Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  “It would have been better if you had stayed away,” he said.

  “Did you really think I would?” She sighed. “It’s time for you to come home.”

  “You have not come to your senses?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you mean. Maybe you shocked me a little, but I got over it.”

  He looked above her head at something she didn’t think she wanted to see “And will you forgive my failure to tell you about my true nature?”

  “I’ll have to think about that one,” she said with a forced smile.

  The muscles in Dainn’s jaw flexed. “A long time ago,” he said, “When I first came to Midgard, the physical beast you saw did not exist. It was only a thing of the mind, as I told you in the beginning. But the first time I was threatened with physical harm by a mortal, it appeared. And it killed. It killed more than once before I found a way to begin fighting it.”

  “And you managed to hold onto it,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level “Until Freya came for you. And you met me.”

  He continued to gaze at the sky as if he might fly up like Orn and simply disappear. “I learned long ago that magic of any real significance strengthened the creature, and so I avoided it. Strong emotion was also a dangerous catalyst. I lived in isolation, century upon century.

  “But a time came when I succumbed to temptation, and I worked a few small spells. I began to lose mastery of the beast soon after. The cage was no longer as strong as it had been, and I spent every waking moment attempting to reinforce it. But when the Lady entered my mind, it was weakened yet again.”

  “Did she know it was more than a beast of the mind?”

  “Yes. But she believed she could cure me.”

  “But you told me she couldn’t.”

  “Freya said…” Dainn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She said she couldn’t help me until her full power was established in Midgard.”

  Mist wondered if Freya had dangled that hope in front of Dainn the entire time since she’d called him to be her messenger in Midgard. He would have done—would do almost anything to rid himself of what he despised above everything but Loki, the one who had ultimately brought the curse upon him.

  No wonder he had been so intent on making Mist cooperate when they had first met.

  “When I was condemned,” he said, as if he and Mist had joined minds again and he had heard her thoughts, “she stood between me and Odin’s full wrath..”

  But his voice was dull, and Mist knew he wished Freya had left him to die.

  In that moment, Mist almost hated the Lady.

  “It’s all right, Dainn,” she said, clenched her fists at her sides. “We can still figure this out.”

  “As we did before you saw what I really am?”

  Mist refused to be drawn into that same argument again. “I might remind you that you saved us from Jormungandr,” she said. You choked it, tore at it from within. It didn’t know how to fight you. And you rescued Gabi and Ryan from the loft.”

  “You forget that I almost—“

  “But you didn’t hurt him, did you? I know you used some kind of Blood-Runes to heal him.”

  “I was fighting the beast. The rest is unclear.”

  “But you were fighting it.” She gathered her thoughts. “I saw you cast Blood-Runes when you tried to find out if Loki was near the loft,” she said. “And I used them against Hrimgrimir. But they’re not for healing.”

  “I understood only that they were necessary to save Ryan’s life.”

  “That tells me nothing! Dainn, you have to remember.”

  “I have no answer!” Dainn shouted.

  Though she’d faced the full power of Dainn’s true beast only hours before, the agony in his voice made her flinch. He wasn’t going to tell her a cursed thing more, and she knew it. Maybe if she let him talk to Ryan …

  No. She couldn’t put either one of them through that. Not now, or anytime soon.

  “Then maybe you can explain what’s been going on with you and Edvard,” she said quietly.

  Dainn released his breath, and the muscles in his jaw relaxed. “He sensed what I was and came to see me, claiming that he knew I was”—Dainn laughed briefly—“having difficulties, and that he could help.” “Help how?”

  “With methods his people use to regulate the behavior of their animal natures.”

  “Then when you referred to ‘new techniques’ before we took Anna from Loki, you were talking about something he showed you?”

  “Obviously, it failed.”

  “But didn’t you say you tried to call the beast to help me fight Jormungandr, and it wouldn’t come?”

  “I cannot explain it.”

  Mist kicked at a mushy combination of rotted leaves, dirt and melted snow with the toe of her boot. “Edvard hasn’t been seen since I asked him where you’d gone after we returned from searching for Anna,” she said.

  Dainn opened his mouth to speak, but only turned away.

  “What?” Mist asked.

  “It no longer matters,” he said. “I was, as always, a fool.”

  “Do you think Edvard intended to hurt you in some way?”

  “Unless he works for our enemy, I cannot fathom a good motive for his behavior.”

  Mist wrapped her arms across her chest. “Bryn knows who you are, Dainn. And I didn’t tell her. She recognized you from Asgard.”

  “Ah,” Dainn said, his tone flat. “And does she know the rest?”

  “She knows the nature of the curse, but not what you can become. She and Rick won’t cause any trouble.”

  His gaze lost focus. “Perhaps it would be better if someone you trust is prepared to … deal with me should I prevent you from doing what is necessary.”

  “What in Hel are you talking about? Dainn, you have to go on as if you can beat this thing. If I thought you’d really stay this way, I’d kill you myself.”

  “May I take you at your word?”

  Her heart stopped and then broke into a lurching rhythm that made her ribs ache. “Are you asking me to kill you if you—”

  “I told you of the sacrifice the beast demands of me,” Dainn said. “I believe that sacrifice will be someone to whom I have an emotional attachment. You will know what must be done if the time comes. You will show no mercy if I lose myself.”

  Almost against her will she moved close to him, so close that she only had to tilt her head back an inch to look into his eyes. “It won’t come to that,” she said. I can see you want to run, but you won’t, because you know could still hurt innocents wherever you go. I’ll keep you here even if I have to tie you up every time you even come close to letting go.”

  “And how will you manage that?” he said, cruel amusement in his voice.

  As drained and discouraged as she was, she wove a cable of steel Rune-staves and cast it around him. Even without the power of the beast’s shape, Dainn snapped the bonds as if they were made of frayed ribbon or rotted twine.

  “You see?” he said, backing away quickly. “Even you cannot hold me. But perhaps you have access to something that can.”

  “Loki’s piss, what is it?”

  His gaze grew distant again. “Only three things might bind me,” he said slowly. “My own will, which has failed me; death; or the roots of a mountain.”

  Mist knew he was quoting what they said of Gleipnir: that it had been forged by the dwarves out of the sound of a cat’s footfalls, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  “I carried it back from Italy,” he said. “It had … certain effects on me that suggest it may be of use against the beast.”

  “What effects?” she demanded, her heart picking up speed.

  “It attempted to bind me.”

  “By itself?”

  “I am Fenrisulfr’s mirror image.” he said. “It was forged to hold him when no other bin
ding could.”

  “You’re nothing like Loki’s wolf-child,” she said, furious again. “And Fenrir did break Gleipnir in the end.”

  “Nevertheless, it—”

  “You said it ‘attempted’ to bind you. That means it didn’t succeed. None of the Treasures work for anyone but the Aesir, not without terrible consequences.” She took a deep breath and, for the first time, told him the ugly story of what had happened during World War II, when she had dared to use Gungnir against Nazi pursuers.

  “While I was busy fighting a few soldiers,” she said, “almost the entire group of refugees I, Bryn, and Horja were escorting was massacred.”

  “And you blamed yourself,” Dainn said with unexpected warmth. “It explains so much.”

  Mist’s eyes burned, and she looked away. “I urged Bryn to use the Falcon Cloak, and she died for it.”

  “You thought her dead, yet she is alive. What were the consequences of attempting to use Gleipnir against Jormungandr?”

  “Maybe it’s that Anna is gone, and—”

  “Don’t be foolish,” he said harshly. “Anna is gone because I trusted Vali.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “If you truly wish me to remain here, we must attempt it.”

  “I told you I wanted you here, you thick-headed elf. You’re too great a menace on your own, even if I didn’t want you around. But if this idea of yours backfires, you could be the one hurt.”

  Dainn crouched, running his hand over the dead grass. “You did use Gungnir again,” he said. “When we fought Loki in his apartment.”

  “What?”

  “You were in possession of it when you entered the fugue state. You threw it at Loki. He barely escaped death.”

  She took a few agitated steps away from him, ran her hand over her hair and swung to face him again. “Freya was with me part of the time. It could have been her presence that made it work.”

  “You have won two subsequent battles virtually alone, with no loss of human life and only a few injuries among your followers.”

  “You’d call what happened to Ryan and Gabi minor? And what about Eir, who used a corruption of her healing magic to help me, and now looks as if a single snowflake could kill her?”

  He rose and strode to a nearby tree, gazing up into its bare branches, stroking its scarred bark. Mist felt the power of life in Dainn’s hand as if were her body he was touching.

  “Gleipnir,” he said, curling his fingers into the bark as if he would tear it off.

  “All right!” she snapped. “We’ll try it. But if it works, I won’t chain you up like a junkyard dog. When you’re with me, you can be free.”

  “You have quickly tired of my company in the past,” Dainn said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “You can be a big pain at times, but I’ve survived somehow,” she said softly. “You know you won’t be able to fight at my side.”

  “But if I am bound, perhaps I can assist you in retrieving Anna and Orn without putting you at risk.”

  Mist pulled her jacket closed over her chest. “You’re crazy, you know.”

  Dainn’s fingertips grazed her chin. The contact lasted no more than a second, so light she could barely feel it. But when she met his gaze, what she saw in his eyes was worse than anything that had come before.

  Hope. Hope of a life in which he could harm no one because it would be spent in perpetual bondage.

  Unless Freya returned and actually had the cure. Mist intended to wring that cure out of the Lady, even if Freya had to find out the hard way exactly how much her mother’s daughter she was.

  “I’ll go back to the loft,” she said, pretending that Dainn’s offer hadn’t torn her apart. “I’ll expect you back by nightfall.”

  22

  Ryan was halfway up Twentieth when Dainn saw him.

  The teenager froze, his eyes widening in panic. It was still midday, hardly a time for him to be leaving the loft clandestinely with his backpack over his shoulder and a furtive look on his face.

  And yet Dainn knew that was precisely what Ryan was doing.

  He approached the young mortal cautiously. “Should you be out, Ryan?” he asked. “Surely you have not fully recovered.”

  Ryan nearly flinched, but quickly caught himself. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “I just wanted to, you know, get away for a little…”

  He trailed off, but Dainn knew he was lying. “I have much to apologize for,” he said, keeping his distance. “Yet I cannot expect you to accept my regrets.”

  “If you mean what happened in the loft,” Ryan said, “It’s okay. Gabi told me what I couldn’t remember.”

  “It is not ‘okay.’ You have had little but trouble from me since you came to Mist. But soon I will be unable to harm you, even if the … even if it escapes my will again.”

  “Are you going away?” Ryan asked, a note of distress in his voice.

  “There is another possible method of containing it, and I have every hope that it will—” I’m not afraid of you. I never have been.” Ryan’s gaze flickered behind him in the direction of the loft. “You saved my life.”

  His trust struck Dainn like a hail of Jotunn ice. “Then why are you leaving now?” he asked. “Have you had another vision?”

  “Nothing like that,” Ryan said, his gaze jerking up to meet Dainn’s. “But I have to go.”

  “You will soon have the freedom and wealth to live as you choose,” Dainn said.”Leaving before the arrangements have been completed can only endanger your life further.”

  “I’m no good to anyone the way I am now.”

  “No one expects anything more of you.”

  “Maybe you won’t mean to. But we all know it’s not working. I can’t help anyone.”

  “Ryan,” Dainn said, dropping into a crouch, “Even if this were true, there is no reason that you must leave today.”

  “Please don’t make me explain. I can’t.” Ryan’s eyes grew moist. “I’m asking you not to tell anyone until I’m really gone. I don’t want you to follow me. There’s just … something I have to do.” Dainn knew he ought to take the boy back, but he knew just as clearly that he would not. Ryan had more than earned the right to make his own choices, even if they were foolish and dangerous ones. He was no longer a child.

  “You have left Gabi behind?” he asked

  “She needs to stay here.” He swallowed. “I’ve left a note. Please, just let me go.”

  Dainn stepped aside, leaving Ryan’s path toward Third Street unimpeded. “If you need us, call. We will come. Or Mist will, if I cannot.”

  “I know.” Ryan smiled. “You take care of yourself, too.”

  And then he was striding away, afraid and yet determined to meet whatever destiny he had determined to pursue.

  He was so much stronger than Dainn had ever been.

  Crouching in the melting snow, Dainn closed his eyes. He had finally admitted the extent of his shame to Mist in the park, the way in which he had failed to control the beast in the years long before Freya had touched his mind He had made himself vulnerable, opened up to her more fully than he had ever done before.

  And yet, once again—when he should have warned her of the Lady’s many deceptions, both past and potential—he had turned coward. Too much a coward to be honest with the woman who had stood beside him, supported him, determined to help him when he so little deserved it.

  He tilted his head, feeling the sun warm on his icy skin. But When first he had learned of Orn’s appearance, part of him had believed it signaled the end of Freya’s influence in Midgard, and over Mist. Now that Orn was taken and the bird had proved to be so much less than they had anticipated, he no longer dared harbor such hopes.

  But now there was another chance. Two chances, either of which might serve his purpose, and possibly save Mist. He knew his magic still functioned, if irregularly, and it was quite possible that he could still aid Mist in developing and controlling her magic so that she could obtain her mortal army and bar
Freya from threatening her mind. As long as Gleipnir kept him bound, he need not fear loosing the beast by calling on abilities that could help her master her untapped power.

  If that was not sufficient, and Freya did return, there was still another way. A way the beast’s ever-growing strength might at last make possible. And Mist need never know that all he was, elf and beast, was built on lies.

  He opened his eyes and looked toward Third. Ryan was standing on the corner with a man whose body was nearly obscured by the falling snow. Before he could make out the man’s face, the other was suddenly gone. And so was Ryan.

  Dainn started after them, but with each step toward Third his pace slowed. He had to trust that Ryan knew what he was doing, and that this was not a return to his former life as what mortals so crudely called a “rent-boy.”

  Ryan knew far too much now. He could not go back.

  None of them could.

  The boy didn’t respond.

  Loki leaned back in his chair, allowing his anger to flow through him and dissipate with a hiss of steam that fogged the small bedroom. Oh, Danny had done exactly as Loki had wished, manifesting the image he had found drawn on fifty separate sheets of paper tacked to the walls of his room. An image he had turned into a weapon at Loki’s behest. It had barely been necessary to coax him; he had known what Loki wanted and simply followed his instructions without question or hesitation, like a well-programmed computer.

  But now Danny didn’t rock, or make repetitive gestures, or behave in any of the ways he had always done when he was farthest from the world. Even Miss Jones couldn’t account for his utter stillness.

  Loki could. He’d demanded too much. Just because Danny could create stunningly effective “ghosts”—apparitions that could be brought to life at some distance and were capable of doing great damage—didn’t mean he had endless supplies of power. Or the disposition to continue furthering Loki’s plans merely to please a parent he barely noticed.