Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Get in the carriage."
She scowls at me. She is so beautiful when her temper rises. She’s truly exquisite. And she’s entirely mine.
“You don't have to be a tosser," she says. “You’re ruining Norway.”
“Ruining Norway," I laugh. I can't help it. Perhaps I don't want to help it. She is right. I am ruining this. And not just for her. For me too. Bryn wouldn’t like what’s going on here. He’d want her punished and tamed. He’d want her absolutely ruined.
But she doesn’t belong to Bryn. She belongs to me. And seeing her standing here in the wild Norse air, with her curls flying about her head and her eyes gleaming with native mischief, she makes sense. She has found an immediate context. Who am I to take it from her, to crush her spirit and thrash the life from her?
“I'd like to show you my home," I say. “Please. In the carriage.”
Her expression softens slightly, following mine.
“You know," she says. "You really don't have to loathe me. I’m sorry I stole your hammer, but subsequent events have made it fairly clear that was destined. Did I really even have a choice? As for getting chased by the constabulary, yes, I grant you, not an ideal series of events, but again… there's a fatedness to all of this, don't you see?”
"Are you trying to tell me that every time you criminally misbehave it is actually fate’s fault?”
“Yes!” She snaps her fingers and points at me. “Got it in fucking one.”
“Get in the carriage, Anita.”
She does as she is told, grinning with amusement at her own impudence.
I allow myself a smile when she cannot see me. I don’t want to encourage her. She needs a firm hand and a hard limit. She needs to know where the boundaries are, or she will commit atrocities, of that I have no doubt.
Fortunately, the sense of wonder she seems to be experiencing is doing wonders for her behavior.
“Fucking hell! Look at that!”
We round a corner, and she loses her composure well and truly.
Anita
“This is my church,” Thor says.
“This is fucking…”
Describing this building would stretch the abilities of the most able bard. I am not an able bard. I am a slattern from Direford. Slattern. That insult is going to stay with me for quite some time.
It looks like an old church decided to wear a lot of other old churches as hats. There are a lot of roofs over it, triangular constructions hanging heavy over other triangular constructions. Each of those roofs looks like it has been finished with wood dragon scales. There are four gables, presumably aligned with the four most popular directions, and every single one of the tips of those is adorned with a carved dragon head.
“Cool.”
I finish my sentence with a word that doesn’t capture it at all. This is so much more than cool. It is awe-inspiring. It touches some part of me I didn't know was there. I feel reverence in a way I never have. I feel connection. I feel like I could stand here and stare at this building all day and all night long, watching the world turn against the unruly skies.
“It is cool,” Thor agrees, his lips twisting with the understatement. “The trees from which this place was built no longer grow where mortal men may access them.”
"But immortal men might be able to?”
“Everything is eternal in its own way. This world is temporary. What is in it, is not.”
“Very philosophical,” I comment. Thor’s a lot more intellectual than I’ve given him credit for while being distracted by his glorious flowing hair and massive muscles. To be fair, much of our conversation has been centered around how terrible I am and how generally awful I behave and please would I stop blackmailing him for his prized possessions.
“So you're actually a priest?”
“I’m ordained, yes. And I have responsibility for this place, yes.”
“A Norse god becomes a Christian priest?”
“Not a god, and sure, why not. It’s all much of a muchness; these human definitions of the divine mean very little in the end. We are all ants attempting to describe the same elephant.”
"Except your elephant has a hammer that calls thunder from the skies.”
“Life is not as simple as we would have it be,” he repeats. “I hope now we are away from the scene of your many crimes, barring any new crimes, we should be able to discuss the deeper nature of what is happening.”
“You mean I might get some answers.”
He looks at me with intensity. “We both might.”
“Tell me how you ended up with a god shard inside you.” I go right for the first and most obvious answer. He keeps claiming to not be actual Thor, but there is something undeniably divine about him.
“It wasn’t an easy or pleasant experience. I will tell you, but first I would like to go home and get warm.” He shivers. “This air is flowing straight from Niflheim.”