Page 12

ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, I’d been well-behaved since arriving in Asgard. Temperate, even. Nothing was broken, burned, or maimed. And now I had a promising way out.

But as the day went by, I grew restless.

Perhaps it was how the sun soaked through the windows and heated my skin until it felt like I was on fire. Or maybe it was the growing feeling in the pit on my stomach that I didn’t have months. I had only until Aegir appeared and told Asgard I was not who they thought. That could be any day. It could be today.

I strapped my axe to my back, yes, it was mine now, and headed out the door.

The warmth of the sun dimmed as a breeze cooled my cheeks, and I closed my eyes to soak it in. The softest grass my toes had ever felt kept each step light, and I didn’t regret leaving my shoes behind. I’d travel stealthier this way. That was best. Today, I didn’t want anyone to see me.

My gaze trailed north, to Odin’s mountain. His home devoured it, until all the crevices of the rockface were a part of his masterpiece. Silver sconces hung above towering windows, gilded iron doors opened to various points, balconies stretched over the abyss, and carvings of wolves and ravens stood guard. There could be a thousand gods living there, and there’d still be spacious room.

I gave it a withering glance before turning the other way. My feet slapped against hot stone as I trudged off the beaten path, finding relief from the heat in the shade of pines. I’d followed the stream before when I was with Ve, back when he’d led me to the shrine that looked more like a tomb. I had no desire to see that today. I took another route, winding down through the thickest part of the trees where rampant roots snagged my feet and wild berries grew in clumps on overgrown bushes.

Sometimes I’d look one way and it would remind me of the mountain by the fjord, and I’d pretend I was hunting back home, and not exploring Asgard. But then a sculpted temple would peek through a break in the branches, and I’d remember where I was.

A new kind of home. One that didn’t feel like me.

Yet no god had questioned my identity as their lost goddess. To them, I was clearly Astrid. Surely they could recognize a weak mortal? I’d always questioned the power of the gods, but was it so weak, they couldn’t tell when a mortal stood before them?

Did they see something I didn’t? Unless. . .

Was I wrong?

Was I. . . a goddess?

No. Still, I humored the illusion. As I moved, I tried to find fragments of myself here. Tried to piece together lost parts of my past and trace them back to this place. It was like clinging to a cloud—you can almost feel it on your hands but you can never truly hold it. The more I fought to remember, the less certain I was about my memories at all.

It felt futile to hope. I wasn’t sure if I should hope—or should fear—the idea that I was really a lost goddess. I preferred to keep those emotions shoved back in the tightest corner of my mind, but today they forced themselves to the front until I could hardly think of anything else. Was I fighting to get back home, or fighting to run from it?

“I wish I remembered,”

I whispered, letting my fingers trickle over the sticky sap of a tree. “I wish I knew the truth.”

Like most people, I supposed, I didn’t remember much from before I was six. Just little scraps of memories I couldn’t be certain were mine, or were simply fragments I’d created based on stories I’d heard.

Once you fell asleep under my cot, and it took us hours to find you, Faoir had said. Then I could picture being snug under the cot. But was that my memory or me creating it?

You brought back the wrong berries from the woods, and were sick for a week. I remembered being sick, but who could say which time that was?

Then the big one.

When you fell from a tree, the branches scarred your arm.

I pushed up the sleeve of my tunic and stared at the marks.

I could picture what it was like to fall from a tree and could summon a phantom pain from the webs of scars. But was falling from the tree a real memory I had, or simply one I imagined from how many times my parents explained my marks to people? Almost like they spoke the experience into my mind.

I always thought I remembered. Now I wasn’t so certain.

I shoved my sleeve back down.

This mark was what made Balder so certain I was a goddess. It was the same reason I doubted, because of my parents’ stories. But my belief was fading, and all that remained was confusion.

“It’s impossible to remember being here as a toddler,”

I reminded myself. “But if I remember how I got these scars, truly remember, it invalidates their claim over me. It means I don’t belong here…”

My voice trailed off.

It meant I didn’t deserve their kindness. It meant I had no home.

It wasn’t the loss of their love that frightened me, but being aimless. A wandering Viking was easy to kill, and I had no safe place to call my own.

But it was better than being desperate for love. A desire to be loved would cripple me if I let it. Already it threatened to creep in. So I shoved the thoughts back into that tight corner of my mind and continued my search for the escape.

Just then, a flash of white stone broke through the pines. Pebbles crunched underfoot as I drew closer, and I curled my toes over their cool surface while checking for anyone else. My steps slowed. My eyes went on alert.

The glint of white turned into a lavish gate, complete with a pearly latch and gilded posts, thick in frame and wide in stance. A fence attached itself to both sides with three points like sharp claws, grabbing hold of the frame. I approached it.

The fence was built of thin lines and short poles, with brocade designs giving it an old-fashioned look as it wrapped through the trees, marking a barrier to something unknown. It wound twenty paces before sharply turning inward to dive through the thickets. I paused there.

As far as I could see, there was no one on the other side. A path started outside the gate, and I allowed myself to stand upon it as I gazed up at the arched frame. It was just the type of thing I could see leading back to Danmark, complete with depictions of mortals carved into it. Heroes of ages past, wielding their axes high as they conquered the lands we were now settled in.

My fingers wandered over the carvings. I waited for something to tell me this was a magical gate, but if magic could be felt, it wasn’t here. Still, I reached for the latch and lifted it, watching as the gate swung inward.

I slipped inside, ignoring the churn in my stomach that warned me I shouldn’t be here.

But I couldn’t figure out where here was.

There was no noticeable distinction between what was outside the gate and what was inside, other than a path that widened as I moved down it. I followed the path south for no more than five paces before I heard something.

My entire body froze. I strained to listen.

Someone was singing.

Shortly after I stilled, the voice hushed. Then it spoke.

“If you’re here, you might as well come all the way in,”

it said. I swallowed, and followed the path around a bend.

On the other side of the turn, the trees had been cleared away to make room for a garden with zucchini, squash, rutabaga, and small melons that Frigg was tending to. She wore the simplest outfit I’d seen her in yet, but even the cream-colored dress with wide pockets and high neckline managed to look classy on her.

Frigg smiled like she’d been waiting for me. It was impossible to pretend I was doing anything other than sneaking around as I approached her.

There was no judgement on her face. She leaned back on her knees, and offered a shovel.

“These ones didn’t make it,”

she said, gesturing to shriveled bulbs. “Will you help me clear them out?”

“Of course.”

I took the shovel and knelt beside her.

She was quiet for a bit as she worked, and the ease of it melded into a comfortable silence that spanned almost an hour. It felt familiar to be working the ground again. Finally something I knew, and something that was useful.

We’d cleared out all the bulbs before she spoke again.

“I know you want to leave us,” she said.

I wiped my brow and sat back.

The words weren’t accusatory, yet they buried guilt into my chest like an axe.

Yet she said more, and a deep understanding rang through her tone. “This is all new, frightening, and I’m guessing you can’t believe you’re a goddess yet. You’re running through your memory, hoping it leads you here.”

She understood, then. My next breath was like taking the first proper swallow of air in years. “I’m trying to make sense of it all, but it’s hard to grasp.”

Her dirt-streaked hand found mine. “I know. I don’t need you to accept this family yet, but we are here for you when you’re ready to call Asgard home.”

The tip of her finger brushed against the end of my scars as she pulled back. I looked at them.

“How did I get these scars?”

I asked her.

She blinked like the question surprised her.

“I was told I got them in Asgard,”

I went on. I rolled up my sleeve so she could see them in all their glory. The sun shone against the skin, brightening the webs against my sun-stained coloring. “These are what made you certain you’d found me. But no one told me how I got them. Was I born this way?”

Frigg’s hand reached out again to gently touch them. She smiled, but it was a cracked motion, like a weak mask over an expression of pain. Her voice carried the same broken weight to it. “It was Odin’s wolves,”

she breathed. My brows shot up.

I hadn’t seen Geri and Ferki yet, but I knew of Odin’s wolves, for they were legend in Danmark. Ravenous. Greedy. Loyal. Highly protective of Odin. “They attacked me?”

“You attacked them.”

Frigg chuckled, but her sorrow still lived close to the surface. “You were a wild little thing, even as a youngling. You attacked Hashi, and she fought back. Odin saved you before she did much damage, but the scars wouldn’t go away.”

I tried to find that in my memory, but it wasn’t there. Neither was that name. “I don’t know of the wolf Hashi. I thought they were named Geri and Ferki?”

“Odin used to have a third. He put the wolf down after she attacked you.”

I shivered. As if feeling it too, Frigg squeezed my hand. “He would do it again in a heartbeat to keep you safe.”

She tugged my sleeve back down, while I tried to find the right words to say. “Ruin, these scars helped prove who you are. But they were not what convinced me you are my granddaughter. It was that same wild spirit you’ve always had that convinced me of who you are. You get it from your móoir. That is the reason I love you, and how I know you are mine.”

I didn’t deserve to have Odin slay one of his wolves for me. I didn’t deserve the unending love Frigg had for me. I didn’t deserve a home amongst the gods. Yet they gave it so freely, because I was family to them.

My real family hadn’t even given me a woolen blanket when I was freezing in the winter.

I had to clear my throat to manage words. “Thank you.”

“I hope you find the clarity you search for.”

She pulled me into a hug. “Because I think you would have a nice life here.”

There was one last question on my mind.

“Do you know why my breathing is weak?”

She frowned, then a knowing look passed her face. “You are weaker the longer you are away from Asgard,”

she said. “Your physical ailments were simply because you were away from home too long. Your strength will return now that you are here.”

One by one, things were lining up. It was getting harder to deny, and harder to not hope, what they told me was true. But with that came the unsettling thought—whatever the truth was, someone had lied to me.

When I returned home that evening, a wool skin was waiting for me inside, along with a note. I picked it up.

The nights can get brisk here. And the wool was always meant for you. -Ve

I touched the soft fibers. This was far nicer than anything we had in Danmark, and it would not go unappreciated as the temperature dropped.

But the true warmth came from the small action Ve had taken to return to the cave and bring this to me.

I could fake being engaged to anyone if it meant getting home, but it would be far more enjoyable to do so with a man who had a decent heart.

I wrapped the wool around me and headed up the marble stairs just as the sun was setting.

It made the room carry a golden glow that reminded me of evenings by the fjord. As I stared out the window, I tightened the wool and made a promise. I’d find my home soon, wherever that was meant to be.