DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Chapter Come What May
(Modi)
This morning is the fifth day since I last saw Fjolnir - not that I’m counting. I should be used to this. It’s how things between us have always been, but I’m more resigned to it than I am accepting of it - I miss him. He stayed when I asked him to, and I’d foolishly hoped that meant he would still be there when I woke, but the bed beside me was as cold as the pre-dawn air. Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the sorrow that grows stronger by the day. It’s not like I don’t have a list of jobs to absorb my time.
One of those jobs is to keep the main trails clear of debris throughout the cold season. With Fjolnir staying away, it seems that there’s no better time to check those routes than now. Hefting my supplies onto my shoulder, I close my hús door and drop the wooden bar to secure it against any hopeful animals that chance by.
Heading north, I steadily tread the pathway, cutting back low-lying branches and clearing sodden leaves the best I can. Whilst my body makes the journey, my mind drifts to the recent animal killings, especially the Bilskírnir goat, and what a possible escalation might look like. So engrossed in the images of what could be, I initially miss the low murmur of conversation that hums in the background of this usually secluded part of the forest.
Stepping from the trail, I look around for the source of the voices. The northern hunting lodge is just on the other side of that thicket. Thor keeps it maintained in case of emergencies, but it’s rarely used for its intended purpose. Watching my footing, I quietly skirt the thorny vines and thinning shrubs until the side of the lodge comes into view.
“That’s not what you said last time we spoke.” The female voice is stern, and an authoritative tone laces each word, instantly causing me to freeze where I am.
I know that voice. A lifetime spent on the fringes of society, being forced to hide in the shadows whilst listening to conversations instead of joining them, has made me an expert in identifying voices. No one other than Freyja manages to produce that level of disdain.
“With all due respect, last time you gave a different timeline. He was on track for completion within six moon cycles.” The immature and whiny female that replies can only be Jarnsaxa, Thor’s mistress.
As a loosely extended family, it’s not unusual to think these two women would have a friendship or meet on occasion. Technically, Freyja is still a blood member of the House of Aesir. Her twin brother married into the House of Vanir, and she has no other connection to it, despite her possessive and meddlesome interest in Fjolnir. What is unusual, and has me edging closer to the lodge for a better vantage point, is the remote location they’ve chosen to meet. Whatever they’re discussing is not something they want others to overhear.
“I’m not asking about the original plan!” Freyja snaps. “I’m asking if Magni can uphold your end of the deal now that we’re bringing him in early! I need to know he’s as good as you promised.”
“Of course, he’s that good! He’s my son. He’s better than good. Despite not having the full time set aside for this, he’s ready.” Jarnsaxa’s confidence settles Freyja, and footsteps follow as one, or both, move around inside the lodge.
“Good. I have adjusted accordingly, and this lodge should provide enough privacy until he’s needed. Modi doesn’t take the northern-bound perimeter trail often and hasn’t been north since he found my message at the basalt flats. Stay here until Magni arrives, and make sure he understands the importance of his discretion.”
The lodge door creaks open before swinging shut, and Freyja’s cloaked form comes into view. Tucking myself tightly between a log pile and the lodge wall, I watch as she glances around before settling into a nyirseg carriage and whipping the attached draft mare into action. Heavy hooves clomp to the trail as my heart pounds and my mind whirs.
I thought I’d be relieved to learn who was behind the spate of animal attacks, but that isn’t the case. Freyja is more cunning than I gave her credit for, and it’s evident that she’s known about Fjolnir and I for much longer than just these last few days.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my tunic, I risk rising on my toes to take a look through the window at Jarnsaxa. She’s alone and bent over the bed fitting the sheets, but the windows are too dirty for me to make out many other details.
The sound of hooves disturbs my viewing, and I drop down beside the log pile, hoping Jarnsaxa hasn’t seen me. My heart thunders in my ribs and I force my breaths through my nose, trying desperately to get on top of my adrenaline. Straining, I detect two distinct trots and flatten myself as much as possible, hoping the passers-by continue south along the trail. The horses come to a dead stop with a guttural command. A series of grunts and footsteps filter through the ambient sounds of the forest, and I lean my head to peer around the lodge.
Two Himinbjörg Guards are busy unloading luggage from a Citadel messenger cart as Magni, Son of Thor, looks on. Making no attempts to disguise himself nor keep his voice lowered, he berates the Guards as if they’re nothing more than butlers from his estate and not semi-feral fighters of the realm. Entitled prick. Unphased by his status, the Guards spit on the ground by his feet, and Magni’s brown eyes narrow in their direction. He scowls and flounces away.
He’s been raised as a showpiece and nothing more. Thor’s daughter, Pru, is renowned for her skill in battle. Upon her merit, she has risen through the ranks of the Valkyrie militia and travels the Nine Realms on peacekeeping missions. But Magni is shallow and vain, unworthy of his family’s name. The seax upon his hip is ceremonial and about as much use to him as his skill in wielding it. Despite Magni’s provocation of them, neither Thor nor Pru would have tolerated such an open display of disrespect in their home realm.
“You couldn’t have sent one of Daddy’s carriages for me?! I had to get in a messenger cart like chattel and be manhandled by those - things!” Magni’s sullen tone grates on my already sensitive nerves. “And this is where I am staying?! When you said you had accommodation, this isn’t what I expected!”
“Shhh, my boy, you must be tired after your journey. Take a seat and let Momma explain.” Jarnsaxa’s fawning over Magni makes my skin itch, but I can’t leave. I need to understand what plan Freyja and Jarnsaxa have set up.
“Yes! You must! I was supposed to have six moon cycles - not three! I don’t like that you agreed without my consent!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but Freyja confirmed that a union is agreed for the Heir and that the family is keen to conclude the deal much sooner than anticipated.” Jarnsaxa’s words whip up a storm in my mind as thoughts trip and tumble over themselves. My knees give out and I sink into a squat, clenching my jaw to bite back my rage. Fjolnir is mine!
“Is it a family that works for us?”
“Yes, it’s a favourable outcome for us, son. But it’s simply good fortune that the family is from a realm you’ve studied, and that nothing else about the plan has changed. Fjolnir has become more trouble than he’s worth, and this is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for. It has to be now.”
What does she mean by ‘Fjolnir is more trouble than he’s worth’? The rushing of blood fills my ears, my hands form tight fists that have my blunt nails digging into my palms, and I push the back of my head against the wall of the lodge, needing the bite of pain to ground me.
“And you’re sure, Momma, that after I have killed Fjolnir, Gerd will do as Freyja says and appoint me as Heir in his place?”
“She will have no choice! She will be all that remains of her House, and you are positioned as the perfect candidate - thanks to all your recent training.”
I’ve heard enough. I need to get to Fjolnir. I have to keep him safe! Pushing from the lodge onto the balls of my feet, I stay low and out of sight of the window. If I can get him safely away from his family, I can hide him and buy us time to escape. There are cliffs with caves over the East Sea, but it’s a three-day ride by horse. We will need supplies. Skirting back around the thicket, I break into a run, cutting diagonally across the forest and avoiding the trails.
My lungs burn, my legs pump faster than I’ve ever needed them to, but I don’t stop. I’m coming, Fjolnir, my love.
⇷☾ᛰ☽⇸
In my haste, I fail to realise that I didn’t need to lift the bar lock to enter my hús. With my chest heaving, I suddenly stop mere steps from Fjolnir’s brilliant blue gaze. Almost instantly, he’s on his feet, his hands frantically touching over my head and shoulders as he no doubt assesses me for injuries.
“You’re here!” I pant. Gripping his jaw, I turn him roughly from side to side. What I’m checking for, I don’t know, but things aren’t as I expected. I need the contact to help ground my thoughts.
“I left my family. I went to visit General -”
“Good!” I cut in, “We need to leave.”
I scan the room, but I’m too unsettled - too wild - to take anything in. Fjolnir places his palms on my chest and pushes. No doubt he can feel my stampeding heart. Instinctively, I place my hands over the top of his.
“Leave? Why? What happened?” His concern is obvious, but I’m too agitated to indulge him.
Taking a firm hold of his wrists, I push him back as I look for a suitable bag. We need essentials - medical supplies, jerky, fermented vegetables if I can.
“Modi, talk to me!” He latches on to my arm and turns my body back to his. “I’m staying. I’m choosing you.”
He pushes into my space, pressing as much of his front against me as possible. Sliding his arms under my cloak, he squeezes the expansive muscles of my back, and I wrap my arms around his hips. The heat between us is stifling. Knowing he needs answers, that I need to calm my frazzled mind, I let my head fall onto his shoulder and breathe him.
His fingers pull at my sweat-soaked tunic, and my cloak hits the floor with a thud. Slowly, he tugs until I am perched on the edge of the bed. Kneeling beside me, he leans over to dip a cup in the pot of drinking water. Unable to quell the trembling in my hands, no doubt caused by plummeting adrenaline, the water sloshes a little when I accept it from him.
Fjolnir silently unties the laces of my boots and eases them from my feet as I take small sips of water. My heart hammers inside my ribs, but at least my breathing is slowing. Still, I’m unable to voice my thoughts. All I know is that we must leave - it isn’t safe. I need to plan for us, but clear thoughts are scattered and out of reach.
Having removed his tunic, Fjolnir climbs into bed beside me and forces me to lie down. “Whatever it is, we will deal with it together. Just take a few minutes to rest.”