When three Revenants appeared in the chamber, Tryg did not lose his composure or feel afraid, not even when he saw that there were no other enemies, besides them, that he could use to make them tangible; not even when he realized one of them used the same ice magic as the Raven Keeper. He kept his emotions under control, especially his ego, analyzed the battlefield, and then, and only then, advanced.
The good news was that one of the witches who used poisonous magic was also a summoner of Nightmares, and Tryg managed to use their crimson shots to finish off the three wretches, as well as their own projectiles. The bad news was that, for the first time since beginning his new journey through the labyrinth, he was hit — an ice stake that tore away a considerable piece of muscle from his thigh.
When the clash ended, Tryg limped to one of the corners of the room and fell on his backside, dropping Sinmara’s pale sword beside him. Besides being wounded, he was also slightly breathless and sweaty. Training swordsmanship with Sinmara in the morning and facing monster after monster in the afternoon was tiring. Not enough to make him even think about resting along the way, but still...
And to think I still have more training... Well, at least I'm getting better and better at this.
“How many times must I ask you to stop being so soft?” asked the fox nearby, her eyes narrowed with impatience. “Come on. Pick up the sword. Stand.”
He took one of the flasks of Idun fruit juice from his bag and drank. “Give me a moment, please. I just need to catch my breath.”
Sinmara huffed.
Tryg still had not found a good moment to tell the queen about his invasion of privacy, even after two days. In the morning, shortly after waking, Sinmara was always already standing, watching the sunrise with a distant look. Then came training and fights against monsters. And, finally, the night training, dinner, and rest, during which she always cast, every now and then, sorrowful glances toward the flames of the campfire.
To Tryg, it never seemed like a good moment to tell her. And so, uneasy, he simply decided to tell her right after they finished their nightly training, while they were having dinner.
It was night, and the moon illuminated the snowy grass with its gray, intense light. In the warm light of the campfire, Tryg nibbled on Tatzelwurm meat roasted on a spit while casting discreet glances at the melancholy queen near the fire.
After taking on her human form to teach him the basics of swordsmanship, Sinmara had returned to her fox form and had remained that way since then, honoring Tryg’s request and avoiding demanding too much from herself. That made him happy.
She suddenly sighed and, without taking her eyes off the flames, asked, “What is it, young man?”
Tryg’s shoulders jumped. Apparently, his glances were not as discreet as he had thought.
“Um...” he began, hesitant, scratching the back of his neck. “I need to tell you something, Lady Sinmara.”
She finally drew her gaze away from the campfire and stared at him, raising an eyebrow slightly. “What?”
“Well... Before that, I need you to promise you won’t try to kill me after I finish telling you, please.”
Sinmara sketched a weak smile. “I cannot promise that. But I can promise I will try.”
He sighed. “I guess that’s enough. Right...”
Then Tryg told her everything, leaving out not a single detail, stressing the entire time that he had not known then, and still did not know now, how his new gifts worked, and that he had had no intention of invading her mind.
As Sinmara listened, her smile withered and her expression returned to its usual coldness. Tryg had no idea whether his apologies were working, but at least his teacher did not seem to have grown angry.
“That’s it. And, again, it was an accident. I would never do anything that could hurt you. I hope you already know that...”
“I know,” the queen replied, then fell silent for a short moment, the warm flames reflected in her cerulean fox eyes.
Then she said, in a distant, nostalgic tone, “It is all right, young man.” A small smile. “In a way, you even made me a little happier by reminding me of that day. It has been so long...”
“Happier?” he asked. “But the two of you were killing each other. Actually, what happened between you two? I thought—”
Tryg immediately fell silent. Once again, he had let himself be carried away by his curiosity.
He lowered his gaze. “Forgive me. I was insensitive.”
She shook her head. “No, it is all right. I am already used to that unrestrained need of yours to know.”
“Ah...” Tryg threw another piece of root into the campfire. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But I’d be happy to know...”
Sinmara looked away and fell silent, this time for longer, and Tryg thought she would not answer. That she would insist on her isolation. However, after a long moment, the queen finally lowered her walls.
“The two of us were not killing each other. Surtr was the one killing me. I barely even got close to him during the last war we fought. He was absurdly skilled and strong, strong enough for me to truly believe the universe was playing a trick on me. And I, even though I was very good with a sword... Well, I was only a foolish girl who did not want to accept how the world truly worked; who only wanted to paint, sing, and talk.”
Tryg smiled. “I can’t see you as a painter.”
“I agree... But I liked it.” A passing smile, which soon withered. “In any case, I abandoned those tastes millennia ago. I had to abandon them. I had to focus on more important matters.”
Tryg lost his smile and nodded. “Your people...”
“Yes. At the time, I did not know the reason, but the fire giants, the few who still existed, declared war against my people. Later, they justified it as vengeance, even though we had never laid a finger on any of them. We were never warriors or killers. We were mostly artists — painters, sculptors, illustrators. We never wished harm on anyone, not even the Aesir.”
“Then what happened?”
“Odin happened.” Sinmara frowned with hatred. “At the time, the giants had already prophesied Ragnarök, including what Surtr would do to the reign of the Aesir. So, fearing the colossus that would be born from the union between fire and ice — the being destined to destroy Asgard — the All-Father deceived Surtr into thinking we had plotted against his reign and murdered their leader. So that our peoples would destroy each other.”
Of course it was his fault... Tryg thought, resentful, frowning.
Sinmara exhaled. “My people had no choice but to fight. And I, being the one who stood out the most among mine in the art of war, was appointed by our queen as the commander of our armies. But I was not ready. Not to face the fire giants, led by Surtr. I was far too inexperienced and foolish...
“It was a massacre. For both sides. The battle remained evenly matched for a time. We had the numbers, and our enemies had the experience and proficiency for war. And what tipped the scales, in the end, was Surtr. His strength was truly... unfair. He alone was almost as strong as half of our entire army. We managed to eliminate his allies, true, but that did not matter. Surtr still managed to win the war practically by himself and corner me in the end.”
“But you survived,” Tryg pointed out. “How?”
“He let me go. Said it would be punishment enough for me to live alone, isolated as the last of my kind... just as he would live as the last of his.” A scornful chuckle. “I suppose Odin could never have imagined that his enemies would spare each other.”
“That... was cruel.”
“We were cruel as well. We also condemned Surtr to solitude... I condemned him...”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Tryg said without hesitation. “I didn’t mean that Surtr or you were cruel. I was talking about Odin. He’s the one to blame.”
Sinmara shook her head. “We are also to blame. Even if Odin manipulated us, we should not have allowed ourselves to be so carried away by hatred. A single moment of control and civilized conversation would have been enough to prevent the massacre and discover who was, and had always been, our true enemy.”
Tryg lowered his head. His teacher was right, as she usually was. Even so, he could not blame Surtr or her for the disaster both of them had spread.
“And after that?” he asked. “Did you fight Surtr again? Did you forgive him?”
He was insisting on the subject more than his prudence suggested he should, but he wanted to take the opportunity to know more about the queen he had come to value so much — and who had taken so long to open up. Besides, for some reason, he sort of knew Sinmara would answer him now.
She let out a laugh, amused and, at the same time, weakened.
“Why not see for yourself? You should be capable of that with this new snooping gift of yours.”
Tryg blushed. “I already said it was an accident...”
“I know. But that does not make it any less true.” A little laugh. “And just when I was thinking of beginning to trust you...”
He opened his mouth to retort, but froze at the sudden revelation that came to him. That’s it, he thought. That was why his eyes had not invaded Sinmara’s mind right after he awakened his new ability. Trust...
She had begun to trust Tryg. That was the difference that had come to exist between the two of them since that moment. Which meant Tryg could only see the memories of someone who believed in him. Someone who had a connection with him.
Tryg smiled, pleased. Not only because he had discovered an aspect of his powers. But mainly because he now had the certainty that Sinmara had truly opened her heart to him. And also...
Is it just me, or did she just tell a joke?
He laughed inwardly. “You’re going to let me see your memories?”
Sinmara shrugged. “Of course, why not? My past has never been a secret. There simply have not been many people interested in it.”
“Well, I’m more than interested.” Besides, knowing he would not lose any time at all by seeing her memories made him even more excited. “It’s just that I still don’t know exactly how to use this new ability.”
“Do some tests. Learn. But be quick; I am starting to feel sleepy.”
Tryg nodded and lay down on his stomach in the snow right in front of the fox, his chin resting on his hands, looking directly into her eyes. What should he do? How would he enter Sinmara’s mind, and how would he choose the memory he wanted to access?
Perhaps what was shown was under the control of the owner, not the intruder. Perhaps it was through commands, as his control over the scenes of the memories worked...
No. I didn’t give any command before accessing the first memory. It must be something more instinctive... Something like breathing or blinking...
Thinking that, he asked, “Could you think of a random memory, Lady Sinmara? Something that has nothing to do with Surtr. I’d like to test something.”
She nodded.
“Thanks.”
All Tryg needed was the will. All he needed was to desire, with all his wanting, to connect to his teacher. Then, he entered. Dove once again into the deep, dark, freezing ocean that was the queen’s mind. He breathed underwater, but felt and saw nothing.
Then, with a blink of his eyes, he was taken into her past, where he could finally step, smell, see, and feel. He was on a steep cliff, looking straight at snowy, frozen, mist-covered fields he now knew very well, illuminated by Niflheim’s dull sun.
The clangor of swords. The fierce meeting of two sharp metal weapons, spreading thunderous waves of wind and power. Snowflakes flew across the sky, glimmering. Tryg turned toward the clamor and landed his widened eyes on the two figures fighting on the plain, near the majestic Idun Tree.
One of them was his teacher — beautiful, tall, and strong as always. The other... was also his teacher. However, she seemed to be a grayer Sinmara, less alive than the original, as if she were a ghost. Like one, but not exactly. The copy had nothing immaterial about her, not like the future shadows Tryg saw in his vision. Although less colorful, she was solid, fast, and deadly.
He smiled. What other opponent would be more worthy for his teacher’s training than a copy of herself? For that was what she was doing, without a doubt: training with herself. That was a scene after the massacre Tryg had seen in the first memory. That was the training Sinmara had once done with the purpose of defeating her greatest enemy until then.
And what training it was! The fight between the original queen and the copy was so powerful and so fast that Tryg, even as only an observing mirage, found it difficult to keep up with them and felt apprehensive about coming closer. The shockwaves and snow they spread with each blow were devastating. And not only that.
The way the two seemed to dance and fiercely try to cut each other with the pale swords they carried was chillingly graceful. Now Tryg could indeed see a glimpse of the sword art Sinmara had been teaching him. A style of swordsmanship that, apparently, his talented teacher had created alone, through years, perhaps centuries, of practice.
His smile widened. Tryg did not pause or rewind the scene, only let it run, appreciating each blocked cut, each parried thrust, each spin and flip, each wound the two caused each other.
Then, minutes later, when both stopped, breathless and wounded, Tryg closed his eyes. The memory ended and, with that, he returned to reality. This time, he felt the end coming and prepared himself for the shock of the changes that would strike his senses.
An instant later, he opened his eyes and met Sinmara’s gaze. He no longer saw only coldness. Nor did he see peace. But there was a drop of happiness and curiosity there, enough to warm his heart.
“Did you manage it?” she asked.
Tryg nodded. “Yes. A very interesting memory, the one you chose. A young Sinmara suffering through training just like me.”
“Just like you?” The queen let out an amused chuckle. “Please, if I were as hard on you as I was on myself, you would already have given up.”
He laughed.
The assumptions Tryg had made about his new gifts were correct. Now, he could see the past that the people he loved wanted to share.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
As he had imagined, Sinmara hesitated for a moment, lowering her gaze. She did not seem certain whether or not she wanted to share her past...
No, that is not it, he realized. In truth, she did not seem certain whether she wanted to relive her past. And, now, seeing her that way, neither was Tryg. After all, his teacher had finally begun to experience, to dive deeply into feelings other than her typical melancholy.
However, in the end, he decided that he wanted to know her completely. Only then could he truly stand by her side. Only then could Tryg be a shoulder for his teacher to lean on.
“I am ready,” Sinmara said.
Tryg nodded. Then, looking into the depths of her blue, trembling eyes, he entered.