Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  Dainn took something out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “Did Loki say anything else of interest?”

  His tone was off, Mist thought … too studied, as if he of all people had no real interest at all in Loki’s “pronouncements.”

  “He asked after you,” Mist said, suddenly angry with Dainn for no reason she could pin down. “He kept harping on what I remembered from our fight with him, and asked me if I felt left out of the game.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I know I was in and out of that fugue state and didn’t know everything that happened once Freya got there. Was there something important I missed that you didn’t tell me about?” She snorted. “Maybe she said something nice about how great it was to be reunited with her long-forgotten daughter?”

  Dainn’s silence was so deep that Mist had to look up to make sure he was still there. He looked away the moment her eyes met his.

  “She was focused on Loki,” he said, “and said no more to me than was strictly necessary.”

  “Until Loki kicked her out. Right?”

  “Yes.” Dainn moved to stand in the doorway to the laundry room, a few steps away from the lawn where he had had given Svardkell to the earth.

  “Funny,” Mist said. “Loki suggested that maybe Odin sent the raven in Freya’s place because he wasn’t happy with her. But obviously that isn’t true, since Orn has been here far longer than Freya’s been. And if Odin didn’t need Freya’s Seidr to keep the lines of communication open, he’d have been a little more obvious about it, wouldn’t he?”

  “That would seem reasonable,” Dainn murmured.

  So many things seemed reasonable, Mist thought. Until they weren’t.

  “I guess it’ll all become clear,” Mist said. “But Loki isn’t going to sit on his ass. He’s going to come back for Orn.”

  “Yes.” Once again, Dainn was silent for an uncomfortable length of time, and Mist wondered what dark thoughts he was thinking.

  “Okay,” Mist said, giving up. “What is it?”

  He squared his shoulders and strode to the counter, speaking in a rush. “Whatever else comes, we must find more allies,” he said. “Loki attempted to kidnap Anna at the very border of what would be considered your territory, and you will begin to lose your current followers to death and injury until none remain.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? We’ve seen Loki’s spies hanging around everywhere we look. But you said allies would be coming.…”

  “I have also said that you would almost certainly need to use your glamour to obtain mortals in sufficient quantities to match Loki’s Jotunar.” A breath of cold air swept over Mist’s shoulders as Dainn opened the refrigerator door, and plastic rustled. “I know how reluctant you are to impose your will on others, but you may soon have no choice.” He set a plate down on the table in front of her. “You will always have the capacity to attract the admiration of others, sexually or otherwise, but you can control it. What you must do is abandon your inhibitions and fear of compelling others to protect their own world.”

  Mist stared at the sandwich in front of her, utterly without the desire to so much as taste it.

  “And you need not feel overly distressed by the necessity,” he went on, pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other.

  “As Bryn felt the changes, so will thousands of mortals, those you would call ‘good.’ Something inside them will draw them to you because they possess an instinctive understanding of what Midgard faces, and what they will lose if we fail.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself, Dainn,” she said softly, watching him stalk around the small room. He seemed not to hear. How will we know if any of them can fight,” she asked, “or be of use in the battle?”

  “Because you will call those who will be of use. Likely many will, like the Einherjar, be descendants of Norse heroes, or at least of that heritage.”

  “Even ten thousand mortals don’t have much of a chance of beating Loki and all the corruptible humans he’ll be attracting to his ranks,” she said. “There’s a lot of evil in this world.”

  He stopped abruptly, planted his hands on the table and leaned toward her, gazing into her eyes with an intensity more frightening than anything she’d seen in the beast’s pitiless stare. “Then think of Midgard’s fate under Loki,” he said, “of the chaos that will result, the ruination of your civilization. Focus these thoughts outward, and do not be afraid to share the strength of your own emotions and commitment. Allow those who can hear you feel that they come to one who will stop the destruction of everything they hold dear.”

  “Lie to them, you mean,” she said.

  “You have grown as a leader with every day that passes. And you are the daughter of a goddess. You must now see yourself as one, and make others see it as well.”

  She sighed and picked up one half of the sandwich. Her mouth watered, a physical reaction beyond her control. Like so many other things seemed to be.

  But Dainn always could make a Hel of a good sandwich. And at the weirdest times, too.

  She put the sandwich down and pushed the plate away.

  “What’s really bothering you, Dainn?” she asked. “You say the beast is quiet, but I’ve never seen you this wound up when it isn’t around.”

  Dainn almost jumped away from the table. “The game has become too dangerous,” he said.

  “The game?” She got up, almost upsetting her chair. “The game?”

  He raised his hands, palm out. “I only meant to emphasize that we may no longer have time to proceed with caution.”

  “And this is Dainn talking?” She shook her head. “Maybe you’re right, But I’m not going to rush into anything, especially now.”

  “I will help you.”

  For a moment she didn’t understand him. “You mean with the glamour?”

  “I will help steady and support you. Lend you such strength as I can.”

  “You said you didn’t think you could.”

  “I may have been overhasty in my assessment.” He looked away. “Perhaps if I test my magic under controlled conditions, I can be certain that it will not arouse the beast.”

  I hope you’re right, Mist thought. I hope by Ymir’s Blood that you’re right.

  “There is one more thing,” Dainn said.

  Mist had no more strength left, mental or physical, to brace herself for another blow. She dropped back into her chair.

  “Just kill me now,” she said, closing her eyes..

  “The Jotunn—Svardkell—was your father.”

  12

  If she hadn’t already been sitting, Mist thought she might have fallen. The undigested contents of her stomach swelled up into her throat, nearly gagging her.

  At once Dainn was kneeling beside her chair. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice deeply contrite. “I should not have…”

  “You were on a roll,” she said. “Why stop?” She opened her eyes. “I’m all right.”

  Dainn stared at her, his dark eyes stricken with guilt.

  “Give me the rest,” she said, pointing to the chair on the other side of the table. “He told you his name. Did he say…”

  “He was dying,” Dainn said quietly, moving behind his chair.

  Mist’s eyes filled with unwanted tears. “What else?”

  Dainn’s face became an expressionless mask, the intense emotion passing like a flash of Thor’s lightning. “Nothing more than that. But he wanted you to know.”

  Mist swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, hoping without much confidence that Dainn didn’t see. “You said there might have been some kind of spell on him. Could Loki have known who he was all along, and thought it would fun to have my own father attack me?”

  “It would be typical of him.”

  “And Freya never told me. I should have asked. I should have insisted—”

  “When would that have been possible?” Dainn asked, resting his hands on the back of his chair. “You were unable to ask when she joined you against Loki,
and even that was no true meeting.” He hesitated. “I could have asked on your behalf.…”

  “No. The fact is, I didn’t really want to think about being half Jotunn. They’re the enemy, right? And I could never be sure if anyone I kill might be a relative.” She shivered. ““Was Svardkell watching me all this time? Waiting for a chance to reveal himself?”

  “He didn’t speak of it,” Dainn said, his fingers tightening on the chair with such force that it creaked in protest. “But perhaps he was already coming to you when Loki caught him.”

  “It would be nice to think he wanted to meet me, if he hadn’t died for it.” Mist met Dainn’s gaze. ““Now I think I understand why Freya didn’t give a curse about me in Asgard. She didn’t care about Svardkell. I just a mistake.”

  “No,” Dainn said, avoiding her eyes. “It may seem an explanation for her neglect of you in Asgard, but you were no mistake.”

  “I guess I’ll learn the truth if Freya returns.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to call another council meeting while Anna’s resting.”

  “I should not have told you this now.”

  “But now I don’t have time to think about it. I’m glad about that.” She tried to smile. “I just wish I could have said good-bye. There are so many things—”

  “I know.”

  She cleared her throat. “After the meeting,” she said briskly, “you and I are going to do what you suggested and ‘test’ your magic. And I think I know how. Since Loki wasn’t expecting Anna to turn up, we need to figure out what he was doing around here when it happened.”

  She was the woman in the photograph.

  Anna sat on the bed, numb with the knowledge that the world she knew didn’t exist. The shocks had come one after another, too quickly for her to absorb.

  Mist Bjorgsen. Anna had seen the resemblance immediately—bright blond hair; strong, beautiful Scandinavian features; grave gray eyes. That aura of strength and purpose that had come through even in a black and white image taken over seventy years ago.

  The same image that had haunted her dreams. A Valkyrie.

  Lying back on the bed, Anna threw her arm over her eyes. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her tiny studio in New York right now. How she wished that Mormor hadn’t given her the pendant, that she didn’t have to accept the fact that the woman who had saved her was not merely a descendant of the one in the picture, but the real thing.

  When she’d first met Mist, she had clung to the descendent explanation. Nothing that was happening then made sense, anyway. There wasn’t any such thing as magic.

  But then the seemingly young woman began to tell her about gods and frost giants and Valkyrie. And Anna had known that this was the Mist great-grandfather Geir had loved and fought beside during the War and hidden away in a drawer during his marriage.

  A woman who had been alive since long before Geir was born.

  Anna rolled onto her side and curled up her knees, torn between tears and laughter. The Valkyrie had reacted strongly when she’d seen the pendant, when she’d heard Rebekka’s name, and again when Anna had spoken of Geir, though she was obviously trying not to show her emotions.

  Had she known Rebekka? Oldefar had never said they’d met, just as he’d never said anything about specific missions he’d shared with Mist.

  Had he realized what Mist was all along? Had she left him, all too aware that he must age and she would not?

  No, Anna couldn’t believe that Geir had recognized the truth. And if Rebekka had known Mist, she hadn’t “revealed” it in Anna’s dreams of the war and afterward. Anna “knew” that Orn had never spoken to Rebekka except as a parrot imitating human speech.

  He had never told her to “find Mist.”

  Somewhere downstairs a phone rang, and Anna covered her ears. When she lost herself, she thought she was Rebekka. Or Helga. She saw herself in dark places, fighting for her life, mourning, sometimes suffering. She had seen the men in dark jodhpurs and closely fitted tunics with caps bearing a symbol of a double lightning bolt. She’d seen the bodies and blood in the snow. She could feel those cold eyes watching, the shadow-carved faces bent over hers, demanding answers. Just as Lukas—Loki—had done.

  Anna drew the pendant from her pocket and rubbed the stone between her fingers. Loki hadn’t noticed the pendant … almost as if he wasn’t meant to see it. But Orn had wanted Mist to see the stone. She, like Rebekka and Anna, must have some connection to it. Glancing at Orn—who was now an ordinary African Grey, perched on the rather rickety metal headboard—Anna wondered why he had waited all these years to look for the Valkyrie. “I was sent by Odin centuries ago,” Mist had said. Why would Orn suddenly decide to take action as a god’s envoy? Because Loki had shown up in Midgard? Mist had almost implied it.

  But now that Orn and Anna were here, where he obviously wanted to be, why hadn’t he said anything else?

  What was he waiting for?

  Anna began to rise from the bed, wondering if there was a tactic she’d missed in trying to make Orn talk. Dizziness washed over her, and she fell back with a thump. She felt the weight of her fears pushing her eyelids down, and her thoughts began to drift.

  The snow fell heavily but gently as she and the others around her struggled bravely to keep going, forging on to the Swedish border.

  They would make it. Mist said so. Soon they would all be free.

  “Hello,” a man’s deep voice said from behind the thick veil of snow.

  She opened her eyes. The man immediately reminded her of a youthful, thinner, and better-looking version of Saint Nick: the pleasant, slightly round and ruddy face, thick blond hair, and a fuzzy, mid-length beard over a broad chest and slightly protruding belly. His very broad shoulders and overall size told her that he was a strong man, in spite of his mild appearance.

  Rolling over, she slid off the bed and scrambled into a crouch behind it. Orn squawked.

  “Sorry if I startled you,” Saint Nick, Jr. said in a deep, abashed voice. “I shouldn’t have just walked into your room like this.”

  Anna poked her head up over the side of the bed, noted the open doorway behind the man, and rose.

  “I couldn’t exactly lock the door,” she said, “since there wasn’t any lock.”

  “Yeah,” Junior said. He flashed her a hesitant smile. “I’m Vali. Mist told me about you, so I thought I’d…” His face grew red. “I guess I should go.”

  Anna raised a hand to stop him, not completely sure if she was acting out of a sensible need to gather more information or just to prove she wasn’t afraid.

  “It’s okay,” she said, walking around the bed and extending her hand. “Anna Stangeland.”

  “Vali … uh…”

  “Good to meet you, Vali,” she said, deliberately holding the grip for a good five seconds, even though he could have broken every bone in her hand with the slightest pressure. He held it as gently as he would the leg of a sparrow.

  “Good to meet you, Ms. Stangeland,” he said. His smile was wide and open, his teeth very white and large as a horse’s. “I’m the guy who works the computers around here, but I don’t come up for air very often. I guess you’re pretty much up to speed about what’s going on.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Anna said, glancing at the sole chair near the wall. She doubted it would hold Vali, but she felt very uncomfortable bending her neck up far enough to see his face.

  “Oh,” he said, following her glance. “Uh, do you mind if I sit on the floor?”

  “Be my guest,” Anna said, moving close to the door. Always an exit strategy. You never knew when you might need it.

  Vali lowered himself to the floor like an elephant trying to balance on a small rubber ball and sat cross-legged, still quite red in the face. She noted that he didn’t so much as glance at Orn. If he knew about her, he had to know what Orn was supposed to be.

  “Mist didn’t mention you,” she said, “but she seems to be pretty busy. And she wanted me to rest, so I assumed she’d f
ill me in on the details later.”

  “Yeah,” Vali said, scratching his beard. “He has a lot on her shoulders.”

  “You and Mist are friends?” she asked.

  “For a long time.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  He blinked. “Uh, sure. What is it?”

  “Are you immortal, too?”

  “Oh. Well, as much as Mist is, I guess. I used to live in Asgard. I was—” He broke off, apparently deciding he didn’t want to go into detail. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  I’ve heard that before, Anna thought. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can only take in so much new information, anyway.”

  Vali sighed. “I’m sorry this has been so hard for you,” he said. “I mean, finding out that all the stuff you thought were legends actually happened. Especially the way you found out, with Loki and all.”

  “I’m getting used to it,” Anna lied.

  “You must be a very brave lady.”

  Is he flirting with me? Anna thought. They’d only just met, and in spite of his boldness in entering her room he seemed far too … innocent, somehow, to think about a stranger that way. Especially not her.

  “I’m not brave,” she said evenly. “I got thrown into the deep end, and it was sink or swim.”

  Vali chuckled, though the sound was a little strained. “You’re a good swimmer,” he said.

  “Passable,” Anna said, “but—”

  Suddenly Orn landed on her shoulder—all parrot, she thought with desperate relief—and regarded Vali with pointed curiosity.

  “That’s some bird,” Vali said. “Can I touch him?”

  “You never can tell with Orn,” she said, “he might decide to bite you.”

  Vali reached out with a gentle hand and lightly stroked Orn’s breast. Orn endured it, neither hostile nor welcoming.

  “Has he said anything else yet?” Vali asked.

  Anna had a pretty good idea that when Orn talked, Mist should be the first to hear about it.