by Kevin Hearne
Hel’s stench arrived in advance of her actual person, and it was enough to make me wistful for the smell of pears in braided elf hair. I blinked and coughed, trying to keep my wits, and took a tiny step back even as Hel grunted and her eyes widened. Her hands splayed out in a desperate bid for balance, but it was too late. Physics had asserted its mastery over her person, because Coyote had expertly tripped her with the shaft of his spear as she passed him. She’d never expected to be tripped by one of her own draugar. And I hadn’t expected that either. The net result was that I scrambled away from her knife hand but couldn’t avoid being flattened by the other one as she crashed to the ground. It knocked the wind out of me and I remained still too long. A giant hand—Hel’s flesh-covered one—wrapped itself around my body and picked me up, trapping my arm against my side so that Fragarach was useless. She was still prone, so she didn’t raise me too high, but she slammed me back to earth again and it was less than gentle on my head. I saw lights blinking in my vision and felt nauseous—probably because she was bringing me up to her face and I got a lungful of her death breath. The side of her face that was exposed tissue and bone had wee maggots writhing in her cheek meat, and I first thought that those had to be distracting and then wondered madly why she hadn’t taken time to remove them on her big day.
“Druid,” she rasped. “Die now.” She wasn’t into small talk. Just enough gloating for me to appreciate my own defeat. Her other hand, the bony one with Famine in it, approached blade-first. I felt the cold steel press against the warm flesh of my throat and then slide across, sawing me open. Blood and air escaped and I silently triggered my healing charm as soon as she withdrew the blade, having no trouble at all relaying my panic in gurgles and wheezes. Because I’d only bought myself a little bit of time. When the blood stopped flowing, she’d have at it again and perhaps not content herself with merely slitting my throat. I had no options to retaliate, and she grinned with blackened teeth as my blood spilled onto her hand.
Abruptly her entire body jerked—including the hand with me in it—and her expression altered to one of surprise and then scrunched into a wince of pain. She began to shrink, and her hand could no longer wrap itself around my body. I flopped to the ground with all the grace of a stunned cod and hoped I’d be able to breathe and function again soon. But I saw a draugr atop Hel’s back, with its spear sunk into her torso. He was twisting it around like a swizzle stick, tearing up her organs with the bladed tip.
“Hey there, Mr. Druid!” Coyote called in his gravelly rasp. “This has been fun, but I expect I’ll be dying shortly. Looks like you will too. She got your throat, eh? Well, at least I won’t have to hear any more of your puns. And my people should be safe now.”
Coyote will never gain a reputation for kind farewells, but at least he had his priorities straight. The Norse goddess of death expired with a hoarse rattle and one final spasm, and the entire army of draugar flinched as one—at least, all of them that I could see surrounding me. I don’t know if they flinched at the front lines. But they didn’t melt away or explode in a puff of ash either. They looked around as if waking from sustained somnambulism, bereft of Hel’s guidance, and decided they weren’t really eager to march forward to face an army intent on destroying them. They started looking around for exits. And they were not interested at all in me or Coyote or the lifeless stank of Hel.
“What’s this, now?” Coyote said. “None of these fellers cares what I did? Whipped me up a batch of heart and lung marmalade right in front of them using one hundred percent rotten-goddess ingredients and they ain’t even the least bit mad?”
They wouldn’t be. They had no loyalty to Hel. Her realm was where no one wanted to go, and she had never treated them well. A howl tearing through the sky reminded us that at least one creature was loyal to Hel, however.
“Oh, shit,” Coyote said, which was what I was thinking but couldn’t say. Garm had freed himself of most if not all of the draugar and become aware that Hel was no more. He was a biggun, as they say, twelve feet tall, and even at a distance he could clearly see Coyote and me next to Hel’s body.
My throat closed up and my neck shortly thereafter, and I could breathe again and get some oxygen to my brain. I had enough juice for maybe one trick and that was it.
“You got a plan, Mr. Druid?” Coyote said. Garm showed his teeth and barked, his hackles raising.
I gasped once and said, “Run. Change your scent!”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice. Bye!” Coyote left his spear behind and hopped off the still form of Hel, streaking right into the confused mass of draugar. Garm watched him go but didn’t watch for long. He turned to stare directly at me and growled. Mine was the scent he already knew, the one that had gotten away once upon a time. And now that he saw me next to the dead body of his mistress, he wasn’t going to let me get away again. He sprang forward, scattering draugar and knocking over any that didn’t get out of the way in time. I had two choices: fight or run.
If I stood and fought, it would be in a weakened state, with little to no magic at my disposal to boost speed or strength, and unless I got the proverbial “critical hit” right from the start, my long life would end as a chew toy for a hellhound with a legitimate grudge. There was basically only one way to escape him, and it was by no means a safe option but it involved a sacrifice as well. The odds of surviving were slightly higher, however, so I didn’t hesitate. Using the last of my magic, I shape-shifted to a great horned owl and took wing directly away from Garm, rising to what I hoped was just above the height of a spear thrust. I didn’t want to rise too high and make myself a clear target for Loki’s bow or anyone else’s.
And though it hurt, I left Fragarach behind, to be found and picked up by anyone. Because I needed to achieve the full air-speed velocity of an unladen owl. That’s about forty miles per hour, and I’d never make it if I had to lug an awkward few pounds in my talons. As it was, I couldn’t reach that speed right away. There was a whole lot of flapping that had to happen first, and there were no magical bursts. Garm had a head start on getting up to speed, and an aggressive woof told me he’d seen me take flight and was on my literal tail now. And he was closing the distance between us, rather than me opening it up. I might be snatched out of the air, a nice snack for him. There was nothing for me to do but to keep calm and flap on—a phrase that is not emblazoned across T-shirts everywhere for good reason.
Noise grew behind me as Garm drew closer—hoarse cries of undead surprise as the draugar were mowed down, the baying of Garm himself as he tried to catch up, and the crunch and clatter of collisions. The draugar were slowing him down at least a little bit, preventing him from reaching top speed, but he was still getting closer. I could feel it. And then I realized that the draugar could probably help me out quite a bit. Most of them were in retreat, heading around the base of the volcano to see what was on the other side. As a result, Garm was running into their flank. If I turned in to the draugar, though, and flew toward the Fae and the Norse and others, I might be able to capitalize on their instinct.
Garm’s breath blew hot and snotty on my tail feathers, and that’s when I banked sharply left, directly over the heads of the retreating draugar. They’re not trained fighters necessarily, like the Einherjar, but when something is coming at you and you have a sharp stick to poke at it, chances are you’re going to use it if you can’t get out of the way in time. That’s what I was counting on.
Garm overshot me on the sharp turn and I gained some ground, but he halted and came after me. And in so doing, he encountered some fierce resistance. The draugar weren’t obeying Hel now, so they gave her hound no breaks. They saw a big dog and they didn’t want to get run over, so, with the tips of their spears, they tried to discourage him from doing that. Since he wasn’t paying attention to the draugar, he ran right into more than a few of those spear tips. It slowed him down and he yelped a couple of times, eventually giving up to attend t
o his many wounds. I banked to the right, heading for the far side of the battlefield again. I needed to get clear and find a place to replenish. I hoped Coyote was doing the same thing.
The draugar continued to retreat, but those that Hel had raised from the dead fought on. Whatever she had done to them did not require her constant control. At least she wouldn’t be raising any more.
Not that there weren’t still huge problems to solve. The draugar might have no stomach to fight the armies ready for them, but they weren’t popping back through the portal to the gloomy realm of Hel either. They were going around the lake to the north, toward human settlements, where maybe a handful of people had a few things ready “just in case” of a zombie apocalypse but the rest were woefully unprepared. And then there was the issue of what had happened to Loki—
A thunderous roar shook the air. Loki had found the body of Hel. “Where are you going?” he boomed in Old Norse, and I thought at first he meant me, but it turned out he was talking to the draugar. “You must fight and win if you want any peace! Fight!”
I don’t know what he was talking about there, what lie or promise he had made them, but it worked. The draugar spun around and fought much more viciously than before, and the sudden reversal was devastating to the pursuing troops, who had broken ranks. Brighid still stood, but the Fae host was much reduced. The remaining Olympians continued to fight well. The Einherjar and the dwarfs were engaged, but the Álfar and Svartálfar both took heavy losses on the reversal. I saw no sign of the yeti, and the Norse pantheon still hid behind a dark cloud of Thor’s making, though it had advanced somewhat on the right. I imagined that anything that walked into that cloud would not be walking out. In the meantime, Loki could not target them. And they, likewise, could not seem to find him; I would have expected Odin’s spear or Thor’s hammer to have flown by now, but they held back.
Loki’s voice rolled across the field again. “Druid! I have your sword! I know it was you!”
I cleared the edge of the battle and dropped to the earth a safe distance away, behind the Svartálfar troops. I felt a tiny trickle of the earth’s magic there, fading but still available. I shifted to a hound so I’d have some speed and some teeth if I needed them and then refilled my bear charm and resumed healing.
So Loki had found Fragarach. I was ready to let him have it, for all the good it would do him. I should go straight to the nearest bound tree and exit. I’d helped take out Hel, got my throat cut, and almost become a doggie treat. That was enough. No reason to stay, except maybe to root for Athena to win me a thousand boxes of Girl Scout Cookies.
Off to my left, a draugr staggered out past the dark elves and transformed in front of me into a coyote. It was, in fact, Coyote himself, who’d crossed the field successfully. He let his tongue hang out as he trotted up to me, and I thought he was going to stop, but he merely bobbed his head and kept on going. I chuffed in laughter. I couldn’t blame him, and I took a few steps after him, thinking I’d go with him and buy him a few beers somewhere. But Loki’s voice called out again.
“Come on, Druid. You’ve killed all my children. Come and face me now. You know where I am. Come and face me.”
I stopped, and so did Coyote. He turned around and sat, waiting to see what I would do. I tilted my head at him and he mirrored the action. Smartass.
Loki was under a misapprehension. I hadn’t actually killed any of his children—not really. Granuaile and Freyja had both played major roles in killing Fenris. I had only witnessed the death of Jörmungandr. And if Loki would simply think clearly for a moment, he would realize that my sword on the ground next to Hel was not, in fact, the spear stuck in her back. I was not the cause of death.
I still didn’t need to face him. I didn’t think I could take him, honestly—not without Fragarach and a whole lot of luck. But I did know where Hel’s body was, and I could lead others there. With Loki out of the picture it would be over; the Norse could handle things from there. Wouldn’t it be worth it, then, to do at least that much?
I raised a paw to Coyote and then pointed my body back to the battle, keeping an eye on him. Coyote shook his head and turned tail, trotting away. I was on my own for this one.
Fair enough. I’d get myself some armor and a sword from the field and find Brighid. She could fight Loki’s fire with her own fire. And feeling the land go dead beneath me again, I knew Loki needed to go sooner rather than later.
the eruption is different this time. The previous ones happened while I was on the rooftop with Wukong, but this one I can feel through the soles of my feet. And through the tattoo on my right heel, I can feel the paroxysm of pain that the elemental is experiencing, the profound drain that’s occurring due to this portal opening and closing repeatedly. The land near here will die, like the land in Arizona around the portal Aenghus Óg made. That was high chaparral desert, and this is subtropical forest. Obviously not a worry for the Yama Kings, who’d like to do far worse, but it’s the sort of thing that ignites my ire, and I have no qualms about judging the situation. This should not be allowed.
I try to communicate with the elemental Taiwan, whose voice already sounds tired. //Query: Who opens the portal?//
//Local deities// she says.
Taiwan must mean the Yama Kings. //Query: Can I stop them?//
//No / Portal opened from other side//
It would have to be voluntarily closed by the one who opened it or, as with the others, by the actual defeat of the Yama King in question. It occurs to me that perhaps I should rephrase the question. //Query: Can I prevent next one from opening?//
//Yes / Slay deity first//
In other words, if I want to end this, I need to skip this fight, go to the next hell, and kill the Yama King there on his own turf.
“Wukong: Which Yama King is this?”
“The sixth. King Biancheng. The fifth is staying out of this mess.” The demons and the damned begin to land on the slopes, and Wukong’s clones engage some of them. More stream in our direction.
“So who’s the seventh?”
“He is called King Taishan.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Why do you ask?”
“If I take him out ahead of time, can we end this early? Will the other Yama Kings keep coming if they know King Taishan never even made it here?”
“You mean go to the seventh court and kill him there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s—”
“Please don’t say it’s dangerous. So is being on this mountain right now. Just tell me if killing him will stop the others.”
“I think it might. Why would the others risk such a preemptive defeat? And I was going to say that’s unexpected. Are you perhaps looking at things differently?”
“No, I think I’m still in the same frame of mind. I just want to protect Gaia. What’s King Taishan look like?”
“He wears a judge’s cap, like all the Yama Kings. His robes are blue because of the cold hell he watches over, Utpala, which turns the skin of all the damned blue. But he also rules a fiery hell called Tapana.”
“All right. Let me see if this is even possible.” The damned reached us and I had to separate headspaces to continue the conversation, but this time I battled in Whitman’s English headspace so that I would have the Latin one to speak to the elemental.
//Query: Where is tether to seventh hell of Diyu?//
//No Druidic tether exists / Must be escorted by deity of pantheon//
Balls. I hadn’t tried out my Polish headspace yet because it wasn’t technically complete. I still had some poems to absorb and some fluency to achieve in Polish, but perhaps I could use it well enough to fight the damned. These from the sixth court of Biancheng had different wounds and marks on them than the ones from the fourth; they had been pierced and sliced with steel and some of them still had spikes poking out of their fle
sh, but Scáthmhaide caved their heads in just as easily.
No time like the present to see if I could juggle three headspaces. I would need to if I ever wanted to shift planes with more than just Orlaith.
I switched my battle to the Polish headspace and gave it some time and some lines from Szymborska’s “Soliloquy for Cassandra” to make sure it was established. A fitting poem, since Cassandra kept telling people something terrible was about to happen and was never believed:
To ja, Kasandra.
A to jest moje miasto pod popiołem.
A to jest moja laska i wstążki prorockie.
A to jest moja głowa pełna wątpliwości.
I kept that going in my head while I fought, then flipped on the English for conversation. “Wukong. The elemental says I need a deity from your pantheon to escort me to hell and back. There are no Druidic tethers to that plane.”
He did not answer right away, and for a time it was just the sounds of battle, crunches and screams and grunts. But eventually he said, “There is one who can do this. He will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“The immortal warrior, Erlang Shen. Do you know him?”
“I know of him, sure! Wasn’t he the one from the stories that subdued you so long ago?”
The Monkey King laughs even as his iron rod destroys the damned and sends them back to Mahāraurava, one of the hells over which King Biancheng presides. “Yes, I remember well. He is the one who defeated me in battle in the days I was rebellious against heaven. But now we are on the same side. His arrival was already planned to come at the emergence of King Biancheng.”
And when the warrior does come, some minutes later, he is a riot of colors and a pageant of death. His hound accompanies him—very similar to a wolfhound, in fact, but far more used to battle than Orlaith is or will ever be if I have anything to say about it. Together they cut a swath through the hordes of the damned as they move to join us at the base of Seven Star Mountain.
