Asgard leapt for the Rat, rapier seeking its heart as keenly as Fandral ever could, but then the Rat’s tail smote him across the chest, sending him flying. An instant later the sound of a whip crack followed, and another figure joined them as it was dragged from the mists. The hulking rat creature was thrown after Asgard, and it was met by Hogun’s spiked mace, the howling winds drowning out the sounds of their clash.
Thor was already seeking to take advantage, hurling Stormbreaker end over end at the Rat. Uru was caught between twin scythes, fell green sparks rising where the blades touched, and with a grunt of effort turned aside. The Rat turned back to his foe, only to see a meaty fist filling its vision, and the force of an avalanche struck it in the face. A deluge began to fall from the dark sky above.
The Rat skipped and rolled across the earth as it was sent flying, and Thor made to leap after it, but then its tail was lashing out once more. Barbs that shone with sick iridescence struck directly at the gouge in his chestpiece, the one that Thanos had made with his own axe, and Thor was forced to twist, robbing himself of his momentum. The tail began to wrap around him, looking to throttle and choke and shred. He cloaked himself in lightning, but that was only a buffer. A green pulse ran down the tail as it began to tighten, then another and another, and it started to dig into the lightning. Blue-white started to tinge a ghoulish green, and for a moment the physical contest was forgotten as both beings strained against one another with the truth of their power.
Then, the giant in the skies above that the Rat had forgotten slammed its fist into the earth. Torrents of earth and mud were thrown into the sky as the Rat was ground into the soil, screeching its outrage. The tail that had threatened to bind and poison him was wrenched away, and Thor summoned Stormbreaker as it went, taking off part of one of the larger barbs on it. Rain lashed at his face and wind whipped at his beard as the storm grew more powerful, thunder booming as he grasped his weapon once more.
For all the fury of the storm, it could not drown out the enraged shrieks of the Rat, nor the clamour of the fight between Asgard and the minion the Rat had summoned. Thor drew on his power, and launched himself at the pinned foe. Wreathed in lightning, he entered the column of power that had the Rat trapped, Stormbreaker raised to deliver a killing blow.
It was caught between the scythes, inches from the Rat’s head. Thor snarled, putting all his weight behind his axe, and the Rat’s lips drew back to bare its jagged teeth. Millimetre by millimetre, the sharp edge of the axe grew closer to its snout.
Movement from his right was seen with an eye that wasn’t, and he jerked his head down, the tail barb that sought to take his remaining eye instead slicing across his brow, setting it to bleeding freely. Rich red blood splattered down, and an overlong tongue flicked out to lap at it, even as the strain between axe and scythes continued, the tail wrapping around Stormbreaker’s haft to pull at it, reversing its descent. The Rat chittered a laugh.
Thor took one hand off his axe and punched it in the face. Thunder boomed with it, and the giant above put a finger on Stormbreaker, adding its strength to the contest. Again and again Thor punched the Rat, and each time thunder boomed. There was a wordless chanting in the air, carried by the growing cyclone, or perhaps it was only the screaming of the wind.
Without warning, the Horned Rat burst, and Stormbreaker sank deep into the ground. The Rat dissolved into a swarm, and each had eyes of malevolent red, all bearing the inverted triangle that was the Rat’s symbol on their brow. The rats carpeted the field, no longer pinned by the storm giant, and they built in a wave, seeking to break over Thor like the tide. He tried to pull his axe free, but it would not budge, and there was no time to try again.
Arcs of lightning lanced out as he swept his arms about, fists clenched, popping individual rats with the barest touch, but the swarm was seemingly without end. One latched onto Thor’s lip, overlarge fangs near piercing through it, and he reacted instinctively, biting it back in turn, even as he intensified the crackling cloak he wore, preventing the wave from burying him. He spat the rat out, a foul taste on his tongue, and began to stomp at the living carpet that already threatened to rise up to his knees. So thick was the swarm that they were starting to break through his cloak by sheer numbers.
There was a whirring sound, and then-
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT.
-an unholy roar announced Asgard as they came to his aid, giving him the space he needed as rats were turned to pulp by the mere passage of its munition. They were a brute figure of steel and grey now, the weapon responsible rising up over their shoulder. Both arms rose to join it, fists pointing at the still roiling swarm.
BRRRRRRT. BRRRRRRRRRRT. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT.
Thor pulled his axe free, standing in a sea of small corpses and red pulp. Already the swarm was shrinking as the Rat pulled itself back together, countless tiny cuts and scratches on its furry body. Thor pulled at the rat head that still clung to his lip, saluting Asgard. He was just in time to see their own foe leap at them from behind, a jagged sword piercing them in the back and exiting out through the stomach.
There was no time for thought, only deeds. Asgard fell to one knee, War Machine armour splashed with mud and blood, and the hulking rat that had impaled them twisted the blade cruelly, not seeking to kill, but to cause pain. Perhaps if it had not, what came next would have gone differently.
The storm giant reached down again, not for the rapidly reconstituting Rat, not for its minion, but for Asgard. One enormous finger connected with its shoulder, and there was a rush of emptiness, as if all sound was sucked from the world, even if only for a moment. In the next, the sounds of storm and vermin returned…but they were swiftly drowned out by what followed.
Grey steel turned to green flesh, rippling and swelling. A roar of pure rage and wrath echoed across the borderlands, as a Hulk clad in golden armour rose up, blocking the rat that had stabbed it from view. One hand, fingers near as thick as Thor’s thighs, went to the blade protruding from his stomach and bent it with casual ease. The rat at Asgard’s back tried to pull its weapon free, but it was futile, barely budging it.
Asgard turned, the movement wrenching the hilt of the sword from the rat’s grip. The rat - the Verminlord, Thor suddenly knew - realised it was within arm’s reach of a larger, stronger, angrier foe, and tried to skitter away, but it had missed its chance. Asgard reached out, seizing it by shoulder and leg, and raised it above his head.
In the next heartbeat, they ripped it clear in half.
Blood, organs, and dead rats poured from the two halves of the Verminlord, dousing the earth and mingling with the blood of Asgard. Goldsilver shone where they mingled, and Thor felt a frisson of heady joy come over him. He laughed, and a shadowed reflection in the clouds above laughed with him.
The Rat was less amused, the last of its body finally reforming, and it screeched its anger once again, rejecting what its eyes told it. “You think this has meaning? That this paltry death will tip the scales between us? My Verminlords are without number, endless-”
Thor and Asgard leapt for the Rat as one, god and realm in full accord. Again, the Rat looked to turn Stormbreaker aside with its scythes, even as its tail coiled to strike, but it realised too late that the axe was only a distraction. God and realm landed on either side of it, Asgard bringing both fists down on the Rat’s head in a hammer blow, even as Thor drove his own into its gut with a rising uppercut.
There was no finesse about what followed, no skill to be admired. There was only pain, as a being that had never been forced into a fight it didn’t want was pummelled and beaten, almost knocked from one blow to the next.
The Horned Rat whirled like a dervish, trying to escape, but found an arm seized by an enormous green fist and squeezed, forcing one scythe from its grip. Its tail sought to coil and shred the arms that beat it, but it was stomped on by a heavy boot. Near horizontal rain seemed to lance directly at its eyes, and it missed its strike at Thor’s eye with its remaining scythe when he got close to hammer at its ribs, again and again. Something broke, and the next shriek was not of anger, but of pain.
“Send your legions!” Thor boomed, ignoring the clawed hand that tried to stab at his chest, seeking to exploit the weak point in vain. “Send your unending hordes!”
The Rat freed its arm from Asgard’s grip at the cost of a shattered bone, but the alternative was to have it reduced to powder. It raked its claws across their belly all the same, and goldsilver sparked in its wake.
“The Vermintide comes for you, puny god of rain and cloud!” the Horned Rat screamed. It freed its tail with a twist, and snaked it around Thor’s leg, trying to pull him off balance. “All you protect will be buried under the weight of my children! All you love will be food for my brood, and those you think to steal will be the first to feast!”
The shadow in the clouds above laughed, even if Thor himself did not. “The ratoskyr will never choose you.”
The Rat flinched even as it lunged for him, ignoring the blows Asgard was landing on its turned back, fangs seeking Thor’s neck. “There are no ratoskyr! Only skaven!”
Thor caught the god by its snout, one hand gripping it by the nose, the other by its lower jaw. Jagged fangs cut into his hands, but he paid them no mind.
“THOR I AM!” he bellowed in its face. “ODIN’S SON! PROTECTOR OF THE RATOSKYR! HORNED RAT, I SAY THEE NAY!”
The Horned Rat gave one last screech of denial, but then Asgard’s hand was fastening around its neck. It choked, neck muscles bulging as it fought against the green fist it was trapped in, but there was no fighting against the very realm it had so arrogantly come to, not when it was empowered by its god, and certainly not when it could not even bring the full measure of its strength to bear.
Even so, the Horned Rat was still a god of millions, and it could not be held for long. Thor watched as its eyes rolled back in its head, darting towards the mists it had come from, and he knew that like all rats, it would soon look to escape. It would flee, one way or another, and while he had met its challenge in Asgard, Old and New and all at once, the mortal world was another matter. It would strike at him and his however it could, and that was something he could not allow.
As much as his realm would grow fat off the blood of its Verminlords should they come, Vinteerholm he knew could not stand against the Vermintide that the Rat had spoken of…but to send the skaven hordes against his mortal followers, it first had to give the order.
Thor reached into the Horned Rat’s maw, and ripped out its tongue to the root.
The Rat went berserk, thrashing and twisting. Its fangs shredded the flesh of Thor’s hand, and it brought its scythe up to slice through the tendons of the wrist that Asgard gripped it with, slipping out as his fist went slack. One crooked leg came up to catch Thor in the gut, near launching him away, and it was quick to skitter away towards the edge of the borderlands. The dropped scythe melted away, reforming at its hip, free hand too broken to hold it.
“Those you hold dear will suffer for this, Thor Odinson,” the Horned Rat promised, unhindered by its missing tongue, indeed it was already starting to grow back. There was a dread certainty in its voice, and its eyes were full of a hate that went beyond any that Thor had ever seen before; Laufey was as a childhood bully in comparison. Even the sound of the storm fell away, overcome by the black malice it spoke.
“By the tongue I have ripped from your mouth, I bind you, Rat,” Thor told it. He stared the hostile god down, blood dripping from his prize and mingling with the blood that dripped from his own wounds. “Never shall you share a command to harm those I shelter. Never shall you speak poison to hurt them. Never shall you spread word that will do them ill.”
The cyclone above began to change. Where there had been but one mighty cell, now there were three, and they were all interlinked. The Horned Rat froze as it felt Thor’s working begin to settle upon it.
“Thrice you are bound, Rat,” Thor said, his voice lowering to the deepest rumble. “Now begone from my realm of Asgard, Old and New and all at once, or I will rip out your tongue anew and use it to write my name in blood across your back.”
For an eternity, the Horned Rat stared at him, a hate that went beyond any description settling upon its battered shoulders. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, it vanished. The storm began to subside.
Thor stared at the spot it had occupied, and Asgard came to stand at his shoulder. It was wearing the form of Heimdall once more, and the sword that had run him through was nowhere to be seen.
“You have protected your mortal followers,” Asgard said, approval in his voice, “but this is not the last we have seen of its minions here.” A hint of sunlight peeked through the clouds.
“Let them come,” Thor said, still staring at the spot his foe had stood. “They will water my fields, one way or another.”
For all that the victory was anything but final, still it had strengthened him. He had more than earned a foe that day, but it was one he took gladly. The ratoskyr might still be threatened by their progenitor, but its will would not take their choice from them, nor twist them down a dark path. Not while he drew breath.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
X X X
That night, the northern skies were troubled. Many were those who looked up and quailed at the storm that roiled overhead, dark clouds backlit with the green of Morrslieb. Some were more used to strange visions in the sky than others, but on that night all were tested. Across the lands of the north, the touch of the gods was felt. Vicious winds swept the fields of northern Kislev, doing little harm to the crops but driving swarms of rats from them. In Troll Country, a Pit of malice and suffering was driven to frenzy, its denizens turning on each other and its pumps working overtime to clear the deluge of rainwater. By the Sea of Chaos, hard bitten fishermen glimpsed figures in the clouds, fighting and fleeing. All across the north, omens were witnessed and discussed, but few knew for truth just whose might they saw, only that a mighty contest beyond the ken of mortal man was unfolding that night.
Even fewer were those who did not need to look upon the sky to glimpse the contest, for they saw it in their dreams.
There was a woman with a spear, a man with a sword, a woman with a cloak, and two girls with hair the colour of the sun. Foremost amongst the dreamers, they watched from atop golden walls as the conflict in the borderlands unfolded, waiting for the moment their god would strike the final blow. When he ripped out the tongue of the Rat, they did not cheer, but they did smile.
There were others that witnessed the deed, in glimpses and flashes that they were not so blessed to see so clearly. Those who had pledged themselves in word or thought or deed heard as he delivered his ultimatum and his threat, and the faithful of Thor Odinson knew what had been done, and why. Knowing that their god drew little difference between man and ratoskyr was barbed knowledge for some, but it was shared with them all the same. Their dreams of sweeping green fields and towering golden walls faded as the godly conflict ended, but the knowledge did not. The mortals on the wall slipped from the vision after them, though they were not the last to leave.
The last were the two sisters in the sky above. High above even the walls, a dove and an eagle wheeled about in clear disagreement, though it was the dove that was the pursuer. They rose through the clouds as the storm eased, and vanished a moment later.
X
When Thor woke, he would have liked little more than to roll over and return to slumber, wrapped warmly in the blankets and furs of the bed accorded to him, safe from the chill of the morning air.
Unfortunately, it was not to be.
There was a whiff of something foul in the air – not the kind of foulness that had him calling for his axe, but the kind that had him grimace and pinch his nose closed. He cracked a sleep encrusted lid, and an infant’s squealing cry had him looking over to the pile of furs that sat on the nearby table. The cry was soon joined by another, then another and another, small bodies squirming amongst the furs, and the god sighed.
The house he had been accorded had what he needed to clean the babies - some rags, and a large bucket of water that he warmed with one of the household charms his mother had insisted he learn - and then he was swaddling the ratoskyr in the strips he had torn from his cape once again, their cries ceasing as they found themselves clean and warm and comfortable once more.
Thor smiled down at the four of them, lined up on his bed. Martin, Splinter, and Remy were more interested in each other, but Blika was sniffing at the air, her snout questing around for whatever scent had caught her attention. Their eyes had yet to open, but nor was their skin quite so freshly pink as they had been. He rubbed at his wrist as he watched his charges, working at the stiffness that marked where the Rat had severed his tendons in their battle. He knew that had he been the loser, there would have been more than mere stiffness.
Such thoughts were of little use, however. He could see the light of the sun at the edges of the door and the shutters, and Kirsa’s bedroll was empty. He had overslept, it seemed. His belly rumbled, and his first thought was of bacon and cheese, but as he dressed in clothes of simple wool, his mind caught up. If he was hungry, then surely the little ones would soon follow. They had drunk goat’s milk the night before without complaint, and he hoped that it would serve again.
As much as he would have liked to hurry off to retrieve the milk, without Kirsa present he was loath to leave the ratoskyr behind. He trusted Harad and Helena, but there was too much history and hate to risk leaving them. A swift check that their swaddling was secure, and Thor was tucking two against each side, striding out into the day.
The sun overhead said it was midmorning, and the village was well and truly awake. Jobs that had been put aside under the threat of the skaven were being seen to, as thatching was repaired and animals were let out from under close watch for the first time in weeks. Thor met those going about their tasks with a close-lipped smile bright enough to threaten blindness, happy to see them getting about their lives.
His smile was not returned, however.
At first he thought it was due to the infants he carried, but few were those who even gave them a first look, let alone a second. Men and women stopped as he passed, watching him with the skittishness of deer as he walked the village lanes, and as he walked his smile progressively dimmed. Such was the size of the village that he was soon at the longhall, and he shouldered the doors aside to enter.
There was little activity within, only a small cluster of elders working at various tasks at the nearest table. He looked around, but could not see the goat that he sought. He pursed his lips; the babies would soon hunger and he didn’t wish them to have to wait.
There was a screech of wood on stone as one of the elders rose abruptly, drawing his eye. “Mighty one,” the man said. He was hardly half a century old, but weathered and gnarled. The whittling knife he had been working with was hurriedly placed on the table. “How can we aid you?”
“I seek a goat that has milk to spare,” Thor said. “There was one pregnant here, last night.” He bounced his charges absently.
“My grandson took the animals out to the river,” another elder said, a woman. She rose as well, but wouldn’t meet Thor’s gaze, keeping her eyes lowered. “I’ll have him bring it.”
“No no,” Thor said, “do not trouble yourselves. I was blessed with two legs and the knowledge of how to use them, ha ha.”
None laughed at his joke despite the invitation, only bowing their heads, and Thor’s smile grew stiff. Slowly, he took a step back, easing his way through the doors and out of the hall and the growing awkwardness. Back out under the sun, he took a breath. He had expected some ill feeling over the ratoskyr, but this was something else.
A footstep crunched and skidded in half dried mud, stopping suddenly. Thor looked over and saw a young woman, staring at him, mouth slack and holding a bag stuffed full of lambswool. Slowly, she looked from him up to the clear blue sky, then back.
Thor was already hurrying along. The morning was starting to become a touch strange, and he still needed milk for the babies.
X
Milk was found, and the ratoskyr drank it down eagerly, stopping when they were sated. Martin had given a little burp when he was done, falling into a slumber even before his siblings were done. Once the most pressing task of the morning was seen to, Thor set about other matters, and his feet had brought him to the door of Harad and Helena, knocking gently with his foot.
The wooden door was opened a moment later, revealing the craggy figure of Harad. The old warrior stared at Thor for a long moment, barely glancing at the bundles in his arms.
“Good morn, Harad,” Thor said, as the moment stretched out. It continued to stretch. “How are you?” he added.
Finally, Harad blinked. “Thunder god,” he said, stepping back in unspoken invitation.
He accepted it, stepping inside, and Harad closed the door behind him. Helena was seated at the table, hands cupped around a steaming goblet, and at her gesture he took a seat across from her. Harad joined them a moment later, bringing two more cups, freshly poured. He sat next to his wife, and slid one drink across the table.
Thor shifted the sleeping babies around carefully, freeing one arm, and accepted the hot tea, enjoying the taste of whatever herb had been added. Neither of his hosts seemed inclined to speak, only staring at him intently, and he took the moment to look around. The home had changed little since the night he had cut down the raiders who had sought to take the village, and the married couple had warned him of the dangers of Gunnhilde’s claimed spear. He wondered how she was doing, to the south.
“How fare you, thunder god?” Helena asked, breaking the silence.
“I am well,” Thor said. “The bed you granted me was most comfortable.” He took another sip of his tea.
The two old warriors shared a glance, and in it a conversation. “You slept through the night, then? No trouble with your…charges?” Harad asked.
“There was a pest at the door, but little worth mentioning,” Thor said, dismissive.
“A pest.”
“Aye. I dealt with it.”
Harad and Helena shared another glance, this one loaded with even more meaning, and Thor glanced between them, faint suspicions beginning to stir.
There was a knock on the door, hurried, the kind that had people sit up and take notice in their part of the world. Helena was already rising, quickly stepping to the door. “Yes?” she said, firm and stern. “What is-”
“Is he here?” a young man demanded, the voice familiar. A head of dark hair peered around Helena, dark gaze sweeping the home and then fixing on Thor. He took a step forward, trying to angle around the woman blocking his way, and Thor saw a roll of what looked like vellum in one hand. “I have questions-”
“No,” Helena said. She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back through the door. It swung shut a moment later, cutting off Stephan’s expression of dismay.
“That boy,” Harad said, grumbling to himself. “He is too much like his father.”
Thor huffed a laugh, reminded of more than one companion. The interruption had woken Remy, and the ratoskyr was wriggling in his swaddling, trying to get comfortable. Thor watched the cuteness unfold, and when it was over he looked up to see Harad staring. He waited for the inevitable questioning and concern.
Harad cut his head to the side abruptly, clearing his thoughts. “I have need of your aid, thunder god,” he said.
“Oh?” Thor asked. He doubted Harad would ask for anything he would not care to give, but old lectures on agreeing to bargains unheard were hard to ignore.
“We lack the grain to last comfortably through planting until harvest,” the big man said bluntly. “My people face lean times if I do not find a way to supplement it.”
“I cannot conjure a feast for you, but I might ferry you to your neighbours, and then back with trade?” Thor offered.
“None will want to part with grain in this season,” Harad said bluntly. “Vinteerholm lost stores to the Aeslings, and a blight swept the crops of other neighbours last year.”
The god gave a hum, sipping again at his tea. “They have yet to return, but Tyra led Gunnhilde and some others south in search of trade,” Thor said. “Perhaps on their return, you might strike a deal with them.”
A slow nod answered him. “The old chief, I would not bother with, but Tyra shows promise,” Harad said. “When are they due to return?”
Thor shrugged. “I could not say. It has been some few months, so soon, surely.”
Heavy brows furrowed in thought. “I mislike the wait, and the uncertainty. I would address the problem sooner.”
“I could bring down a great beast for your people, as needed,” Thor offered. “I have been doing the same for Vinteerholm as we await Tyra’s return.”
“A mammoth would go far, and would keep for a time in our cellars, even with winter almost behind us,” Harad said, thinking.
Trumpetter’s sad eyes crossed Thor’s mind, followed by memories of day after day after day of mammoth steaks, and he held back a grimace. “Perhaps,” he said, “or any other large creature. I am not limited as most hunters are.” They were not close to the sea, not as mortals judged such things, but venturing to deep waters to fetch some sea beast was not beyond him. “Hmm…” The thought stuck with him, and the spark of something that might put him back in Lady Eagle’s good books began to brew.
Harad was staring at him now, not quite disbelieving, but hinting at it. “We would be grateful, thunder god.”
“Ah, but there will be a price,” Thor said.
The old warrior was guarded now. “Aye?”
“You must call me Thor again,” he told him. “I know I have given you aid, but you know I do not play on titles.”
A squint, and the disbelief was less a faint hint and more a strong suggestion. “...as you say, Thor.”
Thor beamed. “Excellent! Now, would you watch over the babies as I hunt, or would you prefer Kirsa to do so?”
Harad opened his mouth to answer, only to hesitate.
“No, you are too busy,” Thor said, though he continued to beam. He had not denied him out of hand! It was progress, and he celebrated by finishing his tea. “I will find Kirsa. Thank Helena for the tea; I will return soon.”
The thunder god was on his feet and sweeping from the home in the next moment, mood restored after the strangeness of the villagers’ attitude towards him that morning. He had babies to entrust, and a hunt to undertake.
Perhaps it would perk Bjorn up, too.
X
It was midafternoon by the time they saw Vinteerholm once more. The skies were still clear, clear in the way that only came after a terrible storm, and the river that the growing town sat beside glittered under the afternoon sun. The crude airship was spotted early as it coasted down from the skies, anxious townsfolk having kept a weather eye on the skies ever since they woke that morn.
Rather than set down by the walls where the ship had sat as it was worked on, or by the river with the waterbound longships the town had come to claim, the airship circled down near the grove, alighting gently in one of the streets that led to it. As the ship occupants began to emerge, a party was gathering to greet them, familiar faces at their head. Like at Harad’s village, the easy familiarity that he had grown used to was lacking.
Wolfric was there, already helping those within the ship to step down, clapping Stephan on the shoulder as he emerged, blinking, into the sun. The one eyed man bowed his head to his god as Thor stepped off from the ship, landing easily in the dirt of the street.
“Wolfric!” Thor said. “Is all well? Did aught occur?” Nothing had caught his eye on their approach, but he was still keenly aware that one of his followers had had cause to pray for aid during his raid on the skaven lair.
“Astrid pushed Brandt into the river,” Wolfric said, pained, “and Elsa- nevermind. Who are these people?” His attitude at least was unchanged.
Thor glanced to the ship door, where Bjorn was helping a groggy man step out slowly. “Some few of Harad’s, who have yet to recover from the poison of the skaven. I offered to bring them to be seen by Aderyn.”
Knut the townsman was there too, stepping up to help the next victim step down, and they stepped back to make room for it all as more townsfolk began to arrive, offering help unasked for.
An easy nod was Wolfric’s reply, but he said nothing, and Thor gave him a sideways glance.
“Are you not curious as to what unfolded?” Thor asked. He knew his people had faith in him, but he still liked to boast, and doing so without prompting was the mark of a boor.
Wolfric blinked at him. “I already know.”
Now it was Thor’s turn to blink. Before he could question his follower further, however, there was a commotion as someone approached in a rush. It was Aderyn, her hands dripping with water as if recently cleaned and her grey cloak flapping with each step. She was near running towards their still growing gathering, Sunniva and Selinda trying to keep up behind her. For a moment Thor expected her to hurry past and swoop down upon the sick, but she only slowed, directing her apprentices towards them, and then she was crashing into Thor. The hug he was wrapped in was enough to creak his ribs.
“Thank you,” Aderyn managed, head buried in his chest. “Your kindness - what you have done for my lady - thank you.”
“You are welcome?” Thor said, looking around at those around them, now over two dozen strong. None of them seemed to have much greater insight as to what was happening than he did.
Aderyn looked up, revealing the painfully wide smile stretching across her face. Tears were starting to stream from her eyes, startling Thor. “Where are they? May I hold them?”
Thor’s brows rose, but he did not ask how she could know. “Kirsa has them.”
At that moment, the last of the sick was helped from the ship by Stephan, and then Kirsa was easing her way out, carefully stepping down, four bundles of precious cargo in her arms. A visible unease swept the onlookers, but none so much as raised a word against them. Aderyn released Thor and stepped swiftly to Kirsa’s side.
There was apparently no need for words between the two women, and the younger eased two of the babies into Aderyn’s arms. Curious noses twitched and sniffed at the new person holding them, and there was an intake of breath from the crowd. Thor’s gaze flicked around, and it was a heavy thing from the way some felt it fall upon them. He could not help but frown at yet more proof that something had changed, and he misliked it.
He had little time to feel morose, however, not when Aderyn was gently booping Remy’s nose. The god could not help but smile, though that changed when Aderyn repeated the action with Blika. As she booped, there was the sound of a flutter of wings, though it was not heard with his ears. Instinct had him looking closer, blue-white light shining in his eyes, and what he saw had him blinking.
White light suffused Aderyn, but it was not the harsh brightness that he had witnessed from Leifnir, and it was his missing right eye that saw it, not his left. This was something softer, more nurturing, and he had felt its presence before, though never like this.
“You have given a great blow to many an argument against my goddess,” Aderyn said, as she looked up. Many hard years of living seemed to have fallen away with the joy that was clear in her. “The ratoskyr will change…much.”
“My disagreement with the Rat,” Thor said, putting the pieces together. “It was witnessed.” He allowed his sight beyond sight to fade, Lady Dove’s divine touch fading with it.
“We saw it all,” Wolfric added. “Some more clearly than others.”
“There were many omens in the sky last night,” Knut said, looking up from where he was helping Sunniva with one of the sick. “The storm that came should have torn down many homes, but we were untouched.”
Thor looked about at those around him, a mix of pledged, faithful, and unsure, many wary as the fawn was before the wolf. “This is- I was very open about what I am,” he said. His mother would have said his tone was petulant.
“They did not know,” Kirsa said. “Not truly.” She smiled. “Now they do.”
A vision came to him. He saw five figures, standing atop golden walls - Gunnhilde, Wolfric, Kirsa, Astrid, Elsa - and hundreds more watching through reflections of goldsilver motes that flowed from them into his realm. Understanding bloomed.
In the mortal world, Bjorn was staring at the ratoskyr, stone faced, but not hateful. It was an improvement on his attitude only the day before. He was not the only one to lack joy, and Thor knew it would not be an easy thing, acceptance, but he would see it done.
“You need not love them,” Thor said, the thunder in his voice ensuring it would be heard, even as low as it was, “but you will remember that they are children. Innocents.” He looked around those who had come to welcome him home. Each had their own reasons, and each had their own opinion on what he had done. “As I have protected you, so shall I protect them.”
Heads were bowed, and more than one throat murmured their compliance to the thunder god. Kirsa and Wolfric seemed satisfied with it all, like parents seeing unruly children finally amending their poor manners.
Thor clapped his hands together, pleased. “Then let us carry the sick to the grove that they might be healed, and I will share the tale of how I came to rescue the ratoskyr from their cowardly god!”
Stephan was at his side in an instant, intent and hungry. He was not alone in showing interest.
There were still those unsure of him, wary, but his cheer reminded them of how he had conducted himself in the months prior, when for all their gratitude and trust, they had still secretly doubted his claims to divinity in their hearts. He was sure the Rat would agonise to know how it had aided him, as more townsfolk began to arrive to hear the news, and see the local god for themselves with new eyes.
They were not the only latecomers. As they entered the grove, Thor spied an eagle perched on a tree branch, almost hidden by the leaves. She watched them with golden eyes, gaze fixed on the bundles carried by Kirsa and Aderyn…but there was no shriek of anger, no shredding of the branch with tensed talons. The thunder god felt his heart lifting at the sight. There was evil in the world, but there was hope, too.
Thor led the way into his grove, and his people followed.