Free Fire and Lies by Angela Chrysler Page A

wide, high seat pillars where the grand Fire Giant sat, his own body fueled by the flame formed the flesh of his being. To his side, his sword, as long as Sigyn was tall, flickered lively with the flame that enveloped it. On the other side, his wife Sinmara sat.
    With long, shimmering locks of the purist gold, Sinmara curiously peered down, as intrigued by Sigyn’s arrival as Surtr.
    “I come to give voice to the needs of my husband, who lays bound by the bonds of Odinn!” Sigyn declared in as grand a voice as Surtr. “He bids you come! I ask you, free him!” she begged, desperate for the Fire Giant to accept. The tears holding in her eyes, always so gentle, hardened.
    “The bonds made from the bones of your sons were molded by the fires of Svartálfaheim’s forges,” Surtr reminded her as he mulled the situation over in his thoughts. Pensively, he shook his giant head, heavy with regret.
    “No.” Surtr sighed deeply, looking on, almost, with pity. “Nothing can break those bonds. Only those with the proficiency to forge them have the strength enough to make them yield.” He shook his head again and leaned upon his knee. “You know I have no skill to rival the Dvergar, no secret spear to rend those chains, and yet you come. For a key, then, you hope.”
    Sigyn quelled the sorrow that bit her nose and forced her chin high.
    “I’ve come to give voice to Loptr’s cry,” she pressed on.
    Pensive, Surtr studied her stance, knowing she came with the utmost sincerity. He heaved a deep sigh and growled.
    “Loptr’s words have reached me, but I can not lend my aid without attracting the eye of Odinn.”
    Desperation she could not hide clouded her eyes.
    “He begs for your aid,” she tried again, “and requests your support in rending the stones of Odinn’s throne!”
    Surtr glanced upon her tiny frame, dwarfed by the magnitude of his race. He paused, coming to rest his gaze onto her eyes that peered so hopefully at him. He sighed, hating what he had to do.
    “I see the torment of his suffering in your eyes,” Surtr replied. “You still grieve for your sons. I know your tears were ignored when Odinn bound your husband to Yggdrasill. Nevertheless, Loptr’s affliction was cast upon you.”
    Despite the heat that sweltered, a cold permeated Sigyn that left her rigid against her frayed nerves.
    “I will not deny that the march against Asgard stirs a desire in me,” Surtr continued. “Greater still, if Loptr were to fight at my side, but…” Each word clawed its way to Sigyn’s insides. “The task you ask rings out as treason to those in Asgard.”
    Sigyn forced down a silent sob with a dry gulp.
    “As long as Loptr lies at the roots of Yggdrasill, bound by Odinn’s damnation,” Surtr proclaimed, softening his voice, “I can not risk angering the gods of Asgard, lest war be waged on Muspellsheim.”
    Surtr watched his words relinquish the last of Sigyn’s hope as she forced her eyes from his.
    “I can not stand alone against the powers of Asgard,” Surtr said. “I will not stretch my hand to lend my aid to Loptr.”
    His final answer took Sigyn’s hope from her and she nodded with a burden countless times heavier than when she had entered his hall moments ago. She had barely moved when Surtr added, “I am sorry, Sigyn.”
    Without a word and bearing no grudge, Sigyn forced her stiff legs to carry her back through the doors.
    At the base of the steps, Sigyn gripped Svadilfari’s saddle in an attempt to pull herself up. But, drained of her strength, she buckled beneath the weight of her sorrow, and resting her head onto the horse, sobbed silently.
    “Sigyn?”
    The Jotunn snapped her tear-stained face to the eyes of Sinmara, who quietly descended the stairs. The reds of her gown swept the brimstone as the flames of her long, golden hair trailed behind her. Her skin glowed white from the heat of the blaze that composed her flesh.
    As if afraid it would suddenly slip from her grasp, Sinmara clutched