Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  A tear trickled down Chelsea’s cheek. “We both know, once this has played-out, my staying in Fólkvangr is not an option.”

  Freyja wiped away the tear with a silver trimmed napkin, then cupped Chelsea’s chin in her hand, a mischievous twinkle in her light-blue eyes. “Ah, my dear Chelsea, you let me fret over that.”

  Chelsea smiled, then raised her goblet. “To the men in our lives.”

  Freyja raised her own goblet. “May the day come, we will not have to clean up their messes… for it is long overdue” she added. They both laughed, then emptied their goblets.

  Chapter 37

  The Blessing of a Curse

  Martin LeMay all but ambushed Thor after breakfast, escorting him to the stern with all the nuance of one of Felix’s bouncers pouncing on a pill-pusher.

  “We need to talk,” the wild-eyed F.B.I. agent said once they were behind the Blackhawk and obstructed from view.

  Marin had been withdrawn since leaving the castle. The condition grew worse after Mikki’s funeral; enough to make this erratic behavior seem a marked improvement. The past few days, Nwabudike and the rest kept him on suicide watch.

  “A simple ‘Hey Thor, I’ve got to speak to you’ would have sufficed. Signaling my crew not to shoot you, made my arm tired… I’m sorry. What is it?” Thor added, seeing Martin’s expressing grow darker, if that were possible.

  “I should be dead.”

  Thor could see pain in Martin’s eyes, but that seemed to be contagious these days; an affliction everyone onboard shared. “Don’t blame yourself, Martin. We all did the best we could.”

  “What?!” The F.B.I. agent blinked. “No. That’s not what I meant. I blasted the fucking thing in the chest with a bolt. A rhino getting shot with a shitty BB gun would’ve reacted worse. I was reloading, when the best started toward me. Mikki jumped on its back, and shoved her knife through its eye before it reached me. She shoved that goddamned blade to the back of the monster’s skull, and it still didn’t die. Hell, I think she pissed it off.”

  Martin LeMay stared off at nothing. “Mikki could see what was happening. She should’ve run for cover… not tried to save my worthless hide,” he added softly.

  “Then, you didn’t know Mikki at all.”

  The agent looked at Thor, his nostrils flaring. “I know that girl died in my arms!”

  “Yes, she did,” Thor agreed. “But she was my friend. I don’t know why, but she thought saving you would help me. You want to be angry at someone? Be angry with me; I took her to the castle. Be angry with Julia; she got that letter days before you showed up. All she had to do was call me, and Mikki would’ve been back on this ship before nightfall, if I had to hog-tie her and deliver her myself.”

  Thor had fire in his eyes. “But I didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill her. Julia didn’t kill her, and Mikki damned sure didn’t kill herself. You really want to be angry at something: the fucker’s name is Hróðvitnir. You’ll have to get in line, I’m gonna kill him! You can have what’s left.”

  “I’m not sure you can,” Martin said quietly. “I wasn’t the only one to hit it with a bolt; three of us did. Plenty more pumped it full of lead and someone hit it twice with an RPG. We may as well have been shooting it with rubber bands.”

  Well, that’s consistent with every other account. Thor reached for a cigar, but found only empty pockets. Did he forget to grab one, or has Bryndis dragged Sorina over to the dark side? “What do you remember before the shit hit the fan?”

  “No one knew what had happened to you. People were partying and drinking like it was Mardi Gras. I was trying to find Jean, to ask if he could find out how Heitman was doing. Some were trying to get pieces of the creature.” Martin LeMay jerked his head up, staring wide-eyed at Thor.

  “What is it?” Thor asked.

  “Just before the new one pounced, Jacques Montrose was screaming to burn the carcass of the one we killed.”

  It was the first Thor heard of this. “Why?”

  LeMay shook his head. “I don’t know. But he was desperate to get it done. People were dying all around, and that’s all he cared about. He even put himself in the monster’s path to buy his men time, for all the good that did. The creature batted Jacques like it was going for a home run. ”

  “Can you sense this one’s location, like you could the other?” LeMay asked.

  Thor nodded. “The feeling is stronger.”

  Martin leaned close. “Then, if I really am supposed to save your life, my advice is stay as far away from it as you can.”

  “I can’t do that,” Thor replied, shaking his head.

  “Then I’d take up Dylah Stigg’s offer; blow the thing back to Hell.”

  Thor smiled, patting the agent on the shoulder. “I’m not going to nuke anything. I’m damned sure blasting the thing back to Hel, though!”

  Martin LeMay studied Thor’s eyes for a moment. “You can’t seriously be considering hunting that thing down.”

  Thor shrugged his shoulders. “I think I have to.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “In due time.” Thor fumbled through his pockets again, finding not even a match. He was going to have a long talk with the women in his life; a man should not have to endure being treated like a child, especially by women claiming to love him.

  An hour later, he was lighting that cigar, blowing out smoke in victory, laying out his plan to those gathered in the lounge. Their reactions were predictable. Except one.

  “No. No. No. A thousand times, no.” Bryndis paced the room. “You’re talking about suicide.”

  “Ya lost ya mind, Bwoy!” Julia spat.

  Felix glared at Thor, his eyes full of rage. “Mikki’s gone, brother. Don’t throw your life away, just to prove you loved her.”

  A dozen more arguments followed, most questioning his sanity, some downright insulting. I knew this was going to cause an uproar, but damn!

  Then something happened he never could have predicted, not in a million years.

  Sorina placed her cup of tea on the table. She rose slowly, crossing the room with the grace of a swan on a still pool. She grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together, staring into his eyes. “I will wait where you wish me to wait.” She kissed his lips, her skin hot on his, the sweet taste of spiced tea lingering on his tongue. “When you return, I will never let you go again!” She released her grip, returning to her seat, her eyes daring the rest to argue.

  “I think that pretty much sums it up,” Thor said, storming out of the lounge.

  The arguments were not over, not by a longshot. If he knew anything about his friends – and he did, too much at times – they would come to him, one by one when he was alone. The only question; which one of them would be first in line. Thor’s money was on Bryndis.

  Thor was standing on the bow of the ship, gazing out at the waves, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back. He was halfway through the cigar, wishing he had the foresight to grab a bottle of Scotch before leaving the lounge, when Martin LeMay and Doru Albusel approached him.

  Thor sighed, raising a hand to their faces. “Save your breath, gentlemen. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “On the contrary, Thor Odinsson,” Doru said quietly. “We propose an alteration to your plan.”

  Thor studied each man’s face as Doru laid out his revision; these men were boarder-line-insane. It was an intriguing modification, though.

  “What do you think?” Doru asked, his eyes pleading for a “yes”.

  Thor’s eyes locked onto Martin LeMay. “Are you okay with this?”

  The man blinked slowly. He gave Doru a sideways glance, then nodded. “I think it’s the only way your plan will work.”

  Chapter 38

  The Price of Revenge

  Doru Albusel crept through the forest as silent as the dappled moonbeams on the damp earth beneath his feet. The loose-fitting wool coat he wore and the pipe between his teeth belonged to his father. Both had remained in the family’s small flat in Bucha
rest the night the Securitate slipped a black hood over the old man’s head and threw him into the back of a car, never to be seen again.

  The coat never fit Doru; Anatoli Albusel was built like a Russian bear, one of the few traits Doru did not share with his father. The empty pipe still had the feint aroma of the expensive tobacco his father purchased on the black market. Doru would sit on his father’s lap, listening to tales of the old days, as his father nursed a bowlful of the sweet-smelling leaves for as long as he could. The scent brought back fond memories, bitter ones, too.

  The air was cool and damp; quit refreshing, all things considered. It had been a long, treacherous journey alone in a secluded region he barely knew, but it had to be done. Doru stepped over a fallen log, cursing the ache in his aging legs; the pack on his back was much heavier than it appeared, though it was not a burden he would have to bear much longer.

  He was not exactly sure why, but he was surprised when Thor agreed to this part of the plan. Perhaps it was because Doru was not sure he would have, if things were reversed. The spindly man was grateful, nonetheless; it might be the only chance to have his revenge on the beast that had stolen many things from his life.

  Some say idiotic things like: revenge is sweet. It is not, it is anything but.

  As a young man, Doru joined the army, amazed at how easily it was to have his enemies train him in the art of dealing death; he was, after all, an eager student on a mission of his own. He learned well, studied hard, and discovered just the right spot in the abdomen to shoot a man, keeping him alive for hours, writhing in pain and begging for his life. He found the men that dragged his father away – again amazed at how easy that had been, once he was a trusted subservient – killing them as painfully as he could; placing black bags, similar to the one they put over his father’s head, shooting them in the stomach, then watching them die slowly.

  Their deaths were not sweet, nor was the man's that ordered his father’s execution. Nor were the deaths of the dozens that followed. Even watching Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu being dragged from the courtroom and shot to death in a filthy alley had no sweetness.

  Revenge is not sweet. Nor is it bitter. It is, however, necessary.

  He froze in his tracks, leveling the shotgun at a movement in the shadows. A moment later, a doe appeared, caught Doru’s scent, and bolted through the brush, making enough noise to wake the dead.

  Doru let out a small sigh of relief. He knew the beast was close, Thor had confirmed that fact, just before Doru crushed his earpiece under his heel. He did not need the young man talking in his ear to know the creature was close; twenty minutes ago, he was confronted by two wolves. He bled them quickly and quietly with his bayonet, knowing the scent would draw the evil plague to him.

  Doru made his way silently to a small clearing; it was as good a spot as any for what he had to do. He gazed up at the quarter moon shining brightly in the star-filled sky, and placed the pipe into the coat’s breast pocket, giving it a pat through the wool.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, if you want to sneak up on me.” Doru’s eyes scanned the shadows, the muzzle of the shotgun following his gaze.

  The creature slipped from the trees without a sound, an amazing feat for something that weighed more than a ton. The demon-beast staring into Doru’s eyes was almost twice as large as the two that had been killed, with fangs as long as Doru’s forearms and claws the size of railroad spikes. The creature’s size did not matter, now. Nothing did.

  Doru imagined the wave of emotions he would feel when he finally faced the beast, but the total calm he felt was not one of them. He let the shotgun fall to the ground.

  The beast sniffed at the air, twisting its massive head about, searching for the trap. The joke was on him; he was as good as caught in it the second he made his presence known.

  “It’s just you and me,” Doru said quietly.

  They stood a moment, in total silence, each gazing into the others eyes. There was so much rage and hatred within the beast it was a tangible thing that Doru could touch, if he only reached a hand out. Beyond that was something else, hidden beneath, like the calm eye surrounding the force of a hurricane: pain so deep it was driving the creature mad. Doru knew that kind of pain; he had dealt with all of his life. Part of him felt sorry for the beast, but not sorry enough not to do what he came to do.

  “You see, it had to be this way,” Doru said, breaking the silence. “The trouble with these mountains, they’re hell on radio frequencies.” The creature lunged, snarling. Doru smiled with satisfaction. This, too, was not sweet, just necessary. He opened his hand, releasing the dead-man switch.

  A fraction of a second later, the pack on Doru’s back erupted in a ball of fire, hotter than the surface of the sun.

  * * *

  Thor Odinsson and Martin LeMay stood on the mountain ridge, shielding their eyes; Thor believing he could actually feel the heat of the blast. Both men offered a silent prayer to the man that sacrificed his life. Seconds later, the quiet was broken by what sounded like the roll of distant thunder.

  By all the Gods of Asgard, Dad, what was in that core?

  Sixty-odd-miles to the southwest, the fireball continued to rise into the atmosphere. For the first time since putting on the amulet, Thor could not feel any presence beyond his own, but this was not the time to celebrate not having to share emotions with the Fenrir.

  “I thought you said it was a very small bomb,” LeMay cursed.

  Thor gave him a quick glance, his vision still affected by the after-flash. “It was.” He stared at the mountain peak, silhouetted by the orange glow of the burning sky, and shuddered. That fucking thing had been on my ship for years.

  “Ready?” Martin asked, and Thor nodded.

  The mouth of the cave was a black, open maw two hundred feet below, chiseled into the side of a sheer cliff during the great ice age, surrounded by jagged rocks, thin air, and the darkness of a thousand foot drop.

  They gave their harnesses a quick check, easing over the edge. Thor’s heart pounded in his chest with the rush of exhilaration; under different circumstances, this could be a lot of fun. They traversed the distance with grim determination, the sounds of their boots scraping against the rock surface and the friction-whine of the rope sliding through the metal rings the only sounds, as they rappelled down the cliff in silence.

  Neither man hesitated at the opening. LeMay tossed a glow-stick into the gap, bounded into the darkness, his rifle pointed into the black just as soon as his feet hit the uneven floor. Thor found it amusing that Martin insisted on bringing an assault rifle, despite admitting it would be useless against the creature. Thor had no room to laugh, however; Alice’s holster was hugging his left leg with the soothing comfort of a reliable old friend.

  The sound of Thor’s boots thudded on the floor, and both men stood in silence, waiting a moment for any signs of movement, each man praying there would be none.

  “That was the easy part,” Martin said quietly. “Getting back to the top is gonna suck.” He anchored the ropes, then tied off the end of a large spool of nylon string to ease the return trip.

  “You’re assuming we’re getting out of here alive.” Thor switched on the lantern, Martin followed suit, though his was attached to the rifle. They traveled deeper into the cave, swinging their breams in wide arcs as they moved. Again, under different circumstances, this would have been an exhilarating experience. As it was, Thor was grateful he had the insight to empty his bladder on top of the ridge.

  “What are you hoping to find?” the agent asked, his eyes glued to the end of the light’s beam.

  Thor moved deeper into the darkness. “I’m hoping to find nothing at all.”

  “What do you think we’ll find?”

  Thor sighed heavily. “That, sometimes, it does no good to hope.”

  The cave was a maze of passages and dead ends, forcing them to turn back a handful of times.

  “If you knew it was like this, why do you keep making the
wrong turn?” Martin asked, rewinding the string around the spool.

  Thor gave the agent a sharp look. I can’t imagine why your wife left you. Oh, wait, yes I can! “If you think you can do better, be my guest.”

  “Sorry,” Martin said quietly. “This is the worst place I’ve ever been.”

  “My sentiments, exactly,” Thor replied, realizing his hand was resting on Alice.

  It was maddening, though; the conflicting sensations coming through the amulet kept him unsure which way to turn. Something was wrong, but he was damned if he knew what it was. He still was not sure they were not heading into another dead end as the passage grew wider as they travelled downward. Then the air grew damp and filled with the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh, growing stronger the further down they went.

  “At least we know we’re heading in the right direction,” Thor announced.

  Martin gave him a sideways glance as he pointed the rifle’s spotlight into the dark.

  The floor leveled – for the most part – as the passage opened up into a large cavern. Martin dropped the spool, struck a glow-stick to life and let it fall. He struck another to life and tossed it as far as he could to the center of the cavern; the eerie glow seemed to struggle to penetrate the blackness for more than a few yards.

  The stench was an overwhelming assault that made Thor nearly gag.

  So was the sight of the broken bones littering the floor. Most were too fractured to identify, but there were a few bits of skulls and a mandible, indicating some of the remains were human.

  The carcass of the beast Hróðvitnir went to so much trouble to retrieve was lying in a heap, apparently discarded. The belly had been opened, as Martin had said, with fur and flesh stripped away, revealing the animal’s ribs and what intestines were not strung out on the floor.

  Thor found Mikki’s knife a few feet from the animal’s body; he made an attempt to wipe away the dried blood from the blade before tucking it behind his belt. You were in too much of a hurry to pull a knife from your brain…