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"May you what?"
She apparently decided to take his question as permission to belt Giantkiller
about his waist. "The world's a dangerous place, Ian,"
she said. "You need to be ready for it." She patted at the hilt of the sword.
"It's a good sword. You choose your companions well, perhaps better than you
know."
"You mean Arnie."
"Certainly." She nodded. "In part. Among others. What did you see in him?"
Ian shrugged. "He was there, and he wanted to come along." He spread his
hands. "I didn't have any idea."
Her laughter was quiet music in the darkness. "Ah, not an idea in your head. I
don't think I would have believed that, not even when I was young."
"So how can he "
"Hold Mjolnir without harm?" She shook her head. "I don't know. I know what
the maker of Gungnir bound that spear to, but when he made Mjolnir, he was
interrupted, and I don't know how the geas he laid on it ended up. I suppose
you could ask him, but
I doubt he'd remember. He's lost no: he's given up much of what he knew, much
of what he was."
Ian wasn't in the least surprised to hear that Hosea had made Gungnir and
Mjolnir. "Happens when you get old, so I hear."
"Mmmm... so it does. And some is taken away from you," she said, "sometimes by
those you trust." Her voice was colder. "I... am not used to living alone, and
you have chased my husband away."
From anybody else Ian would have taken the words and the tone as a threat, but
somehow he couldn't find it in him to feel that way with Freya. "You want me
to fix you up or something?"
"No," she said. "And I'm not very angry; Harbard and I see some things, some
important things, differently, and I think we need a short vacation from each
other. Maybe only a few years; perhaps a few centuries.
"But right now, I don't want to live alone, either. I'm going to ask Arnold to
stay here, with me, at least for a while. He will resist the idea at first,
but he will agree, if I have enough time to persuade him."
"Fertility goddesses know much about men, eh?"
"Why, of course we do." She laughed. "Although only the important things."
At first, Ian was surprised, but he thought about it for a moment. Not a bad
idea, really. Freya might be ageless in body, but she was almost unbelievably
old. And Arnie was, well, Arnie was just about used up in some ways. "Feed him
apple pie every day and slough some of those years off, eh?"
"Yes." She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "I knew you'd understand.
Thank you."
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"But..."
"But you don't think," she said, her hand sweeping up and down in front of her
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body, "that Arnie's really ready to take on a young woman. You think that how
I look might scare him away." She caught his gaze and held it, unblinking,
like a snake with a bird.
"But I'm not a young woman, Ian. I'm older man you can imagine, and I don't
mind looking it."
She looked away, releasing his eyes. She was now an old woman, body bent and
skin wrinkled with age, her white hair limp, the shift that had clung tightly
to her now hanging loose. "And I'm wise enough," she said, her voice ever so
slightly weak and reedy at the edges, "to look nothing like Ephie Selmo at
all."
Ian must have blinked again, because she was, again, as he had first seen her,
as Freya would always be in his mind: young and firm, ageless.
"But Harbard. Won't he... ?"
"No, he won't." Her voice was clear as water from a mountain stream. "Arnie is
perfectly safe. Harbard would no more want to face Gungnir in my hands than in
yours, I assure you. And Arnie holds Mjolnir; he's no one to trifle with." Her
smile was warming, reassuring. "Harbard has been known to stray from time to
time, as have I," she said. "One gets used to these things."
"And the diamond? The ruby?"
She shook her head. "Where they are is something you don't need to know," she
said, her voice icy and distant. "Just remember that I've vowed to keep them
safe until the time is right, and that while I am older than the hills around
us, Ian, I've never been known to break my word." She sighed. "But enough
about me. What about you? You seem so weary, so tired in spirit."
"Yeah." Ian nodded. "That I am."
"Would you be angry with me if I offered some advice? Old heads are wise
heads, sometimes. Would you be offended?"
He shook his head. "Nah."
"Then go back to Hardwood. Relax until you're tired of relaxing," she said.
"Take some time to yourself. Study some more with
Thorian del Thorian; he has much to teach you. Let Karin Thorsen apologize to
you, in her husband's presence. It will be good for her, and better for you.
It will be good for you to hear an apology. You'll probably never get the
apologies your father owes you, but..."
"I worked that out years ago."
She nodded. "I know." Her hand stroked his back once, twice. "So go back to
Hardwood."
"I just might." Why did the idea of going back to Hardwood make him feel like
he'd dropped the weight of the world from his shoulders? "I think I will."
"Good." She nodded. "And then, when you're ready, the work awaits. If that's
still what you want. Do something for me, though, while you're in Hardwood,
while you live in Arnie's house."
"Yes?"
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"Pack up all the pictures, all the knickknacks, all the memories of her, and
put them away. Do it gently, carefully always treat them with respect but put
them away. Paint the walls; put in shiny new sinks and tile and a new kitchen.
Make it yours, instead of his. It will be best for both you and him."
"I can't." He shook his head. "I couldn't do that without Arnie's permission."
He wouldn't do that behind Arnie's back. Sure, the changes would probably be
good for Arnie it wouldn't shame Ephie's memory for him to have a life, after
all but Ian couldn't do that, not without asking Arnie.
"Well," she said, "then stay with us a few days, and I'll get that permission
for you." She smiled. "I'm very good at that."
"I've noticed," Ian said.
"You could help, if you'd like."
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"Oh?"
"You could use this." She tapped Harbard's ring, where it rode on his thumb, a
perfect fit. "Believe, concentrate, and while you wear this, you'll find
yourself more persuasive than you ought to be." She tilted her head to one
side. "You don't have to lie.
Don't you truly think that Arnie would be better off living here with me, in a
world live with possibilities, than huddling in a musty museum dedicated to
his dead wife, waiting to die?"
He fondled the heavy ring for a moment, where it rested on his thumb. He
removed it, and slipped it on each finger in turn, and without seeming to
change at all, it fit each finger in turn, as though it had persuaded both the
fingers and itself that it would always fit. It would pulse only when he was
trying hard to persuade somebody.
No.
Ian removed Harbard's ring from his thumb and tucked it in his pocket. He
would surely have use for it again, but not here, not now. It would be a good
thing to keep, yes; but Ian knew somebody who sold his soul for a ring, once.
Ian shook his head. For the first time that he could remember, Ian found
himself pitying his father, and not just hating him.
Freya was waiting for his answer.
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