Death's Daughter

by L. A. McGinnis

  Surprised, Tyr took a second longer than he normally would have before bellying up to the table. “Nice hair.”

  “Whatever.”

  Tyr rubbed the side of his neck absentmindedly, wondering whether Freyr was capable of planning a fucking party, much less a war. “Fill me in.”

  And Freyr did. Going over each step in painstaking detail, Sydney or Mir interrupting every so often to point out a technical glitch or detail he’d missed. He didn’t miss many. “And that’s the best we’re going to do, since the bastard is so unpredictable. There are variables we can’t control. The weather, for one. And how long it’ll take the bastard to figure out a way to circumvent Syd’s magic. Other than that, we’ve got the bases covered.”

  Bases covered indeed. The implications of what the failed mission cost them sunk in. They should have been free of this thing, right now, today. The world could be well on its way to healing, and Hunter wouldn’t be on her way to the grave.

  Yet here they stood, planning another desperate mission.

  But shit… Tyr spun the page covered in Freyr’s handwriting and reread it. This was a good, solid plan. Well thought out, most complications anticipated, weaknesses accounted for. Tyr was on the verge of pointing out the one glitch Freyr hadn’t anticipated, when Balder and Vali dragged in a couple of heavy, black bags.

  “Got ’em.” Vali huffed, as Loki let out a foul curse, bursting out of his chair. Beyond the door, Tyr saw another haphazard pile of matching bags out in the hall.

  “Tell me you did not bring that shit up here.” Freyr growled. “The fucking parking garage. Store that shit down in the parking garage.”

  “I got to show you what we found. Tyr, take a look at these and tell us if we got enough fire power.” Vali’s face looked like a kid at Christmas.

  Zipping open the bag on the table, Balder spread open the canvas, exposing… “Holy fuck.” Military grade explosives with optic readers, titanium cases, and hair triggers, all jumbled together in the bag. A tangled mess of deathly weaponry.

  “Please tell me you assholes did not transport all of these like this?” Running his hands through his newly shorn crew cut, Freyr was fuming.

  “Well, they came in these big, silver cases, packaged up all nice and shit, but they took up too much room.” Vali sighed dramatically. “You gotta understand, we’ve got space issues in the Tahoe. The Hummer’s got more storage, but you toasted the extra one last month, so we had to take the Chevy. Blame yourself, asshole.”

  As the bickering picked up, Tyr and Freyr’s eyes met over the table, sharing a single thought. Idiots.

  “You two are seriously going to get us all killed with your bad decisions.” Tyr snarled, setting the initiators out on the table gently, one by one. At least twenty and a dozen ignitors. Which meant the other bags were full of charges. Semtex or C-4, most likely.

  “So true,” Freyr echoed, picking one up and inspecting it. “So will these be enough? I sent these assholes out to the abandoned military base in Valparaiso. Wasn’t sure there’d be anything to scavenge, but it looks like we got lucky.”

  Tyr lined them all up on top of the paperwork and counted. “Yeah, this will make a hell of a crater.” He shook his head. “But none of them will work on the God of Chaos or the circle.”

  “And what is this belief founded on?” Balder asked.

  Tyr picked up one of the charges and held it between his fingers. “These won’t touch him because he’s made of fucking stardust and moonbeams or some such shit. Even a nuclear blast won’t touch him because he’s made from a different kind of matter, and by that, I mean physical matter.”

  “He’s right,” Sydney pointed out. “Nothing touches him. My magic only weakened him, and I hit him with everything I had. But there was no way I could outright destroy him.”

  Balder spoke, his voice cautiously quiet, “We swung past the museum site on the way back. Just for a minute, you know, to see what was doing. He’s growing again. Looks like he might swallow up the marina, maybe the stadium too.”

  “What happens when he gets too big to control?”

  Tyr grabbed a pair of binoculars and headed for the stairs. Taking them three at a time, he reached the small metal door that opened to the roof. The wind was chilling down, as if winter knew it might not get its chance or had never left in the first place. Bracing himself on one of the buttresses, he looked southwest. The whole damn area was engulfed in a maelstrom of black, and Balder was right, the monster was growing.

  “We can’t fail this time.” There was steel in Tyr’s voice, steel that he hadn’t felt since this whole shit show had started, months and months ago. “We shouldn’t have tried to trap him and imprison him, not when we didn’t know it was a sure thing. Sealing the doorways shut, cutting him off…” He handed the binocs to Freyr. “We should have tried that first. You’ve got a plan, and it’s a good one, except for one thing.”

  He clapped a hand on Freyr’s shoulder. “I won’t be going with you.”

  34

  Striding down to the Trophy Room, Tyr felt the inescapable pull of Fate. The deep, glacial groove he’d been stuck in for far too long.

  Climbing out was hard.

  But staying in was suicide.

  He kicked the heavy door wide open and breathed in the scent of plunder. It only took him a moment to pick out the three items he needed, slip them in his jacket pocket, and go on his way.

  Mir told him he couldn’t change Fate.

  He was hoping Mir was wrong.

  Fate liked shiny, golden things, with sparkly gemstones—preferably diamonds—and a bit of fancy filigree. Tyr strode down the hall to the weapons room, grabbed a few necessary items and a ham sandwich, and sprinted down the stairs. There was one Hummer left in the garage, and it had his name on it. Heading north, he was about to take a trip back in time. They’d been stranded on this rock for an eternity, but that didn’t mean Odin hadn’t left them a back door. The bastard always had an exit plan. That’s one of the things, well, the only thing, really, that Tyr liked about him.

  They’d scouted this outlying portal together, when this world was new and pristine and not quite so…charred as it was now. Two hours there, he figured, double-checking the full gas cans in the back, and two hours back. If all went well, this would work.

  It had to work.

  A couple hours later, he turned into the long, meandering drive. Shit was certainly easier to find these days, marked with fancy stone and stucco signs and Google maps and such. Driving through once-manicured gardens, he passed lines of abandoned cars on his way to the cave entrance. Parking, he snagged the backpack and headed in.

  Back in the day, they’d brought tar dipped torches. Today, the extra bright, military grade LED mag light did the job twice as fast with half the trouble. Back in the day, he and Odin had crawled through a hole no bigger than their torsos, wriggling down into the cavern like worms. Now he took the metal stairs two at a time, anxious to get this part, the easy part over with. Swinging the light to the right, he broke through a wooden barrier, two sets of dire warnings about hard hats and falling stalactites, then balanced his way along a narrow ledge that fell away into nothingness. Now came the semi-hard part. Wedging the light into his belt, securing the pack, he crouched down and took four long strides before leaping through thin air, praying he’d find the narrow rock ledge on the other side. His feet slipped on the uneven landing, and he pitched forward, bashing his nose into the stone wall.

  But he’d made it. Pulling the light back out, he swung it around. He had about ten inches of ledge to skirt the rounded wall, and then there’d be another cavern to his left. Easy peasy.

  Ten minutes later, with all ten fingers raw and bleeding, he rounded the opening into the cavern and looked around. Same musty smell. Same bat cave. Just as dusty as it had been a two hundred years before.

  Now came the hard part.

  In the back of the shallow cave, Tyr shifted the stone covering from an opening, rolling i
t across the floor with a loud grinding, the weight of the thing straining even his shoulders. Two hundred years ago there hadn’t been a stone. They hadn’t needed a stone because nobody knew about this cave, but Odin was paranoid. Now there was this fucking heavy stone, and he’d probably need rotator cuff surgery when he got back to the Tower.

  There was also the little problem of not having Odin here.

  Odin, who actually knew how to open the portal to Asgard.

  Or so the bastard claimed. Tyr never really paid much attention to the science-nerdy shit, since he’d always handled the heavy lifting part. Which would make this next part tricky. Mir would have been the ideal person to ask, but he would have talked Tyr out of this. Loki would have tagged along, just to see what happened. And Freyr needed all hands on deck right now.

  The stone out of the way, Tyr considered the deep, silent black hole in front of him.

  The fact there was a hole gave him hope.

  Surely, the passage went somewhere.

  Stepping through, he figured he’d either end up exactly where he needed to be or floating in the middle of nothingness. Maybe, if the Fates were kind, he and Hunter might end up together in the Afterlife.

  He thought not.

  Those bitches were such assholes.

  35

  Home has a certain smell to it.

  It’s unique to each person, to every place. To some, it’s milk and cookies, to others, its wood smoke and pine. Tyr took a deep breath followed by another.

  Asgard had always smelled of blood and victory to him. The two somehow irrevocably, obscenely intertwined. But there was no denying it, he was back. Which meant, Asgard had not been eradicated, as they’d long believed. The golden realm had survived, much like they had.

  Something else to take up with Odin when he got back.

  Settling his mind and firming his intentions, Tyr reached out across this world, or what had once been his world, in search of that which he needed. Once he found them, he set off in a north westerly course toward the largest tree on the horizon.

  It is told, in the Old World, that destiny is nothing but a groove into which you are placed at birth and out of which you are taken at death. That fate and all of its incarnations are nothing but the universe slotting you into your predetermined future.

  Free will be damned.

  “Well, fuck that shit,” became Tyr’s mantra as he trudged toward the looming tree. People were created to make choices, bad or good, but choices, nonetheless.

  Nothing in this world was set in stone, and everything was up for grabs, especially the future. And if there was one thing he knew, it was that nothing, not God, nor Fate, nor fucking destiny itself would ever control Hunter Wallace.

  He was about to bet his immortal soul on that.

  Tyr found them beneath the tree. All his life, he’d given them a wide berth, as it wasn’t in his nature to tempt that for which he had no regard. He dealt in death, which meant their prophecies held no interest for him. When there was only one outcome, and it was only a matter of timing, he hadn’t really seen the point.

  Now things were different.

  And now that he was here, he wasn’t sure how he should greet them. Somehow, a “Hey, how’re you girls doing” didn’t seem appropriate.

  Raising a hand to them, he stopped, evaluating their reaction. Aside from the color of their hair, he couldn’t tell them apart, nor could he tell their age. Old, yet young, they were agelessly, unsettlingly beautiful, as if they encompassed all of time itself. No big black cauldron full of bubbling poison, he was glad to see.

  A web of ancient magic hung in tatters around them. The old kind, the sort he hadn’t seen or felt in a lifetime, licked at his flesh as he stepped closer. This close, the air stank of mold and damp, stirring with fetid, dark things. Circling the trio, they followed him with curious eyes, and still, he was afraid to speak, lest he begin badly. Too much hung on this meeting. Hunter’s life, their future. Everything was at risk.

  Some called them the Norn. Some the Fates. Some simply named them witches. But whatever their names, there had always been three:

  Present, Past and Future.

  Existing before anything else, they wove the lives of all living things together into a complex tapestry, creating the weft and weave of the universe. Some called them kind and protective. Tyr held no such illusions. They were trying to steal Hunter away from him, and they were the enemy. Like any good soldier, he’d expected tricks. And he’d come prepared.

  Reaching into his bag, he laid out three golden relics, beautiful, priceless, all the while riveted on their faces. For any sign of interest glinting in their eyes, for a slight, forward stirring, a hint of quickened breathing. He’d chosen these items carefully, though in haste, and briefly wondered if he’d done right. When the brunette in the middle reached down and picked up the long, tapered dagger, a glittering opal set into the pommel, he smiled inside.

  Ah, Past, there you are.

  The Glass Knife, capable of carving the shadows of forgetting from a person’s past memories. Making them as clear as the day they were made. Similar to the Well of Remembering, the blade had the added benefit of finesse—the wielder could carve out specific memories—and leave the rest forgotten.

  The wide, golden bracelet sat glittering in the firelight, the black diamonds subtly shifting. The bangle was enchanted, granting the gift of foresight to any who wore it. Tyr knew which sister would be drawn to this particular artifact. Present. Being trapped in the now, between two sisters who saw everything behind and before her, had to be maddening. She’d be eager to gain an advantage.

  And when the blonde reached down, fingering the circlet encrusted with ebony stones, Tyr’s eyes flew to the remaining woman, with eyes so dark they resembled the diamonds on the bracelet, lined by kohl.

  The Future would not choose any of the tokens.

  Because she didn’t need them.

  Bowing before presenting the neck collar to her, the dull gold set with a diamond the size of a goose egg, Tyr murmured, “I would ask a favor of you, my lady.”

  “Of course. One favor, and one favor only, warrior.”

  “Hunter Wallace.”

  “The human?”

  Mir tensed at the note of distaste in her voice. “That she is. I ask you to restore her life.”

  “Mayhap it is time she moved on.” The brunette pointed out, fingering the dull edge of the knife with feigned disinterest. “She has already enjoyed the span of ten humans.”

  “That she has.” Tyr took a deep breath. “But she gave it up for me.”

  “Which was her choice.” There was a hint of malevolent cunning to raven-haired Future’s voice, and Tyr knew he must tread carefully. “Free will is beyond our reach, as you well know.”

  “You have looked to the future then?”

  Her dark, deadly stare told him she had. And she had seen everything. A warning, then, might just do it. Tyr shrugged, then turned as if to leave. “The God of Chaos will come for you. Surely you know that. When he is finished with the other worlds, and there will come a day when he is finished, he will find this one. Don’t placate yourselves thinking you are hidden here. You’re only safe because the Orobus believes Asgard destroyed.” A slight, almost imperceptible shiver went through her at the mention of his name.

  “Even so,” she warned him flatly, “we cannot save your woman. Her time has run out.”

  “If that is true, then so has yours. I found you, after all,” he pointed out grimly as he rounded on them. “It would only take a word to point the creature in your direction.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” The blonde gasped, looking to her sisters.

  “Deny me, and I’ll do whatever I must. I mean to have my way. You can take your trinkets, grant me my wish, and we can part today as friends. Or you’ll discover how I’ve earned my name.” Ah, Tyr thought, seeing the furtive look the sisters exchanged. Past neglected to divulge his true nature. And the lengths to which he’d
go.

  “It would do you all well to turn your sight inward. What I say is true. Look, then tell me if I’m not willing to sacrifice anything or anyone to have my way.” He shot a look at the women. Playing them all against one another hadn’t been part of his plan, but he’d use whatever advantage he could.

  “The Orobus is gaining power on Midgard. What will happen when he discovers the doorway to your world? Even together, can you withstand him?”

  Tyr thought not, as the blonde blanched white. These strange creatures were meant for a different sort of magic, not battle, and certainly not with something like the God of Chaos. However…

  “Hunter Wallace can help defeat the dark god. She contained a piece of him inside of her for a thousand years. She can do it again.”

  “Which he took back. Who’s to say death is not her true Fate?” Present spoke clearly as her sisters nodded. Tyr resisted slapping his hand to his forehead. Stubborn. Why did they have to be so godsdamned stubborn?

  “She doesn’t have to die,” Tyr urged. “You can change her future, it’s within your power. You know it and I know it.” Fucking fickle Fates. It just figured, he’d come halfway across the galaxy to save the love of his life. And they would make him beg.

  “The Orobus will destroy everything and then come for you. All I’m asking for is to give Hunter a chance. One mortal soul against the future of the universe. It’s not so large a price, is it?”

  “You‘re asking for everything.”

  Tyr opened his mouth to deny it, then snapped it shut. He was, as a matter of fact. If he lost her, nothing would matter. The dark god could destroy the universe, and it wouldn’t matter. He’d fight till the end, on principle alone, but his heart wouldn’t be in it because there’d be nothing left. “I am. For me, Hunter is my entire world. She always has been.”

  Future’s gaze turned predatory. “As long as you realize that, then it’s done.” As one, the three of them leaned back, their faces relaxed as if the matter was settled. Tyr blinked. He’d expected hours of bargaining, jockeying for position, taking ground, giving ground. Shit, if negotiations were always this easy…