Mist

by Susan Krinard

  The giants retreated with cries of rage and dismay. She advanced, slashing at any flesh within reach. Dark blue blood sprayed walls and spattered the floor. For a moment it seemed that she might even win.

  But the new power didn’t last. It drained out of her all at once, and she felt herself falter under the weight of uncertainty and sudden weakness. Hrimgrimir roared and struck with his enormous fist, knocking her against the wall.

  Somehow she kept her grip on Kettlingr, but the strike had paralyzed her arm. She knew then that she was going to die, and she, unlike the giants and elves and gods who had survived Ragnarok, would not be returning. What became of the Aesir and their Treasures would be beyond her concern.

  Sliding up the wall on rubbery legs, she grinned into the Jotunn’s face and prepared herself for the final, crushing blow. Hrimgrimir bellowed and raised his hand again. Then the door to the bar swung open, and a thickset blond man staggered into the room, his head swinging right and left in confusion.

  “Wa’s goin’ on here?” he drawled, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Can’ a man get any sleep?”

  Hrimgrimir and the other giants turned to face the man. “Get out!” Hrimgrimir snarled.

  “Mist?” The man took another step into the room, eyes widening. “Issat you?”

  She caught her breath and worked her shoulder, feeling it come back to life again. Vali was a hard drinker and usually under the thumb of his elder half-brother, but he wasn’t as stupid as he sounded. He hadn’t just been wakened out of some drunken stupor. One look at his face told her that he knew what was happening. And he was trying to help her.

  With a hoot of laughter, Vali stumbled past the Jotunar blocking the doorway. “So . . . gla’ to see you,” he said, his full weight crashing into Mist. “Missed you.”

  Smothered in his bearish embrace, Mist felt the pressure of his body pushing her away from the wall. He was moving her toward the door, inch by subtle inch.

  “Get out of here,” he hissed, his mouth pressed to her ear.

  “Where is Vidarr?” she whispered.

  “You can’t see him.” They reached the door, and Mist heard the hinges creak. “Save yourself.”

  “Where is he?” she demanded. “Is he in trouble?”

  “I said, you can’t—”

  Without warning Mist shoved Vali aside, swinging Kettlingr before her, and ran for the back door. Hrimgrimir swiped at her and missed. The rest were too startled to intercept her before she got to the back door and flung it open.

  Vidarr sat in a battered chair the room that served as his office, his face blank as uncarved stone. His eyes barely flickered as Mist burst through the door. She slammed it behind her and scanned the room. Gungnir lay in plain sight on the wide, battered desk behind Vidarr’s chair.

  “Your manners disappoint me, my dear Mist,” a voice said from the shadows behind the desk. “And so does your judgment. I had hoped you would take warning and flee. After all the pleasure you’ve given me, I had intended to spare you.”

  Eric. But it wasn’t Eric’s voice. And the figure that emerged from the shadows was not tall and broad-shouldered, but as lean and wiry as a stoat. He was dressed in black from neck to toe, modified biker’s leathers adorned with flashy metal trimmings and emblazoned with a stylized flame. His eyes were brilliant green, the irises rimmed with orange. His red hair was artfully styled, and his long, handsome face was smiling.

  He looked nothing at all like the man she’d come to love. But her heart lurched under her ribs as she realized who she was seeing. Loki, the great Trickster, once beloved of Odin. The child of powerful giants, Loki was one of the few divine beings— not quite a god— who could change his shape completely without relying on illusion or possessing the body of an animal or man. At times he had saved the Aesir, at other times opposed them. His constant scheming had been overlooked until he had killed Baldr, the blind god, with malice and treachery.

  The punishment they had set for him had planted the seeds of the Last Battle.

  But he had many flaws besides a propensity for duplicity, not least of which was overweening pride and belief in his own ultimate superiority.

  And that meant he could be beaten. Not now, not by her, but by those who were coming.

  Swallowing her instinctive fear, she faced him squarely. “I’ve come for Gungnir, Slanderer,” she said.

  “How charming.” Loki walked past Vidarr without a glance in his direction and stood before her, hands on hips. “You always were impulsive, darling. That was what made you so entertaining in bed, even if your other skills were not”— he looked her up and down— ”quite as well developed as I might have preferred.”

  Mist swung Kettlingr at his head. Loki sent the sword spinning to the floor with three short words and a wave of his hand, violently twisting Mist’s fingers.

  “It’s no use,” Vidarr said, his voice thick with despair. “You can’t beat him.”

  “Listen to the Silent One, villkatt,” Loki said. “Like you, Odin’s son has been corrupted by his long residence in Midgard. He let his magic fade over the years. He proved remarkably ineffective in his attempts to resist.” Loki reached for the glass of red wine that stood on the nearby desk and sniffed it critically. “I confess I am a little surprised that you found me so quickly.”

  Mist made a show of nursing her twisted fingers. They hurt like the devil, so it wasn’t really a show at all. “You didn’t make much of an effort to hide your trail,” she said.

  “Your magic never amounted to much, nor did I have anything to fear from you should you find me . . . as our meeting here has proven.” He took a very small sip of the wine and held it on his tongue. “Amusing, isn’t it, that you thought ‘Eric’ might not be able to handle the truth about you?”

  “The Eric I knew was a good man,” she said, edging toward Kettlingr. “Who would have thought you’d have it in you to play someone so completely the opposite of what you are?”

  “I was rather good, wasn’t I?” he said. His brow wrinkled in perplexity that was almost convincing. “But how do you know how different I am? I don’t believe we ever met in Asgard.”

  Mist gauged the distance to her sword out of the corner of her eye. “Your reputation precedes you,” she said. “No one in any of the Homeworlds was spared the tales of your ‘exploits.’ Especially since you wouldn’t let anyone forget them.”

  Loki put on an expression of patently false hurt feelings. “I’m not surprised you think so ill of me, but you haven’t given me much of a chance.”

  “I gave you six months, Laufeyson,” she said. “But you knew if you ever let me see your true nature, the game would be up.”

  “Game? That implies some measure of equality between the two parties playing it. I could have taken Gungnir any time.”

  “But something stopped you.” She was only a couple of feet from Kettlingr now. “If I’m as weak as you say, how did I get through your cohorts outside?”

  “Ah, Mist,” he said, grinning again. “Do you actually believe I didn’t instruct them to let you through?”

  “I think you forgot to tell Hrimgrimir that.”

  “He can be . . . shall we say, a little overenthusiastic.”

  “You might have trouble with him later if you don’t keep him in line.”

  “Your concern for me is touching. However, since you have come here alone with no hope of prevailing, I think it is your well-being we must consider.”

  Mist weighed Loki’s words. He spoke as if he believed she’d come alone, so either he didn’t know the Aesir’s messenger was with her in Asbrew or he simply didn’t care. That put paid to the theory that Dainn’s arrival, anonymous or otherwise, had convinced Loki to move when he did. Or perhaps Hrimgrimir had simply reported that the elf he had met in the park was no threat to him, and a rank coward to boot.

  So, for that matter, was Vidarr, if he had let Loki take him. She moved another few inches sideways and looked at Odin’s son, barely able to
conceal her contempt.

  “How long has this been going on?” she asked. “Did you know Loki was in Midgard?”

  “Let us give him some credit, my dear,” Loki said with a faint smile in Vid’s direction. “He was as fully blind as you were until I opened his eyes. Odin’s son saw the wisdom in reaching a certain understanding with me.”

  “What understanding?”

  “Why, to keep his interfering nose out of my affairs.”

  “And your ‘affairs’ are the Treasures.”

  Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Ah,” he said. “The elf told you, did he? Hrimgrimir was quite certain he had killed the Alfr, but I gather he managed to survive after all.” He glanced toward the door. “Where is he now, I wonder?”

  “I don’t need him.”

  “That useful, was he?”

  “Do you know who he is?” Mist asked.

  “Should I?” Loki said, taking another sip of the wine. “Is he significant in some way?”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Mist said, quite truthfully.

  “And now he has abandoned you.” Loki clucked his tongue. “What can Freya have been thinking when she sent an elf to do a god’s work? Only more proof of how weak she is. Of course, it’s clear none of the Aesir knew I was here at all.”

  His dismissive attitude was just what Mist wanted to encourage. She knew she had a small window of opportunity to make use of Loki’s legendary ego.

  “You do seem to have all the advantages,” she said, adjusting her position against the wall so that she could grab Kettlingr the moment Loki was distracted. “How did you hide yourself so well?”

  He touched the side of his long, rather elegant nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets, and I am somewhat more than a magician. Let us say that the gods make a habit of underestimating me, to their lasting regret.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re not really quite a god yourself.”

  Green eyes narrowed, flaring around the edges with the dancing light of flame that was barely metaphorical. “I am more than a god.”

  “In that case,” she said, “why did you stay with me so long, when, as you said, you could have taken Gungnir any time? Was it because you couldn’t find the other Treasures on your own? Did you think I could help you?”

  She could see that she’d hit the target by the way Loki tried to hide his scowl. “You overestimate your value to me.”

  “Overestimate, underestimate. Confusing, isn’t it?” She slid down into a crouch. “You’re not going to be able to hide yourself now. I wouldn’t want to be in your flying shoes when she comes after you.”

  Loki’s fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. “What good is the Sow without her body?”

  Mist had heard all the stories about Loki’s unrequited lust for the Goddess of Love. Loki wasn’t nearly as sanguine about Freya as he wanted Mist to believe. And the Lady had far more magic available to her than the seductive, irresistible curves of her voluptuous body.

  “In all the stories I’ve heard about you,” Mist said, “you always make the same mistake. You assume your enemies are too stupid to keep up with you.”

  Abruptly Loki seemed to relax. He laughed the way Eric used to, with sunny good nature and easy confidence.

  “Do you think I’m so eager to destroy them that I will make such mistakes?” he asked. He set his glass on the desk and stroked the front of his jacket like a peacock preening its breast feathers. “Asgard is no more. The time of the Aesir is over. Midgard survives, but it is in dire need of change. The mortals have yet to learn the meaning of true freedom.” He grinned. “Fortunately, they now have me.”

  5

  “What change?” Mist asked, sweat trickling from under her hairline and rolling down her temple.

  “Oh,” Loki said, arching a brow. “Can it be the elf didn’t explain the situation after all?”

  “I got the idea that you wanted to take over the world,” Mist said, slowly reaching toward Kettlingr.

  “You do me a disservice,” Loki said. He yawned behind his hand. “I fear the elf may have been withholding certain information from you in an effort to win your cooperation. But perhaps it doesn’t concern you that soon this world will become a battlefield, winner take all.”

  “I know.” Her fingers closed around the hilt. Still Loki didn’t seem to notice.

  “I wonder if you can envision how it will happen,” Loki said. “Do you believe the Aesir will tread lightly on this earth, benevolently sparing the creatures here any inconvenience? Do you think they will be better than I?”

  “When have you ever cared about the well-being of men?” she asked.

  “When it serves me.”

  “How does it serve you now? You never took any interest in mortals. They were always beneath your notice. Now here you are, lording it over a bar in an unsavory neighborhood.” She smiled mockingly. ‘How are you fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn!’ ”

  Loki returned her smile, but it was more than a little pinched. “Do not mistake me for the Christians’ Satan. This is no tale of good versus evil, where the heroes wear white robes and the villains gleaming black armor.”

  “Prophecy foretold that Ragnarok would be a wash, with just about everyone dying— including you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I don’t see why it would be any different this time around.”

  “Prophecy was wrong.”

  “I know you think you’ll have the Treasures to give you the advantage, but you aren’t just going to walk up to my Sisters and take them.”

  “Do you think any mere Valkyrie can stand against me?”

  Mist jumped up, Kettlingr firmly in her grip, and lunged for Loki. He stepped back, his face registering shock. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but his response wasn’t fast enough. Mist landed a good blow and cut deeply into his right deltoid. He jumped back, instinctively slapping his hand over the wound.

  Godlings bled as much as mortals when they were wounded, though they healed far more quickly, as nearly all from the lost Homeworlds did. Mist charged again, aiming for his belly.

  But by then Loki had recovered from the surprise of her attack and had a sword in his hand—a black one, blazing red Runes inscribed in its blade. It was serrated like a Jotunn’s teeth, and Loki didn’t have to use magic to meet her fiercest assault.

  It was nothing like her bouts with Eric. Loki’s wound dripped blood on the stained cement floor, but he ignored it and counterattacked with the full weight of his fury. Mist had to give ground, deflecting his steel with her own, feeling his sword’s teeth biting into her own blade and catching, twisting, threatening to wrench Kettlingr out of her hand.

  What amazed her, when she had a second to be amazed, was that other than conjuring the sword, Loki used no magic on her. Had he done so, the battle would have been over in seconds. As it was, he seemed to take some pleasure in the duel once he let go of his initial anger.

  She didn’t expect that to last. She was the better swordsman—at least, she had been so with Eric—and Loki wouldn’t stand for being second best. Especially not to her.

  Metal clanged like bells tolling in a graveyard, and they disengaged again. “You think my Sisters are helpless?” she asked, catching her breath.

  Loki laughed, his own breath coming short. “You really have no idea what you’re up against, do you?”

  “A bunch of Jotunar who let themselves get their asses kicked by a single Valkyrie?”

  “If you think the frost giants are my only allies, you are very much mistaken.”

  She didn’t have to ask what he meant. He was talking about his evil children: Hel, who ruled the dead; Fenrisulfr, also called Fenrir, the enormous wolf who was foretold by prophecy to kill Odin; and Jormungandr, the World Serpent.

  “Your children are alive too, are they?” Mist said, throwing off her horror with another feint. “Well, it won’t be quite as easy for them to have their way in this modern world.”

  “A
nd how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?” Loki asked, batting her blade aside and closing with her so that their faces were mere inches apart.

  “Disaster strikes on a global scale these days,” Mist said, barely holding him at bay. “Humanity has dealt with far worse monsters than Fenrir and Jormungandr, and emerged victorious.”

  “Human monsters,” Loki said, grinning into her face.

  “Fenrir didn’t manage to kill Odin, did he? And what about Hel? What are you going to do with your daughter now that she doesn’t have the dead to rule anymore?”

  “What makes you think she doesn’t?”

  “Mortals aren’t as simple as they used to be,” Mist said. “They’re not going to go willingly into some dark, gloomy afterlife.”

  “They will have no choice in the matter.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said, pushing him back a few steps. “Outside threats tend to unite the people of Midgard.”

  “Mortals are sheep, incapable of making their own decisions on any matter of importance,” Loki said, looking pointedly at her parted lips. “They will always squabble and slaughter each other with the slightest provocation.”

  “Look who’s talking.” With a final effort, she threw him off. “All mortals aren’t the same, and there are millions more of them than there are Jotunar, or any of your allies.”

  Loki rolled his eyes. “Oh, skatten min. Always the sentimentalist.” He lowered his sword and placed his hand over his heart. “Let me assure you that your mortals will be happier under my guidance than they have ever been in all their brief history.”

  Mist wondered if Loki actually believed what he said.

  Of course he did.

  “So you’re going to set up some kind of throne in the Capitol building and have every government in the world pay obeisance?” she asked, preparing for another attack.

  “Perhaps,” Loki said. “But I am not interested in ruling in the conventional way, my dear. All I want is for an end to laws that curtail the freedom of the people of this world to act entirely as they wish. Have you any idea how many mortals I will win to my side with simply the promise of such a paradise?”