Bifrost: Chapter XIII

XIII - Whispers of Vanaheim

Asgard

Still black water called to Odin.
Images of Aztrit and Baldur's death flashed through his mind. All had happened as the fates warned. None of his preparations had changed the path of their fate or his own.
Crawling words sunk in, inking his inner ear and causing his skin to itch.
Mist clouded calmly:
‘Shhh–Do you hear it?’
‘The call is strong today.’
‘The Norns beckon; they warned we would fear her.'
'But he doesn’t believe it—he thinks we’re lying.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we took her—took Eir. Now Aztrit will be ours too.’
'He has nothing.'
'He has no one.'
'His fate will come. He will not outrun.'
"Shut up!" Odin shouted into the darkness, the voices drawing terror from him as he could not protect himself from their lies.
Odin’s eyes teared and dried—teared and dried—and teared up again.
Tired and red, itchy and blurry, they fluctuated as wisdom and fear clawed at the shreds of his mind that fled everyday.
Freyja had told him he had not left unscathed when he returned from the well. Odin hadn’t believed her.
His fingers clutched his thighs—shrinking in size everyday that passed. How could he trust those who prepared his meals? How could he trust anyone but himself? Or maybe...not even himself?
‘Trust us. We were your gift. Would we lie to you?’
Odin clenched his sagging flesh, hoping the pain would distract him from their false assurance. “You drove her away.”
‘No. You knew what she would become, and what you still have to do. Denying it is making you sick.’
‘He’s not sick, he’s stronger than ever. He has us.’
Odin looked to the floor beneath his bare feet, catching a glimpse of his own weary blue eyes. Reflective porcelain amplified the rage beginning in his mind, exiting his curled fingertips.
With force he stood, a bellow weakly swallowed in his throat as he staggered to the vanity standing proudly. He swiped his forearm across the surface, pushing the objects with force enough to shatter them before they reached the floor.
“QUIET!” He slammed his fists on top of the desk, causing it to crack in unison with his words.
He looked up into the mirror in front of himself, his quivering eyes begging him to return to the place in his mind that he found comfort. He lifted his fists slowly, the portion of the vanity that had been smashed to dust coated his skin and drifted away with his slow movement.
‘If you don’t believe us, why don't you ask them?’
Odin didn’t flinch as the midnight birds flew in through the billowing white curtains. Black as death and as large as horses, they landed on either side of him, craning their necks to whisper what they had seen into his waiting ears.
His weight became too much as they shared their eyes. If Aztrit wasn’t on the field of battle as he had instructed her, where was she? What reason did she have to disappear? Was she plotting her father’s demise as the voices had said?
‘The fates warned of this, but you didn’t listen. Now you plead with corroded beaks to feed you lies.’
‘Your time is coming, and their child will bring it.’
Odin shook his head. The Lord of Karth was no longer a child, the well had to have been mistaken. “Hel’s boy is mine. Aztrit will make it so.” He assured the voices, no matter the strain between them, his daughter would do as he wished.
‘How can you trust her, when you don’t even know where she is?’
Odin looked to his side, watching his crows spread their wings and bow their heads in submission. He whispered, pleading with them to bring him evidence against the conjured rumours. “Find her.”

✴

Gold and jade laid braided in the silent statue's hair.
Wisps of treasured design framed its face—beauty and intrigue became one in the artist’s vision. With the silvers of her hair, the jewels in her eyes sparkled miraculously, as if no time had passed.
Every artist could decide the image they desired to paint Freyja in from the stories that were passed from through the ages. They could focus on her beautiful soul, the kindness that saturated her graceful air, or they could demonise her, choosing instead to depict the tortured angry creature that had borne from tragedy.
The turn of her temperament was a reminder to all that the kindest souls could lay waste to everything they touched when only revenge could be tasted on their tongues.
The last time Aztrit saw Freyja herself had been by pure mistake, a product of sneaking around the throne room when she should have been in bed. In her youth, she took small pleasures in disobeying her Father’s word. It was a phase she had thought she had grown out of.
The screeching wind and booming light of the Bifrost had scared her into hiding behind her Father’s throne, knowing he would not catch her there.
Aztrit’s heart thumped, her eyes had gone blurry with tears. If she was caught, not only would her Father punish her, but so would her brothers. She wouldn’t attempt to slip away, choosing instead to stay and listen to her Father’s words, and whatever guest he had summoned.
A voice like a songbird’s broke the silence first. “My King, if only you could look past this minor infraction? My sister—your Queen–did not intend for the consequences to be so unfavourable.” Freyja and Frigga had found themselves under Odin’s judgemental eye. In the wake of her son Baldur's death, Frigga had been driven mad. She had been out of line, ordering the Valkyrie to scour Midgard and take soldiers before their time.
As her Valkyrie sister, head of Odin’s army, and rumoured lover, Freyja had leapt to Frigga’s defence. “She has been torn by Baldur's death, your Grace. As I'm sure your majesty is aware. And she only plotted this way because I spoke of the urgency you made us aware of. After your trip, we felt it was necessary to begin harvesting to protect our home.”
Odin gave her silence. Freyja was family always in good standing. She was level headed, loyal, and a warrior to be feared. In Asgard, she was revered for almost every gift imaginable. Punishing her would stir disloyalty amongst the inhabitants that looked up to him for guidance.
Frigg was quite the opposite. His wife, Queen of the Aesir, A goddess older than most, established and gentle. But there was a power—a pain in her that when unchecked—proved disastrous for anyone near. “You know I do not take comfort in my decision Freyja, but the decision is absolute. He was my son too, but in her recklessness, and accusations, she brought fate's attention to us. They are calling for this, not I.”
Freyja’s voice became strained. “It was Loki’s own words that pushed her to the edge. And when you tasted the waters, you broke that same absolution, didn’t you? Mimir was not yours to absorb, but you did it anyway, because you thought it would bring her back. Instead, you brought this realisation of impending doom on us all, and expect us not to act as rashly as you have. Why should Frigg die for your foolishness?”
Odin stood, staring down at the Vanir goddess. “It has been decided. I will excuse your harmful rhetoric for now, but I cannot guarantee you this same blessing in the future. Take her passing as a lesson—for your foolhardy attempt at love and my own.” The Well of Knowledge was supposed to have given him an answer to getting Aztrit’s mother back, but it had only shown him the future Asgard would face. It was a mistake that he would feel the repercussions of for years to come.
Freyja had been regal—effete just as Angeana was, taking every word the Allfather spoke with grace and honour, combatting his thoughts with her own as if he had not been her king. The silk of her voice had taught her to speak with courage so that pain, and battle could be avoided.
In that moment, Aztrit heard Freyja struggling with her loyalties, love had complicated her duty. While she and Frigg were sisters in duty, in the shadows they had grown privy to intimacy, only finding it in each other's arms.
Aztrit had peeked from behind the throne, seeing Freyja’s downcast violet eyes hardly covered by her golden hair, the blues and silvers of her armour dressed with shoulders of purple chiffon draping behind her.
There were far too many objects in Freyja’s domain; love, war, sex, precious metals. But on first look, beauty so obviously belonged close to her, her gift evident on each of her radiant features.
When Freyja had looked up, seeing Aztrit staring, she had given her the kindest smile, her heart abundant with purity. Aztrit concealed herself behind the throne again, her small heart racing in her chest. She hadn’t understood the strength it had taken Freyja to smile in the face of her heartbreak, but now she could feel it in the depths of her bones.
Loyalty was love’s bane, and the heart’s truest poison. Only now did she understand what had been said between them, and the choice Freyja had made.
Odin spoke confidently as he stood for her departure, “Keep close Freyja, our enemies seek only wars that they can win. They will separate us by any means necessary.”
“My King,” She had said softly, making the air in Aztrit’s lungs her own, “war is nothing, when love means everything.” Heavy winds and light carried her away, and so it was.
Aztrit had never forgotten the words Freyja spoke. Deeply she felt that it was why she had given Kirk entry to her soul without his honesty. Love had asked her to, and she had felt compelled to accept its request.
In the end, Frigg had been outcast with Hel when the two had decided to retaliate against Odin. Frigg had died in the attack, Hel had been banished to her Kingdom of the Dead, and Freyja had gone mad with hopelessness, filling mortal lands with flames of fury and rancid rage, murdering populations by the thousands. Odin had been forced to step in, resolving the renegade goddess the only way he knew how.
Her fate was only known in rumours. None other than Odin knew if she had met death, or had simply been banished from their home because of the soft place in his heart Odin had for her. It had been centuries, and he had told no one the truth. She doubted they would ever learn it.
There were greater lessons to be learned in remembering their secret interaction. She sat wondering why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. The mission her father had sent her on was not his own idea. It was a practice that he had looked down on before.
What had changed between then and now to get him to accept the dishonourable action? She had a feeling the Well’s waters had turned his mind, making him mad with the foresight he had been cursed with. It was the only explanation she had as to why her father felt less and less like himself every decade.
Even in Freyja’s absence, Aztrit continued to pray. Hoping that wherever she lied, she would hear her. She wondered where her offerings were sent to live. Did they get to be with her in a place she could only imagine to be beautiful, safe in her loving arms?
“She can hear you.”
Unafraid as a child’s voice whispered to her, Aztrit looked down from her shoulder, her knees resting against the cold marble of the temple floor. Orion inched forward, fixated on the statue as Aztrit looked for words. “Who can hear me?” she asked as she stood, taking a seat on the raised platform next to the statue’s feet.
The elven child took a moment, his messy red hair falling in his face. She smoothed the hairs behind his ear as his blue eyes reflected the statue’s rings.
He pointed to Freyja, his tunic rising to show his black twisted belt. “The mother of life. She said she always hears your prayers.” Monotone and ominous, she looked between them both. Had Derkot been strong enough to speak to Gods who weren’t present? Or was Orion simply having fun with her?
Aztrit reached for him, fixing his belt as she pulled his tunic down to cover his small, pale belly. She wouldn’t scare him by feeding his jest. She pulled her hands back as he looked presentable, happy that some sort of motherish instinct had compelled her to care for him. Maybe it would come naturally as Angeana had said. But Orion kept his eyes on the statue, serious tips to his frown.
“Does she talk to you often?” Aztrit questioned, hoping he was only being playful. She feared the strength he could have if he wasn’t pretending.
Orion shook his head afraid to look into her eyes. “I couldn’t hear her before Grandfather died. She spoke to him.”
Aztrit nodded once, understanding him in a way most would be incapable of. She would keep this gift at Freyja’s feet where it belonged. “Can you ask her where she is?” She held his hands, trying to get him to focus on her eyes. Nervous shifting came from his blue gaze. She sang to him with her iris, calming him. “It’s alright, Orion.” She reassured, knowing his gifts were new to him. He could only gather these powers after the last wielder had died, and only four months had passed since King Derkot’s death.
He touched her face as he heard her music. He felt his hands stilling as her golden eyes vibrated. “Are you an angel too?”
The child wouldn’t understand if she spoke plainly, so she would accept his explanation. He would know that nothing about him was strange or unworthy of acceptance. “You were chosen to speak with us because you are exceptionally special. Your grandfather was too. You could see me that night he passed, couldn’t you?”
“In the fields of fire?” She signalled yes again, knowing he meant the flames she had protected him with. He reflected her nod. “My uncles said there was no one there, but I saw you.”
Aztrit stroked his head, seeing the jagged tip of his ear peeking through his ruby hair. She was sure the other children stopped at nothing to terrorise him because his ears were deformed, his abilities would only make the divide between them wider. “You have been blessed, Orion. Never forget this.”
At her reassurance, his ears rang. Whispers surged in his mind, the corners of his vision blurred. He felt Aztrit’s hands tighten on his arms as she asked him if he was okay. He opened them again, unsure of how to pass on the message he had received. “She says…that he is coming.”
Aztrit brought him in closer, needing to know more. “Who is?” She said softly as he looked to still be listening. Someone was coming? What did that affect now? She readied to press him for more answers when they were disrupted.
“Orion?” She heard Angeana call as her sandals followed, clicking against the polished floor. Aztrit struggled to stand, her belly an obstacle for quick movement. She let his hands go, but his small palm only clung to her tighter as he tried to hide behind her dress. She looked down at him around her side, fear evident in his eyes.
“Mama doesn’t like when I talk to them.” Orion whispered up to her with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell.”
Aztrit silently agreed, aware that his parents would struggle to relate to him. She could imagine prophetic children were difficult for ordinary beings to communicate with. “I promise.” She saw him smile, his brilliantly clear eyes matching his happiness as he swore her to secrecy.
“Orion!” Angeana said with relief as a guard accompanied her, the gold she dripped in pairing with her golden crown filled with opals atop her silver hair, matching the rings on her fingers, and the bracelets on her arms. “Aztrit, I’m so glad you’re with him. I was worried he had gone roaming again. Come darling.” She said as she extended a hand to him.
He looked up at Aztrit for her suggestion. As she gave him a smile and a nudge, he went to his mother, taking her hand. Eyes were the window to the soul. She hoped her daughter would have her father’s, so that she could spend her life looking into them.
“Will they be here soon?” Aztrit asked Angeana as she passed Orion to the guard, placing a kiss on his unwilling cheek. The men were to come home briefly for replenishments, just for a few nights. It had been four long months, and letters had begun to pile, re-read over and over as she missed Kirk every second.
“Go get ready my love, your father the King will be making sure these ears are clean enough to eat off of!” Angeana joked as she pretended to eat his ear, causing him to laugh as he tried to push her away. She stood up and fixed his hair as the two walked away. She turned to Aztrit, clasping her hands together as she dreaded speaking to her. She looked to the brown pew behind them, motioning for her to sit down.
Aztrit took the motion, holding her large belly as she sat slowly, taking a breath. Their daughter had grown enormously since Kirk had been gone, she was sure he would be surprised when he came home, just in time for their Day of Devotion. She had been waiting anxiously since they had sent word, and it just so happened to fall on a day of sacred elven pairing.
Angeana sat next to Aztrit, taking her hand in her own. There was no easy way to deliver what had been told to her, she was glad she had heard of it first. “Only Lefelgd is returning, Aztrit. The first men who arrived alerted me just a few minutes ago. Things are becoming too heavy on the border, they couldn’t spare him. I’m so sorry.” She said each word sadly, knowing in her sensitive state she could either strangle her or cry hysterically in response to the sour news. As they spent time together, they had grown close in motherhood and friendship.
Angeana took the letter from her cloak, placing it in Aztrit’s hands. “He sent this for you.”
Aztrit took it, the breath leaving her body as her eyes teared. Four long months, and he wouldn’t be coming.
She cursed Kloi and Hyatse, she cursed war and her father, she cursed her broken heart. “It’s…it’s alright Angeana. He would be here if he could.” She said with a false smile, looking down to the worn paper in her hands. She opened it slowly, knowing she would only be able to read it for the first time once.

My Valkyrie, I dream of you every night, and our daughter at every day break. Please do not be angry that I could not be spared. It is with all of my heart that I hope you are both as safe as Lefelgd assures me. He and Eric do not believe that I will be an enjoyable parent—that you will be the one she runs to in her time of need, but I disagree. I can only imagine that my love for you both will cause me to be better than I truly am. More understanding, and patient. Just as I have felt after receiving you–my greatest blessing from the Gods.

The few moments that I am able, I lie on my back, looking up to the heavens as I thank them for you. I yearn for your smell, the feel of your hips in my hands, your lips against my neck. Through all it would be too cruel if I was never to experience you again, as I recognize I was unworthy to receive you from the very beginning.

I will keep you in my thoughts. Swear to do the same.

Yours indefinitely, Lord Kirk Verdulke of Karth

Aztrit wiped away her tears as a droplet fell onto the parchment beneath her, blurring his signature. The Lord of Karth was too important to be spared from the war. She looked up to the statue, biting her lip to keep it from quivering.
Why couldn’t he be no-one? Why wasn’t he some shopkeep that no one cared for? Instead she had chosen someone so crucial to every being's life on each end of the Bifrost. “Thank you.” she said to Angeana, turning her head.
Angeana silently leaned forward, rubbing her back. Her first separations from Lefelgd were arguably the worst moments of her life. She had been blessed with his presence when she was expecting their first child. Aztrit had not been given the same courtesy. “I would like it if you still came to the celebration. The dress I made for you is far too beautiful to be hidden.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Your company would mean much to me.”
She shook her head, it would not turn out to be so. She knew when Lefelgd arrived, Angeana would abandon her quickly to confine herself with him. It was only right to be overcome with happiness at the sight of someone you loved returning home. “No, I can hardly fit into it. This is better.”
Not wanting to press her in her condition, Angeana let her win. “Have you thought of a name for her yet?”
She held herself, thinking about it before answering. “Her divine name will be Nott, but her common name will be Noë. But, I want Kirk to have some say in it. I know I may be…exaggerating when I say this, but a part of me is worried that I won’t see him until after she’s born.” It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but war wouldn’t be feared if it was predictable, scheduled. She just hadn’t believed it would take so long.
Aztrit still heard the cries of battle through the nights, and dispatching her sisters without asking them to come see her was beginning to rouse suspicion amongst them. Being discovered by them was not her greatest worry. Her true fear was feeling the connection she had to Kirk sever, his soul disconnecting from hers while she was far away, incapable of aiding him.
What would she do then?
“You fear he will never lay eyes on her.” Angeana whispered, holding her breath as she held her shaking hand once more. She embraced Aztrit as she began to cry, supporting her as much as she could. Death's power only seemed to grip those who had much to lose. “You cannot think this way. It will destroy you both, and it would hurt him if he knew you had no faith in him. He will return.”
Aztrit listened through Angeana’s strength, praying for her own. With each day, faith and hope dwindled. It was far too much to ask for their pasts to be forgiven, for their war cruelties to be pardoned in the eyes of the Gods.
The fates remembered all.

To be continued...