(SIGYN)
It was nothing. Only a bit of fatigue. Grid kept me up nights reading about history and tasked me with buzzing all over the fortress with menial errands. Of course I'd be tired—anyone would be.
Yet at night, I couldn't sleep. And no sleep meant no Loki. When I did rest, my body woke prematurely, long before the sun. I'd toss and turn on my uncomfortable cot, waiting for exhaustion to take me away, but it didn't. Instead my mind ran circles around itself. Would he notice I was missing? Did he search for me? Had I let him down?
All this was but a minor inconvenience against how my body ached in ways I'd never known. My head pounded for days on end. Every time I felt like it was finally about to subside and leave me in peace, the nagging would crop up again. Of course, it didn't surprise me how it faded like clockwork after a meal—I was ravenously hungry but unable to eat. Nothing was appetizing. My diet mostly consisted of lukewarm water and stale biscuits, which were mercifully absent the yeasty odor of fresh bread. Such a thing made my mouth water with nausea.
Three weeks since I'd seen Loki in the astral plane. Three more weeks that my bleed didn't come.
Instead of excitement, I was resentful—on behalf of all the families I'd known who struggled so for such a gift, and for the misfortune of my circumstance. It wasn't an unwelcome surprise, per say, but how could I have been so careless? My relief after the first time Loki and I joined together should've made me even more vigilant. The universe presaged the consequence of our affair, and I ignored it. Now I was too worried about losing him to postpone motherhood. I took it upon myself to carry on his legacy.
The child would come, with or without Loki.
When I finally accepted the truth, I wept. Tears of fear, tears of joy, tears of loneliness...I couldn't stop any of them, and they multiplied. It wasn't the start to a family that I wanted. In less than a year, my life was unrecognizable, and even more changes were on the horizon. So many blessings and nowhere to keep them. Ultimately, I was overwhelmed.
Grid, ever observant, roused me from my tent on the same morning I cried. She came without her list of chores and sat at the foot of my cot instead, staying silent to let me run dry of emotion. Her gentle hand traced circles on my calf to distract and relax me.
I choked into my blanket, "When I came here, you already knew, didn't you? That's why you didn't give me that tincture."
"It was a risk. I chose not to take it."
I snapped, "Liar. All you people here have power I can't even comprehend. It wouldn't have even been real yet. How did you know?"
She sighed, not taking the bait of my irrational outburst and remaining calm. "I can say you are mistaken, but you won't believe me, will you? I can say it was merely a coincidence. But Skuld speaks of fate in the future, Sigyn. She told me the seed of new Yggdrasil would come from afar on the night of your arrival."
"And that meant I had to be with child?"
"It only meant to expect something too small to see. You merely confirmed my suspicions."
I scoffed. "So it's a prophecy? Should I prepare for other fortunes from your moon?"
"Do not doubt that which you don't understand." Grid lowered her eyes and her tone, filling the tent with gravity. "As we're teaching you our ways, please respect them."
I'd gone too far, and I knew it. Sheepishly, I put both feet on the ground and hid my face. "Forgive me. I'm not sure why I've lost my temper so easily."
She tittered, patting my shoulder. "It'll pass. No one here would fault you for being more sensitive."
"I certainly would. My mother's long gone. I never asked her about this." I clenched a fist, missing her terribly and needing her advice.
She turned my face toward her. "Fortunately for you, there are many more in our village, all manner of ages and experiences to guide you. You aren't alone."
I answered with a small smile. "Thank you."
"You must get more sustenance, or you'll have more suffering. I have a breakfast ready for you outside—one that's much more appetizing than stale crusts."
"What is it?" I asked, groaning slightly with a new wave of nausea at the prospect of anything else.
"A blend of cream and citrus. An old trick for how you're feeling now. In time, it will pass, and you'll be more ravenous than you've ever been." Grid stood and brought me up with her, leading me slowly into the summer sun.
Freyr sat by the bonfire on his usual bench and nodded at me. So did Björn. The two women carrying a pack with food and canteens of Grid's concoction eyed me with high brows.
"Do they all know?" I whispered, reflexively covering my belly as if there was something to show.
"More than you might think, but it's because we're tuned to such things." She patted my hand. "Remember, we mean you nothing but joy. It may be beyond what you can accept now, but I believe you carry the key to a future we cannot even fathom. There is great magic within you."
I swallowed hard but tried to hide my panic from her many mystic senses. The pressure was too great. Suffocating and immeasurable. How could I be responsible for something so important? How would I even begin to tell Loki, who was so fragile, more responsibility might break him? The same worries that kept me awake now plagued me in the light, and beneath it all, an undercurrent of the obvious:
Will Loki still love me if we're not alone?
If Grid hadn't introduced me to her special drink, I wouldn't have survived another week, let alone two. She saved me from certain madness just by ending my daily hunger headaches.
The harvest drew closer, and the village had an energy that couldn't be denied. Every evening, those overseeing the crops and flocks would give their reports to a cheerful audience gathered around the bonfire site. Autumn approached with a chill in the air, bidding the oppressive heat goodbye. Wouldn't be long, now.
Loki remained absent from my dreams, but Freyr encouraged me to visit at his side each day. Whatever Björn provided to encourage sleep, it was powerful enough to keep him completely still besides his breathing. I learned to appreciate every inhale. As long as he wasn't suffering, I could find comfort.
I played with his hand and often squeezed it in pulses of three, hoping he might wake enough to reply. It was futile, of course, but I was vulnerable. The tears I shed daily over minor inconveniences were little more than a puddle compared to the oceans I wept for missing him. Missed his touch. Missed his laughter. Missed his stories. He had so much to give, I felt anything I could add to the conversation was mediocre at best, yet he listened when I spoke unlike anyone else. As he'd said, we chose each other.
It was all the more motivation to learn whatever I could from Grid and Freyr about magic. Beyond conduction—what I'd done with Loki already, which required his effort and mine—the oversimplified and slow lessons were easy enough to grasp. Before I was allowed to try anything that might be considered an actual spell, I needed a solid foundation to respect such power.
Grid often quizzed me without warning when I returned from afternoon chores. "Sigyn, how might an amateur's spell be obvious to trained sorcerers?"
"Already?" I sat by the bonfire and caught my breath the best I could, fighting a new wave of my daily nausea.
"If you want to command these skills like Loki does, you must be prepared to recognize these things at all times."
"Fine. Inexperience taints any illusions or spells. It could be visible with a rosy glow, or it might leave a tickling sensation in the mouths of surrounding persons."
"Correct. Have you been practicing with your candles?"
I nodded. "Not fast with it, but I can light them now."
"Flames still red?"
"No. They look as fire should, at least to my eyes."
"Show me." She wouldn't relent from her surprise lesson and picked up a small twig from the bonfire.
I grumbled like an annoyed teenager. "How can you expect me to do it well now when I have no energy?"
"When you arrived, Loki was nearly at death's door, yet he still was able to cloak you both with convincing illusions. If he can do that, you can do this." She held the stick for me again with her brow raised.
Clearly, stubbornness wouldn't relieve me, so I sat up straight and brought in a breath to concentrate. Like when Loki taught me to shoot an arrow, I let all my body's stresses and discomforts settle in the pit of my stomach, moved it to my right arm, and flicked my wrist to send my troubles away.
In an instant, a small flame caught the edge of the twig. It was less impressive in the daylight when compared to the candles I used in my tent when I couldn't sleep.
"Very nice," she said, barely smiling with the corner of her mouth, though her pride was obvious.
"When are you going to teach me the next bit? Dousing a fire is similar, correct?"
Grid tossed the twig back into the pile while shaking her head. "Magic gives life. We do not snuff it out."
"Oh, please." I snickered in disbelief. "Is there a reason you won't teach me that?"
"Teach you what?"
"How to temper a flame. It can be done."
Her eyes narrowed. "Vanir do not practice cold magic. If someone has told you it's possible, they're incorrect."
My first memories of Loki as a child flashed in my mind. Whatever skill he used to save me then, he didn't learn it here. I opted not to argue with her. "Sorry. If you say so."
"I do think you're ready for more, though." She took my hands and looked me squarely in the eye. "I want you to picture something in your mind. An object. Something you would know anywhere, inside and out. Keep it small enough to fit in your palm."
My heart jumped with excitement at something new. I searched my mind for the best option. "Alright. I think I've got it."
"Like you did for your fire, direct all energy here..."—she patted my knuckles on one side—"...and when you open your hands, make it show."
I bit my lip reflexively from nervousness, worried nothing would come from my efforts. Failure wasn't something I was used to in the slightest, and learning was rife with it. But I thought about Mother, who never faulted me for falling short. My first attempt at casting was for her.
"Go on. You're ready."
Slowly, I let Grid unfold my hands, palms up. Between them, a tiny orb of light grew. It shimmered in light pink. As it was, the illusion was unrecognizable.
"Focus on the image in your mind."
"I am." I pulled my hands apart to make it bigger, which magnified the orb until a few landmarks designated my chosen object. A small stem at the top. Rounded sides. Smooth, save for a few divots that made it more real. While it was still surrounded in an aura of light, the yellow and orange tones of the skin made my mouth water with recognition and homesickness.
"Asgardian apple?"
"Yes." I smiled, and my excitement made the fruit come to life all the more. "Looks good enough to eat, doesn't it?"
"Move your fingers this way. Let's see if you can replicate the inside." She touched my right hand gently and mimed swiping straight up, like a cut.
I did the same, but shifted my position so the apple would be on its side when it was split. My memory hadn't failed me. The five seeds in the center made the same star shape I'd loved as a child, printed on my skirts from Mother's hands. They'd always fascinated me. Perhaps she always knew my fate was to travel through the sky.
Grid wiped a tear from my face that I wasn't aware of. "Thinking of home?"
I nodded, sniffing to answer.
"This will be your home soon enough, Sigyn. You're doing well." She brought my hands together again, and the apple vanished. "Keep trying on your own. Harvest isn't far away now; you might be skilled enough to join some of us in celebration spells."
It was a gift to know how I might bring my memories to life, yet so much uncertainty made the future feel dim. I cupped the lower half of my belly and thought about what it would be like to raise a child far beyond all I knew. I still hadn't connected with Loki since that first time, and the longer it took for him to wake, the less hopeful I felt that he'd feel the same when he saw me again.
"I hope there's something really worth celebrating," I muttered.
"Maybe not what you think, but the winds are changing. You can let it guide you, or you can fight it; either way, you won't end up in the same place come winter." Grid left me alone by the bonfire again to ruminate.
After silently cursing my fortunes, I opened my hands and practiced casting the apple again and again, fighting the urge to think of Loki and bring him to life instead.