“My Queen,” Luka sobbed. “What has done this to you? What can I do to help you?”
“My…Champion…” she whispered, and it was as if the words sapped her remaining strength. Her eyes closed, and a long breath rattled out of her.
“Do something!” Luka shrieked. “Sif! Sif, help her!”
The Isir healer glanced at him, then rocked forward and went back to her work. She snapped orders, and Yowrnsaxa or Frikka fulfilled them, fetching things from her bag, holding Hel, tilting her head back, supporting her enervated body.
Meuhlnir tottered toward us, his eyes filled with immeasurable pain. One hand he held to the wounds Luka had inflicted a few short days prior. In his other hand, he held his hammer.
“No!” shouted Luka. “You get away! Get away from her!” He sprang up and pushed Meuhlnir savagely.
Meuhlnir stumbled and would have fallen if Veethar hadn’t appeared at his side as if out of the mist, grabbing his elbow and steadying him. “Stand aside, Luka!” Meuhlnir croaked. “Leave me be!”
“No! You will not harm her!”
“Harm her?” Meuhlnir stood straight, his bearing filled with calm dignity. “Harm her, Brother? How many times during the war did we turn away when we could have harmed her?”
Luka’s eyes danced around the clearing, like a cornered animal, landing on Meuhlnir’s hammer, before meeting his brother’s gaze. “Don’t…don’t…”
Meuhlnir sighed, and in that sigh was every moment of heartbreak and pain that had existed between the two for centuries. “Do you not trust me, Brother?”
Luka shook his head but wouldn’t meet Meuhlnir’s gaze.
“These wounds leave me weak, Luka. The wounds you gave me. I don’t yet… I haven’t yet recovered much strength. I can’t fight you, I can only beg you to let me help her.” Meuhlnir’s bright eyes locked on Luka’s.
“Help her?” Luka asked, and again, his eyes drifted down to the hammer his brother held.
Meuhlnir followed Luka’s gaze, and he shook his head. “I only wanted to put this in her hands, Brother. To remind her of something, something we have all lost.” He let the hammer fall. “There. Now, will you let me by?”
Tears glistened in Luka’s eyes, but he didn’t wipe them. He bent and picked up Meuhlnir’s hammer and traced his brother’s inlaid name with his finger. “Come, Brother,” he said. “You’ve dropped your hammer.” He reversed his grip and held it out to Meuhlnir. “Let me help you.” He stepped to Meuhlnir’s side and put his arm out. “Lean on me.”
The two brothers approached where the Dark Queen lay, and Meuhlnir bent down and placed the hammer in Hel’s loose fingers. “It’s there, Suel. Can you feel it? The hammer you gifted me? The faith you had in me, the memory of the grace you allowed us to bask in, they carried me through difficult and dark times.”
Hel exhaled a long, weary breath.
“Yes, we’ve been at odds. Yes, we’ve faced one another across battlefields. But I never lost faith in you. I never lost hope.”
Meuhlnir nodded at Luka and sank to his knees. “The day I earned this hammer, you, an untutored vefari, taught me something. Do you recall, Suel?”
Her index finger twitched, but there was no other movement visible in her body, not even the rise and fall of her respiration.
“Tvelyast!” Meuhlnir whispered, and power crackled in the air between him and Hel, and she twitched as if someone had applied current to her body. Meuhlnir’s eyes widened with the effort of what he was attempting.
Jane’s hand snuck into mine and tugged.
“Stay,” I whispered, translating Meuhlnir’s command in the Gamla Toonkumowl.
“Anta!” Meuhlnir begged. “Anta, Suel. Anta!” His voice broke on the last syllable.
“He begs her to breathe,” I whispered to Jane.
Again, the air crackled with power, and the queen’s hair stirred as if to a breeze none of the rest of us could feel. It…it looked more lustrous, more blonde than gray. Her arms twitched, and she dragged a breath from the air through unsplit lips, shuddering with the pain of it.
“Lifa ow nee!” cried Meuhlnir, his voice hoarse with emotion and gruff with power.
“Live again,” I whispered, and Jane squeezed my hand.
The surrounding air popped and glowed with the thaumaturgical power Meuhlnir had spawned to save the woman who had once done the same for him. I wondered if the skein of fate—those runes carved into Iktrasitl’s bark—were changing at that moment, if the changes locked the Three Maids in an argument about how to reconcile the new pattern of uhrluhk.
Hel’s eyes fluttered, then opened. Her blue eyes swam with life, and she looked with wonder at Meuhlnir and then up at Luka. She smiled.
“You will not die today,” Meuhlnir rasped.
Her gaze fell to meet his, and she smiled before she turned her gaze to Sif, Yowrnsaxa, and Frikka, and smiled at each in turn.
Before anyone could speak, a terrible deafening howl rent the peace of the Conflux coming from the direction of Iktrasitl. When I noticed Kuhntul had disappeared, fear dug its fingers into my throat.
Fifty
I spun in a tight circle, looking for any sign of Kuhntul. She hadn’t told us her plan, hadn’t told us how Owraythu’s presence—or the presence of any of the Plauinn—as a dreamslice reflection would expose their weaknesses. I didn’t understand how to fight the Plauinn, and the fight had arrived, whether or not we were ready. A roar that sounded as if it had issued from the mouth of a giganotosaurus rent the air and reverberated through the trees. The pups howled in response.
“Is that…” began Jane.
“Has to be,” I said.
“She’s coming for me,” rasped Hel. “And you since you rescued me.” Her gaze locked on my own, and there was amusement in her eyes. “Why would you do that? After all that I’ve done?” Her voice contained a musing, introspective quality.
“No time for that now,” said Luka, his eyes on the forest.
“Quick,” I said. “Everyone run to Iktrasitl. There are…beings there that may help us.”
Luka scoffed. “Those three Nornir were not helpful.”
“No,” I agreed. “But there is a dragon and a mammoth eagle somewhere around there, not to mention Ratatoskr. And…”
“And what?” asked Hel.
“Maybe Owsakrimmr still hangs from the tree.”
Hel’s eyebrows shot upward, but her lips wore a sneering grin. “Owsakrimmr?”
“That’s the name he gave me.”
“Is it so?” Her gaze tracked to Luka’s, and a broken, rusty-sounding chuckle escaped her.
“What?” I asked.
“Owsakrimmr? The name means ‘Leader of the Isir.’”
“And?” snapped Jane.
“Keep your panties on, dear,” said Hel in a condescending, sneering tone. “It is one name the Vikings of Mithgarthr gave to their god, Owthidn.”
My gaze snapped to Meuhlnir. “But I thought you Isir don’t know that name.”
Mothi shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
Hel held her hand out to Luka, and he pulled her to her feet. Another shriek of fury echoed through the forest. “Getting closer,” she mused.
“Yes, let’s get to Iktrasitl. There’ll be time to sort out who the guy in the tree is later.”
“Maybe we can ask him,” said Hel, amusement at war with the fatigue in her voice.
I led everyone back to the clearing that girded Iktrasitl. Nasty purplish-black clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon, lit from within by multi-hued arcs of lightning, and a chill wind howled through the branches of Iktrasitl. Two of the Nornir stood close together, shoulders almost touching, staring into the forest with mirrored expressions of anxiety and fear on their faces. As we broke from the trees, a jagged tear appeared in the air next to them, as unlike a proo as I could imagine, and Verthanti stepped from it. That tear brought the Plowir Medn to mind. I could almost hear their oily voices clangoring in the forest.
Verthanti locked her gaze on mine. “You did this!” she snapped.
Urthr shrugged. “With the help of our pet Tisir, I’ll wager. I told you she was untrue, Skult.”
Skult flapped her hand in the air, not taking her eyes off the trees.
“Do you stand with us, or the ones who treat you as thralls?” I asked.
Urthr scoffed, and that was the only reply I got.
“How do we find this dragon?” Hel asked.
I shook my head. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen the thing. I have no idea where it is.”
“And you know there is a dragon here, how?” asked Luka.
“Heard it many times when I hung in the branches above. Ratatoskr would scamper down the trunk, the dragon would roar, up came the squirrel, then the eagle would scream, rinse, repeat.”
Luka chuckled.
Another cry came from the forest, and it was so hate-filled that the hair on my arms stood up.
“Perhaps we should spend time on defenses we can count on,” said Althyof, eyes glued to the forest.
“What do you suggest, Tverkr?” asked Hel.
“Kuhntul was the one with a plan. Where is she, anyway?”
Skult laughed. “No doubt she has run off. It’s what she is best at.”
“Any way to summon your armies?” I asked Hel.
She shook her head. “They’ve no doubt scattered to the four winds since you re-opened the preer. Even if I knew where they were, I don’t know where this place is. Better for us to escape, to hide among the klith for a few centuries.”
The terrible wailing sounded again, and the puppies howled in reply. Owraythu was getting closer.
“I don’t think that would suffice this time,” I muttered.
“No,” said Luka, his eyes on my face.
“Not much time,” said Mothi, eyeing the trees.
“I don’t know what form she will take,” I said in a clipped voice. “If she follows the pattern of these others, she will look human. If she doesn’t…”
“Ask the Nornir,” said Hel.
I glanced at the Three Maids, who presented a wall of backs to us again. “Waste of time,” I said. “They are Plauinn, so even if they deign to answer, we won’t know if their answers are honest or contrived.”
Luka nodded. “We fight as we know how.” He held his hand out to Hel. “My Queen?”
She took his hand and smiled at him. “My Champion.” She nodded her head. “We will fight as oolfa. Don’t shoot us this time, Hank—unless you will also change shape?”
“I may if it’s needed, but for now, I want to keep things fluid.”
Hel’s gaze wandered to Jane’s. “And you? Will you sprout wings or cower on the ground next to your man?”
Jane’s shoulders went rigid. “What Hank said.”
Hel nodded, and her gaze went to the other Isir. “I know how the rest of you will fight.” Her gaze settled on Krowkr and his sword and axe. “Interesting, Viking, but I’d stay in the back, were I you.”
Althyof drew his daggers and with a saucy smile, winked at Hel. “I’ll try not to slice you by mistake.”
Hel’s gaze drifted to the two Alfar. “And you…I suppose you were the ones I couldn’t see in Suelhaym that night?”
Yowtgayrr turned an insouciant gaze on the Dark Queen but made no other acknowledgement of her question. He raised his hand and drew silvery runes in the air and disappeared. Skowvithr shrugged and followed suit.
“So be it,” said Hel in an edgy tone. She turned to Sif. “You will form the Wall?”
With a glance at Frikka and Yowrnsaxa, she nodded.
“In that case, Luka and I will flank. Does it suit?”
“Together or on opposite sides?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Your choice.”
Meuhlnir’s eyes cut to mine, and Hel chuckled.
“I see,” she said, turning to me. “Your orders, Hank?”
I nodded. “Until I see what we are facing, I want one of you on each end of the shield wall, one step behind. Be ready to flank, or to back up the skyuldur vidnukonur. If you hold off on your prayteenk, you could assist with ranged attacks.”
Hel’s lips stretched in a half-grin. “I think we will change in advance.”
“Fine. Do it,” I said, and she and Luka swapped their human forms for that of a bear and a wolf.
Thirty steps away, the tree trunks groaned, and leaves flew from high branches as Owraythu came toward us. The puppies alerted at the spectacle, one standing on either side of me.
“Weapons,” I said. I pulled Kunknir and Krati from their holsters, and Keri looked up at me and whined. “Yeah, I know they’re noisy. Good weapons, nonetheless.” He stretched his jaws and whined.
I racked the slide of both weapons and pointed where I wanted the shield wall. “Althyof, support the wall, please.” He began a trowba and started his dance behind the four women. Meuhlnir, Veethar, and Mothi came to stand beside me. Krowkr stood behind us, his neck craned, staring up at the rune-inscribed tree. Sig stood next to him with a fearful expression on his face.
“The Alfar?” whispered Meuhlnir.
“No doubt in the trees. Scouting.” I glanced over my shoulder.
Meuhlnir grunted. “Any idea how to fight one of these Plauinn? Even if they are only a dreamslice reflection…”
“None,” I said with a grin I didn’t feel. “Then again, I had no idea how to fight a dragon or a band of acid-blooded demons or crazy spiders with flammable blood or a sea dragon or a—”
“Forget I asked,” said Meuhlnir with a grin.
My gaze found that of my son. “Son, if things turn grim, use your dagger. Krowkr, you get away as best you can.”
The trees across from us seemed to bulge outward as though they were images on a soap bubble. With a rending crash, a row of four or five tree trunks exploded in a shower of ash chips and splinters. When the dust cleared, a nude woman stood where the trees had been.
Her hair glimmered from hue to hue, shade to shade, as its color flitted through the visible spectrum. Her eyes, though, were twin pits of blackness so complete that to look at them for long was dizzying. She stepped into the clearing, opened her mouth wide and trumpeted her hatred and fury at us—so loud, her scream struck as though it were a physical force.
Frikka gave the order, and the women interlocked the edges of their shields.
Owraythu pointed at Hel. “You are mine, do you hear? I am not through with you!”
In answer, Hel lifted her snout and roared like a bear.
Owraythu’s gaze traveled the length of the shield wall, and she shook her head as if incredulous that anyone would stand before her thus. When her eyes found mine, she stopped and squinted at me in anger. “You did this! Where is your master, small one? Where is Bikkir?”
I shook my head. “Leave this place!”
Her eyes burned with fury, and she took two juddering steps toward us before she glimpsed the Nornir. “You there!” she yelled. “Why have you let these…these small ones shelter here? I demand you aid me at once!”
“Now,” I said, and snapped my pistols into position. I fired, alternating from Kunknir to Krati, and rounds from each gun struck home, slamming Owraythu’s body this way and that.
“Ehlteenk!” cried Meuhlnir, and a bolt of pure electric blue split the sky. Thunder boomed as the bolt struck Owraythu’s torso.
She shrieked, but by the sound of it, more from rage than pain.
Veethar raised his hand to point at the Plauinn. “Binta hana!” he cried. A tall ash tree bent toward the ground, reaching for Owraythu with its long branches.
She juddered and jittered from the impact of my bullets and the lightning bolt Meuhlnir had thrown at her, but still, she laughed, and it was a nasty, hateful sound. She waved her hand at the approaching branches absently, and the trunk of the tree shattered.
“Beryast vith hana!” Veethar cried, and the ash trees closest to Owraythu swung their limbs at the Plauinn.
&nbs
p; “Say when, Aylootr,” said Mothi, dancing in place like a kid who needs the restroom.
“Not yet,” I said, still firing.
Owraythu spun her hand in a tight circle. A kernel of blackness started there and followed her hand, growing larger with each revolution. The trajectory of my rounds bent toward that spot of swirling darkness, farther and farther with each revolution of her hand.
My mind played the memory of Bikkir creating a blackhole of sorts in Isi’s lab. “Stop her!”
Jane barged at Owraythu with her raven shield, and the air rang as though a million brass bells had rung at once. A jagged black beam ripped through the air from her shield and slammed into the Plauinn, flinging her to the ground. Jane threw her spear, and it transformed into a bolt of golden lightning and plowed into Owraythu’s chest with a snapping sound.
Owraythu screamed, and the forest shook with her rage. She leapt to her feet like an acrobat on speed and, with a backhanded wave, sent Jane flying into Iktrasitl twenty feet from the ground. The impact sounded sickening, and Jane screamed in pain. She unfurled her wings and flew around the tree, breaking Owraythu’s line of sight, the cadmium red aura of her ring’s healing spell already enveloping her. Sig cried out and ran around to her side of the tree.
“Forget the wall,” I yelled. “Everyone on Owraythu now!”
Luka and Hel snarled and leapt, and Mothi charged forward with his axes whirling in arcs. Althyof did one of his graceful pirouettes and widened the circle of his dance, syncopating his trowba and building a countermelody as he had in his fight against Ivalti, the Svartalf kastari. Meuhlnir stood where he was and threw bolts of lightning.
Owraythu screamed, and Luka, Hel, and Mothi flew in different directions as if swatted by the tail of an immense beast. “You will all suffer!” Owraythu shrieked. “This one will rend you from the fabric of existence and leave the tatters of your being in the outer darkness where coldness reigns and darkness seems bright!”
“Talk, talk, talk,” muttered Mothi, picking himself up from the pile of branches he’d landed in.
Luka sped back to Owraythu, a snarl stretching his lupine features into a fearsome portrait of wrath. Hel came back, too, but she tottered on legs that seemed shaky, one massive paw to her head.
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 135
