Immortal Need (20 page)

“We must be getting close. There are more Vardr coming. Are you ready?” Alexander asked.

“More than ever,” Sevani replied, rushing forward. Alexander kept pace with him.

The Vardr were indeed waiting for them, a mass of them. The seething black bodies spitting and clawing at them were at the base of the large temple. As they got closer, the monstrosity nearly touched the sky. Tall marble columns, thick gates, and gold sconces greeted them. Freya’s temple. They were close. They just had to get through the Vardr to get inside. From there they could find Ayah.

Sevani attacked with a viciousness he never had before. He drew his sword in one hand and a blade in another. Each thrust culled a screech, each stab the satisfying scent of blood and death. He didn’t care how many times they clawed him, or about the pain or the endless mass. All he cared about was Ayah. Alexander was at his side, shooting and spinning to take out the next. When his weapons were out of ammo, he pulled a blade from Sevani’s side and cut his way through bodies. They whirled together, neither speaking, as they fought. It was a deadly dance of glinting steel, flying pieces of flesh, and spraying blood. Each one that fell meant he was closer to Ayah, closer to Freya. Each one that died was one less obstacle in his way. Their death screams spurred him on. He fought like a man possessed, faster and faster, until he felt light as air.

The cloudless sky began to rumble, gray storm clouds gathering. They morphed and twisted until they covered the sun. Lightning streaked, thunder boomed, and each sound drove Sevani harder, empowered him. He felt strengthened by the storm. The sky opened up, and a torrent of rain pelted the battlefield. Sevani slid in the bloody mud but kept his footing. Even as the Vardr tried to retreat, he ripped through them. Every one of them would die, every last one of them. They kept him from Ayah, stood in his way. A lightning streak formed in the sky and hit Sevani’s blade. He held on, feeling the burn as it whipped through his body. Such power. He roared with it, his blood boiling in his veins. When he slashed his blade again, it cut through the Vardr bodies like butter. He laughed evilly as they died before him, melting into masses of singed fur and meat. Alexander slid to a halt, staring at him, but Sevani didn’t stop. Die. They all had to die. The rage of the storm matched his turbulent emotions, all rolling, and yet focused on one goal—to save the life of his mate.

“Tyr,” Alexander whispered, and Sevani heard it on the edges of the wind. The name shocked through him—Tyr, the first god of thunder, before Odin wiped him from existence to take his throne and gifted the power to his son, Thor. Tyr, the leader of the gods who had led them all before Odin’s mutiny. Tyr, the ancient god of war.

“Yes,” Sevani prayed. “Grant me help. Help me vanquish my enemies!” The power swelled through him once more. The meadow of Folkvangr was no longer a beautiful valley of plants and sunshine. It was a desolate battlefield of darkness and storms, of terror and death, the very manifestation of war that Sevani had invoked. So be it. Whatever aid, whatever the tools, he would get to Ayah.

When the last body fell, Sevani stood in the center. The rain washed away his blood and that of his enemies. He surrendered to it, lifting his face to the sky. The gods had forgotten about the Watchers. For so long, the only one who seemed to care about their existence had been Freya. Odin had turned a blind eye to his wife’s actions, too taken with the theory that he would die in Ragnarok. The other gods had slowly disappeared from existence, going to some deep abyss where they were not heard or seen. Only Freya, Hel, Loki, Odin, Valerie, and a few others remained in a world that no longer believed in them. Loki had made the transition with the humans, his very nature sustaining him through the change. Valerie lived because she was still useful. But now, one of the old ones had awoken and assisted the Watchers. For once they were chosen for good by a god. The thought both humbled and awed Sevani. He had never thought he would be thankful to any god or goddess, save Valerie. They had all turned their backs on them, and he hadn’t cared. But he would give thanks to Tyr, in the future, if he survived this. He would bless his name until the end of his days.

A hand on his shoulder dragged him from his musings.

“I think Ayah did more than we thought she did,” Alexander said then, quietly, almost reverently as he looked at Sevani. Puzzled, Sevani frowned at him for a moment before speaking.

“Tyr himself assisted us, not Ayah. I am thankful for the aid, though.”

“No,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “I said Tyr because that’s what you reminded me of.”

“Me? I cannot start storms or bring down lightning, Alexander,” Sevani argued.

“You may not have been able to before, but you can now. God but not god,” Alexander said, and Sevani remembered what Huginn and Muninn had told Alexander. They said something about Sevani becoming more than just an immortal warrior when he’d bonded with Ayah. He had his soul back, so he could die, one way or another, but he was also something more. Could they have meant what Alexander was talking about?

“But I’m not a god,” Sevani mused.

“You may not be a god,” Alexander started, “but you sure as hell can act like one.”

He swept his arms back toward the dead Vardr. The plain was covered with their bodies. Before, Sevani and Alexander had to work together to kill eight of them. Now, at least five times that many lay dead.

“Make the rain stop,” Alexander said then.

Sevani didn’t argue, not thinking it would work. He thought in his mind that he wanted the day to be clear once more, that the need for anger was gone. Slowly the clouds dispersed, the sun peeked through, and the meadow was in the light once more. Sevani’s jaw dropped. He had made the storm disappear, and with it his rage. When his surprised gaze swung to Alexander, his friend had a rare smile on his face.

“Yep, that covers it. You may not be a god, but I’m really happy to have your not-goddess around.”

Chapter Fourteen

Freya, goddess of gold, magic, pleasure, and a multitude of other things she’d remind herself of later, sat watching Sevani and Alexander enter her domain. The meadow that she ruled had once been a place of happiness. Before Odin, and before the war, Freya had been different. She’d frolicked among the flowers, greeted half of the fallen from battle who had come to her borders. She’d been the object of desire for gods and humans alike. But desire, she’d found, would ruin her. She’d always been a little entranced by gold—she was the goddess of it. When she had traveled to Aesir, she’d been taken aback by the sheer wealth Odin had. His wife of the white, or the pure side of the gods, Frigga, had been a woman as wise as Odin, but temperamental at best. Freya hadn’t meant to break up their happy home. She’d had a family with Ivaldi, emperor of the dwarfs, who had given her Brisingamen and other golden treasures, but she had. Her obsession with the gold in Odin’s palace, and Odin’s obsession with her, had caused the other gods and goddesses to hate her. They’d captured her, cut her up, and tossed her upon a pyre. They had done it three times to torture her, because she could not die. Freya had never known such pain. Because it had come from the hands of those who were her equals, it enraged her. They should have respected her place in the hierarchy.

But she was not alone. Her sisters and brothers of Vanir had come to her rescue. Like a swarm, Nerthus, Njord, Freyr, Hel, and some others had stormed Aesir’s gates. The battle had lasted for one hundred years before both sides realized there could be no end when gods could not die. They decided instead to form a truce. No longer would there be two separate tribes of gods and goddesses. They would become one, with Odin and Freya at their helm. Hel was sent back to Helheim to rule over those who deserve punishment in the afterlife. Frigga was sent to reside with her, just as Freya was sent to live with Odin. It was not a happy truce, but one that had been necessary. And in time, Freya had learned to love her husband. He’d showered her with gifts, taken pleasure in her body, and was comforted in the fact that the gods and goddesses were stronger together than they had been apart. And Freya bore him a son.

“You have done well, my queen,” Odin had said to her, a broad smile on his bearded face. He’d known she would give him a son, the Norns whispering the knowledge to him on the wind. She’d smiled, happy. Before Baldur, she’d borne two girls, Hnoss, and Gersemi, priceless treasures more beautiful than the sun. They spun gold threads for their father, and silver linings into clouds. But Baldur had taken even Freya’s breath away.

“Perfect,” she whispered into his golden curls.

“I will praise you as most high, goddess before all others, queen of queens, and the only other to sit in my high seat to see the universe.”

It had been a major concession. Freya was then looked upon as the female form of Odin. She was a prophetess, a shaman, the holder of great wisdoms. She’d been sought out, bowed to, and loved. No longer was she the traitor goddess who started the Aesir-Vanir War, but an equal. With Baldur’s birth, she’d elevated her station a thousandfold.

Baldur had grown to a man in rapid succession, always smiling, always happy. When he’d married Nanna, a minor goddess, the two had brought light to Aesir. Golden and beautiful, Baldur was a god no one could hate. Every step he took brought beauty. Every word he spoke brought peace. Her son had been perfect in every way. She had loved him dearly. He had also been the god of prophecy, so when he began having dreams of his own demise, Freya knew that it was real. She had done everything in her power to stop it from happening, but Loki had other plans. He despised the very nature of her son. Loki, son of Odin, when Frigga had still been queen, did not like the fact that Baldur was so loved. It was not Loki’s fault that he was born to be the god of mischief. It was simply his nature, but he was an irritant for most. Freya supposed that when he heard about Baldur’s dreams, he had come up with the alternate plan to cause disarray around him, not truly understanding what the fallout would be. And so Hod, her other son, god of darkness and blindness, had thrown the mistletoe that Loki had given him. How it tortured Hod to know that he had slain his brother. His sadness and demons were the reason why the night forever became a scary place, a time when evil could live, because it reflected what Hod felt himself. And Freya had followed her son in short order. Odin had not been able to console her. Neither had the other gods. Though they cried and screamed at his funeral, and even threw a great feast in his honor, they could not understand her pain. Baldur had been everything good that they thought she did not have. He had been the perfect example of all that was right in the world. For such good to fail was something that none of them understood. Nanna hadn’t fared much better. Distraught and lost without Baldur, who had given her a place in Aesir, she threw herself on his pyre, where he was burned, at his funeral. Freya had watched her daughter-in-law’s passing with understanding and envy.

If only she could have shown her misery in such a manner, but she couldn’t. A goddess before all others could not afford to.

Who was she if not Baldur’s mother, queen of queens, goddess of goddesses? The others had looked to her, and Odin, to make it through those dark times. They were the rulers, and like children, the other gods and goddesses hadn’t understood what had happened. How could one of them die and another be the cause of it? They’d punished Loki, to be sure, binding him with heavy boulders and burning him with acid for centuries, but even that he escaped with the help of his wife—stupid woman that she was. He’d killed her, as well, shortly after escaping his prison, and disappeared into the human world. He’d felt secure, Freya was sure, in the knowledge that he had begun the wheels of time spinning ever closer to Ragnarok and his chance to overthrow the other gods.

They all learned in those two days that gods could die. She still did not understand how Loki had achieved it. The other gods had ripped her apart, and burned her three times, but had not been able to kill her. But Baldur had died. Loki had started something that could never be erased. And when Loki realized the power that he had, mischief had become evil. He’d sworn to overthrow the gods, to kill them all. In the great battle that would ensue, he and his followers would be the victors. Huginn and Muninn, great wisdoms that they were, had seen it as well. Loki became the harbinger of their deaths. Gods, who had never believed that they could ever die, now believed that they could. Perhaps that was all that was needed, for the gods to
think
they could, and so it was.

From that point on, Odin took no sustenance other than drink, consumed by the fact that one day he would die. He looked to knowledge to find a way to survive as he gathered his warriors. Freya had not wanted to leave it to chance. The determination to win against Loki, and avenge her son, changed her. Any slight against her was met with deadly force. Any impedance to her end goal was met with destruction. And so the Watchers were born. Lei, Alexander, and Sevani had all been great and powerful men in their lives, but sinners against her nonetheless. She chose to use them for her own bidding. As the times changed, humans did not believe in the old gods as much. It made it harder for Freya to comfortably transverse through the human world. Odin had used Valkyries to bring his warriors to him. The same Valkyries would split off half of the bunch to give to Freya. This had not been enough for her. She wanted to choose ones she knew could help tilt the scale. Her Watchers had become her Valkyries.

Things had gone well for quite some time. All she had to do was condition her followers, and they eventually fell into line. It was easy because she understood how the pain of loss could change a person. She had used Sevani’s then wife against him, Alexander’s rage against him, and Lei’s thieving hands against him. Each of them had fallen into place after a time. Valerie was a different matter entirely. Freya used her for the sheer fun of it. It was sad to see the goddess follow so blindly behind others. If Valerie but knew the power she had, but she didn’t. Odin had made sure to make Valerie pliant and obedient to other gods and goddesses. When he had gifted her to Freya, it had worked even better. She wouldn’t have to gather new souls to fight for her when Valerie could give them immortality. The combination of Valerie’s seeds, and Freya taking their souls from them once they became immortal, allowed for Freya to have complete control over them.