My brow furrowed as I contemplated his words, and a recent memory bubbled up from the darker depths of my brain. “That was your brother I saw in your memory? The one the wolf was killing? But it wasn’t Hodr because you’re not Vali, son of Odin.”
Val moved his head in a slight nod. “Now, Solina,” he rasped. “Ask me who the wolf was.”
Val’s words were the current in an exposed wire that made my whole body buzz, muscles lock up, teeth grind together. Don’t want to ask. Think I already know, but wish I didn’t. Wish I may, wish I might… “No,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“Rolf.” A Nordic contraction meaning “notorious wolf.”
“No,” I repeated.
Time stopped while I processed. Then it all fell into place. I had read that legend. I did know that history. The rest of the story, the missing piece, was the ending to the tale Grim had told me in his office about the purpose behind Val’s existence. If Vali had been the head on one side of the coin representing Odin’s vengeance, then Loki was tails. As punishment for the trick Loki had played on Hodr—the blind god who had unknowingly killed Baldur because Loki set him up to do it—the Aesir bound and tortured Loki, burning him with acidic snake venom that dripped on him for eons. But that wasn’t the worst part. Not by far.
“The Aesir turned me into that wolf,” Val said. “Odin and his kin forced me to change into a rabid, mindless beast. They set me on my brother. His name was Narfi, and he was my twin. Just like Mani was your twin. I ripped Narfi’s guts out, Solina. I had no idea what I was doing until it was over. The Aesir used my brother’s entrails to bind my father so they could torture him.”
Val hacked again and spat out another gob of saliva. “I woke to find my brother dead, his blood on my tongue, his flesh between my teeth.”
I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. My stomach heaved—so did my heart. I turned aside and retched. Overdramatic? Not after the visions I had seen. Not after I had lost a beloved twin brother to a nearly identical modus operandi. The gods’ ancient game of revenge never ended. Back and forth swung the finger of blame, taking out innocent lives, ruining families, and devastating guiltless individuals, all to satisfy some enormous primordial arrogance.
I wiped my mouth, burning and bitter with stomach acid, and glared at Thorin, but he refused to look at me. “Is it true?” I asked.
Thorin raised his chin and lowered it, a slight nod but undeniable affirmation. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
“You know what it’s like to lose your twin, Solina,” Val said. “But do you know what it’s like, living with the knowledge that you were the one who killed him? I’ve wanted revenge for a very long time. And now I have it.”
“And how is that?” Thorin asked. “You are at my mercy. I should have killed you already. I’ll finish this and put you out of your misery.” Thorin rose up, but I grabbed his hand and moved into his line of sight, capturing his gaze.
“No,” I said. “Tell us, Val. Tell us how this is your revenge.”
Val’s eyes glittered as he stared at Thorin. His mouth curled up, not quite into a smile— it was too hard for that. “She knows who you really are, now, God of Thunder. She knows what you’re capable of. We all do. My revenge is to see you care for someone other than yourself for the first time in eons and know that I was the one who took that away from you, and all I had to do was tell her the truth. Tell her who you really are and what you are capable of.”
Val’s gaze shifted to me. “Not so godly now, is he, Solina? He’s as tainted as the rest of us.”
“Val, you tried to kill me in San Diego,” I said.
“No.” He shook his head. “I scared you into running back to Thorin. Everything that’s happened, has happened just as I planned.”
“How is that possible?”
“Stupid, simple Val, right? Not so mighty as Thorin, not so pure as Baldur. How was I even considered a god? But I told you, Solina. I know everything. I remember everything.” Val’s attention turned to the sky.
Following his gaze, I looked up in time to see two massive black birds crash down on us from above—talons scratching, wings beating, beaks stabbing. I ducked and covered my head. Baldur cried out. Thorin yelled something, and thunder rumbled again in the distance. When I looked back up, Val had disappeared along with his birds. A pair of black feathers rested on the grass where Val had lain, and they reflected the sun in iridescent purples and greens, like the sheen on an oil puddle.
“The sword!” I said, as my brain chugged back to life. I jumped up and spun around, searching for it. Thorin stood up beside me, also scanning the ground.
Baldur stepped up and waved his hand in a calming gesture. “I secured it while Val was speechifying. It’s safe.”
I turned and surveyed the field—the quiet, mundane, rural field. It was empty, other than the strange rock piles. Let the landowner try to figure that one out. Who am I kidding? Val probably is the landowner. He probably had this trap set for ages. “You were clearheaded enough to think about the sword while Val was making the biggest confession of betrayal of the millennium?” I asked.
Baldur shrugged. “I survived living with Hela. Nothing much shocks me anymore.”
“What the hell were those birds about? Val is suddenly Alfred Hitchcock?”
Baldur looked at Thorin, who returned his stare. They both nodded.
“Hugin and Munin,” Baldur said. “Odin’s ravens.”
“Hugin and Muni—” I stopped midsentence when my lazy synapses made the connection. How stupid can I be? “Hugh Rabe and Joe Muniz. Val’s roommates are Odin’s ravens? What the hell?”
“What the hell, indeed,” Baldur said. “It made some sense when we still knew Val to be the last surviving son of Odin’s direct lineage. But he had convinced us the ravens’ omniscient ways were lost after Ragnarok, and he was keeping them out of kindness and loyalty.”
“Why didn’t you inherit them?” I asked.
“I was in Hela’s realm when Odin died,” Baldur said. “I was in no state to take possession of his birds.”
“So Val got them?”
“Vali, Son of Odin, got them. I’m not sure how Vali, Son of Loki, managed to take over their control. But he is the son of the Trickster. If he inherited half of Loki’s skill, then many things are possible.”
“So,” I said, “somehow, he took control of the ravens when he killed Odin’s son.”
“Yes, it would seem so.” Baldur furrowed his brow. He scratched his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “But I don’t know how.”
“It’s not a question we have to answer right now,” Thorin said. “We need to get moving before more trouble shows up.”
I nodded but refused to meet Thorin’s gaze, although his stare burned a hole in my forehead.
“I need to get back to New Breidablik,” Baldur said. “I need to check on a couple of things. How about I meet you back at the rental cabin in an hour?”
“No—” I started, but Baldur blipped away without hearing the rest of my protest. No, don’t leave me alone with Thorin.
A breeze danced past and caught my hair. I tucked the loose strands behind my ear, inhaled a deep breath, and turned to face Thorin. He held himself stiff. His jaw was hard from clenching his teeth together, but his eyes… I looked away, unable to bear the infinity in their depths—an eternity of everything he felt. It was too much.
“How are we going to get there?” I asked, my voice dry, my tone deadened. “One of your discreet rental cars is going to come pick you up? Out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
Thorin shook his head and stepped closer to me. “No, Sunshine.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped and turned away, surprised by my own bitterness. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“I do,” Thorin said. “And I understand it.”
Good thing one of us does. Everything inside me had gone numb, and I dreaded what would happen when it all thawed out. “Please,” I said and raised a hand. “No sympathy from you. Not right now. Can we just… Can we just go?”
Thorin cleared his throat and caught my gaze. “It requires physical contact. Are you okay with that?”
“I thought only Baldur could take on a passenger.”
“I can carry you when I have Mjölnir.”
Val had said the ancient weapons amped up their power. Maybe that was the only thing he hadn’t lied about.
