A Winter's Bargain

This is a flash piece drafted as part of a prequel adventure with my co-author as she participates in a writing challenge and we work on our shared universe. The flash pieces posted here are part of rough draft scenes that may make it into our future novels or may just be used to help flush out our shared universe.

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It had been a while since he’d heard from her, though he was wondering if part of it was because she wasn’t sure where he was right now either. The winter had actually been easy on the Midgardians this season, so his services hadn’t been needed as much as the Fall season when a virus had spread through a small village.

Yesterday he’d eased a small cat’s passing with magic and song, taking the creature's pain and letting it fall asleep without pain. It wasn’t just because he wanted to ease the feline’s passing on its own, but he also knew that she’d hear him as the cat sought her out.

Knowing it wouldn’t take long, he’d settled himself in a corner of the small tavern. Hood up to hide his face, his back to the corner and his feet up on the table. One would almost think him asleep looking at him, though the owners left him alone for the most part, topping off his mug of ale occasionally without word when he set it down on the table near his feet.

Brooding and being quiet had always come easy to him, but easier now that his sight didn’t distract him. Head bowed so no one could see into the hood to the bindings around where his eyes would be.

His hearing had grown so much better in the years since he’d lost his eyes.

“I feel like I’ve barely slept last night.” The voice came from the other side of the tavern and his head tilted to hone in on the table where the man was sitting, half slumped against the table as he wrapped around the tankard of ale.

The sound of someone shifting from across the table before a deeper voice than the first. “What happened that you didn’t sleep?”

A pause followed the question, though after a moment the tankard hit the table. He took a drink, of course. “I felt like I was trapped somewhere dark and this woman.”

Shifting in his own seat, Hodr’s feet came back onto the floor as he leaned over his own tankard and waited for the man to continue. That’s what he’d been waiting for. He knew the feline would help, do the job.

“Half her face was gone, man. And this black cat resting along her shoulders. She said something about finally finding me.” Hodr could almost hear the shudder that slid down the man’s back in the way the voice wavered. Fear. “She said she needed silverfrost to be sure.”

His friend huffed, like he wasn’t believing the story. Though after a moment his voice dropped down into what should have been a whisper, though there was a roughness in the throat that wouldn’t let his voice pitch too low. If Hodr had to bet, he’d say the man had a pipe on him somewhere and smoked it constantly. “There’s whispers that the Goddess of death visits those who are next. Are ya sick?”

“That’s just it, I’ve never felt better! Or I had, now I don’t know. I’m starting to question everything!”

The two fell quiet for a moment, though Hodr wasn’t sure if they were sharing the weight of what the man had shared of his dream or if they were just taking long drags of their ales. Hodr drained half his cup as he felt something ease in his chest. He knew all she’d need was a small whisper, a trail to follow. Though she’d asked for a show to be sure. That she didn’t read his gift wrong.

“But what is a silverfrost? I’ve never heard of it.” The man finally cried to his friend after a moment, his tankard hitting the table with a sound that left Hodr thinking the man had drained it.

A feminine hum came and Hodr’s back stiffened, recognizing it without the woman uttering a word. “It’s a flower said to be beloved by the Goddess of Death. They only grow in Asgard, or wherever the Winter God has settled,” the woman offered easily.

“You don’t think the Winter God is here, do you?” The whisper was lowered and Hodr almost missed the words.

Draining his ale, he set his tankard down and slipped out of his seat. On silent feet, he slipped past a few tables and out the backdoor and from the conversation. He had what he needed, mostly. She wasn’t wrong either, the flowers had a habit of sprouting when he stayed anywhere too long, but they also meant he had the perfect gift for his Goddess.

“You know he’s catching up, don’t you?”

The woman’s voice caused his step to falter before he turned toward her. He could feel the frost on the tips of his fingers, magic settling along his skin because he was never sure what side his half siblings would be on. “That’s why I was trying to get her a message. She’s been keeping me one step ahead of him, but I moved before we could talk, and this winter has been kind to the people.” Frost crept along the ground between them, toward her. “What do you want, Astrid?”

Fabric shifted and he heard her take a step back from him, giving him space or escaping the frost as it snaked its way closer to her he couldn’t be sure. “Not all of us follow him blindly you know. He’s never had any love for his daughters.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Hodr’s voice turned colder, because he knew that well. There’s a reason Midgardians only ever heard about Odin’s sons. They were the only ones favored by story, by glory, by expectation.

She sighed softly. “Old man Grie in the red house won’t last the night. I was coming to let you know because he could use you, God of Winter. And you can use him once you collect a few of those flowers.”

He heard her foot shift on the dirt, turning away from him. “Thank you, but why are you helping me?”

“Some of us are rooting for you, brother.” Her voice felt further away and the soft crunch of a boot in snow told him she was walking away from him. “Next time remember you have more than brothers, and that some of us can be helpful. Go talk to your wife, Hodr.”

The softest shift of a breeze slid down the street, pulling a chilled shudder from a man as he left his house to hurry over to the tavern. The chill didn’t touch Hodr though, as he weighed those words in his head. Something to talk to his wife about, because Astrid hadn’t been wrong. They hadn’t rallied arms of his sisters, and maybe if they had things would have gone differently. Something to keep in mind for next time. Something to at least float past his Goddess of Death as he eased Grie’s passing tonight.

He took two steps toward the red house, something about the description shouldn’t have left him knowing exactly where the house was but he did. Though after a second, he turned around again. Flowers first, then Grie. He had a long night ahead of him.

— A short set before The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology based new adult series written with Marie Sinadjan. Hotel Fen is the first book in the series. Also check out Marie's Vocal for more prequel shorts that take place before the novel.