Sigyn's Flowers



  Sigyn’s Flowers

  By

  Elise K. Ra’sha

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons, events, and locales is coincidental.

  Copyrighted to Elise K. Ra’sha. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or produced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9971186-6-7

  Contact Information:

  Email: [email protected]

 

  This story is dedicated to Kami, Grover, Erika, Ashley, Annaka, and, to my boss, Jorge. Thank you guys so much for believing in me, even when there were times when I didn’t. So much love to you, guys. So much love.

  Thanks to my sister, Kyla, for her work on the cover. Love you lots, kiddo!

  And a special thanks to David Farland for conducting his workshops. It took me a while to get to this point, but I’m still writing. Thank you, David!

  Finally, to my readers – thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Odin sat atop his eight-legged steed, Sleipnir, his famed spear Gungnir in hand. The winds whipped across the field of battle, sending around snowflakes larger than arrow and spearheads. They, along with thick, grey clouds, obscured the enemy from sight. It hardly mattered that he and his fellow Asgårdians could not see their Jötun foes. The same wind carried their war cries to the Allfather, shouts for blood and carnage designed to shake the resolve of any fighter. Fortunately, he and his family were not average warriors, not even close. If nothing else, the Jötun demands for their deaths heightened the anticipation and the thrill of the fight to come. It was the Ragnarök, after all.

  He leaned forward and patted his steed on the neck.

  “Soon,” he murmured. “Soon, we shall see them, and we shall rout them as in times of old, though this time we shall die in the process.” A soft breath left him. “I am sorry it has come to this, that you must be pitted against your own family. Despite all that he has done, I know Loki still cares for you very much.”

  Sleipnir nickered and shook his head in response. He stamped two of his hooves. His grey coat somehow managed to glisten in the dim light and yet not be slicked with sweat.

  The clouds swirled then dissipated. The winds and snow died down. Across from them gathered the Jötun army, Fenris the Wolf and Jörgmungandr, the Midgård Serpent. In the sky hovered a ghastly, sickly pale grey ship – Naglfar – with Loki at the helm.

  Odin settled back in his saddle. He cast one final glance to Yggdrasil, the World Tree, looming in the eastern horizon. He offered a single nod to those sheltered within the branches.

  ‘The lessons will carry on,’ he told himself. ‘The memories of this day, of these times, will live on in the survivors. May they learn from our mistakes. All is playing out as it must. If only things could have been different.’

  He raised Gungnir towards the sky. The air charged with lightning as Thor raised his fist in response. Even without Mjölnir, the thunderer still held sway over many of the storms. A tense moment passed, and silence descended amongst the enemy.

  Odin brought his spear down, signaling the start of the battle. Asgårdian and Jötun forces surged towards each other as one. The clash of spears and swords against shields echoed louder over the plains. Blood splattered everywhere, including onto Odin and Sleipnir, along with heads and limbs. Some arms and legs flew over Odin’s head as he charged through the enemy. Gungnir never missed any of his targets. Fenris remained behind enemy lines as did his brother and the sky ship. Then the great Wolf leaned his head back and howled ...

  Odin let out a low moan and opened his eye, his vision blurring. His head pounded as if Thor had hit him with Mjölnir. The last thing he recalled was a monstrous maw clamping down on him moments after Fenris swiped at Sleipnir, knocking Odin from his steed.

  He moaned again then groaned before reaching for Gungnir and scrambling to his feet. His heart burst to life, his battle instincts propelling him into motion. His knees gave way, and yet Odin struggled to stand.

  ‘The battle, I must ...’

  Awareness came next as his sense heightened and sharpened. No blood-drenched earth greeted his nose. No spears and swords clashing against shields entered his hearing. No bodies of the dead and dying greeted his vision. There were no battle cries, no howling, no shrieking ... only the rustling of leaves in a warm breeze.

  ‘What has happened?’ Odin oriented his vision then pushed himself to his feet and gazed around, his jaw dropping a little at the sights spreading out before him.

  Of course, he had not expected to see anything upon his defeat at the hands of Loki’s son, and defeated he knew himself to be. Fenris’s maw had enveloped him, the wolf’s hot breath sickly sweet with rot. Death was to be absolute, finite, complete darkness, at least until the next cycle of the Ragnarök, and this ...

  Yggdrasil towered over him, the branches thick and full of lush leaves. All of Asgård stretched out before him. Idunna’s orchards of golden apples glimmered in the bright glow radiating from the World Tree. A wave of longing hit him – Asgård as how it used to be before, so simple and yet so stunning in all of her glory. His eye roved around some more, drinking in the sight of his beloved home. One small long house in particular caught Odin’s attention, a place with herbs, vegetables, and flowers growing along the edges. Smoke rose from the center of the roof.

  It was a simple, modest abode, but one Odin recognized all the same as belonging to Loki and Sigyn. Their home had always been smaller than the rest of the Gods with flowers growing everywhere and the fragrant aromas of spices and herbs wafting from it. Theirs was also often a joyous place, filled with Narvi and Vali’s laughter at their father’s mischievous ways; Sigyn’s as she chased her husband around for snatching a sweet or two before the evening meal; and Loki’s for a prank well-played by his wife and children.

  Odin took one step forward. Someone was inside the home, and he suspected it was Sigyn. She had not been present on the battlefield. He wanted to talk to her, to try and ... well, he wasn’t sure what else. He just knew he had to speak to her one last time before darkness fell over him completely.

  As he took the step forward, the long house darkened. The smoke faded away, and the flowers wilted while the rest of Asgård gleamed all the more golden in the warm sunlight.

  ‘Is this because we cast Loki from Asgård? No, he was not the heart of Asgård. He never was. That was Baldur ... but when Sigyn left to join her husband ...’ He shook away the melancholic thoughts. Asgård had continued to shine during Loki’s long imprisonment, but something had always been missing. Odin blamed it on the lack of Baldur’s presence upon his son’s death, but, in truth, the hollowness had come long after Hel had taken Baldur away. Sigyn’s presence had been sorely missed.

  A woman appeared in front of the door of the abode, swathed in a dark cloak and her shoulders hunched. Odin only knew it to be a woman by her hands. Too small and too slender to be that of a man, she wrung them over and over.

  “Sigyn ...”

  A sharp stab of pain hit Odin in his chest the moment he spoke her name. So much had gone wrong over the centuries. He had lost two of his sons. So had Sigyn in a vicious cycle Odin understood he’d created with Loki.

  She lifted her head at her name, and the cowl upon her head slid backwards to reveal her features. Odin’s heart broke for her all the more.

  The Sigyn he remembered, while a twig of a woman, had plump cheeks and a smile almost permanently etched onto her features. Rare were the moments when she lost
her temper. The woman before him was gaunt, her eyes rimmed with the red of tears and the darkness of sleepless nights.

  “Sigyn,” Odin murmured.

  “Allfather,” she replied, tilting her head slightly in his direction. “I see you have made it. Fenris may not be too far behind then.”

  “You are expecting him?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I am,” she confirmed. She reached over and plucked a blackened wildflower, the leaves dark brown with decay. “As well as Thor and Jörgmungandr and Loki, to name a few. As I was told to do.”

  “What is this place?” He stopped in front of her. “And why ...”

  “Why am I here?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “It is an in-between place,” Sigyn replied. “One of many in the great expanse of Yggdrasil. This is where I came upon my ... departure from my Loki.”

  “Departure?”

  “I have already answered your question on where you have arrived, Allfather. Please do not question me further on how I came to be here for it is too painful of a telling. Just know you are still