by Renée Jaggér
Carl twisted Tyr’s arm, and his sword clattered to the ground.
The wolf-father’s jaws snapped down over the justice god’s wrist, biting off most of his arm below the elbow.
“Hah!” Carl scoffed. “Release him. For the moment.”
The acolytes backed off as Tyr staggered back in pain and shock, the stump leaking ichor on the floor as their master chewed and swallowed the severed arm. Then Fenris looked at one of his students.
“My son,” he rumbled, “finish him off.”
The disciple shifted into a wolf the size of a large bear with fur the color of tarnished bronze and pounced at the maimed deity.
Tyr ducked the attack and fled.
“Vengeance!” Tyr barked as he retreated through the doors, his boots clattering down the halls of the palace until he emerged from its central keep. “You cannot escape justice, Fenris! Your time will end.”
Carl, watching him leave, suggested, “Hmm. I bet he goes to Bailey and tells her to come here, exactly as we planned.”
Fenris, abruptly back in the shape of a tall, hooded man, made a fierce grasping motion. “Fan out. Disperse all forces not loyal to us. I will call the auxiliaries. Lock this place down; we must have it under total control. Remember, Bailey is now as powerful as I am, and she’s coming.”
Chapter Sixteen
The girl envied her friends. They’d all been allowed to go back to Earth, if only temporarily, or to Asgard in the case of the divine regiment.
On the plus side, the council chamber had an aspect of its atmosphere that relaxed and refreshed her more than she would have expected. Possibly more than a good night’s sleep and a nice meal at the Elk, in fact.
“Loki,” Bailey asked, “how’s he doing?”
The lord of mischief had propped Thor up in his seat amongst the thrones in the great crystalline room. The other deities were not present, so seeing only one of them sitting in his place, and him wounded and foggy-minded, was downright weird.
Loki answered, briefly touching Thor’s face, “He’s improving. Still somewhat below where we’d all like him to be, however, and there are no healing arts of which I’m aware that will speed up the process.”
Bailey grimaced and leaned against a pillar. “So, what’s our timeframe? For him healing up, and for Fenris annihilating the universe. I’m kinda hoping the first one happens before the second.”
Without looking at her, Loki remarked, “Aren’t we all? Such things are never certain, though. Thor, are you there? You are the one most affected, so what do you think?”
The god of war and thunder opened his eyes. They were bleary, but he recognized the locale and his company.
“Ah,” he mumbled, “it’s likely I won’t be my old self for another day or two, as mortals reckon time. That might not be soon enough to intercept the bastard wolf-mutt.”
Loki frowned. “We cannot wait that long. Tyr has finally moved, and all the pieces are in place for Fenris to make his final play.”
Thor nodded. “If he’s moving to the last phase of his scheme, I fear I won’t be of much help to you. A weakened god falling on his face during the big brawl would be more of a hindrance than anything.”
Bailey’s abdomen tightened at the thought of having to take on Fenris and his allies without a full complement of greater deities to back her up, but she understood.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted. “We don’t want to lose you, and by surviving the attack of the World Serpent, you already threw a wrench into Fenris’ plans.”
Thor reached out, and Loki helped him to his feet. The pair trudged closer to the girl, who stepped forward to meet them halfway.
The thunder god was still carrying his hammer. He raised it to chest height.
“Bailey,” he began, “not so long ago, I tested you to see if you could lift Mjölnir. You could, and with me unable to fight, I’m giving you my mantle for the time being. You shall carry my hammer and my powers. Not forever; that is impossible, for Mjölnir must always return to me. But I can, we’ll say, loan it to you.”
Loki raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Bailey hesitated, then reached out and accepted the great hammer. A flash of lightning filled the chamber, but there was no roar of thunder to accompany it. Once more, the girl felt like a storm of courage had welled up within her.
Thor smiled. “Now, if only temporarily, you are the goddess of werewolves, witches, and thunder. Ought to be useful. Wield my powers well, and don’t drop the hammer off the side of Asgard or anything stupid like that.”
She had to laugh. “I won’t. Thank you, Thor.”
Loki aided the red-bearded deity in returning to his chair, then faced the girl.
“It’s time,” he stated. “With Thor’s little gift, you should be more than a match for my fool of a son. Send word to your friend back on Earth that the hour has come to retake Asgard and save your world, ours, and all the others in between.”
Roland stood in the town square of Greenhearth, Oregon, which Sheriff Browne had begrudgingly closed to out-of-town traffic for the time being. It was a nice day that felt to him like the beginning of autumn, though when it came to seasons, you could never be sure.
“So,” he began, his gaze scanning the crowd. Agent Velasquez stood to his right, holding a plasma gun, and to his left were Will Waldsbach and Dante Viari. Just in front of him and slightly off to the side were the three Nordin brothers. “I hate to sound like a politician two months before the election, but I am once again asking for your support.”
A half-dozen chuckles and an equal number of groans went around the group.
“Bailey is going to need all the help she can get,” he continued. “The mere fact that so many of you have shown up is encouraging, but we’ll all need to fight as well. This is no longer only about the fate of Weres or witches, or about Greenhearth, or Portland, or Seattle, or any other specific place. This is about the fate of the universe. Hard to believe, I know, but anyone who’s willing to join us...”
His voice trailed off as something caught his eye. Amidst the mass of witches who’d crammed themselves into the square, one was moving forward, squeezing between others. He glimpsed an unpleasant shade of fuchsia.
“Holy shit!” the wizard shrieked. He threw a massive shield in front of him and then, in a continuous sweeping motion, turned, grabbed Velasquez’s plasma gun, and dived for cover behind a trash can. “Everyone get back! Fire in the hole!”
Once safely hidden, he gradually rose from behind the waste receptacle, gun held ready in trembling hands, peeking over the top of the bin.
Nothing had happened. The square was totally silent, and everyone was staring at him. He ignored them, his gaze singularly focused on the skinny young woman who’d made her way to the front and center of the audience.
Shannon DiGrezza cleared her throat. “Um. Yeah. Hi, Roland.” She flipped her neon-purplish-pink forelock away from her face.
He stood up, his mouth making random, undignified movements as he attempted to speak. “What the hell are you doing here?” he sputtered eventually.
Velasquez, looking disgruntled at having his weapon taken from him, asked, “Who’s this, your ex-girlfriend?”
“No!” Roland barked instantly. He took a deep breath. “No. This is Shannon. She,” he coughed, “is an old acquaintance of mine from Seattle.”
Velasquez shrugged. “Give me back my gun, or you’ll be charged with forcibly disarming a federal agent.”
Roland pressed the plasma cannon back into the agent’s arms without looking at him as he staggered three steps forward.
“Look,” Shannon said, “this is extremely unpleasant for both of us, okay, but I actually came to, you know, help you out here. I heard what’s going on.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked sidelong at nothing in particular. “And I also came to, um, apologize.”
It took Roland another twenty or thirty seconds to respond. “Okay,” he gasped. “That’s not what I
was expecting, but I appreciate it. Anyway, assuming—no offense—that this isn’t just a ploy to get close to Bailey and murder her before kidnapping me, we can always use another talented sorceress on our side.”
The witch’s jaw dropped. “What? How could I possibly not take offense at that? I am, like, debasing myself by coming here to say I’m sorry, and you—”
“Okay, okay.” Roland held up his hand, palm outward. “Sorry. I counter-apologize for saying that part. Otherwise, uh, yes, I’m sincerely glad to have you as part of the team.”
Shannon gritted her teeth but nodded, then melted back into the crowd, allowing Roland to complete his motivational spiel.
He was distracted, though.
Out of all the things in the universe I considered LEAST likely to happen, he marveled, we ended up with an apology from Shannon. If there was ever a time to believe in miracles, this is it.
Bailey stood on the broad avenue near the center of the city of Asgard, atop the sacred mountain that hovered above the clouds. The divine army was assembled before her, Sigfred and his regiment and two other units of comparable size as well.
An Asgardian chamberlain elaborated upon the situation to the werewitch. “The enemy’s lackeys somehow launched a sneak attack from within the palace. Many of us were slain, and our forces were driven across the Rainbow Bridge. We have no friends upon the floating palace; it is entirely within the evil one’s clutches. The fighting men you see here are all that remain to us.”
The girl nodded, trying to suppress a pang of guilt at the notion that they should have moved sooner. “Who and what all does he have on his side?”
The chamberlain explained that most of the opposing forces consisted of the very monsters they’d been trying to keep away from Asgard’s lower borders. No one knew how a combined army of the creatures had appeared at the pinnacle of the divine realm.
“Okay,” Bailey told the Asgardians, “I have reinforcements on the way. Once they arrive, we’ll retake the palace and put a stop to this.”
Everyone’s head turned toward the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. A figure jogged down the marble streets toward them, a tall man in silver armor with a thick makeshift bandage of torn cloth wrapped around the stump of his right forearm.
The chamberlain gasped. “Lord Tyr! What has happened? Were you caught in the palace??
Tyr, seeing the assembled strength of his allies, slowed his pace.
“Yes,” he replied in a voice like a deep-toned bell. “This is all the work of Fenris and his treasonous disciples. They mean to initiate Ragnarök! Demigods, scions, and ascended proto-deities from the training grounds are with him, and he is the one who inspired the monstrous peoples to rise against us. I had feared it might be too late to strike back.”
Bailey gave a grim smile. “It isn’t. Tyr, I’ve heard of you, but we haven’t met. I’m Bailey Nordin, the new goddess of Weres and witches, temporarily sitting in Freya’s place on the council. I’m expecting anywhere from, uh, thirty to a hundred reinforcements from my world. That includes lycanthropes, witches, and operatives of the US government who have extremely big guns.”
The god of justice’s strained face relaxed, and he swelled with renewed confidence. “Good. I have heard of you also, Bailey Nordin, and I have faith that we may yet achieve victory.”
The girl sent her mind toward Roland, catching his attention and telling him telepathically the whereabouts of Asgard so he could open a portal and bring the rest of their army to her. She noticed that he seemed flustered and distracted but figured it was because of the magnitude of the battle they were about to enter.
Moments later, a purple gateway appeared in an open area in the square, and Roland strode through, followed by thirty elite agents including the three they knew well, as well as nearly a hundred Weres and witches.
Sigfred nodded. “Impressive. We have more allies than we thought, though the numbers of Fenris’ forces are still greater.”
Bailey went over to her fiancé and put her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his lips. “Welcome to Viking heaven,” she said.
“Good to be here.” He gave her a quick, discreet squeeze and hastily said, “So yeah, let’s get moving, might as well get on with the fight as soon as—”
Bailey looked over his shoulder at the group of witches who had accompanied him.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, jumping back and summoning her sword to her hand. “Everyone get back!”
Roland closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “It’s okay, dear. I already had a talk with her. Shannon apologized—no, really—and wants to help. I, uh, wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
The werewitch stood staring at the fuchsia-haired sorceress, whose face was glum and irritable, but nothing in her demeanor was hostile, not exactly.
Bailey exhaled and lowered her sword. “Okay. I guess I can accept that as true.”
Shannon stepped forth. “It is. After the last time we met, and, um, like, after I heard about what happened to Aida and Callie...” she blew a puff of air up from her lips that knocked her forelock away from her face, “I just, I dunno, felt like holding a grudge would be a waste of my time.”
Bailey blinked. “Yeah, I think you were right about that. Well, if you’re sincere, then welcome aboard. This ain’t going to be an easy fight, though.”
“Obviously,” Shannon shot back. “I’ll do my part.”
The girl nodded and then greeted everyone else who’d shown up: her brothers, Townsend, Velasquez, and Park, Will and his pack, Alfred, the shaman from farther south in Oregon, and his pack, Dante, Charlene, and a witch named Mavis whom Bailey recognized as having helped them against the Callie-clones, and many others. She thanked them all.
Then the leaders conferred on formation, marching orders, and overall strategy. The rough plan was to do something similar to the tactics Bailey had used against the monsters in their homeworlds, with the Asgardian shield wall out front and agent’s guns and witches’ spells providing the artillery, while Weres covered backup and ambush defense. Naturally, Bailey would be in the lead.
Tyr approached the girl. “Bailey, allow me to offer you a portion of my powers to carry with you into the fight. I too am a god of war in the sense of strategy and command.”
He placed his remaining hand on her forehead, and she envisioned the tendrils of magic running between them. A small but potent infusion of divine authority entered her being, and she felt more confident than ever. The shapes that the battle might take seemed clearer.
The god of justice stepped back and spoke to everyone. “You will need all the strength you can muster to assail the palace and defeat Fenris. I, therefore, will remain behind and guard Asgard against any incursions through the lower borders. It is the least I can do.”
Bailey thanked him and asked if he’d be all right.
“I can manage,” he told her. “Go.”
The chamberlain gave them his blessing, and the small but powerful and motivated army of Asgard and Earth moved down the avenues of the divine city. Civilians peeked out at them from windows and alleys.
Bailey, out in front, held Balder’s enchanted sword in her right hand. Strapped to her back and waiting to be drawn with her left hand if needed was the hammer of Thor.
Sigfred was close behind the girl’s elbow. “The evil one’s followers seized control of the far side of the city after they took the bridge. We must plow through them and then retake Bifröst, which will not be easy.”
The werewitch nodded. “So be it.”
The good news, she saw, was that Fenris’ lackeys were prepared for a siege, not a pitched battle or urban warfare. They were tightly packed near the arch that led to the Rainbow Bridge and had not endeavored to spread through the streets. Clearly, the girl concluded, the goal was simply to delay her until Fenris could complete his ritual.
But, she recalled, doesn’t he need me for it? What if they’re trying to lure us in, kill everyone else, and take me to be sacri
ficed?
The muscles along her jaw tightened. They wouldn’t take her alive.
Her division marched into the relatively open space before the archway and the bridge, where the horde of monsters attacked at once. Their numbers were at least as great as those of Bailey’s allies, and she knew Fenris must have far more on the bridge or in the floating palace complex.
“Shields up!” she yelled.
Stone giants hurled giant boulders. Dark elves fired their bows. A pair of frost trolls flung ice orbs like the ones they’d launched from their catapults. Draugar mages cast spells of fear, cold, and poison, which Bailey and Roland intercepted while shields both material and arcane reflected the physical missiles.
The archers of Asgard retaliated with their bows of light, and the agency’s troops fired their deadly plasma cannons. A handful of alfar mages conjured barriers that blocked some of the projectiles, but others got through, striking monsters down by the dozen, turning them into piles of burning death.
Bailey raised her sword. “Hold your positions! I’m going forward.” Then she charged.
She drove a wall of electrified water ahead of her, noting how much stronger her lightning magic seemed since Thor had empowered her. She watched as it swept hostile creatures aside or wounded or paralyzed them, leaving them easy prey for her singing blade. Bodies dropped.
The stone giants tried to crush her between them. She responded with an expanding kinetic burst that shook one to pieces and drove the rest off the edge of the mountainside, so their huge blocky bodies tumbled and vanished in the sea of clouds below.
Behind and around her, her allies kept up their own careful offense, picking off the enemy with well-placed attacks. Bailey summoned a whirlwind of burning plasma around her and plunged into the thickest part of their formation, incinerating them with her mere presence.
How, she wondered, did Fenris get all these fuckers up here? He must have taken direct control of them via a treaty with their kings, and now they’re running on his orders, no longer subject to the authority of their own leaders.
