Battlestorm

by Susan Krinard

  And then she laughed. “Very well,” she said. “Watch me, and learn.”

  Freya lifted her hands, and the magic that felt so unnatural to Mist rose to swirl around her like thousands of iridescent butterflies, trailing the scent of primroses. Golden light radiated outward from her fingertips, as intangible as a painting of the wind. It drifted down on the police at almost precisely the moment when the first riot shield was about to strike the first protester.

  The effect was almost instantaneous. People on both sides of the line slowed to a halt, as if they were walking through cold honey. It didn’t take long before weapons were lowered and signs and rebar and chips of concrete dropped to the ground, angry voices dwindling to a confused murmur. All the faces—of cops, protesters, even Mist’s own soldiers—turned toward Freya with awe and wonder, rapidly verging on outright worship.

  And Freya was eating it up.

  “Thanks,” Mist said, trying to grab her mother’s attention. “But I think my people and I can handle it from here.”

  “Oh?” Freya didn’t even glance down at her. “How will you disperse the crowd once I am gone? What if these police are still under Loki’s—”

  She broke off, and her face drained of color. Her skin seemed to sag, losing its resilience, as if she’d subjected herself to one too many plastic surgeries. Hard lines bracketed her mouth, and her hair turned the color of gray mold.

  Mist was too shocked to speak. Freya cast her a frightened glance and began to fall. Somehow, Mist caught her in time and eased her to the ground.

  There was no curse quite adequate to encompass the situation, but Mist did her best. She jumped back up on the barricade and tried to snatch the withering strands of Freya’s magic out of the air before they, too, disappeared.

  She caught them just in time, feeling the warmth and love and soft, nurturing light envelop and embrace her. She let the emotions and the light flow out to drift over the crowd like a gentle fog made of summer breezes and lullabies.

  For a moment Mist was lost in her mother’s magic, only vaguely aware of words floating like flower petals through her consciousness, encouraging her to open herself to all that was, all she could have again, all she could ever be.

  And all she had to do was reach out and take it.

  A strong hand gripped her arm. She looked down at the mortal standing below her, into light brown eyes and earnest, battle-worn features.

  She recognized him. His name was Captain Antoine Taylor, and he had been among the first mortals to come to her after the fight with Jormungandr. Her legs began to give way beneath her, and Taylor helped her down from the barricade.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “What did you say to me?” she asked. “‘Not yet,’ what?”

  He took her gently by the jaw and turned her head toward the crowd. “You did it,” he said.

  Mist looked. The protesters—no more than seemingly harmless individuals again—began to scatter and drift apart, their purpose forgotten, as the cops put away their weapons and began to withdraw.

  “What in hell happened to her?” Taylor asked.

  Following his gaze, Mist felt a stab of alarm. Freya was sprawled inelegantly on the asphalt, her hair lifeless, her face ravaged as if by years in harsh weather. She was unconscious, but there were no signs of visible injuries.

  And Mist didn’t remember how it had come about. There was a blank in her mind that started from the moment she’d fallen from the barricade.

  Had she turned to the ancient magic, and lost herself for a brief time? Would Taylor have recognized such a change in her?

  “I … don’t know,” she stammered. “She was fine a few minutes ago.” She ran her palm over her damp hair. “You didn’t see anything?”

  “I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on up here. I assumed you were shielding yourself from view.” Taylor crouched beside Freya to check her pulse. “Slow, but she’s breathing okay. I never thought I’d see her…” He squinted up at Mist. “Did Loki do this?”

  “If he could do something like this to her, he’d already have won the war.” She knelt beside her mother and lifted her hand. “Gather your people and get her back to HQ. Maybe Eir can figure out what’s wrong.”

  “We should keep this quiet, I think.”

  “Yes. It won’t be possible to hide this from our people indefinitely, but we should try to buy some time for her to recover, or at least figure out what the Hel went wrong.” She laid Freya’s hand on her chest and rose. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You got it, Chief.”

  While Taylor put in a call to his lieutenant, Mist went looking for Hild, Rick, and the others. Her gaze caught on the figure of a man standing on the other side of the rapidly emptying plaza, an immovable object amidst the current of the dispersing crowd.

  From a distance, he looked exactly like Vidarr.

  Mist started across the plaza at a fast jog. No one had seen Vidarr since Orn and Anna had been kidnapped and escaped, and Loki had beaten him within an inch of his life. She’d figured that he was either dead, or in hiding.

  If he was here, it couldn’t be coincidence. And he had to know he might be recognized.

  But he’d once said he’d be happy to stand back while Mist, Freya, and Loki destroyed each other. Presumably, he still had some divine magic to call on, but it wouldn’t be enough to spark a riot like this one.

  “Mist!”

  Hild stepped into her path, forcing her to a sudden stop. By the time she dodged around the Valkyrie, Vidarr—or the man who looked like him—had vanished.

  “Did you see him?” Mist demanded.

  “Who?” Hild asked, looking over her shoulder.

  Mist cursed under her breath. “Come on. Let’s find the others.”

  Rota, Rick, a couple of the Einherjar, and three more recent recruits were crossing the plaza to meet them, while a third group, led by Bryn, were gathered at the corner of McAllister and Larkin. When they were all together, Mist led them to a quiet area of Fulton beside the Asian Art Museum, well away from any potential eavesdroppers.

  Mist was relieved that no one spoke up about Freya. Either the others hadn’t seen her fall, or they thought better of advertising the fact.

  “Did you find any Jotunar?” she asked.

  “That’s the weird thing,” Rota said. “We didn’t.”

  “Tall, blond hair and beard, shoulders like a linebacker?”

  “Sounds like you’re describing Vali,” Hild said, dropping a weathered hand to the hilt of her sword, which, to mortal eyes, was no larger or deadlier than a small knife. “Did you see him?”

  “I’m not sure who I saw,” Mist said.

  “If it was Vali,” Rick said, “that would prove that Loki’s involved, doesn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. Something’s off about this whole thing. It’s lacking Loki’s usual flair, and he wouldn’t have done it just to show off. He’d have something specific to gain.”

  “He’d have known you’d show up for something like this,” Bryn said. “He’d probably have expected Freya, too.”

  “A trap?” Hild asked.

  “At this point, we have no idea if Loki was involved at all.”

  “You mean this thing just blew up for no reason?” Rick asked.

  “There’s plenty of reason for people to be pissed off,” Rota said. “But if Loki didn’t start it, he knows about it now.”

  “We’ll talk about that when we’re back at HQ,” Mist said. “Bryn, you and your people spread out and make sure it’s really over. Report anything or anyone unusual, no matter how trivial it may seem. Hild, take your team home. We’ll debrief in two hours.”

  While the others separated to carry out their orders, Mist returned to the side street where she’d left her bike, Silfr. The news crews had already packed up and left, the cops had dispersed, and the plaza was as silent as if nothing had ever happened … except for the litter of signs and rebar and concrete the prote
sters had left behind them.

  Mist knew cursed well that it wasn’t really over.

  Bending low over the handlebars, Mist accelerated as she wove through the freeway traffic, and wondered how things could get any worse.

  The wind snatched the laugh from her throat.

  * * *

  Gabi switched off the TV.

  “Shit,” she said. “That was close.”

  Anna shivered. “Close” didn’t begin to describe it. She still wasn’t sure how she’d been able to observe Mist and Freya when hardly anyone else in Civic Center Plaza had noticed them; even Gabi, who’d been with Mist almost from the beginning, hadn’t really seen how mother and daughter had worked their magic to calm both the police and the protesters. It was as if they’d been completely invisible.

  In fact, the reporter had made a big deal out of how the crisis had suddenly broken up for no apparent reason, and speculated that there must have been some quiet negotiation going on behind the scenes.

  “If Loki’s gonna start doing stuff like this right in the open,” Gabi remarked, “it’s gonna get bad even sooner than I thought.”

  “Is he that confident?” Anna murmured as Gabi got up to fetch them fresh cups of coffee.

  Gabi swore in eloquent Spanish. “This cabron, his problem is that he thinks everyone else is stupid. But he didn’t win, did he?”

  No, Anna thought, he hadn’t “won.” But this could just be a test case, a warning shot to see how Freya and Mist would handle a more public conflict. If he kept escalating, the truth couldn’t stay hidden long. People would begin to see things they wouldn’t understand, and there would be no putting the worms back in the can.

  “You been holed up in that computer room too long,” Gabi said, returning with the replenished mugs. “You gotta get out and see what it’s like.”

  “I haven’t seen you go out much,” Anna said, accepting her coffee with a nod of thanks.

  Gabi set down her mug and held her hands up in front of her, wiggling her fingers. “There ain’t enough time to learn everything I need to know, and—” Gabi broke off. “Did you hear that?”

  Anna followed her gaze to the door on the other side of the warehouse floor. Because of the riot, the entire building was empty, including the walled-off sleeping areas, the various offices, and the infirmary.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Anna said. “But they’ll be coming home now. At least no one was hurt.”

  “As far as we know.” Gabi gulped down her coffee. “I gotta go. One of the Alfar healers said he’d let me try working on an elf with a minor wound, to see if I can use my abilities on non-mortals.”

  “That’s quite an honor,” Anna said. “And quite a vote of confidence in you.”

  “Yeah. Well, they ain’t as conceited as they used to be.”

  Anna thought of Hrolf, whom she hadn’t seen much at all since their return from Norway many months ago. He’d never been conceited. In fact, she’d liked him quite a bit.

  But even if the feeling had been mutual, she didn’t have time for personal relationships. She didn’t want them. She’d lost someone she’d believed would never desert her, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  “Don’t work too hard,” Gabi said as she finished washing out her mug in the sink and set it on the rack. “I don’t need you to get sick, too.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Anna said. She finished her own coffee, her thoughts already on her work. She was sure she was coming close to locating one of the five remaining Valkyrie. If she could bring in another Treasure before Loki got to it, she could feel as if she was still worth something to the allies.

  She had to do better. She had to prove …

  She slowed as she approached the large office that housed the computers. The door was ajar, and she never left it open. The information squirreled away inside those computers was far too valuable to leave unattended.

  “Hello?” she said, keeping her distance. “Who’s there?”

  A muscular arm wrapped around her neck from behind and began to drag her backward across the warehouse floor. She opened her mouth to yell, but her kidnapper slapped his other hand over her mouth and continued to pull her toward one of the factory’s seldom-used side doors. His harsh, hot breath washed over her hair, but he held her at such an angle that she couldn’t see his face. She only knew that he was big, strong, and easily capable of breaking her in half.

  Like most of the Jotunar working for Loki.

  Since muffled pleading wasn’t likely to be effective, Anna let herself go limp. She certainly couldn’t resist him physically, but if he thought she was easy prey she might have a chance to escape.

  The Jotunn uncovered her mouth briefly as he opened the door. This time, Anna didn’t try to scream. She relaxed all her muscles and forced him to carry her outside.

  And then he stopped, as if he had nothing to fear from the mortal warriors and Valkyrie and Alfar who were bound to show up any minute. He pushed her against the wall and pinned her there with one huge hand on her shoulder.

  She looked into his face.

  “Vidarr!” she gasped.

  Odin’s son merely stared at her, expressionless, not so much as a glint of malice in his eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, merely held her there as if he were waiting for something. Or someone.

  She hadn’t imagined seeing him in Norway. She’d thought she’d shot him, but here he was, and there was nothing of the menacing Nazi in him now.

  Still, it took all her courage to meet his flat gaze. “I don’t know how you got past the wards,” she said. “But we’re not in the wilderness now, and any second now this whole area will be swarming with people.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “If you let me go,” she said, “I won’t tell anyone I saw you. Everyone thinks you’re either dead or hiding, so no one will think to look for you. I’ll say—”

  “Say nothing.”

  The voice wasn’t Vidarr’s, but it was more than familiar. Anna’s heart thumped once, hard, and then accelerated into a fast, erratic beat.

  “Orn,” she said.

  Abruptly Vidarr released her, and the raven took his familiar place on her shoulder, stropping his beak against her hair in an unmistakable gesture of affection.

  “Orn,” she breathed, reaching up to stroke his breast feathers. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “I, too,” Orn said.

  “Where have you been? Why is Vidarr—”

  “He cannot hurt you,” Orn said, craning his neck to study her with one black marble eye. “He is nothing.”

  Orn’s voice was clear, the words as distinct and deliberate and intelligent as they had been at his last meeting with her in Norway.

  When he made the others forget, Anna thought, her own memory beginning to return. “You were hiding,” she said, glancing to the left and right along the warehouse wall. “From Loki?”

  Orn chuckled in a way that was eerily human. “Open your hands,” he said.

  Baffled, she did as he told her, holding her palms up. Something small and cool and hard dropped into her right hand.

  The pendant. Instinctively she closed her fingers around it, feeling complete again for the first time since Orn had taken it away.

  “Thank you,” she said, tucking it into her pocket. “Orn, what’s going on?”

  “Much,” he said. “You will see.”

  He cocked his head toward Vidarr, who stepped back several paces. There was still no life in his face, and he moved like a huge, remote-controlled robot.

  Anna knew she should be happy to see him brought so low. But there was something deeply disturbing about seeing a man so full of life—even if it was nasty life—turned into a virtual zombie.

  “What happened to him?” Anna asked. “Is he under a spell?”

  “A spell, yes,” Orn croaked, obvious amusement in his voice. “He is very obedient now.”

  “Then you’re still working for Odin?”

&n
bsp; “Always.” He butted his head against her cheek.

  “Do you know what’s been going on with Loki? He’s getting more powerful every day. He probably thinks the Aesir will never come.”

  “Odin is very near.”

  “Then Mist needs to know right away.”

  When he had taken the shape of a parrot, Orn had always been very expressive in spite of the limitations of his avian features. But this Orn radiated emotion in a way Anna had never experienced before.

  And what he radiated now was menace. For the first time, Anna thought to wonder why he’d had Vidarr drag her out here as if she were a prisoner instead of choosing a less unpleasant way of attracting her attention.

  “No,” he said. “I need to see.”

  Anna swallowed. “See what?”

  “You will watch Freya,” he said. “And Mist.”

  “Watch them?” Anna winced as Orn’s talons bit through her shirt. “Why?”

  “Freya is not Odin’s friend.”

  His meaning hit Anna all at once, and she was desperately glad that she had the wall at her back.

  “I … I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought Odin and Freya were working together to—”

  “No,” Orn said, clacking his beak. “No.”

  Anna didn’t want to believe him. It wasn’t that she liked Freya; she most certainly didn’t. The goddess was vain, dismissive of her “inferiors,” and quick to use any means necessary to get what she wanted. She treated her own daughter little better than the rest of them … unless she needed something.

  But if Orn was right, the implications were staggering.

  She opened her mouth to ask all the questions bouncing frantically inside her head, but only one came out.

  “Why Mist?” she asked.

  “To be sure,” he said. He began to croon, an aimless little melody more suitable for a songbird than a corvid. “Be sure of her.”

  Because Orn didn’t trust her. Freya was not Odin’s friend. And Mist was Freya’s daughter.

  Was that why he’d never given Mist the message everyone was so sure he had for her? Why he hadn’t come back when he might have done so any time since Norway, or even before?

  But when, after going to such lengths to find Mist the first time, had he changed his mind?