As Nith rose through the air, Sigrun dipped into the constant murmur of voices between the gods she served, and said, Freya? May I have a moment of your time?
Two or three, in fact. I am on patrol in Burgundoi, and there are no mad godlings in the vicinity. What do you wish of me? Freya’s voice was calm.
My sister has foreseen me in combat with Obsidian Butterfly. I am unsure as to timing, though I suspect that the fight will take place at night. Ītzpāpālōtl’s time of greatest power.
And yours, Nith reminded them both, turning his head to look at Sigrun as he raced up into the clouds. He clearly was giving her time to think before he returned them to the Judea house.
She almost killed Quetzalcoatl. She would easily slay me. I do not have centuries of belief and power at my disposal, as he did. Sigrun felt surprisingly calm about this all. We know that she prefers to target those gods with powers similar to her own. Night. Death. Darkness. Magic. She probably targeted Quetzalcoatl for his Morning Star aspect of vengeance. He and I are somewhat akin, in more than the fact that he holds a brother-in-arms of mine as his avatar. Sigrun swallowed. It would have sounded arrogant, a few years ago. Now, it was just matter-of-fact. I think it possible that she will select me as an easier target, and one with a better match for her own powers. She exhaled. We might be able to encourage her to do so.
Nith’s entire body jerked. You wish to make yourself the bait in a trap? he asked, sharply.
It is not a bad notion, Freya said, after a moment’s consideration. With the correct allies there to reinforce you, such as Niðhoggr, the Morrigan, and myself, you would not be entirely in danger. But you must look to be vulnerable and open to attack. Do you think that flying alone, without your dear friend, along the border of Nahautl, would be enough to gain her attention?
Perhaps. I will return to Valhalla to consider locations. This must be done as far from human habitations as possible, but Ītzpāpālōtl must still be able to register where I am.
The Morrigan actually came to Valhalla to consult with them, and the border state of Coahuila seemed a good place to have Sigrun fly patrols alone, without Nith. To say that the dragon was unhappy with the decision was an understatement. Forgive me, he said, in a firm, even angry tone. But this is a foolish risk. Ītzpāpālōtl will already surely be targeting Stormborn, as we two rescued Quetzalcoatl from her attack, as he came across the border. At his words, Sigrun relived the moment, the massive jade form of the feathered serpent racing through the sky towards them, light radiating out from him as if he were a comet. And clinging to his back had been a bat-winged creature with a face as lovely as Lassair’s, though distorted with hate. She stabbed at him with a sword made of obsidian, her mouth filled with his flesh, as Quetzalcoatl streaked towards them, and managed to shake the bat-winged goddess off his body. Nith had engulfed Ītzpāpālōtl in his icy breath, and Sigrun had brought lightning down on her form, buying them time as Quetzalcoatl had slammed into Nith in the air, just about knocking Sigrun from the dragon’s back. Every square foot of his hide had been covered in blood. And then he’d transformed, and sagged across Nith’s neck, and Sigrun had thrown out a call to all of her brethren, I am leaving the border! We are under attack, and I have Quetzalcoatl with me, injured! Someone take the south!
And then there had been the horrific flight through the Veil, with Ītzpāpālōtl right behind them every step of the way. Lashing at Nith’s haunches with her blade and her power, and Sigrun twisting around to shield him, and send lances of seiðr back at the goddess. Ītzpāpālōtl would fall behind, briefly, after each counterattack, and then, inexorably, would catch up again, intent on her prey. They hadn’t been able to lose her, until they’d exited the Veil into Judea. And there, the Obsidian Butterfly had refused to go. You are probably correct, Sigrun admitted to Nith, after a moment. She has as much reason to be angry with you, as with me. What then, do you propose?
Make no changes that would catch her attention or arouse suspicion, Nith told her, baring his diamond fangs. Ītzpāpālōtl is intelligent. She will smell a trap. We should fly the southern patrol as we have, but with allies ready to move to us at a moment’s notice.
You are correct, I believe, Malice-Striker, the Morrigan had decided. However, given that the Butterfly is indeed a cunning opponent . . . I think it just as likely that she will analyze your patterns, Stormborn. She will attack any moment that she feels you are likely to let your guard down. And where do you let your guard down?
My realm, Sigrun admitted. And in Judea.
We cannot kill her in your realm, save by catching her there, dragging her from the Veil to the mortal realm, and executing her there, Freya said. But you are also well-defended there, given the number of frost-giants that have honored their allegiance to Hel and to Hel’s son, and joined you there. She considered it. We may have to follow you to Judea, if the Butterfly attacks you there. That will be a grave breach of etiquette. Freya winced, her golden eyes narrowing. I do not particularly wish to fight the god of Abraham.
As if he would actually manifest to object, the Morrigan scoffed.
So, a week after her initial visit with Sophia, Sigrun returned to the asylum to plant more seeds of concern with Apollo of Delphi, describing the civil unrest in Judea at having Sekhmet and her followers just outside their borders, and how Sekhmet wouldn’t cross the border—and how angry the goddess must be, that no one had come to the aid of the Egyptian gods. “It’s their fault, really. They refused to ally with anyone,” Sigrun said, as Sophia put her head down on her shoulder, and wept. “It’s hard to have sympathy with those who wouldn’t help others, but expected aid, themselves.” A hard, pragmatic tone, and the words were close to what Sigrun actually felt, at times . . . though she definitely had not wished the gods of the Nile ill. Horus had sacrificed himself for his people. And Set had sold his life as dearly as any god or human ever had—if he’d died. That was in question.
And on exiting the asylum, just after nightfall, Sigrun looked up at the last colors of sunset, feeling a prickle travel down her spine. Nith?
I sense it, as well. Someone watches. He lowered his neck slightly, so that she barely had to rise in the air to get aboard . . . and she pulled her armor around her, reflexively. To the Veil?
Not yet. Freya? Sigrun tossed the thought out. I think we might have a nibble on the bait on our hook. Nith? We have to get to the south, out of the populated area. Head for the desert. Sigrun pulled a bubble of seiðr around them, calling her spear to her hand. Adrenaline flowered through her body, and she rode it as it blossomed, watching the skies around them in the nearly-colorless half-light in which she now saw the world after sunset, as well as with othersight
Nith hadn’t yet broken the sound barrier, or even crossed half of Jerusalem, when Ītzpāpālōtl slammed into them, going more or less the same speed. Sigrun felt her seiðr shield collapse at the impact, and Nith snarled as clawed feet scored his side, shattering the scales there. His armor displaced some of the impact, else even his enormous pelvis might have been shattered.
Freya! Sigrun called. It’s time! Please come to us! She slid off Nith’s back, taking to the air herself to attack Ītzpāpālōtl. Her spear scythed through the air, blazing blue with electricity, but the head itself shimmered bone-white. It had long since ceased to be a physical spear, becoming instead an extension of her will.
As Sigrun flew in to attack, Nith flipped around, nose for tail, sinuous in the air, coming in behind the goddess, and exhaled white death at them both. It didn’t affect Sigrun at all, but Ītzpāpālōtl screamed, a sound that rang off the rooftops and shattered tiles and windows below. Sigrun’s head resonated, and she swung her spear again, but the bat-winged goddess was as agile in the air as any creature Sigrun had ever seen, dodging easily. You stole my prey, Ītzpāpālōtl hissed, flipping away, Nith’s jaws closing on empty air as the dragon fleeted by, his belly scales inches from Sigrun’s head. You killed Tlaloc, and Tezcatlipoca, stealing of their essence.
Sigrun threw herself out of the way, feeling the air currents tear into vortices at Nith’s passage, and spun, looking again for Obsidian Butterfly. That you consider your brethren your prey says everything about you that I need to know, Sigrun tossed out, circling in the air.
And then Ītzpāpālōtl was on her back, raking at her with talons made of obsidian, but infinitely harder and sharper. The talons pierced through Sigrun’s armor, and she could feel blood leaking down her ribs as she twisted and spun, driving an elbow back, and then tried to use her spear to wrest herself free. The major problem with aerial combat like this, was that it was like grappling in a swimming pool, strength against strength, action and reaction, and with no floor to brace against. She got one arm free, and Ītzpāpālōtl shifted, trying to drive her talons into Sigrun’s neck . . . and Sigrun, who associated Judea with her mortality, remembered, abruptly, that she was in no way constrained by the limitations of a mortal body.
She became shadow and smoke, and billowed up and away, reforming behind Ītzpāpālōtl, swinging her spear again in a scything arc, cutting into the goddess’s back. No words. No taunts. No flyting. This was a contest for survival until Freya and the Morrigan arrived. The beautiful face that Ītzpāpālōtl wore—fathomless black eyes, cupid’s bow lips, and long, waist-length hair that shone in the dim light—shriveled. Turned into a mummified skull, though the eyes remained the same, horribly enough. Quetzalcoatl is weak. He will lead our people to destruction. Only with the power of all of us, united, can our people be saved from the mad godlings. Ītzpāpālōtl’s skull-like visage grinned. I simply choose to unite them all in myself. An obsidian sword, a tacpatl, appeared in her hand, and she raced for Sigrun, swinging it. Sigrun, seeing Nith coming in from behind again, vanished into shadow, as the dragon hit the goddess, driving his claws deep into her.
Ītzpāpālōtl screamed again, and dragged herself free, bleeding. Die, you whey-faced bitch! she said, and the words were directed at Sigrun, who’d just rematerialized on Nith’s back.
The power hit her like a wave, and, as when Hel had tried it on Sigrun, it met a similar power at her core. Sigrun swayed in place, pain flooding through her . . . commingled with an odd sort of pleasure. You would think that one so old would understand that this would not work on me, she thought, dizzily, shaking it off, and brought lightning down, instead. The Butterfly hissed in annoyance and tried to skim along Nith’s belly, agile as a bat in flight, slashing with the claws on her wings, and the sword in her hand. Come on, Freya. She’s just whittling away at us . . . . Sigrun brought lightning down again, and then once more slipped off Nith’s back, racing along his length herself, no more than inches from his body. His blood splattered down, covering her as she chased Ītzpāpālōtl, catching up in time to meet sword with spear, and then Nith swung his tail. The fearsome lash struck Ītzpāpālōtl and sent her flying half a mile, but the goddess’ scream of rage shattered more windows. Judean jets are scrambling, Nith reported, sounding pained.
That will just get the pilots killed! Sigrun pulled at the sky, tugging at the sullen clouds above. She needed to keep those jets on the ground. Fog. No, they have radar and other instruments. Sleet. If their wings are iced, they can’t take off, can’t maneuver. Sorry about this . . . . The weather shifted. Winds howled, blasting at the city, and sleet came at her command. This was made easier by the impact of the Caledonian Forest on the local climate and the ambient conditions of the Fimbulwinter. Stay down where it’s safe!
The moment of distraction cost her, as Ītzpāpālōtl darted in once more, swinging her sword, shearing through Sigrun’s armor again. Sigrun felt the impact, felt her ribs giving way as the sword sought her lungs, and slid away in shadow form once more. Materialized behind the goddess again, and tried to swing her spear. It was difficult; Ītzpāpālōtl’s sword was akin to Supay’s club. It devoured essence, and Sigrun felt weaker for having been touched by it . . . but again, there was a certain resonance. Like called to like. A good thing that my spear isn’t death, Sigrun thought distantly, through the pain. Justice . . . vengeance . . . twin edges of the same blade. She darted in, thrusting and parrying, trying to keep Ītzpāpālōtl off her until her body had been able to knit itself together again, while Nith circled, came in for the attack, breathed . . . and then flipped end for end again, hitting the surprised goddess with his tail. We are at least holding our own— The thought was cut off as Ītzpāpālōtl retaliated, arrowing straight for Nith’s face, landing on his snout with all the force of her mass, accelerated to close to the speed of sound. The bones in his muzzle shattered, and Nith snarled with pain and recoiled, closing his eyes reflexively to protect them from the sword in Ītzpāpālōtl’s hand.
Sigrun didn’t even think. One moment she was hanging in air, dozens of yards away. The next, she was on top of Ītzpāpālōtl, a blur of shadow and moonlight, barely taking material form long enough to score a hit, and then gone again. Nothing in her at the moment but the need to protect, and to avenge the harm done.
There was a roar of engines overhead as a jet that had managed to take off in spite of the storm veered closer to them. Sigrun barely registered it until a missile lanced towards them. Everyone in Judean Air Command currently knew what Nith looked like, and knew not to attack him. Radar had trouble locking onto him, anyway. But Nith wasn’t the target. Ītzpāpālōtl was, but Sigrun was in right on top of the goddess at the moment. Sigrun let her shadow form blur away from the Butterfly . . . and Ītzpāpālōtl laughed and deflected the missile at Nith.
Sigrun reflexively brought lightning down, causing the missile to explode before it connected, but the resulting fireball lit up the night, and scorched Nith’s side. I told you people to stay on the damned ground! Sigrun shouted, and then saw Ītzpāpālōtl’s form, ascending directly for the fighter jet that was battling the winds she’d summoned. Oh, gods, no. Sigrun darted after the goddess, catching up just as Ītzpāpālōtl reached the plane, and landed atop it, kneeling to drive the point of her sword down into the cockpit, killing the pilot, instantly. Sigrun could hear the scream of the co-pilot as he fought both the instruments and his own fear, but Ītzpāpālōtl had the plane in her grip now, and turned it around to face Sigrun. Such marvelous toys these humans have made, the goddess said, and the pilot inside the cockpit . . . moved. Clumsy hands found the controls they had known in life. And then the large caliber guns under the wings opened fire on her, and all the remaining missiles launched, and Sigrun had to once more blur into shadow, reaching out with seiðr to parry the missiles out beyond the city’s limits.
Then Nith raced in from behind her, hitting plane and goddess at the same time. His claws sheared through the metal of the wings, and he forced the plane into a steep dive with his weight, riding it towards the ground, while trying to snap at Ītzpāpālōtl with his broken jaws. The goddess laughed and fell away through the sky, and then Nith unfurled his wings, telling the wide-eyed and panicking copilot, Eject. The plane will not land in the city. Save yourself! before disengaging and soaring back up into the fight, where Sigrun was hard pressed, trying to defend herself.
And then finally, finally, reinforcements arrived as Freya and the Morrigan appeared in the sky, Freya’s form glowing with golden light that radiated down on the houses below.
Adam had moved to the window at the first cracks of thunder, and his eyebrows had risen as sleet, atypical for a storm involving lightning, poured down from the sky, glazing the windows almost immediately. He’d gotten his heaviest cloak, pulled the hood up, and gone outside, wincing as the cold immediately invaded his bones . . . and had stared upwards, awestruck, as lightning rolled across the sky, horizon-to-horizon, all centering on specks against the clouds that were only made visible by the thunderbolts’ eldritch light. The largest one was definitely Nith. The size and the profile were unmistakable. Which meant that one of the smaller specks had to be Sig . . . .
Adam ducked back into the house for field glasses. Even with them, he could barely make out
the details of the combat. Sigrun periodically disappeared, even when the scene was crisply illuminated. She’d just blur out of sight, and appear somewhere else. It didn’t help that the speed at which they were all moving rivaled that of a fighter jet, and in a much tighter space. He actually felt motion sickness, trying to keep track of them as they blurred and whirled.
Then two more figures appeared, one form emitting a golden radiance that lit up the city as if it were day, and the other form was dark, as if to match the first one’s light. They entered the fray, and Adam realized, with an uncomfortable clenching of his stomach, that this was the first time that gods had fought in Judea in centuries. This isn’t supposed to happen here, he thought, helplessly, feeling Caliburn at the small of his back, and reached for it. The gun’s weight comforted his hand. I don’t suppose you can manage a rocket launcher, can you?
The weapon remained quiescent. Didn’t think so. I don’t have a clear, identifiable target, anyway. Come on. Take the fight somewhere else. The city can’t take an explosion or a close-proximity earthquake . . . .
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