The Banished Gods Box Set: Books 1-3

by L. A. McGinnis

  Fen countered swiftly, “If I allow you passage onto our world, what assurances would you give me that you’ll help? Time, as you said, seems to be running short. Do you know how to prevent this thing from crossing over?”

  Those gray eyes pulsed with such eagerness that Fenrir sensed what was before him. The laying of a trap of some kind. Njor was simply waiting to snap his jaws around someone’s frail neck. “You’ll take me to Midgard?”

  Fen knew this was a trick.

  Njor had been marooned on Vanaheim, as they were on Earth. But if he truly was as strong as they said he was, if he did have the gift of foresight, then he could change the fate of what was coming. If the old stories were to be believed. But if war was indeed coming, then every weapon at their disposal should be brought to bear, was Fenrir’s way of thinking.

  Including the one sitting right in front of him.

  “If I take you with me, will you swear an oath to help us stop this thing? Kill it, if necessary?” A tensing of muscles in Njor’s forehead, a slight dilation of his pupils. Yes, the god was up to something. Fen prodded, “I’ll take you with me, but only if you tell me how to kill this thing, Njor. You want passage into our realm, this is going to be the cost. Take it or leave it.”

  Again, the eyes gave him away as his pupils reduced down to pinpricks. “It’s a pretty easy decision if you’ve truly glimpsed our future. Swear your oath or take your chances here.” What game was the old man playing?

  “I swear it.” The oath came through gritted teeth, as if every muscle in his body was fighting the words.

  In return, Fenrir offered up a grim smile. “Well, that didn’t sound very convincing Njor, almost as if you’re up to something, asshole. Tell me, old man, why exactly did you call me here? And don’t say it was to talk.”

  He prowled nearer to the dais, testing to see how close the god would allow him. And slipped the thick silver chain from his neck into his pocket in the process. “You want to talk? How about I take you to Midgard, and you can have that meeting with Odin? Tell me, shipbuilder, how does that plan sound to you?”

  The flimsy magical protection Njor had put up was a weak version of Odin’s magic. Obviously he had been expecting an easy target. Allowing Fenrir to close his hand around the god’s neck and yank him out of his little cocoon of enchantment. Fen pulled him close enough to see every bit of stubble on his grizzled face. “Now. I’m going to take both of us back to Midgard, and you can explain to Odin exactly what you saw, and exactly what the fuck we’re going to do about it. We’ll let him decide what to do with you.”

  Landing on the hard stone floor of his room in the Tower was far less comfortable than the plush grass, Fenrir had to admit. Still, he’d kept his hand wrapped around the bastard’s neck the entire trip, though Njor was looking definitely worse for the wear. Of course, the fact that half of Fenrir’s weight had landed on the asshole when they’d tumbled home hadn’t helped. Served the bastard right. “I warn you, beast…”

  “Shut up.” Fen growled, glancing over at the bed. He was relieved to see the slight mound of blankets was still breathing in a steady, even rhythm. “You wake her up and I swear I’ll rip your throat out. Understand?”

  The Vanir gave a strangled grunt before Fen dragged him out into the hall.

  Sunlight streamed in as they marched to the War room, Fenrir praying that Loki or Mir might be there to help him deal with this asshole. He knew Njor was lying, he just didn’t know how. But Odin would know. Odin would see the deception and take care of this little problem. All Fen wanted to do was get this over with and check on that warm pile of blankets. Sleep was sounding pretty good too.

  The War Room was almost empty. Morgane was sifting through some paperwork, feet up on the table, kicked back in a chair. A curious smile flitted across her face as Fen thrust the Vanir inside. “Whoa. Who’s your friend, Fenrir?”

  “Not a friend.” He pushed Njor down into a chair as she flipped the papers over and leaned forward. “Do me a huge favor? I need everyone in here right now. Especially Odin.” He shot her a look that clearly said, I know, I know, just get him, it’s that important. She was gone before he even leaned down to growl his warning into Njor’s ear.

  “This whole dark god of chaos situation? Is personal to me, asshole. So fuck with us, try to screw us over, and I’ll kill you myself. I don’t give a shit if you are the last of your race.”

  The graying god chuckled mirthlessly. “You wouldn’t dare touch me. You’re stuck on this world forevermore. As I was on mine. All of us, prisoners. The difference is, I have information you need. You’ll want to think twice about threatening me, beast.”

  Fenrir let out a sharp bark of laughter and snarled right back. “You don’t have jack shit, remember that. You’re lying about something Vanir, I can smell it on you. My guess is, you know why this thing is headed here, maybe what it wants. So I don’t give a shit if you’re a god, a dog, or a fucking sea urchin. There’s someone who I will not see harmed. Nothing’s going to destroy this world, so as of right now, consider yourself vested in saving it. And if you like your little, perfect world the way it is? Remember, I brought about the end of Asgard, so think of the damage I could do to yours.” He was rewarded by the slight shiver he felt go through the god’s body before he slammed him back into the chair. “Now wait for your betters. They’re on their way.”

  One by one they trickled in, studying the Vanir, wondering why he was here and what the hell was going on. Fenrir only knew part of the why and little of the what. All he wanted to do was check on Celine.

  “Njor, how kind of you to join us.” It was actually refreshing to see Odin’s cold gaze locked onto someone else for once, to see that slight diminishment of self in the Vanir as he subconsciously tried to make himself smaller. Odin flicked a glance over Fenrir’s way. “I take it he summoned you, since it’s the only way you could have ended up on Vanaheim?”

  Yeah, I guess you could call it that.

  “Yes, my lord.” Fenrir bit his tongue, even though there were a thousand warnings he should have whispered in Odin’s ear. But he’d already know, wouldn’t he, Fenrir thought as their eyes locked over the Vanir’s head. The smile on Odin’s face turned icy, and he sauntered around the table.

  Fen felt, more than saw, the cold bands of the king’s powerful magic curl around the Vanir and tighten.

  “We seem to have a problem, Njor. You summoned Fenrir to your realm. A grave misuse of power, and something you’ve never done before. Why?”

  “Yes, it is true I sensed him in the Otherworld, and I bid him to come.”

  “Skip the obvious. Again. For what purpose?” The face of the Vanir began to redden, his eyes bulging from his sockets. Odin crooned, “The more you fight me, the more painful this will be for you. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “To offer my counsel,” he managed to choke out.

  “Your counsel is worth little in this room. Not when I have others I trust far more. Why did you summon Fenrir? I won’t ask again.” Odin studied the faces around the table as the man writhed desperately. “What did you see, Vanir? What was so damned important you broke about a thousand rules of magic by having the wolf drag you back here?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Njor’s gray eyes gyrated wildly in their sockets. “Not in front of the rest of them.”

  “You can tell me everything. You will tell me in front of them. We rule by committee these days. A democracy of sorts.” Odin’s easy, cruel smile promised more than pain if Njor refused. “Come now, it’s not that hard is it? Truth or death. And remember, you can’t enjoy your little shipyard if you’re dead.”

  “Out of nothingness came something.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop precipitously. “Explain.”

  “You think of us as oracles. What if the Vanir were not oracles, what if we are the mouthpieces of gods?”

  Odin managed to sound bored. “Again. Explain.”

  “The Vanir have never truly seen t
he future, not as your kind does. We have only channeled the many voices of the universe into one. Voices of gods, old and young, past and present, dead and ancient, speak through us. Sometimes, their voices represent the future, sometimes they are the past, sometimes they are the now.”

  Odin loosed a measured breath. “Go on.”

  The old god’s eyes drifted over to Fen, rested there for a moment. “As you well know, I am the last of my kind. As such, I am the last mouthpiece, the last living channel through which the ancient gods can speak.”

  “And now you are stalling. Tell me what you came here to say. Or as the humans like to say, shit or get off the pot.” Odin’s magic curled up like snakes, ready to encircle the god’s tanned throat again.

  Njor spoke quickly, the words coming out in a tangled rush, “Our creation legend talks of only of separating the darkness from the light, in order for life to spring forth. But what if those first gods stole life to create life? We have always believed the Nine Worlds were created from light itself, after the darkness was locked away. But only life can give birth to life.” His gaze drifted back to Fen. “Something was stolen from the dark god to create our worlds. Everything, as a matter-of-fact. Now he wants it back.”

  Odin’s magic retracted while his gaze settled onto Njor’s face. “And you know this, how?”

  “He has told me.”

  “Told you how?”

  Njor hesitated for so long Fen thought he’d never answer. Then he said, “As I said, I am the last of the Vanir. The last oracle. The only oracle the ancient gods have to speak through. And so they do. All of them.” Something in his steely eyes hardened even further. “The one they called Orobus visits me in my dreams. He tells me what is to come. He has shown me the world he plans to create.”

  Fen growled. “How does this damn thing talk to you?” What if this thing was prowling around in everyone’s dreams, not just Celine’s? “Fucking tell me how this thing talks to you, you piece of—”

  “Enough, Fenrir.” Odin cut him off as an elated expression crossed Njor’s face. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “While I am in a trance, he appears as a shadow, a darkness, never as a man, never as anything but a stain against the light. Then he speaks, not in words but mind to my mind.”

  “And what does the shadow tell you?”

  “That he is hungry for this world. That none of you will survive, once he has crossed over. The humans will be wiped out. That world after world will fall and naught can be done to stop him.”

  Behind Loki, Morgane made a small, helpless sound.

  “You lying bastard,” Fen cursed. “You swore to me you’d help us kill it. Help us find a way to defeat it.” His eyes narrowed. “But all you really wanted was to make it onto our plane, wasn’t it? You thought you’d be better off here, is that it?”

  Fen caught the small, satisfied smile that crossed Njor’s face before he could hide it. “I swore an oath to aid you. I shall keep my word.” But before Fenrir could say anything, Odin stepped in front of him.

  Leaning a hip into the table, Odin measured up the Vanir. “Why Midgard? You could have stayed marooned on your little realm of tranquility, watching the sun set over the ocean. Fuck knows you made no move to leave in thousands of years, and you hate my guts, so why here and why now?” His tone turned cooler. “You’ve always been skilled at avoiding conflict, so your timing sucks.”

  “Let me remind you, the wolf dragged me here.”

  “I landed on my ass in your realm.” Fen shifted his huge body until he stood to the other side of Njor. “You summoned me, remember?” His eyes flicked up, meeting his king’s. “What do you want to do with this asshole?”

  “Give him ten seconds to tell us the truth,” Odin said dryly. “Then we kill him.”

  After a second’s debate, Njor lifted his eyes. “It wants this world because it is the only one left teeming with life.” His impassionate gaze rounded the table. “If you allow him to breach this realm, he will kill everything on this planet, including all of you.”

  Odin’s magic slowly released him, and he took a long breath. “I swore to the wolf I would aid you, and I will keep my word. However…” Njor met Fen’s eyes for a long, tense moment. “Sacrifices will have to be made in order to keep this world, and the mortals on it, safe. Are you willing to do what must be done?”

  “Of course, that’s what this entire exercise in futility has been about,” Tyr growled, and Mir agreeing with a snarl. “You tell us what you know, give us an edge so we keep the bastard out of here, just like you agreed.”

  Mir rose and caught Odin’s attention. “Plus, if the bastard keeps talking to you, we’ll have another set of eyes and ears on the inside, so to speak.”

  Tyr’s quick nod of approval was echoed by Loki and Freyr.

  Odin’s words, cool and measured, cut across the muttering. “And if you renege on your oath to Fenrir? I’ll feed you to this dark god, myself.” His mouth twisted in what might be called a grin, had it been on another man’s face. Njor followed his every movement as Odin circled the room. “You’ll keep your end of the bargain, and we keep that asshole out of our world. In the process, your world stays safe. Which is your end game, correct?” There was no mistaking the angry flash of silvered magic in Odin’s eyes. “By saving us you save yourself?”

  Njor glanced away, shrugging. “When the God of Chaos spoke to me, I may have glimpsed his plans. Flashes of a once-great world burned to ash. It might have been my own, but I couldn’t be sure….”

  Odin’s power snaked back up around his neck, compelling Njor to look him dead in the eye.

  “I…saw...this world fall. This one…gods, let me go, I can’t breathe…. You’ll kill me…”

  “If you’ve seen that far into the future, then perhaps you may be helpful after all. Describe in detail what you saw, where it will come through, and how to fight it.” Odin stood for a moment, and when there was no answer, lazily waved his hand. “Oh yes, forgive me.”

  Njor collapsed in a heap onto the table before Loki yanked him back. “Answer him, asshole.”

  He gasped the words out. “Perhaps I’d recognize the place. I saw a portal of some sort. But it was no door I’ve ever seen before. And I cannot know if what I saw is…true.” He loosened his collar and edged away from Loki. “The dark god may well have planted lies to deceive me. Or they may be true. I cannot…I am not capable of discerning the difference anymore.” His voice was a good deal shakier when he continued. “When it whispered into my mind, I felt…I knew it wanted the life back that was stolen. I glimpsed a future. But only a glimpse. Burning. Ash. Destruction. That is all.”

  Njor turned his face to Odin, pleading, bargaining. “It was nothing specific, only fragments. But there was one thing I do remember clearly…a white door. Shining and bright. As if it reflected all the light in the universe.”

  “Explain the vision, in detail.”

  “The door opens. A door of purest white, as if it were made of the sky itself. It sits between gray towers, so tall they block the sky. I hear wind screaming through the towers with a terrible wailing. The god is waiting on the other side. For what, I do not know. But there is one thing in all my visions that never changes.” The god measured the menace in the faces surrounding him. “The dark god always emerges through that door. And once he is here, nothing will stop him.”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “This is my vision, but I detect a…sense of falseness to it. The future, or each half-glimpsed version of the future, holds a sense of inevitability. This particular vision has none. Which is why I am loath to fully trust it. Which is why I need you to use your powers as well, Odin. See into your future, confirm if my vision is truth or lie. Which is the only reason I called for you, wolf, when I sensed you nearby.”

  His eyes turned crafty. “Perhaps the real question is, why were you in the Otherworld, Fenrir?”

  Fen cursed inwardly as all eyes turned to him. Fucker. “Celine was dreaming.
I went in to find her.” He didn’t need to look over at Odin to know those all-seeing eyes were burning holes through him. “I wanted to see if I could find her and possibly stop that thing from connecting with her. Stop him from hurting her.” He felt a jolt as Mir clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “I would’ve done the same thing, brother.” Mir stared the rest of them down. “Can’t figure out Celine’s symbols as of yet. Maybe Njor can take a look and see if he recognizes any of it.” He shot a mocking grin at Njor. “The scene you described though, sounds like Chicago down to a tee. And I’m pretty damn sure you’ve never set foot in the Windy City. So if there’s any chance these visions of yours could be true, we’d better quit fucking around and start figuring out ways to stop this thing.”

  From there the whole discussion devolved into the typical testosterone fueled, sleep deprived, frat boy arguing it usually did, with one displaced, pissed off Vanir thrown into the mix. Just as Fenrir was starting to edge out of the room, a small, slight figure plowed straight into his chest. “I need something to write with. Please…oh God, please….” Celine’s sleep-glazed, frantic eyes darted up at him, full of the kind of shadows he knew didn’t come from old dreams.

  These came from new ones.

  “Please Fen, please find me something to write with.” Her hands were clutching, shaking, seeking anything to grasp onto. As much as he wanted to carry her out of there, he knew the only way for her to find peace was to let her purge herself of the images the dark god had planted into her mind.

  Fen quickly steered her to the table while everyone else got the hell out of her way, and Morgane quickly scrounged up a notepad and placed a pen in her hand. Celine leaned forward and began to write. It was hypnotizing as she focused, a laser on her target, and the symbols flowed out of the end of that pen like a black river. A precise, orderly flood of foreign markings. And in that room, everything stopped. Everything except the scratching of the pen on the paper. Even Odin stood transfixed, everyone’s fate balanced on what was streaming out onto that paper. Not knowing if the last thing she wrote would open the door, or if they had another day, another night, or week. People shifted position, while Fen moved closer, thinking he would grab her if anything happened. And finally, after the pile grew impossibly high, she threw the pen onto the paper and leaned back, angry tears streaming down her face.