It’s tiring to carry her, but less so than it was. The more I use my wings, the easier it becomes to use them, and I am grateful for the gift they’ve been. They saved us from Bjorn. They brought us here. And they’ve helped everyone see that while we’re not like the usual æsir bonded pair, there’s strength sometimes in doing something unlike the usual.
I suppose that’s Freya and Odin’s whole plan here today.
Odin, unlike Freya’s father Bjorn, didn’t attack when he saw us. He listened. And the more he listened and understood for himself, the more he changed. I would never have imagined he might grow to love the daughter of his enemy, but he has. I see it when he looks at her. His entire visage changes.
I watch it happen right now, as I carry his bride to the platform where they’re doing an earth child ceremony to be followed by an æsir mating ritual. All the bonded earth children and even some who aren’t bonded, by the looks of it, have turned out, all wearing their best clothing, and all of them are smiling.
It’s all going very, very well, right up until the cleric asks whether anyone present objects to the couple.
You know, a massive voice projects. I heard that earth children had a portion of their marriage ritual with this question. Thunar’s smiling—Odin’s eldest child with Frigg.
He’s a total nightmare.
Always angry. Mean. Nasty. Never helpful, not to anyone. The rumor is that his bonded despises him so much that he ran away almost right after accepting the bond.
I’ve certainly never seen him.
Thunar’s barely better than a vanir, and now he’s trying to ruin Freya’s wedding. I should keep quiet, but I can’t do it. I fly straight upward and turn to face off against him. Freya shouldn’t have to defend herself at her own wedding. This practice is intended for earth children who have a right to object, I say. It’s for loved ones, not for creatures filled with hate.
Filled with hate? Thunar gnashes his enormous teeth. I’m filled with disgust. My mother was killed by Freyr, this creature’s evil brother. Freja was there when her death happened, as were you. And now you’re here, and my father’s choosing to mate with her? It’s repugnant.
You’re a disgrace, I say. You’re ruining their happy day because of your own unresolved grief. Just because you’re ugly, you’re trying to spread that to them. You should be ashamed.
Thunar launches up, up, up, his massive wings pumping so much air that they knock dozens and dozens of earth children to the ground. His exhalation and grim smile make his pleasure in causing pain quite clear. Ashamed? I suppose I should be ashamed. My father’s masquerading as a weak, pathetic earth child. I want to hide, but that won’t help him or our people. Instead of wallowing in grief, I’ll embrace an æsir tradition on his happy day. He spins around then, a massive wind gust throwing earth children and æsir alike into the side wall of the enclosure. I challenge you, Odin flame blessed, leader of the æsir. Your terrible decisions signal that the time has come for you to step aside. Do it now, or die.
I feel Freya’s gasp from here. The bond’s practically trembling.
Before I can say a word, Odin takes off toward his son, already shifted into his blood-red æsir form. He slams into his bully of a son, knocking them just over the edge of the canyon chamber and into the entry area. The combined weight of their bodies destroys a large part of the side of the mountain, sending piles of rocks crumbling into the canyon.
Every creature with wings takes off, most of them carrying earth children on their backs. It’s partially self-defense of course, but many others, like me, want to be able to watch. I wing my way to Freya’s side, shocked she hasn’t shifted yet. When I reach her, she’s nearly naked.
My eyes widen. “Freya?—”
“Your mother’s gown.” Her eyes look distraught as she gestures. “I’m sorry to leave it in the dirt.” But then she shifts and launches into the air, following her husband upward to where his son’s trying his hardest to kill him.
I almost take off after them, but a tiny spark reminds me that Freya was wearing the heart. Sure enough, she tossed it on top of Mother’s gown. I gather both up in my arms and fly the gown back to Mom’s cottage. I tie the heart around my neck again and join the group that’s flying low to the ground, watching the flaming attacks happening high up in the clouds.
I can sense that Freya’s above me, but I’m not sure what she’s doing. I want to fly to her, but I’m afraid I’d become a liability. The last thing I want is to give Thunar a way to defeat his father.
Odin’s strong, I tell Freya. He’ll triumph.
Then I sense it.
Her terror.
A massive red creature plummets from high, high, high up in the air, heading straight down like a comet. It collides into the earth a mile or two from where I am, and my wings pump furiously toward it. It must be Odin—is it Odin?
Freya’s not responding.
She’s absolutely petrified.
And that’s not good.
When I finally reach the gathered throng, there are two huge red æsir, not just one. Odin’s poised over the wrecked body of Thunar, and his fangs are dripping lava down onto his son. I’ll finish him for this.
No! Freya shoots between them, pressing one clawed leg against Odin. Spare him as my wedding gift. That’s all I ask.
Why? Why would she beg for Thunar’s life?
