Moon Dog Magic

by Jennifer Willis

  “Thank you.” There was a quaver in Bonnie's voice, but her hands were steady as she raised the mug to her lips and downed nearly half the contents in a single gulp. As she lowered the mug, her eyes shone with a serene strength Thor had never seen in a Berserker. She took a more confident step toward him. “Umm, I’m really not sure how I should address you?”

  Saga touched Bonnie’s shoulder. “You already know me. Now you just know more about my family.”

  Freya gestured toward the mug in Bonnie’s hands. “Drink all of it.”

  Bonnie swallowed the last of the tea, and all remaining tension left her body. Thor studied the new Einherjar, trying to place her among the legions of Viking warriors he had commanded. Though women were rare in the ranks, there had been a few and they'd been just as fierce as their male counterparts.

  Thor pointed at Bonnie. “Do any of you recognize this warrior from past battles?”

  Bonnie handed her mug back to Freya. “All I can tell you is that I woke up this morning feeling like a Viking.” She paused. “I know that sounds stupid.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that.” Freya stepped in front of Bonnie and looked into her eyes. “What memories do you have of the Viking age?”

  “Nothing specific. It’s just like . . . Well, I know who you are.” Bonnie gestured to the gods standing around her. “And I know that if you put a broadsword, axe, or longbow into my hands, I’d know how to use it. Do some real damage, too, even though I’ve never touched one before. And I could probably handle the rigging on a longship.”

  A smile curled at the corners of Thor’s mouth. He spotted the edges of a dark tattoo hidden by the tall collar of Bonnie’s sweater. “What’s that on your neck?”

  Bonnie pulled down her collar and turned her head. “It’s a tattoo of an old Celtic knot. I got it years ago.”

  Thor studied the ink pattern, then waved Freya over. “Does this look familiar to you?”

  Freya glanced at the knot and nodded. “Yes.”

  “This is a Celtic design?” Thor traced the pattern of the three-armed knot on Bonnie’s skin.

  “The triple points represent the maiden, mother, and crone, and the surrounding circle symbolizes the oneness of all.”

  “It’s a valknut!” Thor laughed and pointed at Bonnie’s neck. “The Einherjar has a valknut!”

  “I don’t understand. What’s a valknut?”

  Freya rested her hands on Bonnie’s shoulders. “It’s the mark of the slain. The fallen heroes of Valhalla. It’s the mark of those who follow Odin.”

  Bonnie nodded in bemused confusion. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. As much as any of this. So, umm, how may I be of service?”

  Thor’s muscles tensed as a strange, buzzing sensation started in his midsection and radiated through his body. He looked at Freyr, Freya, and Saga and knew from their faces that they were feeling it, too. He was about to ask Freya what in the Nine Realms was happening now, when he noticed the others starting to glow—a faint but unmistakable aura of glittering gold and silver surrounded each of them from head to foot.

  Thor stretched out his hands and saw that he was shimmering, too.

  “Belief,” Freya whispered. “It makes us stronger.”

  Thor made fists with his big hands. “Strong enough to pound the Moon Dog into the ground with a single blow?”

  “Probably not.” Saga offered a sympathetic smile. “But it’s still something.”

  The door to the street opened and closed, and a small, dark-skinned man emerged from the hallway. He slipped off his shoes without being asked and stepped into the practice room.

  Thor assessed the newcomer with disappointment. The man was short and slightly built. The man pulled a knit cap from his head, revealing a smattering of pewter gray hair atop a balding scalp. Thor hoped he had wandered in accidentally. If all the Einherjar were going to show up the form of young ladies and tiny, bald men, Thor wasn’t sure what chance they stood against Managarm and his Berserker army.

  The man looked up at Thor with wide-eyed, excited awe. “It’s you!” He looked around the room, nodding his head to each of the others in turn. “I don’t know how I knew I’d find you here.” He gazed again at Thor with a renewed sparkle in his eyes. “But here you are!”

  Freya slipped into the kitchen.

  “Who are you, exactly?” Thor asked.

  “I am Tariq Rizavi,” he replied. “And you are Thor. I have been called into your service.”

  Freya reappeared beside Tariq and offered him a cup of warm tea. Tariq bowed his head and accepted the mug. “My thanks to you, lady.” He took a sip and turned back to Thor. “I offer my aid and loyalty.”

  “Looks like a Muslim to me,” Thor grumbled. “How in all of Niflheim is a man of Allah supposed to fight on the side of the Vikings?”

  “Dude.” Freyr nudged Thor’s elbow. “Not cool.”

  “I am no Muslim!” Tariq protested. “I am Hindu! Ksatriya, generations upon generations of Ksatriya! The finest warriors the world has ever seen!” He puffed out his chest. “You think just because I am from Pakistan, I am a Muslim? You may be the god of thunder, with your big hammer and thunderbolts, but you are a big doofus.”

  Dumbfounded, Thor stood silently as Tariq moved through a series of yoga postures, impressive for a man half Tariq's age. Thor pretended not to notice that Freyr was trying hard not to crack a smile.

  Thor ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Enough with the stretching.”

  Coming to the end of his demonstration, Tariq wagged a finger in Thor’s face. “You are lucky to have a Ksatriya on your side. You respect me, I respect you, okay?”

  Thor lifted his big hands in resignation. “Sorry I asked.”

  “A man of Allah is nothing to sneeze at, either,” Tariq continued. “You should be so blessed to have Ksatriya and Muslim stand together with you!”

  Tariq drank the rest of his tea. Freya caught Thor’s eye and gestured for him to settle down. Thor turned away with a short growl. Freyr was right. He was being intolerant, by modern standards, but what kind of soldier could worship an invisible, transcendent supreme being while serving gods of flesh and blood? This was exactly why so many of the old gods and goddesses had simply faded away, after humans turned their backs on them.

  Thor's hands still bore a faint, golden glow, somewhat brighter since Tariq’s arrival. He wondered if they were indeed getting stronger or if this was just the next step of fading into nothingness.

  He pressed his fists against his temples. Trying to sort through so many conflicting thoughts on monotheistic warriors serving polytheistic gods in a battle for the survival of the Cosmos made his head hurt.

  “Can’t we all just get along?” he whined, then felt like an infantile moron when Freya touched him on the elbow.

  “You okay there?” she coaxed his hands away from his face. “I can fix you some tea, too.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Thor replied. “I’m just having an existential crisis.”

  A sharp finger poked him in the ribs. Thor wheeled around, and Tariq ducked out of the way of his swinging arms and avoided getting smacked in the face.

  “I have seen the wolf,” Tariq said solemnly. “The one called Fenrir. He is your nemesis, yes? He is supposed to kill your father?”

  Thor tried to keep his temper, but the mention of Fenrir was nearly too much. “Something like that.”

  “He is at the sanctuary.” Tariq raised a finger purposely in the air. “I will take you to him.”

  Saga shook her head. “He’s already been let loose.”

  “Ragnarok!” Bonnie gasped.

  Tariq pursed his lips and looked back up at Thor. “I think maybe his destiny is different than you think.”

  Thor cocked his head. “What makes you say that?”

  “I dreamt of your wolf this morning, a terrible dream.” Tariq’s voice caught. “I woke feeling that certainly all was lost. But I couldn’t sit still. I left the house. As if I could only fi
nd the right thing to do, the dark wolf would not win.” He gestured between himself and Thor. “Has this meeting here been foretold by your seers?”

  “That’s difficult to say.” Thor thought back to his last encounter with the Norns, when they’d called him at three in the morning to tell him he’d become the king of an Alaskan salmon colony and would receive tithes of cheddar cheese and ball bearings. “Assume it hasn’t.”

  Tariq nodded with a smile. “I think maybe what was once set in stone is now not so certain.”

  Thor glanced at Saga. She was, after all, the goddess of history and mythology. He raised his eyebrows to ask the silent question: Was it possible they’d come so far through time and across land and sea from their origins that the old legends no longer held? That a short Hindu gentleman and a bookstore manager would be called up as Einherjar seemed unlikely enough that just about anything was conceivable.

  “I have no idea.” Saga lifted her hands. “Is it possible? Sure, I guess, but . . .”

  “But enticing possibilities about whether or not we’re facing Ragnarok doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got the Moon Dog setting up to inflict some serious hurt.” Thor crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Tariq. “I apologize if I offended you.”

  Tariq nodded with humility.

  “Can we expect any more Einherjar to suddenly appear, or is this it?”

  The front door opened again.

  Freyr stepped out of the way as a gang of twelve gruff looking men in black leather jackets and denim jeans strode in. They all wore the same patch on their jackets—a rainbow-striped triangle beneath a winged “V." They didn’t remove their heavy boots but strode confidently to the edge of the dojo mats and fanned out. Standing in the middle of the gang, a solidly-built older man with a thick beard removed his leather cap and looked directly at Thor.

  “We are the Valkyries.”

  Sally lay on the bed with her eyes closed. She had never in her sixteen years been so tired, and she looked like she should be collecting Social Security checks. Her hair had gone completely white and was so thin that her scalp was showing through. With her stooped shoulders and aching joints, she was certain she’d lost at least two inches in height.

  And she’d worked so much magick in such a short space of time that every part of her tingled with residual energy.

  She’d tried drinking water, standing barefoot on the wooden floor, and even sticking her hands into the soil of Rita’s houseplants, but she couldn’t ground the magick out of her body.

  After her last ritual—an elaborate spell that required both her own hematite runes and the ones Managarm had made, plus two dozen black and yellow candles and five pounds of coarse salt—she had collapsed, feigning unconsciousness.

  She was alone in the apartment with Peter, and while he called Managarm asking what he should do, Sally swiped the phone Adam had left on the coffee table.

  The bedroom door clicked shut behind Peter as he left the room. Sally waited a few beats before she opened her eyes. Her vision was annoyingly fuzzy, but the reading glasses on Rita’s bedside table helped a little.

  Sally sat up and tried to steady her breathing, which felt like passing electrical current through her lungs. There was no guarantee Peter wasn’t out in the hallway listening, so making an emergency phone call was out. And she couldn’t risk asking Peter for help. What control she may have had over the Berserkers was waning along with her own strength.

  They served Managarm now.

  Sally slipped the phone out of her pocket and tried not to start crying again. Her eyes and cheeks were raw from all the tears she’d shed. It was a wonder she wasn’t completely dehydrated. Ignoring the gnarled joints and translucent skin of her hands, Sally turned the phone on and gasped at the call history on the screen.

  Heimdall. Freya. Bragi. Saga.

  Freyr’s phone!

  Sally glanced at the door again. All appeared quiet on the other side. She adjusted the reading glasses and started typing a message.

  This is Sally Dahl! Managarm’s HQ @ NW Davis & 12th. Apt. 13Q. He’s taken my friend and cat.

  Fresh tears stung Sally’s eyes. She couldn’t forget the haunted look on Opal’s face when Managarm grabbed her and Baron—technically, the cat wouldn’t let Managarm anywhere near him, so Opal had had to carry him. He’d promised Sally would see them again, safe and sound, once she completed her work. So Sally called up an army of Berserkers for the Moon Dog, though she feared her friend and her cat were already dead.

  Sally deleted the last sentence and started typing again.

  He knows where the Tree is. He’s not here now, out with Berserkers. Will have an army by the Black Moon. PLEASE . . .

  Sally’s fingers paused. She couldn’t ask the gods to save her when she’d brought all of this about to begin with. They had better things to do, like saving the Yggdrasil. Saving the world.

  PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

  Sally swallowed hard and added “I’m sorry.” She stared at the display for an anxious moment then breathed in relief when she read, “MSG SENT.”

  “Trying to make a call?”

  Sally’s stomach lurched into her throat. Managarm was standing over her. She hadn’t heard the door open, or any footsteps. Maybe her hearing was going, too.

  “You frightened me!” Sally exclaimed, holding the phone to her chest so he couldn’t read the display.

  “I should think so.” Managarm ripped the phone out of her hand and smashed it against the bedside table.

  Sally couldn’t help her trembling. Worse, it seemed to make Managarm smile and fuel his rage, but Sally hoped it also covered her relief. There was no way Managarm could trace her text message now.

  He glared down at her. “Just what have you been up to, little witch?”

  Sally rested a hand on her chest, liking neither the bony collarbones she felt beneath her even bonier fingers nor the painful pounding of her heart.

  “I completed the ritual.” Sally gestured toward the living room. “I left the runes laid out in their pattern, waiting for the candles to burn down, but it should be safe now to move them.” Sally fidgeted under Managarm’s dark scowl. “You should have many more Berserkers coming. Any minute now.”

  His mouth broadened into a cold smile. “Any minute now?”

  Sally nodded. Managarm had flown into so many rages in the short time she’d known him, but he’d always softened again, particularly when her spells performed well. “They’ll come directly here. I added a locator element.”

  “So they will come to this building, instead of homing in on the Rune Witch?”

  Sally hesitated. “Well, I guess.” She looked past Managarm to the hallway, but there was no sign of Peter or anyone else.

  Managarm stepped closer and breathed in her face. “Then they won’t be so close to defend you.”

  Sally blinked up at him and read his intentions on his face. Opal and Baron were dead. She just hoped she’d be joining them quickly. She rested her hands in her lap. “Do it, then.”

  Managarm laughed. “I’m sorry?”

  “Kill me.” Sally lifted her chin, trying to be brave. “Just get it over with.”

  Managarm crossed his arms in amusement. “Now, why would I do something as foolish as that?” He took her by the shoulders. “There is one last bit of magick for you to work for me.”

  Sally let out a soft moan and fell limply to the floor when he brought his fist down on the side of her head.

  “A gay biker gang? The Valkyries are a gay biker gang.” Thor’s head was hurting again. He glanced over at Freya, who was handing out warm mugs as fast as she could pour the tea, and wondered if it would be any good for his headache. He looked out the window for any more surprises headed toward the dojo.

  “A bookstore lady, a little Hindu guy, and now these blokes,” he grumbled, not really caring if anyone heard him. “What’s next?”

  The rough-looking men in black leather—bearing the name of the winged angels who f
erried the souls of fallen heroes to Valhalla—stood on the other side of the room, drinking tea and watching Thor.

  Their captain handed his empty mug back to Freya and approached the god of thunderbolts.

  “We don’t make apologies or excuses for who we are.” He held his chin high, exposing the white t-shirt beneath his jacket. “I’m Ted. I’ve been running this group for twelve years. We ride in Gay Pride events and serve as the honor guard at the funerals of LGBTQ soldiers killed in combat. If you have a problem with that, I can’t help you.”

  Thor glanced at Tariq. He’d already been accused of bigotry once this afternoon, though he rationalized that it had been more surprise than true prejudice at work. Thor shook his head. “No, no problem.” He turned and headed for a bench against the far wall.

  Saga sat beside him and watched the new Vikings—only fourteen strong—mill about the studio, drinking tea and munching on cookies.

  “Not exactly the Valkyries of legend," Saga said.

  Thor reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket. “Not exactly, no.”

  “We don’t have the luxury of being picky right now.”

  Thor read aloud the text message on his phone. “From Heimdall. One of the Berserkers he saw in the woods dropped a wallet, with an address in it. 123 NW Davis.”

  “Apartment 13Q.” Saga held up her own phone. “Message from the Rune Witch—at least, the person I’m guessing is the Rune Witch.”

  “Crazy book lady?”

  Saga nodded. “Managarm’s headquarters. That’s a swanky building.”

  Thor thundered to his feet. “What are we sitting here for? We know where he is. Let’s go get him!”

  Before Thor could go storming across the floor to get the Einherjar riled up, Saga pulled him back. He spun impatiently to face her. “Why delay? We can prevent this whole thing from happening if we just get over there right now.”

  Saga passed the phone to Thor to read. “He’s not there.”

  Thor frowned at the characters on the screen. “But the witch is? Well, that’s just as good. We grab her and prevent her from helping him further.”