Go! Njord commanded, and spun Skadi away.
I will not leave you! the goddess of winter shouted, and the two of them prepared to fight.
Njord was at least as much a master of his realm as Neptune was, and with Skadi present, the battle was even more vicious. Neptune raised waves, and Njord let them pass him by, water through water. Skadi was ice and storms, however, and though she could transition to a wind-form, that left her unable to do more than ruffle the waves with her fury. She howled through her gale, and froze the ocean around Neptune, forcing the Roman god to change his position every time she did so . . . but then he’d shatter her ice with his trident, and fling the fragments at Njord with another wave, using their own weapons against them. Njord retaliated with waves and whirlpools, himself. Stalemate, for almost four hours, as the squall Skadi raised became a gale, with near-hurricane force winds tearing at the gray surface of the North Sea.
Finally, Neptune saw an opening as Skadi materialized near the surface of the water. His net flew out and landed on Njord, tangling him. And with Njord pinned, even if it were only for an instant, Neptune struck, hurling his trident so that it caught Skadi in the chest, the central prong lodging in her heart.
She looked down, as if in surprise, and Njord roared her Name, trying to hold her together by the force of his own will, and through the power of their bond. Skadi! No! He threw off the net, but it was too late. Skadi’s clear, ice-bright eyes dulled. Her flesh crumbled like snow in a child’s palm, and she shattered, falling in chunks into the steel-gray water.
Neptune called his trident and his net back to him as the shockwave burst out of Skadi’s body, a wave of cold so intense it burned. The waters of the North Sea froze all around where she had stood. Icebergs formed, and a column of clouds rose from her body, filling the sky. Faced with the choice between absorbing his wife’s essence and allowing Neptune to feed on her, Njord, on his knees and weeping, opened himself to Skadi’s dying spirit, trying to take as much of her as he could.
It wasn’t enough. The storm, once begun, continued to build, and the ice continued to expand, thin at first, but extending for hundreds of miles in every direction. The northern half of Britannia, where the Picts had once lived, was suddenly locked in on all sides by ice. The sea levels began to lower, steadily but perceptibly. Fish and seals and sea birds caught by the wave of cold were frozen right into the salt-tinged ice. Ice floes broke off, and became a hazard to shipping. And still the clouds built and built overhead. Neptune! Njord shouted, still cradling what he could of his wife’s essence to his heart. You will die for this, I swear it!
But the god of Rome had already departed for the Veil, leaving Njord to mourn . . . and to see if a mad godling appeared to feast on the remains of his wife’s spirit. Njord remained precisely where he was, for an hour or more, weeping under the cold gray sky that mirrored the pitiless sea below. And then he allowed himself to retreat to Valhalla, and found Tyr and Thor. Brothers. I require your assistance. His voice was dull. I cry blood-feud against Neptune. There is a life between us, and I will not rest until he has repaid that debt in his own blood. Yet he and I are too much alike in power to do more than bruise each other. He looked at them both, his eyes lifeless. Will you lend to me of your strength?
And as one, Tyr and Thor gave him their hands, as, in the northern reaches of the world, the Fimbulwinter began.
Iunius 8, 1995 AC
The Sargasso Sea had been named for the vast quantities of sargassum seaweed that floated in this deep, calm area. The gyre of the Sea of Atlas and the prevailing currents all conspired to fill this region of the ocean with teeming life, and larval eels darted here and there, freshly hatched and trying to gain the strength to return to the freshwater rivers that they would call home for most of their lives. There were turtles, fish, and sea horses, all constantly moving through the softly-swaying pillars and tangles of the kelp. But there was one thing missing, at the moment . . . sunshine. The sky above the waves was gray, and ice rain spat down into the waters, in spite of the season. Nature knew no calendar this year.
Far below, the muddy surface was compressed by the weight of hundreds of feet of water, and it was dim, at best, with what little light there was, being diffused long before it could reach the earth. If any observer had been present, and had had a light in hand, they would have seen a male humanoid figure with a fish-tail, swimming near the bottom, and stopping to observe the kelp and the animals periodically. His long, tangled green-brown hair flowed in the water, making him look strangely akin to his surroundings.
The current stirred, and Neptune looked up. Nothing was how it should be, and hadn’t been, since he’d killed that frozen bitch, Skadi. The polar ice caps, which had been melting, a few years ago, thanks to Jormangand and the damnable mad godlings, were suddenly thickening at an unnatural pace. Half the North Sea was clogged with ice-floes that were the direct result of her death, and the cold weather was continuing rapidly apace. Who knew the bitch had that much power in her? he thought, grimly. I brought back as much as I could to Olympus, and ceded it, as directed, to Jupiter . . . and even then, I was chided, for that her mate had absorbed so much of her. And now, the seasons are out of joint, and the seas suffer.
The current stirred again, and a prickle of unease crept over him. He could feel the whole of the gyre that kept the Sea of Atlas constantly in motion, and this rush of the water had been . . . localized. It felt like someone breathing in his ear.
Atmospheric pressure over the waters decreased. Weather satellites, far overhead, registered the unheralded appearance of the trough of an enormous low pressure system, and chill clouds overhead began to swirl, and tighten. The winds picked up, sleeting rain sideways now. The tingle of incipient electricity filled entire region, and again, Neptune’s senses prickled. Someone comes for me? Who would dare, here in my native element?
Something hit him in the torso, and knocked him twenty feet through the water. His ribs shattered, and then began to knit up again, almost instantly, and Veil sight saw the projectile retreating back through the water. Energy limned it, blue-white, and the core of the object was matter denser than depleted uranium . . . as dense as that found at the heart of a dead star, though lacking its heat. He had a confused impression of a hammer . . . but it moved so quickly that it defied even Veil senses and a mind unconstrained by time.
A thousand feet up, Thor and Tyr hovered over the water in mid-air, accoutered for battle. Mjolnir re-appeared in Thor’s hand, dripping, and with a few errant scraps of kelp hanging from it. Tyr regarded him, steadily. This is how you go fishing?
I have a hammer. The humans have a saying about what all problems look like, when one has a given tool, yes? Thor set himself, swung the hammer up over his head in both hands, and brought it down, letting it fly back into the water once more. You, for example, have a spear.
Spear-fishing is a time-honored tradition.
So is using a line or a net. I have neither. I have the option of using my hammer, or calling to our quarry by his Name and saying ‘here, fishy-fishy, who’s a pretty fishy.’ Which would lack some dignity.
Tyr looked at Thor, as Mjolnir once more appeared in his hands, and the ocean below them began to froth and bubble, as if something enormous were about to surface. You are concerned for your dignity? You? You once made a wager with a human that you could throw that hammer through three ale casks.
And I won. I got to drink all that ale. Bargain made, bargain met. A house-spirit does its work for a cup of milk and a slice of bread. I require larger sacrifices. Thor grinned hugely.
I am fairly certain that the human no longer wanted the ale after it had spilled out over the ground.
Libations, brother. Libations. You are not so much for them, but I am! A pause. Are you going to help with this, or am I doing all the work?
Tyr hefted his spear, and, not looking down, threw it, in turn. Lightning followed the spear down into the water, and electricity arced across the entire Sargasso, pl
aying from one horizon to the other. Fish began to bob to the surface, dead, and then the spear re-appeared in his hand. You were saying?
Neptune heaved himself out of the water, bleeding, and the two thunder-gods looked down at him. Thor hefted his hammer, and Tyr lifted his spear. We would have words with you, sea-god, Thor said, baring his teeth, all amusement gone from his eyes. You are a murderer and a coward. You killed Njord’s wife, but would not stay to face him? Niðing, I name you.
Neptune’s eyes flickered back and forth between them. Measuring them, and their power. I met Njord in open battle. Skadi chose to join the affray, and the bitch suffered the consequences of her actions. If Njord were anything but a coward, he would come, himself, and fight me again, rather than having hidden behind his wife’s skirts.
A wave formed and rushed towards Neptune, and as the water flowed, it became a male body as Njord slammed into Neptune with tidal fury. I am here, and I will face you—
Neptune turned and caught him, and the two struggled in the water, rising and falling, kelp and fish bobbing limply around them. You couldn’t face me on your own? Coward. Weakling. First you hid behind your wife, and now, you bring others, rather than rely on your own strength—
Foolish Olympian, Tyr said, as lighting crackled in the sky once more. Apollo of Rome, we have not yet caught out of the Veil to deal with, as he dealt with Bragi. But you? You have forgotten who we are. Lightning sizzled through the air, and struck both sea-gods, who were still locked together, fighting, but only Neptune cried out in pain. Njord set his teeth and endured, having expected it. We did not intend for this to be some travesty of a ‘fair fight.’ This is not trial by combat. This is the execution of justice. His expression was set. A pity your Iustia is little more than a house-spirit. And Minerva has fled. Where is the vaunted justice of Rome, now?
Lightning came down again as Thor snorted. You forget with whom you would deal, Neptune. We are not the gods of Nahautl, who ignored Quetzalcoatl’s binding oath and attacked those who moved through their territory. We are one. We fight as one. We die as one. Scratch me, and Odin bleeds. Harm any one of us, and we all will retaliate. His eyes gleamed electric blue, and lighting forked down once more. Njord kept his arms wrapped around Neptune. Preventing the sea-god from fleeing.
The sky overhead was now almost black, and the wind was a continuous dull roar. And the two storm-gods brought the lightning down, horizon to horizon, lighting up that black and thunderous heaven, turning the bottoms of the clouds white with the dazzling, continuous barrage of electricity. Thunder did not die, never abated. One sound, one voice, one howl of rage.
The ocean seethed with it, boiled with it. Steam rose, only to be torn away by the wind. Neptune’s screams of agony were ripped away by the implacable storm. And still, Njord endured. Endured the lighting his brothers used against Neptune. Endured every moment of pain inflicted on the Roman god. Soundlessly, though tears of effort stood out in his bright eyes.
Only once did Tyr hesitate. Brother, release him—
If I do, he will escape to the Veil! Continue!
Moments later, two bodies floated, tangled together, in the kelp. Tyr and Thor dove down, and plucked Njord’s limp form out of the water, trying to take him to the Veil, when the shockwave of Neptune’s dying power exploded out of the god’s avatar. He was immersed in salt water, which was a binding element. It deadened some of the energy, at least, and dispersed it throughout the entire Sea of Atlas. The energies did not touch the shores of Greenland or Iceland, and ice-locked Britannia was safe, for the moment. The power brushed the shores of Nova Germania and Novo Gaul. But the sea floor cracked in places, bringing up bubbles of superheated rock, and the waters of the Sargasso began to boil. Neptune’s power flooded into the three gods left there, too, and Njord finally managed to open his eyes as his brothers continued to hold him in the air. Skadi . . . smiles . . . he managed, blue blood trickling from his lips.
Back to Valhalla, Tyr said, as Thor heaved Njord over his shoulders. Tyr put a hand on Njord’s forehead, trying to stabilize the energies fluctuating wildly in his brother’s body. Skadi is still with you. You two were bound. While one of you lives, the other does, too.
Shadows, ashes, and dust. A memory’s memory. Njord’s voice was a whisper. And yet . . . she smiles.
Iunius 14, 1995 AC
Zaya shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself as she left her class at just past one postmeridian. It was snowing.
In summer.
In Judea.
She’d seen snow perhaps three times in her life before this, and never accumulated like this. At the moment, there was almost a full inch of white powder on the ground. The local children seemed to find this novel and exciting, having started a snowball fight this morning as Zaya trudged along the slick sidewalks. She could have lived without the experience. Pretty to look at, but I fell twice on my way to class.
She shivered and looked up at the laden clouds above as white flakes fell, steadily, landing in her long, dark hair. She could just make out the pale gray disc that was the sun, a cold and distant eye peering through the clouds. And then she stopped, staring at the black line creeping over it. An eclipse? she thought, uneasily. The Astronomy department usually puts out notices . . . .
More and more people stopped beside her on the steps to stare upwards as the black line moved across a third of the sun’s face. Half. Three quarters. When the sun was fully occulted, the streetlights around them switched on, lending their light to the snow-filled, strangely quiet scene. Zaya swallowed, realizing that by now, the darkness should have begun to slip away again, if this were a true eclipse. She made her way to the Archives, and looked up the Astronomy department’s telephone number, and dialed, her fingers trembling . . . only to get a busy signal. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person with the idea. She looked up as her mother entered their shared office, and blurted out, “I need to find an almanac . . . .”
“I already looked it up,” Erida told her, her lips thin. “A total eclipse of the sun isn’t due until Februarius twenty-fifth of next year.”
Zaya swallowed. “Ah . . . so . . . what is this?”
“A very good question. How do you propose we go about finding out?”
Always another lesson. Zaya thought about it for a moment. “Summon a spirit affiliated with a sun-god?” She looked to the side. “Or just call Kanmi and Minori.” Her voice was rueful. I should have thought of that about five minutes ago. They’re both carrying pieces of the sun.
Erida raised her fine eyebrows. “Very good.” She removed the Bakelite telephone receiver out of Zaya’s hand, and began to dial, herself. “Ave, Minori. What troubles the sun today?”
Her expression went grim, and Zaya, unable to hear any of Minori’s words, sat down, and began translating more of the records from the Temple, in the hopes of finding something relating to the godslayers, or at least, something useable against the other gods. And she was rewarded for her patience, when, twenty minutes later, her mother called her over. “Zaya?”
“Yes, mother?”
Erida’s back was perfectly straight as she sat at her desk. “The information’s a little confused at the moment. But it appears that Diana the Huntress, the Roman goddess of the moon, happened to catch Dagr . . . the Valhallan god of the day . . . alone.” Erida sat down, slowly. “This happened in Nova Germania, about an hour ago. Just around dawn, their time.” She swallowed. “Diana slew Dagr over the skyscrapers of Novo Trier. The suspension bridges . . . all the cables have melted. They’ve collapsed into the Muhheakantuck River, all around Mannahata island. The entire city is without power, and the weather there is below freezing. There are rescue operations ongoing to try to save the people who were on the bridges but . . . realistically, it’s more recovery, than rescue.” Erida’s face was ashen. “The impact, the cold of the water . . . .”
Zaya huddled in on herself. The archives were always cold, and it seemed worse as she pictured leaden gray waters
closing over the roof of a car. Pouring in through the windows. “This isn’t on the news yet?” she asked, her voice small. “Have there been any reports of mutations?”
“It’s just coming through on the news services, Minori says. And no. No information on transformations, yet. Dagr was a sun-god, like Sunna. He might have released his energy as radiation. We must hope not, because if he did, his people will suffer horrific, slow deaths, as so many in Tiwan have.” Erida touched her fingers to her lips. “A mad godling was attracted by the energy release, and is being held at bay by Freya, Odin, and Heimdall over the long island in the bay.” She exhaled. “There are ten million people in Novo Trier. The Goths can’t lose another city. Not after Cimbri-on-the-Caestus. And half the surviving Iroquois had taken refuge there.”
Zaya nodded, but ten million people was an unimaginable number. It would take an image. Seeing someone being dragged from the rubble on the news, probably. And then, suddenly, it would become real. Right at the moment, however, she could still deal with it in the abstract. “And we’re seeing the sun eclipsed here because of that?”
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