A/N: In myth, Odin sacrificed his eye in Mimir's well, threw himself onto his spear, and then hung himself in Yggdrasil, the tree of life, for nine days and nine nights in order to gain knowledge of other worlds and be able to understand the runes. There is within mythology a strong current of sacrifice; a price to be paid for forbidden knowledge. Please keep that in mind reading this chapter.

Chapter Forty-Two: Fairest Among the Deathless Gods

Brigid the Smith wore a skirt of shimmering, magical metal that flowed like water down to her knees, and an apron of thick, tooled leather that bore centuries of burn marks. Powerful symbols ran up her bare sides and down her back-a script as ancient as Vanir, but different as well. They looked almost Greek, just as later Futhark symbols bore similarities to Latin.

Though from a distance the center of her domain looked like a crystal cathedral, as they grew closer it changed its shape to a primitive stone castle. A door wide enough for her enchanted boar welcomed them in a great, cobblestone courtyard. The walls were filled with shimmering paintings. As Taylor looked at one, her breath caught in her throat. She rushed toward it and stared longingly.

Taylor's father, fully bearded and fierce, stood with his arms crossed in a room filled with men and women arguing. Some looked Middle Eastern in complexion, while others were clearly sub-Saharan. He looked upon them with a partially hidden scowl. He wore an army uniform of some kind, in desert fatigues with a beret spun on his bald head.

A painting next to it showed a great court-a room as large as the largest gymnasium, filled with men and women in traditional Chinese silken robes in a variety of color, waiting on a very young man on a throne, flanked by two equally young women on either side.

The Emperor of China. The Emperor and his parahuman army, the Yangban, seized control of the nation and renamed it the Chinese Union Imperial in the early nineties. The current emperor was the son of the now deceased first emperor.

Each painting showed a different scene. Though the contents moved like a video, the people and settings were clearly made of a magical paint. The whole was breath-taking. Painting by painting, Brigid saw the entire world.

"Artist, poet, smith and saint." The goddess stepped to her side. "I lost my son Ruadán to the Formorians. And thirty-odd years ago, I lost my people to the Destroyer. Now only my brother Aengus remains. And you, cousin."

"I saw them all," Taylor said to the woman. She turned and looked up into Brigid's powerful gaze. "All the lost gods. He rests in the Between, his true form. Mother was there, with the others. She told me to seek you out, but I couldn't find you."

"You weren't ready yet," Brigid said. "Only a divine being fully realized, with the worship of mortals, may wield the weapons you will need to wield. To wear the armor you must wear. But it will be no easy thing, child. Your spirit was tested and you almost failed. If not for Sedna's child behind you, you would have perished. But now? Now child, your faith and determination must be tested in truth. And if you fail, all of creation fails."

"So, no pressure, right?"

The ancient goddess gave Taylor a frank look, and then slapped the back of her head. "Don't talk back to your elders. Your Da was too feckin' soft, I tell you. Come on, then. You'll have to find your own weapon, but the armor at least I can do ye. Now...one moment, please."

"Bollox," Aengus said behind them.

Suddenly the domain flashed away, replaced by blinding white light. The walls had been stripped of texture, and the only color came from narrow stained-glass windows filled with images of a pious woman with long, honey-colored hair being held aloft by angels as she prayed. And the large, earthy figure before them was gone, replaced by a glowing figure in a long white gown, her head draped in layers of white whimple.

"Oh, be welcome, blessed child," the Saint of Kildare declared in a voice that rang through the air like the trumpet of angels. Sunline shone down on her despite being inside. "Your purity is refreshing in these halls!"

"What, winged girl's a fecking virgin, then?" Aideen muttered.

The saint reached out a hand and thumped Aideen on the head hard enough to hear. The girl winced. "What're you on 'bout?"

"Close your lips, foul-mouthed harlot!" the saint declared. "Don't think your impure thoughts and lascivious ways are not known before the Lord! Harlot, I say! Whore most foul! And…"

"Sister!" Aengus called. "The saint's well and good and all, but the feckin' world's gonna die and it ain't 'cause of no Judgment Day."

"If the world passes, then what fear have I? Those who have accepted the love of Christ into their hearts shall be welcomed to the bosom of the Lord, and…"

In another blinding flash, the Saint was gone. Brigid once more stood in her cinder-marked apron and metallic skirt.

"You hit me!" Aideen said.

Brigid frowned at the girl, then hit her on the head again. "That boy Ian is not a good match for you, girl! Don't you know the saint can smell your sins? Tuatha's blade, you stink of him!"

Aideen pouted. "It was just a bit of a tussle is all."

Rather than be angry, her father laughed and gave her a hug. "That's me girl!"

Brigid hit him in the head too. "Stop bein' a cunt, Aengus." She stretched her back and shook her head before nodding for Taylor to follow her into the courtyard. "Brother, take the mortals back. Have your child leave her armor-I'll fix it later."

"I need to stay with Taylor," Narwhal said.

Narwhal was considered one of the top ten most powerful capes in the world. She stepped back at Brigid's look. "You may be a whelp of Sedna, child, but this is my Domain and the Destroyer's seed resides in you. Your presence is offensive to me. And the saint in me smelled your wanton ways. Saint or smith, if you do not go, I will strike ye down."

"I'll take her, sister," Angus said quickly. He gathered Aideen and Narwhal and led them toward the door. "Wanton ways, eh? So, love, do you want to see my magic sword?" he asked Narwhal as they left.

Taylor heard Aideen squawk indignantly. "That's what ya said to me mum, you randy shite!"

Then they were gone and Taylor found herself alone in the presence of a being easily as powerful as her. Perhaps more so.

"A god's power is limited by their nature," Brigid said, somehow sensing Taylor's thoughts. "I am not a warrior. That was never my role. In the olden days I could still fight, but not since the mortals syncretized me with that bloody saint. Bound I am, just as your mum was. Now, my power can only be expressed through my works. Just as your healing is expressed through enchantment or potions. Come."

The interior of Brigid's home looked oddly mundane. Taylor saw an old 50's era refrigerator and stove against a stone wall next to a large, deep sink. Opposite the entry was a food preparation area and a basket of turnips, onions and potatoes. She couldn't find a piece of fruit other than a few berries. There was, however, cheese and milk of an amazing variety.

They passed what looked like the formal hall of a castle that had been converted into a library and sitting area, with a few luscious, ancient chairs set around the hearth of a massive fireplace. All along the walls were more moving paintings of scenes both current and past. Taylor felt her feet slow when she saw, in one corner, a painting of her mother scratching the giant boar's stomach and laughing gaily.

Through another door and down a long, poorly lit corridor, they emerged in Brigid's workshop.

It looked like a cross between Kid Win's tinker workshop, and what she imagined a classical engineer's workshop might look like. Rope, leather and steel were thrown haphazardly about. She saw disassembled computers and televisions, and a gutted Astin Martin in one corner. Cauldrons bubbled over endless flames within reach of arcade video games and industrial presses.

At last they came to a massive, ancient hearth. An endless red flame rose as tall as Taylor, surrounding a cauldron the size of a Volvo.

"In the ancient days, while humans tinkered with copper and stone, the gods brought forth bronze," Brigid said. She stared intently at Taylor. "This was true for all the ancient pantheons of the west. We taught our followers the secret, and for ourselves brought forth iron. Again, we taught our followers the secret, and brought forth for ourselves steel. But by this time the Christians came and waged war on our followers. They took our secrets and used it against our people, until even the greatest of us fell or fled. Ragnarök took your mother's people, while the priests stole our followers from us, reducing us greatly in power. When we brought mithril into the world, we told no one. We shared it with no other gods, not even your parents. Only one mortal in all the years learned of it, and he spoke of it only as legend and myth."

She pointed one long, muscular arm at the cauldron. "In that vessel boils the last mithril in creation. Made into armor, like what I did for Aengus' mortal get, it is nigh but unbreakable. But shaped into the armor of a god, you could walk unharmed on the sun itself. But for it truly to bond with you, a sacrifice must be made and a quest undertaken. This is the nature of divinity. Do you understand, child?"

The goddess at one point switched from English to the most ancient tongue of her people-a godly language only a step removed from the First Tongue that planted the meaning of each word directly into Taylor's mind like bullets. She wasn't talking about sacrificing food and beer.

"Long have I searched for a way to defeat the Destroyer," Brigid continued. "We spoke often, your mum and I, in the years after my people died. Her power was not to craft weapons, but to create magic and life. Kratos's power was war, but he was a wielder of weapons, not a creator of them. Me, though? I am the last divine smith in the world. The seeds of the Destroyer made sure of it, in the Western realms and the East. But even by my hand alone, I cannot craft a weapon sufficient to kill the Destroyer. I can, however, make such a weapon whole again."

"I don't understand," Taylor admitted.

"In the time of Ragnarök, your uncle Freyr waged battle against the Jotunn god Surtr. It was Surtr, at the end, who cast Asgard down and killed the gods. He did so with Haevatein-Bane of Asgard. The sword broke when Asgard burned and Surtr died, but his wife Sinmara gathered the pieces of the blade and took them back to their home of Gastropnir, in the last embers of Muspelheim. It is that blade which you must fetch for your weapon; it is the embers of Muspelheim you must claim for your weapon to be made whole."

The words kept striking Taylor's mind, imparting images and history. Context and emotion. Loss and pain and anguish. Surtr's rage at the slaughter of the Jotunns brought tears to Taylor's eyes, while terror seized her heart at the mention of Sinmara's name. What kind of woman loved a man destined to kill the world?

"You have your fate, child," Brigid said. "A fate woven about you by your mum, and through her, the Norns themselves. But even for us gods, there is also will. What must be done is going to test you as nothing else. So ask yourself if this is what you want."

"What?"

"What do you want, child?"

The question rang in her mind, as only a query from a goddess could do. It brought up images—of Helga Herren staring up at her with blood on her hands and a prayer on her lips. Of Marie Herren's fear and trepidation, but also her longing to be better than she was raised to be. Of Ty Washington longing for something to protect and fight for.

Longing, hope, Fear. "I want to save them all," she said.

Brigid understood—how could she not. "You would take all humanity under your wings?"

"I…they're just so beautiful." She felt her eyes water at the thought of all those souls. "Their anguish and joy. The love and loss. The hope… I want them to live, Brigid. I'll do anything for them."

For a long time, the goddess said nothing. "It is a heavy burden you would take, child. Are you sure? Other's who've tried have paid terrible prices for their love."

Taylor nodded. "I love them, Brigid. All of them. They're just so beautiful. They're worth fighting for."

"So let it be. You'll have to seek Haevatein in Muspelheim."

"How, though?" Taylor asked. "Dad said the only way to travel between realms was the Bifrost, and that was broken during Ragnarök. The realms don't even exist."

"Something of the realms remain," Brigid said. "Or else my words would not ring true. I cannot tell you how to find what you seek, child. That task is yours and yours alone. I only tell you this-if you cannot gain Haevatein and the embers of Muspelheim, then you will not have earned the Mithril and your weapon. And without the Mithril and without the sword, you cannot hope to defeat the Destroyer."

Powerful arms gripped Taylor's shoulders and pulled her into a crushing hug. Brigid held her back, and then to Taylor's shock kissed her. Only, it was not a romantic kiss. Rather, what she might have received from her own mother when she was a child.

"You have my blessings, child," the ancient goddess said. "I have told you all I can. It is up to you. Seek Haevatein from Sinmara, the last Jotunn, and seek the embers of Muspelheim. When you have completed this quest, return to me and we will gird you for the final battle. You may stay another day here, but then you must be about your quest."

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

The painting of her mother must have been a long time ago, Taylor thought to herself. She looked slimmer than Taylor remembered. Though she laughed as she played with the giant boar, the laughter never reached her eyes.

"That was just after Asgard fell."

Mimir. He stood beside her, his head intact but his body formed of blue spiritual flames. Within the domain of his kin, he had his own power. "Were you with her?"

"Nay, Little Sister. I was with your father. At the time, he grieved the loss of his one and only son, just as your mother grieved the loss of hers."

"She looks almost happy."

"She tried, Little Sister. I've no doubt she tried. You live long enough, tragedy is inevitable. You must grow strong enough to accept it, or it will destroy you. But here, with Brigid? Who also lost her son to war? They found solace in each other's friendship for a time."

For the longest time, Taylor just stood beside the spiritually whole, if physically decapitated god. "Mimir, how can I get to Muspelheim if the Bifrost is broken?"

"The Bifrost may be broken, child, but Yggdrasil remains. It is by the branches of the Life Tree that you would find your way."

Taylor's breath caught and her chest thudded at the memory of the fire. "I...Mimir, I can't go back there! I couldn't get out and the Destroyer's fire burned one of Sunny's charms! Sunny said I couldn't go back, not until I had eyes to see my way."

Mimir's head, floating atop a spiritual body, turned and stared intently at her with two glowing Bifrost crystals. "Aye, little sister. And as with all things, her words were true."

It took a moment for what he was suggesting to sink in. "What would that do to you?"

"Little sister, the Bifrost crystals are the only thing that's kept your mother's spell active all these centuries. Once rid of them, I will finally rest. But that's not what you're truly asking now, is it?"

"I'd...I'd have to put out my own eyes?"

"Aye, Little Sister."

"Will it hurt?"

"I wouldn'a recommend you do it sober. For me? I drank myself into a stupor with sixteen cups of billow maiden's ale. Got so drunk I almost convinced the Jotuns to put the crystals in my nipples."

Her eyes welled even as she laughed. She looked back at the magical portrait of her mother scratching the giant boar's stomach. "What's it feel like?"

"Little sister, I've not felt a thing for almost two thousand years. Not since I first died. Your mum reanimated me; trapped my soul within this vessel. But the vessel remains dead. When I was alive, though? It was a wonder. You see the truth of a thing, 'tis your power. But with eyes such as these, you would see the truth of all. The crystals can pierce the walls between realms, but only for those with the power to see. I lost that power when I died, but it burns strongly within you. Your mum made sure of it."

Taylor couldn't help but think of the terrible crossbow bolts in her back, or the way Lung stabbed her. That was a pain she never wanted to feel again. And yet...and yet she survived it. She grew stronger from it.

"Would I need to do it myself?"

"Little sister…dearest Taylor, I didn't."

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

She did not find Brigid the Smith. Instead, she found Brigid the Artist standing before a great stone canvas. She used a huge brush made from the bristles of her boar, and where the brush touched, the stone was chiseled away to reveal tantalizing images of a place far away. She did her work in a skirt and nothing else, and Taylor's cheeks burned and the sheer motherliness of the figure before her.

"You stand with a heavy heart, child," the goddess said without turning.

"I...think I know what I need to do, but I'm…" It shamed her to admit it. "I'm scared."

Brigid turned and regarded her intently. In that moment Taylor knew that Brigid saw the truth of her, just as she could see the truth of mortals.

"Come, child. Let me show you a thing." She stood and offered her hand, which Taylor accepted.

Following the powerful, ancient goddess through her halls, Taylor felt as if she were passing through history. The paintings she saw depicted older and older scenes-was that Washington? Was that...was that Napoleon?

Still they continued walking through a maze of old stone corridors until they arrived in a massive dome of stone. A great bonfire of blue flame rose from the middle of the dirt floor, illuminating thousands of paintings. Brigid herself was in a few, along with her fellow Celtic gods. But it was to one painting on the far side that she took Taylor.

Taylor came to a stop and stared, enthralled, as a fourteen-year-old Freya walked down the golden paths of Asgard toward a throne of gold. She was clad in the most sumptuous green velvet, with birds flying about her head and great European lynx at her heels. A shaft of sunlight followed her as she walked down the path flanked by all the gods of the Aesir and Vanir, and other gods as well, until she stood before the vastly older, bristling form of Odin Borrson.

Taylor barely had eyes for the man-all she saw was a great shock of red beard and a patch over the eye he'd sacrificed for knowledge. Instead, she stared at her mother, captured by Brigid's magic in this one transformative moment.

Her mother's hands were trembling, and there were tears burning in her eyes as she looked up at the grim countenance of her future husband.

"It should have been a glorious day," Brigid said, her normally harsh tone softening. "The Aegir-Vanir war raged across the lands of Midgard for hundreds of years. Its end was a cause of great celebration. I was there, as were many of my kin. But I knew when I painted this that though the war was over, the suffering of the Vanir was not. And yet there Freya stood, knowing in her heart that she was being gifted to a monster. She fulfilled her destiny and was made stronger by it. For when the walls of Asgard came crashing down, she yet survived. She alone, of all her kin."

With a hesitant step, Taylor moved closer to the painting and watched as Odin accepted the hand of Freya as his wife, and spoke great words to cement the peace that Freya's hand brought. He named her his queen, and gifted her the most treasured Valkyrie wings. All the while, Odin's single eye held no love, and Freya's face bore no more sign of her fear.

"Mimir said… I need to see with his eyes to find my way," Taylor admitted.

"Aye, thus it was written."

"But...he said I didn't have to do it myself."

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. "I am smith, poet and saint. And healer besides. Your mother sent you to me for more than just the smith, child. If you are set in your course, then I shall help you."

"I don't suppose you have any Billow Maiden's ale?"

Brigid laughed. "No, the nine daughters have no place here, and were lost when Asgard fell besides. But I have as good-the mead of the Tuatha shall suffice."

Mimir had followed her into the hall, empowered by Brigid's magic even more thoroughly than Helga Herren's spirit was empowered by Taylor. "Mimir, will I ever see you again?"

"Mimir was never my true name, Little Sister. It was a title. A domain. A purpose. In truth I have always been Cermait. And I am home. Once released from the prison of my physical remains, I will reside within these halls with my beloved sister, and I will know peace. Don't grieve for me."

Taylor couldn't help but have to wipe her eyes when they grew blurry. "For all your wisdom, I don't think you understand. I'm not grieving for you. I know you'll be happier here. It's...my loss that hurts."

"Of course, it does, Little Sister," Mimir said. "And why not? Even dead, I'm better company than most."

Hesitantly, Taylor reached out to his ghostly form, calling her own spiritual power forward. With a smile on his physical face, his spiritual hand rest in hers and she could feel the truth of his soul. The beauty of the god that was, and the loss of the creature he became, first at Odin's hands and then at her parents.

"I'll miss you, Mimir."

"Aye, I know, child. And I'll miss you as well. For though we had only a short time together, in you I see the best of your parents. Truly you are a hero among gods."

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

The mead did not burn her pallet like her father's whiskey did when she snuck a sip as a child. Or if it did, the fire burned with a different nature. Golden and sweet like nectar, Taylor could feel the magic within it as she drank.

The warmth spilled down into her chest and her stomach. She blinked and another full cup was at her lips and Brigid was leaning over her kindly. "You're so beautiful," Taylor muttered. "Will I be as beautiful as you, one day?"

The ancient goddess cupped her cheek. She didn't smile, much, Taylor thought, but she could see the love of the world and all those who dwelt on it in the goddess's power. "Probably not, child."

For some reason, Taylor found that hilarious.

A third cup did not even burn any more. She drank it like the purest water from her spring. Her limbs felt heavy and a delightful weight rested down on her head. Just turning her head from side to side was a wondrous, happy adventure. A fourth cup came, and she drank it all until her eye lips felt heavy. She looked up into the arched domes of Brigid's domain and found herself singing.

"Hail, day! Hail, sons of day!

And night and her daughter now!

Look on me here with loving eyes,

That waiting my victory win.

Hail to the gods! Ye goddesses, hail,

And all the generous earth!

Give to me wisdom and goodly speech,

And healing hands, life-long.

Give to me strength and courage,

Oh gods and goddesses,

So I may do as I must."

The words ended and Taylor's tongue lay heavy in her mouth. She looked upon her fellow goddess with heavy eyes, knowing her tears ran down her cheeks. "Help me see the truth, sister."

Brigid nodded and brought her strong hands to Taylor's face. "What I do, child, I do for love."

Despite the drink, Taylor screamed.