A/N: Thank you for reading this far. This thing has been an absolute monster to edit. Anyways, I wanted to mention that there is a huge discrepancy between Vidar's character and the mythical Vidar, and that is in the Prose Edda he is described as being "the silent god." I decided not to go with this characterization of him because as an important character in the endgame, I wanted him to be active in the rest of the story. I'll be using more of that silent characterization for Vali when he is introduced much later.
An announcement interrupted our lesson on the human life cycle.
"Tonight's football game against Egypt has been cancelled," said Snorri, "because..." Papers shuffled. "Oh...yikes...because the quarterback has been dismembered. Please keep our friends at Bark of a Million Years High in your thoughts and prayers and be on the lookout for any...loose...body parts...because apparently they've been hidden...all over the country...yeesh, and I thought we had problems. Anyways, worry not. We will be playing an exhibition game at Tuatha De Danaan tonight! So catch the Eagles after school and be ready to cheer on Asgard!"
The class cheered, except for Thor and Vidar, whom I know had been benched due to their theft of Olympus High's cornerstone. Tyr was also benched, though I knew he was training to rejoin the team once he got a better handle of his one-handedness.
"Are you excited, Miss Edda?" Freya asked slyly.
"Oh? Well, of course, I will come and see you tonight, along with the other teachers," I said.
"Other teachers," Freya said. "Right..." She winked, and I didn't know why, so I continued with my lesson.
Transportation between mythological schools was fairly easy due to our numerous methods of magical transport. The method of choice for Asgard was to take the Eagles which resided at the top of Yggdrasil. This would be my first time using them, and Sigyn volunteered to show me the way. The path to the Eagle Port was a series of bridges and stairs leading through Yggdrasil's top branches. I was grateful that the foliage was very thick, as I didn't want to see how high up I was. Sigyn also kept me occupied with chatter.
"It is a shame about Thor, Vidar, and Tyr," said Sigyn. "Although selfishly, I am hoping that this will give Narvi an opportunity to play more."
Narvi was a quiet loner who hung out alone at the back of the class with Loki and Sigyn. He seemed to be one of the youngest in the bunch, relatively, and mostly wore black or graphic tees. "Oh, yes," I said vaguely. "Narvi doesn't seem the type to be into football."
"He's really not," said Sigyn. "But, he has his competitive streak, just like his father. Loki of course always takes an active roll in our plays." Sigyn beamed with pride. "Narvi got my tact for sure, and Loki's wit, but sometimes it does make for an awkward combination."
"Oh my gosh," I said. "I'm so sorry. I forgot Narvi was your kid!"
Sigyn laughed. "Everyone does! Everyone forgets he is even there. That's now Narvi likes it. He's at that age, you know."
I laughed at the idea of a god being "at that age," but Narvi did give off angsty teenage vibes. The 1600s are a difficult time for all, aren't they?
Tuatha De Danaan was located on the Massachusetts coast. The school was an enormous collection of castles on an island. It put Hogwarts to shame. Literal faeries directed parking, and magical boats took us across to the island. I shared a boat with Mr. Surter.
"Good to see you, Miss Edda," he said.
"This is amazing," I said. "I feel like I'm in a fairy tale."
"You are in a fairy tale," he said with a wink. "First football game?"
"Oh, of course not," I said. "You know I grew up in the Midwest."
Mr. Surter chuckled. "You are in for quite the surprise, then."
"What? Oh no. Is this...soccer?"
"Oh, gods, no," Surter scoffed. "No, it's football. But, well, you'll see."
We arrived at the main island and followed the crowd through to the stadium at the center. Mrs. Smith was talking to a familiar looking man at the gate.
"Have a good game, Mrs. Smith!" Surter called to her.
"Hell yeah!" Mrs. Smith replied, waving back. "Miss Edda! Good to see you!"
"Thanks, Mrs..." My voice broke, because I realized why the man beside Mrs. Smith looked so familiar, and that was because I had drunkenly fallen into his lap once. Tim MacBeth looked up at my name, and I hid behind Mr. Surter. Thankfully neither Mrs. Smith or Mr. Surter perceived anything odd. "Thanks, Mrs. Smith!" I finished.
"Have fun!" Mrs. Smith called, and we continued on.
So no, I didn't go see Tim MacBeth sing at the Beat Kitchen. It wasn't because I didn't want to. I just chickened out. Thought it would be too strange to just show up alone to see a guy I'd met once under extremely weird circumstances.
"Is Mrs. Smith a ref or something?" I asked.
"A ref? No, she's the coach!" Surter replied.
I laughed. "That makes sense!" So Tim must be the coach for TDD. I felt my face flush, and turned away from Surter to gape at the sights of Tuatha De Danaan.
Surter and I found seats with Ms. Jiro and Mr. Pewter. Mr. Ryans directed our elven band, which was currently playing Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song." No, really. You can't make this stuff up. The Valkyries made up our cheerleaders. They sang the iconic "ahhhhhhhh" in the song, riling up our extremely rowdy crowd.
It took me a while to piece together who the Valkyries were and how they functioned in the school. They didn't have their own class. They simply served the school and kept things running. Snorri told me they didn't leave the school, ever, although it was possible for a Valkyrie to lose their status and become demoted to the Midgard class.
Snorri pushed through the students to us. "Welcome to football, Miss Edda," he said. "Shame this has to be your first game. It's going to be rough without Thor, Tyr, and Vidar."
"You did what you had to do," I said.
"Homecoming should be more fun," he said. "Against Olympus."
Everyone who heard the word "Olympus" spat, creating an unpleasantly wet environment in the stands.
I will try my best to describe this spectacle called "football." I suppose it was close enough. It had the classic oblong ball, the goal posts, the end zone, and the objective was the same. But the way the students accomplished the objective was not always the same. In all honesty, it was genius, letting the students get all of their aggression out on this ball instead of an all-out god war.
The quarterback of the Tuatha de Danaan was a huge god called Dagda. Their team lined up, hiked the ball, and Dagda swung an enormous club to hit the ball to the end zone. Our boys took off. Loki transformed into a falcon to try to catch it. Hermod, our fastest runner, nearly caught up to it, when a huge green arm popped out of the end zone and grabbed the ball. The Celts went wild. Bagpipes blared through the stadium.
"THAT WAS BULLSHIT!" Mrs. Smith cried, grabbing Snorri.
"WHAT'S WRONG, MRS. SMITH?! AFRAID OF A LITTLE MAGIC?!" Tim MacBeth taunted.
"Oh, this is going to be difficult," said Mr. Surter. "Our boys don't do magic. TDD's whole team uses it."
"That's right," a heavily accented voice announced. "A record touchdown from TDD's Cernunnos with the assist from Dagda. This is looking to be a classic fight of magic vs. brute strength, and it's not looking good for strength."
The bagpipe band played "Do You Believe in Magic?" and Mrs. Smith called a time out. Tim MacBeth looked on smugly from the other side.
Our team broke, and the gods lined up. The Celts hiked the ball again, and Dagda swung his club, but as they did so, a brilliant flash of light came from the Nords, and Dagda missed. The Celts scrambled. Hermod cut through their line with the ball. Our side of the stadium cheered. Someone on our team, I suspected Odin, had caused Balder to literally glow, and the light was bouncing off our team's metal shields. The Valkyries swooned. Cernunnos, the Celt's tall, horned, green god thrust his arm frantically into the ground, and vines started to spring up all around Hermod. Hermod lept over them, but they were becoming too thick.
"Hermod coming down fast for the Nords," said the announcer. "Can Cernunnos stop him? OHHHH!"
The vines dissipated. Loki had sprung past their defenses to tackle Cernunnos. Cernunnos's body was burnt. Loki shot a fireball into the air with a flourish. Snorri blew the whistle, and he and Tim rushed onto the field. After some deliberation, Cernunnos was taken out of the game. Our side went wild.
"Loki of Asgard delivers a crushing blow to the Celts, injuring Cernunnos. TDD will have to come up with a new strategy going into the next play, with Asgard mere yards away from a touchdown," said the announcer.
The game continued thusly, with the Nords winning only insofar as Cernunnos was incapacitated. The Celts had multiple healers on their side that could revive him. By the fourth quarter, it was time for a new strategy. Asgard was down 36 to 53. During their time out, I saw Tyr approach the huddle. The team gasped and nodded. Mrs. Smith flagged down Snorri, who raised a black flag to the other side. Tim pumped his fist, and both sides of the stadium went crazy.
"What's this?" I asked. "What's that flag mean?"
"IT'S MONSTER TIME!" the announcer shouted. "Each team is allowed one monster on the field. Let's see who the Nords will choose..."
"No," I whispered. Fenrir wolf, who goes wherever Tyr goes, started onto the field, with Tyr riding on top. The team went wild, and began chanting, "WE WILL RAGNAROK YOU!" The audience and band picked up on it and joined the chant.
"That's gutsy," said Surter.
"That's awesome!" I exclaimed. "GO TYR!"
"The Nords have chosen Fenrir wolf," said the announcer. "Due to the threat of the world ending at his release, he must remain bound and in the care of Tyr. This is the first time Tyr will be taking the field since the wolf ate his hand off."
Tim smirked. I knew next to nothing about Celtic Mythology, I must confess. I had no idea what might be coming next, but he seemed undeterred by the threat of Fenrir. He turned to the crowd, and the crowd began to chant something. I strained my ear to hear.
"EVIL EYE! EVIL EYE! EVIL EYE!"
"The Celts have chosen...BALOR OF THE EVIL EYE!" the announcer said with excitement. And then a giant walked onto the field. This man was about the same size as Fenrir, double the size of Dagda. He kept one of his eyes closed. I also perceived "Eye of the Tiger" was playing on their bagpipes.
Fenrir and Balor took the back of their team's lines. Our team stared nervously at Balor. The Celts had the ball. They hiked it to Dagda, who swung his club, and Fenrir lept forward to catch it. Between Fenrir's jaws the club split, and Tyr caught the ball with one arm. "Hermod!" he cried.
But Hermod, along with most of the Nordic team, had fainted, for Balor had opened his eye. Only Odin, Loki, Tyr and Hoder remained.
"RUN TYR!" Mrs. Smith shouted. "Keep your head down!"
Tyr scratched Fenrir behind the ears and whispered something, and the wolf bounded forward. Balor met them, and Tyr kept his head down as the wolf did battle with the giant. The struggle became too great, and Tyr rolled off.
"Balor and Fenrir have clashed! But where is the ball now?" the announcer asked. It was a fair question. Tyr hadn't emerged. Then, Snorri blew his whistle.
"There!" I cried, pointing to Tyr on the ground. He had been tackled by a Celtic player who also had one arm.
"Nuadha makes the tackle for the Celts!" the announcer cries.
Odin and Loki had been trying to hold down the rest of the Celtic players. I saw Nuadha get off Tyr, and Tyr held up his hand and smiled.
"What's this? Tyr doesn't have the ball!" said the announcer.
Everyone looked around frantically. Odin and Loki held up their hands as well. Then all eyes fell on Hoder, hanging out in the end zone with the ball. Our end zone.
"Ummm," said the announcer, "a touchdown for the Celts...by...Hoder of the Nords?"
"Oh noooo!" I cried. "Poor thing!" I hopped out of my seat.
"Miss Edda? Where are you going?" asked Surter.
"He's going to be mortified, and damn Loki won't let him live this down, always picking on him for his blindness!" I rushed away to the sidelines.
"Blind," Surter repeated. "Ah. That explains a lot."
A tin whistle announced the end of the game, and the Celts had begun to flood the field in celebration. I thought the sound of bagpipes would make my ears explode. The Asgardians were sulking into the locker rooms.
Mrs. Smith was fuming. "Never again. NEVER AGAIN! ODIN! I thought you could foresee everything!"
"It's my understanding that Odin can see all that is, not necessarily all that will be," I said.
"Miss Edda?" Mrs. Smith asked. "What are you doing here?"
"MISS EDDA!" Tyr called.
"Tyr! You were excellent!" I said.
Tyr hung his head. "We failed, Miss Edda."
"I don't see it that way," I said. "Nobody expected you to take the field, and using Hoder against Balor was genius! Well, almost."
"Yeah," sighed Tyr. "I feel bad, because it was all my idea."
Balder lead Hoder through the revelry of the crowd to the locker room entrance.
"Hoder," I said.
"Miss Edda?" Hoder asked. "Have you come to yell at me too?"
"No, I came to say good job," I said.
He raised his head. "But we lost, Miss Edda," said Hoder.
"But you didn't see what I saw," I said.
"I know, Miss Edda," he said miserably. "I can't see anything!"
"Ah, no, I meant," I said, "to get the ball from Tyr before he got tackled, and then get all the way through the enemy lines, it was really spectacular!"
"I wish I'd have seen it," said Balder. "I got knocked out."
"Heh, I guess," said Hoder. "Thanks, Miss Edda. On homecoming, We'll destroy Olympus in your name!"
And of course, every Nord in the vicinity spat.
I went with the teachers to a local pub afterwards. Mrs. Smith was drowning her sorrows in beer and fried food. When our third order of mozzarella sticks arrived, a rowdy group entered the pub screaming "HAIL MACBETH!"
"Fuck!" Mrs. Smith cursed. I stared down at my beer as the locals clapped. When I looked up, I saw someone put a paper crown on Tim's head.
"Stop!" he laughed. "I didn't do anything!"
"But we've been overshadowed by Asgard since this whole mythological-school deal began!" spat one of Tim's companions.
"And we made them look like the morons they are!"
"HAIL MACBETH!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
Mrs. Smith couldn't take it. She slammed down her beer and stood up. "Ohhh yess, hail Macbeth! And don't you know what happened to the great King MacBeth?"
Tim MacBeth turned to Mrs. Smith. "Well...what are these/ so withered and so wild in their attire/ That look not like the inhabitants of the earth/ And yet are on it?"
"Don't you quote Shakespeare at me, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle!" Mrs. Smith retorted.
"Jesus," said Mr. Surter. "Don't call him a dick in Shakespearean."
"It's alright," said Tim, "No hard feelings. Hey, good game." He extended his hand. Mrs. Smith grumbled, but she shook it. "Impressive Shakespeare skills too."
"Credit where credit is due, I suppose," said Mrs. Smith.
Tim turned to me. "Miss Edda. I was delighted to see that your student is doing okay."
"Oh," I said. "Yeah. Thanks." Wow, aren't I a charmer. I tried to recall some of my Shakespeare, but all I could remember was "to be or not to be" and that didn't really make any sense here.
"Was this your first game?" he asked.
"It was, yeah," I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mr. Surter smirking. Was I blushing? I felt heat rise to my cheeks. If I wasn't before, I certainly was now.
"Sorry we beat you so bad," he said.
"Alright, Mr. MacBeth, I think we've had enough out of you," said Mrs. Smith, pushing him away.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Let me buy you all a round..." Tim stammered.
"We don't need your charity," Mrs. Smith declared.
"Wait," I squeaked, before being interrupted by Freya's voice. "MISS EDDA!" My face must have turned pale. She was standing beside a thin man with long blonde hair. He wore an Asgard jersey, and I realized this must be her twin brother Frey. She pulled me away from my group.
"Freya!" I scolded. "What are you doing?"
"Miss Edda," she said. "I found you a new man!"
Are you FREAKING kidding me?!
"Freya," I said as calmly as I could, "I told you, I'm not going to date your brother."
"No, not him. HIM," Freya said with a flourish to a 2-top table in the corner, and sitting there was a man I can only describe as Tom Hiddleston's Loki.
"Oh," I said, softening. "Freya, no, you can't keep doing this."
"His name is Joshua," she said. "He's an architect. Makes lots of money. This is a much better match than Timmy, I know it. You can't be with Timmy anymore now anyways."
"Well, uhh, wait, why not?"
"Miss Edda," Freya said, taken aback. "Timmy is our enemy now. It would be dishonorable to consort with a Celt." She spat on the ground.
"Oh," I said. "Of course."
So I sat down across from Joshua. I had to admit, he was way hotter than Tim. Long, dark hair you could sink your fingers in. (I didn't, for the record.). A strong jawline and large, green eyes you could get lost in. He wore a nice leather jacket and a button down shirt. He had a nice watch on one of his wrists, clearly expensive. We ordered beers, and I apologized for Freya. He confessed he'd gone to the game just to admire the castles, and we nerded out about that for a while until Dropkick Murphys started blasting throughout the pub. At the bar, the TDD faculty was jumping around and shouting along to the song, and I couldn't help but laugh. I looked back to Joshua, who had thrown his hands over his ears, and I laughed more.
"Well, so much for getting to know each other," Joshua said. "Want to pick up this conversation another time?"
"Oh, okay," I said, not seeing what the big deal was about the music. We exchanged numbers in our phones.
I returned to my friends, who were packing up and getting ready to leave. Mrs. Smith was still shooting death glares at TDD. "What was all of that about?" Surter asked.
"Freya is trying to set me up," I said.
"Ah," he said. "Any luck?"
"Umm," I said, casting a glance at the bouncing lunatics at the bar. "Not today, no."
"I'm sorry," said Surter. "You're doing a good job with them, though. Your students."
"Oh, thanks," I said. My stomach rumbled. "Looks like I missed dinner. McDonald's it is, then."
Surter laughed and walked me out of the pub, my ears ringing with Irish punk rock.
Saturday night, I poured myself a glass of wine and started through the essays I'd assigned this week. Human sexuality. The gods had very regressive and narrow views on the topic that needed some work. The essay on top was Loki's titled "Sister Wives: An Analysis of Polyamory in the Human World." Oh boy.
By the time I got to Freya's, titled "Adventures on Porn Hub," I had gone through a bottle. I didn't think I could go on. Also, I got irrationally angry at Freya. "Timmy is our enemy now. It would be dishonorable to consort with a Celt." Who was she to tell me who I could and could not consort with? The goddess of love? Well, okay... but why though? Why did one sports game instantly make the Celts go from an okay group of people and gods to sworn enemy?
My phone buzzed. A text message from Josh Landers. It said, "hey."
I called an Uber.
I went to the Beat Kitchen.
I asked for a table alone where I could do some work. The man, who I could only assume was Lord Hipster from Bragi's story, looked at me incredulously. "This is open mic night, ma'am," he said.
"I can multitask," I said.
"It gets loud," he said.
"I'll tip well," I said.
"Come on in," he said.
I got a table towards the back of the bar and stared down at Freya's essay. I was wearing sunglasses and a fedora because I wasn't sure I wanted to be recognized, but it made it really hard to read Freya's smutty essay, so I had to take the sunglasses off. The waitress came to get my order, looked at the title of Freya's essay, and raised her eyebrow. I blushed. This was a bad idea. Like, a really bad idea. Grading essays was not a good excuse for going alone to watch a guy you barely know and care about way more than you should. Especially when the topic of said essays was "human sexuality." I put the essays away.
Lord Hipster took the stage, if you could call it that. It was just a little raised platform at the front of the restaurant. My food arrived, a chicken bacon ranch wrap with sweet potato tater tots. They were pretty good. Lord Hipster started reciting poetry. I giggled internally as I remembered Bragi's story. This guy was just as bad as Bragi had said.
"Though I'm as tall as a six-foot-three tree/Sometimes when I close my eyes, it's just like I can't see," Lord Hipster declared as if he were quoting Aristotle. The audience snapped, and I laughed into my napkin.
"Oh geez," a voice behind me groaned. I turned, and Tim was standing in the aisle with his guitar. I whipped my head back quickly and scrambled for my sunglasses. He didn't see me.
"Our next performer is a regular here at the Kitchen," Lord Hipster announced. "Please welcome Timothy MacBeth!"
"You can just call me Tim," said Tim. He walked to the platform, sat on the stool, and placed his guitar on his lap, which reminded me of when I had drunkenly fallen into the same lap a few weeks ago.
He strummed the guitar. I don't know what I was expecting to hear, but I was not disappointed with what I did. He sang folk tunes. His voice was raspy, but not in a grungy way. Unfortunately, I liked it a lot. During his third song, I took off my sunglasses. He made eye contact with me and smiled.
When his set was over, the waitress dropped off my check, and my wine wore off. I was painfully aware of where I was. I put my credit card in the little wallet and hoped nervously that she would return soon.
"Well hey."
Tim was sitting across from me. "Oh, hey," I said. "Nice job. I liked that."
"Thanks," he said. "I was beginning to think you'd never show up."
"I come here a lot, actually," I lied.
"Oh, really," said Tim, not buying it.
"I like to grade papers here," I said, sticking with it.
"On a Saturday night," he said. "You come to an open mic night to grade papers."
"That's right," I said, pulling my stack of essays out of my bag. He picked one up. Thor's gem titled "MISS EDDA DID YOU KNOW THERE ARE GUYS WHO LIKE TO PUT THINGS IN THEIR BUTTS?!"
"Charming," he said. "B+, huh?"
"He is trying so hard," I said.
"The first paragraph is just 'teeheehee' over and over."
"So much restraint!"
Tim handed the essay back to me and laughed. "Let me buy you a drink."
"Okay."
As the night progressed we weren't paying attention to any of the performers.
"My students would be really disappointed with me right now," I confessed.
"Why is that?" he asked.
"Apparently you're the enemy now," I said.
"Oh?" he asked. "Because we beat you yesterday?"
"That's right," I said. "Silly, right?"
"Nah," said Tim. "I get it."
"Really?"
"They're gods," said Tim. "They have a lot of pride."
"That is true," I said.
"So how many guys has your love goddess student thrown at you?" he asked.
"Just two," I said. "Hey, how did she get you to come with her that day, anyways?"
He laughed. "I was grocery shopping," he said.
"Grocery shopping," I repeated incredulously.
"Yep," he said. "And she tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'hi, my name is Freya. I'm the Norse goddess of love, and there's someone I want you to meet.'"
I stared at him in disbelief. "That's it?" I asked.
"That's it," he said.
"You just went with her," I clarified. "You didn't say anything else to each other."
He shrugged. "Who was I to refuse such an offer?" The insanity of it all continued to sink in. "If I may be so bold," he said, "I don't think she did half bad."
"No," I admitted.
Lord Hipster interrupted us. "Last call, Timothy," he said.
"Uhh," Tim said, "the check would be fine, I think."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Thank you." Lord Hipster left. Most of the other patrons had already gone home. "I had no idea we've been here so long."
"Same time next week?" Tim asked.
"Uhh, yeah," I said. "Definitely. I won't bring essays next time. Or sunglasses."
"Good!" Tim laughed. "Unless, of course, it is very sunny."
"Of course," I said.
"I'll pick you up," he said. He handed me his phone so I could put in my phone number. When I gave it back to him, he made a face. "Miss Edda," he read. "You don't have a first name? It's just 'Miss'?"
"I do," I said, "but I hate it."
"What is it?"
"Mary Ann," I whispered.
"Mary Ann Edda," He repeated. "I think it's beautiful."
I stared down at my phone to call an Uber, hoping he would not see the intensity of my blushing.
