Chapter Nine

Thanks to Gunnar's cabin, its musty warmth and saggy bed, I finally caught up on all my lost sleep. As my tiredness abated and my mind cleared, the hysteria of the past forty-eight hours came to seem less and less justified. I still wasn't completely comfortable—I kept my head down and dashed to the admin building when I had a task to perform, and hurried back just as quickly—but I began to reassure myself that rational explanations were probably lurking around there somewhere. Perhaps the knocking on my door was an effect of the wind; the stone carving a lost possession that fell out of the sodden pot plant; the horrid nightmares a combination of suggestibility (Gunnar and his ghost stories) and stress (because sleep is always my anxiety barometer). Refreshed and no longer tired at the impolite hour of 3:00 a.m., I sat at Gunnar's desk and booted up his computer. It was networked with the control room and I spent an hour entering some of my fudged figures. Then the siren call of the Internet, that purveyor of unsubstantiated knowledge, seduced me. I found myself looking for sites about isolated sleep paralysis, or the hag. There was plenty written about her. All of it, every single page I found, comforted the sufferer that it was a common sleep disturbance, that evil spirits probably didn't exist and that, no matter how real it felt, it absolutely was not real.

Reassured, I explored further. Information about psychosomatic wounds was plentiful, mostly in relation to stigmata, where people bleed from their palms in imitation of the wounds of Christ. A couple of dull rib cage bruises were barely worth a raised eyebrow in comparison to that. I kept surfing, flicking from page to page, pleased to be on the mild end of the insanity continuum.

Finally, I searched for anything about odd stone carvings. I hit a site all about runes, the alphabet of carved letters that the Vikings used. I now surmised, remembering Gunnar's Viking fetish, that the stone I had found belonged to him. Pictures of the various letters of the alphabet loaded in front of me. Finally, the rune on the stone popped up: Eolh, a rune for protection from evil spirits. I leaned back in the chair and yawned. My mother would be pleased; she had told me to find myself some kind of ward and one had turned up. Then I frowned, remembering that I had kicked the stone off the cement slab. Was I going to crawl around on my hands and knees, scrabbling in the dirt for it?

I guessed that depended on how much more frightened I became, alone on Othinsey. No matter what imagined bogey lurked outside ready to spring forward and eat my brains, the balloons had to go up—twice a day, twelve hours apart, eleven o'clock Greenwich Mean Time—as they did all over the planet. This necessitated my being over at the hydrogen chamber, then the control room for about an hour. By Sunday morning, I was growing bolder, facing the outside world as though it didn't frighten me. I was out on the observation deck, getting a fix on the balloon with the radar, when the phone started ringing. I finished what I was doing, then raced to scoop it up.

"Hello?"

"Victoria, it's Magnus. What's the matter?"

"Pardon?"

"You sounded frantic on the answering machine." He chuckled. "I knew if I left you alone for long enough you'd revert to a frightened girl. All that bravado—"

"I'm not frightened and I wasn't frantic," I said, anger heating up my voice. "I just wanted to ask you about the instruments at the research site. We've had a lot of rain. Do you need me to check on them?" It was the best excuse I could conjure on short notice. It made me squirm with shame that Magnus believed, even for an instant, that I'd succumbed to superstition and hysteria like Maryanne.

"Actually, Victoria, that's a wonderful idea. You can take a set of readings for me."

"Fine. I'll do that." Damn me for a fool.

"The folder for the readings is on my desk. It has a blue spine."

"Consider it done." Alone in the forest. I needed to think before I opened my mouth.

"Are you sure you're not frightened out there in the Norwegian Sea?" He was teasing now. "The ghosts not bothering you?"

"No, I'm fine," I said tersely.

"I'm glad to hear it. I look forward to seeing you on Wednesday. Good-bye for now."

"Bye."

I replaced the phone in the cradle and checked the balloon's progress on the computer. I was annoyed. Not just by Magnus's ill-natured teasing, but by the realization that they would all be back on Wednesday and I hadn't had any fun alone on the island. Rather, it had been a torture, ruined by sleep deprivation and hysteria. I drummed my fingers on the table. The phone rang again. I assumed it was Magnus with more mockery.

"Hello, Vicky?"

"Oh, Gunnar."

"You sound surprised. You did ask me to call."

"Yeah, yeah I did." I had called everybody, hadn't I? Gunnar, Magnus, my mother. God, my mother.

"Thanks for calling back. How was Amsterdam?"

"Great. Mor said you sounded anxious when you phoned."

I dropped my head on the desk. "Yeah, I was a little panicked. I've hardly slept at all, and weird things have been happening since I've been alone."

"Really?"

"I had that nightmare… the hag."

"It's isolated sleep—"

"Yes, yes, I know. But I had two huge bruises on my ribs afterward."

"Are they still there?"

I sat up and pulled up my pajama top. "Um… no."

"You could have imagined them."

"I didn't, Gunnar."

"Anything else?"

"Thursday night, somebody knocked on my door. The next morning, I found a rune stone outside."

"How do you know what a rune stone is?" he said.

"I looked it up. Eolh."

"Protection. Well, that's a good thing."

"But where did it come from? I was hoping it was yours."

"No, not mine. But Nils, who used to live in your cabin, he was interested in historical reenactment, like I am. He probably left it behind and you never noticed it before. And as for the knocking, you said you were low on sleep. You could have—"

"I know, I could have imagined it. What if I didn't, Gunnar? What if I'm not alone on the island?" Gunnar chuckled. "Didn't I tell you that Othinsey would challenge even the most hardened skeptic? Don't worry. You're alone, Vicky."

"How can you be so sure? What about thieves? And I saw the aurora…"

"Let's think straight. First, you don't fear anything supernatural, do you? Really? You told me when we first met that you don't believe in ghosts."

I thought about the hag and the bruises: scary, but probably explainable. "No. No, of course not."

"Second, could there really be somebody else on the island?"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"It's not possible. You would have seen or heard them if they'd come up the fjord, and I don't believe they could land on the beach."

"Couldn't they?"

"When you get off the phone from me, I want you to walk through the forest and over to the beach. Have another good look at it. There's no way somebody could land there in a small vessel."

"What about a large vessel?"

"They'd have to leave it where they landed, so if there's a boat there, at least you'd know for sure there's someone about. Then you can call Magnus and go into lockdown."

"With the hag."

"It's just a dream, Vicky. You know that."

He was right, I did know. For the first time since everyone had left, I felt like I might be able to return to myself. Rational, fearless Victoria. "Thank you, Gunnar," I said. "Thank you for letting me be so…

vulnerable. And thank you for not teasing me about all this."

"You're welcome. I can't imagine how lonely you must be."

"I don't know if I'm lonely, I'm just—"

"You can call me anytime, Vicky. Even in the middle of the night. I'll be here until Tuesday morning, then I'm heading up to Ålesund to catch the Jonsok."

"It'll be nice to see you." It was true, and I didn't care if it gave him faint romantic hope. "I'm going to do just what you said. I've got to check on Magnus's instruments, then I'll go out to the beach. An act of boldness will be therapeutic."

In this renewed spirit of self-assuredness, I moved out of Gunnar's cabin, decided that my pajamas were becoming a little grubby, and changed to day clothes. In my jeans and black turtleneck, with my anorak tied about my waist, I gathered Magnus's folder and a pen from his desk and headed out into the mild, clear day with a sense of purpose.

As I left behind the concrete, civilized space of Kirkja and moved into the forest, with that mild, clear sky obscured by dark trees, my sense of purpose faltered. The haunting familiarity returned to me. I bent my mind toward remembering what trigger linked my memories to this place, but the search pulled me so far back that it felt like I was falling out of time. I concentrated instead on counting my footfalls, making them rhythmic. An acute awareness of my own vulnerability seized me. I was alone, on an island, in the middle of nowhere. Completely defenseless wasn't a feeling I was used to. I usually felt capable and robust. But there, in the deep forest on Othinsey, it seemed I was so transparent and flimsy that a gust of wind could knock me over. Was this at the root of my recent hysteria? I had thought being left alone would be thrilling. Was Magnus right? Had the solitude caused me to revert, in some primitive biological way, to a frightened girl?

I banished the thoughts and kept counting, dividing footsteps and spaces, making rudimentary calculations that meant nothing. Twenty minutes later I arrived at Magnus's instrument enclosure. The big, anvil-shaped rock jutted out of the ground like a crooked tooth. I leaned back on it and looked up at the sky. A black feeling swooped down on me. Something bad happened here. I shook my head, straightened up and glanced around. Nothing bad was happening. It was a soft spring day. I could hear the ocean in the distance and I was surrounded by cool green colors, fresh air and the scent of pine needles. Weak sunshine formed a pillar down into the clearing.

Magnus had marked the transpiration monitors in the soil with small red flags on posts. I flipped open the folder and found his pen inside. With a squirm of guilt, I realized it was one of those expensive Mont Blanc pens, probably worth a small fortune. I held it very tight, afraid to lose it, as I went from one red flag to the next, taking readings and writing them down. My handwriting looked childish and loopy next to Magnus's neat, spare marks. Concentrating on the work helped me to relax. I found a spot in the sunshine and sat down, flicking through Magnus's folder and notes. Most were in Norwegian. It was growing warm, so I rolled up my sleeves. As I did so, I glanced up and saw a dark shape moving among the trees in the distance. My heart started; I leaped up. Was it just a trick of the light? I strained my eyes, but could see nothing more than shifting shadows. I listened into the distance, but could only hear the sea and the wind.

This was becoming tiresome.

Gunnar was right I needed to go out to the beach and see with my own eyes that I was alone. I packed up and headed away from the clearing, following my ears to the beach, hoping the wind off the Norwegian Sea would blow away the fog of silly fears.

As the trees thinned out, the wind pulled my hair into tangles. The ocean roared, the beach was flat and grey. I pulled on my anorak and walked right to the edge of the waves, where they sucked and crashed on the sand. I cast my eye along the beach to the north and the south. It was empty, vast and empty. Where the sand ended, rocks took oven nobody could land a boat on rocks. Watching the wild water, I doubted anybody could bring a boat anywhere near this beach. I felt relief; it was abundantly clear that no thieves and brigands had arrived on the island.

I really was alone. Not just on Othinsey, but in the vast incomprehensible space of existence. I was born alone in my skin and knew I would die that way too. It was so awful and tragic that I wanted to cry. What use were scientific explanations? They were great for chasing away imagined spectres, but provided no comfort in a sudden moment of mortal dread. Not a scintilla of proof existed that a spirit inhabited the body of man: when we die, we die.

I turned my back on the sea and began the return trek to Kirkja.

At ten-thirty on Sunday night, I dutifully left my warm cabin and went to the cold lino-floored storeroom to assemble a weather balloon, then out into the crisp darkness to load it into the hydrogen chamber. As it filled, I did a quick check on all the equipment, did a visibility check and worked out the angle of the wind (it was a very still night), then launched the balloon and fixed it with the radar. By then, these tasks were becoming so familiar that I could do them without thought, and yet I concentrated on them very hard. Thinking about what I was doing kept me from falling down the neurotic rabbit holes in my head. I fussed around a bit longer in the control room, then left just after midnight (that made it Monday, it happened on a Monday) and went downstairs to lock up.

My hand was falling away from the door, the keys returning to my pocket, my breath fogging in the still night air, a chill on my cheeks, a warm fulfillable desire to return to my cabin, the smell of pine and faraway sea, a susurration in the treetops. I seem to remember holding my breath, or perhaps that's one of those false memories, perhaps I am holding my breath now.

I heard a sound. I turned. The dark figure of a man stood directly before me, tall and broad, his face in shadow. My heart leaped into my throat and I opened my mouth to scream.

He grabbed my wrist and said, "Please, please, don't scream. I couldn't bear to hear it."

Chapter Ten

I screamed anyway. Not the bloodcurdling scream you might hear in a horror film; more a cross between a shout of shock and a moan of helpless terror. Here was the nightmare made manifest, the stranger on the island that I'd been trying to convince myself was not real. I tried to wrench away but he had me firmly by the wrist. My heart and lungs were bursting and a million scenarios played out in my head in an instant.

Then he took a step forward and the light from the station fell across his face. And everything changed.

"You're…" I opened my mouth to say his name, but I didn't know it. Though I was sure I must. He seemed so very familiar to me.

"I'm sorry that I frightened you."

He released my wrist and I took a step back, knowing I should run, knowing I should lock myself in the station and call Magnus. I stood before him, breath held, and merely stared. He was overwhelmingly attractive. Dark brown hair swept away from his broad forehead and fell in waves to his shoulders. His eyes were almost black, wide-set and feline; he wore an untidy goatee. His height and breadth made him appear very masculine, but his movements were agile and lithe, his hands pale and long. His physique betrayed both an athlete and artist, both power and patience. An ancient and unutterable longing drew up through me, gathering me like a needle and thread gathers silk.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Vidar," he said, his voice faintly accented like Magnus's and Gunnar's. "Don't run away. I promise I won't hurt you."

"I know," I said.

He smiled, and the keen stab of familiarity stole my breath again. I knew that I had never met this man, but some long-buried spark in my heart ignited in response to him as though he were deeply significant to me.

"I'm glad you know," he said, relieved.

"How did you get here?"

"To Othinsey? I have been here for a number of days. I can't reveal how I came to be here, I'm sorry." His reluctance to explain made me suspicious. Had he stowed away on the Jonsok and been hiding in the forest? Gunnar had said it would be a good place to hide. Perhaps he was running from the law.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Don't ask me any more, I can't explain further. I know it's difficult to trust me when I say so little, but you must trust me."

I smiled. "At least you're not a ghost."

"No, not a ghost." There was no return smile; his eyes were fixed on my face and he struggled with some inner distress. "Your name is… ?"

"Victoria."

"Victoria," he said. "That's a pretty name."

"Thanks." I noticed, for the first time, the clothes he was wearing beneath his cloak. A brown tunic to his thighs and trousers with leather straps crisscrossed up to his knees, similar to the costume Gunnar was wearing in the photo over his desk. "Are you a friend of Gunnar's?"

"I don't know anyone named Gunnar."

"Your clothes—"

"Are muddy and cold," he said. "Could you help me, Victoria?" I took him to Gunnar's cabin. I couldn't think what else to do. Leaving him outside in the dark while I fetched him clothes did not occur to me, though obviously it would have been more prudent. Yet I had no sense of vulnerability or of a threat to my safety. So I took him to Gunnar's cabin because I thought some of Gunnar's clothes might fit him—he said he had slipped in the mud near the lake—and I wanted to see him in a better light.

"Would you like a warm shower?" I asked as I led him in through Gunnar's back door.

"A shower?"

I indicated the bathroom. "Through there. I'll find you some clothes." I went to Gunnar's bedroom and in his drawers found a pair of dark track pants and a crumpled white shirt that looked larger than the others. Vidar was about Gunnar's height, but not so skinny. I emerged from the bedroom to see Vidar standing in the bathroom, considering the shower with a confused expression.

"Oh, it's a strange one," I said, walking in and handing him the clothes. My fingers brushed his wrist; his skin was very warm. "Here, you have to wind this dial up to the right temperature, then… pull this tap." Warm water sprayed from the showerhead. "There. When you're done, push the tap in and turn the dial back to zero."

His gaze went from the tap, to the clothes in his hand, to me. He looked bewildered and, in this better light, tired. Dark circles shaded his eyes.

"Are you all right?" I said.

"Yes, yes," he answered quickly. "I'll go in the shower."

"Fine. Towel there, soap there. I'll wait in the lounge room." I left him, closing the door behind me. I collapsed into Gunnar's sofa with a groan. What was I doing? Would I be kind to any homicidal lunatic in need as long as he was handsome? But that wasn't fair. Vidar wasn't a homicidal lunatic. I don't know how I knew that for certain, but I was certain. Oh, doubtless he was in some kind of trouble. Why else would he hide on an island in the middle of nowhere? But I was more intrigued by him than I was frightened. There was something vulnerable about him—something unsure about his eyes, something hesitant about his lips before he spoke—in spite of his obvious physical strength. I rubbed my wrist where he'd held it. My most violent struggle hadn't been enough to break his grip. I went to the window, pushed the sash up and leaned out to breathe in the deep, still air. Far off in the forest a rustle and a thud echoed among the trees. I wasn't afraid of it, as I would have been just hours before. I had met the bogey—not some supernatural monster, just a man.

I heard the shower turn off and held my breath. Delicious images formed in my mind: the plane of his bare back, the hard curve of his shoulder… I shook my head to dispel them. My attraction to Vidar was completely puzzling: he was far from my type. Patrick and Adam had both been clean-cut, well dressed, aspirational. The kind of men who paid for manicures.

A minute later Vidar stood in the lounge room, dressed in Gunnar's clothes, his hair damp.

"They fit then?" I said, standing up to greet him.

"Just." He smiled at me. "I've imposed too much on you. I should go."

"Go? Go where? Stay a while, talk to me." A stem voice, much like my mother's, echoed in my mind, telling me not to sound so desperate.

He brushed his damp hair from his face. "Could I?"

"Of course, sit down. Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry."

"I brought supplies with me. I've eaten already." He sat in the armchair opposite me, glancing around the room.

"A glass of wine, then," I suggested brightly, hoping that Gunnar's supply had not been polished off.

"Wine? No," he said slowly, "no thank you, Victoria." He gazed at me for a few moments, then said,

"Why are you being so kind to me?"

"Because you… because I…" Words simply would not spring to my tongue. Then he broke the gaze and his eyes turned to the window and I could speak again. "You seem so familiar to me," I said softly.

"Do I?" he said, his gaze far away.

"I know we haven't met, but—"

"Perhaps I remind you of somebody. Your brother or your father."

"I have neither."

"An old friend."

"We haven't met, have we?"

He turned to me. "You know the answer to that."

A silent moment grew between us. It felt like the moment before a roller coaster dips over a curve. I laughed to break the tension. "I guess I do. Sorry if it sounded like a pickup line." He looked puzzled, and I realized that perhaps his English wasn't as good as Magnus's or Gunnar's. I apologized again, but he didn't hear me.

"What do you do here, Victoria?"

"I'm a scientist. I watch the weather." I drew my legs up under me on the sofa. "And you? What do you do?"

He tilted his head to one side and pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "I'm a woodworker."

"Ah. And what are you doing on Othinsey?"

"I can't tell you." He leaned forward and lowered his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Victoria, but I can't tell you."

"You're in trouble, aren't you?"

"You could say that."

I shivered. "Have you done something bad?"

"Some would consider it bad. I don't. You wouldn't."

"Are you sure?" I said softly.

"I have committed no crime," he said. His eyes were intense, almost desperate. "But I have broken a rule."

"Now I'm even more confused."

He waved a hand, dismissive suddenly, all intensity evaporating. "You are very kind, Victoria, but I should return to my camp and dry out my clothes by the fire."

"Your camp?"

He gestured toward the window. "In the forest."

"But it's cold out there. You could sleep in—" My tongue was galloping along without the assistance of my brain. I paused. I thought. I couldn't offer him Gunnar's bed. I still didn't know if he was Othinsey's resident thief and it wasn't fair on Gunnar to leave Vidar alone with all his computer equipment and CDs. I couldn't offer for him to stay in my cabin because, despite my recent behavior, I wasn't a complete fool; supplying a fugitive with warm clothes was one thing, going to sleep while locked in a small space with him was another altogether.

"Victoria?"

I remembered the storeroom. An internal door locked it off from the rest of the admin building. "You could sleep in the storeroom," I said.

Vidar needed a little persuasion. Although the night was mild and clear, I assured him that the rain clouds around Othinsey blew in at an instant's notice. I fetched him blankets, pillows and a quilt from the linen store at the back of the rec hall, locked everything that I could, and made up a bed for him in the storeroom. I glanced around, assessing the risk of him stealing anything from there. Weather balloons, cleaning supplies, spare parts of obsolete equipment, old record books growing mildew, Magnus's blue folder. Good luck to him if he thought anything there had any market value.

"I won't take anything," he said, guessing that I was counting with my eyes. "I'm not a thief."

"I'm sure you're not," I said quickly.

He smiled at me gently. "Thank you, Victoria. You're a good person. I hope that one day I can repay you."

I hesitated at the door. "No repayment necessary. I just hope you sleep well."

"I'm certain to," he said, his gaze lingering for a moment. "Good night."

"Good night."

I closed the door behind me and hurried back to my cabin. I predicted a sleepless night: my thoughts were moving like wildfire, my heart burst with guilt and excitement And yet, safely locked in my cabin and tucked in my warm bed, I thought of Vidar and a sense of peace and happiness stole over me. Nothing else troubled me. Until morning.

I took a little more care choosing my clothes in the morning. I pulled on a warm dress, and even scraped on some makeup for the first time in nearly a week. I trembled as I locked up my cabin: my knees felt rubbery and my heart was in my mouth. I didn't know if it was fear or desire, but the two together were a potent combination and I felt faintly sick, as though I'd drunk too much coffee and stayed up all night. I made my way over to the admin building. The smell of ocean bristled on the air. I opened the back door to the storeroom and peered in.

It was empty.

A tumble of realizations: Vidar had left and he had taken Gunnar's clothes and the linen I had loaned him. Magnus's blue folder was open on the bench and… that's right, oh my God… his Mont Blanc pen was missing.

I tried the door through to the station, but of course it was locked. I ran out the way I'd come and quickly scanned around. I glanced toward the forest. He was in there, no doubt. Hiding. All at once, I guessed his plan: a ring of thieves dropped him off on the island and picked him up later with the swag. I raced over to the rec hall to see if he'd broken in to steal the television. It was still locked, but I let myself in, checked around (nothing missing) and went through to the galley (nothing missing, but the chicken breast I'd left out to thaw two days ago was getting stinky).

"Well, I hope your trip was worth the damn pen," I muttered as I headed back to the admin building. I was keenly irritated with myself. What kind of an idiot would trust him? As I sat down at the desk in the control room, a darker thought occurred to me. Was I safe with him on the island? I had been so enamored of him that I might have overlooked crucial signals. Perhaps he intended far worse than just stealing expensive pens.

I put my head on the desk. My breathing echoed loudly in my ears. My intuition told me that he wouldn't hurt me, but since when had I believed in intuition, let alone listened to it?

The phone rang, jerking me back to reality.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Victoria, I hoped I'd find you there."

"Oh. Hi, Magnus." I felt guilty and ashamed all at once; it made my face hot.

"I'm back in Oslo, meeting the others at Ålesund tomorrow. We're going to have drinks, we'll miss you." Ah, life used to be so uncomplicated. Drinks with the staff. I sighed.

Magnus chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll have drinks when we arrive back on Wednesday too. How is everything there?"

I opened my mouth to say what I should have: There's a strange man on the island and he stole your gold pen and I'm locking down immediately. Instead, I said, "Everything's fine. Nothing to report."

"Good girl. You're doing a fine job, Victoria."

"Um… thanks," I said. "I appreciate your saying so."

"I'm giving credit where it's due, Victoria. You're a smart girl, a capable girl. All in all, I think I displayed very good judgment in hiring you," he said, without a trace of humor. "Now, I need to ask you something important."

I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. "Go ahead."

"Do you think it's a bad thing for a boss to become romantic with a member of his staff?" Words failed me. "I'm sorry?" I managed to choke out.

His loud laugh in the receiver spiked my ear. "Don't worry, Victoria, I'm not asking you out. It's Maryanne."

"Maryanne?"

"We met yesterday for lunch at Bygdøy, and took a romantic walk along the beach. She kissed me." I realized I should gather together some kind of bluster and tell him off for being unctuous, but it seemed impolite to do so after I'd just lapped up his praise. "Magnus, I'm not sure that I'm the right person to ask about this," I said.

"Victoria, you're a woman, and I'd value a woman's opinion."

"Well, I… if she's… I mean…" I trailed off into silence, wondering why I was embarrassed when clearly he should be. I tapped my pen violently on the desk.

"Young people have it so easy." Magnus sighed. "You and Gunnar, you're at the age when you can think about love and talk about love and nobody shrinks from you. Nobody finds it distasteful."

"What's that? Me and Gunnar?"

He sniggered. "Victoria, it's obvious to all of us that there's something between you… some spark."

"No, no. We're just friends."

"Gunnar doesn't see it that way," he said, channeling the spirit of a naughty schoolboy. "He told me that—Oh, that's right, he asked me not to mention it."

I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to know what Gunnar had said about me.

"Anyway, I was saying," Magnus continued, "that romance is not reserved for the young. Do you know how old I am, Victoria?"

I was guessing somewhere around his mid-creepies. "No."

"I'm fifty-one," he declared in a revelatory tone. Voilà!

I realized this was my cue to express astonishment. "Oh," I said.

"I know I don't look it, I like to take care of myself, keep myself trim. But I'm not a young man anymore and I want to grab romance with both hands."

"Then perhaps you should pursue Maryanne," I said, hoping this would be an end of it.

"But I don't know if she's right for me."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't. Magnus, I have some bad news for you." The only way to change the subject.

"Bad news?"

"Your Mont Blanc pen. I took it out to the instrument field and now I can't find it. I think I dropped it out there."

"What! Oh, Victoria, what were you thinking, taking it out in the forest?"

"It was with the folder. I didn't realize until I was out there. I'm really sorry."

"That pen was worth a fortune. It was a collector's edition! A Meisterstuck!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"Can you go out and look for it?"

"I'll try."

He had forgotten about Maryanne and romance for the over fifties, and babbled some instructions about meaningless tasks I was to perform until he returned, a penance I'm sure. I jotted them down and thankfully hung up the phone.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling strangely deflated. The thrill of fear (negative though it had been) was gone. Vidar wasn't a romantic hero, just a common thief, my boss was a jerk and the island would be inhabited again in just two days. My own company weighed on me; I was bored with the endless monologue of numbers and rationalizations in my head.

Most of all, I felt let down by Vidar. I realized this was ridiculous. I didn't know him, but he had asked me to trust him and I had, and now I would probably never see him again.

And I wanted to see him. I wanted that very badly indeed.

Chapter Eleven

I had eaten nothing but bread and cheese in my room for the last few days so I went to the galley for lunch, determined to cook myself something with vegetables in it, lest I succumb to scurvy. I made a stir-fry and took it to the rec hall to eat. The big empty space echoed with the sound of my chopsticks and plate.

Footsteps near the door. I looked up. Vidar. He stood there in Gunnar's clothes, lit from behind by the bright outside, wordless, motionless. A surge of fear. Why had he returned? I jumped out of my seat.

"Victoria?" he said at last, and a puzzled expression crossed his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Magnus's pen," I blurted out.

"Who?"

"I won't call the police if you just leave now." Yes, and just how long would it take for the police to respond to that particular emergency call?

"The police?"

"You took Magnus's pen," I said, angry now.

He felt in the pocket of Gunnar's track pants. "This pen?" He approached, his hands spread out in front of him. "Why does it frighten you so? You're trembling."

I snatched the pen from his hand. "Because I didn't know you were a liar and a thief, and I wonder what else you might be."

"No, no, Victoria. I didn't steal the pen. I didn't know it was valuable. I borrowed it to draw you a map, you see?" He unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to me. "I wasn't comfortable in the storeroom, so I headed back to my camp. I drew a map so you would know where to find me if you needed me, if I could repay you somehow for your kindness."

I glanced from his face to the map and back again. Sleepless shadows were smudged beneath his eyes.

"You must believe me, Victoria," he said softly. "I'm not a liar and I'm not a thief."

"Then explain what the hell you're doing here," I said, guarding my voice, my body, my heart. And when he opened his mouth to refuse, I said, "Don't tell me you can't, that's bollocks. I'm nobody special. I've no friends in high places to repeat it to, and you assured me you haven't broken the law, so what does it matter if you tell me?"

He dropped his head. "I'm sorry. Victoria. Perhaps one day very soon you'll understand, but I—"

"Just tell me who you're hiding from," I said.

Vidar pushed up his sleeves and held his elbows, the gesture of an eight-year-old boy. I noted a long scar on his left forearm, a knotwork tattoo around his right wrist. "My father," he whispered. "He must not find out where I am."

"Your father? You're afraid of your father?"

In an instant he had pulled himself up tall. "No, of course I'm not. Not for myself. I'm afraid of what he might do to… to those I love." He ran a hand through his long hair. "He's a very powerful man." Suspicions formed. Who was his father? Head of a multinational corporation? A billionaire playboy?

Didn't Norway have a royal family? I had met men like Vidar before: despite a background of privilege, they wanted to escape their families, their fates. I could understand that.

"He sounds like a nasty piece of work," I said.

Vidar found this turn of phrase amusing. He smiled guardedly. "He is."

"He'd actually hurt people you love to punish you?"

"He would." Somber now, Vidar's gaze darted away from mine. "He already has."

"Just for the hell of it?"

"No. For very powerful reasons."

"What did he do?"

He slid his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I realized my lunch was going cold. "Do you want something to eat?" I said. "There's more in the pan."

"I would, yes," he said hesitantly. "I've eaten nothing but bread and cheese for days."

"Me too," I said. "Wait here."

When I returned with a plate for him, he was sitting at the end of the table, diagonally across from my seat. He picked up the chopsticks I offered him and eyed them carefully.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "You've never used chopsticks?"

"No."

"I'll get you a knife and fork."

"A spoon, please," he called after me.

I settled at the table with him once more and watched him eat with a spoon, figuring this was how Scandinavian royalty must eat their rice.

He glanced up, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Why have you been eating bread and cheese?"

"It's your fault actually."

"My fault?"

"Well, not entirely. I'm here alone, you see. Ordinarily there are eight other people here, but the World Meteorology Conference is on in Switzerland and I volunteered to run the station alone. I've been hiding, frightened, in my cabin. I've been hearing noises—probably you—in the forest, outside. And having terrible dreams and weird feelings."

"I couldn't have caused your terrible dreams or weird feelings," he said.

"No, no, I suppose not. I'm an insomniac, you see. I sleep very poorly a lot of the time, and when I get tired perhaps I imagine things."

He didn't meet my eye and focused on his food. "What things? What dreams have you had?"

"The hag," I said. "Though I know it's not real, it felt very real." He put his spoon down carefully and steepled his hands under his chin, gazing at me. "Go on, tell me of this hag."

"I was paralyzed, and she came in and sat on my chest. I knew, somehow, that she intended to steal my breath." The unnatural fear rippled over me again, even though it was daylight and I was no longer alone. Gooseflesh shivered along the backs of my arms. "And then there was Skripi," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "The stick-man who warned me about the draugr."

"A draugr is a thing to be feared," he conceded.

"You don't believe in it, do you?"

"I believe that legends arise from often-told tales, and that perhaps in each fable there lurks a shadow of honest experience. And if that is so, then it pays to be cautious—especially where a draugr is concerned." The barest hint of a smile touched his lips, but I couldn't tell how serious he was. "Tell me again of your dream of the stick-man. You called him Skripi?"

"He met me in the forest… I mean… it sounds crazy." I laughed nervously. What kind of impression was I making? "Of course, it was a dream and dreams are often crazy. He said he wouldn't hurt me, and he said his name was Skripi, which I found out is Old Norse for—"

"Phantom. Yes, I know."

" You know, but how could I know? Why would I dream a word in a language I'd never heard?" He shrugged and returned to his food. "Perhaps it wasn't a dream."

"Ha ha. Funny. Anyway, now I know what some of the strange noises and shadows in the forest were, I don't feel so bad about this place." I toyed with a cold piece of carrot on my plate. "Now I'm not alone." Vidar finished his food and stood up. I felt a keen sense of disappointment that he was leaving. "You're going?"

"I've taken up too much of your time. You have work to do."

I thought about all the data that I had to enter to catch up on the hysterical hours when I'd hid in Gunnar's cabin, not to mention the meaningless tasks Magnus had dictated to me over the phone. Vidar was right.

"Yes, I have."

He pushed the map over the table toward me. "This is where I am camped. If you would like to visit…

otherwise, I'll leave you be."

I looked at the map. His camp was a mile northwest of the instrument field.

"I thank you, Victoria," he said, touching my shoulder gently. "I thank you for your kindness and for trusting me. Good-bye."

"Bye." I watched him leave, savoring the fantasy of visiting him that night. Foolish, maybe. Perhaps he was luring me into a trap. I didn't entertain that thought for more than a half second. I felt safe with him, I knew he was gentle and honest and good, and I was certain that nothing ill could come of me following his path into the forest after work to find him.

I suppose that the end of any path is rarely visible at the beginning.

Dusk closed in and stars began to sparkle, and the barest breeze quivered in the trees. The faraway beat of the ocean hissed and shushed, and I locked up the station and headed to the galley. I heated some soup and poured it into a Thermos, and tucked the Thermos with two cups and four recently defrosted bread rolls into a plastic bag to take with me.

Just twenty-four hours ago the idea of heading off into the forest alone at night would have been unthinkable. Now I relished the thrill of my isolation in the soft darkness, the kiss of the breeze, the gleam of the lonely stars. My stomach fluttered with the sweet tension between promise and delay, and an ache of desire shimmered across my body, making my skin vulnerable to sensation. As I found my way through the trees, the dark weighing all around me and the tree branches like the frozen arms of some primitive nightmare creature, my mind tripped up over and over again. This was surreal. Who was I and what was I doing? During that walk through the ancient and gloomy passages of the forest, I realized something about myself. My obsession with divisible figures and regular shapes and logical explanations had forever kept me from taking even one step into the unknown. Why a ragged stranger with black eyes and a soft voice should lure me into that mystery was incomprehensible to my conscious mind, but in the hidden alcoves of my thoughts and my body, it made some sort of inexpressible sense. The reflected glow of a fire caught my eye and I headed toward it. Vidar sat with his back to me, but I could tell from a tensing of his shoulders that he knew I was there.

"You came," he said, without turning around.

"I brought you food." I walked to the fireside. The linen I had given him the previous night had been layered on the forest floor to make a soft place to sit. I settled next to the fire and pulled out the Thermos and cups. "Pumpkin soup. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

I ventured a glance at him as I poured the soup. He was more ragged than before, his hair unbrushed and stubble growing on his cheeks, Gunnar's shirt stained with mud or charcoal or both. I tried to assess what age he might be: definitely older than me, perhaps in his midthirties. He met my eyes briefly, then leaned forward to throw a handful of twigs on the fire.

"The fire's nice and warm," I said, handing him a cup of soup and a roll.

"I find I can't sleep without one, even in summer," he said. "I'm so used to the sound of it, that quiet crack and pop. It's the sound of still moments in tranquil places."

"Is that why you couldn't sleep in the storeroom?"

He tore off some bread and dunked it in his soup. "Yes. There were a lot of sounds." I shrugged out of my anorak. "Oh, sorry. There's equipment in the building. It's always beeping or buzzing to remind you to do something."

•We ate in silence for a few minutes. He still hadn't smiled at me, or even looked at me for more than a few seconds, but I detected no coldness in his reception of me. I was not made uncomfortable by his reticence, as would ordinarily be the case. Whatever it was about him that made him so familiar to me, also made me content to sit with him in silence. As though the preliminaries to our sharing company had already been processed.

Finally, he dusted crumbs from his fingers, and said to me, "Why are you here?"

"Here with you? Or here on the island?"

"Both. Either." He smiled. "Start with the island."

"I'm here as a trainee. I'm helping on a climatology study."

"No, no. I didn't ask what are you doing here. I asked . why are you here. Why, not what." I pushed a strand of hair off my face. "I'm running away from my mother," I said, and laughed nervously.

"Although I've never thought of it like that before."

"Why are you running away from your mother?"

"Because I'm afraid of becoming like her."

He dipped his head in a nod. "Then we understand each other perfectly well."

"You're afraid of becoming like your father?"

"Oh, yes."

"I bet he's not as bad as my mother."

"I bet he is," Vidar replied quickly, with a laugh. "Still, there's no value in competing." He stood and held out his hand to me. "Come, let's walk in the forest a little way." I could feel myself beam. He helped me up, and I felt the reluctant withdrawal of his fingers from mine. I followed him away from the campsite into the cold pools of night that waited between the trees. I'd forgotten my anorak and tensed my shoulders against the chill. "This forest has always felt strangely familiar to me," I said. "It's weird."

"Perhaps it is familiar to you," he replied. "Perhaps you have been here before."

"No, I'd remember."

"Before you?" he said. "Before Victoria."

This had never occurred to me. It was the kind of idea my mother would come up with. "You mean like reincarnation? Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"No. I don't believe in anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing I can't experience with my own five senses. Nothing like God, or ghosts, or mind reading, or reincarnation."

"What if you experienced one of those things with your own five senses?" he asked. "What if you saw God, or felt the touch of a ghost, or read somebody's mind?"

"It's never happened."

"But if it did."

A soft breeze caressed my face as I considered this. I tasted salt faintly.

"Then I'd reevaluate," I replied. Strangely, I wasn't irritated with him for pushing this point, nor was I disappointed that he hadn't sided with my skepticism.

"I don't think you would reconsider," he said.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I think you've already experienced something with your senses that is inexplicable, and you still hold that you believe in nothing."

A frost of fear stole over my skin. "What do you mean?"

"Skripi," he said.

"Oh, that."

"Did he look as though his hair was made of twigs?" he asked, breaking off a twig to hold in front of me.

"Were his hands and fingers pointed and pale? Were his eyes the oily black of a forest creature's?"

"Yes," I managed to gasp. "How did you know?"

"He's a forest wight, I imagine," Vidar said. "I know the lore of these parts. Forest wights are common in the local tales."

I snapped my fingers. "That explains it. I must have seen something on television or in a book, perhaps when I was a child. If it's a common tale, I'm more likely to have heard of it. And heard his name." I was very satisfied with myself for reaching this conclusion, and it took me a few moments to realize that Vidar had been trying to prove quite a different point. "Sorry," I said, "but I'm a fundamentalist atheist."

"Never mind," he said, not sounding troubled in the least.

We weaved through the dark trees, among the shadows, surrounded by the smell of pine needles and salt. Occasionally my arm would brush his, raising electricity. The cold sky above was indifferent to us, the last two souls for miles and miles.

"You believe in supernatural things then?" I asked.

"I have seen many strange things."

"Like what?"

"They're all tales for another time. You answered only one-half of my question earlier. Why are you here?

Here with me?"

The question caught me off my guard and I lost my footing, stumbled, then quickly righted myself.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his hand under my elbow. We had come to a stop, facing each other in the shadowy forest. I looked up at him, he looked down at me. The breeze lifted his hair, and his eyes glittered in the dark. "Victoria?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, finding my tongue. "I'm here because you intrigue me."

"I do?"

"Yes. It's completely out of character for me… I should warn you of that, so you don't think I'm something I'm not."

"I know you well enough," he said, so softly the murmur of the wind in the treetops almost drowned it out.

A magical feeling stole over me, a feeling of anything being possible. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he stepped back gently, his fingers lingering, then grazing my elbow. I shivered.

"You're cold," he said. "We'll head back to the fire."

"I don't mind," I said, but he was already leading the way. I walked next to him in silence and we passed the instrument field. Magnus's red flags were invisible in the dark. The anvil-shaped rock was ghostly among the shadows. The conviction that something bad had happened there walked my spine once more.

"We're doing research in here," I said, signaling around.

"In here?" There was a frown in his voice.

"To be honest, the place gives me a bad feeling."

"Perhaps it's a bad place."

"Remember? Fundamentalist atheist?" I said dismissively.

"Of course." Vidar was laughing as we moved on. "I'm sure it's a perfectly ordinary clearing in a perfectly ordinary forest on a perfectly ordinary island."

"Everything's perfectly ordinary once you look at it closely," I said, jolted by how sad that was. At the moment Vidar seemed like a romantic hero, but I expected that any prolonged contact with him would eventually reveal all his ordinariness. "Except the weather," I added softly.

"Ah, the weather. You know, once people believed that the gods controlled the elements."

"And that the earth was flat, and that hysteria was caused by a woman's womb moving about the body."

"You mean it's not?" I caught a glimpse of his smile.

I laughed. "No. And I should know, because of the hysteria I worked myself into the last few days." The glow of the fire was visible again. I felt anxious and disappointed. I wanted him to kiss me, but he hadn't taken advantage of the perfect moment. Did that mean he didn't want to kiss me? "Vidar," I said, "how long are you staying on the island?"

"I can't say."

"I think I know how you got here," I ventured, thinking of my theory that somebody had dropped him off over at the beach.

"You don't," he said. "I can't answer any more questions."

"You're being so enigmatic," I teased.

He turned to me, the fire lit his face. His eyes were intense, his mouth firm. "I'm not doing it to entertain myself, Victoria. I really can't tell you, not without risking… everything." The rebuke had been gentle, but still stung. "I'm sorry." I scooped up my anorak. "I should go."

"Victoria, don't be angry with me," he said, and his voice was imbued with sorrow and tenderness and it reminded me of something… something wonderful and just out of grasp of my memory. He picked up the Thermos and cups and handed them to me. "But you should go. You should get some sleep."

"Not likely. I've got to send a balloon up at eleven." I checked my watch. I didn't want to go back to my cabin and sit there longing for him. "Let me stay until then."

He motioned that I should sit down. "Certainly, I'd be delighted if you stayed. You can tell me all about your mother."

So I shared with him some of my favorite Beverly Scott stories, and it was nice to sit and talk and laugh by the firelight. But it was odd, too, because the conversation was so one-sided. I didn't dare ask him to repay me in stories about his troubled relationship with his father, and as I became more and more open to him, he became even more mysterious by contrast.

Finally, it came time for me to go. I tried not to look reluctant as I packed up my things. I still hoped he might kiss me. I had that fluttery first-date feeling. But he busied himself with the fire as I hovered uncertainly nearby, waiting for him to say good night.

"Good night, Victoria," he said at last, glancing up from the fire. A strand of hair fell over his eyes.

"Come by for lunch again tomorrow," I said. "I'll cook for you."

"I can't. It wouldn't be right."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I don't feel comfortable over at the station," he said. "I'm sorry. But you have the map, you know where I am camped. If you wish to see me again… I'll leave it to you to find me."

"I'll find you," I said quietly.

He gave no indication he had heard. "Good night, Victoria."

"Good night."

All of my work the following day was impossibly mundane, devised by insipid morons for profoundly unexciting purposes. Despite his avowals, I still held out hope that Vidar might turn up at the rec hall for lunch. He didn't. Time dragged. Clouds blew in and I worried about rain ruining my plans to sit by his fireside and be brave enough to kiss him.

No rain fell, twilight came. This time he was lying beside the fire, staring up at the sky. "I heard you coming," he said. "You'd never make a good hunter."

"I've never wanted to be one."

He pulled himself up and grabbed my hand. "Come," he said.

"Where? I brought dinner."

"We'll have it later. Leave it here." He smiled, and his bright mood was a contrast to the previous night's intensity. "Come, I'll show you how to be as silent as a hunter." I was swept up in his enthusiasm and let him lead me beyond the firelight into the dark forest.

"First," he said, "you have to balance your body on your feet. Your weight can't be any greater on one part than another."

"Like ballet," I said, remembering lessons I took as a child.

"Your feet have to be as sensitive as your hands," he said. "If you were feeling around on the forest floor with your fingers, you'd be able to avoid loose rocks that click, or sticks that might crack."

"Should I take my shoes off?"

"No, because you need your feet to be protected if you run."

"Then how… ?"

"It's practice. Go on, take a step and don't put any weight on your foot until you've felt the ground beneath you."

I did what he said, and a stick broke with a loud pop.

"Oops," I said.

"And if you do make a noise, you have to disguise it." He crouched and grabbed a rock the size of a fist and sent it skittering along the ground. It sounded exactly like the footsteps of an animal running away.

"That's amazing."

"I'll show you."

For the next half hour Vidar had me practice silent steps and animal impersonations. I'd never been the outdoorsy type, so I was surprised by how much fun we had. The dark and shadows made it thrilling; Vidar was by turns patient and playful. Finally, he stretched his arms over his head in a tired gesture.

"Practice it when you can," he said. "You'll become good at it very quickly. You're graceful." I felt a rush of pleasure. It was perhaps the only spoken confirmation I had from him that he might be attracted to me. "I will," I said, "but I don't think I'd ever hunt. I prefer my meat already dead. It takes the guilt out of it."

He smiled. "It's useful for hiding as well as hunting," he said. "Now, stand here a moment. Let me show you how quiet I can be."

I laughed. "Why?"

"Because I want to show you. Because it's something I'm proud of." He squared up my shoulders, and said, "Stand here, and close your eyes."

I did as he asked and waited for him to leave. I didn't sense him move, so after about ten seconds I opened my eyes.

He was gone.

"Vidar?" I called, still amused but also a little disturbed. I strained my ears, but could only hear the sounds of the forest, the breeze and the sea in the distance. I turned to look around me. Was that him over to my left, a shadow among shadows? I felt very alone, deserted in an empty place. I peered into the gloom, toward the movement I thought might be him. "Vidar? Is that you?" A hand grasped my right shoulder and I shrieked before I could check myself.

"Sorry," he said gently, "I didn't mean to frighten you." I laughed loudly. "God, I nearly wet myself." I instantly regretted saying that, but he was laughing too and it was a lovely sound, warm and humble.

He backed off and gestured toward his campsite. "It grows cold," he said. We returned to the fireside to eat, then he sat cross-legged while I lay on my side on the folded quilt. The flames were hot and bright; I felt mellow and besotted. That ache of desire had returned, the space between us grew magnetized. We were silent for a few moments, considering each other in the firelight.

"How much longer will you be alone here?" he asked.

"Until tomorrow," I said.

"Tomorrow?"

"The Jonsok comes back. The rest of the staff will be on it. Don't worry," I said, "I won't tell them about you."

"I'm not worried. Not about that."

More silence. I locked my gaze on his and was certain that I saw in his black eyes the echo of my own desire. I rose and started across the space between us.

He dropped his gaze and said, gently, "Victoria, it grows late."

"But I—"

"You should go."

This was hellishly embarrassing. I hovered in the seasick space between him and where I should have remained. "Yes," I said meekly, "it's late and you're right. I should get back for the… balloon…"

"Good night," he said. His voice was infinitely tender, giving me pause.

"Good night," I said, making myself busy packing up the Thermos and cups. "I'll see you soon."

"Good night," he repeated, and he seemed forlorn and uncertain and even afraid to be alone. "Good night, Victoria."

I went back to my cabin, my face hot with embarrassment and my mind in a turmoil of incomprehension. I had misread him somehow. I had failed to understand some nuance in his words or actions. I had been certain that he was falling for me, but I was wrong. Or was I? Perhaps he was married, or engaged to somebody back home. Perhaps that's what he was running from. And now he had met me and wanted me instead and…

I checked myself. I would ask him the next day. No matter how embarrassing it proved to be, I would ask him what barrier existed for us, because I knew that he felt as I did. So, the following morning, I psyched myself up, rehearsed a speech, put on a little too much mascara. I wound my way through the woods toward his campsite, tense and uncertain. I found his fire, extinguished now. I found the linen I had loaned him, folded neatly. I found Gunnar's clothes, washed and hung over a tree branch to dry.

My heart fell all the way to the forest floor.

I crouched to pick up the linen. A wooden carving lay on top, about as big as my hand. It looked like one of those Viking carvings, a bird curled over on itself to grasp its feet in its beak. Vidar had said he was a woodworker and I wondered if he had carved this himself, for me. Nobody had ever made me anything.

I noticed a black smudge on my finger and looked closely at the carving. Around the edge, written in charcoal, was one word.

"Good-bye."

Chapter Twelve

A quarter of an hour before the Jonsok was due to arrive, I pulled on warm clothes and wheeled the pallet down to the jetty to wait I sat on the rough wood and breathed the clear air. The water of Hvítahofud Fjord was very still and very dark and very deep, like the calm eye of a stern parent The sky was the color of slate, and periodically a gust of wind and a shower of drops would buffet me. I pulled up my hood and curled my fingers into my gloves and watched the space between the two tall cliffs where the supply boat would eventually appear.

It was just as well that Vidar was gone, I told myself. It was a good thing, because hadn't I come here, to this remote place, to escape from matters of the heart? Wasn't the whole . idea to give myself some breathing space after the twin disasters of Patrick and Adam? In daylight, grey though it was, memories of Vidar grew mysterious. His black eyes and his soft voice in the dark; his refusal to speak of himself; the odd clothes he had been wearing when we first met. He was too enigmatic, simmering with secrets and contradictions and tensions. I needed none of it. I wanted none of it.

Despite all this rationalizing, I had never ached like this for someone before. It was all-consuming and it hurt all over my rib cage, made me want to cry and close my eyes and think of nothing but him, but I couldn't succumb to those feelings because I wasn't a teenager anymore. I was a grown woman with two degrees and boundless common sense and many responsibilities. So I sat in the cold and waited for company, for conversations and jokes and bottles of wine to take my mind off the strangest week of my life.

It was with an odd mix of relief and disappointment that I finally spied the boat in the distance, a white dot against grey sea. As it motored up to the jetty, I calculated its lateness as a percentage of the total journey and wondered why I hadn't done a single sum while in Vidar's company. I climbed to my feet and stretched. Gunnar was on the deck, waving to me. I waved back, forcing a smile. The boat docked and the sailors tied it off and brought down the gangplank. They loaded our supplies onto the pallet. Maryanne charged down the gangplank in a huff. Magnus rolled his eyes at me and made no movement to catch up to her. I figured their new romance had foundered. Magnus turned and called belowdecks, and two children—a boy and a girl—came up, all agog and dressed in warm coats.

"Victoria, meet Matthias and Nina," Magnus said, introducing them one at a time.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I said, offering what I thought was a child-friendly smile.

"They're a bit wary of speaking English," Magnus told me, when the children had worn speechless blank expressions for longer than was comfortable. "They're here for a week, hopefully to improve their English if you wouldn't mind helping them."

•

"Um… I suppose not," I said, and thought about saying my one much-practiced Norwegian phrase, but changed my mind when I spied Frida.

"Magnus, I found your pen."

"Mmm, good."

Magnus said something to the children and they ran off down the jetty shouting to each other, Magnus trailing them. Carsten and Frida got off together and I noticed a shiny new ring on her engagement finger. Josef, Gordon and Alex were arguing with one of the sailors over his rough handling of a carton of

"expensive Swiss brandy." Gunnar ambled down the gangplank and I thought he might give me a hug so I turned my shoulder and pretended I was watching Maryanne run away from Magnus and his children.

"All is not well," I said.

"They had a fight when we were boarding at Ålesund. It's been a long ten hours." He touched my shoulder lightly. "How are you?"

I shook my head. "Fm… I can't even describe it. I suppose I'm all right. It's been a very strange week."

"Magnus got into a lot of trouble for leaving you here alone."

"He did? He said nothing to me on the phone."

"He wouldn't. He would think it a sign of weakness." He indicated his suitcase. "I'm going to unpack and have a coffee back in my cabin. Want to join me?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

I was very relaxed in Gunnar's company and the day brightened. If Gunnar saw signs that I had spent a few nights cowering under his bedclothes or that anything had been borrowed, he made no mention of it. Instead we drank coffee while he unpacked, and he told me about how many stoned English tourists wandered the streets of Amsterdam, and how his best friend had announced he was getting married, and how he'd thought himself mortally sick after a particularly long night of varied drinking. I listened, and I laughed in the right places, and he cheered me up with his reassuring ordinariness. I offered him help with cleaning up his cabin, and as we picked clothes up and washed coffee cups and dusted furniture, he finally said to me, "So, I didn't hear from you again after our last phone call. I assume you decided you weren't being stalked?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Turns out I was perfectly safe."

"No more weird happenings? Visitations from ghostly creatures?"

"No. And don't make fun."

"I'm not making fun," he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I'm serious. It must have been the protection rune. Once you had that—"

"I didn't keep it," I said dismissively.

"No? Where is it?"

"I kicked it off the slab."

He dropped his cleaning rag and grabbed my hand. "Come on, let's go find it."

"Gunnar—"

"Come on, just for fun."

I followed him out his back door and around the lattice to my cabin. Following his lead, I dropped to my hands and knees in the dirt of the forest's edge and started hunting through dead pine needles and tough undergrowth.

"Is this just a way of putting off tidying your cabin?" I asked.

"Maybe. But if a ward falls into your hands, you should keep it. You never know when you'll be alone on an island with the bogeyman."

"Stop teasing," I replied. "It was hard for me to call and be so weak."

"I'm not teasing you." He sat back and smiled at me. "Victoria, we're mates, aren't we?" I lifted my head and blew a strand of hair out of my eyes and thought about how I hadn't mentioned Vidar to him. "Yeah, of course."

"So let me be your mate."

"All right, all right, I'm being overly sensitive, I know," I said, "but you've got to understand my history. My mother is completely mental and I don't want to be the same. You can tease me about anything else, just not that."

"But you know you're nothing like your mum. You know you're not mental." I thought about the past week: the hysteria, the mania, the imprudence. "Umm…"

"There it is!" Gunnar leaped forward, then stood up, holding out the ward.

"You found it, great," I said, feeling oddly relieved.

He inspected it. "Oh, Vicky, this one's incredible."

"Why?"

"See this hole?"

"I guess that's for stringing it on a chain."

"Yes, but it's not man-made. A man-made hole would break the magic. It's worn through, probably by water." His pinky finger indicated the smooth, fine edges of the hole. "It's the luckiest charm there is."

"In what way?"

"Wards found in water are lucky, wards with an eye are doubly lucky, wards with a protection rune scratched on them are luckier still." Gunnar's fist closed over the stone and he shoved it, nonchalantly, in his pocket. "Well, if you don't want it…"

I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped myself. It was all superstitious nonsense after all. "Keep it," I said. "I don't need it."

I picked up my mail from the station. I had a letter from Samantha with photos of a new boyfriend she had met in Florence, a confirmation of my remote study status from my university and, of course, a letter from my mother.

Dear Vicky,

I know why you didn't phone me back, and I know you are afraid of what's happening to you and how it makes you feel. I took an old scarf of yours to Bathsheba for a reading. There is good news and bad news. I'll start with the bad.

Bathsheba says you are in way over your head, especially as your skepticism has left you unprotected. There are wild elementals loose around you, and they are interested in you and malevolent. The good news is that there is a helpful spirit looking out for you. You should trust this spirit. The other good news is that Bathsheba says you have definitely already met the man you are going to marry and spend the rest of your life with.

Please, please, please be careful, and phone me very soon!

Love, Mum

I put the letter aside with a roll of my eyes. Well, maybe Bathsheba was right and Vidar was The One, though I wasn't sure if the dates matched up. And anyway, nobody who called herself Bathsheba should be trusted for any kind of advice, much less the psychic variety. I lay back on my bed to daydream about Vidar.

I hadn't got far when there was a knock at the door. Magnus stood there, and about three feet behind him were his children, wide-eyed and tight-lipped.

"Ah, Victoria. I wonder if I might ask you a favor?"

"Certainly." I was worried. Magnus had applied his most charming smile.

"I know you've been working seven days in a row, and I know I promised you four days off when we returned, and… I was rather hoping that Maryanne could watch the children this afternoon, but she's busier than I'd anticipated and I'm sure you can appreciate I've got a lot of paperwork to get through after being away for so long—"

"You want me to look after your children?" Insult upon insult.

The tone of my voice gave him pause. "Just for an afternoon. You could help them practice their English." Matthias said something in Norwegian to Nina, who giggled. Magnus turned to give them a stern look.

"I don't know anything about looking after kids," I whispered, leaning forward so the children couldn't hear me. "What if I break one?"

Magnus shook his head. "These two are indestructible. Just take them to the rec hall and make them some afternoon tea, and speak to them in English." He sensed I might be ready to yield. "Please, Victoria. You'd help me out of a tight spot."

I was annoyed. I was a scientist, not a babysitter. However, Magnus was my boss and I was stuck on a remote island with him, so it would probably pay to keep him happy. "Certainly," I said.

"Thank you so much," he said in a voice that sounded so sincere it must have been faked. "Matthias, Nina, you stay with Victoria this afternoon and you speak only English." They watched him go with mournful eyes while I fetched my coat. I locked up behind me, and said,

"Come on."

Outside smelled like pine needles and the salty sea. I took a deep breath. "How long are you staying?" I asked as they shuffled behind me to the rec hall.

Matthias and Nina exchanged glances, looked at me and shrugged. Perhaps their English wasn't that good after all.

"How old are you?" I tried, very slowly.

Nina gave me an innocent smile and shook her head.

"Right, let's just get some afternoon tea," I muttered. I led them into the rec hall and sat them down. "Wait here," I said, pointing at the chairs. '

Matthias nodded. He said something to Nina in Norwegian and she giggled.

Maryanne was in the kitchen, sharpening her knives.

"Hi, Maryarme," I said lightly, shouldering open the door to the cold room. I emerged a minute later with chocolate cookies and milk.

She peered at me with flinty eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making afternoon tea for Magnus's children."

Maryanne snorted. I think it was meant to be a bitter laugh. "Oh, he's passed them on to you, has he?" I poured two glasses of milk and arranged the cookies on a plate. "He said you were busy."

"Busy! That has nothing to do with it. I refused, point-blank, to look after those little shits again. They come four times a year, and he can't stand them, so he dumps them on me. I told him on the boat, I'm not looking after them this time. He can ask somebody else." Her knife sharpening reached a frenzied speed. I took a step back. "He's too afraid of Frida to ask her, and God forbid that he should ask a man, so look who's next on his wish list, the pretty new trainee. Well, enjoy yourself with the nasty beasts, Vicky."

I took a couple of seconds to process this diatribe. "Did you and Magnus have a fight?"

"He's a bloody pig."

"What did he do?"

Maryanne dropped her head and examined the knife blade. "I'd rather not talk about it." To my horror, she began to cry. I put a hand on her arm. "I have to go, Maryanne, but if you need somebody to talk to…"

"No, no, I'm fine."

I backed away slowly with the kids' afternoon tea on a tray. When I entered the rec hall, they were sitting exactly where I'd left them. I set the tray on the table and they helped themselves, giggling and talking to each other in Norwegian, and giving me sly looks. I decided to try one more time with the most basic English sentence I could think of: "How are you today, Matthias and Nina?" More giggles. Then Matthias, in perfect English, said, "Our father is your boss. He tells you what to do." I swallowed the retort I wanted to spit at him. "Oh, so you do speak English well."

"Naturally," Nina said, reaching for another chocolate cookie.

"So why didn't you answer my questions before?"

"Because they were stupid questions," Matthias said.

Nina, impersonating my pained pronunciation with mortifying precision, said, "How long are you staying?

How old are you?"

I set my teeth and forced a smile. "How about this then. What is the mean distance between two random points in a unit square?" And when they didn't answer, "That shut you up, didn't it? Now, eat your cookies."

More Norwegian dialogue passed between them. I'm sure most of it was insults aimed at me but I didn't mind. They were only kids after all. Magnus was the one who should have known better. A staff meeting and drinking session had been organized for after dinner that evening, presumably when Matthias and Nina were watching videos in Magnus's cabin and no longer in need of English lessons. I sat in the rec hall with Josef and Alex to wait for the others. The station was so different now there were people around. The spaces seemed warmer, better insulated against the weather outside; the buildings seemed safe and sturdy, rather than abandoned shapes being reclaimed by the forest. While this was a good thing—it put my recent brush with gullibility firmly behind me—it also saddened me. The loss of Vidar was tied up with the loss of the haunted feeling. He had been strange, he had been part of the forest and the bare night sky. All the ordinariness around me underscored his absence. Magnus bustled in last, apologizing and blaming his lateness on getting the children settled.

"Now, this meeting will be neither long nor boring," he promised, then in the next hour and twelve minutes set about breaking that promise.

At eight-thirty, just as Maryanne was bringing out a bottle of scotch and nine glasses, Magnus held up his hands, and said, "Wait, wait, one last agenda item."

The collective groan was inaudible but palpable.

Magnus smiled. "Trust me, this one is interesting. I was talking to some of the other station commanders in Bern, and they all have social club events that go beyond getting drunk every Wednesday night. Would you like to hear?"

Glances passed around the room. Gunnar said, "Go on."

"I propose a monthly social event, for which we all pay a nominal sum from our wages, to go toward funding our Christmas party. So it acts as a fund-raising event as well as a team-building experience. Now we should probably discuss this at length because—"

"That sounds great, Magnus," I said quickly.

"A wonderful idea," Carsten said. "I'll vote for that."

"Me too, me too," Frida said. "No need to discuss it."

"Good," said Magnus, pleased with himself. "Any ideas for our first social event? Considering that we are stuck on an island in the middle of the Norwegian Sea."

"How about a picnic?" Gunnar said. "The days are getting milder."

"In the clearing," Frida suggested.

"No, by the lake," Josef said.

"Ah, the lake," Magnus said. "Good idea."

So the picnic at the lake was set for the coming weekend, various tasks were assigned, a levy was agreed upon, and we finally started drinking the scotch.

And long after everybody else finished drinking, I was still going. My need to decompress was greater than my determination to behave prudently. I simply didn't want to go to bed. I didn't want to close my eyes on the day that I lost Vidar and have the next day be an ordinary day. I wanted the world to be wild and thrilling and, that night, alcohol was the nearest shortcut to hand. Gunnar, who had overindulged on his holiday, was the first to bed, followed by Gordon going off to the night shift, followed by Alex and Josef, whom I was starting to suspect were lovers, followed by Frida and Carsten—who still hadn't officially announced their engagement—which left Magnus, Maryanne and me in the rec hall with Maryanne's Cat Stevens CD on repeat-play.

I bobbed my head along with the music and made occasional comments about the night being young and asking who was up for a seventies folk music drinking game, before it became clear that Magnus and Maryanne were probably waiting for me to leave so that they could sort out their differences. I didn't want to stop drinking, nor be alone, nor do anything so mundane as go to bed, but the glances passing between them were laden and, come to think of it, hadn't Maryanne said four times in the past half hour that I looked very, very tired.

"Right," I said, pushing my chair back, "I'm off to bed."

"Good night," Maryanne said forcefully.

"I'll see you in the—" My parting sentence was cut short by my chair becoming entangled between my ankles, sending me sprawling across the floor. The shock of the fall was greater than the pain that shot up my wrist as I tried to save myself. I was drunk. I started crying.

"Hey, it's all right." Magnus was already crouching next to me, helping me up. He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. "Don't cry."

"I'm not," I cried.

Magnus was solicitous and soothing as he helped me to my feet. "Are you hurt?" .

"I'm not crying because I fell," I blurted.

"Shh, shh, it doesn't matter." Now Magnus enclosed me in a hug and stroked my hair. I sobbed into his shoulder, hating myself for it and knowing I'd regret it.

I heard the sound of a chair scraping back and looked up to see Maryanne glowering at Magnus and me.

"I'll give you two some privacy, shall I?"

I stepped out of Magnus's embrace and brushed my hair off my face. "Don't be silly, Maryanne, it's not—"

"Good night to both of you," she declared, striding toward the door and seizing her coat.

"Maryanne!" Magnus called, going after her. He grabbed her arm; but she twisted out of his grasp and ran, slamming the door behind her. Magnus considered the door for a few moments, then turned and walked back toward me.

"Um, sorry," I said.

"It's not your fault. Maryanne has a jealous streak."

"Jealous?"

"We're trying to work things out but she thinks that you and I…"

I tried not to shudder too openly. "What?"

"I talk about you a lot," he confessed, then smiled.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling horribly vulnerable. Cat Stevens played on.

"Don't worry," he continued. "She's insecure. Before you came along, she was the most attractive woman on the island. I've reassured her that there's nothing going on between us, she just doesn't believe me."

"Oh. Well. I'm sorry anyway. I'd better…" I indicated vainly in the direction of the door.

"Wait, Vicky," he said. "I've just got to ask."

"What?" I squeaked.

"There isn't any chance, is there?"

"Chance for… ?"

"For something between us. Perhaps we could have dinner one night in my cabin, a date."

"No," I blurted, before good sense told me to let him down gently. "No, no, no."

"I see," he said. "I'm sorry I brought it up." And then he left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Make sure you lock up."

I mentally assessed the evening. I'd drunk too much. I'd fallen over. I'd cried on my boss, who then came on to me. What a stellar performance.

I gave Magnus a few minutes to disappear from sight, then pulled on my anorak and locked up the rec hall. My breath made fog in the dark. I knew that if I went to bed I would simply lie there until dawn, replaying the disastrous events in my head, all the more horrifying in contrast to the past two evenings spent in the quiet woods with Vidar. The ache of desire squeezed my lungs. I pocketed my keys and headed into the trees.

I walked for ten minutes, in no particular direction, with no particular hope that Vidar was still there. He'd said goodbye. Not see you tonight. Whoever had dropped him off over at the beach had picked him up again, and he was gone.

I sighed and sagged against a tree. The dark and the cold clung to me, the treetops moved softly. A chill rose up my spine and it sobered me a little. I headed back to the station, arms wrapped rightly around myself. Desolation washed over me. He was gone and, crazy though it seemed, I knew that my last chance of finding love had slipped through my fingers along with Vidar.

Chapter Thirteen

I predicted I wouldn't sleep, so I set myself up on the sofa with a book and a cup of instant cocoa. I turned the pages and scanned the words, but none of them made it from my eyes to my brain. I was very drunk and Vidar consumed my thoughts—memories of Vidar, fantasies of Vidar. The melancholy saturated me.

I was nodding off when a tap on the window jolted me awake.

Vidar! It had to be.

I went to the window and lifted the sash, peered into the dark. I could see nothing, but I could hear footsteps retreating into the forest.

I hesitated. What if it wasn't Vidar? What if it was… ?

What, Vicky? One of the monsters you swear you don't believe in?

It must have been Vidar, on the island still, letting me know to follow him into the forest. I checked my watch—3:00 a.m. He wouldn't risk waking one of the others, hanging around near their cabins. I grabbed my anorak, threw open the cabin door, took two steps out, then my courage ran through my fingers like fine sand.

I didn't want to go out there into the forest.

"Damn you, Victoria Scott," I muttered. "You won't be intimidated by imagined bogeys." Despite the lingering fear that curled in my stomach, I strode off the slab and into the forest, listening for footsteps. Branches and twigs swayed and bent around me, their ancient shapes made grotesque by the dappled light from the station behind me. I waited until I was far enough away from the cabins to call out,

"Vidar? Where are you?"

Footsteps to my left. I turned, poised and listening.

"Vidar?"

I knew he could be perfectly silent if he wanted to be, so I scanned in a circle. My field of vision kept moving when I had stopped and I steadied myself against a tree. The weary fug of alcohol and sleep was hard to shake.

"Vidar?" I said again. If Vidar wasn't answering, perhaps it wasn't Vidar at all. I hunched inside my anorak and shuddered. Time to head back to the cabin. This had been a bad idea. I turned. And shrieked.

Skripi stood there, his oily eyes blinking at me in the gloom, his spiky hair and fingers made grey by starlight.

"Vidar is gone," he said.

It must be a dream. "Wake up, wake up," I said to myself, pinching the skin on my wrist hard. It hurt. I didn't wake up.

"You are awake," he said. "Don't be afraid."

"Wake up!" I screamed, backing away.

"Listen to me, I want to help."

I remembered my mother's letter, something about a good spirit. If this was a dream, I should probably listen. I swayed uncertainly. The dark forest was surreal, my ears were ringing.

"You lost the ward. You have to get it back. I can't get another one. I found it in the draugr's lair. He saw me, he tried to kill me. You have to get eolh back. I can't make another, the draugr is watching me."

"I am going insane," I said.

"Vidar is gone. He can't protect you."

"Where has he gone?"

Skripi pointed to the sky. "On his horse."

"Oh… that's reassuring. Because I know that horses can't fly, so you must be talking nonsense, which would mean that I'm dreaming."

"You must find the ward. It's yours and you might need it." He backed away from me with his hands in front of him, the long spiky fingers stretched out. "I'll go. I don't mean to frighten you." He disappeared into the shadows and I stood, rooted to the spot, waiting to wake up.

"I'm drunk. I'm dreaming. I'm going insane," I said. I couldn't move my feet, a whirlwind of panic was eddying up my rib cage, my breath was trapped in my lungs, and then…

A hazy cloud descended and I lost track of sights and sounds and time…

And I woke up in my bed.

"Oh, thank God," I gasped. The dawnlight glowed behind my curtain. "Thank God, thank God." I leaned my head in I my hands and sobbed with relief. I wasn't going mad after all, it was just a peculiarly vivid dream fueled by too much scotch and too many wild emotions. The fact that I didn't remember putting myself to bed was a little creepy, but not anything to fret over… memories were soft, and hard spirits often obliterated them.

My wrist hurt from my fall in the rec hall and I noticed for the first time a gash across my palm. I must have cut it on the back of the chair I pulled over with me. I rose and washed it, smoothed a bandage over it, then went to the window to draw the curtain. The forest looked back. Fear stole over me; if I didn't know better, I would have declared it haunted and never set foot in it again. I touched the cold glass of the window and sighed, wishing very deeply that I hadn't let Gunnar take my good luck charm. Skripi was right: it was mine and I might need it.

At 9:00 a.m. I was amazed to find Magnus at my door with Matthias and Nina.

"Um, hi," I said, squirming inside with the uncomfortable memories of the previous night. Without even a blink that would acknowledge he felt the same way, Magnus smiled, and said, "Good morning, Victoria. Matthias and Nina insisted that I bring them over to see you this morning." I glanced at the twins. Nina screwed up her face at me. "Did they?" I said.

"They've grown very fond of you, and I can see you feel the same way. Perhaps you'd spend a little time with them this morning, and—"

"Magnus, if I'm going to look after your kids, I at least want time off in lieu," I said.

"Done," he said, clearly relieved he didn't have to lie, charm and wheedle anymore. "I promised you four days off in a row, you can have five after the weekend."

"It's a deal. Come on, you two. I'll teach you how to play poker." I ushered them inside. Magnus caught my arm and drew me conspiratorially close. I tensed, thinking he might repeat his offer of a date, but instead he whispered, "I'm paying you now, so don't let them out of your sight."

"I won't."

"Last night while we were in our meeting, Matthias made a climbing rope out of my ties. A number of them are ruined."

I hid a smirk. "I see. I'll watch them closely."

Nina grew bored with card games very quickly and spent her time playing in my makeup case and wardrobe. Matthias was a born cardsharper and cleaned me out of matchsticks before lunch.

"Come on," I said, packing up my deck. "I'll take you over to the rec hall for lunch."

"I'm hungry," Nina declared, rubbing her eyes and smearing mascara down her cheeks.

"I'm not hungry at all," Matthias said. "I don't want to go to the rack hall."

"It's the rec hall," I said. "Short for recreation. And you have to have lunch, so come on."

"I want to play cards some more!" he shouted.

I handed them their coats. "Well, I want to eat, and we're all stuck together." I gestured them out the door. "Come on."

Nina proudly strutted ahead of me with her unevenly made-up face. Matthias slouched out the door and whined something to Nina in Norwegian. She shook her head.

"Do you want a sandwich or one of Maryanne's vegetable pies?" I asked.

"I said I'm not hungry!" Matthias turned and ran, astonishingly fast, into the forest.

"Damn it!"

"Is that swearing?" Nina asked. "I want to learn English swearing."

"Nina, can you go to the rec hall and wait for me? Tell Maryanne we're having pies for lunch."

"I don't want pies. Teach me a swear word."

"No. Now go to the rec hall and wait for me." I dashed into the forest after Matthias. I'd already lost sight of him, but could hear his footsteps ahead of me. Then they slowed, slid about and stopped. I panicked. What if he'd fallen and knocked himself out?

"Matthias? Matthias, are you all right?"

I slipped through the trees as quickly as I could, then stopped, panting, looking around. "Matthias?" No answer. I was certain his footsteps had stopped nearby. I peered closely between the trees and a wash of sensation overwhelmed me…

Last night you were here. Running panicked through the trees, away from Skripi…

But that had been a dream. I'd woken up in bed…

No, you were here.

I spotted a narrow branch, broken, and a memory crushed down on me. Running in the dark, putting out my hand to stop the branch hitting my face, the flash of pain across my palm as it cut me. I looked at the bandage on my hand, frozen with fear.

"HA!" Matthias jumped out from behind a tree, scaring the wits out of me. I shrieked, then when I saw it was just a rotten kid, I pressed my hand over my heart and taught him every English swear word I knew. He ran away from me again, this time in the direction of the station, but I was through with running. I headed out of the forest at my own pace. I felt helpless and afraid, but mostly I felt angry. I'd thought all this nonsense was over, that I'd managed to make it all rational. I didn't want to feel helpless and afraid, but how could I feel otherwise when I could no longer reliably distinguish dreams from reality?

Magnus took the kids over to the beach to collect seashells that afternoon, and I decided to abandon my pride and ask Gunnar for my protection ward. This plan was foiled in the first twenty seconds when Gunnar opened the door, grinned at me, and said, "Let me guess. You've finally abdicated as Queen of the Skeptics and you want your lucky charm back."

"Of course not. What makes you say that?"

"I heard you scream in the forest."

My heart jolted. "Last night?"

"No, today. Around lunchtime."

"Oh. Yes. Matthias gave me a fright."

"Hm. I think it's just a ward against evil spirits, not small naughty boys." He ushered me in.

"If only," I said, sitting at his kitchen table. "Make me coffee?"

"Of course. You look tired."

I dropped my forehead on the table. "Those kids are driving me nuts."

"Then tell Magnus you won't look after them."

"He's paying me in days off." I lifted my head to watch him make coffee.

"Don't tell Maryanne. She always does it as a favor."

"Why would anybody want children? They're hideous beasts."

"Matthias and Nina are. Yours wouldn't be," he said, pointing a spoon at me emphatically.

"How do you know that?"

"Because your kids won't have a psychotic shrew for a mother and Magnus for a father." I laughed. "Don't speak too soon. I'm already psychotic, and Magnus has already asked me for a date." Gunnar dropped into the chair opposite me in shock. "He didn't!"

I waved my hand. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What did you say?"

"No, of course!" I exclaimed quickly. "I was drunk. He was drunk. And this morning he's acting like nothing happened."

"Maybe he's forgotten. If he was drunk—"

"I hope so. But Magnus is so shameless it wouldn't surprise me if he remembered everything and just intended to carry on as usual."

"So did you scream when he asked you?"

"Sorry?"

"When I said I'd heard you scream, you thought I meant last night."

"Oh, that. No, I didn't scream at Magnus. I had a nightmare around three. I dreamed I was in the forest and when you said you'd heard a scream from out there, I thought…"

He was smiling at me again. "You thought? What?"

"Nothing." I slapped the table. "Where's my bloody coffee?" Gunnar laughed. "I think I have some information that might interest you."

"If it's about ghosts—"

"No," he said, returning to the bench to pour the coffee, "it's about the weather."

"Go on."

A coffee cup in each hand, he shrugged a shoulder toward his computer desk. "Come over here. I'll show you."

He booted up his computer as I slipped into the chair beside his and sipped my coffee.

"I've been entering all the old paper records into the database," he explained as the soft blue glow of the screen lit his face. "Magnus wanted me to pay particular attention to unusual weather events, for his research work. So I've been scanning the records for storm reports, heavy snow, long rain periods…

and I got all the way back to day one." He punched a few keys, and the screen filled with text. He tapped the screen. "Here, seventeenth of June 1964. The grand opening of Kirkja Station, attended by all of eight people, the first staff members. Temperature at 11:00 A.M. was twenty-two degrees. Sky was cloudless, humidity low. And here…" He clicked and the next screen came up. "Same date, 3:00

P.M. They report a snowstorm."

"Yes, but it's obviously a mistake," I said. "You double-checked?"

"I did."

"Their mistake then. They wrote it on the wrong day."

He clicked an icon in the corner and a box appeared. "In some instances I added comments from the journals. 'We were outside enjoying a few celebratory drinks at lunchtime when the temperature began to drop and clouds blew in. Soon after, snow began to fall and by afternoon it was heavy, accompanied by thunder and lightning. We're all baffled.'"

"Interesting," I said. "Did they manage to explain it?"

"I don't know. There's nothing else about it in the record books."

"The weather does odd things," I said. "Raining frogs—"

"There are two instances of raining frogs in here," he said, "but I'm not interested in that. I don't even think the snowstorm was particularly odd in itself. It's the other stuff I've read that makes it intriguing."

"What other stuff?"

He reached across his desk and began plowing through an overflowing in-tray. Something clunked out of a pile of papers. He scooped it up and handed it to me. "Oh, did I show you this? Magnus found it in the forest."

It was the shard of metal that I'd thought was part of an axe blade. It was cold in my palm. I felt no conviction about what it was this time. It was just an unidentifiable piece of anything. Gunnar had seized a set of photocopies and shook them in front of me. "Remember I told you about the first settlement here? In the eleventh century? It was a Christian settlement and the Christians loved to keep records. There were a few records left behind on Kirkja, and they're now in a museum in Bergen. This is a copy of a modern translation of the Latin. It's very boring, mostly. But look at this…" He pointed to a sentence.

"I can't read Norwegian," I reminded him dryly.

"It says: 'On the day the foundation stone was laid for our new church, the warm summer morning gave way to a mighty storm and deep snowfall.'"

"Wow," I said. "Amazing coincidence."

"Just a coincidence?"

"What else would it be?"

"I don't know," Gunnar said. "I like not knowing. I like to wonder. Don't you?" I shook my head.

"There's more," he said.

"Go on."

He shuffled the pages. "Here, at the end. The last entry. Before the… before whatever happened to them. "This morning is cool and clear, the first signs of winter.'" Gunnar's finger scanned down the page.

"This is all boring nonsense about the Bible. And then, here: 'The late morning grows hot. The children paddle naked in the water. I have never experienced such a heat, even in the middle of summer. The fires of hell itself could not be warmer.'" He flipped the page over. "And here: "The peculiar weather continues and many of our number grow superstitious. At dusk, the heat drained suddenly and sharply, and across the whole island stole a great frost. The trees are white, the lake has frozen over and the ground is covered in crystals. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it. It is now dark and there are fearsome sounds in the forest. A cruel wind gathers force and we all huddle inside by the fire in fear of what may happen next.'"

As Gunnar read aloud I found myself holding my breath. There was something so familiar about the tale. Imagined impressions flashed across my mind: desperate faces in the firelight, the weight of their fear. The piece of metal in my palm was growing warm. I dropped it on Gunnar's desk, finding that it repelled me.

"What happened next?" I said.

"Don't know. That was the last entry. It's great, isn't it? A real mystery. And all that stuff about the weather, it makes you think."

I gathered my wits. "You said it was written hundreds of years ago. It would be impossible to confirm if it were authentic or not. Or perhaps one of the translators has played with the language to make it more dramatic. You know, in light of the history of the island."

"I suppose so," Gunnar said, putting the pages aside. "Is it not possible for a frost to come on the afternoon of a very hot day?"

I shook my head. "Not here in the midlatitudes. In the Arctic, a change in air mass can mean katabatic winds and a sharp temperature drop. But certainly not how it's described there." Gunnar smiled. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

Gunnar waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. Let's go over to the rec hall. I promised Maryanne I'd help her with sandwiches for tomorrow's picnic."

Gunnar reached over to turn off his computer and I saw the ward on a chain around his neck, under his shirt. If I caved in and asked for it, he would think he had won. He was obviously goading me, telling me mysterious stories. I preferred to be the old Vicky, who was scared of nothing. As Gunnar locked the cabin door behind us, I glanced up toward the trees. For a second, another image laid itself over the forest in my mind's eye: ice hanging from branches, hoarfrost all over the ground, a strange creaking almost silence. The image troubled me. As though I had really seen it, once, somewhere. As though it might have really happened.

Despite drizzle the evening before, Kirkja predicted a mild, clear day for our picnic and we were right. Shortly after the morning balloon launch, we all traipsed into the forest carrying blankets and baskets of food. Matthias and Nina ran ahead and ran back, calling in excited voices. The forest didn't feel strange and haunted under these circumstances. I was looking forward to our day out. Night and solitude brought the yearning back. Being around other people helped me forget about Vidar for a few relaxed hours. The area directly around the lake was muddy, but we found a grassy verge at the edge of the trees on the eastern side of the water and spread out our blankets. I lay on my back and looked at the sky through branches, and listened to the sounds of the picnic being unpacked, of plates and glasses being handed about, of conversations and laughter.

Gunnar crouched down on my blanket. "Vicky, why are you the only one not doing anything?" he asked.

"I am doing something. I'm watching Magnus's kids." I turned my head, saw they were still shouting to each other as they ran round the lake, and turned back. "See?"

He settled next to me. "So you're still babysitting?"

I sat up and said, mock-cheerfully, "Magnus says I'm the best babysitter he's ever employed and he wishes he could take me home to Oslo one day."

"I think you'll have some competition from Maryanne." He pointed to Magnus and Maryanne, head to head, talking quietly.

"That's progress," I said.

"I saw him leaving her cabin first thing this morning."

"Do you think they… ?"

"I'm fairly sure."

I screwed up my nose. "Yuck."

"It's like a social experiment, this place," Gunnar said, folding his long hands around his knees. "Eventually they all pair off. Frida and Carsten. Magnus and Maryanne. You know that Alex and Josef… ?"

"I guessed."

"So that leaves me a choice between Gordon or you," he said.

"Gordon's a safer bet," I said lightly.

"You have better teeth."

I laughed. Gordon had big protuberant teeth, with a gap between them wide enough to sail the Jonsok through. "But really," I said, "teeth or no teeth, I'm not—"

"I know, Vicky. It was only a joke," he said quickly.

I felt uncomfortable, but tried to pretend I wasn't. "I know," I said.

"Victoria!" This was Magnus, calling from a hundred feet away where he and Maryanne had started a bottle of champagne. "Can you tell the children to be careful not to slip in the water?" I looked around and spotted the kids on the far side of the lake, faking a sword fight with branches. I got up and walked around the lake toward them. They saw me coming and ran away.

"Hey!" I called. "Be careful you don't slip into the water." Matthias turned and brandished his sword. "I want to go swimming."

"Well, you can't. It's dangerous."

"I'm the best swimmer in my school. Far said I could go swimming."

"No he didn't. Now behave or I'll make you come and sit with me and Gunnar." He turned to run after Nina with his sword held high, but I noticed he put three more feet between himself and the muddy edge of the water. I returned to the picnic site to see Maryanne looking at me smugly. Gunnar and Josef had pulled all the picnic blankets into a communal square, and champagne and sandwiches were served. Carsten and Frida made an official engagement announcement and the two sips of champagne I took as a toast were my limit for the day. After Wednesday night's debacle, I was easing off on the social club's alcohol. Magnus clearly had a different agenda, and he and Maryanne both became Saturday-afternoon tipsy and exchanged desiring looks for the entire picnic. Nobody was more embarrassed than Magnus's children, who dealt with it by taking a plate of sandwiches and a flask of orange juice to the far side of the lake for a private picnic.

At around four, the warmth of the afternoon gave way to the first chill of approaching evening. Magnus buttonholed me while I was patrolling for plastic wrap that had blown into the edge of the forest.

"Will you watch the children?" he slurred.

"I'm watching them," I said distractedly, glancing over my shoulder.

"For the rest of the day," he added. "Maryanne and I are… heading back to her cabin." I was glad my back was turned to him. The look of horror on my face was best kept a secret. "Fine." I gathered rubbish and, when I turned around, Magnus and Maryanne were scurrying off like American teenagers at a frat party—she was giggling, his hand was firmly attached to her bum—and everyone else at the picnic looked away politely. We gave them a half hour lead, then started saying how late it was getting and it was probably time to head back.

We had packed up and were twenty feet into the trees when Matthias pulled my arm, and said, "Vicky, I've left my sword back at the lake."

"Can't you find another?" I asked. "It was only a stick." He shook his head.

"Go on, be quick," I said, waving him off. Nina ran away with him. I walked another hundred feet in conversation with Gunnar when I realized that I should probably not be so casual in my responsibilities to Magnus's children.

"Actually, Gunnar, I'd better wait for the kids."

"See you back at the station," he said, and disappeared into the trees. I was halfway back to the lake when I heard Nina scream.

My heart jumped. I ran.

"Matthias! Matthias!" she shrieked. "Far! Far! Help!" I broke through the trees. Nina stood helpless and sobbing in the mud.

"Nina, where's Matthias?"

She shrieked at me in Norwegian and pointed to the water. A stream of bubbles about fifteen feet out.

"I'll go in after him," I said, throwing off my coat and shoes. "You run that way and call loudly for Gunnar."

She tore off, screaming Gunnar's name while I splashed into the cold lake…

A draugr is a thing to be feared.

… and swam toward Matthias.

Under the surface the water was grey-green and murky. Below me all was black, choked with weed and cloudy shapes. I spotted a pale flailing arm and headed in that direction, scooped up Matthias and broke the surface with him.

"Are you all right?" I gasped.

He spat out a mouthful of water and began to cry, pushed at me angrily and swam toward land. I guessed he was all right.

Something brushed my ankle. A weed or…

With a rush of bubbles I was yanked under. I opened my mouth to scream and swallowed the lake. I was spinning, something had me around the thighs. I struggled away. Had I been caught in a float of weed? I felt around near my legs and was horrified to feel fingers brush my own. They pulled me down farther. The water was icy. My throat was raw and I was running out of breath. My lungs felt hard, blocked. My brain was bursting its bounds.

Out of the murky green darkness, a face loomed in front of me, a nightmare of weed and veins and algae. It was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.

The next face I saw was Gunnar's, close and hot.

Then more blackness.

Voices shouting. Being carried.

Carsten's voice above them all, shouting orders.

Carsten?

Our nurse, that's right. I've been saved.

"Am I alive?" I mumbled, and my throat felt as though it had been lacerated. Relieved laughter. Being pushed and pulled, and a warm towel gathered around me. I opened my eyes. I was sitting in a chair in the sick bay, a linoleum-floored room which saw most of its use in storing our alcohol. Carsten leaned over me and smiled. "Welcome back."

Gunnar stood anxiously in the corner. I touched my wet hair. Memories swung toward me and I shuddered. "What happened?"

"As far as we can figure, you went in after Matthias and then got tangled up in some weed," Carsten said.

"I saw a face under the water," I said, "just as I was blacking out. A nightmare—"

"I'm sure that's not unusual in those circumstances."

"You're fine now," Gunnar said. "Nina called me and I pulled you out." I smiled. "Did you save my life, Gunnar Holm?"

"Would that be all right if I had? Or would that contravene our 'just mates' rule?"

"No, that's all right."

"And the whole kiss-of-life thing?"

"I don't remember it, so it's like it never happened." I laughed and it hurt my lungs, so I stopped.

"You were very brave to go in after Matthias," Gunnar said. "He might have died in pursuit of his sea monster."

"Sea monster?"

"He told Magnus that's why he went in the water."

I closed my eyes and even that hurt.

"Are you all right?" Carsten asked.

"I thought drowning was supposed to be a nice peaceful death," I said.

"Not at all," he replied emphatically. "Filling your lungs with liquid is very painful. Gunnar, could you tell Magnus what happened."

Carsten listened to my lungs and checked my eyes, gave me some painkillers and told me to go to my cabin, have a warm shower and get into bed.

"I'll come over in an hour to check on you," he said, giving me a fatherly pat on the shoulder, "but I think you'll be fine once you've had a rest."

I did as he said, and as I was climbing into my bed I noticed something on the bedside table. The ward. Gunnar had left it there. I picked it up and clutched it in my palm. Did he leave it without saying a word because he thought I really needed it and was afraid to ask for it? He was probably right on both counts.

I dangled it in front of me and it spun slowly on its chain. Matthias, despite being a good swimmer, had gone into the lake and been pulled under. I had gone in and been pulled under. Gunnar had come after me and he'd been fine. Anything to do with a certain good luck charm?

Images from the last weeks crowded my imagination: sticks and weeds, night grey, lake-gloom, matter neither animal nor vegetable, sick moonbeams and nausea in my heart valves. If I lay still and thought hard enough, I might be able'tö pin all these horrors down, but my lungs ached and I wondered what was more important, thinking or breathing.

I opened the clasp and fastened the ward around my neck. I decided I liked breathing.

Chapter Fourteen

[Asgard]

The house at Gammaldal was silent and still as Vidar reined Arvak in. A thin streak of smoke curled from the chimney, but Aud did not emerge to greet him.

"Aud?" he called, dismounting. He removed saddle and bridle and set Arvak free to walk about, then looked inside the house. The remains of a fire; the quiet darkness; the smell of old cooking. No Aud. He scanned outside. What day was it? Perhaps she was with Loki. Vidar cursed as he led Arvak to the stable to feed and water him. Vidar didn't want to be alone. He needed company and conversation to break the obsessive circle of his thoughts.

It had seemed so simple before he met Victoria. In his imagination, they would meet, fall in love, then together they would hide from his family, just for a lifetime. And yet, when he finally saw her again, reality weighed heavily on his heart. Had he really forgotten how fine her skin was, so pale he could see the blue veins at her wrist? Had he forgotten the lightness of her voice, the narrow circumference of her waist, the softness of her cheek? She was so vulnerable, so mortal. His whole time in Midgard he'd longed to hold her, to crush her body against his and burn his lips on the heat of her skin. In her presence, a longing so acute had gripped him that his whole body would have trembled had he not forced it to be still. But when the moment arrived for him to declare his feelings, he had become acutely aware of the possibility that he might attract to her a danger she was not equipped to battle.

Vidar left Arvak in the stable, but couldn't bear to return to the house, to sit quiet and cautious indoors when such a passion of indecision clouded his mind. He crossed the wide flat fields and found himself walking up and down the muddy beach in the early light.

Nearly a thousand years he had waited. On each day of each week of those years, he had thought about Halla with longing and tenderness, knowing eventually she would return. He had yearned for that day so violently that sometimes he feared it would injure him. How could he turn his back on her now?

It was simply that the obstacle that stood between him and Victoria was so great. His father. A beast—foul, brutal and malevolent. Not happy unless everyone around him was intimidated. Damn him. Vidar set his teeth. Sometimes the shadows of a fantasy taunted him. In his fantasy he went to Valaskjálf at night, burst into the cavernous hall, and killed all of them: his detestable father, his preening brothers, the hard-faced women they surrounded themselves with… But before the fantasy could spawn the kind of detail that would make it addictive and poisonous, he suppressed it.

Vidar stopped, crouched on the beach and watched the waves for a long time, no closer to knowing what to do next.

The sun behind him cast his shadow on the mud, as it rose over Valaskjálf many, many miles away. Aud had arrived at Loki's house to find he wasn't home. She stoked the fire and sat beside it, deciding she would wait one hour, then return to Gammaldal. Vidar had been gone for a week and the cottage was empty and forlorn without him, but returning was better than sitting among the towering shelves of dusty objects Loki had collected. Time crawled and she wished she'd brought some mending. She didn't dare touch any of Loki's things in case she broke something and found herself bound into his service two days a week.

She wondered when Vidar would return. The longer he was away, the more likely it was that this Midgard woman returned his affection and kept him permanently from his home. She had hoped, bitterly and deep in her chest, that the Midgard woman would be indifferent to Vidar, sending him back to Aud broken and in need of comfort; although she couldn't imagine that any woman could be indifferent to Vidar. What aspect of his great beauty or tender heart could be found wanting?

The door slammed inward and Loki stood there, outlined by daylight. It gave Aud a start.

"Did I frighten you?" he said, laughing.

"No. Did you forget I was coming?"

"No. I remembered." He slid inside and closed the door behind him, plunging his features into shadow.

"I've been out hunting."

"Hunting?"

He produced a posy of yellow flowers. "Hunting wild-flowers. For you." Aud smiled in spite of herself. Warily, she took the flowers. "Thank you, Loki." He crouched in front of her. "You see, I'm not so bad. I'm sweet and tender." She laughed. "They aren't the first two words that spring to mind when I think of you."

"What are the first two words, then?" he asked, leaning so close she could feel his breath on her hands.

" Thief" and "liar." "Master and servant," she said, refusing to be flustered by his proximity or the hot little kisses he laid upon her fingers.

"Oh, come," he said, taking her hand, "we are more than that."

"Loki, I have very strict orders from Vidar. I'm to serve you. What would you have me do today?" He rose and began hunting through the objects crowded on a shelf on the other side of the room. "Vidar tells me you are a fine weaver and seamstress. Is that right?"

Aud flushed with pleasure. "Did he really say that?"

"Oh, yes," Loki assured her. A shining silver pot fell and hit him on the head. He cursed and proceeded more carefully.

"When I came to Gammaldal, he had two tunics and two breeches, both plain wool, both poorly woven and sewn by himself," she confided, giggling at the memory. "I found madder and lichen, dyed some wool and spun it fine, then wove and sewed him new clothes. The old ones I threw on the fire." Aud patted the apron she wore with her sewing tools in it. "It was very satisfying."

"I suppose you used an Aesir loom, though," he said over his shoulder. "Big, heavy, rough." Aud frowned, puzzled. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

He turned. He had dislodged from the shelf a lightweight carved loom of maple, which he presented to her.

Her fingers traced the carvings. "These are Vanir runes," she said.

"It's Vanir work," he replied. "I found it on my last trip to Valaskjálf. I was looking for honey and this was tucked away in the back of the cook-room. Probably spoils of war, dusty and long since forgotten." A sad-happy feeling tingled up her fingers and into her heart. Something from home.

"Do you want me to weave a cloak for you?" she asked.

"No. I have many fine clothes." He rose and took the seat next to hers at the fire, stretching languidly.

"It's a present. Do what you want with it."

"Then what am I to do for you today?"

"You were a witch princess in Vanaheim, weren't you?"

Aud savored the appellation. Before she'd left her own country, she had been developing a sense of how powerful she might one day become. The family's seidhr magic was strong in her, and to have Loki acknowledge it filled her with pride. "I am," she said. "Though a hobbled witch princess in Asgard."

"Can you make me an elf-shot to use against Thor?"

"I'm forbidden from using magic except in service to the Aesir," she replied.

"It would be in service to me."

"Yes, but it would be against your own family. I wouldn't risk contravening the terms of my service." He pouted. "All right, then. Tell me stories."

"More stories? I don't have any. I've told them all." Even the animal fables she'd used to tell Helgi.

"Make something up. Be inventive."

She shook her head. "I can't, Loki. I'm not a storyteller. I'm—"

"But I command you." Loki's pale eyes narrowed. "You must do as I say. You have very strict orders from Vidar." He pronounced Vidar's name in a whispery, feminine voice.

"Very well," she said, "I'll make something up."

As the morning progressed, Loki laughed ill-naturedly at every attempt she made to invent a story. Finally, she could stand it no longer and stopped midsentence to say, "Loki, you mock me so much that I cannot concentrate."

"Petulant girl," he said, "you are in my service and I may treat you as I please. I'm kinder to you than those oafs at Valaskjálf, aren't I?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

"You've been spoiled by Vidar. You aren't a princess here in Asgard. You are lower than the lowliest worm."

Aud dropped her eyes, her chin set against the outburst that wanted to break free. He was right, Vidar had spoiled her. She had taken the punishment with a willing heart—anything to preserve Helgi's life—and now she allowed herself to be upset by Loki's teasing. She was too proud. And Loki was too sly. He seemed to know her vulnerabilities instinctively and prodded them like a curious child prods the breast of a dying bird.

"Aud?"

She looked up to find him, bafflingly, smiling at her. "Yes, Loki?"

"You are a worm, aren't you?"

She tried laughing with him. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Good, now that we have established that, let's have more stories."

"No, Loki. Let me do something else, I beg you. Let me climb to your highest shelf and clear down the cobwebs."

"What fun would that be for me?" he asked.

"Then you tell a story. You have so many. You have lived so long and been involved in dozens of famous adventures."

"Hmm," he said, stroking his bare chin in a theatrical impression of consideration. "Should a master grant a servant's wish?"

"Oh, come," she said, repeating his own words from earlier, "we are more than that." This amused him. Laughter peeled out of him so loudly that Aud found herself laughing too.

"Very well," he said finally. "Which story would you like to hear?"

"Any story."

"Would you like to know how I fell out with the Norns?"

"Yes, I would. I had wondered—"

"Had you? Then you knew I fell out with them?"

Aud felt her heart start. Had she revealed too much? Was everything threatened by a few careless words? "I had heard tell along with many other stories about you," she said smoothly. If Loki suspected anything, he gave no indication. "It's a fine story, Aud. You'll like it. It happened a few centuries ago. Have you ever seen a giant, Aud?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, they aren't so fearsome as they sound. Most of them are only seven feet tall, and half of them are women and not frightening at all. But fate says that they will be enemies to the Aesir at Ragnarök, and for that, Odin has them trapped at Jotunheim. They aren't clever or cunning, so they rarely try to escape. And if they do, there is only one route out: Utgard Bay. They hate water, and Odin often sends his spying ravens over to watch. Yet, occasionally, one slips through. So it was, on this occasion, that Aurgrímnir overcame his fear of drowning and arrived on the shores near the World Tree.

"Now, Aurgrímnir was just under eight feet tall, brawny and ugly, and very, very shortsighted. He climbed directly up into the World Tree to use it as a lookout. He was so rough and reckless that the tree shook and the Norns, all the way in the roots, believed it was an earthquake. They ran to the nearest opening and Urd peered out. Aurgrímnir slid down the tree to grab her. Skuld and Verda ran back inside, doubtlessly shrieking, while Aurgrímnir dragged Urd to a cave on the bay.

"By the time Skuld had worked up the courage to go after her sister, Aurgrímnir had fallen in love with Urd.

" 'Let my sister go, brute!' she demanded.

"He squinted at her and smiled. 'Another beautiful maiden!' he declared, and lunged at her. She slipped his grasp by inches and ran as fast as she could back to the safety of the World Tree.

"Poor Skuld and Verda! Without Urd to unpick the cloth, the loom stayed full, no new fates could be spun and woven. Before long, they knew that time would begin to slow down. They were desperate for a solution. Verda ran all the way to Valaskjálf for an audience with Odin. She burst into the great hall, calling, 'Oh, oh, a giant has stolen away my sister!'

"I happened to be there on a visit, borrowing a few necessities. Before she found Odin, she found me. She was in such a lather, all flushed and trembling. 'Verda,' I said, taking her aside into the shadows of a recess, 'you seem troubled.'

" 'I must find Odin,' she spluttered. 'A giant has fallen in love with Urd and kidnapped her, and now detains her in a cave on the shores of the bay. Odin must rescue her.'

""Teh,' I said, 'Odin neither can nor will rescue her. He's afraid of giants and cares little for your troubles.'

" 'But he must rescue her, or time will slow down, fate will become jammed.'

" 'He will merely tell you and Skuld to work harder. You will have to unpick as well as weave.'

"A look of horror crossed her face. 'No, no.'

" 'You know, Verda, I'm not busy, nor am I afraid of giants.'"

Aud laughed. "Surely she didn't accept your offer."

"Of course she did. She was desperate. I love desperate people, Aud. They reveal secrets, they grant wishes without prudence, they shed their dignity with delightful haste. I grabbed a few important objects and, within minutes, I had her on Heror's back with me, heading all the way across Asgard to Utgard Bay.

"When we arrived I spoke to Skuld and got her version of the story, then told them both to wait at the World Tree for me. I had brought with me women's clothes and a wig of tawny horsehair. I dressed as one of the Norns and headed for the cave."

Aud gasped with amused surprise. "You dressed as a woman?"

"Yes, and a fine-looking woman at that." He rubbed his chin. "I've never grown a single hair on this chin, my face is as smooth as any wench's. On the way, I pushed apples down my dress to fill it properly, then I stood outside the cave on the grey shore of the bay. Seagulls cried overhead, riding the wind. I checked that I had everything I needed and began to sing in a woman's voice. Oh, love has passed me by, I must forever remain alone…"

Aud was astonished at how much his voice sounded like a woman's. "That's incredible."

"I'm teeming with hidden talents, Aud," he said with a slow smile. "I can reveal them at any time."

"Go on," she said. "What did the giant do?"

"I watched the cave from the corner of my eye, dancing to express my sorrow." Loki leaped to his feet and imitated a sinuous, effeminate dance. Aud burst into loud laughter.

"I saw his face peering out, watching me. I turned and smiled." He continued to mime the events, smiling girlishly. "He charged out and grabbed me around the waist and took me to his cave." Loki sat down again, leaning forward. "Urd cowered in a dark alcove. She looked at me, astonished. I cried out,

'Sister!' to alert her to my ruse. She was so frightened, though, that she didn't speak a word the whole time.

"The giant put me down near the fire he had built. Fish bones scattered the sandy cave floor and the whole place stank of sweat and old seafood. He peered at me very closely, and said, 'Are you one of her sisters?'

"'Yes,' I replied, smiling beguilingly at him, 'but you may only have one of us. I mean to say, you can only have me. Urd is miserable and heartless and her legs are harder to prise apart than the jaws of Fenrir the wolf. Let her go, and let me be your bride.'

"The giant glanced from me to Urd and back again. 'I'll have you both!' he declared, and started chasing me around the cave.

" 'No, no!' I cried, running from him. 'For I will not share you with my sister. Turn her out and I will gladly surrender myself to you.'

"Once again he stopped and studied me and Urd in turn. Then, chest purring up decisively, he said to Urd, 'Go, then. I'll have your sister instead.'

"Urd took a few seconds to understand what was happening. I gestured toward the opening of the cave.

'Go,' I said, 'leave me alone with my prince.'

"All trembling elbows and knees, she hurried to her feet and scurried out. 'Good-bye, sister,' I called from the entrance, watching to see that she disappeared far enough into the distance to be safe. When I turned, Aurgrímnir had lustful, blinking eyes fixed on me.

" 'Come, my darling,' he said. 'Let me undress you.'

" 'No, no… let me undress you,' I replied, lunging toward him and untying his breeches. I had them down around his ankles in a second. I pushed him onto his backside and stood before him, teasing him by lifting my hem to my ankles, my calves, my knees, my thighs… then I paused.

" 'Keep going,' he rasped.

" 'Are you sure?' I said.

"He nodded vigorously. I lifted my skirt completely and revealed…" Aud doubled over with laughter.

"Aurgrímnir was not expecting what I revealed," Loki finished. "You remember he was shortsighted. He had to lean closer to peer at it, to make sure he was really seeing it. I whipped the two apples from my dress and pitched one into each of his eyes. And then, while he startled backward, I pulled off my wig and wrapped the long strands around his throat to strangle him."

"Did you kill him?" Aud asked.

Loki shook his head sadly. "No. Some fools from Valaskjálf had alerted Odin to what had passed between Verda and me that morning. He sent Thor, with his big yellow beard and that ridiculous hammer, and he burst in upon us just as the giant's face was turning blue. He stopped me, bullied the giant into the bay, and demanded that he swim all the way back to Jotunheim and never return, under threat of extinction.

"But worst of all, Thor turned to me after the giant had swum away, and said, 'I have sent the Norns back inside the World Tree.'

"'What?' I cried. 'But they made a bargain with me! They are in my debt.'

" 'It is a debt my father does not wish you to collect.' Then he climbed back on his horse and rode off, leaving me flat-chested in my pretty dress on the shores of Utgard Bay.

"I returned to the World Tree, of course, and wandered inside for the rest of the day. I was aware that centuries could pass without my ever finding the Norns, so I headed home before dark, gnashing my teeth at how unfair it all was. So, Aud, that's my story."

"It's a very entertaining one," Aud said. "I like to imagine you in a dress."

"Do you?" he asked slyly. "Perhaps I can put one on for you." She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. "And you've never been tempted to go back and find the Norns? To extract your payment?"

He leaned his elbow on his knee, rested his face in his palm and tapped his cheek with his long fingers.

"No, no. That would be a waste of my time. Eventually somebody will tell me where they are." Aud smiled, careful not to let the faintest shadow of her thoughts color her eyes. "What would you ask of the Norns in payment?"

Loki gestured around him expansively. "Oh, I could think of a hundred things. It would depend on what presses me as being the most important when I find them. Something wicked, perhaps. Something that would annoy everybody." He stretched and yawned. "I'm tired of talking. Another story from you, Aud?"

"Loki, I have no more stories."

"Next week, then. Think of some. I'll let you clear those cobwebs now, if you like."

"It would certainly be less tiring," Aud said, grateful for a break from his unpredictable company.

"Can I look up your skirt while you're doing it?" he asked.

"No."

He shrugged. "That's a shame," he said. "I'll fetch you a ladder." That afternoon, as Aud trudged over the slope with her new loom and Vidar's house came into view, she noticed smoke from the chimney. Her pulse quickened. He was home! She hurried her steps, arriving at the door flushed and breathless.

"Vidar!" she called, dropping her loom by the door.

"In here," he replied.

She followed his voice to her room, nursing a half-formed fantasy of finding him there amongst her blankets, ready to tell her he had found the Midgard woman wanting, that it was Aud he desired all along. It was the shutter on her window that had attracted his attention—he was tightening the frame.

"Aud, I'm surprised you haven't been freezing at night with the wind howling through this gap," he said.

"I didn't think it my place to complain," she answered. Her eyes drank him in greedily while he wasn't looking. His skillful hands, his long dark hair, his lean muscular back.

"Of course you can complain if you're cold or uncomfortable." He turned and offered her half a smile. It was immediately apparent that some keen sadness troubled him. He looked drawn, his eyes were empty.

"Did all… did all go well in Midgard?" she ventured.

He sighed and glanced away. "No. Not really."

Aud felt hope lift through her chest. Had the Midgard woman rejected him? She tried to keep her relief out of her voice. "I'm sorry to hear that. Why don't you come and sit by the fire. I'll make you a meal and, if you like, you can tell me what happened."

Vidar tested the shutter again. "I suppose I should eat," he muttered. Aud rushed about making fish soup and lighting the candles in their metal brackets, while Vidar concentrated on carving a small piece of wood by the fire. He barely looked at her throughout his meal, and would have returned directly to his carving after they had finished eating had she not said, "Vidar, perhaps you would feel better if you talked about what happened on Midgard?" Instead of the indifferent refusal she was expecting, he said, "Perhaps…" Then his gaze returned to the fire and he drew his brows together.

Aud ached. If only his sadness and yearning were for her instead of this plain mortal woman. "I can listen well enough, Vidar," she said, "if you'd care to speak."

He was silent a few moments. Outside, the wind was soft in the trees, the shush of the sea rhythmic behind it. The cabin was filled with the smell of smoke and the herbs Aud had used in the soup. Without meeting her eyes, Vidar spoke softly and slowly: "Aud, if you loved someone as much as the sun loves the moon, would anything keep you apart?"

Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes as a wordless, primal yearning pressed on her heart. A quick intake of breath prevented the sob.

"I'm sorry, Aud," Vidar said, touching her shoulder gently. "I didn't mean to upset you. How callous of me to forget you're so far from home and the ones you love."

"Far from my son," she said, the words trembling. "So far that he no longer seems real."

"You've never told me about him, Aud."

"You've never asked."

He smiled at her, so tenderly and warmly that her heart caught in her throat. In all the long years she had been living with him, he had never been so openly warm. It astonished her more than it delighted her. Her blood pounded.

"I'm asking now," he said. "I can listen well, too, Aud, if you'd care to speak." And so she unlocked the story again and found more relief in revealing it to Vidar than to Loki. As the story drew to the point where she should end it, she saw in Vidar's eyes a well of raw pity. She suddenly felt vulnerable and annoyed. For the Midgard woman, he had the love of the sun for the moon; for Aud, just pity. Vidar already imagined that her long days off were spent standing at the border of Vanaheim and pining for home. Now he must see her even more as a weak, pathetic creature. Was it not loss of dignity enough that she—witch princess of the Vanir—must be reduced to servitude? No wonder he didn't love her. She had hidden her spirit, her powers. Before she could check herself, she began to speak too freely.

"Vidar," she said, leaning closer, conspiratorially. "I still see the Norns." His eyes widened. "You do?"

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She should stop. Immediately. Before it went any further, before she revealed too much. "That is where I go," she said, "on days when you are kind enough to allow me time for myself. I go to the World Tree, and there, in exchange for news about the outside world, they reveal my son to me in an enchanted crystal." She sat back, immediately regretful. "Please never tell another soul. If I should lead somebody to them…"

"Of course, Aud," he said quickly. There had been a subtle change in his voice. Instead of speaking to her as one might speak to a child, he spoke to her firmly and warmly. She had revealed too much, but it had worked in her favor.

"Thank you for listening to my tale," she said, brushing her hair off her shoulders and stretching her hands out to the fire. "I feel better for telling somebody."

Neither spoke for long minutes. The wind howled over the chimney and the fire sputtered. At length, Aud grew impatient for him to offer her a secret in payment. "You've been so kind to me, Vidar, but I can be more than a servant to you," she said. "I can be your companion. We can be friends for each other." Almost imperceptibly, he leaned back. She cursed herself for going too far, but she couldn't let him go now.

"As for the answer to your other question," she continued quickly, trying to keep her tone light, "no matter how much the sun loves the moon, they are separated by miles and miles of stars. They are fixed and cannot reach each other. And they must accept that and get on, as I do. As anyone must when love is made impossible."

He stood and stretched his arms over his head, as though he hadn't heard her. "I need a moment in the fresh air. The smoke stings my eyes."

"I'll wait here by the tire," she said.

"No, no. Go to bed. I might look in on Arvak. That stable door sounded loose." He pulled on a heavy cloak and left.

His sudden coldness made her stomach tie in knots.

"Fine," she whispered angrily. "Sleep with the horse."

Chapter Fifteen

Every day for a week, Vidar disappeared in the morning and only returned when dusk deepened around the trees and brought the salt-laden winds off the sea. Sometimes he came home damp, and Aud wondered if he were returning to Sjáfjord to gaze on Midgard. At home in the evenings, he was lost deep in his thoughts. Any attempts that Aud made to encourage intimacy between them were carefully blocked by Vidar. Aud, sick at heart, felt him slip further and further from her confidence, and was helpless to change the situation.

One bright morning, about an hour after Vidar had left, Aud was collecting firewood from the pile by the stables when she heard hoofbeats approaching from the woods. She looked around to see Loki burst from the trees on Heror. He was dressed all in black, his hair loose and flowing, a silver circlet around his forehead and an ornate box brooch fastening his cloak. With her arms full of firewood, she moved toward the house to greet him.

"Good morning," she said, curious.

He jumped off Heror and loosened the bridle, smiling at her over his shoulder. "Greetings, Aud. You look well."

"Thank you."

"Is Vidar about? I need to talk to him."

"No, he's out."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "You don't know?"

Aud shook her head. "He didn't say. I didn't ask."

"Ah, disappointing. I rather felt like some company today." Loki surveyed the area around them.

"Perhaps I'll go to look for him."

Aud grew concerned. What if Vidar stood in Sjáfjord, unsuspecting? If Loki found him and learned of his secret… what then? Did she really care if others learned of Vidar's love for this Midgard woman, especially if their disapproval stopped him seeing her?

"Which direction did he go, Aud?" Loki was asking.

She gathered herself and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I'm sorry." Vidar had trusted her not to tell and she intended to be worthy of that trust.

Loki fixed his gaze to the northwest, toward the seeing-water. "Perhaps I'll head over the slope to—"

"If you want company, I'll gladly provide it," she said quickly, dropping the wood and dusting her hands.

"I've no intention of sitting by the fire on such a beautiful day," he said.

"Then let us walk, in the woods."

"Walk? Wouldn't you like to ride with me?"

"I couldn't keep up."

"No," he said, grasping her elbow gently. " With me. On Heror." He whistled loudly and Heror turned and walked toward them.

A shiver of fear frosted her skin. She was uncomfortable on horseback—preferred her feet on the ground—let alone a fast, powerful beast like Heror with Loki at the reins. "I'm not sure…"

"Didn't you say you'd keep me company? Come."

"Must we go very fast?"

Loki laughed his wild laugh. "Of course we must!" With swift grace, he mounted Heror, then put his hand down for her. "Come, Aud. Don't be frightened. You may trust me." Trust Loki? Aud almost laughed. She wondered if Vidar would appreciate her actions when she told him this evening. "Very well," she said. She tied her skirts around her hips and, reaching up, allowed Loki to help her onto Heror's back.

"Hold on tight," Loki said, slapping her thigh playfully. Aud needed no prompting. She locked her arms about his waist, her hands tight over his hollow stomach. No warmth emanated from his body. His black hair caught-against her lips and cheek. She screwed her eyes tight.

Heror needed little encouragement from Loki. Almost as soon as they were settled, he sped off like lightning. Aud cracked open one eye to see where they were going, but hurriedly closed it when the branches of the wood loomed close enough to terrify her and the shadows between the trees flew past like wild ghosts. She tightened her grip on Loki's ribs, wishing they were not so narrow and cool. From time to time, she could feel his body shake with mad laughter. Their journey, while it probably only lasted twenty minutes, seemed interminable as she willed him and willed him to slow down. Finally, she felt Loki pull on Heror's reins. The horse slowed to a walk, and she ventured to open her eyes. They had left the woods and were entering a sunlit field of waving grass, daisies and orange hawkweed. Heror stopped, they dismounted and Loki sent the horse off to cool down. Aud's legs were shaking too much to stand so she sank into the grass, feeling the warm sunshine fill her hair. Loki sat next to her and began idly to pick daisies. "Did you enjoy our ride, Aud?"

"No," she answered, taking a deep breath and stilling her trembling hands.

"I'll try harder on the way home," he said, reaching over to twine a daisy in her hair. "Why did you want to come with me, Aud? I suspect you wanted to keep me from finding Vidar."

"I've been lonely and I have been trapped in the house," she said, "and fresh air, sunshine and company are appealing to me."

"Why have you been lonely?" His hand came to rest on her knee.

"Vidar has spent a lot of time away from home," she said dismissively.

"He has been to Midgard again?"

"No. He goes out in the morning, and returns in the evening with little to say to me." She realized her voice sounded bitter.

"What do you think he does all day?"

Aud regretted opening this line of conversation. As always, Loki was sifting her words for secrets. "I really don't know," she said plainly. "I sometimes wonder if he simply wants to be away from me."

"Why would he want that?"

"Because he knows I love him, and he'd sooner avoid me than reject me." Aud sounded so pitiful that she had to laugh at herself.

Loki reached up to wind another daisy into her hair; she plucked a flower from the ground and did the same to him. For a few minutes, as they decorated each other with flowers, she felt like a child. Loki and the sunshine and the bright field seemed so simple..

"You know, Aud," he said, "Vidar isn't worthy of such devotion from you."

"He is," she said. "I know he shares no intimacies with me, and I know he feels no special love for me, but he is kind and patient and cares for my comfort." She dropped her hands in her lap. Speaking of Vidar's indifference to her made it more real, and she experienced it as an ache of emptiness all across her body. "He is a good man," she said softly.

Loki tilted his head to the side and touched her cheek with his cool fingers. "You are a good woman," he said. "You are very beautiful to me, Aud. Could you not offer your affections to someone who will be more tender with them?"

Aud brushed his hand from her face. "I am your servant," she said bitterly.

"No. Not today. Save that for tomorrow. Today we are Vanir and Aesir, together in a sunny field. History says we should kiss each other or kill each other." Loki smiled and leaned forward, gently grasping her chin. "Hold still now. I won't kill you."

His lips pressed against hers, cool and smooth. For a moment she held her breath, tensed against him, but his arms encircled her waist and pulled her close, and it had been so long— so long—since anyone had held her. She sighed against his mouth, his kiss deepened and he lowered her to the grass. His hands tangled in her hair, his lips tickled her ears and throat and returned again and again to her mouth. Aud opened her eyes and saw the bright sun watching them. She wondered where Vidar was, what he was doing. Loki's hand closed over her breast.

"Stop," she said.

Loki lifted himself off her, his eyebrows drawn together. "Stop?"

"Please," she said. "I don't want to. I'm sorry."

His eyes were furious. "A woman in service should be careful not to start what she doesn't intend to finish."

"I'm sorry. Please don't force me."

This seemed to anger him more. He sat up and brushed his hair over his shoulder. A daisy fell to the ground. "Force you? Aud, I would never force anyone. Besides, you'd tell Vidar and he's bigger than I and he's a brute."

"He's not a brute."

Loki sniffed dismissively. "You are very, very young." He stood and held out a hand to help her to her feet. "I'll take you home, and tomorrow I'll have invented a task more disgusting than anything you ever had to deal with at Valaskjálf."

Aud felt empty and bereft, guilty and angry, all at once. He took her home at a much more civilized pace and she was glad to see the house at Gammaldal appear as they broke from the woods. A second later she spotted Vidar, returning from the northwest, clearly damp. And Loki had seen him too.

"Isn't that your master?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes." What was he doing home so early?

"He's wet. Any idea why?"

"No."

"Then you're stupid. Anyone can see he's come from Sjáfjord. He's been using seeing magic." Loki spurred his horse forward. "Ho, cousin!"

Aud saw Vidar look up, anxiety troubling his brow. He waited wordlessly as they approached, then helped Aud down from Heror's back.

"You're damp, Vidar," Loki said.

"I've been swimming. It's a hot morning."

"That it is," Loki said, his face revealing his skepticism.

"Why are you here?" Vidar asked.

"I thought to see you, but your bondmaid spirited me away. But now we've returned and I need to ask if you took anything from Heimdall's chamber the night we went to steal a thread from his cloak." Vidar looked puzzled. "No. Just the thread."

Aud pulled close to Vidar. "You gave me a pair of brooches, Loki," she said.

"I'll need them back," Loki said to her. "Fetch them for me."

"Why?" Aud asked.

"I don't need to explain myself to you. Just fetch them," Loki said. Vidar nodded, smiling at her kindly. "Go on, Aud."

Aud raced inside and found the brooches in a carved wooden box amongst other of her trinkets. She dreaded what Loki might say about her once alone with Vidar. Would he brag about their kiss? From the door of the house, she could see Loki laughing as he told Vidar a story. Vidar didn't share in his amusement. He quieted as she approached.

"Here," she said, offering Loki the brooches.

Loki snatched them from her fingers and turned his horse around. "I will see you tomorrow, Aud. Arrive before dawn, I'll have a lot of work for you. Good-bye, Vidar."

"Good-bye, cousin," Vidar said.

Loki sped off. Aud ventured to ask Vidar, "Did he say anything about me?"

"You? No."

She felt relieved.

"But I have trouble," he continued. "When Loki and I went to steal a thread from Heimdall's cloak, Loki stole some treasures from his chamber."

"And?"

"And Heimdall noticed them missing, took Valaskjálf apart looking for them, then finally deduced what had happened. Loki must return them."

"That isn't trouble for you, though, is it?"

They turned and headed back to the house. "Who knows what Loki will tell Heimdall?" Vidar said.

"What if he reveals that I was there? Why we came to Valaskjálf in the first place?" Aud offered him a smile. "You trusted him when you let him take you there. I suppose you must continue to trust him."

Vidar gave her a sidelong glance. "You trust him," he said firmly. "I can see that." Aud was puzzled. "How do you see that?"

He kept his eyes in front of him now, avoiding her face. "You have flowers in your hair; he has flowers in his hair."

She stopped, reaching for her hair and brushing out the daisies. He kept walking.

"No, Vidar, it's not as it seems. We aren't close, I don't trast Loki," she called after him, running to catch up. "But he draws me into his confidence sometimes and I—"

Vidar paused, and turned to face her. His eyes were very intense, dark. She couldn't remember him ever looking at her with such naked feeling, and it both thrilled her and frightened her. "I warn you, it will be at your peril if you tell him about Victoria."

Her temper flared. "You insult me with your mistrust," she said shortly. A second passed, two, three. The friction had heated the space between them.

"Leave me be, Aud," he said curtly. "I'm going to change into some dry clothes." A breeze off the sea swirled past, lifting her hair and sending a few last petals diving to the ground. Aud watched Vidar go, but didn't follow. So she had a name, this Midgard woman. Victoria. She said the name out loud. It was bitter on her tongue.

Vidar had spent too much time wandering in the last few weeks. Wandering about in his own mind, imagining and reimagining himself with Victoria, then chastising himself for putting her in danger; wandering about in the fields and on the water's edge, spending so long in the seeing-water gazing at her that his hands wrinkled and his skin froze; wandering about the farm at Gammaldal, repairing things that didn't need repairing, tending to needs that the chickens didn't have, carving presents for Victoria that he didn't know he would ever offer her.

Then the morning's exchange with Aud, when he had accidentally released Victoria's name, had brought him out of his reverie and back into the world. Aud knew about Victoria, Aud spent long hours with Loki, and Loki was curious about Vidar's trip to Midgard. If somehow the secret slipped from one tongue to the next, and made its way into the ear of Odin, then matters would be out of his hands. He regretted speaking harshly to Aud. He regretted every occasion when a spark of temper overrode his good sense, but love and fear, the two mightiest of passions, had driven him to it. Though in the back of his mind another voice suggested that perhaps an emotion less grand had also played a part. Seeing Aud and Loki return together, both flushed and decorated with flowers, had caused a twinge of jealousy. Over the last five years, he had discouraged Aud's fantasies that they were lover and beloved, yet he had been blind to a different relationship developing between them: owner and possession. Aud was his. Vidar knew she was in love with him; he knew he didn't love her. But she was his. He was ashamed of such possessiveness; it was petty, cruel, arrogant, everything he despised about the Aesir. The only way Vidar knew he could make peace with his feelings was to apologize to Aud. Vidar returned to the house at dusk. The fire was not stoked and Aud was not waiting. He threw some wood on the fire and searched the other rooms. They were empty. He opened the back door and looked out. Right at the bottom of the barley field he saw her dark hair. He made his way down the corridors of green shoots. She turned.

"Aud, are you hiding from me?"

"No. I was… thinking."

"May I sit by you?"

"You may do as you please. I'm your servant."

"May I sit by you as your friend, Aud?"

"You didn't speak to me as a friend this morning."

"I know," he said gently, crouching on the cool grass next to her. "I want to apologize. Let me sit by you. I do trust you, Aud. I have to explain myself to you."

"You don't have to."

"I would like to explain myself. I would like to make peace with you because I leave soon to visit my mother." He needed good counsel and, although the way was treacherous, he'd decided to make a journey to Jotunheim.

She shifted and patted the ground beside her. He settled in the offered space, his legs stretched out in front of him. The sea beat its quiet rhythm, black shadow-birds arrowed across the dull pink sky.

"Go on," she said.

"I can't tell you everything. Not because I don't trust you, just because it's not in my nature to tell everything."

"I understand."

"I am in love. You're clever. You've deduced this much."

"Yes."

"Her name is Victoria, she lives in Midgard, she doesn't know what I am. She wouldn't believe me if I told her."

"Why her, Vidar?" she said, her brows drawing down so that she looked like a petulant child. "Why a Midgard woman?"

"She's special."

"How can you know this? How can you know somebody from seeing her reflection in a pond? Is she so beautiful?"

Vidar chose his words carefully. "I know her, Aud. I've known her for a long time."

"Before I came into your service?"

"Yes, before that. Long before that."

Disappointment flashed across Aud's face before she dropped her head and her long hair hid her face from view. "I see."

"Aud, I know that… I know how you feel about me."

She didn't reply.

"Under any other circumstances—" he began.

"Don't, Vidar." She gave him a pained smile. "Leave me a little dignity."

"I would preserve your dignity at all costs, Aud," he said softly. "That's why you're here at Gammaldal and not servicing those oafs at Valaskjálf." He nearly warned her about Loki, how Loki had bragged that Aud would eventually succumb to him, but decided against the warning in case they were already lovers.

"You've been so good to me," she said. "I owe you so much. That's why I couldn't bear that you thought, even for a moment, that I wasn't a safe keep for your secret."

"I'm truly sorry." He slumped forward. "So much is at stake."

"Is that so?"

Vidar nodded. "You know my family, Aud. You know Odin. Is there anything he wouldn't do were he angry?"

"But why would he be angry?" she asked hesitantly. "Others cross to Midgard, take lovers, have their fun and return."

Vidar said nothing, letting his silence speak for him.

"Oh," she said. "They return."

He dropped his head, felt the weary yearning weigh him down. A salty breeze licked over him and he shivered. "I've already told more than I intended to tell."

"You love her so much," she said sadly. "As the sun loves the moon. That's what you said when you first came back."

Vidar stood and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the subtle release along the length of his spine.

"Shall we go up to the house and eat, Aud? Can I cook for you, in recompense?" Aud didn't respond. She was staring at the deepening sky, a troubled expression on her forehead.

"Aud?"

She turned to him, and said quickly, "If Odin found out, Victoria would be in danger?"

"Yes," Vidar said, his heart picking up. She sounded so serious.

"Does she know this?"

"Of course not."

"Then, Vidar, how is she to protect herself?"

Vidar paused, his mind blank. Aud was right. It would be too late for Victoria if Odin found out—even if Vidar never saw her again, it would be too late. If Odin knew she had returned, he would want her dead. So should he go back and warn her, help her protect herself? Or should he stay away and deflect any further suspicion?

"Vidar?"

"She can't," he said, his stomach hollowing out with fear. "She can't protect herself." The sky was still inky when Aud crept to the door to leave for Loki's. Vidar woke, said foggily, "Take Arvak," and went back to sleep.

Arvak greeted her in the stable; the warm straw smell contrasted with the salty, rime-frosted air outside. She saddled him up and made her way to Loki's. She wondered what task he had dreamed up to punish her for rejecting him. At Valaskjálf, Thor had once made her clean out the dog kennels with her bare hands, transporting all the flyblown dung to a heap by the door. Later, when he had come to inspect her work, he had pushed her in the heap and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. She doubted Loki would be able to better that.

As he had demanded, she arrived at Loki's before dawn. Aud was puzzled to see him waiting in front of his house, fully dressed, on Heror's back.

"About time, Aud."

"I didn't think you'd be awake."

"We're going on an expedition. We need to get away early. I'm glad you brought your own horse." He guided Heror's nose toward the east. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him, bewildered.

"That depends on how soon we get there. Do you want to go to Valaskjálf?" Valaskjálf? Was he going to put her in service with her old masters for the day? "No, no I don't."

"Then we'll have to be quick. We'll have to catch Heimdall before he leaves Bifrost."

"We're going to see Heimdall?"

"To take him these things I borrowed." He patted a satchel over his shoulder. "I thought you'd enjoy the journey. Now come on." He kicked Heror and the horse leaped forward and galloped into the forest. Aud took a deep breath, urged Arvak on and held tight.

Loki didn't match the mad pace he had set the last time, and for that she was thankful. Arvak, too, was more surefooted than Heror. They rode on through the forest, out past volcanic cliffs where water gushed into darkly glittering fjords, through a misty valley, then back into trees. The first glow of dawn had begun to bleed into the clouds when they approached a fork in the road. Loki pulled Heror up sharply and waited for Aud to catch up.

"Heimdall should still be down at Bifrost," he said. "We'll head to the south."

"I'll follow you. I don't know the way."

He set a relaxed canter. Aud caught up and rode next to him. "We don't have to go to Valaskjálf?"

"No."

She looked to the north and could just make out the black curve of the hall, a hunched and sleeping dragon in the half-light. "Good." Straggling yellow grass lined the cliff in front of them and sea-blasted trees marked the edge of the track. "I thought you said you would prepare a demeaning task for me," she ventured. "Is that still to be on our return?"

He shook his head and smiled. "No. I couldn't stay angry with you, Aud." He rolled his pale eyes. "You know I don't have a cruel bone in my body."

They advanced over a rise and the road sloped away sharply. In the distance, pale dawnlight awash around them, were two giant, gleaming stones.

"Is that—?"

"Bifrost. Impressive, isn't it? And see that dark figure standing at the north pillar? That's Heimdall, he knows we're coming. By now, I presume, he's focused in on our conversation." He smiled, then without raising his voice, said, "Am I right, old man? If I am, lift your hand and wave to us." The dark figure ahead lifted his hand and Loki laughed. "Have you met Heimdall?" he asked Aud.

"Yes," she said, wary of saying anything else. She had once caught Heimdall spying on her from behind a post while she bathed, his hand firmly jammed down the front of his breeches.

"I'll be quick," Loki said. "Then we can take our time heading back. Perhaps see some more of the coast?"

"I'm at your command," she said, wondering why she felt a happy thrill at the idea of being out all day and not cooped up doing chores and telling stories by Loki's fire.

"Where are my things?" Heimdall called as they drew closer.

"I have them here," Loki said. "I only ever borrowed them. I always intended to return them." They slid to a halt beside the north pillar. It towered over them. The patterns carved and painted on it had an odd crudeness, with uneven lines, unsophisticated angles. It put Aud in mind of a time before this world, of relics from an ancient past. She knew that the Aesir had once lived like gods; mighty primal beings that evolved in the void of being, terrifying to behold. Time reeled backward from her and the weight of her thousand years of service pressed on her lungs.

"Borrowed?" Heimdall spluttered. He wore a thick, grizzled beard that made him seem old. "Then why slip into my room while I was sleeping?"

"In case you refused me," Loki said, as though it were perfectly obvious. Heimdall looked at Aud. "What are you doing with him?" he asked. "Are you his whore or his servant?"

"Servant," she said, a little too proudly.

"Then Vidar is all alone?" Heimdall asked. "For I see you have his horse as well?"

"Vidar is—"

Loki cut in. "Aud lives with me now, as does Arvak."

"Odin will want news of Vidar," Heimdall said.

"I know none," Loki said. "I don't see him as he never leaves Gammaldal." Heimdall lowered his bushy eyebrows. "My possessions, Loki."

Loki handed him the satchel. Heimdall squinted inside and hitched it over his shoulder.

"Next time," Heimdall said, "come announced."

"I might not come again," Loki said dismissively.

"Even better."

They watched him trudge away toward Valaskjálf, then Loki turned his horse south. "An adventure, Aud?"

"Not too fast," she said.

"I'm in a good mood today," he replied, "so, yes. This way." He led them past Bifrost's south pillar and along the cliff's edge for a few miles. Aud couldn't take her eyes off the dark ocean, no islands to check its savage currents. So wide and open, the very edge of the universe and beyond it nothing. The air was icy and Loki found a rocky path that wound down from the cliff top to the broad pale beach. Nothing like the narrow strip of coarse grey sand and the wide mudflats near Gammaldal.

"Down here," he said, then spurred Heror and galloped away.

Aud took the path more cautiously, but as soon as Arvak's hooves hit the sand, he pulled at the reins and she had no choice but to let the horse set the pace. His hooves sank into the sand and she could feel the strong muscles in his legs working. She clung to him as they flew along the beach, her hair streamed behind her, cold air bit her nose and lips. She felt exhilarated, cleansed. Her heart pumped and she managed to forget, at least for a little while, all about Vidar.

Loki had slowed ahead of her. He was dismounting when she caught up.

"Here's a sheltered place we can sit a while," he said. "Let Arvak run off with Heror. They'll return soon enough."

Aud followed his lead, letting Arvak free to roam. Loki had found a shallow cave, protected from the cold wind. She picked her way over salty rock pools and settled near him, gazing out at the sea. The sun had burst through the clouds on the horizon and sent glittering streaks across the water.

"Did you note how I protected Vidar from Heimdall's questions?" Loki said, his pale eyes fixed on her.

"I did. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"You see? I can be as loyal and thoughtful and caring as your Vidar."

"He's not my Vidar," she muttered.

"Poor, sad Aud," Loki said, an edge of cruelty touching his voice. "Unlucky in love." She didn't answer. How had she managed to find herself, once again, out alone with Loki, enjoying herself one moment, recoiling from him the next?

"Tell Vidar to come and see me," Loki said, leaning back against the rock wall, his hands folded behind his head. "Tomorrow, maybe."

"He's going away tomorrow."

"Back to Midgard?"

"To see his mother."

Loki sat forward eagerly and Aud was afraid she had revealed too much.

"His mother?" Loki asked.

"Maybe he didn't say that."

"Oh, Aud, don't worry. You haven't given away a secret. I'm just surprised. You know who his mother is, don't you?"

Aud shook her head sadly. "I know so little about him. As you've pointed out."

"Let me tell you then, girl. His mother's name is Grid. She's a giant." Aud was speechless a few moments. Then she said, "Vidar's mother is a giant?"

"Yes, that's why he's so strong. Don't you know, Odin has a taste for the big girls. He's taken at least a dozen as lovers."

"Then Vidar has to go across to Jotunheim?" Aud felt a twinge of fear. The way was marked by treacherous currents, wolf-infested marshes and evil magic in the woods.

"I expect so. But don't worry, Aud, he's more than just a mild-tempered woodworker. He's very strong, and wily, and few could stand against him in battle."

"I know that. Or at least, I always suspected it." She hesitated, thinking of the stories of the Aesir from before her time, and the ruined drunkards they appeared to be now. "How long has Vidar lived?"

"More than a thousand years," Loki said. "I can't remember his birth. He's much younger than I, though I think I've aged better. He was born during the Aesir's days of glory when men in Midgard worshipped us as gods. Vidar grew into the fiercest of warriors. He had a sword, Hjarta-bítr, which was the most feared blade in Vanaheim. A cup of his own Aesir blood had been forged into the iron, so it would never rust, nor split, nor grow dull. It glowed a faint red even in the dark. I saw Vidar so often covered in gore and battle dust that I barely recognized him clean."

Aud drew down her eyebrows. "Do you tell me this to frighten me?"

"I tell you this because it's true." Loki smiled, spiteful humor lighting his eyes. "You can't stand to know of his brutal blood, can you? You must believe him all womanish and compassionate. Aud, you weren't even born in our days of glory. How could you know him better than I do?"

"How can it be true? How could he be brutal and yet so tender now? Has his blood changed? That's not possible."

"A man can try to change. He can remove himself from temptations and influences, lock himself up in a house with only an exiled Vanir princess for company and divert his energy into his farm and his building projects. But he'll always be terrified that his blood will one day betray him." Aud shook her head. "I still don't believe you. I've met the Aesir and they are nothing like him. I can't imagine anything that would change them so radically as you say Vidar has been changed."

"Can't you? Can't you really?"

Aud frowned in puzzlement. "No."

Loki's voice dropped almost to a whisper. He leaned close. "How about love?"

"If he loved somebody enough to leave his family, then where is that somebody now?" she asked. "Why doesn't she share his home?"

"Odin murdered her."

Thoughts and feelings traversed her. She must not let Loki read any of them. "Tell me, then," she said. "I'll admit I don't know him, hardly at all. You must tell me."

Loki tilted his head to the side, his gaze drawing far out to sea. "Oh, I don't know if I will. It all happened so long ago."

"Please tell me. He loved someone? Who was she?"

"No, no. I won't burden you with those old stories."

Aud huffed in exasperation. "Loki, I'll go mad if you don't tell me."

"I'll tell you, if you let me kiss you afterward."

She would have laughed if she hadn't been so desperate to hear about Vidar's love. "I suppose so. I've let you kiss me once already."

Loki smiled slowly. "Do you believe in Ragnarök, Aud? Do you believe in the end of our world?" She shrugged. "We have all been waiting for thousands and thousands of years for it to happen. Sometimes I wonder if it's just a tale told to frighten children."

"Odin believes in Ragnarök. All those at Valaskjálf believe it will come."

"Of course, because they still believe the stories told about them in Midgard. They still believe they are gods."

"Vidar has a part to play at Ragnarök, according to the stories. Odin will be swallowed whole by the giant wolf, Fenrir. Vidar will save him so that he may rule over the new world." Loki held up a long index finger. "Vidar is indispensable to his father, so Odin kept him close at hand. Then Vidar met a girl. A Midgard woman."

A tingle of surprise. So Vidar had loved a Midgard woman before?

"As for what he saw in this woman, you'd have to ask him yourself. Vidar bragged to everyone at Valaskjálf, 'She is irreplaceable, she is always and forever all I will ever love.' He said he'd leave Asgard and be with her. So Odin took his dogs to Midgard and hunted her like a deer." Aud shook her head. "But that's awful."

"There's more. The best part. Vidar was enraged when he found out. He went directly to his father's chamber, Hjarta-bítr drawn. The sky grew black and the beams of Valaskjálf quaked. Would he murder his own father?" Loki shook his head and adopted a feminine voice, "Oh no. He was too frightened."

"Odin is a fearsome man," said Aud.

"Instead," Loki continued, "he killed all Odin's servants."

"What?"

"Petty, isn't it? Too afraid to break down the door to his father's chamber, he went on a murderous rampage and slaughtered every servant—woman and man—who waited on Odin. Had you been in Odin's service at the time, Aud, he would have killed you."

"I don't believe it."

"He left their butchered bodies lying about outside Odin's door and disappeared. It is said that Odin stepped out of his chamber and laughed at the scene before him."

Aud shook her head, completely disbelieving. "Come now, that isn't true. Vidar wouldn't hurt innocent folk."

"I'm telling you, Aud, he would and he did. He is not as he appears." Loki shrugged. "Anyway, Vidar disappeared for a long time. Odin grew frantic, but Vidar eventually resurfaced at Gammaldal. He never returned to live at Valaskjálf, too ashamed, or too afraid… Who knows?" Aud struggled to process everything that he had told her. She couldn't believe that Vidar was capable of such brutality and cowardice and was certain that Loki was bending the truth. But what about this mortal woman? She is irreplaceable, she is always and forever all I will ever love. Then how could he have already fallen for another?

Unless she wasn't another. Vidar's words returned to her: he had known Victoria since long before he knew Aud.

"I see I've given you something to think about, Aud," Loki said, pulling himself to his feet. "Ask him yourself about why he left Valaskjálf. Though I suppose he may lie."

"He lives apart from his family for the same reasons you do," Aud asserted. "Because they are heartless, petty, selfish and proud, and he despises their company."

Loki helped her to her feet. "That's only half of the truth. It's because they are heartless, petty, selfish and proud," he said, "and Vidar knows he's one of them." Aud shook sand from her skirt. "I suppose I must let you kiss me now. As payment." Loki's eyes went out to sea, squinting against the bright sun. "No. I'm not particularly interested in kisses just now. Let's head back." He strode down to the sand to whistle for Heror, leaving Aud in the shadow of the cave.

Chapter Sixteen

Vidar arrived at the World Tree in the middle of the morning, when the sun was warmest and brightest He had set his hopes on a fine day for his journey and had not been disappointed. At the top of the ridge, he set Arvak to wander and stood för a few moments, surveying the scene spread before him: the mountains of Alfheim, the wide, grass plains of Vanaheim. The outlands of Jotunheim waited across Utgard Bay, grey clouds lowering over their volcanic peaks and plains. His mother, Grid, lived on the southern tip of Jotunheim—over the water, through the woods, in a wild green valley. A full day's journey from his own home at Gammaldal. Beyond Jotunheim, north and farther north, were the misty lands of the dead. Few went there and returned. He had. Centuries ago… A frost slithered over his skin. He shrugged it off.

"Arvak, I'll return tomorrow, around the same time," he called. Arvak was. already heading toward a field of long, waving grass. Vidar took his breath between his teeth and headed down the steep rock steps. A high breeze found the branches of the World Tree and transformed into a low moan. He walked briskly across the valley and around the tree's massive girth in half an hour, then down farther and farther, and out toward the honeycombed cliff faces that watched Jotunheim across the water. Vidar stopped and surveyed the bay. Even though the day was warm and a light sweat was forming under his shirt, he dreaded the water. Cold dark undertows pulled any warmth from the surface. He gingerly waded in to his waist, then dived outward. The shock of cold seized him and for a moment he couldn't move his limbs. Then he took his first breath and began to swim.

Swimming so many miles was tiring, even for an immortal man with giant's blood like him, and the only way to keep his stroke even and strong was to concentrate. To banish all the thoughts that vied for his attention: Victoria, Aud, Loki, Odin. He pushed them out of his mind and focused on his muscles and joints moving, the rhythm of the water and his breathing. The water was grey and flat around him, salty on his lips. For a long time he saw nothing except sea as he plowed forward.

Vidar found the solitary nature of his journey energizing. His intention when he left Valaskjálf had been to live alone, contemplative, silent. Aud had come and chased away his solitude. Though he was grateful for her company, it sometimes seemed he couldn't retreat far enough inside his own shell. Three-quarters of the way to the other side, a dark shape passed over the sun above him. He didn't look up. Just a petrel. Then another dark shape. He chanced a glance upward. Hugin and Munin, Odin's spies. Two mighty ravens, vast black wings spread to catch the warm updrafts that kept them hovering above him.

Vidar rationalized his alarm. Though Odin wouldn't be happy that he visited Grid, it was no crime. He rolled onto his back in the water and called to them, "Tell my father I send my best to him!" One of the ravens cawed as they both turned on their wings and swept off, two black shadows in the perfect blue sky. Vidar took a moment paddling on his back to regain his energy. The sun shone on his face, making water drops on his eyelashes explode in rainbow colors. Then he turned and continued. His arms and shoulders burned with exhaustion, his lungs cramped, but he kept moving. The shores of the bay eventually drew closer, and he finally heaved himself ashore. He found a patch of rough grass to lie on and catch his breath while the sun dried his clothes and hair. His fingers were white and wrinkled from nearly two hours in the water. When he sat up and cast his eye back over the bay, he felt daunted; tomorrow, he would have to swim all the way back.

"Don't think about tomorrow," he said, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced around. The grassy slope led up into a tangle of trees and bushes: the woods, infested with wolves. He would have to travel silently.

When the strength returned to his limbs, he stood and trudged up the slope. The dark trees were very close together, shutting out all but a few strangled sunbeams. Vidar moved quietly amongst the shadows, careful to keep narrow branches from whipping into his face. The ground beneath his feet was uneven with roots and rocks, and the lack of sunshine caused his barely dry clothes to chill on his body. From time to time he heard the slithering of an animal's body—to the left, to the right—among the quiet trees. He tried not to let it trouble him, keeping his eyes ahead, watching for twigs and rocks that might sing and draw notice to his passage. The trees drew closer together, the grass higher, the rocks were stacked more precariously. It took all his concentration to pass through the trees without making a sound. He could smell smoke nearby and knew he was near the home of the troll-wife Jarnvidja, who bred the wolves that inhabited the fens and hunted in the wood. Her home was at the point farthest from civilization, where rough country transformed to godless wilderness.

The slithering noise again. Vidar stopped, surveyed the area carefully. He could see nothing. He closed his eyes and opened his ears. Nothing. Nothing.

There!

He spun, eyes snapping open. A streak of pale grey between trees in the distance. Nothing again, a ghost disappearing.

The snarl from behind him shocked his heart. He turned; but before he could see the wolf, she was on top of him, bringing him crashing down onto the rocky ground. Immediately she went for his throat. He struggled, a rock beneath his head gave way, he dropped out of her jaws and they snapped shut empty, spattering saliva over his face. He skidded backward, she snapped again, got his tunic. It ripped as he rolled, a rock stabbed his stomach. She got a loose grip on his leg but he kicked her off and scrambled to his feet, blood trickling into his shoe.

Vidar glanced around, counting them. Five. They formed a circle. He reached for his hunting knife. Which was the alpha? If he could distinguish the wolf that led the pack and kill her, then he had a chance the others would retreat. A half second passed and the first wolf closed in again. He caught her around the middle and rolled with her onto the forest floor, his knife plunging into her chest. The others were on top of him now. Blood splashed his face and he didn't know if it was his or the wolf's. The dim realization that this was going very badly crossed his mind, then he remembered: none of these wolves was the alpha. They were bred by Jarnvidja. Only she could call them off.

"Jarnvidja!" he shouted through a mouthful of fur and sour blood. In reply, a cry from among the trees. A howl, but made with a woman's vocal cords. The wolves instantly shrank back, and he sat up, threw the dead beast off him and waited.

"I thought I smelled Aesir." The disembodied voice was thick with disgust. Vidar glanced around, trying to track her voice. "Call off your wolves, Jarnvidja. I pass through on the way to see Grid. I mean you no harm."

"Aesirs always mean harm," she said. Her voice echoed from all sides. She was hiding herself well.

"You've killed one of my children."

Vidar glanced at the dead wolf. "You would have done the same to protect your own life. Let me go."

"And you will go straight to your mother's?"

"Yes."

A few seconds of silence ensued. Movement among the trees. Another wolf loped forward, a broad black ribbon clenched in her jaws.

"My daughter has something for you," Jarnvidja called. "Take it from her." Vidar stood as the wolf approached. He took the ribbon from her and looked at it, puzzled.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Blindfold yourself. You may proceed in and out of these woods only with a blindfold."

"How am I to see where I am going?"

Jarnvidja snorted, a primitive laugh. "You are Aesir. You think yourself a race of gods. You'll find your way."

"I don't like your terms," he said.

"There isn't a choice, Vidar. Either you wear the blindfold or you die at the hands of my children. Twelve more wait at my side, upon my orders."

"What guarantee do I have that your wolves won't attack me anyway, when I am blindfolded?"

"You have my word," she said, in a mock-girlish voice.

"Your word?"

"Be brave, Vidar. Life is a journey in the darkness."

Vidar considered the ribbon. Resigned, he tied it around his eyes. All in front of him was black. Another cry from the woods, half woman, half wolf. He heard the wolves retreat. Tentatively, he moved forward, taking his weight on his injured leg. Pain shot up into his hip. He limped a few paces, hands in front of him cautiously.

Cold, crooked fingers closed over his wrist. "Take care that you wear your blindfold on your return journey," Jarnvidja said. Her breath smelled like stale meat and spittle. "Should you dare to venture back this way without it, my girls will have no mercy for you."

"I understand," Vidar said solemnly. "But, Jarnvidja, I have passed this way before without troubling you—"

"I needn't explain myself to you," she snapped, releasing his arm. Her footsteps retreated and he divined that he was alone in the woods.

One foot in front of the other, carefully as he could, he made his way to Grid. The blindfold slowed him down and it was an hour before he perceived that the light was changing, the trees parting. He didn't dare remove the black ribbon just yet though. Only when full sun touched his face was he clear of danger. He untied the knot and slipped off the ribbon.

Vidar had arrived in a sun-drenched field of flowers. His mother stood a hundred feet away, a sheaf of flowers in her arms, watching curiously as he emerged from the woods.

"Vidar?"

"Grid." He smiled.

She rushed toward him, dropping her flowers, and enclosed him in a hug. Grid was nearly a foot taller than Vidar, and broad and muscular as most giants were, but she was a beauty, with hair the color of midnight and emerald eyes. She was old too, extremely old, centuries older even than Odin, although ageing had been kind to her, and she looked hot more than ten years older than Vidar himself.

"I can't believe it's you!" she said, covering his face in excited kisses. "It's been so long." He wound the black ribbon around his wrist so he wouldn't forget it on his return tomorrow. "Jarnvidja made me wear this," he explained, as Grid put her arm around his waist and led him from the field of flowers.

Grid clicked her tongue. "Insanity closes in on her. I'll tell you something so long as you never tell your father."

"You know I tell him nothing." .

"Jarnvidja is tired of waiting for Ragnarök. She's breeding a wolf; Mánagarm, with teeth and claws deadly to the Aesir—wilier than Loki, more vicious than Thor. She blind-folded you so you could see nothing that might give away her secret." Grid chuckled. "She'd be cross if she knew I'd told you, wouldn't she?"

Vidar dismissed it. "I have nobody to reveal her secret to. I'm Aesir in name only."

"I'm glad to hear the feud continues," Grid said with a slow smile. "You were always more like my family than his." They crested a green hill, dotted with pines and grey rock. Before them, in the valley, was Grid's home, a small round hut that resembled an upturned bird nest "Come inside. You're limping. Let me look at that wound."

Inside, he sat by the fire while Grid cleaned and dressed the wolf bite. He gazed around him. The house was made of clay and twigs, and the inside walls were lined with birds' wings. Mostly the dull whites and greys of seabirds, but an occasional flash of blue or red glowed among the soft feathers and delicate pinions. The sun shone dim through the walls.

"There," she said, sitting back on her heels. She smiled up at him and patted his knee. "You're hard to kill. It's in your blood."

"Sometimes I wish I had mortal blood, Grid."

"Oh, don't say such a thing." She stood and gave him a playful clip on the ear. "How would I live if you had to die?"

Vidar waited for Grid to settle on the stool next to his. "Mother, she's back." Grid's eyes widened. "The mortal girl?"

Vidar nodded.

"Ah, I see."

"She's on Odin's Island just the other side of the rainbow bridge. I don't know what to do. I've come to you for advice."

Grid smiled. "A woman's life divides into thirds, Vidar. First, she must find a mate. Next, she must raise her children. Last, she must be wise. What would you have me say to you, Vidar?"

"Something wise."

"Odin will kill her the moment he finds out about her."

Vidar felt his heart sink. Of course he had known it, but a small hope had remained that Grid might speak of Odin as a reasonable man. "You're sure?"

"You're not? Vidar, he grows worse, not better. He can't see that Asgard is a civilization in decline. The trade routes are overgrown, their weapons grow rusty, the last few souls rattle around in Valhalla longing for a second death, a permanent one. Odin clings to the old stories as a drowning cat clings to the arm of its rescuer. He has been promised Ragnarök, a great cataclysm, then a new world. He can only survive the cataclysm if you are there to save him from Fenrir's jaws. Odin won't let you go, Vidar. No farther than Gammaldal."

Vidar hung his head, helplessness overwhelming him.

"I know you love her, Vidar…"

"I've loved her for centuries," he said, his voice husky.

"But for her own safety, you shouldn't make contact."

He looked up and smiled ruefully. "Too late, mother."

Grid shook her head. "Vidar, what are you telling me?"

"I've been to see her already. She doesn't know who I am. Or who she is." Grid hitched a deep sigh. "Vidar, you are Aesir, you are made of a different substance to her. If you have so much as touched her, she bears your mark. Odin may sense her."

"Sense her?"

"Don't underestimate your father just because you think he's a fool. Certainly, he may never turn his attention to Midgard. He's immersed in his drunken moment. But what if he does, Vidar?"

"He can't know for sure unless he looks in the water at Sjáfjord. I'd know if he came so close to my home. I could stop him."

"Odin wouldn't bother . himself with traveling to Gammaldal, Vidar. He possesses his own supply of seeing-water. I filled a crystal bottle for him myself, he keeps it in his chamber. He need only pour a little in a bowl."

Vidar buried his face in his hands. "I didn't know that."

"She must be warned to leave Odin's Island, go somewhere Odin will never find her, to the other side of the world."

"She won't believe me. She doesn't believe anything. And there were conditions—I can't tell her anything until she's fallen in love with me."

Grid leaned forward and grasped his hand. "Oh, Vidar. What a mess." He met her eyes. "What should I do?"

"You'll have to go to her. You'll have to woo her. And then you'll have to leave her." A crushing weight pressed on his chest. "How can I leave her, Grid? I have waited and waited and waited. She is everything. Life without her is too long and too pointless." His words caught on a helpless sob and he bit his lip to prevent it escaping.

"I'm sorry, my love. That is my advice to you. You are safe, Odin won't harm you. But he will harm her, and gladly."

"Why did you ever love him, mother?"

The question took her by surprise. Her eyes welled with tears, quickly blinked back. "We don't choose whom we love, Vidar. The heart is a fool. Besides, had I not loved Odin, I wouldn't have you to love now." Grid brightened, offered him a smile. "Perhaps you could override your foolish heart and fall in love with someone else?"

Vidar thought of Aud. "There's nobody else. There never will be."

"Forever is a long time. Take heart," she said. "Now, you must be hungry. Let me make you something to eat."

She bustled about preparing a meal, and Vidar waited by the fire a few moments. Go to her, woo her, leave her.

The first two he could manage, but the last seemed all but impossible.

Late-afternoon sunbeams were reflecting off the sea when Vidar approached Gammaldal on his return the next day. Arvak was the first to sense something wrong; he whickered and pulled against the reins.

"What is it, Arvak?" Vidar asked, bending down to pat the horse's neck. He paused a moment, looking around. He could see his house and the outbuildings between the fields, smoke curling from his chimney…

Then he saw movement behind the stables. Arvak had smelled her already: Tanngrísnir, Thor's horse. She was a beast, a monstrous creature who could transform to a goat or a boar to be eaten for a feast, then regrow from the bones overnight, a fraction more stupid and malignant each time. And she was riderless, which meant that his half brother was inside, with Aud.

"I know you don't like her, old friend," Vidar said, spurring Arvak forward, "but I can't leave Aud alone with Thor. Come on."

Arvak was at first reluctant, but soon picked up his speed, sensing the urgency in his master's voice. Vidar's back and neck tensed, as he braced himself against the exchange to come. He allowed Arvak to wander rather than leaving him at the stable with Tanngrísnir. Vidar's body was weary from travel, and he felt sweaty and grimy. He had hoped this evening would yield a hot bath and one of Aud's best rabbit stews. Nothing so complicated as dealing with his family.

Vidar pushed the door open. Thor sat on a bench, his red-blond hair and beard reflecting gold in the firelight. He gave Vidar a crooked smile, spat on the fire, and said, "Hello, weakling."

"Where's Aud?"

Thor indicated with his head. "Hiding from me. She looks well. You have been treating her too kindly. She's Vanir scum, show some family pride."

"My family are nothing to be proud of," Vidar responded.

In a flash, Thor had pulled out a knife and thrust it into the pillar beside Vidar. Its handle quivered. "I'll stick it in you next time you say a word against the Aesir," Thor muttered, his mouth curling into a sneer.

"Why are you here?"

"Odin sent me. He saw you swimming the bay."

"You mean his two pigeons saw me."

"The ravens' eyes are his eyes. You went to Jotunheim, didn't you? To see the whore?"

"If you mean my mother, yes, that's where I went."

Thor pulled his knife out of the pillar. "Odin wants to see you." Vidar felt his heart pull up. "Why?"

"You're to come to Valaskjálf with me."

Vidar shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Arvak won't travel with Tanngrísnir."

"Then Arvak's a soft-cat just like his master. Odin was insistent. You're to come to Valaskjálf with me. He has questions to ask you."

"Tell Odin I'll come in three days. I've just returned from Jotunheim and I'm tired." Thor narrowed his eyes. "You'll come tomorrow."

"Or the day after."

"Don't bend my temper too far, Vidar."

The two of them locked eyes for a few moments, then Thor looked away. "I'll tell Odin you're coming the day after tomorrow. In the morning." Thor heaved himself up from the table, cast a glance toward Aud's door. "Bring her with you, if you like. I'll entertain her."

"Aud stays here, she's mine to command. Odin gave her to me."

Thor leaned close, his beery breath in Vidar's face. "Tell me you've pricked her, brother. Give me something to be proud of."

"Are you leaving?"

His brother laughed, collected his cloak and sword belt. "Yes, I'm leaving. I'm afraid if I stay any longer my balls will shrivel up like yours." He moved for the door. "Day after tomorrow, Vidar."

"I'll be there."

A moment later the door had closed behind him and his footsteps retreated toward the stables. Vidar held his breath until he heard hoofbeats thundering off up the slope. He sank onto the bench and put his head in his hands. What did Odin want? Vidar was glad to have a few days to think things through. In all likelihood, Odin would want to speak to him about his mother. But Grid's warnings had stirred fear in him: he had touched Victoria, he had marked her. Odin might have already sensed her. Maybe he intended to confine Vidar and cross to Midgard and…

Vidar shook his head, took a deep breath. He was tired, he was overwrought. There were two nights yet before he had to confront his father. In the meantime, he should look in on Aud.

"Aud?" he said, cracking her door open. "You can come out. He's gone." Aud looked up from her sewing and Vidar saw the bruise covering her right cheek.

"Oh, Aud." Vidar moved into the room and knelt beside her. "Did Thor do this?"

"When I wouldn't tell him when you would return." She touched the bruise carefully and winced. "It's very tender."

Vidar tucked her hair behind her ear and examined the mark. "What a brave soul he is, beating a bondmaid." He stood and held out his hand. "Come out by the fire. How long was he here?"

"He arrived this morning at first light." She took his hand, not meeting his eye. "What did he want?" Vidar tasted the anxiety again. "I've been summoned to Valaskjálf. To see my father."

"Are you going?"

"If I don't go, he'll come here." Vidar sighed. "I have no choice. He's inescapable,."

Chapter Seventeen

As Aud made her way through the winding passages in the base of the World Tree, she tried to unravel the sense of sadness and dread she was feeling. It wasn't unusual to feel gloomy and anxious on her way to see the Norns, but normally the negative feelings were tempered by her excitement about seeing Helgi. Today, the excitement hadn't caught her.

She ducked a spider's web. A cold breeze from somewhere deep under the earth caressed her hair and face as a dying lover might. She shuddered and pushed on. Last time she had watched him in the crystal, Helgi had been laughing and playing with Aud's aunt, Thuridh. He had looked happy; he had put his arm around Thuridh's waist and cuddled her savagely, as a small boy might cuddle his mother. Maybe this memory was the cause of her melancholy. Aud, his real mother, dreaded seeing how little her son missed her, how fiercely he had bonded with someone else.

Dim light beckoned around the bend ahead. Aud was a few bare yards away from the Norns' alcove, but she stopped a moment, leaning against the wall. Her lip quivered and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. This was not the life she had dreamed for herself: separated from her child, in love with a man indifferent to her, creeping around this gravelike labyrinth with an ache in her heart deep enough to crack a mountain to pieces.

She took a breath and pulled herself together. Her heart had to be stronger than any mountain. One day, centuries hence, she would finally see Helgi again. He would be grown, a stranger to her. But he would want to meet her and learn what kind of a woman his mother was. Aud had to be worthy of that meeting: a woman of integrity and wits, not a ruin.

Verda's laugh echoed down the passage and Aud looked up. She could hear them chattering softly amongst themselves, and wondered at their lives, whether they had ever longed for a fate of their own. She took to the path once more, rounding the corner a moment later.

"Good day, sisters," she said, imbuing her voice with a shred of cheer.

"Aud! Did you bring me a hair clasp?" Urd said, dropping her thread and approaching.

"I did. I brought one each for you and Skuld. I had to carve them without Vidar's help, so…" She pulled the two wooden clasps out of her bag and offered them as explanation.

Urd shrank back almost imperceptibly. "Oh."

"Which one do you want?" Aud whispered, leaning forward and indicating the one with the less crooked carving.

Urd snatched it up. "I'll have this one. Skuld, there's another for you. It's not as pretty as mine." She shuffled into the back of the alcove and lit a candle.

Skuld was winding thread onto her distaff. "Put it aside, I'll look later." She raised her head and squinted at Aud. "How are you, Aud?"

"I'm well."

"Have you seen or spoken to Loki?"

"I have both seen and spoken to Loki. I haven't told him anything about you."

"Good. That's as it should be," said Verda, tying a knot and dropping her work. "Sit with us. Tell us about outside. How is Vidar?"

"He's well. He's been to see his mother this week, and Thor came to pay us a visit." Much giggling followed this statement and the high color in Urd's cheeks told Aud that Thor was a favorite of hers.

"How did you receive that blow to your face?" Verda said.

Aud touched her bruised cheek. "I fell over," she said. If all Urd had was imaginings of Thor, it wasn't for Aud to spoil them.

They drew her out about Thor and Vidar, but she kept as quiet as possible about Loki, in case they grew afraid and refused to show her Helgi.

"Sisters," she said, when they had their fill of gossip, "is it true that Vidar is fated to save his father at Ragnarök?"

"Yes, yes," Skuld clucked. "He's very important to the Aesir."

"No wonder Odin worries about him so much," Verda added.

"Vidar loved somebody once, a mortal woman…"

Urd indicated the threads all over the floor. "It's in the past," she said.

"Is there anyone for him to love in the future?" Aud asked.

"Aud!" Skuld snapped. "You aren't asking us to tell the secrets of the future?"

"Or the present?" Verda added.

"You know you are forbidden."

"And you know we won't tell."

"Imagine the trouble we'd have if everybody knew everybody else's business." Aud held up her hands. "I'm sorry. But you know I love him."

"He doesn't love you," Verda said decisively.

"Don't you ask us to make him love you," Urd said. "We won't make another deal with you, Aud." Skuld was kinder. "The future is planned but not fixed, Aud. Fate is being made in every moment. It's more mysterious than even we can find words for. Take heart. Anything could happen." Verda gave Skuld a cautionary glance. "Thank you, sister, that is enough." She felt in her apron and pulled out the crystal brooch. "Aud? You want to see your boy?"

"Yes," Aud said, reaching for the brooch. "Thank you, Verda."

"Take your time," she said, smoothing Aud's hair kindly. "We have much work to do." Aud settled at their feet in the dim alcove and gazed at the brooch. He was sleeping. What sight was more divine than the face of her sleeping child? She examined him closely. He had changed since last viewing. His cheeks were not so plump, his hair grew tawnier. Over the last year she had grown to realize that he wasn't a tiny child anymore, not the little boy she had cuddled in her arms that last day at the apple farm. Still a boy, yes, but a scant five or six years from his change into manhood. Aud felt the world slipping through her fingers. It was already too late. What point was there in nourishing herself on fantasies of an eventual reunion with him? Helgi, her dear tiny child, was already gone. Perhaps it would have been better to let him die that day five years earlier and go on grieving for him in her own land, a free woman.

But no, she hadn't saved Helgi for herself. She had saved him precisely so he could grow from boy to man, so he could fall in love and have children of his own one day.

She gazed at the brooch for a long time, admitting that there were no pleasant feelings associated with watching him. Had it always been so? Perhaps, but seeing him was worth the pain, knowing he was safe and happy. He slept for a while, then Thuridh came and they moved outside to plant some herbs. He ran about with his arms spread, pretending to be a bird. Aud's father, Mímir, emerged from the hall and Helgi called out to him. Mímir took Helgi in a rough embrace. A bondmaid brought them a meal, which they ate on the sunny grass. After, Mímir gave Helgi a wooden sword and play-fought with him, always letting the small boy win. Aud watched it all, longing and longing to be amongst them. Eventually Verda reached down and touched her shoulder. "Aud, it grows late." Aud shook herself out of her reverie. Hours had passed. She would be making her way home in the dark. "Of course," she said, handing Verda the brooch. "Thank you, Verda."

"You seem unhappy today," Skuld said, eyes narrowed.

"I am happy enough," Aud replied. "What good does it do to be unhappy with fate?" It was past midnight when Aud returned to Gammaldal, and she was surprised to see Vidar still awake.

"Vidar?" she said, closing out the cold night behind her. "You are up late." He was carving, something small and fine. He put it aside and rose. "Come and sit by the fire, Aud. I've a favor to ask you."

She shrugged off her cloak. Even though her blood was warm from the long walk, her face and hands were icy. "I don't think you need to ask me for favors, Vidar. You can tell me to do whatever you want. I'm your servant." She followed him to the fire and sat.

He brought her a cup of ale, waited a few moments until she was settled, then said, "This goes beyond household duties."

"So did everything your family ever asked me to do at Valaskjálf." She gulped down the liquid, caught her breath.

"You know I'm not like them."

"Go on, then. Ask me."

"In good time. First, how was your day? Did you see your son?"

The walk had cleared the leaden sadness from her body. His question dragged it back. "Yes, I did. He looks well, but…"

"But?"

"I miss him," she finished on a whisper.

Vidar let a few seconds pass in silence. The candle in the alcove above her sputtered and died. Then he said, "Aud, you must comfort yourself in knowing that you made it possible for him to live."

"I try." She shook her head—it was dangerous to think too much about the gulf between her situation and what might have been. "I'm often happier when it's far from my mind," she said. "Tell me about this favor."

He took her hands in his, a solemn expression crossing his face. She tried to still her heart.

"You won't like it. But it's very important, Aud."

"Go on," she said.

"I have to go to Valaskjálf tomorrow, to see my father. I don't know what he wants, but I'm afraid that…" He couldn't finish the sentence, cast his eyes down.

"You're afraid he knows about Victoria?"

"Yes. It's a very small chance, but one I must take seriously." His eyes were almost black in the firelit room, intense and focused on her. "I can't let him find her," he said. "She's so precious to me." Aud didn't reveal how much his words hurt her. "How can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm suspicious of my father. My concern is that he calls me to Valaskjálf under false pretences, that he'll trap me somehow, stop me from seeing her, and when I can't help her, he'll… He'll do something terrible."

She felt a wave of tenderness for him. "Is that what happened last time?" His eyebrows drew down. "How do you know about last time?"

"Loki told me. I guessed that Victoria is the same woman."

"I can't tell you anything, Aud. Every twist in this story is secret. I'm sorry." She smiled brightly. "You needn't apologize to me. I'm your bondmaid, remember?"

"Aud, you're my friend," he said simply.

"Ah," she said, "your friend." It was more affection than he had ever shown her, and yet it gave her no comfort. She wondered if this sudden offer of friendship was calculated to bend her to his will, then cursed herself for seeing plots in the actions of a desperate man. "Go on, Vidar, I'm sorry. Explain to me what you want me to do."

Vidar sat back and took a deep breath. He reached down for the carving he had been working on and held it in front of him. "If I don't return tomorrow evening, I want you to go to Midgard. I'll leave you my special cloak so Heimdall won't see you at Bifrost. I want you to find Victoria and tell her that she must leave Odin's Island and go as far away as she can. She won't believe you at first, but you have to convince her… do whatever it takes." He handed Aud the carving. "Give her this," he said, his voice soft,

"and tell her I love her."

Aud looked down at the carving, an intricate pattern of a wolf among leaves. It was exquisite. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn't speak for a moment.

"Aud, will you do this for me?"

She raised her head and met his eyes. She wanted to cry, to rage at him, to fling the carving into the fire, to demand if he had given even a second's consideration to what might happen to her if he didn't return.

"I will," she said hesitantly.

"Are you sure? You seem doubtful."

She shook her head and said more firmly, "No, no doubt. I'll do it. But I predict you'll come home tomorrow night. Odin will just want to ask about Grid."

"I hope you're right." Vidar stood. The intensity and intimacy evaporated. "Good night, Aud. I'll speak to you again in the morning."

She understood she was being dismissed. She took the carving with her and retired to her room. Aud lay for a long time without sleeping, snuggled under the layers of blankets. She could hear Vidar beyond her room, still awake, pacing. Silently, she went to the door and opened it a crack. His back was turned to her, his hands were folded on his head as he stood by the fire and rocked back and forth on his heels. She returned to her bed and reached under her pillow for the carving. In the pale reflected firelight she admired it, wished until it hurt that he had made it for her.

Vidar woke with a start, a sense of urgency like a handful of sand in his belly. What was wrong?

Light from the crack under the shutter. Oh, no. He had slept too late. He leaped to his feet and opened the door to peer outside. The sun was just an hour short of midday. He had been expected hours ago. There wasn't time to think. He pulled on his cloak and shoes and hammered on Aud's door. Why hadn't she woken him earlier?

Her bleary face at the doorway told him she had slept no better.

"Vidar?"

"I'm late. I have to leave. Immediately."

"Take care."

"You remember what I asked you last night?"

Irritation crossed her brow. "Of course."

He took her hand in his. Her skin was very soft. "Thank you, Aud. A million times, thank you." He released her and turned. "I have to go."

She didn't respond as he hurried from the house.

Although Vidar was feeling rushed and half-asleep, Arvak was in fine form and thundered down the path to Valaskjálf without protest. Clouds crossed the sky a quarter of a mile from home, and the rain started shortly after. He wondered if Odin were responsible; one of his customary ways to show his displeasure was to fiddle with the weather. It was the last of his great powers, the one that had him mistaken for a god in their glorious years. Now those powers were all fading, as though the very stories that mortal men told had provided the energy to drive them.

The rain intensified, and soon Vidar was wet right through to his skin. As he drew closer to the coast, the winds strengthened, chilling his damp clothes to ice. He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes as Arvak carried him out of the ring of forest, and he saw Valaskjálf. No sun shone off the silver tiles of the roof, and the gloomy sky seemed to blend with the dark perimeters of the building. The stables were at the rear, away from the ocean wind. Vidar hurriedly handed Arvak over to a stableboy, attempted to straighten his sopping clothes and strode up the path.

Two massive carved doors, inlaid with silver, opened into the long hall. Vidar stood a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark smoky interior. Stepping across the threshold felt like stepping into the belly of a whale: dark and cavernous and swollen, the smell of sea and blood. Lanterns lined the walls, illuminating the spaces between the beautifully carved beams that held up the roof. Every alcove was filled with lush treasures: carved chests, silverwork, thick furs and richly dyed cloth, and jewel-encrusted weapons. All plundered in battles on Midgard hundreds of years ago and all covered in dust. Vidar's eyes were drawn upward to the ceiling. The silver tiles gleamed dully in the firelight. Odin's longship, black wood decorated with crystal and moonstone, was suspended from the roof beams by ropes. Two huge fires warmed the space, one at each end of the hall.

The long tables and benches were empty, but a group of servants gathered around a cauldron and spit at one end of the hall, hanging a deer's carcass over the fire. Behind the fire, through a heavy wooden door, was Odin's chamber. In the other direction the hall narrowed off to a long corridor. It led down into the private rooms of his uncles, aunts, cousins and brothers, where they were sleeping off the previous night's excesses.

A young bondmaid approached him. All the servants at Valaskjálf were mortals who had longed for immortality, which Odin had granted to them in return for their service. Although, like his family, they aged slowly and had the potential to live forever, misery had driven a number of them to suicide. It wasn't unusual to find a body hanging from Odin's longship, or see a fish-nibbled corpse wash up on the beach below the cliffs. This woman's face was pale and hollow, illustrating that eternal servitude was not better than death.

"Vidar?" she said.

"I'm here to see my father," he replied.

"Sit down by the fire. I'll tell him you're here." She shuffled up the hall and through the doors. Vidar found a bench near the fire and leaned his shivering body as close to the flames as was safe. The maid returned.

"He says he'll see you soon," she said. "I'll get you a hot drink."

"Can you find me some dry clothes?" he asked.

Her eyes wouldn't meet his. "Odin said I'm not to fetch you anything but a hot drink until he sees you." Vidar sighed. "I see. Yes, I'll have a cup of spiced wine." This was typical of Odin, who liked to assert his power in small annoyances. Vidar pulled off his sopping shirt and hung it over a table, and slid onto the floor to be closer to the fire. His drink arrived, the deer roasted, servants came and went, his clothes began to dry.

Still, Odin didn't come.

Finally, the heavy door creaked. Vidar looked up, told himself not to hold his breath. His pulse quickened.

Not Odin. Vidar's half brother, Vali, stepped out.

"Vali? Where's Odin?" he called, annoyed.

Vali closed the door behind him and approached. "Why are you sitting here half-naked?"

"My clothes are wet and skin dries faster."

Vali was very similar to Vidar in appearance because his mother was Grid's sister, but Vali's hair and eyes were lighter, his beard fuller and wilder. They had once been very close, but the events with Halla had made them enemies. Now Vidar saw his brother as a strange ghost of himself, the person he might have been had he stayed here among his family.

"Could I have a blanket?" Vidar asked.

"Odin will be here soon," Vali said. "You can wait and ask him."

"Vali, this is ridiculous. I'm cold."

"Endure it like a man, not a prissy virgin," Vali said, sitting next to him.

"Do you know why Odin wants to see me?" Vidar asked, hoping his voice gave away none of his fear for Victoria.

"I've no idea."

"He hasn't said anything to you?"

Vali smiled, revealing a gap of three missing teeth. "Guilty conscience?"

"No."

"Perhaps he just misses you, Vidar. You're his favorite son."

"I'm certainly not," Vidar answered gruffly.

"You know you are, we all know you are. He would have eaten anybody else who behaved as you have, ingrate."

Vidar said nothing more. He felt his shirt. It was semidry so he slipped it back on. Vali rose and slapped Vidar's shoulder playfully, maybe hatefully. "I'll see if he's ready for you yet." Vidar watched him disappear behind the grim wooden door. The servants bustled about, doors opened and closed, footsteps shuffled here and there, Thor strode through the hall on his way out, sneering at Vidar and calling him a gelding as he passed. An hour passed, two. But Odin didn't come. Vidar started to worry. What if Odin weren't here? What if he was already on his way to Midgard? But no, he would have to wait for nightfall. Unless he'd left the night before?

Vidar paced. The young bondmaid offered him a reassuring smile.

"Is Odin really in there?" he asked her.

Her puzzlement was evident. "Of course."

Vidar kept pacing. The last place in the world he wanted to be was there at Valaskjálf, cold and damp, waiting endlessly for his father to appear. He knew by then that this was a game, that the rain had been sent to soak him, that the long delay was calculated to unsettle him and remind him that, no matter how far from his family he lived, he could still be made subject to Odin's power. A loud clunk echoed through the hall. Vidar spun round as the door opened, irritated with himself that his heart had picked up its rhythm once more.

Vali stood there again.

"Where is he?" Vidar demanded, striding toward him. "I'm cold and I'm hungry and I'm tired and…" He paused. He sounded petulant. Of course, Odin's whole plan was to have him cold and hungry and tired.

"I'm sorry, brother," Vali said in a low voice, a cruel smile on his lips. "Our father is not feeling well. He has asked me to pass on a message to you and send you home."

"What message?"

"Odin would prefer it if you didn't visit your mother."

The relief was like warm honey in his blood. "This is about Grid?" Thank all the stars and the moon it had nothing to do with Victoria.

"Odin says that the giants have been exiled to Jotunheim for wise reasons, and your crossing the bay to see her makes Odin look less wise."

"You can tell my father," Vidar said, trying to keep his voice even, "that I have no immediate plans to see my mother again. Now may I go?"

"Of course." Vali opened his arms expansively. "Vidar, you are always free to go. We are your family, not your jailers."

Vidar collected his damp cloak. "Thank you."

"Odin says you're welcome to visit at any time."

Vidar was already halfway out the door. The drizzle intensified to rain almost immediately.

"Do you have any message to pass on to your father?" Vali asked.

Vidar paused in the doorway, looking back inside the gloomy hall with all its gleaming riches. "No."

"Good-bye then."

With relief, Vidar closed the door behind him and headed for the stables. The sea roared in the distance, the cold harsh smell of seaweed and salt heavy in the air. Victoria was safe for the time being, but he had to get across to her very soon.

Chapter Eighteen

When Vidar returned from Valaskjálf safely, Aud noticed that he slipped back inside his shell, as though he wanted to compensate for having shared too much of himself. He spent the next two days outside in the fields and the mild nights concentrating on his carvings by the fire. Every attempt Aud made to draw him out resulted in a polite smile, a shrug or a gentle protest that he had nothing to say on the matter. Each night, as she slid into bed, she felt more and more isolated. From Vidar, from her family, from her home. From everyone.

In the years since she had left Vanaheim behind, she had sustained herself on imaginings that Vidar would eventually .come to love her. Now that possibility had been erased, she couldn't bear the long days, the empty nights.

On the third day, Vidar woke cheerful and came inside early. Aud was struggling to fix the heddle rod on her loom, which she had dropped and cracked the previous day.

"Do you need some help with that?" he said, peering over her shoulder. She glanced up, cautiously hopeful that it might mean he would spend some time with her. "I do," she said. "I've glued it back together, but the rod won't fit into its seat." He leaned over and began fiddling with the beam. "My mother once got so angry with Odin that she snapped her loom over his head," he said with a laugh. "I had to make her a new one."

"What did Odin do?"

"He sent her into exile in Jotunheim."

"Oh. I'm sorry." While he wasn't looking at her, she gazed at the muscle clenched in his jaw, the curl of his eyelashes. An ache of longing swelled inside her.

"There," he said as the rod snapped back into place.

"Thank you."

"I'm going to warm up some wine. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please." She tied threads onto her loom, her fingers worked as she watched Vidar. "You're not going out again this afternoon?"

"I've finished for now," he said. "The chickens seem happy with their new roof. No leaks."

"You are in a fine mood," she ventured. "Is fixing a roof so restorative?" Vidar laughed. "Hard work is its own reward."

She kept working, and a few moments later Vidar handed her a cup of wine. She put aside her loom and sipped the drink.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"A light cloak for the summer. My last one has fallen apart."

"Make me one too," he said.

"Gladly."

"I'm going away tonight."

Aud snapped to attention. "Tonight? Where?" But she knew where, and she also knew why Vidar was in such a good mood.

"Midgard." He pressed his lips together, a clear sign that he was about to stop answering her questions.

"Is that safe? For her?" Her heart beat a little faster and she could feel a blush start in her throat. She knew she shouldn't ask.

"I'm going to warn her," he said. "It may take some time. If anyone from my family should come looking for me, tell them I've gone off to Alfheim to meet an old friend."

Aud wouldn't meet his eye. "Certainly."

"I'm sorry, Aud. I don't like to make you lie for me."

"Lying to your family is a pleasure," she said, thinking of Thor. "I just hope that they don't decide to vent their frustration at your absence on me."

Vidar raised his eyebrows. "Aud, I hadn't even thought of it. Will you be safe here by yourself?" Hadn't even thought of it. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"You can go to Loki if you'd feel safer."

"Safer with Loki?" she snorted.

"Safer than with Thor," Vidar said.

Aud shook her head. "I'm certain I'll be fine. Why is it, Vidar, that it's you, alone of your family, that I can trust not to hurt me?" Although he had, really. His indifference caused her more pain than Thor's blow. He shrugged, the tight-lipped expression returning. "I'm not like them," he said.

"I know." She thought of the story Loki had told her. "Were you ever like them?" she asked, keeping her voice low and her eyes averted.

A long silence followed. She looked up. Vidar was staring into the fire, expressionless.

"Vidar?"

"I cannot deny my blood," he said on a breath, "but I was made anew when I met Halldisa."

"Halldisa?"

"Victoria."

So she had two names to hate her by. "Loki said that—"

Vidar turned to her, his brow dark with anger. He looked so fierce that Aud could imagine him as the cruel warrior Loki had warned her about. "Loki knows nothing about me," he said, pressing his index finger into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I…" She trailed off. He wasn't listening to her anyway. He had walked away and was rummaging in the corner for his pack and cloak.

"Vidar?"

"It grows dark outside. I'm heading off for Bifrost."

"I didn't mean to anger you."

Vidar looked up and offered her a sympathetic expression. "I am pleased to have you in my service," he said, slowly, as one might speak to a child, "but there are questions I will never answer for you because they are questions you should never have asked." He returned and stood above her. "Try to understand. You're young."

Anger and indignance washed over her. Here he was, offering her pity again. She, a princess of the Vanir!

"I don't care for your secrets, Vidar," she answered, rising and flinging her cup away from her. It clattered to the floor. "I have enough of my own to entertain me." She stormed off, slamming her door behind her. She threw herself onto her bed and buried her hot face in the blankets. The horrible injustice of her situation seized her around the ribs with an iron grip, pushing her breath from her lungs. For a long time she lay there, a few hot tears squeezing from her eyes. Finally, she heard the sound of hoofbeats and knew that Vidar had left. She sat up and peered behind the shutter. The sun was setting, but clouds blocked the light. She was so keenly lonely, and had no idea how long it would be before she saw Vidar again.

An itch in her hands, a prickle in her lungs.

What on earth am I thinking?

She grabbed her cloak and went to the door.

What on earth am I doing?

Aud set off into the twilight, heading for Loki's house.

Night had sent its long cool fingers across the land by the time Aud neared the hollow where Loki lived. A faint light glimmered under the shutter, the only bright spot in a landscape of grey shadows. She tried not to think about Vidar, whether he had reached Bifrost, whether he held his beloved in his arms already. Head down, she kept moving.

Paused at the path to Loki's door.

This was ridiculous. Surely, Loki cared nothing for her loneliness. Much of the time she could scarcely tell whether he liked her or loathed her.

The door opened.

"Well, Aud," Loki said. He was backlit by the fire. The soft-sharp smell of smoke was rich in the air.

"Are you coming in?"

"How did you—?"

"I heard footsteps, I took a peek under the shutter." He hugged himself and shivered theatrically. "Come on, then. It's cold out here."

She hesitated.

"Come on, girl. I don't mind you coming. I'd like the company." He turned his back to her and went inside.

Aud took a breath and held it. Released it slowly. One foot in front of the other, she made her way through the overhanging branches to his house.

"Where's Vidar?" Loki asked as she closed the door behind her.

"I don't know where he is," she said carefully, following him to the fireside. Loki smiled. The flames painted his skin with amber. "Of course you don't. You don't know anything at all. Do you even know why you're here?"

"I… I…"

Loki wrung his hands and adopted a high girlish voice. "I… I…"

All the anger and loneliness burst inside her. "I'm here because I don't know what else to do," she sobbed.

Loki's face instantly softened. He pulled her toward him and enclosed her in a hug. "I know why you're here," he said.

She sobbed against his chest. A small rational part of her, far outside herself, watched her and condemned her foolishness. "It's not fair," she cried. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not, Aud."

Aud clung to him and vented her tears, relishing the contact with another body, even if it was Loki, cool as a statue. "I love him," she said through her tears.

"I don't know why."

"He's good and kind and—"

"I can't tell you how sick I am of hearing that rubbish," Loki said, pushing her away. "Look at you. You're a tear-stained mess. What man who cared for you would leave you in such a state? He hasn't the slightest consideration for you. I'll grant you he doesn't beat you and insult you like those rock-heads at Valaskjálf, but he has frozen you with his indifference. All you want is for him to recognize that you have a warm, beating heart; all you want is for him to acknowledge that what you care about matters. But he doesn't." Loki leaned close, smiling mischievously. "Aud, he cares more about his horse than about you." She felt her face crumple again as a hiccuping sob wrenched at her throat. Willingly, she put her arms out for Loki to hold her. He pressed her against him, his fingers idling with the knot of her scarf at the nape of her neck.

"Ah, there," he said softly. "Have a good cry, girl. You'll feel happy again soon."

"I'm so far away from happy," she whispered, bringing her tears under control. Her pulse was jumping under his cold fingers. "Farther than the most distant stars."

He bent his head to kiss her cheek, and his lips ran down across her chin and found a warm curve at her throat. "Then accept your unhappiness and live a life of selfish, meaningless pleasures." A slow tide of desire was making its way up her body, starting in her toes, flooding into her stomach and fingertips. "Is that what you do?"

"I'm not unhappy." He stood back and shed his shirt, led one of her hands to his smooth chest. He was no warmer than moonbeams. She traced her fingertips across his skin and shivered.

"Let us find a warm place to lie," he said, stepping away from her.

"I won't lie with you."

"Yes, you will," he said without a backward glance. He gathered an armful of skins and spread them on the floor next to the fire, then sat down. "Come," he said, offering her the space next to him. Aud felt like a marionette, poised in space by an idle string.

"Come, Aud. It's nothing. It's just sharing a few body parts. It will feel nice, then we'll have something to eat."

How she ached, then, for Vidar, for lovemaking that wasn't nothing. She sighed. "I might as well," she said.

"You flatter me with your ardor," Loki replied, biting back a laugh. Aud went to him. He undressed her and laid her gently on her back. She closed her eyes.

"No, no," he said. "Keep them open. I don't want you pretending I'm him." Aud was glad for the fire, because her lover was skilled but cold. She gave herself over to sensation, let her body lead the way instead of her troubled mind, and when the selfish, meaningless pleasure had ended, she was glad for Loki's company.

"Do you think dogs and horses and birds enjoy that as much as we do?" he asked, pulling a bearskin up over their intertwined bodies.

"I'd never thought of it," Aud replied, snuggling her head into his chest. "I don't suppose they do." He kissed the top of her head. "You are beautiful, Aud. Vidar is a fool not to return your love." She smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Thank you."

"Where is he really?" Loki asked. "He's in Midgard again, isn't he?" Aud thought about the carefree, excited Vidar she had seen that afternoon. All that joy for somebody else. "Promise you'll never tell."

"Of course not."

Aud sat up, her pulse jumping guiltily. "He's in Midgard," she said, and it felt good to say it. "You're right, that's where he is."

Loki narrowed his eyes, looking at her closely. "You know what he's doing there, don't you?" Aud bit her lip. She'd waded out too far. The current was tugging at her legs.

"No, Aud, don't back out now," Loki said, reaching out to stroke her hair. She tried to flinch away, but his grip on her hair tightened. .

"I don't know," she said. "Let go of my hair."

Loki allowed her hair to run through his fingers, but he grasped her wrist. "You are all open to me, Aud," he said, and, for the first time this evening, the familiar cruel glint lit his eyes. "Mind and body, I see it all." With her spare hand, she pulled the blanket up to cover her breasts.

"Too late for that," he said. "You confirmed for me that Vidar is in Midgard and now I know everything."

"What do you mean?"

"If you are so lonely that you come to me for comfort, then Vidar has finally broken your heart. You have abandoned any hope that he'll return your feelings. So you must think he's in love with someone else." She sat silent, gazing at him, her face flushed.

"As he has gone to Midgard, I assume that his lover lives there. And as he had not been to Midgard for a thousand years before I helped him with Heimdall's cloak, he can't have met anybody new. It's her, isn't it? The missionary's niece? She's back, somehow."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

Loki slapped his thigh in triumph. "I'm right! I never would have thought of it. You look sick with dread, Aud. Is it really so bad that I know?"

She felt vulnerable, naked in every sense. "Don't you tell a soul," she managed.

"It's desperate, isn't it?" he said. "Odin mustn't find out."

"Vidar would kill you."

"I've no doubt about that, Aud, but I won't tell anyone. I have no reason to hurt Vidar. He never troubles me. He never stands in my way." He turned to find his clothes and pull them on. "I'm curious, though. Aren't you?"

"About what?"

"About the woman. About why he feels so strongly for her."

"Love has neither eyes nor good sense, I suppose," she said grudgingly.

"I'd like to see her," he said. "I'd like to meet her." Then he burst into loud laughter. "Perhaps I'll drop in for a visit."

Aud grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward her. "No," she said, "Vidar will find out. He'll know that I told you, he'll never forgive me, he'll hate me."

"Ah, well. We can't have that," he said, shifting his weight onto his side to lie next to her. "I'll try to restrain myself."

The pain of guilt and regret swirled in her stomach. Vidar had been right not to trust her.

"I wish I hadn't come here tonight," she said.

"I'm glad you did. Aren't you a little bit glad?" He dropped a kiss on her collarbone. She smiled ruefully. "Maybe a little bit," she said.

"All your secrets are safe with me, Aud," he said, gently twining a strand of her hair around her throat, then letting it free. "Just so long as we remain friends, you have nothing at all to worry about." II

Wanton woman, you have awakened the grim wrath of the gods.

— For Scírnis