by Kevin Hearne
Loki backed up, keeping space between himself and Herne, and rested his twitching gaze on me. He raised a bony finger and waggled it in accusation.
“Y-y-you nah, nah-t dwarf con, con, ssstruct,” he said, repeating the accusation he’d made back in Poland. True. I’d told him that months ago simply to distract him, and it had worked far better than I ever imagined it would. He could have figured out the truth easily if he had bothered to listen to the dwarfs or asked his daughter, who wanted nothing so much as to please him, but apparently he was determined to do things his way and in his own time. The jerking finger panned to my right. “Zeussss. Ju-Jupiter. No fff-friends tih, tih, to dwarffffs.” I supposed that was his way of building a case against me. “Who you are?” Loki said, and I couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement. “Fffffind out. I wuh, wuh, will!”
Oberon said.
Herne and the remaining huntsman had had their fill of caution. Windsor was on fire and they needed justice. They pressed their attack, weapons held high, and Loki’s giant sword crashed down onto Herne’s and slid down its length. The antlered ghost was brought to his knees by the force of the blow, but Loki did no lasting damage. On the upswing, though, he tagged the other huntsman, and the ghost paffed out of existence, decompressed as the blade’s magic sundered the ethereal binding of his form.
Herne saw this and the great sword raised high, ready to fall on him anew. I ran to his aid, since the Olympians would clearly do nothing but watch. I didn’t want to kill Loki yet, but I wasn’t averse to hurting him, and Herne didn’t deserve to be sent to eternity by an avatar of madness. The sword fell and Herne leapt out of the path of the downstroke, attempting to tumble so that he could rise and take a swing at Loki’s ankle. It was an excellent strategy and might have worked, except that blue smoke rose out of the ground all around the giant and took shape as draugar, the undead minions of Hel. And the Queen of the Dead herself rose with them, behind her father, as tall as he and stinking of rot and pestilence. Her right side was a vision of loveliness and her left a wasted husk of a corpse. Without ever glancing our way, she placed her right hand on Loki’s shoulder and grated in Old Norse, “Come, Father, we have much to discuss.” Then she and Loki melted back into the earth and left us with a dozen blue draugar to fight. Herne cursed and I cursed with him. I didn’t want the two of them to confab, ever, and now it appeared as if they would and Loki would learn who I truly was. And it was all because Ukko had freed both Loki and Garm at someone’s urging. Garm had clearly healed, tracked Loki here, and told Hel where to find him on Midgard.
“Blood and shite and fifty-seven severed cocks!” Herne roared, swinging his sword through the neck of the nearest draugr. “I’ll be spanked by all the men of Scotland before me mates are wiped out and no one pays for it!” He kept going like that, slinging curses and lopping off heads, and I joined in lest he be overwhelmed. The draugar had not been armed and had little defense against our weapons, but anyone could use help against odds like that. Oberon pitched in by knocking a couple of them down, giving us the time to finish them off.
Once the draugar were decomposing into ash at our feet, I turned in disbelief to the Olympians, who hadn’t stirred an inch to lend us aid. Zeus closed his eyes in perverse pleasure for a moment before flashing me a crooked grin. “Who was that tall woman who appeared just now? She wasn’t half bad.”
“Bloody git,” Herne whispered.
Chapter 27
“That was Hel,” I explained. “Loki’s daughter. And now that they’re together, Ragnarok could start at any time.”
“And what, exactly, would that entail?” Jupiter asked, clearly trying to decide if he should care or not. “You said something about Hel and Muspellheim, but I am unfamiliar with their legends. Why would the nightmares of the ancient Norse trouble the modern world?”
“Okay, fair enough. I’ll lay it out for you.”
“We should move before we talk,” Perun interjected from where he knelt next to Flidais. “Innocent peoples come.” He pointed east; there were now four aircraft heading our way, silhouetted in the early-morning sun.
“True,” I said. “Let’s move deeper into the forest. Would that be agreeable to you?” I raised an eyebrow at the Olympians.
Zeus and Jupiter exchanged glances and gave each other a tight nod.
“All right, give me a moment.”
If the fire on the edge of the forest took firm hold and began to spread, we’d have firefighters here in addition to investigators. Aside from that, of course, I couldn’t bear to let it continue; these were trees for which the Wild Hunt of Herne had perished, and I knew that somewhere, later, I would find the time to be very upset at their passing. With help from Albion, who was much better at moving earth than I was, I bound turf and dirt from the forest floor to the trunks of the affected trees, smothering the flames before allowing the earth to settle back down. While I did this, Zeus and Jupiter finally deigned to be helpful and transformed their thunderclouds into a thick fog that hid us neatly. Mist swirled and shrouded us as the thump of rotors whipped the air above. They’d have to put someone on the ground to find us now, and I figured we still had some time before that happened, if it happened at all.
I led the Olympians to the place where the huntresses were buried and silently asked Albion to move Mercury underneath the ground to somewhere near them. Perun and Flidais followed, though Flidais moved gingerly and only with Perun’s help. She would heal fully from the burns eventually, but I knew from experience that it would take an uncomfortable while.
“Right,” I bellowed over the noise of the choppers, which I hoped would move away soon. “You wanted to hear why you should care about the Norse. Let’s start with Hel, whom Zeus found so alluring. Hel commands legions of those semi-corporeal zombies called draugar, who don’t go down easy unless you behead them, and I have sources who tell me that they now have access to modern automatic weapons. She can also command the dead, so every person her army kills is a potential recruit for said army. Her forces will quickly build into something that can’t be stopped before you add on anything else, but there’s more. The sons of Muspellheim are fire giants—sort of like Loki but without an off switch. They just love their fire and magma and want to share it with everyone. And the frost giants are going to join in too, so you’re going to have elemental upheaval on top of the zombie apocalypse. And then there’s Jörmungandr, the world serpent, who will presumably pop up somewhere and start shit in the ocean. And we may or may not have to deal with dark elves. Humans won’t stand a chance against them. Well, maybe Chuck Norris would. But you know what humans are like. They’ll panic and start shooting one another, because they’re going to think their enemies are responsible for it all. Or else they’ll go into Doomsday mode, assume that the only rule is anarchy, and do something unthinkable to people. Some trigger-happy idiot might even launch a nuclear missile, and then it’s over. It’s going to be one hell of a bloodbath, guys. When all the humans die—or so many of them it won’t make any difference—what’s going to happen to you and all the rest of the gods who depend on their belief?”
“Bah!” Zeus exploded. “We go to kill Hel and Loki now and this never happens.”
“Who’s ‘we,’ Zeus? Do your powers work on any other plane but Olympus and earth? I know Hermes and Mercury can travel to other planes and return, but are you certain that they remain immortal while they’re cut off from this plane and the source of their worship?”
Zeus flicked his eyes to Hermes, and the god of thieves gave a tiny shrug. I pressed my advantage. “Have you ever called forth lightning on a plane other than this one or Olympus? And even if you have, did you not notice the part where Loki thought your thunderbolts were kind of cute?”
Zeus glared at me and said nothing. Jupiter jumped in. “Fine. You kill them both.”
“He’s not so easily killed, as you just witnessed, and neither is Hel. I certainly don’t
want to confront them on their turf, where I’ll be weakened and they’ll be strongest. Come on. You guys are smart. What we need to do is help out Odin and the rest of the good guys and make sure the right side wins when they make their move. Look, I’ve already managed to take out Fenris—he was supposed to kill Odin and wreak bonus havoc. What if Poseidon and Neptune went looking for Jörmungandr and we took him out as well? That would make Loki and Hel all kinds of worried. They’d crawl back to their dark holes and shake their fists and say, ‘Curse you, unexpectedly effective alliance of powerful beings!’ And then we’d all have ice cream or something. What do you say we cooperate on this so that we can all have a future?”
“You mean everyone but Bacchus, I suppose?” Jupiter said.
“No, I’d be delighted to live in a world where Bacchus and I can coexist. Seriously. You know, we did so for more than two thousand years. It’s only recently that he decided I needed to die and I disagreed.”
“Tell me why.”
“Gladly. This is truth or I am the son of a goat: Some of his Bacchants tried to make a move on a city under my protection. I killed a few of them because they were slaying innocent humans. Bacchus took offense—probably because it was a Druid who did it and you Romans have always hated Druids—and it escalated from there. Had his Bacchants not invaded my territory in Arizona, he’d still be living in blissful ignorance of my existence. But after I called him some names, he swore to you that he would kill me, and so here we are. All I want is to be left alone and I’ll do the same to you. I left you alone for two thousand years and I can do it for two thousand more. I’ll tell you what: As a sign of good faith, I’ll return Mercury to you now.”
I asked Albion to release Mercury from the earth, and he complied. Five boulders rose from the ground, the rock and chalk and clay crumbled away from Mercury’s body parts and melted into the turf, and the overall effect was to make me look like a boss.
Jupiter grunted, staring at the pieces of Mercury, whose eyes burned with hatred. “Good faith? Are we in a negotiation now?”
“Yes. A treaty of sorts. The Treaty of Windsor, if you will. Hear me out, please?”
“Go on,” Jupiter said. Hermes, who had been hovering safely above, floated down to Mercury’s chopped limbs and began squidging them onto the torso until they held and began to graft together.
“I’ll release the goddesses and Bacchus as well for nothing more than a sworn oath that they will not pursue vengeance against me or my associates. I want the same oath from all the Olympians, and you can have mine in return. I have demonstrated for millennia that I can control myself and not seek revenge for wrongs done against me, so I’d like to see you do the same.”
“That would give you permission to behave as you wished in the future if we promise not to pursue vengeance.”
“No. I’m asking for amnesty for my trespasses to date, not diplomatic immunity for the future. If I break my oath and mess with you, then I should be punished—though I hope we would talk before we let it get this bad again. By the same token, should any Olympians break their oaths, they can expect to disappear. But let’s not focus on what could go wrong. Things are wrong enough as it is. Let’s focus on what could go right. Your pantheon will be whole again and have an exciting new challenge coming in the form of Loki’s traveling horror show. You will win much good karma for helping the Norse. Also, if we win the fight up here in this part of the world, then your people in Greece and Italy are saved and so are you. If we lose, then it’s the kind of loss we won’t live to regret.”
I paused to let them respond. Jupiter didn’t speak to me, however. He stroked his beard contemplatively and spoke instead to Mercury. “You have heard his words. You know what is at stake. Will you, in exchange for your freedom and a similar pledge from the Druid, swear to hold the Druid and his associates blameless and seek no vengeance on them?”
Now that he was whole again—and perhaps because he’d had a small taste of what awaited him if he refused—Mercury had little problem agreeing to such an oath. At Mercury’s words, Zeus cast his eyes to Hermes and chucked his chin by way of a question. The oiled beard lifted up exuberantly as a result and then smacked wetly against his chest. Hermes nodded his assent, albeit grudgingly. He was uncommonly taciturn for a messenger.
“All right, Druid,” Jupiter said. “You have an agreement in principle thus far. I cannot speak for all the Roman gods, but I have some hope that I can persuade them.”
“The same applies to the Greeks,” Zeus added.
“Excellent. If you would not mind, I would like you to start by persuading Pan and Faunus. They are currently preventing me from shifting planes.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “If you are able to shift planes, then you will be able to abandon the huntresses and Bacchus.”
“I am in earnest and wish there to be peace between us. I won’t abandon these proceedings. But I must also have the ability to escape should any members of your pantheon choose to attack me before taking their oath. Think of this as your demonstration of good faith. Halt the pandemonium and I’ll render you the huntresses directly afterward.”
Zeus spoke to Hermes. “Where is Pan now?”
The messenger god’s eyes rolled up for a moment and then clinked back into place like slot-machine tumblers. “Here on this isle.” Interesting—and logical. Hermes was clearly able to locate any member of the pantheon he wished at any time, which would allow him to ferry messages. It would not be a far stretch to imagine that he could locate anyone he wished that way. If that were so, then perhaps the Olympians hadn’t been working with anyone in Tír na nÓg after all. Well, aside from that ambush in Romania. They could have simply followed Granuaile on their own and thus found me.
“Fetch him here immediately.” After glancing at Mercury, who was visibly improving but in no shape to fly yet, he added, “and if Jupiter agrees, Faunus too, wherever he is. All possible haste.”
Jupiter gave his consent to summon Faunus, and Hermes flitted away into the mist. We spent perhaps ten seconds simply staring at one another, which was nearly unbearable since I felt that Zeus’s persistent erection was also staring at everyone.
“You should really call a doctor if that lasts more than four hours,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
Both sky gods said, “What?” in unison, and I shook my head by way of telling them to never mind.
“If you’re wondering how long it will take them to get here,” Jupiter said, “it shouldn’t be longer than a few minutes.”
“That’s truth,” Zeus agreed. “Hermes is very quick about such things.”
“That’s reassuring to hear. Perhaps he will be able to bring the rest of the Olympians here and we can ratify the treaty this very day.”
Zeus gave a noncommittal shrug. “It depends on whether or not we are whole again. I will not summon them until Artemis is returned.”
“Nor I, until Diana and Bacchus are returned.”
“Fair enough. But will you do so if we continue to follow through on our promises and reach a new understanding?”
Zeus said, “I will. I wish to be a part of this battle against Loki and Hel.”
Jupiter did not verbalize his agreement but nodded.
Hermes returned with Pan first, who looked amused at our meeting more than anything else. Hermes disappeared into the mist to find Faunus next.
Pan required little persuasion to stop spreading pandemonium throughout England. The entire exercise for him had been one of mischief more than malice, and he’d never been particularly cheesed off about the temporary abduction of the dryads south of Olympus, since he preferred to frolic around Arcadia in any case. He simply liked to fuck with people, and Faunus had given him a great excuse to follow his fancy.
“It’s done,” he said in Greek, a half smile twisting his features. The horns peeking out through his hair were stubby things rather than the curled rams’ horns I’ve seen in some artist depictions, and his other goat bits were anatomical
ly correct. “Do as you wish and live in peace so long as you leave me to do the same.”
“Gladly,” I said.
Faunus, when he arrived, took a bit more convincing. Some of those dryads had been his particular favorites.
“They’re perfectly healthy,” I reminded him, speaking in Latin. “And if Bacchus hadn’t persuaded you to spread pandemonium throughout Europe, it never would have been necessary for me to abduct them in the first place. He drew you into his personal conflict, and while I might question your judgment on that score, I don’t harbor any ill will against you or any dryad. I simply did what I had to do to escape Bacchus while doing as little real damage as possible.”
“Three months of worry about my dryads was pretty damaging,” he fumed.
“For that I am sorry. But you have caused me great personal hardship of late and may consider yourself avenged already. Can we exchange forgiveness and move forward in peace?”
Faunus clenched his fists and didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Jupiter and saw no sympathy in his hard eyes. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes,” he said.
My own shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d been. “Thank you. A moment while I check, if you please.”
Windsor Forest was an old wood and had been bound to Tír na nÓg long ago, though not by me. I put my hand to an alder tree and concentrated, searching for the tether that would allow me to shift away. It was there, strong and vibrant, waiting to take me wherever I wished. I breathed a soft sigh of contentment.
“Excellent,” I said. “I will bring the huntresses back and allow them the opportunity to end their hunt of me and my companions. If they refuse to end it, then I hope you will understand that I cannot release them.”
Neither of the sky gods had a problem with this, to my surprise. “On her own head be it,” Jupiter said.
I asked Albion to bring up Artemis first. When the rock and clay cleared away from her face, she was even more ready than before to swear an end to it all.
