A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,120
Patrick asked.
“It would be remiss of those who fought not to see the passing of those who fell,” Thor said from where he stood beside Frigg.
The Norse god of thunder looked nothing like the modern-day bartender he’d been masquerading as. Gone were the winter clothes and designer suit. Tonight, Thor wore gleaming silver armor over leather clothing dyed black. Mjölnir hung from a wide belt, the edges crackling with electricity every now and then. Thor’s pale red hair was half braided back from his face, the rest falling loose past his shoulders.
Standing beside Thor, Frigg wore a simple black dress beneath a gray fur cloak, the hood resting against her back. Her hair hung in waves and braids down to her waist. A crown made of twisted gold and studded with opals rested on her head.
Brynhildr stood on the other side of Frigg, spear in one hand and a bow and arrow held in the other. The armor she wore gleamed just as brightly as Thor’s. Her pegasus stood unmoving behind her in the snow, his wings furled. The majority of surviving valkyries who had fought to help retrieve Odin’s body were arrayed in a half circle facing Lake Michigan.
Heimdallr stood at the shoreline, sword strapped to his back, one hand resting on the prow of a small wooden boat draped with greenery and flowers. Eir was there as well, standing beside another boat bearing the body of Töfrandi. Several other valkyries stood next to the remaining boats bearing the bodies of the dead.
The waters of Lake Michigan were a vast darkness. The stillness found there was eerie after the rough weather the last few days.
“Is Oniare still in there?” Wade asked.
Hinon shrugged, his wings spreading a little with the motion. “I did not slay the beast. What wounds we dealt him will heal in time. He will return, as he always does. That is the way of our story.”
“And Odin?” Patrick asked, staring at the boat Heimdallr stood by.
Jono tightened his grip on Patrick’s hand, ignoring the way Fenrir growled through his mind.
“This was not our Ragnarök,” Frigg said.
“Odin is still dead, and Loki escaped with his spear. His ravens told me to kill him, and I shoved my dagger into his heart.”
Frigg turned her head to look at Patrick before her gaze settled on Jono. “Loki will pay for his betrayal, as he always does. Fenrir’s teeth never touched my husband. This was no Ragnarök, despite all efforts to make it so.”
Jono half expected Fenrir to claw his way to control, but the god remained silent. Jono blinked, vision wavering for a second before it settled. Frigg smiled at him, the curve of her mouth secretive in a way Jono knew not to trust.
“So, what? Is he not dead?” Patrick asked suspiciously.
Frigg didn’t answer him, not right away. She turned to face the horizon again, lifting her chin. “We lost our tithes, but we did not lose the people who remembered us. You broke the connection. There is no weapon available to you that could break Odin’s godhead.”
“Except me,” Jono said.
“Fenrir chose his side,” Thor said without rancor.
“To stop Ethan. Doesn’t stop the furry bloke from following the path of your story to its bitter end.”
Thor’s smile was hard and cutting when he looked at Jono. “The day will come when we will be on opposite sides once more, but what happened here in Chicago was not that day.”
“That day may never come in this world we have all lost.” Hinon spread his wings. “Shall we, cousin?”
Thor nodded gravely, and Hinon launched himself into the sky without a word, huge wings flapping to keep him aloft. Frigg raised her right hand in a commanding gesture, and Heimdallr bowed to her in response. Then he and the valkyries tending to the boats pushed them into the water. Waves rippled away from the hulls as the boats floated away, leaving the shore behind. In the rippling wake of their passage, the water took on an oil-slick sheen to it, like a rainbow. The sheen overtook the boats, stretching toward the horizon in a line of multicolored light—a rainbow bridge to a heaven.
“What is that?” Wade asked quietly, sounding awed.
“The Bifröst,” Patrick told him.
In the recess of Jono’s mind, Fenrir howled in a mournful way.
Heimdallr and the valkyries with him stayed knee-deep in the cold water, watching the dead on their final passage. Brynhildr jammed her spear into the snow, twisting the pole until it could stand on its own. She