Jarngrimr sang us away:
Freida and Ingvi rode out into the sun-dappled woods,
bows and falcon-fletched arrows ahand, aback boars,the twins wore cloaks of wolf, fall was at its apex,the smell of loam and Nerthus’ autumnal perfume rosein mist like an intoxicating oracle past oak and ash.The Golden Twins were hunting the white hart, dashingthrough Vanaheim aback war sow and hog, spilling rubyblood of Ingvi’s sacred antlered stags, Freida saw aspiderweb woven of gold, and as Ingvi roasted the hartshe strayed in her feather cloak and moonlight dress toa dwarven hollow, where a soot-rough duergar smithed abeautiful bracelet shaped like the sun, Freida swelledwith gold-lust, for Gullveig is her witch-name, and themetal of morning and dawn is her domain. Freida spokewords of want to the blackened dwarf: “Lay with me thisharvest tide, and you shall mine gems and finA Winter’s TaleMei moves with her family to the hinterlands,where cold gods reign, and colder climes drawhoarfrost on her coal black hair.This is the first time the girl, barely a young woman, Has seen snow. The peaks of the mountains are likeicicles piercing the sky, and at night, the moonis the brightest she has ever seen, like a brightsilver coin, nestled at the crest of the ridges.One night, the Bear that Swallowed the Moon comesand bids her “Ride my back, Mei. I am Bei Ling,the Moon Incarnate, and I shall show you themajesty of my frozen kingdom.” It is a wooing of love, and Mei climbs aback Bear -they rush through pine and red panda up theslope, in his throat is the lunar disc, shiningevery time he growls or opens his mouth to speakin a tongue not human, but bestial. That night, Bei Ling digs her a bed of snow and mos
Yolanda and I alighted on the light elf terrain:Alien glimmers of the whitewashed, satin blue, finely featured elves, who towered over us in silken, slender forms, held out pearl gray mushrooms and glowing yellow fruits, circling us in a whirlwind as their crystal palaces and strange, arcane stone temples blurred as they fractaled.The tribe of Ljossalfar splintered like ice.Terrified, I looked up into Yola's arms. She put her plush eagle wings in a vice around me, the cinnamon and cloves of her skin darkening my vision. She cried out, as if a stabbing pain from the light of the dead - as the dark elves and light elves had spirits of the disir and alfar, our ancestors... transformed into something forbidden - was crushing her lungs and spine.Her flesh grew hot, and we both screamed.Suddenly, silence, and eldritch cold."Is this an initiation into the Land of the Dead, Helheim? Are we trespassing?"I kept my eyes shut, shrouded by
I cried, sinking to me knees amongst the graves of rune stones.Yolanda rocked me, cursing."I feel like something precious was stolen from me, at a terrible price," I moaned, Gullinkambi cooing as he preened my hair. He was the only one not shaken, my immortal cockerel.Yolanda hugged me so hard, she nearly crushed my back in like a caving glacier. "I'll sing you Hakkon's song on sweet Aslaugh's deathbed. He always sang that to you as a lullaby. One of his only acknowledgements of Wotan. Your father was a traitor, but he loved all five of us."I crumpled in her embrace: "Sing me with the song of days past, Yola - so that we may please the ancestors, whose sacred ground we have raped."Yolanda's brown eyes flashed amber: "Then I shall sing the dead."Her melody poured forth, eviscerating, yet quiet, like a tender morsel of perfumed, candied roses, baked with apple pie:Sanctuary of autumn, a cairn of stones.D
Yolanda and I woke up as dusk tinged the sky. Panicked, in her twisting wings, and soaked with gray sleet to the bone, I ruffled her muddy cheek, then pressed my ear to her godstone amethyst heart:The pulse had slowed to a crawl.The gravestones of runes danced with light elf ghosts, so transparent, they looked like fog. The arcane, alien figures did not look at us, eyes gutted and blind, salt in their mouth, for they were the dead.Skadhi's Bow was merciless above, and Mani's moon was a fingernail, scratching at the surface of the night. I sat and watched them, ageless, cast out - cursed. Yolanda stirred in my arms, and in silent remembrance, we watched the milky stars of Audhumla pour forth from the Great Mother Auroch's udders.We cross ourselves with Uhruz, rune of the ox.Yolanda had bitter grapes in her mouth. She spat out dirt and sand. Suddenly, I felt dry clay and earth on my own palate, and spat it out in repulsion."Look at our f
Rosier slanted his eyes. “Toying with a mortal? I wouldn't dare.” He smiled lazily. “At least a dance later, mi'lady, at Lady Bathory's ball. Surely you're taking her to that, Samael?”“Why in the seven hells would I take a human to a vampire masquerade?” Samael said between sips of a lush, impossible wine. I reeled: vampires? Really?“Because Beelzebub promised Lady Bathory you would attend tonight, and I can only presume you can't bear to let the precious girl out of your sight, considering the threats that abound.”“Damn Bub to the pits of Abaddon,” the Reaper said darkly. He poured himself the dregs of wine and finished it with abandon, as if bracing himself. “And why is Bathory so eager for my attendance?”“Word in the court is that the Black Legion is preying on mortals in her territory. She wants your agents to back her in expelling the Black Legion from her realm.”“What would the Black Legion want with humans?” I said, fear prickling my spine. The demons turned to m
He put me down gingerly before the guards. “She is my guest,” Samael said, arm around my shoulder. I shuffled in his grasp, made uncomfortable by the closeness. The guards bowed lowly.“We have arranged for a proper means of transport,” one said. “They await beyond the gates.”“Many thanks. Fianna, if I could escort you?” Samael proferred his arm in an old-fashioned manner. I rested my forearm on his, wary of the contact. He smiled. “The pleasure is all mine.”“You'll escort me straight off a cliff,” I muttered, gloomy. The last thing I wanted to do was enter a hell mouth to meet Samael's brothers. People might think angels were nothing but love, light, and hallelujahs, but I knew better. They were just as vicious as their fallen brethren, even more so when executing the will of God.I caught my breath as we entered, gazing out upon a scene of unearthly beauty. “Impossible,” I whispered. Ancient trees in fantastical shapes formed innumerable groves, their trunks thick as
“Pallor?” I asked. “What kind of name for a horse is that?”“'And I saw a pale horse, and the name of him who sat upon it was Death, and Hades was following close behind him.' It's in Revelation, maggot.”I rolled my eyes, sitting stiffly in the leather-upholstered seat. We proceeded down a narrow, empty path, shadowed by the thick trees. I shuddered at the thought that they were suicides, hearing their gentle mourning played out across the breeze.“Refreshment?” Samael asked to distract me, producing glasses of blood-orange liquid from the back of the buggy. It smelled divine.“What is it?” I asked suspiciously.“Nectar of the fireflower. They grow on the banks of the Styx, the river that moats the castle, and are pollinated by the quetzalcoatls you see in the trees. Here, watch this,” he said, handing me a glass. Samael hissed then issued a series of whistles. A gold and purple plumed serpent glided over, the skin of its underbelly flat like the gliding snakes of Asia. It c
“Perhaps we don't.” His lips curled in secret amusement. “How am I to know if my actions were not always God's intending? That the suffering my rebellion brought was all in His plans? I make choices, never knowing if the Lord's dictations are behind them, as He pulls strings of fate eons away...” He helped me down from the hearse and led me to the small path. “Would it surprise you if I still considered myself God's servant?”“Yes.”He smiled sadly. “I was never given a choice in my servitude, you know. It is a role I cannot escape, like a brand pressed over one's heart. No matter what I do, I will never be rid of it.” He dismounted the buggy and docked Pallor at the base of the oak tree. “The path continues on foot from here,” he said, helping me down.“What? Where's the grand entrance to the mouth of Hell?”“We're taking a back route so as not to attract attention.” He scouted the path ahead. “And what a lovely day for a stroll it is. Not a bit of blood-rain in sight.”