connected to Yggdrasil and be happy on your journey away from here.”
Odin nodded. He knew this. For some reason, he’d forgotten.
‘Why have I forgotten something this important? Did I choose to forget somehow?’ he mused. ‘And why do her words feel like she is dismissing me from this place? What is going on?’
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Join me?” Sigyn blinked then glanced around them. “Why would you want to do that, Allfather? My home is dead. The flowers, the love, and the care Loki and I cultivated have long since passed on from the previous realm, from this very place as well, even as Asgård grows all the brighter for the Nine to see. Why would you want to sit in a place of death with me?”
“We are friends, are we not?”
“We were ...” She let out a sigh, and her shoulders slumped. “We were, once, Odin, before you and all of Asgård took Loki and myself for granted. Or have you forgotten one of Loki’s original titles as the God of the Hearth?”
“No.” Odin blinked away a stray tear and shook his head. “No. How could I? Though Asgård shines bright around us, I know there is no heart in it. Not anymore.”
“Much went wrong,” Sigyn murmured. “Loki is not completely without fault, Allfather. I know this. I do not seek to excuse his actions. I ...”
Around them, the branches of Yggdrasil shook. A strong gust of wind dusted them with green and golden leaves.
Invisible fingers of ice clutched at his heart. Odin glanced at Sigyn. Her eyes were cast upwards. Tears flowed freely from them, and the despair ... it radiated from her in tangible waves so strong, it filled his mouth with the taste of soured mead.
The course of fate, of the final battle shifted. In this place of seeming peace, the screams and moans of the dying and the war cries somehow reached Odin. They echoed among the branches and whispered in the blades of grass. The veil between the living and the dead grew thinner and more fragile with each passing moment. Before too much longer, none would be left alive. All played out as the events were pre-ordained to do, but a sinking sensation seeped into Odin. All played out as they were meant to, yet they were there, Yggdrasil trembling from the changes.
“Why weren’t you on the battlefield, Sigyn? Why were you not at your husband’s side, as you swore you would be?” A shiver stole over Odin. Sigyn should have been at Loki’s side as he commanded Naglfar into the fray, to battle against Skadi and ...
‘But Skadi died before reaching the final battle as well ... so how ...why does she not answer my question? What is she keeping from me?’
Cold overtook Odin from the inside and spread throughout his body. He kept his gaze on Yggdrasil, away from the despair and agony that had to be written all over Sigyn’s sweet face. He flinched some at the burning of her flower garden, flames starting to take to life and that would no doubt spread to her home.
Sigyn joined Odin where he stood, transfixed by the battle raging without them there. Then she stood straight, her shoulders squared.
“The desire for revenge runs deep amongst the Jötuns. It always has, if Loki was ever any indication, only fiercer, stronger, and with no restraint. Skadi would be no different, not when ...” Sigyn then sighed. “It’s time for you to go, Allfather.”
“Go? Where ...?”
“Something is changing on the battlefield, as I’m sure you’re aware.” She thrust a bloom into his hands. Odin glanced down at it. Though the leaves were dry and somewhat deadened, the flower itself bloomed in pale and vibrant hues of pink and violet. “This ... this is for you ... to remind you when you reach the end that it was not all bad.”
Odin turned his head towards her one final time.
“I am sorry,” he said. “But I will not be leaving you here. What makes you think I would do such a thing?”
“Who said you have a choice, Odin?” Sigyn raised an eyebrow at him. Gone were the anguish and despair. Steely determination and a fierce light replaced them. “Your fight is over. What happens next will be for me and my children to deal with, not you.”
“Is it in regards to Loki?”
“When isn’t it?” she countered.
“Then I will stay, too.” He tucked the bloom into his armor and slung an arm over her shoulders. “Despite all that has gone wrong, he is still my brother by blood bond, and I will do what I can to aid you in this.”
“You realize you may never get the chance to leave here again, yes?”
“I do,” Odin replied.
“Why ...”
“What is eternity in blissful paradise if there is no hearth or home to greet us upon arriving?”
“Odin, you cannot ...”
“Nay. I am staying, woman.” He drew her closer to him, protectively, like an older brother to a younger sister. “This is as much as my mess as it is Loki’s. We’ll wait for him here. Together.”
“You sound very much like Frigga and Freya,” Sigyn muttered. However, she leaned against him, her shoulders slumping.
“Did they move on?”
“No, we have not,” a woman’s voice answered. A slender arm slipped under his free arm, and Odin pulled his wife close. Out of the corner of his left, he noticed Freya standing next to Frigga. Each wore a braid of flowers in her hair, blooms no doubt from Sigyn’s garden. “Nor could you see us, not until you made your declaration of staying here. Such is how the magic here works.”
“As if we could leave Sigyn here by herself, not when her only crime was to love a man with all of her heart,” Freya agreed, gesturing to the gleaming golden yet hollow Asgård. “You are not the only one responsible for this, Allfather. We’d all forgotten who we once were.”
Who they once were ... Odin allowed himself a bit of a grin.
They’d been a family once, an odd one to be sure, but a family all the same. Though they’d failed to make it work, a spark of hope ignited within Odin’s chest.
‘We can make it work. Here, in this strange afterlife.’
One by one, as Sigyn predicted, the others joined them. Thor and Fenris, Frey and Bragi, Sleipnir and Tyr, Jörgmungandr and Idunna – battle weary and bruised, they appeared, each just as confused as Odin when he first appeared in this place. None saw Odin, Frigga, and Freya at first – the magic of Yggdrasil concealed them well – but, they, in turn, refused to leave Sigyn’s side when the raging of the battle became apparent, when they realized what it was they had lost.
The Jötun army lay dead on the field. Fires from Surt, the fire giant, engulfed nearly everything, except for a circle of land surrounding Loki and Heimdall. Frey’s sword had done an exceedingly excellent job in Surt’s hands, including turning on its current owner and impaling him. The two masters of fire barely noticed the fires burning around them. Their focus was upon each other, the intent to kill and end everything clear in their eyes.
Next to Odin, Frey winced. He turned his head away, a few tears straying down his cheeks.
“I will never forgive myself for giving my blade away like that,” the Vanir prince muttered.
“You will find a way, I am sure,” Odin replied.
“If I hadn’t given Skirnir what he’d requested in order to gain Gerda’s affections, I could have stopped Surt.”
“You might have,” Odin said, “but ...”
His voice trailed off, his eye glued to Loki.
The trickster paused for one moment on the battlefield, his eyes wide. Blood covered his face. His sword arm faltered. Raw desperation and a flicker of hope flashed across his face. And disbelief, as if he did not see them as they saw him.
“Sigyn?” he said. Odin heard no sound coming from Loki, but the name on his lips was all too painfully clear to him. Sickened, he realized too late the veil could work both ways and provide anyone with an ample opportunity for a killing blow. Fenris growled low and angry at the last fight playing out.
Heimdall took advantage of Loki’s momentary distraction. He drove his sword straight through the trickster’s belly. The God of Mischief gap
ed for one second at his nemesis before his expression turned into a snarl. Steel flashed, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from the gatekeeper’s throat. The flames licked higher and closed in on the two, no longer held in check by either.
Loki staggered backwards. His blood swelled around the blade sticking out from his belly, but he never removed the weapon. Instead, he turned to flee, stumbling the entire time. The fires obscured the rest, but Odin’s eye widened when bloody fingers curled around the hilt of Frey’s sword. Then the imagery faded away, leaving a chill to settle over the Allfather.
It didn’t take long for Heimdall to appear, his armor in tatters and his blood changing from red to a golden ichor. It streamed around him, enveloping him, and healing the injuries he’d sustained in fighting against Loki. The gatekeeper also staggered forward as though in a run.
“They come,” Heimdall rasped out. “They come!”
The ground shook under their feet. Everyone tensed and took up defensive positions, though none of them carried their weapons any longer. Frey sidled closer to Odin.
“Whatever comes,” he said, “we are prepared. We are not afraid of death and what awaits us.”
“We are already dead,” someone pointed out.
“We are still not afraid of what is coming,” Frey declared, his voice strong.
“Nay, we are not,” Odin agreed.
“Loki grabbed my sword, Allfather.” The Vanir prince lowered his voice.
“So I saw.”
“That was not meant to happen,” Frey pointed out.
“No. I