Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  “May I tell Gramma, in secret?” Thor asked with a smile.

  His father sighed, then nodded.

  “C’mon,” he said to Ramona, “let’s get you checked out.”

  “Little man,” Ramona said to Thor, “promise me you won’t grow up to be a fool like your father.”

  It was too late to make a promise like that; Baldur Odinsson was a hero, and Thor wanted to be just like him.

  Thor’s eyes popped open. He stayed awake for more than an hour, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, and listening to Mio snoring softly.

  * * *

  Nwabudike Adeyemi was playing football with some of the older boys of his village. Modesty kept him from bragging, but at just ten-years-old, he was better than the rest of them put together. One day he would play professionally, and the world would chant his name as they do his hero: Roger Milla. For the moment, he would have to be content with kicking just one more goal before his mother called him home to finish his chores.

  He ran down the field with the ball. He laughed, hearing the heavy pants and grunts of the older boys trying their best to keep up with him. His brother, Adedoja, rushed forward to block him, but Nwabudike passed the ball between Adedoja’s legs to Kasoko. A few seconds later, Nwabudike was free, and Kasoko passed him the ball. Nwabudike kicked and the ball sailed toward the goal, Chijioke diving to for the save.

  Nwabudike never learned if he had made the goal, or if Chijioke did the impossible, because that’s when the sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air.

  The boys ran to their homes, to their families.

  The acrid smell of smoke filled Nwabudike’s nostrils as he rounded the goat pen. Entire homes were burning, and men not throwing gasoline-filled bombs into the rest were shooting everything in sight with machine guns.

  Adedoja screamed, and was immediately ripped to pieces by a hail of bullets. Chijioke went down in much the same way, a second or two later. Something struck the back of Nwabudike’s head, and blackness closed in around him…

  “This one’s alive!” a man’s voice called from beyond the blackness.

  Nwabudike’s head pounded, and it was difficult to breathe. After forcing his unwilling eyes to open, he saw the face of a white man looming over him.

  “Hold still, son,” the man said, wrapping a cloth around Nwabudike’s temples.

  The man was nothing like the Christian missionaries Nwabudike had seen before; this one was lean, with a thick braid of reddish-gold hair hanging past his shoulders. His blue eyes were hard, like stones, and filled with determination; his hands rough and calloused.

  The man scooped Nwabudike up into his arms, carrying him as easily a small baby. There was a small gold hammer hanging from a chain around the man’s neck. Nwabudike touched it and it glittered in the sun, brighter than anything Nwabudike had ever seen before.

  “It’s called Mjölnir,” the man said quietly. “It’s the hammer of my gods.”

  “Any others?” the man asked, as the sounds of shuffling feet grew louder.

  “No,” a woman’s voice responded sadly.

  The answer angered the man; Nwabudike could feel those calloused hands strain not to form fists. “Innocent women and children,” the man growled to himself. “Sometimes I think I should let the sky fall, and end it all.”

  “I’ll give ya an hour before you’re back on dat high horse o’ yours,” the woman said.

  Nwabudike went to turn his head to see the face of this woman, but the man held his head to his chest. At first, Nwabudike thought the man did not want him to see the woman’s face, but the horrible smells assaulting his nose told it was not the woman’s face the man did not want him to see. It wasn’t until Nwabudike was much older, that he was grateful for that simple act of mercy.

  A hand stopped the man. “We’ll find her, my love. I promise ya dat!”

  The woman was more than beautiful, she was a Nubian goddess set down on earth; learning who the woman had been before meeting the man, did not change that feeling.

  “This was the most promising lead I’ve had in years,” the man said, shaking his head.

  “Who are you looking for?” Nwabudike asked nervously.

  “She dat tamed da dragon.”

  “Swallows the moon,” Nwabudike said fervently.

  The man stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at Nwabudike in amazement. “Do you know who she is?”

  Nwabudike shook his head. “No, but my mother and sister do… did,” he added quietly.

  All the hope that filled the man’s gentle blue eyes vanished instantly, replaced by the deepest despair Nwabudike would ever see.

  The woman cupped the man’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “If two knew, oders will,” she reassured the man.

  “I’m sorry I don’t know.”

  “I am the one that is sorry, little man. If we had gotten here sooner, we may have prevented all this.”

  The man strapped Nwabudike into the back of a helicopter. “Get this boy all the help he needs,” the man shouted to the pilot.

  “These gods of yours,” Nwabudike asked the man, “are they powerful?”

  The man nodded. “I believe so.”

  “Can anyone wield their hammer?”

  The man took the chain from around his neck, and placed it around Nwabudike’s. “A man doesn’t wield the hammer, he becomes the hammer.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nwabudike said quickly. “How is this possible?”

  The man smiled sadly. “Grow to be a good man, and you will.”

  The door closed and the helicopter began to rise.

  He wondered: Was revenge considered being a good man? Nwabudike’s fingers closed around the gold hammer, a thousand thoughts going through his mind, but the idea of being a footballer never crossed his mind again.

  Nwabudike opened his eyes slowly, rose from the bed, and crossed the room to stare into the darkness. His fingers fumbled to retrieve the gold hammer from beneath his tee shirt. Thor Odinsson thought the badges on his beret and those of his men were in homage to the ship, but he was wrong.

  * * *

  “What happened to the old woman?” Bryndis Angantýrsdóttir asked.

  “No one ever saw her again,” her grandmother replied. “Some think Jorick, Rutgar, or one of the others killed her.” The old woman inspected the condition of the bread dough, nodded her satisfaction, and placed it into the hot oven. A trickle of sweat ran down the woman’s well-muscled arm, and the sleeveless shirt gave Bryndis an opportunity to see the rose tattoo under her grandmother’s right arm.

  “Did that hurt, Amma?” Bryndis asked.

  For a brief second, Ingrid Sigurdursdóttir stared into the distance, as if remembering the pain, then gave Bryndis a smile, touching the tip of Bryndis’ nose with a flour-covered finger. “No, little one, the rose never hurt a bit.”

  “What about the other one?” Bryndis referred to the tattoo covered by the dark-red rose. Bryndis had no idea what the initials “SS” resembling twin lightning bolts stood for, only that she was instructed to never speak of it outside the family.

  Ingrid placed her hands under Bryndis’ arms, setting her down on the counter top. Bryndis hoped to be as strong as her amma one day, but that was a long way off; she was only seven, and her amma, Ingrid, must be a million-years-old!

  “My brother, Karl, put that under my arm,” Ingrid said sadly. It was the first time Bryndis heard that name. “He told me it would hurt like hell, and he was right. But he had to make sure it looked authentic. The first time I looked at it, it felt as if part of my soul had died.”

  “Then, why did you do it?” Bryndis asked, wide eyed.

  Ingrid clenched her fist, then released it. “Because we were betrayed, and I was determined to find by whom.”

  “Did you find them?”

  Ingrid shook her head. “I searched for over ten years, and was no closer than when I started. If the time ever comes for you to take-up the cause, don’t ever trust anyon
e that’s not related to our family of Vali Odinsson by blood, you remember that, girl!”

  Bryndis nodded. This was not the first time she heard those words uttered. “What happened to your brother, Karl?”

  “He died on a dark loading dock beside Odin Heimdallrsson.”

  “I’m sorry, amma,” Bryndis said, caressing her grandmother’s cheek with tiny hands.

  “We all made sacrifices, child; my brother sacrificed his life, and I part of my soul.”

  Bryndis’ pillow was wet with tears as her eyes opened. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve from her nightshirt.

  Mikki leaped from her bed, knife drawn, her eyes darting from corner to corner, the blade shaking in a trembling hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Bryndis asked, causing the other woman to jump out of her skin.

  “Nothing, Bryn,” Mikki replied weakly. “Just thought I heard something… that’s all”

  Bryndis had known the woman long enough to know she was lying. She pulled-back the blankets. “It’s goddamned cold in here, don’t you think?”

  Mikki slipped into the bed, then gave the room one more check. “Goddamned place is fucking creepy, if you ask me. I’ll call Else in the morning; have her bring some strings of garlic for the fucking vampires. Maybe put that Sorina bitch in front of a mirror to see if she has a reflection.”

  That might not be a bad idea; one can never be too careful.

  “Bryn,” Mikki said rolling over, “do you believe in heaven?”

  Bryndis blinked. What an odd question for the middle of the night. “Yes… why?”

  Mikki’s only reply was the sound of her snoring softly, clutching the sleeve of Bryndis’ nightshirt in her fist.

  * * *

  Selucca Lazarovici covered her mouth with both hands, the color draining from her face. The baby in her womb seemed to be doing summersaults in protest of her anger. Pain tore through her insides like a hot poker. If the child kept this up, she feared he – It is a boy, I know it is! – would get the umbilical cord wrapped around his throat, and be strangled to death.

  “Please, Stefan, say this is not true,” she gasped. “Say it some sick joke…Please!” She was on the verge of vomiting up yesterday’s breakfast, if that were possible. After what Stefan had just told her, anything was possible.

  “You don’t understand, Selucca.”

  “I understand you have the blood of thousands on your hands!” Selucca screamed.

  “They left my ancestors here to rot!” Stefan shouted. “They lived their lives, while Sven Olafsson went mad, waiting for the God forsaken thing to return. He froze to death with a spear in his hand, keeping watch.”

  “So, the rest of the world had to pay for his madness?” she hissed.

  “I didn’t want it to happen,” Stefan said. “I just wanted the world to know.”

  “The world wasn’t meant to know!” Selucca shouted. The baby kicked again. She clenched a fist, fighting the urge to wince in pain. She was Russian, and she would not let Stefan see her as weak. Not now. Not ever!

  She turned, resting a hand on the chest of drawers for support. “You have to tell him, Stefan. You have to tell Vali.”

  Stefan shook his head. “What would you have me say?”

  “The truth!” Selucca screamed at the top of her lungs. “Tell him how you collaborated with the Nazis. Tell him you are responsible for Fenrir’s release. Tell him you’re the reason his father was murdered in front of him. Tell him how you’ve lied to him these many years… Then you can tell him why his son has no mother.”

  “Sylvia fell down the stairs,” he said quietly.

  “You killed her the day you betrayed the others, and you know it.”

  Stefan sighed. “I won’t tell Vali. I can’t. You know Vali as well as I do; he would kill me. If I were lucky, he’d do it quickly.”

  Selucca resigned herself as to what would happen next, her heart breaking. How could I been so blind to see I’ve married a coward? She lowered her head, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the world. She slowly opened the top drawer a crack, slipping her hand inside. “Tell him, Stefan, or I will!”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” he shouted, rushing toward her.

  Selucca turned, firing the Makarov she retrieved from the drawer. Stefan’s eyes went wide with shock as the first bullet entered his chest. Selucca fired twice more, and Stefan fell to his knees. She emptied the magazine into his chest, then let the pistol fall to the floor with a thud.

  Demetri Kurkov rushed into the room, saw Stefan’s body, the gun at Selucca’s feet, and quickly closed the bedroom door, locking it tightly.

  The baby kicked again, sending Selucca to her knees with pain. Demetri swept an arm around her shoulders, and eased her into a chair. “I’ll have to inform the authorities,” she said quietly, staring at her husband’s lifeless body.

  Demetri placed the gun into his pocket, then picked the shells from the floor. “Yes, madam,” he said rolling the body into the carpet, “and tell them how you husband was killed by wolves.”

  Selucca looked up, the room spinning like a top. She blinked twice, but it did little good. “What?”

  “It was a horrible thing, Madam Lazarovici,” he said slowly. “He managed to kill one, before the rest pulled him to the ground. I witnessed the entire thing. What a horrible, senseless death. He did manage to save a child, though… from the wolves.”

  The room began spinning faster…

  Selucca awoke, her hand rushing to her womb. Yuri was not there, of course; he died when Sorina was just a child. More tears streamed down her cheeks as she silently cursed Stefan all over again.

  * * *

  The Keeper was swift as she moved throughout the great stone fortress, slipping into rooms, forcing mortals to face the long forgotten memories. Some were joyful memories, others were not, but they were what made each person who they were; and they needed to remember, time was growing very short for them.

  When she finished, she returned to Fólkvangr, hiding within the shadows of The Great Oak. She hated this place, and she kept a watchful eye out for Freyja. That one could be spiteful and vindictive, despite her many wonderful attributes, and would view The Keeper’s presence as a trespass.

  “Is it done?” Chelsea asked.

  “It is,” The Keeper answered, annoyed.

  “Thank you,” Chelsea said, then turned.

  “I do not understand how you summoned me,” The Keeper hissed, her voice having more ice than the frozen oceans of Jötunheim. “But if it happens again, Freyja will hear of it.”

  “Understood,” the girl said. She actually had the nerve to smile as she said it!

  Chapter 18

  The Tiny Spark of a Brilliant Idea

  “Shit, Sugah, the fucking thing’s right behind us!” Mikki shouted frantically in Thor’s ear.

  She was the world’s worst backpack, both arms around his neck, fingers clutching his chest, and her broken leg dangling. She was trying her best to keep the ruined leg from getting tangled with Thor’s as he weaved between tall trees and leaped over fallen logs, but it was a poor attempt, and they nearly tumbled half-a-dozen times.

  Thor bounded from the trees to the tall grass, one hand clutching Mikki’s good leg tight to his side, the other held the sniper-rifle in a death grip. He was unaware of how long he had been running, or the distance he had carried Mikki, only that he was exhausted and unable to go for much longer.

  The early morning sun was bright in the cloudless sky, but it had not yet burned the dew from the tall grass, making his precarious situation that much worse as he fought to keep from falling. There was an outcropping of large boulders ahead, and Thor rushed toward them as fast as he could manage. It was not the best cover, but it was better than nothing.

  “Goddamn,” Mikki hissed when the foot of her dangling leg clipped a rock.

  “Doing the best I can!” Thor managed to get out between gasps for breath.

  “Don’t worry about my whin
in’, move it, Sugah!”

  Thor weaved between the smaller rocks toward the cover of the larger ones jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. He rounded the smaller, nearly throwing Mikki to the ground as he ducked behind the largest. He took two quick breaths, then stood, leveling the rifle toward the forest. He thought he caught a glimpse of the creature through the trees, but it vanished in an instant. Damned if this thing is not tricky.

  He forced his breathing to slow, despite the urge to gulp air like it would be the last breath he ever took. His ears strained for the slightest sound, beyond the pounding of his own heart beating a frantic rhythm. Instincts alone forced his body to dodge left, spin, and fire behind where he stood. In rapid succession, he fired twice more into the thing’s chest, then once into the forehead.

  Thor fell to one knee, gulping air as his head spun, and sunlight dimmed around him.

  Mikki stood, folding those lean arms that nearly squeezed the life from Thor across her chest, staring at the plywood- silhouette of a large wolf with four shafts of sunlight pouring through the holes, shaking her head. She hopped up to sit on top of the boulder, then sighed.

  “What’s wrong now?” Thor asked.

  Mikki gave him that “I can’t believe you have the balls to even ask” look. “Your reaction time was too slow,” she said flatly. She tisked, drumming fingers on her thigh. “The real creature would’ve had both of us back in the forest, and again here. But, hey, it is a glorious day to be mauled to death!”

  “You are too hard on the man,” Doru Albusel said, moving between two boulders. “That was undoubtedly the finest display of physical endurance I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mikki said quickly, holding both hands in front of her. “I was unaware you were training him, not me.” Her eyebrows raised, and she cupped a hand to her ear. “What’s that? You’re not? Well… I’d shut the fuck up, then, if I were you!”

  “Bullshit, Sugah!” She hopped down from the boulder. “If you don’t make it, you’re just another dead man to him. I … the girls will be devastated.”