‘Not much,’ said Hugin. ‘But what she says is usually worth listening to. And she says that the only way to stop the End of the Worlds is to combat Chaos with Chaos, which means to set free will against determinism. If we believe the Oracle, free will is merely an illusion, and all our actions were written in runes that were preordained from the beginning of time. But if we take matters into our own hands, then we can write our own runes, remake our own reality.’

‘She said all that in a crawk?’ I said.

‘More or less,’ said Hugin.

‘Well, thanks for the offer,’ I said. ‘But I’m enjoying this too much. Tell him I’ll see him at Ragnarók. Tell him to watch out for werewolves.’

After the ravens had flown away, I opened a bottle of wine and got drunk. Damn the Old Man. Damn them all. Because he’d got to me, of course, in spite of all he’d put me through. When Angie had tried to warn me, I’d dismissed her suspicions. But now they returned, and suddenly everything made sense to me. That Gullveig had worked with the Oracle – or perhaps even with Chaos – from the very beginning; that she had used Mimir’s Head to manipulate Odin; to summon me; to bring about the end of the gods; and that she was planning to give me up to Surt along with all the rest of them as soon my usefulness had run out.

A cycle of betrayal, beginning and ending with Gullveig-Heid. Gullveig, who first came to Asgard to show off her demonic skills; who provoked Odin’s envy and Mimir’s death; and who then sent Mimir’s Head back to Asgard, knowing that it contained all the knowledge Odin needed to plant the seeds of his own downfall.

Did she plan it this way from the start? Did Chaos put her up to it? Was it all part of a greater plan – one that ensured that from the first, Chaos held the winning cards? That sinking feeling of having been had – that feeling of belated realization as the pieces of the complex puzzle fall into place just at the time when you realize there’s no going back . . .

There has to be a word for that, right? If not, I’ll have to invent one. Gullible. I think that’s it. It even has part of her name in it. And who was Gullveig, anyway? None of the Vanir remembered when she had first appeared on the scene. Was she one of them at all, or was she something different – an older being, from another place?

I speak now of the Sorceress,
Gullveig-Heid, thrice-burned, thrice-born,
Seeress, mistress of the Fire
Vengeful, bloated with desire.