Mist m-1

by Susan Krinard

  “I guess I was,” Bryn said.

  “When I got back to the place where I’d left you, you were gone. I warded your body against animals, so what took you away?”

  “Something did take me away, and presumably healed me,” Bryn said, “but I never found out who or what it was.” She hopped, birdlike, as if she couldn’t stand to be still. “Shouldn’t you say ‘velkommen,’ or don’t you have a mug of glogg for an old friend?”

  Mist knew she was gaping, but she couldn’t seem to close her mouth. “Bryn,” she said. “Venninne min . . .”

  “Do you mind putting that sword down before someone gets hurt?”

  Hiding Kettlingr from the view of the men at the door, Mist sang the sword small again, pushed it into its sheath with clumsy fingers, and opened her arms. They embraced warmly. The Valkyrie’s head only came up to Mist’s shoulder, and there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on her bones, but her wiry strength was formidable. The fact that she was with a bunch of bikers, and that Jensen had so obviously deferred to her, told Mist that she’d done better than survive since the war.

  Bryn wriggled out of Mist’s bear hug and stepped back. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said. “Have I?”

  “Not a bit,” Mist said. “I just can’t believe you’re here.” She looked over Bryn’s head at the assembled bikers. “I take it you’re with them?”

  “You might say that.” Bryn turned to Jensen, who still held his woolen cap clasped between nearly Jotunn- sized hands. “Rick Jensen, my lieutenant.” She handed her helmet to him. “I can introduce everyone else later . . . if you’re planning to invite us in for that glogg.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up,” Mist said, wishing her vision hadn’t gone so blurry. She looked over her shoulder. Vali, Dainn, and Tashiro were all watching intently, and she didn’t mean for the lawyer to know anything about what was really going on, especially considering how close he’d come to seeing too much already. “Mr. Tashiro,” she called, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to talk to you this morning after all. Can we make an appointment for tomorrow?”

  Tashiro’s gaze snapped from her to Bryn to the bikers and back again. “Is everything okay?”

  “These are old friends,” Mist said. “If you don’t mind . . .”

  The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, but he went back into the house, returned with his briefcase, and strode to the silver Prius parked a few yards down the street. He obviously wasn’t happy about being so summarily dismissed, but Mist had enough guilt to deal with as far as he was concerned. She had already turned back to Bryn when he drove off.

  “Who was that?” Bryn asked with a sly smile. “Kind of cute.”

  “Since when were you interested in men?”

  Bryn sobered. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  “You have no idea.” She gripped Bryn’s arm. “Did you ever see Horja again?”

  “No.” Bryn glanced away. “What happened to the Cloak?”

  No point in telling Bryn about the massacre. “I gave it to Horja to keep along with Gridarvol. I’m sure she still has them.”

  Bryn said nothing. Mist knew what she was feeling: regret for having had to leave the fight; the loneliness of knowing she had been dead to her Sisters; the guilt of having used the Cloak when she herself had believed doing so was in violation of their covenant with Odin.

  She had been right all along.

  “You still have Gungnir?” Bryn asked, brightening.

  “Yes,” Mist said, eager to change the subject. “By the way, were you trying to follow me earlier?”

  “That little bar hopper of yours?” Bryn said, glancing toward Mist’s unimpressive urban motorcycle. “Sorry if we gave you a scare. You obviously weren’t sure if you’d be facing friends or enemies when we showed up, but I didn’t realize we were walking into such a bad situation.”

  “That’s one of the things we have to catch up on,” Mist said dryly.

  “Yeah. Anyway, about that following bit . . . one of my men caught the scent of an elf while we were trying to figure out where to start looking for whichever of the Sisters was in this city. I told him to keep track of it.”

  “He must have a pretty good sense of smell.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I think you’ll find my friends pretty interesting.”

  Interesting was a word that had long since lost any meaning for Mist. “You weren’t surprised to find an elf in Midgard?” she asked.

  “Sure I was. But sometimes you have to go with whatever the Norns throw at you.” She stepped sideways to look around Mist. “Is that the elf? He’s pretty cute, too.”

  Mist turned around again. Dainn and Vali were standing side by side, wiry elf and beefy god, both apparently ready to dash to the rescue if Mist felt so much as a swoon coming on.

  “That’s him,” Mist said. “His name is Dainn. But don’t mistake him for the usual Alfr.”

  “I never would,” Bryn said, widening her eyes dramatically. “You’d never settle for the usual elf. In fact, I thought you didn’t like them.”

  “I don’t,” Mist said. “The other one is Vali.”

  “Odin’s son?”

  “The very same. He’s a good guy. His brother, not so much.”

  “Sounds like we’re going to need a few hours to cover all this.”

  “How many hours have you got?”

  “Long as you need us,” Bryn said, stripping off her gloves. “That’s why we’re here, to help, even if we don’t know what help you need yet. And don’t worry about my people . . . they know the whole background, and they aren’t going to think we’re crazy.”

  Allies, Mist thought. It was happening just as Dainn had predicted. She’d already found one of her Sisters without even trying.

  Poor Bryn had no idea why she had found Mist so easily.

  “Do you have a place to stay?” Mist asked.

  “We can set up camp across the street in one of those empty buildings. No one is likely to bother us there.”

  “I haven’t got much in the way of food . . .”

  “We brought some stuff, and I can send one of my people out for more.”

  “Your people . . .” Mist began, wondering how to say it without sounding like an overprotective mother. “There are kids inside, and I—”

  “Your kids?” Bryn asked with an incredulous lift of her brow.

  “Odin’s balls, no. Just some street kids who needed a place to stay.”

  “And they don’t know who you really are, and you want us to be careful what we say.”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think. They actually do know. It’s complicated. But I was hoping you’d get your people to keep it clean. No foul language. No drinking. No smoking inside. No brawls.”

  “Jeez, you’ve been watching too many movies.” Bryn sighed. “But you’re right, my people can be rough sometimes, even if they wouldn’t hurt anyone who wouldn’t try to hurt them first. I’ll let them know.”

  Bryn turned to signal to the other bikers, who dismounted and gathered up various packs, duffels, bedrolls, and other equipment. “You mind if we all come in for a while, just to get warm?”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Mist said, looping her arm around Bryn’s shoulder. “And when we get a chance, one of the first things I want to know is how you ended up in a biker club.”

  “Why not? It’s almost as good as riding an elf-bred steed over the battlefield. I can do a lot of pretending that way.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to do much more pretending.”

  “Glad to hear it. Even life among my Einherjar was getting a little too routine.”

  Mist stopped. “Einherjar?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? That’s the name we took when I started the club.

  Einherjar, Mist thought. The bravest of mortal warriors, who, after death, lived again Valhalla, where they would spend eternity in feasting and fighting. All in preparation for the greatest battle of all.

  “I hope t
hey live up to their name,” Mist said, “because they might not like what’s about to happen.”

  “They’ll stick with me,” Bryn said with absolute assurance.

  “Will they be willing to sacrifice their lives to save the world?”

  “That bad, is it?” Bryn nodded to herself. “They’ll like that.”

  Mist shook her head, and they continued to the door. Vali stuck out his hand, engulfing Bryn’s when she took it. He handled her as if she were the small brown bird she resembled.

  “Glad you’re here,” he said gruffly.

  “Good to be here.” She glanced at Dainn. “Heil, Alfr.”

  He inclined his head, his eyes hooded with emotion Mist couldn’t read. “Greetings, Bryn of the Valkyrie.”

  “A little stuffy, isn’t he?” Bryn remarked as they walked past the men into the loft. One by one the other Einherjar followed them, and soon the hall and kitchen were overflowing with men and women removing helmets and setting gear down on every available surface.

  Ryan and Gabi were at the foot of the stairs, Gabi’s mouth slightly open, Ryan as calm as if he considered the arrival of a dozen bikers to be an everyday event.

  Maybe he’d seen it coming.

  “Back upstairs,” Mist told them.

  “But it’s time for—” Gabi began.

  “Later,” Mist said, and they went. Bryn came up beside her.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “The Einherjar can have the living room for now, if they can all fit in it,” Mist said. “There’s some Peet’s in the fridge, if you want some coffee.”

  Bryn raised her voice. “Listen up, huskarlar. Mist and I are going to have a talk. You can have the living room, but don’t make too much noise. There are kids sleeping upstairs. Coffee’s on the house.”

  A couple of the men muttered under their breaths, silenced by a stare from Bryn. One of the women found the coffeemaker. The rest—a hodgepodge of tall, short, thin, husky, large, small— trooped without comment into the living room. Dainn lingered in the kitchen with Vali. Odin’s son seemed sanguine enough, but she didn’t like the expression in Dainn’s eyes.

  “Vali, you said you could start setting up your equipment,” Mist said. “Dainn, get some sleep.”

  The elf hesitated. “May I speak to you alone, Freya’s daughter?”

  Not good, Mist thought, when he started talking that way. “Bryn,” she said, “go to the second door to the left down the back hall. We’ll talk in my bedroom.”

  “Freya’s daughter?” Bryn repeated.

  “Just go, Bryn.”

  The small Valkyrie nodded slowly and backed into the hall with obvious reluctance.

  “Gym,” Mist said curtly to Dainn.

  She turned on the light, trying again to pretend the whole place hadn’t been an ocean of blood twenty-four hours ago.

  “I didn’t exactly appreciate your spilling the beans out there,” she said, facing Dainn with a hard stare. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

  His gaze never left hers. “While you were sleeping,” he said, “I attempted to reach Freya again.”

  “And?”

  “I could not find her.”

  “If Loki sent her away, maybe she needs a little time to lick her wounds.”

  “You do not understand. There was nothing. I had no sense of her presence, no consciousness of the Shadow-Realm where the Aesir reside.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I wish I were not.” Dainn looked through her as if he saw only the emptiness he was trying to describe. “There was a great silence no voice has ever broken, as if Ginnungagap itself had vanished.”

  “That isn’t possible.”

  “No.” He looked at her again, and she saw what he saw: a negation of all life, a barrenness and desolation beyond words to describe.

  Freya couldn’t survive in that. No living being could.

  “What are you telling me?” she asked. “Are the bridges gone?”

  “Yes. Completely gone, not merely closed. And we can only assume that that the Aesir—Freya—can no longer reach us, nor can her allies.”

  “You mean we’re alone,” Mist said.

  “It may not be a permanent state. But we must go on as if it is.” Mist stiffened her legs, half afraid they might give way beneath her. “If what you’re saying is true,” she said, “Loki won’t be able to get any more Jotunar, either.”

  “We do not know how many he has left,” Dainn said, “but you can be sure that he will soon realize that he, too, is alone. He will certainly redouble his efforts to claim mortal servants. Every Jotunn he can spare will be seeking your Sisters and the Treasures. Without the Aesir, there is no one to prevent Midgard from becoming the kind of world Loki desires. No one but us.” He held up one hand, palm cupped toward her as if in supplication. “You must take up a role I know you want no part of.”

  Mist knew what he was going to say. She’d always figured that Freya wasn’t going to be taking direct charge of their mortal allies or distract herself with the day-to-day details of putting together an army that could fight Loki on his own terms.

  Dainn had been trying to tell her all along. She’d told Loki she was only a foot soldier, even when she’d known her claim had been meant more to protect her own illusions than to deceive him. She just hadn’t wanted to accept the obvious truth.

  “You must become a leader,” Dainn said. “The leader of everyone who fights for Midgard.”

  “That’s crazy talk,” Mist said, desperately searching for a way out. “Bryn would be better. She already has followers loyal to her, and—”

  “She has only the magic of the Valkyrie,” Dainn said. “You are the only one of your kind in this world. The only one who can stand against Loki in single combat.”

  “With the Vanir magic. But you said I couldn’t use—”

  “As long as Loki continues to believe that you are in Freya’s thrall, he will not risk throwing his full forces against you until he is certain the Lady can be defeated without provoking her to use the Eitr. And when you have learned enough to wield the ancient magic again, it will not matter what he believes.”

  Mist backed away, raising her hands. “This won’t work, Dainn. Look, even assuming we gather enough mortals willing to believe us and risk their lives for their world, we can’t have battles in the streets. The only way we can fight Loki is through some kind of guerrilla action, like the Resistance in—” Her vision began to go dark. “Oh, gods. I can’t do this. I can’t be responsible.”

  “You can. As a wise man once said, ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ You have a clear responsibility, Freya’s daughter. One must lead. One must inspire men and women to do deeds they will believe are beyond their capacity, and convince them that their survival depends upon it.”

  “You don’t know,” she whispered. “You didn’t see.”

  Dainn grabbed her arms, his fingers digging deep into muscle. “Will you pity yourself at a time such as this?”

  He had said nearly the same thing to her before, when she had blamed herself for not recognizing who Eric really was. She didn’t despise herself any less now.

  “I’m not what you think I am,” she said. “I never was.”

  He dropped his hands. His eyes were filled with contempt, but there was no beast lurking behind them. They belonged wholly to Dainn.

  “Perhaps you are right,” he said, “and this world will fall into chaos because you would not accept the burden of the gifts with which you were born. I will tell your Sister that she has made a mistake, and send Vali home to his brother. The children will be sent away, and I . . .” He closed his eyes. “Loki will kill me eventually, but I believe I can slaughter a few dozen of his Jotunar before he can stop me.”

  Mist understood. Dainn would let himself go, because he would see no reason to fight any other way. He had been sent to find her, protect her, help her prepare the way for the Aesir. If she gave up, he wou
ld truly have no purpose except to kill whatever the beast could hunt down.

  That was the choice he had been given: to help her fight for Midgard, or let the beast take him. That was his fate.

  His decision, she thought. But Dainn knew her too well. He knew she would blame herself if he became the thing he hated. He knew she understood that what would happen to him was nothing compared to what would become of the people of Midgard: kids like Ryan and Gabi, men and women like the bikers in her living room, the receptionists in Century Tower, the patrons of Asbrew— millions of mortals who didn’t deserve what was coming.

  Mist knew she had a one-in-a-million chance of stopping it, even if she had every one of her Sisters and thousands of mortals on her side. But the Norns couldn’t have revealed her destiny more clearly if they had been spinning the thread of her life right in front of her.

  “I recognize you now,” Ryan had said. “You were always there, in the middle.”

  He’d just gotten the position slightly wrong.

  “Odin-cursed elf,” she said. “You always knew you’d win.” When she looked up, Dainn’s eyes had changed. There was sadness in them, yes, but there also pride. In her. As if he had any right to—

  Oh, Hel.

  “There’s one question you’ve never answered to my satisfaction,” she said.

  “Only one?”

  She couldn’t help but smile, but it didn’t last. “What ever ‘exiled’ everyone to Ginnungagap during the Last Battle . . . how do we know it won’t happen again?”

  “We do not. But if there was some force responsible, it has almost certainly long since vanished.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to have to worry about that on top of everything else.”

  “Worry only about what you have the power to change,” Dainn said. He started toward the door. When she didn’t follow, he stopped and looked back.

  “Are you coming?” he asked softly.

  “Tell Bryn I’m on my way.”

  He bowed his head as he might to one of the most powerful of elf-lords and walked out of the gym. Mist lingered, looking around the room as if for the last time.