“No!” Sally ripped the tendrils free. Her fingers worked furiously to tie up every loose end in an impossible knot. She twisted and curled each stray strand back onto the main cord of Hel’s power. She worked her binding, weaving a complicated pattern of loops and knots between the roots of the underworld and Hel herself.
With every twitch of movement, Sally felt the power flowing from Helheim to its mistress and knew that Hel’s strength was returning. It was a necessary evil. Sally would not kill her outright. She had seen too many immortals walk the shadowy path to death.
When her work was done, Sally sat back in exhaustion. But she couldn’t linger. The sounds of fighting had abated. She peeked around Thor’s bulk and saw Hel seated again on her throne, but thick vines and sinews coiled from her chair to physically bind her in place. Hel was now permanently moored to Helheim, but her position and power had been restored, maybe even increased.
Sally wasn’t confident about their chances of getting safely home.
“My hounds!” Hel shrieked from her throne. Her minions, including the draugar who had followed Sally from Midgard, slithered on the floor at the goddess’s feet. “And bring me Guldbrand the traitor! He shall be the first sacrifice.”
Thor carried Loki on his back and pushed through the woods. His legs pumped hard as adrenaline coursed through his body, but Loki was startlingly light. After so many centuries, Thor feared the old trickster was too near death to recover.
“Move!” Thor shouted needlessly. He yanked on Sally’s arm to keep her from lagging. She cried out but quickened her pace. Thor was not going to leave anyone behind.
To the rear, in the distance, Hel’s hounds bayed their kill song as they tore Hel’s emissary to pieces. What had Loki called him? Guldbrand? The wretch was a symbolic slaughter for the temporary coup on Hel’s throne, or something psychotic like that. The mayhem of scaring up Guldbrand and bringing him before his queen had provided enough cover for Thor to blast out of there with Loki and Sally in tow. Thor had no intention of waiting around to find out what Hel had in her twisted mind for them.
The trees whipped their branches at them and Thor felt icy bark slashing across his skin. Roots rose up and tried to trip and entangle him. He lost his footing more than once but managed to catch himself and keep plowing forward.
“They’re coming!” Sally yelled. The furious howling coming from all sides left no question who she was talking about. Hel had released her hounds, and they had the scent of the living in their snouts.
“We’re almost there!” Thor had a rough idea of where they were in the ghostly woods, but a place like this played tricks on the mind and the eye, and every other physical sense. The path stretched out before him in the dull gray light, but he didn’t seem to be making any tangible progress even as he raced at full speed.
Sally started muttering beside him, sounding like a crazy person and throwing out words like “bindrune” and “fireward.” Then he saw her forming intricate patterns with her free hand and throwing magickal mudras at the trees and along the path behind them. One of the gestures sent a spray of white sparks from her fingers to strike the trunk of a thrashing tree, leaving a smoking hole as the tree imploded in a heap of dark ash.
“Don’t let me get in your way,” Thor said.
Sally nodded a quick acknowledgment and kept up her work.
Loki’s weight shifted and Thor had to slow his pace to adjust his hold on him. Sally took the opportunity to scare up a wall of actual fire to block the hounds, though Thor still hadn’t seen them.
“They’re there. Trust me,” she said.
Thor blinked and there they were, waves upon waves of black beasts made of shadow and fog, eyes glowing red as they charged forward. They looked hell-bent on making a meal of Thor.
“Will the fire hold them back?”
Sally paused her murmurings only long enough to answer. “We’ll find out.”
Thor gritted his teeth. As he pounded forward and fought for every breath, he remembered hazy stories from his youth about Loki’s heroism in battle. Odin claimed Loki had performed unimaginable feats of magick on the fly, whether he was fighting with or against the Æsir, much as Sally was doing now. Thor had thought those campfire stories were mere fables meant to entertain a rowdy audience too full of mutton and mead. Assuming they made it out of Helheim alive, Thor would have his own tales of the Rune Witch to tell Magnus.
The path ahead wavered and then disappeared altogether. The trees uprooted themselves and swarmed together to block the fugitives’ escape. Thor came to an abrupt stop, and Loki nearly slid off his shoulders. Thor let go of Sally’s hand and settled the barely conscious Loki on the ground. With slavering hounds bearing down on one side and animated corpse-trees massed together on the other, Thor reached for the hammer at his belt and prepared to make his stand.
“I might have one good throw left in me.” Thor raised his hammer and waited. Every time the horde of Hel’s beasts—now hounds and raging draugar combined—blinked into view, they were closer and advancing fast. The hounds howled in thirsty anticipation.
Thor felt Sally’s hands on his throwing arm. She was reaching for his hammer.
“Let me help,” she said.
He handed over his weapon and watched in nervous awe as she pulled trickling streams of blue light from above and below and sent it all into the hammer. She muttered her words of power so quickly that he caught only a spare syllable here and there. Lines of light swirled and danced over the steel and formed familiar, ancient patterns. He’d seen Freya make similar tracings in bowls of water and along property lines, but he could feel the power pouring off Sally as she worked. It felt like standing too close to the hearth fire, and he had to take a step back.
Sally completed her casting and handed the hammer back to him with the quirk of a smile. “Here. You should be able to make more of an impact now.”
Thor chuckled and raised his hammer. The front line of hounds and draugar were closing in quickly. In another breath or two, they would be upon them. Thor held steady until he could make out the flaring nostrils of the lead dogs, and he let his hammer fly.
Blue flame trailed behind as the hammer landed with a massive boom at the hounds’ feet. A tremendous burst of light sent out a shockwave that knocked Thor off his feet. He was deaf and blind from the explosion, and in the seconds that followed he shouted and flailed at the fingers that clawed at him. He would not go down without a vicious fight. He kicked out in rage and his boot connected with flesh. He felt the weight of his assailant deflected away.
“Ooof!” he heard through cottony ears. His hearing was returning and he blinked his eyes at the clearing fog. A few yards away, Sally sat in the dirt and clutched her stomach.
“Did you have to kick me so dang hard?” She coughed and spat blood. Not far from her, Loki was a dark lump but he at least looked to be breathing.
Thor launched himself to his feet. The hounds were gone, so too the draugar. The forest lay shattered into splinters of charred wood that littered the ground. Fists at the ready, Thor turned in a tight circle to gauge the remaining threat. But he and Sally and Loki were truly alone.
He could still hear the angry howling of hounds and draugar in the distance. Thor laughed. Sally had imbued his hammer with the might to cast the beasts and ghouls back to Hel herself, but he didn’t think the Rune Witch possessed enough magick to keep them there.
Thor grasped the handle of his hammer jutting up from the ground. He grunted as he wrenched it out of the stubborn dirt, then hooked it back into his belt. He turned to Sally. “Can you walk?”
She coughed again. “I think my ribs are broken.”
Thor hoisted Loki over his shoulder, and the old trickster was either unconscious or too weak to complain. Thor tried to be careful as he helped Sally to her feet and supported her with one arm. It was an unwieldy procession, but Thor carried them both as quickly as he could back to the passage to Midgard.
19
Heimdall didn’t know what day it was. Late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. He’d have to check a clock. Either way, the quiet darkness outside was a near match for his mood. It had been one bitch of a Halloween.
The Lodge was in shambles. The draugar had nearly gained entry but then mysteriously ceased their attack and retreated. It had been a similar story at Bonnie’s house in Portland. Heimdall understood only later that the draugar had been pulled by the call of Sally’s magick and followed her to Helheim. He knew he should be grateful the destruction wasn’t worse.
But Thor was standing by the hearth and reading off the list of needed repairs he and Rod had compiled after their visual inspection of the Lodge and its grounds.
The Yggdrasil had sustained some damage, mostly minor—strips of bark were missing from the trunk and lower branches, and deep holes all around the Tree exposed the top level of roots. Freya was on her way from the wilderness to tend to the Tree, but access to Maggie’s Well was obliterated. Loki surmised the draugar had been looking for any way possible into Helheim, and then vented their frustration when they didn’t find it.
The fledgling apple grove remained intact, which was nothing short of a miracle. But there wouldn’t be a full accounting of the damage until after the sun was up.
Heimdall stood at the edge of the great room and gulped down a stein of dark coffee. It was traditional after a battle to gather with friends and family around the fire and toast each other’s bravery and daring deeds or to drown collective sorrows while feasting on roasted game and hearty breads. Win or lose, fighting was always hungry, thirsty work.
But for those in Midgard, this attack was over almost as soon as it began, and Heimdall and the others had barely had time to engage. For Thor, Sally, and Loki, the night had been significantly more harrowing. But the family gathered all the same, this time taking their fill of endless supplies of rich coffee, sticky cinnamon buns, and an embarrassment of convenience foods.
Bonnie and Rod sat on one sofa while Sally perched on a love seat with Saga. Loki, looking so haggard it pained Heimdall to even glance his way, had a low bench all to himself. Pizza and doughnut boxes, fast food wrappers, and Chinese take-out cartons littered the tables and floor.
The Valkyries and Einherjar had returned to their homes, but Heimdall didn’t fully trust Loki’s assurances that the draugar were securely back in Helheim and would no longer be a nuisance. The corpse warriors had done enough harm to prove the threat real enough. The story Loki and Sally told about vanquishing Hel in her own hall was a little too fantastical to be believed, but Thor backed them up and gave generous credit to Sally for saving his own hide. Thor even acknowledged Loki’s bravery in returning to Helheim to face his nightmare of a daughter.
The whole thing left Heimdall uneasy and unsettled, and with a massive headache.
So instead of home-brewed mead and growlers of local beer, it was strong coffee for Heimdall and his kin. He expected a long night at the Lodge and hoped his vigil would be uneventful.
Little Magnus slept upstairs, and Zach was recovering in one of the guest rooms. They’d plied him with sedative concoctions from Frigga’s dwindling stores, and Freya would see to him as well. The only player absent was Opal, but apparently she was out on a long-delayed social engagement.
“One cracked skylight,” Thor read from his list. He looked overhead and shrugged. “Twelve window screens to replace. Roughly thirty percent of the roofing shingles gone. The front porch railing, three splintered steps—which, you have to admit, is impressive. Those things are six-inches thick. Two balcony posts. And the gutters on all sides, a total loss.”
Thor closed his tiny notebook and slipped it into his shirt pocket.
Rod looked up. “That’s it?”
Thor reached for a big mug and took a swig of coffee laced with a healthy splash of rum. “For now. As for the damage to my own homestead . . .”
“We’ll get it all sorted out.” Heimdall sat on the armrest next to Rod. “The important thing is that everyone is all right.”
Heimdall deliberately did not look at Loki. Only time would tell how or if the god of chaos recovered.
Maggie came in from the kitchen bearing a tray of cakes, smoked meats, and more coffee. She quietly went about the business of distributing food and caffeine. It was a noticeable change from the Winter Nights party, but Heimdall still saw her wince when Rod refused a larger piece of spiced cake—and the dark scowl that followed when Rod acquiesced at Bonnie’s urging.
Heimdall gulped down the last of his coffee, even the dregs. “We need to talk about the houses.”
Rod scooted forward, his eagerness to discuss home repairs plain on his face. But Heimdall waved him off.
“We need to talk about the division in the homestead.” Heimdall glanced around the hearth and wondered which one of them would jump first into the silence. It seemed always to be up to him to lead the way. Heimdall took a breath and opened his mouth.
“The division in the Lodge is problematic,” Loki said.
Heimdall turned to him in surprise. Loki was worn and pale and looked very much like he had no business being conscious, much less sensible.
“This tension between your houses is juvenile and demonstrably destructive,” Loki said. “You really should sort this out.”
Thor stared at the floor as his neck flushed pink. Heimdall waited for his brother to blow.
“Loki’s right,” Thor said through clenched teeth. Heimdall nearly fell out of his socks.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Rod blinked at Thor in astonishment.
Thor’s jaw tightened, and Bonnie patted his wrist.
“Loki,” Thor said. “He’s right. We cannot allow this schism to continue. Our focus was split when we came under attack. Our forces were divided both geographically and philosophically. The threats against our homestead and our kin aren’t diminishing. If anything, they may well be on the rise. We are far from full strength. To have any hope of protecting the mortal population of Oregon, or protecting ourselves, we need to make some difficult decisions.”
Heimdall poured himself another stein of coffee. His hot-headed brother was verging on statesmanship. Heimdall wondered what their parents would make of the curious display of restraint and diplomacy.
“Well said, brother.” Heimdall kept any patronizing edge out of his voice, but he was desperately tired and now was also wired on strong coffee. He didn’t want to fight, and he didn’t have the energy for further discord. “In the interest of making such decisions as a united family, do you have a recommendation?”
Maggie froze halfway between the hearth and the kitchen, carrying her empty tray back for more supplies. She glanced at Bonnie with narrowed eyes, and it didn’t take much imagination for Heimdall to guess what she was thinking.
“I wish I did,” Thor said. “I’ve spent many nights trying to scare up a solution through force of will. I’ve discovered that doesn’t work so well.”
Heimdall quirked a smile, and Rod chuckled. Maggie continued toward the kitchen.
“Regular meetings.” Sally looked startled by her own voice. She sounded raspy and pained, and there were ugly black marks on her neck. “If there’s not going to be a single household. Okay? Thor and Bonnie won’t leave Portland, and someone still needs to be here at the Lodge, with the Yggdrasil and the apples and everything. So you should schedule family meetings, dinners or breakfast or whatever. And alternating houses, so you’re on equal footing.”
Heimdall drank his coffee. It was a reasonable and constructive suggestion, but it still left their homestead divided. He was coming to the unsettling conclusion that this was simply the new reality. Perhaps there was strength to be found in dissemination instead of being a concentrated target. He was still unconvinced, but he was willing to try. He nodded.
“And I want Bonnie recognized as Lady of the Hearth,” Thor said.
There was a loud clattering of dishes in the kitchen. Bonnie rose to her feet and mad
e a move toward the kitchen, but Heimdall waved her back into her seat.
“It’s a fair request,” Heimdall said. “I’ll do what I can to smooth things over.”
“I didn’t ask for that.” Bonnie turned to her husband. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not a goddess.” She gestured toward the fire. “And the actual hearth is here. The position should be Maggie’s.”
“We have a hearth,” Thor said.
“You know what I mean,” Bonnie said. “And so much is changing already. I don’t want to make waves.”
“Maybe it’s one of the things that should change.” Heimdall was astonished when he realized he meant it. The Lodge, even as an idea, would survive and thrive only through adaptation. Opal had become an integral member of the Lodge family, as had Rod. Bonnie might not have gained long life and strength from Iduna’s Apples, but she was Thor’s wife and partner. Over time and with the attrition of Heimdall’s kind, more of the pantheon’s power and footing was dispersing into the hands of mortals. Why shouldn’t Bonnie succeed Frigga in one of her traditional roles?
Maggie was already the Goddess of the Grove and the Keeper of the Well. One head could wear only so many garlands.
“So that’s settled.” Heimdall popped a hunk of spice cake into his mouth and enjoyed the taste of it. It was one of Frigga’s old recipes. Maggie had done it justice—and apparently added a zing of pomegranate.
He glanced at Thor and saw his concerns reflected in his brother’s eyes. There were too few of them. They would have to draw more heavily on their allies among the Einherjar and the Valkyries. They had yet to designate a leader to turn to in times of trouble, and there would be no end to the crises coming their way.
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