Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  Thor stood for some time after the monster was gone, staring out into the darkness. The creature would not return tonight, Thor was certain of that fact; it was off calculating and devising an attack that he did not have a counter measure in place. He gazed up at the nearly-full moon, then turned and headed down the stairs. It was time to ask for that favor.

  * * *

  Iona McMillan checked the balance of the bolt once again, then wiped sweat from her soot-covered brow with the back of her soot-covered hand, before placing it on the stack for the morning’s shipment. To her right, several crewmen hammered red-hot blanks into workable broad-heads or filled canisters with scrap pieces of steel; to her left, Jennifer was taking another completed bolt from the forge, quenching the glowing missile into the barrel, steam rising to cover her sweat-soaked face. It was difficult, tedious work, but Thor assured them it was necessary, and greatly appreciated.

  Iona notice the blackness beyond the portal, then gave a sharp whistle, making a slashing motion across her throat with her hand. The men nodded, leaving their work on the giant anvil to cool, and Jennifer turned off the gas to the forge.

  They filed out of the stifling heat of the makeshift machine shop within Odin’s Hefnd hold into the cool night air; all grateful to breathe fresh air once again. They made their way to Mjölnir like some motley, overworked chain-gang. Iona and her crew would shower and receive the finest meal Christelle was capable of, sleep like shit, and start all over at dawn.

  Iona tapped Jennifer on the shoulder, and the Ausie looked at her, her green eyes bloodshot and eyelids drooping. Iona tried to wipe the smear of grease from Jennifer’s cheek with her palm, but only made it worse. “You look beat. Take tomorrow off.”

  Jennifer smiled; even that looked as if it hurt, then ran fingers through her matted red hair, shedding metal flacks with the movement. “It may be a solid month before I’m ready for a romp in the sack, but I’m not quitting till the work is done.”

  Iona smiled, and yes, it did hurt physically.

  It was nearly midnight when she slipped into bed. The bright moon reflected of the water, creating beautiful patters on her ceiling, and a cool breeze ruffled the sheers of her balcony door. She heard the feint sounds of footsteps, and peered through the open door to see Julia heading for the cargo ship.

  Moment later, the muffled sounds of a man screaming broke the quiet, the fifth night in a row.

  Iona had no idea what the man had done to deserve Julia’s wrath; only that he did something to Thor in Copenhagen. And that he was delivered by a man with the most intense dark eyes I’ve ever seen!

  Iona’s eyes popped open again, when the screaming came to an abrupt stop. She sat upright, straining to hear anything beyond the sound of water gently lapping the side of the ship, but was met with silence. She swallowed hard, and rolled to face away from the balcony door, grateful the man wore a hood over his face when he arrived; Lindsay’s blank-eyed death-stare still haunted her dreams.

  It was too quiet; the ship had been one of the noisiest places on earth, filled with the continuous whine of the turbines and generators, the banging of pots and pans, and even the arguments that every family endured. Now Mjölnir was silent as a tomb, driving Iona mad.

  It took time, but exhaustion finally claimed her, and she fell into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 32

  Blood Moon

  The late afternoon sun inched toward the distant mountains. As if answering Thor’s prayers, dark clouds gathered on the western horizon, carried ever closer by a steady wind that smelled of sweet flowers. There would be a full moon this evening, but it would remain hidden by a blanket of impenetrable gray. If the Gods were truly answering prayers, there would be rain, lots of rain.

  Thor rubbed the towel briskly over his damp hair, then tossed it onto the foot of the bed. He slipped into his black attire Sorina had threatened to burn – a smile and a wink to Ylena got them washed instead – and waited in a chair near the window.

  It was not a long wait – two minutes at most – before Sorina emerged from the bathroom, her hair a mass of damp, unruly black waves hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes locked on his, a smile crossed her face, and the towel wrapped around her torso fell to the floor. She swayed toward him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. It could be the light, or merely his present state of mind, but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “At least it’s warm enough to walk around without my towel,” she said, grinning.

  Thor stood, took in her radiance, and kissed her. “When this is over, I’ll move us somewhere warm enough, you’ll never have to wear another stitch!”

  She ran fingers over his cheek to his chin. “If it’s cold, I won’t mind. You’ll just have to keep me warm.”

  “I can do that.” Thor pulled her close, kissing her passionately on the lips.

  “Yes, you can,” she said, breathless with a shudder.

  Thor watched her dress, lustful thoughts crossing his mind as she slipped into her undergarments. She made putting clothes on just as enticing as taking them off. He was not above showing his appreciation of the show with the occasional groan or whistle, which made her moves slower, more deliberate. It had better rain, tonight. I’m already in need of a cold shower!

  They made their way downstairs, following the smell of food and clamor of conversation. Several women passed by, carrying clean clothes and towels, giving curt nods to Sorina as they moved quickly through the halls. It seemed everyone was in a hurry to get here and there these past few days.

  The grand ballroom that once entertained royalty, was now a makeshift dining hall dotted with a mish-mash of tables and chairs brought in from all over the castle. The spirit of the room was a good one; the men and women eating a hearty breakfast before manning the wall for the evening.

  Someone rapped their knife handle on the tabletop three times as Thor and Sorina entered the room, a loud,”Ah-oo!” from the men followed.

  Some of the castle’s inhabitants had been reciting ancient lore about the beast falling during the full moon; a great deal of the men took note, believing it to be tonight. Thor warned the men about taking any stock in stories or prophecies, but his entire life seemed on par with an ancient curse, so he had little room to talk.

  Selucca danced between tables, setting a plate of food before one of the men and refilling a tea glass of another, before gliding around another woman with a tray of food. That old woman was proving less and less frail as the days passed. She caught sight of Thor and Sorina, and smiled, gesturing Thor to an empty seat next to Else.

  Bryndis and Mikki burst into the room, weighed down with heavy trays. Both were looking ragged already, and they would serve another meal to the men presently manning the wall in another hour or so. The way those two dug-in, helping whenever and however they could was sort of frightening. It was if they had become completely different women.

  Mikki set a plate at an empty seat, and whistled to Thor. “Get it before it gets cold, Sugah,” she said before moving on. Maybe they’re not, too different, after all!

  Sorina ran fingers through Thor’s hair, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve got to get going,” she said, and headed for the kitchen, looking back at him twice before she disappeared through the door.

  Thor snaked his way to the table, keeping an eye out for Martin LeMay. He spotted the agent, sitting with several Green Berets near the opposite end of the room, dressed in fatigues and looking beat. Thor felt for the man, all he was really trying to do was his job. Even if that job is putting me in prison.

  “Did you get it?” Thor asked as he stepped up next to Else.

  Else handed over a pink cardboard box. “That’s the most expensive box of doughnuts in the world,” she said, between bites of food. Thor was assured the contents were still warm as the box left the shop in Portland this morning. For what Thor paid to get it delivered on time, it was a slight irritation the box had cooled since then.


  Thor shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.” He wound his way between tables, setting the box in front of Martin LeMay, then went back to his seat.

  The agent’s eyes grew very wide, staring at the box like an early Christmas gift. He opened it slowly, as if fearing a trap, peered in to see a dozen maple-bacon doughnuts. He stuck his face in the opening, breathing in the aroma, and smiled. He raised his cup of Stumptown to Thor, nodding appreciation before tearing into the first of three doughnuts and rolling his eyes.

  The sky had grown dark as the men filed out for the changing of the guard. Thor sat, deep in thought, nursing a cup of café, and staring blankly out the window. The creature would arrive soon; it awaited the dark within a niche, barely large enough to gain shelter, a few miles south of here. The thing had not slept in the same spot since its first attack. Hunger was driving it mad, but it vowed not to eat until it could dine on Thor’s flesh. This was an added bonus to Thor’s plan.

  Else took her cues from Thor, and sat across the table humming a tune as she finished her café. Thor already told her a storm was on its way, and she would remain grounded this evening. Then she reminded him ever-so-politely she does not work for him, nor could he tell her what to do, if he liked his teeth where they were.

  One of the women, Réka, came to gather the dishes; just a few years older than Thor, she appeared nearly twice that. She still had subtle reminders of the pretty girl she once had been, but the years spent at the castle took their toll, leaving the woman as thread-bare as an old rug that had been beaten one too many times. “Thank you,” she said, her voice meek and quiet, “for all you are doing.”

  Thor stared into her sad, brown eyes, creased from many nights spent crying herself to sleep. He took the cup from her hand, then caressed the rough calloused palm. “I will kill this thing. If it isn’t tonight, don’t give up hope.”

  “When you do,” she said squeezing his hand, “may I have a piece of its hide? The beast owes me that much. It killed my daughter… My husband hanged himself shortly after.”

  “Yes,” Thor said without hesitation.

  Réka gave Thor a nod and a sad smile, then gathered the dishes.

  Thor stepped out into the courtyard. The sky was dark and gloomy; the wind was stronger, coming from the northwest like a runaway freight train, with gusts that made Else’s planned flight Impossible. The clouds to the west streaked lightning and thunder rolled, the sound echoing off the mountains like a drummer gone mad. Thor tried hard not to smile, but it was difficult.

  “I’ve been up in worse,” Else said, staring off into the west.

  Thor gave her a sideways glance. Else was as crazy as they came, but not that crazy…he hoped.

  Fenrir had not moved yet. Thor could sense the creature seething, plotting its next move. There was a weakness on the wall, a blind-spot that could be exploited, if conditions were right. Those conditions would be perfect tonight; it would rip Thor’s heart out, and dine on his flesh.

  “This weather is going to get rough for a while,” Jacques said, rushing toward Thor.

  “It’s a small storm,” Thor said to the man, trying hard not to show how pleased he was.

  “Aye, lad,” the captain agreed. “But it’s going to be a hell-of-a light-show!”

  Thor turned to Nwabudike. “Make sure the men follow the plan to the letter!”

  The dark-skinned man nodded. He eyed the oncoming storm with trepidation. “This is going to be very dangerous, for you more than the rest. If things go wrong…” He raised an eyebrow.

  A huge grin crossed Thor’s face as he chuckled. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Everything!” Nwabudike snapped. “Hold the wall, and don’t move an inch!” he said into his microphone. He leaned close to Thor, his eyes betraying the thousand thoughts running through his mind. “How did you know there would be a storm tonight?”

  “I asked a friend for a favor,” Thor replied.

  Nwabudike stood as still as a statue, studying every feature on Thor’s face. Then he laughed. “This is the scariest moment of my life, Thor Odinsson!”

  Thor’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  Nwabudike placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Because I believe you.” He turned to make sure everyone was in place. The wind whipped small droplets of rain into Thor’s face as Nwabudike trotted off.

  Thor climbed the steps to the top of the wall, gazing out into the distance once he reached the top. He was alone by design, standing at the southeast corner, his back to the wind. He was afraid, so terribly afraid. He would shake with the fear running through him, if he were sure no one would see; but too many people gained their own strength through his perceived courage, and he must not let them down. The creature was coming. It was in good spirits, loping through the growing storm. It would feed soon, and end the maddening hunger.

  “Thank you, Chelsea,” he whispered, his hand covering the microphone near the corner of his mouth. “I hope this didn’t cost you too much.” He smiled as the scent of lavender soap filled his nostrils and the sensation of warm lips brushed his cheek.

  “It will cost you more,” a soft voice echoed in his ear.

  “I know,” Thor whispered over the lump forming in his throat.

  He braced himself against the merlon, holding his arms wide to let the wind carry his scent. He closed his eyes, welcoming the tidal wave of blackness rushing over him. He could see the world in a heartbeat, be the wind, and count the trillions of water drops falling from the clouds. Lightning struck the ground, paces from where he stood on the wall. Had he needed to, he could have stepped aside to avoid the bolt. His transformation was complete; the amulet could give no more. A part of him would slip away tonight; he did not realize which part, only that it would hurt him deeply. Deep enough, he may never recover.

  Thor opened his eyes, tears masked by wind and rain, trailing down his cheeks. If Hel must be paid tonight, let the bitch come and claim what is owed!

  The wolves were the first to appear, dancing among the shadows, no more than shadows themselves. They could smell Thor standing on the wall, fear spreading through the mingled packs like wildfire. Thor had no hatred toward the wolves, they were pawns in this game, and a pawn had no control over how the game was played. All of Thor’s hatred was focused on Fenrir; he was the one responsible for the thousand years of suffering Thor’s family endured. If not for Fenrir, Thor would have known his grandmother, his parents would still be alive, and his children would know their aunt Chelsea. Not to mention, he would not be standing in a lightning storm, wondering if he was going to live through the night.

  The wolves rushed the wall. Thor ignored the howls and growls; they could do nothing but make noise, and it did not even take much concentration to block them out, altogether. Thor climbed on top of the merlon, keeping arms stretched and palms upward. Lightning raced across the sky, Thor’s silhouette calling to the beast in the shadows, beckoning it to come end this. A gust of wind nearly caused Thor to slip and fall to the waiting jaws below, and he began to wonder if he really had lost his mind.

  The beast sensed a trap, but the bait was too great an opportunity to pass up. Besides, there was always the chance to carry out its original plan if this failed. The creature rushed forward, straight for Thor.

  “Two, three, eleven, and twelve,” Thor said calmly into the microphone, “in that order. NOW!”

  Much longer bolts than Thor used sailed over his head to bury into the ground. Lightning stuck one immediately, and chased another to the earth, the steel shafts glowed cherry-red after the sparks fizzled out. Two out of four, that’s better than I had hoped for.

  The beast adjusted, zigzagging as it ran, but it kept coming for Thor.

  “One, one, two, two, twelve, eleven,” Thor said, his eyes never leaving the target.

  Lightning struck three of the shafts this time, and the creature turned north, chased by a bolt of white-hot fire streaking through deep puddles.

  Thor jumped from the parape
t to the top of the wall. He grabbed the handle of the zip-line, throwing himself into the air. His feet slipped on the mud as he landed, but he had enough balance to leap onto the awaiting ATV. He barely had time to wrap his arm around the driver before the wheels spayed mud, and they were speeding through the dark courtyard. He sighed, seeing a long, blonde braid hanging out the back of the helmet in front of him. I should’ve known Else would find a way to be involved!

  The engine roared, and Else guided the ATV around buildings that could not be moved, and through doorways cut into opposite ends of a barn- Thor admired the genius of that, though. Else skidded to a stop before ramming the northwest corner of the wall.

  Thor leaped from the back of the vehicle, raced up the steps two and three at a time, as Else sped away. He snatched up his rifle, crouched down in the corner behind the parapet, and waited. Fenrir was closing in. Thor could feel the bile rise in his throat, and his heart threatening to break the ribs containing it.

  The beast cleared the wall three feet to Thor’s right, its jaws clamping down on an unsuspecting soldier. A thick layer of lard spread over the stones gave the beast no chance for sure footing, and momentum carried it to the courtyard below, where it was impaled by several steel shafts from Thor’s recycled pike-line.

  The creature let loose a deafening howl and thrashed wildly, despite the number of steel rods protruding from its body. Steel clattered as “the pit of death” collapsed, but it had served its purpose. The camouflage-garbed mannequin flew to pieces amid the tangling mass of fur and steel, and the beast howled more fiercely, as if more enraged that it would not be taking one final victim before being sent to Hel.

  “Surprise, motherfucker!” Thor shouted, then fired a bolt deep into the creature’s chest. Half a second later, the air exploded with the sound of three dozen more rifles, leaving the beast’s corpse looking like a steel-quilled porcupine.

  Thor fell back on the wall, rain falling in sheets around him, and he began to weep uncontrollably at the loss the creature’s death left behind. How the Hel he could feel grief for this goddamned thing, Thor did not know, only that it was there, and it was crippling. He felt as if a part of him died with the creature. Shit! I am losing my mind!