SWNOVELS Chapter Crude and Absolute Passion
(Modi)
I can still taste Fjolnir and still feel the ache in my jaw from having him find a home at the back of my throat last night. I savour it because I don’t know how long it might be before I see him again. Ours is a relationship built upon a series of stolen moments to which we each clutch tightly. Every encounter brings us closer, binds us tighter, yet leaves us yearning. Our paths should never have crossed. With a sigh, I force the bleak thought from my mind and gather my fishing tackle.
The crisp air tinges my cheeks red, and the early morning sun glistens on the dew, casting the low-lying foliage in an ethereal blue light. This northern trail is more open than the others. Starting at the wet peat bogs, it meanders through heather-covered moorland before rising steadily upland and culminating at a rocky outcrop. A trout lake marks the end of the trail and the beginning of the mountain pass to the far north of Asgard. It’s a four-hour hike that skirts the ravines favoured by elk at this time of year for the plentiful, twiggy shrubs.
Regardless of the unfortunate circumstances that brought me to live in this forest, I’m thankful every day for the peace I find here. Its ever-present calming effect has held me through many moments of volatile rage and anticipatory excitement.
I loosen my seax from the sheath on my hip and hack at a patch of Galium that has sprawled its way over the trail. But as my heavy boots trudge over the sodden ground, a reflective tone settles in my heart. As much as I cherish each minute I have with Fjolnir, I also despise it. What we have is beyond anything I could have ever hoped to experience. Our love is so complete that even when everything stands between us, nothing does. Yet we remain a fantasy. We’re forced to hide and cannot openly be together.
The hilt of my blade bites into my palm, and I consciously relax my grip before sheathing it. It’s not the first time these thoughts have raised my ire, and I doubt it will be the last. Fjolnir is mine. I should be able to publicly claim him. The constant denial makes my blood boil.
What would it be like to have him fall asleep in my arms and wake up with the sunrise? A bitter huff escapes my chest and spills out into the waking forest. My desire to possess Fjolnir is crude and absolute. It’s a near-constant battle to not simply lock him in my hús and never let him leave. After all, he doesn’t need his wealth or status - he needs me. I need him. It should be that simple. Any other version of our future traps him in a loveless union and leaves me living on scraps, and yet.
A sudden burst of impotent rage has me kicking a small rock far into the craggy heath. Agitation fuels my muscles and I pick up the pace. The need to physically distance myself from my thoughts drives me through the winding climb at a punishing pace.
It’s not until each breath rasps at my throat and my thighs burn that I slow enough to reach for my water. My tackle drops to the floor as I take my first gulp. Wiping the sweat from my eyes with the back of my free hand, I allow my gaze to wander over the basalt boulders that form the beginnings of the northern mountain range.
The sunlight is almost blinding as it reflects from the lake, despite it still being a good hour’s hike from here, but that’s not what catches my attention. Shielding the overhead rays with my arm, I focus on the glistening gold. It’s out of place in an otherwise grey and barren vista. Intrigued, I move closer, strafing left as I pick my way over the smooth, flat rocks.
Eventually, blurred outlines take shape, and my curiosity is replaced with horror. Positioned prominently atop a large slab is the head of a Bilskírnir goat. The gold that caught my eye is the decorative beads that adorn its beard, each engraved with the symbol of the Aesir.
All Bilskírnir goats belong to Thor, Heir to the House of Aesir, and killing one is an act of treason. Bilskírnir, a district in the far north-east of Asgard, is a two-day trek through the northern mountain pass from here unless you have access to the majestic Bilskírnir goats. Their impressive size and speed can reduce the journey to as little as six hours, which is exactly why Thor favours them for travel between his home and Central Asgard. How this poor soul found its way here and met such a gruesome end is beyond my ability to process.
I dry-swallow around the unease that has formed a solid lump in my throat and slowly move closer to the head. The pool of blood is minimal but has already attracted the flies. Golden eyes, dulled without life to warm them, stare vacantly. One points my way, whilst the other looks over a trail of blood that leads to the far edge of the rock.
Skirting closer, I peer down onto the boulder below and find the rest of his body. His chest is cracked open. Ribs splayed wide like bloodied wings as a black eagle gorges on his organs. The raucous caws of the ravens, who join to fight over scraps, layer with the sound of buzzing flies and rushing blood to infiltrate my mind.
When my gaze falls on the goat’s intestines, no doubt remains that whoever carried out this grotesque act is the same person who carried out all the others. Although distorted by the scavengers’ exuberance, the simple rune they have been arranged to represent is unmistakable - a warning.
This corpse, like the others, is publicly displayed - anyone using the northern path from Central Asgard could see it. Thor has the full right to enact a punishment for such a crime. My guilt would be easily assumed, as, for the last two moon cycles, I’ve been presented as someone capable of such acts of violent brutality. Cold shivers raise the hairs on my skin as my thoughts scramble to find a way through this.
Turning in a slow circle, my forearm raised to shield against the sun, I scan the horizon for any signs of life. If I can get the goat out of here without anyone seeing, I stand a chance at discovering who is behind this dangerous conspiracy. Satisfied that no one is out there, I kick at the birds to dislodge them and scoop the head under my arm. Unwilling to give up such a prized meal, their cries fill the air and panic sets in at their unwanted call for attention. Hurriedly, I drop to the boulder below and out of sight of any passer-by.
More ravens fill the exposed cavity of the body, inspiring a monstrous idea. Remaining low, I ignore the pecks and scratches from the furious flock as I force my way between them to hide the head of the goat inside its broken chest. Working quickly, I unwind the leather cord from the neck of my tunic and use it to bind the goat’s hooves. Slinging the carcass over my shoulders, my legs strain against the added weight as I scramble over the boulders and retreat to the northern trailhead.
Moving as fast as I can with the echo of my heartbeat strong at my temples, I mentally map the nearest, most suitable places to dispose of the body. Bilskírnir goats weigh almost as much as a grown man. I won’t make it as far as the peat bogs despite the downhill nature of the journey. The rocky heathland isn’t soft enough to dig. Sweat stings my eyes and soaks the clothing on my back, but I can’t stop to rest or quench my thirst.
The added weight and my haste cause my feet to slide perilously into the damp ground, and I careen into a low rock that juts up between a clump of heather. My knee takes the brunt of the force, “Stred mik!”
With my teeth clenched against the pain, I distract myself by taking stock of where I am. The outskirts of the shallow ravines cut through the ground like cracks in the ice. Wide enough for elk to pass through, they web outward from the northern heathland almost as far as the Himinbjörg Citadel in the east. Even with my familiarity, it’s not a place I traverse often because it’s simply too easy to get turned around and lost. There are few discernible landmarks, and elk are a notoriously belligerent animal. It’s the perfect place to hide something that I never want to be found.
⇷☾ᛰ☽⇸
By the time I make it back to my hús, limping and covered in an ugly mix of blood, sweat and dirt, it’s dusk. Too tired to appreciate the deep purple sky, too sore to stop and collect firewood, and too distracted to notice the flickering light shining through the window, I push open the door and come to a dead stop. There, sitting on my solitary wooden stool, is Fjolnir. His eyes widen as he scans me from top to toe, likely not expecting my worn-out state and his mouth opens before closing again.
“Skitr! Modi! What happened?” Standing so quickly from the stool that he knocks it over, he rushes closer and grips my jaw. Angling my head from side to side, he catalogues the myriad of abrasions I know litter my skin.
“Birds.” I rasp out, and even that is almost inaudible.
My throat is parched, my lungs still burn, and exhaustion is setting in. I sway where I stand. and Fjolnir props himself under my arm to guide me to the bed. He fills a cup with water from the pot resting by the empty hearth and pushes it into my hand. It sloshes over the sides and splashes onto the floor. Unbothered, he drops to his knees and tugs off my boots. I hiss as my injured knee protests the move, and Fjolnir rocks back onto his heels.
His blue eyes lock onto mine and he blows out a breath, “I came to tell you that my aunt Freyja saw us last night. Together.”
My spine straightens and my hand stills, the rim of the cup rests against my lips as my mind calculates if she would have had enough time to travel the northern mountain pass and back again by dawn. I’m convinced that whoever killed the goat is the same person who also killed all the other animals. If it is Freyja, it would mean last night isn’t the first time she’s witnessed our relationship. It fits the pattern of escalation.
My attention returns to the man I love, who watches me keenly from his spot between my knees. He catches the worn cotton of my tunic between his fingers, examining the extent of the blood stains that have soaked through.
“There was another animal mutilation.” I pause to take a long drink of water, easing the ache in my throat. “A Bilskírnir goat, beheaded and left by the lake at the foot of the northern mountain pass.”
Fjolnir’s fingers tighten their grip and the muscle in his jaw ticks as if he’s grinding his teeth. A loaded silence descends, making the walls of my hús feel like they’re closing in around us. We always knew that if our relationship was problematic, we entered this with our eyes wide open. But still, the reality of our actions weighs heavily upon us.
“I think it’s best if I keep some distance.” Fjolnir’s hands fall to his lap. “For a few days, at least.”
My heart clenches painfully in my chest, and I scrunch my eyes shut to guard against the pain.
“Thor is more powerful than I am, Modi!” Fjolnir’s words burst from him as he pushes to his feet. Arms splayed wide, he looks up to the ceiling in exasperation. “The House of Vanir is too weak to stand against them!” His chest heaves and his gaze returns to mine. “I cannot protect you from him.”
“It’s not Thor I need protecting from!” I reach out to secure his wrists in a firm hold, settling my thumbs over his pulse, “I took care of that.”
Squeezing, I try to physically push the strength of my feelings for him inside his body. “Whoever is responsible is still hiding behind their cowardice. They could have targeted me directly, but they haven’t. We still have time - don’t take that from us.”
Fjolnir drops his forehead to my shoulder and inhales. We both know that if he accepts a union with another elite family, he will need to return to his home-realm of Vanaheim and that I will never be granted permission to leave Asgard. “I can’t lose you. There’s nothing left for me in a life without you.”