Odin's Murder

“But couldn’t you have just—” Memory’s brother persists.

“Waved a magic wand? Some things, like conception, are best left to fate, and the good graces of the lady involved. Mimir has only just recently forgiven me for—”

Oh. My. God! The crow’s wings extend. Memory winces as its talons bite into her skin.

“But why not out there? In the real world? Why not just kill Anders there?” I ask. “You were right there, too, at the college.”

“He couldn’t,” Faye said. “That was Yvengvr’s punishment, wasn’t it? Immortality on earth. You had to wait until he wasn’t there to kill him.”

“It all came together quite nicely, didn’t it?” The god’s

smile is frightening. “Mimir was most insistent that I not leave my wayward son to walk the earth any more, and now I have you all back in one piece. Together, as the collective you were created to be.”

“You know we aren’t really birds,” Julian says. “Right?”

“You’re just as noisy,” the god says.

“What happened to Anders?” I ask.

“His soul will rest in his mother’s golden fields, victorious in death.”

“That was a victory?” Julian points at the mirror.

“He died fighting for what he wanted,” I say.

Odin nods once. Silence settles into the stones. The crow on Memory’s wrist stares at the god from one brown eye, and then turns her head, watching from the golden one.

“So now what?” Faye asks.

“Now my crows have come home to roost,” the god says. “I’ve missed you.”

“We’re staying here?” her voice is small, and quiet.

“Why would you not?” His smile is sincere. “This is your home.”

I catch the look between Memory and Julian. Under the wonderment, worry lines Faye’s face. They have families and futures, not just a tie to some ancient kingdom and bloodline. “We have homes,” Memory says.

I don’t.

Julian steps forward. “We appreciate your generosity but I’m not sure we can just come back here. We have college...”

“That is not your purpose. You were created to serve me,” Odin says, gently, as if to a child. “Now, come. Gather round me.”

“Don’t we get a choice?” Faye asks, looking around, like there might be an exit sign she could bolt to.

“No.” The finality of his voice reverberates over the stones. “There is no release from your function. You belong to me.”

“We’re not pets,” Julian protests.

“I’ll stay,” I say, stepping away from Memory. “Let them go. I can be your eyes. Your messenger. I’ll fight for you.”

Memory’s fingers grasp the back of my shirt. “Ethan, no.”

“Memory, you have a home. A future. I don’t.”

“So you would choose a god over me.”

“Cherry...”