“We opened the door to discover a woman,” my mother continued. “She was young and beautiful, with skin white as ivory and hair dark as a moonless night. She said, ‘I will spare your son in exchange for a gift in recompense for his loss,’ and I knew she was a god come at my behest. That my prayers had been answered.”
A shiver passed over me, but I said nothing, entranced by the tale.
“Your father asked what she would have in return, and she answered, ‘To lie between you, and what our passions yield shall be the sacrifice that pays for the health of your son. Choose.’？”
It was known the gods were voracious in their lusts, and it was an honor to have them in your bed. Yet I could only imagine how my parents had felt, compelled to have sex to save their son even while he lay dying in the same room. It felt wicked and cruel, and…and not like the goddess whose magic I possessed.
“Of course, we did her bidding,” my mother said, “and it was unlike any night I’ve had before or since, leaving us both so spent we fell into the deepest slumber. When we awoke, the woman was gone, as was your brother.”
I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth, feeling the horror of the moment despite knowing that my brother was alive and well today.
A tear ran down my mother’s face. “I screamed and screamed, certain that it had been Loki who’d come and played us this cruel trick, healing our son to fulfill his word but stealing Geir away to deprive us of what we bargained for, and I cursed myself a fool for not being more careful in my terms. Pounded my fists bloody in the dirt even as your father raged against the gods. Yet we were both silenced as another knock sounded on the door.”
I held my breath, my heart a riot in my chest.
“Your father tore the door open, ready to rain fists down upon the trickster, only to find a different woman standing outside, a basket in hand. Inside was a squalling baby boy, and if not for the mole upon his cheek, I’d never have known the fat and healthy child as your brother. But it was him.”
“Who was she?” I asked. “How did she appear to you?”
“As a warrior.” My mother’s eyes were distant. “Dressed in leather and steel, blades at her sides and a shield strapped to her back. She appeared both young and ancient, her hair golden and worn in war braids, with amber eyes that glowed like suns.”
My own eyes burned, because I’d have given a great deal to see the goddess’s face. Hlin, my divine mother who had shared both her blood and magic with me. “What did she say?”
My mother cleared her throat. “She said, ‘You have been played false, and all the tears in the world mean nothing to the one who took your son from you, but they mean something to me. So I will offer you a bargain that is pure: Allow the child about to quicken within you to be my vessel, and I will give you back this boy. But choose swiftly, for the moment to do so will soon have passed.”
I stared at the ground at my feet, wondering why she’d not ever told me this story, for it was something skalds would write songs about to repeat through the ages.
My mother wiped her eyes. “I was not thinking clearly, wanting only to hold your brother in my arms, but I had sense enough to ask why she wanted my child—wanted you—as her vessel. She said to me, ‘If the child is gifted only avarice, her words will be curses, but if gifted altruism, what divine power she might make her own is a fate yet unwoven.’？”
I frowned, repeating the words in my head. “What does that mean, Mother?”
“Who can say what the riddles of the gods mean to mortals.” She tilted her face skyward, releasing a shuddering breath. “In that moment, I cared nothing but for the return of your brother, so I said, ‘Yes. Yes, you may take my child as your vessel.’ She smiled and handed me the basket holding your brother, kissed two tears from my cheeks, then was gone.”
In one moment, in one desperate choice made by my mother, I had a drop of god’s blood placed where my heart would soon beat, and became one of the unfated, my thread free to weave itself through the tapestry as I willed it.
Or as Snorri willed it.
I frowned but the thought vanished from my head as my mother abruptly clutched at me, holding me against her. “I am so sorry, Freya.”
“Why?” I demanded, alarmed to see my mother behave so, for it was not her character. “Beyond keeping this tale from me, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I chose your brother over you.” Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “Cursed you to be used as the jarl’s weapon.”