
It was a way to shame Father, show how far he’s fallen from the ways of the AEsir and Vanir and their courts in the clouds.
We live among the giants, but I prefer it.
I am most at home in the dirt, the mud after the rain, seeing plants come up from nothing, again and again.
I’d never have discovered my power if we lived up here in the dizzying heights near the stars.
“Progress on reanimation.” I slip my hand into the hidden pocket at my front and pull out my little love. “Meet Níehoggr.”
“A tiny dragon.” Father beams, one long finger unfolding to boop its tiny nose.
Níe growls and snaps at father, so I pull a twig from a nearby branch and give it to him to chew.
“He likes wood, but he doesn’t like liars.
” I grimace apologetically as my finger traces his talons.
One by one, I affixed them. They mostly fit, sources from other animals close in size, but it’s not perfect.
Nothing is. He’s my secret, a manifestation of my power no one besides Father can know about.
I found my little monster trampled underfoot and grew wings for him from my own, sewed on new scales like mosaic art, then breathed life to him with a kiss to his nose.
He’s a patchwork of discarded and borrowed pieces. He may not be beautiful, but he’s mine.
Father chuckles. “Well no wonder he dislikes me. Clever little beastie.” His hand twists, and he brushes his knuckles over my hair again, lightly. A tender gesture I allow. “Just like you.”
His proximity to me alarms Níehoggr, who trembles violently, jumps out to nip at Father, and hops on the banister, surveying the room.
“Níe!” I gasp, his name barely a sound. No one can see him!
Just as I grab for him, he takes flight across the room.
His wings unfurl and with each flap, he rises higher.
I can barely breathe. His scales gleam like the sea in afternoon light, green and blue and gold all at once.
Magnificent. Scared beyond belief he’ll be seen, I’m also struck with pride.
He’s been practicing short hops to stretch his wings but hasn’t taken flight until now.
Just as he arcs to the left, heading to a shadowy rafter, he looks back at me.
The room shakes. “What is that?”
The All-Father is not spouting his sagas anymore. He’s shouting at us. At Father. And Níehoggr is suspended in air. Terror grips his tiny limbs, his eyes white with fright.
“Another of your twisted creations?” Odin sneers. With a flick of his wrist, my pet moves toward the throne, hovering and ensnared. Odin’s fingers rotate in the same motion as Níehoggr turns.
“Mine,” I shout, my voice echoing through the room, body strung tight with fear. All eyes turn to me, a dozen daggers I feel in my heart. My only hope is that by taking the blame, I may be punished instead of my pet for interrupting. “He’s mine. I’m sorry.”
The All-Father locks eyes with me, and even through the haze of incense smoke, I see the ghost of a smirk. With a snap of his fingers, Níe’s neck cracks to the left. His limbs go limp, even as his body hovers in the air.
No! The scream never surfaces. I ice over. Frozen. Disbelieving.
Odin waves his hand to the side, and gravity takes Níe’s small body. He falls, but not to the floor. He falls straight into the well without a sound. Into the dark, the unknown depths the gods fear.
He’s gone.
Cold rage sweeps my body. I drag in a lungful of air staring at the damp black hole before my glare falls to Odin.
“No beasts in my hall,” he says, then looks back to the crowd and resumes his poetry.
My hand clutches the front pocket of my dress, but it’s empty. I breathe in once, twice, three times. Evenly. Steady. Mouth closed. My nostrils flaring is surely my only tell.
He’s gone.
I let go, and my fingers straighten. This rage needs an outlet, and there is only one deserving punishment.
Father places his hand over mine, pressing it to the wood of the banister. His weight is a comfort, and the connection to the roots grounds me.
“Life isn’t fair, love,” he says, emotionless.
He’s never called me love. I never cry. But still, a tear slips free. I see the horror in his expression at my weakness.
“It’s a game?” I sniff, my expression turning into a sneer.
The rest of the godly meeting continues on as we stare at each other.
Laughter rises then falls. I think the meeting is over, but I’m frozen in rage and grief, held in place only by my Father, the guiding force in my life, who’s kept me safe, who always knows what to do.
But how long can we endure such games, such harsh rules?
Someone calls Father’s name behind us, shaking us both from our trance. Their voice grows closer as they approach.
“It is a game, and one day, we will win.” He blinks, jaw ticking once, before slipping on the jester’s grin he wears for everyone else.
He turns. His hand slips free from mine. His arms open to whoever comes his way. “Shall we play tafl then, dear friends and foes?”
And I’m left alone.
Alone but for that cold rage that keeps me company. The twist in my gut that’s migrating to my chest, howling like an ice storm, ripping winds full of gnashing teeth, pricking gooseflesh across my skin.
I vibrate with the need to act. To do something. To stop doing nothing every time I’m shunned or punished or the things I love are taken from me. To shout and tear my hair out and plunge down the well to find him.
To find a pet? I can hear Father’s astonished disappointment in my mind, see his gaze cut to me when I show weakness at caring for anyone other than us. And his discernment is the only leash I have, the cool, firm hand over mine urging me to wait it out, that vengeance is sweeter in secret.
The chill begins to shake and settle, like dirt in a water pail. It becomes a solid layer of ill will deep inside. I just want to go home, sleep for a century, and forget I ever created such a perfect little monster.
I focus my only true strength to its sharpest challenge - restraint. Show nothing.
Hide everything.