The Cold One

by Allister Nelson

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

He held and rocked me, then when I was done weeping, spoke softly: “She lived a good life, and having the fruit of her womb be you will do her great honor in Helheim. My mother Hel is stern, but she sets out bread and stew alike for the dead. Would you like to go see your grandmother’s soul over the bridge?” Vex said suddenly, with more intensity than he usually used. His voice was an icy gale. Over time, our friendship had thawed his body, so that now his skin was pink-pale, and not frozen.

“You’d really take me?”

He wrinkled his nose, wiping my tears with his sleeve. “If Mordgud isn’t up to her usual Blood Maiden bitching, then yes, we will see your grandmother off with flowers.”

“But... but, Vex. I have never left Midgard.”

He looked at me tenderly, swirls of blue eyes like an ice floe. “Oh, Rini. But you have the touch of Niflhel about you, and a deep enchantment from me. An honor done is an honor earned. How could you forget?”

“Huh?” I hugged him, tracing the runes of the Frankish poetry. I lingered too long, tracing the nape of his neck. Small hairs rose to greet my thumb there. As sharp as splinters of ice.

“You saved my life. That grants you the favor of all Niflheim. If not the Nine Realms.”

Vex pressed a chaste kiss to my brow, then had me blow my nose on his handkerchief. His pointed ears hung with aquamarine sea glass earrings I had made from one of our wanderings, and they tinkled like wind chimes as he carried my grief-stricken form out to his frozen sleigh. The Snow Maidens were my playmates now, not much for talking but good at signing, and so I learned to sign with them, and they told bawdy jokes. And his reindeer loved me, too.

Vex seated me on my usual seat atop all those blankets, a copy of Sigfrida’s Prayer he carried with him always — old and worn — between us, and set the reindeer off through the sky at a canter. We came to the rune stones beyond the woods, on an icy hillock, carved with Thor fishing for the World Serpent, Jormungandr, and Hyrokkin, the great snake-wielding, wolf-aback giantess that had pushed his father Baldur’s boat into the ocean when he died in his first life, only to fall in love with Lady Hel in Helheim and become king and siring Vex.

“Chant the runes, our secret runes,” Vex said gently. “It must come from your heart.”

I drew them on the air as we chanted the art of sung runes, galdr. “Isa. Jera. Hagalaz.” In tandem our voices bloomed like hoarfrost on a bruised corpse. The smell of fresh snow and moss eddied up as the runes and carvings lit like blue foxfire. A great whirling portal opened beneath us.

We rode through.

Carved ice castles. Great wooden halls, three stories tall, wove amongst birch and snow, with taverns for weary travelers between. Ljossalfar, dokkalfar, draugr, dwarves, tomtes, gnomes, and giants moved below, all hustling and bustling in Jeraheim, Vex’s kingdom.

It looked like something from the church’s illuminations on the walls, the tales of the gods. Vex held me close, and we veered off into a dark, starry night, lit by a rainbow bridge far above, Bifrost. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, tapped her roots into the clouds.

“This is beautiful, Vex,” I breathed, not believing what I saw. I had taken the first step into my own adventure.

He squeezed my hand, smiling.

We rode on for an hour, past glaciers, icy forests of pine and birch, rivers and healing mountains. Finally, we came to a narrow bridge over a river of souls, and the walls of Helheim — Lady Hel’s and Lord Baldur’s domain — rose in great warm welcome, barred from mortals peeking over. Somehow, the walls of the Halls of the Dead were taller than the skies of Niflheim itself.

“Look, there is your grandmother, Katarina Olafsdottir. Svenge.”

I gasped. Nana — Svenge — was returned fresh like a spring bouquet to her youthful form, one that I had only ever seen in worn paintings. She carried a bushel of her favorite flowers — violets — that grandpa used to grow for her.

A great giant maiden, with blue flesh and red blood vessels near bursting across her skin, rang the great bell tower of the Halls of the Dead. Mordgud, Blood Maiden.

“Who seeks passage, Vex?” Mordgud’s voice was like a raven pecking out eyes.

“A girl to whom I owe my life.” Vex’s voice echoed like a mountain collapsing, and suddenly, he felt so very tall, as tall as Mordgud herself, though he sat right next to me.

Mordgud rang the great bluish bronze bell. “Be quick about it, cousin.”

“Alright, bitch,” Vex said.

She winked. “Bastard.”

They smiled, and Vex landed on the near shore of the river Nastrond. Nana waited for me.

“Oh my dear Rini,” she said, her blonde hair just like mine, curled and wild. Nana was newly dressed in a fine, belted red dress.

She glanced knowingly at the carved pink rose on my breastbone, above my fur jacket. “You have caught the favor of Prince Eareandel. I see now. I see all. Why our pot kept bubbling. Why our stores never ran cold. Do well by her, Prince.”

“Oh Nana, I love you. Safe travels,” I sniffled, hugging her. She smelled stronger somehow, more potent. Felt more solid than even I did. I knew it was time, finally, to let her go.

“Goodbye, Katarina, Eareandel...” I finally noticed Vex wince at his birth name. I had always wondered what it was, but never had the strength to ask. The Cold Ones came from the Land of Niflheim, and often donned nicknames around mortals so we did not have power over them.

Nana bowed to Mordgud. “I am ready to visit my parents, husband, daughter, and son-in-law. All due respect, Blood Maiden, make the passage ready.”

The giant blue maiden with ruby veins sounded the bell. Nana took one firm footstep onto the bridge over Nastrond and disappeared into swirling white mist. Far away — eons, really — I heard a small door open, a lover’s laughs, and her daughter weeping in joy.

“Now we must away, lest the dead call to the living,” Vex whispered. “We’ll spend the night in Jeraheim. I’ll have guest quarters prepared.”

“Thank you, Vex,” I said, not daring to use his old, ancient name for the Morning Star.

He smiled, and we rode slowly through the dark. I fell asleep in Vex’s arms, and all I remembered was the fragrance of twilit violets.

I awoke in a strange, beautiful room, carved of ice yet warm, with a great roaring fire in the hearth place.

The Snow Maiden I loved best, Hilda, was fixing a plate of hot biscuits with cloudberry jelly and smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye crackers for me. I slathered butter on the biscuits and signed with Hilda, watching from the icy palace the streets of Jeraheim below.

“Where is Vex?” I signed.

Hilda giggled silently, ethereal, her wet hair jittering. She signed back: “Waiting on you.”

She hurried me to the closet, then tried to dress me up in a beautiful flowing golden gown like butter, the kind of which only fairytale princesses could wear. I shied away from its voluminous train, instead dressing in a pair of sturdy trousers and button down shirt. I belted the shirt, wore brilliant blue boots studded with crystals, and fixed my hair in a side braid.

I strode through the hallways of Jeraheim’s palace, taking in endless wonders. String music ran through the palace, and dangerous Cold Ones eyed me in curiosity, all frozen; I was the only Warm Blood among them. I was happy for the green snakestone-hilted dagger Vex had given me on my sixteenth birthday, always kept on my belt next to my chatelaine.

I came to a long great hall. Inside were magnificent frozen majesties: trees of jade and ice, firebirds, dancing elves in the distance, and stars trapped in haunting cathedral towers. I walked on quiet feet, alone, to find Vex sitting on his throne, looking expectant, dressed in his finest.

As I drew closer, I saw that Vex held a frozen bird cage in his hands. I nearly vomited when I saw that inside it was a fresh heart, beating and bloody.

But he looked at it with odd, bemused fondness, as it pulsed like a song.

“What is that, my bosom friend?” I finally got up the nerve to ask, lingering at the side of his iced obsidian throne.

He looked up at me with those beautiful bones, a hunger in his eyes like I was prey he wanted to worship.

“You have melted my heart. I am yours by honor bound. I was a stillbirth, brought to life by Hel’s magick. She cannot bear life, she has learned, but the pregnancy with my father, Baldur, stuck.”

“Oh,” I exhaled, frightened and yet drawn to the organ.

He smiled wistfully. “Hel breathed a half-frozen life into me, took my baby’s heart out, and kept it in a bird cage in her Hall. I fetched it while you were sleeping. Your friendship over these long years has melted my heart, dear one. My yearling.”

He took the heart, bloody, and with magick sealed it back inside his body. Suddenly, he came to life - white hair now black, eyes settling into gray. He stood, taking my hands in his and squeezing them hard, tracing my knuckles with his thumb, careful to sheathe his talons.

“I had no idea,” I whispered, tears of joy in my eyes.

“Be mine, Rini,” Vex nearly begged, words swimming like honey from his husky voice. “I was already yours long ago, that snowy night you saved me.”

“I belong to you, Eareandel.”

He smiled sweetly at his name, leaning in for a tentative kiss on my cheek. I planted my lips square on his, not letting him hesitate, and we fell onto the floor on the bearskin right there, the fire roaring in the hearth, with memories of light elves dancing in the frosted jewel trees.

“I belong to you too, Katarina,” Vex breathed as he traced my form. We made love like a glacier melting, slow and tender at first, then fast as Huginn and Muninn’s perilous flights.

When we were spent, after hours of cavorting in each other’s tenderness — his touch now warm, so familiar I could trace my ribs in his own chest — Vex cleaned me up, swept me up in soft blankets, and carried me to his bedroom.

It was beautiful, decked out in fine polar bear fur, framed art of nature, and reindeer skins. Fancy weapons and cluttered bookshelves filled it with the scent of fir, tea, and old paper.

He laid me down, pressed a kiss to my cheek, then got down on one knee. Swaddled like a newborn in his silk sheets, I looked at him in embarrassment.

“What are you doing, Vex?” I pleaded. “That was wonderful, but you needn’t bow to me.”

He pulled a fine platinum ring with a diamond like ice from his pocket. “Marry me, Katarina Olafsdottir.”

“Yes, yes!” I wept, and he slipped it onto my ring finger.

And that was how the Snow King’s heart melted, and a girl

Found her own
Treasure
At the bottom
Of Mimir’s
Well.