Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  We all need protection, Pabbi—the oldest trees and scariest monsters alike, Laguz reminds me.

  Right. The snakes feed on the roots as the leaves struggle to make food and shelter for the greater good. The bark protects the soft insides and wards off rot.

  I study the bark on the giant replica. My back itches again, but not in the same spot as before. I wildly swipe in hopes of soothing the maddening tingle, but I can’t reach it. Having an arm in a sling really sucks. As I struggle to gain some relief, something shimmers to my left. I turn. Part of the golden bark disintegrates and falls away as if by magic. A trick of the light?

  “What is that?” I ask Laguz.

  Another shimmer. More itching.

  Laguz hums its approval like a triumphant laugh at my hip. It’s a trick revealed. Step closer.

  After checking my surroundings for security guards, which I hope are about to be engaged with Darryl Donovan and his friends on Vanaheim level, I casually slip my working hand over the transparent wall meant to keep people from touching the ash. No one notices. In fact, no one seems to see me period.

  I can’t believe my luck. Maybe I drew a good rune stave after all.

  The itching continues, but I ignore it as I scale the thick glass with awkward twists to protect my left shoulder. It takes several tries for me to clear the wall, but I finally land on my feet with minimal discomfort. I look around at the crowd and laugh. Not a single soul pays attention to me.

  You must’ve chosen Hulinhjálmur, the rune stave of invisibility, Laguz beams.

  Well, I’ll be damned. I still don’t know about the third stave, but this one might be worth the hassle of having to tell the truth. Checking all directions, I wander over to the place where the gold leaf fell away from the bark and examine it. With a scape of my thumbnail, I remove a thin layer. I dig in harder, and bigger chunks of gold drop. I survey the tourists for signs of Oh shite, what was that? Finding none, I continue my work, which is difficult to do one-handed.

  After many minutes, the remainder of the gold covering strips away to reveal a thin chip of bone. My pulse skyrockets. Saliva floods my mouth. Is this Kenaz? Othala? Or—please, Norns, please!— Ihwaz?

  I pull the piece of bone out and turn it over. Goosebumps speckle my skin. It’s a rune. Not mine, though I recognize it. This belongs to Bragi, the god of poetry.

  Laguz pipes up with fresh urgency. Keep going, Loki. I see similar spots on the bark. Just to your left and up a couple feet.

  My eyes follow its direction to a suspicious patch of gnarled gold barely within reach. With effort, I pick at the place for several minutes, but progress is slow. I check my watch. Shite. It’s almost ten o’clock.

  I open my purse and dig around for anything I could use to move the process along faster. The tampons and maxi pads within serve as unwanted reminders that my monthly blood will plague me again soon. Joy. Freddie also packed the bag with instruments that could be useful if I could only get closer.

  I sneak around the tree, looking for handholds. Nothing.

  I angle my gaze upward and notice a harness used by the acrobats during the aerial display Freddie and I saw our first night here. A pleased grin smears across my lips like melted chocolate under a hot car seat. Watchful of the people, who still seem oblivious to my presence, I jump and snag it between my fingers. Once I pull it down, I study the harness and figure out how to get into it. My sling, however, does not wish to cooperate. Without two functional arms, I can’t fit into the web of strings.

  So, I wriggle out of my sling and hope for the best.

  Careful not to jolt my left arm, I slide my feet through the bottom, which hoists me by the crotch like a wedgie from Hel. For once, I’m kind of glad to be a woman. I stretch to thread my arms through the upper part when my phone vibrates.

  The group text message is from Freddie: Whatever you’re doing got their attention, D. Guards heading your way. Alex & I are about to do our thang.

  I don’t know what a thang is, but I’ll assume they have the TV monitors covered. I text the group, Keep them busy as long as possible. I found a lead.

  Two thumbs-up emojis appear on my screen but neither is from Gunnar Magnusson. Damn it. I shove the phone into the purse slung across my right shoulder and wind my arms through the contraption. I tip my head to survey the tree’s height. It’s very tall. I shudder at the thought of climbing it in this damaged mortal body, but there’s a strong possibility one or all three of my runes are hidden under the bark’s magic. I don’t have a choice.

  I exhale a long breath and plot a course up Yggdrasil using the dim lights peeping through its gilded covering as my guide. I count at least twenty such places on this side of the tree alone. There were over sixty gods and goddesses from my time. Could I have hit the rune motherlode?

  The excitement at the possibility of discovering not only my runes, but everyone else’s, courses through me like a zap of electricity. I won’t get too excited yet, but it’s possible that by the end of the night, I could hold the keys to overthrowing Odin in my sneaky little fingers.

  But first, I must conquer not only my fear of heights but also my physical impairment. I’ll pull out all the stops to scale Yggdrasil and retrieve its hidden treasures, but I’ll have to do it quietly. If I attract the Midgardians’ attention, things could sour very fast.

  I check my phone once more. Still nothing from Gunnar Magnusson.

  Don’t think about him, Loki.

  Laguz is wise. I wish I could put Gunnar Magnusson out of my head.

  I need your guidance, Laguz. Point me in the right direction, and let’s bring these runes home.

  With the harness supporting me, I use my right hand and both feet to climb with minimal reliance on my left arm. When I reach my first stop at the place above Bragi’s rune, the light beaming through the gold forms a picture of an illuminated apple tree.

  “Idunn?” I wonder aloud. I open my purse and pull out the nail file Freddie left in it for me. Holding on to the tree with my left hand, I use the right to wedge the metal under a niche in the bark and pop it out. Gold leaf falls away, revealing the glint of white bone beneath. Putting more force into my digging, I carve the rune out and inspect it. Definitely Idunn’s. I bag it and climb toward the next glowing spot a few feet higher up.

  I make the mistake of looking down, and my foot slips. Heart hammering, I swing the other foot up and jam it into the nearest nick in the gilded wood. My chest tightens to the point of pain. I close my eyes and focus on breathing.

  In and out. In and out. In and out.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper to myself. “You can do this.”

  I cast a glance at the people swarming like insects on the ground. No one seems to have noticed the harness move.

  Except for that guy, Laguz chimes.

  Shite. A man pushes through the crowd, eyes fixed on me. I hold my breath and freeze. The itching in my back cranks up, and it’s all I can do to keep still. After what feels like an age, the man’s expression loosens, his gaze shifts elsewhere, and he turns away.

  I exhale a long sigh and quietly resume my climb. I’m already tired, and this is going to take forever.

  One rune at a time, Loki. Nothing worthwhile comes easy.

  Laguz has a point. So, I climb. And I dig. And I lose my footing. And I catch myself.

  Climb. Hurt. Dig. Tire. Repeat.

  After retrieving the twenty-fifth rune, I wipe the sweat from my brow. It’s getting easier in some ways—I have a system for gouging out the runes now—but harder in others—my weakened body has reached the limits of what it can do. I find a thick branch to climb onto and take a break. Letting my legs dangle on either side while I catch my breath, I survey Yggdrasil from Jotunheim. Gunnar Magnusson works on this level.

  I check my phone.

  A message from Darryl Donovan at 10:20 reads, Operation: Disrupt Gullveig = success. The attached photo depicts him and a group of other brown-skinned men dressed as Thor from Asgard Awakening ru
nning through the auditorium, hammers raised. There’s another picture of a grinning Darryl Donovan proudly wielding Mjolnir and posing with tourists. He looks happy. That makes me happy.

  Freddie texted at 10:21, Infiltrate and destroy from within. I love it. Gunnar, Loki, what’s your status?

  The next message is from Darryl Donovan at 10:32: Security guards leaving now.

  You get in trouble? Freddie texted right after.

  Darryl Donovan responded, Hands slapped and asked to leave. We flexed our muscles. They pussied out.

  Where are you now? Gunnar? Loki? Freddie asked.

  Heading to van, was Darryl Donovan’s answer at 10:35.

  Alex and me too, Freddie shot right back. That’s the last message on our group text.

  It’s now 11:03. Gunnar Magnusson has yet to check in. I refuse to speculate on his absence. I type, I could use help at Yggdrasil. Removing runes from bark on level 3.

  Why didn’t you say so? Freddie types. Be right there.

  It feels like a burden has been lifted, but at the same time, my heart hurts worse than ever. Where is Gunnar Magnusson? What’s he doing?

  I return my attention to the glittery bark, following it up to the top near Asgard. I count at least thirty more runes hidden within the shiny façade. Determined to collect them all, I stand on the branch. My muscles burn, I lost my wig, and a splotch of blood on my shoulder tells me I’ve torn my stitches, but I have to keep going. I’m so close.

  I start toward the trunk. My foot slips. Before I can right myself, I’m falling.

  The ground flies up to meet me, but the harness catches about ten feet before our paths cross. The gravity-defying yank at my shoulder and the ensuing shot of pain elicits a scream from me. I definitely ripped something. I feel a puddle of wetness pool at the incision site. A few seconds later, as I swing in helpless agony parallel to the floor, a fat droplet of my blood splatters on the ground. The curious man who saw me before spots it and points over the glass barrier.

  “Someone’s up there!” he shouts. “In the harness. Call security!”

  Shite. I guess once the blood fell, it was no longer invisible. But I think the rest of me still is. Tears well as the pain worsens. I try not to move, but I shift my eyes toward the trunk. I have to secure the remaining runes. I have to!

  Just then, the lobby doors part. Huginn skitters in with Wiggles and Sparky hot on his heels. Huginn flaps and squawks and creates just the ruckus I need to divert attention away from me. All heads turn toward the commotion as the cats pounce and swat at the blustering chicken dropping feathers and the occasional turd among the crowd. Screams and laughter rise as people point, shriek, and lurch out of the way.

  I flip my gaze skyward and silently command the pain to bugger off. I pull up with all my might. My hand slips, snags, and rips open under the tree bark’s fierce bite. Somehow, I manage to keep my cry under wraps. Curling the damaged hand into a fist, I ball it against my shirt and squeeze my eyes shut.

  I cast around in the halls of my mind for a clue, a memory, anything that might help me out of this precarious situation. Then something Skuld said during our first meeting at Runemaster bubbles to the surface of my thoughts. Words create reality. Not the other way around.

  “If that’s the case, I will unlock and retrieve every last one of these runes,” I vow.

  An unrelenting itch tunnels up my back to the site of my third tattoo. I twist to scratch it, but it only becomes more agitated.

  Oh gods, I’m going to die hanging from a fake World Tree (perhaps the real one—who knows?), dangling above a bunch of ignorant Asgard Awakening addicts while my chicken tries to evade capture and/or mastication by Freya’s wild-arse cats, and the man/former woman I used to be married to is probably having his knob polished by a beautiful wife thief. If we were in Viking times, it would be just another day in the life of Loki, scourge of Asgard. As it is, it’s more like a sitcom that soared on the “situation” side of the equation but completely bungled its bone roll on the “comedy” part.

  I’m out of energy, leaking blood, and all but defeated by Odin’s trickery again.

  A crack diverts my attention up and to the left on the tree. My eyes narrow on a rune’s glow. The bark covering it shimmers. More splintering follows, and some sheaves of gold slough from the tree. A similar sound echoes higher up. And another down low and around the other side. A roll of crackles and bursting wood triggers a shower of gold leaf.

  Nine Realms guests dart to and fro. Confusion and panic run amok. I spot Huginn and the cats zipping between people’s feet, adding to the chaos. The unexpected pandemonium running rampant among the Midgardians delights me. They deserve some action in their lives.

  Bark snaps open above to reveal more gleaming white bone. Unlocked from its hidden cage, a rune drops like a bird pushed out of a nest by its mother. I dive forward and swing my good arm out to grab it. The others are wriggling out from all sides of the tree. I quickly toss the new rune into my bag and remove my phone.

  I text the group. Jump the railing and triangulate around the tree. Help me catch the runes.

  Disorder sends people running for the doors. If Darryl Donovan, Freddie, Alex, and Gunnar Magnusson make it to the tree in time, we’ll walk out of here like millionaires. These runes are valuable immortal currency, and I’m about to be crowned the gods-damn CEO of the Bank of Loki.

  My tattoo continues to drive me crazy with the itching, but at least it’s helping. Bone chips burst from the wood and fly out like a beautiful rain.

  Lásabrjótur, Laguz muses. You got yourself a lock breaker.

  “Ain’t that the shite,” I say. So, the tattoos aren’t all bad. I should thank Skuld for her gifts, though she’d probably say they were gifts to myself.

  Loki, Laguz interrupts, I feel Kenaz up there. Lásabrjótur jostled it loose.

  With a thrill of renewed energy, I push off a branch and use the bungee cord to spring toward the spot calling to us. Down below, Freddie and Darryl Donovan are snatching falling runes while Alexander collects them on the other side. On my way to the top of the tree, I see Thor’s hammer etched into the bark, a bone chip breaking out of the picture. I grab the nearest tree limb and snatch the rune. A picture of Freya’s cats appears higher on the trunk. Ignoring the pain screaming in my shoulder, I climb up and collect it. Another rune goes in the purse. A nearby drawing of Frey’s boar ejects his rune from the ash’s skin.

  Runes! Runes! And more runes!

  Finally, I reach a crude image of a woman holding a bowl over a prone man. A giant snake’s head drips liquid into the container. A chill darts over my skin. With shaking fingers, I brush the drawing.

  “Sigyn and Loki,” I whisper. Bark under the female figure bulges and cracks.

  Something’s wrong, Laguz says.

  Sigyn’s rune shakes out of the gold and falls into my palm. I keep my hand in place, ready to catch Kenaz, but the splitting stills.

  “What the Hel?” Dread sinks my gut. I stuff Sigyn’s rune in my purse and dig into the bark with the nail file. Chunks of tree tumble away. The casing beneath is empty.

  I tear at the wood with my bare fingers. “No! No, this can’t be. Kenaz!” I shout. But the growing turmoil on the ground drowns out my cries.

  Runes continue to eject from all over Yggdrasil, but none of them belong to me.

  Kenaz is not here.

  But it’s close.

  I turn my attention to the multi-hued Bifrost elevator. Gunnar Magnusson and Saga step into the transparent rainbow-tinged box on Asgard level and head toward Midgard. Their clothing is disheveled. His hair, no longer tied up the way I like it, clings with unruly tenacity to his shoulders. She tucks her shirt into her skirt.

  His shoulders slump. I can’t see his face. She looks like a sated wolf who just brought down the biggest, most beautiful stag this side of Asgard.

  My heart pinches painfully.

  My focus dips to Gunnar Magnusson’s hand stuffed into his pocket. Somethin
g within calls to me, and it’s not his twig and berries.

  It’s Kenaz.

  Somehow (I know how) Gunnar Magnusson negotiated its release. For me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  My friends came through for me. All of them.

  In agony and need of fresh stitches, I begin my descent down Yggdrasil just as the final rune pops free above my head. I reach out and grab it.

  The instant it hits my hand, everything in Nine Realms Resort and Casino shifts.

  The vivid, rich hues dancing among branches and giving life to the golden tree wash out to gray, muting not only the ancient ash, but also the entire building. Drabness floods the resort from top to bottom, sweeping its beauty away on a waterfall of banality. The Midgardians hold their collective breath for a single heartbeat. Heads swivel in confusion. The formerly magical playground fades into a nondescript, empty showroom devoid of character and robbed of the furnishings that made it unique.

  Saga steps out of the elevator at Midgard level, mouth agape and eyes livid. Gunnar Magnusson follows. His face pales as he takes in the scene.

  A murmur of concerned voices swells below me like a tidal wave.

  Then the screams begin.

  Terrified guests search the crowd for answers they won’t get. The atmosphere ignites with the kind of panic that leads to accidents as stampeding feet thunder toward the exits.

  “What’s happening, Laguz?” I ask.

  The runes, it replies. Everything fell apart when the last one came free. Their magic must’ve powered the entire resort.

  “Holy sheep shite,” I say, agog. I snap the pieces together as I scamper down the tree toward my friends.

  Odin must’ve realized the potency hidden within the runes and exploited it. Individually, runes give us gods special abilities and immortality, but combined and focused, they’re like a nuclear power plant. Or, they were, until I stole them.

  I did this. I destroyed Odin’s precious little dollhouse. Allfather is gonna be pissed.