Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  This time there was an answer.

  Save our Mother.

  It was not quite a voice, but Mist heard it, or them. Heard the answer, but didn’t understand.

  What mother? Whose?

  Without the slightest understanding of what she was agreeing to, Mist accepted the terms. The dark shapes of Jotunar were massing on the hill, frigid moonlight behind them. And Loki …

  He grinned and sprang forward. Mist raised Kettlingr overhead and charged with her loudest battle cry.

  It was very nearly her last. The ground began to give way under her feet, and instinctively she dropped and rolled, tossing Kettlingr aside so she wouldn’t slice her own flesh. The coyote yelped as hundreds of the local spirits, not mere apparitions but very real, dragged and clawed at Loki-Coyote’s paws, pulling him down as if the earth had become quicksand.

  Loki-Coyote scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling edges of the pit. He pulled himself up and out, shaking off his attackers. Mist jumped to her feet, grabbed Kettlingr, and ran among the spirits, prepared to strike him down. He would not die permanently, but if she could just—

  The wind shrieked, driving sand into her eyes and knocking her off her feet. Instinctively she reached for the ancient, elemental magic.

  But this wind could not be harnessed. It sent her flying in one direction and Kettlingr in another, pinning her down as it spun around and around Loki and the spirits. She nearly choked on the dust as she tried to cover her eyes and mouth with her sleeve.

  Silence came as suddenly as the storm. When Mist uncovered her eyes, there was no evidence that anything around her had ever been disturbed: no stone out of place, no grain of sand moved so much as a pin’s width. The pit was gone. Nor was there a single sign of Jotunar.

  The coyote shook out its coat, grinned at Mist—not Loki’s grin, but not exactly friendly, either—and loped away.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Eir said, coming up beside her. The healer’s face was crusted with sand and dirt, and Mist imagined she looked no better. “They didn’t mean to kill Loki, only send him away. And you could have done great damage to Coyote himself.”

  Mist looked for Kettlingr and slowly picked it up. “I knew that,” she said. “I guess I lost my head.”

  “You never had much patience,” Eir said with a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m amazed you haven’t already gotten yourself killed.”

  “I’ve change a little since you last saw me.” She stared again at the hill where the Jotunar had been standing only a few minutes ago. “They got rid of the Jotunar too, apparently. But that doesn’t mean the giants or Loki have gone very far.”

  “All this land will reject them now, as far as the wind can reach.”

  Mist knelt and, like Eir before, gathered soil in her hand. “I wonder if we can find allies like this in other lands.”

  “These spirits are not yet your allies,” Eir said, wrapping her arms around her chest. “What did they say to you before they came to help?”

  “They wanted me to save their mother.”

  “Their mother,” Eir said. She touched her hair with a shaking hand, and a few bleached brown strands came away with her fingers.

  “Do you know what it means?” Mist asked, feeling a jarring pain in her shoulder as she sheathed Kettlingr.

  “I only know that many of the native peoples here consider Earth their mother.”

  “They want me to give them the Earth?”

  “I have no more idea than you do. But you made them a promise, Mist, and it must not be taken lightly. Someday you must return and fulfill that promise.”

  “They’ll have to take a number.” She sighed. “Maybe Dainn can make it out. He’s spent centuries wandering all over the world, and he’s Alfar. He’s likely to know as much about these kinds of earth-spirits as anyone.”

  “Asgard had its own, once,” Eir said pensively. “I wonder what became of them.”

  “Maybe Dainn has a theory about that, too.” Mist patted her jacket pocket with a scraped palm. “I don’t suppose there’s any cell reception out here? I booked a flight back to San Francisco for tonight, and we might be late.”

  “Tonight?” Eir said with a weary smile. “You must have been certain you’d find me.”

  Certain? Mist thought, stifling a laugh. How little Eir knew her.

  “No reception,” she confirmed, glaring at her phone. “The flight leaves at nine thirty from Albuquerque. If we hurry, we’ll be at the loft before midnight.”

  They didn’t see anything untoward during the drive back to Albuquerque—no sign of Loki or Jotunar or any other obvious danger. Mist didn’t get even a single bar on her cell phone until they was within a few miles of Gallup. She spoke to Bryn—apparently Loki had been too busy in New Mexico to cause problems in California—and allowed herself to relax a little.

  “Almost there,” she told Eir as they approached Albuquerque on I-40. They hadn’t spoken much, each occupied with her own thoughts, but Mist was wondering where Dainn was now. If everything had worked out as they’d planned, and considering the time zone difference, he should already be on his way back from Italy. He’d arrive in San Francisco at nearly the same time she and Eir did.

  If everything had gone as they’d hoped. Loki had known about Eir. He might also have learned of Sigrun, and sent Jotunar to find her.

  And that idiot elf hadn’t called to update Bryn on the success or failure of his mission. He could just as easily be dead as on that plane. Sweet Baldr forgive Loki if he was, because she wouldn’t.

  Something dark and powerful and alien swelled inside her. Her own beast, clawing its way to consciousness at the thought of Dainn’s death.

  You’d better be alive, she told Dainn silently, or I can’t answer for the consequences.

  “We’ve found another one.”

  Loki paused in his pacing behind the row of cramped cubicles, turning to stare at the manager—the replacement for the first, who had very recently been “discharged” after failing in the simple tasks required of him. He and his workers hadn’t actually found Sigrun and Eir; they’d merely been asked to research a few details, and they’d bungled even that.

  “Without help?” Loki asked, scorn liberally slathering his words.

  “Yes, sir. Just when I called you.”

  “Who?”

  “Regin, sir.”

  Regin. That was better, Loki thought. Of all the Valkyrie he might take, she was one of those most valuable to him—the guardian of Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer and one of the greatest of the Treasures.

  Certainly more immediately valuable than the Apples would have been. Loki had to admit to himself that, once again, he had forgotten his priorities and lost his sense in a foolish bid to win even a small victory over Mist.

  Humanity was beginning to rub off on him. Much more than he cared to be rubbed.

  “Have you pinpointed the precise location?” he asked.

  The supervisor showed Loki the data and ordered his underlings to continue their work, with bonuses promised for the successful, and something much less pleasant for the incompetent.

  Like the Jotunar Loki had sent to Italy. Dainn had proven that he was still a force to be reckoned with … and that he was still very much in Mist’s confidence..

  New Mexico had been its own kind of fiasco. Loki’s efforts to bind himself to the native trickster spirit and to absorb its powers had failed, and he hadn’t anticipated the interference of the other local deities.

  In fact, he hadn’t even been aware that this Coyote existed until it had attacked him. It was part of a pantheon believed long extinct, like most of those others once worshipped in Midgard. Even before the Dispersal, Asgardians had accepted that these other “gods” were dead, lost, or weakened to the point of complete impotence.

  Loki had had no reason to anticipate any local resistance, let alone guess that they would join forces with Mist.

  Nevertheless, the encounter wasn’t the complete disaster it might hav
e been. He had learned something from Coyote that none of them—not Freya, not Mist, nor even Odin himself—could have anticipated. Something that might prove to be as great a weapon as Danny would become.

  Perhaps that would compensate him in some small measure for his covert agent’s apparently deliberate acts of disloyalty. Of course that agent’s excuses had seemed almost reasonable on the surface, and had had hinged upon the assumption that Loki and his Jotunar would have no difficulty in achieving victory over their respective opponents.

  Loki scowled. He’d warned that particular individual to think more carefully about future mistakes, but there was no guarantee that it might not happen again before the current task was complete.

  If Loki hadn’t needed the agent’s cooperation quite so much …

  “Sir?” the manager said. “What are you orders?”

  “Nicholas will inform you,” Loki said. He returned to his suite, spoke briefly to his assistant, stretched out on the couch in his entertainment room, and turned on the 152-inch plasma TV. He flipped idly through the channels, pausing when he ran across local or global news of interest.

  Others in his employ were tracking such data at every hour of the day or night, but he liked to keep his hand in. Especially when he personally identified world leaders, politicians, or entrepreneurs he might eventually lure—or coerce, or blackmail—into his fold. He never ceased enjoying the mental image of these powerful men crouched amid the rubble of their world, weeping in their sackcloth and ashes as they fully recognized all they had lost.

  There was the matter of this African dictator, for instance. He might seem an obvious choice, but he would be of far less use to Loki than his terrified, starving people. They would certainly appreciate a friend who could channel both food and weapons directly into their hands without fear of confiscation by their corrupt government.

  And then there were others like Senator Briggs, who attempted to assuage the fanatical hungers of his followers even as he used them to further his rise to power. He was gaining that power thanks to Loki, but his constituents had begun to believe that he and his fellow reactionaries were betraying their God-mandated principles.

  Only a little prodding here and there would be needed to transform those constituents from slavish followers to disgruntled rebels. Remove all laws that restricted their ownership and use of weapons and give them a proper leader to focus their primitive fears, and they would turn not only against their enemies but against their own kind as well.

  Loki’s immediate followers would never have to pull a single trigger themselves.

  Loki sat up and pulled a platinum cigarette lighter from his inner pocket, admiring his reflection in the bright metal. He’d bought it because it was, like the television and his Goldstriker Diamond Edition iPhone, an utterly frivolous luxury. He could summon his own flame with a snap of his finger any time he chose, but that was always too much a reminder of his father. It would be amusing to flash the lighter among envious mortals if he chose to take up smoking, perhaps as an alternative to drinking.

  Dainn didn’t like his drinking.

  With a hiss of annoyance, Loki slumped back on the couch. He had suffered temporary setbacks, and he had learned from them. If he could obtain Mjollnir without Mist’s interference—as well as Thor’s glove, Jarngreipr, and his belt of power, Megingjord—he would have all three of the mightiest weapons the Aesir had ever possessed. And he would find a way to use them.

  Loki’s phone rang, playing the series of tones indicating that the call originated in the nursery. He listened to Miss Jones’s brief report and went directly to the elevator.

  New drawings, Miss Jones had said. Different from the others. Very different.

  When Loki walked into Danny’s room, he saw for himself. The image was strung around the room, paper taped to paper, and Danny was rocking.

  So was the room, and everything around him.

  Loki smiled. He knew now why the earthquakes had seemed to originate from this very building.

  Because they had.

  Bryn met Mist and Eir at the curb as they climbed off Silfr and removed their helmets. After congratulating Mist on her victory and hugging Eir, Bryn gave Mist the best news she’d had since discovering Eir’s location.

  Dainn had called from Italy around noon that day. He was alive, and he had Gleipnir. Mist hadn’t seen him at the airport, but she guessed he’d be arriving any time now.

  She was also greatly relieved to hear that nothing had been seen or heard of Loki since New Mexico, though she would have been extremely surprised if he’d recovered enough to work any kind of mischief so soon. At least, not mischief of the magical kind..

  There had also been no contact from Ginnungagap. Mist was relieved, given the business of Freya’s “game” with Loki and her own certainty that more disagreeable surprises were in store.

  Orn had maintained his stubborn silence. Mist wondered what in Hel he was waiting for..

  Pushing her weariness aside, Mist escorted Eir across the street to the temporary quarters she’d share with Bryn. Though Tashiro still hadn’t returned Mist’s last call about taking the kids, she knew that the teenagers’ room would soon be available for the healer, who was used to more quiet and solitude than staying with the Einherjar could afford.

  By one a.m., Dainn still hadn’t returned. Mist found a salad someone had left in the fridge and picked at it while she tried to keep herself awake. She rested her chin on her hand and felt her eyelids sagging. Her elbow began to slip, dragging her down to rest on the tabletop.

  The quake struck so fast and hard that it set the very earth to rippling like the skin of a snake swallowing a rat. The chair skidded sideways, and Mist jumped off just as it slammed into the counter. She staggered into the hall, weaving her way toward the staircase.

  This was the worst quake yet, she thought, no mere aftershock. She could hear car alarms from Third Street shrilling and the noise of metal striking metal as drivers lost control of their vehicles. The loft didn’t seem ready to crumble around her, but the walls were still shaking, and Mist knew she had to get to Anna, Orn, and the kids.

  Anna was staggering down the stairs when Mist reached them. Orn, in parrot form, was hopping from one section of the banister to the next, squawking each time his feet clasped the wood. Eir was right behind them, her eyes wide in a heavily lined face.

  “What are you doing here?” Mist shouted to her Sister as Anna reached the bottom.

  “I was talking to Gabi about—” Eir broke off as the staircase swayed. “Where are Ryan and Gabi?” “I fell asleep,” Eir said, her voice rising in panic. “Aren’t they down here?”

  “I think they already got out!” Anna cried, reaching for the nearest wall.

  Before Mist could respond, the entire staircase swung to one side, halfway breaking loose from the landing. Mist barely caught Eir as she tumbled off. It took another second for Mist to realize that the ceiling was just about ready to fall in on them.

  If Anna was wrong about the kids …

  “Get out!” she ordered Anna and Eir, preparing to climb up to the landing using any handhold she could find.

  Something hit her in the face: not a physical blow, but a buffeting fist of magic. Her skin felt hot, as if she had suddenly developed a fever. She swayed, and someone caught her arm, dragging her toward the kitchen door.

  Then she was running, stumbling beside the others, her senses clouded with sickness. She was dimly aware of a bird flying after them with raucous cries of alarm.

  Her vision cleared a few moments later, and she found herself standing in the middle of Illinois Street. Eir, Anna, and a half dozen Einherjar were all staring around them with various expressions of shock, fear, and hypervigilance.

  Mist spun around and started back for the loft. Rick struck her across the face. Shaking with rage, she was about to return the favor when another wave pulsed under them, making the asphalt seem as if it were made of some viscous fluid. Rick grabbed one of
her arms, Eir the other.

  “Let me go!” she screamed. “I won’t stand here while the kids—”

  Her words were cut off by an explosive hiss, as if a boiler were about to burst. A hundred little hillocks pushed up from under the asphalt like miniature volcanoes ready to spew forth their full allotments of lava all at once. A single crack opened up in the street, running from one curb to the other.

  The asphalt began to split apart, the crack expanding rapidly until it yawned into a chasm. Mist wrenched herself free and grabbed Anna, dragging her away from the edge. The others stumbled back from the widening gap, coughing at the burst of fumes that spurted out from within it.

  The earth heaved again, and they all fell to their knees. Something rose out of the chasm, a ghostly shape with a long serpent’s head and a mouthful of serrated teeth.

  Mist’s tattoo seemed to burst into flame. The agony was almost unbearable, but she forgot it when she realized exactly what she was seeing.

  She drew her knife and sang Kettlingr to full size. Jormungandr, Loki’s most terrible child, reared up like a cobra and hissed, nearly blowing Mist off her feet.

  The World Serpent had risen.

  18

  Dainn sprinted south on Twentieth Street, his heart beating as violently as the earth was shaking, Gleipnir threatening to choke him with its furious response.

  He dashed into the alley behind the loft, thinking only of Mist and the safety of those she sought to protect. The door to the laundry room had swung open on creaking hinges, and as he approached it the cats streaked out into the small yard, fur on end and ears flat to their broad heads.

  Dainn rushed through the laundry room into the kitchen. Broken glasses and dishes littered the floor, and the table and chairs had slid across the linoleum to rest against the counter.

  He paused long enough to take in the scents and sounds within the loft, realizing that Mist was not inside. He heard shocked cries from Illinois Street and the groan of asphalt being rent apart.

  And he knew.