by Alane Adams
Loki stepped away from his wife. His body started shifting, growing. First, his legs furred with a light coating of hair, and his feet became hooves. His torso stretched out and lengthened, growing thicker. Then his arms turned into the front legs of a horse, and his head grew until a white stallion stood before them, pawing the ground. He shook himself once, and a pair of silvery wings sprouted out of his side.
Keely had seen a lot of things in Orkney, but this was pretty impressive.
Angerboda climbed atop Loki’s back.
“Take me to dear Fenrir first.”
The horse sprung into the air and began gaining altitude.
Before Keely could ask Leo what the plan was, they were interrupted by a rush of dwarves fleeing the mines. Behind them, a swarm of boys followed, waving picks and shouting.
“I see you started a riot,” Keely said to Leo.
A tall boy made his way over to them, grinning triumphantly. “You did it!” he said, giving Leo a high five.
Leo grinned back. “We did it. Eithan, I’d like you to meet my friend, Keely.”
Eithan extended his hand. “You are an earth child as well?” he asked, gripping her hand tightly. “You look Eifalian.”
Keely had this puzzling feeling, like she knew this boy. She frowned. “You look familiar,” she said. She turned to Leo. “Don’t you see it? He has Joran’s eyes.”
Excitement made Keely’s pulse race. Her Eifalian senses were tingling like she had touched a light socket.
What is lost can be found.
Ymir’s words.
This could be him! Joran’s long-lost son. But there was no time to puzzle that out.
“We still have a realm to save,” she said. “Surt’s army will be on our shores by now.”
“Let us help,” Eithan said. “The boys and I have no home to go to. We will fight with you.”
A pack of boys had gathered around them. Their skin was pale and grimy, blackened with mine dust, but their eyes burned with a fire to do something.
Keely felt her heart lighten.
She had her very own frost-giant army. They might be young, but they were as fierce as any of Joran’s men.
“We can use the help. I’m not sure how we’re going to get there. The boat I came in can only hold a handful—”
Shouts echoed through the trees, and then Galatin burst into the clearing, sword drawn. When he saw her, his face relaxed. “Keely, Leo, you’re all right!”
“Galatin!” She hugged the Orkadian soldier tight. “How did you find us?”
“I brought him,” Reesa said as she stepped out of the trees, followed by three of her men. Her eyes locked on the throng of grimy boys. “Word reached us that the captain of your ship was thrown overboard. Knowing Loki, I guessed he would bring you here.”
She studied the faces of the boys, and her jaw tightened.
“The black dwarves kept our children as slaves.” Her voice was low and throaty, as if she could barely choke out the words. “How did we not know?”
“Some have been here for years,” Leo said softly.
Guilt and hope chased across her face. “The black dwarves will be dealt with,” Reesa said, still searching the boys. Her eyes rested on Eithan’s face, but the boy showed no sign of recognizing her. A ripple of pain flashed so fast that Keely almost missed it, and then Reesa’s chin firmed. “But first, we are going to war. Come, all of you, back to my ship. There will be time for a homecoming once Surt is defeated.” She turned to one of her men. “Find a horse and return to Rakim like the devil is on your tail. Deliver a message to my husband. Tell him to join us in Skara Brae or lose his wife.”
Chapter 32
For endless hours, Sam kept his head down to avoid the stinging grit that threatened to flay off his skin. He couldn’t tell if he was getting any closer to Odin, but moving was all he had. His feet sunk into soft sand. He was in the middle of a whiteout, not a shape to be seen on the horizon. Thirst plagued him. How long since he’d had a cool drink? Days? Weeks? He had a vision of Chuggies, the old hamburger joint he and Howie liked so much. A chocolate shake sounded pretty good right about now.
Busy dreaming about the chocolaty goodness sliding down his throat, Sam almost missed the fact that the wind had died down, or maybe it was because his ears were full of sand. Stopping, he shook his head to the side, clearing his ears and wiping the grit out of his eyes.
The terrain was barren landscape. Three dead trees stood in the center of a desert. The color was flat, as if he were trapped in a black-and-white movie. There were no birds flying overhead. Walking toward the saplings, Sam felt a nudge, something familiar. He’d seen the three trees before.
They poked up from the sand, jagged branches sticking out like skinny, bony arms.
He put his hand on the gnarled gray trunk of the first tree. It moved under his touch. The bark was like rubber, pliable and shifting under his fingers, as if it were alive.
“Who is there?” a voice said.
He recognized the voice. These were the Norns, the goddesses of fate that had told him he was going to die just before he had faced Fenrir.
Stepping back, he shook his head. “No, it can’t be.”
The rubbery tree trunk shifted and formed a gnarled face. “I know that voice. He was here before.”
Next to the tree, the other two trunks twisted into faces. “Yes, here before,” they whispered in unison. “Born to die, die he will, why has he not?” They murmured among themselves.
“You were wrong,” Sam said louder than necessary, fighting the fear that came from remembering his fate. “I didn’t die. If you were wrong about that, maybe you’re wrong about other things.”
A root burst out of the ground and wrapped tightly around Sam’s ankle, yanking him off his feet. Kicking the root, he tried to get his ankle loose. “Yeah, you don’t like that? Well, tough. I don’t like being sent on a wild goose chase. Where is Odin?”
“Odin is lost,” whispered the young Norn, Skald.
“No, I can find him!” Sam shouted.
“Find him, yes; bring him back, no,” another whispered.
“His fate is his fate; he gave for another,” the eldest said.
“I can help him. Please, we’re running out of time. Geela says Orkney will be destroyed if I don’t stop Surt, and I can’t do it without Odin. Help me.”
“Show him,” the eldest said in a creaky whisper. “Then he will know. Impossible.”
Behind the Norns, a spire of rock began pushing out of the ground, rising up into the air until it towered above them.
Sam’s breath was ragged gasps as he asked, “You want me to climb it, is that it?”
The Norns were silent. He looked up. He couldn’t see the top, but it was his only option. He started climbing, ignoring the jagged edges and sharp stones as he pulled himself up. He scaled the towering rock, finding nooks and crannies, enough to get himself up. Pulling himself over the lip, he came out onto a large flat spot. He stood and spun in a circle. The breeze whipped his hair.
“Odin, where are you?” he shouted, his voice lost in the wind. He looked behind, ahead, in every direction, but the god was nowhere in sight.
A pile of boulders on the far side had been made into a cairn. He kneeled down in front of it. His heart soared as he recognized who was inside. The massive bear lay on its side.
Sam lifted the rocks out of the way, clearing a space to examine the beast more closely. Its shaggy head rested on its paws. The bloody evidence of Sam’s treachery, the missing ear, looked raw and festered. He reached out a trembling hand to touch its shoulder.
“Odin, are you all right?”
The bear didn’t stir. There was no sign it was alive.
“Odin, please, you have to get up now. You can’t let Surt win.”
Not even a flicker. The breeze fluttered his fur slightly, but there was no life in the beast. Sam rocked back on his ankles, refusing to believe it. Odin couldn’t be gone. Not now. Not after he’d wo
rked so hard to get here.
He paced the small area at the top of the rock. His eyes kept shifting back to the lifeless creature. Think, Baron, what can you do? But it was like the life had been drained out of Odin.
Yet he was still here. Sam stopped, looking back at the bear. Brunin was intact, whole, as if it was just waiting to be turned back on.
Was it possible? Helva had taken his magic, but he was still a Son of Odin. Fingering his pouch, Sam closed his eyes and went deep into himself, remembering his father, remembering how much love he had for this place.
He let himself fill up on memories and then opened his eyes. He went to the far end of the rock, as far away from Brunin as he could, and he cracked his neck once. Then he dug in his feet and settled into a crouch, hands forward.
“Here goes nothing.”
He began to run, as hard and fast as he could. As he did, he imagined himself going into Odin as he had done with the black-winged Omera long ago, immersing himself in the creature and becoming one with it.
He imagined Odin’s great heart beating and the sharp blue eyes that saw everything. Then he dove, hands first at the beast, and when he hit it he disappeared into the bear in a blaze of white light.
Loki flew across the sea, stretching the wings in his horse form. His shoulder ached, but he was strong enough to fly. Anything for his wife. After several hours, they landed on the rock where Fenrir had been imprisoned. But there was no sign of their furred son. His chains lay in pieces. Anger-boda dismounted and ran her hands over them.
“Someone has recently released him.” Her eyes grew confused as she held the links. “Who could have done that?”
Loki shifted into his human form. “The witch-boy,” he said, “the one I told you about. He would have come to see Fenrir.”
She pinned him to the spot with a glacial stare. “And why would he do that?”
A small glint made his eyes shine as a smile curved his lips. “Because Odin wants to come home. I knew that old goat wouldn’t stay gone. The boy would need the key from Fenrir to unlock the map to Helva’s underworld.”
“And where is the map?” Her eyes were glacial chips, like she knew the answer before he said it.
“In Jormungand’s chamber.”
One eyebrow arched. “He released him as well?”
Loki shrugged.
Angerboda glowered. “You don’t know?”
He grinned sheepishly. “I’ve been busy rescuing you.”
Angerboda gave him a look that told him what she thought of his rescue. “Worthless fool. Take me to Jormungand.”
They flew across the ocean until they came to the funnel. Loki dove straight down, heading to the bottom of the sea. They entered Jormungand’s chamber. Rocks were strewn everywhere. The bars of his prison were bent and twisted.
The sea serpent was nowhere to be seen. Then a moan echoed in the tunnels. Stepping under the shattered ledge, they found Jormungand in the corner, curled up in a ball. Loki could see he was dying. Bubbles of blood came out of his mouth. A large stalactite protruded from his scaly chest.
Angerboda wailed. “Who did this to you, dear child?” She wrapped her arms around the serpent, stroking his snout. Loki sniffed the air. The lingering smell of sulfur teased his nostrils. Witchfire. Angerboda raised her head. “The witch-boy did this, didn’t he?” she hissed.
The serpent whimpered once, and then, with a shuddering gasp, he died in her arms. Angerboda stood, trembling. Green blood stained her gown. “Take me to Helva,” she hissed.
Loki nodded, wondering if things could get worse.
Outside the gates of Helva’s mansion, he knew they could.
The gate hung on its hinges. The guard dog he’d left her, Garm, was nothing more than a pile of ashes.
They entered the foyer. The place was in shambles. A chandelier lay shattered. Loki cried out at the broken piano in the drawing room. Someone had obliterated it. Weeping, he pressed his face to the lid. He had sent this to her as a gift.
“Where is she?” Angerboda screamed at Loki.
Then from the corner came a mewling call. “Mother?”
They turned as a pitiful creature dragged itself toward them. It was completely skeletal, draped in a tattered silk garment.
“That is not my daughter,” Angerboda said, stepping back. “She was beautiful, a living death like no other.”
“Mother, please.” The bony fingers stretched toward Angerboda. “She did this to me.”
“Who?”
“The Valkyrie. The one the witch-boy brought. She tricked me.”
“How?”
“She told me I could be whole, the one person I desired.”
“Then this is who you are,” Angerboda said, turning away. “Nothing more than death. You were my most beautiful creation, someone to bridge the worlds, but you forgot your way.”
Helva reached for her. “Wait, don’t leave me.”
“Children are such a disappointment,” she said to Loki as she swept out of the room. “Take me to this boy who destroyed my family. I want to see how he looks when he is strung up by his intestines.”
Loki gave his daughter one last pitying look before hurrying after his wife.
So much for a happy reunion.
Chapter 33
The blackened hulls of Surt’s armada cut through the water, riding the winds toward the green shores of Orkney. When at last the fertile lands came into sight, excitement rippled through Surt. He was in the first rowboat to shore. Standing on the firm soil of Odin’s precious realm, Surt squatted down and ran his hand over the waving blades of grass.
How many eons had it been since he’d last felt the green velvet of new grass? How many lifetimes had he spent as Odin’s prisoner in a world where there was no freedom? All that would end now. Taking his staff, Surt drove it into the earth and looked at the men who crowded around.
“Let it be said that on this day, the army of Musspell made a claim on Orkney.”
The men cheered.
“Let it be known that on this day, the army of Musspell said no more: no more tyranny, no more being cast aside, no more being left to rot in the burning chasms of a land we were banished to by our forefathers who did not have the might to withstand Odin and his army. Let it be said that on this day, we take back our life; we take back our right to be of this land and in this place. To the conquerors, let the spoils of this land be divided!”
A chorus of cheers met his speech. The men thrust their spears in the air and joined him in his rallying cry.
With a raised fist, Surt urged his men out of the sea toward the lands of the Orkadian men, who would be crushed like tiny ants under his boots.
Bellac and Lukas began moving their legion of foot soldiers forward, raising a cloud of dust. The boercats were released from their pens, and, one by one, they shot into the sky with their masters on their backs.
Frigga, queen of the gods and wife to Odin, stared down at the stone floor of the gods’ chambers and waved her hand, making it transparent.
“Show me the red army.”
Immediately the view filled with the ugly giants flying on their snarling boercats. Below, foot soldiers marched forward, burning the woods before them.
Orkney was going to fall.
Her gut told her that, and it was never wrong. Better she should act before it came to that. Better a painless death of disappearing into a void than facing the burning fires of Surt and his army.
In her hands she held Odin’s Belt of Destiny. With its power, she could wipe Orkney from existence. It was the right thing, she told herself. Odin would agree if he were here. As she stretched the belt around her waist, Vor came up behind her, putting her hand on the queen’s shoulder.
“Everything will turn out fine,” Vor said quietly.
Frigga held herself, her hands wavering.
“Why should I believe you?” Frigga demanded, her voice uncertain. She wanted to, if truth be told. Odin dearly loved these creatures that were a mys
tery to her. But her husband had not returned, and she didn’t know what else to do, lest she risk losing everything. In Odin’s absence, the gods trusted her to keep Asgard intact, their house with many rooms. She had to keep Valhalla a peaceful place where they could walk freely and oversee their scattered children from afar.
“Odin is not lost, see?” Vor waved her hand, and the scenery changed. Frigga’s breath hitched in her chest as a towering bear roared from the top of a spire of rock. “He is simply delayed.”
The landscape was gray around him, but he stood proudly on two legs. For a moment, Frigga could swear his roar echoed in her ears.
Frigga unclasped the belt, unwilling to believe in this miracle. “What if he doesn’t arrive in time?”
“He will,” Vor said. “Trust in the boy.”
Chapter 34
Howie couldn’t remember the last time he had had a drink of water. A day? Two? His throat was as dry as the Sahara desert. Why was he even out here? He was having a hard time remembering, what with the sun baking his brains to a crisp.
That’s right, it had sounded like a good plan. Send Howie back to Skara Brae while Jey and his father readied the Safyre Omeras for battle.
Stupid Jey.
The Falcory boy had assumed Howie was capable of navigating across the desert, but Howie couldn’t walk home from school without taking a wrong turn, and, now, he was hopelessly lost.
His horse, Sunny, had her head down. Her tongue hung out, and her sides heaved as she plodded forward. She moved so slow that Howie could probably walk faster, but his legs were too weak to hold him.
Big D loped ahead of him. He had ordered the mangy beast to stay with Jey, but, as usual, it hadn’t paid heed to a single word Howie said. His sides were sunken in with hunger, and his tongue lolled out of its mouth, but the wolf never grumbled, flowing across the sand like a black shadow. Lingas flew overhead, shrieking her complaints at him.
