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Pre-Viking Age, Castle of the Red Witch of the North.
Eir was frozen from the inside out.
Icicles clung to the strands of her hair and lashes. A pale blue sheen coated her skin and turned her lips grayish purple. Her limbs could barely move, her fingers stiff and numb.
Her wings had frozen so badly that she didn’t have the strength to fold them back into her shoulders. They stuck out half-extended, like a feathery cape that shielded her back. Her breath no longer puffed in the air, a barely-there inhale and exhale that was just as cold as the icy mists that churned and whipped around her.
Only her heart continued its thunderous, fiery beat. Because it didn’t stop yearning. Longing. Hoping.
Wishing.
She was finally here, on top of the ice mountain where the Red Witch of the North dwelled.
She’d flown for hours despite the endless blizzards and unforgiving winds. Humans who pilgrimaged here usually took days to make the climb, stopping for rests in caverns carved into the side of the mountain, and to sit out the worst of the ice storms.
But Eir didn’t have days. Odin had given her until sundown to “put her affairs in order.”
She would have made better time if Nightmare had been able to take her, but he was still recovering from his injury from battling the Frost Giant. Moreover, Odin had forbidden the other gods and Valkyries to assist her in any way.
She was on her own.
With the last of her strength, she pushed open the heavy oak doors of the castle.
The wood and metal groaned and creaked, parting with utmost reluctance, just enough to let her through. They shut behind her with a loud bang as soon as she entered.
Sheer ice surrounded her from all sides, as well as top to bottom.
Everything was transparent white with a hint of blue. From the floor beneath her feet, to the ceiling from which icy stalactites dangled, their points softly glowing like candles. To the winding, elaborate staircase that seemed to be suspended by invisible strings.
Come, Valkyrie,a soft, haunting voice invited.
It floated from somewhere at the top of that staircase, so Eir followed the sound, climbing up.
Despite the ice beneath her feet, it didn’t slip. In fact, it felt as if she were walking on stone or metal. Everything looked fragile, breakable, but when she touched it, the foundations were strong.
At the top of the stairs, there was only one long hall. She followed it to its end, which opened to a grand, circular chamber with an open roof. A ring of ice columns surrounded it.
In the middle, a patch of the greenest grass grew. Above it, despite the blizzard that Eir could clearly see swirling around the rooftop, a shaft of warm sunlight beamed down on the grassy field, encapsulating just that bit of ground in perpetual summer.
This was where she would plant the apple seeds, she gathered.
But where was the Red Witch? Was there a spell to be cast to make sure it worked?
“Looking for me, dear Eir?”
She turned abruptly at the voice, eyes widening.
Freya.
“You?” Eir croaked hoarsely, her vocal cords still frozen.
The beautiful goddess smiled, stroking a hand through her auburn waves that cascaded past her hips like a fiery waterfall.
“Surprised?” she murmured. “Iamred-haired, after all.”
“But…”
