Battlestorm

by Susan Krinard

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “I have all three of Thor’s Treasures,” Loki said, feeling a brief moment of satisfaction. “Soon you will have the power I promised you.”

  “I will use it wisely.”

  “I’m quite certain of that.” Loki leaned back and closed his eyes. “It will take me some time to prepare the spell. If I am not careful, Thor’s weapons may destroy you.”

  And that would not be such a bad thing, Loki thought, after Vali had served his purpose.

  “I’m not afraid,” Vali said, standing at parade rest with his hands tucked behind his back.

  “Bravo.” Loki straightened again and opened his eyes. “Listen well,” he said. “I want you to learn exactly how my son died. I want to know what part Odin played in it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Vali said. “But if it was the beast—”

  “I’m not interested in your speculation. Go.”

  Vali went. Loki called the kitchen and ordered a bottle of Bowmore Islay. When he won this war, he would make the All-father suffer as no god had suffered before. There were places even more terrible than Niflheim, dimensions where the torment was endless, far worse than the Christian Hell.

  And Dainn …

  He would make it quick. Even now, he couldn’t bear the idea of the elf dying in fear and pain. No, Loki would put him out of his misery gently, if Dainn had not already taken care of it himself.

  Mist’s death would lie somewhere in between. But he would most certainly take pleasure in it.

  * * *

  “How are you going to help Dainn?” Rick asked.

  Mist’s council—or what had been her council, before Odin had made clear that she didn’t need it anymore—waited in silence for her answer. They were meeting in secret, though Mist didn’t think the Einherjar were observant enough to notice a few mortals, Valkyrie, and Alfar wandering around the corner to Third Street and finding their way to the almost deserted coffee shop.

  “They wouldn’t let me see him,” she said. “And they aren’t going to let any Alfar near him again.”

  A flicker of anger passed across Konur’s refined face. “Odin assigned elven guards to watch Dainn for a reason,” he said. “In spite of Dainn’s alienation from my people, Odin anticipated their collusion in his escape.”

  “Because Odin knew I would ask them to help me,” Mist said bitterly. “It was all a test, and now he’s got me right where he wants me.”

  “But you said they found Dainn wandering around the camp.”

  Mist pressed her lips together. From all she had learned, that part had been true. Dainn had deliberately abandoned the cover she’d created for him and let himself be caught.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The final test will be the same. I will be expected to kill Dainn.”

  Everyone around the table fell silent. “Look,” Rick said, “we know Dainn made things right with you somehow, I mean about Loki. How can you be so sure that he didn’t kill—” He broke off and stared down at the table, flushed and angry.

  “I’m not convinced that Danny is dead,” Mist said.

  “What?” Vixen said amid a wave of murmurs.

  “Supposedly, the body disappeared,” Mist said.

  “What does that prove?” Rick asked, lifting his head. “How did it ‘disappear’?”

  “I don’t know,” Mist said. “It may not be easy to find out. Odin has reduced my authority over the allies just as he’s reduced yours in running the camp. I was never supposed to remain a leader after the Aesir showed up. I didn’t want to.”

  “Bullshit,” Rick said. “I don’t believe that for a second, and I don’t think you believe it, either. This guy just expects you to kill someone who … someone who means something to you, after all you’ve done to make things ready for him?”

  Mist swallowed several times. “In his mind, he has to execute a murderer, or he can’t keep order.”

  “He’s scared he’s gonna lose it, with all these punk Einherjar hanging around?”

  “He must stand firm,” Mist said, “or admit that Loki was in the stable with him.”

  All the council members began talking at once. Mist held up her hand. “No one knows about this but Dainn, me, and Odin, and Odin doesn’t know I know. I might think Loki was responsible, except that I don’t believe he’d harm Danny, either.”

  “Whatever occurred,” Konur said, “it is obvious that Odin fears Dainn too much to let him live.”

  Mist glanced at Konur, remembering every word of their conversation about Dainn and his abilities. “Why he wants Dainn dead doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m not going to do as Odin commands.”

  Captain Taylor leaned over the table. “You’re speaking of what Odin will regard as treason.”

  “Yes,” Mist said, “though I hope he won’t figure it out right away.”

  “Forgive me, but why follow him at all when he so clearly doesn’t deserve your loyalty?”

  Mist met Taylor’s gaze. “I’ve served Odin all my life, and—”

  “Did he slaughter innocents in Asgard?”

  “I didn’t finish, Taylor. I had few direct dealings with Odin in Asgard. He was a legend, even to those of us who served him.” She lifted her chin. “Now I have seen what he’s capable of in his quest to rule Midgard. I don’t think he’ll let anything stop him, not even if he has to rid the world of half its population to achieve the paradise he envisions.”

  For a full minute there was no sound at the table except quiet breathing and uneasy shiftings of position.

  “What are you suggesting, Mist?” Rota asked.

  “Rebellion,” Hild said darkly.

  The word echoed through the diner just a little too loudly. Mist waited until she was certain that the few mortal patrons weren’t listening. “When it comes down to it,” Taylor said, “you have the loyalty of all the recruits, the seasoned fighters and the Alfar.”

  “As you have ours,” Hild said, nodding to Rota.

  “And he’s only got his Einherjar,” Taylor said. “And four Valkyrie,” Mist said, “and his own considerable magic. Apart from the fact that I’m not willing to risk your lives in a revolution, nothing would please Loki more than to see a deadly conflict break out among the allies. And Odin is still the only one who can defeat him.”

  “Are you so sure?” Taylor asked. “What you did to Hel’s followers—”

  “I’m not proud of what happened during that battle,” Mist said, looking away.

  Taylor shook his head. “It’s not just about what happened with Hel. What are you really denying, Chief?”

  “That she defeated Freya when the goddess tried to kill her,” Konur said, “because she is far more powerful than she will ever admit.”

  There was another explosion of voices, quickly muted as Konur quietly and efficiently told the others a truncated and much-modified story of Freya’s jealousy over her daughter and her mad attempt to claim Mist’s body and soul for her own. When he was finished, everyone stared at Mist as if they’d never seen her before.

  “Shit,” Rick said. “I’m … we’re all really sorry.”

  Murmurs of agreement circled the table, offers of sympathy and regret. “Now we know why you were acting so strange after you said Freya went away,” Vixen said. “I wish you’d told us, so we could have—”

  “The subject is closed,” Mist said. She stared at Konur. “Whatever my abilities, new or old, I’m still no goddess, and never will be. There’s still a chance that Odin can be persuaded that mortal lives can’t be thrown away like trash.”

  “And if you don’t succeed in convincing him?” Konur asked. “How will Odin rule beings he regards as expendable?”

  Mist was gathering a reply when the pain took her. She doubled over, gasping for breath as the muscles in her belly contracted and the bile rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.

  She had never been with child, but she had known thousands of pregnant women in
her life, and what she felt now was like the kick of a fetus in the womb, reminding her that she was not alone in her own body.

  The beast, she thought. But the pain stopped, and what came after was a question, a plea, and a soothing warmth that erased even the memory of pain.

  When she had taken the beast from Dainn, she had taken something else … something he had saved without realizing what he did.

  Now it was time to give it back.

  “Mist?” Vixen said, kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?”

  Mist looked up. “Yes,” she said. “Now I know what I have to do.”

  29

  Odin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

  The execution was to occur at dawn. Newly armored Einherjar stood guard, as solemn as the handful of mortals who watched from behind them. Ryan, shivering in a thin jacket, observed from among Odin’s immediate attendants, including Anna. Not a single elf was present except for Lord Konur, who looked on with a ferocity in his eyes rare in any of the Alfar.

  Mist stood over Dainn, the blade in her hands. Many times Dainn had felt her try to reach him with her thoughts since she had walked inside his mind. He had blocked her at every turn, knowing that she would suffer even more deeply if they came together again.

  He had surrendered himself to the Einherjar, but he had never anticipated that Odin would force Mist to carry out the execution. Now she had to complete it, because to refuse would turn Odin against her. If she lost her influence with the All-father, no magic in the universe, not even the Eitr, would prevent Loki and Odin from tearing the world apart.

  Closing his eyes, he listened for the sound of the waves slapping against distant piers, the call of a bird in the nearby park, the ceaseless wind. The sky had grown so thick with clouds that no trace of light could penetrate it. He could smell the ozone and feel the crackling of electricity on his skin.

  A thunderstorm was coming. The hair rose on the back of Dainn’s neck, and he knew that it was not a natural one. Odin had the power to summon such a storm.…

  But so did Mist.

  No, he thought. This is what I wish.

  He felt rather than saw her start at the touch of his mind. She tried to answer, but again he prevented her.

  “Commence the execution,” Odin said.

  Dainn glanced at the All-father from the side of his eye, noting with faint amusement that the god had already warded himself against the weather. So ruthless in some ways, so cowardly in others.

  Soon he would no longer be obliged to look upon that arrogant face again. He felt the parting of air as Mist raised Kettlingr to strike, and permitted himself to think of Danny, wondering if it was possible they might meet again in some other plane, beyond Hel or any mortal afterlife. If he had but one more chance …

  He isn’t dead.

  Dainn started. The rain broke overhead, each drop like a Jotunn icicle.

  Part of him is still alive, Dainn. Inside me.

  Her thoughts made no sense to him. But still the blade did not swing, and Dainn felt suspended in time, caught in the very instant between life and death.

  Papa?

  Danny’s voice, so faint that it hardly seemed to exist at all.

  Because it did not exist. Mist imagined it, and he—

  A deafening crack of thunder shook the asphalt under his knees.

  Take him! Mist said.

  No conscious thought guided Dainn then, only some impulse born of gut and instinct and faith. He opened himself. Agony roared through him, as if Mist’s blade had plunged into his belly and twisted up into his heart, inch by inch, disemboweling him with excruciating and deliberate calculation.

  When the lightning struck, it knocked the Einherjar from their feet. Dainn howled, blinded by the spear of light striking the tip of Mist’s blade.

  When he returned to consciousness, he was in the street in front of Loki’s headquarters. Mortal pedestrians, still going about their business in spite of the horrors that had afflicted their city, escaped the onslaught of the storm by rushing under recessed doorways and dashing into buildings. Traffic had ground to a halt.

  Disoriented by the teleportation, Dainn made his way to the sidewalk. He sat in the rain for several long minutes as understanding came to him, and he knew that Mist had been telling the truth.

  She had saved his life, and given his son back to him.

  Danny was inside him. And now Dainn was where he had never expected to be again, carried here by the hidden power within. Knowing what had to be done.

  You have to be together.

  Scrambling to his feet, Dainn made his way to Loki’s door. The Jotunn guards stared at him in astonishment.

  “You’re alive,” one of them said.

  “I would speak to Loki,” Dainn said.

  “Speak to him?” the Jotunar said with an ugly laugh. “I think he’ll want to do more than talk.”

  Dainn lifted his hand. He hardly had to envision the Runes, let alone sing them. The Jotunn gulped once and was silent.

  “I will meet Laufeyson in his office,” Dainn said.

  Two of the Jotunar scrambled to open the door. The silenced one and his companion only stared. The second finally dared to speak.

  “What are you?” he whispered.

  * * *

  St. Elmo’s fire raced up and down Mist’s blade as her hand and arm became a conduit for the storm’s unleashed fury. Her tattoo burned, but she hardly noticed the pain. Lightning struck again and again, forcing the Einherjar, the mortals, and even Odin himself to take cover.

  Mist swung the sword down with all her strength. The concrete cracked open at the point of impact. Light exploded with the intensity of a nuclear blast, and the shockwave knocked the remaining guards off their feet.

  Dainn vanished. She dropped Kettlingr and held the storm in the palm of her hand, her skin shivering with unspent electricity. Ecstasy swept over her, and she directed the lightning at Odin’s “hall,” destroying his throne in a single strike.

  It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her. The clouds grew so heavy that the city was plunged into the dark of a moonless, starless night, and wind beat against the nylon tents that sheltered the recruits displaced from their bunks in the warehouses.

  Mist laughed. She glanced at the Einherji who lay gasping and drenched on the ground, and aimed the lightning at them.

  The dark Eitr. She pulled it back just in time, and the lightning retreated behind the clouds. The rain fell to a steady downpour. She remembered where she was.

  All that remained of Dainn was a pile of ash. Just as she had intended.

  Odin strode up to her, eerily calm, and stared down at the blackened concrete. “The traitor is dead?” he asked.

  She crouched to grab Kettlingr, rose, and pushed at the ash with the tip of her sword. “There is nothing left of him, All-father.”

  “The storm was of your making,” Odin said. There was more than anger in his voice. She heard what she could have sworn was spite … and jealousy. “How dare you turn your abilities against me?”

  Dangerous ground, Mist thought. She still hadn’t told him about her use of the Eitr, and now …

  “I didn’t intend to,” she said carefully. “You never asked me how I defeated Freya, but you knew I had—”

  “Silence,” he said, cutting her off. She became aware that an audience had gathered around them, and Odin clearly didn’t want his warriors to hear his Valkyrie questioning him.

  Insecure in his power, she thought.

  Afraid. Of me.

  But why? Did he recognize the Eitr within her, as Dainn had that day in his cell? And even if he did, could he believe that she would turn it against him?

  Wouldn’t you?

  “We will speak of this later,” he said, jerking his arm in a gesture of dismissal.

  And how much would she tell him? Mist thought as she crossed the street to the loft. There had been so many omissions now, so many lies in such a short time. She wondered if it was po
ssible that he doubted Dainn’s death.

  If he did, Mist was reasonably sure he’d have killed her on the spot.

  She lay on her bed, numb and exhausted, and rested her hands on her empty belly. If Odin was worried about how she might use her abilities—if he had the notion that she might turn them against him—what would he do? Keep her locked up and under powerful binding spells until he needed her? Hector her until she had no choice but to tell him about her use of the ancient magic?

  She couldn’t let that happen. She’d made a decision without really realizing what she’d done, and she wasn’t going back on it.

  Sheer exhaustion finally got the better of her, and she drifted off into a fitful sleep. She had her knife at Ryan’s throat before she was fully aware that he was in the room.

  “It’s me,” he said in a strangled whisper.

  She withdrew the knife and laid it on the bedside table. “I could have killed you,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know.” Ryan rubbed his throat. “I didn’t like it much the first time.”

  Mist winced, remembering the drug lab. “I’m sorry,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She met his gaze, and he looked away quickly, retreating to stand by the door.

  Gods. Of course he thought she’d killed Dainn. And she couldn’t tell him that Dainn was alive, not when he’d joined Odin’s team.

  How he must hate her. And himself, for serving the god who had ordered the execution of someone he loved.

  “It’s all right,” he said, as if he were answering her thoughts. “I would have told you that I was going to Odin, but you were gone, and I saw the ghosts killing people. I couldn’t just let it happen.”

  “Of course you couldn’t,” Mist said.

  “But people died anyway,” he said, his lips stretching in a bitter grimace.

  “You couldn’t help that.”

  “I know there’s always a risk when I share my visions,” he said. “I learned that Odin was responsible for innocent people getting killed. Then I found out about Danny, and what Odin planned to do to Dainn.” He pressed his lips together. “I didn’t believe what they said about him.”

  “Ryan—” Mist began.

  “But once I proved that first vision was right,” Ryan went on, “Odin believed the next one.”