rock spears had all been broken off, leaving smooth little stumps above their heads. There were quite a few furs and skins piled up against one wall, which Freya took to be the man’s bed, but it was the only sign of human habitation. There were no other pieces of furniture, no tools, no clothes, nothing to cook with, and nothing to eat. At least, not that she could see.
“You live here?” she asked.
“I do indeed,” the stranger answered. He sat down on the edge of his bedding and plunged his sword into a crack in the floor beside him. The shining blade filled the chamber with its pale, dead light, but within moments Freya saw the stone floor begin to glow a dull red and the air grew warmer and drier. Tiny arcs of lightning writhed and snapped along the sword’s edge, hissing and buzzing like a living thing. Their host gestured to the floor near the sword and said, “Please, have a seat.”
They sat. The man on the bed rested his hands on his knees and gazed into the bright blade of his sword. “There were times, so many times, when I imagined what I would do if I ever saw Leif again. Flights of fantasy, day dreams, you know the sort. A bloody bit of torture, a grandiose duel, and many brave and poetic words from me, of course.” He smiled briefly. “I suppose I was just too surprised to see him today, too angry to think. Ah well.” He sighed and shifted his gaze to Freya and then Erik, and back again. “Is he your husband?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t speak, does he?”
“No.”
The man nodded. “Well, that simplifies things in some ways, doesn’t it?”
“Who are you?” Freya asked.
“What a deeply philosophical question, probably more so for me than perhaps any other person in the world, in history, even. I have so very many names-”
“Just one will do,” Freya said.
Please don’t say Woden.
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Omar. Omar Bakhoum, at your service, fair lady.”
“And why did you kill Leif?”
The man called Omar smiled again and winked at her. “You don’t seem very upset about it. He wasn’t a close friend of yours, was he?”
“We’d only just met, and no, we won’t be mourning his death any time soon.”
Omar nodded and resumed gazing at his sword. “There’s no guarantee that he’s actually dead yet, you know. He survived the cut quite well, without a drop of blood lost. It wasn’t until two years ago that I could pull that trick off.”
“I saw that. The cut was burned over black before the arm hit the ground.” Freya pointed to the sword. “It burns as it cuts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
“But you never cut him,” she said. “You just drew the sword and he screamed, just like that. Is it a magic sword?”
Omar laughed so hard and loud that the echo kept cackling and guffawing long after the man fell silent. He shook his head, then nodded. “Yes, and no, and maybe. But I did cut him. You just didn’t see it. It’s called iaido, the art of drawing the sword. My dear friend Daisuke has been teaching it to me.”
“Friend?” Freya glanced about the stone chamber.
“Oh don’t worry, he’s quite dead,” Omar said. “I killed him myself, but that was years ago and we’ve become rather good friends since then.”
Erik signed, “He’s mad.”
Freya signed back, “Maybe. Definitely dangerous though.”
Omar raised an eyebrow at their exchange, but only said, “You must think me crazy. Certainly, certainly. Any sane person would. But then again, the last person to trust me became the queen of Ysland in less than two years, so clearly there are advantages to listening to what I have to say.”
“Wait, the queen?” Freya leaned forward. “You know Skadi?”
“Indeed I do, fair lady. Or I did, for a time. As much as one can know a person without torturing them, anyway.”
Freya nodded slowly. “Maybe you should start at the beginning. Who are you, exactly? And how do you know the queen?”
Chapter 15. Immortal
“I come from the city of Alexandria,” Omar said, “in the province of Aegyptus, in the Empire of Eran, in the land of Ifrica, which is very far away. But none of that matters right now. And you didn’t come all the way out here with Leif to learn about the queen, did you? You want to know about the reavers, yes? But to understand the reavers, you need to understand where they came from, which takes us back to why I am here in your charming little country. So then, I will start with this sword of mine.”
He pointed at the shining blade standing in the crack in the floor. “We call the metal sun-steel. And if there is any genuine holy mystery in this world, it is in this metal. If it weren’t so bright right now, you’d see it has the color of copper or gold. But here’s the secret. The sun-steel draws in aether like a magnet draws iron shavings. It drinks up aether and it swallows the souls of men and women right along with it, living or dead makes no difference. And if you-”
“Rinegold!” Freya pointed at the sword. “You’re talking about rinegold!”
Omar smiled kindly and leaned back a bit. “Oh, good. You’ve heard of it. That will make this so much easier. Are you a vala?”
“No, but my sister was. Is. She is.” Freya pressed her lips together and glanced at Erik.
“Was, or is?” Omar tilted his head.
“What I mean to say is that she was bitten by a reaver three nights ago,” Freya said softly.
“Oh.” Omar nodded. “I understand. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s not as bad as all that, not yet,” Freya said. “Skadi said that if we could bring her the rinegold ring of Rekavik that the king wore, then she could talk to the ancient valas and cure the plague, and save my sister.”
“She said that, did she?” Omar sighed. “Is that why you’re out here? You’re looking for Ivar’s ring? Then she’s betrayed you, just as she betrayed me. She sent you to your death, and all for nothing.”
“I’ve never failed in a hunt before, and I’m not afraid of Fenrir.”
He looked at her with a strange mixture of confusion and curiosity. “What is a Fenrir?”
Freya stared at him. “The demon, the source of the plague!”
“Demon?” Omar shook his head. “No, fair lady, I’m afraid you have it all quite wrong and backward. No demon brought this disaster to your people. No, it was Skadi who did it, and I helped her, God forgive me.”
“What?” Freya whispered.
“Allow me to go back to the very beginning again.” He paused. “No, allow me to gloss over the beginning.” Omar held out his empty hand to her. “Your knife, please.”
Freya hesitated and glanced at Erik, who frowned and nodded slowly, so she handed over her least favorite bone blade. Omar took it, examined it thoughtfully for a moment, and then plunged it straight through his left palm. Freya and Erik started up, but the stranger waved them back. His face was twisted in pain, and he hissed and wheezed a moment, and then pulled the knife out and handed it back to her dripping with blood.
“Now look, quickly!” He held up his bleeding palm, and before their eyes his torn flesh folded back together and stitched itself closed without leaving the slightest scar. Omar wiped the blood away on his bedding and held up his hand, clean and whole again. He exhaled slowly and wiped a tear from his eye. “Well, that was bracing.”
“Nine hells.” Freya gripped her knives. “Are you… a god? Are you him? Woden?”
“No, no, no. Just a man. A very old man.” He rubbed his left hand gently. “You see, a long time ago I discovered the sun-steel and began to play about with it. I learned that it absorbed aether, and that it could hold a human soul. I was enthralled. Obsessed. I devoted my whole life to studying it, and after many years I completed my masterpiece.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a slender black chain, and from this chain dangled a
