remain the wisest of the wise. His epic beard was a bit surprising and somewhat intimidating: I’d expected an unruly carpet flowing down his chest, but it was a densely packed and trimmed affair, almost like topiary, which gave his features the weight of a carefully constructed edifice that few men could pull off. Most guys grow beards that do nothing for them other than communicate to the world that “this is what happens when you don’t shave.” The beard of Odin told you that he wasn’t a hippie or a barbarian or a fantasy author but a god who could bring order to chaos.
He took his wife’s hand and planted a kiss on it. Then he turned to the Morrigan and nodded to her once. “Morrigan.” She nodded back. Then his eye swiveled to face me, and I could feel the frost of his hatred; I had to suppress a shudder. “So you are the one,” he said. “Slayer of the Norns and Freyr and so many others.” His voice reminded me of whiskey-and I don’t say that just because I’m Irish. His words were rich and smoky and quite possibly had been aged in oak barrels for years before he spoke them. “Since I recovered, I have watched you from Hlidskjalf, unable to believe what I saw. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, I saw nothing in you that suggested you were capable of defeating us. But now, seeing you in person, I can perceive your essential nature. You are deceptive.”
“Frequently,” I admitted. “Hello, by the way. I’m honored to meet you.”
Odin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Honor!” he growled. “You cannot speak to me of honor when you have none!”
Frigg placed a delicate hand on his arm. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” The tension drained from Odin’s shoulders, and his fists unclenched. We all sat, and as we did so I realized that Odin and I had something in common: We were both under the complete control of the woman sitting next to us. I admired Frigg’s good sense. Sitting down made it much more difficult for Odin to lunge across the table in an attempt to snap my neck. And seating the Morrigan directly across from him would serve as a reminder that, should matters come to blows, she would be the one choosing the slain.
The waiter appeared, an earnest man intent on regaling us with specials and options he’d been at pains to memorize, but Odin stopped him and spoke in the modern Norwegian language. “We will all take the full six courses,” he said. “If there are options, please leave it as chef’s choice. And please inform the sommelier that we also trust his judgment regarding wines for the remainder of the evening. We have much to discuss and do not wish to be distracted with decisions to make.” A credit card appeared in his hand. “This will assure you that we will pay for whatever you serve.”
The waiter bowed, took the card, and said, “Very good. I’ll return shortly with the first course, which is crayfish from the fjord and-”
Odin waved him silent. “We’ll figure it out when we eat it, my good man. Forgive me if I am being rude. I assure you we will tip generously.”
“Very good,” the waiter repeated, and went away to orchestrate what would no doubt be a very large bill. Odin returned his gaze to me and his language to Old Norse. Before he could enumerate the reasons I deserved to die, I jumped in. I had much to answer for, but I wouldn’t passively accept whatever he wished to say-especially regarding my supposed lack of honor. I like to think I have a smidgen of it, at least.
“Odin, wise as you are, I am sure you have already noted that I twice held Gungnir in my hands and twice refused to target you personally when I could have done so. In both cases, I chose to do that which would secure my safety and nothing more. You sit here before me today because I stayed my hand. Twice.”
“And you think because you spared my life twice that you are honorable?”
“The entire reason I came to Asgard was to honor my promises. I killed only those who seemed bent on killing me. The Norns tried first but killed Ratatosk instead. Having no choice, I slew them and then went to the hall of Idunn and Bragi. I could have slain them, but I left them alone.”
“But you stole one of Idunn’s golden apples! Your honor is the honor of a thief.”
“A thief who keeps his word. You tried to kill me for it shortly thereafter. I could have taken your life. Instead-with great reluctance, I might add-I took Sleipnir’s.”
“There was no honor in that decision. It was strategically the best course of action, because it occupied the attention of the Valkyries as well. Had you slain me outright, they would have pursued you to avenge me.”
“Even so, my point remains: I responded with violence only when it was first offered to me.”
“Ha! What violence from Thor prompted you to bring a party of men and giants to Asgard to slay him?”
“That is a separate matter. But, again, I was keeping my word.”
“You promised to kill Thor?”
“No, I promised to provide transportation to Asgard.”
“So in your mind you have done us no wrong?”
“I did not say that, Odin.”
We paused as the waiter brought out the first course. The crayfish was there, but so was a small trout roulade. I sampled it and discovered that the chef knew what he was doing. If this was to be my last meal, I couldn’t ask for a finer one. None of the gods touched their food. They watched me eat and waited for me to continue.
“On the contrary,” I continued, “I believe I acted shamefully during that second trip, and I deeply regret what happened. I apologize to you both, though I know the words are inadequate.”
Odin snorted. “They’re worse than useless. It’s insulting that you would even try to pay for what you did with a meaningless phrase.”
“How would you suggest that I pay? Paying with my life is not an option.”
I expected an argument here, but Odin surprised me by agreeing. “No, it’s not,” he said. “There’s not enough of you to pay the blood price.”
“Blood price?”
“It’s a common enough concept.”
The waiter swooped in and cleared the first course away before depositing the second in front of us, a seafood soup garnished with avocado and other goodies. Once he left, Odin changed the subject.
“We will speak of blood later. What I would like to know is why you’re alive.”
“Why didn’t I die before the Common Era, you mean? How did I manage to live long enough to vex you?”
“Precisely.”
“I occasionally drink an herbal tea that renews my cells and reverses the aging process.”
“Interesting.” Odin looked down at his soup and, deciding it looked good enough to eat, picked up a spoon. Frigg, the Morrigan, and I did the same, and we slurped up a spoonful or two before Odin asked another question. “And this tea you drink-is it readily available in these modern supermarkets? Or is it something you invented?”
“No. I got the recipe from Airmid, one of the Tuatha De Danann. She’s long dead now, however. Tragic circumstances.”
“A tragedy! Forgive me for noticing, but they seem to follow in your wake.”
“You’re forgiven. May I ask you something?”
“Of course.” His spoon hovered over his bowl as he waited for my question.
“How did you find out where I was?” My cold iron amulet normally shielded me from divination; not even the Norns had seen me coming.
“Hugin and Munin found you a couple of months ago, working out in the desert with that apprentice of yours.”
Mentioning Granuaile wasn’t an accident. It was a subtle threat, but I pretended not to notice. “Oh. About the ravens. Which one…?”
“Did you kill? Hugin. I languished in dreams of the past for years, attended by Frigg and unable to function in the present. But eventually Munin remembered Hugin and laid an egg. The new raven, when he reached maturity, became Hugin again. I awoke, sent the ravens abroad in search of you, and, once you were found, I watched from Hlidskjalf.”
“I see. And how many of the Norse know I’m still alive?”
“Only Frigg and myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell them all?”
“That is related to the blood price of which we will speak further. If you would not mind, I would like to know precisely how you learned the recipe for this brew of eternal youth.”
