word to him, and I understand that this is by design. Loki could have spies in Gladsheim.
Frigg leads me to a room decorated in bronze and ivory. We sit upon a divan together, I set my weapons aside, and Orlaith folds herself around my feet as a helmeted Valkyrie brings us a wide bowl of fruit. I take a fuzzy peach because I want to make a T-shirt saying “I dared to eat a peach in Asgard” and have it be true.
“He will not be long,” Frigg assures me, and I nod, biting into one of the most glorious peaches I have ever tasted. J. Alfred Prufrock definitely should have dared.
Odin enters as I’m finishing with Hugin and Munin perched on his shoulders, all three of them alert and focusing their gaze on me.
“Granuaile,” he says, nodding once by way of greeting. “We have not formally met before now.”
As I stand to greet him, I’m not sure what to do with the remainders of my peach. There is no protocol that I know of that deals with how to surreptitiously dispose of fruit in the presence of a god. “I’m honored, Odin, if slightly embarrassed to be caught eating.”
He grins gracefully. “The honor is mine. And not to worry.” A Valkyrie appears at my elbow and takes the remainder from me, leaving my hands free. Odin thanks her and then his eye shifts down to my left arm. The beaks of his ravens tilt in tandem. “Please show me Loki’s mark and explain to me precisely how it was made and what he said about it.”
I lift my arm and Odin cups it in his callused hand, peering closely at the mark as I recount how Loki lured me into a forgotten room buried in India to procure the Lost Arrows of Vayu, enchanted weapons that would fly true and pierce their intended target no matter the ambient weather conditions, much like Odin’s spear, Gungnir. And once I was rendered immobile by a creature guarding the arrows, Loki branded me with a round, runed chop he carried with him, from which I had been unable to heal.
The bearded god spends several silent minutes examining the mark from several angles and pressing the skin with a thick finger. Finally satisfied, he drops my arm and meets my eyes with his single one.
“I have a plan,” Odin said.
“I’m very glad to hear it. This should be good.”
As a Druid, I can bind myself to the mind of a creature and calm it if it is feeling aggressive or fearful. If sufficiently worried and I feel like bothering, I can also ask the elemental to prevent animals from attacking me, which Oberon calls “cheating.” But if I’m going to hunt, I’m on my own. I can’t ask an animal to lie down and die for me, and the rules are clear from Gaia: No magic may be used to take another creature’s life. I have to do that on my own.
One of the lookout hartebeests saw us coming and bleated a warning to the herd. They sprang into flight and the ground thundered with the collective drumbeat of their hooves.
Oberon and I stayed close together at first; we had to split off a chunk of the herd that had a kid in it. We positioned ourselves to the right of center behind the herd and Oberon barked. It didn’t take many before the animals directly in front of him tried to turn one way or the other, and their efforts pushed others, and in moments, we had a widening schism. We followed the right-hand group and then we had to split up on either side of it, a dangerous game of turning the herd this way and that until the kids they were protecting in the middle eventually snapped out of the end like a whip tail. Oberon leapt onto the back of one and brought it down, the herd kept moving, and then the hunt changed into a protect-the-flag operation.
High-pitched chattering announced the approach of a pack of hyenas. It took me a moment to orient myself and figure out where we had left Mekera, but once I spotted her in the distance, I shape-shifted back to human and drew Fragarach from its scabbard. I waved it overhead, hoping the sunlight would flash on the blade and signal that she
Frigg leads me to a room decorated in bronze and ivory. We sit upon a divan together, I set my weapons aside, and Orlaith folds herself around my feet as a helmeted Valkyrie brings us a wide bowl of fruit. I take a fuzzy peach because I want to make a T-shirt saying “I dared to eat a peach in Asgard” and have it be true.
“He will not be long,” Frigg assures me, and I nod, biting into one of the most glorious peaches I have ever tasted. J. Alfred Prufrock definitely should have dared.
Odin enters as I’m finishing with Hugin and Munin perched on his shoulders, all three of them alert and focusing their gaze on me.
“Granuaile,” he says, nodding once by way of greeting. “We have not formally met before now.”
As I stand to greet him, I’m not sure what to do with the remainders of my peach. There is no protocol that I know of that deals with how to surreptitiously dispose of fruit in the presence of a god. “I’m honored, Odin, if slightly embarrassed to be caught eating.”
He grins gracefully. “The honor is mine. And not to worry.” A Valkyrie appears at my elbow and takes the remainder from me, leaving my hands free. Odin thanks her and then his eye shifts down to my left arm. The beaks of his ravens tilt in tandem. “Please show me Loki’s mark and explain to me precisely how it was made and what he said about it.”
I lift my arm and Odin cups it in his callused hand, peering closely at the mark as I recount how Loki lured me into a forgotten room buried in India to procure the Lost Arrows of Vayu, enchanted weapons that would fly true and pierce their intended target no matter the ambient weather conditions, much like Odin’s spear, Gungnir. And once I was rendered immobile by a creature guarding the arrows, Loki branded me with a round, runed chop he carried with him, from which I had been unable to heal.
The bearded god spends several silent minutes examining the mark from several angles and pressing the skin with a thick finger. Finally satisfied, he drops my arm and meets my eyes with his single one.
“I have a plan,” Odin said.
“I’m very glad to hear it. This should be good.”
As a Druid, I can bind myself to the mind of a creature and calm it if it is feeling aggressive or fearful. If sufficiently worried and I feel like bothering, I can also ask the elemental to prevent animals from attacking me, which Oberon calls “cheating.” But if I’m going to hunt, I’m on my own. I can’t ask an animal to lie down and die for me, and the rules are clear from Gaia: No magic may be used to take another creature’s life. I have to do that on my own.
One of the lookout hartebeests saw us coming and bleated a warning to the herd. They sprang into flight and the ground thundered with the collective drumbeat of their hooves.
Oberon and I stayed close together at first; we had to split off a chunk of the herd that had a kid in it. We positioned ourselves to the right of center behind the herd and Oberon barked. It didn’t take many before the animals directly in front of him tried to turn one way or the other, and their efforts pushed others, and in moments, we had a widening schism. We followed the right-hand group and then we had to split up on either side of it, a dangerous game of turning the herd this way and that until the kids they were protecting in the middle eventually snapped out of the end like a whip tail. Oberon leapt onto the back of one and brought it down, the herd kept moving, and then the hunt changed into a protect-the-flag operation.
High-pitched chattering announced the approach of a pack of hyenas. It took me a moment to orient myself and figure out where we had left Mekera, but once I spotted her in the distance, I shape-shifted back to human and drew Fragarach from its scabbard. I waved it overhead, hoping the sunlight would flash on the blade and signal that she
Similar Books
The Girl From Home
Adam Mitzner
Lessons Learned
Sydney Logan
Ancestor
Scott Sigler
The Christmas Mouse
Miss Read
The Countess De Charny - Volume II
Alexandre Dumas
The Beloved Daughter
Alana Terry
Deadly Valentine
Carolyn G. Hart
When Love Calls
Unknown
Fear
Gabriel Chevallier