Raven Magic

by Jennifer Willis

  Loki surprised her with his laughter. “You think I’m doing this?” His snickering turned into a proper giggle fit, and he doubled over as he tried to get hold of himself. There was a dark desperation to his laughter that made the freshly healed muscles in Sally’s back start to coil up. She held onto Freyr more tightly.

  Loki wiped at his eyes as he stood to face her. “Sally, dear, you’re a powerful witch but still so naïve.”

  Sally set her mouth in a hard line. She let go of Fenrir and clenched her hands into fists. “I probably am. But at least I’m still alive, thanks to Fenrir.”

  “Yes.” Loki dipped his head for a moment, then came back up with eyes blazing. “Congratulations, son. You have saved the Rune Witch and killed us all.”

  14

  For the third time in less than two days, Heimdall was following the Fenris Wolf.

  Fenrir had come hurtling through the forest toward Heimdall, Opal, and Laika just as they were about to emerge into the clearing at the base of Mt. Bachelor. Laika had been overjoyed to see her new friend again, but both Heimdall and Opal had bristled at the sudden reappearance.

  Fenrir offered no explanation for why he’d abandoned them earlier, nor about what precisely had happened to Sally—who now sat in the dry grass, somewhat dazed and covered in blood, burns, and soot. He had spat something vengeful and bone-chilling about his father—words Heimdall was grateful he couldn’t make out—and then quickly directed Laika and Opal to tend to Sally while urging Heimdall to push north into the forest.

  “It’s the Sisters,” Fenrir growled as he grabbed the front of Heimdall’s shirt and pulled him along. “They must be appeased.”

  That’s all the information Heimdall had gotten. The vacant look on Sally’s face, the blackened detritus and scorched grass in the clearing, the generally morose demeanor of Loki—Loki?!—hovering at the tree line, and the belches of volcanic ash from Mt. Bachelor gave him a pretty good idea about the rest.

  Loki had been up to no good, or had been in the midst of some scheme that backfired. Sally was caught in the middle, and now everyone and everything was in imminent danger.

  In short, just another Friday.

  Heimdall hadn’t wanted to leave the scene of whatever supernatural crime had transpired, but he knew Fenrir wouldn’t get all worked up for no reason. So Heimdall pushed hard to keep up with him.

  Fenrir wasn’t much of a conversationalist along the way.

  “How did you manage to kill a lava god?” Heimdall coughed between short breaths. He tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t showered or changed his underwear in two days; he consoled himself with the thought that his brother was likely even more ripe.

  Thor had one more day on his vision quest, or had his guide already abandoned that charade? Heimdall hadn’t figured out Thor’s role in the current fiasco, the involvement of the volcanoes, or why Fenrir would have gone hand-to-hand with a mountain spirit, but it gave him plenty to puzzle over as they continued their hard run northward.

  “Tore out his throat, then his heart.” Fenrir’s tone was eerily calm, despite his obvious agitation and hurried pace.

  “Yeah, that would do it.”

  The ground rolled again with a thundering roar. Heimdall struggled to keep his feet, but Fenrir scrambled over fallen trees and dodged swaying branches as though they weren’t even there.

  Heimdall wanted to ask why Loki had remained behind but the murderous look on Fenrir’s face when he’d glanced in his father’s direction before leaving the clearing could have melted the last of the polar ice caps. Whatever bad blood previously existed between those two had just gotten a lot nastier.

  Fenrir surged past a springy pine branch, and it quickly snapped back and caught Heimdall in the nose. He grimaced and checked for blood. Odin should have been the one heading to the Sisters. He’d have a better grasp of the stakes involved and the best courses of diplomacy and action, ranked in order of priority and promise. Heimdall was a dutiful son and for centuries had been content in his father’s imposing shadow while he executed whatever needed to be done. But Odin had been relying on Heimdall more and more as a leader within the Lodge. Thor would have relished those opportunities, but Odin always loaned the mantle to Heimdall instead.

  Heimdall had grown accustomed to the responsibility by now, but he was also tired.

  “How much farther?” Heimdall called out.

  Fenrir flashed him a nasty look over his shoulder. “You’ve got someplace to be?”

  “No, I, I just,” Heimdall panted heavily. “I’m just trying to pace myself.”

  “The time for that has passed,” Fenrir replied, not even slightly winded. Heimdall wondered if it would be a blessing to be reborn as a wolf, or even a Warg, if there were such a thing as reincarnation. But then the idea of being a cousin to Fenrir sent a chill down Heimdall’s spine.

  An ear-splitting crack of thunder rumbled beneath Heimdall’s feet, and he grabbed the nearest tree to keep from losing his footing. Even Fenrir stumbled before he caught his balance and pointed straight ahead. Heimdall gazed above the treetops to the sloping rise of South Sister, and she definitely looked perturbed. Her highest peak had already blown its jagged top and was spewing dark ash into the air. Small streams of lava had only just begun to trickle down her steep sides.

  Heimdall had no idea how to deal with a volcano spirit, especially an angry one. He was trapped between two explosive peaks. An eruption from either Mt. Bachelor or South Sister would be catastrophic, but both at once? Then he remembered South Sister’s two siblings. Fenrir had taken out one mountain spirit. Was he up for three more?

  “If Jonathan is dead, shouldn’t his volcano quiet down?” Heimdall asked as the rumbling roar beneath his feet quieted.

  Fenrir gave him a hard look. “You have questions. There are the answers.”

  He pointed forward, and Heimdall made out a cluster of figures moving through the woods ahead of them. As the echo of the most recent rumbling faded from his ears, Heimdall heard their familiar voices. Rod. Thor. Grace Red Cliff. There was another, rough voice he didn’t recognize, but Heimdall breathed a sigh of relief when his father’s deep tones carried back to him. But then there was another voice, one that had too recently been silenced. Heimdall’s eyes opened wide.

  “Freyr,” Heimdall breathed in cold awe. “What in the Nine Realms is happening here?”

  Fenrir pushed forward to catch up to the group, and Heimdall fell again into hurried step behind him.

  Sally sat against the wide trunk of a tall ponderosa pine at the edge of the clearing at the base of Mt. Bachelor. Laika pressed her warm, furry body against her. Every time Sally moved, the wolf-dog whimpered. Sally was grateful for the comfort but wasn’t sure about the likelihood of her recovery if she was making a half-wild thing so anxious.

  Opal shoved another handful of wild plantain leaves into her mouth and chewed quickly. After about half a minute, she spat the vigorously masticated pulp into the palm of her hand and spread the soothing green mass over Sally’s forearms. Even with the healing relief of Gaia swirling up into Sally’s flesh, every movement had been a new agony before Opal went to work with native plants scavenged from the surrounding woods.

  With her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her plant-encrusted arms, Sally sneaked another glance at the looming peak of Mt. Bachelor. The volcano was still glowing, and gray ash fell on the grass like so much emo snow.

  Opal sat and draped an arm over her friend’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we relocate? I don’t mean to sound obvious, but if there might be an eruption . . .”

  “We can’t get far enough away.” On the other side of the clearing, Loki plucked pine needles from a low branch with seeming nonchalance. The ground quaked as if in confirmation of his assessment.

  Opal sighed angrily and dug into her pack. She’d already given Sally all the water she had, rendering her dehydrated camping meals useless unless anyone had a craving for salty powder and dry n
oodles. Opal tore open the foil on her last protein bar and handed it to Sally. “Any better?”

  Sally nodded and took a small bite of sticky granola. “The pain isn’t as bad.” As she chewed, she dabbed at her nose with a ragg wool sock pilfered from her backpack that Heimdall had carried all this way. Her face didn’t feel as scorched or raw, but she imagined she still looked like a burn victim. “It’s weird. I can’t even remember what he was singing about, not the exact words.” The sock came away bloody. “He really did a number on me.”

  The poultices—which Sally kept thinking of as gobs of plant-spit—started to itch on her arms. She took that as a good sign and willed herself not to scratch. If Jonathan hadn’t gotten so close, she might have gotten a nice tan instead of this pseudo-sunburn. Opal really knew her plant magick, though, and Sally hoped she wouldn’t have to tell her parents that she’d nearly been melted into goo by a volcano god.

  “You’re okay.” Opal gave her friend’s shoulder a careful squeeze, then pulled out her GPS unit. The unit’s screen flickered to life, flashed “NO SERVICE,” and promptly died. “Worldwide navigation my left kneecap,” she groaned. “I should sue these guys.” She shot Loki a suspicious look. “Or is this because of you? How wide is your a range of electronic interference?”

  Loki sprinkled a handful of fresh pine needles onto the ground. “I’ve never thought to test it.”

  Sally glanced up at Mt. Bachelor again. “It’s something to look forward to, at least. Testing it. Trying things out.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” Opal yanked the first aid kit from the very bottom of her pack. “We’re getting out of here. Everything is going to be all right, even if we don’t know how. Yet.”

  Before Sally could object, Opal tore open an antibacterial cloth and started wiping the grime off of Sally’s arms. When the alcohol touched her burned wrists, Sally winced and tried to pull her hands away.

  “Sorry.” Opal dabbed at the finger-shaped scorch marks more delicately. “Just making myself useful. Assistant Rune Witch and all.”

  “Opal . . .” Sally leaned forward and rested her forehead on her knees. She didn’t have the energy or the will to have this same argument again.

  “It’s okay,” Opal replied with a tense smile. “I get it now. Or, I think I do.” She opened a new alcohol wipe and went to work cleaning the tops of Sally’s feet. “You never get to take a break. You’ve told me that before, but I don’t think I really understood it, until . . .”

  “Until a lava god tried to make the Rune Witch his bride,” Loki offered.

  Sally was thankful for the relief of shade as Loki’s shadow fell over her, but that was the extent of her gratitude. Laika shifted uneasily and glanced back and forth between Sally and Loki. Sally leveled her coldest glare at Loki, but she couldn’t keep her lower lip from trembling. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Laika stood up tall and give Loki a low, warning growl.

  Loki shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to work resurrection magick.”

  Sally pushed off of Opal and rose unsteadily to her feet. Laika pressed her flank against Sally’s leg for support. Sally had grown a few inches taller in the last couple of years, and she now stood nearly eye-to-eye with the god of chaos.

  “You sent us into the forest with impostors,” she hissed. Her throat was still tender, and she hoped this new raspiness wouldn’t be permanent. If she took up singing, would she sound like Stevie Nicks or Miley Cyrus? Something else to look forward to trying, maybe. “You put me and my friends in danger.”

  Ignoring her accusations, Loki spread his arms wide and smiled. “And how well you succeeded! You achieved a massive resurrection indeed. Not one but four volcanoes have awakened to your call. That’s no easy feat, Little Witch.”

  “Don’t call me that!” Sally tried to yell, but the words came out as a hoarse cough instead. She had to clear her throat a few times and spat another unsightly mass of charred, bloody phlegm into the dirt. She didn’t exactly feel like a paragon of strength. “Why did you let this happen? If you knew what my memorial magick would unleash, how could you let Jonathan come after me like that?”

  “He could have killed her.” Opal balled up the dirty wipes and threw them at Loki’s feet. “You know, Sally’s defended you for years. She’s always taken your side whenever I’ve made the least criticism. But you know what? You’re not a good guy. She’s been way too nice. Naïve, even.”

  For a second, Sally allowed herself to think about just how close she’d come to a fiery, melty death. Would she have succumbed to smoke first, or would she have been fully conscious when the lava cooked her flesh? A painful shiver ran the length of her burnt body.

  “Not anymore.” Sally spat blood onto the ground, and it sizzled. Mt. Bachelor belched more smoke into the air.

  “Ladies, if you please.” Loki motioned toward the grass, asking them to sit, but Sally and Opal stood their ground. Loki dropped his shoulders. “From your limited perspective, you have every right to be angry.”

  “From our limited perspective!” Sally croaked. Her pain level ratcheted back up a few notches. How much angrier could she get before her blood literally boiled?

  Loki lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Limited by time, not by cunning or strength. You and I have rather different views of the Cosmos.”

  Sally sank down to the grass and wrapped her arms around her knees in a tight, angry ball. Opal knelt beside her. Laika positioned herself in front of Sally and bared her teeth at Loki. He took a few steps back.

  “There’s no light and dark to magick, Sally.” Loki sat down in the grass several yards away. “Just as the moon waxes into brilliance and wanes into darkness. It’s a matter of balance.”

  Sally wouldn’t look at him. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

  “Not exactly.” Loki was interrupted by another rumbling quake. He brushed a dusting of gray ash out of his black and silver hair. “The short version, as they say, is that working with darkness is as much a part of your core nature, Rune Witch, as any spell for healing or abundance you might conjure.”

  “And your point is?” Opal barked. She rested a hand on Sally’s back and leaned toward her. “Want me to sic Laika on him? Heimdall said it would be okay.”

  Sally managed a quiet chuckle, and the shiver of a wag ran through Laika’s tail.

  Loki folded his hands together. “My point, Sally, is that you and I are more alike than you may have considered.”

  Opal leapt to her feet. “That’s not even close to being funny! How dare you say such a thing, especially after what you’ve put her through.”

  Loki nearly laughed. “After what I have put her through?” He tried to make eye contact with Sally but she refused to cooperate. “You don’t actually subscribe to such a point of view?”

  Keeping her gaze low, Sally dug her fingers into Laika’s soft fur. The wolf-dog seemed to relax at her touch.

  “You’re . . . Well, you may not be outright evil, but you’re shadowy,” Opal shot back. “And you’re just so . . . Unreliable.”

  Loki shoved his hands into his pockets and chuckled. “That’s a new one, though not at all accurate. I am extremely reliable, you see. Just not in a manner you might expect.”

  “And just who are you people?” barked an older man in a safari shirt and military camouflage trousers as he and two younger, similarly dressed men pushed into the far side of the clearing. “We’re supposed to be alone out here. The trails aren’t even open yet.”

  Loki turned to the interlopers with a tight smile. “Which begs the question as to your own presence in the forest.”

  “More crazy fools running around in the woods. Might as well get them on the record.” The gray-haired man turned to his companions and started tugging at the straps of their equipment bags. He pulled a wireless mic out of an exterior pocket and paced impatiently while his crew unloaded their cameras.

  Loki walked toward the apparent leader. “What exactly do you
intend to do with that?” He eyed the mic with curious delight.

  The man grumbled something unintelligible and pressed past Loki. He kicked his way through the ash-pile remnants of Jonathan and approached Sally and Opal. Opal reached for her staff, leaning against the nearest tree, while Laika got her hackles up and voiced an unambiguous warning. The man ignored them both.

  “What are you girls doing out in the woods?” he demanded. “Have you seen any tall, hairy creatures wandering about?”

  Sally looked at him in utter confusion. “What?”

  Loki sidled up to one of the crewmen and gestured toward his high-end digital camera. “Nice gear. Mind if I take a look?”

  “Don’t let him touch that!” Opal called to the cameraman, though Loki was already balancing the device in his hands. “He’ll fry your electronics.”

  “I asked if you’ve seen Bigfoot?!” the older man shouted as he shoved the mic into Sally’s face.

  Laika let out a vicious snarl and sank her teeth deep into the man’s hand. He tumbled backward and tried to scramble away, but Laika wasn’t giving up her hold. Behind him, his employee gave a strangled cry as greasy smoke poured out of the digital camera balanced in Loki’s open palm.

  Heimdall pressed his hands to his face to keep his eyes from bulging out of their sockets.

  He could have blamed the evening’s lengthening shadows, the lack of sleep, or the fact that he’d been on the move for two solid days without ready sources of food or water. He blinked hard, but the huge, hairy creature remained standing before him. It was better than seven feet tall and covered in coarse, dark hair—save for its hands, feet, and face, which were almost human-looking.

  “Siatco,” Heimdall said for the third or fourth time in a dozen seconds.

  “You can keep saying it, but it doesn’t make it any less real. We’ve got ourselves an honest-to-goodness Bigfoot, brother.” Thor clapped a good-natured hand on the siatco’s back. The creature gave the thunder god an irritated look and Thor backed away.